Desert Flame

by Nicole R. Taylor

  The vampire nodded and reached for the jug of beer. “All good.”

  Finn wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Eloise knew he wasn’t going to be here, but she looked for him anyway, his usual perch by the bar awfully empty.

  “What about the EarthBore employees?” Vera asked, resuming their conversation. “Did you help them?”

  “Yeah,” Joseph replied. “Patched them all up, did a bit of light dusting, then performed a little trick with my eyeballs, and they packed up what was left of their gear and rolled off into the sunset.”

  “As far as EarthBore is concerned, the core sampling was a bust,” Kyne said with a nod. “They won’t be coming back here.”

  “They won’t find anything, anyway,” Joseph added. “That old lady you all bang on about came and did some magic spell and hid it all. Not that anyone saw it.” He grunted. “I still think she’s a figment of your imagination.”

  The Exiles chuckled and Vera held up her wine glass.

  “Faith can be a tricky concept,” the witch said. “Sometimes you’ve just got to let go and accept it.”

  “Hear, hear,” Blue declared.

  “Why didn’t she hide the seal?” Eloise asked, voicing the one question that’d been plaguing her since the chaos at the pit.

  “The old bag didn’t want to help us,” Drew said. “She was screwing with us the whole time. No wonder she was hiding in her cave.”

  “No,” Kyne told him. “I don’t think it was that cut and dry.”

  “Maybe it can’t be contained,” Vera said.

  “Huh?” Drew asked. “What do you mean?”

  “When we were down there, I felt its power reaching through my barrier spell,” she explained. “I can’t remember much from when the Nightshade possessed me, but being able to access its power at all is a sign that it can’t. If we take everything about the Old Ones at face value, we’re literally messing with the fabric of the universe. Someone plugged that hole, but…”

  “It still leaks,” Wally muttered.

  “Finally, something older than you two fossils,” Drew proclaimed, holding up his pint glass.

  “Which two fossils are you referring to?” Joseph asked, raising his eyebrows.

  Vera snorted. “Take your pick.”

  The Exiles laughed and clinked glasses.

  “Now,” Blue said, reaching up to the bar. He picked up a stack of papers and waved them at Hardy. “Before I give you this, you have to promise you won’t get mad at me.”

  The vampire frowned. “What is it?” He reached for the papers, but the publican snatched them back.

  “Promise.”

  “I promise.”

  Blue shuffled the stack and coughed. “I researched your family tree,” he admitted. “I had the approximate dates and an inkling… I was gunna keep it hidden until you were ready, and you seem ready.”

  Eloise’s heart skipped a beat. “You found them?”

  “Found who?” Kyne asked.

  “My brother and sisters,” Hardy murmured in shock.

  The Exiles fell silent, glancing at each other. Drew shifted, his chair creaking, the sound breaking Hardy out of his daze.

  “My sister was sick,” he told them. “We couldn’t afford medicine, so I… It’s why I was sent to Port Arthur.”

  “Strewth,” Wally said.

  The vampire took the papers, folded the pile in half, and stuck them in the rear pocket of his jeans.

  “You’re not going to read it?” Joseph asked.

  Hardy shook his head. “Not yet.”

  A minute of awkward silence followed.

  “On that note,” Drew said loudly. “Is dinner ready yet? I’m starving.”

  Blue chuckled and clapped the shifter on the shoulder. “Should be. Come give us a hand.”

  The Exiles lingered after dinner. Joesph was taking great pleasure regaling them with tales of Medieval England and all the gruesome and gross things humans had to endure in the big cities.

  Hardy sat back from the group, his expression closed. When he caught Eloise staring at him, he leaned towards her.

  “I wanted to talk with you,” he murmured. “Outside.”

  “Sure.” She nodded.

  The sun had long set and the stars shone overhead in the clear sky. The lights from the pub didn’t dull their glow at all, their little blip on the map passing by unnoticed…by most people at least.

