by Karen Wood
’No. But I heard a horse going up the truck ramp.’
The anguish that flashed across Lawson’s face took Jess by surprise. He looked a nanosecond from bursting into tears.
How does it feel? she felt like saying.
Lawson quickly pulled himself together and cursed instead, as any heartache became boiling anger.
‘My best horse, again,’ he said. ‘I’m going to tear Ryan apart limb by limb if she’s not found!’
‘Why is it his fault?’
‘They were his drunken mates,’ Lawson yelled. ‘He promised me faithfully there’d be no problems.’
‘Don’t yell at me!’ said Jess, her head pounding.
Lawson cursed again. ‘It was Harry’s dying wish that I forgive Ryan, and look what’s happened. He hasn’t changed at all!’ He stabbed a finger at her. ‘Always trust your gut, Jess. Don’t do anything that you know is wrong just to please other people.’
‘I trusted my gut with you,’ she said, listening impassively to his ranting. ‘And you took my filly off me again. You’re no better than your brother.’ She turned to walk away.
‘How dare you compare me with that drunk?’ he called after her. ‘I put Marnie out of work for nearly a year to give you that foal, I’ll have you know. Your filly is in good hands – the best of hands!’ He began stomping after her. ‘If I’d left it to you, she’d be bloody dead by now and you’d be two hundred bucks out of pocket!’
‘You told everyone that she was your filly!’ she yelled back at him.
‘She still is,’ he thundered.
‘She’s mine!’ Jess screamed. ‘The day she was weaned, she became my horse. You had no right to just take her without asking me first.’
‘I had every right! Jesus, Jessica, when are you going to stop arguing with me at every chance you get and trust me?’
‘I gave you my trust when I let you buy Wally. I gave you my trust when you said I could buy Opal. You blew my trust when you took her away from me!’
Lawson paused and pulled himself together. He lowered his voice to a cool icy tone. ‘Opal’s at the homestead and the staff are on strict instructions to message me as soon as anything happens with her.’ He pulled his phone out of his top pocket and shook it at her. ‘I’ll hear as soon as her condition changes.’
‘No, you won’t, because I told them to ring me if anything happened,’ she said, ripping her phone out of her top pocket and shaking it back at him.
‘What, on that thing? You didn’t, did you?’ Lawson shook his head and laughed in disbelief. ‘Tell me you didn’t do that!’
Jess shrugged at him.
‘Jessica, this is a satellite phone. It’s the only sort that’ll work out here. You won’t get any messages on your thing.’
Jess stared at his phone, and a cold sickly feeling rushed over her.
‘Good one, Jess. Now we don’t know if Opal’s alive or dead.’
At that moment, Bob appeared on foot, his jeans rolled up to mid-calf and two knobbly black feet poking out below. ‘I’ll take you back to camp if you want, Jess.’ She could see him looking her up and down from behind his wraparound sunnies and big hat. ‘You’re not lookin’ too good, ay?’
Lawson hoisted himself back onto his horse and kicked it. As he rode away, he yelled over his shoulder, ‘And he’s not my brother! ’
As Jess watched him gallop back to the cattle, she put her hands over her face and burst into tears, sinking to the ground.
Bob squatted next to her. ‘Hey, come on now, missy. It’ll be okay.’
‘No, it won’t,’ Jess sobbed. ‘It’s my fault the ringers stole Lawson’s good horse. Everything’s my fault.’
‘Nah, them ringers are no good,’ said Bob. ‘Bunch of alcos; it’s not your fault.’
‘I’ve probably gone and got Opal killed too. I didn’t know Lawson had a satellite phone. I didn’t know you even needed a satellite phone.’
Bob didn’t respond to that one. Jess began sobbing even harder.
Eventually Bob stood and ran a hand over Walkabout’s shoulder. ‘C’mon, let’s take this filly back. Give her a drink and some feed.’ He reached for his belt to use as a rope. ‘Coming?’
18
JESS FOUND THAT the more she walked, the more her leg seemed to loosen up and stop aching, but the fabric of her jeans rubbed against the grazed skin. She stopped, rolled up her jeans leg, then kept walking. Walkabout grazed and dawdled behind her. As they drew further away from the cattle, the land fell silent around them. The only sounds were their legs brushing through the Mitchell grass and birdcalls from distant skies.
