Avarice Secret Unquiet Ch 17

The Ngawait

'The Desert Quandong tree, 'Santalum acuminatum' is a rather rare plant that bears delicious red fruits even in the most arid areas. It makes incredible jams and jellies, and a wonderful pie filling with a tart exotic flavor. The unusual seed that looks like a strange marble, can be extracted and crushed into a paste to be used on sore gums, or an oral gum boil to ease pain.'

Carlos rode south, watching the peach-tinged glow flood the sky with color as sunrise broke the darkness. In the quietude of the journey and the comedown from his adrenaline rush, he had been extensively mulling over his past, and his future; if one could even have the luxury to think about such things in this dark age.

The young man had no idea what lay ahead to the south. In the past, he had little time to take in landmarks or remember anything of the way to return to the coast; or even how far inland his current position. Was it hundreds of miles, or less than that? He had no idea. His initial traversal of this hard environment had all been mostly a fear-induced blur to him many years before, by vehicle. The captivity and the terror, never knowing if each moment would be his last. His adjustment to the mindset of a camp slave, and then to even darker places had been a terrible transition. He sought to free himself from his past even now, the wind in his hair and the comforting pace of his mount beneath him, telling himself his destiny was now his own. It still felt very surreal.

It was quite a lovely day for the desert. Early spring and the sharpness of the cold had retreated somewhat. However, as Carlos rode other matters seeped into the newly independent warriors' thoughts. This southward journey had been rather hastily contrived. He really had no idea where he was headed, where and if there was water to be had, and if there would be food available.

He was pretty sure that for miles around there would be no settlements, his 'clan' had eradicated them all long ago. Not to mention Sven's stories of the subhumans and slavers that roamed the area. He shuddered thinking about the slavers especially, knowing he would rather die than face that future again.

By midday, Carlos knew his horse was beginning to tire and slowed his pace. He gazed out at the endless vista of red sand occasionally interspersed by jutting rock, crowned with the round lobes of spinifex brush that waved uniformly in the breeze, and the blue of saltbush. Not a singular tree could he spy anywhere on the horizon.

He was beginning to feel a little foolish riding alone into the desert. A song came to him and he began mouthing the words of something he could remember his mother playing on the stereo. "...I've been through the desert on a horse with no name...It felt good to be out of the rain...In the desert you can't remember your name...'Cause there ain't no one for to give you no pain." His sung words sounded strange to him on the wind and he could not get the half-remembered tune out of his head. It seemed an apt tune at that moment.

He wished he had had the sense to ask for a map, if indeed his hosts even possessed that kind of knowledge, as they seemed inextricably tied to their farm valley life. Perhaps there really was no map of the area. Sadly though he had no general knowledge of the environment he passed through. He would though, have to chance upon water soon, and the first small tendrils doubt plucked at him. He would find something he quietly assured himself, and went on humming the tune.

Night found the young man and his horse sheltered in the lee of a dried river bed. The animal needed water, and Carlos remembered that sometimes there was a chance that if one dug deep enough in a place such as this he may stumble onto some drinkable moisture. So he dug with his hands in the soft river bed, the alluvial sand felt cool and slightly damp. On the hope of this promise in a couple of hours, he had a small pool of water for his mount. This was a great relief to the young man, and bolstered his confidence and resolve.

There was bone-dry wood strewn about in the creek bed, transported miles downstream in times of flood, for there were no trees in this place either living or dead. So he crafted a small fire and ate some jerky he had stowed in his saddlebags. He still had a good-sized canteen of water for his own consumption, so for now, he was content. Day one had not been so bad, and he hoped tomorrow his fortunes would follow a similar path. So he lay back on his saddle and slept well considering he was out in the open, and remained undisturbed the entire night.

The next day was overcast, not overly dreary and dark like it had been months before but dull nonetheless. Carlos pressed on. He managed to shoot an inattentive rabbit, in the late afternoon and settled down in a small copse of stunted trees for the evening. Regrettably, this place had no source of water, and he slept fitfully.

