Friday in Summer

The road was not as well traveled as Burke’s Pass. It was hardly even a public road anymore. They had had to ask for directions to it from the Information Centre as they left Lake Tekapo. The road was unsealed and hardly wide enough for two cars to pass each other from the moment they left the main road to Fairlie. Janice in the front passenger seat looked eagerly ahead.

‘There it is.’

‘I see it.’ replied the driver, concentrating on controlling the unfamiliar car on an unfamiliar gravel road. It was hard to miss the monument at the side of the road. He pulled the car onto the grass in front of the stone monument. The three travelers climbed out of the car and stood looking at the lichen-covered plinth. Silently, they walked around it, stopping at each of the three sides to look at the words carved into the stone.

Hamish tried to read the Maori words: ‘I mau a James McKenzie Te Tangata Tahae …’

The Dodger at the next face squinted against the setting sun. ‘This must be Gaelic.’ he said. ‘I can’t read a word of it, but it’s got a familiar look. This’ll be his name: Seumas MacCoinneach. Who’s Iain Taobhmais? John Tubmouse? Why did he get top-billing?’
‘I think that’ll be John Sidebottom. He was the one who captured him. It says here in English ‘On this site, James McKenzie, Freebooter was captured by John Sidebottom with Maoris Taiko and Seventeen.’ Seventeen isn’t a very Maori name.’ said Janice, looking at the third side of the cairn.

Hamish commented absentmindedly, ‘That’d translate Tekau ma Whitu. Maybe he was somebody’s seventeenth child.’
Janice traced the letters with her fingers. She felt the roughness of the weathered stone against her finger tips. ‘At the bottom it says he was captured and then escaped on 4th March, 1855.’ Lifting her eyes she could see framing the cairn, a long flat valley opening out from brown hills either side. In the far distance, snow-tipped mountains rose above a plateau. The distances were different from the place she had been, but it felt the same. ‘It’d be the end of Summer then. How do Mossman and Rhodes come into the story?’

Hamish flinched, but answered, ‘Mossman was the accomplice, according to the legend. You can’t get away from Rhodeses around this area.’ He pointed towards the hiils they had yet to travel through. ‘George Rhodes owned the a farm out that way, towards Timaru. The sheep that MacKenzie stole were his. Sidebottom was his shepherd, head shepherd I suppose.’

Janice’s hand went to her neck where the necklace she had been given by a later Australian George Rhodes had lain. ‘How’d he get the stone then?’ Both boys were silent. Janice herself fell silent.

Without a word, one after another, they turned to look at the land named after a sheep stealer. After moments of silence, Janice spoke, ‘Do you think they’ve missed us back home.’

The boys laughed, then the three adventurers turned towards the car that would take them back to their changed lives.

Were there two heads or one? I sat on the rock gathering warmth about me while Hamish scrambled as quickly as he could to the water’s edge, towel and blanket at the ready. Only one blanket was necessary, with the Dodger walking himself unsteadily and slowly to the rock beneath the statue commemorating the working sheep dog that had been erected on the shore of Lake Tekapo.
I cried while the Dodger dressed himself under the blanket in Hamish’s offerings. He sat close to me, putting his arm around my shoulders when he was dressed and wrapped still in the blanket.

‘He did come through the gate, Janice, but he was dead when I came through. I left him in the lake.’ I really don’t know whether I wanted to know that.

The sun rose. We sat in silence. Pachelbal’s canon had finished and tourists were arriving in a big white bus. We said our goodbyes to Jasper. I placed a small smooth white stone from the lake front at the feet of the bronze dog. The Dodger and Hamish did the same. In our stockinged feet, we walked to the rental car, raising a few eyebrows amongst the early morning tourists.

The hardest part of my return to this reality was going to be explaining to my mother why I had suddenly gone off to New Zealand with Jonathan Douglass. Telling her that we went with an old school mate of his, Hamish McKenzie, wouldn’t really help matters. He may have been sports captain at Seaport, but his father had turned up in our backyard, stark naked, so what was the son like?

We decided to lie. Not a very big lie. Just a long one: two and a half thousand kilometres long. We were going to be in, not the wonder and glory of Lake Tekapo, but the hustle and bustle of Melbourne. The Dodger and I, evidently, had been introduced to the movies of Stanley Kubric on Friday, and were going to catch the exhibit tomorrow at the ACMI where several early Stanley Kubric classics were being screened. Hamish had also convinced us, I told my mother, that we should come into Melbourne to see the films that some of his friends at the VCA School of Film and TV had produced. Hadn’t Liam told them. We’d seen him when I came back for some clothes yesterday, I lied. We’d stayed last night at a friend’s flat, and would be back home on Monday. It helped that Hamish had a friend at VCA who had produced a film for the graduate screenings.

The hardest part was lying about Jasper. I would be the only one in my family who knew that he was lying on the bottom of a lake in New Zealand. The story for our parents was going to involve a run in the country as we were driving home, from which he did not return.

The Dodger, during his previous trip from the Valley, had spoken to his mother during her lunch-break on Friday, explaining the trip into Melbourne, so she wasn’t expecting to hear from him during the weekend. He phoned her anyway. There had been a burglar in the garden shed last night, she said, but when the police arrived they couldn’t find anything untoward. They told her she should get a lock put on it, but really what did Jonno think of knocking it down?

‘Sounds like a good idea, mum, but wait ‘til I get home ok?’ She laughed wryly and asked him how it was going.

‘Fine.’ There are some benefits in having a reputation for noncommunicating.

There was a knock at his mother’s door. She said she’d phone the Dodger back once she found out what it was the police wanted this time. He forestalled her, saying he would ring when he got back from the bathroom. Hamish returned at this stage and we ate breakfast. It was strange to need to eat again. I found I had no desire for food, but had to force myself to eat when I got a tad scratchy with the boys.

The Dodger phoned his mum. The difference between this conversation and the last was enormous. We could hear the excited voice on the other end. The Dodger could hardly get a word in edge-wise.

The police had reopened the investigation into Mr Douglass’s death. They had taken the walking stick, ok shepherd’s crook, she corrected herself, from the garden shed, and they had listened to her story of the intruder last night again. There’d be more to talk about on Sunday night, when he got back. No, he should have a good time in town with his friends. She was fine.
He said it was the first time in a year that he really believed she was fine.

