‘You must be hungry, Nick. Dinner will be ready soon. Why don’t you come back down?’
He hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday’s mango and the few nibbles of bush scraps, and his stomach roared with the suggestion of a meal. He pulled his shirt on and followed Xanthe off the Spit.
By the time they reached the bottom, the light was leaching from the sky. It was no different to the one Nick had known his whole life – the same stars spluttered through the twilight and crowded the heavens like a plague of fireflies. The Southern Cross hung in the south and the Pleiades clustered to the north. Even the moon was at the right stage of waning, as if it was the same moon he’d seen yesterday.
At the huts, several people sat around a bonfire, laughing and fondling the ears of dingo puppies. The air was rich with the smell of burnt eucalyptus.
Xanthe rested a hand on his shoulder, which he shrugged off.
‘Here, Nick. Eat this.’
She handed him a bark tray with a fillet of lean meat, a piece of scorched flatbread, and a handful of char-grilled bugs. As he picked at the food, he wondered how long it took for a person to starve to death. He settled against a ghost gum, squirming till he found a comfortable position, and noticed several warriors watching him through the smoke. He ducked his head and began to eat.
THAT NIGHT, NICK’S dreams were filled with black glares and shadows that flitted in and out of sight. He woke early, sweaty and anxious. David sat in the shade of the doorway, chewing a blade of spinifex. Xanthe and Jinx weren’t there. Neither was the wooden chest.
‘Bad sleep?’ David asked.
Nick scowled at him, willing his matted curls to spontaneously combust.
‘You have every right to be angry, Nick, but you’ve got to understand that I didn’t have a choice.’
‘Bullshit. You could’ve told me the truth.’
‘I was trying to protect you.’
‘I had a right to know!’ Nick cried, his heart burning. One of the warriors stuck his head around the possum skin curtain but David waved him away.
Nick held his head in his hands, took a minute to get a handle on his breathing, then said, ‘I suppose my parents came from this place too?’
David nodded.
‘What about that man yesterday? The Arai. He came from here, didn’t he? He knew my name. And he said he killed my dad. Is that true?’
David winced as if he’d been stung. ‘Yes, it’s true.’
‘Why did he kill him?’
‘Because, to the Arai, your dad was...a sort of outlaw.’
An image of a man wearing Ned Kelly armour and carrying a rifle flickered across Nick’s mind.
‘They called him a rebel,’ David continued, ‘but all he did was defend his people and his family.’
‘What’s so bad about that?’
‘It depends on your perspective. To us, Jónatan was a hero, but he posed a very real threat to the Arai, and he publicly challenged the king’s authority, which made him a target.’
‘Jónatan? You mean Jonathan. My dad’s name was Jonathan.’
David shook his head. ‘His name here was Jónatan.’
Nick’s anger flared. Here was yet another piece of skewed information.
‘So he challenged the king. You mean King Thanos?’ When David shot him a quizzical stare, Nick added, ‘Xanthe mentioned him. What about my mum?’
Rolling the spinifex blade to the other side of his mouth, David replied, ‘Her people turned against her. Well, the Arai did, anyway. She and Jónatan came here, to Yándemar. They helped found and train the Bandála, the most successful resistance group the Arai has ever faced.’
‘Bandála,’ Nick said, getting his tongue around the new word. ‘What happened to my mum?’
‘She...’ David cleared his throat. ‘The Arai killed her.’
Nick was quiet as he digested this news. Dread was beginning to cement in the pit of his stomach. ‘You and Mía told me when I was little that my parents disappeared on a bushwalk.’
‘We didn’t want to scare you.’
‘And you think all that stuff you both told me about the wild country wasn’t scary?’ Nick retorted.
David rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable. ‘The truth is, your mum was an Arai.’
