The Blazed Track

To my surprise, even the older girl, Maka, and the bigger children, wanted the story about the donkey and his friends again and again. If they let me tell a new story, I had to tell the old one as well. If I changed the beginning, a dozen voices protested, “It’s, ‘Once upon a time there was an old donkey!’” If I changed the ending they chorused: “It’s, ‘And they lived happily ever after.’”

On the wall, I drew the donkey carrying his friends. I wanted to teach the Children how to read, but daren’t risk Kalik discovering my secret. I considered swearing them to silence: keeping a secret might draw them closer together.

Then I remembered the Salt Men’s slaves on the Western Coast. I had learned there that slaves think they have everything to gain from betraying each other. So I wrote “donkey” below the picture of the donkey, “dog” beneath the dog. And when the story was finished I washed them off.

Drawing the cat and rooster was easy. I knew what they looked like from the Animals’ Dance when I was little. But Tepulka, the older boy who had carved the grave-posts, laughed. He took the charcoal and sketched a great strutting cock with sweeping tail.

“We had chooks where we came from,” said Maka. “They laid eggs.” The bruise on her face had almost disappeared. I saw again that she was pretty.

“Eggs!” “Remember eating eggs!” Several of the smaller children cried, but Maka clucked like a chook. Smiles replaced tears. “Chook! Chook!” and “Cluck! Cluck!” they went, Chak and Kimi loudest.

I pointed at the drawing of a dog. They barked, and we went through all the animal noises. Nip ran around us barking. Chak laughed, “I like being the rooster best!”

The Children got stronger. Warm clothes, good food, the cleaner huts, they helped. But the stories brought us together, were the best medicine.

The younger children had taken over the job of herding the goats which gave the Headland People milk and cheese. They used slings and stones to drive off the wild dogs in the hills.

The older ones knew all about growing vegetables, pruning fruit trees, drying and storing food. One, Wirrem, told me how they dug potatoes, carrots, turnips, and stored them under what they called clamps: log-roofed shelters lined with straw and covered with soil. He knew how to keep seeds, how to slice and dry fruit so it kept.

Kalik said, “You were right: the Salt Children are more use healthy.” His face was without guile, but I reminded myself Kalik was at his most dangerous when friendly. Still, I smiled and nodded my thanks, and Lutha herself said seriously, “We’re getting more work out of them, Ish.”

Two more boys died with infections from wounds and broken limbs I couldn’t cure. Another girl coughed her way to red death. But other Children with the wasting disease began to improve.

I knew the germs of tuberculosis died in a few minutes of sunlight, and taught the Children to spread their clothes and deerskin bedding in the sun each day. I brought back to mind all I could of the books of medicine – sometimes I could see whole pages, words and pictures – as well as what the Shaman had taught me of healing. I knew the Old People had medicines which cured the wasting disease. But it changed its form. The great medicines failed. Tuberculosis swept the world.

And then the sun went mad and killed people. Continents died. In this country, what was then called New Zealand, a few groups like the Travellers survived. I knew that much, but needed to know more about Healing. If only I could find a way back to the Library, find somebody else like the Shaman… In the meantime, I was sure of two things that helped the Children: cleanliness – and the stories.

Many rashes and infections cleared up when kept clean and exposed to the mild sun. I made ointments by simmering herbs and stirring them into fat. Some I used on their own, simples. Others I mixed for their different powers. The Children learned to gather the bark, leaves, berries, and flowers, and to prepare them the way the Shaman had taught me. But I knew soap and hot water healed more illnesses than our medicines. Just as the stories healed their minds. “If the mind be not first satisfied, the body can never be cured,” the Shaman used to repeat.

One evening I finished their favourite story yet again, ending with the usual chorus of yelps and howls. Kimi had stood by the wall and the Children brayed or barked according to the drawing she pointed at. Only Maka sat silent. The cheek I could see glistened. There were times she seemed to be slipping into depression like Tama and Puli.

“Ish! What happened to the donkey and his friends?” asked Chak.

“They lived happily ever after,” several voices told him. “Everyone knows that.”

But something in Chak’s question gave me an idea. “They had another adventure.”

“What adventure?” asked a voice from the shadows. I couldn’t see who it was, and Chak said, “Tell us!”

I began. “The five friends grew flowers, vegetables, and fruit, and gathered firewood from the edge of the Dark Forest behind the house. They sat in the sun in summer. In winter they sat in front of a fire in the big chimney. Every night they made music. The little girl played her fiddle, the donkey brayed, the dog howled, the cat yowled, and the rooster crowed. One day –” but there were several minutes of confusion while the Children brayed and howled and yowled and crowed.

“One day, the cat said, ‘I wonder what’s on the other side of the Dark Forest?’

“‘Don’t you like it here?’ asked the donkey.

“‘I just wondered, that’s all.’

“‘Hmph!’ The donkey blew through his nose.

“‘I’d like to see what’s on the other side of the Dark Forest, too,’ said the rooster. His comb now stood up red and straight on top of his head.

“‘We’ve got a place of our own,’ said the donkey. ‘Plenty to eat. Our own music. What more do we want?’

“‘Did the robbers say anything about what’s beyond the Dark Forest?’ the rooster asked.

