The Witch Doctor's Opal (Bunyip Book 1) - Tristan A. Smith

Contemporary Fantasy Novel Inspired By Australian Folklore & Mythology

The Witch Doctor's Opal (Bunyip Book 1) by Tristan A. Smith

Book excerpt

As they walked back through the bush to their camp, the children were preoccupied and serious, and Tristram had suddenly declined to regale everybody with tales of Big Scale. Hence, Russell decided to cheer the party by relating his own encounter with the legendary monster.

“We had a good day before he showed up, didn’t we, Stew?”

“Yeah…had a few good ones.”

“Your grandfather was there that day, and we were in a little twelve-foot tinnie on the mighty Murray river, not far from Swan Hill. Of course, I was totally out fishing Stewy-”

“Go on, McTavish!” Stewart snorted. “I was shakin’ em off so yer didn’t feel bad.”

“You must have been shaking them off pretty hard, old man.”

“There, yer hear that kids? Old Rusco is a bit of a character. I don’t know how you’re gonna grow up alright listening to this rot.”

“Anyway,” Russell continued, “we both agree that it was a good day. A lot of yellow-belly, a few redfin and a decent haul of Murray cod…”

“They were bitin’ so hard I had to hide behind a tree to bait me hook!” Stewart boomed.

There was a peal of laughter from the warm-hearted audience

“Shall I continue?” Russell asked.

“By all means, McTavish! We’re all in eager constipation.”

More Laughter.

“Go on, Russell,” drawled Hester, “tell the story and don’t let this old bugger interrupt you again.”

Stewart stopped in his tracks in mock indignation.

“I’ve just been consulted!”

“Oh God, Dad! Will you cut it out?” Hester bellowed.

“Don’t you like it when I confusify me words?”

“Anyway,” interrupted Russell, “all of a sudden we had a quiet patch. The fish had been off the bite for a good twenty minutes. The wind had died down completely and not a ripple broke the surface. The sky became overcast, and a spooky sort of calm came over the river. We both wound in our lines and checked our bait. It hadn’t been touched. We were about to pack up and head for camp… when we saw him.”

Russell had his audience now, even the adults.

“About two hundred yards down the river in front of us his back broke the surface, with his dorsal fin flat against his spine. He was heading straight for us. Slowly, very slowly, he approached. Stewy and I were breathless.

Then, when he was about fifty yards from the boat, he stopped dead and raised the spikes of his dorsal fin. They stood up about six feet. We knew we were in for it then, didn’t we, Stew?”

There was a thoughtful silence from Stewart as his eyes filled with awe at the memory.

“Oh yeah…” he breathed, “that was the trademark signal – that was Big Scale’s war cry…”

“His dorsal fin stood up for about a minute, and then suddenly he dived. He did this without a sound. For a few minutes we were frantically scanning the river. Back in those days, before the mighty Murray was ruined by agriculture, you could see eight feet into the water. I know it is muddy and turgid now, and the banks are high, the water low and the old river red gums dying – but back then the river was wider, deeper, and clearer. The trees were tall and proud, a real contrast with the flat, dry wheat country with its stunted iron barks and mallees.

Anyway, after a few minutes, Stewy and I sensed that he was near our boat. We stared with our hearts pounding into the water and suddenly, he was there. Just at the very edge of the clear water, we could make out his big golden eyes watching us. They were the size of dustbin lids…and they made us cold all over. Just then, the sun came out from behind the clouds, and the light made his eyes glow under water like large reflectors. Suddenly we could also see the outline of his body. He was about the size of a circus elephant.

The other thing we could now see was his gaping mouth. It was big enough to swallow a man whole without any trouble – but that wasn’t what scared us. What scared me and Stewy was the thousands and thousands of hooks that we could see in his mouth. There were all different colours and sizes, and many of them were rusty. Small, tiny hooks you might use for garfish were there, as well as great big shark hooks – and every other size in between.

It was our turn to face Big Scale. We knew it as we looked at him and he looked at us.

Stewy whispered “You first, Rusco. We’ll use the anchor for a hook, and a couple o’ big cod for bait.”

