When other male eagles strayed into the forest, he defended her honour. Hovering high on silent wings, he would arrow down, trying to knock his rival from the air. So fierce were these encounters that both birds sometimes crashed into the canopy, where the fight continued. No challenger ever matched his savage resolve. Each time he saw his opponent off, occasionally dropping down to strike the humiliated loser in the back as he fled. Master again of his skies.
Thirty springs had passed since the she-eagle hatched that first, lovely lavender egg. She remembered the love, the pride, at the sight of her chick. The sadness when tapping from her second egg grew weak and died. The joy of her son’s first flight, of his first kill.
She’d laid many eggs since then. Speckled ochre ones, blotched green ones, dull grey ones, spotty brown ones. But never one to match the beauty of that splendid original egg. Until Woorawa.
Moon hatched three days after her brother. Father was such an enthusiastic provider that the nest soon groaned with uneaten prey. Discreetly waiting for his departure on the morning hunt, mother took to collecting old carcasses and dropping them away from the nest. A boon for devils and forest ravens.
At two weeks, the chicks shed their silky white down for sooty grey fuzz. By three weeks, mother brooded them only at night or during the wildest storms, shielding them with extended wings to keep them dry. At four weeks, the eaglets were strong enough for play. Tug of war with sticks and bones. Hop chasey. Pretend-to-fly games. Dark primary quills sprouted on stubby wings. Soon Woorawa managed little lift-offs, facing into the wind, flapping uncertainly until rising over his sister’s head. Filled with envy and admiration for her accomplished brother, Moon practised too. The chicks grew bold, exploring branches beyond the nest, giving ungainly chase to yellow thornbills whose pretty nests adorned the eyrie’s walls and understorey.
At three months, the eaglets were fully fledged. One hot afternoon Woorawa took his first flight. Moon tried to follow, flapping and leaping skywards. But she-eagles are larger than males, and Moon’s weight put her at a disadvantage. It was more than a week before she joined him, flying clumsily about the canopy.
Soon they soared with their proud parents. Black Woorawa and his red sister, learning eagle lore. Like all youngsters they had much to learn. How to glide on still wings and fall like a stone on their prey. How to seize wayward daytime possums and pluck birds from mid-air. And how to steal meals at roadside kills.
When Woorawa’s parents first took this territory, and for decades after, there were no cars. But then a rough road took shape, snaking through virgin wilderness, bisecting the beautiful forests of Donaldson Valley. The eagles learned to scavenge roadkill, scanning the looping track for carcasses.
Men and machines became increasingly common visitors to the Tarkine that year, as the southern beech coloured red and gold. The family sometimes trailed deerstalkers, claiming the headless carcasses of stags. One hunter released a group of sows with piglets, hoping to pursue them the following spring. The eagles picked off the piglets one by one, working in tandem to separate them from their mothers. Bold Woorawa, in particular, enjoyed these easy pickings.
One morning, as they began the hunt, he watched his father launch into high soaring flight, prospecting for prey over the forest. A waste of time. Woorawa screeched derision and veered north towards the road, Moon close behind. After a moment’s indecision, mother followed her fledglings, leaving her mate tracing measured ever-widening arcs in the western sky.
It wasn’t long before the eagles spied breakfast. A fat pademelon lay dead on a curve in the road. They dropped to earth in lazy circles. A motor sounded somewhere in the distance. Woorawa bounded to the carcass, perched on top and plucked at the belly. Mother and sister showed more caution. It took some minutes before they joined in the feast.
The motor grew louder. The preoccupied eagles barely turned their heads, unaware of the danger until a ute raced around the bend. Moon’s take-off was too slow, too cumbersome. She barely made it to windscreen height before the impact sent her crashing into the cabin. Showers of glass and feathers and blood blinded the driver. The dying eagle’s hooked beak reflexively seized his leg.
Screaming in pain and surprise, he let go of the wheel and swerved from the track towards the other eagles. On the ground their broad wings and short legs made them clumsy. Woorawa and his mother, flapping to the roadside, could not escape the careening vehicle. It snapped Woorawa’s unfurled left wing and clipped his mother’s head. The raptors collapsed in the dust.
