The Amber Legacy

by Tony Shillitoe

  ‘We don’t need religious twaddle,’ argued Millwheel Miller. ‘You go to the towns, Fletcher, and you find out just what sort of trouble those priests create.’

  ‘There’s a war going on because of them,’ Beam Carpenter chimed in.

  ‘You men leave off arguing long enough to pay the dead respect,’ Dawn interrupted. ‘Where’s Emma?’

  ‘She won’t come,’ said Brightday Tailor.

  ‘Then let’s get the Singing On done with,’ said Fletcher, ‘so the minstrel can sing us the latest news.’

  The small gathering sang two songs for Samuel. First there was the traditional elegiac piece sung at every Singing On—‘The Journeyman’s Call’—that reminded everyone of the long journey through darkness the dead undertake to reach the golden shores of Paradise. When it was done, they hesitated, unsure of what else to offer respectfully to a man who’d been well known to them all and yet utterly unknown. The visiting minstrel broke the uncomfortable hiatus. ‘What about a round of “Friends Who Are Awaiting”?’ he asked, and the suggestion received ragged, relieved approval.

  Meg joined in the quiet dirge, singing:

  ‘And at the edge of Death’s pathway we sit and gaze in wonder,

  Unsure of what our life-lost friends will find on paths up yonder,

  But there will come for us a time to walk the paths alone,

  And in the mists of death we’ll find our friends we thought were gone.’

  The second song concluded, Fletcher Archer passed around a jug of mead from which every person poured a measure, and in unison they drank to Samuel’s memory. ‘Well now,’ Fletcher said, wiping his lips, ‘that’s the formalities done with. Let’s hear what our minstrel has brought for us this evening.’

  Meg wished that there was someone who could have spoken for Samuel. The Singing On seemed too brief to celebrate a life. But who could have spoken for him? No one knew the truth about his background—except for Emma. Still, she felt as if more was needed to acknowledge a person’s life than a pair of songs.

  The minstrel produced a five-stringed instrument Meg recognised as a bandolier and a Shessian two-throat flute from his backpack. He chose a stool by the bar and sat, with his flute ready to play. He was a thin-faced, wiry man, she estimated in his mid-twenties, possibly older, and his black hair was jutting untidily from a narrow blue and red cap. His knee-length brown boots were dusty from travel. ‘For those who never met me,’ he said in a voice more like a young woman than a man, ‘I am Bandolier Talemaker.’ Brief introduction made, he piped a lilting tune that made Meg imagine she was listening to the antics of a honeyeater bird in the wattle. He followed that tune with another that was even more energetic, and people got up and danced.

  ‘Another!’ Iris Baker asked as the reel finished, and the minstrel obliged, setting the inn echoing to stamping feet and clapping hands.

  ‘Give us a song about the world!’ Millwheel Miller bawled after the second dance ended.

  ‘Sing that one about the Queen and her son!’ Fletcher requested.

  ‘I’ve got a newer version,’ Bandolier told them. ‘It’s called “The Bastard Son”.’

  ‘That’ll do fine,’ said Millwheel.

  Bandolier exchanged his flute for his namesake instrument, and his fingers danced across the strings as he began to sing:

  ‘And good it is to have a child who grows to be well-lived,

  And right it is to have a child who loves as he is loved,

  And rare it is to have a child who knows how to repay you,

  And sad it is to have a child who grows up to betray you.’

  Meg listened to the minstrel unfold the story of a Queen who gave birth to a boy out of wedlock, but had him taken away in secret while her courtiers told the world that her baby had died at birth. Before he was taken away, she named him her Treasure, and gave him five kisses for good fortune. The boy grew strong and handsome, completely unaware of his true mother’s identity, but she kept a maid in his household whose job was to keep her informed of his progress. When he came of age, she sent for him and her secret was confessed. With a bitter smile, he said that he would forgive her when she gave back to him all that was rightfully his, and he betrayed her by raising an army of her own people to march against his mother.

  The ballad went for longer than she thought it warranted, but the minstrel’s fine voice and his skill on the bandolier kept her entertained, and the tale was poignantly rendered. Everyone clapped and cheered for another when the minstrel finished. ‘And how is the Queen?’ Fletcher yelled above the calls for another song.

