Fire Eye (31 page)

Alex walks alongside Thor, holding the reins loosely in her hand. She is giving him a chance to recover his strength. Others would have pushed Thor to his limits, hoping to cover distance as fast as possible. Alex gives and demands respect and Thor is giving willingly to her, the alpha mare. He will do his best to deliver what she expects or die in the attempt.

“It’s time to make up some distance!” she says soothingly as she turns the stirrup, lifts her foot into it and swings herself into the saddle. The bond they have formed is moving into the intangible. She tests it by leaning forward over his neck, arms extended down and back behind her as she applies pressure through the saddle. There is no, “Giddyap!” or a kick to his flank. Instead, there is a smooth forward movement into a canter, guided around the trees and scrub by gentle pressure from her legs as a cloud of red dust climbs lazily above them, stirred up by pounding hooves on red earth. Thor launches himself forward and settles into his rhythmic movement. Alex hears Jed’s voice in her mind. Just a quiet whisper, like a gentle breeze through the autumn leaves, almost bringing peace—
Pilots say that flying the right aircraft can be better than sex.
Alex wonders how riding a muscular horse compares with controlling a powerful aircraft. Whether either is better than good sex she is not qualified to answer, but is tempted to find out. Who with is a separate question!

Then she puts the thought to one side. “Let’s cover some ground!” she announces and settles into the saddle, locking herself into the rhythm of his body. It has been a long time since she enjoyed the sensation and she immerses herself in it. Reality will come back to haunt her soon enough. This is escape into ecstasy in its purest form.
Got to be better than flying some hunk of metal,
she thinks.

Decker and Jesse stand back from the Nissan and ponder their handiwork.

“Dad, you’re a fuck’n wonder!” Jesse says in admiration. They spent the morning wiring the broken muffler back into line, wrapping it in wet pig skin smeared with resin from a tree whose trunk they gashed with a knife, then smearing the skin again with more resin. They wrapped it all again with skin and intestines, fired the engine up and ran it for a while to heat the exhaust and dry the skin. The leather and intestines shrank as they dried, creating a vice-like grip around the tube of steel.

“No point announcing our approach to all and sundry,” Decker’s tone conveys deep satisfaction. Once again his skills and ability to problem solve have been put to the test. He is always amazed how well he responds to pressure and the unexpected. No wonder there are some piss-ant arseholes rotting unknown in the ground while he keeps enjoying life. He is feeling happy again. It is amazing how some food, a few beers and a good sleep can change his view of the world.

He lies on the ground so he can reach under the Nissan to check the repair. It is almost there so he rolls upright. “Time for a beer before we move.” He opens a door and reaches inside with satisfaction tickling every part of his body.
Fuck I’m good,
he brags to himself as he tosses Jesse a can.
Hope the boy is learning something!

Davey has delayed his departure, searching for information
. That man is dangerous,
Davey observes from under the scrub only a small distance behind them.
He’s good! He’s a problem solver. He’s adaptable and smart,
Davey decides as he lies in a slight hollow in the red dirt, hidden among fallen leaves and branches. He is the most dangerous man Davey has ever come across. If only he had the Winchester or even Charcoal’s old pistol. All he can do is keep the other boy safe and try to get to the homestead. The white bastard is going to be hard to beat. Davey will have to be a lot more careful than yesterday when the broken muffler announced their approach just in time. He’ll need his wits about him today.

Once again he crawls backward, unseen and unheard, back to his responsibility and Brad.

Jed rests his head against the trunk of a small tree cushioned with his left hand, enjoying the shade and thinking about the story Charcoal told him. Thoughts tumble through his mind. He is no stranger to difficult situations and has defended himself before with a gun. There is a difference between wounding someone in self-defence and taking the initiative to kill someone. He accepts the threat to himself and is prepared to handle it. He’s been there before. It is the threat to family that eats away at him like slow burning acid. He knows there is no way he can protect his parents, his daughters, their husbands and his grandchildren.

