Kututu
Heart
by
Book Cover & Preview Text
' Kututu ' Chapter 1
Tjinytjulu’s ngura
Beau’s Camp
Harsh, tropic sun beat down from noonday sky. Heat haze hung, stagnated, over parched, arid country. Nothing moved, except dust, billowing from Stretch’s battered, Toyota truck. Eating up endless miles of poker, straight road cutting into vast, tree studded plane. Clare Dane yawned, stretching stiff, cramped muscles. Eyes gazing out over flat, numbing horizon engulfed by endless, blue, Northern Territory, sky.
Stretch’s brown eyes shone, mouth suddenly, tickled in lopsided grin. Yanking sharply on truck’s steering wheel, vehicle slew violently sideways, erratically bolting bush.
“Are you nuts!” Clare screamed, hanging on.
Truck bounced haphazardly over deep ruts. Stretch expertly avoiding buffalo wallows, he accelerated through long, blonde, speargrass.
“Just callin’ on a mate.”He chuckled.
Truck burst to steep walled canyon. Clare shrieked, bloodless knuckles gripping dashboard hold. Breath caught, anxious eyes scaled towering, ironstone walls. Vehicle suddenly, skidded to a halt. Dust clouds engulfed them. Coughing, Clare’s breath caught, wiping eyes.
“Are you insane?”
“Nope!” Stretch chuckled. Alighting. he limbered up tired muscles.
Clare drew breath, slowly climbing from the truck. Cicada’s deafening, shrill chorale filled ears. Flies, multitudes of them clung to sweat, stained shirts. Jockeying to crawl into eyes and mouths. Shading eyes, she squinted into glare.
“Oh my god!”Breath caught, taking in Kapok flower’s yellow brilliance, adorning stark, leafless stalks. Small trees sprouting haphazardly from steep, ironstone walls. Sheer, rock bastions protecting shaded billabong’s tranquil beauty. “What a magnificent place.” She breathed, eyes taking in contingents of palm and climbing bamboo. Tangled vines spread, hanging gracefully over cool, inviting waters. Huge, magenta lilies wavered high on slender stalks; birds flitted over mirror surface. Black cockatoos screeched from trees on high. “You drive forever over the dreariest country.., then this? Gosh! What I wouldn’t do for a swim?” She laughed, pulling at her shirt.
“That water looks heaven!”
"What about the crocs?" Stretch’s brow rose.
"I don't see any." Clare frowned, dubious eyes scanning waters.
“Rarely do.” Stretch shrugged. “Ain’t mean, they ain’t see you.”
“Stretch McNally!” Clare met eyes, smile cavorting on lips. Continuing to peel her shirt off. “You’re just trying to scare me.”
“Okay.” Stretch squinted, eyes scanning cool, dark waters. “Why’re all the ducks sittin’ in the damned trees?”
Clare halted, slowly taking him in.
“Ducks don’t sit in trees!” Shading eyes, she squinted into paperbarks. Amid branches were hundreds of ducks.
“Still sceptical then, my young Clare?” Stretch grinned, reaching for his shot- gun. Taking aim, a shot rang out. Silence shattered! Masses of birds rose screeching into air. A duck fell from paperbarks. Barely it hit billabong’s calm surface. Waters erupted! Clare shrieked, hands flying to mouth. She stared dumbstruck for no less than a heartbeat into primordial monster’s cold, yellow eyes. Gulping, breath caught. Silent ripples panned out over dark, empty waters.
"Still keen ta go swimmin' then?" Stretch grinned, eyes twinkling.
“Eh.., ah, no! No.” Clare shuddered. “Stretch! That wasn’t funny!”
“Ain’t meant ta be funny.” Stockman shrugged, putting away the gun.
“Is there no where safe to go swimming?” Clare pouted, pulling her shirt back into place. Vigilant eyes scanning deceptively calm waters.
“Well, I always check the bathwater afore I get in.”
Quiet snap of metal, meeting metal brought them up sharp. Turning, they looked down both barrels of a shotgun.
“Awari, walypala!” Fierce, blue eyes pinned them. “Waddya mean shootin’ up the bloody joint?”
"Holy snappin’ heart attack!" Stretch gasped. "Beau! Ya aged me flamin’ ten years!”
“Ai! Ya noisy bastard! Waddya mean shootin’ me taka-taka?”
“Taka-taka?” Stretch frowned “What the bloody hell..?”
“Me ducks!”
“Ahh! Come on Beau!” Stretch’s head shook. “Ain’t get ya knickers in a twist!”
