Songlines

by Carolyn Denman

  ‘I just want to turn it all off!’

  Harry pulled me into his chest and hugged me, letting me pour out all my tiredness and confusion. It was the most physical contact we’d ever had. It was what I imagined a father would do.

  ‘Are you …? Are we …?’ I struggled to stop blubbering and get the words out, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t bear to hear any more. I hated that I was crying again. And I hated Harry for the simple fact that I knew he wasn’t deliberately lying. I always knew. Harry believed that he was a Cherub, and so was my mother. And so was I.

  The more questions I thought to ask, the more I realised I was afraid of his honest answers, so I shook myself free from his arms and backed away like he was some sort of dangerous animal. As I tripped over the edge of his rose garden, he made one last attempt to suck me in.

  ‘I’m going to Eden, Lainie. I’m sorry, but I can’t wait any longer. I’m going to talk to your mother and try to find out why the river is so sad. Then I’m going to ask her to help me to get rid of those miners once and for all.’

  I refused to listen.

  Chapter 9

  High above the ground, the Sentinel stood right on the point of the tree branch between where her weight was supported easily and the bendy region where a sudden movement would surely send her to her death again.

  The view was spectacular enough to distract her for quite some time, and she soaked it in as greedily as her lungs soaked in air—scented with pine and honey and blossoms—as she recovered from the climb. Under her feet, helpful rustling reminded her how deeply she was loved and cherished here, as the tree began to redirect its energy into growing faster beneath her toes, the branch thickening and strengthening with miraculous speed. The timeless pine hungered to keep her safe at least as much as it hungered for the sweet nectar of warm sunlight. Deep textured wisdom flowed up through the core of its massive trunk, tasting the atmosphere to assess her needs as well as its own.

  She brushed her fingertips across the tips of the pine needles. Their scent tripped threads of elusive memories—decorated trees on Christmas mornings with ACDC echoing across the backyard and Dad yelling at Mum to turn it down and Mum yelling back that he must be getting old and would he like a glass of sherry and Dad teasing her back by saying he’d prefer a shandy … but those memories were best left behind. Still, something tugged at her, from the east, demanding her attention in a place where demands were meaningless. Something forgotten, and uncomfortable to dwell on. Something that made her want to stay distracted enough not to have to think about it, and death was very distracting.

  Above her head, sparrows flicked around tiny gusts of air with each wing beat, throwing in random bursts of speed every time there was a hint of a pause in their song like they were playing musical chairs. Smiling, she pulled a slightly squished piece of Fruit from where it had been tucked under her belt, and then she launched herself from the branch, up towards the graceful sky.

  Adrenaline washed away her lingering discomfort as she plummeted past the base of the tree and down into the rocky gorge that it leant out over. Remnant reflexes from another world caused her to gasp, and for a second her limbs became rigid in response to her body’s perceived danger, but that only lasted for a few moments. She inhaled sweet life to drown the memories, and then let her breath out again with a laugh as she noticed the sparrows trying to follow her, unable to fall nearly as well with their hollow bones. Poor little things. Spreading her arms and legs in glorious celebration, she flew downwards faster than she could move in any other game, wishing she could somehow break the laws of gravity and move even more quickly. Except then it wouldn’t last as long. As it was, the ground was rising up far too rapidly. She would have to ask around to see if any of her friends knew of anywhere higher to jump from. They would laugh at her childishness, but to them she was still a child, and they loved to indulge her.

  Below, the River sparkled, its curved body growing fatter as she approached it. The darker blue of its deepest pool called to her like a lover ready to fold her into his arms, and tears fell through her laughter. In her blurred vision, the River became a spiral of blue, curling around a plain brown shell. Lost. She had lost it, so long ago, and with it she’d lost her lover’s embrace. As she hit the water with explosive force, bones broke, bruises blossomed like tulips at dawn, and the piece of Fruit she had been clutching floated away from her limp fingers.