  They sat on the wonky table again, but it was Eloise who spoke first.

  “Can I ask… What did you do with Darius?”

  Hardy sighed. “We took him into the pit and buried him. Even after all the horrible things he did to us, it didn’t seem right to just leave him exposed like that. For better or worse, he was the father of all vampires in this world.”

  And in the end, he just wanted to go home. It was a sobering notion, that all bad people wanted many of the same things as the good ones did. A home, family. It humanised the villain when it was easier to see them as all one thing.

  Eloise nodded. “And that’s what separates you from him.” She placed a hand on his arm. “You were never going to be the monster he tried to turn you into. He underestimated who you really are, Hardy.”

  “And he underestimated you,” the vampire told her.

  Her expression faded. “How?”

  “You understand why the mountain calls to you,” he explained. “I felt it when I drank your blood.”

  Eloise bit her bottom lip and remembered the moment her true power had ignited. She’d seen Kyne do it before, how his eyes had glowed amber in the darkness of Black Hole Mine, but the thought had never occurred to her that she could do it, too. At least not until the universe had given her a shove in the right direction.

  “I didn’t until that moment,” she admitted. “It was something Andante said. You won’t know until you dig it up. I was sitting there with you in my arms, and I felt my power… I felt it…” She waved her hands before her. “It rose like a flame. I don’t know if it was the magic from the bomb or the exposed iron ore, or if it was another current of space and time brushing up against me, but it filled me up and I knew.”

  Hardy said nothing, but she knew he’d felt it, too. Her blood had given him the power to stop Darius, a two-thousand-year-old vampire.

  “The Old One in the mountain called to Darius, like it calls to me,” she went on. “There is no key in the iron ore, Hardy. There never was.”

  “Because you are the key to the mountain,” the vampire murmured.

  And what that meant for her, she didn’t know. That fact that it could reach out to her was enough proof that whatever prison held the Old One in the mountain was eroding. Maybe she did have to find it, if only to make sure the door remained locked.

  “It wants to be set free,” she said. “And it will do anything in its power to make it happen.” She sighed, her heart heavy. “It’ll come for me again.”

  “Do the others know?”

  Eloise shook her head. “I’ll tell them…just not today.” She tapped the papers sticking out of Hardy’s jeans pocket. “You gunna read that?”

  “Maybe later.” He smiled, shrugging. “There’s something I want to do first.”

  Eloise tilted her head to the side, but he wasn’t in the sharing mood.

  “Cool,” she said. “Let me know if you need any help.”

  Hardy chuckled and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Deal.”

  Hardy knelt on the rusty earth, loose stones digging into his knees. He set the last stone in place, angling it so the light caught the seam of black opal potch just right.

  The memorial was complete, and he looked over his handiwork and smiled.

  Kyne had helped him retrieve a slab of rock from Back Hole Mine, helping him solidify the crumbling layers and preserving the slash of potch running through the middle. It reminded him of the standing stones of ancient Britain, the jagged edges rising out of the ground, the monoliths calling to mysterious magic long-forgotten.

  T
hen Hardy had spent all day and night chiselling away in his workshop, fixated on completing it as soon as he could. He’d etched the names of his siblings across the face, remembering the good times they’d had growing up in London. For almost two hundred years, his memory had been clouded by the night when he’d been caught at the apothecary and all that’d followed.

  No more.

  Around the stone’s base, he’d placed more rocks, leaving a space for a glass jar where he could place flowers, even though they’d wilt in the middle of summer. Wildflower season was fast approaching, and he knew his sisters would love the colourful blooms that sprung up in the big wet. He’d ask Vera where he could find some and bring them back here.

  Hardy traced his fingers over the chiselled stone, his heart aching. Mary, Thomas, Elizabeth. Their memory had been pushed aside for too long.

