The Dream Cave Read online

  GREENWATER 16,500 B.C.

  Juniper dragged himself painfully across the scrubby grass. When he could no longer crawl he lay down. Sweat trickled from his body and his broken leg ached. It was icy, much colder than in the valley. In his confusion he felt for a while he was living in the Great Icetime: snow beyond snow, ice beyond ice, no distance because sky and earth merged in never-ending grey and white. They said mists hung over the land and when Sungod travelled through the mist he shone like a yellow snowflake.

  He shook himself. Far off he could see a few dwarf willows, still in leaf. He grit his teeth and leaned up on one elbow, peering through the grey early mist. A little way off he saw his deerskins heaped on the ground. It was then he remembered he was in exile, and his tribe wanted him to die. All except Oak. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he thought of his friend. If only Oak was with him.

  He rubbed away his tears. At least his father had obeyed the law and left him his own deer hides. With these he might survive while his leg mended. He listened to the partridges in the birch trees further down the mountain. Soon Sungod would be up and he remembered what old Hornbeam had said to him when he was very small; it was as if the old wise man was beside him, whispering in his ear:

  ‘If your father exiles you for making marks you must follow Sungod along the unknown river. You must find your other family.’

  Juniper sighed. Maybe if he survived, these words would guide him.

  He moved painfully, dragging himself towards his deer skins. His bad leg was already stiffening. At last he lay down on one of the hides and spread the other over himself. He could go no further. He shut his eyes.

  Now his whole life seemed to crowd in on him and soon Sleepgod came to show him many things that had happened when he was small. Maybe Sleep was the greatest god of all, since he held everything in his hands.

  Chapter 1

  THE RIVER

  Little Juniper drew a fish in the mud. The picture in his head slid easily through his hand and into the stick. His drawing looked as real as the fish he had caught the day before. He was so happy, when his little sister asked him to play stones he didn’t ignore her as he so often did. Instead he collected some pebbles from the riverside and threw them up in the air, catching them time and time again.

  Lily clapped her hands.

  ‘Juniper, show me how you catch so well.’

  It was true, he had no trouble, whereas Lily let pebbles slip through her small fingers like water.

  ‘Keep your eye on them. Like this,’ he told her.

  He followed the pebble into the air and down into his brown fingers, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Hornbeam watching him from the tree trunk. He stopped to smile, glad to see how softly the wise man was looking at him. Hornbeam’s eyes were deep brown like his own, and seemed to reflect the earth. His lightstone was hanging by a plaited grass cord round his neck. Sometimes when it flashed, as it did now, Hornbeam spoke seriously.

  ‘Come here.’

  Juniper let the pebbles slide out of his fingers and ran across to the tree trunk. When Hornbeam held out his hands he took hold of them. They felt light and dry as the skin of a dead leaf.

  Hornbeam spoke in a whisper:

  ‘I was watching you make marks with a stick.’

  ‘It was a fish,’ said Juniper quickly, feeling warm as if the sun was inside him. Hornbeam tightened his hold.

  ‘You must never let others see your marks.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘You know the stories as well as I.’

  Hornbeam glanced towards Juniper’s fish.

  ‘You know Birch is afraid these marks will offend Icegoddess and she’ll return forever to kill Sungod. And yet you go on doing it. Do you think you’ll escape punishment because you’re his son?’

  ‘Of course not! I don’t know why I do it. I can’t help it.’

  ‘Then there’s no hope. You must understand what I’m saying.’

  Juniper nodded and pictured in his head what it might be like if Icegoddess returned.

  No earth, no hills, no river. Ice and snow everywhere, mountains, plains white as Icegoddess. Spring, summer, autumn lost, only great winds driving through pale valleys and mountains. Hornbeam had often told them stories about the whitetime that never ended until their tribe stayed by the river and obeyed the laws. Above all, no-one must make marks—marks had power to bring back Icegoddess and chain up Greenwater forever.

  Juniper shook his hands free and sighed.