Jess and Bob had been walking at a casual pace for a little over an hour when Bob stopped and squatted beside a flat rock almost hidden beneath the tufty grass. He brushed away the dead leaves and soil and ran his fingers around some rings that were engraved in the rock. They looked just like the ripples on a waterhole when a pebble is thrown into it.
‘How did you know that was there?’ Jess asked.
‘Those stones showed me.’ Bob turned and pointed to a few unremarkable rocks she had just walked past. ‘That’s a cairn, it points us to the trees, telling us which way, and the carving tells us that it’s water. The signs are here for everybody if they know what to look for.’
On a second look, Jess noticed that the rocks looked carefully arranged.
Bob ran his hand along the underside of the pile. ‘See how the rock beneath it has eroded away except for where the cairn sits?’
‘Uh-huh?’
‘It’s sat there for many, many years while the rock has worn away beneath it.’
‘Like for hundreds of years?’
‘At least,’ said Bob.
‘Got any cool bush medicine to stop my head hurting?’ she asked.
‘Mrs A’ll have some Panadol at the camp.’ He stood up and continued walking. ‘I’ll get you some water.’
Jess walked behind him, clicking to Wally as she went. As they reached the trees, Bob pointed to a pitted creek bed. ‘There.’
‘But it’s dry,’ said Jess.
He squatted by the creek and pulled out a smooth, curved piece of timber from the back of his jeans. ‘Coolamon,’ he explained. ‘Bit old-fashioned, but it works good.’ Holding it like a scoop, he began to dig.
‘Why do you call Opal the debil debil horse?’ asked Jess, as she watched him. ‘Do you really think she’s cursed?’
‘There are lots of old stories,’ said Bob. ‘About the yarramin with the devil in their bellies. But they were just made up to keep the little ones safe, back in the days of the massacres.’
‘Maybe it’s just me that’s cursed,’ said Jess miserably.
They both sat by the hole in silence. At the bottom, a pool of water formed slowly.
Bob reached in and scooped some out with the piece of wood. ‘Drink,’ he said.
While she slurped at the water, he talked. ‘Lotta my people’s culture been lost over the years. The songlines are all broken, and the knowledge lost. I don’t know everything, but I know there’s something not right with that horse of yours.’
‘Do you reckon opals are bad-luck stones?’
Bob looked thoughtful. ‘Opals are tied up with the creation of fire in some places, also with the butterfly. My people’s way, a big pelican ancestor spilled them from his beak, along with fish for the rivers. Then another pelican was pecking at the stones and created fire.’ He paused. ‘Another fire story has the galah carrying a firestick and dropping embers everywhere to make opal. The opal was bad luck and not used to make tools – it had to be left in the ground.’
He scribbled a stick in the sand with a troubled look on his face. ‘Why’d you reckon that creek back your way is called Slaughtering Creek, Jess?’
‘Maybe there was an abattoir near it once?’ The name had always made her envisage cows’ blood flowing down the river. It had always made her uncomfortable somehow.
Bob gave her a look.
The realisation hit Jess like a t
onne of bricks. ‘Oh my God, was there a massacre?’
He shrugged.
‘Everything bad happens down there! Diamond’s accident. The bite from Rocko – Shara’s arm. The fight we had. Opal in the floodwater . . .’ Jess drew a slow breath. ‘It’s a bad site, isn’t it?’ she whispered. ‘I was right, it’s cursed. It really is cursed . . . bad spirits are there.’
‘It’s not my country, Jess. I dunno what went on there.’
Jess suddenly remembered something. She fumbled in her pocket and brought out the small floater that the willy-willy had revealed. ‘Look what I found this morning,’ she said, holding it out to him. ‘I thought it might be some sort of sign.’
‘What is it?’ Bob asked, looking puzzled.
‘An opal,’ said Jess, surprised that he didn’t recognise it. She showed him how the solid crystal centre gleamed with colour when she tilted it in the sunlight.
Bob frowned, lifted the opal up to the light and squinted at it. Then he spat on it and rubbed it. ‘Where’d you find it?’
‘We found it at the bore. A willy-willy blew the dirt off it and there it was, shining at me.’
Bob looked baffled. ‘Which bore?