  The settlers’ cemetery sorely needed tending to, and now he’d erected the memorial to his family, his thoughts were turning to restoring the entire plot. A new fence, some weeding, a plaque, and repairing the broken headstones belonging to the pioneers of Solace. A tribute to the Indigenous peoples could stand by the gate, acknowledging their plight, and he’d add their names to the obelisk by the highway.

  The story of Solace wasn’t always a pleasant one, but it deserved to be remembered.

  “Looks good.”

  Hardy looked up at Joseph, then to the car keys in his hand. “Are you leaving?”

  “Yeah,” the vampire said. “It’s about time I rocked and rolled outta here.”

  Hardy rose and dusted off his jeans. “You can always stay longer. The others won’t mind.”

  “I know.” He shrugged. “All I’ve ever known is pain and revenge. It’s time to figure out who I am without all of that.”

  “That’s deep.” He clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you.”

  “And I’m proud of you.” He grinned and nodded towards the memorial. “Are you going to read those papers Blue gave you?”

  “Yeah, actually. I’m going to in a minute. You don’t want to stick around and see how it all ends?”

  Joseph shook his head. “I don’t need to. I know it’ll all work out.”

  Hardy chuckled. “Eloise really did a number on you, didn’t she?”

  The vampire let out a heavy sigh and ran his hand through his hair. “You’ve got a special one there, old fella. Kyne’s one lucky bloke.”

  “We’re all lucky,” Hardy murmured. The day her van broke down should be turned into a national holiday as far as he was concerned.

  “Oh, before I forget…” Joseph reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a party popper. “Give this to Finn, would you? I promised to save one for him.”

  Hardy grinned and took it. “Sure.”

  “Will he be all right?” the vampire asked. “He was pretty churned up from that bomb.”

  “He will be. We’ll look out for him and his people.” It would take some convincing, considering the fae’s offhand approach to Solace, but he’d make sure they heard it. “And don’t be a stranger or wait another hundred years before you call.”

  Joseph chuckled. “I’ll do my best.”

  The vampires embraced one last time.

  “You were always the best of us,” Joseph murmured into his ear. “And don’t you go forgetting it.”

  They parted and Hardy stood by the side of the highway as the vampire got into his silver hire car. As it peeled away, the tyres kicking up a cloud of dust before they hit asphalt, he raised his hand in a wave.

  Joseph was more well-adjusted to life than he gave himself credit for, and he knew his friend would find himself out there. He had faith.

  Turning, he walked back to the memorial. There was one last thing he needed to do before it was complete.

  Hardy plucked Blue’s research out of his back pocket. It was the closure he was missing. The whimper was turning out to be a bang after all.

  He unfolded the papers and smoothed out the creases.

  The first page was the death certificate for his sister, Mary. It listed the cause of death as consumption, dated November twenty-first, 1831. Three months after the night he was arrested.

  Three months after he was sent away.

  It was a long time and knowing how she must have suffered, he lowered his gaze to the headstone. He’d been at sea, almost at the end of his tortuous journey to Port Arthur on that foul tall ship…but that was nothing compared to what Mary had endured.

  “Rest in peace, little sister,” he murmured.

  The next two papers were marriage certificates, and his heart sped up.

  Thomas Hardy, age twenty-three, occupation: carpenter. Mary Wallace, age twenty, occupation: maid.

  Elizabeth Hardy, age twenty-one, occupation: seamstress. William O’Connell, age twenty-six, occupation: clerk.

  Hardy’s hopes rose sharply as he shuffled to the next pages. Birth certificates. Elizabeth had three children and a fourth who’d died at birth. Oh, Lizzy…

  Tom had six children with his wife, and with the absence of more printouts for them, he assumed they’d all lived.

  The final two pieces of paper were death certificates. Hardy looked up, not daring to look at the dates just yet. They’d both had entire broods of kids, there’d be no way they would’ve died young.

  Thomas Hardy. Died 1884, age seventy-two.

  Elizabeth Walker. Died 1878, age sixty-nine.

