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| Richard Browne |
“Now, let me see …we can’t think our way in, not this time - because we’ve been blocked from doing so, and this portal is being guarded. This fortress has been sanctified against the likes of you and I.”
Desert bats fluttered past their heads in waves of a hundred. The landscape was imbued with colour, yet was depressingly repetitive. The dawn birds were calling to one another, and the waterhole in the distance was crowded with the animals that had congregated for their morning’s refresh. There were wallabies and bilbies, mudlarks, possums and rabbits a plenty.
The mysteries of the natives of Australia were fluid … spiritual … they would shape-change to avoid being caught by the unworthy. The conservership was always with the Elders who fully knew the potent magic that literally linked the oldest period, before written history, to now. It was a custodial privilege to be a living testimony to time itself. It was this deep magic that made the outback so mysterious.
The doors remained closed to them.
“They require a pin-prick of blood to identify the caller - and everyone knows that the Elvish don’t use blood within their systems.” Puck said quietly. “The locking devices behind these doors are distinctly set to repel the otherworldly - they have astral mesh.”
“Turnip juice - a powerful motivator.” said Goober handing a large bottle over to Puck.
Every time they had tele-transported themselves through to the other side of those doors they had been pushed out of the underground compound back up into the air above, onto the hot red sand with the glaring sun beating down on them. There seemed to be a three second delay, actually setting them back in time further every time they were pushed out.
They barely had a moment inside when the forcefield had expelled them again with a remarkable aptitude for the magic it required.
“What am I missing here?” Puck asked … I knew it would not be easy, but I really don’t like the way I hear laughter every time this happens. Moreover, we cannot walk away - not when we know the damage Marsden is causing to all of the realms right now as we speak.”
“Too true, too true”, said Goober deep in thought. His head was beginning to pound, “I swear the sun is brighter here than most places” he grumbled.
“And the grit is sharper too.”
“And the sky is bluer”, he added with an attempt to be cheerful. They had now been inside and straight back out again seven times.
The red dust swirled and circled around them, a chorus of green flies and gnats, sting beetles and red ants were swept up in the circular force, propelling them into their faces and clothes, stirring up the powder dry ground beneath.
When the dirt came to settle a dark figure appeared, with a bare chest, partially dressed, with a tall decorated spear on one side and the Azlan standing at the other.
Puck knew in that moment that all would become well.
Upon the ridge of stone in the distance there appeared over three hundred such tribal men. Each had a radiant light flaming from the tips of their spears, piercing the brightening sky above.
The Elder now standing face to face in front of them looked straight at them with the deepest dark brown eyes and kindly face. His bony hand rested on the Azlan’s head. Three red dingos circled in the background, keeping their distance, pacing throughout the scrub. And behind them, in the far distance, there was Mother Nature watching on.
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