Sam woke to the smell of frying meat.

It wasn't yet dawn, but the stars of the farm had past their zenith and were settling into the smouldering glitter that they donned for the morning.

The cottage was quiet.

Stella had only stumbled in a handful of hours before, goggles askew, stained with soil and nectar from a night's work on the farm. Sam wasn't conceited enough to rouse her.

There was enough starlight to illuminate the house as if it were noon, which left precious little hiding space for would-be lurkers. A cursory inspection revealed that the smell did not originate from inside the cottage. The Rumford stove was cool to the touch. No strange intruder had commandeered the kitchen. As relieving as it was to find that all was well, the feeling was tainted with disappointment; Sam was partial to a good piece of steak for tucker when he could get it. Beef may have been within the reach of an honest digger closer to the coast, but there was nothing but chew game and the odd echidna in the interior. Star farms were ill suited to raising livestock. Firstly, the plants were too valuable to use as feed, but just as well because anything starfed for long became womba. Not even the starries themselves were immune. Just last week Sam had caught Stella cracking on to the tree stump behind the cottage.

He stoked up a fire in the stove, thinking that some eggs might satiate his rousing hunger. While the pan heated, he wondered how long it would be until he took a turn as well. He had been here half a year, maybe longer, and whilst his mug did nothing to improve the beauty of the place, there was no denying that Stella needed more than just the malingee to keep the place in order. They were flighty at best, and downright terrifying even on a good day.

He considered his options over an impromptu, early breakfast of scrambled eggs with a distinct sulphuric aftertaste. He was due to a visit to Maidenwell, the nearest town, to sell off the bottles of honey, dried sachets of Juno's lavender, and a number of other coveted products only starries could grow. The price of the goods doubled every hundred miles, but with highway men being the least of their concerns, a starrie never travelled too far from the farm. Sam wasn't strictly a starrie himself; his father had been and his sister had taken up the occupation, but he had been raised decent-like by his mother in Cunnaroy. He could afford to linger in Maidenwell, maybe even score an odd job. It wasn't as if he would leave the farm forever, but a few days wouldn't hurt. Better than going womba in any case.

If Stella knew he was heading to town, she would want to go with him. He didn't have the heart to tell her that the settlers were afraid of her, and as much as he enjoyed her company, he needed breathing space from time to time. So he was out in the orchards before the sun to collect the gum from the galaxacacias and to pick the few ripe miriimulga apples*.

His cart was loaded and ready by midmorning, however, his horse, also named Stella from a time when he thought his sister deceased, didn't submit gracefully to the harness and made it impossible for him to hitch the cart.

"Damn it, Stella," Sam hissed with an urgent, wretched glance back to the house. The day was shaping up to be a hot one and a rim of sweat was already darkening the band of his akubra. He snatched it off his head and waved it angrily at the mare. "Get your hairy wombat legs back here."

In response, Horse-Stella snorted and pranced just out of his reach. Sam knew that the longer they played the game, the less time he had before his sister woke.

"Good for nothing mule," he muttered as he took the cart up himself. It would take thrice the time without his horse, but if he left now, he would get there before sundown. "Let's see if I don't let the malingee eat you down to your hooves." It was a hollow threat, of course. The malingee had not so subtly adopted the mare. Horse-Stella's belly was rounder than ever. A year ago, she had been an inconspicuous dapple grey, but now her hair had taken on an unnatural sheen that made her look silver dotted with tiny white suns. Clearly she thought herself above drawing the cart today.

Sam's trek out of the valley was uneventful. He was by now used to the feeling of being watched by unseen things. The sound of hooves behind him irked him a little; Horse-Stella had decided to follow. Once out of the lush valley, Sam inhaled the dusty, dry air gladly.

They stopped at a billabong just after noon when the sun was at its worst. Sam was all too glad to sink down by the water to drink and wash his face. He could make out a large freshie, its eyes just peeking above water in the shadow of a fallen log. It submerged deviously when Horse-Stella came in for a drink.

"She's more trouble than it's worth, old mate," Sam called out across the water. He hoped that his voice would be enough to scare it away. Freshies weren't usually bold, unless they were very hungry.

As they continued the trek to Maidenwell, Horse-Stella took to nudging Sam every few steps as though remorseful for her earlier defiance. Sam ignored her until they were close to town where she finally let him hitch the wagon to her and even rub her down with dirt to dull her coat's sheen. A man pulling a cart while an unburdened horse shone like a princess would have been the source of gossip. They entered Maidenwell respectfully late in the afternoon, two shadows against a brilliant orange sky.

Sam felt the gaze of the townies as he passed, but not even the most critical of them could compare to the malingee. It was all so welcomingly normal compared to the farm. His stomach murmured at the smell of uncomplicated food cooking. A fowl grilling on a barbeque. When was the last time he had eaten something that wasn't star fed? Maybe he would see about a real meal at the hotel.

