All that day they travelled until, when night began to close in, they found an old hollow red gum. Inside its huge cupboard was a floor of dry bark. When they looked upwards they could see the mud nests of bottle swallows. Here they slept till the sun awoke them.
They found the going much harder than the day before. The track was often overgrown and sometimes logs lay across it barring their way. They jumped these easily. Moonlight raced at them, then rose into the air and flew across them as if he had wings. Greyfur leaped beside him so that sometimes they were side by side in mid-air. Peter reached out and touched Greyfur once and then they landed. How beautiful it all was!
But they became tired and Peter, who did not usually complain, began to feel depressed. Greyfur, too, began to grumble. ‘I doubt whether we’ll ever find our way out of this place,’ she said.
‘We will never find the Beautiful Princess,’ said Peter. ‘We seem to be going on and on, and there is no sign of the castle.’
‘What we should do is to turn back,’ said Greyfur. ‘I’m sick of the listening and watching all around us. We should…’
She was interrupted by the most horrible howl imaginable. It came from the dense bush at the foot of a gully down which the track was winding. It was almost a scream and, as it died away, it was answered by another…then another, till the whole valley resounded with such a caterwauling that Peter and Greyfur stopped dead and looked at each other in fear.
‘It must be the Doubt Cats,’ said Greyfur. ‘Remember what the tree told us. We’ll be lucky to get out of this without a battle.’
‘We’ll be lucky to get out of it at all,’ said Peter.
The path they were following went down the side of a hill. To the right the bank rose steeply, covered with maidenhair and moss. To the left, the edge of the track poised above a dense undergrowth of prickly Moses and dogwood. A watercourse trickled through the scrub and crossed the track at the foot of the hill some distance away. The hill on the far side of the valley was lightly timbered and there, in a clearing, stood a tall, burnt-out gum with its arms etched against the sky.
They could see one of the Doubt Cats running past the tree. It moved in tremendous bounds like a tiger and was making towards a spot on the track which Peter and Greyfur would have to pass. Others were racing to join it, and down in the gully Peter could see the scrub shaking violently as more of the animals tore through its narrow passages. As they howled their fury, Peter had to pull hard on Moonlight’s reins to prevent him bolting.
‘We’ll have to run for it,’ said Greyfur. ‘Let’s get going. I’ve been chased by dogs before but I never thought I’d see the day when I was chased by giant cats.’
‘I hope they don’t rip Moonlight with their claws.’
‘Use Thunderbolt on them,’ the kangaroo advised. ‘Uncoil the lash and swing it in circles. Keep them back from Moonlight. Each time they leap see that Thunderbolt cracks against their hides. Now, are you ready?’
‘Yes,’ said Peter. He held Thunderbolt in his right hand and the reins in his left. He stood up in the stirrups and leaned forwards. Moonlight sprang into a gallop. His mane whipped in the wind of his running. He went down the track at racing speed, his ears pricked forward. Greyfur kept pace with him. Every bound she made lifted her to the same height as Peter and when she landed there was no pause in her speed. Her powerful legs thrust against the earth and she was airborne again.
Moonlight was so sure-footed he never once galloped into the deep gutters the rain had made in the track. He avoided them with swerves and leaps.
A Doubt Cat, striped like a tabby, burst out onto the track ahead of them. It turned with a snarl, then sprang at Greyfur who rose to meet it with her huge hind legs thrust forward. As she struck the Doubt Cat in the chest, she kicked out hard and her big claws ripped skin and fur off the screaming animal before hurling it to the ground.
The howling of the Doubt Cats became deafening. They threw themselves out of the scrub like striped projectiles. Peter’s whip never stopped cracking. Each time the lash struck an animal, a tuft of fur was flicked from its hide and went floating towards the ground. The Doubt Cats always fell back when Thunderbolt lashed them, and by the time they had recovered Peter was galloping ahead and they didn’t have the speed to catch him.
