Kingsley Benjamin's Blog

With the devastating bushfire crisis – and now the corona virus – sweeping across Australia, it’s been a difficult 2020 down under. In response, the Australian Speculative Fiction Group produced an anthology of over fifty short stories to raise funds in support.

The final collaboration is called Stories of Hope. All proceeds will go to nationwide bushfire relief charities supporting humans and animals in need. You will find my contribution ‘Fire Audit’ in there as well as a number of excellent stories from spec fic writers across Australia.

The message of hope is particularly relevant right now, and for only a few dollars you get a lot of story to keep you going!

Click on the following Amazon link to grab your copy now!

Click here to read some of my other short stories for free!

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I’m left with a smile on my face – even as an adult – after reading Sandra Kendell’s sweetly illustrated children’s book Beauty. This is a story with some wonderfully relevant themes about the environment, conservation and just learning how to get along with your neighbour, all wrapped up in a child’s love for the tree in her garden.

The simple and effective narrative will appeal to younger children, and the language is perfectly attuned to an early primary school audience. This is mixed with a steady dose of environmental and scientific fact that gives the book substance without taking away from the story.

Kendell is also not afraid to use technical jargon such as ‘symbiosis’ and ‘photosynthesis’, a bold choice that pays off and gives the book credibility in terms of its educational value. It is not for nothing she recently scored an NT Natural Resource Management Award for her contribution to conservation and environmental education!

The quality of the illustrations is immediately apparent, stunning watercolours and bold, bright colours, combine with intricately drawn birds and insects to great effect. What is even more pleasing is that the animals, plants – even the buildings – are very obviously from the Northern Territory.

I believe I even spotted the animated possum that tells me to turn my phone off at the Deckchair Cinema before a film!

There is much talk about children no longer being interested in reading, and that the reason for this is they aren’t finding themselves or their experiences in the books on offer. Well, we can address this problem by getting kids to read great, local books by Darwin-based authors such as this one. And maybe we adults can learn a thing or two along the way.

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Two large mammals leapt across the rough ground, their forms highlighted by the setting sun. The landscape was a barren mix of tall grass and shrubbery, there had been no rain here for months. That’s what the meeting was about.

They made their way up a small embankment, pausing only briefly – ears twitching for any sign of movement – and continued into the tiny basin. They glanced quickly at the small stream that was running dangerously low – the only water for miles around. But they knew that water wasn’t for them. They settled down, they were safe, no predator would dare break the truce in this place.

“Why we always gotta be the first ones here JD?” asked the larger of the two, black fur glistening with sweat from the long journey.

“The mob always gets here first, you know that Bernie”, replied JD irritably.

As if on cue, a large shape blotted out what remained of the sun on the basin’s edge. No subtle creeping for this one, with three large bounds he was towering over his smaller kin. A big red mass of muscle and power, he gave JD a respectful nod.

“Boomer! Welcome. Long-time no see, old friend.”

“And to you, Jack Daniels, little trouble-maker though you are. Old Saltie named you well,” Boomer replied, “and you Bernard, your troop still hiding in the hills?”

Bernie pawed the ground irritably, “not hiding, staying out the way…and it’s Bernie, not Bernard, thank you very much,” he muttered, as JD and Boomer chuckled at their reclusive cousin.

Soon the other creatures began to arrive. Small mammals crept out of cover, little paws grasping stalks of grass on the edge of the dying, greenish-brown sea. Birds descended in

formation, proud as you like, and settled themselves on the high ground to overlook proceedings. They were led by Lightning, a huge eagle with a nature as salty as the fish in her belly.

The last to arrive was Big Billy, heavy footfalls sounding in the tall grass as he was announced by a fleeing band of rock-rats trying to avoid being squashed. His horns came into view, closely followed by his huge black girth. He waved his great head about, shaking off the dead grass, and smiled his typical stupid smile. There was a grumbling amongst the birds. They never wanted to give the buffalo a seat at the table in the first place.

Suddenly there was a hissing sound, low at first, but rising steadily until it dominated proceedings. The snakes and their minor reptilian cousins lined up on the river bank. The crowds fell silent. Dark green, almost black armoured scales began to rise out of the water. Two yellow orbs, huge and unforgiving, stared into the soul of every creature. There was no noise, only held breath and awe. Old Saltie was here.

“Call the roll,” she rumbled in a deep earthy voice.