It was taking a bit of getting used to, being back in the world of time, especially because looking out the front window, the land looked and felt so much like the Valley. Food, tiredness, pain when I stubbed my toe coming out of the bathroom: hard to come back from paradise.

‘Where’s the money coming from for all this?’ I asked.

‘Ah. I hope you can pay me back for some of it. We’re using my hard-earned Uni fees at the moment.’ Hamish admitted.
‘Actually, I’ll repay you for all that.’ The Dodger interrupted. ‘My father’s family have put money aside for generations to cover anything like this. Even when they were at their most needy, they never touched it. When Dad told me about it, I thought it was just another sign of what a fruit-cake he was becoming.

‘My dad had a McKenzie Country fund. He called it that. I thought it was money we were saving to go on holiday with, but clearly it was to cover any costs related to the Valley. I think, maybe it’s been around since my family had enough spare cash to put aside. Dad added the account to my card when I was thirteen. I guess this is exactly what it was all being saved for. I’ll pay for our airfares and stuff with the card. You did bring the card, Hamish?’ It was produced.

Our alibis were told. The tickets for home were booked. We had the rest of Saturday, and Sunday morning to recuperate. Now what? I wondered.

I had to let Jasper go, I knew that, like I had known that the stone had to be returned. But it seemed harsh, even more so once we were in the gateway and I saw the agony he was in. We were in a grey place where it was difficult to keep the physical elements focussed. I could sense a floor under my feet, and see a dog. Further away in the greyness, the Dodger was inspecting the walls behind Jasper, who swayed his head from side to side then fell in an untidy heap onto the floor.

‘What’s wrong?’ I asked, bending down to him.

When the gate is kept open, we are in neither place, but also in both. I go from knowing to knowing. The translation was imprecise, but as I watched the struggle he was having, I could see two facets of Jasper at the same time. I saw the dog I fed and walked and ignored, but also the person who was honoured in the Valley. Each facet required a different energy. He was trying to keep hold of two incompatible states: sentience and intelligence.

Please hurry. he whimpered and lost consciousness. I thrust both my hands under his warm belly to lift him. The Dodger continued examining the walls.

‘There’s nothing to indicate where the gateway is. Does it matter?’ He glanced at me, Taking no notice of my attempt to lift the unresponsive dog, he said. ‘Do we have to get the same spot as Ina did, or is it just all the same wherever we put it.’

‘Put what?’ I asked.

He turned right around and walked towards me. ‘Blood, tears …’ He looked at Jasper and an unspoken element of what he said fell between us.

‘There’s more. What is it?’

‘The third element is death. That’s why Jasper is staying.’

I struggled to my feet with the dog in my arms. ‘I’m not leaving him.’ The Dodger gave the floor at my feet a quick look. I looked down. The dog was still there. The Jasper I had lifted grew lighter and lighter in my arms, then disappeared.

‘You can’t take him.’

I heard the Dodger’s words, but I couldn’t let Jasper go. I would take him with me. My tears fell onto Jasper’s coat. The Dodger watched them fall.

He caught my hand as I raised it to wipe the tears off my cheek. His fingertips tested the length of my nails. ‘Scratch me.’
I could have punched him, or kicked him or scratched his eyes out, but this invitation was ludicrous. He continued: ‘My fingernails are too short. My blood, your tears. We have to go.’

I turned away, bending towards the still body of my dog.

‘You can’t take him. He will stay whether you want him to or not. He’s not yours. You don’t own him. You don’t own anything.’ I stood to face him, Jasper on the floor between us. ‘All we can do is shorten his pain. To do that we have to go. It’s true, Janice. We both have to leave him.’

‘He was never yours!’ I yelled at him through my tears.

‘He was always ours.’ he countered. ‘Friday’s brood belonged to my family in the only way that dogs can be said to belong to anyone. That’s why I will allow him to stay. You and I can only do what we have to do.’ He paused. I cried.

Jasper moaned at my feet. Hurry. It was surprisingly easy to bury my fingernails into the Dodger’s arm and draw blood. With the pain still in his eyes, he touched a finger to my tears, then another to the scratch on his arm. Looking me in the eye, he reached for my hand then placed both our palms against the rock. He spoke: ‘Take a deep breath.’

The first sensation I experienced on my return to the world of space and time, was bone-chilling cold. The next was a lack of oxygen. I was underwater, naked and alone, rising towards the surface. I overcame the urge to take a sharp breath.

When my head broke the surface of the water, the sun was just scheduling her arrival over the most glorious mountain range you have ever seen. Pinks shading into bruised mauves coloured the sky over mountains tipped with snow. I would have been more enthralled, but the water was colder than anyhting I had ever experienced before in my sheltered existence.

I started swimming towards what could have been a stone building on the shore. I would need my glasses in this place a small irrelevant part of me thought. Swimming should have warmed me, but nothing could. Even after so short a time, I could no longer feel my hands or feet and I wasn’t sure that my swimming coach would have approved of my stroke.

The incongruous sound of Pachelbel’s canon greeted me as I stumbled onto the first stone. I wrapped my arms around myself as I emerged like a frozen Venus from the icy pink waters of the lake. I could see off to my left, a plinth with Jasper standing looking back the way I had come. How could I be feverish when I felt so cold?

A voice called out. I shivered my response. Some one came and wrapped a warm cocoon around me before I had emerged fully from the water. I was lifted and carried. I didn’t care who it was. They were warm and my feet didn’t have to work anymore. I rested my head against the warmth of a chest puffing with the effort of carrying me. My ears started working and I realised my name was on my rescuer’s lips.

‘Janice. He was right then. You must be frozen.’ Hamish.

He carried me towards the bronze statue of Jasper and sat me, wrapped in a woollen blanket, on a large rock, surrounded, I soon realised, by purple and pink lupins. My skin had never enjoyed the touch of warm wool against it ever before, I decided as he gently dried my hair with a towel he took from a plastic clothes’ basket beside the rock. When I was dry, he handed me some clothes.

‘This is getting to be a habit, Mr McKenzie.’ I managed to say between shivers. He smiled. Thick socks, woollen long-johns, plaid shirt, knitted hat. ‘Whose are these?’ I stuttered.