  By the riverbank, a tall Tree swayed in the gusty breeze, scattering out a flurry of dry leaves. A little while later, after the Sentinel had been found by her friends and had tasted life again, a silver branch cracked and fell.

  Chapter 10

  The following morning, Harry’s ute was still parked by his cottage, but he was gone. Unless someone had driven in to collect him during the night without me noticing, it meant that he must have gone somewhere on foot. There was nowhere logical for him to go. Was he camping out in the bush somewhere just to prove a point?

  No matter how many times I pestered my aunt, she never changed her story. ‘No, Lainie, your mother hasn’t been living as a bush hermit for the last thirteen years’, went right alongside ‘Yes, Lainie, the Garden of Eden was moved to Australia in order to keep it hidden’, and ‘No, Lainie, I can’t tell you who moved it or how, because Harry can’t talk about it openly to just any old human like myself. You should have asked him when you had the chance.’

  I lost count of how many times she said, ‘No, Lainie, you can’t go and look for them because Harry once told me that when you cross into Eden you completely lose track of time, and I don’t want you to miss your exams.’

  After a while she started to sound kind of snippy. Which might have had something to do with the fact that all my questions were either sarcastic or just plain snide. It didn’t work anyway; she still stuck to her story, so eventually I gave up asking. Harry was more than capable of taking care of himself and would return eventually. And if my mother happened to reappear at the same time, then I would play along with any fantasy they wanted. If not, then I would find a way to scrounge enough money to hire a private detective to pick up where my internet searches for her had fallen to dead ends. It was constantly in the back of my mind, to the point that I kept looking over my shoulder, expecting to see people there, invading my space, and half hoping one of them might look like the young woman in the photo who had been singing to me. It was driving me crazy.

  So then I threw myself into a fury of exam study and avoided talking to my aunt about anything other than day-to-day, mundane things, and I avoided Noah too, because he’d spat the dummy with me after our little fight and had become unbelievably sulky. It was a lonely and fretful couple of weeks.

  Muck Up day arrived with dramatic thunderstorms at the end of October—our last bit of fun before exams. It was ridiculous how we could go from years of drought to a season of flash flooding seemingly overnight. My last-minute costume of ripped jeans, fake wounds and mummy bandages looked fine until I had to complete the outfit with a Driza-bone coat.

  We were supposed to arrive early but I still had to rely on the bus, so by the time I got to school the pranks were already in full swing. I was just volunteering to climb onto the roof of the staff room with some paint when Noah and Claudia arrived, dressed up as an angel and she-devil respectively. A flash of irritation shot through me and I shoved the tin of paint into the hands of another nearby student. Claudia wasn’t even a Nalong College student—what was she doing here? To make matters worse, Noah was bare-chested and wearing the huge pair of wings that I had made him the previous month. It had taken hours to stick on all the chicken feathers. I had to admit that they looked better than I had expected—wings kind of suited him—and I probably would have been even more annoyed if they had gone to waste. And yet I still fought the urge to go over and rip them from his shoulders and shove them somewhere that Claudia wouldn’t enjoy. I was not usually so petty but something about that girl just m
ade my fake blood boil.

  Claudia was small, willowy, and about as clever as a toothpick. Dainty as a dandelion, we were all waiting for her to fall in love with a vampire, werewolf or angel. Instead she’d snared Noah, and now they were kissing over by the water bubblers and Taylor was giving me a revoltingly sympathetic look and Noah was pretending he hadn’t seen me. What had happened to my friend? He’d always been so fervent in his ideologies, saying he wouldn’t just behave the way everyone expected of a teenage boy, and I’d believed him. I hoped he believed in himself enough to remember.

  Suddenly I felt overwhelmingly tired, grouchy and could no longer deny how stupid I’d been to alienate my best friend right when I really needed someone to talk to. I kept my head down for the rest of the morning so I wouldn’t be noticed, which worked fine until I needed the loo. Unfortunately the toilets had all been filled with gelatine or covered with sugar, and because of the intermittent hail storms, all the sugar and flour inevitably used in every prank was starting to form a sweet, cakey layer over everything.

