The Amber Legacy (10 page)

The crowd joined in with the familiar reel, dancing and singing into the night.

‘That Talemaker is good,’ Dawn said as they walked home under a carpet of stars.

‘I liked the drinking song,’ said Mykel.

‘Except you’re not allowed to drink yet,’ Daryn remarked.

‘What did you think, Meg?’ Dawn asked her silent daughter.

‘It was good,’ she replied.

‘I liked the song about the bastard son,’ said Daryn. ‘Is that about the Queen?’

‘No,’ said Dawn. ‘Her son is Prince Future.’

‘But isn’t he the one leading the Rebels?’

‘Yes,’ Dawn replied.

‘So it is about them,’ Daryn reasserted.

‘I’m going to sit outside for a little while,’ Meg said as they reached the house.

‘You’ll get cold,’ her mother warned.

‘I won’t be long. I’ll check on the animals, then I’ll come in,’ Meg explained. She said goodnight to her brothers and kissed her mother’s cheek before they entered the house. Glad to be alone, she walked to an open space near where Nightwind was quartered and gazed up at the stars. The clouds had cleared away for a time, although the darkness on the horizon told her that the sky would soon be overcast again. It had been a strange night. Samuel’s Singing On still seemed empty, incomplete. She wished Emma had come to the inn, long enough to give the Singing On a sense of
meaning—long enough to share the knowledge of the truth about Samuel’s life and his death. She touched the sliver of amber crystal against her chest and wondered what his gift to her really meant. A shiver wriggled down her spine and she imagined for a moment that she saw Samuel’s ghostly presence in the darkness beside her.
There are no spirits
, she reminded herself, but she wasn’t convinced by her own logic and retreated into her home.

‘
E
mma’s here,’ Mykel told her. She looked up from sharpening the plough blade, in the direction of the house where her mother was talking to the white-haired crone. Handing the whetstone to Mykel, she rose, saying, ‘You finish this and take it to Daryn.’ She wiped her hands and headed for the house.

‘Emma is here to see you,’ Dawn said with a broad smile, embracing Meg. Meg observed that Emma had on the same threadbare grey dress that she’d worn the day she’d taken her to Samuel’s grave, and she was leaning on her walking stick, clutching a woven hessian bag. A black shawl protected her shoulders from the overcast sky.

‘I’d prefer to speak with Meg in private,’ Emma said, looking directly at Dawn.

Dawn’s eyebrows rose in dismay, but she lifted her arm quickly from her daughter’s shoulder, smiled, and said, ‘Of course. I’d better check on Peter. Do you want something to drink?’

‘Do you have any herbal tea?’

Dawn looked at Meg, then back to Emma, and with a shrug replied, ‘No.’

‘I’ll be fine, then.’

‘Do you want to talk inside?’ Dawn offered.

Emma smiled at Meg, winked, and said, ‘No. Outside is good. We might walk to the riverbank.’

Dawn reluctantly withdrew on the pretext of searching for her youngest boy, and called Sunfire to follow her. The dingo’s inquiring gaze stayed on Meg.

‘Go with Mum,’ she said. When Sunfire hesitated, she repeated the instruction. He turned and trotted after Dawn.

‘Let’s walk,’ said Emma, leaning forward on her twisted mallee cane.

Meg dawdled beside the old woman in the dull midmorning light, wondering why she had left her cottage to visit when everyone knew Emma seldom went anywhere in the village. ‘So you’re wondering why I came to you?’ Emma asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Partly to ask a favour.’

Meg stopped. ‘What favour?’

Emma smiled and held the grey hessian bag open.

When Meg peered in, beady eyes in a black face stared back. ‘The bush rat?’

‘Her name is Whisper.’

‘You want me to look after a
rat?
’ Meg asked in disgust.

‘She’s no ordinary rat. She was Samuel’s companion.’

Meg looked at Emma as if she didn’t believe what was being asked. ‘A bush rat on the farm? Sunfire will kill it. If Mum doesn’t first. Or my brothers.’

