Crow Country (14 page)

'S
adie!'

Dad was shaking her shoulder.

‘Sadie, come on, love. I need you now.'

She nodded dumbly, clutching at the edge of the shop counter. The shop tilted and swayed around her like a merry-go-round, but she took a deep breath and the world firmed and steadied.

Mr Mortlock had sagged across the counter, limp as a rag doll. ‘Thank God!' he muttered. ‘I knew I could count on you, Clarry.'

Dad's face was expressionless. He bent and picked up the bundle of bloodied clothes that Mr Mortlock had left on the floor, and bunched them in his hands. ‘I'll get rid of these,' he said. ‘You should go.'

Mr Mortlock picked up his hat. Silently he held out his hand, and after a moment, Clarry shook it.

Clarry said in a low voice, ‘Are we square?'

‘We're square,' said Mr Mortlock.

They didn't look at each other.

Sadie watched the two men as if they were figures at the wrong end of a telescope; they seemed tiny, diminished, hardly worth hating.

Mr Mortlock touched the brim of his hat and slipped out of the shop. Dad bolted the door behind him. He stood with his back to Sadie.

‘Seen worse things in France,' he said. He glanced round, and there was a plea in his eyes; Sadie realised with a shock that he wanted her forgiveness.

She couldn't give it. She dropped her gaze. She was numb inside.

After a moment, Dad cleared his throat. ‘I'd better put these in the stove.'

Sadie found her voice. ‘No. I'll do it.' She held out her hand. ‘And your clothes will need washing.'

‘Don't show your mother.'

‘No. I won't.'

She met his eyes then, and the look that passed between them was a promise. Sadie watched as her father shuffled out of the shop. He seemed to have aged a hundred years in a single night. She knew that she would never see him in the same way again; something had shifted between them. Never again would her father be her rescuer, her protector, all-powerful and wise. He had lost his authority forever. Now Sadie would be the one to protect Clarry.

She took the bundle of Gerald Mortlock's ruined clothes into the kitchen and poked them into the stove's mouth. Flames flared, and shadows danced along the walls. In the hiss and crackle of the fire, Sadie thought she heard the sounds of mourning; she thought she heard wails and sobbing, and outside in the night, she heard an owl cry and the distant voice of a crow.

Waaah . . . waaah . . .

Dad had crept into the kitchen behind her. He was wearing his pyjamas; mutely he held out his own filthy clothes to Sadie. She stood and took them from him.

‘You go to bed,' she told him. ‘Is Mum asleep?'

He nodded. ‘Thanks, love,' he croaked, and coughed into his sleeve.

‘Go to bed,' she said again, and watched him shuffle away, stooped and broken, an old man.

In the flickering half-light from the open stove, her mind far away, Sadie reached into the pockets of her father's trousers, as her mother always did before the wash. Automatically she emptied coins and keys and lengths of string from one pocket onto the table, then reached her hand into the other.

Her fingers touched soft fur. At the same instant, the crow cried outside. Sadie snatched her hand back as though she'd touched the hot stove.

Then, slowly, she drew out a small bundle, wrapped in what looked like possum fur. She had a confused impression of small shifting objects beneath her fingertips before she dropped the bundle on the tabletop. A kind of horror, a kind of fear, ran through her like a shudder. It was the package that Jimmy had handed to her father before he died.

Burn it
, said a voice inside her head.

And another voice, a voice that was and was not her own, cried out,
No!

The fire sputtered and flared; shadows wheeled across the ceiling like swooping birds. Two worlds, two selves, struggled inside Sadie's mind, pushing against each other like two magnets.

Then, abruptly, she knew she was Sadie – Sadie out of time, Ellie Hazzard's daughter, Sadie from the future. She stood in the strange kitchen, in the flickering dark, and she was afraid. But she knew why she was here; she knew what she had to do.

With shaking hands, she took the Blue Crane cigarette tin from her cardigan pocket – from the other Sadie's pocket – and wrenched off the lid. Gingerly she picked up Jimmy's precious bundle, his sacred objects wrapped in fur, and squashed them down inside the tin and pushed on the lid. She stood for a moment, pressing the tin between her hands.

She couldn't let the other Sadie destroy these things. To Jimmy, to his people, they were holy objects, magical objects, filled with mysterious power. It would be as awful, as disrespectful, as melting down the communion cup or the crucifix from the other Sadie's church.

She pushed the tin back into her pocket. It dragged there, too heavy for what was inside it. It weighed like lead.

She took Clarry's clothes out to the lean-to. She found a tin tub, half-f of water, with clothes already soaking, and she shoved Clarry's shirt and trousers in among them.

She stood in the cold air, in the darkness. A single light shone from above the pub; as she watched, it was extinguished. What time was it? The tin burned cold under her hand.

Stars salted the sky overhead. Sadie began to walk, quickly, stumbling not up the main street but across the road and along the railway track, circling away from the few houses nearby, turning her back to the town. She pushed her way into the scrub that fringed the lake, into the bush. She swapped the tin from hand to hand, felt it bruising her palms.

