"The Rainbow Serpent's Black Fang."
Wiradjuri was a tracker renowned throughout his clan for his unparalleled ability to read the subtle language of the land. He could discern the faintest disturbance in the ochre dust, the almost imperceptible bend in a blade of spinifex, the barely audible snap of a twig, each a signpost revealing the passage of animal or person across vast distances. He moved with a quiet grace through the ancient landscape, his senses attuned to the rhythms of the earth, his knowledge of the Dreamtime stories guiding his understanding of the interconnectedness of all living things. He held a deep respect for the powerful beings that had shaped the world during the Dreamtime, their stories woven into the very fabric of their existence, their presence still felt in the land, the water, and the sky.
Among these powerful beings was the Rainbow Serpent, a creator spirit of immense power and majesty, often depicted as a colossal serpent whose body spanned across the land and whose movements shaped the rivers and waterholes. The Rainbow Serpent was a vital force, associated with water, fertility, life, and the cycles of the seasons. It was a being of both immense benevolence and potential wrath, demanding respect and adherence to the ancient laws. Different clans held their own stories and interpretations of the Rainbow Serpent, but across the continent, it was recognized as a fundamental force of creation and a powerful guardian of sacred sites and water sources. Its colours, shimmering across the sky after a life-giving rain, were a constant reminder of its vital presence.
Wiradjuri, in his travels across the land, had always shown reverence to the places associated with the Rainbow Serpent, offering silent acknowledgments and ensuring he did not disturb its sacred domains. He understood the power that resided in the waterholes and billabongs said to be its resting places, the potential for both life and danger that these sites held.
One dry season, while tracking a group of lost children across a parched and unforgiving landscape, Wiradjuri followed their faint tracks towards a remote waterhole. The air shimmered with heat, and the only sound was the buzzing of flies. As he approached the waterhole, he noticed an unnatural stillness, a silence that felt heavy and expectant. The water, usually teeming with life, was strangely still and dark, its surface reflecting the harsh sky like a polished obsidian mirror.
An unease settled upon Wiradjuri. This place felt different, imbued with a power that went beyond the usual stillness of a waterhole. He moved cautiously, his senses on high alert. As he rounded a cluster of ancient river red gums, he saw it – a section of the bank disturbed, the ochre earth bearing the unmistakable impression of an immense serpent's scales. The tracks were unlike any he had ever seen, far larger than any python or other known snake.
A low, guttural hiss echoed from the depths of the waterhole. Wiradjuri froze, his heart pounding in his chest. The surface of the water rippled, and a head, larger than any man's, rose slowly from the depths. It was the Rainbow Serpent, its scales shimmering with iridescent colours that seemed to shift and flow like liquid light. Its eyes, ancient and wise, fixed upon Wiradjuri with an intensity that seemed to pierce his very soul.
Wiradjuri, though filled with awe and a primal fear, remained still, offering a silent acknowledgment of the powerful being before him. He knew that disrespect could have dire consequences. He had not come to harm the serpent or its domain; his purpose was the lost children.
He began to speak softly, explaining his presence, his need to find the children. As he spoke, the Rainbow Serpent remained still, its gaze unwavering. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, the serpent lowered its massive head towards the bank.
Wiradjuri tensed, ready to flee if necessary. But the serpent merely rested its head on the earth, its gaze softening slightly. Then, from its mouth, it extended a single fang, black as night and sharp as obsidian. It was not an aggressive gesture, but rather an offering, or perhaps a warning.
Before Wiradjuri could fully comprehend the serpent's intent, one of the lost children, a small boy who had wandered ahead, stumbled out from behind a bush, his eyes wide with fear and fascination. He reached out a small hand towards the serpent's black fang.
In a swift, almost imperceptible movement, the Rainbow Serpent recoiled slightly, and its black fang grazed the boy's hand. The child cried out in pain, a small bead of blood welling up on his skin.
Wiradjuri rushed forward, pulling the child away. The Rainbow Serpent remained still, its ancient eyes now filled with a profound sadness. It then slowly submerged itself back into the dark waters of the waterhole, the ripples spreading outwards until the surface was once again still.
Wiradjuri examined the boy's hand. The wound was small, but a strange, dark discoloration was already spreading around it. He knew instinctively that this was no ordinary snake bite. This was the venom of the Rainbow Serpent, a poison imbued with the power of the Dreamtime.
He quickly gathered the children and began the arduous journey back to their clan, carrying the injured boy. As they traveled, the boy grew feverish, his skin becoming clammy and cold. His small body began to convulse, and his eyes rolled back in his head.
