Shaman's Dreaming

By Roberta Lenon

Shaman's Dreaming is set in the Australian Dreamtime. It tells the story of Akama, a young boy of the Djakara tribe. Akama is initiated as a warrior after his first kill, where he undergoes a lengthy trial and befriends a young, starving dingo called Burnum. During his initiation Akama has a vision of his uncle Mogo, the shaman of the tribe, performing a dark ritual on his father's spear. Soon after his initiation Akama witnesses the death of his father by sorcery and knows that he has been killed by Mogo. Under tribal law, Mogo takes possession of Akama's mother and sister and Akama's claims of murder are not believed. In fear for his life, Akama flees the tribe and heads into the desert with Burnum. He faces great hardship and has powerful dreams of Mogo hurting his family, dreams that are reflected in the real world. After a terrible desert crossing where he faces death, he is saved by Tarooki, a shaman of the Quandialla people. Tarooki trains him as a shaman once he becomes aware of Akama's powers in the Spirit World.

Meanwhile, Akama's sister Elouera suffers as Mogo uses dark powers to possess her and her mother. Elouera learns that Mogo has made a pact with a terrible spirit called Kandarra that feeds on blood and suffering. She is able to disobey him due to the power of Apanie, the creater spirit of the people, whose power lies in water. However the tribe falls under Mogo's control and he leads them to the centre of the desert where they are far from Apanie's aid.

Journey with Akama as he confronts the dark power of Mogo and Kandarra in his quest to save his family and tribe.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Roberta Lenon
• Release date: Nov 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311040152

Book preview

Chapter One

The wind in the desert sang, raising dust clouds on the horizon and blowing grit into the boy’s eyes. It whistled through the low scrubby trees, and howled up a dry gully, swirling and twisting. Akama narrowed his eyes against the harsh grains and kept his small body absolutely still. To move was to fail, and to go hungry. The wallaby raised its head sharply, disturbed by the gusting wind and sniffed the air nervously, scanning for predators then bent its head down again to graze on the dry grass. Akama watched it patiently, waiting for the wallaby to become calm again. The minutes passed, with only the beating of his heart and the swirling wind moving as the boy waited for the right conditions. At last, a drop in the wind coincided with the wallaby looking up in the opposite direction. In one smooth motion, Akama rose and threw, the spear flying from his hand with a deep throbbing sound. The wallaby turned at the noise, but too late as the spear flew straight and embedded itself deep in its chest.

Hai –ya, shouted Akama with joy, and allowed himself a moment of pride for his first kill. He ran down to the wallaby and checked the animal was dead before taking a small stone knife from his woven rawhide belt. He cut a slit in the wallaby’s throat and taking a daub of blood smeared it across his forehead, then took a small handful and poured it into the dirt. Eingana, spirit of the land, take this offering please. Cousin Wallaby, thank you for your life, and help for the tribe. He remained that way for a minute, then threw dirt over the pooled blood on the ground and pulling out his spear, swung the wallaby carcass onto his shoulder and headed back to the tribe.

The Djakara tribe lived on the edge of the vast desert they called Burralku, or the Land of Departed Spirits. No one lived in the actual desert for it was too harsh but a good living was had on the edge. The tribe was nomadic and moved from place to place throughout the year, from the hot north to the cooler, temperate south. Akama ran back to the current camp, which was on the edge of a waterhole, surrounded by deep canyons. The camp was laid out in a haphazard fashion, with some families preferring the higher ground with cooler breezes, and others camping close to the water. Each family lived in a small hut or wurlie and had their own cookfire and drying racks nearby. The centre of the camp was left bare, with a central speaking place and fire and well placed logs for seating. Carrying the wallaby on his shoulder, Akama slowed down as he neared the camp, wanting everyone to watch him walk in with his kill. The women of the tribe were first to notice him, and a cheerful shouting arose.