“The little girl nodded. ‘They used to fill their pockets with gold and follow their secret track through the Dark Forest. Days later they’d stagger back drunk, their packs full of things they bought in a town on its other side.’

“‘Do you know where the track goes in?’

“‘The robbers left me a bowl of water and chained me to the table. All I know is they had a secret track.’ The little girl thought for a moment. ‘They called it the Blazed Track.’

“‘The Blazed Track?’ said the cat.

“‘My fiddle strings are almost worn through,’ said the little girl. ‘If we could find the Blazed Track, we could take gold coins from the treasure cave and buy new strings in the town. That’s what the robbers did.’

“‘The curtains are shabby,’ said the cat. ‘We could buy new ones in the town. If we could find the Blazed Track.’

“‘We’ll all be needing new shoes soon,’ said the rooster.

“‘I’ve always wanted a pair of black button shoes with red heels!’ said the little girl. She turned her head to see her bare heels.

“‘Hmph! We don’t want anyone getting lost in the Dark Forest,’ said the donkey. ‘Be safe, I say. Stick to the clearing!’

“They went outside. The Dark Forest stood around their clearing like a wall. ‘We don’t even know the way back to the road,’ said the donkey. But the others didn’t want to talk about their cruel owners.

“‘All I remember,’ said the rooster, ‘is seeing a light through the trees, and we found the robbers in our house.’

“‘They ran into the Dark Forest and got lost,’ said the donkey. ‘We don’t want that to happen to any of us.’”

“No!” said Chak, wide-eyed. I could see Kimi’s curly head shaking. “No!” she said, too. In the firelight, several other heads shook.

“What happened?” asked Chak.

“One day the cat ran into the house, calling, ‘I’ve found the Blazed Track!’

“‘I thought we didn’t need a track,’ said the donkey, but the others ran after the cat.

“‘There!’ said the cat.

“‘Just a tree. Hmph! Like all the other trees.’

“‘What’s on the tree?’

“‘Nothing. Oh, there is a bit of an axe mark. Hmph!’

“‘That’s it!’ the cat cried, tail straight up, ears pricked. That chop in the bark. See how it shines? And look, if you stand beside it you can see another chop shining on the next tree.’ The cat darted out of sight. ‘And another. And another!’ The cat’s voice got smaller and smaller.

“‘Come back at once!’ the donkey called.

“‘And another! And another!’ The cat’s voice came closer, getting louder. ‘And another!’ The cat stepped out on the clearing. ‘The axe marks blaze white against the tree trunks. You follow them. And when you want to come home, you just turn round and follow the blazes on the other side.’

“‘Hmpf! We’d all better have some nice stew,’ said the donkey. ‘Then the little girl will play her fiddle, and we’ll have a good sing-song.’

“It was getting dark as they walked to the house. Only the cat looked back, and the dog growled, ‘I’d still like some new bones.’

“‘Music!’ the donkey cried. ‘Let’s hear the fiddle!’

“The little girl scraped her bow across the strings, and they sang all their favourite songs.

“‘You haven’t sung so well for ages!’ the donkey told the dog, and the little girl raised her bow again. Twing! Twang! Twong! Three strings broke.

“‘I said they were wearing out!’ The little girl cried, and the last string went Twung! and broke, too.

“The donkey suggested they sing another song. ‘Since your strings are broken, you can sing, too,’ he told the little girl.

“‘Hee-haw!’ sang the donkey. ‘Howl!’ sang the dog. ‘Yowl!’ sang the cat. ‘Cock-a-doodle-doo!’ sang the rooster. Their voices harmonised. But the little girl sang, ‘Shriek! Shriek! Shriek!’ harsh and out of tune. They would just have to buy new strings, the donkey thought to himself. By the time they went to bed, he had agreed to follow the Blazed Track.

“In the morning, the donkey filled a sack with gold coins from the cave and slung it on his back. At the edge of the Dark Forest, they looked back. The rising sun shone on the window. Dew sparkled on the roof.

“‘Our own place!’ said the donkey and led into the Dark Forest. When they looked back, they could see neither the clearing nor their house. The little girl followed the donkey. Then the dog, the cat, and the rooster.

“They had been walking a long time when the cat said, ‘Where’s the rooster?’

“‘Rooster?’ the donkey called. They all tried calling together, but their voices were muffled. ‘We’d better go back,’ said the donkey. He led the way back, the little girl following him, then the dog, and then the cat.

“‘I’m not sure if this is the way we came,’ said the donkey.

“‘It looks different to me,’ said the little girl.

“‘I don’t remember having to climb over that log,’ said the dog. ‘Hey, where’s the cat!’ he barked.

“By the time they had hunted around for the cat, the dog disappeared. And the little girl. The donkey was left alone.

“‘Last night,’ he said, ‘we had a place of our own. Why did we leave?’ He blew sorrowfully down his nostrils, ‘Hmph!’

“‘We could have pulled hairs from my tail for fiddle strings. We could have turned the old curtains inside out. We could have found the dog some new bones. Dog!’ he called. ‘Cat! Rooster! Little Girl!’ He stumbled on, bumping against the trees, scratching his nose. At last he lay down, said, ‘Hmph!’ and slept.