The Cave Artist--Chap. 20

Chapter Twenty



         Not far from Raven and the others, an eagle surveyed familiar shadows of Sun-edged rock.  No hoof or paw could steal, nor snow or rain intrude upon, its granite ledge and nest of feather-lined twigs high above the world of wingless creatures.  The tower of its home dropped along a sheer granite face onto fertile soil and dense trees where a lazy stream meandered.  Warm air wafted upward along the rugged wall and the eagle tasted the aroma of broad-leafed hornbeam, hazel bush, and fescue grass.  The sweet of birch catkins and the tart bite of spruce and fir filled the opening on its beak.  It smelled water, crawfish, toads, mutes, and frogs, muskrat, otter, and waterfowl.  Teal and mallard rose on whistling wings, and pintails drifted in lazy circles to settle on widespread legs in silver water.  Between golden reeds slick with algae, minnows darted where trout fed.

         A pine forest circled a flat valley beyond the tree-lined stream.  The steep walls of an ancient stream that water had forsaken cut through the valley's center.

         Red deer thrived within the pine forest and their paths led to the streams edge.  Horses and bison also came to the valley for winter forage, for the grass grew thick in the rich soil, and ivy twined over tumbled rock.

         On the narrow ledge above the trees, the eagle lowered its head to eat its rabbit.  Movement at the valley's edge caught its eye.  An alien scent soured its palate.  It jerked its head up.  The repugnant odor of featherless skin and stale smoke drifted.  The eagle opened wide its yellow beak stiffened its tongue, and hissed.

         Between the trees, a tall, two-legged creature wrapped in bear fur labored through snow toward the stream.  More of its kind followed

.

*  *  *

         "Find shelter soon,” Raven yelled and pointed at distant gray cliff's that touched the clouds and hid the afternoon sun.  “See, trees wait for us.”

         "Find shelter soon," Old Man echoed, as he pulled his bison coat higher around his neck and hunched his shoulders.

         The forest embraced the Flatheads and promised abundance.  A red deer leapt over the rough, whitened bark of a fallen log.          

"Big Bear!”  Stone pointed to a tree deeply scarred by vertical wounds.  He shook his head and grunted as he repeated, "Big.”  He stretched toward them but could not reach the claw marks.  "Sleeps somewhere."

         "Bear clawed tree in summer," Raven thought aloud.

         Cloud looked at him.  She did not understand.

         "When snow was gone."

         The puzzled look in Cloud's eyes deepened.

         "If bear stood on snow and clawed tree, his marks would be up there," Raven pointed above the blackened grooves, higher than even his reach.

         Cloud looked right and left.

         Owl glanced over his shoulder and whispered, "Big bear." 

         The humor in Raven's eyes vanished.  He held up his hand in warning and dropped to his knees.  A sound echoed through the forest–the sound of men’s voices.

         Like rabbits flee into burrows, the Flatheads dropped to the snow.

         Raven sniffed but did not catch man scent.  He cautiously raised his head.  From behind the trees and settling snow, bearded men clad in dark furs, with faces hidden under hoods, emerged one-by-one.  Two men carried a red deer suspended on a pole.  Its death-white eyes stared and its frozen tongue protruded like a huge worm.

         The men's voices rasped like gravel against gravel.

         For Raven, the words held no meaning, and yet, they spoke occasional Flathead words, strangely twisted.  To his surprise, they also spoke Roundhead words, but not as he had learned them.  The words flowed not in musical fluency, but harsh and abrupt in a Flathead accent.  Raven understood the words, cave, Fire, and Whoosh.  Each man carried a long spear tipped not by coarse, chipped flint, but by ivory or bone, polished and smooth.  Their scent was not unlike the odor of Roundheads.  They carried sweet from smoke, sour from sweat, and warm from deer and bison.  The man who walked in front smelled of bear and wore its shaggy coat.  A belt of bear claws around his waist swayed to his steps. He must be bear with man's face.  I have never seen a man so tall or broad.  His voice rumbles like beasts that growl in the sky. 

