Chris Blake - Stone Age Rampage

“It’s called going on holiday,” Tom explained. “It’s something people do when they want to relax and have a good time.”

“We can have a good time at your house,” Zuma pointed out. “You’ve got that big television thingy and your computer games. And we can play tennis – I’m getting good at that.”

“This is different,” Tom explained. “It’s called camping. We’re going to spend a few days sleeping outdoors and exploring the woods.”

Zuma frowned. “Why sleep outside when you’ve got a lovely bed?”

“Because it’s fun!” replied Tom. “Don’t you like roughing it?”

“I was a slave,” Zuma reminded him, with a roll of her eyes. “I spent my whole life roughing it – sleeping on hard floors without even a blanket to keep me warm, waking up stiff and freezing cold. I’d much rather relax somewhere comfortable.”

Dad came back with two shopping bags and put them in the back seat, right on Zuma’s lap. “The campsite’s just around the next bend!” he announced.

“Brilliant!” cried Tom.

“Great,” grumbled Zuma.

Minutes later they were unloading the car and carrying their rucksacks and tents to a clearing beside a crystal blue lake. Chilli scurried around, barking happily, while Zuma sat on a rock, dangling her feet in the water. The shiny black pendant she wore around her neck glinted in the sun.

Tom and his dad worked together to put up the tents – a large one for Dr Sullivan and a smaller one for Tom. When Dad went back to the car to fetch the sleeping bags, Zuma came and climbed inside Tom’s tent.

“This looks a bit flimsy,” she said, with a frown. “How’s it going to protect us from the dangers of the forest? What happens if a giant snake tries to slither inside in the middle of the night? Or a ferocious jaguar attacks us?”

Tom laughed. “There aren’t any ferocious jaguars in England,” he said.

“Maybe,” said Zuma. “But we can’t be too careful. Let’s go back to your house where it’s warm and comfortable and—”

At that moment, Chilli came racing into the tent and crashed into Zuma, who fell backwards against one of the tent poles.

“Watch out!” cried Tom.

Too late. The pole went flying out of the ground, and the tent collapsed in a heap on top of them.

“Help!” cried Zuma, flailing around. “Get me out of here!”

“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.

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.”