The Boy of the Painted Cave (12 page)

Tao moved cautiously, edging his way along, hiding behind the clumps of stunted evergreens growing out of the cliff side. Slowly he made his way closer, glad that the clan people were busy celebrating and would not see him.

He had just reached the cave entrance when suddenly he saw a young hunter climbing up the ledge to tend the Endless Flame. Quickly Tao moved back into the shadows, pressing himself against the cliff wall.

With dawdling slowness the young hunter performed his task. He threw armfuls of wood on the fire, sending up a shower of sparks that lit up the darkness. Tao held his breath. He was in plain view as he shrank back against the side of the white cliff. Yet neither the hunter nor the clan people below seemed to notice him.

As soon as the hunter was gone, Tao crept up and lit his tallow lamp from the Endless Flame. He took one last look around and started into the cave. He was familiar with the large room just within the entrance, for he had spent many winters here. It was empty now, and save for the flickering light coming from the Endless Flame it was gray and cold. Toward the back of the room was the entrance to the long, twisting passageway that led to the Secret Cavern.

Tao hesitated. He had never been beyond this point before and it gave him an eerie feeling to step past the opening. Holding his lamp high and limping along on his wooden crutch, he started down the dark tunnel. It was damp and gloomy, and his flickering lamp cast wavering shadows on the rough gray walls. Except for the occasional sound of dripping water, there was a cold stillness, like death.

Tao shuffled on, trying to hurry. He wanted to paint as many images as possible before Graybeard came in with the hunters. Soon the tunnel became narrower, with turns. Once, when the ceiling became too low, he got down on his hands and knees, pushing his lamp ahead of him.

Then, at an abrupt turn in the tunnel, Tao's heart jumped. A huge cave lion glared down at him. It swayed back and forth as he moved his lamp, and he realized he was looking at a lone painting done by an early cave painter on the wall of this hidden tunnel.

He continued on and soon came to the place where the passageway divided into two corridors. He stopped, undecided, and his heart sank. He could not remember which shoulder the shaman had touched. With a nagging doubt, he chose the one on the left.

A dank, musty odor filled the air, and the trickling sound of dripping water echoed throughout the tunnel. Slowly, Tao limped along, holding his lamp ahead of him. Then he stopped. He was sure he had taken the wrong turn.

Hurriedly he started back, almost running, stumbling in his haste, searching for the other path. He came to a second opening. Was this the one leading to the Secret Cavern? He wasn't sure. He felt a dampness in the palms of his hands. His heart was pounding furiously. More confused than ever, he started down the new tunnel.

He had only gone a short distance when a sharp hissing sound broke the silence and he was left in total darkness. A drop of water from the dripping ceiling had snuffed out his lamp.

For a long moment Tao stood petrified, numb with fear. He threw down the useless lamp and, with a trembling hand, began feeling his way along the damp walls. Totally blind, he groped through the blackness, not even sure that he was going in the right direction.

T
ao limped on through the darkness, guided only by the unseen wall. The air was cool, yet he felt a dampness under his deerskin robe, and beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. He was trapped in this pitch-black underground passage. His hand brushed across the cold wall as he felt his way along, groping through the darkness with his left hand, holding tight to his crutch with the other. The gloom closed in on him, surrounding him, and he was sure he was going in the wrong direction. He shuffled along, slowly listening to the scraping of his feet, his eyes trying to penetrate the blackness.

Then he smelled the reeking odor of burning fat. It was faint, but he took a deep breath and it became stronger. He limped faster, his hand out in front of him, reaching. Smoke meant fire and fire meant light. He kept on going, his heart filled with new hope.

Suddenly, far in the distance, he thought he saw a faint glimmer of light. It danced for a moment, then went out. It came again, a pinpoint of brightness, far in the hazy darkness. It seemed to glow, then fade again. He limped toward it eagerly, stumbling, falling, then picking himself up.

The soft yellow gleam became brighter. The white haze and the burning smell became stronger. Tao was breathing fast, his heart beating wildly. Soon he was able to see clearly. He hurried on, almost running now. A few moments later he stumbled into a magnificent, brightly lit chamber.

