Raelene was simply numb, too worn to process this latest turn of events. She was pulled along, fell, pulled more, fell again. When finally one man gave her a drink from a leather canteen he had to hold her head back and dribble it into her mouth. Yet on they went, step after step on the dirt, bruising her feet on the rocks and scraping her arms and shoulders on bark and branches. When her captor stopped abruptly she kept on until she collided with his back and was roughly pushed aside. Raelene lifted her head. What fresh disaster was about to befall her? Some even worse crew of ruffians? A dragon? An evil priest with a stone knife? Her befuddled mind played a string of dire possibilities. Yet when she focused, the cause was nothing more than a woman of middle age standing at the far side of a small clearing. Was this woman to be added to the rope, to join her in misfortune?
The woman made some remark, and her captor shifted, partially blocking Raelene from view. His fellow came up on the other side, spear held to cast. There was another exchange, the woman spoke words that twisted Raelene’s hearing. A barely visible oval of air in front of the woman shimmered into being. Raelene blinked. It was still there. The sight startled her out of misery and into taking notice of her situation. Two large men, wearing thick leather jackets over clothes of rough twill. One with a spear and a long knife at his belt, the other with a bow, a quiver with feather-fletched shafts sticking up, and another long knife. Both with four-day beards, both with dark tans over light brown skin, both smelling of sweat, oiled leather and tangy iron. Each had a pack bulging with green stuffs, with loops that held bundles of plants and – uck – a dead lizard.
Across the clearing a woman in a tan tunic and leggings. Not young, dark hair streaked with grey tied back in a pony-tail, a belt with pouches and several small knives in sheaths. In Raelene’s experience large thugs did not quail before women, except maybe tribal elders, yet her captors were nervous, hesitant. One growled out a few words and hefted his spear. The woman smiled, said something else strange and a knife from her belt shot towards the man, halting a finger’s breadth from his eye. His head jerked to one side, and the knife followed. He lurched back and the knife followed, always poised in mid air with that needle point tracking his pupil. Raelene flinched inwardly; she would stay still as a rock if threatened so, just as she would if a tiger snake were reared up, fangs on display, beside her bare leg.
The men backed away slowly. One kept hold of her rope until the woman’s eyes flicked to it, whereon his hand opened as if stung. Raelene stayed there, swaying slightly on her feet, until the sound of retreating steps died away. The woman did not relax, but did beckon Raelene forward. She stumbled across the clearing and was pulled behind the woman. As she crouched there, bewildered, an arrow arced out of the forest to shatter on the air before them. Raelene squeaked in alarm, the woman chuckled, spoke those strange words again and bent to touch the arrowhead. It sped off, to elicit a cry of pain and much cursing from up the hill. At least, Raelene assumed it was cursing – it sounded very like Mike when something went wrong with the truck. The woman chuckled again, touched Raelene on the shoulder and backed them both away until they were thoroughly screened from view. Only then did she turn to examine Raelene. A knife came out, a quick jerk of the blade freed her wrists and she was offered first a drink and then a handful of nuts. Raelene fell on them like a starving squirrel, only mumbling a thanks when they were gone. The woman laughed; she seemed to find life amusing, to judge from the lines around her mouth and eyes. She tried phrases in several languages, only smiled when Raelene indicated total incomprehension and signed for her to follow. Raelene’s first limping steps brought a halt, a frown, and the offer of a small vial of green liquid. The woman mimed drinking, Raelene did and felt a flush of well-being run through her body. The scratches and bites on her arms shrank back to smooth skin and her feet stopped hurting. When she lifted a foot to examine the sole, the bruises and cuts had gone.
This, thought Raelene, was more the way a story-book realm should be. Although, she muzzily recalled, she had seen a lot of TV shows where people got chopped up or fed to monsters – just not the heroine. Was she the heroine or just some bit player, cast as monster food in this plot? She had not seen any monsters so far – apart from those two men – but they were surely out there. A land with magic had to have monsters. Thoughts like this kept her occupied as she padded along behind the magic-woman. They kept to a slow pace, with frequent halts to let her rest – and also check for signs of pursuit, Raelene guessed. Magic-woman gave her another morsel, this time a lump of dried fruit, purple but tasting tart and sweet together, like an orange. It left stains on her fingers.
