‘How much further?’ snapped the Wizard, turning to Banjo. ‘We’ve been going for hours!’
‘You wanted a safe spot,’ replied Banjo curtly. ‘I’m taking you to one. This is an old stock route. The cops’ll be looking for us by now, that’s for sure. You saw that copper waiting for us at the plane, didn’t you? But don’t worry, those cops are lazy bastards. They won’t try too hard and they’ll never think of looking for us here. This land belongs to the blackfellas. This is Jandamarra country. We’re almost there.’
Like Pigeon, Banjo had grown up on one of the large cattle stations near Fitzroy Crossing and knew the Kimberley well. He was used to living in the bush; finding his way in the dark.
As the hazy veil of unconsciousness began to lift, Pigeon heard voices, distant at first, and incomprehensible. Then came the pain. It crept through every fibre of his body before coming to rest in his brain. Pounding against his temples like persistent tidal waves gnawing at defiant cliffs on a rugged coast, the pain grew stronger and almost unbearable. His hands were tied behind his back and a sigh escaped his parched lips as the rope cut deep into his wrists. When he tried to move his feet, the rope cut into his bruised ankles. One eye did not want to open, its socket had closed completely. The other stared into darkness.
‘I think he’s coming round,’ said Zoran, sitting next to Pigeon in the back.
‘Make sure he’s properly tied up,’ growled the Wizard.
‘He is, trust me.’
‘Hello, Pigeon, welcome back,’ said the Wizard cheerfully. ‘Very soon you and I will have a little chat. Long overdue, wouldn’t you say?’
Trying to focus, Pigeon closed his good eye and said nothing. Every time the car hit a bump his body screamed with pain; save for his feet, he thought gratefully, now completely numb.
‘I can think of a few questions we have to ask him. What do you reckon, Zoran?’
‘So can I.’
‘Like, what happened to Anna?’
‘That would be an excellent start,’ Zoran said.
‘Well, the good news is,’ continued the Wizard, enjoying himself, ‘that Pigeon here will give us all the answers. You can count on it.’
Pigeon heard him – loud and clear. If he wanted to stay alive, he would have to beat the Wizard at his own game. And there was only one way to do that: he had to use the occult. He had to turn fear against the Wizard.
‘You want to know what happened to Anna?’ croaked Pigeon, barely able to speak.
‘Did you hear?’ said the Wizard, turning to Sladko. ‘The man can talk. That’s good ...’
‘Anna’s alive.’ Pigeon paused, letting this sink in. ‘And when the time’s right, she’ll destroy you,’ he added quietly. ‘She’s safe from you. You’ll never find her.’
‘And what makes you so sure?’
‘Cassandra saw it all ...’
‘Did she now?’ replied the Wizard, his voice sounding hollow as a flash of uncertainty raced across his face. ‘And she’s right all the time? Just like she was right about the Devil riding in the parade?’
‘You’ve been spared, Eugene, because to shoot you like a dog would have been too easy an end for a wretched creature like you. Destiny has something far more interesting in store ...’
Zoran raised his fist and was about to smash it into Pigeon’s face, when the Wizard held up his hand.
‘Don’t bother. We’ll do a lot better later. Now, let me tell you something,’ he said quietly. ‘You already know I’m going to kill you. But before ... well, before I’m finished, you’ll tell me everything. I’ll kill you so slowly you’ll be begging me to do it faster. Trust me. I’ll start with your feet ... we’re going to burn them away in the fire until they turn into sizzling stumps. I’ll peel the skin off your back and let the sun bake your flesh. I’ll cut you open like a pig hanging on a butcher’s hook and you’ll see your guts spill into the sand. Oh yes, you’ll tell me what I want to know. Of that, you can be sure.’
‘And you’re right all the time?’ said Pigeon. ‘Just like you were right when you told us that Anna wasn’t a threat?’
‘She wasn’t a threat – you were,’ came the angry retort, ‘but, my friend, you are a threat no more.’
‘We’ll see. You can’t cheat destiny, Eugene, you know that. Cassandra saw your destiny ... and so did I.’