Glowing tallow lamps were set in niches along the walls. Scattered across the floor of the cavern were hollowed-out stones and shells filled with paints and oils. Empty mammoth bones, standing upright, held brushes and sticks of charcoal. He blinked, and for a moment he looked around in silent awe, unable to believe his eyes. He had found the Secret Cavern.

Tao dropped his crutch and fell back against the wall, his mind filled with wonder. Many times he had heard about the Secret Cavern. But never did he imagine it held such splendor, such color and beauty.

Long rows of great hairy mammoths marched across the cavern wall, together with running horses, bristling boars and giant cave bears, all in varied shades of red, tawny browns and yellows. Images of woolly rhinos covered the opposite wall, while scattered groups of antelope and deer capered across the high, arched ceiling. The almost life-sized animals seemed to march through the cavern as if they were alive, moving and turning in the light of the flickering lamps.

Tao was amazed by the dazzling colors. The animals were just as he had seen them, as they wandered across the plains or through the forest. The roe deer were tense, the mammoths ponderous, the bears and cave lions strong and fearsome.

They were all here, brought to life in this secret place, the kind of drawings and images Tao had always dreamed of. He breathed deeply, filled with a sense of belonging. Now he would be a part of this secret place forever. He was glad that Graybeard had asked him to come.

Tao walked over to a large, unmarked portion of the wall. He rubbed across it with the palm of his hand and felt its cool, clean smoothness. He reached into Graybeard's leather pouch, his fingers groping around for the graven stones. One by one he took them out, until he found the slate with the engraving of the longhorn bull. He shook his hands to loosen them up, then picked up a large stick of charcoal. Now he would make his first mark on the wall of the Secret Cavern.

With a wide sweep of his arm he made a large outline.

He held up the sketch for a moment, studying it. Then he began to draw. He copied the sketch line for line, drawing the image of a longhorn.

He drew the great square head with its long, curving horns. He swung his arm freely, sketching in the massive shoulders, the thick chest and the muscular body. Next he reached into the deerskin pouch and took out a long flint chisel. Using a stone from the floor of the cave as a hammer, he began to carve out a shallow circle around the eye and nostril, just the way Graybeard had taught him.

For a moment he stepped back, nodding with satisfaction. Then, quickly, he outlined two, three, more longhorns, one behind the other.

With his bad foot he pushed three of the paint pots closer to the wall, where they would be within easy reach. He picked up a large feather brush and began filling in the colors, applying the yellows first, then shading in with reds and browns. Slowly the longhorns came alive, their muscles rippling, their sides heaving in the wavering lamplight.

On and on Tao painted, watching the herd of longhorns grow beneath his hand, watching it march across the long gray wall. He felt himself lifted up. He forgot about taboos. He forgot about the clan laws. He became so caught up with his painting that he even forgot about Graybeard and the clan hunters.

He finished his longhorns and now, with wild strokes of his brush, he outlined a mammoth, drawing the high-domed head, the curved tusks and waving trunk. He worked swiftly, with long, sweeping strokes, letting his hand flow freely over the cavern wall. Again he brushed in the colors, first the yellows, then the reds and browns and finally the deep shadows of black and gray.

He was almost finished when he heard the shuffling sound of feet coming through the tunnel. He turned slowly, the dripping paintbrush still in his hand. Now the hunters—Volt and Garth, all of them—would see how well he could draw, and Graybeard would name him the new Cave Painter. He stood quietly to one side, a proud smile on his face.

Tao watched as the clan hunters filed into the Secret Cavern. He saw them glance around, blinking in the flickering light. He waited for Graybeard to come in, but the old man was not with them. Suddenly Tao's smile died. He saw the look of horror on Garth's face and he knew he had done something wrong.

He heard a vengeful curse and turned to see Volt standing behind him, stunned disbelief burning in the big leader's eyes.

The hunters came toward him slowly, grumbling in their throats.