Look at the big hunter and his mighty kill, cried out Maiya, his aunt. She put down the roots she was pounding and came and danced and clapped next to him as he strutted proudly towards his mother’s hut. The other women also clapped and his mother Yani and sister Elouera came to the door of the hut to see. Akama had seen his father Jerara bring home a kill many times and swung the wallaby off his shoulder and hung it off the drying tree. He then took his spear and went and sat on the log at the side of the hut, pretending that none of it mattered at all. The women of the tribe gathered round his kill, exclaiming loudly, Look how big this wallaby is, it will provide much food for the tribe, and, See how soft the fur is, what a lovely skin it will make for Yani and Elouera. Soon, the noise they were making attracted the men of the tribe from their weapon making, and his father Jerara came and picked up Akama and swung him over his shoulder, laughing proudly.

Your first proper kill, how we shall celebrate tonight! he cried loudly and he ran straight for the waterhole and leapt in. Akama yelled out in joy and splashed in as loudly as he could, while the tribe watched and laughed. The water was cool and refreshing after the desert wind and Akama floated peacefully next to his father, enjoying the feeling of lightness and his happy spirit. Jerara swam next to him, water dripping off his dark, strong face and droplets catching in his beard.

Well done son, I am proud. Only thirteen years old and now a blooded hunter! You will be a strong man for the tribe. Come, let’s skin that wallaby and make a fine pair of boots for your sister.

The tribe celebrated every kill, though not often as loudly as a young hunter’s first kill. Supplying meat for the tribe was man’s work and was not always easy, and the skinning and tanning of the meat and hide was the bloodiest, messiest part. The wallaby was hung upside down and the blood drained and collected in a wooden pot and used in cooking or in women’s business. Cuts were then made at the tail of the wallaby and the fur peeled back over its head, inside out. Once the skin was free, it was laid on a grass mat and the scraping began. Yani bought over a special scraper that had a carved wooden handle and a flat stone blade. She showed Akama how to hold it at the correct angle and scrape away the inner membrane very carefully so the hide was not torn. A rougher scraping stone was then used to buff the inside of the hide. While Akama was working away at this, Jerara had given the body to Yani and Elouera to prepare the meat and put the kangaroo brain with water in a skin bag over a small fire. As he did this, he explained, The brain will make the skin soft, but it must be heated up first or it will not work its magic on the skin. Once it is warm, we must grind it up into a paste and then heat again.

Working side by side, Akama and Jerara finished scraping and then rubbed the paste deep into the hide, making sure that every bit of the skin was covered. The skin was then wrapped up well and buried for a few hours in a shallow pit. The sun was in the afternoon sky when they took the hide out of the pit and began stretching. The stretching had to be done before the skin dried so Akama and Jerara worked quickly in the afternoon heat, pulling the skin back and forward over a strong smooth branch. This friction started to dry the skin out and after a time, Jerara showed Akama how to stretch the skin for the final part with his hands, working and pulling the skin in different directions to soften it. Once the skin was dry, it was taken to the smoking wurlie for the final stage. The hide was hung from the roof with the skin forming a funnel for the smoke to waft up inside. The wurlie was securely enclosed and Jerara lit a small dung fire, producing clouds of smoke. He quickly sealed the wurlie back up and smiling at Akama said, By dark, it will be ready for you to learn how to make your first pair of boots. It is a fine hide and a beautiful colour. You have worked well today. Akama smiled proudly, and followed his father to the waterhole to wash off again.

It was traditional for young boys to learn the art of hunting at the earliest stage possible. Akama had been training since he could walk in the arts of tracking and spearing, but had never before managed to kill a larger animal. The tracking skills of the people were truly astounding. They could tell how old the tracks were, the weight and sex of the animal and if it was carrying young from the spread of the paws. Boys were trained by their fathers and uncles and were initiated into manhood around the age of fourteen. For Akama to make his first kill at such a young age was considered quite special. Akama had been given his first spear by his father, but once initiated would be expected to make his own spear and tools and prove that he could survive on his own before being welcomed back into the tribe as a man. All of that however was a long way off and today was a day to be celebrated. The Djakara tribe consisted of about fifty people in various family groups. The elders of the tribe oversaw the laws and decided where and when the tribe would travel next. There were a number of boys Akama’s age but he was the first to make a kill that was large enough to provide for the tribe. As a celebration of his skill, a ceremony was to be held that night and Kulan, one of the tribe elders, motioned to Akama to come to his side.