  ‘The latest rumour is that she was killed and resurrected on Erinsday,’ Bandolier replied, his expression grim.

  Silence descended on the room. ‘Really?’ Millwheel asked.

  The crowd’s anticipation of the minstrel’s answer irritated Meg. She looked at the minstrel whose face remained serious. ‘Two poison darts,’ he said. ‘The assassins got her and she died.’

  ‘Really dead?’ Millwheel asked.

  ‘Really dead,’ the minstrel confirmed.

  ‘And?’ Fletcher asked.

  The minstrel grinned. ‘She came back to life!’ he snapped, and took up a vigorous rhythm on the bandolier, singing:

  ‘They laid them low down in the earth, buried them down and deep O,

  But no one keeps a spirit down, if a dead man he can’t sleep, ho!’

  The crowd joined in with the familiar reel, dancing and singing into the night.

  ‘That Talemaker is good,’ Dawn said as they walked home under a carpet of stars.

  ‘I liked the drinking song,’ said Mykel.

  ‘Except you’re not allowed to drink yet,’ Daryn remarked.

  ‘What did you think, Meg?’ Dawn asked her silent daughter.

  ‘It was good,’ she replied.

  ‘I liked the song about the bastard son,’ said Daryn. ‘Is that about the Queen?’

  ‘No,’ said Dawn. ‘Her son is Prince Future.’

  ‘But isn’t he the one leading the Rebels?’

  ‘Yes,’ Dawn replied.

  ‘So it is about them,’ Daryn reasserted.

  ‘I’m going to sit outside for a little while,’ Meg said as they reached the house.

  ‘You’ll get cold,’ her mother warned.

  ‘I won’t be long. I’ll check on the animals, then I’ll come in,’ Meg explained. She said goodnight to her brothers and kissed her mother’s cheek before they entered the house. Glad to be alone, she walked to an open space near where Nightwind was quartered and gazed up at the stars. The clouds had cleared away for a time, although the darkness on the horizon told her that the sky would soon be overcast again. It had been a strange night. Samuel’s Singing On still seemed empty, incomplete. She wished Emma had come to the inn, long enough to give the Singing On a sense of meaning—long enough to share the knowledge of the truth about Samuel’s life and his death. She touched the sliver of amber crystal against her chest and wondered what his gift to her really meant. A shiver wriggled down her spine and she imagined for a moment that she saw Samuel’s ghostly presence in the darkness beside her. There are no spirits, she reminded herself, but she wasn’t convinced by her own logic and retreated into her home.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ‘Emma’s here,’ Mykel told her. She looked up from sharpening the plough blade, in the direction of the house where her mother was talking to the white-haired crone. Handing the whetstone to Mykel, she rose, saying, ‘You finish this and take it to Daryn.’ She wiped her hands and headed for the house.

  ‘Emma is here to see you,’ Dawn said with a broad smile, embracing Meg. Meg observed that Emma had on the same threadbare grey dress that she’d worn the day she’d taken her to Samuel’s grave, and she was leaning on her walking stick, clutching a woven hessian bag. A black shawl protected her shoulders from the overcast sky.

  ‘I’d prefer to speak with Meg in private,’ Emma said, looking directly at Dawn.

  Dawn’s eyeb
rows rose in dismay, but she lifted her arm quickly from her daughter’s shoulder, smiled, and said, ‘Of course. I’d better check on Peter. Do you want something to drink?’

  ‘Do you have any herbal tea?’

  Dawn looked at Meg, then back to Emma, and with a shrug replied, ‘No.’

  ‘I’ll be fine, then.’

  ‘Do you want to talk inside?’ Dawn offered.

  Emma smiled at Meg, winked, and said, ‘No. Outside is good. We might walk to the riverbank.’

  Dawn reluctantly withdrew on the pretext of searching for her youngest boy, and called Sunfire to follow her. The dingo’s inquiring gaze stayed on Meg.

  ‘Go with Mum,’ she said. When Sunfire hesitated, she repeated the instruction. He turned and trotted after Dawn.

  ‘Let’s walk,’ said Emma, leaning forward on her twisted mallee cane.

