Outback Born Read online

  OUTBACK BORN

  A Novella by K’Anne Meinel

  Kindle Edition

  Published by:

  Shadoe Publishing for

  K’Anne Meinel on Kindle

  Copyright © K’Anne Meinel August 2019

  OUTBACK BORN

  Kindle Edition License Notes:

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  K’Anne Meinel is available for comments at [email protected] as well as on

  Facebook @ http://www.facebook.com/K.Anne.Meinel.Fan.Page,

  LinkedIn @ https://www.linkedin.com/in/k-anne-meinel-a026385a,

  or her blog @ http://kannemeinel.wordpress.com/,

  or on Twitter @ https://twitter.com/KAnneMeinel,

  or on her website @ www.kannemeinel.com

  if you would like to follow her to find out about stories and book’s releases.

  or check with

  www.ShadoePublishing.com or http://ShadoePublishing.wordpress.com/.

  Dedicated to anyone who thinks I’m writing about them.

  I am.

  K’Anne

  CHAPTER ONE

  The heat would have killed a lesser man or woman, but the small group was used to it. They stood there for a moment, each standing on one leg as they waited. Had they sat on the ground or laid down; the heat would have been infinitely worse. The sand was blistering hot to the touch. By standing with only one foot touching the scorching sands at a time, it lessened the amount of fiery heat their bodies had to deal with. The woman and girl watched warily as the male leader chewed thoughtfully before pointing with his chin, grunting out a command, and nodding. A young boy rushed up, just in time for them all to head out again. Resentfully, he sighed at the missed opportunity for a rest. The older man glared warningly at him for a moment, and when the young boy glanced over, he saw a similar look on the older woman and an almost smug look on the young girl’s face. She turned and headed out, following the older man, who had immediately turned away.

  Moving around a spinifex, the boy startled two lizards sheltering in its welcoming and limited shade. His spear caught one, and he sliced it open neatly, bringing it to his mouth immediately and enjoying the still warm blood, which dripped down his chin as he ate. He rapidly walked on, trying to catch up to the older man but keeping far enough away that he could hunt and protect them.

  The older woman, his dam, scooped up the second lizard and crushed its head before she stuffed it in the woven bag slung around her shoulders. The lizard’s tail twitched as it was in the throes of dying. She too noticed the heat but in an absent way, the thick soles of her feet protecting her from its burn as the heat reflected off the red sands. Her eyes traveled around the spinifex, hoping for another lizard and annoyed that her son had been such a glutton and eaten the first. Her eyes scanned the area, looking for other targets, her resentment fading as she began walking rapidly towards where her family had already disappeared.

  They spread out attempting to scavenge as much as possible in this sparse and bare territory, out of sight of each other but within hearing distance. The young girl gathered items as she traveled her own path. She looked about the area, not fearful of its enormous expanse. She was unable to see her family but was not afraid since she knew generally where they might be. The family had spread out to hunt and scavenge while traveling over the vast terrain. They were one with their environment, specially adapted to an area not intended to support many, and yet, many lived here, far flung over hundreds of miles. Occasionally, she lifted her head, able to scent her family on the faint breeze. She knew the difference between the scent of prey, the smell of fear, and the common body odors that identified her family.

  Alinta heard a sound, and she immediately crouched at the noise, understanding the unique piercing sound, almost like a whistle, was a signal from her sire warning of danger. She held her own woven gathering bag tightly to her side, a carved stick held in a protective pose should she need to defend herself or she was called to defend the family. She balanced the water urn, a small bark vessel, on her head, keeping her neck straight and stiff, so it didn’t fall off. Alinta tested the air, smelling for the source of potential danger. She heard the clicking sound of her dam trying to locate her children. Alinta clicked back. It was short and sweet but delivered in a way that carried on the still air of the desert. She heard a nearly identical sound from her brother at almost the same moment but coming from a different direction. She knew better than to make any other noise, which might give away their location to the danger that held them frozen in the underbrush, possibly scaring off necessary game. After a while, she heard her father make another whistling sound, releasing them from the command to stay hidden and silent while danger was about. Not knowing the source of the danger, Alinta headed out again in the same direction, this time, her senses were heightened, and while she scavenged, she was on high alert for the danger her father had sensed, although she knew she might never know what he had sensed or seen. After all, he certainly wouldn’t discuss it with her, a mere girl.

  The hours passed as they traveled in a northeasterly direction using ancient paths that only they could see. They avoided traveling on the path itself, instead remaining nearby in order to hunt and gather. Some of these paths were called song trails, named by the elders who understood such things. The people accepted this information without questioning their superior knowledge. The mysticism of these trails was knowledge only given to the elders, and it was passed down from generation to generation.

