He gestured to Morgan. “I’ll come with you. Lead the way.”
Morgan wasted no time in replying. Instead, he turned and jogged across the campsite, Roy at his heels. He crested the mullock heaps near the mine entrance and slithered down into the gully. At the bottom, Morgan and Roy ground to a halt.
Charlie squatted in the dust in front of the opening. Red coals filled the fire pit in front of him. In either hand, he held a small Melaleuca branch, the green leaves smoldering. He waved the branches around his head, trailing white smoke like a veil about his face.
As John and the men from the station rushed down the gully, Morgan held up his hand and signaled for silence. He rounded the campfire and hunkered down in front of the old Aboriginal Elder. Charlie’s eyes had rolled back in his head, showing bloodshot white. Used to Charlie’s visions, Morgan waited until Charlie finally lowered the branches and dropped his head forwards.
“What did you see, old man?” Morgan whispered. “Is Piri lost in the mine?”
Charlie shuddered and raised his head to stare at Morgan. “Piri’s an important boy; special.” His voice trembled with what sounded like tiredness.
“Where is he, Charlie? Narri’s about beside herself with worry.”
“Missus not worry. The old ones will protect Piri.”
Frustration clawed at Morgan’s innards. His natural inclination was to hurry Charlie to disclose the results of his vision, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. The old man would get to it in his own time. Morgan just prayed he’d get to it before something happened to Gili or Piri, because he had a funny feeling that where Gili and Piri were, he’d find Jeremy Grissom.
“I saw Gili lubra coming and I see what’s in store for Piri,” Charlie said. “He gonna be the next Guardian of the stone. Special boy.”
Okaaay, that explains Piri’s fascination with the mine, but where the hell is he?
“Is he in the mine right now, Charlie? And for that matter, where’s Gili?”
Charlie pushed himself to his feet and dusted off the seat of his shorts. “Missy Gili’s inside and so is Piri, guarding the Dreamtime Fire. Boy and flame woman will find the two halves so Gili lubra can join them together again.”
Morgan gave a sigh of relief. Maybe if Piri was with Gili, they’d both be safe. All he had to do was find them. He turned to the entrance, only to have Charlie grab his arm and stop him.
“Grissom’s in there, too. And his son. The old ones told me that man’s driven by the spirit in the ring. I can feel his greed from here. He’ll stop at nothing to take the fire away.”
Morgan frowned. The ring? Hell, maybe the legend concerning the ring was true after all.
A wash of rage flowed through him. His gut cramped, hands clenched, muscles bunched as if in preparation for a fight.
“I’ll kill the both of them if they so much as touch Piri and Gili,” he ground out through clenched teeth.
“Vision gotta play out,” Charlie muttered, “but that’s my grandson in there. Let’s go get ‘em.”
Determination fueling his whole body, Morgan, with Charlie and Roy beside him, stalked into the mine. John and the men followed on their heels. As they strode through the area where Gili and he had camped the night before, Morgan grabbed the flashlight and handed it to Roy. Then he hoisted his hard hat with its attached light off the sandstone floor and jammed it on his head before heading down the tunnel where Gili had found the painting of the pelican.
He opened his mouth to call for Gili and Piri then stopped, his jaw snapping closed. He had a feeling that silence would work better right now, particularly if Jeremy and Whitey were on the scene.
A flash of opal highlights lit up the surface of the rock walls. The soft whisper of old voices wafted through the air. The spirits were letting Morgan know he was on the right track.
He lengthened his stride after cautioning the others to keep quiet. A sense of desperation filled him and he was finally able to acknowledge what had been growing inside him. It wasn’t just Piri he would regret losing. It was Gili, too.
The flame woman had ignited a fire in his gut and it wasn’t about to go out any time soon.
Eyes still closed, Gili groaned and tried to roll over. Pain lanced through her skull and she hissed through clenched teeth, raising a puff of red dust in front of her mouth. It caught in the back of her throat and made her cough, which resulted in the pain in her head escalating.
