Outback Spirit

by Nicole R. Taylor

  The sun was setting in a burst of orange and red when Eloise emerged from her van.

  She paused, watching the colours as they stretched across the outback, turning the dust into a mirage of liquid flame. The first stars were beginning to emerge as pinpoints of white light, and the brightest were the planets. Tonight, it was Venus that chased the sunset. Mars hung next to the crescent moon, flashing a dull shade of red.

  A red planet. Red dust.

  Eloise shivered and looked towards the road. She could see the pub across the street. It was lit up with yellowish bulbs and the sound of music ebbed out into the stillness. Beside her, the garage was dark. Wally must have gone out.

  Her stomach gurgled, but she hesitated. There was food in the little twelve-volt fridge in her van and instant noodles in the cupboard, but after the day she’d had it just didn’t sound appetising.

  Locking the van, she made her way towards the pub, her scuffed combat boots making no sound on the powdery red dirt. She didn’t bother looking for traffic when she came to the road; she simply stepped out onto the bitumen, the silence eerie.

  The moment her right boot came into contact with the white line in the centre of the highway, a tremor rippled up her leg and into her body.

  Eloise stood there as confusion settled in. In all her travels, she’d never felt anything like it. She’d climbed mountains, swum in bottomless lagoons, waded through the surf at the northern and southern most tips of the country, slept under the stars, and walked barefoot in ancient forests. All searching for an answer to a question she was beginning to think had none.

  What was she?

  Looking up at the pub, she huddled into her grey tartan shirt, pulling the collar back up over her shoulders. The air was warm, but she suddenly felt cold. It was nothing, just her imagination. Stress. Yeah, that’s it. Stress.

  Determined to ignore her uneasiness, she kept walking but came to a stop just outside the ring of light surrounding the pub.

  Should she go in? Her anxiety began to rear its ugly head, taunting her with a barrage of home truths. Why try when one accidental touch will make them hate you? Why try when they’ll just forget you?

  Eloise snorted and shook her head. It wasn’t like she was staying here. A couple of weeks and she’d be gone. Broke, but gone.

  A low, moaning sound echoed from behind the pub, then someone swore, and the corrugated iron nailed onto the walls rattled as something heavy bashed against it.

  Edging around the corner of the building, Eloise hesitated when she caught sight of a man on the ground, slumped against the wall, naked. Completely and utterly naked.

  At first, she didn’t know what to do. Leaves were stuck in his ratty blond hair and sweat and dirt smeared his skin. He had to be near her age, somewhere in his twenties. Lean, tanned, muscles, the whole bit…but he was naked.

  Eloise stared at him and wrinkled her nose as the man looked up at her.

  His blue eyes narrowed. “What?”

  “You’re naked,” she replied.

  He lifted his hands, exposing more than she wanted to see and smirked. “So?”

  “Indecent exposure is against the law, you know.”

  The man sat up and gestured to the dark expanse of nothing. “Who you gunna call, sweetheart?”

  Before she could retort, he slumped back against the wall and was out like a light. He definitely had issues.

  Sighing, she went inside the pub.

  The sound of some classic Aussie rock song washed over her as she pushed the door open.

  A huge man stood behind the bar with a tea towel thrown over one shoulder. He was broad-shouldered and built, with short greying hair and a matching handlebar moustache. He wore a faded blue T-shirt underneath a blue and white flannel shirt with rolled sleeves.

  Immediately, Eloise felt intimidated and almost backed out the door, but the man looked up and smiled. The gesture made his whole face soften and she let the door close behind her.

  “G’day,” he said, waving her over.

  The bar was made of corrugated iron and patched up wood. The top was lined with various mats promoting beer companies—bright green Victoria Bitter, yellow XXXX Gold, maroon Carton Draught—and looked sticky to the touch. Stools made of natural polished wood spread out across the front, and the rest of the room was dotted with mismatched tables and chairs. It looked more like someone’s kitchen from the 1980s than a pub.

  A door behind the bar led out to a kitchen where the smell of cooking wafted out, mingling with the pungent scent of stale beer.