A man in the passenger seat opened the door and hurled Moon’s smashed corpse on top of Woorawa’s prone body. ‘What the hell?’
The shaken men got out and gazed at the carnage. Blood seeped from the driver’s blue-jeaned thigh.
‘They’re bloody eagles,’ said the passenger. ‘I don’t believe it.’
‘Who cares what they are, Joe. Just get me to a doctor fast.’ The driver hobbled to the car and hauled himself in.
‘Hang on a minute.’ Joe retrieved a long-bladed knife from the back of the ute. Since childhood he’d been impressed by his uncle’s hunting trophies – including eagle skulls and claws. What about a collection of his own? Already Joe could see the display behind glass in his pool room. He reached down to sever Woorawa’s feet.
But Woorawa wasn’t dead. He reared back and seized the man’s right wrist in his steel-clawed grasp. Joe dropped the knife. Woorawa’s hind killer claw pierced bone. Three forward-facing talons sliced deep. His leg muscles automatically tightened his grip, ratchet-like. Joe stared at his trapped, mangled hand, too horrified at first to make a sound. Woorawa leaned forward and tore a strip of flesh from Joe’s arm.
The man’s scream roused Woorawa’s mother from her stupor. She shook her head, regained her feet, and took off at a clumsy run along the road, skipping and hopping and flapping until airborne. She circled low, calling encouragement. Woorawa heard her. Releasing Joe, he struggled off, dragging his snapped wing behind him. Joe struggled off too, moaning. Mother watched the ute reverse and drive away. She planed back to earth, reassuring her crippled son with soft double-noted whistles. Dirra-lich … dirra-lich … dirra-lich.
Woorawa nibbled her bill, her nape, yodelling like a nestling. He flapped his good wing and fell unbalanced to the dirt. Mother walked over to Moon’s body and pushed it. She picked up the knife and dropped it. She flew to a low branch and called him again.
As morning wore into afternoon she remained close by. Woorawa dragged himself a little closer to his sister’s side, surprised and confused by the pain in his useless wing. He watched his mother, comforted by her presence. Now they both heard a motor’s thrum. With one wild, grief-stricken shriek, mother launched skywards, flying south, abandoning her son. Next year’s brood would learn to stay shy of the shining eagle-slayers that hurtled along roads.
* * *
The ranger slowed his vehicle at the sight of Moon’s crumpled corpse. He got out to examine it and spotted Woorawa huddled nearby on the roadside. He fetched a net and gloves. On the ground a man can run down an eagle, but Woorawa barely tried to escape. Dejected, in pain, in shock, he suffered the indignity of netting. That was two years ago. Two years of surgery and pins and more surgery at Hobart’s Raptor Rehabilitation Centre, until Woorawa’s left wing matched his right in suppleness and strength. And now he perched in Binburra’s Number 3 aviary, waiting for his new mate and a second chance.
Chapter 16
‘Penny? Are you still there?’ The phone went dead. ‘That was Penny,’ Sarah told Drake. ‘She said to tell Matt that the eagle has arrived.’
‘Okay.’
‘She seemed upset.’
Drake gave her a knowing glance. ‘Listen, princess. Matt never called Pen last night, and now you answer his phone? Why wouldn’t she be upset?’
Matilda leaned forward and crossed her arms over the back of Sarah’s seat. ‘Are you trying to steal Penny’s husband?’
‘No, of course not.’
Sarah felt a little sick in her stomach. ‘Drop me off at Binburra. I’ll sort this out.’
‘Are you going to say you’re sorry?’ asked Matilda.
Drake grinned at her.
‘Matilda, if you don’t stop being rude, I might just put that curse on you,’ said Sarah.
Ben started wailing.
‘She didn’t mean it, mate,’ said Drake. ‘You were joking, weren’t you, princess?’
Ben’s wails reduced to expectant sobs.
Sarah glared at Drake. ‘All right, yes, I was joking.’
‘It wasn’t very funny,’ said Matilda. ‘It wasn’t, was it, Drake?’
‘Right, kids, a bit of shush.’ To Sarah’s amazement, the children obeyed. Drake pointed to the sign up ahead. ‘Next stop, Binburra.’