Nick had half expected this, but even so, the words still jolted him. He pushed past David, strode through the bush to the creek, and dived straight in. Though the water was warm, his skin crawled with goose bumps. He swam to the opposite bank and perched on a rock in the shade to wait for his shakes to settle. One by one, the muddy parts of his life began to solidify and slot together like brickwork. David and Mía had lied about Nick’s parents because of their violent deaths. The tattoo on Nick’s chest, the Arai hunting him down, the displacement he’d felt, all seemed to make perfect, sickening sense.
Then another thought occurred to him. What had driven his parents to become outlaws and challenge King Thanos and the Arai?
Nick thought about the fights he’d been in at school. Some were one-offs, while others seemed more like skirmishes in a years-long war. He’d often talked with Mía about the grudges some kids had against him. ‘It’s because they want you to believe you’re weak. If you believe that, Nick, then they’ve won. Belief is a powerful tool. It can lift people up, or it can crush them. The trick is knowing how to use it to your advantage.’
Nick’s parents had both believed in something that had gotten them killed, and now the Arai were calling in what David called ‘a debt of blood’. What could his parents possibly have done for the Arai to send an assassin to kill him thirteen years later? Did they think he was going to follow his parents, become a rebel and challenge the king’s authority? Or was there more to it than that?
He had to find out, but he couldn’t trust David’s version of events. Someone else must have the answers. He’d just have to find them.
Chapter 8: Desertion
A loud crack like a stock whip jolted Cal out of sleep. He lay still for a moment, listening, his heart hammering, and tried to figure out if the sound had been real. The pink dawn, visible through the open shutters, convinced him he must have dreamed it. Today was their one morning off all week and they were allowed to sleep until third hour. It was far too early to be awake.
As he rolled over, though, he saw that the hut was empty. Blankets were strewn across the floor, as if the boys had found a nest of brown snakes and bolted. The door crashing against the wall must have woken him.
Out the window, Cal caught sight of one of the girls racing across the yard. She lined up with the others beside the mess hut. In their haste, the boys hadn’t bothered with shirts, and most of the recruits were barefoot. Roan stood beside them, his quicksilver gaze following another Arai soldier approaching on horseback. This Arai wasn’t tall enough to be Alexander. When he dismounted, the Arai recruits knelt before him, and Cal recoiled with a gasp.
It was King Thanos.
Cal fumbled with his shirt and shoes, adjusting the last bootstrap just as Roan appeared in the doorway.
‘Sir, what’s happened? Have the Bandála retaliated?’ Cal asked.
Roan shook his head, looking grim. ‘It’s Artemis. She left just after midnight, went to the king’s country estate, and stole his horse.’
‘She deserted?’
‘Worse. She left her Arai jacket for him to find, with the Bandála star drawn on the chest.’
Cal’s stomach pitched. ‘Skata! She defected?’
He rushed outside to join the recruits kneeling in front of the king, hoping his delay wouldn’t attract too severe a punishment. He watched the king’s feet pace up and down in front of the recruits. The king wore scuffed regulation Arai boots, same as the ones worn by every other Arai soldier. This wasn’t unusual. It was widely known that he liked to blend with his bodyguards, although Cal suspected it was more a necessity than a preference, given that half the population despised him and the other half feared him enough to follow him with
out question.
A shadow fell across Cal. ‘Stand up, boy, and look at me.’
Cal obeyed. The king’s black Arai jacket was hanging open as if, like the rest of them, he hadn’t had enough time to dress. The royal tattoo above his heart was dark against his pale skin. A scar snaked across his neck and ended at an ear, and his amber stare was fixed on Cal with cool intent. Cal bowed his head.
‘I said look at me.’
Cal swallowed, then raised his eyes. It took all his willpower not to look away.
‘What is your name?’
‘Cal, my lord.’
‘How well do you know Artemis?’ The king’s voice was calm, but the way he held himself, with firm shoulders and a tight jaw, revealed the measure of his rage.
‘Very well, my lord. We’ve both been at this training camp for four years. She’s my...’ Cal gritted his teeth.
The king’s eyes narrowed. ‘She’s your what?’
‘My best friend.’
‘Was. She was your best friend. Now, she’s a traitor.’
Cal replied quietly, ‘Yes, my lord.’
