The Kuthun by S.A. Carter Page B

about.
    Uncle Jo’s words run through my mind, ‘I do not want you to head outside any further than the oval, no matter what.’
    I stop running, panting from exertion. As I bend down to rest my hands on my knees I look at the last few remaining metres to the tree line. I want to follow them but I also remember my promise to Uncle Jo. I reluctantly turn back and start walking towards the wooden table, which is situated under the Sequoia tree, at the entry to the oval. As I sit there, hoping they’ll return safely and engulfed in emotional turmoil, a memory of my mother returns to me.

    We are sitting on the back verandah of our one-storey federation style cottage overlooking the garden, where purple wisteria is in full bloom. Mum is in her wicker rocking chair and I am seated at her feet on a large cushion. Magena, her beloved dog and Magi’s mother, is by her side as always. She is knitting—a pastime she loved, and I am practising my spells. My hand is moving over a bowl of flower petals. I channel a spell that sees them float up into the air in a circular motion, heading towards the heavens, where they will be a gift to our loved ones who have departed.
    Mum is smiling, she nods her head in pride. ‘You are very gifted, Elena,’ she says quietly. She is staring at me lovingly. ‘Always remember who you are. Believe in yourself. And never forget that I love you.’
    Sadness and regret are evident in her eyes. I stare at her for a moment and then I smile. ‘I know that, Mumma. I’m not afraid,’ I respond confidently. I get back to my spells.

    I emerge from my reverie. I can’t have been more than seven at the time.
I am not afraid.
My own words echo through my head and I gain strength from them.
    Only a few moments have passed but I look out in the distance, searching for any sign of movement. There is nothing stirring but the leaves above me. I gaze upwards and see that an owl has perched itself on a lower branch. It is watching me intently. I take in its features and realise that this is the same bird from the garden. This can’t be a good sign.
    School has not broken out for lunch yet so I have time before being disturbed. Maybe the kuthun can help me? I don’t know how exactly, but I think it is trying to tell me something. Something important. I hesitate briefly before reaching up to my necklace. My hand wraps around the smooth outline of the kuthun and I close my eyes.

    I am standing on the edge of a stream. Water is trickling over the rocks and there is a slight breeze that is blowing behind me, stirring the leaves of the overhanging trees that reside on the bank. With it is the scent of mint and another herb I can’t quite place. I look around me, trying to take in what I see.
    High snow-capped mountains fill in the backdrop. The land around me is vast and open, with patches of red dirt peeking up through the snowy landscape. A thin veil of mist is sitting atop the stream and dragonflies are hovering over the water’s surface. As I am watching them flit to and fro I hear what sounds like children’s laughter, coming from over the adjacent hill. As I turn towards the noise I see smoke billowing its way up into the sky and I decide to investigate.
    I climb the small hill and reach the rim, my head cautiously peaking over the top where another world plays out before my eyes.
    Small fires are burning everywhere, surrounded by tents that fill up a wide area of land. Wooden poles bunched together stick out of the tops of what looks like animal hides, giving off the colours of creams, beiges, blacks and browns. Within moments it occurs to me that these aren’t tents, these are teepees.
    Images of the Wild West enter my thoughts—cowboys and Indians, saloon bars and animal spirits. My mind strives to comprehend where I am.
    I think about the previous jumps through space, knowing that the kuthun takes me back to places that involve my family history. I use this information, trying to remember where this