‘Does that house have a name?’ asked Lucy, pointing down the hill.
‘Yes, that’s my place. That’s Avendale.’
Lucy nodded. If this was Avendale, it wasn’t the one that she knew. This was another Avendale altogether. Like the wonky reflection in the wardrobe, everything in this mirror world was slightly out of place and yet strangely familiar. She knew she should be worried but something about being with April made her feel perfectly at ease.
Inside the stable was warm and cosy. The air was full of dust motes and the scent of horses and hay. Sunlight cut through cracks in the timber slabs. April stood with her hands on her hips and frowned at the two horses left in the corner stall.
‘They’ve taken Smoke and Blue. You’ll have to ride old Banjo, unless you’re feeling brave.’
‘I’ve never ridden a horse before,’ said Lucy.
‘Then it had better be Banjo. I’ll ride Midnight, though if I break my neck, you can tell my mum and dad that it was Jimmy Tiger’s fault for taking out Blue without asking.’
April led the two horses out into the sunshine and Lucy followed. Midnight shied away from Lucy when she passed him. Lucy felt her heart beat faster. The horse was twice her height, inky black with a small white blaze between his eyes. Midnight threw his head back and whinnied like a wild thing, and Lucy stepped away. She’d imagined that they were going to ride ponies, plump and sleek little horses like the ones in her favourite picture books.
‘I’m not sure I’m ready to go riding today,’ she said.
‘Of course you are,’ replied April. She rhythmically stroked Midnight’s neck until the horse calmed down. Midnight’s ears twitched as April murmured to him in a soothing voice. Then she turned back to Lucy.
‘You’re not getting on Midnight, don’t worry about that. Banjo’s the sweetest old horse in the world. Come and meet him.’
April led Banjo over to Lucy. Lucy looked up into the soft dark eyes of a dapple grey horse. ‘Banjo doesn’t go very fast,’ said April, ‘but she never complains or gives any trouble. Do you want me to give you a leg up?’
‘Don’t I need a saddle? And stirrups and a riding helmet and boots?’ asked Lucy.
‘We don’t bother with all that fandangle,’ said April.
Lucy tried not to meet her eye as she scuffed her toe in the dirt.
April let out a sigh. ‘I think there’s a bit of gear I could find for you,’ she said.
Banjo lowered her head and her wispy grey mane fell forward. She didn’t whinny or shy away when Lucy took a step closer. The old mare was very still, watching Lucy with a friendly expression. There was something peaceful about the way the horse stood, waiting for Lucy to pay her attention. Gingerly, Lucy stretched out her hand and stroked Banjo’s side.
A minute later, April came out of the stable with her arms full of tack. She flung a blanket over Banjo’s back and then a saddle, which she deftly fastened in place. ‘C’mon then,’ she said to Lucy, and before Lucy could hesitate again, April had made a cup with her hands to boost Lucy into the saddle.
Lucy flung her leg over Banjo and felt a shiver of excitement. Banjo didn’t move a muscle.
‘You take up the reins and I’ll adjust the stirrups for you,’ said April.
Banjo waited patiently while April clambered onto Midnight’s back. The black horse pranced restlessly as April gathered up the reins. She looked so small, her bare feet dangling with no stirrups to rest upon.
April showed Lucy how to hold the reins and then April and Midnight set off down the path with Lucy and Banjo following behind. Banjo plodded steadily along the track through the fields while Midnight strained against the bit. When they reached the road, April called out over her shoulder. ‘You wait here. I’ve got to give Midnight a gallop to settle him.’ A moment later, April and Midnight were bolting around the field. Lucy sat peacefully on Banjo’s broad back, surveying the valley. Jimmy Tiger and April’s brother were nowhere in sight. The only thing that moved in the hazy morning sunlight were the dandelions in the field and April on Midnight, her long plaits flying as she cantered back to the gate where Lucy and Banjo waited.
April reined in Midnight, her eyes sparkling. She wiped away little beads of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. Midnight didn’t seem any less restless and Lucy was glad she was on the quieter horse. She patted Banjo’s neck affectionately as they rode up a winding bush track and into the scrub.