The Wizard tried to control a rising fury. He wasn’t used to defiance like this. But, he thought, with an icy arrow of fear piercing his chest, what if he does know something? Cassandra again. Damn her! Be careful, Eugene, there could be danger here.
40
Fitzroy Crossing, 3 March
Cassandra opened her eyes and watched the first light of the new day creep through the open window of the drab motel room. Andrew had insisted they stay the night in Fitzroy Crossing before venturing north into the bush.
She saw the five cards of the Question Spread on the table in front of her, exactly as she had left them. They reminded her of her question during the divination the night before. Cassandra closed her eyes. What had woken her?
At first, there was only a feeling. Then, an awareness of great suffering and pain. Then suddenly, a picture, hazy at first, of a naked man, his back covered in blood, hanging from the branch of a strange looking tree floated into her mind’s eye. Cassandra wasn’t sure if he was still alive. Then slowly, the man lifted his head a little, opened one eye and looked at her.
‘Pigeon,’ she moaned.
‘Anna is alive.’ His voice was barely audible. ‘But there isn’t much time. Hurry!’
‘I spoke to the guys at the police station already,’ said Andrew. He opened the car door and took a map out of the glove box. ‘No luck, I’m afraid. They seem to have disappeared without a trace.’
‘How could they? Jack said.
Andrew shrugged. ‘All the roads have been checked, on the ground, and from the air. There are only a couple of them in this part of the world. They must have gone bush.’
‘What are the tracks like up here this time of the year?’ Will asked.
‘With a sturdy four-wheel drive and someone who knows the country, they’re not too bad. You get swallowed up by the land here ... you can just disappear.’
‘Not quite,’ interrupted Cassandra. ‘They’re near a river with tall red cliffs and strange trees that look like bottles.’ She limped over to the car. The three men looked up, surprised.
‘You saw something?’ asked Andrew.
Cassandra nodded. ‘Pigeon’s barely alive. They’ve strung him up ... hanging from a tree,’ she said.
‘Tortured?’ asked Jack. ‘Just as we feared.’
‘Who’s been tortured?’ asked Rebecca. Jack thought how beautiful she looked; but so smartly dressed, for this rugged place, in her designer shorts and Chanel tee-shirt.
‘Anna’s alive,’ said Cassandra, closing her eyes. ‘If we don’t find Pigeon before they kill him, we’ll never find her.’
‘How big is that river you saw?’ asked Andrew, poring over the map. ‘And the cliffs, what do they look like? Can you describe them? Anything else about the location?’
Trying to focus on the strange landscape she’d seen, Cassandra began to take deep breaths. Rebecca walked over and put her arm around the psychic’s shoulders.
‘The river is quite wide,’ whispered Cassandra, ‘bluish-green and calm. I can see a couple of huge crocodiles on the banks and ... flocks of white birds flying around.’
‘What about the cliffs?’ interrupted Andrew.
‘They’re like massive walls on both sides of that river; they’re very close to the water’s edge ...’
‘Windjana Gorge,’ said Andrew, stabbing his finger at the map, ‘that’s where they are. Right there.’
‘But that’s more than a hundred kilometres from here,’ said Jack, looking over Andrew’s shoulder. ‘Are you sure?’
‘From what Cassandra just told us, yes. There’s no other place around here that fits the description.’
‘Are you going to tell the police?’
‘What? That a clairvoyant saw a man hanging from a tree at a place that sounds like Windjana Gorge? I don’t think so. They’d just laugh.’ Andrew gathered up the map. ‘We’ll do this our way.’
‘Oh?’
‘Let’s go there now and have a look around.’
‘I thought we had to present ourselves at the police station to make our statements?’ Rebecca said. ‘You told us yesterday ...’
‘That can wait,’ interrupted Andrew.
‘Go bush first, explain later?’ Will said.
Andrew put on his hat and looked at him. ‘Something like that,’ he said. ‘This is the Outback, don’t forget.’
41
On the way to Windjana Gorge, 3 March
‘This is Bunuba country,’ said Andrew. Squinting into the glare, he slowly followed the old stock route north towards the Napier Range rising out of the haze ahead of them like the giant teeth of a creature long extinct. The stock route hadn’t seen a vehicle in years and was almost impassable; each hidden bolder or gaping pothole could easily have meant their car rolling, but Andrew managed to guide the vehicle through.