He woke well before sunrise feeling fatigued. He had been dreaming odd and disturbing dreams, surreal visions of darkness and void. There were no colors in these strange vistas, no light, and yet he could somehow see. He tried in vain to recall them more clearly, as he packed away his rudimentary campsite, but the satisfaction of recollection would not come. Carlos oddly wondered if those dreams were in some way connected to the ones that he had in the valley, and yet they were very different. It was like he was looking at another world, one diametrically opposed to his own. The essence of the dream though did not leave him as most dreams on waking do, and he thought about the strange lightless landscapes all morning as he rode under the bright sun.

Events were taking a turn for the worse, his horse needed a drink badly and the inexperienced man had no clue where he might find a water source. Carlos began again to rue his hasty decision to seek city life. However, Renard's farmland sanctuary was too far distant to provide for his error now. He had little choice but to press on and hope providence would provide.

Towards sunset, the sand began to give way to areas of jutting rock and clumps of low Mallee scrub. Carlos knew his horse was tired and thirsty, but he elected not to make camp. In his inexperience, Carlos inadvertently rode by the reliable source of water known to Bennett and his men, and continued blindly on.

Just as the sun set before him on the plain he saw it, a high metal structure seated down in a bowl of a natural valley. He figured this had to be the fabled fortress that Bennett and his men had tried to breach unsuccessfully. He was but a lone traveler, and against his better judgment he decided to ride down toward the closed gates in the hope that he could get his horse a much-needed drink.

It was almost dark as he reached the base of the great fort, he called out hoping to alert someone of his presence. There was no movement on the parapets up above, all he could hear were vague mechanical rumblings deep within the compound, and sight a few sparse lights. He waited while his horse fidgeted beneath him and tossed his head, chomping loudly on the bit. He called out a greeting a couple more times to the fast encroaching darkness, his voice almost obscene in the ensuing silence.

He was about to turn away as his horse quivered and reared, and the unmistakable swish of an arrow passing through the air to land with a dull thunk in the sand beside him. He spurred his mount away swiftly and skirted the fortress at a distance, he would find no help within.

Carlos decided not to ride a lot further in the darkness. The desert darkness could be often difficult to navigate, and those who had never experienced time away from any form of civilization, and its resultant light pollution would never be able to grasp how dark this place could be on some nights. It was difficult at times to even see objects close to one's face, and this evening was one such evening.

He was tired, but worry kept him awake most of the night. His horse must have water and soon. He was beginning to feel miserable and stupid venturing this far south, with no preparation, and he had no clue where he should now head. With all these thoughts crowding into his reason, he broke camp well before sun up and hoped that today he could solve his problem. He was now running out of water in the canteen.

The young warrior's stomach had been rumbling all morning, and his mouth was dry. He took a rationed sip from his canteen, noting it was almost empty. Luckily it was not hot, and he walked his poor horse to help conserve the animal's endurance. There were more trees here and they were thicker. The twisting branches were slowly recovering their evergreen leaves he noted as he passed on by. He wove his way through them hoping he was still traveling in the right direction, as by midday dense cloud cover had obscured the sun making navigation confusing.

It came to his ears a sound, one of an alien nature in this wild place, a rooster's crow. He stopped, jerking at his horse's bridle to quiet its stumbling gait, and froze listening intently, hoping to discover if the sound was real or imagined. He did not have long to wait in his analysis, there it was again coming from someplace unseen up ahead. He pressed forward pulling his rifle from its holster.

In a cluster of tightly knit Mallee trees there came into view a circular clearing of bright orange sand, where the black rooster stood proudly among his bevy of hens. Beyond the scratching fowl, there sat a small wooden hut complete with veranda.

Carlos paused for long moments hoping his noisy horse would not give his position away to the rough little wood and bark hut's occupants, if there indeed were any. The door to the domicile stood open. Brightly colored but very plain clothing hung drying on the line, that was strung between the veranda posts of the crude little dwelling. It was even in its crudity a scene of happy domestic bliss.

