Blaze Phd 120806

STORIES AND NGURRA (COUNTRY): CREATIVE WRITING AND ABORIGINAL KNOWLEDGE SYSTEMS

Blaze Kwaymullina

Student Number: 9554443 Bachelor of Arts, University of Western Australia, 2001 Master of Criminal Justice, University of Western Australia, 2002

This thesis is presented for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy of the University of Western Australia School of Social and Cultural Studies 2012

Abstract

This PhD combines two different kinds of stories that interrelate as expressions of Indigenous Knowledge. The first stories are two creative works in the form of short novels for children titled ‘The Were Kids’ and ‘Lizzy Lorry the Worm Ambassador’. The second story is a dissertation that critically examines underlying features of Indigenous knowledge systems, with some reference to the manifestation of these features in the creative works.

Creative Works Both of the creative works deal with themes, issues and content important and related to Indigenous ways of knowing. The Were Kids follows the adventures of a number of young children who have the ability to transform into extinct or endangered Australian species. For example, the main character has the ability to transform into a Tasmanian Tiger. The story deals with themes of species extinction, animal rights, and more generally the attitude of human beings towards animals. The story employs a range of concepts from Aboriginal knowledge systems, such as respect for the role of animals in the world, and the idea of animals as family. More broadly, the story also deals with the importance of accepting yourself for who, and in this case what, you are.

Similarly, Lizzy Lorry deals with human’s relationships with animals and their role in balancing the world. While the main character Lizzy cannot transform into an animal like the characters in Werekids, she plays a central role in helping a society of Worms with their responsibility in keeping the earth balanced. The relationship Lizzy has with animals in the story, reflects Aboriginal notions of animals as active agents in the world that follow their own Law; have their own methods of communicating to human beings; and of the interdependence species have with each other. Both Werekids and Lizzy Lorry have an implicit message about ecological sustainability and striving to find a balance in the human relationship with animals and the broader environment. They are designed to be fast paced action novels that will attract reluctant readers. Both works utilise an Aboriginal character as the main protagonist and deal with strong environmental themes, however these

elements are embedded with an action orientated narrative. I did not want to employ Aboriginal characters or themes in an obvious or stereotypical way.

Dissertation The dissertation explores and examines the inspiration of the creative works, namely the features and processes that underlie Indigenous worldviews. There will be some reference to the creative works in the dissertation, but it is primarily an analysis of Indigenous creation stories and the knowledge systems that derive from them. The dissertation forms part of a more recent ‘second wave’ of Indigenous narratives – a series of communications by Indigenous peoples that seek to explain and interpret the complex ideas contained within our ancient systems and stories. At the heart of the dissertation is an examination of holistic processes in Indigenous knowledge systems exploring how to know the world, how to be in the world, and how to respect the world.

A major feature of the dissertation is its methodology that centres on privileging Aboriginal voices and drawing upon Aboriginal stories as primary sources. This approach is done in order to counter the distorted lens in which Aboriginal stories are often viewed. A conscious choice has been made to reference Aboriginal voices and, with the occasional exception, omit non- Aboriginal references. The process is designed to speak from an Aboriginal centre and from that position reach out to a web of relationships. This means making space in the text for Aboriginal voices to speak, allowing room for their agency to operate, and respecting the position and authority from which they speak. This is not to say that non-Aboriginal sources and Western disciplinary constructs of Aboriginal knowledge are not important – because they are. However, in this dissertation they are employed as secondary, not primary sources.

Declaration

This thesis does not contain work that I have published, nor work under review for publication.

Acknowledgements

No expression of human creativity is ever truly formed in isolation. It is the relationships of life that fan the flames of the human spirit and imbue within us the desire to create, transform and remake the world in all that we are and in all that we do. This Dissertation is certainly no exception. I would like to thank my supervisor Professor Dennis Haskell who showed the true soul of what it means to be an academic –to possess a critical intellect, a passion for ideas and an unselfish dedication to the development of other minds. His editorial advice and our debates over content have, without a doubt, improved the quality of this work.

I would also like to thank my family, in particular my mother and sister for all their editorial advice and for listening to me talk about my ideas for hours on end. Lastly, and most importantly, I would like to thank the Old People, those wise Elders and knowledge holders who continue to tell their stories.

Contents

Creative Works

The Werekids 9

Lizzy Lorry: The Worm Ambassador 99

Dissertation

Introduction 172

Chapter 1 180 The Context of Aboriginal Stories

Chapter 2 185 Methodology: Walking Between Two Realities

Chapter 3 198 Knowing the World: Understanding a Holistic Reality

Chapter 4 222 Being in the World: Process to uphold a Holistic Reality

Chapter 5 232 Respecting the World: Sustaining a Holistic Reality

Endnotes 238

Bibliography 242

The Were Kids

Chapter One

Fooling Around

I love fooling around. My teacher Mr. Smith, or Smitho, as I think of him, can’t stand it. Which means that in a strange kind of way we’re a match made in heaven. Smitho misses me and the other kids like me on the summer holidays because he has no one to pick on. When the other teachers are breaking their necks to say goodbye to the rundown asbestos buildings and the grubby, ‘rebellious’ students, Smitho thinks the world is coming to an end. The truth is, he has no life outside of school. He isn’t married and he doesn’t have a girlfriend or any mates. I reckon he lives alone in a flat without the company of a pet cat, dog, bird or fish. He probably has no hobbies and I bet he never travels further than the local supermarket. All poor Smitho has got are his lessons, which he keeps in neat plastic folders. But lessons are useless without a group of innocent students to inflict them on.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not an innocent student. At least, Smitho doesn’t think so. Actually he gives me far more credit than I deserve. I mean, you can’t be the bad guy all the time, right? The truth is, he enjoys singling me out. Especially in Maths. Maths are his thing. He’s a numbers man. He can tell you how many light bulbs there are in the school building, how many biscuits in the Staff Room, how many bristles on the average household toothbrush and probably even how many hairs there are on his puny chest. If anyone ever counted sheep in their sleep, it’s Smitho. His favourite students are all good at Maths, which makes it impossible for a kid like me to be in his good books. I’ll never grow up to be a Rocket Scientist, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have any talents of my own, it’s just that they lie in other directions. And believe it or not, Smitho is actually helping me to explore them.

Take last week, for instance. I gave my usual performance on the weekly Maths test by scoring four out of twenty, so Smitho did his usual and attempted to ridicule me in front of the class. It’s a pattern we’ve fallen into over the last three years and I enjoy it because it gives me a chance to sharpen my wits.

‘What will you be when you grow up, Dyson? A fool?’ ‘I hope so, Sir!’ The crestfallen look on his face when my classmates burst into laughter almost made me feel sorry for him, only I was too busy feeling sorry for myself. Where’s the challenge in demolishing him with one sentence? Summer depression, that’s what I put his poor performance down to. The holidays were looming and he wouldn’t see me or any of my wise cracking mates for three long months. For some reason, our little exchange captured other kid’s imaginations. The Fool story spread to the lower grades and overnight I became famous. Jason King’s little brother Toby even told it to his class for News, then he made his friends giggle by saying he wanted to be a Fool when he grew up too. By lunchtime kids were offering to pay me to teach them how to be a Fool. I’m a generous kind of guy, so I gave them all a few free lessons. You know the sort of thing - silly looks, fake hysterical laughter, how to fart with your mouth or fall off a chair without hurting yourself.

By the afternoon break my fame had landed me in the Headmistress’ office. Well, almost. Miss Bracken, the Headmistress, kept me waiting in Reception in the hope of terrorising me into submission. The school secretary, Mrs. Blunt, wasn’t the world’s friendliest person, and while I sat bored on a hard plastic chair, she glared at me like I was the most disgusting thing on Earth. Fifteen minutes with Mrs. Blunt usually breaks most kids: I had half an hour. It was pretty mean really, because I became fixated on her moustache, which sent all sorts of weird thoughts through my head. Like, was she really a man? By the time Miss Bracken opened the door to her office, all I could think about was body hair.

‘Matthew Dyson,’ Miss Bracken sighed. ‘It seems we have something to discuss.’ She looked smug as she eyed my worried face. I think she thought Mrs. Blunt had done her job, and she probably would have, if they’d left me there for much longer.

Miss Bracken pushed a hand through her thick red locks, it was a simple gesture, but it exposed one of her ears, which looked hairy to me. ‘Please come in and close the door behind you, Matthew.’ I followed her into her office thinking about hairy ears, but then I noticed one of the buttons on the back of her dress was undone and I could see a bit of skin. That looked hairy too. ‘Sit down please Matthew.’ I dropped into the chair opposite her desk. By now I was sweaty and nervous, all my hairy thoughts were making my temperature rise and I felt a bit sick too. I focused on Miss Bracken’s hands, trying not to think about hair at all. Suddenly they turned into two large hairy paws with long claws. I gulped loudly. ‘Are you alright Matthew?’ ‘Y..yes Miss Bracken.’ She looked pleased with my nervousness. ‘I understand you have finally found a career suited to your special talents.’ ‘Yes Miss Bracken,’ I replied, zooming in on her nose. Bad move, hair sprouted from inside her nostrils and soon I was looking at a snout. I bit my lip, trying not to cry out in horror. What was happening to me? ‘You’ve been sent to my office so often this year Matthew I’m thinking of moving your desk in!’ That made me feel a little lighter. Smitho would hate that! My temperature started to drop again. I felt so relieved. Maybe I had a two-minute virus or something. ‘Don’t get your hopes up, young man. Believe it or not I have better things to do than move you up the school hierarchy. The summer holidays are nearly here and the teachers are looking forward to the break, I’m sure the students are too, so let’s make a deal. If I tell you a secret no other student knows, will you promise to stay out of my office for the next week?’ I was feeling a lot better now, almost normal. A grin spread across my face. ‘Is it a good secret?’ You never know with teachers. Miss Bracken’s lips thinned in disapproval. ‘Let’s just say it’s information you might be able to turn to your advantage.’ Things were looking up. ‘Tell me what it is then.’

Miss Bracken frowned. ‘Tell me what it is then – PLEASE Miss Bracken.’ What is it with teachers and crawling? ‘Pleeaase Miss Bracken.’ ‘Much better. We are having an extra big end of year clean up before we close for the summer holidays Matthew, so I have decided to turn it into a competition. A secret competition. The class who does the best job will get to go on a very special outing.’ The beach! My heart leapt in joy. It has been stinking hot for weeks and we’ve all been stuck in crappy classrooms with no air-conditioning! Swimming, surfing, ice cream – but I was getting carried away. Best to make sure it was true first. Obviously Miss Bracken wouldn’t tell me straight out it was the beach, but if she was really desperate for me to behave, which I think she was, then she might give me a couple of hints. ‘Will there be crabs there?’ I asked innocently. She nodded. ‘Water and sand?’ She nodded again. That was good enough for me! ‘Do we have a deal, Matthew?’ ‘Yes Miss Bracken, we have a deal.’ ‘Very good. May the best class win.’ ‘Oh, I think we both know whose class that is, Miss Bracken.’ ‘I think it’s time for you to go Matthew.’ It sure was! I needed to let to my classmates in on the whole secret deal thing before their slackness blew my outing.

Chapter Two

Cleaning Up

The last week hasn’t been easy. Smitho has pushed me to the limit and he’s done it with a smirk on his stupid face, like he knows something I don’t. Today is the last day of school and he’s still pushing me, but I’m determined not to let him get under my skin. My classmates have rallied behind me, they know that if anyone can get them to the beach I can. I’ve got everything under control. All around me kids are giving it their best, sweeping the verandahs, sorting through the huge pile of smelly, mismatched socks in Lost Property, and scrubbing out the School Canteen with pine disinfectant laced with ammonia. I’ve even assigned a couple of the more eager ones to scrape off the hardened chewing gum stuck to the underside of the desks. It’s a squatty, sweaty job, but hey – someone has to do it. All in all, I’m very satisfied with their progress and just between you and me, I think the outing is in the bag.

‘Smile, Dyson!’ Smitho says, coming up to me. ‘I’m about to give you what you’ve worked so hard to achieve all year.’ ‘What’s that, Mr. Smith?’ ‘Freedom from the classroom!’ Smitho puts one firm hand on my shoulder and steers me out the class, down the verandah steps, and onto the steaming hot bitumen playground. Handing me a large plastic garbage bag he says. ‘Start cleaning up, Dyson!’ ‘You’re giving me Rubbish Duty, Sir? On the last day of school?’ ‘I want the playground spotless!’ Spotless? In this heat? And with all those small bits of grotty muck and sticky, slimy papers dotting it from one end to the other? ‘Come on lad, get to it!’ I almost tell him what he can do with his plastic bag. Almost. Then the expectant look on his face tells me what he really wants. If I lose it now, I’ll be excluded from the beach outing, this is his final push, but it’s an all time low, even for him. I pull my cap lower to shade my face from the burning sun and look around for the cleanest bit of paper I can find.

Smitho smiles and positions himself in the shade of a nearby gum tree. Then he pulls out a sports bottle of ice cold water and drips it slowly into his mouth. I swallow, my throat feels dry, I’m thirsty already. It’s so hot the bitumen feels tacky under my sneakers and my skin is beginning to sting. ‘STOP DAYDREAMING AND GET ON WITH IT!’ Smitho shouts. For a second I wonder if a trip to the beach is worth it. Then a picture of rolling blue waves flashes before me. I see myself take swig of icy Coke, and then wrap my tongue around a vanilla ice cream covered in nuts and chocolate. Yep, it’s worth it.

I scan the playground for the least disgusting rubbish I can find. If I start off with the cleaner bits, I might be able to work up to the stinkier stuff. That’s when I spot it. My worst nightmare. A wormy, fly covered, half eaten, half cooked beef burger. If Smitho spots it, he’ll have me picking it up for sure. Quickly I shuffle sideways. ‘DON’T LEAVE THAT SLIMY MUCK FOR SOMEONE TO SLIP IN!’ He’s got the eyes of a hawk! I stand there awkwardly, my temperature begins to rise, tiny beads of sweaty fear appear on my skin. That’s right, fear. I have a terrible secret no one knows about and it’s not simple to explain because I don’t really understand it myself. I’ve been feeling odd for a few months now, but ever since the two-minute virus thing in Miss Bracken’s office, things have gotten worse. Recently I’ve developed a sensitivity to certain smells. What seems to affect me the most is meat with some blood still left in it. It’s ridiculous, I know. I’m the only kid in the world terrified of a bloody beef burger. ‘PICK IT UP, DYSON.’ I can’t pick it up! ‘NOW!’

I inch forward slowly. My stomach juices are starting to bubble like a kettle. The closer I get, the sicker I feel and the more bubbles there are. The overpowering smell of the rotting bloody meat wafts upwards, invades my

nostrils and floods every tiny receptor in my eleven-year-old brain with revulsion and fright. I think I’m coming to the boil, because the bubbles are knocking together faster and faster and the chocolate doughnut I ate at morning break is rising higher and higher. I try to gulp it down, but it’s no use, it’s like it’s got a will of its own because it forces itself into my throat. My cheeks blow out, my mouth bursts opens and I spew all over the foul beef burger. Flies scatter for their lives, then buzz back quickly for an even richer feast. I stare at their wriggling bodies, imagining their cries of delight as they slip and slide across the slimy chocolate and the bloody, mangled meat. It’s sooo gross!

I feel absolutely dreadful now, like I could pass out and never wake up again, but do I get any sympathy? No! ‘WELL DONE, Dyson. Now you can clean up your own mess too!’ He must be joking! ‘NOW!’ Smitho bellows. ‘Mr… Sm…Smith,’ I choke, as politely as anyone can with a chunk of chocolate vomit still lodged in their throat. ’If you make me do that, I’ll chuck again.’ He saunters over with a silly grin on his face. ‘We’ll be here all morning then, won’t we? Now get a bucket and clean it up.’ That’s it. He’s pushed me too far. I can’t hold it anymore. The vomit frees itself, gushes into my mouth then shoots out like a guided liquid missile all over Smitho. If he wasn’t wearing sunglasses, he’d be blinded by chunky chocolate bile.

I wait for him to explode. It’s the normal thing to do in circumstances like this. Instead he just freezes. Then it hits me, he’s too frightened to open his mouth in case some of the vomit slips inside. Either that, or he’s in shock. Suddenly he comes to life, prancing around like a jerky wooden puppet, he makes noises of total disgust as bits of vomit fly off him. Then he bombards my ears with words no well brought up child should hear in the playground. The only reason I manage to keep a straight face is because I feel so desperately

ill. I glance around, not knowing what to do. Mrs. Roland, a kindly teacher who looks after the younger grades, sees what has happened and heads in our direction. Is she coming to rescue Mr. Smith or me, I wonder. Does she realise I am on the verge of collapse?

Ignoring Smitho’s prancing and dancing, she grasps my arm and steers me towards the Sick Room. ‘He did it DELIBERATELY!’ Mr. Smith splutters after us. ‘You have detention, Dyson! DETENTION!’ On the last day of school? Give me a break! There’s a sudden gagging sound behind us, I suspect some of my vomit might have slipped into his mouth when he was shouting at me. Smitho rushes past, heading for the Staff toilets with his hand over his mouth and a look of utter terror in his eyes. It makes me realise there’s no dignity in vomiting, no matter who does it.

I’m in heaven! The Sick Room is the only room in the entire school that is air-conditioned. I lie down on the bed, savouring the feel of the cool, crisp sheets. I can’t believe how dumb I’ve been. Why didn’t I fake being sick earlier? Then I could have avoided being sick for real! When it was time to leave for the beach, I could have had a miraculous recovery, I’ve had those before. Was it the heat that addled my brains or the stupid virus that I can’t seem to throw off? Mrs. Roland presses a cold cloth to my forehead. ‘Sunstroke can induce vomiting,’ she says sympathetically. ‘Headaches too. Don’t be surprised if you get one, Matt.’ She wipes my whole face, it’s sheer bliss, my temperature starts to drop again, I sigh and close my eyes. My strange sense of smell kicks in again as Mrs. Roland’s perfume wafts up my nose. ‘Lavender,’ I say without thinking. ‘Yes that’s right,’ Mrs. Roland says. ‘I love perfumes with lavender in them.’ I sniff again and the perfume takes on a whole different flavour. It’s as if I can smell every tiny ingredient that was mixed together to create it. ‘And cedar, geranium and nutmeg with a touch of bergamot and vanilla,’ I add with my eyes still closed.

‘That’s very clever, you must have a very keen sense of smell. Now would you mind sitting up for a bit, I think you’re probably dehydrated so you better drink something.’ I sit up and she hands me a large glass of crushed ice liberally sweetened with orange cordial. ‘Sip it slowly.’ I take one small sip. It’s delicious! I take another and another. My stomach begins to settle down, then I notice the biscuit tin on the nearby bench. After a few more sips, I mutter weakly. ‘I vomited up my whole breakfast, Mrs. Roland. My stomach feels so hollow.’ It’s a lie. I never had breakfast. Mum’s taken to making homemade muesli and it’s disgusting. That’s why I’ve been stuffing myself with chocolate doughnuts at the morning break. Mrs. Roland frowns in concern. ‘You might need something dry to counteract the juices in your stomach.’ She reaches for the tin. It’s packed with all sorts of delicious biscuits, but she pushes the yummy ones aside and picks out the plain ones, handing me four of them. It’s disappointing, but then again, a biscuit is a biscuit. ‘Thank you, Mrs. Roland,’ I say politely. ‘Your colour looks a little better, Matt. I think you’ll be alright. It’d be an awful pity if you missed out on this afternoon’s outing, especially after all the hard work your class has put in.’ YES! Frothing blue waves, a long stretch of white sandy beach, ice creams, cool drink and surfboards fill my head. It’s a brilliant day for a swim. The best day ever. ‘I think another teacher will have to stand in for poor Mr. Smith. Probably it’ll be me, but don’t you worry, I’ll make sure you all have a terrific time at the Museum.’ Museum? MUSEUM! A whole different set of images fills my head: skeletons, boring photographs of old buildings, yellowing maps of country towns, samples of mineral ore. I can’t believe Miss Bracken actually lied to me.

Mrs. Roland presses the cloth to my forehead again and smiles kindly. ‘It’s so hot today, Miss Bracken has decided to send the rest of the school home early. But she didn’t want to disappoint your class, so the outing is still on. Actually, it’s quite exciting. All the other schools in the area are sweltering it out down at the beach, so we’ll have the whole museum to ourselves. Isn’t that wonderful?’ No it’s not wonderful! The only reason we’ve got it to ourselves is because no one else wants it! Could my day get any worse?

Chapter Three

Last Boy Standing

Unfortunately, it could.

We’ve been at the Museum for over an hour now and the air-conditioning has just failed. It’s amazing how quickly the temperature rises when there’s no cold air to hold it at bay. Undaunted, our dedicated volunteer Tour Guide soldiers on. He looks about my Nanna’s age. I suspect that like of some of Nanna’s friends who pop into our house for a game of cards, he’s got nothing better to do with his time. But it’s worse than that. He has a very slow way of speaking. It’s a form of torture I’ve never been subjected to before, but let me tell you, it’s excruciating! ‘Australia, has the worst record of mammalian extinction of any country on planet Earth. Nearly half of its native mammals have become extinct in the past 200 years. Museums are now among the few places where specimens can be viewed. Here before you, is the Oychogalea lunata, which is Latin for the Crescent Nailtail Wallaby. This beautiful creature once inhabited the woodlands and scrubs of the west and centre of Australia…’

As he drones on, he wipes a tear from the corner of his watery blue eye. I don’t know whether he has hay fever, or whether he’s actually crying over the fate of the stuffed Wallaby. My Nanna is an animal lover too. But she doesn’t cry, she just gets mad. Don’t me wrong, it’s not that I’m unsympathetic, it’s just that I’d rather be at home lying on my bed with the fan blowing in my face. Besides, this is the third dead creature we’ve seen so far. The first was a large mud crab surrounded by sand and water, it’s natural habitat, so I guess that technically, Miss Bracken didn’t lie to me after all. I look at the Wallaby. Its eyes are glazed, its fur is ratty and even though it’s under glass it’s covered in a layer of thick dust. Dead furry meat. Yuk. Then again, maybe I should count my blessings. At least it’s not dead fresh meat. Unlike the beef burger in the school playground, there’s no blood to see or smell. I relax a little. If there’s no fresh blood, then I don’t have to keep watch or worry about whether there’s a

predator more dangerous than myself lurking in the shadowy forest. Hang on a minute! Where did those crazy thoughts come from?

Get a grip, Matt!

Maybe the heat of the playground really did fry my brain. Maybe I really do have sunstroke! I’ve been looking for an explanation for my growing weirdness for a while now, maybe it’s just the heat. I try to make myself believe that, but it doesn’t work. Deep down I know. I’m changing. I shiver as a feeling of dread washes through me. Little things are happening to me that I can’t explain. It’s not just the fear of bloody meat, it’s other things too. Like waking up in the middle of the night thinking I’ve got a tail or trying to scratch my ears on the top of my head when they’re on the side. Then there’s the sniffing. My nose twitches and I sniff like I’m a dog or something. It’s starting to freak me out. I pull the front of my T-shirt away from my sweaty torso and flap it around to cool off. If the air-conditioning doesn’t get fixed soon, we’ll all be overcome by a powerful dose of pong. Thirty sweaty kids, thirty pairs of reeking sneakers, a few silent but violent farts, old bones and moulting fur. I can already feel the dry biscuits Mrs. Roland gave me in the Sick Room moving around in my stomach. If I don’t find somewhere to sit down for a while, I think I’ll be in danger of decorating the marble floor the same way I decorated the playground.

It’s time to move on to the next exhibit, a giant plastic skeleton of a dinosaur. The class shuffles forward reluctantly. I shuffle backwards. Slowly. Very Slowly. Mrs. Roland might be a soft hearted sort, but like my Nanna she doesn’t miss much. Luckily she’s distracted by my friend Alan. The poor bloke is red in the face. I’m guessing he wants to go to the toilet again. His Mum’s homemade Hawaiian pizza has never agreed with him. Alan dashes off. Mrs. Roland turns and looks around for any stray kids who might’ve got lost between the Wallaby and the Dinosaur. She starts to count heads. While she’s doing that, I look around for somewhere cooler to disappear to. I spot a blue door to my left marked Staff Only – No Entry. Taking a chance, I duck inside.

Jackpot!

This room is much cooler, but it’s very dark. The door clicks shut behind me and I move both hands over the wall trying to find the light switch. I find something else instead. My hands freeze. It’s tall and hairy. I swallow a nervous blob of spit and a shudder of fear runs through me. I scrabble urgently for the light switch, find it and flick it on. “YAARGGHH!” I am face to face with a fierce, fanged bear. I stumble backwards and drop into a small plastic chair. Then I realise how stupid I’m being. It’s stuffed. It can’t hurt me. I look around, there are a few smaller stuffed animals in here as well and some of the shelves are filled with jars containing pickled animal organs and other weird things. On a benchtop next to a sink is a set of cutting knives with fine, sharp blades. The whole place stinks of hospital smells. Antiseptic with a bite in it, tangy disinfectant and ammonia cleaning fluid. I think I’m in some kind of storage room. The whole place feels wrong and the glassy eyed stares I’m getting are starting to unnerve me. My stomach churns. I stick my head between my knees and let the blood rush to my brain. I breathe deeply. In, then out. In, then out. The biscuits in my stomach stop circling. My stomach rumbles, then settles.

Phew! That’s better. I hate vomiting, little bits always stay inside your mouth and they taste foul. I lean back in the chair and wipe the clammy sweat from my face. Then an odd sensation crawls over my skin. It’s like an itch at first, but it grows stronger and stronger until all the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Something is watching me. Something alive. Are there security cameras in this room? I look up at the ceiling, I can’t see any. I focus on where the feeling is coming from, and my eyes zoom in on a workbench in the far corner of the room. Something is standing on the bench, but it’s covered by a grubby, green sheet so I don’t know what it is. My hand twitches, then reaches towards the workbench like it’s got a mind of its own. I jerk it back and sit on it. I’m just imagining things. Who cares what’s under the sheet? It’s probably just another dead animal and I’ve seen enough of those to last me a lifetime. I turn around and try to ignore it. That

feeling of being watched sweeps over me again and my heart beats a little faster. What’s under that sheet? I really want to know. I can’t stand it any longer. I go over to the workbench and slip the sheet off. Before me stands the skeleton of a weird looking dog. It has a big head with a long jaw, a stiff tail, curved back and small ribs. From its nose to its tail its about six feet in length and it looks like it would have weighed quite a lot when it was alive. A small sign nearby says: Thylacinus Cynocephalus. I’m guessing that’s Latin for - Weird Dead Dog. I turn the sign over. Tasmanian Tiger. Wow! Not a dog at all. A Tiger! I reach out to touch its jaws. They look so powerful. I bet they could crush the skull of another animal quite easily. A thrill of fear runs through me. I jerk my hand back, thinking I could lose my fingers quite easily if it decided to attack me. Don’t be an idiot Matt, I tell myself. It’s just a pile of old bones. It can’t hurt you. Besides, if it really is a Tasmanian Tiger, then it’s not only dead, it’s extinct.

For the first time since I entered the Museum, I feel sympathy for an exhibit. What would it be like to be finished forever? Deceased, departed, dead as a Dodo, kaput! Could it happen to people? According to Smitho, human beings are at the top of the food chain, but only because we control what happens to all the other animals on our planet. What if everything changed? What if Earth was invaded by evil aliens who treated us the same way we treat sheep and cattle? Would I end up as a stuffed human specimen in some distant museum in the Milky Way? Would bored, little alien children come and look at me on end of the year school excursions? Last Boy Standing. Planet Earth. 2012. Estimated to be 11 years of age. I suppose anything is possible. It’d be pretty awful, though. Especially if they exhibited me without any clothes on.

Gently I reach out and touch its bones. They’re ice cold. Much colder than I expected. I trace my fingers up the ribs to the spine, then downwards to its neck. When I reach the top of its head, I give it a friendly scratch. Like I would a pet dog.

CREAK!

The skull flashes round like lightning and closes its teeth on my forearm. There’s a sharp stabbing pain and blood spurts out. I’m too stunned to scream. Instead I stare in silent horror at the jaws enclosing my arm and the dribbling blood pooling on the workbench, then splattering on the floor. I try and tug my arm back, but a flash of pain shoots through my muscles and the teeth sink deeper into my skin. I stand there, not knowing what to do. Then just as suddenly the jaws open again and gently let me go. The head swings back to its original position. Just for an instant, I imagine I see the Tiger alive. I see it shuffling through a wet, green forest, thick with moist multi-coloured leaves, lush tree ferns and ancient trees. I see it stop. I see it turn and look at me. Then the image vanishes. I blink and look down at my arm. The fang marks are still there and so is the blood. I look back at the Tiger. My blood is on its teeth too. ‘What do you think you’re doing in here?’ a harsh voice demands behind me. Quickly I fling the grubby, green sheet back over the skeleton. Then I turn and face the short, cold-eyed man who has entered the room and closed the door. I’m trapped between the man and the Tiger. What am I going to do? Think Matt, think!

Chapter Four

Thylacoleo Carnifex

‘What are you doing in here young man?’ the stranger repeats sternly. He looks old fashioned, like he’s just stepped out of a photograph. He’s dressed in a pale linen suit that has lots of pockets. He’s wearing highly polished brown leather lace up shoes and he has a pencil thin moustache that looks like its been waxed or something. Then I notice the badge on his chest: Dr. Herman Giles – Senior Anthropologist. A Museum Official then. Okay, I need a cover story. Fast. I put on my polite look. Luckily I’ve had lots of practice perfecting it with Smitho. Before he got to know me well, it saved my skin more than once. Maybe it’ll work on Herman Giles too. ‘Can you help me find my teacher, Dr. Giles? Our class is from Arlington Primary School. We’ve been doing a tour of the Museum, but I got lost.’

‘A lost boy?’ His lips twitch and his eyes drift to my wounded arm. My instincts scream at me not to let him see the fang marks or the blood. I half turn away. ‘Your name?’ ‘Matt Dyson. My teacher Mrs. Roland will be looking for me.’ ‘To get lost in this room Matt, you would’ve had to open the blue door. Is that correct?’ I shake my head. If I confess to opening the door, then he’ll know I came in here deliberately, and that could get me into a lot of trouble. ‘The door was already open. I thought I saw Mrs. Roland come in here.’ He cocks his head to one side and for some reason I think of a hawk about to swoop on its prey. If it wasn’t for the squeak of his shiny brown leather shoes, I’d swear he didn’t move. But he must have, because he’s suddenly much closer. My nose twitches in response to his nearness. I sniff. This man smells wrong to me, as wrong as the room. I shuffle back nervously.

‘Have you touched anything, Matt?’ Oh yuk! I hate the way he says my name. It’s almost like he’s tasting it. ‘Nothing, Dr. Giles. Honest!’ He smiles unpleasantly. ‘Do you know what anthropologists do?’ ‘I’m sure the work you do is very important Dr. Giles, but I don’t know what it is exactly.’ I suspect he’s going to tell me though. I just hope it’s not anything too gross, my stomach couldn’t handle it. ‘My specialist field is Paleoanthropology. I study evolution and I have a particular interest in fossils, bones, and burial sites.’ Oooh, Dr. Death. He gestures to the jars on the shelves. ‘I also collect the preserved parts of extinct animals or those on the verge of extinction. Take this one for instance.’ He holds up a small fossil from one of the shelves. ‘This is the tibia of a baby Ozrapter, a dinosaur that roamed Australia millions of years ago. This small dinosaur child accidentally wandered into a tar pit. Poor boy, he was somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be, but he didn’t realize the danger until it was too late. Now Matt, are you sure there’s nothing wrong with your arm?’ ‘NO!’ I shout, without meaning to. I feel alarmed. Like he might kidnap me or something. Quickly I blurt out. ‘Mrs. Roland will call the Police if I stay missing.’ ‘Really? Perhaps you should find the saintly Mrs. Roland then.’ He steps to one side and I make a beeline for the door. I am halfway out when he says. ‘Children do not have the capacity to understand the needs of the world. Which is why they must be controlled. Break the rules by all means Matt, but never forgets who makes them. The business of adults is far more dangerous than anything you could ever imagine.’ What a fruit loop!

I hear the squeak of his shiny shoes as he turns away. I know it’s crazy, but I can’t resist casting a final longing glance back at the Tiger. I don’t want to leave it with Herman Giles. I feel like I should defend it in some way. Or take it with me. But it’s too late now. Besides, I remind myself, the Tiger is already dead. What more harm can the anthropologist do? My stomach still twists

though, when his pudgy hands reach out and remove the green sheet from the skeleton. With the tips of his stubby nicotine stained fingers, he strokes the Tiger possessively. ‘Sorry, boy!’ I whisper, shutting the blue door behind me.

I duck guiltily out into the main corridor, it’s a relief to escape the freaky Dr. Giles. The air-conditioning still isn’t working and the pong is rising with a vengeance. Obviously my class is still here, doing their best to pollute the building. I wonder which part of the Museum they’re in now. I guess I’ll just have to go find them. Further down the corridor, a tall, older boy with a shaved head grins and salutes me in a knowing way. His black T- shirt is so tight it’s moulded to his muscles. And he has plenty of them. Show off, I think to myself. Then I notice there’s a picture of a peculiar looking lion printed on his top. Underneath the picture are the words -Thylacoleo Carnifex. Whatever that means. Who is he, I wonder and why is he singling me out? ‘Oh there you are, dear!’ Mrs. Roland says, bustling up cheerfully. ‘You nearly missed the bus. Come along. I’m letting your class go home early. It’s the beginning of the summer holidays after all, and it’s far too hot to stay here a minute longer.’ Looks like the pong has defeated her as well. I follow her to the exit like a little kid. Mrs. Roland is safe and normal and I feel relieved to be in her company. But as we pass through the heavy double glass doors, something makes me look back. Herman Giles is standing in the corridor. His beady, excited eyes are fixed on my wounded arm. He gives me a little wave. There’s blood on the tips of his fingers and he slowly raises them to his lips tasting my blood. ‘Bye,Bye Matty!’ he mouths silently. I gulp. I hope I never, ever meet him again!

I sit away from my friends on the school bus. They’re all still mad at me for getting them saddled with a trip to the Museum instead of the beach. As the bus pulls away from the kerb, I lean back in my seat and think about what happened in the junk room. It’s unbelievable. I check my arm. Yep. The fang marks are still there. I shiver. Once. Twice. The shivering doesn’t stop. I feel

hot and cold at the same time. Mrs. Roland is seated close by so I keep my arm hidden from her. She notices me shaking, leans towards me and gives me a concerned, but reassuring smile. ‘You’ll be home soon, Matt. All you need is a drink of cold water, a nice dinner and an early night. Come tomorrow morning, you’ll be just fine.’ A couple of kids nearby snigger. I think they’re wondering if I’ll vomit on Mrs. Roland too. I probably could make something come up. And it would be a school record. But I like Mrs. Roland. She understands the rebellious kids like me are the ones who find schoolwork hard. And unlike Mr. Smith, when things go wrong she doesn’t think we’re guilty until proven innocent. I give her a weak smile and she smiles back. But instead of seeing her rosy cheeked face, I see the face of a chubby wombat. The virus has struck again!

Luckily, the shivering starts to ease off. My temperature stops going up and down and levels out. I close my eyes, make my mind go blank and try to relax. Breathe, Matt. I tell myself. Just breathe. Just as I start to feel okay, into my blank mind space floods my last memory of the sinister anthropologist. His pale possessive hand is resting on the centre of the Tiger’s spine. And then, a tiny movement. A single shiver. The Tiger shivered! I feel awful. I left the poor Tiger all alone with a man so sick, he can creep out the dead as well as the living! But it’s worse than that, there’s an absolute certainty in my head now. I am going to see horrible Herman Giles again.

Chapter Five

Hello Brother

By the time I get home, my arm is throbbing painfully. My head is fuzzy and my hands are clammy. As I walk up our front path I force myself to ask some truly frightening questions. Have I been infected with ancient germs? Am I going to get sick with an unknown disease? Should I see a doctor or a Vet? I open the door as quietly as I can. I don’t want Nanna to know I’m home. I just want to vanish into my room and google Tasmanian Tiger on my old computer. There’re some really important questions I need answered fast. Do their teeth have poison in them? How strong is it? If the poison works slowly, then will I be sick tomorrow or dead? If I do flake out, and Nanna rushes me into the Emergency Department of the local hospital, I really hope there’s a doctor on duty who won’t think I’m a complete idiot when I tell him what bit me.

I creep down the hallway towards my room, which is off to one side and overlooking the front yard. Despite my efforts to be as silent as a well-trained ninja, Nanna hears me. I should’ve known she would. She can probably see in the dark as well. ‘Is that you, Matt?’ she sings out from the kitchen.’ Do you want some afternoon tea?’ ‘No thank you, Nanna,’ I reply, continuing on. ‘I have homework to do!’ The minute I say the words, I know I’ve blown it. School’s over for the year! Why would I have homework? ‘I…I mean I have stuff to do!’ ‘Stuff!’ she laughs, poking her head of long white hair around the kitchen door.’ ‘You prefer Stuff to chocolate cake?’ Today I do. Today I don’t think I should eat another thing. It might come up again. The only trouble is, chocolate cake is my favourite. If I don’t eat at least one slice, then she’ll know there’s something wrong. And if Nanna scents a secret, she’ll have the whole story out of me in ten seconds flat. I’m not ready to tell anyone yet. Not even Nanna. It’s just too bizarre! I’m too confused!

Nanna has her stubborn look on her face. I surrender and join her in the kitchen.

The cake is already cut and one large delicious slice is sitting on a plate on the table with a glass of fruit juice next to it. ‘I knew you couldn’t resist!’ she says smugly. ‘You were just teasing me, weren’t you Matt?’ I wish! She spots the blood on my arm. Her large brown eyes narrow. ‘Have you been in a fight?’ ‘No, Nanna.’ I pick up the slice of cake. Please don’t let me vomit, I pray. I gulp it down. Surprisingly, it feels okay. I don’t think it’s going to re-enter the world. Not from the front end anyway. ‘What happened then?’ ‘I just scratched myself, that’s all.’ ‘They look like puncture wounds to me.’ ‘That’s where the nails stabbed me. It was just a bit of old wood with nails in it. We had to clean up the school today.’ ‘Lucky your tetanus shot is up to date then. Did you win?’ ‘Win what?’ ‘The fight.’ That’s one of the cunning ways she has of ferreting out the truth. She pretends she’s going along with your story, then she doubles back. Obviously she thinks I’m lying. But sometimes lying is so much simpler than telling the truth. Especially in this case. ‘I won,’ I tell her ‘he was really big too. The school bully.’ Nanna doesn’t like bullies. ‘Good for you! But I hope you didn’t bite him back, Matt. It’s not polite.’ There’s a twinkle in her brown eyes. I don’t know whether she believes me or not.

I gulp down the last of the cordial, but before I can escape to my room Nanna insists on washing my arm and putting some antiseptic on it.

‘There, now you won’t have to worry about it getting infected.’ What I wouldn’t give for that to be true! ‘Dinner will be late tonight. I need to pop down the shops and pick up a few things.’ Nanna picks up her car keys and shopping list. ‘Will you be alright on your own?’ ‘Sure!’ It’s exactly what I need! As soon as she leaves I disappear into my room. I sling my old school bag under my bed then sit down at my computer and google Tasmanian Tiger. A whole bunch of different websites appear. I click through a few of them, reading them quickly. There’s nothing about skeletons attacking people or vampire Tigers returning from the grave to suck the blood from innocent human boys. In fact, there’s nothing about them eating humans at all.

From 1830 – 1909 a Bounty was offered for all Tasmanian Tigers killed. Thousand were slaughtered. It is likely that this mammal is now extinct. The Tasmanian Tiger, although an efficient predator, was shy, secretive and in general avoided human contact. Their powerful jaws could open to 120 degrees, which is larger than any other mammal. They hunted alone or in pairs in the evening, at night and in the early morning. Homing in on the scent of their prey, they pursued it until it was exhausted. The creature preyed on wallabies, birds, kangaroos and smaller creatures such as possums and potaroos.

Splat! Something plops onto my hand. With growing alarm I realise it’s my own spit. My mouth is open. I’m drooling! The thought of munching on a possum or a potoroo is stimulating my taste buds. I press my lips together. I’ve never snacked on a possum or a potoroo in my life! I wipe the drool away with the back of my hand and push away my stupid, stupid thoughts.

The Tasmanian Tiger was not a noisy animal, but when anxious or excited they made husky, coughing barks. When hunting they made a double yap bark every few seconds, in the same way that a terrier might bark. They were

unable to run at high speeds due to their awkward scurry, which has been described as a shambling canter. However, they did possess a bipedal hop similar to a kangaroo and this was probably used to burst into acceleration when they surprised their prey.

A bipedal hop, eh? I look down at my legs. They look normal. There’re just two of them, they have feet with toes, and they don’t feel like hopping anywhere. Not yet, anyway. I scroll through a few other sites. There’s nothing that says the bones of the Tasmanian Tiger are poisonous. Then again, most of this information is probably out of date. Some of it could even be nonsense. From what I can see, no one really knows what the Tasmanian Tiger was like in the wild.

My temperature starts to play up again. I feel hot, then cold. Hot then cold. Cold. Really, really cold. I jump up and grab a jumper out of my chest of drawers. Pulling it on, I nuzzle the short, soft brown fur sliding over on my shoulder. Hang on a minute! I don’t have fur. It’s just a hairy jumper Nanna knitted me with furry wool she bought from a church fete. It’s not actually my fur. Oh man! Something is absolutely, positively wrong. But what?

I leave my computer and sink down on my bed. In my head I go over everything that happened in the Museum. When did I start feeling this bad? Was it before I was bitten by the Tiger, or after? I hate to admit it, but the truth is I’ve been getting strange for a while now. The bite does seem to have made it worse though. I try to be logical. Is there another explanation beside the virus idea or the ridiculous notion I had on the bus that I might actually be turning into some kind of furry creature? I think of my older brother Mike. He went pretty peculiar when he started turning into a teenager. Is that all this is about, adolescence? Is that why I’m turning into a weirdo?

My vision blurs unexpectedly. It’s like I’m looking through smoke. I rub my eyes. Something scratches my cheek. I blink hard. My vision clears. My blunt fingernails are no longer blunt. They’re long and pointy, just like real claws. And there are patches of fur on the back of my hands. This can’t be happening

to me! Suddenly my head fills with voices. It’s like hundreds of bees are buzzing around in my brain. I lie down with my paws, I mean my hands, over my ears, trying to block out the sound. I’ll be late for dinner Lois, work is really busy… Hey Jaimie, come and watch T.V with me! I don’t understand, tell me what happened again. It’s the Council’s fault, they should be watering that park instead of letting it die… My mind is floating in an endless sea of words. I want the voices to stop. Then it hits me. They’re not just any voices. They’re the voices of people who live in our neighbourhood. You know where they’ve gone, don’t you? That’s Mrs. Charlton from down the road. Where? That’s Mr. Charlton. Down south to hug the trees! Mrs. Charlton. Bunch of crazy Greenies! Mr. Charlton.

They’re talking about my family! My parents and brother are camping out down south with a group of protesters trying to save a Tuart forest from being logged. I groan and pull a pillow over my head. Slowly the voices fade away, my head stops pounding and I draw in a ragged breath. It’s okay, I tell myself, it’s okay. But just as my breathing begins to even out, a noise wells up from deep inside me – yap yap! There’s a moment of absolute stillness, like I’m standing alone inside my brain, then the crystal clear voice of an older boy says. Hello brother, welcome to the Pack!

Something inside of me has changed forever. But if I’m not fully human anymore, then what am I?

Chapter Six

Midnight Messengers

The luminous green plastic clock on my bedside cupboard says it’s midnight. I groan, rub my eyes, and double check. Yep! It’s midnight alright. I must’ve blacked out. Rolling over, I sit up. Slowly. First I check my head. The voices are gone, thank Goodness, and I don’t feel feverish or dizzy anymore. Then I roll up the sleeve of my jumper and check my arm. The fang marks are still there, but they seem a bit fainter. Maybe Nanna’s antiseptic helped. My stomach rumbles noisily. I’m hungry. Good. That’s normal. After all, I never ate dinner. My stomach rumbles again. Make that really hungry. If I sneak into the kitchen and make a sandwich, will I wake up Nanna? Probably. She’s a light sleeper and she’s already interrogated me once today, I don’t think I’m up to going through it again. Not yet, anyway.