A cold sweat beaded his forehead. He held up his hand. “No,” he pleaded. “No ... Graybeard will tell you, it is the will of the spirits.”

Volt stepped forward, pointing an accusing finger at the boy. His scarred face was contorted in livid rage. “You have defiled this secret place,” he stormed. “You are a curse on this clan, you and that evil wolf dog.” The violent words rang through the cavern and echoed in Tao's ears.

“Graybeard sent me here,” Tao said, “to paint the longhorns.” He pointed at the drawings he had just finished. “Graybeard.”

But the hunters would not even look at the paintings. They crowded closer, glowering down at the boy.

“You lie,” said Garth, pushing forward and pulling the leather bag from Tao's shoulder. He held it up for all to see. “Look, he has stolen the shaman's pouch.”

“Perhaps he has killed Graybeard,” said another, “and would now take his place.”

Tao was stunned. He shook his head. “No,” he said. “Graybeard gave me the pouch. He will tell you himself.”

Volt's eyes narrowed. “Where is the shaman?”

Tao swallowed hard. “He did not come with you?”

“You know he is not with us,” growled Garth. “What have you done with him?”

“Nothing,” said Tao, his eyes begging them to understand. “Graybeard will come. He gave his word.”

“Then where is he?” demanded Volt.

“I left the shaman near the oak wood. He was sick. But I would not harm him. He was my friend. He taught me to paint in the caves.”

The hunters' eyes were filled with dark suspicion. They grabbed him roughly, pushing and pulling him through the twisting tunnel and out of the cave. They took him down to the edge of the camp, where they bound his hands and feet.

In the dim light of the distant campfire Tao saw the fury in their eyes. “Find the shaman,” he pleaded. “He will tell you I speak the truth.”

Still the hunters would not listen. They gathered around him, bristling with anger, shaking their spears, their flint knives ready in their hands.

Just then Volt came into the light of the fire, his stocky legs planted wide apart, his eyes flashing. “Wait,” he ordered. “The boy has angered the spirits of the longhorns. Now let him die by their wrath. Let him face Saxon, the sacred bull.”

H
is hands and feet tied with tough vegetable fibers, Tao lay on the damp ground under an oak tree. He looked off toward the big, rasping fire in the center of the camp and worried about Graybeard. He knew the clan hunters would be out searching for the old shaman, and as soon as they found him everything would be all right. The shaman will tell them he is too old to paint anymore, thought Tao, and he will name me the new Cave Painter. Because of the taboos, some of the hunters and elders will be displeased. But when Graybeard calls up the spirits they will accept it.

He was thinking of this when he saw four hunters carry a long burden wrapped in bearskins and set it on the ground near the big fire. At first he could not make out what it was. He saw some of the clan women kneel down beside it, their dark forms rocking back and forth. He heard them wailing and crying and he realized it was a dead person.

Other women came. They uncovered the body and began smearing it with handfuls of red earth and clay. Then they wrapped it in birch bark in preparation for burial.

Just then Tao heard a whimpering cry in the buckthorn bushes behind him. He turned and saw a pair of yellow eyes staring at him from out of the darkness. With a sudden start, he knew it was Ram. “Go,” he whispered. “Go away.” He struggled against his binding, but he could not get free. He could not throw a stone or a stick. He whispered again, telling Ram to go, but the wolf dog did not move.

After the women had left he heard footsteps. Someone was coming to check his bindings. The footsteps came closer. Instantly the yellow eyes disappeared. The wolf dog had run off.

Tao waited, expecting one of the hunters. Instead in the dim light, he saw a woman standing over him. She leaned down and he recognized Kala.

The woman glanced around quickly, searching the darkness. She had a purselike object in her hand, holding it up by a long strap, and Tao saw that it was Graybeard's skin pouch.

Kala looped the strap over his shoulder, then tucked the pouch under his robe. “You told them Graybeard gave this to you,” she whispered. “Then he would want you to keep it.”

Tao felt a wave of hope. “They have found him?”

She put her finger to her lips. “Yes.”

“Good,” said Tao. “Now he will tell them of his promise.