The Boy of the Painted Cave (10 page)

In the cave Graybeard sat on the ground and Tao squatted beside him. The old man poured some of the red earth into one of the saucer-shaped rocks that Tao had collected. Then, using a smooth, round stone, he began grinding it into a fine powder. When it was to his liking, he added some of Tao's fish oil, mixing it into a dark red paint. He poured a small amount of this into three other shallow stone dishes. In the first one he added a lump of yellow clay, in the second he sprinkled limestone powder and in the third he added charcoal dust. Using a small, clean stick for each, he mixed them well, ending with three different colors: a bright orange, a salmon pink and a dark brown.

Tao was amazed. He sat quietly, watching. This too was magic, he thought. Graybeard spread out more saucers and began blending shades of yellows, browns, grays and blacks. Some he mixed with honey, and some with the boiled fat and clotted blood from the boar.

“Next we must make our brushes,” he said. He took a handful of twigs from his pouch and began mashing the ends with a stone until they were soft and ragged. He held one up in the shaft of sunlight beaming through the cave entrance. He turned it around for Tao to see. “These are small,” he said, “for painting eyes and fine lines of hair and fur.”

He made larger brushes by tying feathers and boar bristles around the ends of long sticks with strings of vegetable fiber.

When all the paints and brushes were made, the old man got to his feet. “Now,” he said, “we are ready to paint.”

Tao held out the shoulder blade of the horse, while Graybeard poured spots of the colored paints onto its broad white surface. He handed the boy one of the large brushes and pointed to Tao's pictures of the rhinos, bison and mammoths.

The boy held his breath. He had never had a brush in his hand before. “Which one will I paint?”

Graybeard smiled. “You are the image maker. Paint the one you like the best.”

“The mountain-that-walks,” said Tao.

Graybeard nodded. “Then begin.”

Tao hesitated, glancing at the paints on the shoulder blade, uncertain.

“You saw the mammoths,” said Graybeard. “What color were they?”

“Reddish-brown.”

“Good,” said the old man. “Then mix a little black with the red until you have the color you wish.”

Tao dipped his brush into the spot of black, then mixed it with the red. He lifted his hand and touched it to the drawing. It was still too light, so he dipped in another dab of black. Again his brush touched the drawing. He smiled. It was a deep reddish-brown, the color he wanted. He continued to dip and touch.

Graybeard watched as Tao repeated the motion again and again. He reached out and stopped the boy's hand. “You are not painting on an antler or a seashell,” he said. “You are painting on a wall. Do not dab. Swing the brush with your whole arm.

Graybeard took the brush and began sweeping it across the drawing, following the lines of the mammoth's body.

Tao saw the old man's face brighten as he worked, laying on great swaths of color. He felt the excitement as the picture came alive.

“Do not be afraid,” said Graybeard, his eyes glowing. “You can always go over what you do not like.”

He gave the brush back to Tao and the boy tried again. This time he let his arm go free, swinging the brush across the wall. He mixed gray with yellow to fill in the light areas around the chest and stomach. He painted dark shadows on the shoulders and back to add shading. He saw his mammoth begin to breathe as he filled in the eye and the waving trunk.

When the painting was finished, Graybeard cracked open the duck eggs. He separated the yolks and set them aside. He poured the whites into a clean cockleshell, stirred them with a stick and handed the shell to Tao.

The boy was puzzled. “What is this for?”

“Spread it over your painting and you will see.”

With a feather brush Tao washed the egg white over the picture. This time the mammoth came alive with bright new colors. He stared at it in surprise. This had been done by his own hand. He smiled. Never had he felt so happy.

The following morning Graybeard went off on his mission of mercy and magic. He was gone for long periods, but he always returned to the little cavern at the top of the cliff to show the boy more about the painting, how to make light and shadows, where to find the red and yellow earth with which to make colors. Sometimes they sat together, on the edge of the cliffs, talking. Here they looked up at the night sky and Graybeard pointed out the stars, the first one to appear each night, the one that was red and the one that always leads toward the north. Here too Graybeard showed him how to make fire and told him where to find the special herbs to cure sickness.

