by Terry Deary
Contents
Willow
Bull
Bison
Flint
Cavern
Paint
Deer
The True Story
You Try
Terry Deary’s Stone Age Tales
1
Willow
17,300 years ago; Lascaux in France
They called the weak boy Willow. The strong boys were given strong names: Oak and Rock, Bull and Bone. But willow trees bent in the wind and drooped by the river. Willow limped after the hunters with his twisted leg but was never fast enough to be there at the kill.
The chief of the tribe was Flint, when Willow was young. Flint’s hair was grey as the stone in the caves where they made their home. ‘They say he’s thirty-five winters old,’ Willow’s mother whispered to him one morning. ‘They say he’ll soon be dead.’
Willow nodded. ‘Who’ll be chief then?’ he asked.
The woman shook her ragged head of hair as she fastened a cloak of rabbit skins round Willow’s neck. ‘The best hunter, I suppose.’
A fire flickered on the floor of the cave. Bones from last night’s meal lay near it. Suddenly, two great hounds bounded into their hut and snapped at the leg-bone of a deer.
A man hurried in after them. ‘Don’t let the dogs eat, Rainbow,’ he grumbled at Willow’s mother. ‘I want them hungry for the hunt.’
The man snatched at the bone but the dog, swift and grey as a rain-cloud, fled through the door and into the daylight outside.
‘Sorry, Flint,’ Rainbow moaned. ‘I should have buried them.’
The man’s anger slipped away and he sighed. ‘Never mind,’ he said with a small smile. ‘Perhaps we’ll make another kill today and we’ll all eat well come darkness. Dogs and men.’
Willow picked up a wooden spear with a stone tip that he’d rubbed as sharp as one of Rainbow’s bone-needles. ‘I’m ready,’ he said, eager and bright-eyed.
Flint lowered himself onto the warm deer skins on the floor. He was slow and stiff and Willow thought he heard the old man’s bones creak.
‘You could stay at home with the women,’ he said. ‘There are skins in the main cave. They need to be sewn together to make warm clothes for winter. You could help.’
Willow’s mouth fell open. He swallowed tears. ‘I’m a man... nearly,’ he said. ‘I want to hunt. Don’t make me stay with the women.’
Flint nodded at Willow’s twisted leg. ‘You can’t keep up, boy. You’ve tried. You know you can’t.’
Willow’s face burned red. ‘I can carry the meat back to the caves,’ he argued. ‘Don’t make me stay behind.’
Flint shrugged. ‘I’m not much faster myself,’ he sighed. ‘There was a time when I could run alongside a horse and bring it down. No one else in the tribe could do that.’
‘I wish I’d seen that,’ Rainbow said with a sigh. ‘But now you make plans. You are wise. You find the tracks and tell the hunters where to hide. Now you let the others do the running, Flint.’
The old man nodded and struggled to his feet. Willow stretched out a hand to help him. ‘Come along, boy,’ Flint said. ‘We’ll limp along at the back together, eh?’
Willow grinned. ‘A deer or a horse or a bull will die today,’ he said.
The old man and the boy shuffled up the slope towards the mouth of the cave. One of them would not walk back.
2
Bull
The women were scraping the flesh off skins and sewing them into clothes with sharp, bone needles. The young hunters were excited; pushing and wrestling and having mock fights to keep warm.
The boy called Bull was just one winter older than Willow, but had grown much larger. He was shouting to the other young men to keep quiet and sit on the ground.
When they had settled he spoke in a voice as deep as any man’s. ‘Today we hunt in the valley of the lilies. There are bison grazing there.’
‘They will run away as soon as they see us,’ old Flint said. ‘We can’t run fast as a bison.’
Bull threw back his head and laughed. ‘You can’t run as fast as a worm, old man,’ he said with a sneer. ‘But we aren’t all as slow as you.’
Flint pulled a stone knife from his belt and pointed it at the boy. ‘I am your chief. I will send you away from the tribe and let you starve in the forests.’
