The Nargun and the Stars

by Patricia Wrightson

  Ahead, he could see, the gully was choked with blackberry. In front of this screen, and leaning against the wall of the gully, was a great unevenly-shaped boulder that called to him silently: simon. He took a step towards it – and stopped again.

  It had a queer crouching shape that looked as if it were pressing itself against the side of the gully, hiding its face. It was stone, dark with age and heavy and still as stone; if you saw it suddenly in the moonlight would it move, a very little and very slowly, towards you? Simon began to back carefully away, watching it. That was not a blunt muzzle pressed against the rock; it was only stone. That cavity was not an eye full of darkness; it saw nothing. He backed away round the elbow of the gully, then turned and began to scurry down.

  When he came to the stone marked brent he did not climb out of the gully but hurried past. He didn’t want the slow trouble of getting Pet down the mountain; he wanted to reach the Potkoorok. The little gully shallowed and widened, merging into the mountain’s broad lap. Just inside its mouth he came on something very ugly: a sheepskin, mangled and torn, with flies buzzing about it and small hoofs still attached. The hoofs were crushed and flattened as if something heavy had smashed them. He took his eyes away from it with a shiver and began running hard along the mountain.

  When he got to the swamp there was no sign of the swamp-creature. He had no idea how to summon it and no apple to offer it. He tried calling.

  ‘Potkoorok!’

  No sign. Of course it wouldn’t come when it knew he wanted it; it would hide, and try to surprise him. But he called again urgently:

  ‘Potkoorok!’

  When it didn’t come he grew desperate and shouted a mixture of pleading and command: ‘I gave you apples – I didn’t tell about the grader – I picked up the frog – I need you! Come!’

  It came out of the water at his feet and sat on a tuft of bull-grass, looking slightly offended as if Simon’s manners displeased it; but when it saw that he was desperately serious it grew uneasy instead.

  ‘Listen!’ said Simon, trying to breathe and talk evenly and slowly. ‘Up there on the mountain – there’s a thing – a big stone. Did the Turongs move it?’

  The Potkoorok stiffened. It spoke sternly. ‘They leave it alone. It doesn’t belong here. It is the Nargun.’

  ‘Go on,’ Simon demanded. ‘Does it move by itself, then? Is it another one – like you? Is it good?’

  ‘Good?’ said the Potkoorok. ‘What is good? It is the Nar-gun. It came from a long way south. It should go back.’ ‘Does it – hurt things? Would it – kill a sheep?’

  The Potkoorok blinked its old-looking eyes and turned its head away. It scooped up a water-spider in its webbed fingers and held it up with a coaxing smile for Simon to admire.

  ‘Would it hurt a person?’ Simon persisted.

  The Potkoorok gave him a huffy look and slipped off the tuft of grass into the water. It was gone.

  Simon stood helpless. He thought he had met the Nar-gun by moonlight, standing heavy and cold and still. He thought it had cried after him savagely when he ran and hid with the whimpering dogs. But he didn’t know, and there was no one else he could ask. He only knew that a great heavy stone had been moved up the small gully from the place where it had been; and that in the mouth of the gully lay the crushed remains of a sheep. He didn’t know what to do.

  From down in the big gully where the creek ran came Charlie’s voice shouting to the dogs: ‘Go back, Tess – back Nipper! Keep out!’ A dog yelped excitedly, and a sheep bleated. Simon ran again, past the swamp and the head of the gully, along the ridge till he could see Charlie and the sheep below. He plunged into the gully.

  ‘Charlie!’’ he shouted, running down the ridge. He gulped for breath and shouted again. ‘Charlie! Charlie!

  Charlie wheeled his horse and came at the creek. The dogs looked back and hesitated.

  ‘Charlie – Charlie -’

  Surprise was hitched to a stump and Charlie was running up the ridge. Edie appeared on the opposite ridge near the house, and stood there. The sheep scattered. The dogs watched them uncertainly and followed Charlie up the ridge looking ashamed and foolish.

  ‘All right, mate, what’s up?’ said Charlie. ‘Come on, now, you’re all right. What’s up, Simey? Snake bite you?’

  Simon shook his head, fighting for breath and for words to say. Charlie waved reassuringly to Edie and sat Simon down on a log. The dogs came close and licked his knees.

