Oh, God, thought Cordelia. I killed off an endangered species. She wanted to giggle.
"Got your breath?"
She groaned and got up from the slab.
Wyungare was already up, his face angled at the sky, gauging the temperature and the wind. It was a great deal cooler on top of the rock than it had been on the desert floor. "It is a good day to die," he said.
"You've seen too many movies too." Wyungare grinned.
They trudged along nearly the entire diameter of the top of Uluru before coming to a wide, flat area about a hundred yards across. A sandstone cliff fell away to the desert only a few yards beyond. "This looks promising," said Wyungare. The surface of scoured sandstone was not completely bare. Football-size bits of rock were littered about like grains of sand. "We are very close."
The voice seemed to come from everywhere around them. The words grated like two chunks of sandstone rubbing together. "This is my home."
"It is not your home," said Wyungare. "Uluru is home to us all."
"You have intruded..."
Cordelia looked around apprehensively, seeing nothing other than rock and a few sparse bushes.
". . . and will die."
Across the rocky clearing, a sheet of sandstone about ten feet across flipped over, slamming into the surface of Uluru and shattering. Bits of stone sprayed across the area, and Cordelia reflexively stepped back. Wyungare did not move. Murga-muggai, the trap-door spider woman, heaved herself up out of her hole and scrabbled into the open air.
For Cordelia it was like suddenly leaping into her worst nightmares. There were big spiders at home in the bayous, but nothing of this magnitude. Murga-muggai's body was dark brown and shaggy, the size of a Volkswagen. The bulbous body balanced swaying on eight articulated legs. All her limbs were tufted with spiky brown hair.
Glittering faceted eyes surveyed the human interlopers.
A mouth opened wide, papillae moving gently, a clear, viscid liquid dripping down to the sandstone. Mandibles twitched apart.
"Oh, my God," Cordelia said, wanting to take another step backward. Many more steps. She wished to wake up from this dream.
Murga-muggai moved toward them, legs shimmering as they seemed to slip momentarily in and out of phase with reality. To Cordelia it was like watching well-done stopmotion photography.
"Whatever else she is," said Wyungare, "Murga-muggai is a creature of grace and balance. It is her vanity." He unslung the packet of weapons, unwinding the leather strap.
"Your flesh will make a fine lunch, cousins," came the abrasive voice.
"You're no relation of mine," said Cordelia.
Wyungare hefted the boomerang as though considering an experiment, then fluidly hurled it toward Murga-muggai. The honed wooden edge caressed the stiff hairs on top of the spider-creature's abdomen and sighed away into the open sky. The weapon swung around and started to return, but didn't have sufficient altitude to clear the rock. Cordelia heard the boomerang shatter on the stone below Uluru's rim.
"Bad fortune," said Murga-muggai. She laughed, an oily, sticky sound.
"Why, cousin?" said Wyungare. "Why do you do any of this?"
"Silly boy," said Murga-muggai, "you've lost hold of tradition. It will be the death of you, if not the death of our people. You are so wrong. I must remedy this."
Apparently in no hurry to eat, she slowly closed the distance between them. Her legs continued to strobe. It was dizzying to watch. "My appetite for Europeans is growing," she said. "I will enjoy today's varied feast."
"I will have only one chance," Wyungare said in a.low voice. "If it doesn't work-"
"It will," said Cordelia. She stepped even with him and touched his arm. "Laissez les bon temps rouler." Wyungare glanced at her.
"Let the good times roll. My daddy's favorite line." Murga-muggai leapt.
The spider-creature descended over them like a windtorn umbrella with spare, bent struts flexing.
Wyungare jammed the butt of the -spear into the unyielding sandstone and lifted the fire-hardened head toward the body of the monster. Murga-muggai cried out in rage and triumph.
The spear-head glanced off one mandible and broke. The supple shaft of the spear at first bent, then cracked into splinters like the shattering of a spine. The spider-creature was so close, Cordelia could see the abdomen pulse. She could smell a dark, acrid odor.
Now we're in trouble, she thought.
Both Wyungare and she scrambled backward, attempting to avoid the seeking legs and clashing mandibles. The nullanulla skittered across the sandstone.
Cordelia scooped up the flint knife. It was suddenly like watching everything in slow motion. One of Murga-muggai's hairy forelegs lashed out toward Wyungare. The tip fell across the