‘My mum’s. She’s a ski buff. You’ll need them.’ He was right. I was colder than I have ever been in my life. He handed me a thermos cup with a warm chocolate drink in after I was dressed. I wrapped my fingers around it. I could almost feel them again.
‘Where’s the Dodger? And Jasper?’ I asked a little more coherently.

“They were later than you going into the Valley, so will return here later. I need to keep an eye on the lake for …’ We turned to the water in unison. It was changing from pink to turquoise as the sun appeared through a break in the ranges. We had both heard the call.

At the Source, Jasper was lying quietly beside the spring. He stood as we stepped away from the gateway. Without any words spoken Janice lifted the string attached to the stone over her head. ‘How do I return it, Jasper?’

You’ll need to go to the mouth of the cave and place it back in the stream bed where it was originally. We looked horrified. Not exactly where it was, but in that bed. Then we’ll have to come back to this gateway. It used to open onto an island, but I think it may be underwater now.

This was a worrying piece of news. ‘How far underwater?’ But of course he didn’t know. I tried to remember what I had read on the net as Hamish was organising tickets and accommodation, but I could recall pictures of a green lake and that was about it. I had been preoccupied.

Janice turned and walked into the water. I followed. Jasper stayed where he was. I will await your return.

I still didn’t like the sensation of being in a bottomless pool of water underground, but I swam towards the space under the rock that we had come through on our way here. I panicked as the force of the water seized me. Just relax, you will be safe. Very reassuring, but I had to put my hand up to ward off a nasty bump against a jagged edge of the rock. Then I was through, and gave myself up to the current.

I gave out a loud ‘Yahooooo.’ And waved at Janice as I went rushing past in the near dark. I was out of the cave and scrambling onto the rocky bank when I heard a higher pitched ‘Yahoo.’ and Janice came hurtling out of the cave mouth. I got back into the water and grabbed her as she came towards me. We were forced further downstream, tumbling over each other, pushing and pulling, hurting ourselves on the smooth stones, but eventually fetching up in a shallow. Her face was close to mine. She burst into fits of hysterical laughter.

When she finished and we were sitting in the shallows enjoying the movement of the cold water over our feet, she turned to me: ‘That’s done then.’

‘What?’

‘I had the stone in my hand as I came out of the cave. Somewhere in the middle of that wrestling match you instigated, I let it go. I thought there might have been spooky voices or a ripple in the fabric of time. But there was nothing.’ She didn’t look worried. She really looked more content than I had seen her in the Valley. ‘So I suppose we have to go then.’ she said.

I stood and silently held out my hand to her. She took it and we walked hand-in-hand back towards the mouth of the cave. She stopped just before the entrance. ‘It was about here, you know. I saw Mossman bend here and pick up the two stones. McKenzie and Ina were over there.’ She pointed up to the track beside the cave. ‘The dog, Friday, she …’ Janice cast around trying to see the border collie in her mind’s eye. Her eyes widened as she entertained an unwelcome thought. ‘She was looking at Mossman. She saw him take the stones.’

The implications were unwelcome. ‘Perhaps she didn’t realise he would take them back with him. Or maybe she didn’t realise the implications.’

‘He put them in his mouth. If he was doing that, he had to have been aware that Ina would not allow him to take anything. So Friday would too.’

We walked silently into the cave, thinking of the implications. It didn’t change what I had to do.

At the rock, Janice went through the water first with hardly a shudder. I went into the water, expecting a short, aggressive swim. However, the water was stronger than I had allowed for. It pulled me down until the light could be seen above only as bright as a star in a distant galaxy. I called to the Valley, but she was silent. Then another rock blocked my view of the light, and I could no longer tell which way I should go. I panicked, thrashing in the gloom. Then my head hit a rock, and I was in the sky, looking down on a stormy windswept country.

There was a man beating his way through the storm. A solid looking bullock with a cart attached, faded into the distance. The man’s full red beard was wet and dishevelled in the wind. At his side a black and white dog raised her nose to receive a gust full of rain. You could tell it was cold. The man wore a great flapping crofter’s coat, which he pulled close around him to keep out the wind. He yelled something which was drowned out by the wind. The dog and the man found themselves on the banks of a swift-flowing dirty brown river. They turned upstream, straining their eyes to look at the debris that was being washed down the river. The dog darted ahead at one point.

The man continued trudging through the storm, using his shepherd’s crook to anchor himself when the gusts proved too strong. The dog came back at one stage and wrapped herself around his legs then went back the way she had come. The man followed. The straggly bush parted and he came out into a valley where a blue lake nestled between foothills of tussock dotted with shrub. The outlet into the torrential river came from either side of a narrow spit of land which disappeared into the lake. Even with the storm battering him, the man took the opportunity to admire the lake.

In the open the wind was even fiercer, but the man and dog continued, the dog using her nose to search out the scent they were seeking. The man looked towards the shores of the island where trees and rocks were submerged by the rising water. The dog gave a bark and then disappeared into the water. He yelled at her, but then shed his coat and, swimming strongly, followed the dog’s bobbing black and white head. He was not an elegant swimmer, but managed to arrive at the tree eventually. The body of a man was caught in the branches of the tree. The exhausted dog used her last burst of energy to swim around the tree and onto a stony strip of land. The man untangled his companion from the tree and swam with him to the same part of the shore. He checked that the other man breathed as soon as he was able to stand. Being assured that he did breath, the tall red haired man pulled himself and his friend to a spot above the water. Then he collapsed onto his back.

An old woman appeared and leaned over him, the rain forming a curtain around her face. Her tears fell on to the small area of his face that was not covered by his bushy red beard. Time passed. The rain eased.

She helped him stand and then he lifted his friend, and followed the woman carrying the dog. They climbed a hill, slowly but with gathering strength, following a track until they reached a rock face. She touched her face, then his wounded side and smeared the blood and tears on the rock. As the vision started to fade, they disappeared, leaving their clothes in a pile at the rock face.

As I rose to consciousness, I heard the voice of the Valley: Death, blood and tears opened the gate. The same is needed to close it. Wake now.

I opened my eyes and a young woman was bending over me. ‘Poor Dodger.’ she said. ‘The cut on your head healed, but you wouldn’t wake up.’

I took a moment to come back to the cave, away from the remembered cold and pain of the vision. ‘I saw McKenzie. I saw him going into the Valley. With Ina? It was Ina eventually but she was an old dead woman. I think.’ I shook my head. Janice sat back from me. I was on the floor of the cave with the spring bubbling at the back.

