Synopsis
Terra Nullis
by T.D. McKinnon
A dramatisation of historical facts
Based on a true story; Terra Nullius is an historical fiction that chronicles the events of the 19th century through the eyes of the unfortunate race who, at the time, just happened to occupy the best piece of real-estate in the southern hemisphere.
It’s no secret that history is written by the victors and conquerors. More often than not, characters in history are portrayed two dimensionally; with, inevitably, no recourse for the disenfranchised depiction. Invaders can, and do, present their own version of events with dry statements of the facts, from their point of view; casting themselves, historically speaking, in a softer, fuzzier light.
The facts of this story however are indisputable; aliens invaded the Caretakers’ land and proclaimed the land 'Terra Nullius' (land of none): a neutral or uninhabited area or land not under sovereignty of any recognised political entity and therefore theirs for the taking; with no regard for, or consideration of, the standing residents. Displacing them, the invaders stole their women and systematically murdered, raped and pillaged; spreading disease and decimating their number into virtual extinction.
All the characters in this story are actual historical persons; their stories are dramatisations built around factual events. A central character is Trucannini, who witnessed the rape or murder, or both, of her sisters, mother and brother, and the mutilation and murder of her fiancé, and was herself pack raped; all by her sixteenth year. Beginning around two hundred years ago; it took just seventy years to all but obliterate a race of people who had taken care of their land for more than forty thousand years.
For such a huge, systematic atrocity to have occurred in our quite recent past; an episode that is not taught, as a matter of fact, in Australian history lessons; a chapter that is not common knowledge even in Tasmania, let alone Australia and the world at large, is quite unbelievable, and an indication of the massive guilt buried deep within the Australian and especially Tasmanian psyche.
Terra Nullius is a tale that weaves its way very tightly around the recorded facts of that period; without the gloss, without the whitewash, without the colonial mindset slant that anything written about that era generally contains. Calling a spade a spade, an invader an invader, Terra Nullius gives a very human face, with all the complexities that entails, to the people who were the standing residents of Tasmania, formally Van Diemen's Land; originally simply The Land.
Filling in the blanks, so to speak; I have fleshed out the stories behind the facts, presenting probabilities that are far more plausible than those shrewdly alluded by the conquerors, from their colonial point of view.
Back to top
It’s no secret that history is written by the victors and conquerors. More often than not, characters in history are portrayed two dimensionally; with, inevitably, no recourse for the disenfranchised depiction. Invaders can, and do, present their own version of events with dry statements of the facts, from their point of view; casting themselves, historically speaking, in a softer, fuzzier light.
The facts of this story however are indisputable; aliens invaded the Caretakers’ land and proclaimed the land 'Terra Nullius' (land of none): a neutral or uninhabited area or land not under sovereignty of any recognised political entity and therefore theirs for the taking; with no regard for, or consideration of, the standing residents. Displacing them, the invaders stole their women and systematically murdered, raped and pillaged; spreading disease and decimating their number into virtual extinction.
All the characters in this story are actual historical persons; their stories are dramatisations built around factual events. A central character is Trucannini, who witnessed the rape or murder, or both, of her sisters, mother and brother, and the mutilation and murder of her fiancé, and was herself pack raped; all by her sixteenth year. Beginning around two hundred years ago; it took just seventy years to all but obliterate a race of people who had taken care of their land for more than forty thousand years.
For such a huge, systematic atrocity to have occurred in our quite recent past; an episode that is not taught, as a matter of fact, in Australian history lessons; a chapter that is not common knowledge even in Tasmania, let alone Australia and the world at large, is quite unbelievable, and an indication of the massive guilt buried deep within the Australian and especially Tasmanian psyche.
Terra Nullius is a tale that weaves its way very tightly around the recorded facts of that period; without the gloss, without the whitewash, without the colonial mindset slant that anything written about that era generally contains. Calling a spade a spade, an invader an invader, Terra Nullius gives a very human face, with all the complexities that entails, to the people who were the standing residents of Tasmania, formally Van Diemen's Land; originally simply The Land.
Filling in the blanks, so to speak; I have fleshed out the stories behind the facts, presenting probabilities that are far more plausible than those shrewdly alluded by the conquerors, from their colonial point of view.
Back to top
Reviews
Review on KOBO
5 out of 5 Stars
Terra Nullius - What an original read I loved how the author wrote from the point of view of the original Tasmanians.
Garry Braid - January 24th 2015
* * * * *
Reviews on Amazon Kindle
4.0 out of 5 stars Really makes you think July 26th 2012
By Linda Parkinson-Hardman
Format: Kindle Edition
Follow this link for Linda's website: Woman On the Edge of Reality
I read Terra Nullius in a little over two nights and it made compelling reading; I was both enthralled and enraged by the story. The title Terra Nullius explains the whole - it is a term used for centuries to condone the expansion into what was a little known world and it means `No One's Land. What TD has done is to take a small number of known historical facts about the systematic genocide of an ancient race by the colonialists of the 19thC and weave them into a fantastic piece of fiction that looks at that time from the perspective of the indigenous population. There were times when I found the story hard to bear because it was so graphic in its description of what it could have been like; my heart broke for the people who had been used and abused so cruelly. And yet, at the end of the telling, I feel enriched because of having my world view challenged and my emotions expanded.
* * * * *
4.0 out of 5 stars The True Story July 11, 2012
By David Laing
Follow this link to David's website: http://davidwlaing.com/ or Amazon page
Format: Kindle Edition
`Terra Nullius' by T.D. McKinnon, an adult fiction novel.
Told from the Aboriginals' point of view, this is a fictional story based on a true account of early Tasmanian history. Accurate in all respects, no stone is left unturned as McKinnon expertly describes the harshness and the cruelty of the times.
The author's creativity is particularly evident when he describes the conflict endured by the `Caretakers' (Aboriginals) when confronted with the aliens (settlers, convicts, sealers, bureaucrats). This is particularly so when he describes the innermost thought and feelings of Trucannini when, time after time, she is confronted with obstacles (both physical and mental) to her happiness as she moves towards her prophesied destination.
The stark differences of the two cultures are vividly portrayed by the author. In doing this, McKinnon uses his prowess as a writer to weave believable scenes throughout the story to give us a clear understanding of the everyday lives, beliefs and values of the white and the black man. At times, I occasionally found it a little hard to logically follow the progress of some of the Aboriginals in the scenes but this was probably due to the use of the unfamiliar Aboriginal names.
Beautifully written, this is a gripping tale that would suit both the serious student of Aboriginal history and the adult reader.
Highly recommended.
Review by David W Laing, author of:
`Forest Spirit', `Forest Shadows', 'Forest Secrets', `Fish Guide - Port Lincoln Area'
Contributing author to `A Tumble in Time', a children's story book.
5 out of 5 Stars
Terra Nullius - What an original read I loved how the author wrote from the point of view of the original Tasmanians.
Garry Braid - January 24th 2015
* * * * *
Reviews on Amazon Kindle
4.0 out of 5 stars Really makes you think July 26th 2012
By Linda Parkinson-Hardman
Format: Kindle Edition
Follow this link for Linda's website: Woman On the Edge of Reality
I read Terra Nullius in a little over two nights and it made compelling reading; I was both enthralled and enraged by the story. The title Terra Nullius explains the whole - it is a term used for centuries to condone the expansion into what was a little known world and it means `No One's Land. What TD has done is to take a small number of known historical facts about the systematic genocide of an ancient race by the colonialists of the 19thC and weave them into a fantastic piece of fiction that looks at that time from the perspective of the indigenous population. There were times when I found the story hard to bear because it was so graphic in its description of what it could have been like; my heart broke for the people who had been used and abused so cruelly. And yet, at the end of the telling, I feel enriched because of having my world view challenged and my emotions expanded.
* * * * *
4.0 out of 5 stars The True Story July 11, 2012
By David Laing
Follow this link to David's website: http://davidwlaing.com/ or Amazon page
Format: Kindle Edition
`Terra Nullius' by T.D. McKinnon, an adult fiction novel.
Told from the Aboriginals' point of view, this is a fictional story based on a true account of early Tasmanian history. Accurate in all respects, no stone is left unturned as McKinnon expertly describes the harshness and the cruelty of the times.
The author's creativity is particularly evident when he describes the conflict endured by the `Caretakers' (Aboriginals) when confronted with the aliens (settlers, convicts, sealers, bureaucrats). This is particularly so when he describes the innermost thought and feelings of Trucannini when, time after time, she is confronted with obstacles (both physical and mental) to her happiness as she moves towards her prophesied destination.
The stark differences of the two cultures are vividly portrayed by the author. In doing this, McKinnon uses his prowess as a writer to weave believable scenes throughout the story to give us a clear understanding of the everyday lives, beliefs and values of the white and the black man. At times, I occasionally found it a little hard to logically follow the progress of some of the Aboriginals in the scenes but this was probably due to the use of the unfamiliar Aboriginal names.
Beautifully written, this is a gripping tale that would suit both the serious student of Aboriginal history and the adult reader.
Highly recommended.
Review by David W Laing, author of:
`Forest Spirit', `Forest Shadows', 'Forest Secrets', `Fish Guide - Port Lincoln Area'
Contributing author to `A Tumble in Time', a children's story book.
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Sample Chapters
Terra Nullius
by T.D. McKinnon
Prologue: The Land
The story of The Land had been handed down from generation to generation since The Dreamtime. The Great Ancestor Spirits created The Land, all that grew in it and all the animals that inhabited it and they gave it into the keeping of the Caretakers; entrusting it to them so that they might live in harmony with it. Taking their place in the natural order of things, they took only enough to sustain themselves; always giving thanks to the spirits of their brother and sister creatures – be they wallaby or mutton bird – for their part in the grand plan. The coats of the kangaroos, wallabies and wombats taken for sustenance provided them with ample warmth for the colder seasons. They also gathered from The Land's abundance of fruit, vegetables, nuts and herbs for their health and wellbeing; moving periodically to different locations so that The Land could replenish herself. Respecting the fine balance of The Land the Caretakers kept their numbers in line with its consistency. Father taught son and mother taught daughter and this fine poise was maintained for more seasons than is possible to count. They did their job lovingly, knowing the simple joy of living.
The Great Ancestors looked after the Caretakers by granting long, mild seasons of plenty; and seasons of scarcity that were not as long and not so severe as to cause too much suffering. The Land, with its temperate climate, ample forests, pristine, crystal waterways, and generous access to the teeming oceans, provided the Caretakers with everything they could possibly need.
A nomadic people, they moved around with the seasons; sometimes leading a coastal existence: feeding from the ocean. At other times moving further up the rivers and tributaries that poured their sweet waters into the ocean to seek the shelter of the forests.
Although a nomadic people, having their own area of preference, they kept to their own region; like the people of the coast and islands of the south east, who were well disposed to the conditions of that region. Life was joyful, abundant and self perpetuating.
Living in clans: small villages of large extended families, the home structures for the warmer seasons were light and easily movable; the colder season's dwellings were sturdier, of a more permanent nature and were inevitably returned to each cycle. All the clans of a region, who spoke mostly the same language with small differences in their clan dialect, cohabitated to an extent; trading various dyes, shells and cooking or hunting tools; and of course intermarrying for diversity, strengthening bloodlines and clan bonds.
Communication with the Caretakers of other regions was more infrequent, and the language from one region to another could vary considerably. Sometimes there might even be conflict; usually arising over a misunderstanding: perhaps some perceived transgression where regions merged. Mostly, however, it would be quite accurate to say that the Caretakers lived in a perfect, natural and blissful reality.
That was before the lutetawin nowhummoe.
