Review of Australian Fiction, Volume 3, Issue 4 Read online

  Volume 3: Issue 4

  Melina Marchetta & Kirsty Eagar

  Imprint

  Published by Review of Australian Fiction

  “Ferragost” Copyright © 2012 by Melina Marchetta

  “Molasses” Copyright © 2012 by Kirsty Eagar

  www.reviewofaustralianfiction.com

  Editorial

  We at the Review of Australian Fiction are very pleased, and also a little bit excited, to have Melina Marchetta contribute a story to the current issue. It seems so unnecessary to introduce Marchetta to you—after all, who amongst you has not read Looking for Alibrandi (1992), or seen the film, or stolen a copy of the book from their local library (take it back, and go buy yourself a copy, now).

  Melina was actually one of the first Australian authors to agree to contribute to the Review of Australian Fiction when we first started, way back when. But she asked to be in a later volume because she was, at the time, working on the third instalment of her much loved fantasy series, the Lumatere Chronicles. The first two in this series are Finnikin of the Rock (2008) and Froi of the Exiles (2011). The third instalment—Quintana of Charyn (2012) —is coming out next month.

  In hindsight, it is good that we had to wait for Melina’s contribution, because the 15,000 word story presented here, “Ferrogost”, takes place in the same world as the Lumatere Chronicles, the inspiration for which came out of writing this third book. It is, however, a stand-alone story, an adventure with Lady Celie of the Lumateran Flatlands, that can be read independently of the Chronicles (and if you have not yet read the Chronicles, then hopefully this story will inspire you to do so).

  As Melina explains, “If you are a reader of the Lumatere Chronicles, you’ll remember that Celie is the daughter of Lord August and Lady Abian and is best friends with the Queen of Lumatere. I promise it doesn’t really give away anything that happens in the upcoming Quintana of Charyn or even Froi of the Exiles. The events of Ferragost, however, are happening at the same time as in Quintana so you’ll understand the role Celie plays in the bigger picture when Quintana of Charyn is released later this year (early next year in the US).”

  So, as you can see, having this story, especially for admirers of the Lumatere Chronicles, is a real treat.

  But the Review of Australian Fiction is a gift that keeps on giving, and there is a further treat in the current issue, and that is a story by Kirsty Eagar. Melina Marchetta chose Kirsty to be paired with in this issue, and we are very glad she did, because Kirsty is a tremendous writer of fiction, with three novels to her name: Raw Blue (2009), Saltwater Vampires (2010), and the recent Night Beach (2012). If you haven’t read any of these yet, go out and do so.

  Saltwater Vampires is a personal favourite, because it combines elements of the famous wreck of the Batavia](http://www.abc.net.au/backyard/shipwrecks/wa/batavia.htm), with vampires. And you can’t go wrong with that.

  We are also pleased that Kirsty agreed to contribute a story to the Review of Australian Fiction, because she was raised on a cattle property in Central Queensland, which is an area of regional Australia where our editor was also born and raised. The story she has presented here, “Molasses”, is actually set just outside Rockhampton. So you can take my word for it when I say that this is a very true work of fiction.

  Technically, at the time when Melina first agreed to contribute a story to our little eRag, and when she first chose Kirsty to be paired with, Kirsty was—according to our, admittedly arbitrary, categorisations—an emerging writer. She is now, however, at the time of publishing this story¬—according to the same arbitrary standard—an established Australian author. So we hope that she will return at some point, in a future issue of the Review of Australian Fiction, with her own feature story. And she can, in turn, choose another emerging writer to be paired with.

  Now that would be a treat.

  Enjoy

  Ferragost

  Melina Marchetta

  One

  * * *

  It was late afternoon when they found Borealis Luby’s corpse on the jagged rocks below the tower of the east.

  Celie of the Lumateran Flatlands had thought it strange that he hadn’t attended breakfast in the great hall. Borealis Luby had proven himself to be quite a pig when it came to consuming the food laid out before him, and in the five days since their arrival at the castle, the man had been the first and last at the dining trestle. If Celie hadn’t feared being alone with the Castellan of the Castle, she would have sought him out to explain that Borealis Luby’s absence could indeed be a worry.