Jasper stood beside Janice, attentive and patient. You saw your sire’s beginning. Before he came to the Valley with Mossman, the ancients came here over water. The dead were set on boats and given to the river to find their way to the Valley. This was the old way. It doesn’t happen anymore. There is another way in, but it doesn’t connect with this Land. I thought about what I had seen.

‘There was a rock. The woman placed her hand and McKenzie’s on the rock and they disappeared.’

The rock you saw is on the other side of this cave, in one sense. The gateway takes us around the rock. We will have to seal it from inside. We have to go. When we leave we will be in the gateway for a time.

I shivered, remembering my father in the gateway. ‘Who else will be in there?’ I asked. Janice looked at me, then remembered what I had told her of my father.

There will be no one else. Those who wait will stay back as we perform our last duty in the gateway. He stopped. There was a pregnant pause. The dog continued. I will not go with you through the gateway.

Janice looked at him. ‘You have to come. That’s the point. We go in and heal and close and …’

And guard. I heal my family by staying to guard.

Janice was shocked. ‘No. No you’re not going to stay here and die. You are my dog and I forbid it.’ Jasper looked her full in the face. He said nothing, and Janice’s face crumpled.

So it was that we arrived inside the gateway with Janice crying, my head aching and Jasper bent on self-sacrifice.

I wasn’t sure what the consequences were of time ‘loosening her hold’, so I spent as little time as possible with Hamish getting passports, transferring money and making excuses. Janice’s parents were particularly distracted, and it was her brother who let me into her bedroom to find clothes and passport. There had been a naked man in their back yard, he said. Funny I said. He would pass on the message that Janice was at my place watching videos, he said.

By my kitchen clock, it was less than an hour later that I left Hamish and went back to the garden shed. I hoped touching the shepherd’s crook my grandfather had always kept on the back of the shed door, wasn’t smudging Coles’s fingerprints. That was the last thought I had before I arrived back in the Valley. I had expected it to be dark, but it was full daylight. I turned to see Janice sitting with her back against the cairn, looking back towards the forest. Jasper was no where to be seen. ‘Why are you here? I thought you’d be at the source with Jasper.’

‘This is my gate isn’t it? If I went through here, I would end up in my place, wouldn’t I?’

‘Yeah, sure. But we can traverse from here to the Source. It’ll be for the last time. Come on. Jasper will be waiting.’ She didn’t respond. She didn’t look at me. She sat with her back against the pile of stones, clutching some clothes.

‘You did it again, you know. You left me alone here. You just disappear and turn up again, both of you. It’s me that wants to go home.’ She glanced at me dismissively, then stood and threw my clothes at me. ‘Here, put your pants on.’

‘Thanks.’ I managed as I donned the jogging pants. I wondered if she had hoped it would be McKenzie who appeared out of the flash of light. ‘I saw Hamish. He’s ok. Not dead or anything. His father made the right choice.’ She didn’t react as I thought she would. She didn’t gush or go weepy or thank me effusively. She leaned back against the stones.

After a worrying time she said, very quietly: ‘He didn’t really have a choice, did he?’

‘Who? Hamish?’ She gave me that ‘You idiot’ look that girls master at an early age. ‘You mean Mr McKenzie?’ Silence was the answer. I couldn’t follow her thinking. She was giving very little away. ‘Look. If you want to go home, all you have to do is throw the stone in the river, then the three of us will touch the last gateway and we’ll be back home. Well, actually, not home, but I’ve arranged for Hamish to pick us up from Lake Tekapo. It’s a famous lake in the middle of the South Island of New Zealand. He’s on his way there now. I got your passport and some clothes so….’ I had her attention now.

‘Lake what?’ She wasn’t happy. ‘Are you saying that I am going to drop out of this place and end up stark naked at a major tourist attraction in the middle of New Zealand?’

I thought about my answer. ‘Once your gate is shut, the Source will be the only one open. The McKenzie gate is shut. Mine will close as soon as the stones are both returned and yours ….’

‘I’m not going to return my stone.’ Janice stood away from the rocks, straightened her shoulders and said it again. ‘It’s mine. I’m not giving it away.’

I thought she’d seen through all that stuff Mr McKenzie had said. I’d forgotten how deeply engrained the habit of ownership was. ‘It’s not yours, Janice. It was stolen from here. It was given to your family by a thief to secure his freedom, and to betray a good man. It was never yours.’ I was speaking quietly too.

‘My grandfather gave it to me. It’s the only thing that is truly mine. I have six cousins, and they are all boys. I am the only Rhodes girl, and this is what is given to the Rhodes girls.’

I was covering it quite well, but my anger was rising. ‘Do you know anything about your great-grandmother, Janice? There’s a story, you see, in my family about her. The stones can only be returned when the stone gates open onto the same land. It should have been New Zealand, but your great-something-grandmother made that impossible. Early last century, the first Jonathan Douglass heard there was a daughter born to the Rhodes family. He waited until she was about your age, then travelled back to Timaru to try to convince her to return the stone. The other stone was a cinch. Hamish’s forebears were still at Pleasant Point. They would have done anything for a dram of whisky, the story goes. Return the stone. Steal some sheep. Whatever. But your family was different. They were the local gentry. The first Janice Rhodes …’

I had her attention, even though she was still looking off into the distance. She interrupted. ‘The second. She was named after her grandmother.’

‘That Janice Rhodes was really appreciative of the attentions of the handsome young Australian farmer, but she chose not to give the stone back. The first Jonathan Douglass tried everything he could, but the second Janice Rhodes flirted and teased and wouldn’t even visit the Valley because she thought he was trying to get into her pants or whatever the Victorian era equivalent was. She was ..’ I cast around for the right word ‘… ditzy. I didn’t think you were the same.’

Now she turned to face me. ‘Ditzy? You think I’m being ditzy?’ She pushed me backwards with two hands on my chest. She was really angry. I held my ground as she placed her palms on my chest and pushed me again. ‘If I’m ditzy, then what are you? How many generations of Jonathan Douglasses has it taken to produce an air-head like you? You just sit back and watch what’s going on. You stand outside while the action, the real action is going on. If I’m a ditz then you are the absolute spectator. You and your family, you don’t do stuff. You just wait around until it’s too late to change anything and then you come in and throw accusations around. Telling people to give away their stuff and stealing their dogs and … and …’

I had just discovered my father was neither alive nor dead, that he would remain that way until she gave back the stone she wore around her neck. Any accusations of detachment were a red flag to a bull. This is my excuse for what happened next.

