The Land of Painted Caves

the singing.

She was happy at first with Her one counterpart.Then the Mother grew restless, unsure in Her heart.She loved Her fair friend, Her dear complement,But something was missing, Her love was unspent.She was the Mother. She needed another. She dared the great void, the chaos, the dark,To find the cold home of the life- giving spark.The whirlwind was fearsome, the darkness complete.Chaos was freezing, and reached for Her heat.The Mother was brave. The danger was grave. She drew from cold chaos the creative source,Then conceiving within, She fled with life force.She grew with the life that She carried inside.And gave of Herself with love and with pride.The Mother was bearing. Her life She was sharing. The dark empty void and the vast barren Earth,With anticipation, awaited the birth.Life drank from Her blood, it breathed from Her bones.It split Her skin open and sundered Her stones.The Mother was giving. Another was living. Her gushing birth waters filled rivers and seas,And flooded the land, giving rise to the trees.From each precious drop more grass and leaves grew,And lush verdant plants made all the Earth new.Her waters were flowing. New green was growing.

The First stopped at a place that felt like an ending to the impromptu chorus. Ayla stopped too, at the end of an extended melodious trill of a skylark, leaving Jonokol and the Watcher, who finished on a harmonising tone. Jondalar and Willamar slapped their hands on their thighs in appreciation.

'That was marvellous,' Jondalar said. 'Just beautiful.'

'Yes. That sounded quite good,' Willamar said. 'I'm sure the Mother appreciated it as much as we did.'

The Watcher led them through the small chamber, then down to another recess. From the entrance the head of a bear painted in red could be seen. As they crouched down to get through a low corridor, more of the bear came into sight, and then the head of a second one appeared out of the darkness. Once they were through and could stand, they could see the head of a third bear lightly sketched under the head of the first one. The shape of the wall was skilfully used to add depth to the first bear, and although the second bear seemed to be complete, it was a hollow in the place of the hindquarters that gave that impression. It was almost as though the bear were emerging from the spirit world through the wall.

'Those are definitely cave bears,' Ayla said. 'The shape of their forehead is so distinctive. It's like that from the time they are little.'

'Have you seen little cave bears?'

'Yes, occasionally. The people I grew up with had a special relationship with Cave Bears,' Ayla said.

When they stood at the back of the niche, they could see two ibex partially painted in red on the right wall. The horns and the backs of the animals were formed by the natural fissures in the rock wall.

They went back through the corridor and climbed back up to the level of the deer, then followed the left-hand wall until they reached a large open area. As they walked around the chamber, Jonokol looked into a niche that held an ancient concretion with a top in the shape of a small basin. He took his waterbag and poured a little water in it. They went back out the way they went in and finally reached the large opening that led to the bears' sleeping room. Not far from the entrance of the cave, on a big rock pillar that separated the two chambers, opposite the other paintings in the room full of chaotic rock formations, was a panel some twenty feet long by ten feet high that was covered in large red dots. There were other markings and signs, including the straight line with a cross bar near the top.

The Watcher led them through the opening into the bears' sleeping room again, following the left wall. She stopped just before an opening. 'There is much in here, but I wanted you to see certain things,' the Zelandoni said, looking directly at Ayla. 'First,' she said, holding up the torch she was carrying. There were some red marks on the wall that appeared to be random lines. Suddenly Ayla's mind filled in the gaps and she could see the head of a rhinoceros. She saw the forehead, the start of the two horns, a short line for its eye, the end of its muzzle with a line drawn for the mouth, and then the suggestion of its chest. It startled her in its simplicity, yet once she saw the animal, it was clear.

'It's a rhinoceros!' Ayla said.

'Yes, and you will not see any others inside this room,' the Watcher said.

The floor was hard stone, calcite, and the left wall was blocked by white-and-orange-coloured columns. Once past the columns, there were almost no concretions except for the ceiling, which held strange rounded stone shapes and reddish deposits. The floor was full of pieces of stone of every size that had fallen from the ceiling. A somewhat circular area was broken by the fall of a heavy fragment from above, which caused a tilt in the floor. Near the entrance, on a rock pendant was a small, rudimentary sketch in red of a mammoth.