Bull’s heavy face turned red with anger. He half-raised the hunting spear he was carrying. Everyone in the tribe fell silent. They waited.
‘Maybe you won’t be chief much longer. Maybe the spirit in the sky will take you soon,’ Bull said.
The chief spoke quietly. ‘Maybe she will. But, until that day, you will obey me.’ He looked around the hunters. ‘Now who is going to tell me the plan for today?’
‘We were going to run down the valley and kill a bison,’ a young man called River said. ‘Maybe one of the old bison will be too stiff to run so fast.’
‘If it’s as old as me then it will be too tough to eat,’ the chief said and gave a harsh laugh. The hunters smiled. All except Bull.
Willow stepped forward. ‘The valley of the lilies is narrow with steep sides,’ he said. ‘If some of us make a noise with sticks and drums the bison will run. If the rest of us are at the far end of the valley then the bison will run straight onto our spears.’
‘It might work,’ Owl said.
Bull stepped forward. ‘I will lead the hunters at the far end of the valley. I will make the kill,’ he said in his booming voice. He pointed to ten hunters to go with him.
‘We’ll go to the far end of the valley now. When we are ready then River will give the howl of a wolf. That will be the signal for you to start your beating and driving the herd.’
Bull led ten others off at a run. They would circle around the hill and lay the trap.
Willow looked across to his mother, Rainbow. She nodded at him. ‘You are clever, lad. Just like your mother.’
Flint placed an arm round the boy’s shoulder. ‘One day he will make a fine chief of the tribe... when I have gone to the spirit in the sky.’ He looked at the women and girls who remained in the camp. ‘Remember that. When I am gone, then Willow should be your chief.’
No one argued. Flint shuffled down the dusty track and Willow went to pick up one of the drums. Some of the tribe would not want him as chief, he knew. There would be one who would fight him for it. And he knew he would lose.
Willow sighed and limped off after Flint.
3
Bison
Willow and Flint walked through the dying ferns and grass. The spirit of winter was marching across the land. There would be four moons of hunger for the tribe. They held deer-skin drums in their hands and waited for the howl from River that would tell them the hunters were ready at the far end of the narrow valley.
A family of three bison were chewing on a patch of grass and drinking from the small stream. Willow shivered. ‘Are you scared, boy?’ Flint asked. He crouched down and spoke quietly so the bison wouldn’t hear them.
‘No, I’m not scared. Some evil spirit just made me shiver. Something bad will happen today,’ Willow replied.
The old chief nodded. ‘Your father died two summers ago. We grew up together.’
Willow nodded.
‘Your father, Moss, was our painter. He went into a great, secret cavern and painted what we see when we hunt: the bison, the horses, the deer and the hunters. It kept the good spirits happy.’
‘It brought us luck,’ Willow said quietly.
‘Since we’ve had no painter, our luck has run away from us. There are more evil spirits in the air – the ones you felt just now. The hunting was poor last summer. The hunters are hungry and getting angry. That’s why a young, hot-blooded boy like Bull can stir
up so much trouble for me,’ Flint explained.
‘But we will make a kill today,’ Willow said, looking at the peaceful, grazing animals.
Flint gave a tired sigh. ‘That is a cow with twin calves,’ he said, soft as the stirring grass. ‘A bull can charge if it’s angry but he usually likes to run away. A bull is stupid.’
Willow gave a small smile when he thought of the other Bull – the young hunter.
Flint went on, ‘A cow with calves wants to protect them. She is more dangerous than a starving bear.’
The cow seemed peaceful enough but Willow frowned. ‘So will our hunters be in danger? Was my plan foolish?’
The chief blew out his creased, grey cheeks. ‘So long as they stay hidden till the last moment,’ he whispered. ‘She will be at full speed, trying to watch her little ones. The dogs will be trying to grab her legs. She won’t even see the hunters till the first spears strike her.’