  ‘You need a cup,’ said Charlie, and went striding down to Surprise. He came back with a mug half full of tea and said, ‘There, get that down.’

  Simon gulped cold air and hot tea in turns, still trying to find something to say. At last he began shakily: ‘I’m not mad -’

  Charlie sat down on the log beside him. ‘Never knew anyone saner,’ he said firmly.

  Simon tried again. ‘You’ve lost a sheep.’

  ‘Thought so,’ said Charlie, nodding. ‘Old ewe. Always asking for trouble, never would stick with the mob. What got her?’

  ‘The Nargun, I think – a great thing up the mountain – it’s made of stone, but the Potkoorok says it’s a Nargun! I nearly ran into it, I think, the night they put the grader in the swamp -’ He wanted to stop the words that were coming out wildly, for now Charlie would surely think he was mad, but he couldn’t stop them. ‘I wrote my name on it, I didn’t know. And the hoofs are all crushed, crushed flat -’ He stopped at last, shaking, his head well down so that he needn’t face Charlie’s serious, silent laughter.

  ‘I never heard of a Nargun,’ said Charlie, ‘but the Pot-koorok ought to know. So they put the grader in the swamp, did they? Should’ve thought of that, I suppose.’

  At this Simon turned his face against the faded blue sleeve of Charlie’s shirt. After a minute he said, ‘Pet’s up the mountain. I left her there.’

  ‘Surprise can take us both up when you’ve done with that tea,’ said Charlie. ‘As far as the steep bit, anyway. You’re not too solid, and I’m a skinny old bag of bones, so we’ll just make one decent load for him … Potkoorok scare you?’ ‘Heck, no,’ said Simon. ‘It’s all right. So are the Turongs.’

  Charlie nodded. ‘Edie and I used to like ’em when we were kids, so we thought you would too. We’d have warned you, only you’d have thought we were putting you on. Besides, we didn’t know if you’d see them; not many people do.’

  ‘Do other places have them? Or is it only Wongadilla?’

  ‘I don’t know about that, boy – I never heard of any others. Edie and I used to talk sometimes: whatever there was before white men came, like elves and spirits and that, they must live somewhere when you come to think about it. We only know the Wongadilla ones, because they’ve always been here and we happened to come across them when we were kids. I reckon most people never even dream of ’em. Never expected you to see ’em either, at least not for a good while yet. Sure they didn’t scare you?’

  Simon was indignant. ‘They’re great! Anyhow, you couldn’t have Wongadilla without them. I reckon they’re part of it, like – like the gully.’

  ‘You’re all right, then. That’s about what Edie and I always reckoned.’

  ‘It’s this Nargun. The Potkoorok says the others won’t go near it and it came from a long way off and it ought to go away. And the sheep -’ Simon took a breath and stopped.

  ‘All right, keep cool,’ said Charlie. ‘We’ll go and have a look at that now. I’ll be surprised if any of the old things have any real harm in ’em, Nargun or not. The Potkoorok’s a joker, you know. Still, we can’t have you scared, and there’s the sheep too. So we’ll just see if Surprise’ll let us both on board when we bring him up out of the gully, and then you can tell me about it from the beginning, as we go. You didn’t make a very good job of it last time.’

  Simon went pink and grinned a bit. He was surprised to find that a world with Charlie in it could be so normal in spite of Turongs, Potkooroks, and even Narguns.

  seven

 
The dogs, Tess and Nipper, were sent back on duty to keep the sheep in the gully. Simon was perched behind the saddle on Surprise, clinging to Charlie’s belt, and with Surprise’s hindquarters springing under him in a way quite different from Pet’s.

  ‘Now,’ said Charlie, ‘we’ll get this Nargun sorted out. Start again, Simey.’

  So Simon told about it in a few words at a time, speaking to Charlie’s close and unfamiliar back. He told how, three days ago, he had scratched his name on the two rocks in the small gully, and today had found the big one twenty yards or more higher up the gully; about the sheepskin with the crushed hoofs, and what the Potkoorok had said; and even about his nightmare or fright after the storm. Whenever he stopped because the next bit seemed ridiculous Charlie said ‘M’p’ and waited for him to go on. It didn’t take long, and at the end they bumped on in silence until Simon said, ‘What are we going to do?’

