The Nargun and the Stars

by Patricia Wrightson

  This might have gone on as long as the wind, but the Pot-koorok broke in with a corroboree of its own, jumping up and down and booming, ‘Hear the Boat Boy! Let him talk! Hear the Boat Boy! Let him talk!’ until the Turongs began to listen and fall silent. At last they were all quiet again, watching with their sly dark eyes.

  ‘That’s good, then,’ said Charlie. ‘If that’s how you feel you won’t mind helping.’ There was an uneasy stirring. Even the Potkoorok was uneasy. ‘I don’t know what to do with this thing. If you throw something at it, what you throw comes back. If you pull on it with a rope it comes straight for you. If you break a bit off – well, I don’t know, but the boy says the bit runs away.’

  ‘What breaks off the Nargun is a Nargun,’ the Potkoorok explained in a low voice.

  ‘There you are, then. You know more about it than I do. It’s your sort, not mine. You ought to be able to tell me.’ Silence. ‘I thought about fire,’ Charlie coaxed. ‘If I set a fire in the top gully, would that drive it away?’

  ‘Not fire,’ said the Potkoorok. ‘Fire is its dreaming.’

  ‘Take a bulldozer to it and bury it, then?’

  ‘Bury it? Earth is its self and its being.’

  ‘Well, there must be something. How did the tribes manage? What did they do?’

  ‘They listened to its cry and stayed by the campfires. They walked wide of its den or were lost. We can do nothing, Boat Boy.’

  ‘Well, that’s a nice thing,’ said Charlie sternly. ‘There’s a lot of you Turongs, a minute ago all shouting war-cries. Can’t any of you tell me anything?’

  The Turongs stirred again. There were whispers, growing louder, until at last a few voices could be heard: ‘The Nyols!’ ‘Ask the Nyols!’ ‘They knew the rocks and the places in the earth.’ ‘Ask the Nyols.’

  The Potkoorok opened its old eyes wider. ‘The Nyols,’ it said, considering.

  ‘Never heard of ’em,’ said Charlie.

  ‘You hear now … They do live in caves and know stone.’

  ‘Where do I find them?’

  ‘Where the mountain ends. There is rock above the forest. The Nyols live in the rock.’

  ‘I don’t know any caves there,’ said Charlie.

  The Potkoorok looked at him slyly. ‘The Man in Charge finds the caves when he finds the Nyols. Let the Boy take your message. At the back of the mountain he will find them.’

  ‘I’ll let you know, then. I suppose I can say we come from the Turongs?’

  They nodded, and their beards rose and fell.

  ‘Well, if that’s the best you can do, thanks. Come on, Simey.’ Charlie turned and strode down the hill with Simon following. The Potkoorok came bobbing and leaping after them a moment later, and caught up.

  ‘Not much thanks,’ it said reproachfully.

  ‘Not much help,’ said Charlie. ‘I don’t go much on this Nyols idea. I reckon you old things are putting me off.’

  ‘Never call us old when the Nargun comes,’ said the Pot-koorok. It spoke softly – but inside Simon something curled up again like a leaf in the flame. ‘How old am I, Boat Boy?’

  Charlie gave it a sudden look. ‘How would I know, old-timer? I might guess, I suppose. As old as the water you live in?’

  It turned its clumsy head away and chuckled. ‘Not so wrong, maybe. In this form or that. And the Turongs?’

  ‘That’s trickier. As old as the leaves? Or a lizard’s skin?’

  It chuckled again. Then it said soberly, ‘And what was before the water, Boat Boy? What was before the lizard and the leaves?’ Charlie was silent. After a moment the old creature went on. ‘The Man in Charge can drain the water – cut down the trees – bang the lizard with a stick. But what will he do with the rock? What will he do with the ground he stands on, and the forces and fires that live in it? What will you do with the Nargun, Man?’