But first came business at the general store. As he tied Horse-Stella by the trough outside, even while the store boy came down to help him unpack his cart, he was accosted by a number of the townsfolk wanting to buy his wares before they were offloaded to the general store. Without his sister's odd ways to fend off the townies, they crowded in to make their demands.

"Alright, alright," Sam held his hands up against the assault of haggling. It wasn't a bad system; he managed to barter for some goods that the farm needed. New shoes for Horse-Stella. The sister wanted some canvas. Some blocks of pig lard as offering to the malingee. According to Stella, the little devils couldn't get enough of the stuff. They fried everything in it.

Though it all, he noticed one woman who had hung back by the store, glancing at him unsurely. She was dressed impractically for the season, with a heavy grey pinafore over her dull, modest dress. Her dark hair was pinned back tightly, no a curl out of place.

Over half the goods made it to the store, but the shop keep still looked unhappy. As he followed the last of the supplies in, Sam glanced at the woman still waiting by the store. She hadn't approached him, not even to say g'day, though she kept looking at him when she thought he wasn't looking. It was the first non-relative female who had given him any attention in months, but Sam kept himself in check on the account of the wedding band on her finger.

The shop keep was the most shrewd of negotiators. Despite chiding Sam about being ripped off by the townies, she drove the hardest bargain. Once they concluded business, she leaned in conspiratorially and nodded at the woman outside.

"She's been asking after ya."

"Me?" Sam asked, surprised.

"Well, not you specifically, but just someone who's willing to go west," was the insensitive reply. "Says she's looking for her husband who might have passed through here a few days ago."

"Why doesn't she go to the watch house?" Sam asked.

The shop keep shrugged. "The coppers told her about you. Said you might be coming through soon."

"Well, she hasn't said anything to me." He thought ruefully back to this morning when he thought some work might keep him from going womba, and now faced with a likely task, he didn't want it.

The woman still didn't approach Sam when he left the general store, but followed him and Horse-Stella to the hotel at a safe distance. She hung outside when Sam went in. The stockmen had come in for the day for a hot meal. They beckoned Sam to join them; he knew Ned from his droving days. However, try as he might to enjoy a rare evening with the boys, his attention kept drifting from the yarn to the woman outside, who was pretending not to look at him through the window. Was she going to wait for him to finish dinner? Would she stand out there all night?

He finished everything on his plate and downed extra rum for good measure before finding the courage to step outside.

"Are you even sure he went west?" Sam demanded without even an introduction, fueled with liquid courage.

The woman glanced aside, then met his gaze determinedly. "I have too make sure."

"What makes you think he's out there?"

She was quiet for a moment, seeming to consider how much of her story to tell him. "My... husband has a temper. After we... fought... I said some words to him and he... left," she said unhappily.

Sam took a step back. What went on between husband and wife was none of his business. But before he could protest, the woman continued.

"Things went... really wrong. He... took something of mine when he left. He thinks that if he buries it under a star tree that everything will be right again."

It wasn't the first time that Sam had heard of this superstitious nonsense about Star Valley. Some claimed it was cursed where others thought it holy. If this woman's idiot husband did make it to the valley, he had best gone about his business quickly and left before sundown.

"I didn't see anyone on the road," Sam said.

The woman drew a locket from her pinafore and thrust it at Sam. "Take me the valley and this is yours."

Sam couldn't protest. The locket was already in his hand. It was made of rose gold and studded with tiny, perfect pearls. He had no use for such an item, but it would fetch a price, and the woman looked at him so desperately that he couldn't exactly deny her. Besides, he had to return to the farm anyway, and more harm would have befallen her if he had left her to wander over herself.

The woman saw the decision in his face and didn't give him time to renegotiate. She reached out to shake his hand. "I'm Alira," she said.

"Sampson. Call me Sam." When her sleeve slid up slightly as they shook hands, he pretended not to see the bruises on her arm.

Alira was waiting for Sam when he emerged, bleary eyed, the following morning. After agreeing to take her to the valley, he ended up having a merry evening after all where he and the boys drank themselves to oblivion. Alira didn't have much luggage; one suitcase which barely weight on the cart. Horse-Stella was on her best behaviour. They didn't speak much as they left town.

With a woman in tow, the pace was unbearably slow. While he may have comfortably reached the billabong by afternoon, they didn't get there until evening. It was the best place to pitch camp, though Sam did so away from the water's edge. There was no sign of the freshie he saw yesterday, but he didn't want to take the chance. He warned Alira to be careful near the billabong. He fetched the water while she attempted to start a fire. She wasn't very good at it, but seemed determined enough that Sam didn't jump in. They watched the billy boil as the night wore on.