I pulled up the anchor slowly and Big Scale watched but didn’t move. We began to drift but he kept pace with us. It was the most eerie thing in the world, watching the sticks and the gum leaves float slowly down river as usual, with Big Scale’s giant face mere feet underneath, patiently watching my every move…”

Here Russell paused, as though to recover from an exciting, terrifying memory. For a moment the only sounds they heard were the hurried tramping of their feet on the dirt track, and the crunch and snap of twigs and leaves as they walked. The bush was growing darker around them as the sun began to sink behind the mountains.

Russell continued just before Pyran could ask him to.

“Slowly I lowered the anchor down again with our two best cod pinned on each side of the pick. His eyes rolled from side to side, checking the bait from all angles. He approached the bait…but then moved away. He did this three times. Looking back, I know that he was toying with us. We were tense, so tense! He rolled over slowly. He circled our boat…and then…he opened his mouth…”

Russell turned to look into the faces of the children. Tristram and Saffi were smiling; they had heard the story before. Tristram thought that the story had improved markedly since the first telling. Pyran was in eager anticipation, his eyes on stalks.

“Well?” He asked.

“Well…” Russell resumed, poker-faced, “he opened his mouth – then snapped it shut again without so much as touching the bait. Then he slowly dived down into the deep until he was totally out of sight.”

Russell then looked at Pyran and shrugged.

“Oh, WHAT?!” Bawled Pyran incredulously. “Is that it?! Is that the story? Man, that sucks eggs!”

“Pyran!” Hester warned, but she was amused.

“But it does, Mum! Why did you even bother telling that story? Gee that’s rotten, Uncle Russell…”

“Actually Pyran,” Russell answered in a stern, cool voice, “that isn’t the end of the story. If you regain your equanimity, I may continue.”

“Regain me what?”

“He means shut up, Pyran.” Warrick barked. Even the cynical teenager was eager for the tale.

“Stewy and I waited for him to resurface. We waited a minute. Then two minutes. Then ten. Twenty…we started to doubt his return, but we couldn’t move. Twenty-five minutes. Thirty. We relaxed into our disappointment. We didn’t say a word for a whole hour. I lit up a cigarette and Stewy lit up his pipe, and we sat there in silence watching the water. The sun was beginning to set and huge flocks of white corellas were squawking in the trees, getting ready to settle in for the night.

Well, just before the sun had set completely, Stewy sighed, emptied his pipe and said “Come on, Rusco. The show’s over and the monkey’s gone.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth, then a great uprising of water rocked the boat. In an instant, Big Scale had rushed up to the surface from the bottom of the river, grabbed the bait and breached like a whale clear out of the water. It almost capsized the tinnie. Stewy and I hung on to the sides for grim death. We were drenched to the bone by the landing splash – and then…we were off!

Big Scale hurtled down river dragging us behind him. We thumped and bumped behind hm as if we were a speed boat on a choppy sea.

After a while we actually got used to it and even started to enjoy the ride…until – WHACK!

Big Scale rushed around a river bend and smacked us into a half submerged red gum. Luckily, we recovered, but the boat was heavily dinted – still held water though. Anyway, we both grabbed an oar and whenever something like that was about to happen again, we paddled like buggery! It was an exhausting business and really hard when the sun went down. All we had to see with was stars and shadows and Big Scales white wake in front of us – that was all.

Finally, after hours and hours it ended. He broke the line, taking our anchor and our cod, just as we were going under a bridge.”

After an expectant silence, Pyran asked “Is that it?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Wasn’t a bad story, but the ending could be better, eh?”

“I agree,” Hester said, “it was a bit of an anticlimax.”

“But you didn’t even ask which bridge it was.” Russell replied. With that he had their attention again.

“I said that the chase started in Swan Hill. Well…it ended…in Mildura.”

“So?” Pyran shrugged.

“Do you know how far Mildura is from Swan Hill?”

“No…well? How far is it, Uncle Russell?”

“It’s about a hundred and seventy-three kilometres.”

“Whoa!”

They had arrived at their campsite. The sun had set only moments ago and the first stars had begun to appear. Raucous kookaburra calls boomed from all sides of the clearing, announcing the onset of night.

As they stepped into the clearing, Tristram noticed that they were not alone.

Book Details

AUTHOR NAME: Tristan A. Smith

BOOK TITLE: The Witch Doctor's Opal

GENRE: Fantasy

SUBGENRE: Contemporary Fantasy / Fantasy Inspired By Folklore & Mythology

PAGE COUNT: 258