I kissed her.

It was not a great kiss as kisses go, but it did have the element of surprise. She could have pushed me away, I reassured myself when she didn’t. So I was half expecting a slap when I finally let her go.

I didn’t get one. She just looked surprised, and then laughed. It was a ragged pathetic attempt at a carefree laugh, but it wasn’t a smack in the face.

‘What does that prove?’ she asked.

She didn’t look angry and I didn’t feel like hitting her anymore. It was a pretty successful red herring, I thought, but had the wisdom not to say so. ‘I thought it would be a good idea.’ I said shamefacedly. ‘I just wanted to.’ I added more honestly.

‘Not detached then?’ she said.

‘No.’ I answered. Then after a pause I asked her: ‘Can I tell you about my dad, please?’

When I touched the stone at the village, my experience of travelling between gateways led me to expect an instantaneous disappearance in one place: the village, and reappearance in another: the Source. But when I left the village, this did not happen.

There was no sound or light or smell. At first what I sensed was heaviness and oppression and … I was not alone. Then there was a familiar voice behind me: my father seemed to be saying: ‘You took your time, Jonno.’

I really didn’t want to turn around, but I found I already had. The sight that greeted my eyes was as bad as I thought it would be. My father’s voice had issued from the mouth of every sight I had ever had of him. The last view of him: naked, face swollen, dead, was superimposed on my views of him opening the scholarship letter and watching a solo performance and an unremembered view of him young and bare-faced. ‘You get used to it.’ The apparition misguidedly told me. ‘No, you’re right. You don’t. But you won’t be here long enough to worry about it. Just turn your back while you’re here.’

Small mercies I thought, as I obeyed.

‘Small mercies.’ he said from behind me. ‘There are two things. Shortly you will exit into my tool shed. When you come back, I’ll put you straight through to where the Rhodes girl is. This gate, and my vigil, will disappear when she returns the stone. The Source’s exit will put you down in Lake Tekapo. In Lake Tekapo. You can see Friday’s monument from there. You need to arrange for someone to meet you at Tekapo.’

I started thinking what would be needed: passports, mine and Janice’s; clothes, same; money, transport … My father touched my shoulder momentarily with a dead hand. I jumped. He continued speaking, so I focussed on his voice, which like his appearance was all the voices I had ever heard him use. This was a lot easier to take. ‘That’s the first thing. The second is … I’m holding Coles here. He is in the gate. The company here is rather … select. He may not be completely sane when he finally gets back. I think he’ll get back.’ There was a pause. I wondered if he had finished and I could go, but he continued. ‘He killed me, you know. Came back from the Valley to this portal. Strung me up as soon as I arrived, then left through the gateway just before I died. I think he’ll confess when he gets back, but if he doesn’t he used the shepherd’s crook to get the rope over the rafter. His fingerprints will be on it.’

‘You didn’t kill yourself?’ That’s when I started crying. Me: Dodger Douglass. I had lived for a year with the knowledge that my dad had chosen to die for a fictitious people rather than live for the real ones who needed him. I had seen my mum change from the wife and mother of eccentric geniuses to the pitiable widow and distracted guardian of a loser and a loser’s son.

‘No. I had too much to live for.’ I forgot everything: his appearance, the place, my duty and my mask which slipped with a clang to the metaphorical floor. I turned to face my father, and there was Hamish in my father’s shed.

More death. I thought. In a place where nobody dies, they talk about dying? I kept this thought to myself as Ina once more sang our entrance to the village: We are returning. Of this place two, with overlanders five. Those who were foretold. The thief’s older son and one for judgment.

So it was that there was a large group that gathered once more at the water’s edge at the end of the village. I expected a similar ritual as had been performed with Hamish, but this did not happen. Instead of standing at the water’s edge with the bound Coles, Ina moved to a rock at the water’s edge. This man has stolen our seed. The gate will judge him. With this, she pushed Coles towards the rock. He stood his ground, yelling: ‘I am not to blame. McKenzie let us in.’

Another woman came and helped Ina. They pushed him back against the stone, and with a flash, he disappeared. I had learned by now to look for the tell-tale pile of clothes to see if someone had traversed or if they had left the Valley. There was no pile of clothing. Coles was still somewhere in the Valley. I didn’t like the thought of that. ‘Where did he go?’ I asked Dodger.

‘I don’t want to find out. You?’ I agreed with him.

Jasper whined quizzically: It is strange. He has not left the Valley, but he is nowhere in it either.

It was Mr McKenzie’s turn. He was not bound, but he stood at the edge of the bank high above the water as if he were.

Ina spoke: You came to us falsely. You misled your younger brother who will die if the stone is not returned. You have come back even though the Valley can no longer heal you.

Will you return what was stolen?

I didn’t think he would. He looked at me, then at the Dodger. He slowly took the stone and its cord from his pocket, then he appeared to consciously don an angry face. ‘This is a token of someone else’s history. I don’t want it. Neither me nor my family has ever wanted it. Take it away.’ With the last shouted sentence he threw the stone into the river. It disappeared under the surface with hardly a ripple. There was no cheer, or thunderclap or anything. The drama of Mr McKenzie’s return of the Mossman stone failed to materialise. He looked crest-fallen. Gandalf raises his staff to lead the hordes into battle, and the enemy fails to materialise.

I stepped forward untying my necklace, ready for the same act, but Ina stopped me. Not this place. The three foretold must leave from the Source. You, Jock’s son, Friday’s pup. She indicated each of us as she named us.

‘What about me then?’ Mr McKenzie was an embarrassing left-over from the previous chapter.

Ina turned to him. Your connection has ceased. You may return to the overland. The Rhodes gate will allow you access. He looked blankly at her.. The gate nearest the raped fields. (The one you call) George will accompany you.

George stepped forward. Mr McKenzie didn’t look as though he was ready to go. ‘Do I get no thanks?’

