Tarrapaldi

by Wayne T Mathews

  Leaning the gun against the tree, Billy lifted his arms and threw back his head. “Thank you for the gift, Baiame. We shall use it well.”

  Moving silently, the brothers went down the path Harrington and Claire had come up.

  They both stopped just short of the bird, studying the ground.

  “They were here when it happened,” Billy said. “You can see Dennis did everything he could to help.”

  Andrew nodded. “He’s a good man. What we’re about to do, will also avenge what was done to his woman and child.”

  Billy nodded, then knelt down and began skinning the big, flightless bird. Silent tears dripped from his chin while he worked.

  With the skin removed, Billy sliced fillets from the breast, placed them on the skin, and then wrapped it into a bundle he put under his arm.

  Walking back up the path, the brothers took more notice of how hard Harrington and his mare had tried, and the risks they’d taken during their dash to the murder scene.

  Muchuka took the fillets and prepared a meal while the men cut the skin into the shapes they wanted. Using a modern needle and thread Billy took from his saddlebag, they then stitched together the feather shoes they intended to wear for as long as it took.

  MacLaughlin duck dived and swam through the tunnel. The rolled up blanket draped across the back of his neck and over his shoulders gave him no trouble.

  In the cave, he laid the blanket out on the floor. Working by the flickering light of the fire, he chose the nuggets he wanted, and placed them on the blanket, occasionally drawing the corners together to check the weight.

  When the weight was comfortable for him to carry, MacLaughlin tied the four corners together, and draped the loops around his neck so the nuggets hung down in front of him.

  Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the pool. The weight of the nuggets around his neck instantly dragged him down. Startled, but not scared, he swam into the tunnel. It took him awhile to realize he wasn’t going as fast as he had before. He had no understanding of how a sea anchor works. It never occurred to him to jettison the one he had around his neck.

  He wasn’t even halfway through when his lungs began to hurt. He pressed on gamely. When his chest began to spasm, he began to panic. Reaching for the blanket, trying to lift it off, he wrapped it tighter around his neck. He was still struggling desperately with the cloth, when he blew out the used air in his lungs, and filled them with water.

  Caruthers had never been naked under the Australian sun, before. The shoulder Claire had destroyed wasn’t bleeding anymore. But the flies were having a feast on the scabs. The wound hadn’t been cleaned, and the edges were turning an angry red. The pain and discomfort distracted him while he paced beside the pool, continually looking for the first sign of MacLaughlin returning.

  When the sun sank behind the rock, and the light began to fail, Caruthers realized he was in trouble. His wound was throbbing. The flies were still driving him to distraction. And for some reason, his skin felt as though it was too tight for his body. He began to feel itchy all over. Particularly on his chest.

  With considerable difficulty, he managed to get his right hand onto his chest and scratch. But it hurt, and only made his skin itch more.

  Trying to get relief from the throbbing pain, the crawling flies, and the terrible itch, Caruthers staggered to the water’s edge. He lowered himself into the water. Sobbing in agony, he leaned back, resting his head on a rock, the water covering his body and lapping under his chin. The flies that had been feasting on his scabs, swarmed above the water and began settling on his face, crawling over each other, to get at the salty tears that streamed from his eyes.

  At the going down of the sun, four horse riders entered the valley through the western-most pass. Traveling at a steady canter, they rode along the bottom of the southern cliffs.

  In the failing light, Tunggaree reined in, swung down, and handed his reins to Muchuka. Billy and Andrew did the same. After a nod from the old man, they loped along behind him, up a faint path that led to a cave they didn’t see until they stepped through some dense scrub, and stood at its mouth.

  Entering the cave, Tunggaree went to one side, and using a flint and steel, he lit a small fire. Taking up three brush torches from a pile beside a stack of firewood, he lit one, and led the way through a tunnel, into the cave’s interior.

  Billy and Andrew followed without speaking. When the tunnel opened into a large room, Billy lit another torch. By the flickering light, the brothers undressed, folded their clothes, and placed them carefully between the neatly stacked artifacts that lined the walls. Moving carefully, they went to a stockpile of weapons, and selected a spear throwing woomera, five spears, and a boomerang each.

