The Boy of the Painted Cave (6 page)

Down near the glades a big glacier lake extended a long blue finger into the Slough. It was a place of beauty, a place where Tao could always find something new and surprising, and it soon became one of his favorite haunts. Here he saw the tall white cranes stalking through the reeds, jabbing for minnows and crayfish. He watched the screaming fish-eagles swoop down to snatch squirming eels and perch out of the glistening waters.

One day, as the lake lay steaming in the early morning sun, he and Ram walked around the marshy shoreline, hunting for duck eggs. They had just come through a stand of reed grass when Tao saw an animal, the size of a large horse, feeding in the shallows. The boy drew in his breath. It was a giant deer. He had heard about such creatures, but they were rare and only a few hunters had ever seen one.

Unaware of danger, the deer stood in the knee-deep water, raking up strings of water lilies. Its huge rack of antlers spread out from its head like two great hands with the palms up and the sharp prongs or fingers curving inward.

Tao watched as the deer came closer. He kept his hand on Ram's shoulder to hold him back. The wolf was eager to begin the chase, and Tao could feel the tension in its body. “No, Ram,” he whispered. “You are no match for the great deer. In the water you would have no chance.”

Tao knew the big deer could not outrun the wolf, but with its massive spread of antlers it could be dangerous.

Boy and wolf stood on the edge of the lake, watching quietly. They were so taken up with the sight of the huge animal that they failed to hear the footsteps of the stranger as he came up behind them.

It was an old man, thin and gaunt, with squint creases at the corners of his deep-blue eyes. His face was covered with a long, almost white beard and he carried a long wooden spear and a deerskin bag slung over his left shoulder.

He stopped a short distance away and watched them for a while. Then, as if not to startle them, he coughed lightly.

Ram spun around, snarling, the hair along the back of his neck bristling with anger.

The big deer stopped feeding. It threw up its head and splashed away across the shallows.

Still standing at the water's edge, Tao turned to face the hunter. His heart was pounding. He had broken many taboos—he walked on forbidden land, he made images on cave walls and he hunted with a wolf dog. Now this stranger would be a witness.

Tao placed his hand on Ram's shoulder and ordered him to stay. Then he limped slowly toward the man, trying to act unafraid.

The old man looked down at him from under bushy eyebrows. There was no anger in his face, only a touch of mild surprise. He saw the bad foot and the air of boyish defiance. “You are Tao of the Valley People,” he said.

“You know my name?” asked Tao, startled.

“Yes,” said the old man. “I travel far to paint images in the secret caverns, and I hear much.”

Tao gasped. He felt a mixture of dismay and awe. The stranger standing before him was Graybeard, the Cave Painter, the shaman of all the clans. Never did he think he would meet such a great one.

“I also know you hunt on forbidden land,” said Graybeard.

The boy winced and shifted from one foot to the other. “It is forbidden only because of the demons and evil spirits,” he said, his voice cracking.

“And you are not afraid of demons?”

“I have heard the wailing screams and the wild howls, but they are the cries of the eagle-owl and the loons. If there are other demons I have never seen one.

The old man leaned on his spear. “You also hunt with a wolf dog. That too is taboo in your clan.”

For a moment Tao was quiet. Then he swallowed hard and said, “The people of my clan are starving. The Slough is full of game. With the wolf dog I bring them much food.”

Graybeard nodded. “You are not afraid of demons, you do not believe in evil spirits and, for you, taboos melt away like the winter snows.”

“I am sorry,” said Tao, “but I do not believe these things are bad. The animals, the birds, the trees give us food and clothing. Yet our leaders see only evil.”

Graybeard nodded. Tao was sure he saw a glint of understanding in the old man's eye.

“And you know better than the leaders?” said Graybeard.

“No,” said Tao. “I only know that the Slough is a place of many good things. Here I find food. I watch the animals and birds ... I feel good here.”

