Moonstone Promise (12 page)

‘They're all yours, big fella,' he said, taking a step back. ‘I'm not gonna touch 'em.'

The stallion walked back to the mob and singled out a small red foal, nuzzling it and pushing it towards the middle of the mob. Luke could see now that it was a colt. Two other mares went to it and ushered it close.

‘Rusty,' he whispered. Then he smiled. ‘You got taken in by the mob. Good for you, little man.'

He could see the similarities between the colt and the stallion. Both were deep red, although he couldn't be sure that wasn't just the dust covering them. They both had large cheekbones and a narrow face; long sloping shoulders, short backs and rounded hindquarters. The colt had a tiny white dot on his forehead, the stallion a wide white blaze that ran the length of his face and down between his nostrils. He was harsh, wild and shrewd, like the land around him, and he circled his mares possessively. His feet reached out and covered the hard unforgiving rocks in long, rangy strides.

Suddenly he wheeled and rushed at Luke again, coming closer this time. Luke took his warning. He retreated slowly down the other side of the hill, checking behind him as he went, until he was some distance away; then he ran, sending little avalanches of rocks tumbling about his ankles as he went.

He went back to the river and sat against a tree, watching the top of the hill, knowing that the stallion would come checking again soon. The image of the horses crowded his mind. It was almost as if they were paying their respects.

‘It was like a funeral or something,' he said to Bob. ‘They were grieving.'

‘Yeah, they're different in the wild,' Bob said. ‘Around the homesteads, we bury dead horses quick as we can. They never get a chance to grieve like that.'

Luke thought of the stallion: his gentleness as he nuzzled the colt and led it to the centre of the mares. He thought of Biyanga, pacing about in his stable at home.

He would kill a foal if he got near one. He wouldn't even know if it was his.

That afternoon, while the other men fished, Luke walked back to the top of the hill. The mob was still there, surrounding the dead mare. They left only to drink at the creek, a few at a time, and then resumed their vigil over the body. It was the most incredible thing he had ever witnessed. If only he could ring Jess and tell her about it. She could spend a whole century sitting under trees and watching horses around here.

Before long, Tyson joined him. The man puffed as he climbed up the rocky hillside. ‘What are you doin' all the way up here?' he said, reaching the top and grabbing hold of a small tree to steady himself while he got his breath back. ‘Tryin' to kill me?'

‘Watching the brumbies,' smiled Luke.

‘Coming for another walk? Got more to show you.' Tyson pulled a comical face. ‘Soon as those ancestors send some air my way.'

‘You wanna cut down on the muesli bars, mate.'

‘I'm waiting for you to catch a barra so I can,' said Tyson. He let go of the tree and set off across the top of the ridge. ‘Coming?'

Luke took a last glance at the brumbies and followed him.

Tyson went over the belly power again and then showed Luke how to bring that heat back into his hands, and how to hold them in front, palms out, sending ripples of energy shooting through his fingers in crooked waves out into the land.

Luke learned how to bring all that power, the heat from his hands, the tingling from his feet, the tightness from his belly, and send it blazing up into his eyes.

At one point a low menacing wolf-like growl escaped involuntarily from his throat, making Tyson step back and look at him with mild alarm. ‘Geez, bro, you're scarin' me!'

Luke shook slightly and laughed, a little nervously. ‘Whoa. Where did that come from?'

‘If you can put those eyes on whenever you want, you'll probably never have to fight again,' said Tyson. ‘And if somebody does hit you and your feet are planted, you won't fall.'

Luke remembered the other day, when he had slashed Tyson with the knife. It had been like striking a stone. Tyson hadn't moved. ‘Can we walk some more?' he asked.

‘Sure,' said Tyson, ‘But when you walk, keep your belly power strong. Don't walk like a loser anymore.'

As they continued, Tyson told him how to connect through his head. ‘Last thing is the sky,' he said, standing on top of the mountain with the wind swirling through his untameable hair. ‘You can connect that way too, from your head, feel that power come up from feet, let it go straight up to the sky, like you're just hanging there on a string.' He raised his chin and held out his arms. You don't even have to be walking to connect with the earth. You can be on a motorbike or a horse.'

Luke held out his arms and joined him.

‘That's it,' said Tyson. ‘Your head is like your feet for the sky.'

‘My mother is in the sky,' said Luke. ‘That's what everyone told me when she died.'

She seemed so far away, so long ago. But he liked that he could imagine her arms around him, like the two of them were on the back of that horse again, like in the photo. He could just close his eyes and feel protected. ‘I do have ancestors.'

‘You got old ones,' Tyson assured him. ‘But it's your choice to make. Connect or disconnect. Be something, be nothing. Be somewhere, be nowhere. Up to you. Keep your belly power solid, listen for them, watch for messages, and your old people will come for you, put you on the right track.'