            Their breaths rasped as they drew nearer.  Raven hugged the ground and hoped snow would hide him, but they might catch his scent.  He waited with his hands braced against the snow, prepared to leap to his feet with his fingers tight around his spear.

         Snow moaned and whimpered as the footsteps faded.  The voices became faint, and then they vanished.

         "Flathead?  Roundhead?”  Stone whispered as he shook snow from his coat.

         "Could not see their faces," Raven said, "but I heard Flathead words mixed with Roundhead.  Many words strange."

         Stone lifted his spear and stepped quickly into the deep prints.  "Follow, take woman, take meat."

         Raven moved to stop him.  "No!”  He turned to Owl and Crooked Arm, both eager to follow Stone.  "Another day.  Now we find shelter, wake Fire."

         Old Man agreed.  "Wake Fire, be warm.  Come here at first light and hunt deer, eat good.”  Old Man hungered for food, not woman, and he did not want to meet man like bear.



*  *  *

         In the valley, winter's first snow came to Raven's knees, but in some places, Whoosh had swept it away to expose tall frozen grass.

         Prints of fox, weasel, wolf and lynx crossed those of hare and red deer.  Life's scents filled the air.  A fox coughed and, at the edge of trees, a deer hesitated in mid-stride and held its nose high to seek scents.

         The Flatheads slid down a dry gully’s snow-encrusted bank and followed its twisted course toward a cliff.  Snow skipped along the gully’s bottom, swirled, rose and fell back upon them.  The gully ended where water had once plunged in an angry froth, and they would not have been able to climb out if not for a fallen tree.

         Wounds in snow, cut by deer hooves, led them to the stream.  A mist hugged its surface, and they lingered to watch a mallard's wings beat the ghostly fog into twisted patterns.

         "Hunters we saw came this way," Old Man said.  He pointed to a wallowed trail that came from the stream.

         "Or others we have not seen," Raven whispered.  What men are they?  How many are they?  Are there only those we saw?  Or, are they as many as leaves on a tree?  They are different from us, yet alike.  Their spears are not like ours, and they wear fur on their heads, a good way to keep warm.  They may know many things we do not.  Maybe they teach.  Maybe they will share Fire or…kill all not of their clan.  He hesitated in his struggle through a deep drift and thought he saw the invitation of a cave mouth, but it was only black rock.

         They passed huge blocks of granite fallen from the cliff's shoulders.  Some lay at its feet where birch and hazel struggled to grow.  Roots grew between frost-widened cracks, and bright-leafed ivy, not yet withered by cold, ran its vines where soil welcomed its roots.

         Whoosh whistled through ivy, between snow-topped boulders and found the cave for them, for without its voice they would have passed unknowing.  The opening led them into darkness that concealed whatever waited inside.

         Below the cave, in a stand of naked trees, Raven gathered Fire's food.  Some trees were unfamiliar.  He wondered which would be Fire's favorite.  He smiled and thought, she will tell me.  He scraped dry moss from a tree, peeled bark from a limb and feathered hazel.

         "Good cave," Old Man said as he lay beside Fire.

         "Small," Raven said. 

         A rock pile stood against the rear wall, and shadows, like sinister eyes, stared from the jumbled debris.  Intrigued by the secrets darkness might conceal, Raven stared back.  The shadows reminded him of the contempt from a skull's hollow eyes, of black storm clouds at dusk, and of water at night.  He gathered a pile of wood, and to the question in Old Man's eyes, he said, "I wake sister Fire." 

         Fire wrapped red fingers around his offered pine, fluttered like a tethered bird on a perch, leapt eagerly into her new nest and spread joyful fingers.  She purred and brightened as the black eyes withdrew.  Impetuous smoke rose and paused.  Raven leaned forward.  Something gripped Fire's gray breath and pulled it toward rock.  Smoke struggled, twisted, and vanished.  What takes smoke?  Does rock eat smoke?  No, rock not eat smoke, but something pulls smoke into rocks.  When Whoosh comes into cave, it moves smoke, but I do not feel Whoosh.  He put his ear to the wall and a silent breath touched his cheek.  He removed a stone and cast it aside.  Smoke moved faster.  Another stone moved in his hands and he pulled it free, and then another.  Beyond the rocks, water murmured, and Whoosh whispered.

