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The Fethafoot Chronicles # 4: Ancient Omen: the arrival
Published in Australia
Fiction - Historical Fiction, Indigenous Australian

Print: 978-1925595994
ePub: 9781483551371
Mobi: 9781483551371
PDF: 9781483551371

Date of Publication: 01 Mar 2015
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The Fethafoot Chronicles # 4: Ancient Omen: the arrivalContains Adult Content

Pemulwuy Weeatunga

Published by MoshPit Publishing

Find out more about Pemulwuy Weeatunga: Author's website | Facebook | Twitter | Blog | Book Trailer | Other

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Synopsis

Ancient omen: the Arrival - Australia, around 240BP [before the present]: the ancient legend of forewarning, maintained by the infamous clan since the Dreamtime gave way to the present Dreaming, has reached maturity in Yungurra-bih-Mah’s lifetime. It tells of the arrival of a colossal tribe of pale-skinned Ghost-people: a long-lost people that had disappeared from their Dreaming cycle many, many generations earlier. This chronicle begins with this legendary warrior’s mission to Eora lands - to where the present-day city of Sydney sprawls - there, to meet with his uncle and clever-man: the infamous Pemulwuy of the Bidjigal people. What they discover will change the Fethafoot and the sacred Heart-rock lands forever.

p.1: the ghosts are coming

There is an ancient legend of forewarning within the great Heart-rock land that has been maintained religiously by my enigmatic, often infamous Fethafoot Clan, ever since The Dreamtime gave way to the present Dreaming cycle. This ancient omen informs of a colossal tribe of pale-skinned Ghost-people who had gradually disappeared from the Dreaming cycle many, many generations earlier. The legend divulges that they would be confused and ignorant of their true origins - and of their common ancestry with the Heart-rock people and other indigenous races. A strange and disparate race - it was said - who would one day, finally return to the Dreaming and to Heart-rock’s shores.





p.10: You can't pick your relations

“Ahh - welcome once more to my beloved country, my nephew,” the already infamous warrior, Pemulwuy said, as he looked Yungurra-bih-Mah’s naked, painted form up and down. “I can see you’ve been worrying about all them terrible Miglos’ comin to change our world again, eh boy!” He said, with a gay twinkle in his eye, still purveying Yungurra-bih-Mah’s body, as his nephew sat and quickly grabbed some bark from around the fire to cover himself. “You-fla plenty bloody skinny boy,” he said, laughing as he carried on, not giving Yungurra-bih-Mah a chance to speak at all. “Bet you haven’t used dat poor ting der between your legs, for long-time too - ave you boy!” He joked, laughing again at his nephew’s obvious discomfort. 





p.15: a seer of time

The scene that his uncle opened to him all round them knocked the last vestiges of despair from Yungurra-bih-Mah’s broad shoulders. He saw not one, but several Fethafoot warriors, male and female, dressed in strange, close-fitting clothes, such as the Ghost people wore, speaking to a crowd of people of various facial features, body-shapes and skin colours, who now shared the Heart-rock lands. Although they were speaking the Ghost-people’s language expertly and fluently, he could sense that their warrior hearts and spirit were still strong. He marvelled that they yet had the ancient stories and even many of the sacred song-lines, running powerfully through them. They spoke eloquently about their people and land, to the strange-looking, multi-coloured crowd and Yungurra-bih-Mah, at once, felt a huge sense of relief. He saw that the throngs of mixed-race people gathered round with respect, listening and agreeing with the words that these, still unrevealed Fethafoot said to them.  





p.37: caught!

As they peered down at the camp, a single ghost-man emerged from the opposite side of the hills to where the trio were spying. He had a squirming bundle of wild-haired Heart-rock boy with him, dragging him along as if he weighed nothing at all and as he reached the group of men in the camp clearing, he threw the boy to the ground, where he lay, staring his defiance and hate at the group of Ghost men standing menacingly around him. Djurikadja-mah’s skin began to reflect her surroundings immediately and it was only Yungurra-bih-Mah’s soft hand on her arm that held her from going down the hill and taking on all the men at once, by herself. Still holding her arm, he chin-lipped her to follow his gaze and as she turned, she saw the elder who had been watching the ghost men before they came, cock his arm back with a deadly looking thin spear balanced out before him - waiting for the first bad move on any Ghost-man’s part. She turned her head to look back to where Yungurra-bih-Mah had been a moment before and saw that he had disappeared. She turned again to see what was happening in the clearing and saw a fire-haired Ghost-man aim his fire-stick at the boy, who had been savagely kicked as he lay unprotected and curled into a ball on the ground. 







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