No. You are free of the curse. Your younger brother will live. We will accept your thanks for the healing you have taken from our land. She looked quite fierce. I would have been mumbling ‘thank you’s and backing out of her presence bowing and scraping. Mr McKenzie merely looked her in the face, then without another word, left the assemblage. George ambled after him.

Ina turned to Jasper. We were definitely the business of this chapter. What help do you need to get to the Source?In contrast to her treatment of Mr McKenzie, she was deferential to us. Well, to Jasper really.

He barked: We will traverse. Time is short. With the return of one stone, the connection is weaker. Time begins to loosen her hold.

The villagers cheered. Jasper moved to the rock and disappeared. Flash! The Dodger did the same. Flash! I stepped up to do the same, but the unthinkable happened. Dodger’s clothes were pooled at the foot of the stone. He had returned to the Overland, not the Source. I quickly picked up his clothes, leaned forward and laid my hand on the warm stone. Flash!

Timaru, New Zealand, 1903

Janice caught her cousin’s eye over the stranger’s shoulder. It was all the encouragement her champion needed. ‘Are you all right, Janice? Enjoying your first ball are you?’ Dear Thomas, she thought as she launched herself at him. Douglass let go of the stone at Thomas’ first words.

The villager was unmoved by Mr McKenzie’s angry question. Once the latter had asked the same question several times, the answer came: ‘Your son is not dead here. No-one can die in this Land. You know that. He must return and complete the task, or he will die in your land. That is how it works.’ The villager that Mr McKenzie had called George was speaking. Coles was suspiciously quiet.

I forced my way into the conversation. ‘But he did do his task. He took us to the Source.’

‘There were two parts. The other has not been accomplished. The stone must be returned to the River.’ While he said this, George started walking with Coles down the hill. Coles looked at me, then at the Dodger. I didn’t like the calculating look he gave us both.

‘We will go to the Village. Ina will decide what to do with this one.’ George said. Jasper fell in beside the villager and Coles whose arms were tied tightly behind his back. You could see the man intently listening to what was said. Mr McKenzie moved off with them, limping at first, but then he was walking easily as the healing from the Valley took effect. When they were out of ear-shot, Coles said something to him. Hamish’s father looked back at us, but continued walking down the hill. I didn’t move from the hilltop.

The Dodger went to move off, but seeing me unmoving, he looked a question at me.

‘Do we have to go to the Village with them?’ I hissed at him.

‘Mr McKenzie has the other stone. The connection is not broken unless both stones are returned. Where he goes, we go.’ So we set off down the hill, keeping our distance from the others. Mr McKenzie looked back at the two of us when we were on the flat. He said something to George and then waited for us.

‘Can you tell me what happened while Hamish was here?’

The Dodger started. ‘He took us to the Source, then he returned to your house to get the stone to give it back to the river. That’s what you stopped him doing. He was going to lift the curse from your family. Now it’s your job, Mr McKenzie.’ I thought the Dodger was being unnecessarily harsh.

‘I know what my job is, lad.’ He wasn’t very happy with the Dodger, but the look my friend gave him back wasn’t kind either. He turned to me. ‘You’ve got the other stone have you?’

I showed him the necklace around my neck. He looked so greedily at it that I was nonplussed and hid it again quickly. I tried anyway. ‘We don’t have to go to the village. We could just go to the River and return the stones, then we can go.’

‘Is that what you want to do, Janice? You want to return the necklace?’ Hamish’s father asked me. I hadn’t questioned the necessity to return the stones.

‘It is just what has to be done. I didn’t know about this place before today, or yesterday, or whenever it is, and I’ll be sorry that the way will be closed, but the right thing to do is to give back what was stolen.’

‘How many generations ago was it stolen, Janice? Whatever was stolen, it wasn’t you, or your parents who stole it. Your ancestor took it last century in another country.’

‘Ah, it wasn’t my family that stole it, Mr McKenzie. The Valley said it was Mossman who stole it. My forebears don’t seem to have come into the Valley, or even known about it.’

I thought he was just humouring me, but I couldn’t be sure. The Dodger beside me was silent.

‘So your family didn’t even steal it. And you have it legally?’

‘My grand-father left it to me after he died. He said it was for the Rhodes daughters, not the wives. I’m named after his mother who brought it to Australia after she married her cousin. It was a scandal …’ He didn’t seem interested in my ancestry.

‘You own it legally then. So why is it necessary to return it?’

‘The stones belong in the Valley. Their existence in our world means that the two worlds are connected.’

‘So it’s not just a necklace you own. You also own a part of this land.’ I was becoming more and more uncomfortable as he spoke. I wished he would stop, but he was saying just what I had been trying to articulate for myself, linking the clues and distractions I had been exposed to since my dog ran up the McKenzie’s driveway. He continued. ‘I wonder if the gateways are connected to the necklaces or to the families.’ The Dodger began to say something, and then stopped.

I answered: ‘Well, there are two stones, but three or four gates. So it can’t be just the stones. Jasper gets in, and so does the Dodger.’ Mr McKenzie glanced at the boy on my other side before responding.

‘So returning the stones won’t close all the connections.’

It still wasn’t right. I knew that. He was missing something important, but I couldn’t think what it was. “When we return them, the Valley will be free again. The villagers said that the connection is a curse. Returning the stones will lift the curse.’

‘Superstitious nonsense. The Valley was connected to our world before the stones were stolen. Must have been, or how did McKenzie and Mossman get in?’

The Dodger interrupted. ‘Why do you want to keep the connections open, Mr McKenzie? What benefit do you get out of the Clan’s drug trafficking?’

Mr McKenzie glanced at the Dodger. ‘There are issues that you don’t understand. Your father didn’t understand them either.’ I sucked in my breath at the cruelty of what he said.

‘What issues?’ I asked for the Dodger’s sake.

‘Well, it’s not drug trafficking. What is made out of the seeds taken back to our world, is not a hard drug. People use it to get a taste of this place, to escape from the pain associated with the way we live in our world. You wouldn’t know, but some people’s lives are painful on all sorts of levels. Not just physical pain, but also emotional pain from failure and abuse and depression.’ He shook his head to throw off an unwelcome topic. ‘Anyway, it won’t be long before it’s a legal substance.’

‘None of this is new, Mr McKenzie.’ The Dodger threw into the conversation. ‘Whether it’s morally defensible or not, the fact is that Coles is taking from this place seed that should be left to grow the next season’s crop for the people who live here. There is less and less for them each year. It will run out.’

