by Karen Wood
I can’t.
There was a tiny sound, a bleating, not far off. A goat or a lamb? He spun around, and again caught a glimpse of red disappearing behind some low shrubs. His heart sank as he realised it must be a foal. It was small too, and probably wouldn’t survive without its mother. Dingoes would get it.
He pulled his T-shirt off and bunched it up. With his other hand he flicked open his knife. He hesitated for just a moment longer, then approached the mare.
I have to.
He ran the last couple of steps and threw himself on her neck, holding her down with his knee while he threw the T-shirt over her eyes. She struggled wildly and the barbed wire around her head slashed across Luke’s hand. He tried to ignore the pain. Once he had her eyes covered and sat on her neck, she lay quiet, but her breath still blew in terrified snorts from her nostrils.
She struggled only briefly when he cut the jugular, but the sound was terrible, gurgling and choking. Had he cut something wrong? – the windpipe? ‘Oh God, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,’ he sobbed.
As her struggles slowed, Luke brought his shoulder up to his face and wiped away the sweat and tears.
He looked around for the foal and spotted the flick of its tail fifty metres or so away. Its pale orange coat blended perfectly into the landscape, making it hard to believe that the brumbies didn’t really belong there, that they were a feral pest that people trapped and killed.
The foal trotted a few steps and stopped again, nickering anxiously.
‘Yeah, sucks big time, doesn’t it,’ he said to it. ‘Same thing happened to me.’
He got up and wiped his hands across the back of his jeans without thinking, then looked down and saw his bloodsoaked shirt over the face of the mare. He stooped down and picked it up. His jeans were also soaked in blood. It was everywhere – gallons of the stuff, oozing over the ground like warm syrup. The flies were all over it. He looked at the lifeless lump, still coiled in wire, and curled his lip. What a lousy thing to do to an animal.
‘Now who’s gonna look after you?’ he said to the foal, which still paced about on the perimeters, nickering.
He walked to the hand-sawn gate and pulled at it. He kicked at it and twisted it until it lay in a mangled heap. Not that he needed to; the sight and smell of the dead mare would be enough to deter any other horses.
Luke heard the foal nickering again, and turned to see it trotting into the distance. He felt a wave of sadness as he watched it disappear, alone, into the harsh ragged country. ‘I thought you were just a dream, Rusty.’
Bob recoiled in disgust when he saw Luke and realised what was making the flies stick to him.
‘I need water,’ was all Luke could whisper, pushing past him and heading for the river.
‘What’s all that blood on you?’ Tyson demanded, grabbing Luke by the arm and swinging him around to face him.
‘It’s from a horse,’ Luke explained as the three men crowded around.
Tyson seemed to relax a little, but Tex’s face went as still as stone and he began to back away, speaking in his own tongue, with words like dirty yarramin and purri purri.
‘I found a horse stuck in a wire trap,’ Luke said. ‘I had to cut its throat.’
‘Let the boy go,’ said Bob to Tyson. ‘He needs a drink.’
Tyson relaxed his grip and Luke staggered to the river. He threw himself into the water fully clothed and drank big gulps of water. He scrubbed at his arms and his hands, washing the blood off.
‘Are there any crocs around here?’ he asked Bob, who squatted on the riverbank watching him with a concerned look on his face. There had been big floods up this way last season and he’d heard stories about saltwater crocodiles being washed upriver onto the stations.
Bob shrugged. ‘Freshies, maybe.’
Luke looked at the blood, staining the water around him.
I eat asparagus – nothing can kill me . . .
Tyson came along with his fishing line. ‘Hey, Luke, get back over near those tree roots and burley up a barra for me,’ he laughed.
Luke peeled his clothes off and chucked them on the bank. ‘Swap ya,’ he called back, and dived under the water. He ran his hands over his head and rubbed his legs, getting every last trace of the blood off.
When he pulled himself out of the river, Bob threw him an old pair of shorts. Tyson already had his jeans tied to the roots of a big old paperbark tree, floating over the top of the water. ‘Gunna get me a biggun,’ sang Tyson, casting out.