  Simon shuddered. They reached the swamp before Charlie answered. Then he stood by his horse and looked grimly at the Potkoorok. ‘Hard to say, old-timer,’ he said. ‘As to the ground I stand on, I reckon I’ll live on it for the time I’ve got and do the best I can with it. And after me some other man. As to the rest, I’ll have to take another look, that’s all. Right, Simey? Or do you want a leg up?’

  ten

  Charlie and Simon rode home deep in silence. Charlie’s face was lined with thought. He had learnt only that the Nargun was something dark and ancient from the earth, and that he had already learnt last night; but he had to think about it. Simon’s thoughts circled around the unknown Nyols, living in rocks and earth. He was telling himself that they couldn’t be very different from these others, or surely the Potkoorok would not have said that Simon should go and find them … but if he did go he would have to put the Nargun between himself and Charlie and Edie. He would be alone with these Nyols, whatever they were, with the Nargun between him and home.

  Edie saw them from the fowl-run as they came down the ridge. She waved a hand that was holding two eggs, and hurried into the kitchen. Charlie said, ‘We’ll want the horses,’ so they hitched them at the shed and went inside. Edie was already pouring tea.

  ‘No good?’ she said, looking at their faces.

  ‘Not much,’ said Charlie. ‘We found out a bit, most of it bad, and they won’t help.’

  ‘It might’ve been asking a bit much,’ she suggested. ‘They mightn’t want to help against their own kind.’

  ‘I don’t think that comes into it,’ said Charlie. ‘This Nar-gun’s come into their territory where it’s got no right. They want to see it go, but it’s got them bluffed.’

  ‘I think they ought to help,’ said Simon crossly.

  Edie smiled a little. ‘Poor old things. They can’t be more than they are. They just play tricks, that’s all. When the bush was full of people hunting and fishing to live, they and their tricks must have been quite important. It must be an empty life for them now, but still they can’t turn into something different. I shouldn’t think this Nargun’s going to be fooled by a few tricks.’

  ‘You never know,’ said Charlie. ‘That’s the trouble. But they might’ve tried already, of course.’ He gave Edie a proper account of the meeting. She looked astonished to hear of the Nyols, but stayed quiet till the end. Then she sat quiet a while longer.

  ‘If it’s rock and fire and – the earth -’ began Simon. Charlie interrupted.

  ‘You heard it wrong. The Potkoorok’s not water, you know. It just – belongs to water. It meant the same as that about the Nargun.’

  ‘Still – maybe it’s not all bad …’

  ‘Nothing’s all bad,’ said Edie.

  ‘Makes no difference,’ added Charlie. ‘That’s pretty powerful stuff, what the old Potkoorok was trying to say. I’m not having a power like that loose on my land, killing sheep and frightening people and lord knows what. It can go back where it belongs. We can’t live with it.’

  ‘Not right beside us,’ Edie agreed. ‘A power like that has to be a good way off.’

  ‘But Charlie, maybe there’s nothing we can do?’

  ‘There’s something,’ said Charlie. ‘We’ve just got to find out what. Look, Simey – if a power like that had nothing to stop it, where would it be after all these ages? King of the world, everyone bowing down to it. But even the tribes didn’t bow down to this Nargun, from what the old things said. And the tribes lived with it. No, we’ve just got to find out how to handle it.’

  ‘I suppose these Nyols might help,’ said Edie. ‘Can you go yourself? Or me?’

  ‘The old Pot-K said send the boy, so I reckon they won’t show for us.’

  ‘Well, Simey can’t go. We don’t know what they’re like.’ ‘Not much help if he did go, probably. No, I reckon the best we can do is hang around up there and keep a close watch on that stone thing, and see what we can see.’

  ‘I can go,’ said Simon. He could feel two pairs of grey eyes exploring his face like fingers. ‘I’ve got to go – it’s the only thing the others told us. The Potko
orok wouldn’t say to go if the Nyols were dangerous.’

  ‘They don’t know the message-stick,’ said Edie to Charlie. ‘They wouldn’t take any notice of it, would they?’

  ‘They might,’ said Charlie. ‘Word gets around. But I can’t let Simey go back behind the mountain by himself on the chance, and I won’t waste my own time going on the chance. I want to keep an eye on this Nargun.’

  ‘You’ll be up there, then,’ Simon pointed out. ‘You’ll be close. I’ll go up with you and hop on over the hill. It’s not far. You’ll know if I don’t come straight back, and you can come and look for me.’

  ‘And a fat lot of good it might be by then.’

  But Simon found himself arguing hotly. ‘Look, I’ve got to go, there isn’t anything else. I mean I know you’re going to watch, and I s’pose you’ll find out best what to do, and then maybe you won’t want to do that either. I mean we went to the swamp to find out, and we found out about the Nyols, and now you don’t want to do it. We have to do things, don’t we?’