‘She needs somewhere to live.’

‘Why don’t you keep her?’

‘She doesn’t want to stay with me.’

Meg’s face broke into a cynical smile. ‘How can you say that? Did she tell you?’

‘Yes.’

Meg snorted. ‘A
bush rat
told you it didn’t want to live with you? You expect me to believe
that?
’

‘You can believe what you choose,’ Emma said curtly. ‘I answered your question, honestly and respectfully.’

Emma’s tone prompted Meg to curb her mocking disbelief. She looked down at the black rat in the bag, and asked, ‘What do I get for doing this favour?’

Emma closed the bag. ‘I never took you for someone who sought self-profit.’

‘Meaning what?’

‘Meaning that I thought I could rely on you to take responsibility for the gifts you’ve inherited from your dead great-uncle without expecting to be paid for it.’ Emma looked up at the grey clouds. ‘Are you still wearing the crystal?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good.’ She met Meg’s gaze, her eyes glittering with energy. ‘Because what I will do in return for your safekeeping of Whisper is to teach you what I know. Is that a satisfactory offer?’

‘Yes.’ Meg felt she should apologise for something that had just happened, but she wasn’t sure what exactly she’d done wrong.

‘Good. Come to my cottage tomorrow, before sunrise. Bring four fresh eggs and some fresh milk. Bring Whisper. She doesn’t like being left alone, especially in strange places.’ Emma passed the bag to Meg. ‘She eats grain, but she also enjoys morsels of anything you eat. Don’t overfeed her though. She gets fat very easily.’ She headed for the path into the village.

‘I thought we were going to the riverbank?’ Meg asked, feeling the rat’s weight in the bag.

‘No need,’ Emma replied, without turning or pausing. ‘Be there tomorrow morning.’

Leaning against the white and grey bark under the shade of a gum tree, she watched him. Bent over the bank of the river, washing his tunic, he was lithe and slim, but solid muscles rippled along the frames of his arms and across his back and shoulders, and his blond hair appeared even whiter set against his tanned skin. She wondered where he’d been for the two days since she’d last spoken to him—what he’d been scouting. A hive of bees filled the air above her with a dull hum, working their nectar into their honeycomb cells high in the tree, prompting her to make a mental note to return to farm the bees’ golden produce. She ceased her vigil when Nightwind nudged her with his nose. ‘Cheeky,’ she whispered, and led the grey horse towards the scout’s campsite. Sunfire walked ahead, ears alert to the stranger.

Treasure turned, smiling as if he was expecting her at exactly that moment, and she almost blushed. ‘So everyone came?’ he said, grinning at the horse and the dingo.

‘Sunfire goes most places I go,’ she replied. ‘Where’s your horse?’

‘He ran off,’ he explained, and shrugged. ‘I tied him up while I was having a sleep and by the time I woke, he’d bolted. I went looking, but he’s gone like a ghost. I walked back here last night.’

‘I thought he was injured.’

‘He was, but clearly not as badly as I thought he was.’

‘So what will you do for a horse now?’

Treasure shrugged again. ‘My guess is that I will have to improvise.’ He looked Nightwind over and paused when he saw the serpent brand. ‘Where did you get this horse?’

Realising her grave mistake, Meg said, ‘I found him wandering in the hills. I meant to tell the soldiers who stopped here, but the storm came and they left.’

Treasure ran his hands along the horse’s back and withers. ‘He’s a good horse. Strong.’ He studied the scars. ‘He’s seen battle.’

‘I guess you’ll take him back,’ she said.

Treasure looked at her, and she was conscious of his intriguing eyes. ‘I promised to teach you how to ride him,’ he said, smiling again. ‘I keep my promises.’