Well, he can,
he finally acknowledges to himself. It would a lot easier just to waste both the bastards. A clean and simple solution but not a positive addition to his CV! He certainly doesn’t need the potential complications that could follow. It would mean decisive action that is against the law, against his upbringing, against everything he stands for. He struggles with the battle between his values and what he knows should be done but can’t quite take the final step. There is no way he can leave his family exposed to the uncontrollable threat of Decker. On top of this is Alex, a decent woman who broke free to create a new life for herself. He put her in death’s way and by sheer chance she survived, temporarily. She deserves better and trusts him. Or had trusted him! Handing the bastard over to the law still seems the best option. Surely enough has happened to put him away for a long time!

“You be quiet over there man! You enjoying the shade?” Charcoal asks knowingly.

“You know damn well what I’m thinking about!” Jed snaps, although his tone conveys the respect he feels for Charcoal. Charcoal put his life on the line for them and created a debt for life. He knows from hard experience that few people would do that. He understands Charcoal has used the story to give him a dose of reality. Stories share learning in a powerful way. Jed has used himself in presentations but now the approach has been applied to him. “I understand very well what you were trying to teach me. It’s just not easy to face. You ever killed a man?”

Charcoal wriggles himself around to get more comfortable, almost hiding the stab of pain that slashes through his chest, and then winces, “That’s not a question you should ever ask a man!”

Jed smiles to himself. That is exactly what Chelavenki said all those years ago in New Zealand! He knows Decker meant to kill him, leaving time to gloat and savour his superiority as the better man while enjoying his pain and anguish. But Jed is no Decker. Two things are important to him, the people he loves and his country and what it stands for. Suddenly, he feels comfortable with the decision he has made. Chelavenki and Charcoal are men who have been there. They know what they believe in and have a limit to the bullshit they will take. In the cities one has to bend to accepted norms to live harmoniously in a group. Out here the only reality is the one created by oneself. He feels he has found a compromise. He will go with the rule of law. If he has to he will finish it himself, but the law has to come first.

“I understand where you’re coming from,” Jed replies. “I know what I need to do.”

“That’s good man. I’m pleased for you. But fuck, you were clumsy with that bloody knife!” Charcoal exclaims as he runs his fingers gingerly over his chest.

Jed knows when he is being stirred and smiles to himself. First Alex and now Charcoal! Few people take the risk to challenge him, even though he respects those who do. Alex has honed stirring to a fine art. “You were bloody lucky I was having a good day!” he throws back, enjoying the flash of humour in Charcoal’s dark eyes. They both lean back into what comfort they can find while the sun continues its downward journey to the horizon. Each thinks silently about Alex and wrestles with their individual fears.

Alex and Thor break out of the scrub with the late afternoon sun sinking behind them. She is pushing the horse, but he is holding up well. Their target is the water. Not at the ridge emerging before them but the next. They are racing the sun and Alex is drawing on every ounce of skill and experience she possesses.

The peak is in plain sight but the distance is deceptive. It looks higher than it is and appears further away. It is probably less than fifty metres high, but out here, with few points of reference, it could be a lot higher. Well before she expects they are riding along parallel to its rocky, gravel-strewn slope. Charcoal nearly came to grief on the other ridge but this looks bad enough. Alex checks north and south along its length and decides that searching for an easier climb is pointless—it is all tough and a search will be a waste of time. She reins Thor in below the peak and looks up at the slope confronting them. There is only one way to go. She swings herself out of the saddle, her feet stirring up a cloud of red dust that mixes with the dust of Thor’s hooves to drift away on the gentle breeze.

She holds the reins gently, running her fingers down the groove on his forehead and begins to sing in a low, seductive tone. The words of ‘Amazing Grace’ mean nothing to Thor. He is seduced by the tone and lets his body relax, building on his large reserves of strength. Alex moves her fingers down along his neck, still singing and gathering her own strength for what lies ahead. She walks Thor over to the bottom of the slope and peers up at the climb. It’s not that high, but a steep bastard. Rocks and loose gravel promise an exciting climb!

