It took most of the afternoon to bury the soldier in a shallow and rudimentary grave. She stripped him of his armour and weapons, thinking that they might be useful to someone in the village, leaving him his underclothes to wear into the afterlife. The hardest task was pulling the metal arrow from his back. She couldn’t fit him in the shallow grave with it in him, and she couldn’t relieve him of his corslet. She’d never seen such a thing. Arrows in her village were made of wood. It took her several attempts, straining and wriggling, and when it finally came free she was smeared with the dead man’s blood.
Among his meagre possessions, she found what she guessed, being unable to read, were letters, and a small picture of a woman painstakingly drawn in detail on a scrap of parchment. He also had the Jarudhan holy symbol of a circled tree on a silver chain. She buried these with him. She kept his money purse. It held twenty shillings and thirteen pennies, more money than she had ever seen at one time. After she’d stowed the soldier’s belongings between a rock and a fallen log, camouflaged under a small bush, she coaxed the horse to the creek, leading it by the reins, warning Sunfire away every time he sniffed at the horse’s legs. While the horse drank, she carefully inspected its wounds, confirming that the cut down the neck to the shoulder was deepest. ‘I need to get someone in the village to look at this,’ she crooned. ‘Horseman Farrier knows all about horses. I’ll get him to look at you.’ She gingerly patted the horse’s nose when it stopped drinking. ‘Guess you need someone to care for you now,’ she said. ‘I can do that. We need a good horse.’
Her mother was horrified when Meg returned late that afternoon with a bloodstained face, and blood on her hands and clothes, and told her the tale of the dead soldier. ‘It’s not my blood,’ Meg had to repeat to convince Dawn that she wasn’t hurt. Dawn made her wash and change her clothes, and Meg stowed the dead soldier’s purse under her bed. She reasoned that the money would come in handy when times were hard for the family, and she knew that if she told her mother, Dawn would insist on the money being given back to someone somehow.
Horseman Farrier and a small party brought the horse back down from the hills the next morning, on Alunsday, and they confirmed Meg’s story. Speculation was rampant amongst the villagers as to why the soldier had appeared in the surrounding hills when the war was a long way distant. Most conceded it was likely that the young soldier had been waylaid by thieves, especially as he’d been stripped of his armour and weapons, but when Meg tried to correct the details, explaining how she had prepared the soldier’s body, that only worsened the speculation. Fear of attack from a Rebel war party quickly replaced the fear of attack from a gang of thieves. The Alunsday festival mood was sombre and subdued, and shortly after the marketplace ceremony and shared meal people retreated to their homes.
Meg enjoyed caring for the horse, and its wounds showed signs of healing. ‘He’s the Queen’s horse,’ Horseman Farrier warned, after he’d sewn the torn skin on Alunsday morning. He pointed to the serpent brand on the horse’s right shoulder. ‘He bears the Queen’s mark. If the Queen’s soldiers come to Summerbrook, you’ll have to give him back.’ Meg listened, but she silently vowed to hide the horse if any soldiers did come. A good horse would be valuable on the farm.
‘You need a name,’ she said, while she curried him with a makeshift brush late on the Alunsday afternoon as the sun set across the distant mountains. ‘Something strong and fearless.’ She pondered choices, as she brushed, but she couldn’t find one that satisfied her. ‘I think you’ll name yourself,’ she finally said, frustrated by her lack of imagination.
‘Call him Nightwind.’
She turned to find Button Tailor smiling at her. ‘You shouldn’t sneak up like that,’ she said, trying to mask her surprise.
‘I didn’t mean to,’ he apologised. ‘It’s just you were so busy. I nearly didn’t stop.’
‘Why did you?’ she asked, and then blurted, ‘I mean, I didn’t mean to be rude.’
Button shook his head, laughing. ‘You weren’t rude. And it’s a fair question.’ He lowered his face momentarily, and when he raised it to focus on her she was mesmerised by his deep blue eyes. She hadn’t noticed their intense colour before. ‘I came by to talk to you.’
Colour rushed into her cheeks. ‘About what?’