My nose twitches suddenly. I sniff. There’s a curious mixture of smells in the air, but I have no idea what they are. I smile a little, remembering the build up of pong in the Museum. Maybe the smell is just me. It was stinking hot today, I was on Rubbish Duty at school, I did vomit and I haven’t yet had a shower. Bravely, I lift up my arm and give my armpit a good sniff. POW! Sweat. Strong smelling sweat, for sure, but only sweat. Okay, so if it’s not me I can smell, then what is it and where is it coming from? Curious, I stand up and take one step towards my bedroom door, then stop. ‘Nope,’ I mutter. ‘The smell is weaker in that direction.’ Turning around, I take two steps towards my bedroom window. Yep! The smell is stronger in that direction. I walk to my window and fling back the curtains. My window is slightly open and a light breeze is blowing, bringing with it the intriguing collection of different smells. That’s when I notice them. A small group of animals standing in the dull glare of the streetlight opposite my house. Then I notice something else. They’re all staring at me staring at them. I have a strong feeling they’ve been there for a while. How come?

My first reaction is to close the curtains and shut them out. I’ve had enough weirdness for one day. The only trouble is, this bunch isn’t your usual neighbourhood gang of flea bitten cats and dogs. It would surprise anyone, even a drunken teenager, to see them sitting calmly on a suburban footpath at midnight. I inspect them carefully, trying to work out exactly what they are. There’s a tiny mouse-like creature that looks kind of hunched over. It has rounded brown ears, a slender snout, long curved claws on its forefeet and a dense coat of soft grey-brown fur. Fretfully, it shifts from side to side. I recognise it from one of the websites I looked up earlier. It’s a potoroo, one of the Tasmanian Tiger’s food sources. Next to it is a small tortoise. It has a square shaped shell that is dark in colour with a maroon tinge. A flattened head, short neck, and short legs with some decent claws. Its underbody is pale in colour. It inspects me with lazy eyes, then looks up as a bird a bit longer than a Budgerigar flaps its wings. The bird looks like a very small parrot to me. My little cousin has a pet parrot, only it’s white not bright grass green. This parrot is pretty. Its underneath is yellow, with a bright orange patch in the centre of its lower belly. Across its forehead, just above its nostrils, is a bright blue bar, which makes it look like it’s frowning. The parrot settles gently next to the tortoise and glares at me. Maybe it really was frowning. I wait for it to call out something stupid. My cousin taught his parrot to squawk ‘Big turd!’ whenever his mum’s boyfriend walked into the room. But this parrot is silent and serious. I have a feeling it’s not that impressed with me either, because it turns away and begins cleaning its feathers with its beak. Another creature moves in the shadows behind the little group. A very large creature. My mouth drops open in utter amazement and disbelief as the light shines on it. It’s like something from another age. A huge, furry, broad headed monster about the size of an African lion. It opens its jaws and growls, revealing large, stabbing incisor teeth at the front of its mouth. I have no idea what it is. Maybe it’s a lion. Maybe not. Whatever it is though, I don’t think it ever lived in Africa.

As I continue to stare at each one in turn, a deep yearning to open my window properly and leap out comes over me. Wouldn’t it be nice to be out under the stars? To gaze up at the moon? To hear the hidden, rustling noises of the dark? To smell the smells that aren’t about when the sun is shining? The

pull of the night rises in my bones and a low, husky growl forms in my throat. I let go of the curtains and slap my hands over my mouth. What am I doing? Am I crazy? If that lion monster outside hears me growl, he’ll think it’s a challenge! The growl slips back down and I force myself to swallow it like a stifled yawn. I face the awful truth then, my head might be clear, and the voices might have stopped, but I feel anything but normal. Everything seems clearer, sharper. Not only do I not feel sick I feel stronger than I ever have before. Something dangerous and unexpected is coming alive inside of me. And whatever it is, it’s going to happen whether I like it or not.

Sure enough, a tingling sensation spreads from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. I yelp in shock as two ears suddenly sprout from my scalp. Then the rest of my body begins to move in some kind of incredible shape- altering dance. I hit the floor and wrap my arms around my shoulders trying to hold myself together. But my arms snap, extend straight out and begin to make popping noises as they shorten. My jaw lengthens, my teeth become pointy and I grow a tail! Suddenly I’m covered in soft, brown fur with brown-black stripes and I’m down on all fours panting and drooling and wanting to feel the forest around me. Panic spreads through me as I grasp what has finally happened. My worst fears have come true. I’m not human anymore. I’ve turned into a Tasmanian Tiger!

It’s time to run with the Pack! A voice rumbles in my mind. I suspect is the voice of the monstrous lion outside. You’re one of us now. One of what? One of his prey? There’s no way I’m going outside. I flatten my furry body to the floor and cower like a frightened dog. I’m going to hide in here and pretend I can’t hear him, the lion and his mates will go away eventually. I feel calmer, but then my ears twitch, my gaze returns to the window and I scratch an anxious paw on the floor. The truth is, there’s a deep part of me that desperately wants to enjoy the glory of the night. But I can’t, it’s too dangerous, anything could happen to me. Then an even worse thought enters my head. What if my four-legged identity doesn’t wear off by morning? What will happen then?

Chapter Seven

The Pack

We know you’re hiding, the voice comes again. Only it’s amused now. Smirking, almost. I find that incredibly annoying. It reminds me of Smitho. My cower gets replaced by anger. I lift myself up on my hind legs, place my front paws on the window ledge, and peer out crossly. The others are still there. Watching. Waiting. Are they boys like me, I wonder. Or maybe even girls? I bet the parrot is a girl. A terrible truth hits me. If they are human on the inside, then they’re the only people in the whole world who have any understanding of what’s happened to me. And if they’ve learnt the trick of changing back into their human form, then they’re also the only ones who can help me and convince my family not to hand me over to a Zoo or an animal shelter.

The lion grins smugly at my new appearance. Nice ears, he jokes. Come on, we don’t have much time. I don’t know whether to trust him or not. I watch him suspiciously, even though he’s gigantic, I don’t think he has evil intentions. Like eating me and sucking the marrow from my bones. But still, an animal that big must get awfully hungry. And what about those teeth? The Hunter may be out tonight. What hunter? This is the city. We have cars and traffic lights, not hunters. Come quickly! He urges fiercely. I think about it then shake my head. If I go out there looking like this some hoon on a motorbike might think it’s fun to chase me. Besides, it’s embarrassing being so hairy. Plus, the four-legged thing isn’t really me, let alone the teeth and the tail! It’s hard to stay inside though, it should be a simple choice, but it isn’t.

Suddenly there’s another voice in my head. Let me go! I panic. I know the voice hasn’t come from one of the animals outside. But it’s not me either, at least, I don’t think so.

Who are you? I think in my head. There’s no reply, instead it just repeats. Let me go! Whoever it is sounds really distressed. Maybe it’s the animal side of me. Is this Tasmanian Tiger taken over of my body? If I give into it, will I end up as a twisted furry version of Peter Pan? The boy who never grew up to be human. The breeze gusts in more strongly. Such a lovely, brisk breeze. I raise my quivering snout and sniff deeply. Such rich, interesting smells. Let me go! Let me come back, I reply, without thinking. Agreed! Uh oh! I feel a shift inside of me. Without meaning to, I’ve just made some kind of pact with this other creature and I sense it’s not possible for me to take it back. The thinking boy part of me sighs in resignation. No more cowering, it’s time to leave the confining, claustrophobic walls of this room and join the others outside. I lever the window open with my snout, then leap out and pad nervously over to the group with my shambling, awkward Tasmanian Tiger gait.

The closer I get to the potoroo, the more delicious it looks. I can’t remember the last time I had a fresh bit of munch and crunch. The little creature senses my ravenous interest and squeals in fright. Control your instincts! Warns the lion. There’s no doubt the lion is the leader of this little group. And I can sense that it’s not just because he’s the biggest, but because he’s smart and determined. If it was only size that mattered, a giant talking cabbage would do just as well. You have a mind, the lion says. You have a choice! I don’t want a choice! I just want to snap the potoroo’s dainty little head off. Roll it around in my mouth and feel its brains squish out all warm and mushy over my tongue. The first night is the worst, cautions the lion. That’s when your animal side is the strongest. But we’re all a Pack. If you try to eat any of them, I will kill you. Do you understand?

I’m a predator who likes meat, I understand that. But the lion is a lot bigger than me. If he chose to, he could snap my head off just as easily as I could devour the potoroo. Okay, so he’s the boss and I’m the newcomer. So what do I do now? I feel uncomfortable. I’m not a pack animal by nature. I like to hunt alone, or with one other. Should I challenge him? I look upwards. My, my, my – what big teeth you have, lion. I turn my head away. If I taste the potoroo, I think this lion might taste me, then I could become extinct very quickly. Not a good way to go. You don’t want to eat that cute little creature, I tell myself firmly. Funnily enough, once I decide against the munching and crunching, the desire passes. We need each other, the lion says. You’ll come to understand that in time. I eye the parrot instead. Nice dessert. It fluffs out its feathers and glares at me. Zit-zit-zit! It warns. Yep, the parrot is definitely a girl! I don’t think my mum would approve of me eating a girl. It’s going to get worse, the lion says. Soon you will fall more deeply to the animal side. The only thing that will help, is if you run with the Pack. Don’t fight it, just run. Run? I look down at the sleepy tortoise. I can’t imagine it running anywhere. Never mind the tortoise, he will be taken care of. Just think about yourself. Don’t fight, just run. I have a shambling canter, I tell the lion sarcastically. I know because I read it on the internet before I changed. You are not talking to an Olympic sprinter here. The lion chuckles. Some of us are fast and some of us are slow. But we’re all a Pack.

I still don’t know whether to trust the big guy or not. What if he’s just a bully? What if all this is a set up and they’re planning to have me for dinner? Then again, what if I’m just dreaming? I kind of like that idea. Then none of this would be real and I’d be a normal, everyday kid again. Well, apart from the Tiger bite. But maybe that was an accident. Maybe the jaw just slipped. I’m not

sure what’s true and what isn’t anymore. My mind goes back quickly over the day, trying to work out what’s really going on. I vomited over Smitho. Gross, but true. Also unbelievably satisfying. I got bitten by the skeleton of a Tasmanian Tiger. Crazy, but true. Possibly an accident, though. I’ve been getting weird for some time. Unfortunate, but true. But then again, I’ll be a teenager soon. Thinking it through logically really helps. Maybe I am just dreaming.

Then another voice enters the argument. I’m true! I’d forgotten about him. Don’t panic, Matt! Just think! If you were part of my dream, of course you’d say that. I’m not a dream! I’m Benjamin. Does a dream usually have a name? I guess not. Oh brother, this is not a good sign. It looks like my dream theory is about to bite the dust. Close your eyes and I’ll show you what’s true, Benjamin says. I close my eyes. Feelings of deep longing surge up inside me. A longing for the sharp sting of the wind, the soft rustle of damp leaves, the moist shift of dirt beneath flashing paws. It all feels so real. Come! Insists the lion. I gulp. I have a terrible feeling all this is real. But where does that leave me, Matt Johnson, eleven-year-old human boy?

Sick of waiting for me to make up my mind, the lion turns away and heads towards the local park, which is fringed by acres of thick bush. The tortoise and the potoroo are perched on his back and the parrot is flying overhead. I stand there in the streetlight, staring after them, wanting to follow but still uncertain. Then I notice how everything looks and feels different at night. The breeze seems more urgent. The outline of the white ghost gums nearby more stark, the bush denser and deeper and more mysterious than in the daylight hours. Please! Begs Benjamin. His plea is even more frantic now. The reckless edge to his voice awakens something in me and suddenly I want the sweet freedom of the night as much

as he does. Without another thought, I follow the Pack into the deepening shadows.

Chapter Eight

Benjamin

Can I lead? Benjamin asks excitedly. Okay. I feel Benjamin move in very close. Something deeper opens up between us and I find myself thinking odd thoughts. It’s wonderful to be alive! To feel a heart hotly pumping, to have legs, to move, to breathe, to hear. To be out in the dark, snuffling. To see the world through smell not sight. It’s been so long! I notice the Pack has paused to wait for me. Suddenly I don’t feel resentful of them anymore. As I hurry to catch up, I take in my surroundings. This is a different time and a different place to the one I once knew. If I want to survive I can’t be a loner, I need the Pack. That’s alright, I will have to adapt.

You have made the right decision, the lion says when I joined them, but the Hunter is out tonight and he is cunning. We must be careful. We disappear into the bush surrounding the park. I see well in the dark, but I can’t see the Hunter. My hearing is very sharp, but I can’t hear him either. Yet there is something in the air. He’s skilled, this hunter. Cautious, too. I sniff more deeply. Slowly the scent of sickly sweet honey fills my nose. It is thick and suffocating and turns my stomach. I shake my head, the lion nods in approval. Good. Mark the scent well. I pick up speed, but my movements are stiff and I can’t run as fast as the lion does. The tang of fear becomes stronger. Something is stalking us, something I can smell but not name. Something terrifying.

It’s time to run, the lion says.

I may not be as fast as a racehorse goanna, but I have great stamina. I can keep moving for a very long time. And I do. The movements of my body carry me deep into the bush and I stop feeling, stop thinking, i just keep moving. We’re safe for a little while now, the lions finally says. I slow down. The too sweet scent is gone, there is no wrongness in the air now, just the clean, fresh crispness of the night. Together we take time to enjoy the dark. As I snuffle, memories of long ago rise within me. Trees stretching high into the sky, wide cool lakes filled with darting silvery fish, wild ferns with massive fringed leaves, images of hunting alone and with another, a full stomach, and furry young. But not my young, my cublings, the same litter as me, littermates. Then another memory. One more recent. A cold, sterile place. Dead bodies. White walls. Icy cold bones. My bones. A name on a card – Thylacinus Cynocephalus. Tasmanian Tiger. A curious, sweating boy reaching out to touch me. A hand on my spine. Aah, a boy with the right blood.

Am I dead, lion? I cry out suddenly in the darkness. You’re what humans call, extinct, he replies sadly. Like I am. How did I die? Humans put a bounty on your head. Your kind were slaughtered. As to your own death, you will have to search your soul memory. It will be there, in the shadow of your past.

It comes then. Horrible, lonely, and hard. I’m locked in a cage with concrete floor. People come to look at me during the day. They smile and point and bring their children to do the same. Some of them try to upset me. Try to make me open my jaws or growl or rear up on my back legs using my tail as a support. I’m not here to perform tricks. I want to be free. I ignore their pleading and teasing, laughter and loud human voices. When the day ends, they all go away and the man who looks after me returns to put me in sheltered sleeping quarters for the night. But humans are fools about bad weather. Soft living has ruined them. One night, during a very bad winter, my careless human abandons me to the cold. I am exposed in a cage with no way to warm myself and a deep icy chill begins to creep into my bones. It doesn’t matter, I’ve been locked up for too long. For too long I’ve paced back and forth, back and forth

trying to find a way out. I’ve stood up on my hind legs, agitated, desperate to escape. I’ve lived too long. How could I have been so foolish? I should have done what others of my kind did when they were first captured - given into the shock and died. If I don’t die now, all I will have for the rest of my life is a cage. I open my jaws wide, welcoming the cold into my warm insides. I lie down on my side, close my eyes and with a sigh embrace the long sleep.

Someone is crying for me, someone is sobbing softly in the dark. Why are you crying, boy? I’m crying for you, Tiger. I saw all the dead animals in the Museum, but I didn’t understand. Not really. I was unkind. They called me Benjamin, boy. A human name. In the newspapers they called you Benjamin. They said you were the last living Tasmanian Tiger. You died in Hobart Zoo in 1936. Over seventy human years ago. I know because I read about you on the Internet. You’re the Tiger who bit me, aren’t you? Aah, you’re the boy who touched me? Yes. Benjamin died in the zoo, just like you said. I’m not Benjamin anymore. Call me Tiger. Okay, I’m Matt.

You are a strange pair, the lion says, but he doesn’t say why. Can I eat this human boy called Matt? Tiger asks. I hope he’s joking. Animal and human must work together, the lion chuckles. This is the reckoning time. I’d rather eat him. I laugh. Bravely. The lion grins approvingly, then says; We are the last hope for planet Earth. If humans don’t learn to respect all life forms, then a great sickness will come. The Hunter! The potoroo’s panicked mind suddenly cries.

His hearing must be even better than mine. I scramble backwards, my ears straining, a faint, cloying honey scent drifts by on the breeze. Then something small flies out of the darkness and buries itself in the lion’s rump. He’s flanked us. Run! The lion roars. He springs forward in one graceful motion and disappears into the bush.

Chapter Nine

Ensnared

As we flee, I can feel the fear of the potoroo and the little bird battering away at me. From the tortoise there is only a single minded determination to stay on the lion’s back. And from the lion himself, there is anger and the gritty resolve to escape. Everything seems dangerous as we flee, the shapes of the gum trees looming over us, the flicker of lighter shadows. Are they what they seem or are they something else?

The tranquilliser dart is still sticking out of the lion’s rump, I wonder how many darts it would take to knock him out. Lion, are you okay? He’s too focused on keeping a track on the Hunter’s possible position to reply. Of course he’s okay! The little bird’s voice buzzes angrily. It takes a lot more than one of those to knock him out, now stop distracting him! That’s one bad tempered bird! I’m starting to lag too far behind, I pick up speed. My ears twitch and that’s when I hear it.

A hunting we will go A hunting we will go

I can’t pinpoint where the soft singing is coming from, but it’s freaking me out. Tiger, help me! Something shifts in my head. It’s okay, Matt. I’m here. Let’s do it together.

A burst of unexpected energy surges through my legs and I can feel Tiger adding his strength to mine. Faster and faster I run, I’ve almost caught up with the others when the potoroo broadcasts. He’s driving us. Watch for traps! Too late! A thin cord of rope hidden under dry leaves on the ground snares my front paw and pins me in one spot. I pull, but I can’t free my paw. I attack the thin nylon rope with my teeth, but they just slide off. The others have already disappeared. I don’t call out to them. If they come back for me they’ll just get captured too. I crouch down, waiting for the Hunter. My teeth won’t slide off him and I’m determined to get in a really meaty bite before he knocks me out.

The sickly whiff of honey gets a little stronger. He must be coming in slowly, checking to make sure it’s not an ambush and he really has snared one of us. I flatten my body and narrow my eyes. There! A shape moving in the deeper shadows. The scent is sweeter, closer, more frightening. A murky figure moves forward, eyes fixed on me. Something aims, is it a rifle or a gun with a tranquilliser dart? It fires. Suddenly a huge shape bounds in front of me. Thud! The dart hits home. The lion leans back his flat head and roars. With one swipe he shreds the rope trapping my paw. I’m free! Time to run! The lion leaps ahead, I shuffle madly after him. The gun fires again. The lion twists to miss it, the tortoise flies off into the underbrush, we can’t see him. GO! The little tortoise broadcasts. Another dart and he might have you too. The gun fires again and misses both of us, we sprint away, hoping against hope the tortoise won’t be found and we can come back for him later. As we distance ourselves from the Hunter, we hear the faint words of a satisfied song.

A high ho a merry go A hunting we will go

We keep going and going and going for what seems like a very long time. This, I am good at. I can go all night if I have to, as long as it’s not at full speed. I have great stamina. Finally we come to a small clearing, I catch a

glimpse of the parrot under some leaves waiting for us. When the parrot sees the tortoise is missing, it flutters down and perches next to the potoroo on the lion’s back. There is silence, no one says anything, we all just wait there, catching our breaths, knowing instinctively that it’s safe for the moment. I feel terrible. The gut feeling in my stomach tells me the tortoise has been captured and it’s all my fault. I want to go home, I tell them. It’s safe to move now, the lion nods. Now the Hunter has his catch for the night! The parrot says angrily.

The lion leads us out of the bush and back towards the main track that links up with the park and my house. He looks a little groggy, who wouldn’t be with two tranquilliser darts in their rump? I hope he’ll be okay, I hope their tips weren’t coated with slow acting poison or anything like that. I am the first to leave the Pack. Be in touch, says the lion. The others don’t say anything. I don’t think they care if they never see me again. Maybe that would be for the best, anyway.

I jump back in through my bedroom window, my legs feel like jelly and I collapse on the floor. My body is totally exhausted, but apart from my distress over the tortoise, it also feels deeply satisfied. Slowly, it begins its bizarre dance and I change back into the shape I know best, the one with only two legs. I eye my bed longingly. I don’t think I have the energy to reach it, I’m like a car with no petrol left. My last thought as I press my cheek to the cold, wooden floor of my bedroom is that I’m glad it isn’t a cage. I’m glad I’m not so terribly lonely and the night is not so bitterly cold that I’ll welcome death into my bones like Tiger did. I close my eyes and tears slide down my cheeks. ‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper. ‘I’m so terribly, terribly sorry, little tortoise.’

Chapter Ten

Better Than Wolverine

When I wake up the following morning my body is stiff, my head feels like it’s been trodden on, my ribs are sore and my hand is killing me. My fingers are curled inwards towards my palm and pain stabs me when I try to move them. What’s wrong with me? Then I realise the reason I’m so uncomfortable is because I’m lying on the floor. Did I sleepwalk or something? My dream flashes back to me. It was so real! I was talking to a lion and running with a pack of strange animals. Something horrible was stalking us, but it kept itself hidden in the dark. I got home safely, though. It didn’t catch me. I shiver. That chasing part of my dream was really scary, I hope I never dream anything like it again. I sit up and rub my gritty eyes. It was that stupid school outing to the Museum. All those dead, glassy eyed animals must have freaked me out a lot more than I thought. I shake my head, trying to clear my mind of their mournful, frozen faces, but the image lingers. Taunting me. Reminding me. But of what?

Getting up off the floor, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. There are big dark circles under my eyes and my skin looks tired under my tan. My ribs twinge painfully. Ouch! I pull up my jumper. Phew! I really, really need a shower. My mouth falls open in surprise. There are three long stripes on my skin where my ribs are. I rub them gently, but they don’t come off. I rub them a bit harder, but they’re still there. Some kids at my school had Ringworm a few weeks ago. But striped Ringworm? Naah, it doesn’t make sense.

Tigers have stripes. I don’t know where that thought came from. I shiver and push it away. ‘Get real Matt!’ I mutter to myself. ‘You’re no Wolverine!’

A delicious smell wafts under my bedroom door. Food! I’m starving! The shower can wait. It’s not natural to be squeaky clean all the time anyway. I read somewhere that every time you wash your hair, you rinse away the natural oils that keep it healthy. It’s probably what leads to dandruff. I reckon people were a lot healthier before showers were invented. Tugging off my dirty clothes, I spray deodorant under my arms and over the rest of me, hoping it’ll take the edge off my stink. Then I chuck on some clean clothes and head for the kitchen. Nanna must have company, because I can hear her chatting away, and it’s not often that she talks to herself. ‘I like a young man with a healthy appetite! Have some more chops, dear. There’s plenty here.’ I’m shocked to see a tall, older kid sitting at our table. He’s dressed in a loose black jacket, baggy jeans and Timberland boots, and he looks kind of feral. Who is he? What’s he doing here and why is he eating chops and vegetables for breakfast? ‘Are you okay, Nanna?’ I ask, eyeing the stranger suspiciously. I hope he’s not armed, like with a hidden flick-knife or something. Maybe he’s casing the place, planning to return when Nanna’s alone and burgle it. ‘Oh, you’re up at last, Matt! I thought you were going to miss out on dinner all over again!’ ‘Dinner?’ ‘You’ve slept through a day and a night. It’s nearly six o’clock in the evening. I hope you’re feeling better.’ Then she smiles at the stranger. ‘Coleo was just telling me all about the gym he goes to. They have classes for older people too. I’m thinking of joining. You should have told me your friend was coming to dinner.’ I would have, if I’d known. And this nut called Coleo Whats-his-name is no friend of mine. I glare at him. No one takes advantage of my Nanna when I’m around! ‘Hi, Matt!’ Coleo grins.

A shiver runs up my spine. I know that voice. That’s the lion’s voice! The voice that was bossing me around in my dream last night. A feeling of awe and confusion swamps me. What’s going on? ‘Are you sleeping over?’ Nanna asks Coleo. She loves it when my mates sleep over. She likes to annoy them. ‘No, he isn’t!’ I snap. She looks disappointed. ‘You’re welcome to,’ she urges. ‘His mum won’t let him!’ ‘Why not?’ Nanna demands. Oops! Coleo tries not to laugh. ‘I’d like to,’ he says politely, ‘but my uncle is coming over later tonight and we don’t see him very often.’ ‘Oh family, of course!’ Nanna nods. ‘Thank you for the great dinner, Nanna Grace.’ ‘It was my pleasure, Coleo. Now don’t be a stranger. Any friend of Matt’s is a friend of mine. Isn’t that right, Matt?’ Well, no. It’s not. Nanna has an amazing knack of driving away the ones she doesn’t like. But clearly she likes Coleo.

Nanna might be pleased that our uninvited guest has demolished his dinner, but I’m not. I suspect it’s my dinner he’s eaten. He hasn’t even left a single pea. And I like peas. I’m starving! ‘Don’t look so crossed, Matt!’ Nanna chuckles. ‘Your dinner is in the oven. You’ll have to help yourself, though. I promised poor old Mrs. Simpson I’d pop in and see her. She’s not feeling well.’ Poor old Mrs. Simpson is twenty years younger than Nanna and addicted to being ill. It’s working for her too. I don’t think she’s cooked herself a meal since she moved into our street six months ago. Nanna picks up a pot of chicken soup. ‘I won’t be long.’ She bustles out the kitchen and down the hallway. I wait until I hear the lock click in the front door before turning around and demanding. ‘Okay, so who are you and what are you doing here?’

Coleo looks at me like I’m the crazy one. ‘The human name is Karl Grant,’ he replies calmly, ‘but feel free to call me Coleo. The first night is rough, Matt. But usually people remember a whole lot more than what you seem to.’ I stare at him blankly. What’s he talking about? ‘The only thing I remember is a stupid dream!’ His lips stretch into a wide, knowing smile. Suddenly an image of a lion baring his huge teeth and roaring flashes into my mind. My eyes widen in disbelief, is Coleo the lion from my dream? Was it real after all? I feel horrified. Then I terrify myself even more by jumping to the only logical conclusion possible. If the creatures in my dream were real, then what other strange things are there in the world that are real too? The Tooth Fairy? Santa Claus? Donald Duck? I crack up laughing. I’m kind of hysterical. Coleo looks at me like I’ve totally lost it. ‘You’re one crazy dude, Matt!’

Chapter Eleven

What Am I?

Hysteria over, I slump down in a kitchen chair like a deflated balloon. ‘Are you telling me what I dreamt really happened?’ I’m hoping he’ll say – don’t be stupid! Or something reassuring like that. Instead he just nods. ‘If what you dreamt was the Pack and being out in the bush, then yeah, it was real. I just came over to make sure you were okay.’ Okay? I’ll never be okay again! ‘What am I?’ I ask in shock. ‘What does all this craziness make me?’ ‘It makes you a Were kid, Matt. Just like the rest of us.’ ‘What’s a Were kid?’ ‘A kid who can change into an animal. Like Wolverine, only better. For a few of us it happens naturally, but mostly we’re given the gift by the spirit of a dead animal or a fossil.’ ‘A fossil? As in bones, or something?’ ‘Yeah.’ I groan. ‘I was bitten by the skeleton of a Tasmanian Tiger at the Museum.’ ‘I know. I smelt you.’ Then I remember. ‘You were there! You’re the kid with the lion T–shirt!’ Coleo grins. ‘My favourite. Thylacoleo Carnifex, that’s me. I’m a Marsupial Lion. I was around in the ice age, man! I have the strongest bite of any species living or dead.’ I can believe that. He really demolished those chops.

‘Thylacinus Cynocephalus, that’s you. You’re a Tasmanian Tiger. What do you want me to call you? Phallus?’ I can tell by the sarcastic grin on his face that he knows the word phallus, with a double ‘L’, is sometimes used for penis. I feel furious. How can he joke at a time like this? ‘Call me Matt,’ I growl. It’s bad enough being part human, part animal. I don’t want to get stuck with a nickname that will make other Were kids laugh at me as well. ‘How did you know where I lived, anyway?’ ‘Followed your scent from the Museum. Look, I can’t stay long and your Nanna will probably be back soon, so if there’s any questions you want to ask, now’s the time.’

He’s right. Whatever it is I’m suffering from, he’s my best source of information. I have a million questions, but what should I ask first? ‘Will I get fleas?’ Coleo falls about laughing. I join in. I suppose there are more important questions. ‘Okay, okay,’ I say, grinning like an idiot. ‘Can I control what happens to me?’ ‘Sure you can, but you have to remember you’re the boss. It’s tempting sometimes to forget, but if you do you’re in danger of going rogue. Like I told you last night, the first night is the worst. It gets easier after that.’ A nervous shiver ran up my spine. ‘What happens if you go rogue?’ ‘You turn mad, mean or just plain stupid. Some kids can’t handle the whole animal thing, so they never stop fighting it. In a weird sort of way they’re warring with themselves. When that happens they find it hard to communicate mind to mind in their Were form and sometimes they even attack other Weres. That’s why the Pack is important. We’re friends, we help each other and we do the job that has to be done.’ ‘How about changing, can I change whenever I want?’ ‘It’s tricky at first. But the more you change, the easier it becomes. Try not to draw attention to yourself, though. People are afraid of what they don’t understand or can’t do themselves. That means it’s safest to change at night, but don’t venture out on your own if you can help it. The Hunter is no fool.’

The dread of last night returns with a vengeance. I remember how frightened I was of that creeping shadow in the dark. ‘A real life bad guy, eh? Who is he anyway?’ Coleo shrugs. ‘We don’t know, man. He’s just always there. If not close, then on the fringes watching us. He got Psuedem last night.’ The memory of the little turtle we left behind comes rushing back to me. I feel really bad. It was all my fault. ‘Psuedem, is that his name?’ ‘Yeah. Pseudemydura Umbrina, Psuedem for short. He’s a Western Swamp Tortoise.’ ‘What’s going to happen to him?’ ‘We don’t know, but it can’t be good. The Pack’s so small at present because he’s already taken other Pack members. Look Matt, I know you feel bad, but it’s not your fault and it could’ve been worse. He could’ve gotten you and me as well. One more tranq-dart might’ve done it.’ ‘Have you ever…like…you know… tried to kill him?’ I ask softly. I’m not sure if I really want to know the answer. I couldn’t imagine the potoroo or the little bird doing anything to the Hunter, but Coleo, he was something else. He eyeballs me for a moment then lifts up his shirt. ‘Check this out.’ I stare at a huge scar running from the left side of his stomach all the way up to the middle of his chest. ‘That is the coolest thing I have ever seen!’ ‘Yeah, well it didn’t feel cool when it happened.’ He drops his shirt but I can tell by the little smile on his face he’s pleased I’m impressed. ‘I tried to take on the hunter before I had the pack. I caught his scent and I stalked him, even thought I had him, but really he was hunting me the whole time. It was a trap. I fell into a pit, one of the wooden stakes tore me up pretty bad.’ ‘How did you get out?’ I demanded wanting to hear more. ‘Hah,’ he chuckles. ‘That’s another story altogether. But I’ll tell you one thing, even though he marked me I marked him too. I never got a good look at him, but I nicked his face with one claw.’ I remember how big his claws were. One little nick was probably still pretty bad. ‘And…’ he finishes with a low growl ‘if he’s done anything to hurt Psuedem, I’ll stalk him again and finish the job.’

‘How can we rescue him if we don’t know where he is?’ ‘I’ve tracked him, but I need help to get him out. To be honest, I’m not really sure what we’re up against, but we have to try. Are you in or not?’ Did I have a choice? I owed the tortoise big time. I felt sick and angry that someone might have him and be cruel to him. Plus, one day I might need his help. Although I couldn’t imagine him ever being able to help me. But then again, you never know. Besides, like it or not I was a Were kid myself now. ‘I’m in!’ I tell Coleo. ‘Good. To be honest it’s nice to have another predator in the pack,’ he says with a smile. I’m a predator? I hadn’t thought of that before.

After Coleo leaves, I demolish my dinner. Then Nanna returns and makes two mugs of cocoa and a pile of toast. I think she knew I was extra hungry. We sit sipping our cocoa slowly at the kitchen table. ‘I like your new friend, Matt. But he’s a little on the thin side. Muscly, but thin.’ If Nanna saw him in his lion form she wouldn’t think he was thin at all. ‘He was hungry too, I thought he might eat the bones of those chops as well as the meat!’ There’s a twinkle in Nanna’s eye again. She’s pretty sharp. Does she suspect there’s more going on than what she knows? I’d better be careful I don’t say too much. I don’t think she could handle the truth. ‘You haven’t been yourself lately, Matt. Are you okay?’ ‘Oh, I’m just fine Nanna!’ ‘There’s nothing you can’t tell me. And whatever it is, I’ll keep it a secret if you want me to. Promise.’ ‘Sure, Nanna!’ I don’t want anyone knowing about my freaky side. Plus, I suspect my new life might be dangerous. And I don’t want her lying awake at night worrying about me. We finish our cocoa, then I help Nanna with the dishes. Luckily she has a friend coming over soon to play cards, so I have an excuse to escape back to my room. I decide against having a shower. The Pack is coming again

tonight and it seems a waste of water to get all clean and then dirty again so quickly. I’ll do my bit for the environment and save the water for later.

Pushing up the sleeve of my top, I inspect my bitten arm. The wound is completely healed. There’s only a faint scar where the Tiger’s fangs went in. I wonder if the other Were kids heal fast too. I don’t know how I really feel about my new identity. Shocked, I guess. And slightly excited at the same time. Kids at school would kill for something like this. I pull back my curtains, open my window and let the breeze blow in. It’ll be dark soon. This trip with the Pack will probably be risky too. I lie down on my bed and wait for them to arrive. I can’t believe how much my life has changed over the last couple of days. I clench my hand into a fist. A predator. That’s what Coleo had called me. I felt Tiger rise inside me in keen anticipation. Last night we had been the prey. Tonight we would be the hunters.

Chapter Twelve

The Museum

Come brother! Coleo’s voice says suddenly in my head. I jerk awake. I must have dozed off while I was waiting. Leaping up, I peer out the window. They’re all here, minus Psuedem of course. I feel nervous. This is the first time I will deliberately change myself into a Tasmanian Tiger. What if I get it wrong and end up half animal, half boy? I imagine myself with the head and tail of a Tasmanian Tiger and the body of a boy. Great for Halloween, but freaky any other time of the year! Outside, the Pack waits patiently. I take a big breath, concentrate, then float down deep inside myself. Down, down, down I go until I find him. There he is, lurking in a hidden place. Sort of a part of me, yet separate at the same time. He snarls. I back off a little, unsure what to do next. Then he grins. Just practicing, he says. I don’t know how I got stuck with a Tiger who’s a joker. So human boy called Matt, tonight we hunt? Oh yes Tiger, tonight we hunt! Then let’s go!

I sense his eagerness to be out in the night, but it feels scary and overwhelming to deliberately change myself into a Tasmanian Tiger. Then I remember Coleo’s advice. ‘Don’t fight it.’

Are you still there, Tiger? Where else would I be? I just wanted to say I’m very sorry for what happened to you. It was terribly wrong. I know there’s nothing I can do to make it right. I mean it too. Nanna has always told me that animals have as much right to life as human beings. Lets go rescue the stupid tortoise! He growls. I laugh and the change begins. It’s quicker this time and less painful. I feel Tiger helping me shaping out my arms into paws and smoothing out the change. Before I know it, I’m a Tiger again.

We join the others with an enthusiastic shuffle. You never met us properly last night, Coleo says. Let me do the introductions first. The Orange Bellied Parrot, Neophema Chysogaster, is Neo. The little furry fellow is Potorous Gilbertii, Gilbertii for short. Guys, this is Matt. And Tiger. No one says anything. Then I notice neither of them look like they’re feeling very friendly towards me. I think they might even blame me for their friend’s capture. Neo turns her beak up at me rudely, Gilbertii just stares. Then they both let fly at once. Don’t do anything to endanger the Pack! Psuedem could be turtle stew by now. Use your brains when we’re out. Don’t poke a trap again!

What a lovely warm welcome, I reply crossly. It’s lucky I have fur, otherwise I might freeze to death! They look a little guilty. That makes me feel better. Where are we going? I ask Coleo. Where your new life began. The Museum? I don’t know why I’m surprised. I knew there was something creepy about that place.

Gilbertii sighs and turns away. The others look grim and troubled. Then it hits me. Have any of the others ever gone back? No, says Coleo. But lucky for us Psuedem left a trail that Gilberti and I tracked back to the Museum. I couldn’t believe the Hunter had been outsmarted by a short-necked turtle with a lazy eye! There’s more to Psuedem than you know Matt, Coleo says. He’s a Dreamer. He dreams things that come true because he’s close to Mother Earth. Why do you think I was at the Museum the day you got bitten? Psuedem saw what was going to happen so I went there to catch your scent trail so we could find you and help you. So what, is he some kind of super hero tortoise? Coleo laughs. It’s not something he can control, and face it dude, we’re all weird. Coleo turns to Gilberti. I want you to run with Matt and Tiger tonight. He needs the practice. Gilbertii mutters nervously and eyes my teeth, I drool deliberately. Don’t worry, I tell the little potoroo. I’ll try not to eat you. Zit-zit-zit! Neo squawks angrily at me. But Gilberti grins suddenly. Maybe I’ll eat you! He threatens. Aaah, a smart little guy. He knows I’m joking. Crouching down, I offer him a leg to climb up on. He scampers onto my back and grips my fur. It’s a pretty strong grip for such a small animal. I think he’ll be okay. Neo zooms ahead of us in a huff. I think she’s still blaming Psuedem’s capture on me. Neo will get over it, Coleo says reassuringly as we head down the street.

When we arrive at the Museum it’s pretty obvious something is going on. The place should be closed and the car park deserted. Instead there are lights on at the rear of the building and the car park is filled with expensive cars. People are still arriving, so it’s not safe to be seen out in the open. Coleo finds us a good hiding spot in the bushes. A shiny silver Mercedes pulls in and parks nearby. A tall man in a tuxedo and a red haired woman in a long blue dress

step out of the car. The woman has a grey fur cape slung around her skinny shoulders. Hanging at the very bottom of the cape, near her waist, are two flattened Koala heads. Their mouths have been stitched into a smile and their lips outlined in red satin so they look they’ve got lipstick on. It’s the most freaky thing I’ve ever seen. In the moonlight, their dead eyes gleam sadly and the night breeze ruffles the longer fur on top of their fluffy ears. Something glints and I look more closely. There are diamond studs in their noses!

The whole cape is Koala, Tiger says to me. From what I remember, Koalas aren’t very big creatures. It took more than two koalas to make that cape. Do you think she made the other heads into matching slippers for herself and her mate? I’m on the verge of spewing just thinking about it. How can you joke at a time like this? When you’ve had my life, you can joke about anything. I know he doesn’t really think it’s funny. The woman senses she’s being watched. She stops, turns and searches the shadows. I wonder whether she can also sense how disgusting we think she is. After a while she shivers and moves on, pulling the cape more tightly around her thin body. Put on weight if you want to get warm you stupid woman! Neo shrieks in all our heads. She’s very upset by the cape. The couple pause under the exterior light at the rear of the Museum. While the man pulls out his wallet, the woman presses the side of her face into the fur near her shoulder, then she pulls up one of the koala heads and gives it a small kiss with her glossy red lips. The kiss of Death! I broadcast to the others. They all think it’s as sick as I do. The man pulls a gold plastic card out of his wallet and swipes it through a scanner on the end wall. A hidden door opens automatically and they disappear down a flight of steps that lead below the Museum. Damn! Groans Coleo. Special Security and an underground lair to boot. How are we going to get inside?

Chapter Thirteen

The Red Button

After the couple disappear, we all sit there feeling depressed. Is this as far as we go? Is Psuedem lost to the Pack forever? Gilbertii drops down off my back and sits staring at the Museum with small, sad eyes. As I watch him, a bright idea comes to me. What about Gilbertii? I suggest. He might be small enough to dart in unseen when the next group opens the door? Gilbertii’s face lights up. Then I could let you guys in! Doors like that usually open from the inside with a normal lock. And I’m good with locks! Good with locks, eh? What does the potoroo gets up to in his spare time? You’re small alright, Neo says. Too small. What if someone steps on you? Gilbertii looks offended. I’m small AND fast. I’d be a furry pancake by now if I wasn’t. He was fast alright. I remember our escape from the hunter. Gilbertii had been just a small blur on the ground. Coleo is thinking. The trouble is, we’re not really sure what we’re up against. Look at all those cars. There’s obviously more going on that we thought. If we’re all in the same place at the same time and we all get captured, then there’s no one left to rescue us. I think we should play it safe and use a scouting party. Scout Gilbertii reporting for duty, Sir! You need back up, Scout! Insists Coleo. I’ll be his back up. If the little guy can do it, I can. Coleo doesn’t look convinced. Look, you want to know what I excelled at school? Fooling people. Can anyone else here truthfully say they got an A in that? They all look at each other. I thought not! They’re all too straightforward for my liking. All except Gilbertii, that is. I think we might be a natural team.

Gibertii can let me in then rejoin the Pack. I’ll change back into a boy, mingle with the crowd, and see if I can find Pseudem. It’s the only way we can get enough information to make a proper rescue plan. Coleo looks surprised. You’re smart, Matt. That’s the first time anyone outside my family’s told me that! Are you cool with the whole change thing now, though? I’m cool. Changing wasn’t as hard as I thought it’d be. In fact, it felt quite natural. There’s a flaw in your plan, Tiger says to me alone. If no one’s brought any kids with them, you’ll stick out like a sore human thumb. I never thought of that. In their anxiety to rescue Psuedem, no one else has thought of it either. Not even Coleo. Should I say something?

Just then, a huge car pulls into the parking lot. It’s a Hummer. I’ve only ever seen them on T.V. They’re very popular in America and very expensive too. I have to admit, it’s a pretty impressive vehicle. A couple with two children get out. Looks like you’re good to go, says Tiger. Here’s our chance, says Gilbertii. Be careful you two, Coleo warns. We don’t want to lose anyone else. And Matt one other thing: we can’t speak mind to mind when you are in human form. Only when you are in your animal form or the change is in your system. So you will be on your own. Keeping to the shadows, Gilbertii and I follow the family to the rear of the building. When the man flashes his gold card, Gliberti darts forward. As the door clicks open he seizes his chance and dashes through a small gap near the people’s legs. One of the children, a little girl, sees him and squeals. ‘It’s a mouse! Stomp on it Daddy!’ Her father lifts his big foot and brings it down hard, but Gilbertii is long gone. The door closes. I slip closer. I’ve got to be ready and waiting when he opens the door. It’s time to turn into a boy again. Click!

The door unlocks. I pull it open and duck inside. It’s very dark. A torch shines in my eyes, blinding me. I freeze in fear. Have I been caught? ‘I found a torch,’ Gilbertii whispers. ‘I think we’ll need it.’ He passes it to me and I shine it on him. A small, sandy haired boy with a snub nose and freckled face is staring up at me. ‘Gilbertii?’ ‘Yeah, but Russell’s my human name. I like to be called Russell when I’m a boy.’ ‘Okay. How come you changed back?’ ‘I spotted a few kids in here. I’m going to hang out with you.’ ‘Coleo’s expecting you outside.’ ‘Listen, I’m good at casing places.’ ‘Okaaay.’ I reply. I’m not going to ask how he came by his strange set of skills. And to be honest I was glad for the company. Then I realise something I never thought about before. ‘Hey what happens to our clothes when we shift? I have fur as a Tiger then clothes again when I change back?’ Gilbertii chuckles. ‘I dunno, it just seems work that way. Imagine if it didn’t we’d be naked here right now!’

We make our way down the stairs using the torch to guide us, then head down a long passageway to where we can hear the thick murmur of voices. I flick the torch off as we get closer. We enter a huge underground room filled with people. I can tell by the different languages that they must have flown in from all over the world. The lighting is very dim, but I can make out three exits. One directly ahead of us, one to the right, and one to the left. I watch a lot of spy movies in my spare time. Any decent secret agent knows to mark the exits for a quick getaway. I notice Russell has marked the exits too. Great brains think alike!

We move through the crowd casually, trying very hard not to get noticed along the way. Russell pauses in front of a large glass showcase. ‘What does it say?’ he asks, pointing to some shiny brass lettering on the front of the showcase.

