Sleek Comes the Night

by S E Holmes

The brothers clip-clopped along a well-worn dirt trail in no particular hurry. Sunlight dappled the ground through branches as they skirted the property’s boundary, tracing a large circle. Colourful parrots squabbled and swooped from on high, eucalypt misting the air. The afternoon cooled so close to the hills and twilight would descend soon. Sam munched Anzac cookies, slurping chocolate milk from a flask. In respect of his training, Nic ate a boring apple. He figured they had another hour before darkness.

  They proceeded along the fence line, following the road that eventually split at their border, and continued on to the Arkady residence. The boys chatted amiably -- school, music, girls (not insufferable black-haired ones). But an undercurrent of tension informed their words, until they fell into a companionable quiet. Nic tried several times to get Sam to reveal the origin of that book, to no avail. Sam’s obstinate secrecy, so uncharacteristic, only served to heighten the worry.

  His brother’s mount, a nimble Australian Stock horse named Northern Star for the white diamond on her head, shortened to Noddy, neighed fretfully. Nic leaned down to scratch the mottled grey neck of his friend since childhood, feeding him the remnants of his apple. Balthazar was a rare Brumby-cross-Percheron draught horse, tall and dignified, with a placid temperament, yet tough and agile. He reminded of the warhorses of old that marched onto battlefields of clashing sword and shield. Over ten years, he’d never disobeyed a command. There was a first time for everything.

  “Move! You stubborn nag.” Nic gave Balt’s flanks an encouraging nudge.

  Sam’s bay pranced nervously about Balt, who’d stopped dead still and refused to take a further step. Nic couldn’t help but notice their location. They delayed in a gloomy hollow directly by the bottom field of the Arkady’s, which shared the top fences of the Lawson’s. Their horses’ ears flattened to heads and eyes rolled.

  “Check out how much forest they’ve cleared.” Land that had previously been densely wooded was denuded in a wide margin, the tree-line pushed back. Not one, but two tall electric fences sandwiched a no-man’s expanse in between. “That fortification’s better suited to a Siberian gulag. What’s all this for?”

  His brother shrugged, cheeks burning. He’d always been a lousy liar. “We’d better turn back.”

  “What?” Nic said. “This is your expedition, Samuel.” He urged Balt forward, but the aggravating beast would not budge. “What the hell’s gotten into him? He always does what he’s told.” Leave this place. Nic whipped around, searching for the source of the echoing voice. “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?”

  Sam battled the reigns, Noddy rebellious. She frothed and danced, looking ready to bolt. Hooves clattered exposed clay and rock, kicking up stones. Nic’s danger alert raised a notch. They’d both been riders almost from the moment they could stand and were experienced horsemen with firm control of their animals. Not at the moment. Balt snorted irritably and pawed the ground.

  Surveying scrub for the source, Nic’s gaze stuck on a symbol carved into the thick bough of a tall eucalypt on their side. It was a circle, in which rested an odd feline with wings and the head of an Egyptian woman. A sphinx? The sign was positioned at the very corner of the merging properties.

  Save yourself, Nic. Leave this place.

  There was nowhere to hide close enough to allow such soft speech to filter. Nic squinted at his brother. Busy wrangling his steed, Sam was oblivious of mysterious female voices. Uh-oh! It was only in his head.

  “Do you see that?” He pointed at the sphinx.

  Sam sweated with exertion, too occupied wrangling Noddy’s spirited resistance. “Nic! We need to go home. I can’t get her to steady.”

  Giving-up this easily on his obsession seemed insincere, especially when Nic exercised so much patience humouring him. “Why do I have the feeling you’re hiding things, Sam? You know what this is about. Don’t you!”

  “I’ve tried to explain, but you just think I’m nuts.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Nic failed to keep anger from his tone. Balt backed up, huge hooves gouging clods from soft soil. He pulled and yanked at the bit. “The horses are acting out because --”

  Leave now!

  Noddy reared, very nearly throwing Sam. The horse took off, galloping back down the trail at full tilt, mane flying. His brother yelled, the sound diminishing as he crashed through brush.

  “Oh, shit!”

  Nic wheeled Balt, using the reigns to lash him to full speed. After two bounds, he gained balance and thundered in pursuit, the horse overjoyed to flee whatever had him riled. Eventually, Nic accepted the futility of chasing the swift, nimble stock horse. Balt was more suited to the marathon than the sprint; whipping his horse to lather served no purpose. He slowed to a walk, intending to interrogate his brother and learn the truth. Even if it necessitated gaffer-taping him to a chair and grilling him under spotlight.

  He arrived home as evening fell, the aroma of a barbeque wetting his tongue. Nic tended his saddle and his horse, wiping Balt down, giving him a brush and cleaning his hooves, before turning him out to pasture.

  “You heard it too, didn’t you boy?” he murmured, while Balt nuzzled his jacket pocket for sugar cubes at the gate. “You don’t deserve sweets. Behaviour like that gets the glue factory.” Handing them over, he slapped Balt’s hindquarters and the big horse trotted away.