         "Help move rocks."  He called to the others who watched him with puzzled looks.  "Another cave is behind rocks."

         Dust billowed, rocks clattered, Fire leapt toward a dark hole, and from within, something stirred.  Moist air and the stink of things long hidden surged from the black crevice.

         Raven stood at the entrance for many fearful heartbeats.  He listened for beasts that growled or claws that rasped over stone.  He feared unknown things that stalked silently and left no prints, but a greater force than fear always drove him – curiosity compelled him.  He took a deep breath, held his torch forward and stepped between wet granite.

         The others waited near Fire's comfort.

         The narrow corridor's bottom was slick black clay that sloped down into darkness.  Fire seemed to fear, for only if Raven stepped forward would she advance.

         His feet slipped over the slick clay and he looked back along his path, where darkness followed and tightened its grip.  He cringed, for he feared darkness and knew it spawned fearsome beasts, silent, invisible things that sometimes rustled dry wings.  To him, darkness lived and breathed like a black-furred beast… waiting.  Below and beyond Fire's light, something whispered. 

         He stopped, held his breath and listened.  Water gurgled.  It would be black water, where death might swim.  His fingernails scraped along the wall, and over wet clay his foot slid forward, his weight went back and… he fell. 

         Fire hissed a wet dying breath as darkness engulfed him like a black hand.  As if something grasped him and pulled, he slid down over slick clay and deeper into darkness.  The slope increased and he plunged downward with a scream.  "Aaaa..." 

         His terrified voice echoed in the void.  His rigid fingers scraped through wet sand as cold water engulfed him and closed upon his head.  His feet found earth and he rose against the flow of black water.  Fear lifted his feet and tore them from the liquid grasp.  Rock smashed against his head and white sparks flashed. 

         He collapsed into a stupor, and did not move nor feel or hear water tug at his feet.

         As he wavered on the edge of consciousness, he thought the rocks or water called out to him.  "Raven," they echoed, "Raven…Raven."

         Fire burned a hole in the darkness and flowed across wet sand, and Old Man’s voice cut through the blackness, “Raven…Raven”          

         "Stay there!”  Raven shouted.  "Don't move."

         Raven's legs trembled as he felt along cold stone toward the shaft of light.  Fire blazed a bright trail for him to follow.  He crawled on hands and knees up the slick surface.

         Old Man held Fire high as he waited, and her flames flowed flat along the low ceiling.  They reddened his seamed face and cast a halo around his gray hair.



*  *  *

         Raven shivered in wet, crusted black clay.  He removed his soggy coat and wrapped himself in a thick bison robe.  Cloud propped his coat beside Fire and steam oozed from the fur.

         "What happened?”  Old Man asked as he listened to Raven's teeth chatter.

         "I fa-fell, lo-oost Fire," Raven stammered as he removed his wet boots.

         "What did you find?”  Cloud asked.

         "Water," Raven said, and grinned as he poured it from his boot.  "I could not see.  No light, but I felt water move.  Black water."

         Cloud's eyes rolled.  Black water held things unknown.  She moved closer to Fire.

         "I go back later with more Fire."

         Sleep came easily to Raven.  The bison robe held his body heat, and Fire sang to him and harmonized with his snores.  Dreams took him back into darkness, into the unknown.  Fangs gripped his shoulder and pulled him into black water.  It filled his nose and gushed down his throat.  The fangs tightened on his shoulder, and he bolted up in a cold sweat.

         Old Man shook him again.  "Raven.  Hunt."

         Sun beamed warm across the floor.  Fire crackled and Raven smelled snow.  Stone, Owl and Crooked Arm waited with their spears ready.

         Raven's bison coat and boots were dry and warm from Fire.  As he pulled them on, he glanced at the cryptic opening; it challenged him to defy darkness, to burn it away and reveal what lay hidden.

         "We go hunt," Stone said impatiently.

