The Kadaitcha Curse Read online

Chapter 3

  Their tree was surrounded by stampeding emus. Arunta’s branch snapped and downwards he tumbled, stronger branches slowing his descent. With the instinct of self-preservation taking over he released his grip on the walanyja and wrapped his arms around his own head preparing to hit the ground and be killed. But that didn’t happen.

  Arunta felt his brother’s strong grip on his arm.

  “I have you,” shouted Burnum as wild birds continued to thunder past in clouds of dust and feathers. The goanna hit the ground and somehow managed to scurry its way through the deadly legs of the rampaging pinyali and disappear up another tree. Burnum was in a squatting position reaching down between his knees holding fast to Arunta whose feet dangled only just above the heads of the screaming birds. But Arunta’s skin was slippery with sweat. His upper arm, then his forearm, then his wrist slowly slipped through Burnum’s powerful hand. Another crack. It was Burnum’s branch this time, unable to take the weight of both of them. The jolt it sent through Burnum’s body was enough to finally sever their contact.

  Trampled to death by a mob of emus! This is no way to join the ancestors! In a desperate move, Arunta reached for the nearest neck. His feet scraped along the ground as he clung with all his strength to the giant emu. Then with an enormous effort he managed to swing his legs up and over the bird’s back. He lay as flat as he could and hugged that bird as though his life depended on it, which, clearly, it did.

  The shock of an unexpected passenger made the emu go faster and it started to overtake the others. This added to the panic as the birds knocked each other out of the way to escape their invisible pursuers. Arunta could feel himself starting to slip to one side. With a grunt he again centred himself on the bird’s back but soon began to slip the other way. Then he noticed that as his body weight shifted the bird adjusted its course.

  He shifted his weight again to the left. It was working! The bird changed direction, only slightly, and was gradually moving away from the middle and towards the edge of the mob. As soon as all the other birds were to his left Arunta let go. He threw himself to the ground on the right and tumbled to the relative safety of some low, thorny scrub. He lay there exhausted as the sound of the feathered army faded.

  Burnum was out of breath when he finally arrived. But as puffed as he was, he was roaring with laughter.

  “I have never seen anything like it! You have made up a new game that our children and their children will play. And finally we have a hunting story that we do not need to decorate with lies. It is wonderful just as it is. Here, take your spear.”

  “It is not funny I was almost killed!” Then Arunta, too, started to laugh.

  “Killed? I will take more than a bird to kill you, brother”

  “You may be right,” Arunta replied, suddenly serious again, “and we may soon see.” The changed expression on his brother’s face caused Burnum to look around. There they saw the most likely reason for the panicky stampede.

  As the wild emus disappeared across the plain, Arunta and Burnum realised what had panicked them.

  “Ngurakin,” said Burnum, catching his breath. The tribe had their own walaku; tame, domesticated dingos who protected them and helped with hunting. These ngurakin, however, were a different matter. The wild dingos would prey on anything weaker or slower than themselves. And having been outrun by the pinyali, the ngurakin now looked to these boys to satisfy their savage mouths and fill their empty stomachs.

  The five dingos stood in a still line until the leader took two threatening steps forward. It was a massive dog. A missing left ear and numerous patches of bare skin showed the price it had paid in its fight to dominate this ugly pack of wandering predators. Much larger than the others with wide shoulders and thick legs, it was, Arunta guessed, a cross breed, part dingo and part whatever kind of dog the white settlers kept for their own protection.

  “Get your spear ready,” whispered Burnum.

  “No, there are too many of them.” Arunta looked around. There were trees that they could easily climb and that were high enough for them to be safe from the dogs. However, they would not have time to reach them. They had their spears and they could kill two, or maybe even three. But ultimately they would lose the battle and the dogs would fight over their warm, juicy bones. Arunta spied a waterhole not far off. That would be their only chance for survival.

  “If we are lucky we can reach the water before they reach us. They won’t follow us into the creek. Ready?”

  Arunta dropped his weapon, turned and ran towards the water. Spear in hand Burnum followed. They could hear the dogs closing in behind them. As they got closer Burnum saw that there was a small island in the middle of the creek and on it stood a single tree.

  “Drop your spear,” Arunta called back over his shoulder. “Jump in and swim as far as you can.” But although Burnum’s body was behind his brother’s, his mind was in front. Arunta felt a whoosh of air as Burnum’s spear flew past his ear and found the dead centre of the small tree.

  Arunta slowed just slightly to allow his brother to catch up. They hit the water at the same time and frantically started to put as much distance as necessary between them and the bank of the creek. Arunta slowed and turned expecting to see the dogs standing frustrated on the bank. And they were, mostly. The head of this pack was no ordinary ngurakin. Without hesitating it plunged into the water in pursuit of the boys.

  “Come on! Keep going!” shouted Arunta.

  He was almost at the island. His eyes locked on the spear. One weapon, one enemy. We win, he thought hopefully. But Burnum’s muffled scream made him turn again. The massive dog had his jaws clamped on the dillybag that trailed in the water behind Burnum and the younger boy was being pulled under by the strap that was around his neck.