It was Jess’s turn to look baffled. ‘I don’t know, the turkey’s nest, with the big windmill,’ she said pointing back behind her. ‘This is opal country, isn’t it?’
Bob shook his head. ‘Coupla hundred kays south, maybe.’
Jess felt a strange twist in her stomach.
‘Nothin’ but red rocks here.’ Bob bent over into the waterhole he had dug, and rinsed the stone off. ‘This is grey. Ironstone. Not from round here. Must have fallen outta someone’s pocket.’
‘Well, it wasn’t mine.’
He pointed to some small marks. ‘It’s been split with tools, look.’
Jess felt her skin crawl when she realised who must have owned it.
Bob passed the stone back to her. ‘I’ve found an opal brings bad luck until you either get rid of it or put it back where it came from.’
19
‘JESS!’ LUKE YELLED. He galloped up behind her and Bob just as they reached the new camp. He threw himself from the saddle, grabbing Legsy’s reins as his feet hit the ground. ‘What happened, Jess? Legsy came back without you. I’ve been searching everywhere. I couldn’t find you!’
He grabbed her in a bear hug and Jess threw her arms around his neck. ‘I’m so sorry I lost hold of Legsy. I thought he’d taken off with the brumbies!’
Luke gave her a huge squeeze and sank his face into her shoulder. ‘Oh God, Jess.’ He squeezed her even tighter and breathed a huge sigh of relief into her neck, then took her by the shoulders and looked her up and down. ‘I thought you were dead!’
Then he noticed Wally wandering behind her. ‘You found her!’ He looked further afield. ‘Where’s Marnie?’
‘She’s on a truck. The ringers have got her! Lawson’s so angry at me.’
‘Why? It’s not your fault.’
‘We had a fight, a really big one. It started about Marnie, but then it was about Wally and then about Opal . . .’
‘Not again,’ he groaned. Then he looked at her torn clothes and began shooting questions at her. ‘Those ringers didn’t hurt you, did they? What happened? Where were they?’
She shook her head. ‘Legsy spooked at a goat.’
Luke abruptly stopped his questions. Then he slowly turned and gave his horse a look of absolute dissatisfaction. ‘You didn’t!’
Legsy dropped his head and took a step backwards. It made Jess laugh.
‘Excuse me, please,’ Luke said. He took his horse aside, held his ear and gave him a quiet talking to, within earshot of Jess. ‘Mate, that’s no way to impress a girl; remember what we talked about? You were s’posed to go out there and make a good impression.’
Jess smiled and went to give Legsy a pat. ‘He was a perfect gentleman before that happened.’
‘Well, I should hope so.’ He glared at his horse again and then laughed as he led Jess to the trailer, which had barely been unpacked. Shara and Grace came running out, followed by Rosie and Mrs Arnold.
Jess was bossed into a fold-out chair, and with all the gentleness of a post-hole digger, Mrs Arnold began excavating the bits of ironbark out of her grazed leg. Despite her indignant squeals of pain, Jess was subjected to a thorough interrogation.
What were you doing riding without a helmet? Why were you riding alone? Where was Luke? Why were you riding with him in the first place – alone? On a stallion, no water, no idea where you were going, lucky you didn’t die of heatstroke, not to mention dehydration, you never go anywhere, ANYWHERE, out here without water!
Grace peered over her mother’s shoulder and cheered each time Mrs Arnold plucked a particularly chunky bit of tree from Jess’s leg. ‘Kwor, that must have hurt heaps!’
Mrs Arnold finished with some iodine and bandages from the horses’ first aid kit, leaving Jess’s leg bruised, pitted and puffy. Then she took Jess by both ears, yanked her face forward and pushed her hair back. ‘You’ve got a huge egg on your head.’
‘Check out the big cut,’ Grace enthused.
‘It really hurts. Do you have any Pana—?’
‘No!’ snapped Mrs Arnold, slopping more water and iodine on the cut. ‘Christ, how am I gonna explain this to your parents, Jessica Fairley?’
‘Are you going to send me home?’ asked Jess, lifting her head with alarm.
Mrs Arnold yanked it back down. ‘Do you wanna go home?’
‘Ow! No!’
‘I’d rather wait a few days and send you home in one piece,’ Mrs Arnold grumbled. As she let Jess lift her head again she put a hand in front of her face. ‘How many fingers?’
‘Six,’ said Jess.