Yes, Kulan, said Akama trotting up to where the old man was squatting by a small fire near his wurlie. Akama dropped to his heels and squatted next to him, waiting patiently. Kulan reached out a gnarled, black hand and took Akama’s chin, turning his head to look him in the eyes. Kulan looked at him for a long time of silence then spoke quietly.

Akama, you have a strong arm and good eyes but make sure you don’t become too proud of being first of the young men to make a kill.

Akama looked guilty for a second, and admitted, I was proud when I walked back into camp. I am sorry Kulan.

Kulan smiled at him, and said kindly, You are not a bad child. I only speak because there is a bad spirit that sometimes has come out in your ancestors, and this lesson has been passed to me to pass to you. Sometimes, your father’s family becomes much too proud and willful. The good of the tribe is what matters, not the pride of one man. As Kulan spoke, his eyes moved to rest on Mogo, Akama’s uncle. Mogo was watching Yani prepare the wallaby with a dark look in his eyes. Mogo was his father’s younger brother and had never married. He was the shaman of the tribe and possessed strange and unusual powers, such as the ability to talk to spirits and to animals. He was seen as a cruel and aloof, and once had gotten into a bad fight with a man from another tribe, apparently over how that man had looked at him. The other man had been crippled for life. Mogo turned his head and looked straight at Akama and Kulan, and Akama ducked his head guiltily for thinking bad thoughts about his uncle. Kulan stared straight back at Mogo, who eventually turned away.

Akama, there will be a ceremony tonight to celebrate your kill. Next time the men go on a hunting party, you will be allowed to go, though only as a spear carrier. If you perform well on that hunt, we will begin your initiation.

Thank you so much, Kulan, gasped Akama, for this was a great honour indeed for one so young. Smiling, Kulan said, Now, you must go and prepare, and show us all how you managed to kill such a big beast.

Akama hugged Kulan and dashed away to his family wurlie to prepare for the night.

Tribal ceremonies or corroborees were very special occasions indeed, and were honored by all members of the tribe. They bought the tribe closer together, celebrating special events and linking the people with the land. Tonight, to celebrate his first kill, Akama would take a central role by acting out what had happened early in the day and for this he had to be prepared. Ducking back into the wurlie, he was hugged by both his mother and sister who were still hugely excited. Yani and Elouera had been working hard all afternoon to prepare the wallaby for the feast tonight, for all the tribe would partake of the meal and there were a lot of mouths to feed. Now, however, it was time to adorn Akama in the traditional paint that celebrated a first kill.

Akama, are you nervous about tonight, his sister Elouera whispered, while his mother prepared what she needed. He smiled down at his sister, two years younger than him and pretty and small with large, dark eyes.

I am nervous and Kulan has told me to not be too proud so that has made me even more nervous.

Why would he say that? questioned Elouera, and Akama replied, He said we had proud blood in our family, and then he looked at Uncle Mogo.

Yani had overheard the children speaking and bringing over the paint she said calmly, Now, Mogo is none of your trouble, children. Kulan is right to mention it to you Akama, because you are obviously good with a spear, and your head might become so swollen with pride that you won’t be able to fit in this wurlie. Elouera rolled on the floor laughing at the thought of this and Akama and Yani both joined in. The thought of Mogo flew far from Akama’s mind.

Yani had kept some of the kangaroo blood in a small stone bowl, and showed Akama and Elouera how to grind red ochre stones into powder in another bowl. Into this powder, she trickled some of the blood in to make a dark red paste, which she then painted special marks on Akama’s face and body. Curved symbols represented the desert in which the kill had occurred, while wavy lines represented the blood that had been spilled and given back to the land and the red ochre colour was symbolic of death. Akama was not allowed to paint himself for this ceremony, as this was a sacred duty for women only. Yani explained to Elouera that she would learn more about sacred painting once she became a woman and went through her own initiation rites. Elouera’s face was very serious whilst she watched and Akama felt a wave of love for his small sister.