  Alinta found grubs and other insects, which she stuffed in her mouth as she traveled. This was permissible as she hunted for bigger game such as lizards, snakes, and rodents. She also gathered a bundle of sticks, slowly building a pile under one arm while keeping the other hand and arm free to poke and prod and defend with her stick if necessary. Late in the day, her father managed to stun and then kill a small kangaroo, and they stopped for the day to cook the abundance of meat. He chose a small gully where he could look out on the higher bank. He waited for his son and indicated he was to take another position across the gully on another bank.

  Alinta’s mother pulled out pieces of fluff she had gathered from small nests and some flint she would use to draw a spark. With a quick and practiced movement, she drew the flint against another stone. She leaned down to blow on the spark that landed in her tinder, puffing gently until the spark turned into a flame. Slowly, she added bits and pieces of smaller twigs and later, some of the wood they had gathered. Finally, they had a small fire to cook their game. Alinta and her mother ran the pelt of the kangaroo across the flame, singeing off the hair. The smell was terrible, but they were accustomed to it and were able to ignore it. None of them would eat the pelt of the animal. Then, her mother raked the coals into a small hole she had dug, and they placed the kangaroo in the hole, piling on more wood, grasses, and leaves, so it would cook thoroughly. As the hours passed, the delicious smell of cooked meat filled the air, dissipating any leftover smell of burnt hair, and finally, her father came down from his guard position on the bank. Her mother pulled back the coals, twigs, burnt grasses, and leaves to reveal the juicy, cooked meat. Alinta tried not to resent her father’s gluttony as he ate first, her mother’s warning glance cutting off any sign of resentment as Alinta opened her gathering bag, reached in, and began to gnaw on a lizard she pulled out. Her mother contributed more grubs and a snake, and between them they
ate. Her brother twitched impatiently from where he still stood watch on the ridge, the aroma of the cooked meat making him hungry. He eventually switched places with his sire and ate to his heart’s content, casting superior looks towards his sister before returning to guard the family.

  At a signal from her sire, Alinta’s mother cut out a piece of the meat for the two of them using a stone that had been sharpened and chipped on one side. The other side fit in her palm and allowed her to manage the stone. The sizzling of the fat on the coals was loud in the still evening as the fire died down and they ate. Both women wanted to eat more, but Alinta’s mother covered the meat, saving some for the next day. The small kangaroo wouldn’t last long between two hungry males and two starving females.

  The family continued their scavenging in the coming days, only heading back south in their eternal quest to find food and survive on the sparse land when the weather began to change and become colder. Alinta shivered at night, grateful when her mother joined her to share body heat. Her mother was sometimes called to duty, servicing her husband as he attempted to get more children from her aging body. Alinta wondered at this. Her father’s rutting seemed to give him pleasure, but her mother’s resigned and vacant looks told the young girl she wasn’t enjoying the deed, and her brother’s amused look confused her.

  Alinta didn’t understand when her body had begun to change this season. No longer was her body straight and flat. Her flow had come to her, and her breasts had grown. Now, she ached monthly. Her hips were also rounding, and she had become taller. Her mother explained about keeping herself clean and answering a husband’s needs when the time came for her to be given to the proper man. She also explained about how to entice a man into becoming aroused. Alinta didn’t enjoy these instructions, finding them embarrassing, and she was relieved when her mother stopped. She was more interested in the plants her mother showed her that helped to relieve the aches and pains her body suffered during her monthly flow.

  Her father headed for their ancestral gathering grounds, the bora grounds, signs of other families and other people becoming more obvious as they came closer to the sacred area. A broken twig and a dislodged stone told their tales of others in the vicinity. Her father and brother moved in closer to protect her mother and sister, keeping them constantly in view as they came closer to others. Alinta knew this was because other roving bands of people frequently looked for and captured women for wives. Her mother, while no longer in her prime, could still bear children, so she had value. Alinta, since becoming a woman and having her first flow, was now extremely valuable. Her father grunted out a command to her mother, and Alinta now wore a flap of the kangaroo pelt across her middle, hiding her charms from any who might see her. At night, her father slept closer to them, his spear held in his hand, ready to charge up and defend his daughter, his most valuable asset.

  Alinta had been raised in a harsh environment. The desert winds burnished and toughened her skin to the color of dark honey. Centuries of breeding ensured that her skin was darker than some tribes but lighter than others. Her mother’s people, lighter than her father’s, instilled a cast to her skin that others did not have. Her features were a delicate blend of her parents’. Her nose was finer, and her face was narrower than most in her tribe. Her girlish figure was taking on a woman’s curves as her menses changed her from a mere girl into a woman. Her mother spent a great deal of time explaining about taking care of herself during this important time—how to please her mate, how to be a helpful wife, and what duties were expected of her. Alinta simply accepted this as she knew no better, but a tiny curl of resentment grew within her over the freedoms enjoyed by her brother. He was not watched as closely, and he was able to come and go at will, answerable only to their father, who ruled them all with an iron hand. Alinta was pleased when her mother once again finished explaining her duties. She found them uncomfortable to discuss, and when asked, she had no further questions for her mother. She would accept her fate when she was given to the man her father would eventually choose.