‘Were Creature: Pseudechis Australis – Black Snake.’ The man from the Hummer comes over and shines a very bright torch into the showcase, revealing a small, dark haired boy no older than five or six years of age. He’s desperately trying to shield his eyes from the light. ‘Make him change, Daddy!’ says the same little girl who wanted the mouse flattened. ‘I want to see him change!’ ‘That’s what the red button is for honey!’ The girl slams the palm of her hand against the red button and an electric shock runs through the child, forcing him to change into a huge black snake. ‘I want a snake, Daddy. See if this one is for sale. I can take it to school and scare my friends.’ ‘Let’s look at the other exhibits first, honey. You might see something else you like better.’ I feel sick. Russell grips my hand tightly. ‘They’re talking about him like he’s not human.’ ‘Or animal!’ I reply angrily. ‘Animals have a right to a decent life too.’

Other people have come up behind us to look at the snake. They ooh and aah, then wander onto the next exhibit. The black snake just lies there, limp and exhausted. I wonder how many times some maniac has come along and hit the red button. Then I notice something move behind him. I can’t see it very clearly, but it looks like a rock. A little head pokes out nervously. Not a rock. Psuedem! ‘Russell, look in the corner.’ He spots Psuedem too. Unfortunately we aren’t the only ones. Another couple has come along with their child, a young boy. The boy shines his torch into the showcase, sees Psuedem and the snake, and asks eagerly. ‘Is it dinnertime? Will the black snake swallow the tortoise? Can you make him do that Mummy?’ What is wrong with these people? Fortunately the snake seems more interested in attacking the people staring at him than in eating Psuedem. He hisses and throws himself angrily against the glass. I don’t blame him one little bit! The family moves on. Russell gently

taps the side of the showcase closest to Psuedem. The tortoise slowly turns his head. Russell gives him the thumbs up sign. Psuedem crawls over and presses his face to the glass. He looks stunned and sickened. The Black Snake uncoils and slithers over too. His forked tongue flickers and he leans tensely towards Russell. Psuedem seems quite comfortable with the snake. He presses against it and the snake relaxes. Russell breathes a sigh of relief. ‘It’s okay,’ he whispers to me. ‘The snake’s not rogue. I was worried for a minute there.’ It hits me then, that it’s not good enough just to free Psuedem. We have to rescue every Were kid here.

Chapter Fourteen

A Rodent Problem

Russell and I ease ourselves away from the showcase containing Psuedem and the black snake. I feel awful leaving them, but we’ve got work to do. Also, I’m worried we might attract unwanted attention if we linger at one exhibit too long. We aren’t as well dressed as the other kids. We don’t have expensive watches strapped to our wrists, our sneakers are tatty, and our jeans have rips in them. It doesn’t seem to bother Russell as much as me though. ‘The sneakers might give us away,’ he confides ‘but the jeans won’t. Ripped jeans are the fashion now. Got a good price for a pair I nicked last week.’ Russell has just confirmed my suspicions; I’m in the company of a criminal potoroo. ‘Did you expect all these showcases to be here?’ I ask him. ‘Did the Pack know this was going on?’ Russell shakes his head grimly. ‘Someone’s been capturing kids like us, but we had no idea it was as gross as this! Coleo will blow his stack.’ ‘We should separate. We need as much information as possible if we’re going to plan a rescue mission. Besides, we’ll be less noticeable if we don’t hang out together.’ ‘Good thinking.’ Russell goes one way and I go the other.

The next room I enter is even larger than the first and it’s filled with mega fauna. There is a giant kangaroo with horns jutting from his head. A massive crocodile at least ten metres long, and a furry wombat-like creature the size of a hippopotamus. Coleo told me he was a mega fauna. How would he feel, I wonder, seeing the animals he once roamed the earth with squashed into large steel cages? I feel very sad when I look at them, but at least I don’t feel so alone or isolated anymore. There are a lot more Were kids in the world than I ever imagined possible. Do we only exist in Australia, I wonder. Or are there Were kids in other countries too? I’m so caught up thinking about it, that I fail to watch where I’m going and bump into someone.

Soft hands reach out and steady me. ‘Be careful where you are walking child. It’s dark, you wouldn’t want to hurt yourself.’

My heart sinks. I know that voice. It’s Dr. Herman Giles. I keep my head down, praying he doesn’t recognise me. For a brief moment his hands tighten on my shoulders. ‘Pardon me Sir,’ I say in a brash, American accent. ‘I’ll be more careful.’ He lets me go, but as I walk away I feel his eyes boring into my back. Luckily, someone speaks to him before he can remember who I really am. ‘Very fine display you have here, Herman!’ A large Englishman says cheerfully. ‘Splendid show. Worth every dollar of the entrance fee!’ I bet Dr. Giles is making a fortune! I can’t wait to tell Coleo and the others that the Museum’s Senior Anthropologist is involved.

I slip into the shadows of a nearby corner. Is Herman Giles the Hunter? My instincts tell me he isn’t. There is no scar on his face. Plus, I can’t imagine him sneaking around in the bush trying to capture one of us. His hands are too soft. He might have robbed graves when he was younger, but these days I reckon he pays other people to do his dirty work. I sniff, trying to catch the Hunter’s scent, but there is no sickly honey sweet smell. The tall man from the Hummer comes over and joins Horrible Herman and the Englishman. ‘Herman, are you aware you have a rodent problem?’ ‘Whatever do you mean, Bensen?’ ‘My daughter saw a mouse or a rat dart inside when we entered tonight.’ ‘A rat?’ the Englishman says. ‘Bad show, dear fellow! To have your estimable clients accosted by a filthy, scurrying rat!’ Herman is furious. ‘I assure you Clive, I will see to it immediately. My apologies to you and your family Bensen, for this unfortunate incident….’ I follow Herman as he walks away. Does he suspect the security of his sick, secret circus has been breached? I spot Russell circling nearby and signal him to join me. ‘What’s up?’ he asks.

‘That’s Dr. Herman Giles, the Senior Anthropologist at this Museum. Someone just complained about the rodent problem to him. Meaning you, Russell. I think he’s suspicious’ We watch as Dr. Giles pulls a high tech walkie-talkie from his pocket. ‘Were alert! Repeat, Were alert! Guard all exits. Check the parking lot for unfriendly Were activity….’ His voice fades as he disappears into the crowd. Russell gulps. ‘Me and Coleo cased this place earlier, but we never saw any guards.’ ‘They must’ve come later. Lucky we stuck to the shadows or we might’ve been caught.’ ‘Yeah. Maybe we should scram and warn the others.’

We make our way slowly to the nearest exit. If we’re going to get out of here safely, we can’t risk drawing any unwanted attention to ourselves. Then the worst thing that can happen does. The lights go on! We fling ourselves into the closest natural shadow we can find. ‘Please remain calm, Ladies and Gentlemen,’ Dr. Giles announces loudly.’ This is not an evacuation signal. Rather, it is a pleasant surprise. I am pleased to announce that I have just been informed by my security team that a new consignment of Were creatures has arrived unexpectedly.’ Russell gulps. ‘Not Coleo and Neo?’ ‘They will be auctioned here tomorrow night, along with the other items that you already know about. If you are aware of any business colleagues who collect absolute rarities, then you might like to advise them that tomorrow night, such a rarity will be available for purchase.’ An excited murmuring runs through the crowd. The man closest to us pulls out his gold plated credit card and pats it lovingly. The red haired lady in the Koala cape giggles and calls out. ‘Herman darling, are any of them large and furry?’ While a woman nearby titters. ‘I prefer snakeskin Dear Doctor, one with an interesting pattern.’ Soon they’re all shouting out their preferences. ‘Do any of the new consignments have large eyes?’

‘Any horned animals, Herman?’ ‘Dr. Giles, do any of them have claws which can be ground down into a beauty mask?’

Horrible Herman puts up his hands to silence the crowd. ‘I can see you’re all brimming over with curiosity. But as you know, the scarcity of these creatures is such that scientists are still analysing the different purposes for which they can be used.’ Then he smiles greedily and clasps his hands together in excitement.’ I really shouldn’t do this, but would you like a peek?’ The crowd roars their approval. ‘I thought so! Please follow me.’ He turns and makes his way into a third room, which Russell and I never even noticed. Frantically, we skirt the edge of the crowd, trying to find a safe spot from which to watch. Russell is shivering. ‘If they’ve caught Coleo or Neo, I think I’ll chuck!’ The crowd comes to a taut standstill. We creep forward and position ourselves close to the stage next to the stick thin lady in the Koala cape and her partner. I try to avoid looking at the cape. It’s the Koala’s eyes. I feel like they’re challenging me. Do something, why don’t you? It’s the same feeling I had when I left Tiger behind in the Museum. But what can I do? I’m just a kid. I’m undercover and I’m in danger. Man, and I thought putting up with Smitho was hard work!

Chapter Fifteen

The Sicko’s Show

Herman Giles steps onto a raised section of polished flooring set up to form a makeshift stage. He waits until there is silence, then in a dramatic gesture he flings his short arms wide, and booms. ‘LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! Tonight, I will honour you with a small peek into our distant past, but before I do that, let me remind you of some key things. The Australian continent is home to hundreds of thousands of unique plant and animal species, many of which are now extinct. As they continue to disappear from the face of the earth they will not only become rarer, but more valuable. With this in mind, I now present for your personal viewing pleasure, a particularly healthy specimen of the Onychogalea Fraenata, the Bridled Nail-Tail Wallaby. Once common to this ancient continent, they now number in the hundreds only and are listed as Endangered.’ Casually, he waves his hand to the side. Two brawny men dressed in flexible, tight fitting clothes carry out the Wallaby’s limp body.

Russell looks like he’s going to cry. ‘He’s not dead!’ I whisper urgently, pointing to the tranquilliser dart still stuck in his chest. ‘He’s just drugged.’ The lady in the Koala cape shivers and wraps her bone thin arms around her partner. ‘I want him for my 21st birthday, darling!’ Russell and I choke. She doesn’t look a day over fifty! The man she’s gripping nods and gives her an affectionate kiss on the cheek. The crowd presses closer to inspect the Wallaby. One man reaches out and pokes his leg. ‘Please don’t handle the merchandise!’ Herman Giles warns sternly. Other people glare at the offender angrily. Probably because they’re the ones who are interested in buying him. Dr. Giles waves his hand again and the brawny men carry the helpless wallaby away.

‘The Show isn’t over yet, folks!’ Dr. Giles announces cheerfully. ‘Coming up is a species that is declining to such an extent that its eventual extinction is regarded as inevitable. Bring out the Canus Lupus, also known as the Dingo.’ I breathe a sigh of relief, at least it’s not Neo or Coleo. ‘Where do you reckon they got them from?’ Russell whispers. ‘Dunno. Maybe their friends are locked in here and they were on a rescue mission. Then again, they might not even know each other.’ The dingo is lugged out and lowered lifelessly to the floor. ‘Oh darling,’ coos the lady in the Koala cape, ‘scratch the other one. I’d just love a dingo.’ After close inspection, but absolutely no touching, by cashed up interested buyers, the dingo is carried away.

‘But wait, there’s more!’ Horrible Herman cries. Everyone laughs. There’s a feverish quality to it that sends a cold chill up my spine. ‘You’d think he was flogging steak knives!’ Russell snorts. ‘I have saved the best for last!’ Dr. Giles confides, working up the crowd’s interest to fever pitch. He points to a blank wall. Suddenly it begins to move upwards, like a huge garage roller door. ‘LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, I give you the most amazing, the most incredible, the absolutely fabulous, Thylacoleo Carnifex!’ ‘Coleo!’ Russell gasps. Poor Coleo! How many darts did these monsters shoot at him before he went down? And will he be okay when the drugs start wearing off? The crowd goes crazy as Coleo’s body slowly comes into view. One woman faints and a couple of other women jump up and down and call out. ‘How much is it, Herman? Does it have any special qualities you’re not telling us about?’

Dr. Giles smiles. ‘Special qualities? Dear ladies, let me tell you a little about this particular creature. Thylacoleo Carnifex is one of the largest carnivore marsupials the world has ever seen.’ He chuckles. ‘Believe it or not folks, one of the closest living relatives to this meat eating monster is the Koala Bear!’

A ripple of laughter flows through the audience, but I don’t think he’s so clever. Koalas are so small, Coleo is so big, it’s an obvious joke. The lady in the Koala cape squeals in delight. Digging her long, pointy red nails into her partner’s arm she demands. ‘I don’t care what it costs, Simon! That’s the one for me!’ Simon looks doubtful. Poor old Coleo might be more than even he can afford. ‘You see before you the Marsupial Lion,’ Dr. Giles continues. ‘As you’ve all probably guessed by now, it is extinct.’ He pauses to let the importance of this information sink in. ‘This mammoth creature hasn’t been seen on this continent since the Ice Age, which is probably fortunate for humanity. It was one of the most efficient predators of large prey ever to evolve on this planet.’ ‘You’re extinct too, aren’t you Matt?’ Russell whispers, concerned. I nod. ‘Tasmanian Tigers haven’t been seen since 1936. But I don’t think I was around in the Ice Age. I’ll have to look it up.’ ‘I’m critically endangered. Supposed to be less than fifty of me left on the whole continent.’ ‘Were both in trouble if we get caught then.’

Dr. Giles’ voice lowers to a hushed whisper. ‘There’s no need for me to tell you all, that this creature is utterly priceless.’ People nod in agreement and murmur to each other. ‘Tomorrow evening however, you will all have the rare opportunity of setting the price on a priceless object. An experience, which in itself, is not to be missed. Think of the possibilities, my friends! The purity of this animal’s blood, to name but one. Perhaps I will name a few others, just to get your imaginations working. The largest and rarest trophy in the world.…’ Everyone laughs. ‘Something to frighten the neighborhood children with on Halloween.’ All the children laugh. ‘A product you can market sliver by tiny sliver for scientific research.’ A few men in business suits grin. ‘Cloning rights.’

There is absolute silence, then the crowd bursts into thunderous applause. Dr. Giles gleefully waves his hand. The roller door comes down again and Coleo is hidden from our sight.

‘Are they going to bring out Neo next?’ Russell sobs. I shake my head. ‘They would’ve done that already. I think she escaped.’ ‘Wish we had wings!’ ‘Yeah. It’s probably the only thing that saved her. Let’s get out of here while we still can.’ We look around, trying to decide which exit is our best option. That’s when I spot it. Something I hadn’t noticed before. A blue door that says Staff Only – No Entry. A grin spreads across my face. It was a blue door that got me into this mess in the first place, maybe another blue door will get me out of it. ‘Come on!’ I say, grabbing Russell’s arm. ‘This way!’

Chapter Sixteen

Lucky Break

As we make our way towards the blue door, I glance back to make sure no one has become suspicious of us. Herman Giles is just stepping down from the stage, and as he steps down, he removes what looks like some kind of remote control from his jacket pocket. He presses a button and everything goes dark again. ‘We have the rest of the evening to enjoy, folks!’ His voice booms merrily. ‘I know you haven’t finished looking at the exhibits yet. When you have, expensive delicacies await you for supper. Including tidbits of the rare Yellow- headed Gouldian Finch marinated in oyster sauce. Its flesh is reputed to promote brainpower if ingested on a regular basis. We have special access to a limited but regular supply for those of you who are interested.’ People murmur their thanks and return to making their way by torchlight around the cages. ‘Is that the Master Controller for the building?’ I ask Russell urgently, pointing to the remote control in Herman’s hand. ‘If we can get it, then we’ll be able to open the cages and let everyone out.’ Dr. Giles slips it back into his pocket before Russell can see it. ‘Lets get ourselves out first!’ Russell replies, reaching for the handle of the blue door. ‘It’s time to scram.’ Neither of us expects the door to open, but amazingly it does. Russell almost looks disappointed. I think he was looking forward to picking the lock.

We duck inside and close the door behind us, glad to be away from the stylish monsters with the flashy torches. Russell shines his torch around the room. It’s empty, except for a narrow set of stairs that lead upwards to a door set in the ceiling. Talk about weird. ‘I’ve broken into some strange places in my time,’ he mutters. ‘But this place takes the cake!’ ‘Let’s see where it leads to.’ ‘If it’s heaven I’m not going!’

‘Why not?’ ‘Got too many things to confess!’ I grin, scamper up the stairs, and open the blue door in the ceiling. It’s not heavy like the other door, I think it’s just made out of some cheap plywood. Curiously, I peer into the room above us. ‘What are you laughing at?’ Russell asks impatiently behind me.

I can’t believe it. This is the room where I was bitten. The door opens in the floor behind the old workbench, no wonder I never spotted it before. Tiger’s bones aren’t here anymore though, there’s just the bench and the folded green sheet and all the other stuffed and preserved junk. I feel really bad. You’re missing, I tell him. Seen one skeleton, you’ve seen them all. He really does have a gruesome sense of humour. I climb up into the room and Russell joins me. There’re a couple of drops of blood still on the floor. I’m guessing they’re mine. Pointing to the room’s outer blue door, I say, ‘That door leads into the main corridor of the Museum.’ ‘Dead end, then! This place will have an alarm. If we step out there, it’ll go off. Then we’ll have coppers crawling over us like flies.’ ‘Maybe that’s not such a bad idea. They’ll arrest all the sickos downstairs and we can free the other Were kids.’ Russell looks at me like I live in La La Land. ‘Get real, Matt! Do you think Were kids would be welcomed with open arms? People like the world to go on as normal, even if normal isn’t good. Some of them won’t even think we’re human! And what do you think the Government will do when they find out about us? We’ll be handed over to the mad scientists to be sliced and diced and pickled in a jar.’ Suddenly I see the funny side. Maybe it’s Tiger’s influence. ‘They could sell you in supermarkets,’ I joke. ‘When regularly ingested you could promote shoplifting!’ Russell bursts out laughing. ‘I’m not sharing my skills with anyone, not even when I’m pickled!’

‘What are we going to do, then?’ I ask, after we both stop giggling. ‘We could stay here overnight and try to sneak out in the morning.’ I don’t fancy that. What if Horrible Herman decides to have a poke around his old storeroom before he goes home? The only trouble is, I don’t fancy going back downstairs either.

‘Hang on a minute, what’s that?’ Russell asks, shining his torch on a square piece of metal set low in the wall. ‘A ventilation shaft?’ His face lights up. ‘It’ll lead to the outside. Here, give us a hand.’ We try to wrench the metal cover off the shaft, but it’s stuck fast. ‘We need muscle,’ Russell complains. ‘Coleo would only have to look at this and it’d fall off.’ I put my hands around it and pull but it doesn’t even give a little. I look at Gilbertii despairingly. If we can’t get out of here, then we might as well give up on saving the others. Suddenly an idea forms in my brain and before I can chicken out, I go for it.

Quickly, I begin the change. Then I force myself to stop halfway. It’s difficult, much more difficult than going all the way and actually turning into a Tasmanian Tiger. Then I feel myself losing it. My body morphs back and forth between human and animal as I struggle for control. Let me help. Tiger says. His strength merges with mine and his spirit reaches out to help control the change. Finally my form settles. I’m not a boy, but I’m not a Tasmanian Tiger either. My body is still human. Well, mostly. I’m covered in fur and my long tail is sticking out behind me. And my legs, arms and fingers are normal, except that I have claws. I feel my face, my nose is long and pointed like snout and I have spiky whiskers. I run my tongue over my teeth. Ooooh, sharp. Gilberti stares at me in wonder. ‘I didn’t know it was possible to do that!’ ‘Neither did I!’ I grab the grate with two hands and heave. It comes out easily. Wow! I am a lot stronger in this halfway form than I am in my pure human or tiger shape. It’s really painful to hold though.

The shaft is a bit of a tight fit, but we manage to squeeze in. I pull the cover back into place behind us. ‘Do you reckon you could sniff the way out?’ Giberti asks. ‘Yeah, but not like this. It’s too hard to hold. ‘I slip properly into my Were form and my muscles relax. Slowly, we begin to navigate our way along the metal tubing. It seems ages before we hit a T-junction. That’s when my nostrils sniff the sweet smell of fresh air and freedom. Turning, we follow the smell. A whole lot of biting, clawing and pushing later, we exit the ventilation system. I thought we’d come out on the roof, but we don’t. We exit through a vent that comes out the eastern side of the building. Russell immediately changes into his animal form. I need a lift, he sighs, scurrying onto my back. He’s a lot younger than me. I think it’s all been a bit too much for him. I don’t mind giving him a lift. Hang on tight little brother! Sticking to the shadows and keeping an eye out for any stray guards, I tear around the side of the building to the parking lot, and we begin our frantic search for Neo.

Chapter Seventeen

Finding Neo

Neo! We both call urgently Neo! There’s no response. Did they get Neo too? Neo! It’s me – Glibertii! Where are you? If you’re here, give us a sign, or something! Still no answer. Gilbertii gives a little sob of distress. Then into the tense silence comes a terse, suspicious voice. Gilbertii? Is that really you? He laughs in relief. Come on Neo, how many cute potoroo’s do you know? If that’s really you Gilbertii, then get off the Traitor! I’m assuming she means me! Great, first I get blamed for Psuedem’s capture, now I get blamed for Coleo’s capture too and I wasn’t even there! What is it with this bird? Neo swoops down from a nearby tree, knocks Gilbertii off my back, and begins stabbing me with her small, sharp beak. It really hurts!

Then she realises that Gilbertii is lying on the ground gasping for breath. She stops skinning me alive, and flutters down anxiously to check on him. Are you alright, Gilbertii? Do you need me to give you mouth-to-mouth resuscitation? Answer me! Boy is she demanding! The potoroo gags in disgust. You’ve got it wrong, Neo! He didn’t betray us! A little girl saw me and her father complained about rats to Herman Giles. Matt says he works for the Museum. Maybe he’s even the Hunter. I don’t know. The Hunter? Shrieks Neo in shock. You met the Hunter? You tell her, Matt. I don’t want to tell the stupid bird anything. I’m too busy trying to reach my bite wounds with my tongue so I can lick them clean. Tell me! Shrieks Neo. I take pity on her. She’s really upset.

I doubt Herman Giles is the Hunter. He had no scar on his face and Coleo told me he clawed him once. Yes, yes, Neo Mumbles. I know all about that, I was the one who rescued him You?! What – you think birds are helpless? I didn’t mean it that way. Look, I’m sorry, alright? But it was pretty scary losing Coleo. There were guards, they stumbled on us unexpectedly, then there were tranq-darts shooting everywhere. A Dingo came out of nowhere and tried to help, but he got shot down too. How many did it take before Coleo went down? Ten darts. That’s a lot of drugs, Gilberti sighed. Yeah, sobbed Neo. I just hope he’s okay when he comes out of it. I felt so helpless. There was nothing I could do to stop it. I wondered if Neo was feeling guilty about not being captured herself. It wasn’t your fault, I tell her. Did I draw blood? She asks apologetically. Yes, you did. I’m sorry, Matt. Did you find Psuedem? Yeah, but we need to get out of here. I’ll tell you as we go. Gilbertii scampers up on my back again. I’ll try not to sit on your bite wounds, Matt. Neo sqwarks sheepishly, then flies low next to us as we head away from the Museum. Psuedem’s locked in a glass showcase with a kid who turns into a black snake, Glibertii tells her. You wouldn’t believe how horrible it is in there! They’ve got all sorts of Were kids locked up and they’re torturing them! Neo ruffles her feathers angrily. We saw the dingo and Coleo too, there was a wallaby they bought in at the same time, but they were all too drugged to know we were there. We have to rescue them! We need a plan first, I interrupt.

You’re not Coleo! Neo spits. You’re not going to tell me what to do! Boy, the truce didn’t last long! Matt’s right, Gilbertii says. We’ll only get caught otherwise. Neo shudders. Look, I tell her. I’m as stinking mad about this as you are, but we won’t do any good if we barge in there unprepared. It’s best to come back tomorrow night. Will they be okay until then? Neo sobs. Gilbertii nods. There’s a big auction tomorrow night, Neo. They’ll be okay. Are you telling me they’re selling them? Afraid so. Neo glares at me. So, Mr. We-need-a-plan, do you actually have any bright ideas? Or are you all Show and no Tell? When is this girl going to stop insulting me? Do you have a plan, Matt? Gilbertii asks gloomily. Because I don’t. You bet I do! I reply confidently. It’s a lie, of course. What I have is an idea. And it’s going to be very tricky getting it to work. But I don’t tell them that. Neo makes a noise with her beak. I can see she doesn’t believe me. Smart girl. As for Gilbertii, he’s too tired to worry about anything right now.

I never thought I’d ever say this, Gilbertii whines, but sometimes I really wish there was an adult we could trust. What kind of home life does he have, I wonder. He seems so alone. I’ll take you right to your front door tonight, I tell him cheerfully. See you both tomorrow then, Neo says. She rises higher, circles once, then disappears. Don’t mind her, Gilbertii says, she’s okay once you get to know her. When we get to Gilbertii’s street, he won’t let me drop him at his house. I have to be careful how I sneak in, he explains reluctantly. Really careful. I drop him off a few houses away. Then I hide in the shadows and watch which house he sneaks into. Number 34 Tillane Avenue. I’ll remember that. I don’t leave until I’m absolutely sure he’s safe.

It’s late when I get home. I’m too tired to change into my pajamas. I just crawl into bed and close my eyes. A few minutes later there’s a gentle tap on my door. ‘Are you alright Matt?’ Nanna calls softly. ‘I thought I heard a noise.’ I slip deeper under my doona. If she sees I have my clothes on she’ll be suspicious. I pretend she’s just woken me. ‘Who? What?’ I mumble sleepily. Nanna notices my bedroom window is open. She comes in, closes it and draws the curtains. ‘Never sleep with your window open,’ she warns softly. ‘You never know what might get in. Or what might get out. Goodnight Matt.’ ‘Goodnight Nanna.’ Was she joking, I wonder after she leaves. Or is she beginning to wonder about me? I roll over. The plan will have to wait until tomorrow. I’m too tired to think of one now. When I fall asleep I dream of Psuedem, Coleo, Ony, Dasy and all the other imprisoned kids. What I need, I tell my sleeping self, is a plan that is brilliant and simple at the same time. Oh, and one that will allow me to survive too. Talk about Mission Impossible!

Chapter Eighteen

A Fail Safe

When I wake up the next morning I feel better, but no flash of brilliance has entered my head. The day passes painfully slowly. I spend most of it on my computer, researching endangered and threatened species on the Internet. There are so many it’s overwhelming. By the time the sun begins to set I am both depressed and determined. I watch impatiently, urging the sun to hurry up and sink below the horizon. Almost night, I think tensely. Just a little bit longer. When the sun’s glow finally fades, it’s cold. Really cold. A freak cold evening at the start of summer. Is it an omen? If it is, I hope it’s a good one. What do you think, Tiger? It’s a good night to be out. But you’ll have to be careful. There’s a full moon. I poke my head out. He’s right. The only chance we’ll have is if we can find the densest shadows and use them to skirt the building.

I decide it might be safer if I keep my human form until I reach the Museum. If a police car drives by I don’t want them to spot me and ask what I’m doing out on the streets. Slipping out the window, I cling to the shadows all the way. I reach the Museum safely, but I spot a couple of armed guards doing a circuit of the building. Quickly, I search out the deepest shadow, change into my Tiger form, and become a part of the darkness. Then I settle down and wait patiently for Neo and Gilbertii.

There’s still something I can’t figure out about all this shape changing stuff. When I change into my tiger form, it’s not the same as letting Tiger take the lead. This will sound weird, but it feels like Tiger is one person and me and my tiger form, are another. I mean, I know I’m a Were kid and all of that, but what happens to me seems to be a little different to what happens to the others, and I don’t understand why. A truly mind boggling thought flares in my brain. Maybe getting bitten by Tiger wasn’t what gave me the ability to change. Maybe I had it all along. Coleo told me that for a few kids it just happens

naturally. But then Tiger bit me, so maybe I’ve got an extra dose somehow. At least it’s not hard for me to talk to him anymore. I seem to be able to talk to him whenever I want now, even when I’m not in Were form. Maybe I’m a double whammy Were kid!

I shake my head. This is not the time to start confusing myself. I need to stay alert and focused. Then I notice something I really should have noticed before. The car park is already full of flash cars. In fact, it was full when I arrived. Has the auction already started? I start worrying. Did Neo and Gilberti get here before me? Have they been captured? That would make me a rescue party of one. Mission Impossible, alright! I hear a sound close by. Leaping to my feet I open my jaws, ready to spring. Gilbertii’s little head looks up at me in the moonlight. I nearly ate you! Don’t sneak up on me like that. Sorry! Just trying to move quietly. Never been out like this without Coleo before. I hate to admit it, but I miss the big fella too. He made me feel protected. Neo flutters down from a tree, lands on my back and digs her claws in. Ouch! I’m not a horse! I’ll be spotted if I fly, is that what you want? She has an annoying point. Do you have a good plan? Gilbertii asks nervously. Sure! Really? Neo questions. What do you think I am, stupid? Okay, okay! She backs off. Gilbertii scampers up and sits with Neo. Let’s go! He urges.

I take the long way around the building. Not for safety’s sake, but so I can try and make up a good plan in the little time we have left. Nothing will stop us from crashing the sicko’s auction. I’m just hoping that things fall into place along the way. At least I have a fail safe. It won’t stop us from being captured ourselves, but it might help us later on. I left a note on my pillow telling Nanna

to send the Police after Dr. Herman Giles if my bed was empty in the morning. I can count on her to do that. If I go missing, she’ll probably hunt him down herself. And if I were Dr. Giles, I wouldn’t want to go up against a wild Nanna.

As I round the corner of the building, I spot a tall figure dressed in black and carrying a rifle. ‘All quiet, here,’ he says into his headpiece. ‘Number three out.’ So there are at least three guards outside. How many inside, I wonder. Guard! I warn Gilbertii and Neo, in case they haven’t spotted him themselves. We’ll have to wait until he moves on. He’s standing close to the broken vent I was planning to sneak into. I don’t know what to do now. Do you have a back up plan? Neo asks sarcastically. She’s obviously spotted the vent and figured out what I was going to do. Of course I do! Desperately I try to think of an alternative way of entering the building safely. Nope. The mind is a blank. Luckily, the guard begins to move on. Neo laughs. Now you won’t have to tell us what your other plan was!

As soon as the guard is out of sight, I dash over to the vent and pull the grill free. Neo stalks inside. Her claws make small scratching noises on the metal shaft. Glibertii changes back into his boy form and creeps inside and I pop in last. I pull the vent shut behind us, it’s much easier to move since we dislodged it last time. We don’t want the guards to notice anything out of the ordinary. We move as quickly as possible along the shaft. ‘Take a left!’ I tell Neo, as we go near the T- junction. We turn left and head towards the room with the blue door. Suddenly there’s a loud bang ahead of us. The stupid vent just fell out! Neo complains. Look down, I tell her. Is it a junk room? I can’t see much, but yes, I think so. Then we’re here. That’s the room we want. It leads down underneath the Museum.

Everything is dark and quiet. Is there someone down there waiting to capture us? I sniff for danger. Nothing. We’re good to go, I tell Neo. She drops down into the room and Russell and I follow. No one pounces on us. We breathe a sigh of relief. Quickly we climb down the stairs in the floor, enter the room underneath, and head for the second blue door that leads out into the underground section. Russell turns the handle. Then he turns it again. Neo sighs grumpily. It’s locked, isn’t it? Now what do we do?

Chapter Nineteen

Who on Earth is that?

Russell smiles at Neo smugly. There’s nothing to worry about Neo. This is Matt’s back up plan. He pulls out a bunch of lock picks from his back pocket and rattles them in her face. I try not to laugh. Russell selects a pick and starts fiddling with the lock. Click! We’re in! We open the door just a crack and peer through. The place is packed tighter than a tin of sardines. It’s very dark, except for the spotlight on Herman Giles, and the shiny glint of diamond jewellery on his guests. The auction has already started. Dr. Giles is standing on the stage trying to push the bids higher. We’re late!

Dr. Giles waves his hand in the air. ‘Going, going, gone!’ he declares. ‘The wallaby is all yours my friend, a steal at one million dollars!’ He just sold a Were kid! Neo gasps in shock. How could he do that? I feel sorry for her. That will be the least of the shocks she gets tonight. My eyes zoom in on Horrible Herman. Aha! My luck’s in. The Master Controller is hanging from a cord around his neck. He must want it handy in case of an emergency. Yes! Finally - I have a plan!

So what’s the plan? Asks Neo angrily. She’s really upset with what’s going on and there’s a dangerous gleam in her eye. I’m glad I have something to tell her. See that thing hanging around Dr. Giles neck? It’s the Master Controller for the whole building. If I cause a distraction, do you think you could swoop down and grab it? You bet I can! Great! Wait until everyone’s attention is on me, then grab it and fly it over to Russell.

I turn to Gilbertii. I don’t know which button opens the cages little brother, so press all of them. I want to be in on this! Tiger says suddenly. We’ll do it together, I tell him. Good! He replies. That’ll make us twice as strong!

I sneak out the room, taking care to make as little noise as possible, and position myself at the back of the crowd. Then I let out a vicious, husky growl. Tiger joins in and it almost sounds like there’s two of us. A fat man in front of me leaps into the air in fright. Yap yap, yap yap! I go for his legs. He falls forward, knocking the people in front of him down like a set of elegant dominoes. Yap yap, yap yap! Using my bipedal hop, I twist and turn through the crowd, nipping and scratching every leg and arm I can sink my teeth or claws into. Everyone is shouting and trying to work out what’s going on. ‘What’s happening?’ Demands Herman Giles shrilly from the stage. A ripple of fear runs through the crowd. ‘One of the Were Creatures has escaped!’ a woman shrieks. ‘It’s going to eat us!’ ‘Is it true?’ someone else screams. People start to panic. They know there’s trouble behind them, but they don’t know what exactly. They press themselves towards the stage.

Neo takes flight. She swoops in and blinds Dr. Giles by dropping a sloppy bird poo right in his face. Way to go, Neo! While he’s prancing around trying to clean the muck from his eyes, she grabs the Controller in her beak and darts out again. ‘The bird, get the bird!’ He yells, but the guards have spotted me and are trying to push their way through the crowd. Suddenly, the lights blink on and off. Yes! Gilbertii must have the controller. I just hope he finds the button that opens the cages soon.

‘THE CONTROLLER!’ Horrible Herman screams at the guards. Then he points to Russell. ‘Get the Controller you idiots!’

Trying to buy us more time, Neo soars back and forth over the crowd, dropping missiles as she goes. Women are running their manicured fingers through their beautifully groomed pooey hair and men are pulling off their Rolex watches and holding their arms above their heads. Then a miracle happens. The doors to the glass showcases and steel cages begin to slide open. At first the Were kids trapped inside don’t realise what’s happening. They just lie there, watching the moving doors. YOU’RE FREE! I scream with my mind. RUN! When they see the doors are going to stay open, they leap up and pour out, making all kinds of angry, terrifying sounds. But the strongest voice amongst them is the dingo. Run. Escape. Freedom. Hunt!

Dr. Giles’ cruel clients panic completely and flee frantically for the exits. Without realising it, I’ve bitten my way to the stage. There’re still a couple of guards after me, but the rest are chasing Russell. Something makes me look up. Herman Giles is glaring down at me, his eyes filled with hatred. I have an awful feeling he knows who I am. ‘Bye, bye Matty!’ He fires a tranquilliser gun. I surge into my bipedal hop in a bid to escape the tranq-dart, but it’s too late. It hits me in my rump. My body starts to feel limp and sluggish. I can’t control my legs anymore. I go down in slow motion. It was good while it lasted Tiger, I sigh as I’m falling. It’s not over yet, Matt, he laughs. Through sluggish eyes I see another Tasmanian Tiger rear up behind Dr. Giles and send him flying. Who on earth is that?

There’s chaos everywhere, I feel myself slowly going under. Then over near one exit I glimpse a scar faced man carrying a small child away. It’s Psuedem’s friend, the black snake. I try to get help for the little kid by calling out, but my voice won’t work. Then Russell darts past me with some kind of

sack over his shoulder and chases after them. Just before he disappears through the same exit, he gives me the thumbs up sign. It’s the last thing I see before everything goes black.

Chapter Twenty

New Headquarters

My head moves in slow motion. My tongue feels thick and furry. I hear voices, but I don’t know where they’re coming from. Then I remember. The tranquilliser gun - danger! My eyes fly open. Shock! That’s my bedroom ceiling I’m staring at. I recognise the large practice spitball stuck near the light. I shot it up there three years ago when I first got stuck with Smitho as a teacher. Spitballs are a quick and cheap form of self-defense when a teacher’s back is turned. I eye the spitball affectionately. I can’t believe I’m safe. It’s almost an anticlimax. But what happened after I zonked out? How did I get here? Are Psuedem, Coleo, and Neo okay? And most importantly of all – does Nanna know what I am? Quick, think of a really good cover story. Fast. The truth is too unbelievable to share!

My brain cells spark, but don’t ignite. My mind is like a firecracker that won’t take off. Talk about a fizzog. I guess it’s the after effect of whatever drug they used to take me down. This leaves me with only one course of action. Bluffing. I roll over and sit up on the edge of my bed, with my head between my hands. I’m not sure whether my legs will support me, but I’ll find out soon. The fogginess begins to clear, I take a deep breath and slowly stand up. Wobbly, but not bad. I’m doing okay for a kid who was taken down by professionals. My nostrils are assailed by my own smell. I don’t think I can stand the stink of myself any longer. Besides, a shower might help me to wake up properly. I grab some clean clothes and stagger towards the bathroom.

Oh man! Hot water never felt so good. I even shampoo my hair, so much for keeping it moist with natural oils. I stand under the shower for ages, my hands pressed against the tiled wall to support myself. The heat is wonderful, and the more the water tumbles over my skin the quicker my worries dissolve. I don’t turn the taps off until I think I’m in danger of turning into a wrinkled human prune. Well, maybe not human. Once I dry myself down and throw on some clean clothes, I almost feel like my old self. My stomach rumbles. I’m starving.

The kitchen has to be my next stop. I need to build up my strength before Nanna interrogates me. I just hope she’s out with her friends and not waiting to ambush me in the kitchen.

As I amble down the hallway I hear voices and laughter. I halt in surprise. They’re not just any voices. That’s the Pack I’m hearing. What are they doing here? I creep forward, trying not to make any noise. Peering around the kitchen door, I see a giant chocolate cake sitting in the middle of the table. While everyone hoes into it, Nanna makes cocoa. A lump forms in my throat. It all looks so normal. The Pack looks so normal, but they’re not. And neither am I. I’m relieved to see Coleo is okay. I haven’t seen the others in their human form before. I don’t even know what their human names are. But I reckon I can figure out who is who. Pseudem is the young boy with the lazy eyes and the girl must be Neo. She looks kind of cute with her fluffy brown hair and warm brown eyes. If you like girls, that is.

What have my friends told Nanna? If I spin her a story that conflicts with theirs, things could get awfully messy. I edge round the door a little more. That’s when I spot Mum and Dad and my brother Mark. They’re over in a corner, unpacking their camping gear on a spare table. Things just got a whole lot more complicated. My appetite vanishes. I feel sick. It’s hard to lie when Mark is around. Usually he starts laughing and I lose any chance of the adults believing my story. What am I going to do?

Before I can think of anything clever, Coleo notices me. ‘Hey Matt!’ he cries out. The others turn and grin at me. Neo gives a V for victory sign, so I guess things didn’t go too badly after I took a nose dive. ‘Hi Matt!’ Dad says cheerfully. ‘Did you have a good time while we were away?’ Mark smirks. He thinks he’s so superior sometimes. I try to think of something smart to say, so everyone will stop grinning at me, but my mind’s a blank. ‘Did you save the forest?’ I ask weakly.

It’s my best effort. ‘No,’ Mum smiles ‘but we haven’t given up.’

I slide in and sit down at the table next to Coleo, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. Nanna leans over my shoulder and gives me a mug of cocoa. I smile gratefully. I’m just about to take my first sip when Psuedem says. ‘I think you have visitor Matt.’ The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, I spin around in my chair only to come face to face with a Tasmanian Tiger. I make a squealy shocked noise in my throat. It’s the one that flattened Horrible Herman at the Museum last night. But who is it really? I turn back to ask my friends and suddenly there are three more Tigers in the room. All with silly looks on their faces. The Pack bursts into stupid, joyful laughter. Coleo slaps me on the shoulder. ‘Congratulations, Matt! As far as we know, you’ve got the only Were family in the whole world.’ I’m shocked. I can’t believe I didn’t even suspect. How dumb am I? The Pack looks wistful. Their families don’t know about their Were identities. I feel relieved when my family changes back into their human form. ‘The jokes on you, little brother!’ Mark says. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ I ask Mum and Dad. ‘We weren’t sure what was going to happen with you,’ Mum says. ‘Usually the Change occurs quite young.’ ‘I was six when it happened to me!’ Mark boasts. ‘We didn’t want you to feel the odd one out in the family,’ Dad adds. Nanna gives me a hug. ‘It looks like there was nothing to worry about after all.’ My head is spinning. I feel really confused. If the Change is genetic, if I was going to turn into a Tasmanian Tiger anyway, then who is Tiger? I mean, I know he’s Benjamin, the last Tasmanian Tiger left in Australia in 1936. But I thought that maybe he was a part of me too. Like maybe my Were form, or something.

‘Who’s Tiger, then?’ I blurt out, without thinking.

Coleo grins. ‘You’re unique, Matt.’ ‘I am?’ ‘You certainly are!’ Nanna says. ‘You’re the only one of us with a sidekick!’ Neo says. ‘I don’t get it.’ ‘Tiger isn’t your Were form,’ Nanna explains. ‘Tiger is his own person. This is the first time something like this has ever happened that I know of.’ ‘But don’t the rest of you talk to your animals like I talk to Tiger?’ They all shake their heads. ‘The spirits of our animals only talk to us in feelings and our instincts,’ Coleo says. ‘We don’t hold conversations with them. Have you ever heard any of us do that?’ No, I haven’t.

‘If Tiger decided to leave’ Mum explains, ‘then you’d still be able to change into a Tasmanian Tiger, but you wouldn’t…’ ‘Have a sidekick?’ ‘That’s right.’ I told you your blood called to me, Tiger says, but only in my mind. It’s a lot to take in but I’m starting to get it. A sidekick, eh? I look at my brother and smirk. Is he envious, or what?!

Chapter Twenty One

Track, Track, Track!

Nanna realises that I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed with everything and drops the hint to Mum, Dad and Mark that maybe I’d like some time alone with my friends. I think Mark wants to stay with us and find out what I’ve been up to while he’s been away, but Dad makes him go with the adults into the lounge room. ‘Are you really okay, Matt?’ Coleo asks. ‘Yeah, just a bit stunned, that’s all.’ I grin at my friends, then it hits me, not all of my friends are here. ‘Where’s Russell?’ ‘We don’t know,’ Neo says fearfully. ‘We were hoping you might know.’ I shake my head. ‘The last time I saw him, he was following a scar-faced bloke carrying Psuedem’s friend away.’ ‘The Hunter?’ asks Coleo. ‘I don’t know. Maybe.’ Neo looks like she’s going to burst into tears. I hope she doesn’t. I never know what to do when girls cry. ‘There’s nothing to worry about yet,’ Psuedem says. ‘I had a dream early this morning that Russell was on a wild adventure and my friend Timmy is okay too. I think they might be on a truck.’ ‘Where’s it going?’ asks Coleo. ‘I don’t know.’ ‘Maybe you could dream that next,’ I tell him. Psuedem laughs. ‘It’s not that simple, I never know what I’m going to dream. But I hope that’s what I dream next.’

‘Last night was crazy,’ Coleo says. ‘It was lucky Nanna Grace was there, she calmed the Were kids down and organised a safe exit so none of them got hurt.’ ‘What about Herman Giles and all his clients?’ ‘Man, you should have seen them. They were fighting and clawing at each other to get out. There was jewellery flying all over the place!’

‘The underground is a mess,’ adds Neo ‘It’s totally trashed. No one will be using that place for a long time.’ ‘Do we know who the other Were kids are?’ I ask. Coleo grimaces. ‘After we got them outside they just took off. Wouldn’t surprise me if some of them went rogue. It was pretty rotten what happened to them. And I wouldn’t trust anyone, if I was them. Only one of them hung around, and then only because Psuedem talked to him. He’s out on your back verandah.’ ‘How come?’ ‘My new friend Lupis isn’t used to houses yet,’ Psuedem says. ‘Can I meet him?’ ‘Okay, but let’s take him out something to eat, it might make it easier.’ Neo rolls her eyes. Obviously there’s something going on that I don’t know about.