Night fell quickly and Yani instructed Akama to stay in the wurlie until the feast began. His aunt Maiya came to the wurlie and smiled at him while he waited nervously and helped his mother and Elouera take all the food to the central fire. Waiting alone, Akama breathed slowly and practised how he had thrown the spear at the wallaby. At last, the low throbbing note of the didgeridoo started and Akama rose, knowing all the tribe would be waiting at the fire for him. He swung the flap of the wurlie back, noticing how his paint shone under the light of the full moon making his skin look strange and magical. He danced forward slowly and gracefully, moving in time to the didgeridoo’s rhythmic beat and entered into the fire ring. Everyone from the tribe was sitting in a semi-circle, quietly and expectantly. Akama faltered, feeling nervous and unsure, but a proud look from this father settled his nerves and he swung into a low crouch, miming a hunter moving slowly and looking for prey. He stopped, holding a pretend spear and made his hand shake, showing how nervous he had been when he first saw the wallaby. Some of the women in the crowd giggled at his acting. He waited, stiff and still, showing how long he had stood waiting for the right conditions, then flung his pretend spear as hard as he could. He let out a loud warcry and mimed cutting the wallaby’s throat to give the offering to the land. The tribe sighed in appreciation and murmured the traditional thanks, Thank you wallaby, for giving your life for the tribe, then everyone stood and gathered round Akama, patting him on his back and head and telling him his dance was fine. Akama flushed and remembered Kulan’s advice not to be too proud. Kulan however, winked at him and clapped his hands, signalling that the feast was about to start.

The next morning, Akama woke feeling very tired from staying up so late, and being the centre of attention. His mother smiled at him from where she was weaving baskets at the entrance of the wurlie, and said, Good morning, little sleepy head. I thought it best to let you rest as you had a big day yesterday.

Akama sat up and smiled at her, and asked, Where are Peepaw and Elouera?

Kulan has talked to your father about your initiation and they have all gone to look for a suitable site for your hut, to stay in while the initiation takes place, said Yani. You may as well lie out in the sun and I will get you some breakfast ready.

Akama lay down on a patch of warmed grass and thought about what he knew about the initiation ritual. Usually it was conducted by the tribal elders and the shaman and Akama shivered at the thought of having to spend time with Mogo. His uncle scared him with his strange powers and dark demeanour. However the role of the shaman was very important in passing on the spiritual beliefs of the tribe. Akama knew a little about the initiation ritual, having seen other older boys come back from their weeks in the bush both older and wiser and displaying their ritual scars proudly. He knew the elders taught the traditional songs, stories and dances, and that the shaman taught about the dreaming. But, he reflected as he rested, there must be something more to it as well. Sworn secrecy surrounded what else went on and no one broke that taboo. It would be unusual if he was initiated soon, Akama reflected, as usually a group of young men went through the ritual together, and he resolved to ask his father about it when he returned.

Small stones stung him as he dozed in the sunlight, and Akama woke with a grunt. Peals of laughter sounded from behind some nearby rocks and Parwan stuck his curly head out grinning. He was a small boy, lithe and wiry, and named for the small lizards that darted through the rocks on hot days.

Dozing in the sun like a mighty warrior? he mocked, though his eyes were merry and grinning. He approached Akama and with a quick leap, Akama grabbed him and wrestled him to the ground. They rolled in the soft dirt, Akama’s greater height and weight unable to overpower Parwan’s quick movements. Finally, both laughing so hard they could barely breathe, Akama admitted defeat. Yani called out from the wurlie for both of them to come and eat and coming outside and seeing their disheveled state, she added the condition that they both wash first. With a quick shared grin, the boys dashed for the water hole.

