He fucked up the opening line, Kylara thought with a curl of excitement.

She gave her stepsister a brief glance to see if she had noticed it too, but Yalmay wasn’t paying attention. Typical. She did, however, catch the magsman’s eye. He flashed her a toothy grin. It was the sort of devilish, self-aware look only the very old or the very young could get away with.

So he knows he’s getting the story wrong, she thought, rocking back in her chair. Interesting.

She crossed her arms and gave the old man a look, trying to get a feel for what he was going for, but he simply shrugged and continued on with the story. He was still telling it wrong. Oddly, it bothered her. It shouldn’t have, but it did. She supposed falsehoods always bothered her, and this was close enough.

What?

Kylara sighed and rubbed her temple. Falsehoods? What was she thinking? A badly told story was not a falsehood. She was tired, that was all. Tired and sick of her job. It was always easier to get annoyed while tired.

She swore under her breath and tried to focus on what she was here for. She had to watch the kids. That was all. It was not her job to critique the strange tales of a foreigner.

The door opened and bright light streamed through. In walked several more children, loudly chatting among themselves.

The magsman didn’t look bothered by the interruption at all. He simply paused the story as he waited patiently for them to get comfortable. Then, once he seemed confident everyone had settled down, he cleared his throat and started from the beginning:

“At the start of all things,” he said, “before the sky shattered and the gates closed, before light and shadow and darkness, before law and life–before all of our imaginings, the world was a flat, featureless plain. There was no people, no warrens, no Deserts, no magic. The only things that moved or thought were shadow-selves from the world beyond, and they had everything they wanted."

“But as aeons passed on to aeons, even these shadow-selves grew restless with the current state of affairs. They wanted more. They yearned for wonder and strangeness, novelty and new sensations. But the shadow-selves had long ago mastered their own world, and knew that it offered nothing of what they desired.”

The magsman hung his head at that, as if he were remembering some great calamity. Then he looked up abruptly and smiled, “And so it goes,” he said, “that our world hatched from a dream–their dream. The Up Over, the Down Under, and everything in between–it all started with one dream.”

He drummed his fingers on the bottom of his chair. “That’s the start of every story, but not the tale I want to tell today. No, the one I want to tell is not too different. It begins with–”

Kylara’s focus drifted off. As much as she wanted to listen to the story (and log its inaccuracies), she was not here for it. She was here for the crowd.

There were many familiar faces. There were her siblings, of course, along with their friends Birdie and Jugoorah. Then there was Dayindi, with hair as messy as an owl finch’s nest, and Matalie, with a slightly crocked shoulder. The faint smokey smell was probably from Laklan, whom Kylara had seen playing Strix Split in front of the firepit earlier. The boy in front of him missing a shoe was surely Bu-una. Audrey sat on the floor holding her knees tightly. Glen was resting his head on his older brother’s shoulder. There were more too, and Kylara quietly recited their names as she counted.

She’d grown familiar with all of them over the past several months. Their strengths, their weaknesses, their personalities. It was strange to see them all together, but a magsman coming to town was always something special.

Kylara finished counting. Twenty-seven children in the crowd were of the right age. That was nearly everyone. She had never kept track of so many at once. They would be hard to watch.

Although… she looked around. At least Billy is missing. That had to count for something. The little ankle-biter always got into trouble, and Kylara wasn’t in the mood to deal with him right now.

“Hey.” Kylara felt a poke in her arm, and she turned to its source. Yalmay handed her a mug of pale brown liquid. “They didn’t have gadju so I got spiced acurrn. Hope that’s okay.”

“Yeah, no worries,” Kylara said, grabbing the mug. “I like acurrn.” She took a sip. It tasted vaguely of spiced apples. The taste gave the drink a nostalgic flavour, and it reminded her of autumn.

“So, whatcha up to?” Yalmay asked, pulling a chair out and taking a seat next to her. She smiled at her stepsister with her slightly chipped front tooth.

“Nothing much,” Kylara whispered. They were sitting far enough back that she didn’t think talking would be disruptive, but it was always best to be sure. She didn’t want to interrupt the story.

“Nothing much?” Yalmay smiled. “I know that face, you’re analysing something. Do tell.” She tapped the table impatiently for emphasis.

“Fine,” Kylara said. She looked up from her drink. “I was counting.”

“Counting? What for? O–oh.” A look of sympathy crossed Yalmay’s face. “You’re counting the kids.”

“Twenty-seven of them,” Kylara said, clearing her throat, “assuming you don’t count the Gaigan twins as one, which there’s definitely an argument for.”

Creepy little eight year olds did everything together. Thank the gods Toba and Tabara weren’t like that.

Her stepsister did not smile at her jest. “Kya,” she said seriously, “you need to stop doing this.” Yalmay reached across the table and touched Kylara’s hand. Kylara resisted the urge to shrug it off. “You’re watching one or two or maybe three of them. Not twenty-seven.”