Her thighs were aching when she reached home. Sunfire loped past the house towards the paddock where Daryn and Mykel were unharnessing the bullock from the plough, finishing as evening settled across the hills. Meg was proud of her brothers for finally taking responsibility in the farm work. The previous Doyanah season, she had struggled with the harnessing and ploughing, the old bullock they called Finicky acting as if he was reluctant to work for a girl. The barley crop had been patchy and low yielding in animal fodder. All the while, her brothers went fishing as often as they could, in defiance of their mother’s pleas and their sister’s struggle.

Dawn was sitting on the front veranda, bouncing Peter on her knee, waiting for her. They stopped playing as Meg led Nightwind up and Peter’s hands reached towards the grey horse. ‘Come on,’ Meg said, taking the boy from Dawn and lifting him to stroke Nightwind’s nose.

‘You were away a long time,’ Dawn said, standing beside her daughter and stroking Meg’s red hair.

‘I walked him along the river almost to the Crossing Falls, and back through the valley. I guess I lost track of time,’ Meg explained. ‘He needs the exercise.’

‘And I need your help around here,’ Dawn reminded her, as she took Peter back and eased him to the ground. ‘When you’ve hobbled the horse, come in and help me serve dinner to your brothers. They’ve worked hard all day.’

Meg led Nightwind around the side of the house to the tree where she kept the rope hobble to stop him straying. ‘You were good today,’ she whispered up to the horse’s ear. ‘And he’s so handsome.’ She patted Nightwind’s shoulder fondly, and followed Daryn and Mykel into the house. She went to her room and checked how Whisper was managing in the bag, and fed a handful of grain to the bush rat. ‘You’ll have to be patient,’ she told the animal as she closed the bag again. ‘I’ll be back later.’ She made sure that Sunfire was outside, and closed her bedroom door before she headed for the fireplace to help her mother.

The meal done, dishes cleaned and scraps distributed, and the boys settling to sleep, Meg climbed into Dawn’s bed and snuggled against her mother’s shoulder as she used to when she was a child. ‘Well, this is a surprise,’ said Dawn, hugging her daughter. ‘I thought you’d gotten too old to cuddle your mother.’ She chuckled with delight. ‘Well, I’m glad, because I want to ask you what Emma said this morning.’

‘She asked me to do her a favour.’

‘What?’

‘Look after Samuel’s pet.’

‘Pet? What sort of pet?’ Dawn asked warily.

‘A bush rat.’

Dawn flinched and sat up. ‘A
rat?
I hope you said no.’

‘How could I say no?’

‘Easily. It’s a rat!’

‘She’s trained. She lived with Samuel.’

‘I don’t care if it can dance and sing and cook its own meals. You’re not bringing a rat into this house. Have you gone mad?’

‘Emma asked it as a favour.’

‘I know that old woman is mad. It’s you I’m worried about.’

‘I said yes.’

‘Meg!’

‘She won’t cause any trouble. Her name’s Whisper.’

‘Whisper? What sort of name is that for a rat?’

‘I don’t know. That’s what Samuel called her.’

‘You’ll have to make some sort of cage for outside. You’re not bringing that rat into this house. And what about Sunfire? He’ll kill it.’

‘He won’t kill her. They’ll become friends.’

Dawn slid back under her blanket and put an arm around Meg’s shoulders. ‘You have a lot to learn,’ she muttered. ‘No rat in the house.’

Meg smiled and snuggled against her mother, enjoying the warmth and the familiar smell. She missed being little. Later, when her mother was snoring, she rose and let Sunfire inside. When the dingo headed for Meg’s door, she whispered, ‘No. By the fireplace.’ Sunfire waited, as if he hoped that she would change her order. ‘Fireplace,’ she whispered harshly. Realising the order was fixed, the dingo slouched across the earthen floor and curled up in the warm spot before the fireplace. Meg crept to her own room and closed the door.

