Stone Age Rampage

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“I’m trying!” said Tom.

Suddenly he felt hands grasping his ankles. With a firm pull, Dad dragged Tom out from under the tent. Dr Sullivan’s face was as stern as one of Tlaloc’s thunderclouds.

“Oops,” said Tom lamely.

“Thomas Sullivan,” said Dad, shaking his head. “What on earth are you playing at? Now we’ll have to put that tent up all over again!”

Tom was about to explain that it wasn’t his fault, but then he stopped. How could he blame it on an invisible Aztec slave girl and her dog? His dad would think he’d gone crazy!

“Sorry, Dad,” he muttered.

Sheepishly, he helped his dad put the tent back up, and by then it was getting dark. As his dad prepared a camp fire, Tom went inside his tent to unroll his sleeping bag. Zuma carefully crawled in after him.

“Sorry about before,” she said. “Chilli’s such a clumsy thing at times. You’re not going to make us sleep outside with the jaguars, are you?”

Before Tom could answer, he felt a drop of water splash against his nose. It had started raining – inside the tent! Suddenly there was another figure crouching beside them. It was Tlaloc, the Aztec rain god.

His big blue body filled the cramped tent, his feathery headdress squashed against the ceiling.

“It’s time for your next quest!” he roared. “And this one will be the most difficult yet! You cannot hope to succeed – you can only hope to stay alive …”

“If this is your idea of a pep talk, it isn’t a very good one,” said Zuma.

With a snarl, Tlaloc raised his arms and the rain suddenly stopped. Then a magical glittering mist filled the tent, whisking them away through the tunnels of time into the unknown.

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The magical mist cleared and Tom found himself standing at the top of a mountain overlooking a valley. The air was pure and fresh, unlike anything Tom had ever breathed before. There wasn’t a person or a building or a road anywhere to be seen.

“Great view!” said Zuma. “But where are we?”

Tom looked at the bulky fur cloak draped over Zuma’s shoulders. Whenever Tlaloc sent them tumbling through time, their clothes changed to match the style of the period they were visiting. Tom was dressed in a similar cloak to Zuma. Both of them were wearing leggings made from animal hide, and furry boots stuffed with grass.

“We’re definitely a long way from home,” Tom said. “I think further than we’ve ever been before.” He pointed to the black pendant hanging around her neck. “Ask your necklace and see if it can help us.”

Zuma’s magical pendant gave them clues to where Tlaloc had hidden each golden coin. Taking hold of the necklace, Zuma chanted the familiar question:

“Mirror, mirror, on a chain,

Can you help us? Please explain!

We are lost and must be told

How to find the coins of gold.”

A riddle appeared on the surface of the black pendant:

Step back to the dawn of time;

To find the coin follow the rhyme.

Two men of stone – one large, one small,

You’ll find a clue upon the wall.

Go down a path of bubbling blue;

When in doubt, to the right stay true;

Keep on past where the deer roam;

The brightest fire will lead you home.

“What does ‘the dawn of time’ mean?” Zuma asked, as the silvery words vanished into the depths of the pendant.

“If our clothes are anything to go by, I’d say we’re in the prehistoric era,” said Tom.

“Prehis-whatty?” laughed Zuma. “That’s not a word! You’re making it up.”

“I’m not!” said Tom.

“What does it mean then?”

“It’s a very old period in time,” Tom explained, remembering what his dad had told him. “Way before the Ancient Romans, Greeks and Egyptians. Way before people could even read or write.”

“Hmm.” Zuma frowned. “So … no computer games?”

“Not really, no,” said Tom.

A sudden gust of wind whipped across the mountaintop. Tom shivered, and pulled his cloak tightly around him. “Let’s get down from here,” he suggested. “It’ll be warmer in the valley.”

“Lead the way,” said Zuma.

They began to pick their way down the jagged slope, careful not to slip on the loose rocks. Chilli darted ahead of them, sniffing and snuffling at the ground. The air was still cool and crisp but walking helped warm Tom up. As they carried on down the mountain, Zuma looked at her boots admiringly.

“These shoes don’t look like much,” she said. “But they’re pretty comfortable. These prehis-whatty people couldn’t have been that stupid.”