Back to top Chapter 1: The Prophecy
Raggera looked around his village; the good humoured hustle and bustle of his people, as they prepared for the coming celebrations, pleased him. He had led the people of the Nuenone Clan for fifteen summers now and his people never failed to show him their love and respect. He was also well respected outside of his own clan; even though they lived on an island he and his people were respected, accepted and welcomed anywhere on the mainland in the south east region of The Land.
Today Raggera was playing host to Kleeba and his people, of the Mouheneene Clan, from the mainland of the Great Southern Bay. Chuurneen, Kleeba's daughter of fifteen summers, would marry Mangana, Raggera's son of seventeen summers.
The canoes of Kleeba's people arrived and were welcomed ashore, their contribution to the wedding feast was taken to the preparation area and the throng of activity increased as the clans took advantage of the rare opportunity for social intercourse and trade.
The festivities, held in the season of new growth and time of plenty, were a joyous period shared by all, and the merrymaking continued for two days and nights before Kleeba and his people set out for home; leaving behind his daughter, Chuurneen, who was now a Nuenone princess.
First contact: One beautiful, clear day, several moons after the beginning of Mangana and Chuurneen's sixth cycle of seasons, a group of children ran hysterically into the village telling of the appearance of a strange apparition. "It must surely have come from the Great Spirits!" said Wooroowooroo, one agitated young boy. Accompanied by Mangana and the strongest of his hunters, Raggera went to see this apparition for himself.
Sure enough, floating far offshore like a huge magnificent bird in the shimmering noon light, it seemed the gods were indeed visiting their island. They watched as a small craft, alighting from the apparition, came ashore carrying several large beings of strange appearance.
Raggera and his people treated the bizarre, multi coloured creatures with reverence. After considerable, unsuccessful attempts were made to communicate with the strange beings, they presented gifts of baskets of fruit, vegetables and herbs, a generous portion of the day's catch of shell fish and a supply of sweet, crystal clear water. Happily, after receiving these tokens, the strange beings departed. Unsure if they were spirits, gods or demons, Raggera was pleased they were so easily placated.
Such an event, the subject of wide speculation, prompted mixed emotions: fear, excitement and foreboding; but eventually, as was their nature, the islanders settled once more into their harmonious existence, with another story to become part of their folklore to pass down through the generations; the day the strange spirits visited.
Mangana and Chuurneen enjoyed a relationship of such closeness that is rarely experienced. As the seasons passed, although Raggera privately agonised over his son's lack of progeny, the young couple were perfectly happy to remain childless. Their enjoyment of each other, on their perfect island home, was such that neither desired the added responsibility of children, yet, to alter their ideal relationship. And, although such things were never spoken of, Mangana was fully aware that Chuurneen took the secret women's herbs to discourage pregnancy.
"My son… Perhaps you should take another wife?... It is necessary that you continue our linage and it seems that Chuurneen is destined not to carry your child."
Mangana had been expecting something of the kind; for some time his father had been hinting that he would soon be called upon to shoulder his responsibilities. After all, as his father put it, 'It had been seven cycles of fruitless union,' and soon he would be expected to 'step up' to relieve his aging father of the responsibility of leadership. He was destined to be the head man, the chief decision maker; soon he would be 'Chief' of the Nuenone People.
"If Chuurneen is not carrying my child by the next 'season of new growth' I will take another wife."
"Pah!... It has been seven cycles! What difference is one more going to make?! You should take another, young wife, now!"
He understood that his father would be losing patience with him, but there was something else he sensed: there was desperation in his father's anger. "What difference is one more cycle going to make, father?... I pledge to you, if Chuurneen is not with child by the next season of new growth, I will take a younger, fertile wife."
"Hmm!..." Raggera grunted, before turning away.
Mangana watched him stalk moodily into the forest. There was something else bothering his father; something he obviously wasn't ready to tell. Raggera, like all the Caretakers throughout all of The Land, never deliberately misled by word or gesture; 'the way things are' was so much a 'given' that there was no understanding of the opposite, and no word for it. There did exist however everyone's innate right to withhold personal information, and Mangana knew intuitively, for whatever reason, that was what his father was doing.
Chuurneen had been little more than a child when she arrived on the island; worried about moving away from her family, she had been more than a little afraid of taking on wifely duties. Mangana had been a pleasant surprise; for one so young not only was he gentle and caring, he was immediately smitten by her as she was by him. Now, seven cycles on, they still never tired of each other and often marvelled at their magical good fortune. When Mangana came to her and told her of his talk with his father, she agreed that it was now time; Chuurneen assured him that she would indeed be carrying their child by the next season of new growth.
"Raggera is worried about something that he is withholding. I hope that we can at least give him something to cheer his spirit," and smiling, his eyes betraying the adoration he still felt for her, he added, "And anyway, it is time we thought more of the clan and less of ourselves."
"I will give you a son, my husband; I will give you a son to be proud of."
Daughters: As the next season of new growth began to show signs of its promise so too did Chuurneen. As the proud father and the grandfather to-be watched her, swollen belly and all, set out with the other women to collect shell fish, Mangana said, "Soon our linage will be assured, father," and then turning to look into the old man's eyes, "Will you not tell me now what is troubling you?"
Looking directly at his son, Raggera took a deep breath and sighed. It seemed to Mangana it was the first time for many seasons he'd seen his father relax.
"Before the strange alien craft came, Leelinger told me of the coming of the lutetawin nowhummoe. He said that one day they would be as a plague upon The Land." Leelinger was The Ancient One of Raggera's people, one who conversed with the spirits.
"But they never came back," said Mangana.
"They will return… again and again, and each time there will be more. Leelinger has foretold this." Raggera paused, as if assessing the weight of what he was about to say. "Leelinger has also foretold that you will be the last son of our line… And your daughter will be the last Caretaker to walk The Land."
Surely you are not saying that our entire clan will perish?!" he said, shocked by such a revelation.
Raggera shook his head sadly, looking spent and weary… "Listen to what I am saying, my son…" clearly Mangana had not understood the magnitude of Leelinger's prophecy. "Your daughter will be the last Caretaker…" he began slowly, "in all of The Land!" Mangana was still struggling with the enormity of that statement as he went on… "In her lifetime she will suffer such pain as has never been felt in all of the seasons of the Caretakers! She will witness the end of our world! The end of the Caretakers' world! And she will be forced to experience the world of the lutetawin nowhummoe before she is finally free!"
Listening in awe, the enormity of the prophecy bending his mind, Mangana could still not wholly envisage it. The fate of his unborn daughter… his people… his world! "How can that be?!" he lamented. He was destined to spend the whole of his life never quite coming to terms with Leelinger's prophecy.
Second contact: By the time the aliens next arrived on the island Mangana had (quite deliberately) almost forgotten about the prophecy. Four seasons of plenty had come and gone; Chuurneen had blessed him with two beautiful daughters, Lowhenunne and Maggerleede, and it had been six moons since Raggera had moved on to be with his ancestors.
Word of the aliens landing on the mainland had reached the island from time to time; one disturbing report in particular of the aliens hunting kangaroo and wallaby with thunder and lightening; Mangana, being a sensible man, chose to consider it just a fanciful story.
The next time the aliens came to his island, remembering their last visit, Mangana met them on the shore with similar gifts and supplies. However this time, making their intentions clear, they stayed several days, cutting down trees, making repairs to their vessel. Seeking to placate and be rid of his unwelcome visitors Mangana complied with their wishes.
When the huge craft eventually departed he was left with vague feelings of foreboding but put it down to the stories his father had told him about Leelinger's prophecy. However, no sooner had they departed when he was confronted by a distraught woman. "They have taken my baby!" said Winneranerra. "They have taken my little girl!.. She is just a child!"
Winneranerra, recently widowed, had been the young wife of his father's closest friend, Tookee. Mangana actually suspected that it was the sudden departure to the spirit world of his father's last boyhood friend (they had become hunters together) that had prompted Raggera too to join his ancestors.
"Are you sure that Kirrawakiki is not just hiding or playing with her friends?" said Mangana, as a picture of the bright eyed little girl of ten summers sprang to his mind.
"I have spoken to everyone and looked everywhere!!" she wailed.
Mangana immediately assembled the clan. "I want the entire island searched from end to end, with no stone left unturned─"
"It will be of no consequence!"
Everyone turned to see who dared interrupt their Chief. Leelinger, The Ancient One, had appeared from the forest. He was rarely seen these days. "The ghost skin devils have taken her," he said. Without another word, seemingly fading from their sight to become one with the forest, he disappeared.
Turning once more to Mangana for guidance they waited expectantly; after a moment he said, "We will mourn the loss of Kirrawakiki and burn a pyre so that her spirit might find its way to her ancestors," and looking out across the Great Southern Bay to the main body of The Land he said, quietly, "It has begun!"
Back to top Chapter 2: Invasion
When the enormous vessels first appeared off the coast of the mainland, initially the people watched from hiding as the aliens were ferried ashore. From the very beginning there had been something ominous about these strange interlopers; they treated their own clan so abominably as to leave in no doubt how they would treat others.
One day, landing in the Great Southern Bay, they brought several poor, bound wretches ashore and tied them to trees. When their captors ripped a thin covering from their backs their skin was seen to be the colour of the ghost gum tree; combined with a foul stench it gave them the appearance of week old corpses. While they were beaten with a devise that cut and ripped until long after the ghostly skin was torn from their backs they screamed and writhed in agony. It was only then, when the blood flowed thick and red, that it was known for sure these beings were truly living creatures and not ghost spirits.
Whether any of those scourged that day survived is not known; for some appeared to have perished while two of them managed, incredibly, to stagger away. Whatever the reason for the terrible torture it certainly demonstrated the hardiness of this strange clan. The fate of two of the unhappy group was left in no doubt however: still bound, they were suspended by their necks until their struggles ceased and the stench of their waste was in evidence as far as the eye could see.
Their weapons, although far different from the Caretakers', could be clearly identified as weapons and some of those proved to be terrible indeed. Again they demonstrated upon their own kind that terrible power; within the space of half a moon three of them, obviously wishing to leave the clan, stole away in the night. The following day a group of hunters from their clan easily tracked them half a day's walk along the shoreline. Determined not to return, however, they put up a valiant fight but were cut down with a terrible ferocity by thunder sticks. The Caretakers would eventually discover just how devastatingly effective those thunder sticks, or muskets, could be.
There was another strange thing about this bizarre clan; they brought no females with them. Observed using other males as females, although that was not unknown, it seemed to be their way entirely; until eventually some of the Caretakers became so curious as to be careless and were captured. When others attempted to free their brothers they were massacred. Some of those who didn't die straight away were tortured until they revealed the location of their village; then the real horror began.
In one foul swoop, the rest of the clan: young ones, women and babies were savagely slaughtered; except for some of the young females, particularly those between ten and twenty cycles. Used terribly for weeks, and some of them months, most of them eventually died; if not deliberately at the hands of their rapists then via the diseases contracted from them. Two of the poor wretches eventually escaped into the forest and were taken in by a neighbouring clan; only to spread disease there, effectively almost entirely wiping out yet another clan.
It was not long before another great vessel came; in time they became a common sight in the Great Southern Bay. Eventually, unfortunately, the Caretakers would get to know, more intimately, the mighty ships of the lutetawin nowhummoe.
They had first arrived when Lydider's mother was a child, and by the time Lydider was the young, second wife of Mangana the invaders had begun to spread across The Land; their settlements an all too common disfigurement. Wherever they went they cut down the great trees, put up their ugly, permanent shelters and defiled the sacred places.
There was no way of cohabitating: they would brook nothing but their own degenerate culture. Educated by early encounters the Caretakers avoided contact, moving away from them whenever possible; however, as their number increased that became an ever more difficult task.