  The land seemed to become more arid as they headed to the bora grounds. Finding water was becoming more difficult, but the aboriginal people knew their land and the strata where water flowed below the desert sands. When they needed to fill their water urns, they would stop near the rocks in a place familiar to Alinta’s mother, and she would begin to dig using a coolamon, a shallow vessel her mother had pecked out of stone in order to dig in the desert sands. Alinta helped her, pushing the sand away from the hole she was digging. Slowly, inch by inch, foot by foot, she dug down into the hard-packed sands, throwing the sand up on the sides while Alinta pulled it back carefully from the edge. Finally, she began handing up full vessels of sand, which slowly became damp, and Alinta dumped them well away from the hole her mother was in. She handed the coolamon back frequently as they continued to dig. Eventually, they found a bit of bark her mother had buried there previously, and below this they found cool, refreshing water. She handed down her water urn, and her mother sloshed the water in it until it was full. Alinta took a drink of this cool water before handing down her mother’s urn and listening to her fill it. The air of the desert felt cool against her bare skin, the damp sands giving off no heat as the sun set. She carefully put the urns to the side, woven leaves covering their tops to prevent evaporation. Alinta then handed the bark to her mother, who cautiously covered the hole once again and began to push sand back on it to prevent evaporation. Slowly, her mother’s head rose from the hole as she stomped the dirt back in place, and Alinta helped her hide the water hole. Together they wiped away all signs of their digging, hiding their source of water from any casual observers.

  They quickly took their urns to the campsite Alinta’s father had chosen. Alinta handed her father her urn, bowing her head as he took a drink. Her mother offered the same to her son, cutting him off when he would have drunk more than his fair share. Her mother soon had a small fire going where they cooked the mice, lizards, and snakes they had caught that day. The offerings were few and were supplemented with desert fruit, quandongs, and seeds, small things that meant the difference between life and death to the people who lived in this arid region of Australia.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The gathering was about one hundred people, but it made up of a lot of people who broke off into solitary families that contained only six to ten people at most. Smaller groups were a necessity since this land couldn’t support a large population. Centuries of breeding and culture and solitary wanderings meant they could survive in this arid region. The people came together to exchange stories, swap goods, and trade for wives. Alinta shook with fear as the men and older boys assessed her, looking at her now growing breasts, her height, and her womanly hips. Her mother had been a good breeder, giving her husband four children and only two had died. She was still young enough to give him more offspring, and they speculated amongst themselves if Alinta would be as prolific or as good a wife. That they spoke of this in front of Alinta as she passed and was within hearing, showed how little they cared for her feelings on the matter. Alinta was terrified her father would trade her for things he needed or wanted. She didn’t want to leave her mother, and yet, she knew she would have no choice in the matter. Eventually, her father would find a man that he wanted something from, and she would be turned over.

  While the women sat and gossiped, the men went off to do the mysterious things the women weren’t privy to. The elders—older men of indeterminate years who held all the secrets of their tribe—went to the sacred grounds of their gathering, the bora circle, and into huts that had been built before any could remember. They performed secret, sacred rituals only they knew, painting themselves and a few chosen men with esoteric symbols and holding meetings. The women supplied them with cooked food, bringing it to a chosen spot and setting it down, going no further into the men’s areas as they were not interested in their secrets or rituals. Men would eventually return to their families, but for now, many stayed in the wurlies built at t
he site, sharing tales, women, or trade.

  One of the men had come from a place far to the south and was telling terrific tales of men of lighter skin, who rode odd animals and killed from afar with thunder and lightning. He had a rapt audience in the men and even some of the women that were near enough to hear but pretended they weren’t listening avidly. Of more importance were the spearheads he had obtained; made of a stone no one had ever seen. It was almost perpetually sharp, not like the stones that chipped when the men used them to hunt. When he showed the others an axe made entirely of this new type of stone, greed and envy of his apparent wealth was obvious on every man’s face.

  The men must hunt, and this trader was able to show them the value of this new stone. The stone was lighter and more resilient. He could throw it farther, which meant he could escape easier if danger presented itself. He needn’t worry about smashing a hard-earned and carefully crafted spear, and the stone seemed unbreakable and could be sharpened against other stones. The greed the other men felt over this newfound stone was discussed avidly at the gathering, and news of anything out of the ordinary they had found in their wanderings of their territory was shared.

  Alinta examined the ancient, round, conical hut structures that were woven of brush. Few stayed in these huts, mostly the older, wise men, and they seemed to spend a lot of time doing spiritual things the young woman didn’t understand. The young boys, some on the cusp of manhood, watched the girls and young women, imitating the men and watching enviously as other young men were included with the adults and elders. Alinta compared herself to other girls her age and made tentative overtures of friendship, although each was shy in her own way. She watched avidly as the men brought out didgeridoos, long, hollow tubes of various lengths, and other sound-making instruments. They were creating hauntingly beautiful music, and she saw where women and men both danced to the notes.