Hands clasped to her aching head, she lifted her face out of the dirt. “Okay, Gili, not in bed here,” she muttered.
She cracked her eyes open and pushed herself to her knees, wavering slightly as the world spun around her. Shoving her fingers into the pocket of her shorts, she retrieved the slither of opal. She opened her hand and beams of iridescent color filled the tunnel and drove back the darkness. The tumbled rocks and dusty interior of the mine gave a visual that slammed into her mind and brought back her memory quick-smart.
Oh God, Piri.
With a heartfelt moan, Gili crawled on hands and knees until she was up against the wall of the tunnel. She winced as sharp rocks dug into her exposed flesh. She ignored them. It was the least of her worries.
She dragged in a deep breath and, clenching her teeth, used the natural handholds in the stone surface to pull herself to her feet. Dizziness attacked her and she swayed, hanging on to the rocky surface until her head cleared a little.
Once she was certain she wasn’t going to fall on her rear, she pressed a shaking hand to the back of her head. It came away covered in blood. That must have been one hell of a rock that Whitey had used.
No time to worry about that either. She had to find Piri. Who knew what Jeremy had done to the boy?
Following the path the painting of the pelican pointed to, the way lit by the opal flashes, she ventured deeper into the mine. As she stumbled along, using the wall for support, she had a sense of time running out, but she couldn’t go any faster. She’d lose her way and be no help to Piri at all.
Suddenly, the pelican tattoo on her shoulder heated up, quickly followed by a fluttering sensation as the bird moved its wings. This time she felt it curve around her neck. She no longer had any doubt that it was alive.
The tunnel reverberated with the dirge-like sound of a didgeridoo. Muted at first, then increasing in intensity.
Wisps of white danced in the air, coalescing into the figure of an elderly Aboriginal man, his flowing white beard a thick curl of the ethereal smoke. He beckoned with outstretched hand and Gili knew she had to follow.
She closed her eyes as a burst of wind whipped through the tunnel and stirred up the dust. Although God only knew where the wind came from; she was too far from the entrance. When she looked again, the white outline of the old man twisted and turned. Spinning faster and faster until a spiral of mist formed above him. With a red flash, the outline disappeared and something else had taken the old man’s place.
Gili’s mouth dropped open. Despite the seriousness of finding Piri, a sense of wonder filled her. This was truly magic; the magic of the ancient ancestors, because in the old man’s place, hovering about three feet above the floor of the tunnel, was a pelican with a rainbow-colored beak. Not totally solid because she could see through the wings, but substantial enough she had no trouble making out what it was.
The bird squawked, flipped around and started floating down the tunnel, its wings barely moving. Gili didn’t hesitate. She followed.
The tunnel opened up into a massive cavern. Gili stopped at the entrance. The rock roof soared above her head, highlighted here and there with flashes of color. An old fire pit ringed with blackened stones sat in the middle of the cave and around that were the writhing figures of the old people. Piri’s ancestors—the spirits that guarded the Dreamtime Fire.
One of the figures separated itself from the group and floated across to where Gili stood. Gili recognized her. It was the woman from her visions.
The mist thickened, the woman’s features taking on greater def
inition. Her sensual lips broke into a wide smile and she held her hand out to Gili.
This is your time, Gili lubra.
The words weren’t audible, but Gili heard them loud and clear. As the woman moved closer, Gili held her arms wide and waited, somehow knowing what was to come.
The woman danced closer. Gili closed her eyes and felt hands grasping her shoulders, the brush of a kiss on each cheek. Then the misty spirit merged with her, consumed her, until she felt full to overflowing; her skin almost too tight to contain the energy within.
She opened her eyes and released a deep breath. Strength flowed through her veins. Courage filled her. A primitive sense of vindication surged with every beat of her heart. And she knew that, somehow, Jeremy and Whitey would not win this battle. The old people would protect their own.
“Get back down here, brat.”
Jeremy!