‘As in the Bunuba Resistance Auntie mentioned when she was talking about Pigeon?’ said Jack.
‘Yes, this is where it all happened. Pigeon grew up around here.’
‘Bunuba Resistance?’ said Rebecca. ‘Wow. Tell us about it.’
Grateful for the diversion, Andrew began to relax. ‘You heard Auntie talk about Jandamarra?’ he said, wiping his brow with the back of his hand.
‘The Aboriginal freedom fighter Pigeon’s supposedly named after?’ said Will.
Andrew nodded, barely missing a boulder.
‘Well, way back ... one night in October 1894,’ he said. ‘Jandamarra had just shot Bill Richardson, a policeman, not far from here. There was a group of Bunuba prisoners chained to a tree nearby, and they were watching. With that one shot Jandamarra crossed the line: he left the world of the white man behind and sided with his people. The Bunuba now had a leader who could fight the white intruders on almost equal terms. After killing the cop, Jandamarra set the prisoners free, and the Bunuba struggle – which had already been going on for more than a decade – well, that’s when it entered its deadliest phase.’ Andrew changed gears, and carefully coaxed the vehicle up a steep embankment.
‘Of course the Bunuba couldn’t possibly win, but they put up a great fight and Jandamarra became a legend.’
‘A legend?’ said Cassandra. ‘In what way?’
‘As a youngster, Jandamarra had been dazzled by the white men the Bunuba called Malngadu, entering his world. He learnt the white man’s language, he was an accomplished horseman, and most importantly, was taught how to use a gun. He was an extraordinary marksman; it became his trademark. He was inspiring, but later ... well, people were afraid of him, especially the white settlers. Still, while he was living with the frontier squatters he became a valued servant and scout. He also knew a lot of useful information about the Bunuba and their land on the other side of the ranges. Pretty fertile land. And those ranges guarded it like a natural fortress.’
‘What happened to him?’ asked Rebecca.
‘Unfortunately, this story doesn’t have a happy ending ...’ said Andrew.
Sensing that it was time to change the subject, Jack reached for the water bottle next to him. ‘Drink?’ he asked. ‘How much further to the river?’
‘We should be there in a couple of hours,’ replied Andrew. Looking dreamily towards the Napier Range – remnants of an ancient Devonian reef that had protected the land of his ancestors for thousands of years – he remembered the days he had spent there with his father. He always felt a sense of awe when he was near these places; places of great spiritual significance to the Bunuba. Windjana Gorge was one of the most sacred of them all. He thought he could even hear ceremonial chanting and the rhythmic stamping of feet dancing.
‘What happened to Jandamarra?’ asked Rebecca again.
‘He was killed at Tunnel Creek not far from here ... he became a restless spirit.’
‘A restless spirit?’
‘All the land around us here is Djumbud – Jandamarra’s spirit country. It’s my spirit country too, and Pigeon’s. It belongs to the Bunuba.’
‘What’s a restless spirit?’ asked Will.
Andrew didn’t reply. These subjects were strictly off limits.
‘Please tell us,’ said Rebecca, ‘I think we should know.’
‘Rebecca’s right, Andrew, tell them,’ said Cassandra.
Andrew wouldn’t normally discuss any of this with a Malngadu. But he sensed that Cassandra was different. After all, she had brought them this far. Perhaps her powers are somehow linked to the spirit world of the Bunuba? he thought.
He decided to carry on. ‘A restless spirit has unfinished business in the world of the living and cannot find peace. He can’t be reunited with his ancestors until the matter is resolved, however long it takes.’ Andrew looked over at Jack. ‘Does this make sense to you?’
‘It does,’ said Jack.
‘Jandamarra’s spirit lives right here in this land – in the rocks, the trees and the water. He’s searching for answers ... restless spirits do that. You know, he will tell his story to those who know how to listen. Many have heard it: at night around the campfire, carried by the wind, or whispered through the tall grass early in the morning.’
‘Have you?’ asked Cassandra.
‘Yes. We’re entering a different world up here – Bunuba country. This is a spiritual place. Wait and see.’