‘That’s if you don’t scare them all away first,’ hissed Bob.
Luke grabbed his boots and began scrubbing at them. He thought of the small red foal, bleating for its mother.
I used to do that. Never brings ’em back.
He went over to the fire to get some food. Tex immediately walked away.
Purri purri.
‘He reckons I’m cursed,’ said Luke.
Bob raised his eyebrows. ‘If you’da seen yourself a minute ago, you’d probably reckon the same thing!’
‘It had its whole front end wrapped in barbed wire. What was I s’posed to do?’
‘There’s a gun in the back of the ute,’ said Bob.
‘Oh.’
Tex walked back out from the shrubs and passed Luke a box of dry crackers. ‘You ever sleep at night, boy?’
‘Not much,’ said Luke.
Tex spent a moment fiddling about in his tackle box. He rigged up a new handline and then cast it out. ‘You should go for a walk with Tyson today. Do you good,’ he said finally. ‘You need to learn some stuff. Learn with your hands and your body and your mind. Not just with talk.’
It sounded more interesting than fishing.
‘Okay,’ said Luke. ‘Where to?’
‘Tyson’s a big owl, a teacher; he’ll show you some things, show you what you can do in safety, without trespassing on stuff that you don’t have any right to see or hear or talk about.’
Luke looked at Tyson, who was gently playing his line out.
Tyson looked up at him. ‘What? Now?’
‘Uh huh,’ said Luke, nodding. He heard Tex chuckle.
A look came over Tyson’s face as if he was adjusting his thoughts and reprogramming his day. He shrugged. ‘Right.’ He dropped his handline and leapt up off the ground in one swift movement. ‘Let’s go then, furry boy!’
12
LUKE RAN TO catch up with Tyson, who was setting a fast pace. ‘Why did you call me a furry boy?’
‘That’ll come,’ said Tyson in a voice that told him to be patient. He walked with his hands in his pockets. ‘Now, tell me more about these horses, Luke. What’s going on with you and these horses?’
Luke talked. The words came tumbling out as he told Tyson about the photos of his parents, about the horse-gentling program and what Harry had taught him, about Legs, his favourite colt, and about the calmness horses gave him. He talked of Jess and her filly, the min min lights and how they disappeared into the belly of the mare.
Tyson stopped walking and looked him dead in the eye. ‘Okay, Luke, so you’re not just pony club here.’
‘I’ve never been to pony club,’ said Luke.
‘Not just stockman, either,’ Tyson continued. ‘The way you have with these horses. You’ve got dream there, you and this Jess girl. You’re stepping into things you got no idea about.’
‘Dream? Why, because of the min min lights?’ Luke put his hands in the air, totally confused. ‘Why don’t you like horses?’
Tyson screwed up his face. ‘It just sounds like purri purri to me.’
‘You think I’m cursed too?’ Luke would have laughed if Tyson hadn’t looked so deadly serious. He screwed up his nose. ‘They’re just horses!’
Tyson shook his head. ‘You haven’t got a clue, have you? You got that big horse dream kicking around inside you, and you got no idea what to do with it. You don’t know who you are or where you’re from.’
‘You’re right, I don’t,’ Luke said flatly.
&n
bsp; ‘That dream you got inside you, that could be your old ones, trying to claim you.’
‘Old ones?’
‘Yeah, like your ancestors.’
‘I’m not Aboriginal,’ said Luke. ‘I don’t have ancestors in the land who look after me.’
‘You don’t need to be Aboriginal. If you can find that connection with the land, you can link back to your own ancestors, find your own way. Way back in iron-age Britain, there were tribes of horsemen. They were warriors, Luke. They had red hair, just like you, and they fought the Romans. Their totem was horse and wolf.’
‘My hair’s not red.’
Tyson rolled his eyes. ‘What, is it strawberry-blonde, then? You a pretty boy or something?’
‘It’s just brown . . . kinda reddish-brown.’
‘Chestnut, like a horse, whatever,’ said Tyson. ‘Come, walk with me, I’ll show you some things.’
Luke folded his arms across his chest and stood his ground.
