Nightpeople by Anthony Eaton

Author:Anthony Eaton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: University of Queensland Press

Night had long since passed into day, and with the return to the surface came the return of Saria’s appetite.

When they emerged into the hut that guarded the entrance to the tunnel, Dreamer Wanji crossed straight to the door and heaved the shutter aside, resting it against the wall before stepping out into bright sunlight.

‘You coming?’

‘What if somebody sees me?’

‘Ah.’ He shook his head. ‘That don’t matter.’

‘Dariand told me there might be people from Olympic here.’

‘Even so, don’t make any difference. After what happened down there last night …’ His voice trailed off.

‘What?’

‘Don’t worry about it. Just trust me that nobody’s gonna bother us.’

Why not? Saria wondered. After all the secrecy involved in getting her into town, what could have changed?

‘Come on.’

She walked beside Dreamer Wanji as he guided her through the dusty alleys.

Woormra in daylight was uninspiring. Like Olympic, everything was coated with a layer of fine red dust, and the fierce sun baked it so the entire place had an earthy, cooked smell.

Winding through narrow alleyways, they came to the large cleared area in the centre of the town. A group of old women stood gossiping around a low stone structure in the middle of it. Three men, also old, sat in the shade of a hut on the far side and a couple of skinny, dirty dogs chased one another in circles, snapping at each other’s heels. Saria thought one of them might have been Baanti’s animal, but as the two skittered by close to her, she realised her mistake.

‘What are those women doing?’

The women had buckets and a strange array of pots and jugs.

‘Gettin’ water. That’s the well.’

‘Well?’

‘A real deep hole. Right down into the Earthmother. She fills the bottom with water, and that’s how we live. They got one over at Olympic, too, although theirs isn’t as reliable as this one. Filthy water, too. This one here’s the best well in the Darklands.’

‘Where does the water come from?’

Wanji gave her a strange look.

‘I jus’ told you. The Earthmother.’ He led her towards a hut opposite, on a course that would take them past the group. They’d walked only a few steps when one of the women nudged her neighbour and they all fell silent, watching. Saria itched under their narrowed gazes.

‘Why are they staring?’

‘Don’t worry, they’re harmless.’

One of the women broke from the group and rushed towards them. She was gaunt and thin, her clothes so tattered they looked as if they might drop off her at any moment. As she approached, Saria drew closer to Dreamer Wanji.

‘That’s her! That’s her!’ The old woman pointed a gnarled finger and shouted. ‘They told me and I said to meself, "Psht, that girl was dead as she came outa her mum, she was," and I remember ‘cause I was there when Dreamer Wanji burned you, and I remember all that, right? But they all reckoned you were here, and …’

She reached and stroked dry, grubby fingers through Saria’s hair and down her face, touching her eyes and lips, probing and feeling as if to make certain that Saria was real.

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