As we open the back door, a boy about nine years old with large brown eyes and rusty coloured hair snarls at us. ‘It’s okay.’ Psuedem says, walking over to him. He holds out a piece of cake. ‘This is called cake. Would you like to eat it?’ The boy sniffs the cake suspiciously. With a quick snap he devours it whole then springs away. I think there’s something seriously wrong with this kid. ‘Is he rogue?’ I whisper to Coleo. ‘Not quite.’ ‘What then?’ ‘He’s Canus Lupus, a dingo. He told Psuedem he’s been tracking the Hunter for months.’ I wasn’t sure I believed that. The kid looked wild to me. I suspected he was just nuts. Coleo grins. ‘It’s not what you think, Matt. He’s not crazy, he’s just different.’ ‘Really different!’ says Neo. ‘He’s not a human who’s been bitten by an animal fossil, he’s a dingo who’s been bitten by a human fossil!’ ‘That’s unbelievable! You mean….’ ‘Yeah, you’re looking at his Were form right now. Normal for him is being a dingo.’

I looked at the dingo boy through new eyes. No wonder Psuedem explained what a cake was.

Suddenly Lupis darts forward and babbles. ‘Track, track, track! Track the bad man.’ In a flash he transforms into a dingo and begins pacing around the yard. ‘That’s the fastest shift I’ve ever seen!’ says Neo in wonder. ‘Yeah,’ I say ‘but when he talks he barely sounds human.’ ‘He barely is human, Matt!’ Neo laughs. ‘He speaks better in animal form,’ says Psuedem. ‘What – woof, woof, woof?’ I joke. ‘No, Psuedem’s right,’ Coleo says. ‘When he communicates mind to mind he’s cool.’ ‘So why’s he tracking the scar face man?’ ‘He hasn’t really told us. All we know is that he is hunting a bad man who wears glasses. He seems to think the Hunter knows where this bad man is, so that’s why he’s tracking the Hunter.’ Coleo explains. ‘Dr. Giles wears glasses.’ Neo shakes her head. ‘It can’t be him, Matt. The tranq started to wear off on Lupis pretty early, Dr. Giles was still there and the dingo wasn’t that interested in him.’ ‘Lupis was interested in the man who kidnapped Timmy,’ Psuedem says. ‘We need to find out who he is,’ says Neo. ‘If we can track him, we might find Russell too. But how?’ We all look at the sniffing dingo. Coleo grins. ‘I reckon Lupis might be a bit of tracking machine. Maybe if we take him back to the Museum, and let him snuffle around a bit, he might be able to pick up their scent.’

Dad opens the back door. ‘Would all mind coming into the lounge room?’ he asks. ‘We’d like to get everyone’s opinion on something.’ What’s going on, I wonder. Dad looks at Lupis. ‘Your other friend is welcome to come too, Matt.’ Lupis looks up and curls his top lip into a silent snarl.

Okay. I think I might leave him sniffing Mum’s flowering geraniums instead.

We all troop into the lounge room and settle ourselves on the floor. Dad hands the meeting over to Nanna. ‘Right,’ Nanna says. ‘It’s obvious there’s a lot going on that we don’t know about. Were people have lived in secret for a long time now, but if Were kids are being kidnapped, then I think our secret is finally out. That means we’re all in danger, every last one of us. We need to get organised and we need to do something about it. We’d like to make this house the Were headquarters.’ The Pack looks stunned, but before any of them can reply there’s whining and scratching at the back door. ‘It’s Lupis,’ says Psuedem. ‘I think he’s decided to come in.’ ‘Oh that’s good,’ says Mum. ‘Would you mind letting him in Peter?’ Peter – Psuedem – I’d have to remember that. Neo leans over to me and whispers. ‘Ariel.’ Now I know all their human names.

When Lupis comes in he’s still in his dingo form. He positions himself in the open doorway for a quick getaway. Smart dog. ‘Thank you for joining us Lupis,’ says Nanna. He huffs and his tongue lolls out the side of his mouth. He looks like he’s calmed down a bit. It must be even harder being bitten by a human and having to learn how to speak English. The world must seem very strange to him right now. ‘What do you all think about our suggestion?’ Nanna asks. Neo and Psuedem look to Coleo. ‘I’m cool,’ Coleo says. ‘We’ll have a bigger pack, a safe house and we’ll be able to plan proper missions.’ ‘Like finding Russell,’ Neo says. ‘And Timmy,’ adds Psuedem. Lupis snarls. Psuedem looks at him, then nods. ‘And the bad man.’ ‘So,’ I grin ‘When do we hunt?’

Lizzy Lorry: The Worm Ambassador

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Chapter One

Babblemouth

Outside thunder rolled, lightning sizzled and rain poured down, but none of that was as half as scary as what was happening inside. Today was Parent Day at Elliston Primary School and all the mums and dads were here. All except for mine. My Mum died in a car accident when I was just a baby and Dad, well, Dad was supposed to be here. Right now my friend Toby was out the front giving his speech, I was next and I wasn’t looking forward to it. Toby finished and everyone clapped, then our teacher Mr. Sandly said, ‘Our final student for the afternoon is Elizabeth Lorry.’ I knew my speech off by heart, but that didn’t stop me from being terrified. ‘Elizabeth Lorry.’ He called again. I was frozen in my seat. ‘Elizabeth!’ It wasn’t just my nerves that were holding me back it was Mr. Sandly. Even though he had been my teacher for a whole term now, I still felt jittery around him.

Lucy, the girl who sits next to me, sniggered. We weren’t friends, so she liked it when I got into trouble. Some of the other kids turned and stared at me. I looked up nervously, Mr. Sandly’s bushy grey eyebrows had risen higher in his forehead, they weren’t in the danger zone yet. They would be if I didn’t hurry up though. Reluctantly I got out of my seat, I didn’t like it when Mr. Sandly lost his temper. Quickly I joined him at the front of the class. ‘Stand there please, Elizabeth,’ he said, frowning. He pointed to the round white spot he had stuck to the floor. I stood on it and gazed out over the sea of expectant faces before me. Still no Dad. What was the point of me giving a speech when my Dad wasn’t here to listen? ‘Ahem,’ Mr. Sandly cleared his throat.

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The noise, while polite, was his way of telling me to get on with it. Each student had three minutes, I guessed I had used up two of my minutes already. Luckily Gran’s advice floated through my head like a calm sea. The only way to get over your fear is to face it. Just do it, Lizzy. And say it loud and proud, my girl! It was good advice, but it was hard to put into practice. I took a deep breath. As soon as my mouth opened a torrent of loud words flooded out. ‘My name is Lizzy Lorry. I’m an Aboriginal girl and I’m proud of who I am. I have lots of likes and dislikes. When the weather is cold I like reading books. When it’s warm I like being outside and watching the birds and animals. I also like helping my Gran with her garden and vegetable patch. My favourite colour is blue, because it reminds me of the sky. My favourite flower is the lily, because that’s my Gran’s first name. When I grow up I want to be a Wild Life Expert.’ By the time I reached – Wild Life Expert - I was gasping for air. There was a spatter of applause then Mr. Sandly said. ‘Thank you Elizabeth, you may resume your seat.’ I hurried back to my desk with my head down and my face flushed. One kid mouthed – loser! But my friend Toby gave me the thumbs up sign. When I slipped back into my seat Lucy leaned over and said nastily. ‘Babblemouth! You talked so fast no one could understand you!’ I didn’t respond. Whatever I said she would twist into something mean, she was that kind of girl. Besides, she hated being ignored.

Mr. Sandly called the class to attention. ‘I would like to thank all the students for their speeches, I know how hard they worked on them. And a very big thank you to the parents who took time out from their busy schedules for this special event. I have no doubt Parent Day at Elliston Primary School will be even more successful next year.’ Then the school bell rang and it was time to go home. Just as I was packing up my things, I heard a faint whisper. Lizzy… I looked around, was someone calling my name? Lizzy…

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I glanced past Lucy to the window. ‘What are you staring at, Babblemouth?!’ She got up and flicked her long blonde ponytail in my face, then sauntered off with her parents. Lizzy… There it was again. Then Mr. Sandly said. ‘Come and talk with me for a moment please, Elizabeth.’ Oh great!

Nervously, I stood by his desk. Mr. Sandly pursed his lips and sighed. ‘I thought your father was coming to Parent Day this year.’ I thought he was too. I felt very disappointed Dad hadn’t turned up. ‘Err, I guess his car broke down.’ ‘Hmm, I seem to remember it broke down last year too.’ ‘It’s an old car,’ I muttered. That bit was true, at least. But it never broke down. Dad was a great mechanic. Mr. Sandly grimaced. ‘Are things all right at home, Elizabeth?’ I hated it when he asked me questions about my family. ‘Things are fine!’ So long as you didn’t count my father and brother’s unhealthy obsession with football. ‘Is your house well organised?’ I didn’t see what business it was of his. Then I noticed the manic glint in his eyes. Okay – so Mr. Sandly was having one of his hungry question days. It happened from time to time, it was like something just came over him and his mouth shot questions like bullets. It looked like I was in the firing line this time. ‘Do you have a place for everything? Do you have a desk where you can do your homework? Is the room airy and well lit? Do you sleep well? Do you eat nutritiously?’ When he paused, I snapped. ‘My Gran is the best cook ever!’

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It wasn’t Gran’s fault I was skinny and I wasn’t going to have Mr. Sandly slinging off at her food. ‘I know your grandmother is a good cook,’ he retorted. ‘Her cakes and biscuits sell well at the school fete. But the developing brain needs balanced nutrition, preferably without an overload of sweets!’ Oh boy, it sounded like he was on a roll. A chunk of Dad’s dumb football advice flicked through my brain - if I you’re being tackled, do something unexpected to throw them off their game. The only thing that would be unexpected was if I agreed with him. Okay. I’d try that. ‘I hate sweets!’ I said. It was a big fat lie, of course. ‘I love lean meat and fruit and vegetables.’ That bit was true. ‘I eat lots of salad and greens, and I have a special liking for broccoli, cabbage and raw peas.’ Liar, liar, Lizzy Lorry! Mr. Sandly was taken aback, but not for long. ‘That’s all very good Elizabeth, but I suspect you lead an undisciplined life.’ He narrowed his beady blue eyes. ‘As I am fond of informing your fellow students, the secret to success of any kind is order and logic.’ I nodded enthusiastically. ‘My room is so neat and tidy I could even find a matchstick! I have place for everything and everything in its place! Even my soft toys are in plastic containers!’ If he ever saw my room he’d have a heart attack. ‘Wonderful, Elizabeth! The best way to manage life’s little challenges is one building block at a time.’ He sniffed. ‘Perhaps you might like to pass that advice on to your father. He seems to be in need of some order, or at the very least, a diary.’ ‘I will, Mr. Sandly.’ ‘Run along then, child.’

I couldn’t believe Dad’s football advice had actually worked! Rushing outside, I grabbed my school bag off its hook and plunged into the rain, which

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fortunately for me had slowed to a chilly drizzle. I hadn’t bought my rain jacket because I thought I would be going home with Dad. So much for that idea. I headed for the car park, just in case he was pulling in there, but it was mostly empty. The rain was getting heavier. I glanced up at the dark grey sky and pleaded. Please don’t dump on me! If I caught a cold Gran would make me stay in bed and I hated doing that, it was so boring. I looked towards the main street that ran past my school, a part of me still hoped Dad would appear, but there was no sign of his beat up old Holden. He isn’t coming, I growled at myself. Get going before it pours! Putting my head down against the wind, I turned towards the school oval. Cutting across it was the fastest way home.

As I trudged up the grassy embankment I thought about my speech. Had I really talked too fast? Probably. It was what I did when I felt anxious. But I had survived. Actually, I felt quite proud of myself. ‘I GOT THROUGH IT!’ I shouted as I crested the embankment. Thunder rumbled, lightning flashed and the clouds opened. I belted for home like a mad thing.

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Chapter Two

Home!

Gran’s face fell in dismay when she opened the front door and saw me drowning on the porch. ‘D..D..Dad forgot to pick me up,’ I stuttered, as she dragged me dripping wet inside. Before I knew it she had me in the bathroom and the shower was turned on full bore and steaming. ‘Jump in and warm up. I’ll put some clean clothes by the door.’ ‘O..o..okay, Gran.’ Actions not words, that’s what Gran prided herself on. Instead of making a fuss, she just got on with things.

I stayed in the shower until the hot water ran out. Then I dressed hurriedly and followed the smell of freshly baked cake down to the kitchen. Unlike the rest of our house, the kitchen was lovely and warm from the wood stove, which Gran kept lit on cold days. We had an electric stove too, but Gran reckoned food tasted better when it was cooked in the wood stove. I never had an opinion one way or the other, I just knew her food was the best ever. Sure enough, an apple cake sprinkled with a mixture of cinnamon and sugar sat on our Laminex table, as well as a pot of tea and two mugs. ‘Hungry?’ I nodded, my mouth watering as I sat down at the table. ‘Eat up!’ Gran said, shoving a large slice of cake towards me. I took one heavenly bite and then another. Soon I had finished the whole piece and was onto my second. ‘How did your speech go?’ Gran asked. ‘Good,’ I mumbled around a fruity mouthful. ‘I got through it in record time.’ Because I was like a tape recorder that had been fast forwarded! But I didn’t tell Gran that. She gave me a warm smile. ‘I knew you could do it!’ ‘And you were right Gran, the fear didn’t kill me.’

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I had been having nightmares about that speech! She chuckled. ‘Fear never does. I’m very proud of you.’ ‘Thanks.’ Talking to Gran always made me feel better.

‘Is that apple cake I smell?’ a cheerful voice boomed down the hallway as the front door flew open. It was Dad. I didn’t reply. Neither did Gran. There were thumps and laughter as Dad and my teenage brother Michael, who I called Mike for short, tackled each other on the way to the kitchen. They bounded in playing a pretend game of football. Dad couldn’t move that fast because he had a bad leg, so Mike took advantage of him and stole the imaginary ball. Then he shrugged off a tackle and kicked it towards the goals. ‘And the crowd goes wild!’ Mike shouted. ‘Lorry has kicked an amazing goal from fifty metres on the boundary line!’ Dad, who was supposed to be on the opposing team, leapt in the air and bellowed. ‘Another magic moment in the history of football! You can bet the goal of the season this year will go to the Roos’ Mike Lorry!’ The Roos were our local football team and my brother was their star player.

I gulped down my tea and worked on ignoring both of them, which was pretty impossible because not only were they loud, they were large. The two of them were super tall with broad shoulders, dark skin, brown eyes and tight curly hair. If Mike were Dad’s age they would look like identical twins. I take after my Mum, so I don’t look much like them. In fact, I almost could belong to another family. I was short and thin with straight hair. Plus, I was the only girl on my Dad’s side of the family, all my cousins were boys. I never saw much of Mum’s family, because they lived in Sydney, which was thousand’s of kilometres away. But it wasn’t my looks that made me feel the odd one out, it was football. Football, football, football! They loved it, I loathed it. It was as simple as that!

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‘I hope you’ve left some cake for us, Lizzy girl!’ Dad joked, as he seated his big boned body at the table. ‘Hi Liz!’ Grinned Mike. I gave them the silent treatment. ‘Bad day at school?’ Mike asked. ‘Or do you just want to be left alone?’ He pulled a stupid face. It was his way of trying to get me to talk, but it wasn’t going to work this time. Dad reached eagerly for the cake, but Gran whisked it away from him. ‘Haven’t you forgotten something, Tony?’ Dad scratched his head, puzzled. ‘I don’t think so.’ Then he took a good look at Gran’s face and it dawned on him she was mad. He shifted in his seat nervously. ‘Err, forgotten something? Let me think...’ ‘Today was Parent Day. You were supposed to be at Lizzy’s school to hear her speech and bring her home!’ Dad’s eyes widened guiltily. ‘Of course! I forgot! I’m so sorry, Lizzy! Mike had an extra footy training.’

To his credit, he did look sorry, but I was sick of it. Secretly, I had hoped he would have an excuse that didn’t involve football. Like – I didn’t pick you up because there was an earthquake. I was carried out to sea by a tidal wave. A volcano erupted beneath my car. Or something equally life threatening. Angrily I shoved my chair back from the table. ‘You forgot last year too, Dad!’ ‘Lizzy, I promise…’ ‘DON’T!’ I shouted. ‘Don’t make me any more promises because you always break them.’ ‘Now, Lizzy…’ ‘I should’ve been born a football!’ Mike laughed but when tears sprang into my eyes he quickly stopped. I hated crying in front of other people, even my own family, so I stormed off to my room. Slamming my door shut behind me, I threw myself onto my bed. Gran and Dad would argue now and Mike, who hated arguments, would grab a chunk of apple cake and retreat to his sleep-out on the back verandah to dream about becoming a famous sportsman. This wasn’t the first time something like this had happened and I was sick of the whole, stupid thing! It

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didn’t help that I wasn’t feeling well either. I sneezed. My face felt hot but my room was cold. I pulled back my rugs and snuggled beneath them, then feeling totally miserable, I dropped off to sleep.

I don’t know how long I slept, but when I woke up I felt a lot better. I was pleased to see it was still light outside, so maybe I hadn’t missed out on dinner. My family always ate early and the leftovers didn’t last long with Mike and Dad in the house. I threw off my rugs and stumbled down to the kitchen. ‘Morning Lizzy,’ said Gran. ‘Morning?’ I squeaked in surprise. ‘Isn’t it dinner time?’ Gran smiled. ‘You slept through the whole night! Your Dad is at work and Mike is at high school. Now, would you like some breakfast?’ ‘Can’t, Gran. I’ll be late for school!’ ‘You’re not going anywhere. When I checked on you last night you were tossing and turning with a temperature.’ ‘Maybe that’s why I had so many weird dreams.’ Gran came over and rested her hand on my forehead. ‘Hmm, you don’t feel so hot this morning, that’s good. Still, it won’t hurt you to rest for the day. And here, I’ve got a surprise for you.’ She reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out a folded piece of paper. ‘It’s from Mike.’ I opened it up. It was a drawing of a football with my face on it! I was still mad but I couldn’t help laughing. When Mike wasn’t playing footy he was doodling and it was a pretty good drawing. ‘Why don’t you put some toast on,’ Gran said. ‘And I’ll make us a cup of tea. I could do with another one, I was up with the birds this morning.’ ‘Okay. Thanks Gran.’

I took the bread out the freezer, prised off two slices and popped them into the toaster. I couldn’t believe I’d slept through the whole night. As I waited for the bread to toast, one of my dreams flashed back to me. Someone was calling my name – Lizzy! Lizzy! - But it was dark and I couldn’t see who it was. Maybe it had been Dad - Lizzy! Lizzy! Catch the football! I snorted crossly. An odd shiver ran down my spine as I realised it hadn’t been Dad or anyone in my

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family. I was almost one hundred percent certain it was the same voice that had whispered to me in class. I wondered whether I should tell Gran about it, but then I decided not to. It was my secret and I wanted a chance to think about it a bit more. The toast popped up, I flung it on a plate then lathered it with butter and Vegemite. I have a secret, I thought to myself in a self satisfied way. Now all I had to do was figure out what was going on.

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Chapter Three

The Necklace

Unlike yesterday, today was sunny. So after breakfast Gran and I watered her pot plants and seedlings. Most of them were under the trees in the garden, so they had enjoyed yesterday’s storm. But there was a whole pile on the back verandah that had missed out on the rain. Gran didn’t worry about proper pots, she just stuck her plants in any spare container she could find. Like teapots without spouts, baked bean tins, plastic mugs, saucepans without handles and all sorts of other odd things. There were hundreds of them. ‘You missed that little one over there, Lizzy,’ Gran said. She had an eagle eye when it came to her plants. ‘Turn the hose down a bit before you water it, otherwise you’ll flush out the pot.’ The tiny seedling was sprouting in an old jam jar. I gave it a very light sprinkle, then moved on to the next one. ‘The weather is so changeable lately!’ Gran grumbled, as she removed her cardigan. ‘Climate change, Gran. We learn about it in science lessons at school.’ ‘Hmph,’ she grunted. ‘All our own fault too.’ She squinted up at the sky. ‘There’s a haze in the air now that wasn’t there when I was young. Even the stars don’t seem as bright at night anymore.’ Then she grinned at me. ‘And it’s not because I’ve lost my glasses again either!’ I laughed. Gran didn’t buy proper glasses anymore, instead she used the cheap magnifying glasses from the chemist or the secondhand shop. ‘Oh, careful with that one Lizzy!’ she said, as I squirted another plant. ‘It’s a gum tree, so not too much water.’ When the seedlings were sturdy enough, Gran and some of the other women Elders in our community would plant them out in a large tract of bushland that ran along the river. Plants were expensive to buy, so Gran took good care of the ones she collected.

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Once we finished watering the plants and doing other odd jobs in the garden, we sat down in some folding chairs on the back verandah and Gran turned on her radio to catch the tail end of the News. As usual, she had trouble tuning the radio in. Dad had offered to buy her a new one, but Gran was fond of her old one. She had recycled it from the local dump and wouldn’t hear of it being added to the world’s growing pile of rubbish. There was a crackling sound, then a voice came through. ‘In breaking news, the police are baffled by the sudden disappearance of sensitive government documents...’ I grinned. It was the kind of news she loved. ‘Ooh, did you hear that, Lizzy? Someone must have broken into a government building!’ ‘The Federal Police have been called in and there are reports they are consulting with ASIO…’ The radio bleeped out again. ‘ASIO,’ Gran said excitedly. ‘That’s the Australian Security Intelligence Organisation, our own spy mob. It’s like the CIA in America or MI5 in England.’ Gran was a big fan of spy movies, I had watched hundreds of them with her in my short life. ‘My teacher says it’s hard for ordinary citizens to have secrets anymore.’ ‘He’s right,’ Gran agreed, fiddling with the radio. ‘Keeping a secret is hard work these days, but believe me Lizzy, there are some things not even the Prime Minister of this country knows!’ She sighed and tapped the radio with her fingers. ‘It looks like that’s all I’m going to get out of it this morning. I’ll have to watch the news on television tonight. Remind me to ask your father to get the weekend newspaper too, I bet there’ll be something in there on this story.’ Jokingly, I asked. ‘Would you like to have been a spy, Gran?’ She gave me a strange look. ‘I’m too old for undercover operations now.’ I was shocked. What did that mean? Before I could ask, Gran said. ‘You know, when you are young you think you have all the time in the world, but when you are old you wonder where it all went.’ ‘That’s how I felt when you told me I’d slept through the night!’ Gran smiled. ‘You’re a special girl, Lizzy. Don’t waste a minute of your life!’

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I snorted. ‘I’m not special, Gran.’ ‘People are born special, Lizzy. But sometimes hard things happen along the way and we forget how important we really are.’ I shook my head stubbornly. ‘Dad and Mike are special, they’re both super sportsmen. You’re special because the birds and animals and plants talk to you. Probably Mum was special too when she was alive, but not me. I’m not good at anything.’ Gran frowned then tapped the side of her head with one finger. ‘This is the only thing that can rob you of being special, Lizzy.’ ‘You mean if you think you are no good, then that’s what you’ll be?’ ‘Yep!’ I did feel like a failure sometimes.

I looked at Gran. I didn’t really think of her as being old, but of course she was. Her hair was white, she had stiff bones and lots of wrinkles, but her eyes were still bright and her dark skin glowed with health. For the first time in my life I wondered what she had been interested in when she was my age. ‘What did you want when you were a girl, Gran?’ Her face lit up. ‘Adventure, Lizzy! I loved doing scary, exciting things.’ ‘That’s why I read books!’ I admitted. ‘They take you to places you’ve never been before.’ ‘Yes, I love stories too, but just between you and me, I had a little something extra when I was young.’ ‘What was it, Gran?’ ‘A secret!’ ‘Was it a good secret?’ ‘It was a great secret!’

She reached inside her shirt and pulled out a necklace I had never seen before. It was made from a long strip of leafy material and there was a small, round brown stone hanging in the centre. Gran lifted it over her head and handed it to me.

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‘This necklace has special powers, she said, lowering her voice. ‘It can’t make you super strong, but it can do other things. Bees won’t sting you when you have it on. Spiders won’t bite you, birds won’t fly away from you.’ I looked at it in awe. ‘Try it on, Lizzy.’ I slipped the necklace over my head. It felt good. ‘It’s yours now.’ ‘Mine?’ I had never owned a necklace in my life! ‘But it belongs to you Gran, I can’t take your necklace!’ ‘Of course you can. It needs a new owner and I’ve decided you’re the right person for it.’ I leaned over and gave her a quick kiss. ‘Thank you, Gran. I love it! Will I be able to hear some of the bush animals talk to me now?’ ‘Perhaps. But the necklace works best if you add your own power to it.’ ‘I don’t have any power!’ ‘You only think you don’t have any power.’ ‘I know I don’t!’ Gran tapped her head again, then her heart. ‘It’s what I said before, Lizzy. You have to believe in yourself. In your head and in your heart. You won’t hear a thing until you do, not even with that special necklace around your neck.’ I groaned. This was going to be a lot harder than I thought. ‘Have a think about it. Otherwise, I might have to take the necklace back and that would be a terrible shame.’ I fingered the small brown stone. I loved the necklace, I didn’t want to lose it. I wanted it to work for me, but for that to happen, I had to work for me. Me - Lizzy Lorry – the babblemouth loser. ‘Maybe I could try,’ I said. I leaned back and closed my eyes. You’re alright Lizzy Lorry! I told myself uncertainly. I believe in you! It sounded really lame, but it was the best I could do at the moment. Maybe if I practiced believing in myself, I’d get better over time. I sure hoped so. I didn’t want Gran to take the necklace back. ‘How did that feel?’ Gran asked when I opened my eyes. ‘Pretty pathetic!’ I replied.

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With a twinkle in her eyes she said. ‘But at least you have begun, Lizzy. Don’t be surprised if something unexpected happens, that’s usually the way with things like this.’ I gave her a hug. I was sure she was just saying that to cheer me up, but then again you never know…

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Chapter Four

Like A Dream

My body was rocketing along and dusty air was rushing in my face, I felt like I was flying somewhere incredibly fast. ‘Behold, the new Ambassador!’ I heard a voice say. There was a collective sigh of ‘Ooooooooh!’ ‘Who said that?’ I cried out. Suddenly I was falling and I couldn’t stop myself…

I jolted awake, my heart fluttered frantically in my chest. What a dream! I felt glad I had woken up. But as I layed there, a creepy feeling came over me. Like I wasn’t alone. The moonlit faces of my soft toys stared back at me. It wasn’t them, was it? Don’t be stupid, I told myself. Just to be sure I was really alone I sat up and looked around, peering into the dimmest corners of my room. Nothing. But I still felt uneasy. ‘Hello,’ I called softly. ‘Is anyone there?’ ‘She speaks!’ came a gasp of excitement. ‘Arrgh!’ I cried in shock. ‘Her eyes are big and sparkly!’ ‘SILENCE!’ Commanded a stern voice. ‘Remember you’re in the army, son!’ ‘Yes Sir!’ ‘Who’s there?’ I demanded. ‘Show yourselves!’ ‘There is no need to be concerned, Ambassador!’ Said a smug voice. ‘It is only us.’ I knew that voice, it was the one that had been whispering to me. First at school and then in my dreams when I was sick. ‘We have visited before,’ it said ‘but this is the first time you have become properly aware of our presence and spoken directly to us. We are on a mission for the Big A.’ I snorted.The Big A? That sounded like the name of a giant apple.

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‘Where are you hiding?’ I asked, looking around again. I still couldn’t see anyone. ‘We are not hiding,’ the smug voice said, amused. ‘We are down here.’ My eyes drifted to the little table next to my bed. It was cluttered with all the odds and ends I had collected on my bush walks with Gran; gum nuts, magpie feathers, twigs and lots of other interesting stuff. But something else was there too. Something that moved. Quickly I reached out and flicked on my lamp. Worms? A bunch of worms had invaded my bedroom? I leaned closer and inspected them. They weren’t like any worms I had ever seen before. They had little faces with eyes and mouths and tiny arms. Plus, they were armed and dressed like soldiers. All except for one, who was clad in a body hugging slinky black outfit. He reminded me of a tiny ninja, or some kind of midnight worm assassin. ‘It is a pleasure to officially meet you,’ the slinky worm said, sliding forward. ‘Stop right there!’ I snapped. This was just too weird! He halted. What was really going on? Then it hit me. I wasn’t awake, I only thought I was. This was just a dream, but it was the first dream I had ever had where I knew what I was doing. Curiously I looked down at my wormy dream companions, they were kind of cute in their own way. I smiled at the slinky worm. ‘Okay, go ahead.’

The worm edged a little closer. ‘Please allow me to introduce myself, I am E. With me is a security detail commanded by General G.’ Another worm joined E. He was taller and broader than the other soldiers and his face was battle scarred. Dream effects, I thought. Amazing! ‘Ambassador!’ General G saluted sharply. ‘Pleased to meet you General G!’ I saluted back. Then I joked. ‘I hope you are in the right dream, because I am not an Ambassador. I’m just a girl.’ The General glanced at E, who looked amused. ‘She didn’t tell you, did she?’

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‘Who?’ ‘Lily!’ Lily? Did he mean Gran? E chuckled softly. ‘It’s just the sort of thing Lily would do, she always liked surprises.’ This was getting kind of spooky, even for a dream. ‘Are you talking about Lily Martin, my grandmother?’ ‘Lily Martin, your grandmother and the finest Ambassador we ever had.’ E paused. ‘Correction. The only Ambassador we ever had. But now there is you, Lizzy Lorry!’ ‘Me?’ ‘You wear the necklace. You are the new Worm Ambassador.’ ‘The new WHAT?!’ ‘Worm Ambassador. We were beginning to think Lily would never give the necklace to another. Fortunately for us, the timing is perfect. W.I.S. is in urgent need of your help.’ ‘W.I.S.?’ I squeaked. ‘The Worm Intelligence Service.’ I laughed. That actually made sense. Gran and I had talked about spies, about hearing other creatures speak, and about the necklace. This dream was just reflecting what had happened to me lately. ‘Are you a spy, E?’ I whispered. ‘One of the best!’ He bragged. ‘And there is no need to whisper. I have already scanned this room for listening devices.’ This was so cool! E continued. ‘You will be working directly with the W.I.S., under the direction of Q Branch, of course. I am sorry to rush you, but there is no time to lose.’ General G nodded sternly. ‘Evil forces are threatening the safety of the world.’ Of course they were! With any luck, I might even get to battle a criminal mastermind too. ‘Your clothes have been prepared,’ said General G, pointing to a pair of tracksuit pants and a t-shirt and jumper, which had been laid out across the end of my bed.

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‘When evil threatens,’ I said, leaping up ‘so does the Worm Ambassador!’ ‘She is bold!' Said the talkative armyworm said in admiration. ‘Private W!’ Snapped General G. ‘If I have to speak to you again, you will be transferred to another platoon!’ ‘Yes Sir!’ Private W grinned and I grinned back. I bet all the girl worms liked him. As I quickly pulled on my clothes, E said. ‘The mission details will be communicated to you in a secret location, Ambassador.’ That’s what always happened in the spy movies I watched with Gran. ‘Time is short,’ said General G, as I slipped on my tatty sneakers. ‘So it would be best if we travelled on your shoulder, Ambassador. Your hand, please.’ I stretched out my hand. General G marched his security detail onto my fingers and then up my arm. When they reached my shoulder they took up defensive positions with their little guns. ‘To the window!’ ordered General G.

I was surprised to find my window was already half open. ‘Well done, men!’ The General said to a pair of muscly looking worm guards perched on the ledge. The guards saluted then slid back the curtains. ‘Lead on!’ They disappeared into the darkness. ‘Your turn, Ambassador!’ ‘Hang on tight!’ I said to my passengers, as I bent down and squeezed through the opening. Once I was out under the shimmering stars I asked. ‘Where are we going exactly?’

‘That information is only available on a need to know basis!’ Replied General G. ‘Well, I need to know.’ It was my dream, after all. The General looked at E, who smiled. ‘To the centre of the Earth.’

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Wow, this dream was getting better and better!

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Chapter Five

Soft Soil Slide

We didn’t go far. Just a few steps, really. But a surprise was waiting for me. ‘What’s that?’ I asked in astonishment. A deep hole had appeared in the middle of Gran’s flowering geranium bed. ‘That,’ said E ‘is a Soft Soil Slide. Originally invented for Lilly, it will work just as well for you.’ My boldness fled and a feeling of dread rose up to take its place. ‘You are right to fear,’ said E. ‘Slides like this are fast and dangerous, but they are the only way to travel when there is a crisis.’ I wasn’t so sure about that. I didn’t think this was something I wanted to do, not even in a dream. The hole looked like it went on forever. Stalling for time, I asked. ‘How does it work?’ Was there a seat inside the tunnel or something inside? ‘Dirt technology,’ E confided proudly. ‘Invented by Q himself.’ I figured Q must be another worm. Maybe even some kind of worm scientist. E turned to the General. ‘Please allow the Ambassador inspect a weapon? It might help to put her mind at rest.’ ‘Private W, present arms!’ Private W stiffened and held out his rifle. ‘Dirt technology was also used to make these weapons,’ said General G. ‘If you examine them closely you will see the effectiveness of the design.’ They looked just like real guns. What did they shoot? I wondered. ‘They are impressive,’ I said. E looked pleased. ‘The Slide is safer than it appears. Are you satisfied now?’ No, I wasn’t. E seemed a bit of a slippery character to me. ‘Could it collapse?’ I asked. ‘A faint possibility. It’s one of the reasons why Q made the Slides so fast.’ ‘What?’ ‘In the hope that whoever was using it would get to the other end before everything came down on top of them?’

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‘I think that is a slight exaggeration.’ ‘Have there been cave – ins, E?’ I was determined to get the whole truth out of him. Reluctantly he replied. ‘Only partial ones, Lizzy. And Q believes he will be able to stabilise the whole Slide in time.’ I stared back down into the endless darkness. ‘Waiting won’t make it any easier,’ said E. ‘Or safer.’ ‘I could be buried alive!’ ‘Best jump in, Ambassador,’ urged General G, ‘the summon issued by the Big A was urgent.’ Stop being silly. I thought. It’s just a dream. I closed my eyes, pictured it as a wonderful water slide, and took the plunge.

AAARRRGGGHHH!

One scream, that’s all I got out, just one! When my bum hit the soil inside the Slide, the rest of me took off so fast the air pressure stole my other screams away. It was like being flung at the speed of light into outer space, only instead of meteors flying past, dirt was flying everywhere. Plus, it was pitch black. At least in space there were stars, moons and suns to light your way, in the Slide there was nothing. I never knew when a turn was coming up either. I was flung left, then right, then left again. I feared that at any moment I could smash head first into a stonewall. Then my dream adventure would be well and truly over!

Just as I was beginning to think the Slide would never end, it dipped suddenly. So did my stomach. The stew Gran had cooked for dinner started rising of its own accord. I forced it back down again. It was one thing to vomit in real life, but quite another thing to do it in a dream. Besides, what if I woke up in the morning and there was spew on my pillow? A light appeared up ahead. Seconds later I shot out into thin air with nothing at all to support me. It was like I was flying. Down, down, down I plummeted.

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SQUELCH!

‘Oh yuk!’ ‘Sorry, Ambassador!’ E said apologetically, ‘but a mud cushion was the only way to land you unharmed.’ I might be unharmed, but I was absolutely filthy. I sat up and tried to wipe off some of the mud, but there was just too much. I stood up and shook myself down like a wet dog. Tiny specks of mud flew in all directions and some worms, who were standing further away, ducked for cover and mud spattered in their direction. Oops! I stopped shaking, stepped out of the mud pool, and looked around in amazement. I was in a large earthen chamber that appeared to be lit by thousands of small blue glowworms. ‘Where are we?’ I asked. ‘The centre of the Earth, said E. ‘Worm H.Q.’

‘This is where we leave you Ambassador,’ said General G. ‘Your arm, please.’ I extended my arm, then bent down and lowered my hand to the floor. I felt I should say something to the platoon, they looked like brave little guys. ‘Please thank your men for their protection on the journey, General G.’ ‘All in the line of duty.’ Once the platoon was back on the ground, they all came to attention and saluted me. I gave them a muddy salute back. As they marched away, Private W turned and gave me a little wave. ‘PRIVATE W!’ Bellowed the General. ‘This is your LAST warning!’ E chuckled. ‘I think I might recruit that one for W.I.S. He has a mind of his own and that’s always useful in Intelligence.’

A fat, pompous looking worm dressed in a robe made from red rose petals soon joined us. He had an air of self-importance about him that I didn’t like. E didn’t look impressed either. ‘Please do not shake like a dog again,’ the new worm said to me. His face twitched in disgust. ‘The mess you have created will take hours to clean up!’

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I looked around guiltily. There were small splodges of mud everywhere. ‘No more shaking,’ I told him, but he had already forgotten about me and moved on to glare at E. ‘You took your time, E!’ ‘I’m sorry Councilman J,’ E replied in an insincere sounding voice. ‘It won’t happen again.’ ‘Of course it will. Big A only gave you the job because you liked to bend the rules.’ J turned back to me and sniffed. ‘So, you are the new Ambassador. You don’t look very remarkable!’ ‘It’s probably the mud,’ I replied in my defense. J said nastily. ‘It’s not the mud! If I had my way, your kind would be banned from Worm H.Q!’ Yeah, I thought, well keep on like this buddy and I’ll ban you from my dreams forever!

E interrupted. ‘I understand the Big A is anxiously awaiting our arrival.’ J looked uncomfortable. I tried not to smirk. The Big A obviously outranked him. ‘Follow me, please!’ J glared at me. ‘Be respectful and try not to step on any of us with your clumsy human feet!’ I hadn’t thought of that. As it was my dream, it probably wouldn’t be too disastrous if I accidentally squashed a worm, but the thought horrified me. I would feel like a murderer if something like that happened. ‘This all seems so real!’ I sighed softly. E, who was perched on my shoulder, whispered. ‘I am as real as your grandmother!’ Poor E, he didn’t know he was just a figment of my dream imagination. When I finally woke up, he would vanish like a puff of smoke. Gently, I said. ‘I will always remember you, E.’ ‘You are having a delusion,’ he replied impatiently. ‘This is real. Pinch yourself. It won’t hurt if it’s just a dream.’ ‘Oh E,’ I smiled. ‘You are a very clever worm, but everyone knows you can do anything in a dream! Pinching myself wouldn’t prove a thing.’ He looked very alarmed. ‘Lizzy Lorry, you are NOT dreaming!’

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Councilman J turned around and snapped at both of us. ‘Will you be quiet? We are nearly at the Worm Council meeting and I don’t want your disrespectful voices disturbing the deliberations of those who are older and wiser!’ ‘Don’t worry,’ I whispered to E kindly. ‘I’ll make sure you live on in a different kind of way. I’ll write a story about you for school.’ E looked mortified. A panicked expression crossed his face. ‘You can’t do that, Lizzy! You’ll blow my cover as a spy!’

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Chapter Six

The Worm Council

Councilman J turned a corner and ahead of us were two human sized, solid dirt doors. As we approached they slid open effortlessly to reveal a large room with a circular table. Seated around the table were the most ancient worms I had ever seen. ‘The Worm Council!’ Whispered E. J hurried on ahead and joined the other worms at the table. A few of them nodded to him and one leant over and whispered something. They sniggered together. Obviously J wasn’t the only worm that didn’t like humans. A worm, who looked like he was the oldest of all, rose and smiled at me. He had a kind face, but the intelligent glint in eyes told me he didn’t miss much. ‘All welcome Lizzy Lorry, the new Worm Ambassador!’ He said loudly. A few worms clapped heartily, others smiled and nodded, but the ones near J just glared at me. What did I do now? E said softly in my ear. ‘Say – it is an honour to meet the Worm Council.’ I stepped forward. ‘It is an honour to meet the Worm Council.’ ‘Such grace in one so young!’ Said the worm who had welcomed me. ‘Lily has chosen well. Let me introduce myself Ambassador, I am the Big A. It was my summoning which brought you to Worm H.Q. Will you please join us at the table?’ I noticed then that there was a human sized seat, also made out of dirt, ready and waiting for me. I slipped into it and was surprised to find it was really comfortable.

‘Let us begin,’ said the Big A. ‘First of all, thank you Ambassador for answering the summons. But before I give you the details of the dire situation facing us, I would like to fill you in on what has happened in the past. I believe this will help you to understand our present circumstances.’ He pointed towards some blank dirt screens hanging on the walls. ‘Please watch the screens as I speak.’

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‘For millennia, worms have guarded Planet Earth. We have settled disputes among the animal clans, held meetings between the leaders of different groups and protected any creatures who were endangered.’ As the Big A spoke, the screens lit up like large televisions and projected images which changed to reflect what he was saying. It was astonishing to watch. ‘It has only been possible for worms to take this role because our numbers are endless and we live all over the world. Plus, some members of our species are particularly suited for undercover work. This has made us the de-facto guardians of the earth.’ ‘Hear, hear!’ said the other council members proudly. ‘Recently however,’ the Big A continued, ‘the ever growing problem of one particular species has caused us great concern.’ J and his cronies immediately stared at me. I thought I knew what was coming next. ‘H.B.’s – W.I.S. code for Human Beings – have increased their needlessly destructive habits…’ Yep! That was it! ‘…to the point where parts of the world are now being destroyed faster then we can re-home the plants and animals.’ The Big A paused for breath. I felt sorry for him. He looked distressed. J decided to take advantage of the brief silence, because he leapt in angrily and said. ‘The human barbarians should be banned from Worm H.Q! Our peoples, kingdoms and civilisations are being crushed without a second thought! They have no place here!’ ‘Hear, hear!’ chorused his supporters.

‘Silence!’ Demanded the Big A. He stared at each rebellious worm in turn. ‘I have not given permission to any other members to speak!’ When it was quiet again, the Big A pressed on. ‘Unfortunately, even W.I.S. has been unable to stem the growing tide of destruction, and this is despite having infiltrated some of the most powerful bodies in the world.’ A disturbing thought occurred to me. Did the Big A mean bodies, as in organizations, committees and governments, or bodies as in actual human

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bodies? My unvoiced question was answered by the ever changing pictures, which now showed skyscrapers filled with well dressed, important looking people with expensive mobile phones glued to their ears. The pictures changed to an x-ray style and I was horrified to see that inside every person was a worm. ‘It’s a difficult job,’ sighed E ‘but someone has to do it.’ ‘Currently W.I.S. have Tape Worms inside Presidents, Royal families, Company Directors, Senior Politicians and arms smugglers. Humans can lie to each other in public and even in private, but they can’t lie to us. We have the inside story, so to speak. Plus, we have it all on tape.’ I was shocked. If I ever met a Tape Worm, I’d be very, very careful what I said. ‘When is an itch not an itch?’ E chuckled. ‘When it’s a spy!’ I tried not to laugh. The Big A must have heard E’s little joke, because he pressed his lips together and tried not to smile.

‘Before we proceed any further Ambassador,’ said the Big A, ‘are there any questions you would like to ask?’ I had one question. A really big one. ‘I’m an H.B.’ J rolled his eyes like it was a dumb statement. ‘And I agree with you that it’s H.B.’s who have caused all the trouble. Also, I’m just a kid, adults aren’t going to listen to me, so why do you think I could be of any help?’ ‘Hear, Hear!’ Smirked J. He stood up. ‘My friends, a miracle has occurred! I agree with the human child.’ ‘Sit down!’ Ordered the Big A. ‘Of course!’ said J, but he looked very pleased with himself. ‘In your short time with us Ambassador,’ the Big A said, ‘you would have observed that not all worms think or act in the same manner. I believe it is the same with human beings, is this correct?’

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I nodded. ‘There are lots of people now who are trying to put things right. My Gran and her friends plant trees and they look after bush animals who have been hurt.’ ‘Yes, we are aware of the tree planting activities. As the trees mature, we have been directing needy birds to your area. The Magpies in particularly have been very appreciative. You can help Lizzy Lorry, because there is a truth about our species that you are unaware of.’ A couple of the council members wriggled uncomfortably in their seats. ‘Where possible, we prefer to avoid direct confrontation with the human world. This is true even of those amongst us who speak the loudest.’ He looked at J. ‘But there are exceptions amongst us, of course.’ He looked at E. ‘So you’re a worm of action,’ I murmured. E grinned. ‘Also, our size, while being a great advantage in some situations, is a disadvantage in others. This was the reason why, at Q’s suggestion, we decided to experiment with the appointment of a Worm Ambassador. It was a very successful experiment, but it has taken Lily a long time to find someone she thinks is worthy of this post, and in the meantime, things have gone from bad to worse.’ The Big A turned to the worm seated next to him. ‘I will now hand over to Councilwoman C to explain the problem we are presently faced with.’ C stood up and smiled at me. In a strange sort of way she reminded me of Gran. Her outfit, which looked like it had been made from a single autumn leaf, was simple and businesslike. I suspected that, like Gran, she was a no- nonsense kind of person. E chuckled in my ear. ‘Q’s lost love!’ ‘Lost?’ ‘She doesn’t like him. Just as well, she’s terribly bossy.’ C frowned at E. ‘Can I have everyone’s full attention please?!’ E pretended to cower against my neck. ‘Told you!’

