Aussie Army

The sky-eye beats down over us, a harsh reminder that summer in this country is cruel. There are no lush hills, only red dust our feet mark lightly. Sometimes it feels like we've been marching forever, the glare of the sky-eye a truth as heavy and immoveable as a fallen tree. We march, stopping for sustenance as it is needed; a drink here, or the remains of a deceased animal there. Our own supplies have long since been used up and we are forced to rely on the land’s meagre offerings. It is hot, it is dry, and it is hungry work, but it is necessary.

We are still marching when a whisper hisses its way through the columns. A few folk stumble, but the march doesn't halt, and they quickly regain their rightful place. Still, there is a sense of excitement now, spreading through our ranks. 'Food,' the whisper goes. 'C. A. Harland, this month's Forward Scout, has spotted a feast ahead.' It will take many more movements of the sky-eye before we reach it, but the mere thought of replenishing our supplies with something other than desert scavenging has all our mouths watering.

Time passes more quickly, now that we have something to look forward to; and folk begin to talk amongst themselves as we march. No longer are our columns silent, forward focused and single-minded, and chatter drifts from topic to topic. Old folk tales are shared anew, alight again with the fire of enthusiasm long forgotten. Stories have a way of replicating themselves, and my family has been telling my great-great-great-great-great (and probably a few more –greats in there, too) Uncle Pappy’s version of the Great Invasion for so long his voice is an echo within each of our Elders’.

It has always been my favourite. Pappy says his army followed a half-giant (seas flooding from his eyes, and voice booming slow, thick words) through to the village, sending the full and half-giant creatures fleeing before them. After only a few sky-eye passes, they had fully reclaimed what had belonged to our world and the giants did not return.

**

When we finally make it to our destination, the sky-eye sleeps and his sister watches the world. She does not flinch or make warnings as we move cautiously forward, only winks silently down. Two giants boom words at each other.

Our columns break apart in planned formation, and we step forth onto terrain that clutches at our feet even as we walk across it. The sight and smell of food is everywhere, huge castles of it towering over us in piles and spires. Seasoned warriors dart here and there, gathering provisions, while younger soldiers consume their fill. Still, the words of the Elders echo over us, reminders to avoid the white grains of delight – a heady drug that attacks with euphoria followed closely by body-deep exhaustion. I am just thinking this, scurrying to safety, when we are spotted. A giant booms and the world moves.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANTS!”