Beyond that, high up on the wall was a small red bear. It was apparent that the artist had to climb up the wall to paint it. Below it, on a rock sticking out of the wall, were two mammoths that utilised the relief of rock wall, and beyond it on another protrusion was a strange sign. On the opposite wall was an extraordinary panel of red paintings, which included the forequarters of a well-made bear. The shape of the forehead and the way the head was carried identified it as a cave bear.

'Jonokol, doesn't this bear look very much like the red bear we just saw?' Ayla asked.

'Yes, it does. I suspect it was made by the same person,' he said.

'But I don't understand the rest of the painting. It's like two different animals joined together so that it seems to have two heads, one of them coming out of the chest of the bear, but then there's a lion in the middle, and another lion head in front of the bear. I don't understand this painting at all,' Ayla said.

'Perhaps it's not meant to be understood by anyone but the one who made it. The artist used a lot of imagination, and may have been trying to tell a story that is not known anymore. There are no Elder Legends or Histories that I know of to explain it,' the First said.

'I think we just have to appreciate the quality of the work,' the Watcher said, 'and let the Ancients keep their secrets.'

Ayla nodded agreement. She had seen enough caves now to know that it wasn't so much how the images looked when they were done as what the artists accomplished while they were making the art. Farther into the gallery, beyond the second lion head and a fault in the wall was a panel painted with black: the head of a lion, a big mammoth, and finally a figure painted high above the floor on a pendant hanging from the ceiling; it was a large red bear, its back outlined with black. The mystery was how the artist painted it. It was easily visible from the floor, but whoever made it had to climb over many high concretions to reach it.

'Did you notice that all the animals are going out of the room, except for the mammoth,' Jonokol said. 'It's as if they are coming into this world from the place of the spirit world.'

The Watcher stood just outside the room they had been in and started humming again, but this time it was similar to the melody of the music of the Mother's Song the way the First sang it. Every Cave of the Zelandonii sang or recited the Mother's Song. It told the story of their beginnings, of the origin of the people, and while they were all similar and told the same story, each Cave's version was not exactly the same. That was especially true if they sang it. The melodies of the songs were often quite different, sometimes depending on who did the singing. Because she had been endowed with such an extraordinary voice, the First had composed her own unique way of singing it.

As if on signal, the First picked up the next verse of the Mother's Song from where she left off. Both Jonokol and Ayla refrained from joining in, and just enjoyed listening.

In violent labour spewing fire and strife,She struggled in pain to give birth to new life.Her dried clotted blood turned to red-ochred soil,But the radiant child made it all worth the toil.The Mother's great joy. A bright shining boy. Mountains rose up spouting flames from their crests,She nurtured Her son from Her mountainous breasts.He suckled so hard, the sparks flew so high,The Mother's hot milk laid a path through the sky.His life had begun. She nourished Her son. He laughed and he played, and he grew big and bright.He lit up the darkness, the Mother's delight.She lavished Her love, he grew bright and strong,But soon he matured, not a child for long.Her son was near grown. His mind was his own. She took from the source for the life She'd begun.Now the cold empty void was enticing Her son.The Mother gave love, but the youth longed for more,For knowledge, excitement, to travel, explore.Chaos was Her foe. But Her son yearned to go. He stole from Her side as the Great Mother slept,While out of the dark swirling void chaos crept.With tempting inducements the darkness beguiled.Deceived by the whirlwind, chaos captured Her child.The dark took Her son. The young brilliant one. The Mother's bright child, at first overjoyed,Was soon overwhelmed by the bleak frigid void.Her unwary offspring, consumed with remorse,Could not escape the mysterious force.Chaos would not free. Her rash progeny. But just as the dark pulled him into the cold,The Mother woke up, reached out and caught hold.To help Her recover Her radiant son,The Mother appealed to the pale shining one.The Mother held tight. And kept him in sight.