The sun was well past the zenith when Raelene began to see flashes of blue through the leaves, and smell salt air. She had never seen the sea other than on a screen, and was excited to have her first full view. They came around a last hill and there it was, sparkling water reaching to the horizon, studded with rocks and islands, and far off-shore two tiny ships were making their way, pale sails shifting shape as they moved. She drew in a breath; it was wonderful, and also confirmed as nothing else could that she was not on the world of her birth. From her home to the coast was a long day’s journey by car, perhaps more than one day, and that coast lined with houses, fronting sandy beaches where dudes in speedos led violent emotional lives with bikini-clad girls. She knew this from watching television. This was nothing like that, in its wildness and its lush greenery. There was not a house in sight, nor a surfer, and the beaches were small crescents of black sand.
Magic-woman let her glory in the sight for a time, then led on, down a steep path that came out on a cliff-top, and along this to where a surging ribbon of water below divided this main from a pillar of rock. A whistle, a word and a bridge sprang across, an arching rainbow of solid light. Magic-woman strode out without hesitation, turned and beckoned Raelene to do the same. Raelene put a hesitant foot forward, felt an un-moving surface, tried another step, then another. It felt as solid as a stone arch, but she was sure she could see the waves. Eyes half-closed, she inched along until cool shade and grit underfoot told of the far side. The far side was a shallow niche, blank-walled, but when magic-woman put her hand on the rock it melted aside to let them into a well-lit passage. Please god, no more doors, thought Raelene. No, just a rising passage that opened into a large room where windows framed the sea beyond. And comfortable chairs, and a carpet, and safety. Raelene’s shoulder-muscles relaxed for the first time in two days, bringing an ache to her neck.
* * * *
“So your name is Raelene and you don’t know where you are,” magic-woman said next morning. She, no, not ‘she’ but Maerile, was speaking slowly. Yesterday Raelene had been given a meal, a wash, a mug of light beer, a night-shirt and, just before being shown to bed, a dose of a black liquid. Her sleep had been deep, her dreams vivid, and when she woke a new language had formed in her head. Her tongue stumbled on unfamiliar sounds, and she had to search for words, but she and Maerile could converse quite readily. They were doing so now, sitting on a broad balcony beside the remains of a substantial breakfast. Invisible hands had delivered an array of small dishes, all strange to Raelene, together with mugs of herbal tea. She had cautiously sampled spiced eggs, cubes of strong white cheese, pickled vegetables, slices of chilled fruit and a fish paste spread on crisp wafers. No plastic bread, but also no Vegemite.
“Well, I am here, but here is nothing like where I come from,” Raelene admitted.
“And where is that?”
“Pallama. It’s a small town. Between Dubbo and Bourke,” she offered. As Maerile’s face remained blank, Raelene expanded. “In New South Wales. Err, Australia? You have heard of Australia?”
“To my shame, I have not. Is it a large country?”
“Pretty large. One of my cousins drove all the way to Perth, and it took him six days.”
“He was driving animals? Sheep perhaps?”
Raelene explained that, no, he was driving a Ford Falcon, which led to further explanations. In the end Maerile agreed that Australia was very large and unlikely to be in this world. “For one thing, you say that no-one can draw on the ether there, so it is not of this bead of the diadem.”
“If you knew where it was, could you get me there?” asked Raelene. She was not sure she even wanted to go back to Pallama, but felt she should ask. After all, what would she do here? It was not as if she could utter arcane words and bend the world. Maerile clearly had no need of a housemaid, as she had invisible hands to cook and clean, and Raelene had seen no shops. Maerile only said that she would need to consult more knowledgeable colleagues before she could say yea or nay on this matter.