  As Eloise moved towards the bar, she caught the eye of a man sitting on a stool at the far end, who was nursing a pint and a bowl of hot chips.

  He didn’t seem to be much older than she was—mid-twenties—but he had a strange aura about him that made her pause. His eyes were a slate grey, his skin unblemished, and his shoulder-length, dreadlocked hair was so black, it almost appeared midnight blue beneath the artificial lights.

  He smirked at her and shoved a chip into his mouth.

  “You must be Eloise,” the beefy man behind the bar said. “I’m Blue, the owner of this fine establishment.”

  Did everyone already know who she was? She supposed it was a small town. If her van breaking down was the biggest news of the day, then they had problems.

  “Blue?”

  “They call me that because I used to have flaming red hair,” he replied with a chuckle.

  “Oh…”

  “Can I get you anything to drink?”

  “Uh, there’s a naked man outside,” she told him.

  “Ah, that’d be Drew,” Blue said with a sigh, taking the tea towel off his shoulder. “Boy’s got problems, but he’s harmless.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “I was actually hoping for some food.”

  “Ah, yes. Dinner is on at six. One flat fee, dish of the day, all the sides you can handle.” She glanced at the clock behind the counter; it was a quarter to six. “You want a drink while you wait? First one’s on the house.”

  “Sure…”

  Blue didn’t wait for her order, he picked up a pint glass and pulled a beer from the tap. “So, you’ll be staying with us for a few weeks, eh? There ain’t much going for a young’un out here, I’m afraid.”

  “I don’t mind,” she told him. “I prefer the quiet.”

  He put the beer down in front of her. “Well, you’re going to get a lot of that out here.”

  She thought about her financial predicament. If she was going to ask anyone about earning some extra cash, it’d be the local publican. “Is there any work around here?” she asked. “Labour, bar work, kitchen hand…”

  Blue shrugged. “The place takes care of itself.”

  “But there are a heap of mines out here, right? I can shift rock.”

  He gave her a look that said she was either mad or simply didn’t understand what she was asking.

  She glanced at the man sitting at the bar, but he was enthralled with his bowl of hot chips. “What? Head gaskets don’t pay for themselves.”

  “Mining is backbreaking work,” Blue told her. “Besides, most miners don’t like taking on outsiders. They’re a secretive lot. There’s a lot of money in opal, and they’ll guard their claims with a shotgun in hand. It’s no place for a woman with no experience.”

  “Oh, experience,” she drawled. “Here I was thinking it was just because I have a pair of tits.”

  The man at the end of the bar laughed, his grey eyes sparkling with amusement.

  Eloise’s cheeks heated and she jerked away from the bar. “This was a mistake. I’m sorry to waste your time.”

  “Now hold up there,” Blue began, but she wasn’t listening.

  Mortified, Eloise turned only to come face to face with a woman with long, flaming, curly red hair. Brilliant green eyes stared at her and she almost fell backwards.

  “Don’t listen to those dimwits,” the woman said, her accent unmistakably Irish. “They don’t know their mouths from their arse
holes. Their balls certainly don’t house extra brain cells, either.”

  Eloise stared, her anxiety rising. It was so long since she had a friend—or a conversation lasting longer than two minutes—that she wasn’t sure how to ‘people’ anymore.

  “You’re the woman with the motorhome,” the newcomer said. “Aren’t you?”

  “Of course, she is,” the man with the chips called out. “There isn’t any other new face here.”

  She scowled and looked over Eloise’s shoulder. “Oh, shut your gob, Finn.” To Eloise, she said, “The sound of his voice makes me want to throw up on a daily basis.”

  Finn snorted and turned back to his beer.

  “Eloise, isn’t it?” the woman asked. “I’m Vera. Wally told me to look out for you. With the exception of Finn and his sour attitude, we do like to help each other in Solace.” She picked up Eloise’s beer from the bar. “Come and sit with me.”

  It didn’t seem like she had much choice, so she slid into a chair opposite Vera. She was already beginning to envy her ease and confidence…along with her fashion sense.