The last time the old man went off on his journey, Tao and Ram walked with him across the valley. When they reached the river, Graybeard turned. “Your drawings are better now, they are true and they begin to live. Maybe now you can call yourself a cave painter.”

“I thank you for that,” said Tao. “And for all the things you have taught me. I am happy.”

The old man smiled. “You know the many beautiful things you can make with a brush and a dab of paint. That is all you have to know. That is all that really matters.”

They said good-bye, and as the old man walked away, Tao heard the long, hacking cough. He noticed the weary, shambling gait. His heart ached and deep inside he was afraid for his old friend.

O
ne afternoon Tao and Ram were up in the mountains, above the treeline, hunting ptarmigan. They were on their way down when Tao looked below to see Volt and the clan hunters stalking a herd of red deer through the spruce forest. The herd was made up of two does, with fawns, together with a few yearlings. Tao counted them on his fingers. There were nine in all.

The wolf dog was eager to attack, but the boy held him back. They watched quietly from a distance as the hunters formed a large circle surrounding the unwary animals.

If Tao could only get close enough for Ram to run in and pull down one of the deer, it would show how well the wolf dog could hunt. Cautiously he led Ram down to the edge of the spruce wood as the hunters moved silently through the trees, getting ready to throw their spears.

Unaware of the approaching danger, the deer grazed peacefully on moss and lichen. Tao's heart raced as the hunters crept closer to the unsuspecting deer. If he let the wolf dog go too soon, it would spook the animals and they would get away.

He moved silently, slowly, trying to get as close as possible. Even if Ram could not catch one of the animals, he might be able to drive them into the spears of the waiting hunters. Tao knew it would have to be done at just the right moment.

The wolf dog was ready to spring, and the boy could feel the tension in his body. In the middle of the wood the deer were still browsing quietly. The hunters moved like leopard cats, slowly closing the circle.

At that moment Tao saw a full-grown doe near the edge of the herd. Tall and chestnut-brown, she was the leader of the herd, and her black liquid eyes were alert, searching for danger. Ram could easily reach her within a few strides. But Tao waited. It was still too soon. “Stay,” he whispered.

The wolf dog's body trembled under Tao's hold as Ram strained to pull away. Still Tao waited.

Then he saw the big doe flinch. Her head came up and she sniffed the air. If she stamped and gave the alarm, the entire herd would disappear like the wind. He saw her body stiffen as she sensed danger, and Tao could wait no longer. With a quick nudge he pushed Ram ahead. “Now,” he whispered. “Go.”

The wolf dog dashed out, running straight for the deer. With great bounding leaps, he raced between the spruce trees and passed through the ring of hunters, closing on his prey.

The doe stamped and turned quickly, springing into the air. With a single leap she spun around. For a flickering moment both animals were blurred into one and Tao was sure the wolf dog had made his kill. But when he looked again, he saw the big doe bounding away in the opposite direction. Quickly Ram swerved to cut her off. It was too late. The deer was already strides ahead of him.

Tao groaned as he saw the rest of the herd scatter and all of the deer escape through the ring of hunters. In his excitement he had let Ram go too quickly. He heard the hunters grumbling and cursing, staring after the fleeing deer.

Tao stood at the edge of the spruce wood, a sinking feeling in his heart as he saw Ram come loping through the trees. Then he saw Garth jump out of the underbrush directly in the wolf dog's path, threatening him with his spear.

Ram crouched on the forest floor, his slitted eyes staring up at the leader, the hair along his back bristling.

“Ghost of evil,” roared Volt, stalking up behind Garth. “Scourge of demons. I will cut out your black heart!”

Tao knew neither Volt nor Garth had seen him yet, and for one awful moment he waited in the shadows. Then he saw Volt raise his arm. With all his strength he hurled the spear straight at the crouching animal.

But Tao was already vaulting through the air, throwing himself between Ram and the flying spear. His hand struck the wooden shaft of the weapon, knocking it to the ground.