‘Will our friends stay hidden, the way you say?’ the boy asked. ‘I didn’t tell them that.’
‘That was my job,’ Flint said. ‘Let’s hope our friends do what’s right.’
At that moment the howl of a wolf echoed up the valley. ‘That’s River’s signal,’ the chief said. He rose stiffly to his feet.
The bison cow looked round in fear and gave a snort to call her calves to her side. She looked down the valley and heard the cry of a wolf. She looked up the valley and saw two humans beating drums.
Her small brain said it would be easier to use her sharp horns on a wolf, rather than two humans.
The bison began to trot down the valley between steep cliff walls, away from Willow and Flint. But before she’d gone a hundred paces another human stepped into the path, screaming and shaking a spear.
‘It’s Bull,’ Willow groaned. ‘He came out too soon. She’ll kill him.’
But the cow saw Bull’s spear and ten other hunters stumbling up the path to help him. There were too many for her to fight.
She turned and pushed her calves back the way they had come. She headed back towards an easier target... an old man with a stone knife and a limping boy with a spear. The cow put her head down so the spikes of her huge, curving horns pointed at them.
She began to charge.
4
Flint
Willow had faced charging animals before but he had always stood as one of a line of hunters. Their spears made a wall of spikes like bristles on a wild boar’s snout. This time he stood alone except for his chief, who was armed only with a stone knife.
Willow dropped his drum and held the spear in front of him with the tip pointing upwards. He saw Bull and the hunters freeze and watch and wait for him to be crushed.
The ground trembled a little under the hooves of the cow, heavy as a boulder. Her fierce eyes were fixed on him. She was ten paces away when those eyes turned away.
Flint had stepped up to Willow’s right shoulder and waved his knife at the beast.
She turned her massive head and headed towards the chief instead. In a few heartbeats she was onto them.
As her head struck the old man, Willow thrust the spear at it. The beast stumbled and fell and the spear was snatched out of Willow’s hand.
Old Flint lay on the ground, bleeding and broken. The calves raced on into the woods and safety as the hunters ran up the valley towards their dying chief.
Bull was first to reach the place where Flint lay moaning softly. He stuck his spear into the cow and then raised the point above his head.
‘I killed it,’ he cried. ‘Hurry,’ he called to the running hunters. ‘We need to get back to the village quickly.’
‘Be careful,’ Willow cried. ‘He’s badly hurt.’
‘Oh, never mind old Flint,’ the boy sneered. ‘He’s finished. We’ll have a new chief before darkness falls tonight. We need to get the cow back and start butchering it. We’ll feast for a week on this and smoke some flesh to get us through the winter.’
The hunters helped Bull drag the dead animal back up the valley to the village. Flint’s face was white with pain. ‘You saved me,’ Willow said.
‘I am ready to join the spirits,’ the old man said. ‘But you must be the next chief of the tribe. They need someone with your cleverness.’
‘Let me help you back to the camp. My mother is good at curing broken bones. She healed my leg when the boulder crushed it years ago.’
Flint’s brown eyes stared up towards the high clouds in the pale sky. The sun slipped out from behind one and lit up the valley, but Flint said, ‘It’s growing dark, boy. Get back to the village. Tell them I have gone to join all our fathers. Tell them you must be the chief.’
‘I can’t leave you here for the wolves,’ Willow cried.
But Flint didn’t reply.
Willow turned and limped back to where the cheering, excited tribe members were taking their flint knives to the cow. Every part of the kill would be used – the flesh, the sinews, the bones and the skin.
Everyone from the youngest child to the oldest man and woman found a job to do – everyone except Bull, who strutted around and laughed. ‘My kill! Remember I get the first and finest flesh when it’s roasted.’
Willow spoke quietly so only Bull could hear. ‘Flint is dead.’
Bull shrugged. ‘He had his time.’
‘You killed him,’ Willow said. ‘You should have waited. The cow charged us because you didn’t do what Flint told you to do.’
