Josh hummed happily as the vet gave Aisha the all-clear. He led the mare back to the float, through the warm dappled light of the midsummer morning. ‘Now, remember what I told you?’ said Quinn. ‘Start out slowly. Let the hyped-up horses get out of your way. Don’t worry when people pass you. Your goal is to finish, that’s all.’ Aisha stood like a statue while Josh mounted. ‘And yield the trail to overtaking riders. Don’t try to be first.’
‘I won’t.’ Josh trotted a circle around Quinn on a loose rein, warming up his mount.
‘And don’t ride too close to other horses. I don’t want Aisha kicked.’
Josh rolled his eyes. ‘I have done this before.’
‘He has,’ agreed Zoe. ‘He’ll be fine.’
Quinn slapped Aisha affectionately on the rump. ‘Off you go then.’ It was a heart-warming scene. Josh, his brother, and the summer-sleek, shining black mare, working as a team. What a difference these last five months had made to all their lives.
Zoe sat on the stockyard rail, hand on hip, brimming with pleasure and pride. Josh had worked hard to prepare for today’s forty-kilometre time trial. He’d built up Aisha’s fitness with lots of slow, long-distance work, accompanied by Quinn on Yarraman. The pair were always off somewhere. Down at the beach, riding the picturesque network of cane-train trails, or just going bush. Plenty of time for talking during those long hours together in the saddle. A perfect way for the brothers to reconnect. A perfect way to begin the new year.
And next week, Josh faced another momentous step forward. Starting school at Bundaberg High, three days a week, with a modified curriculum and the assistance of an aide. Studying basic maths, English and one unit of a certificate in sugar production. He’d be boarding with the family of an old schoolfriend for half of each week. Already the two boys were getting on well, going to the movies one day and laser-tag on another. Josh had complained that he barely had time any more for his online computer games. That remark had made Quinn very happy.
And then, of course, there was his cool weekend job. In her new capacity as Director of the Reef Centre, Zoe had employed Josh to help with their newly funded Fins For Freedom project. Mirrhi and Echo had received their morbillivirus vaccinations and were already doing well in the program. Zoe was having the other dolphins assessed next month as potential candidates.
Dr Wendy Hossack, a marine mammal specialist, was supervising the transition project. She’d overseen the successful rehabilitation and release of two long-term captives last year. So far, those male dolphins had exceeded all expectations. Satellite transmitters had tracked the pair over two hundred kilometres in their first week of freedom. They were hunting fish as a team and interacting with wild dolphins. Exciting stuff.
The Dancing Dolphins shows continued, with a new emphasis on education and natural behaviours, instead of entertainment. Strangely enough, visitor numbers were up, not down. Mirrhi and Echo were learning to catch live fish again and Archie was flat out keeping up supplies. ‘Our task is to empower the dolphin,’ Wendy said during a staff briefing. ‘A captive dolphin loses control of his life in the same way as any prisoner. It is for us to return his power to him.’ Zoe furiously agreed with her. Kane was testament to this fundamental truth.
A loud, enthusiastic whoop brought her meandering thoughts back to the present. Quinn was waving his hat in the air. ‘They’re off.’ Aisha and Josh were leading a bunch of riders out of the start gates. ‘Little smartarse. I told him to start off slow.’
‘There’s one,’ said Josh, pointing.
Zoe aimed the turkey baster at the oyster shell in the tank, trying to hold her hand steady. She squeezed the red bulb between thumb and forefinger, slowly does it, then suddenly let it go. ‘Gotcha.’ The tiny octopus was drawn into the glass tube. ‘How many inklets is that?’
‘Sixty-two.’ Josh updated his octo-count notes.
‘Inklets?’ asked Quinn.
‘That’s what newborn octopuses are called. Cute, eh?’
Quinn took the turkey baster from her and peered in. ‘Beats me how you can even see the little beggars.’
The brown-spotted baby was maybe quarter the size of his thumbnail. It settled on the glass, eight miniature arms and big dark eyes, blue blood on show through translucent skin. They were certainly beautiful babies.
Zoe knuckled back tears. Einstein had died last night. Thirty-five days of not eating, of total devotion to her brood. There was a theory that as mother octopuses approached death, they gave off chemical signals to their eggs. Hurry now, babies. I’m growing weak. I can’t look after you much longer. However it happened, Einstein’s death coincided with the hatching. Shortly after blowing the last inklet clear of the nest, she curled up and stopped breathing.
It had been a long, sad time coming. An ordeal for Zoe, as well as for Einstein as she wasted away. She grew thin and uncoordinated, with bulging eyes and painful-looking skin lesions that wouldn’t heal. In some ways her death had come as a blessed relief for them both.
‘Are we going to catch all of them?’ asked Josh.
‘We’re going to try.’ Zoe emptied the baster into a glass jar of seawater. She’d spotted another inklet.
‘Couldn’t I keep one as a pet?’
‘Octopuses are very hard to grow from eggs in an aquarium,’ she said. ‘And I owe it to Einstein to give her babies the best possible start. That’s why we’re taking them out to the reef.’ Josh looked glum and Zoe took pity on him. ‘Truth is,’ she said, ‘I’m bound to miss one or two. They’re so tiny and well-camouflaged. We’ll keep any that are left behind and try to raise them. How’s that?’
Josh looked much happier and immediately stopped helping her spot more babies.
An hour later Zoe called it a day. ‘How many is that?’
‘One hundred and one,’ said Josh.
‘That’ll do us.’ Zoe refreshed the jars with oxygenated water. ‘I’ll stock the tank with brine shrimp when I get back, so there’s food for any leftover inklets.’
Quinn picked up the tray of jars. ‘What are we waiting for?’ The three of them headed down to the jetty. He carefully stowed the tray beneath Seafarer’s rear seat, while Zoe fussed about like a mother hen. ‘I can’t believe I’m on an octopus rescue mission,’ he said, taking the helm. ‘Turtle Reef, full speed ahead.’
Zoe had chosen the release site with great care – a shallow sunlit coral garden, full of cracks and crevices where inklets could hide. Quinn stripped down and began sorting through fins. He selected a mask, then a snorkel, and tried them on. ‘Do you think these fit?’
Zoe’s eyes widened. ‘You mean you’re coming in?’
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I’m their godfather, after all. I need to say goodbye to the little tackers, don’t I?’
‘Yes.’ Zoe wrapped her arms around his neck for a quick kiss. ‘You certainly do.’
The three of them entered the water, carrying their precious cargo in string bags. Clouds of colourful fish parted before their eyes. Zoe led them through the warm translucent water to a broad shelf of table coral, just a metre below the surface. She held up her hand. ‘This is the place.’
Quinn helped open the jars. The babies needed encouragement to let go of the glass before scooting into open water. One blink and they were gone, back where they belonged, part of the timeless circle of life on Turtle Reef. The future looked bright for Einstein’s little inklets. Zoe and Quinn joined hands. The future looked bright for them all.