Volt spun around. He looked at Tao, then at the wolf dog, then back at Tao again, a puzzled expression on his face. Then slowly Volt began to understand, and a burning fury filled his dark eyes. “Pah!” he cried, almost spitting out the word. “So this is how you hunt alone? You and this evil beast are one.”

“No,” said Tao, trying to explain. “The wolf dog is not bad. He is no evil demon. He is a good hunter... he ... he has helped me bring much game to the clan people.”

The big man scowled darkly, shaking his woolly head. “No,” he sneered. “This beast is the soul of a devil and you call him friend.” He reached up and rubbed the scars on his cheek with the back of his hand. “This demon and his kind have haunted me all my life, and I will kill every last one of them.”

Garth stepped toward Tao, frowning, but Volt had already turned toward the woods. “Come,” he shouted to the hunters. “Help me kill this evil spirit and rid me of this curse.”

As Volt and Garth watched over the wolf dog, Tao crept into the nearby spruce trees.

Tao heard the hunters coming. He knew there was no use in pleading for Ram's life. Volt would not listen, the hunters would not care. Suddenly he jumped away, shouting, “Come, Ram. Come!” The wolf dog sprang between the waiting men, racing after Tao, down through the spruce wood and out across the open meadow. Tao did not look back, but he could hear the cries and shouts as the angry men followed.

Dodging, turning, lurching through the tall grass, boy and wolf barely managed to keep ahead of their pursuers. Slipping through the birch stands, plunging through the high swamp grass, they raced for the Slough.

Halfway there Tao saw some of the hunters running to cut him off. His heart sank. That route of escape was blocked. He would have to head for the river.

Quickly he changed direction, leaping over the winding brooks. The bushes and trees became a blur of green, the ground sped away beneath him. He ran through the edge of the oak forest, vaulting along on his spear. His arms grew tired. If only he could stop to hide, to rest and take a quiet breath.

Then he caught a whiff of smoke. He looked back and saw tongues of yellow flame licking up into the sky. The hunters had started a grass fire to keep him from doubling back.

He ran straight ahead and reached the river, stopping under the branches of a giant willow tree. Here he looked around, breathing heavily. The river was an invisible wall. On the far side was the land of the Mountain People. For moments he paced the muddy bank with Ram, trying to make up his mind.

Then he heard the shouts of the hunters. They were racing ahead of the fire, getting closer. On the other side of the river the wolf dog would be safe. The hunters would not follow. He looked down at Ram. “You must go across the river,” he said. “Stay there until I call.”

Ram looked up, whining.

Tao pointed to the other shore. “Go,” he said, pushing the wolf dog into the water. Once, twice, Ram turned back, but Tao kept pushing him into the water. “Go,” he said sternly. “Go now.” He threw stones and sticks, chasing the wolf dog further and further out into the river.

Soon Ram was swimming. Tao saw his head bobbing on the water as the current carried him downstream. He watched as the wolf dog pulled himself up on the opposite shore and shook himself off. He saw him look back once or twice, then disappear into the trees.

A moment later the hunters came crashing through the underbrush.

W
hen he heard the hunters coming through the woods, Tao jumped behind the big willow tree. He looked around quickly. There was no place else to hide. He was breathing hard and he was too tired to start running again. Then he glanced up into the branches of the willow, with its thick canopy of new green leaves.

With a wild throw he hurled his spear into a thicket of thornbushes, then started up the tree. The massive trunk was growing at a rakish angle and he had little trouble climbing up through the branches. High above the ground, he stretched himself out on a heavy limb, the way he had seen the leopard cats do. He peered down through the curtain of leaves, scarcely daring to breathe.

The smell of smoke still hung in the air, but as he looked back across the valley he saw that the fire had nearly burned itself out.

He had barely settled himself on his rough perch when the hunters came swarming around the foot of the tree. They grunted and shouted and pointed toward the river. They searched around the clumps of thornbushes and followed the footprints up and down the riverbank.