  Tunggaree selected three bark bowls from against the wall. Adding water from a water bag he’d brought, he turned the clay in the bowls, into paste. Using his fingers, he painted a skeleton design onto each of the Pike’s bodies.

  Billy’s design in black, Andrew’s in red, and the design he painted on himself, in a yellow that was almost golden. After Tunggaree had painted both the Pike’s faces, Billy dipped his fingers in the yellow clay and, using the design on Andrew’s face as a model, he painted Tunggaree’s face.

  After the painting was done, Tunggaree went to another part of the cave and selected a gayandi, what the Goobahs called a bullroarer, and a didgeridoo. The gayandi he wrapped carefully in the skin of a koala. The didgeridoo he simply placed with his spears.

  Returning to the fire at the front of the cave, they replaced the torch they hadn’t used, and added the ones they were using to the fire, causing it to flare, giving off a stronger light while the three men knelt, and laced on the feather covered shoes.

  It was dark when the three men returned to the horses. Muchuka kept her eyes averted when she handed them their reins and accepted the didgeridoo her father passed her. She then led what looked like four horsemen, into the night.

  Macquarie looked up from his desk, a smile spreading over his face. “Come in, Dennis, come in. You look tired, m’boy.”

  Harrington closed the door behind him. “I’m bloody tired, Sir. We’ve just got back with 180 horses for the army, and I thought you’d like to know, so I’ve come straight from the stockyards to here,” Harrington said.

  Macquarie raised an eyebrow. “180 horses? That’s good. Did the rest of the business go as well?” Macquarie waved him to a seat, walked to a cupboard and began pouring wine into two small glasses.

  “About as well as could be expected.” Harrington slumped into the chair the Governor had waved him to. “We’ve agreed to a land distribution, subject to your approval of course, that we’re all happy with. There’s more than enough horses out there, to be able to supply at least 20 per month. And he’s got the start of a crew to handle the work. So the reasons for giving him a pardon are in place.”

  “However?” Macquarie handed him a glass. “You have the look of a man who’s about to say, but there’s a problem.”

  “Thank you.” Harrington accepted the wine. “There’s always a problem when we’re dealing with gold, isn’t there?”

  Macquarie nodded, sipped his wine, and waited.

  “Caruthers was out in the field trying to find Johnson and Tarrapaldi,” Harrington said, “that’s her name by the way, the Aboriginal woman he’s teamed up with. Anyway, due to pure dumb luck, Caruthers and MacLaughlin saw Johnson and his people putting gold in a cart. They know about the gold.”

  “And?” Macquarie sat totally still, waiting.

  “And the last time I saw them.” Harrington shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “They were on foot in the middle of the valley, unarmed and naked.”

  Macquarie leaned forward in his seat, looked into his wineglass, and then lifted his eyes to Harrington. “But still alive?”

  “Yes, Sir. They were still alive.”

  “D
ammit! That’s very untidy, Dennis. And bloody risky.”

  “I know. But there wasn’t anything I could do at the time. There were seven witnesses. As an aside though. Johnson, who came down with me and is, at this moment, at Claire’s home with Tarrapaldi. Johnson thinks we’ll never see them, Caruthers and MacLaughlin that is, again.”

  “And what, pray tell me, does our runaway convict friend, base that assumption on?”

  “Caruthers and MacLaughlin murdered Billy Pike’s little brother, Richard,” Harrington said. “Billy and another brother, Andrew, have gone off to bury Richard. When they get there, they’ll see that Richard was stabbed in the back. And Johnson believes they’ll do away with Caruthers and MacLaughlin.”

  “Who, is Billy Pike?” Macquarie asked.

  Harrington explained what he knew about Billy’s past.

  “Surely you jest,” Macquarie rose from his chair and strode across to look out the darkened window, before turning to look at Harrington. “You’re telling me we’ve got a white-man out there who’s gone native, with his half-caste brother, and they’re going to hunt down, and kill, one of my Officers and an NCO?” Macquarie said.