“Uwa?” Eyes glowered. “We do! Least ‘til ya learn some blasted manners!” Head shook. “It’d be nice if just once, ya damn well knocked! And done it quietly!”
A stocky woman, wiry, red curls escaped large, bush hat. Clothes, ex-army, jungle greens. Feet, well-worn, yet expensive looking riding boots. Except for Clare’s intuition, nothing indicated gender as female.
“Knock!” Stretch barked. “Where’s flamin’ the door? For Christ’s sake Beau! Have ya gone completely troppo?”
“Awari!” Beau glared. “If I blasted lived in town ya’d ring the damned door bell!” Suddenly, she grinned. Weather-beaten wrinkles dancing around lively eyes. “Ahh shit! Ya’d barge right on in no how! What the heck! Did ya bring a lady a beer?”
“Ain’t bloody game ta come all this way without one.” Stretch chortled.
“Hope ya brought more than one!” Beau squinted, leaning gun against truck.
Stretch suddenly, hollered. A flying leap knocked Beau off her feet. Cackling, she threw a savage punch. Clare’s breath caught. Stretch guffawed, delivering his own hefty punch. Beau’s gravely laugh echoed bush. Rolling, they wrestled in the dirt. Beau emerged sitting triumphantly atop. Stretch struggling to gain the upper hand. Beau twisting his arm firmly up behind his back.
“Ya ain’t never learn, aye?” She gasped, cackling. “Streuth! Ya ought’a know better than ta show up here, makin’ all that blasted din! Bloody hell! Shootin’ me taka, taka? And bringin’ blasted visitors! For that, a mouthful of bulldust!” Chortling, she shoved his head into dirt.
“Ah come on! Ya stupid bitch!” Stretch squirmed, spitting fine, white powder. “Give a bloke a go!” Sweat streaming off dust, streaked face. “Clare here, wanted ta take a swim! I were just showin’ her ya pet, bloody crocs!”
“Uwa?” Beau frowned, curious eyes taking city girl in. “Guess that ain’t so bad, aye? But hell! I reckoned ya were another bunch of sticky, nosed tourists!” She shrugged. “Ain’t expectin’ no visitors, ‘specially from town.”
“Streuth Beau!” Stretch grimaced, spitting. “Ya blasted touchy! Afore long no bastard’s gonna visit.” He coughed. “Get off! I need ta wash the dust outta me throat!”
“Me?” She scowled, not moving. “Ya’re the touchy bastard! Lately ya gettin’ ta be a real pain in the arse!”
“Least I ain’t a fuckin’ greenie!” Stretch scowled, face detonating scarlet.
“Uti!” Bea’s head shook. “What’s one of them?”
“A conservationist.” Clare put in.
"Uwa?" Beau frowned meeting eyes. Stretch struggling.
“Someone who doesn’t like the wildlife to be destroyed.”
“Streuth!” She grimaced.
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About the Book
Life on a cattle station in Australia’s unforgiving Northern Territory is rough. The extreme heat, humidity, insects, dust, isolation, and predators forge impenetrable bonds among those who can survive here. The people are just as hardened—and just as unforgiving—as the wild lands they fight to tame. In 1987, Clare Daine, a schoolteacher from Melbourne, takes up the job of governess to identical triplets at the Opium Creek station. She’s shocked to discover that the “homestead” is little more than an old tin shed with limited electricity. Her employer, Jack Marlow, a narcissistic alcoholic, is extremely demanding, and the other men of the station are as raw around the edges as the station itself. Three years before Clare’s arrival, the triplets’ mother, Lily, disappeared during a brutal wet-season storm. Now, doubt has left the close-knit community nervous, suspicious, and aggrieved. When Wanatjiti, Lily’s renegade stallion, returns, old wounds are opened, and unanswered questions rise again. Ngunintja, the triplets’ grandmother, has her own theories about what really happened during that fateful storm. And now nightmares tear Clare’s sleep apart. Her dedication to the children is the only thing that keeps her from fleeing the horrors of this life. Slowly, she comes to understand the love-hate relationship they all share with each other and with the land itself. Clare’s single-minded determination to discover the truth behind Lily’s disappearance puts her own safety at risk. How far will she go to solve the mystery?
About the Author
For forty years, Olivia Osborn called Australia’s Northern Territory home. Over the course of a decade, she put what she learned at a creative writing class at Queensland’s James Cook University to work, as she crafted Kututu and its sequel, Rapa Kututu. She lives in South East Queensland, Australia.