Graybeard looked out across the blue lake. “And now you watch the great antlered one?”

“Yes,” said Tao. “I have never seen a giant deer before.”

“There are many far to the north, near the ice country,” said Graybeard. “They come down this way sometimes when the snows are bad.”

Ram was standing behind Tao, a half snarl still curled on his lips.

The old man looked at the wolf, unafraid. “How long have you hunted with the wolf dog?”

Tao stopped to think. “Since the end of the snows.

“And by what name do you call him?”

“I call him Ram.”

The old man smiled.

“You think it is good to have a wolf dog?” asked Tao.

“Yes,” said Graybeard. “They help much with the hunting and they protect the camp at night.”

“Our leader, Volt, hates the wolf dogs,” said Tao. “He believes they are a curse of evil and he will have none of them.”

“I know your leader well,” said Graybeard. “He is a good man, but too often he dreams of spirits and demons.”

Tao came a step closer, whispering. “I have told no one about Ram.”

“I will say nothing,” said Graybeard. “I come only to paint in the Secret Cavern.”

Tao felt a wave of relief. He knew Graybeard would keep his word.

“The herds are coming back,” said the old man, nodding. “They will be here when the fields are green with new grass. I have come from the other camps with the news. Now I will paint images of the great beasts in the secret caverns to bring good hunting.”

Tao wished to hear more about the image making and the painting, but he saw that the old man was tired. “Will you come and share food with us?” asked Tao. “We have a small cave on the other side of the valley.”

Graybeard leaned against the trunk of a birch tree. His spear rested on the crook of his arm as he rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands. “Yes,” he said, “it will be good to rest.”

T
hey walked slowly, making their way up through the uncoiling ferns and budding buckthorn trees. On the way Tao had many questions.

“Other clans have kept wolf dogs,” he said. “Why does Volt hate them so much?”

The old man stopped to catch his breath, coughing slightly. “You have seen Volt's face?” he asked. “You have seen the scars and the look of meanness?”

Tao frowned. “This was done by a wolf dog?”

“Volt thinks so,” said Graybeard. “He was only a child, but his father said it was so.”

“I do not think a wolf dog would do that,” said Tao.

“Nor do I,” said the old man. “There were many hyenas at the time. But his father believed in demons and he said it was the curse of a wolf. Volt will not say otherwise. That is why this place is forbidden.”

“You mean it happened in the Slough?”

“Yes,” said Graybeard. “Volt was here with his mother, gathering berries. Some beast attacked them. Volt was badly clawed. His mother was killed. So this became a place of evil. Now others hear the wild cries and wailing and think of demons.”

When Tao and the old man came to the open valley, the boy looked around slowly.

“Yes,” said Graybeard, “it is well to keep the wolf dog out of sight.”

Tao agreed, then added, “But if Volt could see how well Ram hunts, maybe he would change his mind.”

The old man shrugged. “Volt knows only the world of evil spirits. Unless there is some omen or sign, I do not think he will change his mind.”

“You know much about the clan peoples,” said Tao.

“For twenty summers now I have gone from clan to clan, painting in the caves, bringing news, and helping them when they are sick.” He stopped for a moment, running a knotted hand through his beard. “I have seen many young boys grow up to become hunters and young women become mothers.”

Tao's heart leaped. A ray of hope sparkled in his eyes. “You knew my mother, my father?”

Graybeard shook his head. “No, I only know that your mother died shortly after you were born and that you were raised by Kala.”

“Then you know Kala?”

The old man hummed softly, then said, “Yes, we grew up together. But that was many summers ago, before you were born and before I became a shaman.”

“Then you are also of the Valley People?”

“Once. I left before my sixteenth summer. Now I am of all the clans.”

When they reached the foot of the cliffs, they began to climb. They went slowly, for the old man stopped to rest many times.

At the entrance to the little cave, the boy stepped aside to let the old one go in first.