One of the larger snakes listed those in attendance, representatives from across the parks had come, even some from the great white death to the south and the stinging sea far to the north. The exceptions were read out. There was only ever one – black two-legs. They hadn’t been seen at a meeting in years. Of the other two-legs, there was no mention.

The meeting began in earnest, various petitioners had come to seek resolution to disputes over territory and hunting grounds. Old Saltie would hear them out until she grew bored of their bickering. After a particularly laborious petition about a seed-sharing agreement from a frilly-headed cockatoo, it was time for the main event, the reason they were all there. Jack Daniels took a deep breath and hopped into the centre. Old Salties gaze turned upon him.

“I called this meeting, great mother, to talk about water. Specifically, the lack of it.” He declared bluntly, earning him a round of hisses from the snakes and a few quiet mutters of support from the rest of the gathering.

There was a long silence before Old Saltie replied, “the great cycle will turn again, rash one, you know this. I have seen many turns and great changes come to the land, but this I know has always been and always will be.”

“I know the cycle, great mother,” replied Jack, “it is not the reason I called this meeting. I have news, two-legs has come to the parks, and they have settled on the last watering hole.”

There was a gasp from the crowd, and louder muttering this time, quickly stifled by another round of hissing.

“Grave news indeed,” replied great mother, sounding as old as she ever had, “many will die without those waters, but many more will die if we disturb two-legs at their play. No creature will go near them, on penalty of death. This is now the law.”

Old Saltie finished her proclamation with a fierce snap of her jaws, which left those in attendance with no doubt as to who would carry out the punishment. Many in the gathering bowed their heads at the fearsome display, but not brave Jack Daniels, chief trouble-maker.

“And what about the water?” he asked. “I don’t suppose great mother is willing to share her waters with the rest of us?”

This time there was no muttering, only stunned silence. Nobody dared to speak to great mother like that. Not in living memory and with no memory of anyone living once they did. But Old Saltie just smiled, revealing a cavernous mouth filled with sharp white peaks of deadly bone.

“Anyone is welcome to use my waters, especially you Jack Daniels, but know that the season is long and the depths are low…”

As brave as Jack was, he knew when he was outmatched and he bowed his head in respect. If he was going to find water for the mob, it wasn’t going to be here. Old Saltie, the great mother and wisest of all creatures on land or sea, had no answers to two-legs destruction.

There was nothing left to discuss, the gathering had their answer, and the meeting was soon adjourned. Jack still had one card to play, however, and he approached Lightning as she was attended on by the lesser birds.

“Oh, great wanderer of the sky. Dazzling bolt of beauty sent from across the stinging sea to grace us with your presence. Please hear my boon,” oh yes, Jack knew how to talk to birds.

Lightning looked down upon him, accepting the request with a regal nod, talons twitching slightly as she eyed Jack’s meaty hide.

“On your travels across the land, have you perchance seen water fit for the likes of us poor souls who crawl along the earth beneath your shadow?”

Lightning considered him thoughtfully, Jack even detected what he thought was a look of genuine sympathy on those imperious and harsh features, but it was quickly replaced with the customary air of indifference.

“You ask for great knowledge, young one. Why should I help you and not the other animals, all of whom seek my council?” she paused, considering him, “but in this, not even I can help you and your bumbling brethren, for there is no water within the reach of your four legs. I have seen this before, trouble-maker, many of the mob will die before the rains.”

And without a further word, Lightning took to the air, her subjects following in a train of feathers across the sky, and with her went Jack’s last hope.

“It will be alright JD,” said Bernie, comfortingly, “we’ll find a way, the mob always survives, no matter what big nose fluffy feathers thinks.”

JD smiled at his faithful friend, but inside he was troubled. The mob had been too-long without water, fights had broken out over what little there was left and the flesh-eaters haunted their every shadow. Now he had to go back empty-handed.

Shaking off his melancholy, he hurried to catch up with Boomer. JD was glad his large friend had come, it was always dangerous leaving a meeting, but there weren’t many predators willing to tangle with a fully-grown Roo.

Even as he had this thought, Jack noticed the slightest of movements in the bushes ahead and paused to sniff the air.

“Come out Kal, has no-one taught you to stay downwind when hunting? I could smell you from the other side of two-legs camp,” shouted Jack.

Out of the bushes slinked a long powerful body, the colour of tan with two sets of white socks. A thin, fox-like face was peppered with two pieces of black coal masquerading as eyes.

“You always were a clever little bunny, Jack. I do so like a challenging meal, they’re all the more satisfying when I…”

“What do you want, Kal?” demanded JD warily.