April and Midnight moved so quickly that Lucy twice lost sight of them. But Banjo knew the way and when they turned a bend, Lucy could see the fair-haired girl and the black horse waiting for them at the next turn.
Up and up they rode through the wilderness. The bracken and ferns grew thicker in the forest about them and the track narrowed so that spindly leaves brushed against Lucy’s face. Lucy lost sight of April again. Then she turned a bend in the track and found it opened into a clearing high up on the hill. A giant wall of mossy granite rose above the clearing, casting a long shadow. April had tethered Midnight to a branch of a gum tree and stood in the middle of the clearing beside a tiny hut made of bark and scraps of corrugated tin.
‘Welcome to my empire,’ she said, reaching a hand out to Lucy to help her down from the saddle.
April’s Empire
‘What is this place?’ asked Lucy.
‘It’s my secret place,’ said April. ‘And you are honoured with being my very first guest.’
‘Thanks,’ said Lucy, uncertain that visiting a bark hut in the shade of a mass of granite was much of a privilege.
‘That’s Pulpit Rock above us,’ said April. ‘When we’ve had a cuppa, I’ll take you up there.’
Outside the hut was a circle of stones where April had laid the makings of a campfire. Lucy followed April into the hut. It was really no more than a cubby. There was an old Arnott’s biscuit tin full of coloured pencils lying open on a stump of wood that served as a table, a battered tin trunk in a corner, a makeshift shelf where several spiral-bound sketchbooks lay in a pile and a tin billy hanging on a hook. And there were pictures. Dozens of pictures. They lined every wall of the cubby from floor to ceiling. There were pictures of flowers and trees, people in long flowing gowns, horses and strange beasts, rivers and hills, birds and bright sunsets.
‘Did you do all these?’ asked Lucy. ‘They’re awesome.’
‘I love to draw,’ said April. ‘But at home my little sister always wants to borrow my pencils or make me play with her.’
‘Don’t the pictures get ruined up here?’
‘I change them all the time. And I put my favourite ones in that tin trunk, if I’m worried about rain getting in.’
April rummaged around in her pencil tin and took out a box of matches. Outside, she lit a fire while Lucy fed it dry leaves to keep it going. Then April brought out the billy and a jar of water that she emptied into it. She set the billy over the flames and gestured for Lucy to sit on a sawn-off log beside her. All around them, the bush was still and mysterious. A thin column of blue-grey smoke curled up from the fire and rose above the trees.
‘We should do something to officially welcome you to the Empire of Pulpit Rock.’
‘The Empire of Pulpit Rock?’
‘That’s what I call it. C’mon up and you’ll see why.’
April jumped to her feet and began climbing up the rock through a crevice. Lucy followed. It was almost as if the rocks had formed a natural staircase up and around the side of the huge cliff. Green ferns sprung out of cracks in the granite and patches of moss and silvery lichen peppered the walls and the crevices. In a couple of minutes, they were both standing above the open glade, with a view across the entire valley. The house looked like a postage stamp, nestled deep in the heart of the green landscape. The river was a blue ribbon, weaving its way through the dark bush. A spring breeze swept Lucy’s hair out behind her and something deep inside her thrilled to the beauty of the valley.
‘See, it’s like being at the top of a cathedral an
d the valley below is a special, sacred place.’
Lucy looked into April’s eyes. They were the brightest, fiercest blue she’d ever seen.
April stretched her arms out to either side. ‘Now that you’ve been welcomed into my empire, you have to swear an oath that you will never tell a living soul its true location.’
‘I swear. I swear I’ll never tell anyone about the Empire of Pulpit Rock.’
‘And now we have to have a feast, to honour your pledge.’
April drew a circle around them, scratching a pale line on the surface of the rock. Then she took out a small paper bag from her pocket and showed the contents to Lucy. Inside were shiny black boiled lollies.
‘Do you like cannonballs?’ asked April, popping one of the black sweets into her mouth and offering one to Lucy on the palm of her hand. Lucy hesitated for a moment then picked up the black ball and licked it. It tasted sweet and tangy at the same time. She rolled it around inside her mouth and it clanked against her teeth.