14

THE NEXT DAY,
Luke jogged across the wide open country to the hills again. Once on the other side, he followed the brumbies into flatter country, where the soil was brownish-grey and grass grew under a low open forest.

The brumbies knew he was there.

One small brown mare, heavy with foal, seemed to be the leader. She stayed in the centre of the mob and another seven or so circled her, protecting her at all times. Luke wondered why they all followed her. There was nothing powerful or impressive about her. She didn't blow her nostrils or stamp her feet; she didn't bite or kick or charge at the others. She just calmly ate and when she moved on, the others moved on with her.

When Luke made too much noise, she was the first to startle and lead the others to a safer place. Late in the afternoon, she took them to water to drink, and she led them to higher ground when the sun began to sink behind the hills and it grew cold. Even the big red stallion seemed to follow her.

The stallion, he noticed, always stayed at the rear of the group, protecting them, pushing forward any stragglers or frail ones. He was so different from Biyanga at home. The young foals all seemed eager to be around him, stretching out their necks and snapping their gums. He was gentle and playful with them.

Rusty seemed to go from mare to mare, each of whom took turns looking after him. When he slept, stretched out with his eyes closed, absorbing the sun, the mares would keep their ears tuned in his direction.

He had friends his own age, too. The other foals would canter up and invite him to play, then gallop about on the outskirts of the herd, bucking and frolicking. They would rear up and paddle their legs, or nip at each others' flanks as they trotted past.

Luke couldn't get enough of their antics. He jogged over to the hills every day and followed them vast distances along the creeks and into the forests.

It was on the third day of watching them, around midday, that he felt a hand on his shoulder. Bob crouched down next to him.

‘Check out the brown mare,' said Luke, pointing to her. ‘She's the boss. Wouldn't pick it, would you?'

‘Yeah, it's all about the knowledge. They know who the clever one is,' said Bob. ‘Same way my mob. Youngsters know who to follow and watch and learn from.'

‘They follow her everywhere,' Luke marvelled. ‘I can't work out why.'

‘They use a lot of body language. See that colt over there?' asked Bob, pointing to a young chocolate horse grazing on the outskirts of the mob. ‘He's in big trouble with 'em. Don't know what he did wrong, but that mare's not happy with him. See how she keeps her back to him?'

Luke looked at her; sure enough, her back was to the colt. She shifted every time he tried to approach. ‘He plays too rough. The little ones are scared of him.'

‘He'll have to go away and learn what he did wrong before she's gonna let him back in,' said Bob.

‘I can't work out which foal belongs to what mare,' said Luke. ‘They all seem to look after each other.'

Bob nodded. ‘The aunties look after the young ones so their mum can have a break – she'll go and graze some better pasture on her own, or have a lay-down. Everyone in the mob helps to raise the young one, keep it safe, teach it how to sense danger. Growing up is not just about getting the mother's milk. The young ones gotta learn how to be part of the group.'

Luke got the distinct feeling Bob was trying to tell him something. ‘Same way your mob?'

Bob nodded. ‘The longer you stay with your mob, the better protected you are. Young ones can't predict danger like the old ones can.' He looked pointedly at Luke.‘You stay with your brothers until you're ready. They'll guide you and protect you.'

‘Yeah, well, that'd be good if I
had
any brothers,' said Luke.

‘You got brothers back home, Luke.' Bob frowned at him. ‘You should send Lawson a message, let him know you're all right. Your family got enough sorry business right now, losing the old one like that. Sometimes it's good to go off and learn with your cousins and your uncles, but then you go back, Luke. They're your family.'

A dozen faces flashed through Luke's mind. Harry, Annie, Lawson, Ryan, all his friends. ‘I'm not blood with them, Bob. I don't know if they even want me there.'

‘Luke,' Bob said gently, ‘blood family's not the only kind of family you can have. Our way, we got all sorts of kinship: skin names, totems. They map out where you fit in life and how you relate to everyone else.'

‘We're all connected through the horses,' said Luke. He smiled suddenly. ‘Same way my mob!'

Bob grinned and nodded. ‘Same way your mob!'

Bob pointed to a small bay filly. ‘You see that young filly there? The day she comes in season, that old red stallion will kick her out. Out over the hills there, there'll be a mob of bachelor colts ready to take her in. One of them will take her for himself.'

He waggled a finger at Luke and grinned. ‘But not until she's come of age, or until her father says so – you got that bit too?'

Luke screwed up his nose.

‘Why d'you look like that?' laughed Bob. ‘You got a girl back home?'

Luke looked away. ‘Nah.'

Bob raised his eyebrows.

‘She's just a good friend, that's all.'

Bob stood up and slapped Luke on the shoulder. ‘Let's go back to camp. Show you how to catch a fish!'

That evening, Luke held the reel in his left hand the way Bob had shown him. With his other hand, he twirled the hook and sinkers around his head and flung it out to the river. It snapped back at him, narrowly missing Tex's face and snagging in the tree behind him.