None of them managed to clutch Peter with their claws, though one slashed his trousers a little as it clawed at the saddle. He struck it on the head with Thunderbolt’s handle, which was weighted with lead, and the Doubt Cat released its grip and fell unconscious to the ground. But others kept charging at him from out of the scrub. Moonlight felt their claws on his flanks, and he was filled with a great rage and struck at them with his iron hooves. When his hooves hit them they writhed in mid-air, screaming, then sprang out of his way.
In the meantime Greyfur had been grappling with a particularly ferocious animal who had managed to avoid the slashing of her hind legs. She wrapped her powerful arms around the beast and crushed it till it lay limp in her grip. Then she tossed it to the ground and bounded off.
They came to the watercourse that crossed the track and leaped it together, going high in the air to avoid those Doubt Cats who were crouching by the water’s edge. The Doubt Cats raised themselves on their hind legs and slashed at Peter and Greyfur as they jumped, but they were too high above the cats’ heads.
The track began to rise and Greyfur and Moonlight had to urge their powerful muscles to greater effort to keep ahead of the Doubt Cats racing after them. More came in from the side but the friends had passed them before they could leap out from the scrub.
It was a matter of endurance now and Moonlight and Greyfur had plenty of that. The howls of their pursuers became faint in the distance and Peter reined Moonlight to a trot so that the pony could recover his wind.
‘They’ll never tackle us again, that’s for sure,’ said Greyfur who, now that the danger had passed, felt pleased with herself.
Peter didn’t reply. He was feeling too tired and all he wanted to do was to find a camp for the night.
They climbed out of the valley on to a low ridge from where they could see across the bush for miles and miles. They stood there a moment in silence, for ahead of them stood the Last Hill. Upon its crest grew an old red gum tree. Its gnarled trunk was bowed, as though by the weight of its limbs which twisted up against the sky, tributaries of the old tree, drawing from the air the goodness of sun and rain.
Peter and Greyfur hurried to reach it. Peter cantered up a grassy clearing and leapt from Moonlight’s back. Greyfur joined him. This was the tree which, as the old Aborigine had told the South Wind, was as old as the world. Its buttressed roots clasped the earth with powerful hands. No wind, however strong, could blow it down. Its very presence made Peter and Greyfur feel as if they had been given part of its strength. Nothing was impossible to them now. They would find the Beautiful Princess, they knew it.
They were hungry so Greyfur took a table and chair from her pouch and produced a meal fit for a prince. They sat down and ate, agreeing that it was the best meal they’d ever had. When they had finished, they stowed everything away in Greyfur’s pouch and took out two sleeping bags which they unrolled and placed by the tree so that they could lie with their heads against its trunk. They had taken off Moonlight’s saddle and bridle and he was grazing on the long grass that grew in the clearing.
They lay there waiting for the moon to rise, for the South Wind had told Peter that he would see the castle of the Beautiful Princess in its light.
A faint glow appeared in the eastern sky. The still trees became visible, standing in silence listening for the explosion of silver light that would herald the coming of the moon. A curved strip of yellow broke above the horizon. It grew and grew till it became a golden disc resting on the edge of the earth, and there, silhouetted against its radiance, were the towers and battlements of a great castle.
Above their heads the leaves of the old red gum rustled and whispered. The sounds merged into a deep
and gentle voice. The tree was speaking.
‘Now you can see the castle of the Beautiful Princess, Peter. Your search is coming to an end. Many difficulties lie before you, but you have proved that you are brave and that you love people. The Magic Leaf will always protect you and give you strength to face the tasks ahead. It has changed the lives of the people you met on your journey and, though some were once cruel and evil, they will now help the travellers they meet instead of destroying them.
‘You have much to do tomorrow but the castle is not far away and there are no wild creatures along the track. I’ll leave you to find a way of meeting the Beautiful Princess. Now sleep. Nothing will harm you while you rest beneath my branches.’
A dark limb swayed down from the tree and brushed its leaves across him in a gesture of friendship.
Peter loved the tree. ‘Did you hear what it said?’ he whispered to Greyfur. ‘It touched me with its leaves. It was beautiful.’
‘He sounds a nice bloke to me,’ said Greyfur, who was half asleep.