"Do you think that he could have been eaten by a crocodile?" Alira asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

Startled, it took him a moment to realise what she meant. "Probably not."

Her face was unreadable in the fire light.

Sam knew better than to pry, and yet he blurted, "did you want him to be?"

Alira didn't answer immediately, but when she did, it was soft and uncertain. "No."

Sam shut up after that. It wasn't for him to come between a man and wife, no matter how beautiful Alira was or what he thought of the husband. He didn't dare ask any more questions that night. In the months on the farm, he had forgotten how to keep normal company, especially with women. Stella was not like the sheilas he'd met. She was hilarious and lewd and much too nosy.

He slept poorly that night, with no grog to keep his swirling thoughts at bay. Even camped as they were away from the water, the smell of fleshy meat wafted across their camp, a sign that the freshie had hunted and eaten nearby.

They were back on the road as the sun hit the trees. Sam hoped to reach the valley before nightfall. He had already planned to let Alira stay at the cottage overnight. She was the determined type, and might even choose to spend a few days in the valley searching for her husband. And if she didn't find her husband? Sam was sure that Stella would let her stay on the farm until she got back on her feet. Star farmers were eccentric, but they weren't heartless.

He was glad to reach the valley in the afternoon. The starplants still winked with light in the day, but the vegetation was no were near as dazzling as they were at night. Alira seemed to take it all in her stride. She barely paused at the breathtaking sight. Instead, her eyes were scanning for traces of her husband, and she looked equally fearful and hopeful.

Halfway across the valley, she pointed to something between two fat prison boabs, laden with seedpods at this time of year. The black powder in the pods was used for medicine, but Sam was warned to stay away from the boabs and the bloodwoods. Alira was running towards them before he could stop her, and so he found himself stumbling reluctantly after her.

"Wait!" Sam called out.

She stopped to scrutinise something in the dirt. "Do you think someone could have come this way?" she asked him when he caught up.

Sam looked down at the drag marks that had flattened and upturned the grass. The marks continued down into the gully were celestial bloodwoods grew thickly. He had no doubt that something, possibly someone, had been dragged kicking and screaming into the gully.

"Maybe, but we can't stay here and we can't go into the gully," Sam said sternly.

Alira shot him a questioning look that had him shaking his head.

"There are, er, spirits that live here," he said, struggling to find an adequate way to describe the malingee. "They don't like outsiders."

"And if my husband had passed through here?"

Sam clenched his jaw. His unwillingness to answer was answer in itself.

Without warning, Alira dashed past, into the woods.

"No!" Sam called after her. With an exasperated groan, Sam forced himself to follow. He stumbled almost immediately, his boot caught on something in the ground. Looking down, he saw a slender chip of stone about the length of his palm, except that this piece of rock was sharp enough to bite into the toe of his leather boots. He didn't want to admit it, but Sam knew a knife when he saw one. He ran back to the cart and pulled out the blocks of lard before he followed suit.

"Stay put," he ordered Horse-Stella.

Alira was already out of sight, so he followed the drag marks instead. They led him deeper and deeper into the gully where the sap of the bloodwoods glowed red in the shadows. He finally caught up to her in a narrow granite passage at the foot of the gully. She was as still as the stone around her, and her back blocked whatever it was that she saw, but Sam had a good idea.

"Alira..." words failed him.

Slowly, she bent down to pick something up off the ground. She turned and held it out to him. It was chunk of meat, shriveled but whole, coating her fingers with a slick, dark crust of blood.

"They ate him," she said, surprising calm. "It looks like they cut him up bit by bit and fried him over a fire."

Sam gulped. "Is that, um, your husband's heart?"

"No," Alira said, her face breaking out into a grin. "It's mine."

She vanished, like smoke, before his eyes. Sam wished she hadn't, least of all so that he wouldn't have to see the scene that her body had been shielding from him. He stood, shocked, until the sound of rhythmic knocking of stone against stone broke him out of his daze. Smouldering eyes stared out at him from the shadows. Sam set down the blocks of lard he had carried and held his hands up in surrender.

"It wasn't my idea to come here in the first place," he said.

Whether they believed him, or they allowed themselves to be persuaded by his offerings, Sam made it out of the gully alive. Horse-Stella and cart were nowhere in sight, of course, and Sam made the trek back to the cottage alone. The cart was deposited in front of the veranda, sans the mare. Smoke rose from the chimney and the smell of frying meat came from within.

Author's Notes

*these aren't conventional apples at all, but galls containing wasp larvae that are eaten raw.

Here's another star farmer story set in the beautiful and terrifying fantasy Australian Outback. This was written for the Labyrinth Forum's August 3K Short Story Competition to the prompt of Southern Fried Surrealism. If you liked it, and want to read some great stories, head on over to the 3K Short Story Competition where Liz will post the links to the entries and you can vote for your favourite.