  Vera wore a flowing khaki peasant blouse with cream-coloured embroidery around the edges, short denim cutoffs, Blundstone boots, and about a million silver rings. Some glittered with different stones, but most were unadorned and bent into different shapes—a triangle, a circle, points—and underneath, Eloise spied some tattoos etched along each long finger.

  Vera didn’t seem to notice her staring. She just leaned close like she was about to tell her some scandalous secret. “Since you’ll be here for a while, let me tell you about Solace,” she began. “Blue, you know. He’s owned the pub for thirty years.” She shot a filthy look at Finn. “Finn… There’s no love lost there. Who else…? There’s Hardy, the opal buyer. Cuts and polishes the most beautiful stones you’ve ever seen. Definitely go into his shop and see. You know Wally, of course. There’s a few miners who come and go—Kyne, Trapper, Gunno, Nigel. Most of them live out on their claims or in the dugouts. A rough bunch, but mostly good blokes.”

  “Dugouts?”

  “Houses made out of old mines,” Vera explained. “It gets so hot in the summer and the only place that’s bearable is underground. They’re pretty solid homes. Painted walls, polished floors, electricity, and plumbing, all at a constant twenty-four degrees Celsius. Best air-conditioning around.”

  “What do you do?” Eloise asked. “It seems to be a man’s world out here.”

  “It is, isn’t it?” Vera sighed. “I run the Outpost. Someone’s gotta keep these gobshites watered and fed with more than beer and chicken parmigiana.”

  “I heard that,” Blue called out.

  “We have all kinds of stuff at the shop,” she went on, ignoring the publican. “We double as the post office, bank, hardware store, chemist, supermarket, newsagent, and anything else you can think of. If you need it, I’ve got it. If I don’t, I can get it.”

  “She’s also the local fortune teller,” Finn called out. “She can tell your future by looking at the wrinkles on your arse cheeks.”

  Vera scowled and let out a lengthy sigh.

  “Finn, give it a rest, mate,” Blue growled. “We don’t need that in here. Not tonight.”

  Eloise snuck a glance at Finn, wondering what his problem was. She’d obviously stepped into some toxic dynamic between him and Vera. She wondered what it was. Maybe they used to be romantic and it’d turned sour.

  “He is telling the truth, though,” Vera said. “Not about the arse cheeks, but I have experience with palmistry…tarot, too.”

  As if an Irish woman living in the middle of the Australian outback, running a general store wasn’t unusual enough, she had to throw in fortune telling, too.

  “Here, I can read yours.” Vera reached out for her hand and Eloise jerked away so sharply she almost tipped her chair backwards.

  For what felt like an eternity, everyone stared at her as she pulled her hands into the sleeves of her shirt.

  Embarrassment flooded her cheeks and she felt tears of frustration begin to cloud her vision.

  “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I’m—” She rose and began to tremble. “I’m sorry.”

  “El—” Vera began, but she was out the door before she could finish.

  Vera stared after Eloise in shock.

  “That was unexpected,” she said.

  “So much for Wally’s feeling,” Finn drawled, turning back to his chips.

  “You’re supposed to know these things,” Blue said. “Didn’t you get a vision?”

  “How can I get a vision if I can’t touch her?” Vera asked with a scowl.

  “I’m a mere mortal,” he replied. “I don’t know how any of this stuff works.”

  Of course, he didn’t. Blue was a regular human, but Vera was a witch. A witch without a coven, but a witch, nonetheless. Her magic should’ve told her if Wally’s ‘feeling’ had any merit, and she’d gotten a faint vibe that might be something. Without touching her, it was just an educated guess at best.

  “Maybe she melts people from the inside out,” Finn declared. “If you turned into a glob of melted flesh, I’d be sad, Vera.”

  Wally chose that moment to walk in. “I just saw Eloise fly out of here and disappear up the road,” he said. “What did you do?”

  “Nothing,” Vera snapped. “Nothing at all.”

  “You tried to touch her,” Finn drawled like she’d committed the ultimate crime.

  “I didn’t see you doing anything but sneer at her,” Vera cried. “I thought fae were supposed to be empathetic creatures.”

