Read The Winds of Heaven for Free Online Page B

the steady lapping of the lake water against the crusty mud of the shore – lap, lap, lap, like an old dog licking at a sore. The sun was right up high in the brassy sky, blaring like trumpets and drums, and Clementine could feel the heat of the earth beating up through the thin soles of her canvas shoes. ‘Don’t your feet get burned?’ she asked Fan, and Fan stopped and lifted one bare foot in her hand and examined its bright stained sole. ‘Nah,’ she said, dropping the foot and walking on again. ‘Guess I’m used to it.’
    ‘Are we nearly at your friend’s place?’
    ‘It’s just up here.’ Fan pointed to a steep stony slope thatrose away from the shore. ‘C’mon!’ She grabbed Clementine’s hand and pulled her up the hill.
    At the top was a small plateau surrounded by a hedge of dusty bushes; sheets of rusty corrugated iron and a curtain of old sacking formed a makeshift shelter between two spindly gums. A few battered tins lay beside a circle of blackened stones, and the bits of glass that looked like diamonds were crushed into the ground.
    ‘Does your friend live here?’
    ‘Sometimes. And sometimes he goes away.’
    ‘Where to?’
    Fan stretched her arms out wide. ‘
Birrima
,’ she answered dreamily. ‘A place far, far away.’ She went up to the shelter and drew the curtain aside. She beckoned to Clementine. ‘See?’ she whispered.
    Behind the sacking an old black man was lying on a bed of flattened reeds. He was old as the hills, just like Fan had said: the deep grooves and wrinkles on his face were grey against the dark skin, as if they were filled with ash. He lay so still he didn’t seem alive; one of the small black ants they’d seen on the track was crawling along his arm.
    Clementine swallowed. ‘Is he dead?’ she whispered fearfully.
    ‘Of course he’s not. Can’t you see his chest going up and down? He’s asleep, that’s all. And we mustn’t wake him up.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Because he might be away from here,’ said Fan.
    Clementine stared at her cousin. ‘But he isn’t away. He’s
there
. He’s lying there.’
    Fan shook her head gravely. ‘He’s a magic man. Sometimes when he’s asleep his spirit goes out walking.’
    ‘Walking?’
    ‘Over the land. It might be a long, long way from here and if you wake him up, then his spirit mightn’t be able to get back, see?’
    ‘And if it can’t get back, then what happens?’
    Fan didn’t answer. She slipped through the sacking curtain and crouched down beside the sleeping man, placing one hand softly over his, light as a moth settling on a crumpled leaf. She closed her eyes.
    The quiet inside the shelter was like peace. Clementine remembered the shape Fan had made with her hands when she’d been trying to describe her friend, the shape that showed strength and calm. And when Fan got to her feet and came back out to Clementine, her face had lost its sadness and anger and become brave and sweet again, as if some kind of strength and comfort had been passed from the old man to her, and the harsh scene at breakfast had faded from her mind. She was smiling. ‘Let’s go!’ she cried, skipping lightly across the clearing, disappearing through the thicket of dusty bushes at its edge.
    Clementine hurried after her, pushing her way through the bushes where sharp little twigs snatched at her legs and arms. On the other side of the thicket a rutted track snaked between grey-gold paddocks and Fan was running along it, little puffs of red dust rising like smoke about her feet. ‘Hurry up!’ she called when she saw Clementine.
    ‘Where are we going?’
    ‘My hidey. Well, it’s not a hidey, really, it’s just my special place. You’ll like it, there’s shade. It stays really cool there.’
    Cool. Out here, coolness seemed an impossibility; the air was so hot that simple breathing was like sucking in aflame. Above the paddocks the sky had turned a strange colour, a dull reddish-grey, and a little wind was stirring in the