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Chapter Seven

Ant Napped

In a no-nonsense voice Councilwoman C said, ‘Recently, we have received an urgent plea for help. A coded message was sent to W.I.S. a few days ago from Commander Tin, one of the most senior and more level headed commanders of Queen Laklar’s Empire.’ J snorted in disbelief. ‘A level headed bull ant? Rubbish!’ C ignored him. E laughed in my ear. ‘J likes her too. He’ll do anything to get her attention!’ I decided E was a terrible gossiper, but then I guess that was a useful quality for a spy.

‘The message said - Worms, we are under attack. Our empire is invaded. Our cities destroyed. We ask for your help in rescuing Queen Laklar, who has been taken captive by an unknown enemy.’ Wow! An ant napping and the Queen of all people. But who would want to imprison the ant Queen and why? J interrupted again. ‘Bull ants never back away from a fight. Why haven’t they already rescued Queen Laklar?’ C scowled at him. Unbelievably, J’s face brightened. I guess a scowl from C was better than being ignored. ‘Commander Tin’s Strike Team consists of only three surviving soldier ants,’ C explained. ‘Two of them are new recruits who have never seen front line action before.’ ‘I think we should consider bull ant intelligence unreliable,’ piped up someone else. ‘Would you please explain why, Councilman M,’ said C impatiently. ‘Bull ants pride themselves on their toughness and bravery. They like to be heroic. But that sometimes leads them to indulge in a little drama.’ There was a murmur of agreement amongst some, but not all, of the council members.

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C waited until the murmuring had died down, then she gave them a calm but deadly look. ‘Thank you for that Councilman M, but bull ants boast about what they did after the event, not during it! And especially not when their Queen is missing.’ But M wasn’t finished. ‘How do we know she’s not dead?’ ‘Good point,’ said J. ‘If she’s dead, then the involvement of an H.B. is unnecessary.’ He wanted to get rid of me. C drew herself up crossly. ‘I would also like to remind the Council that we are politicians, not spies. We debate, but we do not fight. Nor do we plan battle strategy. If we did, we would likely lose whatever it was we were trying to win. The accuracy of Commander Tin’s information has been assessed by Q, as head of W.I.S. He has no doubts about it at all.’ ‘That idiot doesn’t know his head from his tail!’ J blustered. C went as cold as ice. Even J shrank back down in his seat. C might not like Q, but it was obvious she respected him. ‘W.I.S. has never let us down,’ C snapped. ‘The Worm Council would not even exist if Q had not advised us it would be safer to move Worm H.Q. to the centre of the earth.’ No one, it seemed, could argue with that. ‘Quite a worm, isn’t she?’ E sighed. I wondered whether he liked her too.

‘The last message we received from Commander Tin indicated that he had been successful in locating where Queen Laklar was being held. He has also carried out an evaluation of the target location’s security, which is significant. He suspects the ant Queen is contained in a prison that his Strike Team would be unable to breach given their present low numbers. This is why he has requested assistance.’ ‘May I interrupt?’ asked the Big A. C nodded graciously. ‘Bull ants rarely ask for help,’ said the Big A. ‘Rescuing their Queen is a matter of great pride to them.’

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‘Quite right,’ said C. ’It would be dishonourable to refuse their request.’ J’s face reddened. ‘C, are you suggesting that I am not honourable?’ ‘I would never suggest that,’ smiled C. J smiled back, thinking she had paid him a compliment, but I suspected the opposite was true. And I didn’t even have to look at E to know he was smirking. ‘Tin feels it is likely the assistance of a Worm Ambassador is required,’ said C. ‘Pity he never asked last week,’ muttered J. ‘We didn’t have one then.’ C smiled. ‘Councilman J is quite right. The timing is perfect!’ J looked pleased, but then it hit him what she meant. ‘Oh, that’s not what I meant, C!’ C turned way from him. ‘There is only one question left to ask. Ambassador, would you be willing to participate in a Cloak?’ A cloak? How would getting dressed up in a cloak help Queen Laklar? E sensed my confusion. ‘A Cloak is sensitive mission best done away from the eyes and ears of humans,’ he quickly informed me. ‘For it to succeed, no warning must be given to the enemy, which is why it is called a Cloak.’ Oh! An undercover operation! ‘I’m willing!’ I replied excitedly. How hard could it be? The ant Queen was probably being held prisoner by a rogue cricket, or something like that. ‘To business, then!’ said C.

One of the dirt pictures zoomed in on an ordinary brick house in a quiet suburban street. My eyes widened in surprise. I don’t know what I had expected to see, but it wasn’t a house. I gulped. A house could only mean one thing, a rogue cricket wasn’t involved, a H.B. was. ‘This is 132 Old Korm Road, Brenton. As you can see, the building is surrounded by a high wire fence and there are security cameras mounted on the roof. No trees or shrubbery are planted nearby so there is no natural cover. Fortunately, Q has determined that the cameras have blind spots and we intend to take advantage of them. Commander Tin and his Strike Team have remained in the area, in anticipation of our assistance, and are continuing to

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monitor the situation. The extraction attempt is timed for two hours from now. I know that doesn’t give you long Ambassador, but it is long enough for E to escort you to Q Branch. I understand Q has developed some new inventions which may be helpful.’ Councilwoman C sat down. ‘Thank you C,’ said the Big A, rising. ‘A job well done. This session is now ended. E, would you mind escorting the Ambassador to Q Branch, the Worm Council has other matters it needs to attend to.’ ‘I would be happy to, Big A!’ ‘Ambassador, thank you for your time and your courage in agreeing to help. On behalf of the Worm Council I wish you well. May the Dirt be with you!’ Well, I thought as we left the meeting, you wanted an adventure Lizzy, and now you’ve got one! If I never had another dream as good as this one, I’d die happy!

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Chapter Eight

Q Branch

As E took me down a series of child-sized tunnels, which he claimed had been built for Gran when she was the Worm Ambassador, I asked. ‘E, do the letters in worm names mean anything?’ ‘They do indeed. The letters are a ranking system. For example, there are thousands of X’s, Y’s and Z’s, but as you move up the alphabet of power you get fewer and fewer worms with the same letter.’ ‘Is there only one A, then?’ ‘Yes, and only one B and C. B is ill, so he couldn’t make the council meeting, but like C, he is a supporter of the Big A.’ ‘What happens when A, B and C pass away then?’ ‘Then other worms will be chosen to fill their letter. They will have spent many hundreds of years proving themselves, so hopefully the choices will be good ones for the worm community.’ ‘If you’re an E, then you must be pretty high up in the alphabet of power.’ E laughed. ‘I was an S before, the same as Q. E and Q are both special assignments. Q is reserved for worms of genius, and they are rare. E is reserved for the one Worm who serves the Worm Ambassador.’ ‘Oh. Does an E need special qualities then?’ ‘You heard Councilman J say I liked to bend the rules. That’s true, but only to get the job done. I have other qualities too, some of which you will discover when you get to know me better. But I should tell you, I am no diplomat.’ ‘Just a spy.’ E nodded proudly. ‘For the last six months I’ve had a feeling I was being watched.’ E smiled innocently. ‘So E, do you spy with me or on me?’ E looked uncomfortable. ‘Spying works both ways, of course.’ E looked nervous. ‘It’s not what you think, Lizzy. Well, alright, it is what you think. I do keep an eye on you, but you’ll find I also work with you. Worm City

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is just up ahead,’ he said, quickly changing the subject. ‘Q branch is there, I think you will be impressed by what you see.’

We exited the tunnel and entered the most marvelous place I’d ever seen! There were many different kinds of buildings - cafes, shops, supermarkets, and they were all made from dirt. The tallest building came up to my shoulder, so I guessed that was a worm skyscraper. The streets were very well laid out too and there were even strange little three wheeled cars that worm families puttered around in. ‘This is incredible!’ ‘Q has revolutionised our world with Dirt technology. He’s still experimenting with it, of course, so who knows what we will be able to build next. The cars are the latest thing, they run on worm castings so there is absolutely no pollution. Q has limited the speed, so if there is an accident, the street gets a bit sandy, no one gets badly hurt.’ ‘That’s very clever, E!’

Wheee – heee! Happy squealing noises floated up from the garden beds in a nearby park. ‘Earthworms!’ E grinned. ‘Their young are troublesome unless they have some fertile soil to plough through. Worm City has parks everywhere.’ I laughed. ‘Keeps them off the street, does it?’ ‘It certainly does, Lizzy. You have no idea the antics they would get up to otherwise. It’s one of the reasons why Q limited the speed of the cars, it’s not just soil young earthworms they like to plough through!’ ‘Has Worm City always been this large?’ I asked, as we made our way down the street. It looked to me like it went on forever. ‘Originally it was much smaller. Then when Lily was made the Worm Ambassador, we decided to enlarge it so it was easier for her to get around. Everyone likes the space now and our buildings have grown taller and taller. Wait until you see Q’s place, it’s huge!’ ‘Shouldn’t I be able to see it from here, if it’s taller than all the other buildings?’

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‘Not at the moment, I’m afraid. Q invented an invisibility dirt serum, which he accidentally released a few days ago.’ ‘So Q Branch is here, but you can’t see it?’ ‘Exactly. You have no idea the trouble that serum caused. When Q Branch disappeared, Councilman J and his supporters claimed humans had stolen it! They looked like fools when truth came out. The only trouble was, Q did too.’ ‘But what a great invention! Couldn’t we use it to make ourselves invisible and sneak up on whoever is holding Queen Laklar captive?’ E shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not. The serum only works on dirt at present. Plus, Q isn’t quite sure of what he put into the mixture. Oh, hold on Lizzy, we’re almost there.’ I stopped dead in my tracks. I didn’t want to walk into a building I couldn’t see.

‘Now,’ said E ‘concentrate hard on what is directly ahead of you.’ As far as I could tell, there was nothing directly ahead of me except a large open space, but I did as E asked. Slowly, a huge dome shaped building came into focus. It was dotted with large windows and there was a double front door big enough to fit the tallest human being through. Begin with a question, end with an answer – was engraved above it. ‘What does that mean, E? And why is it written above the door?’ ‘One of Q’s little eccentricities. He loves questions.’ I didn’t like the sound of that. I hoped Q wasn’t going to be like Mr. Sandly. ‘Unfortunately, Q’s answers are usually a long time coming and sometimes he has…well…’ ‘Accidents along the way?’ ‘Quite a few I’m afraid. But wasn’t it the famous human Scientist Albert Einstein who once said - if at first an idea isn’t absurd, there’s no hope for it.’ ‘Maybe.’ I hated science, so I wasn’t really interested in Albert Einstein. ‘Shall we enter?’ asked E.

Inside the dome, everything was visible, which was a great relief to me. It meant I wasn’t in danger of accidentally breaking anything or murdering

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someone by squashing them. The dome was a giant laboratory. There were hundreds of shelves and they were all packed with peculiar looking things. I felt sure some of them were the results of failed experiments. The place was incredibly cluttered. It was hard to take everything in at once. There were tubes and panels, weird looking dials, equipment I had never seen before, all kinds of tools including a mini flame thrower, safety goggles, boxes of rubber gloves, face masks, solar cells, batteries and all sorts of other things. They were all made out of dirt, which was the most amazing thing of all. ‘Q never throws anything away,’ confided E. ‘He says you never know when something might come in handy.’ That sounded like Gran!

There were also thousands of worms busily engaged in dirt experiments. ‘You see before you the finest minds in Worm City!’ Every workbench was covered with small piles of dirt, which were undergoing different tests. I watched fascinated as the worm scientists poked, prodded and shaped the dirt into different things. Then they took what they had made apart, added an ingredient from the various containers on the shelves behind them, and started all over again. I supposed, like human scientists, they were experimenting. ‘Technology can always be improved,’ E said. ‘Or so Q tells us. Under his direction the uses to which it can be put are being expanded. Sometimes with surprising results.’ I pointed to a worm who appeared to be wearing a spiky wig. ‘Aah, the beginning of a human disguise,’ explained E. ‘They have started with the hair and will eventually progress to the rest of the body.’ ‘A whole human made from dirt?’ ‘Well, that’s the idea, anyway. Q hopes to install a control centre in the head once the body has been developed. Then it can be operated by a worm.’ ‘So it will look like a human and even move around, but really it will be a robot with a worm controlling it?’ E nodded. ‘What will you do with it?’ I joked. ‘Get it voted in as Prime Minister of Australia?’

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E’s eyes lit up. ‘What a stunning idea! I will pass that suggestion onto Q at the next Q Branch meeting. Well done, Ambassador!’

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Chapter Nine

Meeting Q

A worm sitting in a chair, which was suspended from some sort of twisted dirt wire, dropped down suddenly from the roof of the dome and hung in front of us grinning. ‘What do you think, E?’ he asked, as he swayed back and forth. ‘Better?’ ‘At least it’s still holding. It snapped the last time you tied that lead chair to it.’ The wire wobbled a little. ‘Are you sure it’s safe?’ ‘Almost.’ E patted the thin black belt at his waist. ‘Why don’t you just stick to the formula you used to make this one?’ ‘Because it doesn’t shoot out far enough and it can’t carry heavy weights. It couldn’t, for instance, carry a human sized dirt robot.’ The swaying worm turned to me suddenly. ‘The new Worm Ambassador, I presume?’ ‘I’m Lizzy Lorry,’ I said. ‘Pleased to meet you Q!’ ‘Smart girl! Welcome to Q Branch. You must have agreed to assist Commander Tin and his Strike Team, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.’ ‘I have.’ ‘Excellent! I have a two new inventions I’ve wanted to trial in the field for some time.’ ‘Trial?’ said E in horror. ‘You told me all the kinks had been worked out!’ ‘Refinements, E! There are always refinements! Follow me, please.’

Q yanked on the dirt wire and it spun his chair over to a nearby rack of odd items, most of which were much too large for a worm to use. He pointed to a bangle that twinkled like a star. ‘Put it on your wrist, Lizzy’ he urged. I picked up the bangle and slipped it on. ‘How does it feel?’ ‘It feels good.’ ‘It’s made from Dirt technology mixed with diamond chips.’

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There was a large sparkling stone in the centre of the bracelet. ‘It must be worth a fortune!’ I said, as I gazed at the chunky diamond. ‘Only to humans. Let’s try it out. Press the big stone, please.’ I touched the diamond and it clicked down into the bracelet. Pssip! A mixture of dirt and sparkly diamond chips poured from the bangle and spread all over my body. ‘What’s happening?’ I cried. ‘Dirt armour!’ Q replied gleefully. ‘The outer layer is an advanced form of highly concentrated, compacted Smart Soil. The under layer is solid diamond. It’s impossible to penetrate.’ This was super cool! I wanted to wear it forever! ‘It’s not stiff either. As you move around the armour shifts with you. It not only takes into account body movement, but also speed, heart rate and even weather conditions. Try it out!’

At first I moved slowly, but as I got used to the armour I jumped up and down, ran around in circles, twisted and turned, then bent over and touched my knees. ‘Stop!’ shouted E. ‘What is it?’ asked Q, annoyed. ‘Look!’ said E. ‘Oh dear!’ ‘Exactly!’ ‘What is it?’ I asked, as I straightened up. ‘The armour has failed to cover all of you,’ said E. ‘Which part of me is exposed?’ I asked. ‘Your posterior.’ ‘My bum?’ Q looked disappointed. ‘The fleshy rear bumps of the human posterior appear to be vulnerable to arrows and other sharp weapons. I have made a particular study of it.’ I choked with laughter. ‘You’ve studied human bottoms? Why?’

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‘E may have told you of our experiment to make a human being. How can I do that if I don’t study human anatomy?’ I guessed that made sense. ‘Actually, you may be able to help me, Ambassador,’ Q said excitedly. ‘I have yet to determine whether the posterior is weaponised.’ A bum, weaponised? What was Q talking about? ‘Is the gas deadly?’ The gas? Oh, farts! I burst out laughing. If Q knew some of the kids in my class, he’d definitely think bums were weaponised! ‘No Q,’ I finally spluttered. ‘Bottoms aren’t weaponised.’ ‘What a pity,’ he sighed. ‘If it has no defense capabilities of its own, then I suppose the armour is out. What do you think E, would testing the armour in the field be too risky?’ ‘Definitely! If the Ambassador operated under the mistaken impression she was invincible, it would be a disaster!’ ‘But I wouldn’t!’ I cried. ‘I’d be very careful!’ I loved the armour, I didn’t want to take it off. It was almost like I was a superhero! ‘Lizzy, if you turned your back even for a second, you would be an easy target.’ ‘Agreed!’ said Q. ‘Sometimes we do trial new developments in the field, but not this time. The armour will have to be withdrawn for further refinement and modification. Ambassador, would you mind pressing the stone again please?’ I sighed and stuck my finger on the diamond. The armour retracted back into the bracelet. I took it off and slid it onto the rack. It would be great stuff one day. I just hoped I had another dream where I got to wear it.

Q moved on to the next shelf. ‘Not to worry, there are plenty of other things to choose from. Next, we have dirt guns, knives, swords and spears. What do you think you would like best?’ I stared at the weapons uneasily. Guns made holes in people and I hated to think of what knives and swords would do. I didn’t really want to use any of them.

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‘Um, is there anything else? Like something that isn’t pointy and doesn’t shoot deadly stuff.’ ‘I am Q! There is always something else!’ E laughed. Q moved further down the shelf to a strange little device that looked like a small dirt board with straps attached. At the front was a wire and from it swung a small ring. ‘You see before you the Mud Shooter. Fasten it to your wrist, please.’ I picked the Mud Shooter up and clipped it around my wrist. ‘Slip the ring on your finger.’ The ring looked too big, but I slipped it on anyway. As soon as it touched my skin it adjusted to fit. I was interested now. ‘How does it work?’ I asked. ‘What does it do?’ ‘The ring on your hand is connected to a signal wire. When the top of the ring is tapped, it will cause the hidden tube at the bottom of the Mud Shooter to release at high speed a blob of what I call Sticky Mud. Would you like to have a go?’ I nodded eagerly. ‘Take careful aim and fire at that pot over there.’ ‘FIRING IN PROGRESS!’ Q yelled. The worm scientists nearby darted for cover. I bet Q had fired at the pot before and missed. ‘Ready when you are, Ambassador!’

When I was sure I had the pot in my sights, I tapped the ring. SPLOT! A solid ball of brown muddy goo zapped out like lightning and glued the pot to the floor. ‘Good shot!’ cried E. ‘Wow!’ I squealed in excitement. ‘It really works!’ Q looked pleased. ‘Of course it does! You are now officially armed and dangerous!’

Sspluunk!

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‘Aah, just in time. Your transport has arrived. Come along.’ Q took us over to a hidden corner. Not again, I thought, as I peered down into a great gaping hole in the floor. The transport was a Soft Soil Slide! ‘The second time is easier than the first,’ E reassured me. ‘Unless it kills you!’ joked Q. ‘Ambassador, I look forward to inventing other things for you.’ ‘Thank you for the Mud Shooter.’ ‘It was my pleasure. May the Dirt be with you both.’ ‘Let’s go!’ said E. I shut my eyes and leapt into the burrowed darkness.

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Chapter Ten

The Strike Team

The moon was barely visible behind the clouds when we emerged from the Slide. It exited very close to the side of the house, which was good planning on Q’s part. The mounted cameras on the roof pointed out, but not directly down, so as long as we stayed near the wall, we were completely hidden from them. I shivered as I crouched low in the dirt with E, the chill in the air had raised goose bumps on my skin. But that wasn’t the only reason. It was quiet, too quiet. ‘This feels kind of creepy,’ I whispered. ‘Like any living thing nearby is holding its breath.’ E nodded. ‘It’s like that sometimes. Stay relaxed, but alert.’ I didn’t think that was possible, I felt too anxious. ‘Do you think Queen Laklar is still alive?’ ‘I don’t know, but until Commander Tin sees her body, he will assume she is.’ ‘How long do you think it will be before the Strike Team makes contact, E?’ ‘Not long. They’ve probably already got us in their sights.’ I didn’t like the sound of that. ‘A word of advice, Lizzy. Be strong when you meet them. It’s the only way to deal with bull ants.’ ‘Wouldn’t it be better to be friendly?’ E snorted. ‘Take away the ant in bull ant, add a ‘Y’, and what have you got?’ ‘Bully?’ ‘Exactly! They are fierce, aggressive creatures.’ ‘But we’re here to help them.’ ‘They’ll threaten us first, it’s only natural. But don’t worry, once they have done that we should be able to work together well enough.’

Something scurried along the soft skin on my neck and I felt a sharp, unexpected twinge. ‘Freeze!’ Ordered a deep voice. ‘I’ve got your jugular vein!’

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I jerked without meaning to. The twinge grew sharper. ‘Move again and I will grip your throat with my jaws and sting you again and again with my powerful venom loaded Nasty!’ Okay! So the bull ants had arrived!

‘Squirm, worm!’ I heard another ant say to E. E leaned back and rolled his eyes as if to say – I told you so! I saw he was surrounded by three bull ants. A big one who looked pretty tough, and two others who were slightly smaller and looked younger and more innocent. ‘I’m Sergeant Nin,’ the big ant said to E. ‘Second in charge to Commander Tin. My comrades here are Lin and Min, fearsome beasties, both of them! What are you lads?’ ‘Fearsome beasties!’ they chorused. They didn’t look very fearsome to me. ‘Evening, boys!’ said E cheerfully.

The sharp pain in my neck deepened. ‘Escape is impossible!’ Said the bull ant, who I assumed was Commander Tin. ‘Escape means death. What does it mean lads?’ ‘Death!’ the other three chorused. ‘Really?’ yawned E. I glared at him. He was being a pain! ‘Really, wriggly!’ warned the Commander. Then he snarled. ‘Even if you were lucky enough to get away, we would track you down! What would we do lads?’ ‘Track him down!’ ‘Over to you Sergeant!’ Sergeant Nin leaned towards E. ‘When we caught you, we’d dismember your living body piece by tiny piece and no one would even hear your terrorised screams!’ Nin turned Lin and Min. ‘Your turn now, lads. Tell the wriggly what you would do!’

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‘Err… we’d carry the pieces away!’ Said Lin. ‘A..a..and - bury them!’ cried Min. ‘Sounds like a plan,’ said E, as he smothered a laugh.

‘Enough!’ said Commander Tin. ‘Identify yourselves! You first, wriggly.’ ‘I am E, the new Worm Ambassador’s handler.’ Handler? What did that mean he was my handler? ‘Who are you, human?’ ‘I’m the new Worm Ambassador.’ ‘If you are the Ambassador, then show me the necklace.’ Carefully I lifted the necklace up from under my shirt. ‘Stand down, boys! It’s genuine!’ He looked disappointed. So did Sergeant Nin. I think they were spoiling for a fight. The other two just looked relieved.

Commander Tin darted up over my chin and perched on the end of my nose. ‘Thanks for coming, Ambassador. As you’ve probably guessed, I’m Commander Tin. My Strike Team has scouted the outside of the building: there are no human or animal guards.’ ‘You have been very efficient,’ I said approvingly. ‘We believe Queen Laklar is being held in a sealed container inside the house.’ ‘Understood. What is the plan?’ ‘We will secure entry to the building by disabling the lock on the front door. If H.Bs are present, you will disable them. If our Queen is imprisoned in a sealed container, you will open it. Anything else, we can deal with.’ ‘Agreed.’ Commander Tin flicked a glance down at E. ‘What about smirk face, does he agree?’ ‘I agree,’ said E. ‘Now call off your lads.’ ‘In a minute. Your reputation for not following orders is well known wriggly. Do that here and I will sting you with my Nasty which, in case your friend Q hasn’t told you, is loaded with Formic Acid.’

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‘Got it,’ E said. ‘Acid.’ Commander Tin turned back to me. ‘Stay low Ambassador and we’ll do our best to protect you.’ With that, he scurried down and joined the others. ‘We’re good to go!’ He told the Strike Team.

I pressed my back against the sidewall of the house and headed towards the front porch as sneakily as I could. When we reached the door, Commander Tin led the Strike Team straight up and into the lock. Click! In less than a minute they had disabled it. After they returned safely to my shoulder, I reached up and slowly tugged on the brass handle. The door eased open without a sound, revealing a long, dark, empty hallway. So far, so good! I crouched low, slid inside and closed the door behind me. Bad move. I had blocked out what little moonlight there was and now I couldn’t see a thing. A disturbing thought flitted through my brain. What if the place was booby- trapped? I stopped edging forward. Suddenly a light flared on my shoulder. It was E. ‘Are you a Glow Worm?’ I gasped in surprise. He sniffed in an offended way. ‘Glow Worms are not proper worms, they are insect larva.’ Commander Tin snorted. ‘How come your face is all lit up then – Glowy?’ ‘I have a Dirt torch!’ E snapped. Q to the rescue again!

E trained his tiny torch down the hall, luckily for us it was empty and there was no sign of any traps. Then he flicked the light over the walls. It was horrifying. Thousands of dead insects were displayed like art in flat glass cases. ‘The horrors of war!’ Muttered Nin. ‘Only a sicko human would do something like this! Skewered, the lot of them!’ ‘Skewered?’ squeaked Lin in horror.

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‘Stabbed!’ moaned Min. ‘Every last one!’ ‘Stay focused lads, that’s an order!’ Commander Tin said sternly. ‘Never let danger get in the way of duty. Right Sergeant Nin?’ ‘Right, Commander! Bullies do what has to be done!’ The younger bull ants tried to pull themselves together. ‘First time on the front line for Lin and Min,’ the Commander confided gruffly. It was the first time for me too, I thought. Thank goodness it was only a dream!

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Chapter Eleven

Netted!

Slowly and silently we made our way along the hallway. When we reached the end I turned left and was surprised to see light flooding from the open door of a room a little further down. E flicked his torch off immediately. ‘Do you think someone’s in there?’ ‘Probably,’ said E. ‘Can you edge closer!’ Asked Commander Tin. Cautiously, I slid along the wall, straining my ears for the sound of human voices. Nothing. Feeling a little more confident, I inched even nearer, until finally I was close enough to peer inside the room. It was filled with hundreds and hundreds of small, see through plastic crates. They were all stacked up on top of each other like tins of baked beans on a supermarket shelf. Only they didn’t contain baked beans, they contained insects. Millions, maybe even trillions, of them. Flies, cockroaches, fleas, moths, crickets, dragonflies, beetles, butterflies, termites and goodness knows what else. But there was something very peculiar about them. They glinted. Then I realised what it was. Every single one of them had a shiny metal band around their neck or body. But why?

A low, nasal hum rose up suddenly from deeper inside the room. I jerked back instantly. ‘Someone’s in there!’ I warned. The humming grew louder. A man moved into view. Had he seen us? Would he turn in our direction? He pottered around calmly, humming to himself as he inspected one plastic crate after another. I took the chance to look at him more closely. He was dressed in a white lab coat, his mouth and nose were covered by a cotton mask and he wore large safety glasses. Who was he, I wondered, and what on earth was he doing?

I watched as he reached out and picked up a glass jar with a screw top lid. There was something in it, but I couldn’t see it clearly. ‘How are you feeling tonight, my little Queen?’ said the man’s muffled voice.

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Commander Tin was instantly alert. ‘Did he say Queen?’ He scurried across my cheek and perched on the end of my nose for a better look. ‘Is it our Queen or someone else’s?’ I shrugged. ‘Lean around a little further,’ said E impatiently. ‘We can’t all fit on the end of your nose.’ I stuck my neck out as far as I could without the rest of me falling into the doorway. We all watched as he lifted the jar up and examined it under the bright light of a tall lamp. The small, regal ant it contained looked awfully mad. ‘Queen Laklar!’ hissed Commander Tin. The Strike Team grinned in joy. Their Queen was alive!

‘You are looking a little sickly, my queen!’ said her captor in a falsely sympathetic voice. ‘But that is to be expected. When will you learn that obedience to my wishes will gain you far more than rebellion?’ The Queen turned her head away and the man laughed softly. ‘You are in my power! You cannot ignore me forever. And what I am asking you to do is so simple. Just one little dance, that’s all.’ Queen Laklar turned and faced away from the man and he shook his head making tsking sounds. ‘Come now, that’s no way to treat your master.’ He said. Queen Laklar whimpered as her face contorted in pain and she was flung sideways. She looked like she was having some kind of fit. I watched in horror as her thin legs trembled violently against the pale skin of the man’s hand. ‘Torture!’ Snarled Commander Tin. E nodded. They were both disgusted. How could it be torture, I wondered. He hadn’t even touched her.

‘Psst,’ a voice suddenly hissed from high above us. ‘Are you guys stupid, or what?’ The triangular green face of a Praying Mantis stared down at us in disbelief. ‘Get outta here while you still can you idiots!’

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‘That’s our Queen!’ Commander Tin hissed angrily. ‘Kiss her goodbye then my stupid friend, because anyone who won’t obey him gets skewered. I’m only alive ‘cause I learnt to dance real fast!’ ‘Hold on,’ E said, ‘I’m coming up!’ He pressed the plaited black belt that circled his waist and a barely visible wire zapped out and stuck to the poor creature’s prison. ‘Hey wriggly,’ snapped the Commander, as he swung up after E. ‘I never said you could do that!’ Soon they were both clinging to the outside of the crate while the Praying Mantis filled them in on the inside story.

When they returned they were both grim. ‘The collars around the prisoner’s necks respond to the human’s voice commands,’ explained Commander Tin. ‘The orders are sent through the control collar he wears around his own neck. It’s hidden under his shirt.’ ‘He doesn’t even need to speak properly’ said E. ‘One small grunt and his victims receive an electric shock.’ So that’s what had happened to Queen Laklar. The man’s gloating voice floated lightly through the open doorway. ‘You will bend to my will soon enough, my Queen. Then like my beetle friends, who have already stolen top secret documents for me, you will be my ally.’ I remembered the news I’d heard on Gran’s radio. I couldn’t believe it. Even that was in my dream! This was so real!

‘Soon my dear Queen you will also provide me with an army of ants to do my bidding.’ Queen Laklar looked really ill. Any more shocks and I doubted she’d make it. We had to rescue her soon. I turned to Commander Tin, he was clearly thinking the same thing. ‘My Strike Team can handle the locks on the plastic crates.’ ‘Good. I’ll use my Mud Shooter on the man, then free your Queen.’ ‘Aim for his control collar,’ advised E.

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‘Good idea,’ said Commander Tin. ‘The prisoners will be on our side once they’re free of that monster. I’m beginning to like you wriggly!’ E grinned. ‘We go in on the count of three. Agreed?’ ‘Agreed!’ said E. The light of battle was in his eyes.

‘One!’ I took a deep breath and readied my Mud Shooter. ‘Two!’ This was only a dream, I reminded myself. There was no need to feel terrorised. ‘Three!’ I threw myself through the doorway. The room was empty. Then I noticed the safety goggles and the mask the man had been wearing were lying on the floor. It was a trap. ‘Arrgh!’ I screamed as a net landed over me. ‘Why Elizabeth Lorry,’ said a horribly familiar voice. ‘You never seemed that interested in insects in class!’ It was my teacher, Mr. Sandly!

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Chapter Twelve

Building Blocks

My brain went into overdrive as I forced myself to face a dreadful truth. This wasn’t a dream. This was real. Every last bit of it! Then an even worse truth hit me. It was the middle of the night and no one in my family knew where I was! The net tightened around me. ‘You won’t believe this Elizabeth,’ said Mr. Sandly, as he dragged me over to a chair, ‘but there have been many times when I have wanted to tie your wriggling classmates to their seats.’ He was wrong. Right now, I’d believe just about anything! And so much for my Mud Shooter, my fingers were so tangled in the webbing I couldn’t use it. He bundled me into the chair, then he whipped the net over my head and used it to tie my hands behind my back. The left over netting he wound around the back of the seat. By the time he finished I was well and truly stuck. ‘Welcome to my laboratory!’ Said Mr. Sandly, as he stood back and inspected me. ‘I must say, I am surprised to find it was you who was spying on me from the doorway. I thought it more likely it was an A.S.I.O. agent, or an officer of the Federal Police at the very least. I am pleased to see it is neither. I have worked very hard to keep my activities a secret.’ My dismayed thoughts must have shown on my face, because he laughed. ‘Oh, I know what you are thinking – my wonderful teacher Mr. Sandly is mad and bad!’ I had never thought he was wonderful, but he was mad and bad, wasn’t he? He shook his head. ‘No, no, no - that’s not the truth at all. I am still the same conscientious Mr. Sandly who taught you multiplication and division, who wrote your end of school reports and who bought your grandmother’s Anzac biscuits at the school fete.’ I didn’t say anything. I was still shock! ‘And consider this, Elizabeth. Madmen are disorganised, I am not. Madmen do not have the patience to plot and plan, I do. Madmen do evil things, but my secret project will make the world a better place for all species!’ He sighed deeply when I didn’t respond. ‘Your timing is unfortunate. You have appeared

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out of nowhere, an unexpected and unwanted complication when I am on the brink of success. What am I going to do with you?’ ‘Let me go?’ I suggested weakly. He chuckled. Then his eyes took on a strange look and he peered down at me like he was seeing me for the first time. ‘Is your presence here a sign?’ I almost laughed. My Gran was the one who believed in signs, not Mr. Sandly. Everything was cut and dried with him. ‘Hmm,’ he said, as he continued to stare at me. ‘Perhaps you are.’ ‘A sign of what?’ I asked. ‘I don’t know, I will have to think about it.’ He blinked. ‘Of course!’

He dashed over to his workbench and began hammering something out. There was a sizzling sound and sparks flew, but I wasn’t interested in what he was doing. His back was turned to me so it was a great chance to look for E and the others. I knew they had escaped through the holes in the netting, but where were they and what were they doing? Keep him talking, E mouthed silently, when I spotted him. I tried not to laugh. The last time I had been alone with Mr. Sandly I had worked hard to shut him up. Now E was telling me I had to do the opposite! Commander Tin rushed out of a hole in the wall behind E and grabbed him. I saw the glint of eyes much too large to belong to ants flare behind him. Then the Commander and E both disappeared inside the wall. I hoped something hadn’t captured them too!

A few minutes later Mr. Sandly stopped hammering and spun around with a triumphant gleam in his eye. ‘The galaxy guides me,’ he said. I nearly joked – what star sign are you? – but then I realised he was hiding something behind his back. I didn’t know what it was, so I thought it wise not to upset him. He took one step towards me. ‘Only the galaxy knows what is best for the planet presently called Earth.’ I really hoped this wasn’t about world domination. That was comic book stuff!

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He took another step. ‘I say presently, because I may change its name once I am in charge. Then again, I may not. Emperor of Earth has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?’ Helloo, comic books! Mr. Sandly smiled slyly. ‘Tah dah!’ he cried, as he held his creation high in the air. I felt sick. It was a shiny metal collar. ‘Congratulations, Elizabeth! You will be the first human child to participate in my great experiment!’

My heart sank. If I allowed him to put that disgusting thing on me, I would be as trapped as Queen Laklar and the Praying Mantis. But how could I stop him? E’s advice suddenly seemed like a really good idea! ‘You always told us human beings needed to understand other creatures, Mr. Sandly. That’s why we had to dissect the Cicadas. Is that why you have so many insects locked up here?’ ‘They serve a higher purpose, child. As will you.’ ‘A higher purpose?’ He sighed. ‘Let me put it this way, think of the world as a big ship floating on space. When the wind is raging and the waves are rising, what does a ship need most?’ ‘An anchor?’ He shook his head. ‘A steady hand at the helm!’ ‘Oh.’ ‘Do you know what a benevolent dictator is?’ ‘A good boss?’ ‘Yes, that is a rather simple way of putting it, but it is correct, nonetheless.’ ‘But it looks like you’re picking on the insects!’ ‘This is not a school playground! I am not picking on them, as you put it! What I am doing, is giving them a greater destiny. I am teaching them!’ ‘But you teach kids all day, why teach insects?’ He chuckled. ‘Oh, the answer to that is very straightforward. Because we are surrounded by insects, child!’ A bit like the worms, I thought.

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Mr. Sandly took another step forward. ‘Do you know that one in every four animal species is a beetle? And what are beetles? Insects, of course!’ His voice had changed into teacher mode, which was good. He was inclined to give speeches when he was teaching, so it would buy me some more time. ‘The potential of insects has never been recognised. Let me give you some examples. Fleas can jump 100 times their own height. The ordinary housefly is an incredible acrobat, it can walk upside down on the ceiling. Assassin bugs have the ability to hunt down and kill their enemies. Astonishing potential, all of it, but it has never been harnessed. Until now.’ I had a really bad feeling about this. ‘With insects as my allies, I will create a new world order. The threat of ants pouring into people’s heads in the dead of night and slowly eating their way through the soft tissue of the human brain, will curb humankind’s destructive nature more effectively than a nuclear bomb. Insects are my building blocks to a better world! They and I will inherit a fate they never dreamed possible.’ A fate they would probably hate too! ‘Once I have established my insect empire, I will move onto the reptile world, then possibly the marsupials. I had always intended humans to be last on my list, but here you are, Elizabeth Lorry!’ Uh oh!

His eyes glittered with excitement. ‘I have never had an opportunity to test my little obedience collar on a human subject. And it suddenly occurs to me that children, especially clever ones, could be very useful. Are you clever, Elizabeth?’ I shook my head. ‘I’m really, really dumb!’ A cunning look swept over Mr. Sandly’s face. ‘You would like me to believe that, wouldn’t you? You would like me to think you are as dim as a low energy light bulb. But if that were true, you wouldn’t have gotten past my security cameras.’ He leaned and looked deep into my eyes. ‘You have given yourself away, child!’ He was so close I could see the thin red vein lines that crisscrossed his nose.

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‘I suspect your head is crammed full of clever ideas,’ his voice hissed softly. ‘Tell me child, what are you hiding that I don’t know about?’ I’m rotten at lying, so I decided it was best to just tell him the truth. ‘Worms!’ I said.

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Chapter Thirteen

Teamwork

Mr. Sandly pulled back sharply. ‘Worms?!’ ‘And ants. The worms got me under your fence and the ants unlocked the door and got me into your house.’ Just for a moment he seriously considered whether this might be true, then he snorted. ‘You really are very believable, Elizabeth Lorry! An interesting lie simply told never fails to be convincing. Who knows, in the future I might indeed teach worms to build human sized tunnels and ants to pick locks.’ They already know how to do that, I thought wearily. And a million other things human beings wouldn’t even think possible. ‘I think we have done enough talking. Let’s try the collar on for size, shall we?’ I shuddered as he reached towards my neck. ‘If the collar proves effective on your child’s brain, I might even allow you to accompany me on a mission or two. Your ability to lie and your innocent face could get me into all sorts of forbidden places, and having a child with me would certainly throw off the security people.’ He locked the collar into place. Tears stung my eyes. Now I’d be learning how to dance, just like the Praying Mantis.

Phsst! An alarmed look crossed Mr. Sandly’s face. Phsst! He frowned. ‘I think it’s shorted out!’ Hooray! He unlocked the collar with an angry snap and took it off. Saved! For the moment, anyway. I breathed a huge sigh of relief. ‘The larger the collar, the trickier the wiring,’ he complained to himself irritably. ‘Hmm, I’ll have to check the circuitry. It will take a few minutes. But don’t worry, Elizabeth. Your teacher will be back!’

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He returned to his workbench, picked up a small screwdriver and began taking the collar apart again. I hoped it would take him forever.

‘Psst, Lizzy!’ came a soft voice. I looked down. E was gliding up my arm. Do you have a plan? I mouthed quickly. I really hoped he did, because I didn’t and things were getting desperate. He grinned and nodded. Then I spotted Commander Tin and the Strike Team making their way across my stomach. They looked very determined. Even Lin and Min looked more confident. They probably felt better knowing their Queen was alive. E darted up to my shoulder and whispered. ‘It’s fortunate for us they have the ability to chew through bindings.’ I knew the jaws of soldier ants were strong, but I didn’t think they were that powerful.

Suddenly something much heavier than an ant jumped onto my bound hands. ‘Don’t worry,’ said E with satisfaction. ‘It’s only a rat.’ A rat? ‘Rocky,’ smirked E. ‘He’s on our side. I certainly hoped so. Rats could give you a very nasty bite. ‘Teamwork, Lizzy!’ said E. ‘The bull ants will use their Nasties to drop Formic Acid on the rope and soften things up, then Rocky will employ his impressive teeth.’ ‘Erk!’ I heard a new voice spit. ‘Go easy on the Formic, will ya guys!’ Sergeant Nin sniggered. ‘Aw you rats, you’re all talk!’ The netting around my hands tightened suddenly as Rocky went to work. I could feel the hard gnaw of his teeth through the net. I just hoped he missed my fingers.

‘Aah, I think that’s fixed it!’ said Mr. Sandly brightly. He turned towards me with an eager gleam in his eye.

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‘Just keep him chatting a few more minutes,’ urged E. ‘A minor problem only,’ he said as he inspected the collar. ‘Oh good!’ I said. He was taken aback. ‘Good?’ ‘It’s a very clever invention. Now that I’ve thought about it, I can’t wait to try it out.’ ‘You surprise me again, Elizabeth. Perhaps you are the breakthrough I have been looking for. I may even train you to be my associate. Tell me child, do you have ambitions?’ Not to be apprenticed to a maniac, I didn’t! The net around my hands loosened so suddenly I only just managed to stop myself from crying out in glee. I wriggled my fingers, I wasn’t quite free yet, but it wouldn’t be long now.

I forced myself to smile. ‘Do you really think I could work with you one day, Mr. Sandly?’ ‘The possibility is there, but you would have to be a most obedient child.’ ‘I wished I understood more about the science of the collars.’ ‘Really? Science was never your favourite subject in class.’ ‘If it was this kind of science, I’d study it all the time!’ ‘I see,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps you have a mind attuned to electronics.’ My bonds loosened a little more. Go Rocky! Mr. Sandly pointed to a digital readout on the front of the collar that I hadn’t noticed before. ‘See these symbols, Elizabeth? They represent different frequencies. The frequencies regulate the level of electric current that can be applied.’ More like levels of punishment, I thought. I faked enthusiasm. ‘So if an insect refused to do what you asked, the current would be increased?’ ‘Exactly!’ Rocky’s sharp tooth accidentally grazed the skin on my wrist. I squeaked in surprise, but quickly covered it up by blabbing. ‘Like the time you gave Jimmy

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Johnson rubbish duty for a week for chewing bubblegum in class after you told him not to?’ Mr. Sandly sighed. ‘Aah, Jimmy Johnson! That unruly, freckled boy is doomed to failure. Sadly, there are a lot of people like Jimmy Johnson in the world. They find it hard to learn…’ ‘And so they must be punished?’ ‘It’s the only way to help them.’ ‘And if an insect deliberately disobeys?’ ‘Then I give them a small electric shock, painful but perfectly harmless. If their ignorance continues however, the shocks get stronger and stronger…’ ‘Until they finally understand!’ ‘Or are terminated. I don’t believe in unnecessary suffering.’ ‘Neither do I!’ Mr. Sandly smiled. ‘It’s all quite simple really.’ And evil!

‘But enough of the science,’ he said as he leant towards me. ‘Hold still now child, this won’t hurt a bit!’ That’s what the dentist always says to me before he sticks a needle in my mouth! Luckily my hands came free just as the collar was closing around my neck. I threw myself sideways off the chair, the collar went flying into the air and smashed on the ground. I bought my hand around, aimed my Mud Shooter and fired. SPLAT! Mr. Sandly flew backwards as a large blob of Sticky Mud hit him hard at high speed. Unfortunately my aim was right off. I had missed his control collar entirely and only succeeded in partly glueing his lab coat to the workbench. ‘ATTACK!’ he shouted, as he began to unbutton his coat. The plastic crates that filled the room unlocked automatically. The lids flew open with a loud snap and trillions of crazed insects filled the air. ‘Run!’ shouted E. I tore out the room with the frenzied horde.