“I didn’t say they were stupid,” said Tom. “I just said they hadn’t learned to read or write yet.”

“How about talking? Could they talk like us?”

“No one really knows,” replied Tom. “Their words probably sounded a lot different to ours – like a lot of huffs and grunts.”

“Sounds like my old master,” Zuma told him. “He used to huff and grunt all the time, especially when I burned his breakfast.”

Thanks to Tlaloc’s magic, whenever Tom and Zuma travelled back in time they could understand whatever language the people there spoke. Even if people around here huffed and grunted, Tom would be able to understand them. He was still worried, though. This empty world felt strange and different. Whenever Tom saw prehistoric people on the TV, they were brutish cavemen who bashed people on the head with clubs and dragged them away by their hair. Had anyone even invented fire yet? Tlaloc hadn’t been joking when he’d said that this would be Tom and Zuma’s toughest challenge yet.

As they came down the mountain, the ground began to level out and a line of trees appeared along a ridge. Chilli barked with delight and scooted down towards the nearest tree. The dog’s nose twitched excitedly as he sniffed around the gnarled roots.

“Looks like Chilli’s caught a scent of something,” said Tom.

“Maybe it’s Tlaloc’s coin,” Zuma said hopefully.

“I don’t think you can smell gold.”

“You don’t know Chilli,” Zuma told him. “He can sniff out anything.”

They followed the Chihuahua over to the large tree. The little dog had stopped sniffing the roots and was now looking up into the leafy branches.

“You see?” Zuma said. “The coin must be in those branches. All we have to do is climb up and get it.”

Tom peered into the shadowy tree. Something moved in the branches – but it wasn’t a coin.

“Look out!” he cried.

The next moment a net dropped down from the tree, knocking Tom and Zuma off their feet and pinning them to the ground!

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Tom and Zuma squirmed beneath the net, the prickly ropes scratching at their skin. Chilli had been caught in the net too, and was trying to gnaw his way free. But he was just as stuck as they were.

“It’s no use,” groaned Zuma. “We’re trapped!”

Two shadowy figures dropped down from the tree’s upper branches, landing on either side of the net. Tom cried out in surprise. He tried to stand up, but the more he thrashed about, the more tangled up he got. The figures leaned in closer, peering at their catch through the gaps in the net. One was a grown man, the other a young boy.

A real livecaveman, thought Tom. And a caveboy!

Like Tom and Zuma, their captors were wrapped in bulky fur cloaks over hide leggings. They wore furry brown hats made from some kind of animal skin, and carried rucksacks made from a hairy pelt. But it wasn’t their clothes that made the breath catch in Tom’s throat – it was their weapons. The man was carrying a bow and a quiver filled with arrows, as well as a copper axe. The boy had pulled a sharp dagger from his belt, and was pointing it threateningly at Tom and Zuma.

As they tried to wriggle free, Chilli had managed to gnaw a hole in the net big enough for his little body. Squeezing through the gap, he charged at the hunters, yapping furiously. To Tom’s horror, the man drew the axe from his belt and swung it at Chilli. The Chihuahua darted out of the way, missing the blade by inches.

“No!” screamed Zuma. “Don’t hurt him!”

The man jumped. “Goat talks?” he gasped, blinking in astonishment.

“Who are you calling a goat?” Zuma said indignantly.

The boy made a grumbling noise that Tom realised was a chuckle. “She’s not a goat, Blood-Father,” he said. “She’s a girl.” The boy stuck his knife back into his belt. Lifting up the net, he helped Tom and Zuma out. “Sorry,” he said. “We thought you were food.”

Tom and Zuma scrambled clear of the net, relieved to be free from the prickly ropes. The older hunter put away his axe. He was still scowling. “What tribe you belong?” he asked curtly.

Tom scratched his head, not sure how to answer. “My tribe isn’t from around here. We’ve come from very far away.”

“From beyond the mountains?” the hunter asked suspiciously.

“Way beyond them,” said Zuma. At her feet Chilli was still glaring at the hunter, giving him a warning growl. Zuma picked up the Chihuahua and gave him a hug.