Despite the strength from the possession of the Aboriginal woman, Gili felt her heart stutter at the sound of Jeremy’s voice. She ducked behind a large boulder so he wouldn’t see her. He stood in front of the fire pit looking up at a tiny figure perched on a ledge about ten feet above Jeremy’s head.
Piri had managed to get away from him and had taken the piece of opal with him. Now he perched on the ledge holding the opal in his cupped hands. Gili had no idea how he’d managed to climb so high, but she needed to get to him. She couldn’t see Whitey, but he’d be around somewhere. What she needed was a distraction.
No sooner had the thought taken shape in her mind than the phantom pelican flew over her shoulder and launched itself at Jeremy. The whispers of the spirits rose in a chattering scream. Each one followed the lead of the pelican. They swirled about Jeremy’s head until they covered him in trails of white smoke.
“Whitey, get ‘em off me.” Jeremy, his face folded into an expression of horror, batted his hands at the insubstantial shapes.
Gili didn’t wait to see where Whitey was. She took off running around the outside of the cavern until she reached the wall where the ledge was. Hand over hand, she started to climb.
A scrabbling behind her had her looking over her shoulder. Whitey had chosen to go after her rather than help his father. Gili ignored him and continued her climb to the top.
“Hurry, Missy Gili,” Piri whispered, peering over the edge. “He’s getting closer.”
She pulled herself onto the ledge and scrambled to her feet. Piri threw himself at her, one arm clutched around her waist and the other holding the fire opal.
“I knew you’d come.” Piri handed her the opal and pulled her back from the edge. “The old ones said you would.”
Her heart was racing so fast Gili had trouble responding. She scooped in a shaky breath. “We’ve still got to get out of here, sweetie. Move over to the wall and stay behind me, okay?”
With her back to the wall and Piri tucked in behind, Gili placed the fire opal carefully at her feet. She bent down and gathered up as many small rocks as she could. When first Whitey’s hand, and then his head, appeared over the edge of the ledge, she pulled her arm back and threw the first rock.
Whitey yelped when it hit him on the side of the face. He shook his head and glared at her. “Hand it over, girly, and I just might let you survive intact. We’re taking that opal out of here.”
“Yeah, right.” She hurled another rock, following up closely with another and another.
Whitey ducked his head below the level of the ledge, so Gili aimed her missiles at his hands, both now visible on the rock edge. “I’m not letting you have it. It belongs to the Aboriginal people. It belongs here on this land so you can just go to hell.”
“Then think about your parents,” he yelled. “Funny things happen to family when people don’t do what they’re told.”
Gili paused. The thought of her parents’ safety almost paralysed her. Tears welled up and trickled down her face as she came to a realization. “I won’t betray Morgan, even to help my folks.”
“You bloody fool.”
Ignoring Whitey’s comments, she launched into another attack, throwing the rocks as quickly as Piri could collect them for her. This time, Whitey disregarded the rocks pelting him and continued to climb.
Fear pooled in Gili’s stomach. A sour taste filled her mouth. She swallowed it down and turned to Piri. “Can you climb down the other side?” she whispered.
“I think so.” His voice was as soft as hers.
“Go find Morgan and take the Dreamtime Fire with you.” She thrust it into his arms and gave him a gentle push towards the opposite side of the ledge.
To give Piri time to escape, she threw herself at Whitey as he pulled himself over the edge. Not giving him a chance to find his feet, she balled up her fist and punched out at him.
“You’re not winning this time,” she ground out, swinging her arm around and aiming for Whitey’s face.
He blocked her punch and struggled to his feet. His lips stretched in a macabre grin. His eyes glittered with what Gili could only describe as glee. Gili backed up, out of his reach. She didn’t need to be too smart to work out that the idea of violence excited Whitey.
Maniacal laughter erupted from his mouth. The sound grated on Gili’s nerves. A shiver trembled through her and she dragged in a shaky breath as she waited for him to attack.
For a minute, she thought she saw movement around him. The outline of his entire body wavered, like the ghostly images on a television set not properly tuned. A band of black edged his torso, creeping up to cover his face. And in that instant, Gili knew what it was. She ducked just in time. The dark shadow separated from Whitey and launched itself at her. It landed behind her and she spun to face it. But that left her back unprotected. Right now, she figured Whitey was the greater danger.