  As I was sneaking out of the staff toilets, Mrs Ashbree appeared in the foyer, talking to the principal. A sullen-looking Nicole stood nearby, trying to look invisible. It seemed that Noah’s sister had been skipping school again. Naturally, it was at that moment that the loud speakers started blaring out ‘Eagle Rock’ at a deafening volume. Mr Davis groaned, knowing perfectly well what was coming next, and sure enough, as I shadowed them out of the staff building we were confronted with students of every year level converging in the quadrangle and dropping their pants.

  The ‘Eagle Rock’ de-pantsing tradition was compulsory for Muck Up day. Usually Mr Davis hid in his office trying to ignore what he had no means to control, but this time he had Mrs Ashbree there. Nicole took full advantage of the distraction and was off like a bride’s nightie, racing for the nearest building to hide. Mrs Ashbree appeared to be trying hard not to laugh—up until the moment the crowd of students parted and she saw Noah and Claudia. Noah had already been topless so everyone was now openly admiring the sight of him dancing in the rain in just his worn-out boxers and a giant pair of wings. Hardly anyone even noticed Claudia, who was wearing not much other than a red crop-top, knickers, and a predatory expression. Hardly anyone except Noah’s prudish mum.

  Furious didn’t begin to cover it. In years to come Sarah Ashbree’s tirade would become legend at the school. She went totally troppo and her shrill yelling lasted almost to the end of the song. Mr Davis dragged Claudia off towards his office—possibly for her own protection—while Mrs Ashbree continued to rant at her son, seemingly without drawing a single breath. The words ‘disrespect’ and ‘flaunting’ and ‘that Jezebel’ echoed around the brick buildings, and I was certain the phrase ‘should have sent you to a monastery’ came up more than once. Finally she whispered something in Noah’s ear that made him shudder, and he meekly followed her to her car.

  The rest of the students stood stunned with their pants around their ankles, all trying hard not to be the first to start laughing. As soon as the car pulled away though, all hell broke loose in the courtyard.

  I shrugged, did up my jeans and went to talk to Tessa, who looked like all her Christmases had come at once.

  Exams came around with an anti-climax worthy of a long-awaited series final. Most of them were easier than I had expected, which I hoped meant that at least my lonely study time had paid off. Even English was all right; we had to write a poem about ‘hidden beauty’ and I started with some clichéd piece about the rugged countryside, which inevitably led to a description of a river. It flowed wherever it was welcomed. The sentient water revelled in the joyful play of the people, and was sensitive to all their hopes and longings, pain and fears. Then of course all the musical sadness I had bottled inside me leaked out into my poem until I had written something passionate and real. Perhaps more hidden misery than hidden beauty, but artistic enough to satisfy an examiner, I hoped.

  And then that was it. School had finished and there were just a couple of weeks to go until graduation and then summer holidays, followed by the bright new existence known as university, which meant moving to the city. No rural student ever felt entirely ready for that. I didn’t even like going to the city on holidays. I literally got homesick if I was away for more than a week or so. Actually sick, not just whiney. Embarrassing but true.

  With scant weeks to go, I still hadn’t decided what I wanted to study or where. A firm decision would have to be made soon or I wouldn’t have anywhere to live. I enjoyed science but couldn’t see myself working in a research lab all my life. I had submitted applications for some environmental studies courses but I just didn’t have a clear sense that it was what I wanted to do. The idea of travelling overseas for a while sounded glorious, but that took money, and I had struggled enough this year finding time to help on the farm—no way could I have managed a job in town as well. Maybe I could work in town next year, then travel, then study? I knew too many people who talked about that but ended up working for two years, then three, then meeting someone. That was a trap for sure.

  And somewhere, in the very back corner of my brain lurked the memory of Harry’s regretful words: Your soul is linked to this place. It’s an undeniable bond that will shape every choice you make from now on. You won’t be able to leave.