  ‘You don’t,’ said Charlie. ‘Edie and I have to do what we can, no question. It’s our land, and we have to look out for it -’ ‘You said it was mine!’ shouted Simon, red in the face. ‘Some day if I wanted it, you said! I found that Nargun, and it’s got my name on it! What am I supposed to do, then? Go and live in a Home for about fifty years and then come and say all-right-I-want-it-now? What do you want me here for if I’m not supposed to do the same as you?’

  ‘Look here -’ Charlie was beginning warmly, when Edie cut in.

  ‘What’s all this fuss about? If you’re going, Simey, you’d better get out there on Pet and stop holding Charlie up before he loses his patience with you. And don’t go rushing off without your lunch, you’ll need it.’ She put wrapped packages into their hands and herded them out of the kitchen. ‘Don’t worry about getting back, I can manage.’ She watched from the gate as they mounted. ‘Don’t get too close to that thing, Charlie!’ she called, waving them off. ‘You take care, now, Simey, and mind what Charlie tells you!’

  They started up the ridge in awkward silence. Simon was most astonished by his own sudden fury, and embarrassed about the things he had said. He looked for a way to break the silence until he noticed a certain quality in it and looked suspiciously at Charlie. Sure enough, Charlie’s face was wooden: the silence was quivering with his inward laughter.

  ‘What’s it like at the back of the mountain?’ said Simon.

  ‘Haven’t seen it much,’ said Charlie. ‘No need to. Pretty rocky, though. I’m not real keen on you climbing round it on your own, and that’s a fact. You don’t know the place yet. And there’s no sense anyone climbing round rocks on his own, you always need two for safety.’

  Simon didn’t want to start all that again. He said, ‘Where will you be, then?’

  ‘Just inside the top gully, as far as I know. Sticking to that stone thing like a tick. And as soon as you get back you can take a turn yourself.’

  ‘Only it doesn’t move in daylight. We mightn’t see anything for weeks.’

  ‘We’ll see that it never moves in daylight, then – unless you pull on it with a rope anyhow. We’ll see if birds light on it, and if it ever scratches, and if it gets wet in the rain. We’ll watch it till dark, and maybe see when it does start to move. If we can’t frighten it off with fire we’ll see if we can coax it. In the end we’ll find out something.’

  ‘But we won’t make it angry … and we won’t get anyone to help … why not, Charlie?’

  ‘Not their job,’ Charlie suggested. ‘More likely, they’d think we were mad and someone’d get killed trying to prove it.’

  ‘We won’t get killed, though.’

  ‘Not us. We won’t take our eyes off it and we won’t touch it. We’ll just find out how to send it where it belongs.’

  ‘I touched it … I wish it didn’t still have my name on it.’

  ‘Never you mind about that, mate. It’s the one’ll be sorry for that in the end. When it gets to wherever it’s going, it can thank your name for sending it there.’

  ‘The poor thing!’ cried Simon, suddenly full of pity.

  Charlie threw him a look. ‘It’s only got to go back where it came from. Or some harmless place. That’s all.’

  They had ridden on past the gully mouth and up the zigzag track. The chain-saw howled from below. All the mist had gone, leaving the morning warm and bright. Charlie pointed out the way around the mountain.

  ‘You can see, at the base of the high rocks, the ground bulges out a bit before it drops to the ridge. If you follow that bulge it’ll take you round the back safe enough, and if you don’t find the Nyols by then just come straight home. Still got the old stick?’

  ‘In my pocket,’ said Simon.

  ‘Right. You know the drill now. Just see what they’ve got to say. Shove your lunch into your pockets, you might need it. Will you leave Pet up here, or do you want me to lead her down?’

  Simon hesitated. ‘I’ll ride her down. And I’ll find you in the Nargun’s gully, won’t I?’

  ‘Unless I find you first. I don’t reckon you can get lost on the mountain, but if you do, remember to stay put.’

  ‘Lost!’ said Simon indignantly. It seemed rather late to start worrying about that.

  At Charlie’s new stretch of fence he dismounted and hitched Pet in the shade. He made his lunch into separate packets and pushed them into different pockets.