  ‘But my marks make me feel as if Sungod is inside me.’

  Tears came into Hornbeam’s eyes and glinted like his lightstone.

  ‘When you’re a little older I’ll help you to understand. Your father has pictures in his head that frighten him. One day I’ll tell you of the time when—’ but he wouldn’t say more. Instead he whispered urgently in Juniper’s ear, ‘I tell you again. You’re Birch’s elected son. One day he’ll want you to lead the family as he leads it. If you disobey him he’ll punish you because of his pain.’

  Juniper was still defiant. ‘What pain?’

  To his surprise Hornbeam laughed briefly.

  ‘I like to hear a boy turn answers into questions. Off you go then and play with your sister. There’s nothing more I can say.’

  Juniper looked back at Lily who was still playing with the pebbles. She was stamping her feet and shaking her fair hair. As he moved off Hornbeam spoke loudly, almost angrily.

  ‘When you’ve grown and won your deerskins, then you’ll understand. Here.’

  The old man put his hands over his chest in the gesture that meant he spoke the truth.

  But Juniper was already looking round at the shelter where they put up their skin homes, at the forest where men were away hunting and the grasslands where women and children were gathering seeds. His gaze moved to the river where he caught fish. Greenwater was the sweetest thing of all. It never stopped running and calling and keeping alive the fish he learned to catch with his hands. He wasn’t afraid, like all the others. The river would protect him and wash away the marks.

  Chapter 2

  PUNISHMENTS

  When winter was at hand the river grew big like Juniper’s mother who was cradling a baby in her belly.

  Windgod blew loudly over the earth and branches were wrenched from the trees. The men picked them up to make fire and left behind the damp twigs that wouldn’t burn.

  There was a corner of the river bank where no-one went because it gave way to a forbidden cave. Juniper wandered there alone and picked up all sorts of twigs. He still wasn’t afraid, even though he remembered what Hornbeam had said. Surely there was nothing wrong in picking up a few sticks and making marks? How could Ice Goddess ever see him? She was nowhere in sight. He felt so certain of himself when his father asked him what he had done he threw all caution to the winds:

  ‘I’ve found lots of green twigs that make patterns in the mud . . .’

  His mother looked on aghast while his father ran down to the quiet bank of the river. For a long time Birch stared at the patterns Juniper had drawn in the mud. He was too angry to speak, his eyes darkened and shone at the same time. Suddenly he picked up the green twigs and beat Juniper until his son collapsed at his feet.

  ‘You stay here. You stay here until you obey me.’

  Birch threw all the sticks in the river where they floated slowly away. He scuffed the mud until there was no sign of what Juniper had done. Then he turned his back on his son and walked angrily back to the camp.

  Juniper didn’t know how long he sat with his head in his arms. Night came and he would have been overwhelmed with fear if an old fox hadn’t come down to the water’s edge and sat with him for a while. No one else came near him, not even his mother. At last Sungod came back and walked above the hills. But his arms were no longer warm and Juniper shivered. He felt hot and cold at the same time. He caught fish and ate them raw and when darkness returned he curled up in a hole he found further along the bank. He felt confused,
overpowered by his longing to go back to the warm crowded cave. How could he get back to the camp? How could he please his father again? He had no answer.

  But then, early the next morning, he caught a marvellous fish, the biggest he had ever seen. It had silver brown skin and eyes that shone like Hornbeam’s lightstone. With great care Juniper carried the fish back to his father and asked to be forgiven.

  For a long time Birch sat in silence and stared at the fish. It wasn’t until Sungod walked across the hill and shone in his eyes that he moved. That was the sign he had been waiting for. He took the fish from Juniper and nodded. Then everyone crowded round and Juniper began to cry. He hoped he would never be alone again.

  After that he caught a fish everyday and brought it back to Birch. But he didn’t tell his father what he was feeling. He would never do that again. Nor would he ever tell him about the pictures he kept inside his head.