Jerara and Elouera returned in the late afternoon, and found Yani and Akama preparing some left over wallaby and mashed tubers for the evening meal. Jerara kissed Yani and ran a hand over Akama’s head, ruffling his hair. How is my mighty hunter today, he asked, with a proud grin on his face as he looked at Akama.

Akama grinned back shyly. I am quite tired Peepaw, it was a long night. I don’t think I have ever stayed up so late before.

Yani told Jerara that she had let him sleep in, and he smiled and said that was a good thing.

Peepaw, asked Akama, I want to ask you something, and Jerara nodded and they walked away a bit towards the waterhole. Akama squatted on a log and Jerara crouched next to him, looking at him thoughtfully.

Is something troubling you Akama, he said, and Akama replied slowly, No, its just…why am I being initiated on my own? I have never heard of that happening before? Has Kulan told you anything?

Kulan did not say much this afternoon, Jerara replied. However, he did say that you couldn’t wait until another boy made their first kill, as the others in the tribe are not likely to do so for some time yet.

Is that all he said? questioned Akama. He didn’t say anything about Mogo insisting that I do it alone?

Aah, sighed Jerara, and leaning forward he took his son’s hands in his own and looked intently into his eyes. Akama, it is true there is bad blood between Mogo and myself but this is no concern of yours. True, to do an initiation by yourself will be quite hard but it is also a great, great honour. Mogo will be one of your teachers, but his first duty is to the tribe to prepare you for your manhood and it is of no matter that you are my son. He will not dare stray from his duty to the people.

Akama stared back at his father, wanting to hope that what he was saying was true, but a thin worm of fear still wrapped itself around his heart. However, he wanted to show his father that he was brave so he forced a smile to his face and asked, Did you find a nice site for my hut? No snakes and ants?

Jerara laughed and swung Akama up onto his shoulders and headed back to the wurlie. Snakes and ants? No, but there were some plenty big spiders! and he threw Akama up in the air and caught him easily in his strong arms. You will have to look for a stick big enough to kill them, and Akama squealed with laughter and let the last of his fears fade away.

Chapter Two

About a week later, very early in the morning, Kulan came by the family wurlie to advise Akama he was to go along as a spear carrier on a hunt that day. Most hunters had several different types of spears for different purposes. They used a heavier spear made out of a hardwood tree with a fire sharpened end for hunting heavier animals such as kangaroos and wallabies and a lighter spear for hitting birds in flight. The lighter spear was designed to damage the wings of the birds, knocking them down so they could be killed on the ground. Akama was asked to carry the bird spears so the men could firstly concentrate on killing some bigger prey for the tribe. The air was very cold and fresh at that hour, with the sun not yet up over the horizon and a wan grey light made the gum trees look silvery and pale. Akama shivered, partly from the cold air and also from excitement.

Jerara was already outside gathering his spears and club, and he spoke softly, It is a great honour for you to come with us today Akama. You will do well. Akama nodded silently, and helped his father gather his weapons. There was still a small fire burning from the previous night, so they squatted by it to eat breakfast. Jerara handed a ball of nuts and grains mixed with honey and told Akama it would give him strength for the hunt. He then instructed Akama on what he had to do.

Firstly, Mogo will bless the hunt. Then we will head out looking for game and you will need to carry the bird spears. We will be looking for kangaroo, as they will be grazing in the early morning light. After that we will head towards the wet lands looking for birds. Do you know everyone’s mark?

Akama said nervously, Yes Peepaw. I have memorised them all.

Good, replied Jerara, They will need to be handed out very quickly if a flock of birds is startled during the hunt, and you will have to run like the wind between hunters.

I shall, stated Akama determinedly.