That night, as Wiradjuri lay beside the ailing child, exhaustion and fear weighing heavily upon him, he began to dream. But these were not the familiar, often symbolic dreams of his people. These were dark, writhing visions, filled with monstrous serpentine forms that coiled and constricted, their scales shimmering with unnatural colours. The landscape of his dreams was twisted and distorted, the familiar landmarks replaced by grotesque, alien shapes. A profound sense of dread and suffocation filled his sleeping mind.
As the days passed, the poisoned child grew weaker, his waking hours filled with delirium and pain. And as the child suffered, so did Wiradjuri's dreams become more vivid and terrifying. The writhing shadows of his sleeping mind began to bleed into his waking hours, fleeting glimpses of serpentine forms flickering at the edges of his vision, a constant sense of unease and paranoia clinging to him. The Rainbow Serpent's black fang had not only poisoned the child's body; it had tainted Wiradjuri's very connection to the Dreamtime, turning the sacred realm of his ancestors into a nightmarish abyss.
The poisoned child grew increasingly frail, his small body ravaged by the Rainbow Serpent's venom. Wiradjuri watched helplessly, his tracker's skills useless against this ancient, Dreamtime affliction. The weight of responsibility pressed heavily upon him, the image of the black fang grazing the boy's hand a constant torment.
His own sleep offered no respite. The writhing shadows of his dreams intensified, the monstrous serpentine forms becoming more defined, their scales pulsing with hypnotic, unsettling colours. The landscapes of his dreamtime were now alien and hostile, filled with twisting chasms and suffocating darkness. He would wake in a cold sweat, his heart pounding, the lingering dread clinging to him like a shroud.
As the child's life force ebbed, Wiradjuri's waking hours became increasingly blurred with the nightmarish visions of his sleep. The familiar world around him seemed to flicker and distort, the shapes of trees morphing into coiling serpents, the patterns in the sand resembling the scales of the Rainbow Serpent. A constant paranoia gnawed at him, a feeling that unseen eyes were watching, that the powerful serpent was somehow aware of his suffering.
He consulted with the elders, recounting the events at the waterhole and the terrifying nature of his dreams. The elders listened with grave concern, their faces etched with the wisdom of generations and a deep understanding of the Rainbow Serpent's power. They spoke of the serpent's connection to the Dreamtime, its ability to influence both the physical and the spiritual realms. They confirmed that its venom was no ordinary poison, but a manifestation of its spiritual essence, capable of affecting not just the body but the very fabric of one's being, particularly their connection to the Dreamtime.
They explained that the serpent's actions were often shrouded in mystery, its motives beyond mortal comprehension. The offering of the fang, the subsequent grazing of the child's hand – these were acts that held a deeper significance, perhaps a warning, a test, or a consequence of some unseen transgression.
The elders performed healing ceremonies for the child, chanting ancient songs and using traditional bush medicines, but the Rainbow Serpent's venom was unlike anything they had encountered before. The child continued to weaken, his spirit slowly fading.
As the child lay on the brink of death, Wiradjuri's dreams reached their terrifying crescendo. He found himself in a vast, echoing void, filled with the immense form of the Rainbow Serpent. Its eyes, like ancient pools of starlight, fixed upon him, and its voice, a deep, resonant hum that vibrated through his very soul, filled his dreamscape. It spoke not in words he understood, but in images and emotions, a torrent of power and ancient knowledge that overwhelmed his senses. He felt the weight of creation, the flow of life and death, the interconnectedness of all things, but all tinged with a profound and suffocating darkness.
He awoke screaming, the terror of the dream clinging to him like a physical weight. The world around him seemed alien and hostile, the familiar comforting presence of his community replaced by a pervasive sense of dread. He felt as if a part of his own spirit had been poisoned, his connection to the Dreamtime irrevocably tainted.
The child died that day, his small body finally succumbing to the Rainbow Serpent's venom. Grief and a profound sense of failure washed over Wiradjuri. He had failed to protect the child, and in doing so, he felt he had somehow incurred the wrath of the powerful serpent.
His waking hours became indistinguishable from his nightmares. The writhing shadows were no longer confined to his sleep; they flickered at the edges of his vision constantly, distorting the familiar world into a terrifying landscape of serpentine forms. He saw the Rainbow Serpent in every ripple of water, every twisting branch, every shadow that danced in the firelight. His mind was consumed by fear and paranoia, his once clear connection to the land now a terrifying abyss.
He became withdrawn, unable to track or participate in the daily life of his community. The joy and connection he once found in the land were gone, replaced by a constant, suffocating dread. The Rainbow Serpent's black fang had not only taken a life; it had poisoned the tracker's very soul, turning the sacred realm of his dreams into a writhing nightmare that bled into his waking reality, leaving him a haunted shell, forever lost in the shadows of the serpent's power. His once vibrant connection to the Dreamtime was shattered, replaced by a terrifying and inescapable abyss, a constant reminder of the power and the unpredictable nature of the ancient creator spirit.