Chapter 3

I had set the alarm for 7am so I could be sure to be gone before everyone else woke up. I peeled back the curtains to survey the weather. The rain had stopped, and it looked as though it would be a fair day; mostly dry at least, if not sunny.
After I'd showered, dressed, and gobbled down a hasty breakfast, I scribbled a quick note on the kitchen counter, saying I was going up to Lincoln to see my mum and I'd be back either this evening or Sunday morning. The second part was mostly true; I'd call in on Mum and maybe stay at hers tonight.
I glanced up at the sky anxiously as I stepped out the front door. No change; it was dull, but the clouds moved lightly. It didn't look like they were carrying rain. I climbed in the car and switched on the radio. The weather bulletin confirmed my own conjecture.
My palms felt sweaty as I gripped the steering wheel, and I had butterflies in my stomach, but as the familiar streets and neighbourhoods rolled by, I started to relax. I had decided to take it slowly and try to enjoy the drive, something which I would certainly have done prior to the accident. It now seemed unlikely that I would ever feel completely comfortable in a motor vehicle again, as a driver or passenger, but I was surprised by how natural it soon felt.
As I left the outskirts of Plymouth behind, I began to feel cautiously optimistic about my expedition. The day was turning fine, better than had been forecast, and the White Mountains scenery was breathtaking as I streaked past; pine slopes and deep valleys dappled in gold.
I drew into a stretch of dirt, verging off the main track, around 8.30am. I'd left my crutch at home. I'd been attempting to wean myself off it and had decided it wouldn't be much use anyway if the trail became particularly difficult.
The scent of rain and damp earth, rising from the muddy ground beneath my feet, hit me as I climbed out the car. I pulled an old Geological Survey map and Dad's compass out of my bag and spread the map out on the roof. My destination was already circled. It was due east of where I presently stood, probably no more than an hour's walk. I folded the map and put it back in my bag.
The weather bulletin had forecast rain later in the day, but the sun had already broken through the clouds, and patches of sunlight that filtered through the canopy above speckled the trail ahead of me.
The trees, for the most part, were spruce and pine, their endless trunks reaching up into the ether. Though the tree cover was thick, their great height prevented the air from becoming stifling. It moved freely between their slender trunks, separated entirely from the world outside. Walking that trail was like stepping into another world, a fairy palace with tree-trunk pillars holding up the high green ceiling.
Gradually, the ground began to slope upwards and the trees thinned out. Spruce and pine were replaced by birch, the tips of their leaves just beginning to turn yellow. I could see from the sun that it was moving on past mid-morning.
The gentle slope became steeper, and I was beginning to feel breathless. I stopped to check the map and take a sip of water. Though it wasn't particularly warm, the walk had made me hot, and I could feel my head throbbing with dehydration. I took a few more swigs of water and studied the map. It appeared I was still on track.
As I reached the top of the slope, the ground began to flatten. The forest undergrowth was becoming denser, and the trail more vague. I was entering the designated wilderness. I checked the compass and ploughed on as best I could, picking my way amongst the ferns.
My estimate of an hour's walk now seemed optimistic. The ground beneath me was treacherous, with holes and boulders hidden beneath the undergrowth. I zig-zagged my way along as best I could, reminding myself there wasn't much further to go now. On the other side of this slope, I should find the spot that Dad's coordinates indicated.
As I walked, I could hear the sound of falling water. I walked for about another quarter of an hour, the sound of the waterfall getting louder as I approached.
Quite suddenly, the tress ceased almost completely and opened out onto a clearing of tall, stalky grass and nothing else besides. The suddenness with which it appeared from thick tree-cover seemed almost intentional, as though it had been cleared by someone. It stopped sharply at the edge of a high precipice, below which the sound of the water originated.
Ahead and below me, I could see a mighty river, fed by a waterfall which cascaded down from a higher slope, above and to my left. I looked around. It had been impossible to tell whilst under the dense cover of the forest, but I had ascended and crossed the top of an enormous, flat-topped hill, which sloped down to a narrow valley.
With the precipice forming a dead-end, I veered to my right where a path wound down from the cliff top. I was now on the descent, heading down into the valley. The river, which the waterfall fed, cut straight across the bottom. High above the waterfall, the pine-covered peaks reared above me. I didn't need to go any further. Whatever Dad had wanted me to find was here, on this descent into the valley.
I looked around, not expecting to find any obvious landmark, the purpose of my trek out here, but at least a starting point. The hillside to my right, curving towards the higher slopes, was rockier and pock-marked with holes and crevices of various sizes. Nonetheless, it was the less vertiginous slope, so I decided to take my chances with the uneven ground.
In spite of the wilderness, it seemed there was sound all around me from the unseen birds and animals of the valley, the crash of the waterfall, and the swirl of the river over its rocky bed. At points, it was easiest to shuffle along on my bum, rather than risk my ankles on the broken ground. I inwardly cursed my decision to make this trip before my leg was fully healed.