Carried to his ears was the sound of a young woman singing, a bright carefree, but unknown melody, almost surreal in this dusty little place. Even better in the center of this little clearing with its one hut and a sundry lean-to, there stood a well.

His mind made up he urged his animal forward cradling his rifle to show he was armed, but trying not to appear overtly threatening. His goal was not violence, just the acquisition of much-needed water.

The singing stopped abruptly. Carlos again paused, he was but feet from the well and his objective. He thought he saw a face framed by the glassless window, but he was unsure. The inside of the building was hard to discern. He thought then that he should probably voice his peaceable intent. It seemed prudent, as he did not wish to be shot from the window after all. Memories of the arrow meant for him last night were still fresh in his mind.

"I'm just traveling through." The nervous warrior announced. "My horse and I need water... I am just going to get some and then we shall leave."

Carlos thought he heard movement from within the dark recesses of the hut, he was just a foot or two from the well pump. He pulled his thirsty horse closer and reached for the iron bucket. The chickens continued to scratch and forage all about him, and still, no one appeared in the darkened doorway. He put the vessel down beneath the faucet, and cradling his rifle worked the well pump until the bucket was overflowing with cold, clear water.

His gelding did not need any coaxing and drank thirstily, draining the bucket with loud slurping sounds almost as fast as the young man could refill it. He hurriedly topped off his own canteen to the brim, but not before taking a long drink himself; and as he turned to reach his second canteen he was startled to see a man behind him. A man that had moved so silently, Carlos, even with his extraordinary senses honed by years of deprivation, had failed to register. He fumbled with his rifle and realized then the man was unarmed.

There stood a middle-aged indigenous gentleman. A man designed to live in this harsh environment and thrive even. He was neither tall nor short, he had the characteristic flat nose and wavy, wild, dark hair of his people. His expressive face is crisscrossed by deep lines, not those worn by care and worry, but rather by exposure to the savage environment. His long brown beard faded in many places to white denoting his age. His dark eyes bored into Carlos' own with an almost primal resonance. The young man could feel the tranquility about this man, one who was not swift to react, or prone to violence. Slowly he holstered his weapon and hoped he had not misread the given signs.

"I am Kuparr of the Ngawait." The man announced. "You are very noisy, easy to follow." He added with a soft chuckle.

Carlos had no idea what the man had actually said, but he nodded politely. He thought perhaps it courteous to tell them at least who he was.

"I am Carlos DeSade. I'm just traveling through."

He noticed then a flash of bright blue in the doorway behind him.

"This is my kurturtu, Medika."

The man gestured to a pretty young woman who stood in the doorway. Her simple bright blue, calf-length shift was framed by the darkness of the hut. She was smiling unreservedly, her long wavy hair dark at the roots faded to a pretty honey shade at the ends. She was barefoot. Her honest smile was mesmerizing.

"Come." Was all the man said as he beckoned toward his simple abode. It was then the young warrior noticed that the man had a string of many tawny rabbits slung over his back from a successful hunting trip.

Carlos took one more glance at his horse, who was still periodically slurping on the bucket of water in semi-closed-eyed bliss, deciding at once that the animal would not stray too far from the well, and made his way behind the man towards his home.

On entering the hut once his eyes had adjusted Carlos noted the living space was almost empty. No furniture of any kind occupied this small space, just two simple pallets made from brush and covered with predominantly kangaroo hides, one at each end on the hard-packed earthen floor. There were a few sundry useful objects lying about, but very little else.

The man set his catch down by the doorway. Flies were already beginning to alight on the freshly killed animals. He then sat cross-legged on the floor of his home in the dirt, and the pretty women followed his lead. They both smiled at Carlos and gestured for him to sit also. He did so, but he felt awkward in this man's sparse home. However his host was a richer man than he, he owned a well. Carlos was fast learning, that something as simple as water out here could make you a king.

"Where you headed? It's pretty hard out here. No water much. Horse not get very far." The man's darkest but gentle brown eyes appraised him.