  “We don’t like to lie,” he drawled. “It has nothing to do with caring. I’d like to see you try to have an optimistic outlook when you’ve spent a thousand years as a withered husk.” He picked up another hot chip and screwed up his nose. “Great. Now my chips are cold. I loathe cold chips.”

  Blue sighed and snatched the bowl off the bar. “I’ll reheat them.”

  “Don’t bother. The microwave makes them all rubbery.”

  “Stop complaining. I’ll stick them in the fryer.”

  As they continued to argue about fried slices of potato, Vera frowned, her thoughts firmly on the outsider Eloise.

  “She must be an Exile,” she mused. “There’s no other reason for her to be here.”

  “It could be a coincidence,” Wally said, beginning to doubt himself. “They do happen. That road out there is open to anyone. There’s nothing there to stop them from rolling in and rolling out.”

  “Supernaturals don’t come here unless they’re driven to,” the witch told him. “If you had a feeling, it’s worth investigating. We can’t be too careful.”

  “She’s driving around in a motorhome,” Wally murmured, his brow creasing. “Travelling on her own.”

  “It’s a bit far to come for sightseeing,” Finn drawled. “Especially alone…especially considering what we’re sitting on top of.”

  Vera frowned, remembering how Eloise had pulled away. It felt like she was afraid of being touched, not the other way around. There was something about her, something she was doing everything in her power to hide.

  “She’s squashed it down so much, it’s barely detectable,” she mused. “Whatever it is, she’s either unaware or—”

  “Or it’s dangerous,” Finn snapped. “We’ve got enough of that already.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Vera told him, trying to hold her temper. “She’s here until Wally can fix her van. We should use that time to get to know her.”

  “Since when did the witch become the leader?” Finn asked with a roll of his eyes.

  “Since Kyne decided to live full-time down his black hole,” Vera drawled. “He’s too busy sulking to care about the seal, so someone has to take charge.”

  “Be nice about it, will ya?” Wally stated. “I get the feeling she’s all alone.”

  Outside, the sun had set.

  Eloise walked along the road into the shadows, unafraid of whatever was lurking in
the darkness. Snakes, lizards, dingoes…she didn’t care a single iota. One bite of her and they’d be toast anyway. What use was it to worry?

  Past the Outpost, she discovered a massive boab tree growing amongst the scrub. Its base was swollen and the top narrow, giving it the appearance of a bottle with branches growing out of the neck. It was unusual and beautiful, the moonlit outline a strange spectre in the darkness.

  As she approached, a dark figure ducked out from behind the bloated trunk. She yelped and stumbled back a step—it was a man.

  “Oh, pardon me, miss,” the stranger said in an earthy accent. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  She blinked as he stepped into the moonlight. He was an Indigenous man, young, dark-skinned, with curly brownish-black hair that touched his shoulders. Hazel eyes stared at her from underneath impossibly long lashes and she blushed. It seemed as if he could see right through her, even in the dark.

  Her gaze flicked to the boab tree behind him. “I didn’t see you there.”

  “I’m called Coen,” he told her. “The boab is a good place to rest.”

  “I’m Eloise,” she said, her voice wavering.

  “You’re the woman with the van.”

  She shook her head and scoffed, “Word travels fast around here.”

  “I saw you this morning. The marlu, he show me.”

  “Marlu?” She didn’t understand what he meant.

  “The kangaroo.” When he saw the look on her face, he laughed. “The spirits are strong. This place is full of the magic of the Dreaming.”

  Her interest ignited and she took a step closer. “The Dreaming?” she asked. “I’ve heard of it, but what is it?”

  “The Dreaming is the beginning of the world,” Coen told her. “But it is also the past, present, and future. It is the ancient time where spirits and animals were full of magic.” He swept a hand across the sky and the stars seemed to glimmer all the brighter. “There is this world and the world beyond, where magical things happen. The spirits speak through the sky and the animals.”

  A shiver ran down her spine as she recalled the image of the mountain that lived in her dreams. “Who are the spirits?”