The Pythagoras Curse Part XVI

In Search Of Gerung Brandt

Traveling across open grassy plains northeast of Melbourne we were met with an amazement of countryside. Everywhere around us we witnessed a marvelous landscape panorama of lush countryside with little forest cover stretching to our horizons.

As beautiful as the sight was I for some unknown reason was apprehensive. Traveling out in the open for everyone to see was beginning to weigh heavy in my thoughts.

That was the problem. I could not dismiss the growing dread in the pit of my stomach, an uneasy sensation we were being watched.

Long Feather sensed it was well.

Several times he urged his horse away from me, veering from our traveled path as he scouted the areas behind us, to our left and right and ahead. On one of these many times when he returned, he guided his horse near mine and for several minutes we traveled in silence.

“Someone is watching us Shaman. I cannot find them, but I feel…”

“Their presence. Yes boy. I feel it too. Perhaps it is some of those bush rangers we were told of.”

“Bush rangers are white man. They no hide. These are spirits Shaman. We see them only when they wish to be seen.”

“Then we shall keep an even sharper eye boy. We ride until dusk and then we camp.”

“Long Feather find cave?”

“Look around you son. There are no mountains in which to sleep tonight. Tonight we camp under the stars as we have done many times before.”

Long Feather was silent. Having traveled with the young man for many months I knew it was either because he was struggling to make sense of something, or he sensed a danger I could not. After all these many months I’d learned to count on the latter.

“I will take first watch if it pleases you.”

Long Feather said nothing.

We rode until almost sundown and after finding a small tributary and watering the horses, I pulled saddle and blanket from my horse and we hobbled them for the night.

Although we still had our woolen coats and mittens stored away in our saddlebags the night provided us little need to wear them.

The wind was slight, the temperature pleasant against the skin. After gathering stones and dry kindling with which to make a fire we sat near it, me with a coffee, Long Feather with his canteen and ate and drank, each lost in our own thoughts.

I rose, retrieved my journal and a stick of graphite then sat back down and made an entry.

“You put language there?”

I nodded, “yes, I record each day’s passing. It is how I remember.”

“The anniversary of your curse?”

I halted my entry and stared through the flickering tendrils of fire at the boy.

Never to this day had I met another person as astute as this young man.

Most times he said nothing. I assumed it because he was never compelled to do so. Then others such as now, he demonstrated an unbelievably strong understanding of his surroundings.

“Aye boy. It has been one hundred and eighty three days since I transferred a soul. Before we realize it time will again slip away and I will be forced to commemorate that night once again.”

“We find your brother warrior before this time comes. You will then be free.”

“I certainly dream it will happen as you say Falaya Talako. I have lived far too long with this curse.”

The boy nodded his head and then yawned, his mouth stretching so wide I believed his jaw might break. It was plain to see these days of riding, tensed as tight as a watch coil searching for something which refused to be found had taken its toll on the boy.

“This night I will take the responsibilities of maintaining the fire and first watch. Get some sleep. I will wake you when it’s time.”

When I returned to the camp, my arms laden with kindling wood and dry prairie grass, Long Feather was curled on his bed roll a blanket covering his shoulders.

I stood and listened to the boy’s snores, then with a shake of my head I saw to the fire and leaned against my saddle while I inspected the edges of my sword and the chamber of my Peacemaker.

Although near exhaustion myself I knew I must remain vigilant.

I too had endured the constant, irritating sensation something was out there watching us, tracking us as it waited for one mistake, a single misstep from either of us.

Much later in the night I tended to the fire then roused Long Feather. Something, a far too prevalent sensation in the back of my thoughts gave me cause to hand the pistol to the boy. For a second he gazed at me, a knowing expression crossing his face then he nodded and stepped away from the fireplace to take position in the shadows.

I was far too tired to embrace the thought of our imagined predicament. As soon as I removed my hat and placed my head against my blanket I’d folded up on my saddle I fell asleep.

I didn’t sleep long.

I awoke to Long Feather hissing at me and jostling my shoulder.

“Shaman. You must wake Shaman.”

I sat up and stared at the boy, yawning and trying to clear my head of sleep.

“What is it boy?”

“They are here Shaman. The spirits have come. Look.”

I gazed in the direction of where Long Feather was pointing.

At the edge of the shadows scantily clad men, their skin so dark I could barely make out their form stood shoulder to shoulder. Had it not been for their faces, arms and legs smeared with something resembling white wash they would have proven invisible in the darkness.

I slowly twisted around.

They were all around us, a ring of men armed with long sticks, sharpened at the end, curved clubs and strange looking weapons which resembled plowshares bent at the middle.

“Put the pistol on the ground Long Feather.”

The boy slowly lowered his hand and placed the Peacemaker on the ground in front of him then stepped back. I raised a hand toward the men, placed my sword on the ground near the pistol and backed away to join Long Feather.

Immediately the circled tightened around us.

Some of the warriors lowered their sticks and thrust them at us until they were scant inches from our faces.

Others raised their clubs as if intending to pummel us to death.

“Hold boy,” I whispered.

We both waited, each coming to the conclusion our last seconds would be a torture neither of us could possibly withstand.

In the darkness, from somewhere outside the ever tightening ring around us we heard a voice.

“Wangan Woiwurrung. Boorondara yabber bik.”

The ring of men tightened as the warriors took another step closer. As they did they expelled a chuff of wind from their lungs simultaneously and shook their weapons.

“Shaman?”

“I said hold boy. If they wanted to kill us we would already be dead.”

READ ON — THE PYTHAGORAS CURSE PART XVII

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI, Part XII, Part XIII, Part XIV, Part XV, Part XVI, Part XVII, Part VIII, Part XIX, Part XX, Part XXI, Part XXII Part XXIII, Conclusion

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