It was too dark to see properly; branches scraped and scratched her. She thought of Jimmy lying lonely in the cold ground with no one to say goodbye; dirt scraped over him like a dead dog. He was far from his own country, lying in strange ground. Now he could never go home.

Tears leaked down Sadie's cheeks. A crow called, and she followed the sound, pushing blindly through the bush. She stumbled and caught onto a tree trunk to save herself.
Waah!
called the crow.
Here
.

She wound her hand around the smooth, slender trunk. It was a gum tree sapling, young and pure and perfect.

Sadie fell to her knees and scrabbled at the dirt beneath the tree with her bare hands. Soon her fingers closed around a short, stout stick and she began to dig with that. The digging soothed her; it was a job to do. The earth was soft and damp. The sapling seemed to bend over her watchfully, its leafy fingers caressing her hair. She heard the tiny noises of the bush night: scampering paws, rustling grasses, the soft sad hoot of a mopoke, the mournful hum of the frogs. The night was alive, it belonged to itself. It was a separate world, as different from the world of day as the old world was different from the new. The day might belong to the other Sadie's God, the God of churches; but the night belonged to ancient, nameless gods, to silent spirits, to Waa and Bunjil and all the others. Sadie dug into the earth, she made a hole in the body of the land, and as she dug, she whispered, ‘I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.'

When the hole was deep enough, she placed the tin at the bottom. She covered it over with earth as reverently as if it were Jimmy Raven's body she buried there. The other Sadie would have said a prayer; but Sadie didn't know any.

When the hole was filled, she pressed her hands down flat upon the spot and bowed her head. She felt the cold eyes of the stars stare down at her; the icy fingers of the night mist wreathed around her legs. She realised she was chilled to the bone; the thin cardigan wasn't enough to protect her.

Stiffly she clambered up, and turned to go. But suddenly panic seized her. This sapling, among all the saplings in the bush – she'd never find it again. What if – What if—

She dropped to her knees at the foot of the young tree once more, and scrabbled in the dirt and the litter of fallen leaves until her hand closed over a stone. Laboriously she scraped at the base of the trunk, carving an S, a snake-shaped scar, into the bark. S for Sadie, S for secret, for stones, sacred stone, S for sorry. She let the stone fall and staggered to her feet.

I'm delirious
, she thought.
I'm getting a fever.
A violent shudder racked her body, and a chill sweat broke out all over her skin. She stumbled through the bush, dropping one foot in front of the other with no idea which way she was walking.
I'm lost,
she thought at last.
If I stay out here all night, I'm done for.

Clarry wouldn't come looking for her; he didn't know where she was, he was probably asleep by now. No one knew where she was. Dad would need help to find her. Jimmy Raven was the best tracker in the district . . .

But Jimmy was dead.

Sadie stumbled and fell. She rolled over and stared up at the tangled trees, silvered by the starlight, and another violent shiver shook her from head to foot. She would lie here for a little while to rest and catch her strength. Then she'd find her way home.

She felt herself slipping out of the other Sadie's mind, and the other Sadie seeped back into her own body, like dye curling through water.

She closed her eyes, and the dark rolled over her like a tide.

'S
adie! Sadie! Wake up!'

Sadie blinked. Walter's anxious face stared down at her.

‘You okay?' He helped her to sit up.

Lachie was still sprawled in the dirt. The trail bike sputtered feebly on its side. She must have only fainted for a minute, though she felt as if she'd been away for hours.

Sadie clutched at Walter as she hauled herself to her feet. ‘We've got to help him.' She pointed to the bike. ‘Can you ride it?'

Walter blinked. ‘I dunno. I can try.' He looked at the bike, then at Lachie. ‘All right, I'll go and get help. You stay with Lachie, yeah?'

‘Okay.' Sadie hugged her arms around herself.

Waaa-aaah . . . waaa-aaah . . .

A melancholy drawl signalled the agreement of a distant crow. Walter pushed his fingers through his hair. Then he jogged to the fallen bike, heaved it upright, and slung his leg over the seat. The engine growled, the bike jerked, and Walter almost lost his balance – then he was off. Sadie waved frantically as the bike roared away. She had a last glimpse of Walter's face, scowling with concentration, as he disappeared across the lake bed, trailing plumes of yellow mud in his wake. The whine of the bike faded and there was silence.

Sadie knelt beside Lachie and lifted his head onto her lap. He groaned, his eyes squeezed shut. She wriggled out of her jacket and wrapped it around his head like a bandage, pulling it tight to try to stop the bleeding.

‘You're going to be all right, Lachie,' she said. She didn't know if he could hear her. She gripped his hand. ‘Walter's gone to get help, they'll be here soon . . .' A terrible thought struck her. What if Walter didn't go to the oval? What if he just rode away?

‘He'll be back soon . . .' she faltered.

Lachie moaned and tried to struggle up.