Bull’s eyes went narrow. ‘Flint died because he was too slow and old to get out of the way.’
‘He said he wanted me to be the next chief.’
Bull leaned forward and poked the boy with the shaft of his spear. ‘You are wrong, weak, little Willow. I heard him say he wanted me to be chief. The other hunters heard him.’
‘They can’t have done,’ Willow said softly.
Bull gave another shrug and spoke just as quietly. ‘They will say they did if I tell them to. And you, Willow, will join Flint and the spirits if you argue.’
Willow looked at the spear pointed at his heart. ‘If you say so, Bull.’
5
Cavern
Fat dripped onto the ashes of the fire where the meat hung over it. The ashes sizzled and flared, and then died to a red glow. The fire kept the wolves in the shadows away.
Bull stepped forward into the light and spoke in his booming voice. ‘We need a new chief. You have all feasted on the beast I killed. I should be your chief.’
‘You’re young,’ Owl said and a few of the tribe nodded and muttered to one another. ‘Young.’
‘I am young but I am the best hunter. The best leader.’
‘Maybe you should fight to be leader, the way the stags do,’ River argued.
For a moment Bull’s eyes flickered in fear. He gave a small laugh. ‘No, River. You see, good old Flint wanted me to be leader.’
‘He told me last week that Willow would make a good leader when he grows a little older,’ Owl said.
‘Ah, that was before Willow got him hurt. It was Willow’s mad plan to send all the hunters away down the valley and then face the bison alone. It was never going to work. Flint knew that. As he lay dying he saw that. He told me I should take his place as chief.’
River said, ‘No one else heard him say that.’
Bull gave a smile. ‘Willow heard him, didn’t you, Willow? You heard Flint speak the name of the next chief before he died, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, I heard him name the new chief, but...’
‘See?’ Bull cried. ‘Old Flint named the chief before he went to join the spirits of our fathers. All those who want me for your leader say aye.’
The tribe was well fed and sleepy now. ‘Aye,’ they murmured. ‘Aye.’
Bull threw his spear into the ground and clapped his hands. ‘You chose well,’ he laughed. ‘And my first act, as your new chief, is to rid this tribe of the weak. The feeble ones who eat but don’t hunt to earn their food. Weak boys like Willow with his crushed leg.’
>
Willow’s mother, Rainbow, struggled to her feet. ‘He only has a crushed leg because you rolled a boulder onto it three summers ago.’
Bull ignored her and pointed at Willow. ‘I won’t kill you. Not yet. But if you are still here when the sun rises tomorrow then I shall. Get out.’
Willow turned and left the circle of red light. Foxes barked in the wood, wolves howled and somewhere a bear growled. Without his spear he would not last the night.
Suddenly he felt Rainbow’s warm arm around him. ‘Come with me, son,’ she said.
The woman took a piece of animal skin and wrapped some berries and nuts in it along with a piece of the fresh, warm meat. She gathered another leather bag from the corner of her cave and pushed it into Willow’s hands. Then she picked up a small lamp that was carved from stone, gathered some of the animal fat from the fireside and lit the lamp.
‘Where are we going?’ Willow asked.
‘To safety... to where you belong,’ his mother told him.
Creatures rustled in the ferns as they walked by the edge of the forest and came to a low hill. Rainbow pulled away some branches that were piled in front of a cave and led the way.
The floor of the cave sloped down and, in the warm, dry air, there was not a sound. Rainbow raised the lamp towards the roof of the cave and Willow gasped at the sights he saw. ‘What is this place?’ he whispered.
‘It’s the cavern of the spirits,’ his mother replied.
Willow shivered.
6
Paint
The oil lamp flickered with a smoky yellow light. It lit the walls and roof of the long cave. The walls were covered with paintings. There were horses, cows, bison and deer, as well as hunters. The red, yellow and black shapes seemed to move as the lamp sputtered and the flame wavered.