  “At this point, Sir,” Harrington said. “It seems very likely that that is what’s going to happen. You have to understand, Sir. I know Billy Pike. He’s a very capable bushman.”

  “Dennis,” Macquarie said, making a visible effort to control his temper. “I don’t care how good a bushman he is. We can’t have blacks, and or the friends and relatives of blacks, going around killing our Officers and NCOs. John McIntire deserved exactly what he got, when Pemulwuy speared him, back in ’90,” Macquarie said. “But it caused a war that went on for twelve bloody years, for God’s sake. Dozens of whites and hundreds, maybe even thousands, of blacks died because of it.”

  “That was a long time ago, Sir,” Harrington said. “The whole affair’s been swept under the rug.”

  “And more’s the pity,” Macquarie said. “But the people who run this colony should never forget it. You said Johnson and his woman are at Claire’s home?”

  Harrington nodded.

  “Bring them here first thing tomorrow.” Macquarie stood, looking out at the darkness again. “We’ll get the paperwork done, to keep them quiet. Then you can get back out to that valley, just as fast as your fancy little mare will carry you, and make damn sure there’s nothing linking the blacks, to Caruthers and MacLaughlin’s disappearance.”

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Caruthers woke when the sun’s first pink rays began to tinge the sky. Attempting to use his arms to lift himself, he groaned in agony. Looking down, he was stunned to see his skin was a dark pink. His body was covered in blisters. Some of which had burst, leaking clear fluid that was already attracting flies. His shoulder felt as though someone was prodding it with a blunt stick. And when he looked, he saw the wound was edged an angry red color, and beginning to seep puss.

  Holding his left arm with his damaged right, he sat up, crossed his legs, and through waves of nausea, rocked forward onto his knees. Staggering, he rose to his feet, and stumbled into the water he’d had so much trouble leaving the night before.

  Caruthers lowered himself into the water, gulping mouthfuls.

  Without warning a roaring sounded.

  Softly at first, little more than a whisper, it built up and then died down. After a second or so, it came again, building louder this time, then dropping to nothing. Again it came louder, more urgent, beating the sound into his brain before disappearing. Continually now, the roar pounded his senses in pulsing waves.

  Caruthers staggered back to his feet. He stared around wide eyed, trying to locate the source of the noise that was being accompanied now, by a continual moaning.

  On the edge of the clearing, he saw the skeletons. Two of them. One black with a white body, the other red with a brown body. They were holding spears in one hand and a woomera in the other.

  When the skeletons saw him looking at them, they clicked their woomeras against the spears twice, and each lifted a foot, high, before stamping it down. Slowly, methodically, they came toward him, clicking their woomeras and spears, while lifting their feather-covered feet high, and stamping them down.

  Caruthers screamed and turned. Holding his left arm against his side with his damaged right, he ran.

  After a hundred yards, Caruthers slowed and looked back. The roaring was still pulsing at him over the continual moaning. But the two skeletons had gone. Vanished.

  Sobbing, Caruthers stumbled on. When he realized he couldn’t hear the roaring noise any more, he stopped, his chest heaving, and looked back.

  Three skeletons were behind him now. A golden one with a dark brown body stood between the other two. The golden skeleton carried no weapons.

  When Caruthers looked back at them, the golden skeleton held up his right hand, showing Caruthers a large nugget. It made an offering gesture and beckoned with its left hand.

  “No,” Caruthers cried, tears streaming down his face, his head drooping. “Why are you doing this to me? I don’t want it. Oh, God, help me, please.”

  When he lifted his head and looked again, the skeletons were gone.

  Out of sight behind a large bush, Tunggaree turned to Billy and Andrew. “Enough. He’s been punished for the pain he’s caused. Any more would have us being as cruel as he is.”

  Billy notched a spear into his woomera. “You’re right. I hate him with a passion. But it’s making me sick seeing him suffer like that. It’s time to finish it.”