‘What?’ asked Tyson.
‘We’re not going to find British ancestors in Australia.’
‘Maybe we won’t. Maybe we will. Maybe we’ll find a connection that runs right through to the navel of the world at Uluru, and from there to England.’
Luke unfolded his arms and followed Tyson reluctantly. Iron-age warriors. This ought to be good.
‘Now, this thing I’m showing you, it’s not sorcery – none of that dirty stuff. This is just how people connect.’ Tyson gestured for Luke to come up beside him. ‘Look how you’re walking! Do you even know where you’re putting your feet?’
Luke looked down at his feet, as he picked his way over the rough ground. They were lily-white and stinging from all the sticks and brambles and stones.
Tyson stopped again. ‘Put your feet on the ground.’ He put his hands on Luke’s shoulders and repositioned him. ‘You have four places in your body that hold power,’ he explained, ‘and your feet are one of them. You gotta get those shoes off and feel that dirt.’
‘They are off.’
‘Then plant your feet, really plant them.’
Luke wriggled his toes. The ground felt hot and dry and uneven.
‘Now, clap your hands a few times.’
Luke gave a few half-hearted claps, not sure whether to hold his hands in front of him or up in the air. He felt a bit stupid.
Tyson rolled his eyes again. ‘Give it a bit more grunt.’
Luke clapped again, harder this time, in front of his belly.
‘Bit harder,’ said Tyson, still not satisfied.
Luke anchored his feet to the ground and brought his hands crashing together.
‘Now, where do you feel that in your body – what part goes tight?’
Luke put a hand below his navel and looked questioningly at Tyson.
‘Yeah, right there, behind and underneath your belly button,’ said Tyson. ‘That place is where you keep your big power, and you’ll need it to get your feet going.’
‘Big power? Bring it on.’
‘Rub your hands together,’ instructed Tyson, rubbing his own together to demonstrate. ‘Now rub them across your belly, feel it go warmer, tighter.’ He leaned over and pushed his own fingers into Luke’s stomach. ‘Now, bring your fingertips together. Real slow. Stop just before they touch.’
Luke anchored his feet again the way Tyson had showed him and tried to feel the belly power. He brought his fingertips together.
Nothing happened.
Tyson’s voice was low and careful. ‘Watch close. Keep watching. See something there?’
Luke rubbed his hands together, breathed, anchored his feet and stared at the tiny gap between his fingertips.
‘Like smoke or electricity?’ Tyson prompted.
A tiny current trickled through the gap, shot down through Luke’s legs and earthed at his feet, startling him.
‘Keep your feet planted,’ Tyson said. ‘Let all that bad stuff go down into that dirt. Feel it go deep and give it all to the land.’
Luke closed his eyes and felt suddenly exhausted. He imagined the poison from old wounds that had never quite healed running down the trunk of his body, into the ground, taking with it his grief and his anger. He stood there, letting it drain away.
‘Now you find that the land gives back,’ said Tyson quietly. ‘Feel the way it feeds power back into you, big, long, deep power. It makes your belly power stronger, like recharging a battery.’ His voice was soothing, like a gentle breeze. ‘That’s your old people looking after you.’
Luke opened his eyes and tilted his head. ‘This is crazy,’ he said. ‘I don’t have any old people. I don’t have family.’
‘Yes, you do, Luke, or you wouldn’t be standing here. You just gotta find ’em,’ said Tyson. ‘You gotta let ’em find you. They’re right here, in the land. You connect deep enough, you’ll find ’em.’ He walked around Luke. ‘Now I’m going to hit you, but don’t let go of your belly power, your feet or the land.’
Luke focused on connecting his feet to the earth again.
Tyson sank his fist into Luke’s belly. Hard. Harder than Luke expected.
Luke took in the shock of it and sent it shooting through his feet and into the ground. He heard a roaring sound in his ears as he did so, and he wondered if it was the breath being knocked from his lungs or the angry cries of iron-age warriors, somewhere in his subconscious.
Still steady on his feet, he looked up at Tyson, unsure of what had just happened.