I have so far spoken of the invader as if they were of one line, and although they were so similar in appearance as to be thought brothers, they behaved as if they were coexisting groups of enemies. Large numbers of them were treated like possessions; slaves, bound for most of their lives; locked up, tied up and worked: cutting down trees, breaking the earth and rocks, and erecting more of their shelters. Certainly not thanked for all their labours, they were beaten and punished and sometimes killed in a most barbaric fashion.
Eventually they brought some of their females to The Land and they also were seen to be in different categories: some used in the worst possible way, some treated as slaves, and yet others – along with their mates – given the reverence one might give to 'The Spirit Ancestors' themselves.
The complex societies of the invaders were impossible to understand, and although they were possessed of knowledge and understanding the Caretakers could not hope to comprehend, they were completely devoid of empathy and the simple joy of living, which they were determined to strip from the Caretakers.
Offering: Mangana was a caring chief, who led his people with wisdom and compassion; however, he was not equipped to deal with the deceitfulness of the lutetawin nowhummoe; although it should be added that no one would have been up to such a task.
Treachery, deceit and defilement seemed to be part of their cultural design. Clearly, they could never co-exist with any other culture. They meant to make The Land their own while using and abusing everything upon it, including the Caretakers.
They cleared the forest as they saw fit, whether the Caretakers were in evidence or not; having no regard or respect for The Land or the Caretakers. Initially, the people of The Land tried to avoid them but the alien invasion was relentless, and conflict became inevitable.
There was bloodshed on both sides; however, the far superior weapons of the invaders guaranteed that large confrontations were a fairly one sided affair; with the wholesale slaughter of the brave young men of The Land.
In the early times, while the lutetawin nowhummoe were relatively few, Mangana even tried to negotiate a kind of co-existence with them.
One day, leading a party of about thirty of his people, he approached a handful of the lutetawin nowhummoe who, having cleared an area of forest, were erecting one of their permanent dwellings. Initially, thinking that Mangana and his people were attacking, the lutetawin nowhummoe reacted aggressively, but as it soon became obvious they were approaching peacefully the unarmed Mangana was allowed to draw near, accompanied by Chuurneen and Lydider, with an offering of fresh caught mutton bird, crab and lobster.
Handing over the fresh catch, attempting to communicate, Mangana said, "This is a token of peace and a message from our people that there is enough bounty provided by The Land to feed all, and there is no need for our clans to quarrel." However, failing to understand, the gifts were received with blank expressions and grunts. He tried to communicate through signs, and scratching drawings in the earth, but it seemed they were incapable of any real communication.
When they were discourteous, not returning his friendly gestures or inviting him to share the meal – careful to mask his disappointment, and disgust at their rank, unwashed odour – he stayed in their company only long enough that it would not seem impolite. Making friendly gestures and happy faces he and his wives left the stern faced invaders.
Returning to his people he told them that the first step had been taken and he was hopeful this might be the beginning of a peaceful co-existence. There followed a tentative period of peace and it seemed that perhaps, while avoiding each other by mutual consent, the two cultures could co-exist on The Land.
Loss: One warm, balmy day just before the fall of leaves, when the days begin to grow short, Chuurneen gave birth to a baby boy.
After having difficult times with the births of both daughters, in fact barely surviving, fearing she would never give him the son he so desperately wanted it was Chuurneen who had encouraged Mangana to take Lydider as his second wife; however, after all these years, it was she, his first love, who had presented him with a son.
A few days after the celebrations, Larkikoka led a small group of families from Mangana's village to a place where the water falls from the mountain before its final journey to the ocean. Mangana entrusted him with the responsibility of looking after his youngest wife, Lydider, and their daughter, Trucannini, of just three summers.
While the men were fishing around a deep pool, the women were a little further along filling baskets with shellfish and the six small children played in the shallows.
Standing motionless, waist deep, in the crystal clear water at the edge of the deeper pool Larkikoka waited, barely aware of the steady, hypnotic thunder of the waterfall. All his focus was on the big fish turning this way and that as it fed on the bottom. Waiting for the moment when it would pause near enough for his spear to reach, he was thinking that, along with the rest of the catch, this would be enough; he would then gather the rest of his little group and return to the village.
"Larkikoka!!"
Startled, he turned; fifty paces away six lutetawin nowhummoe were bundling the four women into a small boat, brutally subduing them, while a little way off the children screamed hysterically.
"Aaarrgh!!" yelling out his frustration and anger he started towards them. A puff of smoke from one of the lutetawin nowhummoe's weapons was followed by a 'BOOM!' like the sound of thunder, and then a hardly perceivable splash in the water just in front of him was followed by a sharp pain in his right thigh and he fell clutching his leg. As he tried to stand there was another 'Boom!' and Wangegamon, one of the other hunters, was thrown backwards never to move again. Larkikoka groped for his spear, looking up just as another shot was fired, 'Boom!' and Mammalt spun backwards, screaming: his left shoulder a bloody mess.
Woreguimoni, the last remaining hunter, now within twenty paces of the boat launched his spear and one of the lutetawin nowhummoe, dropping his oar, grasped in vain where it had gone straight through his neck; he quickly choked to death on his own blood. One of the other lutetawin nowhummoe, managing to reload his musket, turned on the still approaching but now weaponless Woreguimoni just as Lydider, who had managed to get loose, threw herself screeching on his back. Woreguimoni was almost upon them when one of the others, managing to reload, turned his musket on him… 'Boom!' hitting him point blank in the face, and without pause, using the butt of his musket he caved in Lydider's skull like a ripe melon before throwing her lifeless body into the river.
By the time Larkikoka pulled the badly injured Mammalt from the river the lutetawin nowhummoe boat was rounding the headland at the mouth of the river, apparently heading towards the shelters where Mangana had taken gifts of food in an attempt to curry some kind of coexistence with the lutetawin nowhummoe.
A short time later, accompanied by the hysterical children, Larkikoka staggered into the village carrying the dying Mammalt. After retrieving the slain bodies of Lydider and the others; while the women, old men and children collected wood and prepared the funeral pyres, incensed with grief, Mangana led an angry party to the shelters of the invaders.
A woman was hanging washing on a line and a man was chopping firewood as they entered the clearing in front of the invaders' dwellings. The man went down in a hail of spears before he realised what was happening. The woman ran, but a spear in the back stopped her scream; looking down in bewilderment at the half length of spear protruding through her chest, she sank to her knees and died. Oblivious of the attack, a couple were having sex on one of the beds when Mangana and his clan burst in and beat them to death with waddies.
Making a wide circle around the invaders' dwellings they came across another two men cutting down a tree and skewered them with spears before they could pick up their dreadful weapons. There was no sign of the missing women.
The next day the clan were wailing and crying, streaked with ash from the funeral pyres when Teekooltermee, one of the missing women, staggered into the village more dead than alive.
After being repeatedly raped by the ship's crew, the last of them had fallen into a drunken sleep on top of her; managing to squirm out from under him, she had slipped over the side and escaped from the ship that was anchored way out in the bay. It was one of the ships that hunted the giant fish.
Back to top Chapter 3: Restless Spirit
Before long, more invaders came to replace the ones Mangana in his anger had wiped out; and not just a handful this time. On such a small island, Mangana knew he would not be able to avoid further conflict for very long and thought it prudent to move the entire clan onto the mainland.
Soon the Bay was busy with ships that came and went, and many permanent structures were built by a seemingly endless army of slaves. It was not safe to stay within striking distance of the ghost skin encampments: without reason or warning they would attack, reaping death and destruction. Mangana had to take his people further away, deeper into the forest. All of the clans were constantly on the move to stay one step away from the invaders as they spread like a fungus across The Land.
Lowhenunne’s wisdom: One day, three seasons after the murder of Lydider, while the children of Mangana's village were gathering berries, his eldest daughter, Lowhenunne, and her young sister, Trucannini, took a little known path to where their father's favourite sweet, purple berries grew.
Having reached a bush full of the coveted purple berries, Lowhenunne fashioned her wallaby pelt mantle into a container and was filling it with the juicy berries while Trucannini, face and hands now purple, gorged herself on the sweet fruit.
Grrrrrr!
Initially too terrified to move, the girls froze, but as the growling persisted they turned slowly to find themselves confronted by two of the striped predators with the large teeth.
The striped ones did not generally come near the Caretakers, usually preying on easier pickings: experience having told them that a well aimed spear could quickly end their existence. However, they did sometimes take a baby left unattended, or a little one. Having strayed from the main group, the girls were now in an extremely vulnerable position.
Trucannini sobbed quietly, quaking with fear… "Trucannini…" whispered Lowhenunne. "Remain quite still, and stop crying. We must not let them know our fear. We must blend with the bush. We must become the bush, so the striped ones will not see us as prey." Very slowly, taking her sisters hand, Lowhenunne lifted both of her hands in the air and began to sway like a bush blowing gently in a breeze. Ceasing her weeping, lifting her other arm, Trucannini followed her sister's lead.
The growling slowly abated and the striped ones' fearsome teeth disappeared. Looking unsure for a moment, the predators then slunk away.
"How did you know?" said Trucannini, eyes still wide, watching the undergrowth where the predators had disappeared only heart beats before.
Lowhenunne swallowed with difficulty, she hadn't realised how dry her throat was. Quickly popping a berry into her mouth and chewing, she said, "When the time comes for you to take responsibility… you too will know what to do," and then looking into Trucannini's eyes she added, "Father must not know of this, or he will be angry with me for putting his favourite, baby daughter in danger."
Looking at her sister with adoration, Trucannini said, "It will be our secret," and they exchanged secretive smiles before making their way back to the others.
Become the rocks: Four summers after the incident with the predators; Trucannini, with her bright, beautiful eyes and cheeky smile, was still her father’s favourite, even more so than his son, Roberriddy, though he would never admit it. She was still tiny even by the Caretakers standards; smaller even than her brother and his little friend, Larkiwoora, a boy of just six summers.
Since the alien invasion of The Land the Caretaker's lives had become one long game of hide and seek, and the consequences of being found could be dire. One day Trucannini and her sisters and brother, along with five other youngsters were collecting shellfish off a rocky peninsula, near yet another new encampment.
"Invaders!" a distraught Lowhenunne called, sprinting into view from the far side of a rocky outcrop. "Run!!" she yelled.
Taken by surprise, Trucannini and the others paused just long enough to see three, blood splattered, lutetawin nowhummoe lumbering into view carrying long, blood covered clubs, and now yelling and howling. No sooner had they turned to flee towards the forest when they were confronted on the landward side by another bloodied, howling group. Screaming with fright, the youngsters scampered up the rocky embankment and a terrifying chase ensued.
The landscape was rough, the children were quick and agile and used to moving swiftly over such terrain and, adrenaline fuelled, they pulled away from their pursuers who were, although huge and fearsome, awkward and slow by comparison.
However, as they crested the embankment, they faced a third group bellowing their triumph. They had been herded into a trap by the wily, experienced killers of the furry ones of the ocean: the sealers.
Coming from a ship anchored off shore, they called themselves hunters. They were no hunters – a hunter lives by the code and takes only what is needed, as the Caretakers did – these creatures, typical of their kind, slaughtered the young furry ones in vast numbers, way beyond anything that could be called need. Bashing the baby seals heads in with clubs, they skinned them and, leaving their carcasses to rot in the sun, took only their pelts.
In blind panic, the children scattered. Anticipating the children would go landward, toward their village, the trap closed and the sealers had most of them boxed in. However, cutting back towards the peninsular, Larkiwoora, Trucannini and Roberriddy almost slipped through.
"A-a-a-h… Trucannini-i-i-i!!"