  He was back with his family but he was still being punished. The other children were told to stay away from him. Even Oak, who was born at the same time and felt like his brother, kept his distance. Sometimes Lily sidled up to him and whispered in his ear. But she worried Juniper, she was becoming so pale and thin. Perhaps it was his fault. Perhaps he should keep away from her as well.

  Only the river was his true friend. She slithered and arched and rolled and dipped and sometimes flattened out over the earth

  like an animal who was trying to hide.

  ‘Like me,’ thought Juniper.

  Then when Spring came and all the grass and trees and leaves were unfolding, he felt defiant as if he wanted to stretch out like the earth. Hardly aware of what he was doing, he went back to the secret bank and began to make little mud animals and pack them into a hollow tree where they would never be found. But this time Oak followed him and surprised him as he turned round.

  ‘You must be mad,’ whispered Oak, running his hands through his reddish fair hair. ‘You’ll get caught again.’

  Juniper stared defiantly at his friend. He was tall and thickset and looked bold, but he was always afraid.

  ‘I am mad,’ said Juniper, ‘I can’t help it.’

  To his surprise Oak told no one. From now on he kept close by and comforted him when Lily fell ill and didn’t come out of the cave again. Juniper needed Oak for now his mother hardly spoke to him. Then she also became sick and pale and spent all day with her new baby, Gentian. Perhaps she had no strength for anything else.

  There were times when Oak was helping his own mother and was forced to stay away for a long time. Then Juniper wandered off on his own and once more became careless.

  He no longer covered his marks with twigs and leaves or caught a big fish everyday to please his father. What was the use? His mother and father would never like him again.

  One day he made a little clay Gentian and flung it in the river and watched it sink. It was her fault his mother had become so pale and feeble and never spoke to him. He scrawled angrily in the mud and was so taken up with his thoughts he heard and smelt nothing. It was only when Birch’s shadow ran up the wet earth that he threw down his stick and tried to scuff away the marks with his foot. It was too late.

  His father’s silence was worse than angry words or a beating. Birch pushed him backwards with his big hands and kicked out the marks with his broad feet. Then he dragged Juniper by the hair to the shelter, where his mother lay, pale and sick, stretched out on the flat rock that was only used for people who were struck down by illness.

  Birch forced his son to kneel down.

  ‘It’s your fault. Her sickness is your fault. Your marks are killing her.’

  ‘I don’t mean to—’

  Juniper thought his father would forget their law and kill him. Instead he held him by the hair and kicked him nearer his mother.

  She lay as still as a log under her deerskin. The baby was beside her, crying helplessly. Juniper squatted down and peered sadly into her face. He could tell by her expression she had already caught a glimpse of Stonegod. Yet her eyes were open, and a little light was there as if she was trying to tell him something. His father spoke quietly and angrily:

  ‘See what your marks have done. They’ve called Stonegod to your mother’s side. Now only you can ask him to go away, a wicked, wicked child who has not yet won his manhood!’

  Birch covered his eyes with his hands. After a long silence he spoke again.

  ‘Why do you go on making marks when you know they change everything—and lead us to—’ but even his anger would not allow him to speak the word of darkness.

  Juniper stopped listening. His head was filled with the little light in his mother’s eyes. It gave him strength and a belief he could do something. When Birch commanded him to go he went confidently outside to the sacred place where Stonegod had been standing forever.

  Not far from the shelter there was a huge rock by the river where Stonegod lived. His nose was immense and his eyes hollow and sightless because they looked not on the river but on the land of stone. A cloak of stone covered his arms and legs and one of his feet jutted out of the rock.

  Juniper touched Stonegod’s foot with his forehead.

  He knelt down for a long time, picturing the light in his mother’s eyes and mouthing the same words over and over again:

  ‘Make my mother well, make my mother well!’

  When he opened his eyes it was dark but the air glowed with reflections from the fire where the others were sitting, his father and all the family. He knew they were picturing his mother as she was before she fell ill, as they had done when Lily was dying and there no longer seemed to be any hope. Then their silent pictures had not been answered.