  As the days grew hotter I threw myself into trying to catch up with the farm work. With Harry away there was always more to do, and I couldn’t believe how tired I was getting. Each morning I popped vitamins like lollies but it didn’t help much. Every time I mentioned it to Aunt Lily she would hand me a piece of bland fruit and a glass of water. That had always been her thing, whatever was wrong with me, my whole life. From a headache to just a bad hair day, her remedy was always predictably the same: ‘Have a glass of water, Lainie.’ Sometimes I wondered if she would recommend the same thing if my head fell off. ‘Have some water, Lainie, you’ll feel better.’ Now, of course, I realised why the ceramic water cooler had always been filled with river water. I’d always assumed it was because she thought it was cleaner than what came out of our elderly rain-water tank. Problem was, the supply Harry had brought us from ‘upstream’ was now getting low and my aunt was rationing it—only adding a dash of it to each glass of water she poured me. It was hard not to wonder if that really was why I was getting more tired. Despite my determination to keep my conscious thoughts firmly refuting the existence of Eden, I often found myself subconsciously asking, ‘But what if?’

  And then came the day that I had another vision. In it, Harry was standing in the mouth of a cave, staring off into the bush. He was facing the sun, which was low in the sky, just about to fall below the line of the ridge to the west. His attention was on something he couldn’t see, as if he was having a vision of his own. And I felt as if I knew what it was. There were two people walking through a patch of red and yellow flowered egg-and-bacon shrubs. Their steel-capped boots left a graveyard of broken twigs behind them, disturbing ground that cried a warning to any who would listen. And someone was. Harry breathed in deeply, his face a study of such intense concentration that one of his nostrils twitched. He walked backwards a few steps, and then spun and stumbled back into the cave.

  My eyes snapped open so fast I could almost hear them. Something was happening. Something … needed. Because those people were far too close. They shouldn’t be there. They had no right. I wouldn’t let them move a single step closer …

  The ground shuddered, deep but faint, and my foot rolled under me as I realised I had been moving, heading to where I was needed. I looked up to see the sun sinking below the ridge line far to the west, just as it had been in my vision, but from a slightly different angle. What I’d seen was not a premonition, or a memory. It was happening now. Feeling somewhat shaken, I dropped to a crouch and placed my hands flat on the ground. The rumble was settling, and with it went the sense of urgency that had made my feet move without my permission. I coul
d no longer see what was happening out there, but I felt the two people stop, and then turn around. Perhaps they had noticed the ground shaking too. But what had caused it? Feeling a bit stupid, I closed my eyes and tried to get the vision back, but it was gone. A moment ago, Harry’s presence had felt as solid as if he was standing beside me, but now the whole thing felt like it had all been my imagination. When I opened my eyes again, one of the lambs was looking at me as if I had gone nuts.

  Shooing it along with the last of the skittish sheep into a fresh paddock, I swung the gate shut and went to find Aunt Lily. She was just hanging up the phone as I entered the kitchen.

  ‘Did you feel that, Aunt Lil?’

  ‘I did. It was probably the mining company. They’ve been mapping and ground testing the area west of the fire track. They aren’t supposed to come on this side of it but I don’t trust them.’

  ‘What do you think it was?’

  ‘My guess is some sort of a landslide or cave-in. They aren’t supposed to be using explosives—at least not until their environmental assessments have been finalised—but there are extensive cave systems around there, and maybe they drilled an unstable area.’

  Cave-in? Like the cave from my vision? The one that Harry had gone into?

  ‘Should we look for Harry?’ I asked. ‘I wish he’d taken the sat-phone It’s not fair on us to have to worry like this.’

  ‘You know how much he hates phones,’ she pointed out, staring out of the window as if she was trying to spot him out there somewhere.

  It was true. Unless it was an emergency, Harry avoided the things like a disease. He didn’t even have a landline extension to his cottage, insisting on using ours instead. It wasn’t really ever a problem because the only person who ever called him was Stumpy Johnson on the odd occasion that he needed to cancel their fortnightly fishing afternoon.