Glancing backwards, Trucannini stopped dead in her tracks… Caught by one of the sealers, lifted into the air, her brother was struggling futilely. With no idea what she could possibly do, she had started towards them when another sealer ran past them in her direction; turning again she took off and a new surge of adrenaline aided her flight. It wasn't long however, before she could hear the clump, clump, clump of the sealer's boots through the undergrowth and soon she could almost feel his laboured breathing on the back of her neck. 'How could this be?' she thought, demanding more of her fatiguing body as he gained on her. A quick glance behind told the story. This sealer was much younger than the others: he could not have been more than fourteen summers. Suddenly, he tackled her and they went rolling through the undergrowth.
Although younger and much smaller than the other sealers, he was wiry, strong and very much bigger than the tiny Trucannini, easily pinioning her. Exhausted, and realising the futility of trying to match strength with him, she allowed him to subdue her. However, instead of getting to his feet and taking her back to the others he forced her legs apart, groping roughly between her thighs, while panting his stinking breath in her face and uttering something in his alien language; it was obvious what her immediate fate was to be.
Terrified, her initial shocked response was a paralysing numbness which the young sealer took to be acquiescence. Holding her down with one hand, he fumbled with his free hand, exposing his ardent young manhood. Suddenly, seizing, she had his exposed testicles gripped in her tiny hands and was wrenching as hard as she could and then, as he instinctively clawed at her fingers, she latched onto his face with her teeth, biting and ripping like a wild animal. As the panic stricken young sealer tried to restrain her hands, while pushing away the snarling, biting little face Trucannini latched onto the top joint of his little finger. Biting down hard, she wrenched her head from side to side until there was a popping, crunching sound. His scream was deafening as, jaws tightly shut and still vigorously shaking her head from side to side, she tried to sever it completely. Between the agony of his mangled testicles and his mutilated finger he was screaming as though the Rageorapper was tearing his soul apart until, abruptly, his head flew sideward and he was silenced.
Trucannini looked up in amazement into Larkiwoora's wide, frightened eyes; he was gripping a broken branch almost as big as himself. In an instant she was on her feet. One quick, cautionary glance at the groaning, senseless sealer and they were running full tilt again towards the peninsular.
Realising they were no longer being chased she quickly found a hiding place among the rocks and undergrowth. Regaining his breath, Larkiwoora began to sob uncontrollably.
"Shhhh!!... If you do not keep quite…" she whispered, "they will find us."
"Aaaaheeeee!!!… Aaaaheeeee!!!" Penetrating the still, hot summer afternoon air, the echo of horror-filled screams reached them from far away and Larkiwoora instantly fell silent.
"W-w-what was that?" he whispered, petrified; eyes large, dark pools.
Trucannini was terrified also, but trying to appear calm for the sake of her younger charge, and remembering Lowhenunne's wisdom when they had been confronted by the striped predators, she whispered, "Shhh!... We must become the rocks, so that even if the monsters were to walk over us they would still not know we are here."
It had been Maggerleede's horror filled screams of pain as she was brutally raped that had quieted Larkiwoora. After those initial screams she and the others were gagged, less their screams bring the adults, armed and dangerous.
All but Trucannini and Larkiwoora were caught: five girls and two boys. The ten sealers raped the children indiscriminately, boys and girls alike. As Lowhenunne was being brutally taken from behind another sealer, tearing away her gag, forced himself into her mouth…
"Aaaarrrgh!!!" he screamed, as Lowhenunne bit down so hard her teeth almost met and with grim determination she held on as her two attackers beat her relentlessly with their fists, while blood pumped forth in great spurts from the injured organ. Eventually another sealer put a pistol to her slender back and blew her spine in two and with one final convulsion, completely severing the offending organ, she died.
The maimed sealer continued to scream, while futilely attempting to stem the flow of blood.
Chuurneen’s grief: Some time later as the cool of evening approached, and they were still undiscovered, Trucannini led her young charge out of their hiding place and back along the peninsular. As night fell they came upon a devastating scene of carnage.
Fearing the shot would bring warriors with their spears, the sealers had bludgeoned four of the children to death with their clubs before making good their escape. Maggerleede and Roberriddy were nowhere to be found.
The poor little corpses were strewn around with their heads bashed to a pulp, already covered with ants and others of nature's six legged cleaners as the last rays of sunlight glinted off the thick, bright blood.
Mangana had taken out a hunting party that day and it wasn't until they returned, in the late afternoon, and a single shot was heard from the direction of the peninsular that, alarmed, they set off in search of the children. Trucannini was still crying, Lowhenunne's head cradled in her lap, with Larkiwoora kneeling at her side when they found them.
Scouting the peninsular they discovered the pale, bloodless body of a dead sealer and took the corpse back to the village with the bodies of the poor little children.
"Cut this savage into pieces." said Mangana calmly. "We will spike his head in a tree near the place their canoes come ashore to serve as a warning." Separated from his head, the rest of his remains would be thrown into the sea to feed the sharks. His restless spirit would wander, lost for eternity.
While preparing Lowhenunne for her cremation, Chuurneen discovered the severed portion of male anatomy in her mouth. Already distraught by the fate of her children, she became so distressed that she had to be physically restrained from throwing herself onto the burning pyre. The families of the dead children covered themselves in their ashes and for three days and nights they wailed their anguished grief. On the fourth night Chuurneen disappeared into the forest. The Ancient One said she had gone to join her children.
Back to top Chapter 14: The Devil Take You
It seemed the island would be their prison until, one by one, they all died; and at their current rate of decline that would not be long. Tanleboneyerr went down with the coughing disease and died within two days, devastating her husband. Henry Nickolls had Mannalargenna physically restrained and locked up until after the burial to prevent him from putting his wife on a funeral pyre. Not permitted to cremate her remains and say farewell in the proper manner; Mannalargenna retreated completely from the world. Taking to his bed, he refused to see or talk to anyone. Wymurrick tried to reason with him, but to no avail. Trucannini, who the old warrior had come to look on as a daughter, could get no response. It was as though he had already retired from this world and it was only a question of time before he crossed to The Land of Dreams.
Trucannini was becoming resigned to the inevitable fate of her people and her place in the prophecy. With their rituals and most of their natural inclinations and pursuits denied them, the Caretakers were gradually falling into the habits of their alien captors: tea, sugar, tobacco and alcohol; giving the aliens an even larger measure of control. With her only stimulation the odd confrontation with Henry Nickolls, even Trucannini was succumbing to the ghost skin indulgences.
"You need the attention of a good man," said Tunnerminawait. He and just about every other man on the island, Caretaker or alien, had propositioned her in some way or other, and Henry Nickolls was certainly a supercilious fool; however, if not for him the soldiers would probably have taken her by force. Starved of affection and in need of love and nurturing, she was still the most attractive woman on the island.
"Have you any idea where I could find him?"
"What?!"
That was half the problem: she was so much smarter than any of the available men. "Never mind, Tunnerminawait, you are such a sweet talker I can resist you no longer."
"What?!"
His persistence had paid off; that and the fact that she was growing tired of fighting them all off. "Anyway… it might be nice to be married again."
When it sunk in that she had agreed to be his wife he was overjoyed. Hardly able to believe his good fortune, he told any who would listen of their betrothal. In general, the news was received positively: the other women were happier now that their men would no longer hanker after her, not so openly anyway; Henry Nickolls was happy, relieved that at least one bone of contention was no longer on the table. He even tried, very much in vain, to persuade her to let him join them in holy matrimony. Regardless, it was an occasion to celebrate and everyone was pleased about that.
The prodigal returns: The supply ship was two moons overdue and they had been out of essential supplies for almost a moon; so much so they had recently been allowed to plunder a neighbouring island – Barren Island, a virtual bird sanctuary – for eggs and whatever birds they could catch.
"Sail ahoy!!"
When a sail was spied on the horizon the whole island populace gathered at the little jetty with an air of excitement.
"Look!... It's George Robinson!!" cried Pagerly, excited. Even at quite some distance, they spotted his bulk climbing down into the little rowboat to be ferried ashore. Even Trucannini found herself caught up in the enthusiasm. When it came down to it, George Robinson was just another ghost skin and basically out for himself but, she reasoned, he came closest of all the aliens to understanding.
As the boat drew closer they could see that he had aged; he was heavier, his jowly face even ruddier and his red hair was turning grey. It was also obvious, as he approached the little jetty, that he was still ill at ease on the water; seeming ready to throw up at any moment. However, as he stepped ashore to cheers and acclamation, like some homecoming hero or visiting royalty, and overjoyed to be once more on terra firma, his face transformed and his smile went from ear to ear.
"My lovely people… How nice it is to see you all again!" he said.
Henry Nickolls shook his hand but, fearing he was being replaced or supplanted, was observably uncomfortable.
George Robinson shook hands with and greeted everyone who jostled around him, but his eyes flitted hither and thither, not resting until they found Trucannini at the rear of the crowd, and then pushing his bulk through the throng he finally reached the tiny naked form that still captivated him… "Trucannini," he said smiling but it was lost amid the general hubbub; raising his voice, he added, "You look well."
"And you look… prosperous," she said tactfully.
"Maybe we could… talk, later," he said with subtle innuendo.
She smiled then and he was definitely getting the wrong impression until she said, "You remember Tunnerminawait?" Eyes only for her, he had not even noticed the diminutive, unassuming Caretaker at her side. Tunnerminawait could converse in the alien tongue to a degree, as could most of the island's inmates; he had not, however, followed the nuances of their conversation.
"Yes…" he said hesitantly, offering his hand to the little man smiling up at him.
"He is my husband now."
"Oh…" he was clearly flustered, momentarily lost for words; however, quickly regaining his composure, attempting to cover the sudden downturn of his mood, he said, "Then congratulations are in order." Close by, Henry Nickolls had missed nothing.
"Mannalargenna's wife died half a moon ago," said Trucannini interrupting his melancholy. "He has not left his hut since, and will speak to no one… I think he is close to joining her."
Thankful for the distraction, he said, "Oh… poor man! Take me to his hut. Perhaps he will speak to me?"
Reaching the door of the hut and peering into the dank, dark gloom there was no sign of life. "He doesn't appear to be here," said Robinson, hopefully.
It was then that, emanating from the dark interior, a barely audible, ghostly whisper was heard. "Is that the lutetawin nowhummoe?" Ashen faced, Robinson looked in askance at Trucannini.
"Yes…" said Trucannini. "George Robinson is here."
"Come… lutetawin nowhummoe. You alone... I have been waiting for you."
"Go in," said Trucannini, eyes wide, "he will talk with you."
Tentatively entering the hut a pungent stench met him, the reek of death, and he gagged. Pausing just inside to take control of his senses, his eyes straining in the unaccustomed darkness, he said, "Mannalargenna, my old friend… where are you?"
In the corner of the room, cloaked in the gloom, something stirred. "Come closer, lutetawin nowhummoe."
Robinson did not understand what he was saying. Mannalargenna had always refrained from learning the alien language, except for the odd word or phrase to convey his acquiesce or resistance to something or other; and Robinson's knowledge of the Caretakers' tongue, as there were many dialects, was vague and general at best. "Mannalargenna… It is me: George Robinson, your friend. What is this… lutetawin-nowhummoe?"
"You…you are lutetawin nowhummoe: the ghost-skin devil!"
Chilled to the bone, the hair on the back of his neck stood up. Never considering himself a brave man he had faced dangerous situations with a degree of audacity and daring, and having felt the rush of adrenaline had responded appropriately, with flight or fight. This fear was different, rendering him incapable of either response. With his intuitive senses screaming – although he would never admit to such a thing as intuition existing – and his skin crawling, he edged forward until he could make out a sleeping pallet and a shadowy form upon it.
"Take my hand!" hissed the old man, an order rather than a request. Getting slowly to his knees, Robinson took the extended frail, bony hand in his. Suddenly, that fragile hand grasped his pudgy fingers in such a vice-like grip, he almost cried out. Attempting to pull away, he found he could not; with a strength far beyond the shrivelled, corpse-like body the old man drew him closer until their foreheads were touching. "I want my funeral pyre."