         Raven cast one last glance at the hole.  "Soon."  He said to himself.

         Old Man called after them as they left.  "We will have Fire hot to roast deer.” 

         Winter had vanquished autumn's last warm breath and the cold subdued even Whoosh.

         The men squinted against Sun’s glare.  The cold brought tears to their eyes and the moisture froze.  Snow squeaked beneath their feet.

         Raven's breath burned his lungs and froze upon his beard.  His eyelashes turned white as winter grasped every droplet of moisture and spun it into crystal.

         They plowed through snow that often buried them to their waists.  They did not enter the gully, for they would not be able to climb out where it ended near pine.  Raven led them where stubborn leaves still clung to the spread and lift of hornbeam branches.  Thin pointed limbs of dwarf birch tugged at their bison coats and whispered as they lost their grip.  He stumbled over snow-hidden rocks and kept his eyes moving for sign of meat.

         A high-pitched squeal, like a hysterical woman's laughter, cut the air from somewhere near the valley's distant border.  The men fell forward in the snow, and watched a group of horses near the distant trees paw through snow for frozen grass.  They had seen these elusive beasts before.

         Stone, Owl and Crooked Arm looked to Raven, and he met their eyes.

         "Meat fast," he said.

         "Maybe not fast in snow.”  Stone said.

         "Faster than man.  Faster than spear.  And good noses, good eyes, good ears."

         Stone, Owl and Crooked Arm watched the horses and waited, as if the sky or snow might give them a message.

         Raven did not wait for lightning to flash from the empty blue.  Meat fast.  Faster than spear.  They move away from us, like clouds before Whoosh.  When Whoosh stops, the clouds stop.  Maybe Whoosh will come and push meat.  No.  Whoosh sleeps, but we can push meat.  They run from us.  Where would we push them?  Maybe into the cave.  Raven imagined Old Man and Cloud's surprise as quick meat came thundering into the cave.  He chuckled.  We could kill quick meat easily.  They would be like man trapped in gully.          Amazed by the horses' energy and grace, Raven followed their movements.

         The stallion snorted and circled his mares with high nervous steps and nipped their flanks.  He nuzzled their ears in search of one receptive to his passion.  Clouds of vapor came from his nostrils, steam rose from his back, and his huge, stiffened pisser bobbed.  To his despair, a brown-spotted mare scorned his advances with hooves and a loud clap of teeth, but to his delight, a gray-dappled filly turned her rear to him.  She held her tail high, brazenly offered her scent, and pranced like a spring yearling.  The stallion whinnied and rubbed against her.  She braced herself as the stallion snorted and mounted.

         The hunters watched him satisfy his wild needs.  They knew the nature of his compelling urge.

         Stone thought of Beebee.

         The growl of Raven's stomach reminded him of his other hunger, and his pulse slowed.  His eyes once again became those of a hunter.

         A mare moved close to the gully and pawed for grass.  Snow and earth crumbled, and her hind legs sank deep.  Snow tumbled down the steep bank and the mare leapt forward and away. 

         Raven's eyes widened.  "Push meat," he whispered.  "Push meat to edge of gully where snow hides its side.  Push meat into gully where they cannot escape." 

         Comprehension appeared slowly in Stone's eyes.  Understanding came quicker to Crooked Arm. Owl patted his belly and grinned.

         "Whoosh moves easy, and our scent moves,” Raven said.  "And meat has good eyes, good ears.  We must get to trees and go far around.  When we come from trees, we go slow, see how meat moves, then creep closer.  Maybe they move to gully, then we move fast, yell, and make much noise."

         They labored through the snow and trees, well away from openings onto the valley and away from the horses' sharp eyes.  In the deep snow, they could not have outrun a three-legged horse.  Even a mouse could scurry faster than they could move.

         From its throne high above them, the eagle watched them stumble.  A snowshoe hare stopped chewing pine needles and watched them sink to their knees.  It twitched its pink nose as if amused.

         Cunning would have to be man's wings.

         Near the edge of trees, Raven raised his arms to signal that Owl, Stone and Crooked Arm should spread out.