“Tut. Tut. Where’s your manners? I’ve come to help with your little problem” he replied, edging closer to the group.

Boomer stamped his paw on the ground, sending up a cloud of dust in Kal’s face, causing him to jump back in alarm, “Get away from here flesh-eater, you’ll have no luck today.”

“Wait!” shouted Jack, “what do you know?”
Kal gave Boomer an angry glare and shook out his dusty pelt before replying.

“I know many things Jack Daniels, more than Old Saltie will ever tell you, but most importantly for you, I know the secret ways into the two-legs watering hole.”

“Don’t listen to him Jack,” whispered Bernie, “he just wants us to get in trouble.”

But Jack wasn’t listening, his desperation and the weight of responsibility were too much for him to bear and all he saw was a way out for the mob.

“Can you show us?” he said.

Kal smiled, revealing a blood-soaked maw, obviously they weren’t the first prey to have come this way.

“Tomorrow, meet me outside the two-legs camp, on the edge of the black-burning. I will show you the way…”

Kal turned and disappeared into the long grass, leaving no trace of his passing. JD adopted a thoughtful silence as they waited to ensure he was really gone. It was Boomer who was the first to speak.

“We will go with you, Jack. But what does that old flesh-eater get out of this?”

The same thought had occurred to Jack as well. What was Kal up to? Regardless, it had to be better than going back to the mob with nothing to show for their efforts, but if they could find a reliable way into two-legs camp, then they might just survive until the rains.

“We’ve no choice,” said Jack, “we go to the last watering hole in the morning,” and with one final sniff to check for unwelcome hunters, they began their search for a safe place to ride out the long night.

It wasn’t until late in the afternoon that JD, Bernie and Boomer finally arrived at the hill overlooking two-legs camp. From their vantage point, they could see the full range of twisted unnatural machines and evil magics that two-legs used to force their dominance of the land. Twisting clouds of dust danced and swirled around impossibly large, unthinking metal beasts as they ripped up the earth and threw it unceremoniously into piles taller than a fully grown Roo.

A dark strip wound its way down from the northern parklands. Even now two-legs were secreting more of the black substance in a straight line aimed directly at the centre of the homelands of the mob. Jack wondered how long they had left before this unstoppable invasion arrived, and if water might then be the least of their concerns.

“What…What is it for?” stuttered Bernie, awestruck.

“Hunting,” replied Boomer after a moment, “two-legs are slow, so they ride the metal on the black tar to kill fast. They don’t even stop to pick up their kill. What use is flesh to a soulless devil?”

Jack gestured for them to follow, leading them down through the undergrowth as the sun set behind them, creating ample cover for their approach. As they neared the camp, the patches of green grass turned into a sea of burned ash. The fires had hit the land hard this past year, Jack wasn’t sure if this was the work of two-legs or the cycle.

As they got to the edge of the burning, they could see the bustle of activity they witnessed from the ridge lessening. Two-legs were leaving their machines and heading towards their metal dens for the night. They couldn’t make out any sign of the watering hole in the fading light, Jack figured it must be on the far side, making it a dangerous journey in the open ground.

Over by a machine to their left, Kal slunk from the shadows, gesturing for them to join him. Jack looked at his two friends, so eager to follow him on this risky mission, but it wouldn’t do to have them all in danger.

“Stay here. I’m going to see what’s what and then I’ll come back if it’s safe.”

They started to protest, but JD shot off across the open ground before they had a chance to react. He pulled up short as he approached Kal, still giving himself enough distance to react if the flesh-eater decided he was hungrier than he was thirsty.

“What next?” said Jack, trying not to show any fear.

“Down there” replied Kal, gesturing at a small hole in the ground, “an old pipe runs all the way to the other side of camp, straight into the watering hole.”

“After you then,” said Jack, his hopes rising that this might actually work.

Kal smiled and nimbly ducked into the hole, disappearing from view. Jack waited a few seconds, took a deep breath, and followed suit.

He was instantly thrown into complete darkness. Trying not to panic, he reached out with his paw and felt Kal’s tail in front of him. Resisting the suicidal urge to bite it – there wasn’t enough room for Kal to turn and attack him – they began to make their way slowly down the pipe.

It seemed to take forever for them to reach their destination, a number of times Jack could hear two-legs laughing just above their heads and he was terrified of what might happen should they get stuck, but eventually he saw a slim slither of light in front.