The men of the tribe had gathered in the central meeting place awaiting Mogo’s blessing when Akama and Jerara joined them. Mogo came out from his wurlie joined by Ganan, the tribe’s healer, carrying a heavily decorated ceremonial bowl and clapping sticks. Mogo was wearing the skin of Cousin Kangaroo and was imposing, standing at his full height with the eyes of the kangaroo watching over the men of the tribe. Ganan sat cross legged and started a slow, rhythmic chant invoking the spirit of the land to hear the need of the tribe for food. The men joined in and clapped slowly in time while Mogo walked in time to the beat, gracefully moving from man to man, marking their foreheads with sacred white ochre. He came to Akama and smoothed the cool, white paste onto him and Akama gasped as his vision suddenly sharpened. All at once, the smells and sights increased dramatically. He looked around, able to see the leaves on the trees in fine detail and the tracks of men and animals in the dirt. Mogo nodded at him with a slight sneer on his lips and finished marking the other men. The men gathered in a circle around him and Akama watched in awe as his uncle danced, calling upon the spirit of kangaroo to bless the hunt. His uncle mimicked Cousin Kangaroo so perfectly that Akama felt he could almost see the animal’s spirit moving as a shadow through his uncle’s body. Taking up a branch of sweet smelling eucalyptus, Mogo plunged the green leaves into the fire and wafted smoke over everybody, chanting to drive out any spirits that might hinder the hunt.

The men headed out from the camp towards the edge of the desert. The sun had still not risen, but magpies sang loudly of the day to come, high in the trees and the bush was beginning to come alive. They were making their way to a patch of open bushland where grasses grew in a wide clearing, a favourite feeding place for kangaroos and wallabies. The first part of the hunt would involve everyone surrounding the clearing then startling the kangaroos into flight and into the waiting spears of the tribe.

As they drew closer, Derain, one of the oldest hunters in the tribe, held a hand up for silence and checked recent markings in the dew soaked earth. Everyone gathered close to him and he whispered, Plenty of kangaroo up ahead. Let us all try and take one. This was very important as the tribe only took from the land what could be sustained, and Derain would have limited the number of kills if this herd could not support the loss. Looking at the sky, Derain said quietly, As soon as Mother Narwee shows her light on the land, we begin, and everybody nodded in understanding.

Derain motioned to five of the hunters who melted silently into the bush, making their way to the far side of the clearing. The remaining hunters spread out in a wide ring making no sound as they moved through fallen branches and bark. Akama hung back quietly on a small rise, watching his father creep into position.

The sun rose above the horizon, piercing the pale, grey light with a golden beam that gleamed on the tree tops and bushes. With a fierce shout, Derain sprang forward into the clearing where a herd of kangaroos were grazing, spread out amongst the low grasses. In unison, the animals took off in flight, but with unerring accuracy, Derain’s spear flew into the chest of the lead male kangaroo. With a low humming sound as they flew through the air, the rest of the spears killed selected kangaroos from the herd while the rest escaped in terror, fleeing through the trees. The men rushed in, clubbing the kangaroos to death quickly. Baranduda, one of the younger hunters, walked from the trees and hanging his head in shame, picked his unblooded spear from the grass. There was healthy rivalry between the hunters who were already shouting to each other about the size of their kill and how their animal had finer fur than another’s. Baranduda’s failure did not go unnoticed and he squatted in silence, while the others heckled him unmercifully. After a few minutes of name calling and jokes about his ancestors, Derain held his hand up for silence and Baranduda looked up gratefully.

Enough, growled Derain, and motioned Baranduda forward. Taking the body of the large male kangaroo that he had killed, Derain instructed Baranduda to take his knife and give the offering to the land. The men fell silent and gathered round. Each man took a daub of blood and smeared it over the ochre on their forehead, and tipped a part onto the earth. Akama took his turn last, and ran his fingers through the thick fur on the the kangaroo’s side, giving thanks to the warm coverings and food that this animal would provide. Derain smiled at him and crouching beside him instructed, It is good Akama, that you appreciate what this kangaroo can do for us. While there is plenty of food, we can forget that what Eingana gives, she can also take away. Our tribe has not known recent hunger but when I was a very young boy, there was a time of no rain. Everything was dry and the animals left. We could not camp happily anywhere for there was no food to be found. The waterholes dried up and we were starving. Many of the elders died, as they bravely gave their food to the young.