Mr McKenzie ignored him and continued to address me in his oh so reasonable tone of voice: ‘You know it’s been a tough few years for farmers in Australia, what with the drought and bush-fires and competition from overseas markets. Coles says they’ll just use the seeds from here until they become financially secure.’ He waved his hand to batt away all the problems facing the rural sector. ‘But that’s not all this is about. It comes back to you and the necklace. Are you going to do what’s good for you, or let other people make your decisions for you?’

‘But you helped stop Coles from …’

‘Mr Coles is a violent man. And unpredictable. He needs some time to cool down.’ We were nearly at the village. ‘Think about it. Think for yourself.’

We could see the village in the distance. Waiting for us a good hundred metres from the first hut, was Ina. As the three of us approached we could hear Coles finishing a diatribe: ‘… both carry stones. The other is the offspring of that maverick shepherd, Jock McKenzie.’ Jasper growled at this stage and came and stood beside the Dodger. This has no bearing on the guilt of this trespasser. Coles carries the seed away.

I wasn’t sure how convincing Jasper was being. George and Ina were both looking at us with an element of calculation in their eyes. The women spoke: The old promise is that Jock’s son, Rhodes’ daughter and Friday’s pup will set us free. Why is the thief’s older son here? Why is the stone not returned. That is what is required first. The stone must be returned before the closing, or there will be death.

When the Dodger decided he would go and check up on Hamish, although we called it something like: ‘help him with whatever is delaying his return’, I didn’t think about what it would be like on the grassy knoll on my own, surrounded by the discarded clothing of several people. My mother would have been astonished to see me tidying up: collecting the clothes, sorting them into shirts and trousers, placing them all tidily into the woven basket. But it kept me occupied. I examined the weaving and decided the basket was made from something very like flax, so there must have been more than just the local hemp being used in domestic … blah blah … I was boring myself. I would have eaten out of boredom if there had been anything to eat.

I discovered Hamish’s cache of clothes and smelled them. There was no smell. It was a pity. It illustrated nicely the difference between this place and the real world, where food is tasty and boys are sweaty.

Behind me there was a flash of light and I turned around, full of expectation. A naked stranger stood on the summit of the hill. In his hand a braided string hung down from what had to be the other stone. He started to speak when there was another flash and Jasper appeared. The man and I both put our hands over our ears as the dog yowled: Pain.Pain.Pain…

Jasper’s agony made it impossible to speak or hear. I used my foot to indicate the basket of neatly folded clothing. The man smiled Hamish’s smile and, turning his back, donned a pair of jogging pants. The dog’s screaming lessened. I knelt down beside him. ‘Can I help, Jasper?’

The transition is harder this time. I won’t make the journey again. He raised his head and looked at the man. You have the Mossman stone.

I saw the man’s smile disappear. I put my hand on Jasper’s coat, but he continued. The two stones are in the land. You have only to relinquish the stone you hold, and you and your family will be free.

I looked up at this older, more worn version of Hamish. The eyes were different, and he didn’t look as robust as Hamish had in here, but this had to be Mr McKenzie. His eyes hardened. ‘Free? I tried to free myself of my family, of my family’s past, of the whole shooting match of them and do you know what happened?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. He looked from me to Jasper. ‘They followed me over. I moved here to make a fresh start, and the people who have been bossing my family around for generations followed me. There’s the whole of Australia to choose from, but they came here.’

I looked around and wondered if he was aware that we were not in Australia. Or New Zealand. Jasper sat. ‘I thought the only good thing I got from my family was this.’ He thrust his fist with the stone in it towards my face. I got to my feet. ‘Was this!’ and he turned in a circle indicating the place we stood. ‘But it’s all a lie! If this is the Mossman stone, then my family has lived a lie for generations!’ He finished the circle and stood breathing heavily in front of us, passion spent.

I cast Jasper a ‘What’ll we do now?’ look, but I think he was returning the same look.

Mr McKenzie spoke softly, almost to himself. ‘They’ve even ruined this.’ There was silence. We looked at him: a tired man whose eyes were focussed on the grass under his bare feet. His chest was well-developed for a slight man, and his arms showed he did physically demanding work. He put the stone into his pocket, carefully ensuring the string was stowed safely. He spoke: ‘How do I get rid of it then?’ he asked me.

‘I don’t know.’ I said. He looked at me properly.

‘You’re not one of the locals. Who are you?’

I had a choice to make: truth or lie. I thought about telling a lie, but decided that he had had to deal with enough lies for today. ‘I’m Janice Rhodes.’

He was appropriately stunned. ‘The Rhodes girl! Douglass said something about you and the dog last year.’ He brought it back from an age ago. ‘You’re tied up with the McKenzie story too aren’t you? He said his family had been keeping an eye on yours for years, and that the birth of a girl was a good sign. He also said your lot didn’t know about the Valley until Coles bought the farm off you. Coles is a parasite.’

I‘m not normally superstitious, but when there was a flash of light from the cairn, I knew it had been unlucky to say his name. I started running even before the flash had registered on the other two. Jasper soon overtook me as we heard the bellow of an angry man.

‘What have you done, McKenzie?’ It was so loud it seemed to shake the very edges of the Valley. It shook the goodness of the place. I felt his presence as a violation of the place, and I wondered if that was how our presence felt to the people who lived here. I had automatically taken the same track that we walked when we first arrived, but Jasper running beside me yapped, The village. This way.’ and he turned away from the approaching forest to head across country.

I reassured myself with thoughts of how the Valley was a place of healing, and so any injuries that Mr McKenzie might or might not sustain would heal as soon as they were received. I discounted anything I had heard from Hamish about the effect of the Valley lessening the more times you came in. I just ran. But before we were in sight of the village, I stopped, turned around and started running back. Jasper barked his agreement to my change in plan, but continued on to the village. I really didn’t know what I would do when I faced up to Coles, but I knew that I was in a far better shape to cope with him than Hamish’s dad would be.

It was good to run, I discovered. When it was the right run. My legs had settled into a good length stride. My feet found smooth places to tread and I had already come to an accommodation with gravity. I could make out the knoll in the distance, and could see the two men circling each other, then the naked man charged the other, forcing him onto the ground. I could see that Mr Coles was getting the better of the fight. As I approached I saw Mr McKenzie roll a ways down the hill and rise groggily to his feet.

