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The man watched Nick in silence. If this was one of Mía’s spirits from the wild country, he was worse than Nick imagined. He looked solid for a start, and Nick saw blood on the serrated spear tip. Nick wasn’t the first living thing this man had aimed at today.
‘I’m trying to find the road,’ Nick said, his voice shaky. The horse sidestepped, maybe sensing his fear. ‘Sorry if I interrupted anything important, but I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to be here. I’ll leave right now. See? I’m going.’
The man yelled a sharp warning, and more people emerged from every direction till Nick was surrounded. They were red-dusted as well. They clutched their spears and drew their bows, all aimed at Nick, and spoke to him in a strange language.
‘I don’t know what you’re saying,’ he said.
A woman pointed at Nick then at the ground and said in Korelian, ‘Down!’
Nick slid out of the saddle. Two men pounced, throwing him onto his back and pinning his arms. Everyone was shouting, either at him or at each other. Someone prodded Nick’s sundisc tattoo, and in the next string of stern words he caught the word ‘Arai’. Someone else inspected his copper necklace with a suspicious frown. One man pointed out the blood on Nick’s hands and made enraged demands that Nick didn’t understand and couldn’t answer. A few people dashed up the Spit.
Then a voice sliced through the commotion and every head turned as a blonde woman dressed in military grey strode forwards. She had a hunting knife strapped to her calf, a sword on her hip, and a bow and sheath of arrows slung across her back. With a flick of her wrist, she shooed away the people holding Nick down. He sat up, but didn’t dare stand, not while half a dozen sharp things were still aimed at him.
The woman knelt in front of him and asked in Korelian, ‘Are you hurt? Is that your blood?’
He glanced at his arms. ‘I’m fine.’
A boot nudged Nick’s thigh and a question was asked that caused the woman to clench her teeth and stand up.
‘Nicholas Kári,’ she said.
With a collective intake of breath, the entire group stepped back.
‘Nicholas Kári? Nicholas Kári!’
His name was repeated with escalating disbelief, amazement and outrage, and soon a furious argument erupted. People shouted at one another and waved their bows and spears like they were disputing a referee’s decision. One man stomped away, shaking his head and muttering. Others stared at Nick as if he was a ghost. After several tense minutes, the blonde woman barked something and a prickly silence fell. She spoke what sounded like an order, waited to see if anyone would challenge her, and when nobody did, turned her attention back to Nick.
‘My name’s Xanthe,’ she said in Korelian. ‘Where’s David? Is he up on the ridge?’
‘He’s...um...I was going to find help.’
‘Help? Why? Is he hurt? Is that his blood?’
An urgent shout rose. Xanthe straightened and listened. ‘Stay right where you are,’ she said to Nick, then she leapt onto David’s horse and rode up the Spit.
Nick watched the earth-powdered people for signs of aggression, but all they did was study him with wariness and wonder.
‘Do you have any water?’ he asked in Korelian, and repeated the question in English. When no one responded, he mimed drinking from a cup.
Someone offered him a leather bag the size of a football. Nick unplugged the wooden cork, sniffed at the contents, took a sip. The water was warm but tasted clean, and he drank several mouthfuls before handing it back.
Xanthe returned with David draped over the horse’s saddle and began heading in the wrong direction. Nick was hauled to his feet and pushed into a march.
‘Aren’t you going to take David into town?’ Nick asked.
‘The nearest town is a day’s ride away,’ Xanthe replied. She looked anxious, and kept glancing at David.
‘No, it’s not. It’s just along—’
She shot him a fierce glare. ‘We have a doctor here. Now, keep up, and don’t startle the warriors. I don’t want to have to stitch you back together.’
Nick gulped and said nothing more.