Carlos feeling somewhat chagrined nodded. At least this bearded man of nature could speak somewhat passable English. He looked away from his host's warm stare to the dust on the toes of his boots. It seemed this man's survival skills were far superior to his own, and he may have if not for chance, wandered this desert until thirst had claimed him. The thought made him anxious, and he wondered how he was going to make the rest of his journey south? Perhaps this man knew the area and could offer him pointers as to where he could travel? He would start with that.

"I am trying to get to the coast, do you know the way?"

"Big city gone..."

"Yes, I know...but there is a smaller one to the east. I can't remember its name. I am trying to get there."

"Ah. Long ways away. Many days."

"Have you ever been there."

Kuparr shook his woolly head in the negative. "We been here long time, stay with the water. Long ways to the river."

"Good plan." Carlos nodded somewhat nervously. He was feeling more doubt than ever, and was now kind of nervous to leave, at least until he knew where the next water stop could be located. Fortunately, his host realized the young man's tension, and with his next words, Carlos felt absolved of his issue, at least for the time being.

"Why don't you stay for a while. Help me skin rabbits. There is plenty for all."

"Sure." Carlos responded eagerly.

In no time between them, they had the seven rabbits skinned and dressed, and the pretty woman who Carlos learned was named Medika, and the daughter of Kuparr, had the rabbits roasting over the fire pit. The shadows were growing long, and the trio shared a good meal until all had full bellies. They spoke awhile as the fire died down to coals; mostly small talk, and when the stars shone brightly above, Kuparr instructed Carlos to place his bedroll in the center of his hut, and they all lay down to peaceful sleep.

*****

In the days that followed, Carlos enjoyed his gentle host's company. Kuparr was a fine bushman, he always found game, often thinking to look in places Carlos would have missed entirely. Incredulously the man had survived here for years with little. He hunted with snares or a collection of thrown spears, the ends burned in the fire and honed to razor sharpness. He created the sharpest skinning knives from select rocks which he patiently shaped against another stone. There seemed no limit to this man's resourcefulness.

Growing up in the inner city Carlos had not met many self-respecting aboriginal folk. His only experiences had been with the drunken individuals who inhabited Victoria Square in his youth. He could remember walking by them only to be spat on and called derogatory names. He and his friends always thought of those Indigenous people as scum and at best lost souls. They were nothing like Kuparr or Medika, and Carlos found he had to completely reassess his long-held stereotypes.

Not only was Kuparr an extraordinary survivalist but Medika was also. She knew where to dig for edible roots, and she could locate and gather plants, and berries. She knew how to prepare delicious food from what the desert provided.

However, the thing that drew Carlos to her more than anything was her beautiful, uncomplicated joy and simplicity. She always smiled, her laughter was genuine and infectious. In her company he often found himself smiling and laughing too. She didn't have ulterior motives in anything she did, she was simply Medika, and Carlos was inextricably drawn.

As the days passed Carlos often found himself seeking Medikas' company. She was like a healing balm for his soul. He had never imagined he would fall for an Indigenous girl. He had always sought out the empty, vapid vessels of girls at his school. They were often startlingly beautiful, but if one dug beneath there was very little there to like.

Medika though was like a diamond mine, everywhere you dug there was yet more richness to be unearthed. Carlos marveled at how someone could live here with so little, and yet be so deep.

The young woman was also delighted to be noticed in such a way, she had been years alone without peers after all. She reciprocated his attentions and romance grew. She brought out a tenderness that Carlos never knew he possessed. Kuparr watched on and smiled.

*****

The two had been walking, holding hands in the Mallee grove, the red sand soft, whispered beneath their feet. They were supposed to be searching for Quandong fruits, as Medika said they grew here. There was hope some had indeed survived the cold and were still left on the bushes. Yet this afternoon they had located very few. Still, they searched, for it was this kind of patience one must have to dwell successfully in the arid wilderness.

A lone brown hawk hovered high above, almost no more than a pinprick in the heavens. It flapped its wings and prepared to dive emitting a hoarse screaming "Kee-eeeee-arr." Carlos glanced up, making an attempt to see the bird more clearly, but it was too distant.