April put another two cannonballs in her mouth and her cheeks looked lumpy. She gave two more to Lucy and they sucked on the cannonballs while they sat side by side on the edge of the rock, swinging their legs, the whole world at their feet and their mouths crowded with sweets.
April spat one of the balls back into her hand. ‘Mine have turned white already,’ she said, looking pleased. Then she stuck her tongue out at Lucy. ‘Is it black?’ she asked.
‘Absolutely. And your teeth have turned grey,’ said Lucy.
Lucy took one of the cannonballs out of her mouth. It was a greyish blue.
‘Your teeth are blue-grey and I bet your tongue is black too. Once it’s black, then that means you’ll never break your pledge because if you do, your tongue will turn black forever.’
Lucy laughed and crunched the cannonballs between her teeth so they shattered into little pieces in her mouth.
April smiled and reached out to touch the dimple in Lucy’s left cheek. ‘You know, when you laugh, you really look like me. It’s so strange. If you had your hair in plaits like mine, we’d really look exactly like twins. Turn around.’
Lucy loved the feeling of having her hair braided. It was something Claire always did for her when she came home from Paris. She gazed out over the valley as April gently tugged at her hair, combing it with her fingers and separating it into strands to braid. It was as if April was weaving Lucy and herself together, as if they were being fused to each other as they sat high above the valley in the spring sunshine.
‘Do you know the story of Persephone?’ asked April. ‘It’s a Greek myth. It’s where I got the idea of cannonballs being good for a pledge. See, Persephone was stolen from her mother by the god of the underworld, who was madly in love with her, and her mother went searching everywhere, all around the world, to find her, but Hades had taken Persephone to his kingdom in the underworld. When her mother, Ceres, found her there after searching and searching, Hades said that Ceres could have her back as long as Persephone hadn’t eaten anything. But Persephone had eaten six pomegranate seeds. And so she was only allowed to spend six months of the year with her mother on earth. The other six months she had to spend with Hades in the underworld.’
‘I know that story,’ said Lucy, swallowing the last bits of the cannonballs. ‘But pomegranates aren’t like cannonballs. Pomegranate seeds are red.’
‘Only until you suck the juice off them. Then the pomegranate seeds are little and black. So we’ve shared six of them and now we’re bound together. That’s how that sort of magic works. That’s why I drew a circle around us too. Because anything that happens inside a circle is sacred.’
When all the cannonballs were eaten, they clambered back down the rock and squatted beside the campfire. April leaned forward and threw a handful of tealeaves into the billy and stirred the pot with a twig. Then she poured some tea into a pair of chipped enamel mugs. ‘Now you have to drink to seal our bond forever.’
Lucy sipped on the tea and it cleaned out her mouth after the sticky sweetness of the cannonballs. She didn’t really believe in magic. Jack and Claire had told her that there were no fairies, no magic, no Easter Bunny and no Father Christmas when she was still in kindergarten, and ever since then she hadn’t been able to believe in anything she couldn’t see. But how could she still think that, now that she had walked through a wall? If this wasn’t a dream, it was the strangest magic anyone had ever invented. And there was something about this place, this girl, and the thick bush that ringed the camp. It really did feel as though powerful magic lived here, the sort of magic that could hold you in its grip forever. Lucy put down the tin cup and stood up.
‘I think I’d better go back down to Avendale now,’ she said. ‘I have to go home.’
Water Sprites and Wattle
As they rode back along the dry dirt track, Banjo broke into a trot, anxious to reach the home paddock again. Lucy felt bounced around like a raggedy doll, but she curled her hands tightly into Banjo’s mane and tried to remember April’s instructions about holding on with her knees. Her feet kept slipping out of the stirrups and she gave up on them, letting her legs dangle loosely like April’s.
When they came to a stream, Midnight cantered through the water, sending shining droplets into the air. But Banjo stopped halfway across, splayed her legs, stretched her neck down and began to drink. It was a gentle movement, but Lucy hadn’t been expecting it. She tumbled forward, sliding down Banjo’s neck straight into the creek. It was shallow but icy cold, and Lucy squealed with surprise.
