The Boy of the Painted Cave Read Free Page B

beyond his control, as if it had a mind of its own. Slowly a bounding red deer took shape, its antlers thrown back, its nostrils flaring as it ran. It leaped over the ground, fear and panic showing in its eyes. Tao put down the red shell and picked up the black one. Once more he dipped his fingers in the paint and began to draw. This time a huge black wolf came forth, racing after the deer. With bounding leaps it gave chase. Great ruffles of fur stood out around its neck and shoulders and a long, waving tail flew out behind it.
    Finally Tao picked up the shell containing the yellow paint. He dabbed it on the wall and suddenly the wolf stared out at him with golden eyes. Tao went on drawing and painting, covering the walls with herds of bison and mammoths, horses and aurochs.
    When he awoke, the sun was coming up over the horizon, the fire was a gray heap of smoldering embers, and the shrill kee-kee-kee of a kestrel came from the branches of the dead willow tree. He rubbed his eyes and glanced around and he knew he had been dreaming.
    He stood up and looked out across the grasslands. The valley was bathed in a golden glow of color. The mountains in the distance were morning green. Here and there small patches of snow marked the last footprints of fading winter. Behind him was the long ridge of limestone cliffs, and on top of that were the flatlands, the high plains.
    He felt the pangs of early-morning hunger and he started out across the valley through the knee-high grass. He stopped frequently to turn over stones and pull up sod in search of ants and grubs. He was used to going long hours without eating, but now he had gone almost two days without food and he was growing weak. He found a few white grubs and plopped them into his mouth, swallowing them whole. He knew they would taste better roasted, but he could not wait.
    Even this was not enough. He would have to find something more. And he knew that if he wanted to go back to camp he would have to catch another rabbit. Once through the grassland he made his way along the edge of the swamp until he came to a thicket of alders and brier bushes. It was dense and tangled with creepers and thorns. He had never been past this place, but beyond, he knew, lay a dark marshland of winding creeks and green forests. The clan people called it the Slough. The elders said it was peopled by demons. The hunters never went there and the women would not dig its roots or harvest its berries lest they become cursed by the evil spirits.
    Tao stood on the edge of this forsaken place and thought of the game and food that might lay within. For a moment the threat of taboo held him back. He limped slowly along the edge, undecided, trying to see beyond the tangle of vines and branches. Then, through the thicket, he heard the grunt of a sow and the answering squeal of piglets. He forgot about demons and evil spirits and pushed his way through the thick briers. Heedless of the thorns that scratched his arms and caught at his deerskin leggings, he plunged deeper. Soon the earth became soft and black, and he smelled the musty dampness of the sluggish creeks and heard the rattling call of kingfishers. The dank woodland was dark and green, with shafts of sunlight filtering through the bare branches of the old hornbeams and willows.
    Tao stopped and glanced around, wondering if the hand of an evil spirit would strike him. But nothing happened. This place looked no more evil or dangerous than many places he had seen before. Gripping his spear tighter, he went deeper. He came to a shallow stream covered with rafts of new watercress. He scooped some up in his fingers and smelled its freshness. He chewed some and found it crisp and sweet. Oyster mushrooms grew in thick clusters on the trunks of dead birch trees, and berry bushes formed dense thickets between the scrub. The mushrooms were shriveled now and the berries were sparse and dry, but he marked the spot in his mind. By late spring the mushrooms would be