She speaks to him gently, pointing at the slope and then moves behind him, taking hold of his tail and slapping his muscular rump. Thor heads for the base of the slope, digging his steel-clad hooves into the gravel and launches himself up the slope with Alex, holding onto his tail, scrambling furiously behind him. They claw their way up the slope and each time Thor is on the verge of running out of traction, his hooves find purchase on solid rock buried beneath the gravel or on a jagged clump thrusting its way out to the surface.

Alex’s fingers start with a firm grip on Thor’s tail. Her feet sink into the loose, slippery gravel. She fights to find the slightest purchase. Her legs work furiously to keep up with Thor as he claws his way to the top of the ridge. Pieces of gravel thrown up by his hooves sting her face, arms and chest like red hot shards of shrapnel, but she clings on desperately. Alex feels her hands losing their grip and as the end of his tail slips through her fingers, she falls face down on the smooth rock surface of the crest. Thor gives a neigh of concern and turns to lower his head to nuzzle her face. Alex drags herself up to stand on quivering legs that threaten to collapse beneath her and surveys the land.

Alex sees the undulating landscape of gentle valleys and slight rises she has ridden through without being aware of them. In the wet season, the low points would channel water into the creeks and then the rivers and the country would be awash with water. In the dry season, the inexperienced eye remains ignorant.

In the distance she can see the second ridge with the promise of water below the high point rising above the long ridgeline. She tries to estimate distance but has trouble doing so. The jump-ups in the land look like mountains, but with her recent experience she senses they aren’t that high, so the distance could be a lot shorter. She turns to look at the sinking sun, turns again to look at the ridge in the distance and decides they can do it. She pulls Thor close to her, once again massaging him and singing in the gentle tone that tantalises him. She can sense his energy being sapped by the land and the demands of the ride. Rest is nearby and needs only a final effort.

She continues to massage him and sing into his ear for precious minutes before climbing back into the saddle and pointing downhill along the easier but still steep, western slope. At least there is more exposed rock to provide a sure foothold but she still takes it slow, wary of the potentially treacherous footing. If Thor breaks a leg it will be a death sentence for both of them.

“Good boy!” she whispers into his ear as she leans forward in the saddle. “Good boy! We can do this together. Not long to go,” she whispers, coaxing him into a canter with the second ridge rearing up clearly in front of them. They ride through the red-soiled open country covered by a sea of grassland studded with clumps of scrub and spindly trees and crowned with dark green, waxy leaves turning their edges to the sun to conserve moisture.

Under the dry season sun, the ground is hard. Thor’s hooves thunder out a rhythm of sound that spreads across the landscape and bounces off the rock faces of the approaching ridgeline. The sound is mesmerising in its regular beat. The rhythm catches the attention of every living thing around them. Those underground feel the vibrations and curl up defensively with an instinctive flinch. Those above ground prick ears and tense their bodies, tracking the direction of the sound to analyse the threat, ready to break and run. Birds swivel their heads nervously, tracking the sound and the glimpses of movement between the vegetation. Alex catches the fleeting sight of some exploding from trees to escape. The God of Thunder is announcing his presence and the world is trembling. A long plume of dust drifts lazily up into the still evening sky, filtering the rays of a sun close to touching a horizon edged with purple.

Alex looks up at the approaching ridgeline then back over her shoulder at the sinking sun and makes a decision. She leans forward over Thor’s neck and strokes him firmly but gently. “Sorry boy. Time is running out! We need to go faster!” Her heels clearly convey what is expected of him. The plume of dust grows thicker and rises faster as the gentle pink cloud of reflected sunset becomes an angry red and orange marker spiralling up behind them. A kangaroo breaks from cover to the right in surprised alarm, another to the left, and a flock of galahs explodes out from the foliage of a tree in a blaze of pink and grey as they gallop past underneath.

A dry channel appears without warning out of the mix of colours and textures painting the landscape. She goes to press her left calf into Thor’s flank to guide him across the channel but he beats her to it, swerving right and down a gently sloping section of the bank, then veering sharp left up the other side without missing a beat, hooves sinking into the pockets of gravel piled up after the wet season flow of water. She can feel the muscles in his body straining with the effort and senses he is in his element, doing what a quarter horse lives to do. She instinctively lets him have his head. A line of scrub flanks this side of the channel but Thor doesn’t hesitate, aiming for the thinnest section and smashing his way through into open country to put on a long, burst of speed devouring distance and energy.