  But Celie did fear the Castellan. She had heard the whispers about the reclusive keeper of Ferragost. That he spent most of the year guarding the castle alone with only an old nursemaid as companion. Some said he was possessed by demons. That he was a man with many secrets. What Celie had witnessed in his gatehouse residence on the morning of her arrival confirmed all she had been told. But she spoke of it to no one. There was much to be achieved on this visit to the kingdom of Belegonia and she could ill afford to draw attention to herself.

  The absence of Mr Luby niggled at her all that day, so she was the least surprised when she heard the bellowing at the castle gate just before the meagre light of the day was about to disappear. Within moments she joined the Duchess, the King’s Man and Argus Laraunt in the courtyard to see the portcullis being raised and the Castellan hurrying down the drawbridge.

  ‘Banyon! What is it?’ the King’s Man asked.

  The Castellan waved away the question.

  ‘I’d appreciate everyone returning to your chambers,’ he called back as he disappeared beyond the castle walls. His request had the opposite desired effect except for the Duchess who stayed behind. Celie, Mr Laraunt and the King’s man created a small procession to follow the Castellan out through the portcullis and around the wall. Despite it being a treacherous path down to the rocks of the east, Celie wasn’t much interested in being left out of the excitement after so many days of isolation and boredom.

  Regardless, she couldn’t help but shiver at the sight they were privy to at this angle of the path. Ferragost Castle was almost an isle in itself, surrounded by a cruel coast that had shattered its fair share of fishing boats and taken many lives over the years. The inland sea that separated the isle from the Main was a malevolent force, none more so than these past days when it had exiled Ferragost Isle from the rest of the land.

  Its unrelenting fury seemed almost a precursor to the horror that awaited them when they rounded the east corner and saw the corpse. In the fall from the tower, the man’s boot had caught itself between the two highest rocks, and the upper half of his body hung face down over the larger of the two. It hadn’t saved him from anything, except the horror of disappearing into the waves below, never to be seen again. At least this way, his family would have a corpse to farewell.

  ‘That’s his chamber,’ Argus Laraunt said, pointing up to the tower window. ‘Do you think he jumped?’

  ‘It would make matters simple,’ the Castellan said, his voice low and blunt.

  ‘Why simple, Sir?’ Celie asked, both her hands clasped around her hair to keep the wind from wiping strands across her face.

  He didn’t look at her. The Castellan of the castle wasn’t one for eye contact. Her father and brothers would call that weak in a man and although Celie tried not to judge, she would have to agree.

  ‘Well, if he didn’t jump, then it could only mean someone pushed him,’ the Castellan said in an irritated voice. ‘And if someone pushed him, then we have a problem and thus, not so simple.’

  Celie stepped forward beside the Castellan to inspect poor d
ead Mr Luby. She had seen her fair share of corpses. The last time was the previous summer when the reeve of her father’s village had tripped and fallen into his scythe, slicing his head almost clear off his body. She had stared at the reeve’s body that day, wanting to understand. Had he known a moment before that it would be his last? Had he sensed death that morning when he woke? Was there warning when life was taken so quickly?

  ‘I can take records for you, Sir,’ Celie said to the Castellan politely, holding up a journal she carried everywhere. ‘The King will want to know all the details and I’m very good with a sketch.’

  He gave her a quick glance and all Celie could see in her mind’s eye was what she had witnessed the morning of her arrival. The Castellan’s body flung across the floor, the way it twitched and shuddered as he convulsed, spittle coming from his mouth. The old nursemaid had shoved Celie out of his room. A witch, the villagers would whisper. A sorceress of evil intent.

  ‘I think it’s best you join Her Highness in her room,’ the Castellan said, ignoring Celie’s offer. ‘Mr Laraunt, if you could assist me with the lifting of Mr Luby, I’ll have one of the village women wash the corpse in the cellar.