‘I can feel it,’ murmured Cassandra.
‘I thought you might. I think Jandamarra has unfinished business in the world of the Malngadu.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Out here you have to learn how to listen. If you can do that, the spirit might tell you.’
‘I’m a good listener,’ said Cassandra.
‘Many try to listen, but few know how to hear ...’
‘I think I can do both.’
‘Then try to listen to the wind.’
‘I will.’
Cassandra looked out the car window and watched the tall cliffs come closer. Many try to listen, but few know how to hear, she thought. I want to hear. Closing her eyes, she let the hot breeze blowing through the open window caress her face. After a while she thought she could hear words being carried by the breeze; incomprehensible at first, but becoming clearer. Recognising the signs, Cassandra let herself drift. Hovering on the edge of sleep she connected with the voice and listened. Soon, she began to hear ...
‘You are very lucky I’m talking to you as a spirit,’ whispered the voice of Jandamarra. ‘You want to know why?’
Cassandra nodded.
‘When I was in the world of the living, I only spoke Pidgin English. Difficult to understand. This is what it was like: I Pigeon. Him bin – outlaw. Him bin kill many blackfellas an white p’liceman. You wouldn’t want to listen to a lot of this – right?’
Cassandra nodded again.
‘Well, you don’t have to. Spirits are free. They can speak in many tongues, and I will speak to you in yours. All right? I remember 1 April 1897 very well,’ continued the voice. ‘It was the day I became a spirit. Lying in a pool of blood on the floor of the familiar cave, I could feel life slowly oozing out of my many wounds. Strangely, there was no pain anymore, only a sense of resignation and calm, and anticipation of meeting my ancestors. I knew that destiny was waiting outside. All that was left for me to do was to find the strength to face it.
‘If you had to choose a place to die, Tunnel Creek wasn’t too bad, I suppose. For years, it had given me shelter and protection from my enemies. In a way it was my true home, my sanctuary. But, nothing lasts forever. And besides, I’ve never run away from a fight.
‘I could see my Winchester lying next to me on the ground. I had a few bullets left somewhere in my pocket, but when I tried
to move my fingers, they wouldn’t obey. I tried again. This time a little feeling had returned, and I was able to sit up and load the gun. Strange, how objects can give us strength. My Winchester was one of those. The familiar feel of the smooth metal brought back memories of the first time I held a gun. I was quite young then and eager to prove myself. A little wild, perhaps? Of course. And reckless? Certainly. Impressionable? Absolutely!
‘The line between recklessness and courage is very blurred and never improves with hindsight – right? It was a dark moment that changed my life forever. Somehow, the gun and I were made for each other, or so it seemed at the time. I became obsessed with the white man’s world and turned my back on my people. It was a huge mistake I’ve regretted ever since. Time became my enemy. Young warriors rarely make old bones.
‘Following the morning light creeping into my dark cave, I began to crawl outside. I thought that the limestone pillar in front of the entrance would be a fitting place for a last stand. I don’t know where the strength came from, but somehow I made it to the top of that pillar. The bright sunlight of the new morning was blinding up there. I had to close my eyes. When I opened them again and looked down, I couldn’t see anything at first. Little white stars danced in front of my eyes. Then slowly, out of the glare, a shape materialised: a man – gun ready – stood next to a boab tree – waiting. With my eyesight fading, I took aim and began to fire. The man took cover behind the tree. As I fired my last bullet, the gun slipped out of my hands. Then, standing at the very edge of the pillar, I let my eyes soak up the beauty of the vast land spread out below. This was Djumbud, the sacred land of the Bunuba, my spirit country. Knowing that I was about to die didn’t fill me with sadness or regrets. There was no panic and no fear. Instead, a feeling of great joy filled my heart. One last, exhilarating thought raced through my burning brain: Jandamarra has never been defeated. As I looked down at the boab tree, I could see the man slowly raise his gun and take aim. For an instant, our eyes locked. Moments later, I became a spirit. Bang, bang. Pigeon, him bin shot dead.’
The Disappearance of Anna Popov: A supernatural suspense thriller (Jack Rogan Mysteries Book 2) Page 18