After she lit a candle, she opened the hessian bag. Whisper’s inquisitive nose emerged and her dark eyes glittered in the candlelight. Meg held out a hand and Whisper sniffed it before climbing on. The bush rat was heavy, and overflowed from Meg’s palm, but she sat up on her haunches, sniffing the air, almost as if she was reaching towards Meg. ‘You’re a curious one,’ Meg said, as she stroked the sleek black neck fur behind Whisper’s ears. ‘And cute. What am I going to do with you?’ She lowered Whisper onto her bed and squatted to watch the rat sniffing the yellow blanket, occasionally rubbing the rat’s fur with her fingers. Finally she returned Whisper to the hessian bag, blew out her candle and climbed into bed.

She kept still, the fibres of her woollen blanket prickling the skin on her neck, thinking of the riding lesson, and Treasure’s strong arms lifting her onto Nightwind’s back. She could see his smile—broad and happy—and hear his strong voice with its unusual accent, giving her instructions and coaxing the horse. ‘Nudge him in the flanks with your heels. That’s it. See? He understands.

‘If you pull firmly on the reins he’ll feel the bit and turn. He knows what to do already. You have to show him that you also know that he knows.

‘Good work, Nightwind. Good work.’

And, as he had the previous encounter, he’d kissed her cheek, leaving her skin tingling and her heart pounding.

In the dream, she stood in the front rank of an army, staring across a green field at a dark forest wreathed in morning mist. Out of the forest burst a warrior in shining blue armour, riding a grey steed that she knew instantly was Nightwind. The warrior galloped across the field, sword flailing, glinting in the dawn light, charging at the rank of soldiers in which she waited. She was afraid and yet she held her ground as the warrior and horse bore down on her. This is the moment, she told herself calmly.

She sat up in the early hours of morning, imagining that a strange voice—strange because there were no words, just a sense of emotion—was whispering to her. She strained, but heard nothing except her mother snoring and the wind playing under the eaves. She sank back into her pillow and let sleep wash over her again, hoping to dream of Treasure and his gentle kisses.

She woke later than she intended. The sun was creeping above the hills. Emma would be annoyed. She threw on her green tunic, black trousers and black vest, but quickly opened her window when she realised that her room stank of rat shit. Loosening the bag drawstring gingerly, she lifted Whisper onto her unmade bed, where the black bush rat immediately set to preening herself, grateful to be rescued from her squalor.

‘What is that stench?’ her mother called from the kitchen space.

Meg emerged, carrying the hessian bag. ‘Sunfire didn’t get outside in time this morning,’ she explained, as she hurried past her mother. She shook out what she could in the vegetable garden, carried the bag to the wash bucket and dumped it in the cold water to soak. As she turned, she heard her mother scream. She ran inside to find Dawn, armed with the fire poker, advancing on Whisper. The curious rat had decided to explore her new home and was sitting in the bedroom doorway, nose twitching inquisitively. ‘No!’ Meg yelled, as she pushed past her mother to scoop up the startled bush rat.

‘I told you last night that thing is not to come inside. What if it bites Peter?’

‘What was I supposed to do? She didn’t have anywhere else to sleep last night. I’ll build a cage today. And she doesn’t bite.’

‘You’ll build a cage now,’ Dawn ordered. ‘That creature is outside at once.’

Meg cuddled Whisper against her chest. ‘I have to go to Emma’s this morning. I promised.’

‘Then take that rat back with you and tell her we can’t keep it.’

‘Mum!’

‘I mean it. I see that rat again in this house and I’ll get Sunfire to kill it.’

‘I’ll build a cage when I get back. All right?’

Meg left the house with Whisper pressed against her chest. Sunfire came bounding towards her as she reached the track to the village. ‘You stay home,’ Meg ordered, but the dingo approached, scenting the air. ‘Go away!’ she growled. Sunfire looked up at her crossed arms, assessing the black bundle. ‘Go!’ she yelled. ‘Go away!’ and she kicked at Sunfire. The dingo skirted the harmless leg swing and cocked his head to one side, as if he was endeavouring to analyse what Meg was clutching. ‘Go to Daryn,’ she told him, and she walked on.