  ‘A woman?’ Argus Laraunt asked. ‘Look at his skull, Banyon. This isn’t a sight for a woman.’

  ‘Women are more thorough about such things,’ the Castellan said. ‘They won’t leave a mark of blood for his family to weep over.’

  Two

  * * *

  Earlier that week Celie had journeyed from her neighbouring kingdom of Lumatere. She had arrived at the shore of the Main where the Grand Duchess and her two guests, were waiting to embark on a boat that would take them all to the isle. Each spring the Belegonian King’s Family and its entire household would travel from the capital and celebrate winter’s end on Ferragost Isle. Celie’s family had lived ten years in Belegonia during the turbulent painful years of her kingdom’s curse, and despite the tension between the two kingdoms of late, Celie was both a favourite of the Belegonian royal family, and shared a fierce friendship with the young Lumateran Queen.

  ‘Let’s make this work, beloved,’ her Queen had said when they first received a request for Celie’s attendance to the Belegonian court the summer before. Although she enjoyed the visits to the neighbouring capital, she enjoyed returning home to Lumatere even more. But when the invitation to the spring castle came weeks ago, they all agreed it was yet another good opportunity not to pass up.

  This year, however, the Belegonian Spring had trampled the kingdom with days of rain. The road between the capital and Ferragost Main had been washed away, unable to accommodate the King and his large entourage.

  It’s what the King’s Man explained to the Duchess when he was sent ahead with two guards to deliver the news.

  ‘How long will my nephew be?’ the Duchess demanded to know as they stood on the shoreline of the Main looking across to the isle. In the grey haze of low filthy clouds, the castle seemed to appear and disappear as if playing with their minds.

  ‘No more than a week, Your Highness,’ the King’s Man explained. ‘And judging from the fury of this sky, I’d say we’d best make a decision whether to travel across to the isle now or wait for the King.’

  ‘I suggest we return to your home, Your Highness,’ Argus Laraunt said, speaking to the Duchess. He was a handsome man with an unnerving smile that made Celie’s face feel flushed each time he chose to address her in conversation.

  ‘Ridiculous,’ Borealis Luby said, dismissively. ‘We’re here now, packed and ready. We travel across.’

  There was tension between the two men. From what Celie could understand, Borealis Luby was a last moment’s addition to their small party and Argus Laraunt wasn’t happy.

  ‘Are you frightened I’ll tell her Highness about… Tolliver?’ Borealis Luby asked, a smirk on his face.

  ‘What about this Tolliver?’ the Duchess demanded to know.

  ‘Just a brawl,’ Argus Laraunt mumbled. ‘In the town… of Tolliver… in Yutlind Nord.’

  The Duchess made a sound of annoyance. ‘Aren’t you a bit too old for drunken brawls, Argus?’

  Borealis Luby seemed pleased at the Duchess’s irritation. He seemed to have the upper hand and it would be Mr Luby who won on the decision to cross the sea.

  Thinking of his corpse hanging off the eastern rocks of the isle, Celie couldn’t help but think that he should have taken Argus Laraunt’s advice and stayed behind.

  Three

  * * *

  Back in the castle Celie joined the Duchess in the older woman’s residence for an evening of embroidery. She thought it ridiculous that she’d be forced to sit and sew after what she had seen. It’s not that Celie didn’t understand the worth of embroidery. It was always an excellent opportunity for talk, the acquiring of news, and spending time with friends. Queen Isaboe of Lumatere had very little time for embroidery, but when she and Celie did manage to get together for a bit of stitching, the conversation was always worthwhile.

  ‘I think it’s time you took a lover, Celie,’ Isaboe had said to her just weeks before.

  Celie hadn’t stopped thinking of her Queen’s words. She knew that one day soon, her title as the daughter of a Lumateran Flatland Lord would be used as a marriage bargain between her kingdom and another. To keep peace. To secure trade. Whatever it was, Celie had long accepted it. But what she couldn’t accept was never knowing how it would feel to be deliriously in love. Her parents still were. Isaboe her Consort, Finnikin, couldn’t keep their eyes off each other, despite their battle of wills most times. Staring at the sour Duchess now, Celie knew she was looking at someone whose marriage to the King’s Uncle had not been a love match. Would this be Celie in years to come?