April looked back and shouted Lucy’s name in alarm. She turned Midnight around and rode back to where Lucy sat in the stream.
‘Fancy a swim, did you?’ she said, looking relieved to see Lucy was all right. ‘You know, everyone has to fall off a horse at least once before they know how to ride. Banjo was probably helping you out with an easy start.’
Lucy grinned. She wasn’t hurt, only a little surprised.
April leaned down and stretched her hand out to help Lucy up, but at that very moment, Midnight dropped his front shoulder, tipping April into the water too. She tumbled into the stream with a shout and then sat up beside Lucy, wiping her face with her hands.
Banjo had wandered on to the bank to stand beneath the branches of a golden wattle, not the least bit interested in the two girls sitting in the stream. But once Midnight had ditched his rider, he bolted. Lucy shrieked as his hooves flashed past them, churning up the water.
April and Lucy looked at each other. Then April began to laugh. For a split second, Lucy couldn’t see anything funny about their predicament. Midnight had disappeared down the long track through the bush. They were both covered in mud and icy water. But the sun was shining, Banjo was waiting patiently on the bank and April was laughing like crazy. Lucy started to laugh too.
April lay back in her soaking-wet dungarees and let the water flood over her. ‘Nothing like a creek full of spring rain,’ she said. ‘We could be like the Lady of Shalott and float all the way down to the river.’ She unbraided her hair and rinsed it in the water, picking out flecks of mud churned up by Midnight’s hooves. Then she lay down in the shallow creek, resting her head on a rock so the current swept her long gold hair out behind her. Lucy undid her plaits as well and lay cheek to cheek beside April so their hair flowed out behind them like a blonde waterfall. Tiny wattle blossoms floated downstream, catching in their hair like golden pearls.
They were still splashing in the stream like water sprites when they heard the sound of hooves galloping down the track. They both sat up abruptly, water streaming off their clothes.
A man on a chestnut mare reined his horse in at the water’s edge.
‘Crikey,’ he shouted at April. ‘What do you think you’re playing at? I thought you were lying dead and broken in the scrub when I saw Midnight galloping into the home pasture without you.’
Lucy stared. It wasn’t a man at all but a teenage boy of no more than sixteen. Though his feet were bare, he jum
ped down from his horse, landing lightly on the rocky bank. He looked like a movie star with his lean, tanned face and his thick dark hair curling at his temples. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows, showing smooth, brown forearms. He strode into the creek and grabbed April by one arm, hauling her to her feet.
‘Don’t be an old lady,’ said April crossly. ‘Midnight was only being cheeky. He dropped his shoulder and dumped me in the creek.’
‘And what about your doppelganger here?’
‘My what?’
‘For a minute, I wasn’t sure which of you was which. You look like twins. She dived into six inches of water to save you, did she?’
‘No,’ said Lucy. ‘April was helping me. I fell off Banjo.’
Then the handsome boy laughed, but it wasn’t a mean laugh. It was a man’s laugh, rich and full. It reminded Lucy of her brother Jack. When the boy stretched one hand out to Lucy and gently pulled her upwards she blushed because all of a sudden, she wanted to hug him.
‘I’m Tom,’ he said, ‘April’s brother. You must be new around here.’
‘I’m just visiting,’ said Lucy. ‘I live in Sydney.’
‘Don’t you let that sister of mine lead you into mischief.’
April punched him in the arm but she might as well have been a gnat for all the notice he took of her. ‘I’m Lucy.’
‘Well if that isn’t a coincidence,’ said Tom. ‘My baby sister’s name is Lucy, though we call her Lulu. She’s much easier to manage than this great big firecracker.’ He grabbed April in a headlock and ruffled her long wet hair while April tried to wrestle free.
‘Mum was worried sick when she saw Midnight galloping up the track without a rider. Where have you been?’
‘None of your beeswax,’ said April, shooting a warning glance in Lucy’s direction.
‘Well, you get yourself onto Banjo and ride home, quick sticks.’
‘I can’t,’ said April, straightening her dungarees and wringing water out of her hair. ‘Lucy’s riding Banjo and Banjo’s too old and tired to take both of us.’
The Four Seasons of Lucy McKenzie Page 3