They tumbled out of the pipe together and Jack immediately scrambled away. They were in a rocky basin about fifty metres across, steep sides prevented any exit except via a straight-cut earth ramp on one side. What concerned Jack, however, was the lack of any water bar a small puddle in the centre, barely enough for a single Roo.

“Where’s all the water gone?” asked Jack, despairingly.

Kal grinned and positioned himself between Jack and the only exit, before letting out a howl that echoed off the walls of the basin. From atop the ramp came a series of answering yelps that sent a shiver down Jack’s spine. After a few moments, he saw a series of dark shapes make their way down the rocky slide and take up position behind Kal.

“There is no more water, you fool. Two-legs machines drank it all. Not that it makes much difference to you now… Do you like my new friends, Jack? Two-legs dogs have come to share a meal with me, they provide me with all the water I need.”

“You hunt with those no-talkers?” asked Jack, disgusted that any animal would sink so low.

“Needs must, Jack Daniels,” replied Kal edging closer and forcing Jack against the pipe exit – he wouldn’t be able to scramble back inside before Kal’s jaws closed around his throat.

Jack closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable, his last thought was not for himself but for the fate of the mob, he had failed…

A great bellowing war cry assaulted the pause before Kal’s deadly leap. Out of the night came eighty pounds of red muscle, smashing into Kal’s side and sending him sprawling across the rough ground.

“RUN!” screamed Boomer, for of course it was his faithful friend come to the rescue, as he began to lay about the pack of angry no-talkers which surrounded him.

Jack didn’t need telling twice and just managed to avoid the jaws of a black-coated mongrel before scrambling up the ramp. He glanced back and saw Boomer following up behind, bleeding from a dozen bites but eyes gleaming with a savage joy. They ran together through

the camp, which by now was up in arms, a two-legs with a flashlight shouting and pointing at the two escapees.

They reached the edge of the burning and continued running, they didn’t stop until long after their breath ran out and their lungs screamed for them to stop. Only then did they turn and look down on the carnage they had wrought.

“I owe you a debt, my big friend,” panted Jack.

“No debt for you, young trouble maker, you risked yourself for the mob” replied Boomer, licking tentatively at his wounds.

Jack was just about to ask about Bernie when he came scrambling up the hill behind them, looking sheepish.

“Sorry I wasn’t much use, Jack,” he said, “I’m no fighter like Boomer.”

Jack just smiled to see his friend was alright, he wouldn’t have been able to forgive himself if anything had happened to him because of Jack’s desperate plan.

“Time to get moving again, I reckon” declared Boomer, turning away.

Jack took one last look below before following, he saw two-legs start up their machines, light flooding through the semi-darkness. He saw the empty basin that had been the last watering hole in the parklands and the mob’s final hope. Finally, he saw a shadow limping away to the north pursued by the two-legs holding a torch, most likely Kal making his escape.

He wondered which of them was his real enemy? The hunter, ruthless and cunning, or the animal without a soul?

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Rarely would I describe a book as both well-written and difficult to read at the same time. Tyson Yunkaporta’s Sand Talk definitely falls into this category. Chocked full of big philosophical concepts and interconnected global issues, Tyson attempts to tackle them by combining his own radical ideas with knowledge from his indigenous ancestral past. And to a large extent, he succeeds.

One theme that permeates through his work is the lack of sustainability in western systems based on a model of constant growth. Quite rightly, he points to the resource-guzzling nature of modern cities and their subsequent effect on the environment and then contrasts this with sustainable practices employed by indigenous people for generations. He argues that we are failing to learn from this deep well of knowledge, despite the impending climate catastrophe.

What most struck me was not the content of Sand Talk, but the approach Tyson took to conveying it. He uses discussions or ‘yarns’ with fellow truth-seekers both inside and outside his community to give weight and depth to his ideas. He then takes the concepts developed from the yarn and incorporates them into drawings and symbols throughout the book. A novel and effective method that supports the founding premise of the work, to analyse and suggest improvements on western systems from an indigenous-knowledge perspective.

Sand Talk is an interesting book, well-researched and deeply respectful of culture, but not afraid to suggest change and innovation or highlight hypocrisy and racism even within Tyson’s personal experience of community. This struggle of us vs them thinking, ‘greater than/less than’ as he describes it, is at heart of the book. Shadows of intersectional politics will not impress some readers, but overall the quality of the work demands your time and attention.