  ‘You, with your wounded stare,’ the Duchess snapped. ‘Lumaterans resemble ghouls, all eyes sunken in your sockets. I don’t like foreigners, have I told you that?’

  ‘Yes, your Highness.’

  Soon after, when the Duchess was asleep in her chair, Celie crept out of the room. The emptiness of this place was beginning to unnerve her. She had never stayed in a castle void of the bustle of palace life. Apart from the sulky village cook who had been ordered up to the castle at the instruction of the Duchess, the kitchens were empty. Apart from the groom, the courtyard was deserted. There were three soldiers who had travelled with the King’s Man, but no other guard. There were no giggles from ladies-in-waiting, nor bellows from King’s soldiers, no smell of baking or whatnot.

  Worst still except for their chambers, most of the castle was kept dark and cold. Without the King’s presence, there were to be no hallways lit with candelabras and no fires burning on every level.

  Celie stepped out into the courtyard and found Argus Laraunt at the well. He seemed shaken and she watched him scrub at marks on his hand. She imagined that carrying Mr Luby’s corpse to the cellar was no easy task.

  ‘How are you fairing, Mr Argus Laraunt?’ she asked politely.

  ‘Argus,’ he corrected, and then laughed. ‘If you keep on saying it your way, it’ll be a mouthful.’

  She laughed with him. ‘No matter how long I lived in this kingdom, I never quite understood the need for two names. Sometimes I forget which one to use.’

  ‘And we in this kingdom don’t understand the need to belong to a piece of land or rock, Lady Celie of the Lumateran Flatlands.’

  She liked the way he said it. It made her feel known and in this strange empty place she was beginning to feel loneliness beyond reckoning.

  ‘You look faint,’ he said, pointing towards a barrel against the wall and holding out a hand that Celie took. ‘This morning must have been a shock.’

  She sat down on the barrel and he joined her on another.

  ‘Looking faint is inherited,’ she said, politely. ‘I always look this way.’

  Over the years Celie had heard other words to describe her. Frail. Dainty. Insipid. It’s not who I am inside, she wanted to shout out loud.

  ‘Is that annoyanc
e I hear in your tone, Lady Celie?’

  Argus Laraunt was flirting with her. It would have charmed Celie if not for the fact that he had the blood of a dead man on his clothing. Borealis Luby’s head would have rested alongside Argus Laraunt’s tunic. Celie imagined that if she were Mr Laraunt, she’d burn the clothing.

  ‘Not annoyance at all,’ she said. ‘My mother was the daughter of a fishmonger. So my brothers and I are parts of two very different families. The Flatlanders are refined. The river people… aren’t. The faint visage belongs to the Flatlanders, although my father is anything but a faint-hearted man.’

  ‘I’ve heard much about Sir August and Lady Abian,’ Argus said. ‘They are very respected here. Many believed that after living in Belegonia for so long, you all should have made our capital your home as Ambassadors of your kingdom.’

  Celie shook her head. ‘We’re Lumaterans, Sir. Our trunks were always packed. The moment it was possible, we returned home.’

  He smiled and she saw appreciation in his eyes for her words.

  ‘How is it that you’re acquainted with the Duchess?’ she asked.

  ‘She’s my benefactor,’ he said. ‘And I was once married to her husband’s ward.’ Argus was quiet a moment. ‘May the gods be looking after both their spirits.’

  Celie wondered about his wife. She would have been young, judging from the age of Argus himself.

  His eyes met hers and Celie knew she felt a great trust in him.

  ‘I saw something,’ she said quietly.

  He waited, silently.

  ‘Days ago in the Castellan’s residence. I went to see him about my chances of returning to the Main. I saw something… and it frightened me.’

  But they were interrupted by a sound of the portcullis being lowered and as if he knew he was the subject of discussion, the Castellan appeared through the castle gates.