“What did you do at this place – Pallama?” asked Maerile. The question gave Raelene pause. In Pallama she was just ‘Raelene Mick’s girl’ or ‘one of old Flo’s mob’. She had no defining occupation or skill, nor any status from ownership. She was not like Sophie, who was the local nurse, or Bob Paterson, who ran 15,000 sheep on his station and flew his plane down to Sydney for weekends. She didn’t even have much family any more. Her mum was dead, and both her aunties, and the cousins had moved away. What could she claim?
“I worked in a shop, selling food mostly, and I looked after the house me and my boyfriend lived in,” was all she managed. Maerile accepted this without comment, simply taking a swig of tea and reaching for another piece of fruit. After contemplating the sea for a time she looked over.
“I can accept your story, for I have read of ways between worlds. Also, you spoke no language used hereabouts – neither Corillionese nor Saka nor Brahnak nor Haghakin. Your clothes have writing in an unknown script, and the shirt you wore is of a material I cannot identify. By your features and skin colour you could be from Tonish, and others would accept that – if you spoke Toné. Which I do not think you do. Of those names you gave, which is that of your people?”
“None,” Raelene replied without thinking. “I am of the Wiradjuri people,” she amplified, “the first people. My mother was an elder.”
“And the .. Wiradjuri .. if they are the first people, they are the leaders?” probed Maerile. Raelene snorted. “I wish. We don’t get told to go round the back of the shop any more, nor get our wages taken and money doled back by the government man, but we haven’t got much. They ‘acknowledge us as the traditional custodians of the land’ and ‘pay respect to our elders’ every time they make a speech, but we don’t get much respect outside of that.”
Maerile picked one phrase out of that rant. “Custodians of the land? What does that mean?’
“My mum and my aunts always said we belonged to the land, that it was part of us. The ancestors made the world in the Dream-Time, and the land tells our stories, tells us who we are. My mum said our animal was the rock wallaby, and if I saw one I should ask it what I should do, where I should go. I never saw one, though.”
Maerile cocked her head to one side. “Interesting. One thing we who sense the ether have to mind at all times is the mood of the land. And those who plant or build have to keep to the limits the land allows, or face eviction or worse. That place you were found in,” here she waved a hand back over her shoulder, at the coast behind “that is the Eig Wild. It does not permit the plough, nor any two dwellings together, nor any human law. And it is not the strictest Wild in the world.” She brooded for a moment. “The Wilds are the where the land is most alive, and you are drawn to this one, of all the places in the world. Intriguing, and perhaps concerning.”
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Maerile looked up, smiled, took another swig of tea and changed the subject. “I have asked you many questions. Are there any of yours I can answer?”
“Why did you stop those men?” Raelene blurted out. Maerile had been nothing but kind, so much so that Raelene suspected some hidden motive. But she could hardly say that, could she?
“If you saw someone being mistreated, would you not intervene? Assuming you had the power to do so effectively?” Maerile returned. Raelene had stayed out of fights, but then she had not had any power. Quite the reverse: the Koori girl would cop the blame regardless of who started it, and to try to break up a drunken brawl between the men was asking for a black eye.
“I never had the power,” Raelene stated. Then went on “Are you some kind of police?”
Maerile did laugh this time. “Did you not understand what I said about the Wild? There are no police or judges in the Wild. It does not tolerate human law. Those men captured you because they could, and because they saw something to gain. By the same token, I took you from them because I could, and because I saw a woman in trouble. The Guardians would likely have killed them, and those of the Gracious God stripped them bare and left them to fend for themselves with but a knife each. So they got off lightly.”
Raelene found the idea of those men’s bodies finding every thistle and thorn attractive, killing them less so. Although they might have killed her, if Maerile had not come along. This led to further questions, until Maerile thought she had enough, and left her to digest her situation. Raelene entirely agreed – her head was full, and the sea was entrancing and restful at the same time. She accepted another mug of tea, put her feet up and thought about what she had been told.