Thanos regarded him, unblinking, for a long minute. ‘Which direction do you think she would go?’
‘I...I doubt she’d go south, my lord,’ Cal said, thinking fast, ‘or west. She’d want to cross the border as quickly as possible, so if I was to guess, I’d say she headed north into the Yándemar Highlands.’
‘You’d know that region well, I suppose.’
The king was referring to Cal’s Highlander features, and the implication of this turned Cal’s stomach.
‘Yes, my lord. I lived there until the Arai...until I was twelve.’
‘Roan tells me you’re a talented tracker.’
The king wanted Artemis dead, not captured. He wouldn’t have needed a tracker for this mission otherwise.
With a slow nod, Cal said, ‘I’ve finished the training, my lord.’
‘Good. My best trackers are busy with another assignment, so all I’ve got is you. Saddle your horse. You’ll leave immediately.’
‘Sorry, my lord, but my horse was commandeered after the Bandála massac...’ Cal faltered. ‘Uh, I mean, after the solstice mission.’
‘Captain, get him a fresh horse,’ the king said to Roan then turned back to Cal. ‘Two men from my elite guard will meet you at the road. You’ll lead them into the Yándemar Highlands.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘And Cal,’ Thanos added, ‘if you fail me, I will have your head as well as hers.’
As soon as the king waved a dismissal, Cal shot into his hut. His hands shook as he yanked on his jacket, strapped his hunting knife to his thigh and sword to his hip. Over his shoulders he slung his bow and quiver of arrows. He wrapped his Arai mask around his wrist and pulled his sleeve over it. Into his boot he slipped a dagger. Lastly, he buckled his medicine pouch to his belt. By the time he’d stepped outside again, the king had gone and Roan’s own grey mare was saddled.
‘I, ah...sir, I can’t take her,’ Cal stammered.
‘You’ll need her,’ Roan replied. ‘Ride fast, no matter which direction you take. And don’t stop for anything, you hear? Not for anything.’
Cal frowned. ‘Sir?’
Roan leaned closer and hissed, ‘If you bring Artemis back, Cal, I will have your head.’
‘But sir—’
Roan pressed the reins into Cal’s hand and pointed to the track. ‘Hurry. The king’s men will be waiting.’
Cal led the mare down the slope and glanced back to find Roan already directing the recruits to begin their morning chores.
‘Goodbye, Captain,’ Cal murmured, and trudged towards the valley.
It was not even second hour yet but already the day was hot enough to draw the oil from the gum leaves and drench the air with the scent of eucalyptus. As Cal emerged from the bush at the foot of the hill, two Arai soldiers came into view, both of them unmasked. One was only a few years older than Cal and had feathery brown curls and bright eyes the colour of moss. As he reached for his reins, Cal caught sight of a mottled series of scars across the back of his hand. The other Arai had lank blond hair that draped to a narrow, unshaven jaw.
‘Hurry up, mileskúlos,’ the blond soldier growled.
Cal mounted his horse and headed for the northern border. They travelled fast, concentrating on covering as much ground as possible. Cal stopped now and then to check the track. At first, the two Arai soldiers demanded to know what he’d found. It occurred to him that neither of them had any tracker training, and they were relying on him to lead the hunt. He could take them wherever he wanted.
As Cal suspected, Artemis hadn’t gone north to the Yándemar Highlands. He knew she wouldn’t have stayed here in Korelios, not with the entire Arai force on the lookout for her. That left one option – over the western mountains and into the heart of Bandála territory. Into Yándemar.
‘How far is it to the northern border?’ the blond soldier asked, squinting up the rocky path to the ridge above.
‘We’ll get there around nightfall, sir,’ Cal replied.
The sun reached its zenith and scorched the hills, crisping the leaves and turning the grass into stiff, crackly stems. Several times, Cal had to clear a path for the horses, and he was glad he’d sharpened his sword the day before. Someone had ridden this way recently, but not recently enough for it to be Artemis.