  He must try harder than ever. He knew that he must save his mother if he was to save himself.

  Chapter 3

  HORNBEAM BREAKS THE SILENCE

  When he had finished praying to Stonegod, Juniper followed Birch past the circle of his family into the dark shadows of the cave. The only light was from a candle that had been placed in a stone holder beside his mother. Next to it was the birdstick that could summon Birdgod to brush his mother with healing feathers. Juniper shrank back. Perhaps they had brought out Birdstick to fight his own badness. He shivered and yet his long prayer had given him strength, a sense of something greater than himself. He vowed that if Birdgod came he would worship him forever.

  He squatted down beside his mother and looked at her for a long time. Then he prayed to Birdgod and when he opened his eyes the black sky had turned grey at the entrance of the shelter and the candle had burned down. He needed to sleep but he willed himself to take one last look at his mother. To his surprise she opened her eyes and nodded at him. Then he knew that while he was praying Birdgod must have come and brushed her with his healing feathers. He was so happy and relieved he began to gently stroke the baby’s head and his mother smiled.

  But Birch was unforgiving and stopped Juniper from going down to the river on his own. He allowed no one to speak to him and made his son work every day, fetching and carrying water in hollow stones for the old crinkled ones or anyone else who was sick and confined to the shelter. He forbade Oak to speak to his friend.

  A blackness came over Juniper. He no longer looked out for birds or hares or even the fox who still came down to the river, his fur grown white like snow. The crinkled ones looked at him as Birch had ordered, without a smile or a word. Only his mother had changed. Now she was better, she smiled and stroked him gratefully whenever she could. He thought later if it had not been for her he might have died. But it was Hornbeam who, a long time afterwards, pushed the blackness out of his head.

  It was Spring. Birch was hunting bison with the men. The women and children were gathering seeds. Hornbeam shuffled slowly out of the cave and met Juniper walking up from the river, carrying water in a lopsided hollow cup. The old man held his lightstone in one fragile hand and ordered the boy to help him sit down on the tree trunk.

  ‘Sungod’s overhead,’ he said with a smile. Juni
per silently put down the hollow stone and helped Hornbeam to the tree trunk. Then he sat on the ground and looked blankly up into the old man’s face.

  Hornbeam took his hand.

  ‘Juniper, I must talk to you although it’s forbidden. You no longer laugh or cry. You’re like the river in winter or earth when it is hard as flint. Your eyes are blank like Stonegod’s.’

  At these words Juniper felt something in his heart move, as if a warm hand was touching him for the first time in many days. He felt sunlight come back into his body and for a moment forgot the long silence in which he had lived.

  ‘Listen to me!’

  Hornbeam turned and pointed to the land beyond the camp.

  ‘Behind the forest and the exile ground there are places where other families shelter. It’s only Birch’s rule that keeps us by Greenwater, always alone and unchanging. I’ll remind you why.’ He paused. ‘A long time ago, in the time of my great grandmother, the Salvi tribe travelled here.

  They were following the deer and exploring their river. They wanted to know if it went on forever. They would have wandered on but when they reached Greenwater, Icegoddess came down and didn’t go away. It seemed as if winter would never end. There was great hardship. Neither the Salvi nor we Trevi knew how to live without spring and all it brings.’

  Hornbeam’s lowered his voice and looked intently into Juniper’s eyes: ‘That was when—’ he hesitated to utter the word of darkness, ‘MURDAM began. Men against men.’

  He was silent for a while and when he spoke again his voice was sad.

  ‘They fought each other over food and shelter. Then one night something terrible happened. Kora, the greatest Trevi hunter of all, threw his spear into the air and wounded Moongoddess. She shrank in the sky until she disappeared altogether. It was essential to bring her back so Kora vowed he would never fight again. The rest of the Trevi made the same vow and the Salvi promised to go back to their own caves and the secret painting that kept them strong. They should never have left their homeland, they said.’