Maerile was a magician – an actual, doing-real-magic magician. The word in Raelene’s new language carried no connotations of mystery or superiority; it fitted in with other forms of skill, rather as if Maerile were an electrician (she thought of Big Dave back in Pallama) or maybe something a bit higher – an engineer perhaps. There were other kinds of people-doing-magic in the world, and animals-doing-magic, for that matter. All entirely normal, as afar as she could tell. As Maerile had said, not at all like back in Pallama. Maybe those desert fellows in the outback could do some magic things, like pointing the bone, but not round her way.
The sea and islands before her were the Corillion Coast, and a little way south was a place called Lagash. Those men would have taken her there, and nothing good would have come of that, by Maerile’s account. Maerile had not been graphic, but Raelene had no trouble working out what she meant. Horrid experiences were part of her family history. Across the sea was Dravishi, where they spoke the language that now buzzed through her brain. Maerile had been apologetic about that – “it was the only one I had to hand,” she had said. As if languages came from the store in bottles. Maybe they did, here. Her mum would have loved it if someone had bottled Wiradjuri. They had only scraps of the language left. Her totem rock wallaby was a barrbay, should she ever meet one. She had described kangaroos to Maerile, who said they sounded improbable, but she would like to see one.
The people of Dravishi were black (the word for skin-colour in Dravish was the same as the word for black, and also close to the word for beautiful-as-a-person). That was nice. Maerile’s family was originally from the Haghar League, where people looked like Habbi the Lebanese who owned the pizza shop in Pallama. There were other countries and peoples out there (Maerile said she could show Raelene a map, later), and other Wilds. There were Powers, a word that called to mind a range of beings, some like gods, others very local. And there were spirits, who were not quite Powers. It was a message from a spirit (via a blue ibis) that had sent Maerile into the Wild yesterday. Raelene had asked eagerly if there were dragons, and been told yes, but best seen from a distance – a great distance. If Raelene wanted to see dangerous creatures, she should keep an eye on the water below, for the Coast abounded in sea-monsters. None had surfaced yet, but it was still morning. Elves? As in really good-looking guys with pointy ears? Sadly, no. Raelene gave up on Lord of the Rings questions for sitting there, arms on the rail, watching the play of light on the waves. She pushed any worries firmly to the back of her mind; she was for now safe, full and yes, alive in a way she had not been for a long time.
When Maerile returned it was with a book of maps and a pamphlet in the Dravish script to test whether Raelene had absorbed the written as well as the spoken language. As it happened, she had not. The curly syllabary was just pretty lines to her eyes. Lunch was another selection of unfamiliar foods, but Raelene sampled away bravely. She found the strips of raw fish marinated in spiced vinegar delicious, and they went well with crunchy vegetables fried in batter. Maerile offered her a frothy white beer, and she had one glass. She had been careful at home too; her people and alcohol were too often a bad match. The meal was nearly over when Maerile pointed out a two-headed sea-monster cruising offshore. As they watched one head smacked the water, starting a fish which the other head promptly snatched up. The first head grabbed the tail and ate until the two heads bumped noses. The monster dived, and Maerile picked up the conversation.
“I have spoken to two friends about you. One is interested in your mode of arrival and what you can tell of your homeland; the other would like to see in what direction your sensitivities lie. They are friends but you should know that magicians value knowledge above all. Your story has value – in fact, Kashlei has agreed to lend his tailor for the privilege of hearing it, and he does not do that lightly.”
A tailor sounded nice. Raelene’s jeans were torn, her tee-shirt a rag and she had only one set of underwear. Speaking of which, she had to talk to Maerile about periods. Hers was due in few days. Did this world have pads? Tampons? She did not want to find out the messy way. Maerile had lent her a long tunic, almost a dress, but they were of distinctly different shapes. It was tight across the chest and shoulders, too long in the sleeves. The fabric was lovely, though, a light cotton that was cool and soft. For more clothes like this, but better-fitting, she would be happy to talk all day.