The shadow of the tree moved over them as they slept. In the darkness of its shadow Peter’s clothes changed upon him. He was now dressed in all the garments of a prince and in his sleep he looked like one.
10
They Meet the Bunyip
Greyfur and Peter were packed and away early next morning. The young sun threw the long shadows of trees across their path, shadows that flickered over their faces as they walked.
They had gone nearly two miles when they saw the castle. They came round a bend in the track and there, a little below them, was a huge building of turrets and towers and battlements. The windows in the stone walls were small and protected by bars like a prison. There was one window that had no bars, the highest window on a great tower. It was arched and narrow, but hundreds of birds perched on the sill or fluttered round it seeking the food that had been spread on the stone ledge underneath. Peter knew that this must be the room in which the Beautiful Princess was imprisoned. But he could not see her. She must have been busy inside.
A deep moat surrounded the castle, the water dark and still. The only entrance was by a drawbridge which crossed the moat and joined the castle entrance to a roadway that stopped at the water’s edge on the side they were approaching. At this moment the drawbridge was raised, held aloft by two huge chains that penetrated the castle wall and were connected inside with the machinery that raised and lowered the bridge.
Behind the raised bridge they could see the great castle doorway, its arched doors studded with brass. The iron hinges branched over the woodwork in a sunburst of metal. Four knights could ride abreast through the entrance and its height was such that banners and flags could be held aloft without bumping the archway. It was locked and barred. No battering ram could break it open.
A track of tan-bark completely enclosed the castle. In some places it moved away from the moat and disappeared into patches of bush, then emerged and continued its circular course till it met up at the castle gate. On the edge of this track, a hundred yards back from the raised drawbridge, grew an old gum tree whose wide, spreading branches made a pool of shadow in the hot sunlight of mid-morning.
Lying on his back under the gum tree, with his clawed hands clasped on his fat stomach, was the strangest animal Peter had ever seen. If he had been standing up he would have looked like a dinosaur for he was an immense size, but he looked harmless enough now since he was fast asleep.
Peter and Greyfur, who had come out of the bush and were now quite close to him, stopped and looked down at the monster. He was covered in fur from the tip of his tail to his nose. He had the body of a giant wombat, the thick, inflexible tail of a kangaroo, the long neck of a giraffe and the head of a dragon. But instead of being clad in the scales and horny ridges of a dragon, he had thick fur. The fur on his head was untidy and long. It hung over his eyes and had obviously never been brushed. He snored as he slept and his front legs, which were still clasped on his stomach, rose and fell to his snores.
‘What can it be?’ Peter asked in amazement.
‘It is the Bunyip who guards the Beautiful Princess night and day. We were told about him.’
‘Yes, I’d forgotten.’
‘He’s most ferocious,’ went on Greyfur, but her voice trailed off doubtfully as the snores continued. ‘Well, that’s what they say, anyway. He kills knights and princes by the dozen. He scorches them, bakes them, and blasts them with fire out of his nostrils. Take a look at them; they’re like a couple of chimneys. Let’s back off and discuss how we’re going to fight him. You can make toast with the breath of these fellows. I don’t like them. Come on.’
She began to move away but the Bunyip suddenly sat up and looked at them in astonishment.
‘What are you two doing here?’ he roared. ‘What’re your names? Who are you? Stand at attention. Spell Phantasmagoria. Conducted tours for tourists at a nominal fee begin at 2 p.m. You walk through the front door and are carried out of the back door on a stretcher. A doctor is in attendance. Now speak or forever hold your peace.’
He waited.
‘Well,’ said Peter, ‘as far as your wonderful welcome is concerned, it all seems mixed up to me.’
‘That’s true,’ said the Bunyip. ‘I’m a mixed-up kid. Go on.’
‘Are you guarding the Beautiful Princess?’ asked Peter.
‘I am. What about it?’
‘I’ve come to rescue her.’