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Chapter Fourteen

The Battle

I had no idea where I was running to, I just knew I wanted to escape! I saw a door and opened it, slamming it shut behind me. Then I used my Mud Shooter to seal the thin gap at the bottom. There was a thunderous, angry hum on the other side as the horde tried to find a way in. Quickly I flicked the light on and saw that I was in an office. On the table was a yellow file marked EYES ONLY-TOP SECRET. The plan he stole from the government? Quickly my eyes found the phone and I raced over to the desk, grabbed it and dialed 000, the emergency number for life threatening situations. ‘Police, Fire, Ambulance, what is your emergency?’ ‘A kidnapping!’ I said quickly. ‘Are you being held against your will?’ the woman asked. ‘Yes! My school teacher has kidnapped me please send help immediately!’ I said quickly. ‘We have you at 132 Old Korm Road, Brenton. Police are on their way. Try and hide or escape until we get there,’ she said. I hung up.

The mud seal at the bottom of the door vibrated ominously. Were they tunneling through? How strong was Sticky Mud and how long would it hold? I’d be in deep trouble if the wasps were the first ones in. Some kids were allergic to peanuts, but I was allergic to wasp stings. If they all bit me at once, I’d swell up like a giant hot air balloon, my throat would close over and I’d suffocate! Suddenly a ghastly prickly feeling ran down my back. I jerked around fearfully. Mr. Sandly was outside looking in through the window, his face pressed flat against the glass, his grey hair shining like sliver in the moonlight. ‘Got you!’ He mouthed. The leer on his face was quite mad.

He reached down and with one hard shove he levered the window open. I was trapped. There was nothing I could do. Mr. Sandly was on one side of the

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room, the horde on the other. Suddenly the mud under the door cracked, the horde of insects began to pour in. They flew up into the air like a giant wall, there was so many of them that I couldn’t even see the wall behind them. This was it I was done for. ‘Ready, aim, fire!’ a voice boomed over the room. Well, maybe not boomed, but loud enough for me to hear. Suddenly thousands of little dirt bullets flew through the air, taking out the flying wasps and bugs. I looked about myself in shock but didn’t see anyone. Then I looked up. Dangling from the roof on little cord strings were hundreds and hundreds of worms and even more crawling through the vents at the corner of the rooftop. At their front was General G. ‘I-impossible! Worms? What are all these worms doing here!’ Mr. Sandly stammered, then he turned mad, enraged eyes on me. ‘You!’ ‘I told you I wasn’t lying!’ I smiled at him. ‘Kill them all!’ Mr. Sandly commanded. All the insects surged forward, the worms released another volley of dirt bullets knocking them out of the skies. ‘We’ll hold them off Lizzy, take care of Mr. Sandly!’ General G shouted. E dropped from the roof dressed in his little black outfit and landed on my shoulder. ‘Ready Lizzy?’ he said. ‘Lets do this E!’ I replied. Dashing towards Mr. Sandly I fired three dirt globs. He sprung out of the way and rolled to the side. As I got closer E leapt off my shoulder shooting a little black cord that hit the wall and let him swing over so he landed on Mr. Sandly’s shoulder. Looping the cord over Mr. Sandly’s head it clicked back onto the collar and E yanked it up into view. ‘Nooo!’ Cried Mr. Sandly hysterically as his hands gripped the collar. His eyes darted from side to side madly trying to see who had hold of it. Over and over again E wound the wire tightly around the collar in a desperate bid to disable it, but the frequency symbols on the digital read out remained unchanged. He was distracted, now was my chance! I aimed at Mr. Sandly and fired. The mud bolt hit him square in the chest and sent him flying into the wall sticking him in place.

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‘Now ants! Match!’ I heard commander Tin say. His squad crawled along the window, down the wall and onto Mr. Sandly’s shoulders then across his face. Commander Tin sat on the end of his nose eyeing Mr. Sandly. ‘That’s right pink flesh. We’ve got you right where we want you. Release the collar!’ Commander Tin snapped. Mr. Sandly stared at the ants on his nose and blinked in confusion. ‘He doesn’t think your ant enough to do it boss!’ one of the younger ants said. ‘Ohhh sure he does, look at his eyes, he’s scared alright, terrified,’ Commander Tin said. ‘If you all are quite done we need to disable this collar, now.’ E said, wriggling up the side of Mr. Sandly’s face. ‘W-w-worm?’ Mr. Sandly stammered staring at E in his little black outfit. He began struggling to get out of the mud blob and reached up with his free hand to scratch at the ants on his face. I walked forward and fired again, pinning his arm further under the Mud. Then another shot covering his legs so the only thing sticking out was his head. ‘Wha...what is that thing. These worms....y-you were telling the truth!?’ Mr. Sandly said. ‘Of course I was. Insects don’t need your guidance Mr. Sandly, they’re doing fine on their own. If anything, it’s us humans who need to start listening to the teachings of the earth. We have a lot we can learn,’ I said, walking closer. ‘Commander Tin, would you please destroy that collar.’ I said. ‘With pleasure Worm Ambassador.’ Commander Tin said. The ants swarmed towards Mr. Sandly’s collar and ducked inside the tiny little gaps in the outside casing to get in at the circuitry. ‘No! Stop!’ Mr Sandly shouted, then his eyes darted over to where the war between the worms and the enslaved insects was going on and a cruel grin split over his face! ‘Kill them! I command you all! Kill them!’ He roared. Quickly I turned around and found that the worms were struggling to contain the shear magnitude of the insects there. They all rushed the worms at once, dirt bullets flew through the air, insects fell but not enough... not nearly enough.

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A group of twenty or so got through and among them were several wasps. I swallowed, uh oh, one sting and I was done for. I stumbled backwards, tripping over my own legs and falling to the ground. The insects swarmed down I closed my eyes waiting for the sting and - nothing.

Nothing happened, I was alive.

The little wasps hovering in front of me with smiles on their faces. One of them floated down and landed on my nose and gave it a little hug. ‘Thank you Worm Ambassador.’ She said. ‘It was my pleasure.’ I replied. I turned to find the ants crawling out of the Collar, which was zapping little shocks of electricity. ‘Mission accomplished Ambassador.’ Commander Tin said. ‘And not a moment too soon.’ E grinned.

WEE WAH, WEE WAH, WEE WAH!

Police sirens. More than one set of headlights had pulled into the drive. ‘Quickly, the ant Queen!’ I said, E swung back onto my shoulder and I held out my hand for the ants. They crawled onto my hand and up my arm. ‘Wait! Where do you think you’re going! Come back here Elizabeth Lorry!’ Mr. Sandly shouted. ‘This isn’t over!’ ‘He’s all yours guys.’ I said to the once captured insects as we vanished out the door. The last thing I heard before tore down the hallway was hundreds of buzzing insects and Mr. Sandly screaming in pain.

Quickly we entered the room with the plastic crates and I took Commander Tin’s squad to the twist top jar the Queen was trapped in. I unscrewed the lid and let her out. ‘POLICE! OPEN UP!’ A voice boomed at the front door. ‘Hurry, Lizzy!’ urged E. ‘We must get you away before anyone realises you are here!’

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’This way Your Majesty!’ said Commander Tin, as he ushered her out the jar, up my arm and onto my shoulder.

There was a sound of splintering wood as the front door was smashed in. Heavy, thumping boots echoed through the house. ‘There’s not a minute to lose!’ said E. ‘There must be a back door, E. It’s our only chance.’ I raced out the room and turned left, ran through the laundry, then out onto the back verandah and around the side of the house. I saw there was not only a police car parked nearby, but also a fire truck and an ambulance too. ‘Are you coming with us?’ I asked Commander Tin, when we reached the Slide. He shook his head. ‘It has been a pleasure working with you, Ambassador.’ ‘My thanks!’ said Queen Laklar. ‘If you ever need any muscle on a future mission, my brave Bullies will be available.’ The Strike Team looked very proud. Sergeant Nin said, ‘did you hear that lads?’ ‘Yes Sergeant!’ Chorused Lin and Min. ‘What are you lads?’ ‘Brave Bullies!’ ‘HEY! YOU THERE!’ a policeman pelted up behind us. But suddenly a sleek dark shape with glittering eyes launched itself from the roof and the policeman hit the ground. Rocky the rat to the rescue! ‘Go, Lizzy!’ cried E. Without a second thought I dove into the Slide.

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Chapter Fifteen

The Talk

The Slide didn’t return us to Worm H.Q, but to Gran’s flowering Geranium bed. It felt really good to be home! ‘You did well, Ambassador!’ said E, as we exited the Slide. ‘May we call on you again if the need arises?’ If it had have been just I dream, I wouldn’t have hesitated, but it wasn’t. It was real. ‘No need to answer straight away. Just think about it.’ ‘I have school during the day, it would have to be at night or on weekends.’ E laughed. ‘The time you spend with us sits outside human time, Lizzy. Otherwise we’d never get anything done!’ ‘Do you mean no time at all has passed?’ ‘A few minutes at the most.’ ‘So I wouldn’t get super tired?’ ‘You will feel a little more tired than normal, but not a lot. Your window is still open. Best get inside.’ I clambered over the ledge, then looked back at E. ‘Are you going now?’ I was going to miss him. ‘Q will be expecting me to report in.’ ‘What do you think will happen to Mr. Sandly?’ ‘Oh I wouldn’t worry about that Lizzy, the authorities will sort it out.’ ‘If you see Rocky, can you tell him thanks?’ ‘Of course. I may even recruit him.’ ‘But I thought only worms worked for W.I.S?’ ‘The situation is changing rapidly, Lizzy. We’ll need spies in every species. Evil forces are threatening the safety of the world!’ I grinned. ‘Goodnight, E.’ ‘Goodnight, Ambassador!’

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I closed my window as best I could, then hid my muddy clothes under my bed and slipped into my pajamas. I fell asleep with my hand clutched around the small brown stone on my necklace.

‘Wake up sleepy head!’ Boomed Dad’s voice in my ear. I blinked one eye open, then the other. ‘It’s nearly lunchtime, are you going to sleep all day?’ ‘Yes!’ I mumbled, and slid down deeper. My bed creaked as Dad sat down on the edge of it. I opened one eye. He looked awkward. That could only mean one thing, he wanted to talk. I waited. The silence went on for quite a while. Finally, I took pity on him. ‘What is it, Dad?’ He looked a little sheepish. ‘Lizzy, I wanted to tell you how sorry I am that I forgot about your speech and that you had to walk all the way home in the rain.’ I nodded. ‘I wanted to tell you something else too. Maybe it will help you to understand me a bit better.’ ‘Okay.’ But if it was anything to do with football, I would kill him!

‘When your Mum died in the accident, my whole world came crashing down.’ ‘And your football career!’ I sniped. It was unkind. Dad had been in the car too, when the accident happened. His leg had been so badly damaged he was never able to star at football again. He grimaced guiltily. ‘And my football career. But it’s not just that, Lizzy. The thing is, you’re the spitting image of your Mum. And sometimes when I look at you, I see her and it makes me sad.’ I hadn’t known that. I was glad he had told me, but it didn’t really help much. ‘But I’m not Mum, Dad. I’m me, Lizzy Lorry…’ I just stopped myself from adding – the Worm Ambassador!

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‘I know, I know. It’s my fault, not yours. I’m glad you look like your Mum. I wouldn’t want it any other way. And I’m really glad you weren’t born a football.’ I laughed at that. He brightened up a bit. ‘Listen, how about if you get dressed and we go to the movies, just you and me?’ ‘What about Mike?’ ‘Mike’s gone to his mate’s house. How about it Lizzy? Do you think you can give your old Dad another chance?’ I nodded. ‘Good girl! Sing out when you’re ready to go.’

I had a quick shower, got dressed, and went down to the kitchen to say goodbye to Gran. I wanted to tell her about the adventure I went on, but that would have to wait now. ‘Afternoon Lizzy!’ ‘Afternoon, Gran.’ ’I hear you’re going out with your Dad?’ I nodded. Gran smiled. ‘Well you enjoy yourself.’ Then she winked. ‘Don’t worry about anything muddy, I’ll take care of it.’ I gasped. ‘You knew!’ ‘I guessed.’ ‘Is that you Lizzy?’ Dad’s voice sang out. ‘Are you ready?’ ‘Coming, Dad!’ I hugged Gran. ‘Thanks!’ I said. ‘And boy have I got a lot to tell you!’ She laughed. ‘Get your Dad to pick up Saturday’s paper for me, will you?’ ‘Sure thing!’

Dad pulled into the Deli on the way to the movies and I ducked in and got the paper for Gran, but when I picked it up I was shocked by the headlines - Local Teacher behind document theft! The article was all about how the police had answered an emergency call, only to discover Mr. Sandly lying ill on the floor of his insect infested house with hundreds of insect bites all over his

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body. On top of his desk we’re the stolen government documents. He was going to prison for a long time. I raced back to the car and showed the article to Dad. ‘Well, well, well!’ He said. ‘I always thought there was something funny about that bloke. What do you think?’ I grinned. ‘I think I’m getting a new teacher!’

We were running late for the movies. ‘Don’t worry,’ Dad said, ‘we’ll have only missed the trailers. Here’s some money, you buy us some snacks while I get the tickets.’ I bought Dad popcorn and myself a chocolate-coated ice cream with rainbow sprinkles. We ducked into the darkened theatre and Dad found us some seats close to the front. The trailer for a movie that was coming soon had just finished, so we were in time. ‘What’s the movie?’ I whispered quickly to Dad. 'Sssh, it’s starting!’ There was a loud cheering sound, then a football came flying across the screen. ‘Dad!’ I exploded. ‘It’s about a famous player who rose from nothing, Lizzy. You’ll love it!’ I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t help it, I burst out laughing. ‘Next time I choose the movie, agreed?’ ‘Agreed, Lizzy girl!’

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DISSERTATION

Introduction

This dissertation explores underlying processes of Aboriginal knowledge systems and will relate elements of this knowledge back to my creative writing. This introduction will provide an overview of the discussion and its broader framework. Chapter 1 will examine the context of Aboriginal storytelling and will discuss the broad links between the thesis and creative works. Chapter 2 will detail the methodology I have employed for the dissertation and creative components. Chapter 3 will examine how to ‘know’ the world, exploring Aboriginal holistic thought and manguny (Dreaming), ngurra (Country) and mangun (Law). Chapter 4 will explore how to ‘be’ in the world, looking at processes to uphold a holistic reality. Lastly, Chapter 5 will discuss how to ‘respect’ the world, and explore potential ways to move forward.

The stories of the Aboriginal nations of Australia tell of how, during mangunyi (The Dreaming) the Tamiyarraii (Ancestors-Heroes) came to generate life out of what had previously been potential. It was these great creation beings that made the many Aboriginal ngurra (Countries) of Australia, and gave life in all its shapes the understanding of how to care for what they had made. Among my people, this vast and varied body of knowledge is called Mangun (Law). Our Laws uphold a world comprised of relationships, sustaining a reality that is animate, sacred and interconnected. Across the globe, similar notions of the holistic nature of reality can be found in the ancient worldviews of Indigenous peoples, and in some very old – and very new – knowledge disciplines emerging from Western traditions.

In the 21st Century we live in an era when there are more people going hungry than at any time since 1970;iii when the United Nations Development Fund for Women tells us that one in three women will suffer some form of abuse in their lifetime;iv where a billion children are deprived of services essential to survival and development;v and where a large group of eminent scientists have warned that if escalating environmental problems are left unaddressed, the earth may be unable to sustain life in the manner that we know it now.vi In such an era,

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we could surely be inspired by the tale of clever Galu, the tiny mouse who discovered where the selfish bluetongue lizard had hidden all the water, and of Galu’s friend the swallow, who gathered the water in his beak and shared it across all creation so that no one went without nourishment.vii We could aspire to the courage of the warrior Barnoo, who died saving children from a tiger shark, or to the devotion of the boy who spent his life looking for his lost little sister, and who – transformed into the Willy Wagtail bird – searches still.viii We could learn from Chickenhawk, who brought fire to the Mak Mak people, showing them how to use controlled burning to manage their resources and keep their Country healthy and strong.ix These stories, and many more from the Aboriginal nations of Australia – and others from Indigenous peoples across the globe – contain profound understandings of the nature of the world, and of how to live within it. Such narratives were the ‘first wave’ of Indigenous knowledge to enter Western consciousness.

Often these stories are misplaced into the genre of children’s literature because they contain elements that are considered fantastical, such as the ability of animals to speak. They are associated with ‘fairy tales’ and the imagination of childhood, not with the worldview of an adult that is seen as more ‘rational’. However, while some of these stories are indeed for children, many of them are not. Other stories might be told to children, but the deeper layers of meaning contained in the stories will only be revealed as the children mature and are ready to receive more advanced levels of knowledge. Stories can, in fact, be highly sophisticated. It is no coincidence that as science has become increasingly complex, many theorists have turned to storytelling and the use of metaphor to attempt to convey knowledge that is very difficult to understand. The story of Schrodinger’s Cat that explains the nature of the quantum world as a both/and reality is perhaps the most well known example.x

This thesis forms part of a more recent ‘second wave’ of Indigenous narratives – a series of communications by Indigenous peoples that seek to explain and interpret the complex ideas contained within our ancient systems and stories. In more recent times this knowledge has undergone a transformation in how it is ‘translated’ from an Aboriginal worldview into a Western academic one.

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Rather than viewing Aboriginal knowledge as a single data set that may be of relevance to particular academic disciplines, a broader conversation is beginning to take place on a systems level. Aboriginal worldviews form their own knowledge systems that are coherent within their own right, encompassing epistemologies and methodological processes. They possess their own values, processes of gathering and interpreting data, processes of evidence and methods of constructing and testing the reality that we perceive. In fact, we have the oldest continuously used knowledge systems in the world here in Australia.

The following discussion represents my efforts as an Aboriginal scholar, a Makaya (Younger Brother) to share some of my thoughts on Indigenous ways of knowing, being and doing. I am no expert; my own understandings are, and always will be, part of an ongoing process. Nor is my view the only Aboriginal perspective on these issues – the Aboriginal peoples of Australia are comprised of diverse nations and individuals, and my viewpoint is only one among many. My perspective is particularly influenced by Palyku ngurra (Palyku Country) to which I belong; by my individual experiences and by the experiences of generations of our family; and by the guidance of Jirninyjarri (the old people).

These stories are not examined from the basis of Western literary theories of mythology, because within the context of Indigenous systems they are not mythology. Nor do I analyse our stories from a position grounded in anthropology or the theories and methods of Western science. This thesis does not seek to compare, measure or analyse Indigenous systems from a Western theoretical framework. Instead, as much as possible given the context in which this work is being produced, I am setting out to apply an Indigenous perspective on Indigenous systems. The scholars and theorists I will draw on are Indigenous Elders, Law people and scholars like Bill Niedjie, David Mowaljarlai, Leroy Little Bear and many others.

I will examine and explain features and processes in Indigenous systems as Indigenous people experience and describe them – the yardstick these

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worldviews will be measured by is our own. Aspects of Indigenous knowledge might appear illogical, fantastical and unverifiable to many of the evidentiary processes of Western disciplines. However, what our knowledge is reconstituted as once it passes through the filter of Western perceptions and evidentiary processes is not relevant to the construction of this thesis. Rather, what is important is that within the confines of our systems, our knowledge is coherent, verifiable and logical truths about the nature of reality and the role of human beings in it. Therefore, it is not appropriate to apply terminology that dilutes the very real belief by Indigenous people in the reality these stories describe. To us they are not myth or fable, nor are they simply metaphor. They are closer to metaphysics and form the source from which the reality we perceive is created and recreated.

There are of course many difficulties in applying an Indigenous perspective to Indigenous systems while producing knowledge within the confines of Western academia. The discourse is in English, and that form of English we employ in academic writing. Further, a central tenet of Indigenous philosophy is that our creation stories and knowledge systems exist and are grounded in specific spaces. All Aboriginal knowledge relates in some way to place where it has a context where it exists and is known. Knowledge is meant to be taught within this context, if I was told a manguny (Dreaming) story I would be taken to the place where the story took place, where the physical features that were made by a Dreaming Ancestor could be seen and witnessed. I would be able to smell the scent of the locality, the aroma of the plants and animals, feel and taste the texture of the environment. In this sense, Indigenous knowledge is holistic and inherently creative. As Gregory Cajete writes:

An understanding of the nature of creativity is important for gaining insight. Native science embraces the inherent creativity of nature as the foundation for both knowledge and action with regard to ‘seeking life’.xi

‘Seeking life’ in an Aboriginal sense combines intellectual, emotional, physical and spiritual ways of knowing the world into a single complex of knowing.

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Thus, there is a loss of context in this analysis as is the case in any act of translation between languages, knowledge, places and systems. However, this does not defeat the potential usefulness of this thesis. We must simply accept two central tenets related to this work. Firstly, that there is an inherent loss of context in the way this knowledge is translated and constituted and that it is an abstracted form of ways of knowing, being and doing that are lived and tied to specific spaces. Secondly, that we as Indigenous peoples need to find ways to create new languages to describe ourselves and our knowledge systems that can be produced within Western knowledge. As Aboriginal Playwright Wesley Enoch writes, we have reached the stage where:

…we must value and demonstrate our cultural capital. Family, stories, dance, song, language, perspectives, protocols, analysis … what makes us Murri or Koori or Nunga? …What makes us belong to this country? We have to start asking these questions and demonstrating our answers.xii

A further issue that can arise in a comparative analysis of Aboriginal knowledge systems is that there can be some justifiable hesitancy to even attempt comparative research of this nature because of the diversity of Aboriginal knowledge systems. There is, arguably, a danger to be seen to be engaging in research that could dishonour the complexity and diversity of Aboriginal systems by conflating them into some form of homogenized collective. However, it must be understood that while each Aboriginal knowledge system is a coherent system in its own right, each system is linked and interconnected with all the others. No Aboriginal knowledge system exists in isolation, they are all connected by Law and Dreaming. I addressed this question in relation to Aboriginal Law in an article:

Law flows from the living hearts of Aboriginal countries, and in this sense is location specific. This is not to say, however, that there are not broad characteristics common to the many Aboriginal legal systems of the many Aboriginal nations of Australia. There are and indeed there must be, for law did not develop incrementally and haphazardly, with every nation independently and in isolation producing its own rules. Rather, it was the Ancestors who gave the law – the ways of living in country – to all life. But while a shared understanding of the nature of time and space inform all Aboriginal legal systems, the specific laws that govern each country necessarily differ.xiii

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In this context it makes sense to examine common underlying processes, rather than principles or practices. While knowledge is more than process and it is possible to identify ‘tenets’, ‘features’ or ‘principles’ within Indigenous systems, the way these understandings are framed within those systems is primarily through process. Thus this thesis adopts a process orientated approach in the analysis. These processes are relational and contextual, meaning there is not a singular formula that can ever be extracted that applies equally to all situations. However, what we can identify are the similar elements that drive the cultural logic and that influences the ways these processes potentially map out. For example, one of the central commonalities between all Indigenous systems is the knowledge that everything in the world is alive – including what Western science might label ‘inanimate’ objects such as a rock. Because all these systems share this particular view on the fundamental structure of reality, and by examining shared core processes with reference to the different ways they manifest across systems, we can begin to describe a broader, more complex way of being.

I referred earlier to Indigenous knowledge systems as holistic, as a complex of knowings. Holistic thought lies at the heart of Indigenous systems and, in part, is the reason why it is difficult to examine Indigenous worldviews through a singular lens. Holism is not a singular theory, but rather a frame of multiplicity encompassing many theories, methods and perspectives. What unites those perspectives within the broader context of Indigenous holistic thought is the knowledge that all Indigenous theories and methods are interconnected, participatory and contextual to the Country they emerge from. In a very simplistic way some of the aspects of Indigenous knowing include:

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Form Quality Thuru Of the mind and related to thought (Head)

Mapirrpa Of the body. In the making / doing of physical things. (Hand) In physical feeling in the body.

Kurturtu Emotional. Love /grief. Experience of emotion outside (Heart) the self.

Mangkarn Dreams. The stomach. The larger self. (Spirit, Soul)

However, in a very real sense these are all the same thing. They cannot be separated out into distinct and isolated categories. They enfold each other and are part of the instruments by which human beings can perceive and understand the world. Taken as a whole these qualities describe what I call the ‘poetic mind’, a way of being and knowing the world that grows out of a creative, intuitive set of understandings. This is not to romanticise Aboriginal systems or to infer that we do not have processes of linear thought or deductive reasoning. However, while indigenous systems contain elements of abstract and analytical reasoning, the primary frame in which knowledge originated, is understood and reproduced is creative in nature. Creative processes form the superstructure and overriding context from which analytical tools are deployed. It is also why in this thesis I have used a methodology that combines the qualities I have described and seeks to drive the analytical process through the larger superstructure of creativity.

To view these qualities in another way, we might say they are all feeling. In English the word feeling is used to denote something emotional – I feel sad, or I feel happy. It describes a state or a process of emotion. Aboriginal people may also say ‘feeling’ to refer to this definition. However, we might also say feeling. A feeling may involve feeling, but is much more. It refers to this complex of knowing, of all these qualities coming together to impart knowledge of a living world in some form. It is a deeper knowing or intuition that you feel and you know that is difficult to relay in English or with spoken language. To give an example:

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I was once driving down the southwest of Western Australia with my brother. It was about 1am and the roads were pitch black and we were deep in the bush. We had planned to camp around these parts and were looking for somewhere to pitch our tent as we drove. Then we saw something moving through the trees. I felt a strange pain in my lower back. My gut felt like someone had punched it and I could feel a weight settle on my back. I looked at my brother and I knew he could feel the same thing too. We weren’t welcome here. We needed to be gone. I hit the accelerator to the floor and roared down the road for the next ten minutes. At some point we crossed a threshold and in an instant the feelings evaporated. Gone. The Country went back to its normal welcoming feeling.

The feeling is data, communication from a living world that is ngurra (Country). It provided us a simple message, not to be where we were. As to the why, that is less important than listening to what you are being told. Certainly, we are northerners and were journeying through the South. It is not our ngurra (Country) but Nyungar land which they call boodjar. It is not necessarily our place to know the why, but to listen and respect.

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Chapter 1: The Context of Aboriginal Stories

Indigenous stories are informed by a culture which values the earth above all else, but which does not regard ngurra (Country) as either a solely human possession or even as an abstract ideal. The Indigenous concept of country might be regarded as including both these things, but goes much further than this to conceive of the earth as the source of all life, all knowledge, and all stories. It is not possible to begin an exploration of the nature of Indigenous narratives without first understanding the place and importance of narrative in an Indigenous worldview. Aboriginal creation stories are often mislabeled ‘myths’ and ‘fables’ and placed into the realm of folklore or to use older terminology ‘native superstition’. They are rarely seen for what they are – profound truths within Indigenous systems about the nature of the universe and the place of human beings in it.

Creation stories come directly from the Ancestral beings which created the world; stories provide the context in which the things of the world exist. It is this element, which is often the dividing ground between schools of literary interpretation and Indigenous views on story. For example, take this statement I have previously written:

Aboriginal people are familiar with the power of story. Our culture is shaped around stories, our history transmitted through them. Stories spoken from the heart hold a transformational power, they are a means of sharing knowledge, experience and emotion. A story spoken from the heart can pierce you, become a part of you and change the way you see yourself and the world.xiv

Western disciplines wouldn’t necessarily disagree with a statement like this; there is a wealth of literature that holds narrative as a filter of human knowing - that stories, and the symbols they contain, are part of the way human beings construct reality. However, Aboriginal systems go one step further, it is not merely humans that make stories, but stories that make humans, and indeed the broader world. That series of creative acts whereby the Dreaming Ancestors made the world is story, and inside that story a living part of its structure are human beings. In an Aboriginal worldview, stories form a reality

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of which humans are a dependent part, but they also have substance outside of human knowing. In a very real sense we are part of the creative expression of the Ancestor beings, we are part of the ongoing story that they expressed and created.

Aboriginal creation stories form the basis of all Aboriginal systems of knowledge; they are inherently complex and multifaceted narratives. Creation stories are layered: they address multiple concepts and issues within a single story. Some stories are small and deceptively simple; however, in many cases small stories intersect and are part of a greater story. In other cases the story may indeed be brief but the insight and knowledge it contains is profound and can take a lifetime to understand. What a creation story can teach us is directly related to the knowledge we are ready to learn. There are many secrets, layered meanings and hidden knowledge inside creation stories. Grasping these hidden meanings is traditionally linked with your progress within the learning system of Aboriginal culture – the Law. As you progress through the Law you receive ceremonial stories, often in the form of song, dance and art. These may be more secretive stories that few know about or the deeper meanings of public stories.

Because the universe is a creative expression of the Ancestor beings all stories are more than words on a page, they are powerful and draw us back to that creation power. However, creation stories hold a special significance. These are stories that speak of the creation Ancestors of all Aboriginal peoples. In an Aboriginal worldview, these Ancestor beings are not only real, but the basis of reality itself. As Roughsey writes;

Legends of our Country are true. Where legends have been seen and told of the happenings, how certain creation was done by certain man or creatures are true, and you can still see what was left of it.xv

In Indigenous systems there is no need to ‘prove’ the Dreaming stories are true because within Indigenous thought this is obvious and self-evident. The truth is manifest in the shape and features of the Country and the people. There is not an intellectual tradition of skepticism in relation to creation stories

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in Indigenous philosophy. Such an approach is, as the anthropologist William Stanner once observed, “…the idiom of Western intellectual discourse and the fruit of a certain social history.”xvi To know the Country is to know the story. Proof or evidence of what is ‘known’ comes from knowledge of the creation stories and their relationships with sites in Country. This is why in the early land rights cases Aboriginal people painted their stories and submitted them to the Australian legal system as proof of land ownership. That is an Aboriginal notion of proof or evidence, the more fundamental question of proving if the creation stories are true or untrue is not part of Aboriginal intellectual discourse. Indeed, in ‘reading’ Aboriginal creation stories we would be well served to remember the word of William Stanner in his landmark essay on the Dreaming written in 1953:

It is fatally easy for Europeans, encountering such things for the first time, to go on and suppose that ‘mysticism’ of this kind rules all Aboriginal thought. It is not so. ‘Logical’ thought and ‘rational’ conduct are about as widely present in Aboriginal life as they are on the simpler levels of European life. Once one understands three things – the primary institutions which the blackfellow has formed about the nature of the universe and man, those things in both which he thinks interesting and significant, and the conceptual system from within which he reasons about them, then the suppositions about prelogicality, illogicality, and non-rationality, can be seen to be merely absurd. And if one wishes to see a really brilliant demonstration of deductive thought, one has only to see a blackfellow tracking a wounded kangeroo, and persuade him to say why he interprets given signs a certain way.xvii

The story of an Ancestor is alive in the same way the Ancestor is alive. The story is a representation of the Ancestor, a part of it, a conduit to that being. The story is a symbol in the same way artistic representations of an Ancestor are a symbol. As Neidjie writes:

I worry about that place Secret place. That got painting there, Inside cave. It got to be looked after because My father, grandad all look after. Now me, I got to do the same.

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If that painting get rubbed off There might be big trouble. That important story. It for all round this area. That biggest story Biggest place.xviii

When we tell these creation stories we are touching our creation Ancestors, when they are shared with others and go out into the world, that is the Ancestor going out, travelling. The stories are more than stories, they allow us to touch creation or as Ambelin Kwaymullina writes:

Whether born of the Indigenous nations of this continent, or of those who came after, we all now exist within the context of the creation stories - the only tales that ‘do not exist in people; we exist in them’.xix

Creation stories are one of the many ways the Ancestors continue to speak to us. They show us the pattern of life they created and teach us the processes of how to maintain it. It is these processes, embodied in Aboriginal Law, that underpin the spiritual and cultural lives of Aboriginal peoples.

This PhD combines two different kinds of stories that interrelate as part of a more holistic form of knowing. I have written two new stories The Were Kids and Lizzy Lorry: The Worm Ambassador. These are not manguny (Dreaming) stories, they are not profound truths about creation and the nature of the world. In the literary world they might be described as ‘contemporary’ Aboriginal literature as opposed to a concept of ‘traditional’ Aboriginal writing. However, we must be careful here because these are highly loaded terms that have layers of colonial knowing buried into their form. Words like ‘traditional’ and ‘contemporary’ are not really very useful; they create a fixed binary between ways of creating stories that does not exist within Aboriginal systems. They are terms that are problematic because they lend themselves to essentialist notions of Aboriginal identity and are directly derived from concepts of linear time. A concept which Aboriginal systems do not adhere to.

While there are Creation stories which have been handed down since manguny, new creation stories sometimes come into knowing. Creation is an

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ongoing event and as new things are born they grow out of and into manguny. Ngurra (Country) is not fixed or inanimate, the Ancestors are not gone, they continue to communicate and create new knowledge. But these are big, sacred things that connect to powerful forces and larger truths. There are also stories that people would create that were for fun, for teaching or for relaying wisdom on a topic that relates to larger truths that we find in manguny stories. It is into this category that my two creative stories for this PhD fall into. They continue intergenerational processes and cycles of storytelling in my family.

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Chapter 2: Methodology - Walking Between two Realities

The moment ink touches paper, or in modern times, when the tapping of a button inscribes the shape of a letter on a computer screen, an attempt of communication has been made. This act is culturally and linguistically bound, the shape of the word and the sound it makes has particular meanings and context embedded inside it. For Aboriginal people, this seemingly simple act – to communicate – is fraught with complexity when it engages with colonial discourse. There is no blank space for our words to fall upon where they might be slowly examined and understood. The words are instantly filtered by a history of ideas and thinking about Aboriginal people that turns our words into a different shape and interprets our language through descriptors such as ‘authentic’, ‘contemporary’, ‘traditional’, ‘myth’, ‘primitive’ and ‘civilized’. In any act of communication across languages, cultures, and knowledge, there is a translational gap, but the weight of colonial discourse adds a further complexity to the translation and reconstitution of knowledge between Western and Indigenous systems.

This is not a new problem but an old one. I only have to look back at the lives of my old people and see that they grappled with this same issue. There is a Native Welfare file on my great-grandmother over 300 pages long, but I do not recognize the woman they describe in that file.xx They could not see her for who she was and they could not hear her voice. My grandfather was one of the first generations to grow up with colonization in the Pilbara; his mother remembered when white people first arrived in our Country, with guns, sheep and cattle. Grandad was often perplexed by the strange behaviour of white people and the odd logic that they applied to the world. At one point he applied through a piece of Western Australian legislationxxi to become a legal citizen in his own Country. My mother relates another story about Grandad that demonstrates this clash of logic and worldview:

I can’t help thinking about a man called John Whitnell, one of the early pioneers of the Roebourne area, who thought he was a pretty fair sort of bloke. The story goes something likes this. He painted a circle around his house in whitewash and said ‘No Aboriginal person is allowed to cross this line.’ Then he walked down to

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where Aboriginal people were living and he painted another circle in whitewash and said, ‘No whitefella is allowed to cross this line.’ When I told this story to my grandfather in Port Hedland he said, ‘But what if they wanted to talk to each another?’ ‘Well I suppose they were buggered, Grandad’ ‘They were buggered all right. And what a waste of whitewash. You wouldn’t be able to use what was left in the bucket because of all that sand! If he wanted to paint those stupid bloody circles, he should have made them cross each other. Then there would be a bit of ground in the middle where they could come together and talk if they felt like it.’xxii

We have been trapped for a long time in Whitnell’s disconnected circles, the beating heart of our stories is rarely heard and instead we find ourselves on a sliding scale. We are saint or we are sinner, but rarely are we seen or heard as ourselves.

However, it is important to open our eyes to the many bridges that have long been forged across this perilous terrain between knowledge systems. We only have to look at the timeless Dreaming stories to find knowledge structures that tell us how to deal with a world of difference. The Ancestors did not give us a single creation story, they gave us many ways of knowing and being, many languages and many Countries. Difference is in the world because the Ancestors brought it into being through their actions when the world was formed, it is one of their many gifts to us. The old stories speak not of one truth, but many truths, we lived in a multicultural and multilingual world. We knew how to deal with change and the evidence of this is all around us in the way we survive and persist despite the traumas of colonization. Some Aboriginal nations even have redemption stories for colonizers in the Dreaming stories of Ned Kelly and Captain Cook. These stories offer models of how to overcome our problems of communication through an Aboriginal worldview.

We can see other models drawn from similar ideas about the world in more recent times; for example, in my grandfather’s two circles that have the capacity to connect, interrelate and speak to each other and in this last verse of a song by the Ngarla people:

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Wuju-wujungurala palu Wampakalya wayi marrinyuru Waya ngunanykarrangurala yulu Kalya yijarrinyuru

In spite of all that and the parallel wires We’ll still find a way Of continually exchanging little things Through the gaps and the cracks.xxiii

This song is about a Lock-hospital they built for Aboriginal people in Port Hedland, but like all Aboriginal stories it can be read on multiple levels. We see a subversion of the colonial order physically in the exchange of goods through gaps in the walls, and metaphysically, in the power of the song that records this resistance and declares the agency, cleverness and cunning of Ngarla people. They will not be confined, not by walls and barbed wire, nor by false ideas of themselves as victims. The song is knowledge, and it too creeps through gaps in walls to forge a bridge between two worlds. Now, the Lock- Hospital is an old ruin, but the song, like the people, continues.

We see these bridges in writings by Indigenous academics such as Kevin Gilbert’s Living Black and Because a White Man’ll Never Do It, we see it from our Indigenous kin across the seas in the works of Lakota scholar Vine Deloria, and Maori scholar Linda Tuhiwai Smith, and we see it in the works of Torres Strait Islander scholar Martin Nakata and his writings on the ‘cultural interface’. We also see it in the many writings and actions from non- Indigenous people who have stood with us and can be found in every period of Australian history. In fact, these interfaces between knowledge are everywhere, in plays like Bran Nue Dae, songs by Archie Roach, art by Rover Thomas, and autobiographies like Sally Morgan’s My Place. Every time an Aboriginal person interfaces with the variant of the Western knowledge system that arrived in Australia they are creating a bridge between two worlds, they are engaging in a process of translation from one system of knowledge to another and back again. To be Aboriginal in a colonial world is to be the

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bridge, the interface, the universal translator. My grandfather may have been among the first generation to walk between two worlds, but all of us who have followed him have also had to walk the same path. And, as my grandfather’s connected circles remind us, though it may feel like two worlds, in reality there is only one. Aboriginal philosophy speaks of an interconnected world where everything exists in relation to everything else. In this worldview there are many worlds, but they all enfold each other. What defines the movement, the push and pull of relationships, is the context.

This is a small part of the broader context and complexity that arises when the question of method is raised. I cannot create the Aboriginal interface, I can only create, and be, an Aboriginal interface that is unique to me as a Palyku / Nyamal man. It is my act of translation that follows the movement of my perception and a different Aboriginal person might choose different words, different emphasis - different meanings. I am making choices at every stage of the process of what story I will tell, and how I will tell it. There are many methodologies, but they all connect, they are all Indigenous people trying to create ways in which the world can see us for who we really are. In designing my methodology I was keenly aware of this context, but unlike the usual linear order of academic thesis work, where a methodology is written first, I have written this methodology last. This is not to say I wrote this thesis without a method, or in a haphazard way, I was conscious of the decisions I was making while I wrote both the creative and academic portions of this thesis. I felt, however, that reducing the deeper knowing I brought to this thesis to a purely intellectual interface at the beginning, would limit my capacity to bring my creativity and knowledge to bear on the work.

In writing this thesis I employed intellectual, physical, spiritual and emotional ways of knowing. In Palyku knowledge systems, these form a single way of knowing, knowledge never exists purely of the intellect, these are ways of knowing that enfold each other, interrelate and interconnect. For example, I employed the same underlying methodology in writing the children’s stories as I have in constructing this dissertation but the emphasis skews slightly when the context the text is produced in changes. The children’s stories are written

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with the creative aspects playing a more prominent role in the process and the thesis is written with the more intellectual aspects in the foreground. However, it remains the same process, where all these ways of knowing are inextricably intertwined. Together, the exegesis and the creative works form a whole that make sense in relation to each other, an interwoven collection of relationships that play off each other with an irony and humor at the tensions and contradictions they form.

I am a writer, but first and foremost I am a Palyku person, anything I create is connected back to my Country and draws upon that knowledge and tradition. My processes of writing tie into this broader, complex worldview, but when explained through a purely intellectual framework these processes look strange to the eye. My grandfather once saw his Nyamal language written down in its linguistic form, and he said he found it strange and weird to look at. It did not look like the Nyamal that he could hear in his head. If I shared these stories and knowledge in my community we would talk about them differently because we would be operating under the same worldview. There would be an assumed knowledge that would not need to be spoken to, and it would not be an abstract intellectual discussion, but rather something that was known, felt and experienced. This exegesis is much like the written version of Nyamal my grandfather saw, it contains the sounds and shapes of my worldview, but it is an abstraction that fails to convey the broader more holistic way these ideas are known. Lacking the interface of a shared language and worldview for the purposes of this text, this exegesis will by necessity involve dealing with complex Aboriginal concepts in a reductionist manner. My methodology is, in part, designed to counter this reality as much as possible and to embed meaning into the text that provokes a reaction beyond an intellectual understanding. Though I have set out a specific chapter here to detail my methodology, the whole thesis is concerned with method and in Aboriginal knowledge systems the emphasis is always on process and context. In particular, my discussions in chapters four, five and six, which examine the three major concepts of Aboriginal knowledge, will provide examples of Aboriginal ways of knowing that tie directly into questions of method and process. I have titled my methodological approach ‘A Methodology of Feeling’.

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A Methodology of Feeling

It is possible that this thesis might be criticized for not being ‘academic’ enough, for being personal rather than objective or for failing to cite more non- Aboriginal sources. I would respond by saying this thesis is good scholarship – it is just different scholarship that is drawing from an Aboriginal knowledge system and attempting to translate those processes and ways of knowing into a Western structure and language. There have been conscious choices made here: the personalized nature of the thesis is a choice, because in Aboriginal knowledge systems you gain knowledge by connecting to relationships not by distancing yourself from them. The prose and language of the dissertation reads like a story; it meanders, waxes and wanes as the discussion progresses, it includes side stories of my relatives and personal observations. All these structural elements are deliberately placed and form part of the methodology of this thesis. This is part of the structure and method of Aboriginal storytelling – the rhythm the old people teach in. I could have chosen to remove these elements from this thesis, but then I would be writing and thinking the same as a Western disciplinarian. We would have lost this opportunity to engage in something more complex, where different systems of logic collide and offer something new for all of us to enjoy. There are rupture points in this text where Western and Indigenous knowledge systems do not sit comfortably together, and where, reflexively, it might be easy to dismiss the argument, structure or prose as ‘illegitimate’ or even as ‘contradictory’. However, this is in fact the opportunity that works which bridge cultures bring us, it as at these rupture points that we come against the hard edges of our worldview and cultural logic. It is here that we can learn more about ourselves as well as other ways of knowing, being and doing.

The title for this methodological process was inspired by the writings of a Senior knowledge holder from the Northern Territory, the following is one of a series of his communications that detail a living, interconnected world:

All my uncle gone, But this story I got him.

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They told me. They taught me And I can feel it.

I feel it with my body, With my blood. Feeling all these trees, All this country. When this wind blow you can feel it. Same for Country, You feel it. You can look. But feeling… That make you.xxiv

‘Feeling make you’: seemingly simple words that have thousands of years of Aboriginal philosophy embedded inside them. The methodology I employed in writing this thesis is a process of ‘feeling’, but when I, like Gagudju man Bill Neidjie, use the word, we mean something bigger than its literal English translation because we are using the word to refer the totality of Aboriginal knowledge as expressed through Country. My understanding of this word is of course far more limited than a wise Elder like Gagudju man, he can see through the word all the way down to its root. I can only see into this word a little, but it is this vision that shapes my approach to this thesis.

Firstly, we have to understand that when Aboriginal people speak English we are still speaking our languages. I am not a fluent speaker of either Palyku or Nyamal. But when I speak English, I am still speaking those languages to a certain extent, because we have taken English words and made them Palyku and made them Nyamal by the meanings we have embedded into them. We have assimilated those words into our worldviews, the shell of the English word remains, but it no longer looks the same on the inside when spoken by an Aboriginal person. The works of Bill Neidjie are masterpieces of language, on the surface he is speaking English, but in fact he is speaking another

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language, so much so that his words are almost indecipherable without a certain level of cultural knowledge – or are misread as simple Aboriginal stories.

So when I describe a methodology of ‘feeling’ I am not simply describing an emotional or a physical state of being. ‘Feeling’ refers to a complex of knowledge and processes that integrate intellectual, spiritual, emotional and physical ways of knowing, being and doing. In writing this thesis, the choice of language, position of words in relation to one another, the ebb and flow of momentum in the action, dialogue and tense, was constructed intuitively by this complex of understanding coming together. For me the text was gendered, Werekids was the younger brother and Lizzie Lorry the older sister – siblings who liked to argue with each other. With Lizzie Lorry rather than thinking of rules of grammar, I would see if the sentence ‘felt right’, how did she speak? Had I found her words, or was she angry at me for not getting it right? Werekids was more forgiving, he was happy as long as his story was as good as his older sister’s.