What happened? asked Akama in horror, as he had never known that this could happen.

Finally the rains came, said Derain softly, and the animals returned and the tribe once again became strong. But much of our history was lost with our elders and that is why the shaman, Mogo, is important. Only he can talk with the ancestors and ask them the way to places we have forgotten. We must not take any food lightly and without thought, as Eingana can change her mind at any moment.

Akama thought on this as the hunters gathered the kangaroos together to be collected on the way home. He wondered if someone in the tribe had done something wrong to cause Eingana to become angry with them and decided to ask Kulan if he knew any more.

The hunters now ran in single file toward a large wetlands that was half a morning away. This is where Akama’s role became very important, as he was expected to keep up and hand out spears if a flock of birds was startled on the way. The men still carried their heavy hunting spears in case a larger animal happened to run into their path. Two of the men were designated as beaters and ran slightly out from the rest of the hunters. They carried large branches to slap at the undergrowth and hopefully scare birds upwards. Different types of feathers were prized by the tribe for ceremonies, plus the meat of birds was a delicacy, so a wide variety was required. Though the bird spears were very light Akama began to get tired as he ran along with the men, but he resolved that he would not fail. Just when he felt he could run no longer a flock of small parakeets was startled from a low lying bush. Akama quickly tossed the correct spears to Derain and Joalah who were in the lead. With one smooth motion they turned and threw at the flock, the thin spears undulating as they arced upwards. The spears tore through the centre of the flock and birds dropped from the skies with damaged wings and necks. The remaining hunters quickly captured them and snapped their necks.

Jerara finished helping kill the birds and came up to Akama and gave him a proud slap. Well done Akama, he said, You helped capture some lovely feathers. Here, take these for your own, and he handed three birds tied by string for Akama to hang on his belt. The birds were beautiful, with brightly coloured red and green feathers. Feathers were used in all sorts of ceremonies and were highly prized for sacred garments. Akama was aware that if he did well in this hunt that he would be allowed to go through initiation, so with that in mind the feathers became even more precious.

Derain observed this exchange, and said in his deep voice, That throw of yours was perfect. He tossed Akama another two birds to hang off his belt and giving him a friendly slap as well, turned and called for the hunt to continue.

No more flocks of birds were flushed along the path, but two small wallabies and an emu were speared while on the way to the wet lands. Once at the wet lands, Akama handed out the bird spears quickly and gathered the hunting spears into a neat pile. There was a spare spear left over that Derain had included in his pile, and he handed this to Akama, saying, Go wungarra, you have a good arm, see what you can do. Akama took the spear and headed off towards the far side of the ponds.

The reeds became thicker as Akama made his way forward, with the ground underneath becoming muddier and softer. He moved as quietly as possible, pushing his way carefully through and enjoying the sun on his shoulders and the mud squishing between his toes. A sense of excitement gripped him as he realised the full responsibility of Derain allowing him to contribute directly to the hunt. He remembered Kulan’s words about pride and concentrated on what he had to do. The sun was nearly at full height and he could see the other hunters spread out in the distance. Some carried lightweight nets made out of woven hair and fibers to throw over smaller flocks of birds, while others were constructing a reed shield. The shield was made to look like a natural bunch of reeds, and the hunters held this in front of them to hide them as they approached their prey, mainly ducks and other waterfowl.

Akama was looking for another group of parrots or similar sized birds and had sighted some cockatoos in the trees further ahead. Cockatoos were curious, noisy creatures and wouldn’t startle too easily, so he took his time and walked carefully up to a vantage point on the side of the tree while they watched him carefully from above. Judging which way they were likely to fly when startled and how the wind was swirling and blowing, Akama readied his grip on the spear. The wood felt warm in his hand and he bounced it, gauging its weight. He lifted the spear up and slapped his thigh hard and shouted a loud yell at the birds in the tree. Hai, he yelled and screeching in fright and angry affront the flock of cockatoos launched from the tree, streaming away over the wet lands away from Akama. Time seemed to slow down and he sighted a cluster of bird in the flock. In an instinctive movement, he threw the spear with all of his body and was astonished to see it hit the wings of four birds. They dropped to the ground, squawking and flapping awkwardly. Akama quickly ran and snapped their necks while the rest of the flock wheeled away overhead into the blue sky. Once the birds were gathered, he squatted down and gave thanks to Eingana. He whispered, Thank you cockatoos, for your life for my tribe. I will honour your feathers in my sacred clothes and give your meat to feed us. Drawing his belt knife, he made a small cut in the largest bird and dabbed the blood on his forehead and onto the damp earth.