  ‘Hard to say,’ said Charlie. ‘I haven’t seen anything yet. But first we’ll bring old Pet down and have some lunch.’

  When the track began to snake up the steep part Charlie put Simon down near the fence and went on alone to bring Pet down. They hitched the two horses to the fence, unpacked both their lunches, and ate in the shade of a stringy-bark. After that they walked to the gully mouth.

  It was easy to find the sheepskin again because of the flies. Charlie bent over it and swore in a disbelieving way while Simon stood by. He stood up again with a set face in which all the creases seemed to have been pressed deeper.

  ‘Well I don’t blame you for being a bit upset about that, mate.’ He shook his head. ‘Lord only knows what could’ve done that … Fetch me some stones, Simey. We’ll just put that by in case we need it.’ He picked up a stick to fold and roll the fleece while Simon collected a few big stones to cover it.

  When that was done he followed Simon up the gully, frowning and silent. In its lower part, where the gully was broad and well grassed with strong native grasses, there were no signs that Simon could see of anything heavy having moved. But soon the signs appeared – a gouge in wet soil, crushed moss, bruised grass, broken ferns, a long smear of mud on a rock – and Simon pointed to them one by one. Each time Charlie said ‘M’p’ and frowned.

  They reached the small rock with brent in straggling letters scratched in lichen, and here they paused while Charlie tried in vain to move the rock, and examined the growth around it. Simon had to show where he had first come into the gully, where he had climbed out, where he had sat the second time, and to say if he was sure he hadn’t got up and moved about between scratching the first name and the second. ‘M’p,’ said Charlie.

  They left the place and went higher, Simon still pointing to signs along the way. The gully walls grew steeper and higher, water trickled between rocks, and they came to the angle like an elbow. Simon rounded it and stood looking at the great crouched stone. It was just stone. You couldn’t say that cavity was like an eye – that it seemed to watch in a darkly knowing way, without understanding.

  ‘That’s it?’ said Charlie, and made a half move forward. But Simon happened to step in front of him. He looked at the rock for a while and then said, ‘M’p. Better get back to the horses.’

  Simon left it to Charlie to lead the way down, which he did in silence. At the mouth of the gully he stopped, his eyes on the little heap of stones around which the flies were still buzzing.

  ‘Well, I don’t know about any of that, Simey,’ he said. ‘That thing’s stone if ever I saw stone. Solid. Nothing like the others. Maybe the Turongs have been playing games like they did with the grader, and maybe the Potkoorok was pulling your leg. We’ll have to see what Edie thinks. But something’s made a mess of the old ewe. It’s a good thing we’ve got most of the sheep on the flat already. I’ll send old Trig down to hold them while I get the rest across, and we’ll have the lot back in the other paddock before dark.’

  ‘I’ll help,’ said Simon.

  ‘Good man! We’ll have them out of the gully in time for a quick cup with Edie. We need it after that.’

  They rode down to the house so that Charlie could release old Trig from his chain and send him down the ridge to the sheep on the flat. Trig was excited, and at first wanted to rush down the wrong side to Tess and Nipper; but Charlie got him launched in the right direction with a little yelling. It was odd to compare the happy eagerness of the dogs, the roughness of Charlie’s shouted orders, and the warmth of pride on Charlie’s face.

  ‘Trig doesn’t get out much these days,’ he explained to Simon. ‘Getting too old, like his boss. But there’s nothing the old boy can’t do, he’s a wonder. – Go out, Trig, you blockheaded old dingo! Keep back, there! Now, stay! – They won’t get past Trig, he’ll hold them all night. – Stay, Trig, you bludging old hound! You’re getting as silly as a wet hen.’

  They left old Trig, watchful as a snake, holding the sheep on the flat in an angle of the fence. Charlie shouted to Edie, who had come out to look, that they would be in for a cup in a minute. Then he and Simon rode down the other side of the ridge into the big gully, where Charlie bullied Tess and Nipper into herding those sheep again. They took the sheep slowly down the gully, and at the turn Simon and Pet came into their own by standing firmly in the right place while the dogs raced and yelped and nipped. Charlie said that Simon and Pet had saved him twenty minutes. When these sheep had joined the others on the flat they left the three dogs in charge and went back to the house for tea. Edie met them with a sudden, questioning look and cups of tea already poured.