* * * *
Kashlei reminded Raelene of a former Prime Minister, one of the few her mum had approved. Slim, dapper, sharply-dressed in beautifully-cut tunic and trousers, alert; he listened intently as she told her tale, head to one side, bright dark eyes fastened to her face. His questions were intelligent, his sympathy evident. He agreed with Maerile that kangaroos sounded improbable but fascinating, that Australia was definitely not of this or any adjacent world and that wombats would be a valuable addition to any landscape. Possums of several sorts they already had, and the land would certainly not allow cars. Kashlei took a particular interest in her people and what she had to say about the Dreaming and the Koori tie to the land. He did shake his head at her description of western New South Wales – the clear air and bright light, the dry heat, the far horizons, the lazy green rivers, but also the flatness, the long droughts and sudden flooding rains, the earth trampled by sheep, cleared of trees and cut up by cruel wire fences.
As she brought it to mind and searched for words to paint it to someone who had never seen the like, Raelene felt an odd mix of emotions. It was home, familiar, predictable in its seasons and its discomforts, dear to her. But it also felt to her much as she had felt captive, as subject to abuse, degraded, much less rich than it had been or should be. People had neither cared for it nor let it be. It was not as her ancestors had known it. Maybe that was why her mob were so often dispirited. This place? It did not feel like home, but she did not feel unwelcome either. Raelene realised that the land was somehow more present to her mind here, like the feel of earth underfoot. Squishy and cool after rain, hard as concrete in the droughts, soft dust, rock rough or smooth; her feet knew them all. This was a bit like that, only with attitude.
After two hours Maerile reminded Kashlei about the tailor. He waved a hand; “I left it on the balcony.” Puzzled, Raelene followed Maerile as she picked up a bag and led her to a bedroom. The bag held a bundle of fur, tentacles and paws, topped by three black eyes on stalks. It ran around Raelene like an excited puppy, eye-stalks flopping this way and that. It made tsk’ing sounds, extended a long tentacle and hauled itself up her tunic. Raelene looked at Maerile, who smiled reassurance. “It’s just taking your measurements.”
Raelene stood there, somewhat uncomfortably, as the thing climbed all over her, paws patting and tentacles groping. She was profoundly relieved when it dropped to the floor and started chirping. Maerile placed several sheets of paper on the floor and the tailor-thing wrapped a paw around a pencil and started drawing. In short order Raelene was sketched in a fitted dress, in tunic and slacks, in a linen wrap crossed with colourful sashes, with a short feather cape over a long skirt and short top, with an elaborate head-dress and a pleated fall of embroidered cloth from one shoulder. Maerile tapped her teeth in thought, then asked Raelene which she preferred. Raelene laughed; never had she been offered such a richness of clothing. She finally pointed to the two most practical outfits, not wanting to seem greedy. In truth she would have loved to wear them all. Maerile gathered up the sheets, gave the tailor-thing a sweet and went to confer with Kashlei. On impulse, Raelene bent to hug the tailor-thing, and thank it. She thought it pleased, as it gave a purr and waved an appendage at her.
Kashlei left after lunch, casually lofting into the air with the stalk eyes of the tailor-thing peeking out of his shoulder-bag. He would drop by with the clothes in two days, he promised. Raelene spent some time monster-spotting and sea-gazing and then, at Maerile’s suggestion, started to learn the Dravish syllabary. By the evening she could slowly pick out simple words, and her brain hurt.
That night she lay in her soft bed thinking over the day. She had told Kashlei about the corridor and doors; he had accepted this (to Raelene) miracle without a blink, and was more interested in her state of mind at the time. How had she felt when she entered the corridor? What had made her choose that door, and the next? How had she felt when she came into this world? The questions had been put with patience, and allowed her to examine her memories without stress. Was this what it was supposed to be like on the psychiatrist’s couch? An unhurried recall of one’s past, letting one see oneself in a new light? There had been a lot of shouting in all the medical shows she had watched, so maybe it was different here.
How had she felt? The corridor was a waking dream, the strange accepted as one did in dreams. The new world had first been a delight, and then her feelings had been submerged by worry, hunger, thirst, insects and thorns, and lastly by raw fear of what her captors might do. Maerile’s island home was friendly but impersonal. Maerile herself? Raelene could not figure out why she was so hospitable. It was not as if Raelene were one of her mob, owed shelter and a feed whenever needed. Kashlei was happy to provide a rich gift of clothing, stuff that Raelene could never have afforded in Pallama (assuming that a shop in Pallama had anything the like in the first place), and all for nothing but two hours of talk.