  Meg dawdled beside the old woman in the dull midmorning light, wondering why she had left her cottage to visit when everyone knew Emma seldom went anywhere in the village. ‘So you’re wondering why I came to you?’ Emma asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Partly to ask a favour.’

  Meg stopped. ‘What favour?’

  Emma smiled and held the grey hessian bag open.

  When Meg peered in, beady eyes in a black face stared back. ‘The bush rat?’

  ‘Her name is Whisper.’

  ‘You want me to look after a rat?’ Meg asked in disgust.

  ‘She’s no ordinary rat. She was Samuel’s companion.’

  Meg looked at Emma as if she didn’t believe what was being asked. ‘A bush rat on the farm? Sunfire will kill it. If Mum doesn’t first. Or my brothers.’

  ‘She needs somewhere to live.’

  ‘Why don’t you keep her?’

  ‘She doesn’t want to stay with me.’

  Meg’s face broke into a cynical smile. ‘How can you say that? Did she tell you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Meg snorted. ‘A bush rat told you it didn’t want to live with you? You expect me to believe that?’

  ‘You can believe what you choose,’ Emma said curtly. ‘I answered your question, honestly and respectfully.’

  Emma’s tone prompted Meg to curb her mocking disbelief. She looked down at the black rat in the bag, and asked, ‘What do I get for doing this favour?’

  Emma closed the bag. ‘I never took you for someone who sought self-profit.’

  ‘Meaning what?’

  ‘Meaning that I thought I could rely on you to take responsibility for the gifts you’ve inherited from your dead great-uncle without expecting to be paid for it.’ Emma looked up at the grey clouds. ‘Are you still wearing the crystal?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good.’ She met Meg’s gaze, her eyes glittering with energy. ‘Because what I will do in return for your safekeeping of Whisper is to teach you what I know. Is that a satisfactory offer?’

  ‘Yes.’ Meg felt she should apologise for something that had just happened, but she wasn’t sure what exactly she’d done wrong.

  ‘Good. Come to my cottage tomorrow, before sunrise. Bring four fresh eggs and some fresh milk. Bring Whisper. She doesn’t like being left alone, especially in strange places.’ Emma passed the bag to Meg. ‘She eats grain, but she also enjoys morsels of anything you eat. Don’t overfeed her though. She gets fat very easily.’ She headed for the path into the village.

  ‘I thought we were going to the riverbank?’ Meg asked, feeling the rat’s weight in the bag.

  ‘No need,’ Emma replied, without turning or pausing. ‘Be there tomorrow morning.’

  Leaning against the white and grey bark under the shade of a gum tree, she watched him. Bent over the bank of the river, washing his tunic, he was lithe and slim, but solid muscles rippled along the frames of his arms and across his back and shoulders, and his blond hair appeared even whiter set against his tanned skin. She wondered where he’d been for the two days since she’d last spoken to him—what he’d been scouting. A hive of bees filled the air above her with a dull hum, working their nectar into their honeycomb cells high in the tree, prompting her to make a mental note to return to farm the bees’ golden produce. She ceased her vigil when Nightwind nudged her with his nose. ‘Cheeky,’ she whispered, and led the grey horse towards the scout’s campsite. Sunfire walked ahead, ears alert to the stranger.

  Treasure turned, smiling as if he was expecting her at exactly that moment, and she almost blushed. ‘So everyone came?’ he said, grinning at the horse and the dingo.

  ‘Sunfire goes most places I go,’ she replied. ‘Where’s your horse?’

  ‘He ran off,’ he explained, and shrugged. ‘I tied him up while I was having a sleep and by the time I woke, he’d bolted. I went looking, but he’s gone like a ghost. I walked back here last night.’

  ‘I thought he was injured.’

  ‘He was, but clearly not as badly as I thought he was.’

  ‘So what will you do for a horse now?’

  Treasure shrugged again. ‘My guess is that I will have to improvise.’ He looked Nightwind over and paused when he saw the serpent brand. ‘Where did you get this horse?’

  Realising her grave mistake, Meg said, ‘I found him wandering in the hills. I meant to tell the soldiers who stopped here, but the storm came and they left.’

  Treasure ran his hands along the horse’s back and withers. ‘He’s a good horse. Strong.’ He studied the scars. ‘He’s seen battle.’