Unaccountably terrified, cold sweat trickling down the side of his face, all he could do was nod, and say, hoarsely, "Of course."
"If they put me in the ground…Be warned lutetawin nowhummoe…Rageorapper will come for you…at night…in The Dream World! Your god will not protect you…Rageorapper will come for you and use you like a woman!"
With the clammy, corpse-like skin against his and the reek of death in his nostrils Robinson felt his blood turn to ice and once more fought down his gag reflex. The death rattle was in the old man's throat as he took in one last ragged, breath. "Remember my words…if they put me in the ground…you cannot escape him… And when you finally pass from this world to the next Rageorapper will be waiting…He will take you for his bride and use you until the end of all things!" and with one final sigh, expelling the last of his stinking breath into Robinson's face, he died.
Emerging, blinking into the sunlight, face more ghost-like than ever, the self styled 'Protector' of the Caretakers said, "Mann─" before catching himself, "I mean… A great man, a great leader has passed away."
Although Mannalargenna's death was expected, most of the gathering erupted into the wailing of grief. The joy that Robinson's arrival had previous initiated was instantly forgotten, superseded now by the sorrow associated with the death of a loved one or the loss of an iconic hero; Mannalargenna had been both to Wybalenna.
Robinson wasted no time in getting as far away from the hut and the wailing, grieving Caretakers as possible. Exhausted by his journey and the disturbing affair of Mannalargenna's death, all he wanted was to be shown to his bed where he could rest, sleep and forget about the whole, dreadful experience.
As he waited for blessed sleep to engulf him he thought about the last few moments of Mannalargenna's life. 'I cannot honestly be expected to pander to the fancies of that poor, dying heathen,' he thought to himself, 'but I did the right thing by pretending to acquiesce to his whim so that in his dying moment he could be at peace,' he reasoned. As a 'good, God-fearing Christian' he could not possibly, actually condone a heathen ritual; and the threats, although spine chilling at the time, could not possibly be taken seriously. As he drifted off to sleep his last conscious thought was, 'And what sort of faith would mine be if I believed that my God could not protect me from their superstitions and their fanciful Rageorapper. He protects me from Satan. What is this Rageorapper compared to Satan?... Such nonsense!'
Doctor Henry Nickolls, as had been his habit in light of the rampant spread of infectious diseases, organised the immediate burial of Mannalargenna without the slightest consideration for any other means of disposal. The populace of Wybalenna of course by now expected nothing else. Mannalargenna was buried that day in the little, fast growing cemetery. Nickolls had considered, for a moment, postponing the burial until the following day when George Robinson might attend, but dismissed the idea, reconciling to hold a service in the chapel the next day that Robinson could attend, take part in and perhaps even give a eulogy.
"Lutetawin nowhummoe…"
He could hear someone calling that dreadful name; from somewhere far away it seemed.
"Lutetawin nowhummoe, I am here to keep you company."
Rising from his bed, annoyed, he went to the door to reprimand whomsoever it was; he would no longer permit anyone to use that name. Opening the door he found no one. The night was dark and warm and there was no moon by which to see.
"Lutetawin nowhummoe…"
There it was again… Apprehension rippled through him like an icy wind.
"Who is it?... Who is calling lutetawin nowhummoe?" he said, feeling the hair on the back of his neck stand up; apprehension turning to stark fear.
"Lutetawin Nowhummoe… I am waiting."
The voice was closer now, and had taken on a much deeper timber, but in spite of his mounting fear he found he could not help but gravitate towards the voice in the darkness. "Mannalargenna, is that you?" he heard himself ask.
The black night held swirls of darkness, blacker than black, and he could not, in spite of his growing dread, help himself but move toward the ghostly voice.
"Oh please Lord?" he said into the darkness. "Please help me?"
"Ha ha ha ha ha… Were you not warned that your god would not protect you here?
"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil─"
"Ha ha ha ha ha…" Breaking into his prayer it was then, out of the darkness, that Satan himself suddenly appeared, towering over him. Recognising him instantly as the biblical Devil – pictured from the fire and brimstone descriptions he'd had since childhood – huge and powerful upper body, muscles bulging grotesquely under black skin, with a large angular, almost simian head and eyes like glowing coals; twisting, ebony horns protruding from a low brow; and lower body, partially concealed by thick, course hair, was obviously bestial with cloven hooves.
"Come… Let us not waste the night!" bellowed the beastly abhorrence. It was then, to his abject horror, that Robinson saw, emerging through the shaggy hair at the crotch of the beast, an enormous black phallus.
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The story of The Land had been handed down from generation to generation since The Dreamtime. The Great Ancestor Spirits created The Land, all that grew in it and all the animals that inhabited it and they gave it into the keeping of the Caretakers; entrusting it to them so that they might live in harmony with it. Taking their place in the natural order of things, they took only enough to sustain themselves; always giving thanks to the spirits of their brother and sister creatures – be they wallaby or mutton bird – for their part in the grand plan. The coats of the kangaroos, wallabies and wombats taken for sustenance provided them with ample warmth for the colder seasons. They also gathered from The Land's abundance of fruit, vegetables, nuts and herbs for their health and wellbeing; moving periodically to different locations so that The Land could replenish herself. Respecting the fine balance of The Land the Caretakers kept their numbers in line with its consistency. Father taught son and mother taught daughter and this fine poise was maintained for more seasons than is possible to count. They did their job lovingly, knowing the simple joy of living.
The Great Ancestors looked after the Caretakers by granting long, mild seasons of plenty; and seasons of scarcity that were not as long and not so severe as to cause too much suffering. The Land, with its temperate climate, ample forests, pristine, crystal waterways, and generous access to the teeming oceans, provided the Caretakers with everything they could possibly need.
A nomadic people, they moved around with the seasons; sometimes leading a coastal existence: feeding from the ocean. At other times moving further up the rivers and tributaries that poured their sweet waters into the ocean to seek the shelter of the forests.
Although a nomadic people, having their own area of preference, they kept to their own region; like the people of the coast and islands of the south east, who were well disposed to the conditions of that region. Life was joyful, abundant and self perpetuating.
Living in clans: small villages of large extended families, the home structures for the warmer seasons were light and easily movable; the colder season's dwellings were sturdier, of a more permanent nature and were inevitably returned to each cycle. All the clans of a region, who spoke mostly the same language with small differences in their clan dialect, cohabitated to an extent; trading various dyes, shells and cooking or hunting tools; and of course intermarrying for diversity, strengthening bloodlines and clan bonds.
Communication with the Caretakers of other regions was more infrequent, and the language from one region to another could vary considerably. Sometimes there might even be conflict; usually arising over a misunderstanding: perhaps some perceived transgression where regions merged. Mostly, however, it would be quite accurate to say that the Caretakers lived in a perfect, natural and blissful reality.
That was before the lutetawin nowhummoe.
Back to top Chapter 1: The Prophecy
Raggera looked around his village; the good humoured hustle and bustle of his people, as they prepared for the coming celebrations, pleased him. He had led the people of the Nuenone Clan for fifteen summers now and his people never failed to show him their love and respect. He was also well respected outside of his own clan; even though they lived on an island he and his people were respected, accepted and welcomed anywhere on the mainland in the south east region of The Land.
Today Raggera was playing host to Kleeba and his people, of the Mouheneene Clan, from the mainland of the Great Southern Bay. Chuurneen, Kleeba's daughter of fifteen summers, would marry Mangana, Raggera's son of seventeen summers.
The canoes of Kleeba's people arrived and were welcomed ashore, their contribution to the wedding feast was taken to the preparation area and the throng of activity increased as the clans took advantage of the rare opportunity for social intercourse and trade.
The festivities, held in the season of new growth and time of plenty, were a joyous period shared by all, and the merrymaking continued for two days and nights before Kleeba and his people set out for home; leaving behind his daughter, Chuurneen, who was now a Nuenone princess.
First contact: One beautiful, clear day, several moons after the beginning of Mangana and Chuurneen's sixth cycle of seasons, a group of children ran hysterically into the village telling of the appearance of a strange apparition. "It must surely have come from the Great Spirits!" said Wooroowooroo, one agitated young boy. Accompanied by Mangana and the strongest of his hunters, Raggera went to see this apparition for himself.
Sure enough, floating far offshore like a huge magnificent bird in the shimmering noon light, it seemed the gods were indeed visiting their island. They watched as a small craft, alighting from the apparition, came ashore carrying several large beings of strange appearance.
Raggera and his people treated the bizarre, multi coloured creatures with reverence. After considerable, unsuccessful attempts were made to communicate with the strange beings, they presented gifts of baskets of fruit, vegetables and herbs, a generous portion of the day's catch of shell fish and a supply of sweet, crystal clear water. Happily, after receiving these tokens, the strange beings departed. Unsure if they were spirits, gods or demons, Raggera was pleased they were so easily placated.
Such an event, the subject of wide speculation, prompted mixed emotions: fear, excitement and foreboding; but eventually, as was their nature, the islanders settled once more into their harmonious existence, with another story to become part of their folklore to pass down through the generations; the day the strange spirits visited.
Mangana and Chuurneen enjoyed a relationship of such closeness that is rarely experienced. As the seasons passed, although Raggera privately agonised over his son's lack of progeny, the young couple were perfectly happy to remain childless. Their enjoyment of each other, on their perfect island home, was such that neither desired the added responsibility of children, yet, to alter their ideal relationship. And, although such things were never spoken of, Mangana was fully aware that Chuurneen took the secret women's herbs to discourage pregnancy.
"My son… Perhaps you should take another wife?... It is necessary that you continue our linage and it seems that Chuurneen is destined not to carry your child."
Mangana had been expecting something of the kind; for some time his father had been hinting that he would soon be called upon to shoulder his responsibilities. After all, as his father put it, 'It had been seven cycles of fruitless union,' and soon he would be expected to 'step up' to relieve his aging father of the responsibility of leadership. He was destined to be the head man, the chief decision maker; soon he would be 'Chief' of the Nuenone People.
"If Chuurneen is not carrying my child by the next 'season of new growth' I will take another wife."
"Pah!... It has been seven cycles! What difference is one more going to make?! You should take another, young wife, now!"
He understood that his father would be losing patience with him, but there was something else he sensed: there was desperation in his father's anger. "What difference is one more cycle going to make, father?... I pledge to you, if Chuurneen is not with child by the next season of new growth, I will take a younger, fertile wife."
"Hmm!..." Raggera grunted, before turning away.
Mangana watched him stalk moodily into the forest. There was something else bothering his father; something he obviously wasn't ready to tell. Raggera, like all the Caretakers throughout all of The Land, never deliberately misled by word or gesture; 'the way things are' was so much a 'given' that there was no understanding of the opposite, and no word for it. There did exist however everyone's innate right to withhold personal information, and Mangana knew intuitively, for whatever reason, that was what his father was doing.
Chuurneen had been little more than a child when she arrived on the island; worried about moving away from her family, she had been more than a little afraid of taking on wifely duties. Mangana had been a pleasant surprise; for one so young not only was he gentle and caring, he was immediately smitten by her as she was by him. Now, seven cycles on, they still never tired of each other and often marvelled at their magical good fortune. When Mangana came to her and told her of his talk with his father, she agreed that it was now time; Chuurneen assured him that she would indeed be carrying their child by the next season of new growth.
"Raggera is worried about something that he is withholding. I hope that we can at least give him something to cheer his spirit," and smiling, his eyes betraying the adoration he still felt for her, he added, "And anyway, it is time we thought more of the clan and less of ourselves."