         They dropped to the snow and crawled from the trees.

         Away from the forest, near the gully where snow-hidden grass rimmed its precarious edge, the horses sent snow flying in their search for frozen stems.

         The stallion stood as tranquil as an ancient mare with his legs slack, head drooped and eyes closed.  Only his ears moved.  He listened to his mares and to the silence.

         Raven pointed with a circling motion to Stone and Owl.  They were on the flank and should move forward.

         The hunters crawled and plowed through winter's down like mice through leaves.

         Not far above them, an eagle screamed.  The stallion jerked his head up.  The men froze.  They waited until the stallion nodded back into contented slumber.

         Its long lashes fluttered above its dark eyes, and the battle scar that ran down its neck warned against all intrusion.  Raven lurked near as a spear's cast.  He remembered how quickly meat moved; they could evade his spear with a toss of their heads.

         The stallion shifted his weight onto only three legs, and relaxed one leg, as he took a deep, contented breath and slowly exhaled a sigh.

         "Aheiii...!”  Raven burst from the snow, and thrashed his arms like willows in a storm.  His scream joined with those of Owl, Crooked Arm and Stone's ripped across the valley and echoed from the cliffs.

         The whirr of wings erupted from the forest as birds burst into flight.  The stallion squealed and earth trembled to the pound of hooves.  He stood on hind legs, leapt forward and spun away from danger as the two-legged, screaming beasts charged toward him.  He forgot his mares; escape was his only need.

         Raven yelled with all his breath until his throat burned.  He waved his arms, and did not slacken his pace.

         All the horses burst into flight like a covey of startled birds.  Hooves slashed through snow at the gully's edge and earth collapsed.  Terrified squeals pealed, and the ground trembled as an avalanche of hide and hair, hooves and legs, rolled through snow and down the gully's wall.

         Four mares and the stallion rose to their feet on the creek's bottom.  Their white-rimmed eyes rolled, and away they sped toward the cliff.  Other hooves sliced snow as more than half the herd leapt high over drifts and into the forest.

         For the stallion, only escape mattered.  His hooves churned snow and threw it in a cloud behind him.  Where snow-draped walls rose, he searched for an opening.  Panic sent him toward the cliff beyond the gully's sharp turn.  Clouds of vapor whistled from his nostrils.  He leapt up the gully's wall of snow, only to fall back and roll to his feet on the gully’s bottom.  He hesitated for only the fan of a lash.  Predators approached from above, and their stink filled his nostrils.  He snorted, rose on hind legs, pawed air, and his defiant scream ripped across the valley.

         Fever of the hunt beat in Raven's chest.  Like the stallion, he leapt wild-eyed through snow, and like the stallion, he screamed, "Ahiee!"

         Again, the stallion leapt upon the gully's snow wall and sank to his chest.

         Raven stood above.  A grimace exposed his teeth to hungry breath.  Beneath his ice-encrusted beard, his face glowed, his wide eyes glistened, and he yelled, “Quick Meat, you give blood and breathe so we can live."          He drew his spear back.  "Aha!"  He grunted in effort on indrawn breath, all his strength rode the spear as it flew, and through hide and hair, it tore.

         The stallion stiffened, his mouth opened and, like a hog under a mammoth's foot, he squealed.  His legs spread wide and he leapt as if Fire cut through his gut.  Flint and wood impaled his lungs.

         Raven felt the stallion's agony.  "Death, come quickly!”  He yelled as if flint also ripped his heart.

         Stone's spear said "Whoop" against warm flesh.  The stallion snorted, shuddered, and fell to his knees.  He struggled to rise from crimson snow, took a last, strangled breath…and was dead. 

The hunters dropped to the gully's bottom, onto the crunch of red snow.  They worked together to strip away the horse's skin.  Steam rose from red, gleaming flesh that winter touched and froze.  They hacked stiffened muscle into jagged pieces, while at the other end of the gully; four mares threw themselves against the snow wall in a futile attempt to escape.  Terrified, they screamed, and to clear their nostrils of blood's stench, they snorted.