  Tunggaree stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Not with a spear, Billy. The Goobahs will not tolerate one of theirs being put down with a spear. You and Andrew watch him. I’ll go to Baiame and ask for assistance.”

  Leaving the brothers to watch Caruthers from their concealed position, Tunggaree soundlessly moved away, his feather shoes leaving spoor on the ground that only the best trackers would recognize. Under a rock outcrop, he placed the nugget on the ground and sat cross-legged, his hands on his knees, willing his spirit to leave his body in search of the answer to Caruthers’ manner of death.

  Caruthers lifted his face toward the sky. “Thank you, Lord,” he said. Turning, he staggered over to an old log and sat down to rest. Relieved of his anxiety, and believing his God had forgiven him, he leaned back against a branch, and closed his eyes.

  A new, crawling sensation on his hand, caused him to snap his eyes open and look down. One and a half inches long, the black, furry spider hesitated while crossing the back of Caruthers hand when it felt him tense. Then it sank its fangs into his flesh while Caruthers leapt to his feet screaming. Swinging his arm by twisting his body, Caruthers smashed the back of his hand into the branch.

  Crushed, the spider fell to the ground twitching.

  Caruthers fell to his knees sobbing. With his damaged right arm, he tried to lift his left hand to his mouth to suck out the venom. But he didn’t have the strength.

  His lips growing numb, he fell forward writhing, vomiting, and trying to escape the terrible pain in his abdomen.

  Muchuka, with her spears and woomera in her hands, joined Billy and Andrew while they watched Caruthers die.

  There was no compassion in the young people’s eyes. Caruthers’ convulsions stopped, and they stepped out from behind the bush.

  Andrew saw the funnel web spider first. It was still twitching on the ground. Out of compassion for the spider, he raised his feather-covered foot to put the spider out of its misery. The blunt end of Muchuka’s spear held him back.

  “Where’s my father?”

  “He went to ask for Baiame’s assistance,” Billy said.

  Muchuka whirled and raced back to the bush they’d been hiding behind. Casting around, looking at the ground from different angles, she finally found the marks her father had left.

  Moving slowly, and with great care, she tracked
the feather foot signs, signs that Billy and Andrew could not see, to the rock outcrop Tunggaree was under.

  His body had been twisted and broken.

  Muchuka dropped to her knees. With tears streaming from her eyes, she cradled her father’s head in her lap. “Father, please, don’t do this.”

  Tunggaree’s eyes opened and he looked at his daughter with a sad smile. “Don’t weep, my child. My time is near.”

  “No! We need you here with us. Tarrapaldi and my children need to learn from the greatest Koradji there is. Please. You can heal this if you choose to.”

  “It’s not that easy, Muchuka. It’s taking everything I have, to control the pain. To heal this, I’d need help from Tarrapaldi and Nathaniel. And they’re too far away,” Tunggaree said. “It’d take them too long to get here.”

  Muchuka gently shook Tunggaree’s head when he started to close his eyes. “No, don’t go. What about the children? Who’ll train the children?”

  Tunggaree’s eyes flickered open. “Tarrapaldi will teach them.”

  “She can’t teach them.” Desperation edged Muchuka’s voice. “She’s a woman. She doesn’t know what to teach them.”

  Tunggaree chuckled and went into a fit of coughing. Blood trickled from his mouth. “Some of the greatest Koradjies have been women. Your mother was one of them. But because the know-nothings won’t have it, the women have to keep it secret. While ever Tarrapaldi lives, Nathaniel Johnson will be a great Koradji. Trust me. And when you need to ask questions about the training of your children, ask Tarrapaldi. She may not answer a man’s questions, other than Nathaniel’s, but she’ll answer yours.”

  Muchuka wiped the blood from her father’s mouth.

  “There’s one more thing, Muchuka. Sing Tarrapaldi. Tell her MacLaughlin drowned in the tunnel while trying to steal gold. I bumped into him when I went in to get the nugget I needed this morning,” Tunggaree said. “And tell her Caruthers died from the bite of a funnel web spider. Nathaniel will need to know that when dealing with the Governor.”