They trudged along a well-worn path that Nick was certain had not been there when he and David had come up the Spit. In the distance, he could hear sticks clacking and people singing, and soon a bonfire came into view, its sparks gusting into the twilight. The air smelled of barbequed meat. About twenty people sat around the flames, singing in that strange language Nick didn’t understand. He studied the closest woman, whose tanned features drooped under the weight of her wrinkles. Her scraggy grey hair hung across her shoulders, and red ochre covered her face, arms, and the front of her bare, sagging chest.
‘Gah!’ Nick quickly averted his gaze.
Glancing at the rest of the group, he saw that nearly everyone else was shirtless and powdered in red, as if they’d emerged half-dressed from the dust. Some of them had white stars painted on their chests.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked.
‘Fire night,’ Xanthe replied, brushing past him.
‘What’s a—?’
An alarmed shout put an abrupt end to the singing. People stared and pointed as David was lifted off the horse and carried towards a small mudbrick hut.
‘I need space to work,’ Xanthe said as Nick tried to follow. ‘Stay out here.’
‘But you don’t even know what’s wrong with him. What if he—?’
‘Jinx!’
A scrawny girl a bit younger than Nick ambled into view. She wore a singlet, a pair of pants ripped off at the knees, and red powder on every visible inch of skin.
‘Get some water, Jinx, so he can clean the blood off,’ Xanthe said, pointing to Nick.
Jinx wrinkled her nose at the sight of him. Then she saw David and squealed something in the other foreign language. Xanthe held her shoulders and spoke what sounded to Nick like firm, reassuring words. Jinx sniffed and wiped her eyes. As soon as Xanthe let her go, she rounded on Nick.
‘Is this your fault?’ she cried in Korelian. ‘Did you do that to him?’
Nick backed up. ‘What? No! Of course not.’
‘Jinx!’ Xanthe barked.
‘But Mum!’
‘Don’t argue. Just get the water.’
Xanthe ducked into the mud hut. Jinx turned on her heels and stomped away, and Nick took this opportunity to slip into the hut. He had just enough time to see David lying motionless on a reed mat with Xanthe bent over him before two men seized his arms, dragged him past the bonfire, and dumped him on the other side of the camp. They were both knuckly, scarred, and looked about ready to pound Nick into the dirt.
‘Why won’t you let me see David?’ When the men didn’t respond, Nick switched to English. ‘Can you understand me now? I want to see David.’
‘They don’t speak that language,’ Jinx called in Korelian. ‘Or Korelian.’
‘Then translate for me,’ Nick snapped.
She swaggered over, chin raised, and said, ‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because.’
He groaned in frustration. ‘David needs to see a doctor.’
‘My mum is a doctor.’
‘I mean a real doctor.’
‘She is a real doctor.’
Nick spun away and took off into the bush. The highway was east. He’d have to cross a few kilometres of rugged national park to get there, but it shouldn’t take more than an hour. He’d flag down a car and call an ambulance. Maybe the police too. Dodging spears was not, he suspected, part of a paramedic’s training.
He heard rapid footsteps and once again was grabbed from behind. He kicked someone in the shin, broke free, and covered a fair distance before the men tackled him and bent his arms back.
‘Ow! Alright! I get the point!’
They lugged him past the painted mob and shoved him to his knees beside a thick post skewered into the ground. More people came over, one of them holding a length of sinewy but tough-looking rope.
‘Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait.’
They didn’t. Nick struggled as they tied him to the pole, but the more he resisted, the tighter the ropes pulled.
‘You can’t do this! It’s illegal!’
A sharp slap stung his cheek. He ducked his head and waited until everyone had walked away before trying to wriggle free again, but the rope cut further into his wrists. He rested his head back against the pole, sucking deep, frustrated breaths.
Apart from the crackling fire, the only light came from the stars. Darkness had never bothered Nick. He had exceptional long-range and night vision, though in the pitch black he couldn’t distinguish colours. It was a talent he’d kept hidden ever since some kids in primary school had found out and thrown dust in his eyes.