‘Don't move!' cried Sadie. ‘Keep still.' She squeezed his hand and thought of the other Sadie, lying in the bush, chilled through. Was that what made her sick, was that what killed her? Sadie shivered. Was that Crow's punishment?

And here she sat, with another man bleeding, in the same place, Crow's place . . . blood spilled on Crow's ground . . .

‘It's different this time,' she said aloud, though she wasn't sure whether she spoke to herself, or Lachie or Waa, or to the crows who were Waa's messengers. ‘Walter's getting help . . .'

She scanned the horizon for movement. What if Walter didn't come back? Already her jacket was soaked through with Lachie's blood. She remembered the blood on Gerald Mortlock's clothes, the blood on her fingers when she touched Jimmy's scalp.

She couldn't save Jimmy, but at least she'd saved his special things. And they would save Lachie . . .

‘Hang on, Lachie,' she whispered. ‘You can't die. It's got to be different this time.'

She looked around for a crow, hoping for some sign that Waa hadn't abandoned them. But the sky was empty, the stone circle sat silent. The lake bed stretched to the horizon, flat and blank and featureless. She and Lachie were alone.

She didn't know how long she sat there with Lachie's head cradled in her lap. But at last there came a distant warning cry:
Waah! Waah! They are coming!

She looked up. The murmur of engines drifted toward her from the edge of the lake. ‘It's okay, Lachie!' she cried, almost weeping with relief. ‘Walter's back! They're here!'

David put his arm around Sadie's shoulders as they watched Craig's 4WD bump away across the lake bed. Ellie was going with Lachie and his parents to the hospital; everyone else had drifted away, back to the pub, mostly. Boort had actually beaten Donald, even with the team one man short. It was the upset of the season, but no one cared about that now.

‘Your mum said it's probably not as bad as it looks,' said David. ‘Head wounds always bleed a lot. He'll probably be fine.' He looked across at Walter. ‘I'm really proud of you two, reacting the way you did. It was quick thinking, taking the bike.'

Walter stared at the ground and mumbled something.

‘I'm still not clear about exactly what happened.' David looked from Walter to Sadie. ‘You just found Lachie here, did you? Lucky for him. Though it beats me what he was doing here. We sent him home for his footy boots; this isn't on the way . . .'

Walter cleared his throat. ‘That's not—' He shot a desperate glance at Sadie. ‘We didn't find him. He kind of found us.'

Sadie said nothing, though her insides twisted like a wet rag. It was up to Walter to decide how much to tell David. And up to David to decide what happened after that.

Walter lowered his head. ‘We went to his house, the Mortlocks' house. Auntie Lily sent us to find some things, secret things.'

David's eyes narrowed. ‘Auntie Lily told you to break into the Mortlocks' house?'

Walter shuffled miserably and said nothing.

‘We didn't take anything,' said Sadie. ‘Honest. We were only looking round.'

‘But Lachie busted us. He chased after us – thought he was going to run us down.' Walter licked his lips. ‘I mighta thrown something at him.'

‘Only a lump of mud,' said Sadie. ‘It wouldn't have hurt him. We didn't know he was going to fall off. We were scared. It was self-defence. It was an accident . . .' She let her voice trail away as she heard the echo of Gerald Mortlock's words.

David rubbed his hand over his face. He looked at Walter. ‘What do you want to do?'

‘It was my idea to go to the house,' said Walter slowly. ‘I opened the window. And I knocked Lachie off his bike.'

The words weighed heavily in the silence. David waited. Sadie began to say, ‘It was my fault, too—' but David held up a hand to quiet her.

Walter shrugged. ‘I better go and see Lachie's mum and dad. Say sorry.'

‘They might want to take it to the police,' said David.

‘I know.'

David nodded. ‘I'll be with you. We'll sort this out.'

He wrapped his arms around Walter, and they stood there, motionless, for a few moments. Sadie traced the cracks in the mud with her toe.

At last Walter said, ‘It wasn't Sadie's fault. She just came along.'

‘We did it together,' said Sadie hotly. ‘All of it!' She wasn't going to let Walter take all the blame.

But at that moment, she heard the softest, most discreet
wah
from behind her, like a crow clearing its throat. And she remembered that she had another job to do.

David held out his hand. ‘You coming?'

Sadie looked at Walter. ‘I've got to do something for Auntie Lily. That special thing she asked us to find – I know where it is now.'

Walter's eyes lit up. ‘You saw it?'

Sadie nodded.

‘Tell me about it later,' said David. ‘You'll be right to get home on your own, Sadie?'

Sadie pointed to the ring of stones. A crow was perched on top of one boulder, silently watching them.

‘I won't be on my own,' she said. ‘The crows will be with me.'

A frown crossed David's face, then he shrugged and laid his arm protectively across his nephew's shoulders. Sadie watched as they walked away across the yellow mud, then she turned to face the crow.

‘I'm ready now,' she said.

The crow lifted its throat. ‘
Wah!
' It flapped down from the rock and looked expectantly at Sadie.

She set her face to the declining sun and followed the crow as it hopped across the lake bed, leading her where she needed to go.