This Gender split between the spirit of the stories is also grounded in Aboriginal systems where law, knowledge, and ceremony are divided into three interrelated and interconnected domains – Men’s law / knowledge, Women’s law / knowledge, and the area between that is shared. These are not disconnected domains, each domain only makes sense with, and is balanced by, its relationship to the others. The main character in Werekids is a boy and the main character in Lizzie Lorry is a girl. As a man I was aware of my inability to truly write a ‘woman’s’ story so I drew upon the help and wisdom of my mother and sister. This forms part of the methodological approach, to recognize my limitations as a man, to acknowledge the position I occupy and to honour the voice of women in a character that speaks with a woman’s voice. Naturally, Lizzie Lorry was much happier to communicate her story to my mother and sister, the suggestions and editorial advice of these women were usually adding humor, irony and softer touches to the text. For me, the voice of Lizzie Lorry was that of a nagging old woman that reminded me strangely of my Nanna, a no nonsense tone that scolded me for my lack of subtlety.

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Werekids, on the other hand, was an annoying younger brother. He would pester me before I went to sleep to add a rude joke and he would be there when I woke up with an enthusiastic new idea. I would tell him to go away when I had to work on something besides the story, but he would always come back to see what I was doing because he was bored. And when I worked on parts of Lizzie Lorry he would complain loudly and then go off and sulk. My brother offered editorial advice on Werekids; being a younger brother himself he had a real kinship with the story Werekids wanted to tell.

The exegesis portion of this thesis was more complex as it involved dealing with some deep parts of Aboriginal systems of knowledge and attempting to articulate what they mean. The exegesis spoke with many voices in turn, the Grandfathers and the Grannies and the uncles and the aunties, conferencing together to help me find the right words as I fumbled around in the dark. Sometimes they needed to be hard with me, other times they spoke softly, but always with good humour and the sense of pride that comes with making sure a story is told correctly. I hope this thesis lives up to their high standards.

Some writers might describe these spirits as ‘personas’, mere projections of my own imagination without true substance or reality. However, in the worldview of my people, where everything is alive and capable of agency and where everything possesses spirit, these ‘personas’ are very real. They are not simple ‘imaginings’; when I create I engage with the most sacred act there is, I form relationships that renew the fabric of the world. The Ancestors created, they sang and danced the world into being, and in order to sustain and maintain this world they gave us the gift of being able to create. This is why stories are powerful, they connect to the relationships that make the world and when you write they come alive. For me, my methodology is not one of an isolated writer working slavishly behind a desk with piles of torn up notes littering the floor. It is a conversation between me and the relationships that want to come into being.

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This is the language of ‘feeling’ where my intention to create a story forms a movement pushing out into the web of relationships that then pushes back in response, pulling closer to look with curiosity at something new being woven into being. These relationships send ideas, plot lines and jokes in dreams, in emotional feelings, in actions in the world that inspire new thoughts to include in the text. Sometimes they sent these ideas to other people when I failed at being attentive and grasping the subtlety of what was being offered. During the writing of this thesis my family would often complain over a shared cup of tea in the morning that they were sick of getting the dreams I was ignoring. They would offer a plot twist or an element of the story that they had dreamed that I would then include in the text.

Privileging Aboriginal Voices

The second major feature of the methodology of this thesis is the privileging of Aboriginal voices and drawing upon Aboriginal stories as primary sources. This approach is done in order to counter the distorted lens in which Aboriginal stories are often viewed. A conscious choice has been made to reference Aboriginal voices and, with the occasional exception, omit non-Aboriginal references. The process is designed to speak from an Aboriginal centre and from that position reach out to a web of relationships. This means making space in the text for Aboriginal voices to speak, allowing room for their agency to operate and respecting the position and authority from which they speak. In the creative stories this is done via the methodology of ‘feeling’ discussed above. But, in the exegesis portion of this thesis more complexity is added as I have also drawn upon the words, stories and wisdom of many Aboriginal people from many Aboriginal nations across Australia.

A great deal of care and respect must be taken in using the words and stories of other Aboriginal nations. It is one of our most fundamental processes that you do not tell someone else’s story without permission, that you recognize there are many views, many worlds and the right to tell the stories associated with those views and places rests with those communities. It must also be

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recognized that there are many Aboriginal stories that were collected and published outside the influence and control of the communities those stories belong to. Though those stories now exist in the public domain, they were positioned there in a violation of Aboriginal process.

In recognition of these complexities this exegesis employs two interrelated methods. Firstly, the only Aboriginal sources used are ones where it is clear the relevant Aboriginal community authorized that knowledge to be in the public domain. Where I was unable to discern if this was the case or not, I chose not to use that source. Examples of this are collections of Aboriginal ‘myths and fables’ usually compiled by a non-Aboriginal person at some point in time that fail to identify where the stories come from and who the stories belong to. In some cases there may also be a published story or words of an Elder where the relevant Aboriginal community is split on whether that information is appropriate for public readership. Where I was able to discern this kind of situation I also chose not to use that source out of respect for those communities.

The second method I have employed is to use sources where Aboriginal people from the relevant communities explain what the story means, or where the story succinctly speaks for itself. Space must be made for Aboriginal people and the stories they tell to speak for themselves, to offer a place in the text for the agency of these communities to speak and act upon the reader. There will always be some loss of context and mediation by my voice, I cannot write myself out of the frame, as Bill Neidjie writes, “Man can’t split himself.”xxv , while I can be many things at once they are all a related whole. However, when approached with these methods, with care and respect, there is no need to bemoan a loss of context as these communities have authorized these stories and knowledge to be in the public domain, knowing that they will be listened to and spoken about. If we honour these stories by giving them space then we create an environment where they do what they were designed to do, to teach and to speak to us of knowledge that exist in that space.

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The third method that is employed is the use of Aboriginal language in the text of the exegesis. Words are drawn from my grandmother’s languages Palyku and Nyiyparli, as well as my grandfather’s language Nyamal. There is also the occasional word in Nyamgumarta. Nyamgumarta people come from the desert, but many Aboriginal nations in the Pilbara spoke, and speak Nyumgumarta as it was used as a ‘trade’ language so different groups could understand each other. This is not a random or eclectic mixing of Aboriginal languages into a nonsensical form. Many conversations in the Pilbara take place in many languages at once, switching between three or four Aboriginal languages as well as English. The use of three or four languages in this text is merely a reflection of the diversity that exists within Pilbara communities. I am not fluent in any of these languages and have included them as individual words rather than whole sentences. Just the placement of Aboriginal words in the text skews and shades the meaning of the discourse and continues this process of creating space for the knowledge to act and speak for itself.

I have deliberately not included any Aboriginal language in the creative stories for this thesis. The context of the dissertation allows for a more seamless insertion of Aboriginal words at my current level of knowledge of Aboriginal language. To insert Aboriginal words within the creative text ‘felt’ wrong, it would require more Aboriginal words, sentences and language to be placed, in order for the language to speak. That level of manipulation of Aboriginal languages is beyond my current competency. Words have power, and in honouring these languages I have chosen to include them only where I feel comfortable that they fit and can find a place in the text with my level of understanding.

The fourth method that I employed in this exegesis is to honour the reality of my own voice in framing, perceiving and constructing the text. I do not overly try to disguise my voice by cloaking my presence in the language of a third person perspective. I am here, I construct, create, mediate and translate, I am this text and I am informed by this text – I am these relationships colliding, negotiating repelling and attracting. And, by engaging with this text, so is the reader as they form relationships with the words, language, ideas and

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knowledge; as the voice of Werekids, Lizzy Lorry, and the chorus of wisdom in the exegesis speaks and acts.

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Chapter 3: Knowing the World: Understanding a Holistic Reality

There is not a single universal model of Indigenous holistic thought, either among the Aboriginal peoples of Australia or elsewhere. As Tjalaminu Mia, of the Nyungar people of the south-west of Western Australia writes, “[i]n Aboriginal culture there are ‘differences and sameness’. Aboriginal people are the first people of country in the many lands that make up Australia, but we have distinct cultural and spiritual autonomy over particular areas of country.”xxvi Indigenous nations across the globe likewise have varied understandings of interconnected realities that are interwoven with, and informed by, the diverse environments in which they live. While these understandings provide a broadly similar frame of reference that allows for meaningful interactions between different peoples, it must be remembered that the complexities, detail and application of these shared understandings is highly contextual, and will always depend on the individual laws, homelands, culture, and knowledge of the particular Indigenous nation concerned.

Aboriginal systems conceive of a world that consists of constantly moving sets of relationships that are interdependent and interconnected. As Ambelin Kwaymullina writes:

Imagine a pattern. This pattern is stable, but not fixed. Think of it in as many dimensions as you like – but it has more than three. This pattern has many threads of many colours, and every thread is connected to, and has a relationship with, all of the others. The individual threads are every shape of life. Some – like human, kangaroo, paperbark – are known to western science as ‘alive’; others, like rock, would be called ‘non-living’. But rock is there, just the same. Human is there, too, though it is neither the most nor the least important thread – it is one among many; equal with the others. The pattern made by the whole is in each thread, and all the threads together make the whole. Stand close to the pattern and you can focus on a single thread; stand a little further back and you can see

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how that thread connects to others; stand further back still and you can see it all – and it is only once you see it all that you can recognise the pattern of the whole in every individual thread. The whole is more than its parts, and the whole is in all its parts. This is the pattern the Ancestors made.xxvii

Everything the Tamiyarra (Ancestor-Heroes) formed is infused with life, consciousness, and agency. There is nothing that is not filled with this power of creation, nothing that exists as a form of ‘unlife’ or in a state somewhere in between. It is, after all, the same ‘pattern of creation’ that animates everything – so if we, as humans, live then all must live, if we feel then all must feel, if we have language and law then so too must everything else. This is a manifestation of logic in Aboriginal thinking. What is more, as this pattern exists not only within but between all things, we are all connected; which is to say, we are all related. This idea that everything not only lives but is family is a concept fundamental to Indigenous systems across the world. As Tewa scholar Gregory Cajete writes:

The meaning of the Lakota aphorism, ‘mitakuye oyasin’ (we are all related), is shared by all Indigenous people. Its shared meaning stems from the fact that it is a guiding principle of the ‘spiritual ecology’ held by every tribe in its perception of nature. Guided by this metaphysical principle, people understood that all entities of nature – plants, animals, stones, trees, mountains, rivers, lakes, and a host of other living entities – embodied relationships that must be honored.xxviii

Within this vast familial web, there are some sets of relationships that exert a greater influence than others because they are the source from which all relationships emerge and are regulated. These form groups that I have previously described as ‘primary attractors’, xxix centres around which other relationships orbit. A single primary attractor affects multiple relationships, both regulating movement within the overall pattern of creation, and forming the pattern of creation in the movements that it makes. While there are many sets of relationships that can be viewed as primary attractors in the context of the Aboriginal nations of Australia, i will discuss three of the most powerful: manguny (Dreaming), ngurra (Country) and mangun (Law).

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Manguny (The Dreaming)

The term ‘Dreaming’ is an English approximation of a complex idea for which there is no universal Aboriginal term. In my grandfather’s language we call it manguny, however, there are a multitude of words for the Dreaming or for aspects of it in different Aboriginal languages across Australia. As Tjalamina Mia puts it:

There is no English word that truly captures this concept: koondarm [Dreaming] reflects a Nyungar understandings of creation, time, land and all human and animal existence – we see it as a continuum of Then, Now and Tomorrow. Like all Aboriginal people in Australia, who have their own words for it, Nyungars understand that koondarm is never-ending; it is eternal.xxx

The translation of manguney and similar Aboriginal words into the English word ‘dreaming’ is an awkward approximation that is often misleading. Manguny does not refer to something that is imagined or simply - kapukarri kalku (to have a dream). The Dreaming refers to ongoing creations of the pattern of reality, the processes by which the pattern seeks balance, and the movement of all the relationships that form its weft and weave. Every Aboriginal nation of Australia has its own manguny (Dreaming) for its own Country. As a Kaytetye Elder tells, “[the Dreaming] laid everything out like a blanket, even the Kaytetye people.”xxxi

In manguny, all was fluid and soft, and able to be shaped by the Ancestors, who themselves took many forms. In an Aboriginal worldview everything that exists – land, water, sky; human, animal, plant; sun and moon; light and gravity – exists only because the actions of the Tamiyarra (Ancestors-Heroes) transformed a potential into a reality:

The Above-One sat for a long time. He had brought Light. When night-time came, he went down to make his camp in the shelter. He stretched out and merged with the wall while falling asleep. He had brought Sleep. Just like us, when dark comes down and we start to make a camp and we lie down. Because Ngadjar did it, we do it too.xxxii

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Through a multitude of encounters, discoveries and experiences, the Tamiyarra (Ancestors-Heroes) established the order of the world. The Kukatja tell that Emu cannot fly because jealous Brolga cut off his wings;xxxiii the Nyungar that impatience, inquisitiveness and emotion entered the world after being felt by a spirit man and a spirit woman; the Jirrbal that grass becomes wet with dew at night because Gargarra (New Moon) is keeping a promise to Narool (Grass);xxxiv the Yanyuwa that Brolga danced the plains country into being.xxxv These and many, many other stories from the many Aboriginal nations of Australia show that all life – as well as all knowledge, all culture, and all Law – came from the Dreaming. As Nyungar scholar Len Collard writes:

Waakal [Rainbow Serpent Ancestor] gave us our knowledge about Nyungar and our relationships, responsibilities and obligations to one another. The Rainbow Serpent gave us our katitjin [knowledge] and law about the animals, plants, bush medicines, trees, rivers, waterholes, hills, gullies, the stars, moon, sub, rocks and seasons, and their interconnectedness in the web of life of the six seasons in the Nyungar world. The Nyungar Rainbow Serpent also gave us our katitjin [knowledge] about the spirits or wirrin in our boodjar [country], wirrin and moort [family] in the cycle of life.xxxvi

Or, as we can see in one of the stories that was related to my grandfather when he was a young man:

The first one is about Gajiwarrgarda, a big snake who lived in the Dreamtime. He lived in a place called Mud Springs, it’s on Bamboo Springs Station. For as long as that snake lived, there was water in that spring, but one day someone disturbed him and Gajiwarrgarda decided to leave. He came out and went west, as he travelled for miles and miles until finally he got up onto the tablelands where he reared up and turned into a big rock. You can still see him standing there today and you can drive on the road that Gajiwarrgarda made, it’s flat and level.xxxvii

The actions of Gajiwarrgarda are visible to the naked eye today. You can see where the ground has been made flat and level. Within Aboriginal knowledge systems the physical features of the land serve as sources of evidence for the actions of the Ancestors during manguny.

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The journeys and actions of the Tamiyarra (Ancestors-Heroes) are not a finished series of events, but rather constitute ongoing cycles of creation. The systems of the Aboriginal nations of Australia, like those of other Indigenous peoples across the globe, are non-linear in nature. So while it is possible, to some degree, to speak of events as occurring ‘before’ or ‘after’ each other, these terms are to be understood as referring to relative positions within the continual shifting of an interconnected reality. Within such a reality, it is movement rather than linear time that has meaning. In Walmajarri country, the onset of the coldest nights is signaled by the arrival of the Seven Sisters constellation in the sky before dawn. This change in weather is caused not by temporal proximity to July 1st – which, in linear terms, is the first day of the Australian winter – but by the actions of the sisters, who drop water on the people sleeping below.xxxviii The sisters, are known to the West as the Pleiades and to our people as kurnkurri, are Tamiyarra (Ancestor-Heroes). Within an Aboriginal worldview, it is their movements, along with many other movements within the web of relationships that is the world, that are what causes rain to fall; seasons to change; and creation as we know it to continue.

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Figure 1: Family Cyclexxxix

I drew this design while working on the manguny aspects of this thesis and while writing parts of the creative stories for this PhD. It is a picture composed of ink and paper, but it ties to both the creative and academic aspects of this thesis that intersect with ideas of time and manguny. It represents the cycles of my family turning upon each other from my perspective of where I am located as a man within the generational count. In this cycle we count the generations backwards from me – and through the women in my family. In the Palyku way we follow the woman’s line and it is through the women that I inherit my identity and place in the world. So we travel through a spiraling circle that reads:

My jurtu (older sister), My mother moolya moonya, My grandmother iridjimoonya, My great-grandmother Talahue, My great-great grandmother Annie, My great-great-great grandmother Fanny.

At this point we enter the centre of the circle where I am located nyirti (youngest sibling). Nyirti can also mean low position, for example, nyirtingka yirlkarila ‘In the low sky’. So ‘low’ is counting down in the relationship cycle, younger is ‘below’, older is ‘above’. But we also find another word here at the centre, wangkajinima, which means to repeat something. But it can relate to a story, speaking, or a word. Wangka can mean word or to talk. The reason we have a repeating cycle in the centre is because the generations of family are tied into manguny they repeat upon themselves. All the generations of my family that have passed on and all the generations of my unborn children that are yet to be connect the circle. Their spirits exist in the same space – in manguny. Children don’t come out of nothing, they already exist in ngurra at sites in the land tied to manguny (Dreaming). The old that have been and the new and yet to be connect the lines, forming the cycle of life and death, birth and rebirth. The line is not straight, but rather, a rhythm of many cycles turning upon themselves. This reflects in ways of ‘counting’ kin. You count ‘above’ yourself backwards from you, your older sister, mother, grandmother, but when

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you arrive at your great-grandparents generation you count ‘forward’ and ‘down’ instead. My great grandfather is my manyka (son) and he would call me mama (dad). My son and my great grandfather become the same – the point at which the kin cycles turn upon themselves.

This view, whereby cycles turn in upon themselves and relationships are forged in space rather than time, was part of the inspiration for the ability of children in The Werekids to change their form into an ‘extinct’ Australian species. This represents an Aboriginal view of time and manguny where relationships can be forged with species a Western worldview would consider ‘extinct’. In an Aboriginal worldview, where time is non-linear and all life emerges from and is contained in manguny, nothing is ever truly lost. The biology, the physical form, may no longer exist in this modality of reality, but the being that was a mega fauna or a dinosaur was always more than a biological form. The idea of extinction relates to a view of biological determinism, that my biology is the primary – or even the sole determinate of my being. Thus, when the biological form becomes extinct the species is irrevocably lost to the universe. In an Aboriginal view the spirit is the determinate, the spirit of what was once a Tasmanian Tiger, or Marsupial Lion, lives on and may even be reborn into the world. In The Werekids the mangkarn (spirit) of these animals is connected in relation to the children – across time and space. The relationship can be forged and the spirit of something considered extinct can be brought into the world as an active agent. As a Native American Scholar writes:

Since the time of creation, American Indian people have known that memory is stored in the blood and bones of the people. For thousands of years before the arrival of the non-Natives, elders passed on traditions in the language of the people, recording bone memories through oral traditions and on material objects made of wood, skins, rocks, textiles, basketry, and ivory. These items reminded the people of their memories, brought them to light again. The source of this knowledge is found in the bones of the people…xl

Even bones connect to the spirit of the being and can act. We see this at the start of The Werekids where the main protagonist is bitten on the hand by the bones of a Tasmanian Tiger. This bite causes him to connect with the

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mangkarn of the Tasmanian Tiger and sets up the narrative structure. The story is driven from the agency of the spirit of the Tasmanian Tiger to act its will upon the world, to forge relationships across time and to manifest and act in the world.

The act of transformation The Werekids are capable of is also a microcosm of Aboriginal views of time, manguny and cyclical processes. As the children change form they engage in a cyclical process of creation and destruction, the human form is destroyed and the animal form is born, only to later turn and have the human form be reborn again. The destruction is inside the creation and the creation is inside the destruction. Transformation is a process without a real beginning or end, just relationships that turn in relation to each other as the human and animal spirit collide, enfold each other and are born anew.

Lizzy Lorry also draws upon these non-linear cyclical views of time, but in the sense of broader cycles turning. The grandmother passes on the role of Worm Ambassodor to Lizzy, representing a change in the generational cycle. There is also an element of timing to this handover. Lizzy becomes the Worm Ambassador in a time of great need and danger to the world. There is a movement towards the world becoming unbalanced due to the actions of the villain, the cycle of responsibility turns, Lizzy moves in counterbalance to the evil that is brewing. The animals, and the world are saved. There is symmetry to the narrative as balance and imbalance push and pull against each other.

Ngurra (Country)

As the Ancestors bring into being fundamental forces that make up our world, they form ‘Country’, a pattern of reality different to what was there before. Every Aboriginal ngurra has stories that tell how it was made. Some of these are superficially similar – tales of the Seven Sisters are told in many places across the continent, and more than one nation has a manguny (Dreaming) narrative of a bird bringing fire; of a greedy animal hoarding water; or of the journeys of the mighty Rainbow Serpents. But these stories are not

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interchangeable variations of each other. When told in ngurra (Country), Aboriginal narrators can point to the locations where the events of the story took place; to the features formed by the doings of the Tamiyarra (Ancestors- Heroes); to the places where the Ancestors now reside. Nyungar poet and author Graeme Bindarri Dixon tells of such a recounting during a journey of the Balardong Nyungars through their homeland:

Uncle pointed to a distant, black, rocky range to the south-west, saying ‘See that wide track that goes up and over the hills, leaving a gap in the undergrowth.’ Like the others I gazed in the direction Uncle was pointing, eventually spotting a groove that channeled through the bush and climbed a hill, leaving a chasm in the landscape that was unlike any other landmark in the area. ‘That’s the Dreaming Track left by the Rainbow Serpent as he passed by on his sacred journey of creation.’ Uncle spoke in a matter-of-fact tone that seemed to undermine the spiritual significance of what we were viewing, but by the gasps coming from the mob I wasn’t the only one excited by this vision! It was like seeing a miracle, actual evidence of the Waugal who, Uncle went on to say, slithered that way after having a rest in the creek at the base of the sloping granite surface.xli

It is one of our most fundamental Laws – common to Aboriginal nations across the continent – that no one can speak for someone else’s Country. In the words of two Guruma Elders: “[Aboriginal] tribes they’ve all got different cultures, but you’ve got to follow your own all the time. You can’t go and explain this tribe’s culture or stories, you’ve got to stick with yours.”xlii This is part of what Tjalaminu Mia called the ‘differences and sameness’ of Australian Aboriginal cultures. All our nations have Dreaming stories that tell broadly similar truths, including that everything is manga (alive) and related; that all life has Law; and that creation is ongoing and must be sustained in order to continue. But the complexities, interpretation and application of these general understandings are grounded in our Countries. This is why there can be a multitude of different but equally valid Seven Sisters stories about what, from another perspective, could be seen as the same constellation. Since Aboriginal systems exist as an interlinked whole of constantly moving relationships, what defines meaning is position, the place where relationships meet, and it is our ngurra (Countries) that form the centres from which, and through which, we connect with all life. The stars that shine in Nyungar

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Country, where I live, are not the same as those shining over the red Palyku earth that holds my spirit; it is the Nyungar Seven Sisters that travel Nyungar skies.

The many Aboriginal Countries of Australia are connected by ‘Dreaming tracks’ or ‘song lines’, the paths travelled by the Tamiyarra (Ancestors-Heroes) on their journeys. In the words of an Arrernte man, “we all belong to the songs that go across the whole of this country.”xliii Dreaming tracks both connect and divide – they link nations to each other, and also form part of the complex overlapping space that marks the boundaries between Countries. But they do not separate in the sense of isolating or alienating, because the divisions themselves create connections, relationships. When my grandmother travelled to an Aboriginal community in central Australia – geographically a long way from our Country in the north-west of Western Australia – she found she had relatives there, because their people and ours were linked by a Dreaming trail. These tracks move within and between Countries, forming and connecting life, and, of course, shaping patterns of creation. Photographer Jutta Malnic recounts a conversation with Ngarinyin Elder about sites of the Wandjina Ancestor:

Once I ask him how many painting sites he has seen in the Kimberley…After marking sites on an aeronautical map, the dots are clearly more concentrated in coastal areas. “Why are there so many sites near the coast, Mowal?” “That’s where the spirit came into Australia. Wandjina marked the old coastline from long-long time ago. We need a helicopter to go there.” Connecting the dots into a hypothetical helicopter route brings a surprise: “I’ve drawn a Wandjina!” He is not impressed. “I’ve been telling you all along that Wandjina painted where spirit came into this country.”xliv

Dreaming tracks form another primary attractor that connects other attractors, the sacred places where specific Dreaming events took place. By following these trails, by singing the songs, dancing the dances and telling the stories of manguny (The Dreaming), Aboriginal peoples move within, and form anew, the relationships that are creation. As Kwini man Ambrose Mungala Chalarimeri explains, “When you make Coroboree, it’s got to be like a string, a long line:

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that’s how people form what comes into a story and the story comes with the land itself…You can’t separate the song and dance from the land: they all go together.”xlv

Since colonisation, many of our sacred places have suffered terrible damage and continue to be under threat from mining, development, and environmental degradation. We bear the scars of this damage to our Countries just as we bear the scars of the damage to our peoples; Countries likewise carry their own wounds and ours. The extent of this damage has led some non- Indigenous people to conclude that Aboriginal culture is over, finished. If our ways of living were indeed the fixed behaviours that early European discourse imagined us to have, this might be true. Certainly nothing inflexible could have survived the world changing impact of colonisation, anymore than it could have survived great climatic upheavals, such as ice ages, that Aboriginal nations have experienced. But a static system could never have sustained us in an animate world. It is the very dynamism of our systems and Countries that has allowed us to continue, as culture is not, in Aboriginal philosophy, held only by human beings. As shown in the words of a Yuin man, “The culture is in the trees, in the bush, in the waters, mountains, the animals and the birds. It's all there for the teaching. How can it be gone when all these things, all this oneness, all this creation is still around us?”xlvi

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Figure 2. Skin System

This is another a picture I designed with ink on paper while in the process of completing this research. One of the systems of relationships that comes out of manguny and is embedded in ngurra (Country) is the ‘skin’ system. ‘Skin’ is an English translation for an aspect of the kinship system that runs across much of Australia. Sometimes it is also translated as ‘flesh’. Though these translations can be confusing, it is not about ‘skin’ colour as such, but about the ‘flesh’ of the spirit. I am unsure what we call this system in my own language, but the Yindjibarndi people who are closely related to us call it Galtharra. Across the Pilbara and through the desert we all use the ‘four-point system’ where everything in the universe divides into one of four ‘skin’ categories. Though many of us in the Pilbara share a four-point skin system there are some differences in the arrangements and relationships. For example, though we are closely related to the Yindjibarndi in terms of language and law our arrangement of the four skin groups is slightly different whereby one category uses a different name and is situated in a different position. However, the old people can translate between these permutations to work out the context of a particular relationship.

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At a more basic level the skin systems regulates marriage. Of the four skin groups you can only ever marry one. Only one skin us nuba (right way marriage) to you. In my case, I am Banaka, my mother is Burungu. For me a Garrimurra woman is nuba and the one I must marry according to the system. On a larger scale we can see this system as comprised of all the relationships in the universe. It’s a map of ngurra (Country) and how we are related to everything. Everyone and everything that is my skin Banaga is in a relationship of attraction. We are related; if I travel to a community far away that shares the same system people can work out their relationship to me by how I fit in as a Banaga person. I will have a special relationship with other Banaga people. Balancing this force that draws together is the other side of the system which pushes apart. I will always be on the same side of the system as my mother and my mother’s brothers and sisters. My father will always be on the opposite side of the system. The two sides push against each other, the fathers marry across and the children move down to remain on the mother’s half of the divide. My nuba is both my opposite that pushes against, and an attractor, that pulls me in. I am a Banaga man, she must be a Garrimurra woman. She is on the other side of the divide that balances my side, but she also moves me across the system to marry, thus making relationships across the divide in the system. In fact, the divide is no divide at all, the halves connect, relate and enfold each other - sometimes pushing, sometimes pulling in order to create a balanced movement in the relationships that make up the world.

The animals on the picture relate to each skin group. While all animals will divide into each of these skin groups, these particular four animals are usually seen as representative of the skin groups themselves. They function like a totem animal connected to each skin group. They are:

Burungu (Red Kangaroo) Banaga (Yellow Sand Goanna) Milanga (Grey Kangaroo) Garrimurra (Black Racehorse Goanna)

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You will notice that like marries like, Grey kangaroo marries Red Kangaroo, Yellow Sand Goanna marries Black Race Horse Goanna. But the children, become the other, Kangaroo’s children become Goanna, and Goanna’s children become Kangaroo. So there are connections and transformations that are embedded in the way the system moves.

This system formed part of the inspiration for both of my creative works. The relationship between human beings and animals is a central theme in both The Werekids and Lizzy Lorry, but the way this relationship plays out differs. In The Werekids the children hold the relationship to the animal inside themselves. They are both human and animal. This relationship in my stories, functions similar to totemic relationships with animals. A totem animal is more than just connected to you, it is seen as sharing the same kind of life force. If a kangaroo is my totem, I am in a sense, also a kangaroo. The relationships enfold each other – different and yet the same. The biology may be different, but the life force, the mangkarn (spirit, soul) is the same. The Werekids brings us back to the cycle of manguny (Dreaming) where form is fluid and the blueprint of form was yet to be fixed.

In Lizzy Lorry, Lizzy cannot change her shape into an animal. Her biology is fixed as a human girl. However, she has special relationships with animals, in particular the worms, which allow her access to knowledge and responsibilities she would not otherwise have. The story is about the nature of her relationship to these animals and the way they and the whole world are related to her and her actions. Though these stories adopt different mechanisms to express skin and totem relationships, both are reflected and contained in Aboriginal systems. Both stories also speak strongly about the primary function of Aboriginal knowledge – to care for ngurra (Country), and how to care for ngurra is what is laid out in our mangun (Law).

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Mangun (Law)

At its broadest, mangun (Law) is the way of being that nourishes the relationships that are in the world. In this sense, all actions and interactions in Country that serve the underlying purpose of holding up creation are mangun (Law). Just as there is not a single Aboriginal ngurra (Country), there is not a single Aboriginal legal system, and, like our stories, our Laws are not interchangeable – Nyungar law governs Nyungar Country; Palyku law governs Palyku Country. Our many systems are each grounded in and adapted to Country, and as there is massive variation in Aboriginal environments across the continent, there is also variation in Laws. This is not to say, however, that there are not parallels between systems; our Laws share the ‘difference and sameness’ that characterises Aboriginal nations within and beyond Australia. In the eastern Pilbara region, a semi–arid area, where Palyku Country is located and where resources can be scarce, Aboriginal nations sustained Country by continually journeying through it, but in the fertile lava-flow Country of south-west Victoria, the Maar built villages and cultivated Kooyang [short finned eels].xlvii The Maar write, “[the eel] nourished us for thousands of years. We in turn took care to provide the eel with a safe and healthy habitat, the rivers and wetlands in which it thrived.”xlviii The legal systems of Palyku and Maar are different; but their underlying purpose of holding up relationships is the same.

It was, of course, the Ancestors who gave the Law, showed people how to interact with all aspects of what they had created – as they brought kunmu (night) and jirntu (day), so did they bring sleep that people might rest their bodies; as they brought hunger so did they bring food and teach how to hunt and gather; as they brought death, so did they bring ways of dealing with grief. In the words of Eastern Arrernte Elder Kathleen Kemarre Wallace:

The altyerre [creation] beings brought the earth into being and gave the Arrernte body and spirit so life could have a form. They were really happy to see their creation and the people in it…“We’ll teach them everything,” the altyerre beings said. That’s how our people learnt about how to go hunting, what seeds to gather, how to relate to one another, and how to keep

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their bodies and spirits strong through healing arts and ceremonies.xlix

In an Aboriginal worldview, our processes of being in the world, of grieving, loving, sharing and punishing emerge from the way the Dreaming Ancestors engaged in these activities. Because the Tamiyarra (Ancestors-Heroes) did them – Brolga danced the Kulyukulyu funeral ceremony for the Yanyuwa;l Worrorra women learned to shave and blacken their heads when their husbands died because Black-Headed Python did so for her husband, Rock Quoll;li and the Guruma learned that it was clever Kurrumanthu the goanna who first put a handle on a shield.lii Aboriginal peoples know not to do other things because the Ancestors did them too. The Kukatja story of Crow being burned black by Emu after hoarding food warns against greed;liii the Arrente narrative of the boy killed by the dogs that he continually provoked teaches that even your Elders cannot protect you if you keep putting yourself in danger.liv The many Tamiyarra (Ancestors-Heroes) of the many Aboriginal nations of Australia are brave, clever, generous, kind, and wise; but they are also greedy, jealous, boastful, and sometimes very foolish. They have to be – all these things are in the world, but only because they put them there, and it is through their experiences the Ancestors brought them into being. These different aspects of the Ancestors bring us great comfort, for human beings are not flawless either, but we are not abandoned and left to find our way with only our fallible human perspective to guide us. We have the presence and stories of the Ancestors, and we have our Elders and old people and Countries to communicate, explain, teach and interpret these stories.

Every Aboriginal legal system of Australia acknowledges that it is not the only Aboriginal legal system of Australia. This is not only because every Country has its own system, but because all life in Country has its own mangun (Law). Since European arrival, the capacity of life to follow Law has been badly damaged. Aboriginal people continue to struggle to fulfil responsibilities to Countries that are, under the Anglo-Australian legal system, owned by others: “When we drive though that country…I look at the places where we don’t live anymore. We can only look because it belongs to somebody else. The cattle money seems more important to many of them than us or our culture or our

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sites. It makes me really sad.”lv Other life in Country, too, has had to fight to follow Law. European colonists were quick to attempt the eradication of kankuru (kangaroos), viewing their interference with the soil as being as much of a threat to the pasture of cattle and sheep as the resistance of Aboriginal people. Only it was not kangaroos that endangered the productivity of the earth, but the introduced species that our Countries were never designed to sustain. A Walmajarri man tells of the role kangaroos play in creation:

The station managers reckon that the kangaroos ruin the grass…You know how the kangaroo eats? You can see where a mob of kangaroos have been eating, because they dig for the roots. They get the sweet stuff at the bottom, they don’t go for the top. That’s why the managers don’t want them in this country. Thy reckon they’re ruining the grass that should be for the cattle…But Aboriginal people will tell you that kangaroos are good for the country. When they dig those holes to feed on the roots, they are helping the grass to grow because they bury the grass seeds.lvi

In an Aboriginal worldview holding up creation requires that every system in Country allows every other system in Country to function as it should according to its Law. Kangaroos can, under certain conditions, be killed and eaten. But to kill kangaroos for a purpose other than eating them; to waste any part of the flesh; hunt them to extinction; or cage them and prevent them from performing their role in looking after the land – these are not the ways of sustaining Country or self. As Lancel Williams of the Nyungar people puts it, “we allowed the animals as much chance to get away as we had to get them ourselves. We had to respect the land and the bush as it was, to be able to get the reward from it.”lvii

The legal systems of all the life in Country govern the way the moving parts of the system operate. When living lawfully, all shapes of life inherently seek equilibrium with each other - kankuru (kangaroo) bounds across the plain with soft feet that touch the land lightly; deep rooted minipuku (Spinifex) grass holds desert sands in place; humans burn the Country to regenerate life. This is not to imply a romanticised ‘Eden’ where, in the absence of human beings, nature exerts a harmonious state as some kind of default condition. The earth has gone through many great changes in Australia, from ice ages, floods, the

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drying up of great inland lakes and the decline of the mega fauna. In all this time Aboriginal peoples have been present on the continent practicing their law and managing their environments. Balance, like most concepts in an Aboriginal worldview is a process. Cycles of creation and destruction are a part of processes of balance. Life, in an Aboriginal worldview, inherently seeks equilibrium, but it is never achieved as a fixed state or singular ideal. Nor are the actors of the system enslaved to behave in ways that can only follow one possibility. Just as there are right actions there are also wrong actions, but life has the ability to choose which action they take. In an Aboriginal worldview, most forms of life are seen as being much better at following their law and choosing right actions than human beings are.

The failure of one actor in the system, however, has consequences that ripple out to cause imbalances across all of the system. If the humans fail to burn the Country, minipuku (Spinifex) becomes too dominant, crowding out shorter- lived plants. If kangaroo numbers are very high, the Country cannot support them; if they are very low, humans lose a food source, and the plant seeds pressed into the ground by kangaroo’s soft feet or turned over by their inquisitive noses, fail to germinate. All Countries are different, but in Aboriginal philosophy every healthy Country has something in common – they are balanced; and it is mangun (Law) that is the balance-keeper. Since everything moves all the time, relationships are always subject to imbalances, either by shifting too far away from each other and becoming increasingly disconnected, or by moving too close for too long, aligning in a fixed equilibrium which has the same destructive effect. The Law provides mechanisms to ensure either that relationships do not shift into these positions, or that, if they do, they can be brought back into their proper place.

To sustain balance within cycles of relationships that are themselves constantly moving is no easy thing. This is why Aboriginal Laws set out categories of relationships that reflect, and create, the greater equilibrium of the whole. This aspect of Aboriginal legal structures is sometimes referred to as Kinship Systems; family networks that stretch across Country and between Countries. At the base of these networks are pairs of relationships that form

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points of balance. Among the Yolgnu, everything that exists belongs to one of two groups, within which there are then further separations:

Every person is a family is either Yirritja or Dhuwa, either one or the other. Every animal, every plant, everything in the sea and in the land, event he wind, sky, cloud, sun. Sun is Dhuwa, moon is Yirritja. The red reflection of sunset is Yirritja. Sunrise is Dhuwa. Us, stars, the Milky Way, it’s all got stories, it’s all either Dhuwa or Yirritja.lviii

There is great variation in kin systems across Australia. In some places there is only a two-part division; in others there are additional subdivisions into what are commonly called ‘skin’ groups. What is universal, however, is that networks extend beyond human beings to connect all life in Country:

The crow he got skin. Every one bird – he got skin…and whatever bush tucker – he got skin. Any animal – he got skin. That from Dreamtime, from Tjukurrpa. Any bush tucker any bird…he got skin…whatever little bird, they got different skin. Same skin that way, like we…Any thing, any bush tucker, any animal, any bird…they got skin…You got skin…you got country!lix

Connections between human and non-human life, sometimes described as totemic, are an inherent part of Aboriginal family networks. We are all related, and to uphold balance only between life in human shapes would greatly upset the equilibrium of the whole. Nor is shape necessarily a good indicator of who someone is on the inside. In the words of four Guruma Elders, discussing what it means for a person to have a kangaroo maarlyi [totem], “If a person was a kangaroo, that means he was a kangaroo before, and he’ll be a kangaroo again. Like he’s got the kangaroo’s spirit, and he’s supposed to look after the kangaroos, make sure they’re not killing too many.”lx Respect for other shapes of life is a feature common to all the Aboriginal legal systems of Australia, but this respect is not generally displayed by a blanket refusal of all humans to eat the flesh of animals, or indeed of plants, which also have spirit and Law. It is shown in a care for the greater balance within and between all things, and it is continually reinforced by connections that place boundaries on what individuals can consume, and that give a sense of place within broader cycles of creation. A Gar-mariagal man tells of a childhood encounter with

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someone who refused to eat wallaby meat:

As we ate, we were puzzled as to why the old man did not share some of the juicy meat. To our shock, he told us that he was a wallaby man and we were eating his brother. He could not eat the skin of his own people. He told us to eat only what we needed, do not waste it and never complain that it was too tough, too much or not enough. ‘Respect the flesh, for one day you could be eating me!”lxi

Within these networks of connections, is the relationship, and not the species or the form of life, that open pathways of communication and define the borders of what interactions are possible. Iris Burgoyne tells of how her people, the Mirning, could speak with their totem the whales; Doug Wilson of the Ngarrindjeri recalls his grandmother talking with musk ducks, “my grandmother would be talking to him [the duck], just like another human being, and down he’d go and swim. She’d talk to him in language and ask him questions, just like chatting to a person.”lxii Of course, not everyone can speak to whales and musk ducks – or to trees or fire or rocks – anymore than all human beings can easily communicate with each other. No one, human or otherwise, responds to someone who is a walinu (stranger) in the same way that they do to someone who is family. Indeed, just as humans are wary of strangers, life in Country can react badly when those from elsewhere approach. There is an old Ngarla song that tells of a Ngarla man witnessing just such an adverse reaction – flooding – when entering the Country of another people:

The Marble Bar pool is releasing the wind for us, the Water Snake is poised to let the water go.

All the gullies are overflowing, backing up, bank to bank because of me – a stranger! - he doesn’t want to recognize me.lxiii

To enter someone’s country uninvited is to risk an immediate response as Country pushes against the anomalous presence. Colonisation has resulted in a loss of control of most of our Countries, leaving Aboriginal people to try to communicate the dangers of blundering through relationships to those who

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can inexplicably only see an inanimate space: “we told all these gardia [white people] for a National Park or mineral people, ‘It’s a bit of a secret ground there, don’t go in there, it’s dangerous.’ We know that, we’ve got that from old people, all the way down from family to family, from the first beginning…But gardia won’t believe us.”lxiv

Figure 3. Cycles of Balance

In this ink on paper design the circles represent the cycles of balance as the Law moves. It is always important to remember that the Law moves. We find Law in the action and interaction in ngurra, it is dynamic, ongoing, the glue that holds the pattern of life together. We participate in the creation and recreation of the world through our actions and the things we make and do. This understanding of law and the processes by which it operates are reflected in both The Werekids and Lizzy Lorry. In both stories the balance is upset by the actions of people who take wrong decisions. They disturb the harmony of relationships and action needs to be taken by the main characters to place the system back into alignment. In The Werekids it is the capture and placement of werechildren in a zoo type facility. Everything in the world has a Law, and

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everything must be free to follow its Law. We can see this distinction in the intensive farming of some animals as food sources in today’s world. Some animals are placed in boxes and darkness and fed a special diet only to be later killed for food. They never get to walk or run or see the light of day. While Aboriginal people have no problem with hunting and killing animals to sustain ourselves, a practice that prevents an animal from being in the world in the way it was created to be would be unlawful and morally wrong. How can that animal practice its Law if it is prevented from doing so? And if that animal is not given the opportunity to practice its Law then other relationships will begin to deteriorate and suffer. Thus, the use of the zoo type facility and the capturing of werechildren serves as a metaphor for the problematic nature of the way we treat animals today.

In Lizzy Lorry we see this practice of the Law of animals brought to life. It is under the agency of the animals, the worms in particular, that action is taken to keep the world in balance. The animals have their own agency, voice and ability to practice Law. It is they who direct Lizzy, who guide her and teach her and share their Law with her in saving the earth. But more importantly, they need Lizzy’s help as the disturbance has been caused by human hands. There are some things the Law of animals cannot fix, hence it is our responsibility as human beings to fix in practicing our Law. So we see in Lizzy the interconnection between the Law of different species playing, everything has Law, but all Law is about maintaining the balance of the world. While Law is diverse, it is always interrelated, the Werekids and their animal forms, the Worms and Lizzy Lorry – interrelated and interdependent.

Interacting with Ngurra, Manguny and Mangun (Country, Dreaming, Law)

The arrival of Europeans has forced many accommodations – Aboriginal people are often physically, though not spiritually, kept out of Country; our languages are under severe threat; and not every small detail of every kin system is now known. But our Countries still live, and while many of our specific practices have changed, the purpose of the practice, and the system

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that informs that purpose, remains. And of course, humans are not, and never were, the only holders of knowledge; our Countries and all shapes of life within them retain power and understanding, and the ability to communicate these understandings to us. With those who are very connected to another shape of life, like Doug Wilson’s grandmother, it can be in the form of a conversation; on other occasions it will require more interpretation. A dog barking at something a human cannot see; a bird tapping at the window; the wind through the leaves; all these things are common communications experienced by everyone, but interpreted differently by Aboriginal peoples. Dogs generally guard and sound the alert; birds often tell of the passing of a loved one; the wind can be the voices of our old people speaking to us. The meaning of any specific communication depends entirely on context – it is not something that can be determined in the abstract and as Indigenous peoples everywhere know, it can sometimes be difficult to work out the meaning of a message. This is why Indigenous nations across the globe have processes of interpretation that generally involve consultation with those skilled in such matters – Elders, or the Ancestors themselves. But a broader understanding of the living nature of all things means that while an Indigenous person might not always know the meaning of a communication, we do know that a communication has been made. As Vine Deloria of the Lakota Sioux puts it, “we may misunderstand, but we do not misexperience.”lxv

Central to experiencing – and not misexperiencing – the world is an understanding of the place of the parts in the whole, and the presence of the whole in all the parts. To some extent, for example, it is possible to separate Dreaming, Country and Law by saying that the Dreaming creates a pattern different to what was here before, Country expresses that pattern, and Law governs the movements of the parts within Country. But at another level, these distinctions become meaningless – which is why, in many Aboriginal languages, the word for two or three of these primary attractors is the same. Dreaming, Country and Law are all creation; they all form the pattern of life that repeats endlessly through every tiny molecule of existence. A Yanyuwa Elder, discussing songs that tell the Dreaming stories writes, “These songs are like maps, they tell us about the country, they are maps which we carry in our

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heads.”lxvi These ‘maps in the head’ speak of the journeys of the Ancestors; the making of Country; of the pattern of and in all things. They are maps of life that provide Aboriginal people with what might be thought of as the original global positioning system – one that, in telling you where you are, tells you who you are. The best and truest expression of human beings is in a healthy Country; when the network of relationships that is Country is harmed, humans literally feel it in their own bodies. Our Countries are our centres; in is in their happiness, health and balance that we find our own. In the words of Gumilaroi man Bob Morgan, “My culture and worldview are centred in Gumilaroi land and its people. This is who I am and will always be. I am my country.”lxvii The systems of the many Aboriginal Countries of Australia are replete with a range of processes for interacting with the world in a way that sustains the world, and I turn to consider these processes now.