"I will give you a son, my husband; I will give you a son to be proud of."
Daughters: As the next season of new growth began to show signs of its promise so too did Chuurneen. As the proud father and the grandfather to-be watched her, swollen belly and all, set out with the other women to collect shell fish, Mangana said, "Soon our linage will be assured, father," and then turning to look into the old man's eyes, "Will you not tell me now what is troubling you?"
Looking directly at his son, Raggera took a deep breath and sighed. It seemed to Mangana it was the first time for many seasons he'd seen his father relax.
"Before the strange alien craft came, Leelinger told me of the coming of the lutetawin nowhummoe. He said that one day they would be as a plague upon The Land." Leelinger was The Ancient One of Raggera's people, one who conversed with the spirits.
"But they never came back," said Mangana.
"They will return… again and again, and each time there will be more. Leelinger has foretold this." Raggera paused, as if assessing the weight of what he was about to say. "Leelinger has also foretold that you will be the last son of our line… And your daughter will be the last Caretaker to walk The Land."
Surely you are not saying that our entire clan will perish?!" he said, shocked by such a revelation.
Raggera shook his head sadly, looking spent and weary… "Listen to what I am saying, my son…" clearly Mangana had not understood the magnitude of Leelinger's prophecy. "Your daughter will be the last Caretaker…" he began slowly, "in all of The Land!" Mangana was still struggling with the enormity of that statement as he went on… "In her lifetime she will suffer such pain as has never been felt in all of the seasons of the Caretakers! She will witness the end of our world! The end of the Caretakers' world! And she will be forced to experience the world of the lutetawin nowhummoe before she is finally free!"
Listening in awe, the enormity of the prophecy bending his mind, Mangana could still not wholly envisage it. The fate of his unborn daughter… his people… his world! "How can that be?!" he lamented. He was destined to spend the whole of his life never quite coming to terms with Leelinger's prophecy.
Second contact: By the time the aliens next arrived on the island Mangana had (quite deliberately) almost forgotten about the prophecy. Four seasons of plenty had come and gone; Chuurneen had blessed him with two beautiful daughters, Lowhenunne and Maggerleede, and it had been six moons since Raggera had moved on to be with his ancestors.
Word of the aliens landing on the mainland had reached the island from time to time; one disturbing report in particular of the aliens hunting kangaroo and wallaby with thunder and lightening; Mangana, being a sensible man, chose to consider it just a fanciful story.
The next time the aliens came to his island, remembering their last visit, Mangana met them on the shore with similar gifts and supplies. However this time, making their intentions clear, they stayed several days, cutting down trees, making repairs to their vessel. Seeking to placate and be rid of his unwelcome visitors Mangana complied with their wishes.
When the huge craft eventually departed he was left with vague feelings of foreboding but put it down to the stories his father had told him about Leelinger's prophecy. However, no sooner had they departed when he was confronted by a distraught woman. "They have taken my baby!" said Winneranerra. "They have taken my little girl!.. She is just a child!"
Winneranerra, recently widowed, had been the young wife of his father's closest friend, Tookee. Mangana actually suspected that it was the sudden departure to the spirit world of his father's last boyhood friend (they had become hunters together) that had prompted Raggera too to join his ancestors.
"Are you sure that Kirrawakiki is not just hiding or playing with her friends?" said Mangana, as a picture of the bright eyed little girl of ten summers sprang to his mind.
"I have spoken to everyone and looked everywhere!!" she wailed.
Mangana immediately assembled the clan. "I want the entire island searched from end to end, with no stone left unturned─"
"It will be of no consequence!"
Everyone turned to see who dared interrupt their Chief. Leelinger, The Ancient One, had appeared from the forest. He was rarely seen these days. "The ghost skin devils have taken her," he said. Without another word, seemingly fading from their sight to become one with the forest, he disappeared.
Turning once more to Mangana for guidance they waited expectantly; after a moment he said, "We will mourn the loss of Kirrawakiki and burn a pyre so that her spirit might find its way to her ancestors," and looking out across the Great Southern Bay to the main body of The Land he said, quietly, "It has begun!"
Back to top Chapter 2: Invasion
When the enormous vessels first appeared off the coast of the mainland, initially the people watched from hiding as the aliens were ferried ashore. From the very beginning there had been something ominous about these strange interlopers; they treated their own clan so abominably as to leave in no doubt how they would treat others.
One day, landing in the Great Southern Bay, they brought several poor, bound wretches ashore and tied them to trees. When their captors ripped a thin covering from their backs their skin was seen to be the colour of the ghost gum tree; combined with a foul stench it gave them the appearance of week old corpses. While they were beaten with a devise that cut and ripped until long after the ghostly skin was torn from their backs they screamed and writhed in agony. It was only then, when the blood flowed thick and red, that it was known for sure these beings were truly living creatures and not ghost spirits.
Whether any of those scourged that day survived is not known; for some appeared to have perished while two of them managed, incredibly, to stagger away. Whatever the reason for the terrible torture it certainly demonstrated the hardiness of this strange clan. The fate of two of the unhappy group was left in no doubt however: still bound, they were suspended by their necks until their struggles ceased and the stench of their waste was in evidence as far as the eye could see.
Their weapons, although far different from the Caretakers', could be clearly identified as weapons and some of those proved to be terrible indeed. Again they demonstrated upon their own kind that terrible power; within the space of half a moon three of them, obviously wishing to leave the clan, stole away in the night. The following day a group of hunters from their clan easily tracked them half a day's walk along the shoreline. Determined not to return, however, they put up a valiant fight but were cut down with a terrible ferocity by thunder sticks. The Caretakers would eventually discover just how devastatingly effective those thunder sticks, or muskets, could be.
There was another strange thing about this bizarre clan; they brought no females with them. Observed using other males as females, although that was not unknown, it seemed to be their way entirely; until eventually some of the Caretakers became so curious as to be careless and were captured. When others attempted to free their brothers they were massacred. Some of those who didn't die straight away were tortured until they revealed the location of their village; then the real horror began.
In one foul swoop, the rest of the clan: young ones, women and babies were savagely slaughtered; except for some of the young females, particularly those between ten and twenty cycles. Used terribly for weeks, and some of them months, most of them eventually died; if not deliberately at the hands of their rapists then via the diseases contracted from them. Two of the poor wretches eventually escaped into the forest and were taken in by a neighbouring clan; only to spread disease there, effectively almost entirely wiping out yet another clan.
It was not long before another great vessel came; in time they became a common sight in the Great Southern Bay. Eventually, unfortunately, the Caretakers would get to know, more intimately, the mighty ships of the lutetawin nowhummoe.
They had first arrived when Lydider's mother was a child, and by the time Lydider was the young, second wife of Mangana the invaders had begun to spread across The Land; their settlements an all too common disfigurement. Wherever they went they cut down the great trees, put up their ugly, permanent shelters and defiled the sacred places.
There was no way of cohabitating: they would brook nothing but their own degenerate culture. Educated by early encounters the Caretakers avoided contact, moving away from them whenever possible; however, as their number increased that became an ever more difficult task.
I have so far spoken of the invader as if they were of one line, and although they were so similar in appearance as to be thought brothers, they behaved as if they were coexisting groups of enemies. Large numbers of them were treated like possessions; slaves, bound for most of their lives; locked up, tied up and worked: cutting down trees, breaking the earth and rocks, and erecting more of their shelters. Certainly not thanked for all their labours, they were beaten and punished and sometimes killed in a most barbaric fashion.
Eventually they brought some of their females to The Land and they also were seen to be in different categories: some used in the worst possible way, some treated as slaves, and yet others – along with their mates – given the reverence one might give to 'The Spirit Ancestors' themselves.
The complex societies of the invaders were impossible to understand, and although they were possessed of knowledge and understanding the Caretakers could not hope to comprehend, they were completely devoid of empathy and the simple joy of living, which they were determined to strip from the Caretakers.
Offering: Mangana was a caring chief, who led his people with wisdom and compassion; however, he was not equipped to deal with the deceitfulness of the lutetawin nowhummoe; although it should be added that no one would have been up to such a task.
Treachery, deceit and defilement seemed to be part of their cultural design. Clearly, they could never co-exist with any other culture. They meant to make The Land their own while using and abusing everything upon it, including the Caretakers.
They cleared the forest as they saw fit, whether the Caretakers were in evidence or not; having no regard or respect for The Land or the Caretakers. Initially, the people of The Land tried to avoid them but the alien invasion was relentless, and conflict became inevitable.
There was bloodshed on both sides; however, the far superior weapons of the invaders guaranteed that large confrontations were a fairly one sided affair; with the wholesale slaughter of the brave young men of The Land.
In the early times, while the lutetawin nowhummoe were relatively few, Mangana even tried to negotiate a kind of co-existence with them.
One day, leading a party of about thirty of his people, he approached a handful of the lutetawin nowhummoe who, having cleared an area of forest, were erecting one of their permanent dwellings. Initially, thinking that Mangana and his people were attacking, the lutetawin nowhummoe reacted aggressively, but as it soon became obvious they were approaching peacefully the unarmed Mangana was allowed to draw near, accompanied by Chuurneen and Lydider, with an offering of fresh caught mutton bird, crab and lobster.
Handing over the fresh catch, attempting to communicate, Mangana said, "This is a token of peace and a message from our people that there is enough bounty provided by The Land to feed all, and there is no need for our clans to quarrel." However, failing to understand, the gifts were received with blank expressions and grunts. He tried to communicate through signs, and scratching drawings in the earth, but it seemed they were incapable of any real communication.
When they were discourteous, not returning his friendly gestures or inviting him to share the meal – careful to mask his disappointment, and disgust at their rank, unwashed odour – he stayed in their company only long enough that it would not seem impolite. Making friendly gestures and happy faces he and his wives left the stern faced invaders.
Returning to his people he told them that the first step had been taken and he was hopeful this might be the beginning of a peaceful co-existence. There followed a tentative period of peace and it seemed that perhaps, while avoiding each other by mutual consent, the two cultures could co-exist on The Land.
Loss: One warm, balmy day just before the fall of leaves, when the days begin to grow short, Chuurneen gave birth to a baby boy.
After having difficult times with the births of both daughters, in fact barely surviving, fearing she would never give him the son he so desperately wanted it was Chuurneen who had encouraged Mangana to take Lydider as his second wife; however, after all these years, it was she, his first love, who had presented him with a son.
A few days after the celebrations, Larkikoka led a small group of families from Mangana's village to a place where the water falls from the mountain before its final journey to the ocean. Mangana entrusted him with the responsibility of looking after his youngest wife, Lydider, and their daughter, Trucannini, of just three summers.
While the men were fishing around a deep pool, the women were a little further along filling baskets with shellfish and the six small children played in the shallows.
Standing motionless, waist deep, in the crystal clear water at the edge of the deeper pool Larkikoka waited, barely aware of the steady, hypnotic thunder of the waterfall. All his focus was on the big fish turning this way and that as it fed on the bottom. Waiting for the moment when it would pause near enough for his spear to reach, he was thinking that, along with the rest of the catch, this would be enough; he would then gather the rest of his little group and return to the village.
"Larkikoka!!"
Startled, he turned; fifty paces away six lutetawin nowhummoe were bundling the four women into a small boat, brutally subduing them, while a little way off the children screamed hysterically.
"Aaarrgh!!" yelling out his frustration and anger he started towards them. A puff of smoke from one of the lutetawin nowhummoe's weapons was followed by a 'BOOM!' like the sound of thunder, and then a hardly perceivable splash in the water just in front of him was followed by a sharp pain in his right thigh and he fell clutching his leg. As he tried to stand there was another 'Boom!' and Wangegamon, one of the other hunters, was thrown backwards never to move again. Larkikoka groped for his spear, looking up just as another shot was fired, 'Boom!' and Mammalt spun backwards, screaming: his left shoulder a bloody mess.