When he tried to twist around to see how the rope was knotted, a terrifying thought struck him. What if the masked assassin came for him while he was tied up, his black-gloved hand tugging Nick’s hair back and the sword sliding across his throat? Nick screwed his eyes shut and forced this image aside with the memory of Mía’s soft face, her greying curls and glinting, mischievous eyes. Never again would he hear the comforting lull of her voice, never again smell her coffee when he woke in the morning, never again feel her arms around his shoulders. She’d tried to hug him this morning, but he’d laughed and ducked out of her embrace. He’d yelled something as he rode down the drive. ‘See ya,’ maybe.
The last thing she’d said to him was that she was disappointed in him. Disappointed. He blinked hard, fighting off tears.
Jinx walked over, swinging a leather pouch. ‘You want a drink?’ she asked.
‘Yes, please,’ he grumbled, and opened his mouth as she tipped water over his face. Some hit its mark, but most splashed down his chest. In the scorching night air, the cool relief was refreshing. She poured more water onto his arms, washing away the blood. Then she plugged the nozzle and turned to leave.
‘Wait, Jinx?’
She paused.
‘Can you tell me...?’ He cleared his throat. ‘Is David alright?’
‘What do you think? He’s just been attacked by an Arai! Though now I’ve seen your incredible lack of skill, I doubt it was you.’
‘Me? You think I’m one of these Arai assassins?’
She pointed to his chest as if this explained everything. ‘Living in the desert doesn’t make me an idiot, you know.’
‘My tattoo? But...I don’t understand. David gave me this. He’s got one too.’
‘Wow, you really are slow, aren’t you, gumbrain?’
He frowned. ‘Gumbrain?’
Xanthe emerged from the mudbrick hut, crouched beside Nick, and pulled out her knife. When he flinched and tried to scramble back, she said in a gentle voice, ‘I won’t hurt you, Nicholas.’
She cut through his ropes.
‘Don’t call me that. My name’s Nick.’ He massaged his chaffed wrists. ‘How’s David?’
‘He’ll be fine. I gave him an antidote.’
‘So he really was poisoned?’
Xanthe nodded. ‘Don’t try to run away again.’
‘I was going to get help. Anyway, you can’t keep me here.’
She sheathed her knife. ‘Those warriors will hunt you easily.’
He studied the red-dusted men. They were unlike any warriors he’d ever heard of, but he didn’t for a second doubt their ability to track him. He decided to lie low until he could figure out how to slip past them.
‘How did you know my name?’ he asked. ‘I’ve never met you before.’
‘Yes, you have. You were just too young to remember.’ Xanthe held out a tattered shirt. ‘Put this on.’
‘Why?’
‘Your tattoo needs to stay hidden.’
‘Why?’
Irritation flashed in her eyes. ‘Because I say so.’
He took off his torn school shirt and tugged the other one over his head. It was sleeveless, itchy, and smelled of sweat and earth. The collar just hid his tattoo. He pulled out his necklace and contemplated the star engraved on the copper.
‘What does this symbol mean?’ he asked.
Xanthe’s gaze flicked to his necklace. ‘Freedom. Independence.’
‘From what?’
‘From the king and his Arai.’
‘What king?’
‘Thanos, ruler of Korelios. Do you ever stop asking questions?’
‘Not if I don’t understand.’
A bare-bummed toddler wobbled past on chubby legs, his chin dripping wild honey. Jinx tickled him and chased him to the bonfire. Xanthe walked to the hut where she’d taken David, and beckoned to Nick. He sidled past the warriors and ducked inside.
The hut was shaped like an igloo, except it had mudbrick walls, a packed earth floor, and a roof of wood and bark. A patchwork of possum skins covered the doorway. David lay on a woven grass mat, unconscious and stripped to the waist, with his right hand wrapped in a blood-stained cloth and sticky liquid smeared over his lips and chin, as if he’d tried to drink some lime cordial but had spat most of it out.