As she twisted back to face Whitey, the shadow whirled around her, brushing against her right side. Pain slammed into her. She gasped and bent over, clutching at her ribs. Her whole right side felt as if it were on fire. The agony bit deep, slicing through her body like an electric current. Limbs jerked. Her heart stuttered and then raced to catch up. Her head felt as if it were about to explode and the only sound she could make were the strangled whimpers that slid from lips pulled back in a frozen grimace. And over it all, Gili heard Whitey still laughing.
When she thought she could no longer stand it, the pain subsided. Her nerves stopped twitching, although her fingers still tingled as dark energy bled from her body. She breathed deep, filled her lungs with much-needed oxygen, and stood upright.
The shadow had lengthened. Now it stood tall like a man. If Gili stared hard enough, she could even make out the features on its face. She saw the mouth stretch into a grin before it flicked out a black arm at her. She flung herself to the side, not about to let it touch her. It dived at her again and Gili kept moving. When it came too close, she dropped and rolled and the dark energy floated harmlessly above her.
Whitey hadn’t moved, although he waved one hand as if conducting an orchestra. With every movement, the shadow renewed his attack, pushing Gili closer and closer to the edge of the rock shelf. Damn. The thing was herding her to her death. Not freakin’ likely.
When the shadow thrust out at her again, she dropped and rolled, but this time she kept on rolling until she was behind Whitey. She jumped to her feet and aimed a closed-fist punch to his kidney, gratified when he grunted in reaction.
He spun about and came at her, his hands reaching to grasp hold of her. She danced to one side, avoiding his touch. Then she saw his fist curl. She watched him raise it above his head, and knew she’d run out of time. Because when that connected, it was going to hurt like hell.
“Go, Piri.”
Chapter Thirteen
Morgan followed the sound of the wailing didgeridoo through the tunnel until he reached a rock fall partially blocking the way. He climbed through the opening, the other men behind him. The sight of the pelican painting made him pause a moment and then he tore off down the passage, trusting that the pelican
was pointing the right way.
The melodious chant of the spirit voices rose in volume, surrounding the men, driving Morgan to increase his pace. The song weaved about him, burrowed deep into his brain and filled him with resolve. Somehow, he had to save not only Piri and Gili, but also the Dreamtime Fire. The tribe needed their sacred icon and he couldn’t—he wouldn’t—disappoint them.
Putting on a burst of speed, he threw himself out of the end of the tunnel and into a massive cathedral-like cavern hidden deep in the mine.
His skin prickled with the strength of the power gathering throughout the cavern, primal and magical. The flashing of the opal colors that lit up the inside of the cave, the vocalization of the phantom ancestors, the music of an unseen didgeridoo echoing off the sandstone walls, rising and falling with the voices of the spirits.
He didn’t have time to truly appreciate it all. He was too concerned with the tableau being played out on a ledge high above the floor of the cavern.
Gili stood at the back of a rock ledge, kicking out at a man Morgan assumed was Whitey Grissom. He’d met Jeremy, but hadn’t had the dubious pleasure of connecting with his son.
“Listen to me, girlie. You give us the opal and you and the brat can go free,” Whitey yelled.
Gili had the temerity to grin at him, although Morgan couldn’t see anything funny about the situation.
“Go to hell, Whitey,” she said. “Do you actually think I’d believe you? Anyway, I told you. The opal belongs here. I’m not about to betray the tribe’s trust in me. Or Morgan’s for that matter.” She picked up another rock and hurled it at him, bouncing it off his shoulder.
Whitey’s laughter echoed through the cave. He spread his arms wide and Morgan thought he saw the man’s shadow pull away from his body.
Impossible. There was no sun in the cave to project a shadow. Whatever it was, it launched itself at Gili, advancing and retreating. And if he didn’t miss his guess, it was intent on driving her off the ledge.
Hidden Fire Page 18