As soon as his eyes became adjusted to the dim light, Graybeard saw the drawings on the wall. He saw the sketches of the wolf dog, the charcoal drawings of the cave bear, the owl and the salmon. He stood there for a long time, looking from one to another. Then he saw the clay chalk and the charcoal sticks lying on the floor.

Tao waited tensely. This man was the master. His words would mean much. He bit his lip and took a deep breath as he waited for the old man to speak.

Graybeard turned slowly. “You did these?”

“Yes,” said Tao, his chest swelling with pride.

The old man looked at the drawings once again, measuring them with his eye. Then he rubbed his hand over them lightly and blew the chalk from his fingers. “Who showed you how to do this?”

“No one,” said Tao. “I taught myself.”

The old man nodded. He studied the pictures again, running his long bony finger over the lines, following the curves of the drawings, all the while mumbling to himself. Then he stepped back. His wrinkled face changed into an angry frown. With both hands he leaned down and picked up fistfuls of dirt and soot from the cave floor. He rubbed them across the wall, smearing them over the drawings, covering them up.

Tao staggered backward in shocked surprise, disappointment and hurt showing on his face. “They are not good?” he asked.

Graybeard was breathing hard, trying to control a fit of coughing. “Young fool,” he cried. “Do you not know better than to make images or signs where they might be seen?”

Tao was numb. He could no longer think. “Then they are not good?” he asked again.

The old man shook his head, his eyes flashing with displeasure. “It does not matter,” he said. “Good or bad, you are not a Chosen One. They could kill you for this.”

Tao's fists were clenched tight at his sides. Tears filled his eyes and he spoke in a choked voice. “I do not care,” he said. “It is only that I would like to be an image maker. I have thought about it for a long time. Even when I sleep I dream of it. I wish to be a cave painter, as you are.”

The old man looked down at him, anger still flashing in his eyes. “It is taboo,” he said harshly. “Whether you believe in it or not makes no difference. It is taboo. It is the law of the clans and you must live by it.”

T
he old man walked back and forth, his feet shuffling across the cave floor. He stopped at the entrance and looked out across the valley. He was still breathing heavily, but the storm within him was over. “I am sorry,” he said. “It is a thing that must be handed down. My father was a cave painter. Now I am one. That is the way it has always been. It cannot start from nothing.” He stopped his pacing and looked down at Tao. “You must learn to live with things you cannot change.”

Tao sighed deeply, biting his lip, trying to forget.

A short while later they sat crosslegged on the cave floor, eating freshwater mussels that Tao had scooped from the creek. With sharp flint knives they pried open the blue-black shells and picked out the soft flesh within.

The smell of birch tea filled the little cave as the leather sack brewed over the open fire. They ate in silence for a while. Finally Tao spoke. “Then it can never be?”

The old man nodded impatiently. “I tell you again, unless you are born of a leader or chosen by the elders it would not be accepted.” He opened another shell and ate the contents, washing it down with a sip of birch tea. “For a thousand summers it has been in the minds of the people and cannot be changed.”

“And I must not do this thing I love. I must not make images?”

Graybeard looked out through the cave entrance, gazing off into the distance. He tugged at his beard for a moment, deep in thought. “Yes, yes, do it if you wish. But do not let the others know. They would not understand. And always rub out your images when you are finished.”

The old man glanced at the cave wall where he had blotted out the pictures. “You have made a good beginning,” he said, “but you have much to learn about form and shape. You must study the animals closely. See how they look when they run or lie down. Notice the color of their fur in the bright sun or under the shadow of a tree.”

Graybeard smiled. He had completely forgotten his outburst and his eyes shone as he spoke. “Go up on the high plains and watch Saxon, the sacred bull. See how the heavy muscles ripple beneath his shoulders. Watch how he moves his head and remember the angry fire in his eyes. Then put it all into your image.”

“It is something like magic,” said Tao, his voice rising with excitement.