* * *
Penny turned up her collar against an icy wind whipping round her ears. The weather was as bleak as her mood. Usually the park was filled with sound and colour and movement. Devils loping about their pens or screeching at each other over a carcass. Wallabies cropping the grass while their joeys played chasey. Bright parrots courting in the treetops. Magpies carolling, bees buzzing and honeyeaters swarming the crimson bottlebrush flowers. Not today. Today each bird and animal was seeking shelter from the coming storm.
Penny bit her lower lip and fiddled idly with her wedding ring. Matt hadn’t come home last night. He hadn’t even called. Drake had though. He’d explained how the two friends wanted to reconnect, how a night in the forest might get Matt to open up. He’d explained, apologised even, about their drinking. He hadn’t mentioned Sarah.
Penny watched Matt’s jeep speed towards her through myriad rivulets threatening to wash away the drive. What would she say? What would he say? There’d be a good explanation, she knew that. Putting on a brave face, Penny went to meet him. But it was Drake driving. No sign of Matt at all.
Her brave face fell when Sarah got out of the passenger seat. Penny was all too aware of her sodden clothes, her mud-stained coat and shoes. Although for once, Sarah didn’t look much better. It gave Penny an unexpected shock of satisfaction to see Sarah’s tangled hair and shabby oversized parka. The rain eased to a drizzle. Drake leaned his elbow out of the driver’s window.
‘Morning, Pen.’
‘Where’s Matt?’
‘Sleeping it off back at the camp.’
Sarah handed Matt’s phone to Penny. ‘Sorry if you were worried,’ she said in an offhand way. ‘Matt took me out to Camp Clementine yesterday, and then Drake invited us to eat. We had a few drinks and decided to stay. I had no idea Matt didn’t call you.’
Penny burned with humiliation, but worked hard not to show it. ‘Why do you have his phone?’
‘It was in the jeep,’ said Sarah.
Penny turned to Drake. ‘Why do you have Matt’s jeep?’
‘Had to borrow it, Pen, to get these kids to school. Mine’s almost out of diesel. I’ll have it back before he even wakes up.’
Matilda poked her head out the window. ‘We’ll be late for school.’
‘Tilda’s right,’ said Drake. ‘Climb back in, princess.’
Colour was creeping across Sarah’s cheeks. A guilty blush? An embarrassed blush? Her imagination? Penny couldn’t tell.
Sarah took off her coat and handed it to Penny. ‘Give this back to your uncle,’ she said. ‘And thank him, will you?’
A wave of disquiet washed over Penny – a disquiet bordering on resentment. How did Sarah know her uncle? The woman seemed to be inserting herself into every aspect of Penny’s life.
She ran her hand over her head and gave her ponytail a sharp tug. Stop being paranoid. Sarah and her genetic research represented the very best chance for the devils to beat their disease. This was a time for gratitude and optimism, not for conflicted feelings.
Penny forced a smile and took Ray’s coat. ‘Are you sure Matt’s alright?’ she asked Drake as he put the jeep into gear.
‘Right as rain.’
‘Wait.’ Penny held up her hand. ‘I need Matt’s jeep. The raptor gear is in there. Take mine instead.’
They all dutifully piled out and climbed into Penny’s vehicle. All except Ben.
‘Ben, hurry up. We’ll be late,’ complained Matilda. ‘I hate being late.’
‘Miss Goody-Two-Shoes, Miss Goody-Two-Shoes, Miss Goody-Two-Shoes …’ Ben’s muffled chant came from beneath a blanket in the back of Matt’s jeep. Then a yell. ‘There’s dead things in here.’
Drake strode over, extracted the screaming boy and deposited him unceremoniously into Penny’s jeep. Then he took off down the drive.
Penny’s mobile rang. Could it be Matt using someone else’s phone? No, just Jake asking about the new eagle. ‘I’ve put him in the aviary beside Aquila.’
‘So?’
‘Is that okay, do you think?’
‘What the heck are you asking me for? I’m not in charge of the raptors. Work it out for yourself, why don’t you?’
As Jake hung up, Penny gave a heavy sigh. This wasn’t Jake’s fault, so why had she yelled at him? She was overreacting over Matt’s absence and she had to calm down. After all, it was just one drunken night. Wasn’t it?