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STEVEN SCHUBERT’S MANDATORY MURDER examines in great detail the scenario which led to the 2011 murder of Ray Nicefero down the track in Katherine. The former ABC Katherine reporter, now based in Alice Springs, systematically separates fact from rumour and highlights supposition with the careful ease of a practiced journalist. 

The first two thirds of the book deal with the complicated background and relationships of Nicefero and those involved with his murder, as well as the sometimes-farcical investigation into his death. 

What’s interesting is that, despite well-researched details on the facts of the case, the book actually raises more questions than it answers. How have young men become so naïve and removed from society that they don’t even recognise they’re part of a conspiracy to murder? How do we tackle domestic abuse in remote areas of the NT? Is it possible to bridge the significant social divides in outback communities? All these issues lie at the heart of Ray Nicefero’s murder.

The second part of the book deals primarily with the trial of Zak Grieve, who is currently serving the longest sentence, despite [most likely] not being present for the actual murder. Whether you believe him to be gullibly innocent or as guilty as those who physically carried out the act, his lengthy time behind bars raises important questions about mandatory sentencing laws in the NT, and across Australia.

Ultimately, it is his story that makes this book relevant and a necessary read.

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DION BEASLEY JOINS FORCES once again with Johanna Bell after two successful forays into the world of children’s writing.

This time, they tell Dion’s story – from growing up in Tennant Creek and facing and overcoming physical adversity, to presenting exhibitions at the Sydney Museum of Contemporary Art. This is a story that had to be told.

Cheeky Dogs: To Lake Nash and Back is a fascinating visual journey into the heart of life in rural parts of the Northern Territory. Dion’s drawings are the main focus of the book, easily carrying the reader through the narrative with just a few poignant sentences in support.

It quickly becomes obvious why his work is attracting the attention of the art world – his deceptively simple illustrations have real emotive depth and a dark honesty that challenges the reader in a powerful way.

Despite the sometimes-heavy subject matter, the overall tone of the book is a positive one. Dion’s description and drawings of the dogs at the various camps around town is heart-warming, yet told with a dark humour that is prevalent in the book, facing harsh truths with an unflinching attitude to a sometimes-cruel world.

Cheeky Dogs is a worthy addition to any Territorian’s library, if only for the beautiful drawings on show. Dion’s story so far is worthy of your time and attention, and there is much more to come.

Available on Amazon here |  or go to the bookshopdarwin.com.au

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Sean Guy’s novel, Malediction: The Cursed Play, is an engaging and well-written tribute to all things Shakespeare. The story takes the form of a reverse whodunnit, where the actors in a cursed play are all alive, but they’re convinced the curse will take one of their number before the performance is complete.

The setting is fictional, but has a very strong Elizabethan England feel. Readers will recognise elements of the great bards work reflected in the variety of characters on offer. Indeed, this is the where The Cursed Play really shines, the distinctive and interesting performers bring the action to life. This interplay creates the feeling of a performance for the reader, which will have you engrossed for hours.

The central mystery of the novel is a sound one, with enough red herrings and twists to keep even the most avid Sherlock Holmes fan guessing right until the very end. Readers will find themselves picking their favorite characters and rooting for their survival as tensions rise over the course of the narrative.

While primarily focused on showcasing the classic tragedies of Shakespearean theatre, there are a number of interesting supporting themes at play. The tension between old stick-in-the-mud male actors and the newly enfranchised female performers adds value and contemporary relevance to the story.

I highly recommend this book, especially to those who love a good murder-mystery novel. The prose and pacing allow for an engaging read, and the high- brow Shakespeare is subtly incorporated. The story is well written and the characters are excellent. Best of all, Sean is a local Darwin author and can be found running The Bookshop in the CBD. If this work proves anything, it’s that supporting local authors can be a lot of fun.

Click here to find Sean’s book on Amazon

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My first novel- Drake Peters: One Minute to Midnight, is now live on Amazon!

Click here to get a free copy now

*Promotion available until midnight 1/12/18

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The release date for my first novel, Drake Peters: One Minute to Midnight, is fast approaching. Available for free on Kindle Unlimited.

Click here to pre-order now!

The post Drake Peters—Four Days Until Release! appeared first on Kingsley Benjamin.

The release date for my first novel, Drake Peters: One Minute to Midnight, is fast approaching. Available for free on Kindle Unlimited.

Click here to pre-order now!

The post Drake Peters- Four Days Until Release! appeared first on Kingsley Benjamin.