  ‘I guess you’ll take him back,’ she said.

  Treasure looked at her, and she was conscious of his intriguing eyes. ‘I promised to teach you how to ride him,’ he said, smiling again. ‘I keep my promises.’

  Her thighs were aching when she reached home. Sunfire loped past the house towards the paddock where Daryn and Mykel were unharnessing the bullock from the plough, finishing as evening settled across the hills. Meg was proud of her brothers for finally taking responsibility in the farm work. The previous Doyanah season, she had struggled with the harnessing and ploughing, the old bullock they called Finicky acting as if he was reluctant to work for a girl. The barley crop had been patchy and low yielding in animal fodder. All the while, her brothers went fishing as often as they could, in defiance of their mother’s pleas and their sister’s struggle.

  Dawn was sitting on the front veranda, bouncing Peter on her knee, waiting for her. They stopped playing as Meg led Nightwind up and Peter’s hands reached towards the grey horse. ‘Come on,’ Meg said, taking the boy from Dawn and lifting him to stroke Nightwind’s nose.

  ‘You were away a long time,’ Dawn said, standing beside her daughter and stroking Meg’s red hair.

  ‘I walked him along the river almost to the Crossing Falls, and back through the valley. I guess I lost track of time,’ Meg explained. ‘He needs the exercise.’

  ‘And I need your help around here,’ Dawn reminded her, as she took Peter back and eased him to the ground. ‘When you’ve hobbled the horse, come in and help me serve dinner to your brothers. They’ve worked hard all day.’

  Meg led Nightwind around the side of the house to the tree where she kept the rope hobble to stop him straying. ‘You were good today,’ she whispered up to the horse’s ear. ‘And he’s so handsome.’ She patted Nightwind’s shoulder fondly, and followed Daryn and Mykel into the house. She went to her room and checked how Whisper was managing in the bag, and fed a handful of grain to the bush rat. ‘You’ll have to be patient,’ she told the animal as she closed the bag again. ‘I’ll be back later.’ She made sure that Sunfire was outside, and closed her bedroom door before she headed for the fireplace to help her mother.

  The meal done, dishes cleaned and scraps distributed, and the boys settling to sleep, Meg climbed into Dawn’s bed and snuggled against her mother’s shoulder as she used to when she was a child. ‘Well, this is a surprise,’ said Dawn, hugging her daughter. ‘I thought you’d gotten too old to cuddle your mother.’ She chuckled with delight. ‘Well, I’m glad, bec
ause I want to ask you what Emma said this morning.’

  ‘She asked me to do her a favour.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Look after Samuel’s pet.’

  ‘Pet? What sort of pet?’ Dawn asked warily.

  ‘A bush rat.’

  Dawn flinched and sat up. ‘A rat? I hope you said no.’

  ‘How could I say no?’

  ‘Easily. It’s a rat!’

  ‘She’s trained. She lived with Samuel.’

  ‘I don’t care if it can dance and sing and cook its own meals. You’re not bringing a rat into this house. Have you gone mad?’

  ‘Emma asked it as a favour.’

  ‘I know that old woman is mad. It’s you I’m worried about.’

  ‘I said yes.’

  ‘Meg!’

  ‘She won’t cause any trouble. Her name’s Whisper.’

  ‘Whisper? What sort of name is that for a rat?’

  ‘I don’t know. That’s what Samuel called her.’

  ‘You’ll have to make some sort of cage for outside. You’re not bringing that rat into this house. And what about Sunfire? He’ll kill it.’

  ‘He won’t kill her. They’ll become friends.’

  Dawn slid back under her blanket and put an arm around Meg’s shoulders. ‘You have a lot to learn,’ she muttered. ‘No rat in the house.’

  Meg smiled and snuggled against her mother, enjoying the warmth and the familiar smell. She missed being little. Later, when her mother was snoring, she rose and let Sunfire inside. When the dingo headed for Meg’s door, she whispered, ‘No. By the fireplace.’ Sunfire waited, as if he hoped that she would change her order. ‘Fireplace,’ she whispered harshly. Realising the order was fixed, the dingo slouched across the earthen floor and curled up in the warm spot before the fireplace. Meg crept to her own room and closed the door.