‘How the horse is. Whether or not you’d be willing to go walking with me tomorrow morning? Or tomorrow afternoon if that’s better?’ Meg broke away from Button’s steady gaze, overwhelmed by his bold inquiry. In the village, a couple walking together was a tacit sign of commitment to a relationship. She wasn’t ready for that. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m being too pushy, aren’t I?’
‘No,’ she replied. ‘No. That’s not it. It’s just that I’ve got several tasks to complete tomorrow around the farm. And then I’m supposed to visit—I’m supposed to drop something to Emma for my mother. It would have to be late tomorrow afternoon.’
Button smiled and tilted his head. ‘Tomorrow afternoon would be wonderful. I’ll be working at the bakery, repairing a section of paving in their courtyard,’ he explained. ‘Will I meet you here?’
She hesitated, thinking of what her mother would say if she saw a young man courting her daughter. ‘Meet me at the swimming place, just beyond the Millers’.’
His smile widened. ‘Where’s Sunfire?’ he asked.
‘With my brothers. They went hunting kangaroos. They should be back by now.’
Button reached forward and stroked the horse’s nose. ‘So what do you think of Nightwind as a name?’
‘Why Nightwind?’ she asked.
‘Just like it.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ she told him. ‘I’d better finish brushing him.’
‘And I’ll be going,’ he rejoined. He smiled and bowed slightly, saying, ‘Until tomorrow evening,’ and walked towards the village.
Meg stopped brushing the horse to watch Button leave, her mind awash with his presence. He was handsome and he was very polite. He’d brought her flowers and he’d asked her to go walking. And those piercing eyes! She was still staring vacantly towards the village, long after Button disappeared, when her mother’s voice roused her.
For once the dream fascinated her because she seemed to be in a familiar place, at the centre of the village. People she recognised were strewing bright flowers at her feet, and she was wearing what could only be a wedding gown. Her mother and her brothers were laughing, and everyone in the village was singing and dancing. She was aware that someone, the man she was marrying, stood beside her, but she didn’t seem able to turn her head to look at him. Instead her eyes were drawn beyond the festivities, above the village rooftops, to a blue-robed horseman riding towards her out of a roiling bank of storm clouds, and no matter how loud she screamed no one in the village seemed to hear. The horseman wheeled his horse above Samuel’s cave and she could see Samuel staring in horror at the rider. And then Samuel fell and the rider vanished, and she woke.
CHAPTER SIX
She was exhausted. While she was gathering eggs from the chicken nests in the surrounding bushes, all she wanted was to curl up in the shade under a bush and close her eyes. She’d struggled to sleep. Button Tailor walked through her dreams, smiling at her, riding a grey horse he called Nightwind. Nothing was spoken in the dreams. He just smiled, and extended his arm to help her climb aboard the horse, but as she reached out the dream always ended. She swept the husks from the grain-shed floor in a stupor, her eyelids drooping. ‘What is your problem?’ her mother asked when Meg dropped a plate in the kitchen.
‘I’m fine,’ she replied, as she bent to scoop up the shattered pottery fragments, but she so wanted to sleep.
Lunch eaten, she told her mother that she was going into the village to collect a bag of washing from Flower Carter. ‘She doesn’t normally ask, but her husband’s clothes got out of hand the last few days,’ Meg explained, when her mother questioned why Flower would want anyone else to do the washing. ‘I’ll be back midafternoon.’ A
nd she walked into the village, heading for Emma’s cottage on the outskirts, Sunfire trotting beside her.
‘Glad to see you remembered,’ Emma said in greeting when she opened her squeaky door. ‘Take a seat. Lavender or rosemary tea?’
‘Can I just have water?’ Meg asked.
‘Of course,’ Emma replied. ‘And what about Sunfire?’ she added, looking down at the animal that was already ensconced on the mat at her door.
‘I guess he’d like water too,’ Meg answered.
Water distributed, Emma shuffled to her fireplace to start her fire. ‘So tell me about your new horse.’
‘Is there anything you don’t know?’ Meg asked.