Woreguimoni, the last remaining hunter, now within twenty paces of the boat launched his spear and one of the lutetawin nowhummoe, dropping his oar, grasped in vain where it had gone straight through his neck; he quickly choked to death on his own blood. One of the other lutetawin nowhummoe, managing to reload his musket, turned on the still approaching but now weaponless Woreguimoni just as Lydider, who had managed to get loose, threw herself screeching on his back. Woreguimoni was almost upon them when one of the others, managing to reload, turned his musket on him… 'Boom!' hitting him point blank in the face, and without pause, using the butt of his musket he caved in Lydider's skull like a ripe melon before throwing her lifeless body into the river.
By the time Larkikoka pulled the badly injured Mammalt from the river the lutetawin nowhummoe boat was rounding the headland at the mouth of the river, apparently heading towards the shelters where Mangana had taken gifts of food in an attempt to curry some kind of coexistence with the lutetawin nowhummoe.
A short time later, accompanied by the hysterical children, Larkikoka staggered into the village carrying the dying Mammalt. After retrieving the slain bodies of Lydider and the others; while the women, old men and children collected wood and prepared the funeral pyres, incensed with grief, Mangana led an angry party to the shelters of the invaders.
A woman was hanging washing on a line and a man was chopping firewood as they entered the clearing in front of the invaders' dwellings. The man went down in a hail of spears before he realised what was happening. The woman ran, but a spear in the back stopped her scream; looking down in bewilderment at the half length of spear protruding through her chest, she sank to her knees and died. Oblivious of the attack, a couple were having sex on one of the beds when Mangana and his clan burst in and beat them to death with waddies.
Making a wide circle around the invaders' dwellings they came across another two men cutting down a tree and skewered them with spears before they could pick up their dreadful weapons. There was no sign of the missing women.
The next day the clan were wailing and crying, streaked with ash from the funeral pyres when Teekooltermee, one of the missing women, staggered into the village more dead than alive.
After being repeatedly raped by the ship's crew, the last of them had fallen into a drunken sleep on top of her; managing to squirm out from under him, she had slipped over the side and escaped from the ship that was anchored way out in the bay. It was one of the ships that hunted the giant fish.
Back to top Chapter 3: Restless Spirit
Before long, more invaders came to replace the ones Mangana in his anger had wiped out; and not just a handful this time. On such a small island, Mangana knew he would not be able to avoid further conflict for very long and thought it prudent to move the entire clan onto the mainland.
Soon the Bay was busy with ships that came and went, and many permanent structures were built by a seemingly endless army of slaves. It was not safe to stay within striking distance of the ghost skin encampments: without reason or warning they would attack, reaping death and destruction. Mangana had to take his people further away, deeper into the forest. All of the clans were constantly on the move to stay one step away from the invaders as they spread like a fungus across The Land.
Lowhenunne’s wisdom: One day, three seasons after the murder of Lydider, while the children of Mangana's village were gathering berries, his eldest daughter, Lowhenunne, and her young sister, Trucannini, took a little known path to where their father's favourite sweet, purple berries grew.
Having reached a bush full of the coveted purple berries, Lowhenunne fashioned her wallaby pelt mantle into a container and was filling it with the juicy berries while Trucannini, face and hands now purple, gorged herself on the sweet fruit.
Grrrrrr!
Initially too terrified to move, the girls froze, but as the growling persisted they turned slowly to find themselves confronted by two of the striped predators with the large teeth.
The striped ones did not generally come near the Caretakers, usually preying on easier pickings: experience having told them that a well aimed spear could quickly end their existence. However, they did sometimes take a baby left unattended, or a little one. Having strayed from the main group, the girls were now in an extremely vulnerable position.
Trucannini sobbed quietly, quaking with fear… "Trucannini…" whispered Lowhenunne. "Remain quite still, and stop crying. We must not let them know our fear. We must blend with the bush. We must become the bush, so the striped ones will not see us as prey." Very slowly, taking her sisters hand, Lowhenunne lifted both of her hands in the air and began to sway like a bush blowing gently in a breeze. Ceasing her weeping, lifting her other arm, Trucannini followed her sister's lead.
The growling slowly abated and the striped ones' fearsome teeth disappeared. Looking unsure for a moment, the predators then slunk away.
"How did you know?" said Trucannini, eyes still wide, watching the undergrowth where the predators had disappeared only heart beats before.
Lowhenunne swallowed with difficulty, she hadn't realised how dry her throat was. Quickly popping a berry into her mouth and chewing, she said, "When the time comes for you to take responsibility… you too will know what to do," and then looking into Trucannini's eyes she added, "Father must not know of this, or he will be angry with me for putting his favourite, baby daughter in danger."
Looking at her sister with adoration, Trucannini said, "It will be our secret," and they exchanged secretive smiles before making their way back to the others.
Become the rocks: Four summers after the incident with the predators; Trucannini, with her bright, beautiful eyes and cheeky smile, was still her father’s favourite, even more so than his son, Roberriddy, though he would never admit it. She was still tiny even by the Caretakers standards; smaller even than her brother and his little friend, Larkiwoora, a boy of just six summers.
Since the alien invasion of The Land the Caretaker's lives had become one long game of hide and seek, and the consequences of being found could be dire. One day Trucannini and her sisters and brother, along with five other youngsters were collecting shellfish off a rocky peninsula, near yet another new encampment.
"Invaders!" a distraught Lowhenunne called, sprinting into view from the far side of a rocky outcrop. "Run!!" she yelled.
Taken by surprise, Trucannini and the others paused just long enough to see three, blood splattered, lutetawin nowhummoe lumbering into view carrying long, blood covered clubs, and now yelling and howling. No sooner had they turned to flee towards the forest when they were confronted on the landward side by another bloodied, howling group. Screaming with fright, the youngsters scampered up the rocky embankment and a terrifying chase ensued.
The landscape was rough, the children were quick and agile and used to moving swiftly over such terrain and, adrenaline fuelled, they pulled away from their pursuers who were, although huge and fearsome, awkward and slow by comparison.
However, as they crested the embankment, they faced a third group bellowing their triumph. They had been herded into a trap by the wily, experienced killers of the furry ones of the ocean: the sealers.
Coming from a ship anchored off shore, they called themselves hunters. They were no hunters – a hunter lives by the code and takes only what is needed, as the Caretakers did – these creatures, typical of their kind, slaughtered the young furry ones in vast numbers, way beyond anything that could be called need. Bashing the baby seals heads in with clubs, they skinned them and, leaving their carcasses to rot in the sun, took only their pelts.
In blind panic, the children scattered. Anticipating the children would go landward, toward their village, the trap closed and the sealers had most of them boxed in. However, cutting back towards the peninsular, Larkiwoora, Trucannini and Roberriddy almost slipped through.
"A-a-a-h… Trucannini-i-i-i!!"
Glancing backwards, Trucannini stopped dead in her tracks… Caught by one of the sealers, lifted into the air, her brother was struggling futilely. With no idea what she could possibly do, she had started towards them when another sealer ran past them in her direction; turning again she took off and a new surge of adrenaline aided her flight. It wasn't long however, before she could hear the clump, clump, clump of the sealer's boots through the undergrowth and soon she could almost feel his laboured breathing on the back of her neck. 'How could this be?' she thought, demanding more of her fatiguing body as he gained on her. A quick glance behind told the story. This sealer was much younger than the others: he could not have been more than fourteen summers. Suddenly, he tackled her and they went rolling through the undergrowth.
Although younger and much smaller than the other sealers, he was wiry, strong and very much bigger than the tiny Trucannini, easily pinioning her. Exhausted, and realising the futility of trying to match strength with him, she allowed him to subdue her. However, instead of getting to his feet and taking her back to the others he forced her legs apart, groping roughly between her thighs, while panting his stinking breath in her face and uttering something in his alien language; it was obvious what her immediate fate was to be.
Terrified, her initial shocked response was a paralysing numbness which the young sealer took to be acquiescence. Holding her down with one hand, he fumbled with his free hand, exposing his ardent young manhood. Suddenly, seizing, she had his exposed testicles gripped in her tiny hands and was wrenching as hard as she could and then, as he instinctively clawed at her fingers, she latched onto his face with her teeth, biting and ripping like a wild animal. As the panic stricken young sealer tried to restrain her hands, while pushing away the snarling, biting little face Trucannini latched onto the top joint of his little finger. Biting down hard, she wrenched her head from side to side until there was a popping, crunching sound. His scream was deafening as, jaws tightly shut and still vigorously shaking her head from side to side, she tried to sever it completely. Between the agony of his mangled testicles and his mutilated finger he was screaming as though the Rageorapper was tearing his soul apart until, abruptly, his head flew sideward and he was silenced.
Trucannini looked up in amazement into Larkiwoora's wide, frightened eyes; he was gripping a broken branch almost as big as himself. In an instant she was on her feet. One quick, cautionary glance at the groaning, senseless sealer and they were running full tilt again towards the peninsular.
Realising they were no longer being chased she quickly found a hiding place among the rocks and undergrowth. Regaining his breath, Larkiwoora began to sob uncontrollably.
"Shhhh!!... If you do not keep quite…" she whispered, "they will find us."
"Aaaaheeeee!!!… Aaaaheeeee!!!" Penetrating the still, hot summer afternoon air, the echo of horror-filled screams reached them from far away and Larkiwoora instantly fell silent.
"W-w-what was that?" he whispered, petrified; eyes large, dark pools.
Trucannini was terrified also, but trying to appear calm for the sake of her younger charge, and remembering Lowhenunne's wisdom when they had been confronted by the striped predators, she whispered, "Shhh!... We must become the rocks, so that even if the monsters were to walk over us they would still not know we are here."
It had been Maggerleede's horror filled screams of pain as she was brutally raped that had quieted Larkiwoora. After those initial screams she and the others were gagged, less their screams bring the adults, armed and dangerous.
All but Trucannini and Larkiwoora were caught: five girls and two boys. The ten sealers raped the children indiscriminately, boys and girls alike. As Lowhenunne was being brutally taken from behind another sealer, tearing away her gag, forced himself into her mouth…
"Aaaarrrgh!!!" he screamed, as Lowhenunne bit down so hard her teeth almost met and with grim determination she held on as her two attackers beat her relentlessly with their fists, while blood pumped forth in great spurts from the injured organ. Eventually another sealer put a pistol to her slender back and blew her spine in two and with one final convulsion, completely severing the offending organ, she died.
The maimed sealer continued to scream, while futilely attempting to stem the flow of blood.
Chuurneen’s grief: Some time later as the cool of evening approached, and they were still undiscovered, Trucannini led her young charge out of their hiding place and back along the peninsular. As night fell they came upon a devastating scene of carnage.
Fearing the shot would bring warriors with their spears, the sealers had bludgeoned four of the children to death with their clubs before making good their escape. Maggerleede and Roberriddy were nowhere to be found.
The poor little corpses were strewn around with their heads bashed to a pulp, already covered with ants and others of nature's six legged cleaners as the last rays of sunlight glinted off the thick, bright blood.
Mangana had taken out a hunting party that day and it wasn't until they returned, in the late afternoon, and a single shot was heard from the direction of the peninsular that, alarmed, they set off in search of the children. Trucannini was still crying, Lowhenunne's head cradled in her lap, with Larkiwoora kneeling at her side when they found them.
Scouting the peninsular they discovered the pale, bloodless body of a dead sealer and took the corpse back to the village with the bodies of the poor little children.
"Cut this savage into pieces." said Mangana calmly. "We will spike his head in a tree near the place their canoes come ashore to serve as a warning." Separated from his head, the rest of his remains would be thrown into the sea to feed the sharks. His restless spirit would wander, lost for eternity.