  Nic wandered past the barn, refusing to acknowledge anything noteworthy had happened there, refusing to pay the Arkady’s more attention than they’d already thieved. His skull teemed with a thousand questions, none of which he wanted answered. He made the outdoor dining area, where his father fussed over the flame. Hank swigged beer from an esky, dusty denim-clad legs resting on its lid. Sam slouched next to him at the dining suite, looking flushed.

  “You okay, Sam?” Nic inquired mildly. Sam made a surreptitious face at him. “No damage?” He took a seat at the table, already crammed with salads, bread, a water jug, utensils and crockery.

  “I had no idea Noddy could run so fast. My butt’s flogged.”

  Hank peered from one boy to the other. Their foreman had journeyed as a youth from Texas with Jonathon, both remaining to become naturalised Australians. Neither had lost their cattle-station American drawl. He lived on site in a van with Yap.

  “Horses spooked?” Hank said. “Let me guess, the Arkady joint.”

  Nic sat forward. “You’ve had problems up there too?”

  He shook his head in disbelief, tone tense. “That pile of bones was the eeriest thing I’ve ever seen. Neatly arranged like…” Hank shaped a pyramid in the air with gnarled hands. “My old chestnut’s the only ride with gumption to tolerate the place.”

  Nic gathered courage. “Are there any engravings on posts or trunks? A weird animal in a circle.” It sounded crazy. He almost expected a denial and immediate phone call to the loony-bin.

  “Do believe there are. I tracked ‘em the other day. Make a ring around our place. Those foreigners have cleared so much land. I don’t think it’s rightly legal. I’m making enquiries.”

  “It’s a sphinx,” Nic said, willing Sam to contribute. He stayed quiet, staring at his gym boots and picking a roll apart to bread crumbs. “Do you think Mira’s bracelet is because she’s some kind of psycho? Maybe she got done for animal cruelty. Satanism or sacrifice. Something like that.”

  “She didn’t get done for anything,” their dad said, roasting fork suspended over a sizzling wrack of lamb. “I’ve checked. She’s clean, no criminal record, no speeding ticket, no incident on file, nothing.”

  Sam cleared his throat. “She sleep-walks. Anatoly’s lost her a couple of times. She wears the anklet so he can keep track of her at night. To try and keep her safe.”

  Three heads turned towards Sam, Jonathon narrowing in suspicion. “And you would know that how, Son?”

  “Anatoly and Hanna gave me a lift home from school today,” he sighed. “Sasha didn’t show up and he said it seemed a shame to waste the trip.”
>
  Nic had discovered the book’s origin. He should have known.

  “There’s something about that crew doesn’t sit right. I want you to keep away from them, Sammy.”

  “What! Why? When I told Anatoly about the crap Sasha pulled he was furious. Said he’d had enough of that boy’s trouble-making. He apologised, even though he had nothing to do with it. Said he’d see to it Sasha left Nic alone.”

  “Great! Another one of them prying into my affairs! Adults trying to help in these situations generally make them worse. And who do you think Sasha will blame for copping crap?” Nic glared at Sam. “I wish you’d kept your trap shut.”

  “Just wait until I’ve checked them out, Sam. No argument.”

  An edgy silence hung between the boys during the meal, Sam obviously fuming over his prohibition. Beer bottles heaped between Jonathon and Hank, the leisure time a rarity. They exchanged reminiscences of early days, each narrative more boisterous than the last. As soon as he could, without seeming rude, Nic excused himself and commenced clearing away.

  “Us old boys have got it.” Hank waved a hand. “Go do whatever it is young folk do nowadays.”

  Nic considered sharing the truth. Young folk maintained the time-honoured tradition of arguing with their brothers. Sam stomped behind as they made the hallway to their bedrooms.

  Nic whirled. “Damn it, Welly! You’ve got to give the crap a rest or I’ll have to tell Dad you’re relapsing. He’ll flay me alive for helping you off the meds. It’s a book of fairy tales! Give the stupid thing back. It’s not real.”

  Sam barged passed to pause in his doorway, chest heaving and tears threatening. “Noddy stampeding was real. Balt disobeying you for the first time forever, was real. They know what’s coming! They sense it. Why can’t you trust me, just a little?”

  “What’s coming, Sam?” Nic prayed for the rational, knowing his faith would not be rewarded. “Listen hard when you say it out loud.”

  “The. Cats. Nic.” He enunciated every word. “I’ve told you, the cats are coming.”

  “Isn’t there a big black one here already? What did you call them? The Felid.” Nic struggled to hide the disappointment and consuming anxiety for his brother’s fractured psyche. The grief over their mother’s death was too much; it had broken Sam. He’d always been the sensitive one.

  “She’s neither. Yet.” He let the cryptic comment float between them and melted into his room, shutting the door.

  Nic heard it lock. He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against cool plaster, wondering why his carefully constructed existence dissolved between his fingers. Mira’s message scored his mind, as clear as his morning alarm. Leave this place and save yourself. Maybe he was the one in need of pharmaceutical equilibrium.

  ***

  Chapter Eight