I was now close to the bottom of the hill. I screamed like one of the Furies bent on revenge. As well as making me feel good, this had the unexpected advantage of drawing both men’s attention when the Dodger appeared in a flash of light. He quickly sized up the situation and threw himself at Coles, knocking him to the ground where Mr McKenzie immobilised him with a basic half-nelson. By the time I burst amongst them, the fighting was over and Dodger was searching for a pair of trousers from the basket.

Mr Coles may have been lying on the ground with Mr McKenzie leaning all his weight on him, both arms trapped, but Coles was neither still nor quiet. Even in his position he continued to try to bully us: ‘There’s nothing you can do to harm me here, McKenzie. You know that. If you let this place go, you know you’ll be in Shit Street just like the rest of us. You’re guilty too you know. The police will find evidence at your place just as much as on the farm.’ and other less printable threats.

There was another flash of light and we all turned our heads to see who had arrived. It was one of the men who had captured us the day before. He had a length of rope over his shoulder and recognised Mr McKenzie when the other called to him in his language. ‘George! Am I glad to see you. Come and tie this man up for me.’ The villager moved to the lower part of the hill as Jasper arrived in another flash of light.

He and Dodger moved to my side. ‘What were you yelling for when I arrived?’

‘An old hockey trick. If you can’t beat them, confuse them.’ I was still on a high from having faced my demons, and had nowhere to put my overwrought emotions. That is why I then proceeded to throw my arms around the Dodger. I’d just been from loneliness to fear to anger to relief, and if I couldn’t hit somebody then I wanted to hug somebody. He stood stiff as a board at the beginning, but then I felt a slight patting on my back. A very unsuccessful attempt at burping a baby, I thought. But enough sympathy to push me over the edge. ‘Where were you? And why is Hamish’s dad here?’ I said as he pulled away from me. ‘And why is Mr Coles still here?’

‘He’s not still here. He’s been away and come back.’ I looked a question at him. ‘I’ve been back at the time and place we left from and Mr Coles didn’t come back to the McKenzie’s. Neither did you. Will you. Will have you.’ He shook his head. ‘And we don’t know how it’s happened, but that gate’s shut.’

‘How did you get in then?’ He didn’t answer. He didn’t look as though he was going to answer. In the background I could hear something worrying going on between the villager and Mr McKenzie.

‘What do you mean my son is dead?’ Hamish’s dad yelled.

It’s a perplexing question: What do you do as a red-blooded Australian when faced with a crying, naked mate? It’s not something I’d come up against in football changing rooms, even after crushing defeats and excruciating pain. I’d spent more intense time with this particular mate than with a whole football team, and was coming to a grudging admiration for him, but the alternatives for what I could do were limited. If he’d been wearing clothes I might have patted him bracingly on the shoulder, but his nakedness made even this a difficult proposition. So, I threw questions at him instead.

‘Douglass, what happened? How long were you in the Valley? Did you see Janice? Is she ok? What about my dad? What’s happened?’ I had my hands up ready to shake him by the shoulders when he continued crying, then conditioning took over and I let my hands fall to my sides, rocking uncertainly towards and away from Douglass. ‘Put some bloody clothes on, you tosser.’ I threw at him as a last attempt at sympathy.

I think the last great whoop of tears may have contained the hint of a rueful laugh. ‘You’re a legend you know, McKenzie.’ he offered as thanks for my compassion. It would do in the circumstances.

I picked up the boxers he was ignoring. With a couple of residual hiccups he took them from me, and dragged them on. By the time he was dressed, he had composed himself. ‘Ok, McKenzie, you’ll need passports and money. I need to get back as quickly as possible. The rest is up to you. I’ll tell you about your dad while we organise things.’ He left the shed, touching the anvil lightly on the way out. I did the same.

That morning when I got up, I never thought I would find myself at the end of the day at Christchurch Airport. The drive to Melbourne Airport had been rushed, but I made it there with minutes to spare. I had a three hour wait in Sydney, during which I made the necessary arrangements for my arrival in New Zealand. It was 10pm for me but midnight for the one person still at a car-rental counter, when I came through customs. I was travelling light with only a sheep skin jacket and a small backpack which contained three Australian passports, two sets of winter clothes, two wallets, a toothbrush, a razor and a spare pair of boxers. I picked up the rental car waiting for me, and drove to a small town called Ashburton before tiredness overtook me. I pulled over, reclined the chair and slept.

Douglass’ instructions to me had been plain: ‘Get to Lake Tekapo as quickly as you can.’ So that’s what I did, leaving the sleepy town before the sun had risen.. It was an easy drive. I had been this way once when I was a lot younger. Once I turned off to Geraldine, and the sun started to send its promise of light over the hills behind me, I could only keep going by promising myself that I would be back this way once/if the whole thing panned out.

At six o’clock I drove into the Holiday Park on the rocky shore of Lake Tekapo and roused the manager from sleep. She complimented me on the speed with which I had travelled from Christchurch to Tekapo. I think she may have been being ironic. She asked me to, yawn, please go easy on the tap water because the lake was only at 61% capacity.

‘No worries.’ I said. ‘I’m an Australian.’ This did not endear me to her.

I was happy to get settled into the tourist flat. This involved throwing the keys on the bench, making a drink and locating the towels and blankets. I had a top class view of the lake from the kitchen. Or would have in a few minutes when the sun rose fully. That’s where I headed, draping the towels around my neck as I got back into my car for the short drive to the church.

The Church of the Good Shepherd was being used for a wedding practice. The minister was fiddling with the sound system at the back of the chapel-sized church, when I put my head curiously around the thick wooden door. But I hardly saw him. The view above the table at the front of the church was incredible. The first light of sunrise started to silhouette the mountains against a backdrop of white shading into neon orange. Plain glass in the windows above the altar with a small plain cross on the inside, was a sensible choice. I met the minister’s eye silently, then withdrew.

Pachelbel’s canon playing over the church’s sound system travelled with me as I walked around the church to look out over the lake. The water was as smooth as silk. Nothing disturbed the surface in the stillness of the dawn. I walked towards the statue overlooking the water. Then I waited.

Waimate, New Zealand, April 1855