While preparing Lowhenunne for her cremation, Chuurneen discovered the severed portion of male anatomy in her mouth. Already distraught by the fate of her children, she became so distressed that she had to be physically restrained from throwing herself onto the burning pyre. The families of the dead children covered themselves in their ashes and for three days and nights they wailed their anguished grief. On the fourth night Chuurneen disappeared into the forest. The Ancient One said she had gone to join her children.
Back to top Chapter 14: The Devil Take You
It seemed the island would be their prison until, one by one, they all died; and at their current rate of decline that would not be long. Tanleboneyerr went down with the coughing disease and died within two days, devastating her husband. Henry Nickolls had Mannalargenna physically restrained and locked up until after the burial to prevent him from putting his wife on a funeral pyre. Not permitted to cremate her remains and say farewell in the proper manner; Mannalargenna retreated completely from the world. Taking to his bed, he refused to see or talk to anyone. Wymurrick tried to reason with him, but to no avail. Trucannini, who the old warrior had come to look on as a daughter, could get no response. It was as though he had already retired from this world and it was only a question of time before he crossed to The Land of Dreams.
Trucannini was becoming resigned to the inevitable fate of her people and her place in the prophecy. With their rituals and most of their natural inclinations and pursuits denied them, the Caretakers were gradually falling into the habits of their alien captors: tea, sugar, tobacco and alcohol; giving the aliens an even larger measure of control. With her only stimulation the odd confrontation with Henry Nickolls, even Trucannini was succumbing to the ghost skin indulgences.
"You need the attention of a good man," said Tunnerminawait. He and just about every other man on the island, Caretaker or alien, had propositioned her in some way or other, and Henry Nickolls was certainly a supercilious fool; however, if not for him the soldiers would probably have taken her by force. Starved of affection and in need of love and nurturing, she was still the most attractive woman on the island.
"Have you any idea where I could find him?"
"What?!"
That was half the problem: she was so much smarter than any of the available men. "Never mind, Tunnerminawait, you are such a sweet talker I can resist you no longer."
"What?!"
His persistence had paid off; that and the fact that she was growing tired of fighting them all off. "Anyway… it might be nice to be married again."
When it sunk in that she had agreed to be his wife he was overjoyed. Hardly able to believe his good fortune, he told any who would listen of their betrothal. In general, the news was received positively: the other women were happier now that their men would no longer hanker after her, not so openly anyway; Henry Nickolls was happy, relieved that at least one bone of contention was no longer on the table. He even tried, very much in vain, to persuade her to let him join them in holy matrimony. Regardless, it was an occasion to celebrate and everyone was pleased about that.
The prodigal returns: The supply ship was two moons overdue and they had been out of essential supplies for almost a moon; so much so they had recently been allowed to plunder a neighbouring island – Barren Island, a virtual bird sanctuary – for eggs and whatever birds they could catch.
"Sail ahoy!!"
When a sail was spied on the horizon the whole island populace gathered at the little jetty with an air of excitement.
"Look!... It's George Robinson!!" cried Pagerly, excited. Even at quite some distance, they spotted his bulk climbing down into the little rowboat to be ferried ashore. Even Trucannini found herself caught up in the enthusiasm. When it came down to it, George Robinson was just another ghost skin and basically out for himself but, she reasoned, he came closest of all the aliens to understanding.
As the boat drew closer they could see that he had aged; he was heavier, his jowly face even ruddier and his red hair was turning grey. It was also obvious, as he approached the little jetty, that he was still ill at ease on the water; seeming ready to throw up at any moment. However, as he stepped ashore to cheers and acclamation, like some homecoming hero or visiting royalty, and overjoyed to be once more on terra firma, his face transformed and his smile went from ear to ear.
"My lovely people… How nice it is to see you all again!" he said.
Henry Nickolls shook his hand but, fearing he was being replaced or supplanted, was observably uncomfortable.
George Robinson shook hands with and greeted everyone who jostled around him, but his eyes flitted hither and thither, not resting until they found Trucannini at the rear of the crowd, and then pushing his bulk through the throng he finally reached the tiny naked form that still captivated him… "Trucannini," he said smiling but it was lost amid the general hubbub; raising his voice, he added, "You look well."
"And you look… prosperous," she said tactfully.
"Maybe we could… talk, later," he said with subtle innuendo.
She smiled then and he was definitely getting the wrong impression until she said, "You remember Tunnerminawait?" Eyes only for her, he had not even noticed the diminutive, unassuming Caretaker at her side. Tunnerminawait could converse in the alien tongue to a degree, as could most of the island's inmates; he had not, however, followed the nuances of their conversation.
"Yes…" he said hesitantly, offering his hand to the little man smiling up at him.
"He is my husband now."
"Oh…" he was clearly flustered, momentarily lost for words; however, quickly regaining his composure, attempting to cover the sudden downturn of his mood, he said, "Then congratulations are in order." Close by, Henry Nickolls had missed nothing.
"Mannalargenna's wife died half a moon ago," said Trucannini interrupting his melancholy. "He has not left his hut since, and will speak to no one… I think he is close to joining her."
Thankful for the distraction, he said, "Oh… poor man! Take me to his hut. Perhaps he will speak to me?"
Reaching the door of the hut and peering into the dank, dark gloom there was no sign of life. "He doesn't appear to be here," said Robinson, hopefully.
It was then that, emanating from the dark interior, a barely audible, ghostly whisper was heard. "Is that the lutetawin nowhummoe?" Ashen faced, Robinson looked in askance at Trucannini.
"Yes…" said Trucannini. "George Robinson is here."
"Come… lutetawin nowhummoe. You alone... I have been waiting for you."
"Go in," said Trucannini, eyes wide, "he will talk with you."
Tentatively entering the hut a pungent stench met him, the reek of death, and he gagged. Pausing just inside to take control of his senses, his eyes straining in the unaccustomed darkness, he said, "Mannalargenna, my old friend… where are you?"
In the corner of the room, cloaked in the gloom, something stirred. "Come closer, lutetawin nowhummoe."
Robinson did not understand what he was saying. Mannalargenna had always refrained from learning the alien language, except for the odd word or phrase to convey his acquiesce or resistance to something or other; and Robinson's knowledge of the Caretakers' tongue, as there were many dialects, was vague and general at best. "Mannalargenna… It is me: George Robinson, your friend. What is this… lutetawin-nowhummoe?"
"You…you are lutetawin nowhummoe: the ghost-skin devil!"
Chilled to the bone, the hair on the back of his neck stood up. Never considering himself a brave man he had faced dangerous situations with a degree of audacity and daring, and having felt the rush of adrenaline had responded appropriately, with flight or fight. This fear was different, rendering him incapable of either response. With his intuitive senses screaming – although he would never admit to such a thing as intuition existing – and his skin crawling, he edged forward until he could make out a sleeping pallet and a shadowy form upon it.
"Take my hand!" hissed the old man, an order rather than a request. Getting slowly to his knees, Robinson took the extended frail, bony hand in his. Suddenly, that fragile hand grasped his pudgy fingers in such a vice-like grip, he almost cried out. Attempting to pull away, he found he could not; with a strength far beyond the shrivelled, corpse-like body the old man drew him closer until their foreheads were touching. "I want my funeral pyre."
Unaccountably terrified, cold sweat trickling down the side of his face, all he could do was nod, and say, hoarsely, "Of course."
"If they put me in the ground…Be warned lutetawin nowhummoe…Rageorapper will come for you…at night…in The Dream World! Your god will not protect you…Rageorapper will come for you and use you like a woman!"
With the clammy, corpse-like skin against his and the reek of death in his nostrils Robinson felt his blood turn to ice and once more fought down his gag reflex. The death rattle was in the old man's throat as he took in one last ragged, breath. "Remember my words…if they put me in the ground…you cannot escape him… And when you finally pass from this world to the next Rageorapper will be waiting…He will take you for his bride and use you until the end of all things!" and with one final sigh, expelling the last of his stinking breath into Robinson's face, he died.
Emerging, blinking into the sunlight, face more ghost-like than ever, the self styled 'Protector' of the Caretakers said, "Mann─" before catching himself, "I mean… A great man, a great leader has passed away."
Although Mannalargenna's death was expected, most of the gathering erupted into the wailing of grief. The joy that Robinson's arrival had previous initiated was instantly forgotten, superseded now by the sorrow associated with the death of a loved one or the loss of an iconic hero; Mannalargenna had been both to Wybalenna.
Robinson wasted no time in getting as far away from the hut and the wailing, grieving Caretakers as possible. Exhausted by his journey and the disturbing affair of Mannalargenna's death, all he wanted was to be shown to his bed where he could rest, sleep and forget about the whole, dreadful experience.
As he waited for blessed sleep to engulf him he thought about the last few moments of Mannalargenna's life. 'I cannot honestly be expected to pander to the fancies of that poor, dying heathen,' he thought to himself, 'but I did the right thing by pretending to acquiesce to his whim so that in his dying moment he could be at peace,' he reasoned. As a 'good, God-fearing Christian' he could not possibly, actually condone a heathen ritual; and the threats, although spine chilling at the time, could not possibly be taken seriously. As he drifted off to sleep his last conscious thought was, 'And what sort of faith would mine be if I believed that my God could not protect me from their superstitions and their fanciful Rageorapper. He protects me from Satan. What is this Rageorapper compared to Satan?... Such nonsense!'
Doctor Henry Nickolls, as had been his habit in light of the rampant spread of infectious diseases, organised the immediate burial of Mannalargenna without the slightest consideration for any other means of disposal. The populace of Wybalenna of course by now expected nothing else. Mannalargenna was buried that day in the little, fast growing cemetery. Nickolls had considered, for a moment, postponing the burial until the following day when George Robinson might attend, but dismissed the idea, reconciling to hold a service in the chapel the next day that Robinson could attend, take part in and perhaps even give a eulogy.
"Lutetawin nowhummoe…"
He could hear someone calling that dreadful name; from somewhere far away it seemed.
"Lutetawin nowhummoe, I am here to keep you company."
Rising from his bed, annoyed, he went to the door to reprimand whomsoever it was; he would no longer permit anyone to use that name. Opening the door he found no one. The night was dark and warm and there was no moon by which to see.
"Lutetawin nowhummoe…"
There it was again… Apprehension rippled through him like an icy wind.
"Who is it?... Who is calling lutetawin nowhummoe?" he said, feeling the hair on the back of his neck stand up; apprehension turning to stark fear.
"Lutetawin Nowhummoe… I am waiting."
The voice was closer now, and had taken on a much deeper timber, but in spite of his mounting fear he found he could not help but gravitate towards the voice in the darkness. "Mannalargenna, is that you?" he heard himself ask.
The black night held swirls of darkness, blacker than black, and he could not, in spite of his growing dread, help himself but move toward the ghostly voice.
"Oh please Lord?" he said into the darkness. "Please help me?"
"Ha ha ha ha ha… Were you not warned that your god would not protect you here?
"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil─"
"Ha ha ha ha ha…" Breaking into his prayer it was then, out of the darkness, that Satan himself suddenly appeared, towering over him. Recognising him instantly as the biblical Devil – pictured from the fire and brimstone descriptions he'd had since childhood – huge and powerful upper body, muscles bulging grotesquely under black skin, with a large angular, almost simian head and eyes like glowing coals; twisting, ebony horns protruding from a low brow; and lower body, partially concealed by thick, course hair, was obviously bestial with cloven hooves.
"Come… Let us not waste the night!" bellowed the beastly abhorrence. It was then, to his abject horror, that Robinson saw, emerging through the shaggy hair at the crotch of the beast, an enormous black phallus.
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The content of this site is copyright protected.
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