The spear had fallen into the reeds on the thick edge of the water, and Akama gathered it awkwardly, trying to avoid becoming completely covered in mud. Derain would not be happy if he lost one of his spears, despite catching four birds. Once recovered, Akama looked to see if any more birds were in nearby trees but they seemed empty, possibly startled by his previous shout. Taking some woven twine from his kangaroo skin belt, he tied the feet of the birds together and tied them onto the belt. He headed back around the edge of the reeds, skirting the patches of wet mud and enjoying his first success. Akama surveyed the land around him, his mind returning to the history that Derain had told him earlier in the day. It seemed astounding to him that there could be a time of no food as everywhere he looked there was life in abundance. Tubers were growing along the marshy edges and grass seeds and fruits were scattered amongst the greenery. Small lizards basked in the sun and off to the edge of the marsh, Akama noticed some bees swarming around an old, hollow tree. A glimmer of an idea came to him and he checked hurriedly to see if the other hunters were still busy. Seeing that some of them were still far away on the other side of the wet land, he took off his belt and placed it and the birds securely on a large flat rock. Running down to the water’s edge he stepped gingerly into the thick mud, then with a grin took a large handful and smeared it over his chest. Covering himself thoroughly and making sure his back was coated as well; Akama rolled out of the mud and made his way towards the hollow tree.

The bees hovered around him but seemed confused by his thick coating and did not attack. He moved very slowly and dipping his hand into the hollow, he felt bees moving and crawling beneath his fingers. Shutting his eyes so that they didn’t get stung, he moved his hand very carefully to grab onto the honeycomb that lay further in. Giving a gentle pull, a large section came away and Akama lifted it up and out very carefully. Thick honey ran over his mud encrusted hand and although the bees were disturbed, they did not associate him with the source of their attack. He carefully brushed some of the crawling bees back into the log and gingerly moved away, back towards the water. Once out of immediate range, he sprinted as fast as he could as mud was starting to dry and crack on his skin. One remaining bee crawled into a crack on his chest and stung him viciously. Akama flicked the bee off, ensuring the sting had come out of his skin and silently thanked the bee for its life. He placed the honeycomb carefully on a large flat leaf, wrapping it to protect it from flies and dove into the cool marsh water to scrub the mud off him. Underneath, the water was cool and clear and Akama smiled as the mud dispersed off his skin, forming a huge dark cloud. Standing up and scrubbing the rest off, Akama noticed the hunters were gathering ready to leave, so he ran out of the water quickly, still half covered. Taking his belt and spear in one hand and the honey in the other, he sprinted back to the group. As he ran up panting, Joalah noticed the wrapped leaf with honey oozing out in his hand. His eyes widened in delight and he let out a big belly laugh at the mud that still stuck to Akama’s back and hair.

Four birds and a honeycomb! What did the rest of us come along for? We only need to follow Akama, and he will provide for the whole tribe, cried Joalah and Akama hung his head, embarrassed by the attention. Joalah hadn’t finished singing his praises yet though and laughed, What a story this will make. He started off as a boy and ended up covered in mud like a turtle searching for a river. The rest of the tribe laughed and squatted down to share the bounty of Akama’s honeycomb. Honey was a rare treat and Akama had won great credit for his clever method of harvesting.

Jerara noticed that he had been stung on his chest and went to the river and took a fresh handful of the mud. He smeared it