Unlike toy boomerangs sold to tourists, hunting boomerangs are designed to crack open the head of prey and are too heavy to return.   Hearing the boomerang thud into the ground Garbarla risked a quick look behind him.   And saw the boomerang buried fifteen or twenty centimetres deep, with no obvious damage to the weapon.   Seeing the jagged hole in the ground Garbarla thought, ‘That’s what it would have done to my head!’   Turning back he saw Mutapina grinning widely and knew the madman was thinking the same thing.

Too late Garbarla realised Mutapina was smiling at him falling for a “double-play”.   When Garbarla had turned away Mutapina had launched his stone knife.

Garbarla tried to leap aside, but the knife connected with his lower ribs with a loud cracking of bone.

As  his senses were swamped by the burnt-copper taste and smell of blood, for a second Garbarla feared the knife had penetrated his heart.   But then he realised, ‘I’d already be dead in that case.’

After that Mutapina and Garbarla circled each other warily.   Neither anxious to expose himself to attack, or waste the loss of a weapon.

When at last the fighting started in earnest, to his own surprise as much as his opponent’s, it was Garbarla who struck the next blow.   ‘Well, here goes nothing!’   he thought, trying not to give away his intention in advance as he lunged forward with one of his spears.

“Aaaaah!” shrieked Mutapina as the spear sank deep into his left thigh with a dull thud.

Startled, Garbarla almost dropped the spear, but he managed to hold on to the hilt.   Then trying to ignore the fire in his own ribs, he quickly pulled out the spear, making Mutapina scream again.   This time in anger as blood spurted from his injured thigh.

“You’ll die for that Mulunguwa!” shouted Mutapina.   He lunged wildly forward with one of his own spears.

Garbarla easily side-stepped, and as his opponent went past sank his spear deep into Mutapina’s left flank.   Pushing deep to increase the injury, Garbarla released the spear, deciding he could afford to lose one in preference to taking the time to pull it out, risking aggravating his own injury.

‘Let him be defenceless, not me!’ thought Garbarla.   And as Mutapina started tugging at the spear, shrieking in pain and anger, Garbarla decided to risk the loss of a second weapon.   Expecting to miss his mark, Garbarla launched his own hunting boomerang.

As the boomerang whump-whump-whumped through the air toward him, Mutapina jumped to one side, forgetting the spear in his flank.

The boomerang narrowly missed his head, but connected with his left shoulder with a sickening cracking of bone.   Which made the murderer shriek in agony and drop to the ground.

Hearing Weari-Wyingga’s loud gasp across the corroboree ground, Garbarla realised the old man was as surprised as he was that Garbarla was getting the upper hand in the fight.

Then hearing the metallic, grinding screech of the fire owl, Garbarla looked round as the creature launched itself from the red gum bough in the ceremonial fire.

“Look out!” Weari-Wyingga shouted in warning.   Only a second before the fire owl streaked across the ceremonial ground toward Garbarla.

“Holy shit!” Garbarla cried.   For a second he was too stunned to move as the fire owl sped toward his head.   At the last instant the half-breed dropped like a rock to the ground.

The fire owl zoomed centimetres past his head.   To soar into the blue gums behind him.   The gum trees immediately began to billow with smoke at the fiery touch of the creature.

Deciding it was no longer safe to try to fight openly, Garbarla raced across the corroboree ground toward where Weari-Wyingga stood.

Having missed its original target, the fire owl soared in a semi-circle, out through the back of the blue gum grove, then back in again.   Easily outpacing Garbarla as it streaked toward its new target: Weari-Wyingga!

As Garbarla raced after the fire owl, the old man held up the Dark Stone in defence.   And called across, “Finish the fight.   Only by killing Mutapina can you destroy this monster!”

For an instant Garbarla hesitated, hoping the Dark Stone would frighten away the fire owl as it had done before.   But the demon bird kicked the stone out of the old man’s hands with one of its talons.   Then, to Garbarla’s horror, it settled onto Weari-Wyingga’s chest with a thud that knocked the old man onto his backside.

“Mutapina!   Kill Mutapina!” shrieked Weari-Wyingga.   So Garbarla forced himself to turn away and run back toward where Larry Mutapina was still writhing on the ground from the agony of a shattered shoulder and the spear which still protruded from his flank.

Garbarla hesitated, having never killed a man before.   “Why doesn’t the Dark Stone work this time?” he demanded of Mutapina.

As Weari-Wyingga began screaming shrilly, Garbarla raised his stone knife and repeated, “Why doesn’t the Dark Stone repel the fire owl this time?”

“Because I don’t believe in it,” explained Mutapina.   “So it cannot work against me or that which I serve.”

“But it worked before when you weren’t here?”

“Because I wasn’t here then.   The fire owl operates on instinct, not intelligence.   It sensed the old man’s belief in ceremonial magic and that was enough to make the stone work then.   But now I’m here and the fire owl has my knowledge.”

Weari-Wyingga’s screaming rose to a higher pitch and Garbarla looked back and saw smoke billowing from the old man’s chest.   ‘I’ve got only seconds to save him!’ thought Garbarla.   He recalled how quickly Lucy Gabadabadana had burnt to ashes, yet still he hesitated to kill the murderer.

As he hesitated Larry Mutapina laughed and said, “I knew you were gutless.   You haven’t got the courage to kill me.   Even to say the old man.”   Even as he spoke Mutapina pulled the spear from his side and hurled it at Garbarla.

Garbarla effortlessly side-stepped the spear and tossed his second spear straight into Mutapina’s chest.

“Nooooooo!” shrieked Mutapina.

For a second Garbarla feared the spear had failed to penetrate the murderer’s heart.   Then blood began to bubble from Mutapina’s mouth.   And as Garbarla turned aside to throw up, he realised he could no longer hear Weari-Wyingga’s screaming.

When at last he could stand again — his stomach aching from emptiness, his throat and nostrils reeking with the taste and smell of hot bile — Garbarla turned round, expecting to see the old man dead.

Instead Weari-Wyingga was also warily climbing to his feet, looking every bit as frail as Garbarla felt.

“Are…are you all right?” asked Garbarla.   He staggered across the corroboree ground to help the old man.   Only hoping his legs would not give out on him.

“I’ve seen better days,” admitted the old man, taking Garbarla’s arm to steady himself.

For a second Garbarla hesitated, thinking, ‘My God, it’s still here!   Still on him!’   He stared at the large owl-like shape on the old man’s chest.

Then he realised it was not the fire owl.   Merely its outline burnt half a centimetre deep into Weari-Wyingga’s chest.

Although Garbarla knew the deep burn must be agony, the old man grinned as he looked down at his own chest.   “From now on they’ll have to call me ‘Weari-Wyingga, the Owl’,” he joked as he allowed Garbarla to half lead, half carry him toward the exit through the blue gum grove.

THE END