‘There! That should have knocked you down.’ Tyson sounded pleased with him. ‘Now, think you can walk and still stay connected to the land this way? Try it.’
Luke walked off, staring at his feet as though trying a new pair of shoes.
‘Light but solid,’ said Tyson. ‘Yeah, you’re really walking on the land now.’ He gave Luke a rough shove on the shoulder. ‘See! You got your male power back to its house, in your belly, and reconnected it with its family there in the earth!’
Luke walked through a few more shoves and punches. Before long he began to feel exhausted. It took a lot of concentration.
‘You’re all over this,’ laughed Tyson, belting him again. And then again, apparently just for the heck of it.
‘Yeah, righto,’ said Luke, raising an arm to protect himself.
Tyson laughed, a deep booming laugh that echoed into the distant skies and filled the world with joy. He walked alongside Luke, his crazy hair springing in all directions.
Luke couldn’t stop a small laugh escaping. ‘Nut-job,’ he mumbled.
As he walked, he imagined tribes of horsemen, warriors, with red hair, lending him their strength and for the first time in weeks, he felt connected to something, something that no one could ever take away.
Tyson grinned at him. ‘All right?’
Luke nodded. ‘Yeah.’
He was full of something, something he couldn’t explain. His past, his present and his future were fusing together. And it felt okay. It felt good.
‘We’re all one thing, boy, and when we break off – no good!’
That night, Luke feasted on black bream that Tex and Bob had pulled from the river. They showed him how to scale and gut the fish, and how to get the coals to glow just right before digging a shallow hole and using it as an oven, with the coals shovelled back on top. They roasted the fish whole and ate them with the leftover yams, seasoned with a day’s worth of hunger.
Later, Luke sat with his blanket wrapped around him, staring into the fire. He fingered the moonstone around his neck and thought of Jess. He wished she was there to talk to.
She would love it out here.
He thought of ancestors and spirits and horses and strangely, of metal: of steel and roaring furnaces; the heavy clanking of a blacksmith’s hammer over an anvil. And then he slept.
13
HE WAS WOKEN BY snuffling on his head. It worked its way over his forehead, around his ear and blew inquisitive puffs over his cheek.
Legsy?
It was a nice w
ay to be woken up. He smiled before he opened his eyes as he felt the colt’s lip on his cheek.
‘What are you doing out of your stable?’
He opened his eyes, and a dark red horse startled so fast that it nearly left its legs behind. It galloped off into the distance, sending clouds of dust behind it. It was one of the funniest things Luke had ever seen and he laughed out loud as he sat up.
‘A brumby sniffed me!’
Looking around, Luke rubbed his hand over his head. He was at the base of some hills again. Had he sleepwalked?
From the hillside, the red horse snorted at him, tossed its head, then scrambled up and over the peak.
Luke jumped up and began to jog after it. When he got to the top of the hill, he smelled the dead mare. In the valley near the trap, a dozen or so horses circled the carcass, their heads low, watching. Further out, mares with their foals at foot stood quietly, swishing their tails and occasionally shaking their heads to get rid of the flies.
The dark red horse walked back and forth between the mares, sniffing at the air as if to say, I know you’re up there.
Suddenly, it galloped straight at Luke and stamped both front feet on the ground, snorting.
‘They’re all yours, big fella,’ he said, taking a step back. ‘I’m not gonna touch ’em.’
The stallion walked back to the mob and singled out a small red foal, nuzzling it and pushing it towards the middle of the mob. Luke could see now that it was a colt. Two other mares went to it and ushered it close.
‘Rusty,’ he whispered. Then he smiled. ‘You got taken in by the mob. Good for you, little man.’
He could see the similarities between the colt and the stallion. Both were deep red, although he couldn’t be sure that wasn’t just the dust covering them. They both had large cheekbones and a narrow face; long sloping shoulders, short backs and rounded hindquarters. The colt had a tiny white dot on his forehead, the stallion a wide white blaze that ran the length of his face and down between his nostrils. He was harsh, wild and shrewd, like the land around him, and he circled his mares possessively. His feet reached out and covered the hard unforgiving rocks in long, rangy strides.