“Good day, Father,” Brother Andrew called to his leader’s retreating back. “I’ll say a prayer for Sister Hannah.”
Chapter 9—On the Rocks
Alma Jones slowly eased the SUV over the causeway at Cahill’s Crossing.
Cassie gulped. She leaned out her window to gauge the height of the water. Even though the tires were only submerged about half a foot, the current was swift. She didn’t want to imagine crossing this land bridge with a flash flood racing under the wheels.
“You told us to look out for salties,” Daniel said, barely above a whisper. “What’s a saltie?”
“Good goddess, man!” Griffin’s tone was exasperated. “None of us want to know that!”
“There’s one.” Alma inclined her head to the right, both hands firmly gripping the steering wheel.
Her three passengers scanned the water on the driver’s side.
“Please tell me that’s a tree trunk floating out there,” the pythia implored.
“No,” Alma demurred. “It’s a saltwater crocodile. Saltie for short though they don’t spend much time in salt water. They prefer watering holes—billagongs as we call them. The males can run six meters in length.”
“Translation?” Cassie turned toward Griffin.
“Six meters would be roughly twenty feet.” As an aside to the others, he explained, “She’s taken a firm stand against the metric system.”
“Freshies or freshwater crocodiles are much smaller, and they eat fish not humans,” Alma added. “The salties are the ones to watch out for. Your American alligators are nearly as big, but they aren’t always looking for a fight. Salties are natural-born brawlers.”
“Has anybody died at Cahill’s Crossing?” Daniel asked.
“Yet another fact we don’t want to know,” the scrivener grumbled.
“Oh yes,” the scout replied. “This is prime saltie territory. They float about waiting to see what comes their way. Once in a while, the tide is high enough, and the current is strong enough to shove a light vehicle off the bridge. Not at this time of year though. The main risk is to the fishermen on the banks.”
“They become croc bait?” the pythia asked tersely.
Their guide nodded and then smiled as the SUV dipped upward at the end of the causeway. “See, no worries. We’ve made it to the other side.”
An audible sigh of relief emerged from the rest of the vehicle’s occupants.
Once they’d left Cahill’s crocs behind them, the remainder of their journey proceeded smoothly. Within fifteen minutes, they found themselves on a floodplain dominated by a large outcrop of rock.
“Is that it?” Daniel asked.
“Injalak Hill,” Alma confirmed.
Cassie studied the escarpment. From a distance it appeared to be a single mound but, on approach, it proved to be a cluster of wind-sculpted red rock pillars with deep narrow chasms between them. Sparse clumps of green vegetation clung to the sandstone face at wide intervals.
Alma parked the SUV where the trail ended at the base of the hill.
Everyone got out and stretched before donning their backpacks. Daniel passed around fresh bottles of water to his companions.
The pythia squinted upward and took a precautionary sip of water. The sun glowed overhead in a clear blue sky, promising a toasty afternoon temperature.
“This way.” Alma led them up a narrow track toward the escarpment.
They skirted the base of the hill on a gentle incline for some time, traversing grasslands with small boulders jutting up here and there.
Cassie dubiously observed the overgrown track beneath their feet “It looks as if we’re the first people to travel this way.”
The scout turned and gave a brief smile. “People have been coming this way for the past fifty thousand years. Local guides from the Injalak Arts Center bring tourists up here quite frequently in the dry season.”
“I don’t see why,” the scion murmured under his breath.
“You will,” she replied cryptically and moved forward.
They marched upward for about ten minutes until Alma brought them all to a halt in front of a deeply recessed overhang in the cliff wall. Everyone stepped inside to examine it.
“This area was used as a shelter,” the scout explained. “A dozen people or more could gather here.” She pointed to a flat rock with several other rocks piled vertically behind it. “This stone would have served for a cooking stove.” She pointed to another stone. “And that one is a firepit to keep people warm at night. Their bedding would have been made of paper bark.”
Noting the perplexed faces of her listeners, she added, “But this isn’t what we came here to see.” Instead of returning to the path on the outer edge of the hill, Alma moved deeper into the interior of the fissure. She stepped through a vertical crack in the rock and beckoned the rest to follow.
They walked single file down a path between sheer rock walls. The trail zigged and zagged. Broken boulders underfoot sometimes raised the elevation and sometimes lowered it. In places, the overhead light dimmed where trees growing at the top of the cliffs blocked the sun. In other places where the canyon widened, shafts of light pierced the gloom.
“I’ve lost all sense of direction,” the pythia murmured. “This escarpment is like a maze.”
The party trudged onward until their guide stopped suddenly. “Here,” she announced.
They stepped into a chamber where the overhang had been painted with a variety of fantastic creatures. Some were recognizable – kangaroos, fish, nesting birds, humans. Others were creatures of the imagination—fusions of animal forms or abstract shapes. Cassie recognized a crocodile and a large fish which Alma said was a barramundi—a staple of the aboriginal diet.
“How old are these paintings?” Daniel asked in wonder.
“Some are fifteen thousand years old, some much more recent. People keep adding to the story,” their guide explained.
“What story? Your Dreamtime stories?”
“The Dreaming isn’t a time” Alma corrected. “It’s outside of time. Going on all around us now.”
Daniel stared at her uncomprehendingly.
“I wouldn’t expect a Nephilim to understand.” Her tone was mildly dismissive.
Cassie contemplated the images in rapt fascination. “Your Dreaming is more like an altered state of consciousness. It’s always in the present, so everything that was, still