Mrs Arnold packed up her things and headed back to her trailer. ‘Smart alec.’
‘Thanks, Mrs A.’
‘Hmph.’
Jess stayed in the fold-out chair and stared into the fire, watching embers waft into the air and float away into the late afternoon sky. The heat from it made her eyes feel scratchy. A stick fell, and sparks flew up as the frame of the fire collapsed. Dust seemed to have crept into every part of her, through her matted hair, along the creases of her skin and inside her clothes. She thought about how much energy it would take to get herself down to the creek for a wash. Too much energy . . .
So she thought instead of her conversation with Bob, trying to make sense of it.
Mrs Arnold pottered about near the trailer. ‘Where’s my bloody rolling pin?’ she muttered.
Ryan, Jess noticed, sat a small distance away, on the ground with his head in his hands, looking totally and utterly dejected. His hat lay upside down at his boots and she could see his hands shaking. She got up and walked towards him to tell him it wasn’t his fault, that Lawson was a bastard.
‘Leave him,’ said Mrs Arnold from behind her.
‘But—’
Mrs Arnold shook her head. ‘Not now.’ She pointed to a log, indicating Jess should sit. ‘You need to rest.’
Reluctantly, Jess did as she was told and sat there idly watching everyone else work, trying to ignore the throb in her leg and the pounding of her head.
‘Do you know how Slaughtering Creek got its name?’ she asked Shara, as she took the cup of tea her friend offered her.
Shara sat on the ground next to her. ‘A whole lot of Aboriginal people were killed there, years ago. Didn’t you know that?’
‘No, I thought it was because cows got slaughtered there,’ said Jess, bewildered at how easily the answer came.
‘Eight policemen were sent out there to deliberately kill them,’ said Shara. ‘We learned about it in History. They lured the Aborigines into the bush and then shot them.’
‘Why?’
‘The history books don’t say,’ shrugged Shara. ‘But that’s how the creek got its name.’
Jess sat there, aghast. ‘So people like Bob, Lindy, just . . . shot.’
‘Yep.�
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‘No wonder it’s such a bad place,’ said Jess. ‘It’s got bad spirits.’ Then she mumbled, ‘Opal’s cursed.’
‘No, she’s not,’ said Shara. ‘There has to be a proper scientific explanation for what’s happening to her.’
Jess was unconvinced. ‘Well, no vet seems to be able to work it out.’
Eventually they saw the cattle wandering towards the bore in the distance and watched as they watered in small groups and then wandered off onto the reserve to graze. The riders began coming into camp, looking for dinner. Luke and Bob came back from the horse break.
Lindy made a beeline for Jess and crouched in front of her. ‘You okay, matey? What happened, did those ringers chase you?’
The kindness in her voice made Jess suddenly feel exhausted and she realised she wasn’t okay at all. ‘They saw me. I thought they were going to come after me. I was scared. I bolted.’ Before Jess knew it, she was telling Lindy about the incident with Dave the night before.
After listening intently without saying much, Lindy gave Jess a rub on the knee and stood up to head for the trailer. From inside it, Jess could hear Lindy, Bob and Mrs Arnold murmuring.
Luke, looking tired and filthy, came and sat quietly next to her, his elbows on his knees and his hat in his hands.
After a while, Bob stepped out of the trailer and sat on the ground nearby, patting one of Lindy’s dogs as it nuzzled under his arm. The campsite went strangely quiet.
Lindy reappeared, disappeared again, and then walked towards the campfire with a large bundle of green leafy branches in her arms. She dropped them by Jess’s feet and went back to the trailer. Jess watched curiously as she fetched an old copper washbowl, brought it to the fire and began scooping coals into it.
Lindy carried the bowl over to Jess and sat in front of her. She began tearing small clumps of mulga leaves off the branches and placing them over the coals, poking at them with a stick until smoke billowed up, thick and silvery. Then she began a quiet, gentle chant, pushing the dish towards Jess and motioning for her to lean over it.
‘Are you smoking me?’ asked Jess.
Lindy smiled, and Jess let the grey plumes float into her skin as Lindy fanned them with a branch. The smoke seeped into her clothes and swam through her hair, covering her with its softness. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, inhaling the intricate scent, feeling the vibrations of Lindy’s song and letting it heal her.