  ‘You don’t have to go, you know,’ said Charlie. ‘I could do with a hand watching this stone thing. I’d sooner, really. You’d better come on back.’

  ‘They said to go,’ said Simon, almost apologising. ‘See you, Charlie.’ He started up the mountain. When he looked back Charlie was riding away down the track.

  Now that he was by himself he stood still for a moment. He felt lost already, with the Nargun below him and the unknown Nyols somewhere in front. His hands were suddenly sticky, and he wiped them on his jeans. If he went back down the mountain after Charlie and said, ‘I’m not going,’ Charlie would say ‘Good, I could do with a hand,’ and it would be all right. He sat down with his back against a tree.

  ‘It’s because everything’s happened so fast,’ he decided. Five days since they sank the grader, and a shadow loomed at him in the dark. Three days since he came up here to be alone and found the stone with his name on it missing. In those three days he had never been alone except in bed. He was glad of Charlie and Edie now, but still he needed some time alone. And everything had happened so fast.

  Now, after three days, he was back on the mountain above Wongadilla, and he was alone. There were the plunging green depths, the slopes the colour of moonlight and of hay; there were the heights swinging up beyond, shadowed with blue and purple. And here, beneath him, was the strength of the mountain. All about lay the spinning world with the dark forests riding it and strands of creed and river clinging to it and birds netted in its clear, cold air. This patch was Wongadilla, and it was his too; and it was beautiful.

  He stood up again and spoke, not shouting in case Charlie heard: ‘I’m Simon Brent, if anyone wants to know. And where my name is, I put it there.’ He waited, but no stones cried out. The spinning world kept to its thrum of silence, and Simon set off to find the Nyols.

  In coming down from Pet and walking this little way he had lost sight of the shelf of ground round the end of the mountain. He had passed the place where he should have climbed under Charlie’s fence and decided it wasn’t worth going back. He had climbed to the top of the mountain before, and if he went over the top he must come to the other side. So he climbed again above the tangled ridges, turned his back to Wongadilla, and started down the slope.

  At first it was steep but not difficult. Then, all at once, he was on the edge of a cliff. He tucked his arm round a tree and looked over.

  The cliff was only about fifteen feet high, with an easy slope of grass and stones below: that must be this end of Charlie’s bulge, that he should have fol
lowed. It would be a nuisance to go all the way back to its beginning and follow it round; he must be able to climb down this little rock face.

  He thought he probably could: there were crags and little waterways. He decided to try for as long as the going was easy and to climb back if it grew tricky. Then he would just have to go back to Charlie’s bulge and take the easy, long way. He found a place where water probably rushed down in storms, and lowered himself into it.

  It wasn’t as easy as it looked. The footholds were often narrow cracks that his feet slid into sideways; the crags that he clung to were often so wide that he couldn’t lower himself far enough. But he thought he could still get back if he had to and kept on – until an edge that looked safe broke away in his hands. He was perched on a sloping surface without a hold to pull himself back. He was stuck.

  He kept still, leaning against the cliff and wondering what to do. He must be at least halfway down; perhaps he could jump. But he would need to spring clear of jutting rocks, and he was much more likely to fall. While he perched there thinking about it he thought he heard a whispering in the rocks.

  ‘Don’t be mad,’ he told himself. ‘There’s enough trouble without going crackers.’ He eased one foot gently in its crack.

  But the whispers went on, with sometimes a soft rumble of laughter. Little dry hands clutched at his ankles – his wrists – his hair. He kicked at them as much as he could without falling. They began to tug, quite strongly, and the chuckles rumbled again. Simon was pulled and tugged into some invisible opening in the rock. There was darkness like a bandage about his eyes.

  ‘Hey!’ he shouted. ‘What’s going on?’

  The chuckles rumbled in front and behind, echoes falling away and coming back in the dark. Now he could see a little: a shadowy space, a crowd of shadowy forms, and everywhere the crystal gleam of eyes.

  ‘Hey!’ shouted Simon, and the echoes came back from far and farther: hey-ey-ey-hey-hey! ‘Are you Nyols?’ Ol-ny-ny-ol-ols? ‘Because if you are I’m looking for you!’

  The soft chuckles rumbled back and forth. ‘You look for us, we catch you!’ called soft, happy voices. Their echoes died away and they spoke again. ‘You wrestle,’ they said.