No, it was more than that. She was sick of pretending they were intact when they weren’t. Matt worked late, rose early, avoided all but the most perfunctory conversations. Sometimes she caught him watching her, as if he wanted to say something. But when their eyes met, a brief, almost accusing glance wounded her before he turned away. What had she done? Or was it him who’d done something? She banished the thought. Loyalty was Matt’s very strongest suit, and she was suddenly ashamed of her suspicions.
Penny had never had reason to doubt her husband’s love. Not when she attended his swanky Hobart College reunion, along with Drake, marvelling at how Matt came to pick her over all those gorgeous, well-connected girls. Not when her family behaved like a pack of hillbillies, alternatively lampooning him and hitting him up for money. Not when her period turned up relentlessly, month after month, year after year, even though they wanted a family. There were times she’d questioned his discretion, his tolerance, his judgement, but never his fidelity. So why let the rats of doubt gnaw away at her confidence now?
She felt better, almost silly for worrying. Matt and Drake had gone bush plenty of times before. Penny took a deep breath. She’d go check on the new eagle, that’s what she’d do. It was odd though, that Matt had missed its arrival. He’d worked so hard to find Aquila a mate. As an added bonus, a fledgling peregrine had also arrived that morning. A woman handed it in when she found the unfortunate falcon living in a budgie cage on top of her teenage son’s wardrobe. Perhaps these new arrivals would help Matt get over the loss of Sooty and Sweep.
* * *
Penny gazed in admiration at the new eagle. It sat on the highest perch, separated from Aquila by a few metres and some chicken wire. The birds studiously ignored each other, though they couldn’t resist taking the odd surreptitious peek. How impressed Matt would be with this beautiful black eagle. He should be here.
Despite her best efforts, the questions came crowding back, tying Penny’s stomach in knots. When Drake rang last night, why hadn’t he mentioned Sarah? And why on earth had Matt taken Sarah to the Tuggerah in the first place?
Penny hurried back to Matt’s jeep. Flinging open the back, she began to pull things out, though she had no idea what she was looking for. She turfed out gloves, traps, weighing scales. Matilda’s pink My Little Pony umbrella. She flicked through some notebooks, before they too hit the ground. Then she saw it, hiding beneath a pack of polythene tree guards – the bagged body of a devil.
Penny caught her breath as she recognised the ear tag. Oh, no, not Lazarus. Congealed blood matted the fur around his mouth and nose. At a guess, he’d died within the last forty-eight hours. What had happened to him? Apart from eagles, devils faced no natural predators in the park, and this was no eagle kill. Could Matt be responsible? Is that why he hadn’t come home las
t night? He’d hit Lazarus on the road and couldn’t face her.
Penny blinked back tears, extracted Lazarus from the bag with exaggerated care and examined him. Before long, her sadness gave way to professional curiosity. Methodically she parted sections of the devil’s matted fur. There, behind the shoulders. A line of puncture wounds, bite wounds. Dismay and relief came together. Lazarus wasn’t the victim of roadkill at all. This was a dog attack. Did Matt realise? She pulled out her phone and called him. A cock crowed in her pocket. Of course, she had his phone. Penny phoned Jake instead.
‘Jake? Something’s come up. You’ll need to take the morning school groups for me.’
‘But the vet’s coming at ten.’
‘Good. I have a dead devil for her to autopsy. I’ll leave it in the reptile fridge.’
‘Anything else?’ asked Jake. ‘I could dig some new dens with my bare hands?’
‘That would be great,’ said Penny, absentmindedly.
Consigning Lazarus to the refrigerator, she filled the jeep with diesel and headed for the Tuggerah.
Chapter 17
Shouting and roaring engines. Singing. Screaming? Matt struggled through foggy sleep towards consciousness. He was creased and stiff from cold, with a vile taste in his mouth. The hammer in his head didn’t help. The sharp kick to the ribs did. He rose on one elbow, forced open his eyes and peered up at his attacker. A woman in police uniform peered back.
‘Rise and shine, sweetheart,’ she said.
The Memory Tree Page 10
