The Kadaitcha Curse Page 19
Though tears welled in Arunta’s eyes, he knew that seeing the Tree of Spirits before he had died was more than Yuka had hoped for. Now Arunta was alone with the spirits in this strange place.
After struggling to stand, Arunta looked around. It was clear that no tribe had lived here for a long time. There was no sign of shelters, or flattened patches of ground or fireplaces. Beneath the tree was a circle of stones, each about the size of a man’s head and the shape it made was about five paces across. From Yuka’s description, Arunta recognised this as the Ring of Ancestors, the place where the burnt remains of his own forefathers were returned to the earth. Beyond the tree, Arunta could see the water where two rivers came together.
He managed to stumble to the river’s edge and let himself fall into the water. Although his thirst was burning him inside, he drank slowly, taking in only small portions at one time. With each swallow he felt the pain of the holes that the dingo had made in his neck. When he had drunk enough he stood and walked out into deeper water to wash himself.
His hands, arms and neck stung as the dried blood came away from his wounds.
He would waste no time, he decided, in preparing his father’s body for the burial ritual. But he could allow himself just a short rest. And with this thought he walked out of the water, lay down on a shaded, moss-covered rock at the water’s edge and closed his eyes.
Arunta could see himself standing at a distance from his family and familiar members of his tribe who danced in a circle around a big fire. Arunta, Arunta, they wailed. You have failed. You were not strong enough. You were not brave enough. Your father’s spirit and your own and the spirits of your children will be confined forever to this world of mortals.
No! Arunta heard himself shout, I am here! I have returned. My father’s ashes are buried under the great tree with those of his ancestors. His spirit is free! But still they chanted and the louder he shouted his protest the higher the flames leaped until the whole tribe was consumed by the fire and he stood alone in their ashes.
Again it was the screeching of the big white bird that pulled him back from the place of dark dreams. Arunta opened his eyes and looked in the direction of the bird. Then standing up, his attention was caught by some movement in the distance.
Some men were approaching. Five, he counted. Were they friends? Were they enemies? Arunta did not know what to think. But he knew what he should do. He ran quickly to where his father’s body lay and scooped him up into his arms. Being unsure of who these men were, or what their intentions might be, Arunta decided to hide and observe them from a safe place. They might not even stop here. They might just continue on to wherever they were going. Or they might be family. Somehow they may have received word that the long-lost Arunta and his son of the same name had returned to the Tree of Spirits and the place of the two rivers.
Arunta could see a place just beyond the tree where thickets of low bush grew. That would be a good place, he thought. Yuka seemed heavier now than he did when he was alive and Arunta’s arms ached terribly with the strain of carrying his father’s limp body.
Arunta just reached the protection of the thick bush as the strangers entered the clearing. He could hear them talking and laughing although their language was unfamiliar. One of them walked towards the water and waved to his companions to join him. They must be hungry. They are looking for fish. No, he had seen the place where Arunta had fallen asleep. Arunta peered through the leaves and watched as they scanned the surrounding area for any signs of whoever had made the impression on the mossy rock.
Arunta wondered what his father would do in this same situation. Face them, he decided. His father would not hide in the bushes from strangers who might, for all he knew, be family. With this thought Arunta slowly made his move.
Standing to his full height, although still concealed by the foliage, he started to push his way into the open. The reaction of the strangers to the sound of the rustling branches was as quick as it was startling. They swung around in Arunta’s direction, spears at the ready, prepared, it seemed, to slaughter whatever creature was about to emerge. Then Arunta saw the mark of the serpent scarred into their chests.