Then there was magic. Maybe not everybody could just fly, as Kashlei could, or command invisible hands to cook and clean. Nevertheless, Raelene had a sense that much ‘magic’ was as ordinary here as electric lights back home. Maerile’s home was lit by glowing stones, her windows screened by some magic that kept insects out, and when she had asked about periods, Maerile had straightaway brought out a bottle of some medicine that made them easy to deal with, along with absorbent pads that cleaned themselves. Neat. Maerile had also given her an amulet that kept insects off - that not everyone in her world had one surprised Kashlei: how do mosquitoes not bite them? he had asked.
There were also different sorts of ‘magic’. Dravishi had words for higher craft, hand-craft, word-craft and an add-on word that went with things that did something magical. Raelene sighed. This new world was a strange place, and she did not know how or whether she fitted in. Kashlei had not been encouraging on a return to Pallama. She was not at all sure she wanted to go back. Now she could look back, her life there had been without purpose. Maybe she could find one here? On that hope she turned over and went to sleep.
Kashlei was as good as his word. Two days later he flew in to have lunch, bringing the promised clothes. He had added several pairs of footwear, a parcel of underwear and, as well as the two outfits Raelene had chosen, three others: a skirt, top and cream-coloured linen coat that set off her dusky skin, the fitted dress and a sarong dyed in swirls of green, red and black. They suited her so well he could not resist, he said apologetically. Raelene thanked him profusely, changed into a loose tunic over slacks and put on her best table manners. As they ate Kashlei shared his thoughts on Raelene’s arrival.
“I am certain you are here because the land wants you (or someone like you) in this world. Why? And where are you needed? It is never wise to gainsay the land – what it wants, it gets, one way or another. That said, it’s up to us to figure out what it wants. We look at all the circumstances, because while small happenings could be happenstance, they could also be clues.
So. You arrive in a Wild, don’t get eaten, are found by some horrible people who take you to Maerile. Who has been advised by a land-spirit to check out the local area. You do not speak any known language, but Maerile has a bottle of Dravish to hand. My tailor pictured you in Dravish dress.
Then there is that your people have a strong tie to the land, but your land is oppressed and – forgive me for being blunt – by your account you cannot free it. Perhaps some land here, possibly in Dravishi - needs you?”
Some land needed her? For what? Was she to be sacrificed to the land? The notion brought to mind films where the virgin was bent across the altar by an evil priest. Somehow it did not fit – she was not a virgin, and Kashlei was not an evil priest. Also, in those films the victim was always rescued at the last minute by a handsome hero. That might be nice, but better not to be on the altar in the first place. She could find a handsome hero herself. For form’s sake she put the question to Kashlei and Maerile; they laughed so unreservedly that she dismissed the idea straightaway.
Still, it all sounded very haphazard to Raelene. What if Maerile had not rescued her, or those men had killed her? Kashlei spread his hands. They were good questions, but he had no answers. Here they were, and this was what they had to go on with. The other friend Maerile had mentioned might be able to add more. Her name was Jamassein and she was Dravish. Jamassein – Raelene rolled the name around in her head – it meant ‘Kept by the Skulls’. Creepy, but then in Dravish ‘skull’ was a friendly word, associated with ancestors, protection and memory. A language was a little world of its own, Raelene now knew. It made the loss of her ancestral tongue more poignant.
Kashlei had more questions about her world, which she answered as best she could. She knew what cars and planes and mobile phones did, but had very little idea how they worked. Kashlei observed drily that it was much the same with magic. Raelene’s description of huge cities, freeways and trucks had him shaking his head. It sounded noisy, crowded, overly complicated and, frankly, primitive. All care for machines and none for people. It was true, thought Raelene, for there was more talk in Pallama about cars and trucks than about anything else.