‘He won’t wake up for a few hours,’ Xanthe said.
‘Can I stay with him?’ Nick asked.
‘Yes, as long as you don’t try to run.’
‘I won’t.’
Yet, he thought.
His stomach gurgled.
‘I’ll get you something to eat, Nick. Stay here, and don’t touch anything while I’m gone.’
As soon as she’d left, Nick scanned the hut for a phone, not that he expected to find one in this weird, backward place. Low shelves ran right around the hut, crammed with an assortment of ceramic jars, bowls and thin metal implements that reminded Nick of dentist’s tools. An intense smell hung in the air, like a spice shop with a thousand exotic aromas all mixed in together. He guessed the jars must contain herbs and medicines.
In one corner was a reed basket full of folded clothes. Tucked away beside that were two more grass mats, a couple of kangaroo skins, and a large bloodwood chest. The chest was the best bet, so he scooted over to it, heaved open the lid, and gasped. It was packed with weapons – long knives with bone and snake skin hilts, metal spear tips ready to attach to wooden shafts, a couple of bows and sheaths of arrows. With trembling hands, he rummaged past the weapons and found black pants, shirt, lightweight helmet and face mask. Tucked beneath them was a sword. It was shorter than the one he’d seen the rider carrying that afternoon, but the style of the leather hilt and guard was the same. He unsheathed it. The polished steel shone in the candlelight and shafted light into his eyes. Engraved at the base of the blade was a solid circle, though he couldn’t recall seeing the symbol on the rider’s sword. Then again, he had been a bit preoccupied with fighting it off.
Nick examined his forearms where the sword should have slashed him. There wasn’t even a scratch. He remembered the way the room had lit up, like a camera flash had gone off. He stared at David, wishing he could ask for an explanation, but instead the tattoo beneath David’s collarbones caught his gaze. Nick’s fingers traced the edges of his own tattoo, and a memory flickered across his mind.
David stood over him holding a wad of sewing needles that he’d superglued into a circle as big as a twenty cent piece, their million sharp points glistening in the dawn light. Even though Nick had asked for the tattoo, at the last minute he got scared and tried to wriggle free, but he was only eight years old, and no match for David’s full-grown strength. The needles pressed into Nick’s chest once, twice, three times, oozing blood. David smeared black ink into the fresh wound and covered it with gauze and tape.
Then he tapped the blood-stained gauze and said, ‘This is your future, Nicholas Kári.’
Nick blinked the memory aside, sheathed the sword and slid it beneath the Arai uniform. As he settled back beside David, he thought about the circle symbol engraved on the sword. It was similar to their tattoos, and when Jinx and the warriors had seen Nick’s mark, they’d thought he was an Arai. He chewed his fingernails. Did that mean the sundisc was an Arai symbol? Were there different types of Arai, with different sundisc tattoos? What was the difference between the plain sundisc and the one with the horizon mark? Was David an Arai? Did the uniform and weapons belong to him? If so, why had he fought the assassin? Or did David used to be an Arai and was now their enemy?
The possum skin curtain shifted aside and Xanthe handed Nick a bark platter. On it was a fillet of unidentifiable meat, shrivelled vegetables that resembled mouldy potatoes, char-grilled bugs, and a chunk of blistered flatbread. He sniffed at the unfamiliar food, nibbling a bit of each as Xanthe changed David’s bandage. Something in her soft gaze, something about the way she bound his arm and how the candlelight touched them both reminded Nick of an old married couple.
They know each other, Nick thought. They’ve known each other for a long time.
‘You can sleep in here tonight, Nick. I’ll set up a mat for you.’
‘This is your hut?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
Nick’s mouth went dry. The sword, the uniform, the archery equipment, the knives – they all belonged to Xanthe. She was the Arai. He wondered if she had a sundisc tattoo as well. Her box of weapons could equip a small army, but she wasn’t an Arai like the assassin.
Was she?