  They’d lived long lives, gotten married, had children, and found their place in the world.

  Hardy folded the papers back up and clutched them tightly, his gaze returning to the memorial.

  They’d lived.

  Reaching out, he traced the chiseled letters of Mary’s name.

  It was finally time for him to do the same.

  Chapter 26

  Coen lounged in the branches of a windswept gumtree, his legs dangling in the air.

  Below, Marlu gazed into the distance, her warm brown eyes searching out the barrier between them and the Druid’s hidden home. Her joey peeked out of her pouch, mimicking his mother’s movements and the Indigenous man chuckled. The little ‘roo had a big heart.

  Above, the Milky Way had long set, the yearly rotation of the stars bringing the great emu down to the billabong to rest. He took care of all the animals—the kangaroos, the wombats, the little bilbies, the lizards, the snakes, and all the creatures of the land—while they sheltered from the heat of the sun. But soon the emu would rise, and he would take flight once more, bringing sweeping rains across the outback. It was the way of things.

  The wet would bring life to the dry, coaxing green things to grow while washing away the billowing dust of the summer. But the rains would also bring danger, for peace could not exist without it.

  Sunset came and the earth stilled, calmness returning to the currents sweeping past him. Yes, all was as it should be.

  The curtain billowed and the old woman appeared, her bare feet a whisper as she approached.

  “You finally came out to meet me,” Coen said, grinning. “Hello!”

  “You’re quite persistent,” Andante told him, “annoyingly so.”

  “You know why I’m here.” He leapt out of the gum and landed before the druidess.

  “Eloise.”

  “I knew she would draw you out,” he said with a chuckle. “You see the same thing in her that I do.”

  Andante nodded.

  “There are many who can see, but very few who can see beyond,” he went on. “She is one…and so are you.”

  “The Old One calls to her like it did the vampire,” she said, “but you already knew.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything to her?”

  Coen laughed. “That’s a very direct thing for a Druid to say.”

  “I think we are past that, don’t you?” Her expression darkened. “I know you feel them. They are returning. Breaking through their bonds.”

  The Indigenous man nodded. Of cou
rse, he did. It wasn’t the first time. The creatures had marked this world, but Coen saw the potential in the living things here. There was beauty amongst the suffering—one couldn’t live without the other—and it shouldn’t be a reason for a final end.

  This place deserved a chance to flourish.

  Andante’s wrinkled brow creased as she frowned. “When I look at you, I see…”

  “Best not to think about it,” he told her. “There is a long path behind me, but all that matters now is the trail ahead.”

  “Through what you call the Dreaming?”

  Coen nodded. “It is all around us. It is all things. Up, down, side-to-side. The sun, the wind, the rain. It is you and me. It is how we live our lives. It is our morals. It is memory.” He smiled and tapped her on the temple, their beings connecting with a sharp crack of electricity. “You feel it every time you call on your magic.”

  Andante jerked backwards, blinking. “I understand.”

  “They will need your help before the black heart wakes,” he told her. “Will you go if they call?”

  Andante looked towards the horizon, her eyes shining with a mysterious blue hue. It was the colour of the threads she wound into structures she called ‘prisms’. Coen saw them in the barrier surrounding the karsts where she made her home. They were pretty things, sparkling like the crystals the witch Vera used in her spells.

  Finally, the old woman nodded. “And what will you do?”

  “For many years I have made my own paths…” Coen grinned and pointed to the east. “I will follow the tracks left behind. There is wisdom to be found there.”

  The druidess’s smile faded. “The mountain lingers in the east.”

  “And yet, east I must go.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “The rains are coming,” he said, turning towards the mountain, “and when the clouds bruise the sky, the great emu will fly.”

  The Exiles story will continue in Walkabout Dawn, coming soon!

  OTHER BOOKS IN THE

  AUSTRALIAN SUPERNATURAL SERIES:

  Outback Spirit #1

  Sunburnt Country #2

  Desert Flame #3