Emma laughed. ‘Plenty, girl, plenty. But if it’s village gossip or news, I know all of it. Everyone’s been talking about the soldier. I’ve had enough of them coming to me asking if it’s a bad omen for Summerbrook.’
‘And?’ Meg asked.
Emma chuckled. ‘It could be,’ she said. ‘There are signs that warn us of what’s to follow. A soldier killed so close to Summerbrook is a bad omen. The war could be nearer than we thought.’
‘Then what should we do?’
‘Wait,’ Emma said. ‘We can only wait. A sign is just a warning of what might happen. Sometimes signs are very clear and whoever reads them must act. Other times, the signs are vague. For this one we need patience.’ She turned to prepare her tea. ‘And the horse’s name?’ she asked, straightening up.
‘Nightwind,’ Meg answered.
‘An interesting name. Who thought of that?’
‘It was Button Tailor’s idea.’
‘Needle Tailor’s boy,’ Emma noted, as she sat with her steaming cup of tea. ‘He’s keen on you.’
‘How—’ Meg began to ask, but just smiled, and said, ‘You do listen to the gossip.’
‘It’s not gossip,’ the old woman replied. ‘You and he are of similar ages. It makes sense. And what do you think of Button?’
Meg blushed at the old woman’s brash question. ‘I don’t think anything yet.’
Emma nodded. ‘Wisdom in one so young,’ she muttered, and sipped at her tea. ‘I promised I would answer your questions. So I will.’ She fished inside her grey, grubby dress and pulled out an object that she let dangle from her gnarled, arthritic fingers above the table. A sliver of amber crystal hung on an almostinvisible gold chain.
‘That’s like the crystal the old man uses,’ Meg observed. Her spine tingled, and she flinched as if someone had touched her.
‘Take it, girl. It belongs to you.’
Meg’s eyebrows rose. ‘I don’t own anything like that.’
‘It’s yours,’ Emma assured her, holding it closer. ‘Take it.’
Meg accepted the gift, holding it up to let the meagre light sneaking through the closed shutters sparkle in the crystal. The tingling sensation along her spine peaked and began to subside. ‘Why are you giving this to me?’
‘I’m not. It came from Samuel.’
Meg stared. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘It belongs to you. He was keeping it safe until you came to claim it.’
Meg shook her head, struggling to comprehend the old soothsayer’s intent. ‘I don’t have anything to do with him. He’s not related to me, or anything. Why would he give this to me?’
Emma got up and threw back a shutter to let the midday light into her cottage. ‘It’s always too dark in here,’ she said. ‘It needs more air, don’t you think?’
A dark shape scampered across the top of the books on a shelf. ‘There’s a rat!’ Meg exclaimed. The animal stopped at the end of the shelf and sat up to clean its whiskers.
Emma simply went to the front door. As she opened it, Sunfire rose expectantly. ‘Let’s take a walk,’ she suggested, looking at Meg. ‘I have more to tell you.’
‘But the rat?’
‘Later,’ Emma said, dismissing the question. ‘Come.’
Meg followed, glad to be out in the open because Emma’s cottage was claustrophobic and the smell of lavender was overpowering. The old woman led her around the side of the cottage, and across the back garden of herbs, vegetables and fruit trees towards the forest. She wanted to ask where they were going, but she walked in silence, remembering the old woman’s lesson on patience. Sunfire padded steadily ahead, his nose scanning invisible scents, almost as if he knew where they were going, but the old woman, leaning on her walking stick heavily, made the progress slow. As the threesome passed into the mallee scrub that crept down to the edge of the pasture dotted with Harry Bridgekeeper’s sheep, the black and white cow belonging to Kevin Potter lifted her head to watch them pass. Sunfire paused, waiting for Emma to choose one of four paths that diverged into the bush, and when Emma chose the one that climbed towards Samuel’s cave, the dingo trotted ahead eagerly.
Irritated by the old crone’s tedious pace, Meg dawdled. She thought that everyone’s petty attempts to divine the future were over with the sealing of her mother’s reluctant promise, but here she was climbing the hill yet again to visit Samuel. She fingered the crystal and the fine gold chain impatiently, feeling the tingling shimmer along her spine, and wondered why Samuel had passed to her the possession that he’d appeared to be manic about keeping.