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Chapter 4: Being in the World: Processes to Uphold a Holistic Reality

There are particular points in Country – created, of course, by the Tamiyarra (Ancestor-Heroes), where human beings can increase the proliferation of particular animal or plant species, or affect other elements in Country such as wind, water, and the sun. In the Pilbara region, where Palyku Country is located, these places are often referred to as thalu sites. They are powerful and must be approached with great caution – a Guruma Elder tells of accidentally activating an emu thalu while intending only to give a demonstration of its purpose:

I went to show Scott, that’s a white bloke: ‘That’s what you supposed to do.’ And I forgotten that I’m making the thalu now! I didn’t know I’m doing it – I not thinking I’m doing it. ‘This what you supposed to do.’ I got a stick, took a copy of how I do it: ‘Bah, bah, bah.’ Plenty emu come up this year!...We’ll have bloody emu farm here before long, if I keep on thalu, you know!lxviii

Those who have the right relationship with Country, who know the language to speak and the ceremony to be performed to activate a thalu, are able to use them to balance Country. Those who have no knowledge of these places, who blunder through Country ignorant of relationships, can cause great imbalance. Since the arrival of Europeans, many of these places have been disturbed; and we are all witness to the results:

In Rocklea, Yinawangka country, there was a gum thalu there…When they built the [pastoral] station, they built a well, and put all the rocks from the thalu around the well…And they had a sun thalu too, but they graded that as well – that must be why the sun’s getting hotter and hotter now.lxix

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In ngurra, humans can directly influence an outcome through interaction with particular sites. What is more, at a larger level, creation itself – the manifestation of a world out of a potential – is always ongoing. Aboriginal processes that ‘hold up’ the Dreaming are themselves the Dreaming, allowing humans to move within, and continually realize, the possibility of creation. This is not to say that it is easy to enter manguny (The Dreaming) – it is, after all, a primary attractor, something which influences more than it is influenced. But, with the right interaction, it is possible. As Yuin man Randall Mumbulla tells, speaking of performing dances, “It takes you to a different place. You can go back to your ancestors, to reconnect with them. They're the ones that give you the energy to do things. You're going into that Dreaming.”lxx

In an Aboriginal worldview humans exist within a constantly moving and changing set of relationships that contains many realities and all possibilities. However, our comprehension of this world is limited by our position within the network of relationships. At the heart of Aboriginal systems are processes for interacting with the world – including the many worlds within it. For example, in Aboriginal philosophy people with knowledge and power can see inside, and move through, that which is seemingly solid. Alice Bilari Smith of the Banyjima people tells of her husband, a powerful Guruma healer, helping a woman who was continually running for no apparent reason:

And my husband come…He can see what’s going on in her head, he see it right through like x-ray, and he reckon it’s just like a fan doing it in her head, inside, and that’s why she running around. And he take that thing out and this lady is good then, nothing wrong with her.lxxi

Writing, that act of creating, is one example of a process by which we interact with the world. We can make action with our words because the story is more than a story, it has a life and an agency of its own. The Werekids and Lizzy Lorry are more than simple tales with moral meanings. They are an interface that goes out into the world and effects relationships, from everything that affects the author to the reader and the relationships they connect to, through to all the other relationships that make up the web of life.

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Positional Relativity

Human knowledge is inevitably limited by our position in the network of relationships, even our own viewpoint changes as we move through cycles of being in Country. The shifts that bring the most profound changes in perspective – birth and death – are themselves both ending and beginnings, transformative processes that mark the border between states of existence. Before Aboriginal people are born, we live as spirit children who inhabit Country. Our experiences in this state are surely very different to what we experience once incorporated into a physical body. As an Adnyamathanha Yura man writes:

[before birth] we are always on the look out for pleasant-faced and kindly Ngami [mothers] and whilst we are looking for such Ngami we spend our days seeking food from the gum blossoms and at night we fall asleep under the loose bark of tree trunks, and this goes on until we find a suitable Ngami and are born physically into Yarta (Land, World).lxxii

Our viewpoint would also be radically different after we leave our bodies behind and go back to Country, perhaps to be born into a body again – although not necessarily a human one. These many points of view that make up reality mean that humans must be extremely cautious in ever concluding that something has no order or purpose. That which appears mysterious or chaotic to us may well make perfect sense to someone viewing the same phenomenon from a different position. While writing this dissertation I flew to the city of Adelaide on a plane. As the plane rose high above the ground, I looked out the window and saw the contours of the land beneath us, hills and valleys and rivers, flowing and meeting and parting again. Then I passed into clouds, and existed for a while in what appeared to be grey murkiness. But when I rose out of it, I again saw the earth, this time in the clouds that spread out like a carpet and formed a white imprint of the land beneath. I saw no order in the clouds while I was within them, for I was in the wrong position to do so, but that did not mean that no order existed. It reminded me of something a Ngarinyin Elder once said, “Everything has two witnesses, one on

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earth and one in the sky…Everything is represented in the ground and in the sky. You can’t get away from it, because all is one, and we’re in it.”lxxiii

We can see this process reflected in The Werekids and Lizzy Lorry. While both are human in the position they occupy in the web of life, they do have means of extending their vision slightly beyond their location. In The Werekids this is done by the dual existence the werekids occupy as both humans and animals. They connect to both and thus gain a broader perspective on the world than they otherwise would have access to. In Lizzy Lorry a similar principle plays out. Through her connections with the worms she shares a larger worldview, beyond what she might otherwise normally expect as a human being. In Aboriginal systems totemic relationships serve this purpose, we share a special connection to particular things in ngurra, which allows us to share in the law and knowledge of other species. While we remain limited, our position dictated by biological form, we can still make small movements in expanding our perception of other possibilities through these kinds of relationships. Fundamental shifts however, must await the moments of great transformation, life and death in which our spirit might choose to return to the world, not as a human, but as a different species, allowing us to shift fundamentally the position we occupy in the next cycle.

To see is not to see

We all contain the pattern of creation, and if we move lawfully through relationships, we all create this pattern in every interaction we make. In Aboriginal worldviews it is therefore possible to be the whole world, but it is not possible to see or know the whole world. This must be so, not only because all life has its own understanding informed by its own relative location, but because the act of looking at something is also the act of not looking at something else. To see is not to see, to know is not to know. In Aboriginal philosophy even a series of seeings could not lead you to theoretically ‘see’ or know everything because there is no fixed state to capture through observation. Everything is in motion and changing in relation to other

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relationships. The world changes when we don’t look at it and it also changes when we do, for in Aboriginal perspectives the observer is always located in a participatory relationship to everything they observe. This is not to imply Aboriginal systems cannot ‘build up’ knowledge, by translating a series of observations into sets of data from which further conclusions can be generated. Such a process is arguably an innate part of every human knowledge system. The difference lies, once again, in the underlying drivers that shape the system. Logical observations about the world in Aboriginal systems unfold from a set of premises which include:

• Everything is alive and communicates • Everything has a Law and place in the world • Humans are a small part of a larger, complex whole

Derived from these premises is the understanding of an animate and interactive world where life communicates constantly; where what we cannot see is usually more powerful and more important than what we can. There is an understanding that we are moved by the larger and smaller movements of life around us, the Ancestors in the stars, the rise and fall of tides, the migration of animals both small and large and these movements are all tied to the energies in the sacred places, in rock arrangements and images, in special trees, in rock pools, in story and song. We are moved by all the relationships of life as they communicate with one another, but in an Aboriginal perspective often this occurs in ways we cannot see, or cannot quantitatively measure.

In operating from this perspective Aboriginal systems do not divide the seen and unseen into two separate and unrelated categories. Rather, they locate these elements inside one another. The unseen is identified and located in what we can see, “The [creation] Snake is deceiving. When she shows herself as a rainbow, only little rain is coming. When we don’t see her, then the big rain comes.”lxxiv We cannot know all the Law of the different forms of life in the world, but we have an awareness that it exists, that they possess Law and follow it, that they play important roles in the world. In Aboriginal perspectives we know when we see large events such as cyclones or thunderstorms or

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floods that these are driven by the movement of spiritual forces that relate to the Dreaming. We might not be gifted enough to see the spirit of the Lightning man dancing the storm across our Countries, (though it is understood some humans have this gift), but we can see his spirit manifest in the lightning in the same way that we can see the Rainbow serpent in the rainbow. In Aboriginal systems the art of seeing or of having vision requires mastering the difficult trick of looking ngunla (somewhere, not visible) with your mind. It requires knowing; everything we can see and interact with is only a small manifestation of that being; that all relationships connect back to the Dreaming; and that everything we interact and observe is in communication with us. As Nyungar women Hazel Brown tells:

There was a lot of people in our community…that knew the bush, that you learned a lot from. And most of them are willing to talk, you know, and tell you things. They’re still there, you know, at the old places. Sometime I feel ’em, and I turn around expecting to see someone coming over the hill, coming out of the smoke.lxxv

Many Aboriginal nations tell of an emu in the night sky – a shape formed not by stars, but by a shadow in the darkness between them.lxxvi The Emu cannot be seen from a city because the lights wash out the shadow, concealing the Emu. It is not the parapara (light) that lets us see mungawarrawarra (in the dark), it is darkness, rather than light, that reveals. In the same way, some Aboriginal ceremonies use smoke to expose things that can’t immediately be perceived. This can include strong negative emotions or an unknown spiritual presence; something which, if not resolved or reckoned with, may result in ill effects. Smoke, like water, creeps in through all tiny gaps and crevices, and flows around objects. In this way, smoke cleans rather than sullies, and reveals rather than obscures. Nyulnyul woman Magdalene Williams tells that the Milky Way itself, the galaxy that contains creation, was formed of smoke.lxxvii That smoke came from a fire where the belongings of Wirnin the emu were burned after her death; as it spread out to form the Milky Way it travelled around the shape of Wirnin, who had been carried to the heavens by her friends. Absence and presence enfold each other; and there is as much or more meaning in the unseen than the seen – the Snake without the rainbow; the Spirit without the body; and the Emu in the sky.

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This process served as the inspiration for the transformative powers of the werekids. Inside the human children exist animals that can be brought out as their forms shift. And when they are animal, inside exists a human child. We cannot see the form that dwells within with only our naked eye, it is not visible to our awareness, and yet these two forms contain one another each forming a necessary and interrelated part of the whole. Similarly, in Lizzy Lorry, before she develops her relationship with the worms she can perceive the earth, but not what is underneath it. She lacks the awareness of being able to see the world of the worms and the role they play in the caverns under the world. Only when she is incorporated into that world through her special relationship with the worms is she able to perceive a reality that always lay there.

Navigating Life

Performing the simplest action in space is to move through, and be in a relationship with, sentient beings. The earth beneath our feet, the air around us, the stars above – everything lives, everything influences and is influenced by us, and every tiny movement connects to larger cycles of creation. The only reason humans can move at all is because our brains send electrical impulses, a force tied to Ancestor beings we know as Lightning Men. We do not navigate space, we navigate life – or perhaps it might be more correct to say that life navigates us. The world was made in movement, and it is through movement that the world continues. The web of relationships that is the world constantly interacts, sending and receiving ‘pulses’ that travel across relationships, balancing alignments and triggering new ones. Since all relationships are interconnected, a shift in any part affects all parts, and these pulses move through a multiplicity of cycles, simultaneously bouncing in an infinite number of directions across infinite dimensions. This means that, at a micro level, the ‘balance point’ of a set of paired relationships in the kinship system does not have to be in the centre of the two. It can tip towards one side or the other, depending on other movements in the larger system. In other words, in order to achieve equilibrium, things do not have to be paid

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‘back’ – they can be paid forward, up, down or sideways. These constant exchanges are the dialogue of the world, the universal language understood by all life.

I am not sure if there are any Aboriginal stories that tell of galaxies outside yintirri (Milky Way), so perhaps this is as far as the continual shifting relationships that are the pattern of creation reach. Within this, however, these interactions stretch out to touch everything and everywhere. Time, in a linear sense, is largely irrelevant. There is nothing to prohibit a connection with the Tamiyarra (Ancestor-Heroes) themselves; with the old people who have passed over long before us; or even with a form of life that is ‘extinct’ in the sense of no longer having a body on the physical plane. Since all life goes back into Country and Country holds the blueprint of all life, all that was/is/will be has a place in the network, and can influence and be influenced. The old people can be particularly active, involving themselves in the actions of younger generations and engaging in this dialogue of negotiation and exchange in much the same way as they did when they had physical bodies.

Like time, distance – in the sense of a fixed amount of space – is also irrelevant. The measure of how near or far we are to something else is in the interaction between us; the process by which we draw together or move apart. We can enter through the manguny (Dreaming) in dance and ceremony; we can touch the Tamiyarra (Ancestor-Heroes) in their images in the Country; we can unfold all creation from any part of creation. Since everything is animate, there is, of course, no guarantee that whatever we are trying to reach will respond to us – it may shift away, unimpressed by our attempts to make contact. The ancient dances, ceremonies, and songs of our peoples, the languages of Country, provide us with the tools to call out in a language that life can understand. But there is no guarantee of the response.

Just as we can reach out through time and space to touch Country, so can Country reach out to us, sometimes drawing relationships to them in unexpected ways. On the coast of Western Australia in Fremantle, there is an old flourmill that features the image of a red dingo. The mill is heritage listed

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due to its non-Indigenous heritage values, including the iconic nature of the dingo image; as the West Australian Heritage Council notes, “the place has been commonly referred to as ‘Dingo Flour Mill’ for many years, showing the impact of the symbol…”lxxviii But underneath this ‘impact’ is another influence of a far more ancient kind. Joan Winch of the Nyungar and Martujarra people tells how the site on which the mill is built is a Dingo Dreaming track.lxxix She writes also of a set of three significant dreams, powerful communications from Country. In the first dream, she saw the mill; in the second, she walked from the mill across Country; and this is what she tells of the third:

I was hiding on the riverbank behind some trees watching these little boats going up the river. A huge V-formation of black swans was flying in front of them. As I watched, a terrible feeling of doom came into my heart and I said to myself, ‘This is the beginning of the end.’ When I looked down, I saw that my feet were not mine; they were big chunky ones. I think I was in someone else’s body and I was seeing what they saw and feeling that same feeling of doom in my heart, because of what the coming of the first white people would mean to my people.lxxx

To an uninformed observer, the only heritage at the site of the ‘Great Southern Roller Flour Mills’ is the mill itself. But surrounding it is a living Country that influences action; that holds memory and experience; that sustains and renews and communicates with its people. As Joan Winch tells, “these three dreams came to me to link me back up to the country I belonged to and to help me understand my cultural inheritance better.”lxxxi In an Aboriginal worldview there are many sources of conscious motion, we can see the Sun travel across the sky from the Earth, but we do not cause its journey; what we are really witnessing is our own motion, the rotation of our planet upon its axis.

Our Countries – these ever shifting, ever changing, ever sustaining sets of relationships that were thought to be mere physical spaces by European colonisers – hold power, consciousness and knowledge. They are the centres around which other relationships orbit; the contexts through which understanding can be gained of a world in constant motion. There is nothing that ever truly passes beyond Country; it holds all life and is part of all life. This is one of the reasons why Aboriginal systems are so resilient – even if an

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Aboriginal person was stripped of the conscious awareness of who they were, they’d still have the pattern of Country sleeping within them, and from that pattern, an entire world can be unfolded. In this sense nothing is ever lost.

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Chapter 5: Respecting the World - Sustaining a Holistic Reality

Physicist David Peat, contemplating differences in worldviews while visiting the Blood people during their Sun Dance, wrote of some of the questions posed to him by Western friends and acquaintances who were having difficulties in accepting Indigenous realities, “[h]ow can a ceremony held at a medicine wheel have any effect on the earth’s rotation around the sun? How could a dance in the middle of a circle have anything to do with the harmony of the cosmos?”lxxxii In an Australian context, it might well be asked – as indeed we have been asked – do Aboriginal people really believe that if they don’t look after a rock somewhere, or perform dances, or sing some song about sisters in the sky, the stars will stop shining? Indigenous peoples worldwide have long known that for life to keep shifting and aligning as it should, forming and reforming the pattern of creation, then human beings must play their part in sustaining it through song, dance, ceremony, and a myriad of other actions and interactions that uphold life. As Leroy Little Bear of the Blood Tribe of the Blackfoot people writes:

…creation is a continuous process but certain regularities that are foundational to our continuing existence must be maintained and renewed. If these foundational patterns are not maintained and renewed, we will go the way of the dinosaurs. We will be consumed by the constant flux.lxxxiii

Since life is extraordinarily resilient, the destruction of creation cannot happen quickly, but it can be done, and it is being done. The Secretary-General of the United Nations has recently warned that we are nearing potential ‘tipping points’ that, once breached, will catastrophically reduce the capacity of ecosystems to sustain life.lxxxiv In other words, the world is about to irrevocably lose its balance. Indigenous peoples know of the world ending potential of

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such events, because we have experienced it. The many Aboriginal Countries of Australia – and Indigenous nations around the globe – have all suffered our own Armageddon. Joan Winch dreamed of it, of the terrible feeling of doom as she watched the ships sail in to Nyungar country and said to herself – ‘this is the beginning of the end’.

In modern science fiction movies, where great disasters are played out across big movie screens for maximum thrills, there is always someone who knows what is to come, a voice of warning that goes unheeded. Aboriginal peoples had such warnings too: “our maldawuli [creative Ancestor] told us, long, long ago, to ‘beware of ants’. White men must be the ants he spoke of, for they have eaten away all my people, my herbs, my game, and even my sandhills.”lxxxv But how could anyone have prepared for, or even contemplated, catastrophe on such a scale? Judy Atkinson, of the Jiman and Bundjalung people, has this to say about the devastating impacts of colonial violence:

The arrival of the prison hulks at Sydney Cove in 1788 set in motion a series of disasters, one precipitating another, to propagate trauma on trauma on trauma. Aboriginal peoples did not abandon their ways. They resisted. But some of the man- made disasters perpetrated by those who came to the country in 1788 and thereafter were outside the comprehension, the previous experience, of Aboriginal peoples. In many instances, resistance was not sufficient for survival…The world was suddenly fragmented and shattered. It became a world that no longer made sense. For people who had lived in a known world of meaningful relationships and relating at deep levels of community, this disaster would have been incomprehensible.

Great storms; floods; droughts – all these things could be understood; could be managed; could even be ameliorated or averted through interactions with Country. But the Europeans were inexplicable; they obeyed no Laws as Aboriginal people understood them; they did not appear to understand or even acknowledge what was entirely self-evident – that Country could only be owned by those who cared for it. Nunga Lawyer Irene Watson writes, in the context of the coming of the Europeans, “I have called the enemy of Aboriginal law, or chaos the muldarbi.”lxxxvi This chaos enveloped all life in Country, and

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all life cried out, sending out a distress call that still echoes through creation. Judy Atkinson tells of waking from a dream, a communication from her great- grandmother, in which she had been one of many Aboriginal women running from the guns of white men:

My heart was beating so fast I felt I actually had been running and I felt half mad with the fear of what I had been through…At one stage, for a brief instant, I felt myself swaying in the exhausted run of a mother elephant with a calf at her flank, running from the guns of hunters. At another time I felt for an instant the pounding heart of a whale churning through the ocean with a calf at her side, fleeing from the harpoons. I kept slipping from human to animal as if we were one in the terror of our flight. This was the first time I began to understand the terror of a massacre.lxxxvii

Those who survived the chaos of colonization were left shocked, bewildered, struggling to find their bearings in the aftermath of terrible and inexplicable disaster. The very things that would have comforted us; healed us; brought us back to ourselves – family and Country – were being taken away. A member of the Stolen Generations, one of the thousands of Aboriginal children who were forcibly removed from their families and interned in institutions, tells of the effects of his experience, “It’s like you’re the first human being at times....you’ve just come out of nowhere; there you are....how do you know where you’re going if you don’t know where you’ve come from?”lxxxviii

The many brutalities of colonization left peoples and Countries bruised, scarred, and traumatised at individual and collective levels in ways we are only just beginning to understand.lxxxix But against all odds, in defiance of sometimes explicit genocide intent, and despite the violence that decimated human, animal and plant populations, Indigenous peoples survived. Our peoples and our Countries lived through the end of the world, but we did not end. And this gives us hope that humans, as a species, can survive the great troubles that now face us. Humanity, too, has been warned – the question is, what are we going to do about it? Will we yikarukatuyi (become scarce) as the environments that support us destruct? Or will we learn how to yinku thuna (to put right). The changes necessary to restore the balance of creation, cannot be made by applying the kind of thinking that brought these troubles upon humanity in the first place. Any perspective that does not

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recognise or value connections will always struggle to maintain them. A few years ago I heard a story about how scientists had ‘discovered’, and killed, the worlds oldest clam. Its age had been determined by counting growth lines on its shell in much the same way, I suppose, that it is possible to count the rings on a slaughtered tree. A news article reported that when the four hundred year old clam was young, a philosopher named Giordano Bruno was burnt at the stake for saying that the Earth orbited the sun.xc It struck me as ironic that humanity had come to grasp that the sun did not circle the Earth, but had failed to understand what that meant. Humanity is not the centre of creation. What does counting rings on clams or trees reveal, except that something ancient and knowledgeable is dead? That same report said that the study of long-lived clams might yield valuable information about the ageing process, and it occurred to me that, in Aboriginal systems, to conduct research in this way would be unlawful. Since the well being of human beings is tied to the well being of everything else, human longevity could not be increased through a process that showed so little respect for other life. This is not to say that it is not possible for scientific methods to extend the length and even the quality of physical existence – they quite possibly can. But if it is done at the cost of damaging one of the threads in the pattern that makes us human in the first place, then that life, if it continued, would not be as we know it now. As Kathleen Kemarre Wallace comments, “Without the spirit the body is just a shell.”xci

For many Indigenous peoples, the global threats to life as we know it are not a new phenomenon but part of an ongoing continuum of destruction caused by a failure to value the connections that are the world. As Chickasaw poet and author Linda Hogan writes:

Herons are fragile birds, and it is not unusual for them to die of stress. I think of them when hearing that Hmong men, forced to leave their country and rootless in America, die of no apparent cause while they are sleeping. I understand the loss that leads to despair and death. It has happened to us and is happening to land, the breaking of the heart of creation…Here is a lesson: what happens to people and what happens to land is the same thing.xcii

Judy Atkinson, in her dream of a massacre, dreamt also of how such terrible pain could be healed, of a cleansing rain that fell upon women stricken with

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grief and of a dance of regeneration. She says, “I began to think about the power of people sitting together to tell their stories, and the use of dance and ceremony in healing.”xciii Irene Watson tells of possibility of defeating the chaos of the muldarbi:

[The] muldarbi came to our old people in the form of small-pox, poisoned water-holes, rape, murder, and other forms which have violated the laws of the land, the laws of our old people. The muldarbi is a killer of law, land and people…the Aboriginal challenge of the muldarbi has existed since Kaldowinyeri [creation]. The old people in their adherence and practice of the law, and the singing up of law and country, have ensured balance against the influences and impact of the muldarbi. A balance that is held by the old people through their love of law and land. The respect for law and country, caring and sharing, are strong medicines for dissolving the power of muldarbi.xciv

This is not to say that non-Indigenous people can simply appropriate Aboriginal systems and knowledge; this has been done before, it is being done now, and it in no way sustains the world. On the contrary, like all dispossessions, it creates a further imbalance that must itself be addressed. Irene Watson has written of the need for the newcomers to Aboriginal Countries to return to their own culture and (spiritually, if not physically) their own original nguurrara (homeland), to become ‘Indigenous’ in the context of their own traditions, not ours.xcv There are holistic ways of thinking within all knowledge disciplines in the West, and all cultures at one time had that deep sense of connectivity that characterizes Indigenous ways of being. We think it is possible, too, for Indigenous and non-Indigenous people to work together, if it is done in a way that empowers rather than dispossesses. For this to happen, however, there must be a dialogue based on respect – respect for Indigenous systems as systems, and respect for the boundaries of those systems. Not all can be known, and it is not possible for non-Indigenous people to enter into the same relationships with Country as Indigenous people – they occupy a different position in the system. But this is not to say that there can be no relationship at all. When moving from their own knowledge base and their own identity instead of trying to appropriate ours, there are many opportunities for positive exchange. One of the great opportunities we have in moving forward with these positive exchanges is in the area of creative

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writing. It is arguable that creative processes are at the heart of what it means to be human and that in expressing ourselves creatively we forge many opportunities to relate to one another on a deeply human level. Children and young adult writing in particular allows us to return, at least in spirit, to the resilient and flexible mind of the child, where any potential can be made manifest.

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ENDNOTES iI want to acknowledge that I am no expert in my languages and that when using Aboriginal words mixed with English there is always a loss of context. Any language errors are my own. ii Refers to the two Palyku ancestor heroes Tamiarra or ‘Gentlemen’. In this paper I use Tamiyarra as a broad term for Ancestor Heroes. iiiAccording to the Food and Agriculture Organisation of the United Nations, an estimated 1.02 billion people are undernourished worldwide. See Food and Agriculture Organisation of the United Nations (FAO), 2009, The State of Food Insecurity in the World, p 1, available at: http://www.fao.org/docrep/012/i0876e/i0876e00.htm [accessed 19 June 2010]. iv See the website of the United Nations Development Fund for Women at: http://www.unifem.org/gender_issues/violence_against_women/facts_figures.p hp [accessed 19 June 2010]. v UNICEF, The State of the World’s Children: Special Edition, 2009, available at http://www.unicef.org/rightsite/sowc/ [accessed 19 June 2010] vi The Union of Concerned Scientists issued a ‘Warning to Humanity’ in 1992, which was endorsed by more than 1600 signatories from 70 countries, including the majority of the world’s Nobel laureates in the Sciences. The text of the warning is available at http://www.ucsusa.org/about/1992-world- scientists.html [accessed at 19 June 2010]. vii The Jirrbal people’s story of water can be found in Maise Yarrcalia Barlow (author) and Michael Boiyool Anning (illustrator), Jirrbal Rainforest Dreaming Stories, Magabala Books, Broome, 2001 viii The Gai-mariagal people’s stories of Barnoo and of the Willy Wagtail can be found in Dennis Foley, Repossession of Our Spirit: traditional owners of northern Sydney, Aboriginal History Incorporated, Canberra, 2001, pp 60 – 61 and 85, respectively. ix For this and other stories and experiences of fire in Mak Mak country, see Deborah Bird Rose, Sharon D’Amico, Nancy Daiyi, Kathy Deveraux, Margaret Daiyi, Linda Ford and April Bright, Country of the Heart: An Indigenous Australian Homeland, especially p 18 – 34. x Who’s afraid of schordingers[sp] cat footnote xi Gregory Cajete, Native Science, Clear Light Publishers, New Mexico, 2000, p 15. xii Wesely Enoch, Courageous Conversations, available at: http://www.vcam.unimelb.edu.au/assets/wilin/CC_2010_lr.pdf, p 45. xiii Blaze and Ambelin Kwaymullina, Learning To Read The Signs: Law in an Indigenous Reality, 34, 2, p 202. xiv Tjalaminu Mia and Blaze Kwaymullina (eds), Speaking from the Heart: Stories of Life, Family and Country, Fremantle Arts Centre Press, Fremantle, 2007, p 6. xv Roughsey, Elsie, An Aboriginal mother tells of the old and the new, McPhee Gribble/Penguin Books, 1984, Victoria, p 203. xvi WEH Stanner, The Dreaming and other Essays, Penguin, Australia, p 61. xvii WEH Stanner, The Dreaming and other Essays, Penguin, Australia, p 60 xviii Bill Neidjie, Story about Feeling, Magabala Books, Broome, 1989, p 49. xix A Kwaymullina ‘Foreword’ in S Young, The Trouble With Tradition, Federation Press, Sydney, 2008, p xvi to xvii

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xx Blaze Kwaymullina, ‘Nanna and Me’, in Westerly, 54:2, 2009, p 32. xxi WA Native (Citizenship Rights) Act 1944 xxii Morgan, Mia and Kwaymullina (eds), Speaking From the Heart, Fremantle Press, 2007, p 186. xxiii Alexander Brown and Brian Geytenbeek, Ngarla songs, Fremantle Press, 2003, p 29. xxiv Bill Neidjie, Story about Feeling, Magabala Books, Broome, 1989, p 38 – 39. xxv Bill Neidjie, Gagudju Man, JB Books Australia, 2002, p 21. xxvi Tjalaminu Mia, ‘Kepwaamwinberkup (Nightwell)’, in Sally Morgan, Tjalaminu Mia and Blaze Kwaymullina (eds), Heartsick for country: stories of life, spirit and creation, Fremantle Press, Fremantle, 2008, p 186 – 187. xxvii Ambelin Kwaymullina, “Seeing the Light: Aboriginal Law, Learning and Sustainable Living in Country", (2005) 6(11) Indigenous Law Bulletin 13 xxviii Gregory Cajete, Native Science: natural laws of interdependence, Clear Light Publishers, Santa Fe, New Mexico, 2000, p 178. xxix See Ambelin and Blaze Kwaymullina, op cit at n1, p 202. xxx Tjalaminu Mia, ‘Kepwaamwinberkup (Nightwell)’, in Sally Morgan, Tjalaminu Mia and Blaze Kwaymullina (eds), Heartsick for country: stories of life, spirit and creation, Fremantle Press, Fremantle, 2008, p 186. xxxi Tommy Kngwarraye Thompson in Myfany Turpin (compiler), Growing Up Kaytetye: Stories by Tommy Kngwarraye Thompson, Jukurrpa Books, Alice Springs, 2003, p 1. xxxii David Mowaljarlai and Jutta Malnic, op cit at n16, p 142. xxxiii See ‘How the Emu got Short Wings’ in Gracie Greene, Joe Tramacchi, Lucille Gill, Tjarany Roughtail: The Dreaming of the Roughtail Lizard and other stories told by the Kukatja, Magabala Books, Broome, 1992, p 30 – 32. xxxiv See ‘The Story of the Narool (Grass), the Gargarra (New Moon) and the Meedin (Possum)’, in Maisie Yarrcalia Barlow (author) and Michael Boiyool Anning (illustrator), op cit at n11, p 1 – 10. xxxv See John Bradley (translator and illustrator), Yanyuwa Country: The Yanyuwa people of Borroloola tell the history of their land, Greenhouse Publications, 1988, p 34. xxxvi Len Collard, ‘Kura, Yeye, boorda from the past, today and the future’ in Sally Morgan, Tjalaminu Mia and Blaze Kwaymullina (eds), Heartsick for country: stories of life, spirit and creation, Fremantle Arts Centre Press, Fremantle, 2008, p 66. xxxvii Sally Morgan and Jack McPhee, Wannamurraganya, Fremantle Press, p 77, 1989. xxxviii See Pat Lowe and Jimmy Pike, Jilji: Life in the Great Sandy Desert, Magabala Books, Broome, 1990, p 110. xxxix Created by Blaze Kwaymullina 2010 xl Eric Gainsworth, ed., Sovereign Bones: New Native American Writing (New York: Nation Books, 2007), 149. xli Graeme Bindarri Dixon, ‘The Balardong Dreaming Track’, in Sally Morgan, Tjalaminu Mia and Blaze Kwaymullina (eds), Speaking from the Heart: Stories of Life, Family and Country, Fremantle Arts Centre Press, Fremantle, 2007. xlii Guruma Elders Group led by Peter Stevens, Collected and edited by Loreen Brehaut and Anna Vitenbergs, Gurama Story, IAD Press, 2001, 3.

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xliii Compiled by Peter McEvoy and Pamela Lyon, The Land is Always Alive: The Story of the Central Land Council, Central Land Council,1994, p 67 xliv David Mowaljarlai and Jutta Malnic, op cit at n16, p 33. xlv Ambrose Mungala Chalarimeri, The Man from the Sunrise Side, Magabala Books, Broome, p 72. xlvi Mervyn Penrith in Deborah Bird Rose, Diana James, and Christine Watson, Inidigenous Kinship with the Natural World in New South Wales, National parks and Wildlife Service, May 2003, p 41 xlvii prepared by members of the Framlingham Aboriginal trust and Winda mara Aboriginal corporation, Kooyang Sea Plan, 2004, p 10 xlviii ibid, p 10 xlix Kathleen Kamarre Wallace with Judy Lovell, Listen Deeply Let These Stories In, IAD Press, 2009, p 21 l John Bradley (Translated and Illustrated), Yanyuwa Country: The Yanyuwa People of Borroloola tell the history o their land, Greenhouse Publications, 1988, p 46 li Valda Blundell and Donny Woolagoodja, Keeping the Wankinas Fresh, Fremantle Arts Centre Press, 2005, p 31 lii Guruma Elders Group led by Peter Stevens, Collected and edited by Loreen Brehaut and Anna Vitenbergs, op cit at n28, p 92 liii Gracie Greene, Joe Tramacchi and Lucille Gill, op cit at fn 22, p 8 liv Kathleen Kamare Wallace with Judy Lovell, op cit, at n35, p 126 lv Kathleen Kamare Wallace with Judy Lovell, op cit, at n35, p 170 lvi Jock Shandley, in Paul Marshall (eds) Raparapa, Magabala Books, 1989, p 86 lvii Centre for Indigenous History and the Arts, Ngulak Ngarnk Nidja Boodja: Our Mother This Land, 2000, p 41 lviii Binmila Yunupingu and Milkayngu Mununggurr, Yolgnu Mali: Aboriginal Spirit, Viking, 2001, p 17. lix Tjama Freda Napanangka, Yarrtji : Six Women’s Stories from the Great Sandy Desert, Aboriginal Studies Press, 1997, p 22 lx Guruma Elders Group led by Peter Stevens, Collected and edited by Loreen Brehaut and Anna Vitenbergs, op cit at n28, p 46 lxi Dennis Foley, Repossession of Our Spirit: Traditional Owners of Northern Sydney, Aboriginal History Monograph no 7, p 17 lxii Diane Bell, Ngarrindjeri wurruwarrin: a world that is, was, and will be, Spinifex Press 1998, p 199 lxiii Compiled by Alexander Brown and Brian Geytebeek, illustrated by Jilalga Murray, Ngarla Songs, Fremantle Arts Centre Press in association iwth the Wangka Maya Pilbara Aboriginal Language Centre, 2003, p 153. lxiv Mary Anne Jebb (eds), Emerarra: A Man of Merarra, Magabala Books, 1996, p 13. lxv Vine Deloria in Norbert S Hill (eds), Words of Power: Voices from Indian America, Fulcrum Publishing, 1994, p 31. lxvi Mussolini Harvey of the Yanyuwa people, in John Bradley (translator and illustrator), Yanyuwa Country: The Yanyuwa people of Borroloola tell the history of their land, Greenhouse Publications, 1988, p xi lxvii Sally Morgan, Tjalaminu Mia and Blaze Kwaymullina, op cit at fn 18, p 204 lxviii Guruma Elders Group led by Peter Stevens, Collected and edited by Loreen Brehaut and Anna Vitenbergs, op cit at n28, p 72 - 73

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lxix ibid, p 70 lxx Deborah Bird Rose, Diana James, and Christine Watson, op cit at fn 32, p 50 lxxi Alice Smith, Under a Bilari Tree I Born, Fremantle Arts Centre Press, 2002, p 150 lxxii Walha Udi Marvyn-anha Frederick McKenzie Snr, Adnya-mathanha Yura Life Cycle, Birth Names, and Connection to the Heavenly Bodies, in Sally Morgan and Blaze Kwaymullina (eds) Westerly, 54:12, p 140. lxxiii David Mowaljarlai and Jutta Malnic, p 5 lxxiv ibid, p 146 lxxv Kim Scott and Hazel Brown, Kayang and Me, Fremantle Arts Centre Press, 2005, p 261. lxxvi The head of the emu is known to Western astronomers as the Coalsack cloud. For a discussion of Aboriginal astronomy see Emu Dreaming. lxxvii Magdalene Williams, This is My Word = Ngay Janijirr ngak, Magabala Books, 1999, p 47. lxxviii Heritage Council of Western Australia, Register of Places: Permanent Entry, Great Southern Roller Flour Mill, Database No 03645 available online at: http://register.heritage.wa.gov.au/viewplace.html?place_seq=23895&offset=6& view=regentries [accessed 30 June 2010]. This site includes pictures of the dingo image. lxxix See Joan Winch, ‘A Feeling of Belonging’, in Sally Morgan, Tjalaminu Mia and Blaze Kwaymullina (eds), heartsick, p 228. lxxx Ibid, 228 lxxxi ibid, 228 lxxxii F David Peat, Blackfoot Physics, Phanes Press, p 39. lxxxiii Leroy Little Bear in Gregory Cajete, Native Science: Natural Laws of Interdependence, Clear Light Books, 1999, p xi lxxxiv Secretariat of the Convention on Biological Diversity (2010) Global Biodiversity Outlook 3, available at http://gbo3.cbd.int/ [accessed 19 June 2010] lxxxv Alf Watson, quoted in Irene Watson, Looking at you looking at me: Aboriginal culture and history of the south-east of South Australia, volume 1, History Trust of South Australia, 2002, p 54. lxxxvi Ibid, p 24 lxxxvii Judy Atkinson, Trauma Trails, recreating songlines: the transgenerational effects of trauma in Indigenous Australia, Spinifex Press, 2002, p 3. lxxxviii National Inquiry into the Separation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Children from their Families, Bringing Them Home Report, 1997, p 52 lxxxix Judy Atkinson’s work Trauma Trails is the first work by an Aboriginal scholar in Australia to deal with the multi-generational effects of violence. xc http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2007/10/071028100032.htm xci Kathleen Kamare Wallace with Judy Lovell, op cit, at n35, p 82 xcii Linda Hogan, Dwellings: A Spiritual History of the Living World, W N Norton and Company, New York, 1995, p 89. xciii Judy Atkinson, op cit at fn 78, p 3 xciv Irene Watson, ‘Power of the Muldarbi, the Road to its Demise’ in Australian Feminist Law Journal 1998 Vol 11 28, p 29. xcv Ibid, p 35

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Morgan, Mia and Kwaymullina (eds), Speaking From the Heart, Fremantle Press, 2007

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Bill Neidjie, Gagudju Man, JB Books Australia, 2002

Tjalaminu Mia, ‘Kepwaamwinberkup (Nightwell)’, in Sally Morgan, Tjalaminu Mia and Blaze Kwaymullina (eds), Heartsick for country: stories of life, spirit and creation, Fremantle Press, Fremantle, 2008

Ambelin Kwaymullina, “Seeing the Light: Aboriginal Law, Learning and Sustainable Living in Country", (2005) 6(11) Indigenous Law Bulletin 13

Gregory Cajete, Native Science: natural laws of interdependence, Clear Light Publishers, Santa Fe, New Mexico, 2000

Tommy Kngwarraye Thompson in Myfany Turpin (compiler), Growing Up Kaytetye: Stories by Tommy Kngwarraye Thompson, Jukurrpa Books, Alice Springs, 2003

Gracie Greene, Joe Tramacchi, Lucille Gill, Tjarany Roughtail: The Dreaming of the Roughtail Lizard and other stories told by the Kukatja, Magabala Books, Broome, 1992

John Bradley (translator and illustrator), Yanyuwa Country: The Yanyuwa people of Borroloola tell the history of their land, Greenhouse Publications, 1988

Len Collard, ‘Kura, Yeye, boorda from the past, today and the future’ in Sally Morgan, Tjalaminu Mia and Blaze Kwaymullina (eds), Heartsick for country: stories of life, spirit and creation, Fremantle Arts Centre Press, Fremantle, 2008

Sally Morgan and Jack McPhee, Wannamurraganya, Fremantle Press, 1989

Pat Lowe and Jimmy Pike, Jilji: Life in the Great Sandy Desert, Magabala Books, Broome, 1990

Eric Gainsworth, ed., Sovereign Bones: New Native American Writing (New York: Nation Books, 2007

Graeme Bindarri Dixon, ‘The Balardong Dreaming Track’, in Sally Morgan, Tjalaminu Mia and Blaze Kwaymullina (eds), Speaking from the Heart: Stories of Life, Family and Country, Fremantle Arts Centre Press, Fremantle, 2007 Guruma Elders Group led by Peter Stevens, Collected and edited by Loreen Brehaut and Anna Vitenbergs, Gurama Story, IAD Press, 2001

243

Compiled by Peter McEvoy and Pamela Lyon, The Land is Always Alive: The Story of the Central Land Council, Central Land Council,1994

Ambrose Mungala Chalarimeri, The Man from the Sunrise Side, Magabala Books, Broome

Mervyn Penrith in Deborah Bird Rose, Diana James, and Christine Watson, Inidigenous Kinship with the Natural World in New South Wales, National parks and Wildlife Service, May 2003

Prepared by members of the Framlingham Aboriginal trust and Winda mara Aboriginal corporation, Kooyang Sea Plan, 2004

Kathleen Kamarre Wallace with Judy Lovell, Listen Deeply Let These Stories In, IAD Press, 2009

Valda Blundell and Donny Woolagoodja, Keeping the Wankinas Fresh, Fremantle Arts Centre Press, 2005

Jock Shandley, in Paul Marshall (eds) Raparapa, Magabala Books, 1989

Centre for Indigenous History and the Arts, Ngulak Ngarnk Nidja Boodja: Our Mother This Land, 2000

Binmila Yunupingu and Milkayngu Mununggurr, Yolgnu Mali: Aboriginal Spirit, Viking, 2000

Tjama Freda Napanangka, Yarrtji : Six Women’s Stories from the Great Sandy Desert, Aboriginal Studies Press, 1997

Diane Bell, Ngarrindjeri wurruwarrin: a world that is, was, and will be, Spinifex Press 1998

Mary Anne Jebb (eds), Emerarra: A Man of Merarra, Magabala Books, 1996

Vine Deloria in Norbert S Hill (eds), Words of Power: Voices from Indian America, Fulcrum Publishing, 1994

Alice Smith, Under a Bilari Tree I Born, Fremantle Arts Centre Press, 2002

Walha Udi Marvyn-anha Frederick McKenzie Snr, Adnya-mathanha Yura Life Cycle, Birth Names, and Connection to the Heavenly Bodies, in Sally Morgan and Blaze Kwaymullina (eds) Westerly, 54:12

Kim Scott and Hazel Brown, Kayang and Me, Fremantle Arts Centre Press, 2005 Magdalene Williams, This is My Word = Ngay Janijirr ngak, Magabala Books, 1999

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See Joan Winch, ‘A Feeling of Belonging’, in Sally Morgan, Tjalaminu Mia and Blaze Kwaymullina (eds), heartsick

F David Peat, Blackfoot Physics, Phanes Press, 1996

Leroy Little Bear in Gregory Cajete, Native Science: Natural Laws of Interdependence, Clear Light Books, 1999

Alf Watson, quoted in Irene Watson, Looking at you looking at me: Aboriginal culture and history of the south-east of South Australia, volume 1, History Trust of South Australia, 2002

Judy Atkinson, Trauma Trails, recreating songlines: the transgenerational effects of trauma in Indigenous Australia, Spinifex Press, 2002

National Inquiry into the Separation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Children from their Families, Bringing Them Home Report, 1997

Linda Hogan, Dwellings: A Spiritual History of the Living World, W N Norton and Company, New York, 1995

Irene Watson, ‘Power of the Muldarbi, the Road to its Demise’ in Australian Feminist Law Journal 1998 Vol 11 28

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