  There was a lot to explain to her, and Charlie explained in his own way. ‘Taking the stock back over the road,’ he said easily. ‘Something got the old crossbred ewe. Potkoorok says it was a Nargun, but it looks like a great stone to me. Simey can tell you about it later, he’s the one that found her. Found the grader, too. It’s in the swamp.’

  Edie threw her sudden look at Simon. ‘The grader, Simey? It’s not deep enough to cover it,’ she said.

  ‘It does if the Potkoorok wants it to,’ Simon explained.

  She nodded. ‘You got your tennis shoes in a mess that night. Just as well you won’t be needing them for tennis. They didn’t upset you then, the old creatures?’

  Simon looked at her: shaped like a hen, with a face made of dying petals, and knowing all the time that he’d been out after the storm. Still like a swamp, and giving him two apples ever after, because he asked for one. His face warmed to a half-smile that passed to Edie’s face like sunlight. ‘Edie,’ he said, and they all chuckled.

  ‘That’s all right, then,’ she said. ‘We’d have told you, only we didn’t want to upset you. What’s this about the ewe?’ Charlie pushed his cup back and stood up. ‘Not much loss, poor old beast, and she asked for it. Simey’ll tell you. I’ve got to get going – might be a bit late back.’

  When he had gone Edie poured more tea into her cup and pushed a plate of biscuits towards Simon. ‘Potkooroks and Turongs wouldn’t hurt,’ she said. ‘What frightened you, Simey? I heard you yelling.’

  So he told it all over again, and watched uneasiness move over her face and turn into thought. ‘A Nargun … That’s new. I never heard of one … but I don’t think the Potkoorok would play that sort of trick … Just as well to get the sheep away.’ She asked only one question. ‘Did you say it looked like stone? Or did you say it is a stone?’

  Simon gripped the edge of the table. ‘It’s a stone,’ he said on a deep breath, ‘a great enormous one. You can tell stone, you can see it’s solid and heavy – and it’s hard - and grainy - and bumpy -’ But he couldn’t say it had a muzzle, or dark cavities for eyes.

  ‘Well,’ said Edie briskly, ‘if Charlie’s going to be late we’ve got our work cut out. He’ll have to feed the dogs when he brings them home, but I can look after the cows and the rest. Dinner’s about ready – we’ll have it in front of the fire tonight, like a picnic. Would you just bring in some wood for the wood-box, Simey?’

  ‘All right,’ said Simon. ‘And I
’ll fix Pet up.’

  The cows had come up from the creek early, perhaps disturbed by Tess and Nipper. Simon filled the wood-box, taking four trips to do it, while Edie milked. With her heavy body balanced on the stool and her thin legs gripping the pail, she looked like two different people milking the same cow. While she fed the cows Simon unsaddled and fed Pet. He fed the hens and locked them in their run while Edie went inside to light the fire.

  By the time Charlie came home the fire was well alight, its soft crunchings and spittings pleasant to hear. The picnic dinner was set in front of it, and Edie was measuring a length of blue knitting against Simon’s arm.

  During dinner Charlie told Simon how he and Edie had first met the Potkoorok when they were children: it had tipped them out of a home-made canoe that they were trying out on the swamp. ‘Of course we’d known since we were little nippers there was something there. We used to squeal and carry on, but we never really thought it’d harm us. Eh, Edie?’

  ‘It would’ve had its work cut out,’ Edie declared. ‘We didn’t harm easily.’

  ‘Did you ever tell anyone?’ Simon asked.

  ‘Eh? No fear. You don’t go round telling people you’ve got a Potkoorok in your swamp, do you?’

  Simon agreed. He would certainly never have told anyone in the ordinary way. He looked at Charlie, long and lean and wrinkled; and at Edie, bunched in her old rocking-chair. He would never have guessed they had ever shared the wonder of Turongs and Potkoorok. ‘We might be the only white people that ever saw them,’ he said. The night had turned into a Potkoorok celebration instead of a Nargun horror.

  And then there came ringing from the mountains an ancient, savage cry: Nga-a-a! Charlie, Edie and Simon jerked like puppets. The dogs barked and were silent. The cry died away over the ridges, and Simon managed to fill his lungs again.

  ‘That’s it! he whispered, staring wide-eyed at the fire. Tiny reflected flames danced in his eyes as if they were made of glass.