They crossed the tiny brook bordering the glade outside the old soothsayer’s cave, and Meg noticed a fresh earthen mound. A grave. Sunfire sniffed the dark brown earth before he wandered towards the brook, searching for a patch of soft grass to lie on. Emma hobbled through the sunlight and shade to the graveside. ‘Whose grave?’ Meg asked as she stood beside the old woman.
‘Your great-uncle’s,’ Emma said slowly.
Meg stared at the side of the old woman’s head. ‘I don’t have a great-uncle.’
Emma turned and said, ‘Samuel was your great-uncle on your father’s side, your grandfather’s brother.’
‘Samuel? The old man is dead? No one ever told me that. What’s all this about? Why didn’t anyone tell me this?’ Emma ignored Meg’s bluster of questions as she headed into Samuel’s cave. Confused, Meg trailed after. The interior of the cave was dark, until a dull light glowed in Emma’s hands. ‘Where did that come from?’ Meg asked. Again, Emma didn’t reply, but the scene the light exposed diverted Meg’s attention. The cave was a chaotic tangle of smashed and overturned furniture and scattered belongings, as if someone had torn the entire place apart in a frenzy. ‘What happened here?’ Meg whispered, nervous.
‘Evil,’ Emma replied. The light in her hand faded and as the darkness returned, broken only by the daylight behind in the cave mouth, she grabbed Meg’s arm. ‘Can you help me to sit on the stones outside in the shade?’
Stunned by these strange and frightening events, Meg led the old woman outside to the brook and helped her to rest. ‘Sit down with me, girl,’ Emma said, patting a flat rock at her side. As Meg sat, Emma cleared her throat, and asked, ‘Do you ever have dreams?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Are they clear or confused?’
‘Sometimes they’re very clear. Mostly they’re just dreams, all mixed up. I don’t remember them—except when I’m in the middle of one. Then I seem to remember that I’ve had that dream before.’
‘What did you dream about last night?’
‘You haven’t told me what happened here. How did Samuel die? What was the evil you mentioned inside the cave?’
‘What did you dream about last night?’ Emma repeated, as if Meg’s questions didn’t exist.
‘Why?’ Meg blushed. Her dream about Button was not something she intended to share.
‘Was it a clear dream?’
‘In a way. Why do you want to know?’
‘Your many-times-great-grandmother carried your name,’ Emma said. ‘She was also called Megen. In another language she was known as Khovaarsheku, the Dreamkeeper. She was sister to Erin the Wise, and she became one of the Immortals who crossed over. The sliver of amber you hold is the gift her brother gave to her after he slew the las
t of the Dragonkin. That was before he followed in the footsteps of his great-grandfather, Alwyn, the one the Jarudhan cultists call Alun The Prophet.’
‘Stop!’ Meg ordered. ‘I don’t understand any of this. What’s a cultist? Who was this Erin or Alwyn or whatever you called him?’
Emma sighed and put a heavy hand on Meg’s thin shoulder. ‘You said your mother wanted to know if you had the Blessing or not. You told me she seemed obsessed with knowing the answer. True?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Patience,’ Emma cut in. ‘You have a great deal to learn, but you will learn nothing without patience.’ She held Meg’s attention with a ferocious gaze full of stubbornness, compelling Meg to silence. ‘Good,’ she said, satisfied by the girl’s acquiescence. ‘Your mother knows very little of your true family history. Your father knew a lot more, because it’s through him that you’ve come from a long line of Potentials.’
‘Potentials?’ Emma’s expression hardened. ‘All right. I’m sorry,’ Meg said quickly. ‘I’ll be patient.’
The old woman drew a breath and looked up at a pair of yellow-breasted honeyeaters perched above them before she explained. ‘Your father knew you could be capable of having the Blessing, that you were a Potential, because of your ancestry. But he didn’t want it to be found in you. He wanted you to be normal, like he was.’
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