As Cal slashed through a stubborn clutch of bower vines, he thought about how he could get rid of the two Arai soldiers. They’d soon realise he was misleading them, and when they did they’d either murder him or tie his hands to a saddle and drag him back to Korelios. The men were older and more experienced than Cal, but Cal had one distinct advantage over them: he was a Highlander. He’d spent the first twelve years of his life in these hills and knew every valley, river and ridgeline. As soon as he crossed into the Highlands, he could vanish. Of course, the Arai would return to Korelios and send reinforcements to hunt him down. It’d be risky for them to travel through these parts, but they could well be enraged enough to try.
Cal’s breath caught in his throat as another, more terrifying thought occurred to him: the Arai might go after his family.
He sheathed his sword and climbed back into the saddle. He had to buy himself some time to get his family out. The Arai had spies in many of the villages. That’s how they’d recruited Cal in the first place. Someone somewhere had noticed him, realised his potential, and notified the Arai.
Now the only safe place for his family would be the city of Auremos.
Cal shuddered with the thought. Artemis had been brave enough to desert the Arai and enter the enemy’s city. But she’d had no family to risk. To save his father and sister, Cal would have to follow her. He’d have to turn himself over to the Bandála and tell them anything they wanted to know in the hope that the rebels might protect his family.
First, though, he had to shake off these two Arai soldiers, and he knew exactly how to do it.
That evening, just as the sun was setting across the purple peaks, they reached a deep gorge. On the Korelian side was an abandoned Arai watchtower, the crumbling ruins overrun with daisies. A long rope and wood plank bridge spanned the gorge, creaking in the breeze, and a shallow creek trickled between sharp rocks far below. On the ridge opposite, the dense Highland bush reared towards the sky.
‘Do you think it’ll hold?’ the younger Arai asked, peering at the fraying cords.
The other kicked one of the rotting bridge stumps and said, ‘I guess we’ll find out after the little peaker crosses.’
Cal gritted his teeth but didn’t retort. They could insult him as much as they liked. One of them would be dead in a minute.
He fixed his Arai mask over his horse’s eyes then led her across the bridge and tethered her to a wattle tree. He waited until the blond Arai and his blindfolded horse were halfway across the bridge before he drew his sword. The man stared, his mouth hanging open as if about to yell, but no sound escaped. Cal
swung his blade high and sliced one of the bridge ropes. The horse lost its balance and vanished from sight.
An arrow nicked the side of Cal’s neck and he spun away, clapping a hand across the wound. Blood seeped through his fingers. Another arrow thumped the ground next to his boot. He ducked behind a tree. He couldn’t reach the bridge now without being shot by the Arai sharpshooter on the opposite cliff. After calculating the distance and angle, he leaped out and threw his sword. It whistled through the air and slashed another rope. The blond Arai climbed hand over hand towards Cal. Wooden planks clacked together and the bridge lurched. Cal flicked his hunting knife and severed the third rope. The man scrabbled towards the edge of the cliff. Cal drew his dagger but before he could take aim the remaining rope snapped and the bridge sailed into the gorge, clattering against the rock face.
A sickly moan sent a splinter of pain into Cal’s heart. He whipped around in time to see his horse collapse, foaming at the mouth, an arrow sticking out of her flank. He touched his own neck, stared at the blood on his fingers. The arrowtips must have been laced. He ripped open his medicine pouch, snatched a small leather flask, and gulped down the contents. He sat trembling and sweating, eyes shut, fists clenched, breathing fast and shallow. Finally, the poison ran its course, his pulse calmed, and his limbs stilled. He tossed his Arai jacket into the gorge then wet some dirt to make a muddy slush that he smeared over his black boots and trousers. This at least might stop the vicious Highland raiders from shooting him on sight. With any luck, they’d think he was a runaway slave and ignore him.
His thin disguise worked. The raiders, if they saw him, didn’t emerge, and he passed through the ranges unchallenged. He travelled as fast as he dared, knowing that if he ran too fast it would attract attention.
Lightning Tracks Page 6