‘Ah! So that’s it!’ exclaimed the Bunyip. ‘It’s a pity, a great pity. I don’t like killing friendly boys, never have. But that’s my job. I kill Knights on black horses and Deys on white horses. I kill Princes of various sorts. It’s all the same to me. I kill without fear or favour. But the Beautiful Princess must be protected from all those who seek to rescue her. She’s unrescuable—to coin a word. Mind you,’ he hastened to add, ‘the King sets tasks for those who are insistent, but since they are all impossible the Princes and Knights are killed just the same. Your death will be absolutely painless. I guarantee that. You won’t feel anything. I hope there will be no ill feelings about the matter. I squirt people to death. It’s clean and wholesome and doesn’t leave a mess.’
‘What’s this squirting people to death?’ asked Greyfur. ‘What do you mean? Peter and I would never agree to such a death. You want to be careful making threats like that. I’ve seen men get a punch on the nose for talking like you do.’
‘Listen to her talk,’ said the Bunyip scornfully. ‘One squirt from my nostrils and I’d send you sliding down that track for a hundred yards. Good heavens, woman! I’m the world’s champion squirter, and you talk about my getting a punch on the nose.’
The Bunyip threw back his head and roared with laughter.
‘I thought you blew fire out of your nostrils,’ said Greyfur, disconcerted by the Bunyip’s amusement. ‘How can you guard a Beautiful Princess when you haven’t got a fiery breath?’
‘Now, look!’ said the Bunyip. ‘Sit down here for a while and rest. I won’t kill you till after lunch, so relax and make yourselves at home while I gallop round the castle and scare away any man or beast that wanders too close. I won’t be long—about twenty minutes. We’ll have lunch together, then. I always bring a cut lunch. I’ve got a dish of fried frogs—ah, beautiful!’ and he smacked his lips. ‘I’ll tell you all about myself when I return, then you can run for it. I hate killing people who are not trying to get away. I’ll give you both fifty yards start before I squirt you to kingdom come. You couldn’t ask for anything fairer than that.’
He rose to his feet and began prancing to loosen his muscles. He certainly did look an extraordinary creature. His head, perched on the end of his long neck, stood twenty feet above the earth. He could twist it like a duck, and it was no trouble for him to turn it and look backwards. His body was cumbersome and heavy. He held his kangaroo-like tail in the air while he walked, and when he ran he lurched and rolled like an overladen ship in a heavy swell at sea.
He now set off at a
gallop round the wide track that encircled the castle. Each time he rose in the air his neck went forward, and when his feet touched the ground again, it came back. He moved like a giraffe, yet his legs were as short as a bear’s. As he ran, he shot water from his nostrils and roared loudly. Cattle that had strayed onto the track were blasted off their feet by a jet of water that sped between them in a glittering arch. He could send the stream from either nostril at will, and such was the force with which he expelled it that the beasts rolled over and over before staggering to their feet coughing and spluttering.
If he went on long enough the victim would be drowned, but with cattle and horses he was content to knock them over. With Knights and Princes on horseback, he drew a deeper breath and hit them harder. Knights laden with their armour charged him with drawn lances, shouting battle cries as they came. The stream of water that hit them brought horse and rider down with a bang and a clatter. Then all that could be seen were lances and arms and a thrashing of legs from a dome of water which quickly subsided and flowed away. Not many Knights survived these attacks by water. They drowned in their armour.
But there were no Knights or Princes abroad on this lovely day, and the Bunyip came lumbering back with a smirk of satisfaction on his face and a couple of coughing cattle behind him.
‘How’d I go?’ he cried as he came to a stop. ‘Did you see me lift that cow into the air with a medium-force squirt from my right nostril?’
‘I think you were cruel,’ said Peter. ‘That cow was up to no harm.’
‘Anyone who approaches this castle is up to harm,’ asserted the Bunyip. ‘The number of Knights and Princes that want to marry the Beautiful Princess would stagger you. It’s a quiet day today. You’re the only two who have turned up. They come from all over the world. Beautiful Princesses are rare these days. Our grave-diggers work full-time burying the slain, with Saturday afternoons and Sundays off for time to go to church.’
Whispering in the Wind Page 8