Alex slows him to a canter to allow his body to wind down as she looks up at the peak rising to a point above them and then glances along the base of the ridge, looking for a rock that could mark a hidden water hole. She sees a likely one and then another and another after that. The more she scans, the more rocks she sees. Some are flat like large dinner plates standing out from the scattering of boulders that have tumbled down the slope over eons of time.

“Shit!” she exclaims aloud to the emptiness where there is no one to hear and no one to care. There is only the silent expanse of a landscape that has been like this for thousands of years. A night without water after the effort of the day will be sheer hell and stack the odds against them tomorrow. Alex takes control of her rising panic as fear swells inside her. She forces herself to think. The pointed tip of the pinnacle mockingly tells her she is in the right place. The dying light from the sun gives life to dark shadows expanding slowly from the crevices of the rock face. If she had time to spare she would have watched them grow until they merged together, creating spreading masses of blackness to quickly swallow the ridge.

Her eyes focus on the slash of smooth rock sweeping down from the crest between rugged outcrops of rock. Her scientific mind claws its way above the panic threatening to engulf her. She visualises the torrents of water flowing down the face during countless wet seasons, sweeping across the ground to the channel and into a river system somewhere over the horizon.

Dismounting below the smooth face of time-worn rock next to a flat piece of stone, Alex bends down over it and slips her hands underneath. With a grunt of effort, she flips it over to expose bare rock underneath. Squashing the rising fear she goes from one rock to another, flipping them over or rolling them out of the way, searching for the water they desperately need. Thor nickers and walks toward the base of the ridge, the hairs on his flanks glimmering with the sweat of exertion. He comes to a stop and swings his rump around to give her both eyes as he lowers his head.

Alex feels the pressure of the sun sinking below the horizon and the spreading darkness slowly enveloping them. She works her way across the expanse of rock at the base of the jump-up, heaving boulders over, frantically searching for water in the fading light. A large flat one catches her eye. She puts her hands underneath its edge and heaves with all her strength. She feels herself losing the battle, thrusts her knee under it and strains with every muscle in her body, only to be confronted by bare rock once again. Her frustration finally explodes as she throws her arms up in exhaustion and curses the evening sky. She heaps damnation on the country, on Decker and finally on herself for past mistakes that allowed him to curse her life. Just as she finally dragged herself out of the fear and depression he created, he is back. She has to face the prospect of a lonely death in a wilderness where her bones will eventually merge with the dust of an ancient continent. She sinks to her knees and cries tears that use up the last of the precious water in her body until the tears flow no more. Finally she finds the last vestige of fight remaining inside her, strangles the wave of depression and buries its body somewhere deep inside her as she staggers back onto her feet.

“Nothing to eat or drink there my boy!” Alex commiserates as she turns to work her way from rock to rock, converting the dregs of precious water in her body into sweat as she continues to heave rocks over, searching desperately for the simple, life-giving elixir they both crave.

Thor nickers again.

She looks up impatiently to see him pawing at a pile of rocks. “Wrong bloody place!” Alex exclaims in frustration. But her eye catches the almost imperceptible slope of the rock surface that would channel some of the wet season rains toward where Thor stands close to exhaustion. She fights the panic clouding her judgement.

With legs quivering from effort and exhaustion, she staggers over to Thor and the pile of rock in front of him. She kicks some smaller chunks of rock out of the way and bends down to roll a couple of small boulders to the side, exposing a flatter piece of stone nestled comfortably into the rock surface. Thor whinnies with excitement as she clears the area, slips her hands under the edge of the rock, locks her arms and uses the remaining strength of her legs to shift it sideways.

A hole appears, the size of a dinner plate. In the fast-fading light it disappears into blackness. Thor throws his head up, whinnies again and then once more in eagerness. Alex kneels down and puts her arm into the blackness. Her fingers are stung by the cool sensation of wetness. She brings her hand up to her mouth and licks her fingers.

Water! Fresh, sweet, cold and delicious. Water!