Suddenly, the ground gave way to a lip of rock about two thirds of the way down the slope. I couldn't see what the ground was like below, so I shuffled round it and at once came upon the largest crevice in the hillside so far. It was more like a cave hollowed out of the hillside, the lip of rock screening it from view from above, and a large tooth of rock from the front. That rock stood like a sentinel guarding the entrance, so that the cave was only visible once it had, quite literally, been stumbled upon.
A prickle of excitement shot down my spine. Was this what Dad had wanted me to find? As I scrambled around the standing rock, I was disappointed to find that it wasn't a cave at all- it was barely a sliced-out portion of the hillside. It was no more than two metres deep, and I could barely stand up inside.
I pulled a torch out of my bag to take a closer look at the back of the hollow. The light hit the back of the rock and revealed it was barely more than a naturally-formed grotto. My heart sank, and it dawned on me that I had no idea what I was looking for, nor what I thought this trip might reveal. I suddenly felt like I'd been chasing a ghost which had just disappeared before my eyes.
'Oh, great,' I muttered. As if in answer to the gloomy mood which had stolen upon me, I felt the first spots of rain against my cheek. More fell in quick succession, and I could tell it was going to be a downpour. My mood was rapidly deteriorating from glum to pissed-off.
I untied my waterproof jacket from around my waist and pulled the hood of my sweatshirt over my head. It was no use trying to go any further, forwards or backwards, until the rain eased a bit. I turned the torch on the floor of the hollow to see if the ground was clear to sit on. The beam pooled on the dry, earthy floor and drew my attention to a crack in the back wall. I followed it up the wall with the torch beam.
It seemed my cursory check of this little hollow had missed a further crevice at the back, to the right and partially obscured by the right-hand wall, which jutted slightly forward. The crevice was narrower at the bottom but large enough towards the middle and top for an ordinary-sized person to fit through. Being of fairly slender build, I slipped through without too much difficulty.
The other side of the crevice opened out onto a larger space, more like a small cave with a higher ceiling and smoother walls. Despite being well within the interior of the hillside, I didn't feel claustrophobic. I turned the torch on the walls and ceiling to examine them further, and stared in awe at what I found.
It was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen in my life; like a perfectly arranged still life painting, each object in perfect harmony with the others. Across the entire cave, covering every available surface, had been painted or carved numerous butterflies or moths (I couldn't be sure which they were supposed to be), and at various intervals between, large intricate spirals.
I walked the perimeter of the cave, tracing the spiral reliefs with my fingers. The stone from which they were carved felt unnaturally smooth. The paintings glowed a creamy ivory colour in the torchlight, sfumato at the edges, as though they had not been painted but had simply emerged from the rock.
I wondered with what media they had been produced. It was certainly not modern paint; the colour was uneven and patchy, and its application thin, like a home-made paste. There was no visible trace of brush marks, though the images were broken in places by the uneven surface of the walls.
The entire cave, the canvas of some mysterious and unknown artist, had an ancient feel about it. Yet I couldn't believe its extraordinary secret could have remained undiscovered until now. Paintings across the world had been found in deeper and more inaccessible caves than this. I wondered why it hadn't been signposted, and why I'd never heard of the cave paintings of the White Mountains.
As I made my slow round of the cave, musing on these thoughts, I stumbled over something lying on the ground. I flicked the beam onto the floor. The skull of an animal- a sheep or goat by the look of it -with huge spiral horns lay innocuously on the floor, propped up against the middle of the far wall. But for the lack of any other objects in the cave, I would have assumed its presence there was accidental. I swept the beam across the floor, but there was not a single other bone, animal or human, to be found. With the exception of the skull, the cave was completely empty.
As the light skimmed across the walls, something caught my eye. I flicked the beam back and drew a breath. Four deep cuts scarred the rock along the lower portion of the wall, all the way to the back of the cave, and viciously defaced the images beneath. I would have guessed they had been deliberately carved in as part of the design, but it was clear from the sweep of the cuts that something with claws had set them upon the cave wall, shredding the images beneath to ribbons.
Earth from the dusty floor had been kicked up onto the wall and smeared across the delicate images; only the depressions left by the wounded rock showed through and seemed to glow ominously in the half-light. The wounds left behind resembled claw marks left on tree bark by bears or mountain lions. I shuddered to think of what animal could have made those marks in solid rock. Whatever had produced them, it had the look of a sudden, rage-induced attack.
My initial wonder and excitement was now giving way to a growing uneasiness. The cave now seemed to take on the feel of a secret temple, and my presence there a violation of something ancient and sacred, or, judging by the scene I now looked upon, an unwanted witness to something sinister. The musty air was beginning to stick in my throat and lungs. I hurried back through the crevice and stepped back into daylight.

Author's Note

Full book available on Smashwords, Amazon Kindle and Kobo