“Technically I am watching three of them,” Kylara said, “three of them, nine times over.” She gave her sister a knowing grin. Joking about semantics was dangerous, and she did not usually do it, but she thought Yalmay would appreciate it. Yalmay loved wordplay. Puns, funny turns of phrase, even innuendos–she loved them all. Hopefully it meant she would take the hint and they could change the topic. Kylara really, really didn’t want to get into this conversation right now.

“Kya.”

“What?” she snapped. She was used to others giving her a hard time about things, but not Yalmay. Yalmay was her sister. She had always been on her side. She turned away, feeling slightly betrayed. “I’m watching who I need to.”

“But all of them?” Yalmay asked. “Surely it’s past time for that kind of thing? You have to have narrowed it down a little. Pick a kid. You need to start training them.”

“I’m working on it,” Kylara said, “you know that.” It wasn't exactly her fault she couldn't choose.

“It’s just–” Yalmay started nervously, “well, it’s just that I was talking to Wawiriya earlier. Even she's getting frustrated.”

“I know,” Kylara said, putting considerable effort into not gritting her teeth. Why wouldn’t Yalmay just drop the topic? It wasn’t her fault things were delayed. “I know she’s upset,” she said, “but it’s my responsibility–not hers.” Kylara crossed her arms. “And I still have time.”

“Yeah,” Yalmay said quietly. “I hope you’re right.” She didn’t say anything else, but the expression on her face was something Kylara could only describe as pity. Kylara instantly hated it. She looked away. If even Yalmay was telling her to hurry up, things were bad.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” Kylara asked. “I thought you were doing fishing crew with Nerys.”

“I was, but long story short, I’m back.” She sighed. “I’m looking for one of Joontah’s spears, believe it or not. We think Billy might’ve stolen it last night. I thought he’d be here, but…”

Kylara blinked. Then blinked again, harder.

“Sorry, but let me get this right–you let a six year old take your spear?”

“Small correction, I let a six year old take Joontah’s spear.” Yalmay paused. “Maybe.”

“Maybe,” Kylara repeated flatly.

Yalmay seemed to shrink in her seat. “It’s not my fault, okay? Me and Joontah were together most of last night, and when we came back it was gone. I can’t think of anyone else who would take it besides Billy. And I’m really worried he’ll do something stupid with it or or–” Yalmay’s voice broke off in the way it often did when she got nervous about something, and Kylara waited a second for her to regain her composure. “Anyway,” she said, “I’m looking for him. Do you think he has it?”

Of course he fucking does, Kylara thought, but didn’t say anything.

Billy had a history with that sort of thing. She thought back to some of his many exploits. Like the time he had nicked his mother’s hair piece and set off a village-wide manhunt. Or that time he ate three jars of honey and no one noticed until he vomited on a wedding cake. Or just two weeks ago, when he had stolen an heirloom flute from Old Nan’s place and blamed it on a dingo. That one had been particularly bad. The point being, Billy got in trouble a lot. That was sort of what Billy did. It was like he had a sixth sense for finding trouble.

“What do you think?” Yalmay asked.

“He could have it.”

“You really think so?” Yalmay said, completely earnestly.

“Well,” Kylara said. She swallowed some of her drink before continuing, “He’s Billy. You know how he is. I wouldn’t put it past the little bugger.”

“You’re right. It was probably him. No–who am I kidding? It was definitely him.” Yalmay sighed and slumped her shoulders. “He’s upset at me anyway. Apparently, he doesn’t like that I married his big brother.” At the last part, Yalmay threw up air quotes.

Kylara furrowed her brow. “That’s–” she started.

“Ridiculous, I’m aware. I’ve been with Joontah longer than the kid’s even been alive.”

Also, you’re not married to him yet, Kylara thought. Or even engaged. Interesting that she leave that part out…

“But Billy’s six,” Yalmay continued, “so he doesn’t need to make any sense. All he needs to do is cry a bit and everyone takes him seriously because he’s cute or something. It’s completely unfair.” Yalmay stood up in exasperation, and Kylara stood up and pushed her down.

“Shhh,” she said, gesturing at the magsman at the front of the room. “They’re listening to his story. We need to be quiet.”

“Sorry,” Yalmay whispered back. “It’s just–I dunno. It’s like Billy’s deliberately trying to be annoying. Were the twins like that at this age?”

Kylara glanced and Tabara and Toba. “No,” she said, “not really. They mostly kept to themselves. Still do, actually. I think it makes Jack feel left out.”

Tabara and Toba were at the very front, giving the magsman their full attention. They were not the oldest of the kids but they were close to the tallest, with ungainly legs and bulgy doe eyes. As typical, both were carefully pretending to not notice their younger brother, who was craning his neck to see above their shoulders. Poor Jack. Kylara shook her head. She’d have to scold the twins about it later. That kid always seemed to draw the short straw. Kylara and Yalmay had each other, the twins were twins, and Jack was stuck at the end, fending for himself. Sometimes Kylara wished their age gap was smaller.

“Hmm,” Yalmay digested the scene for a second, then gave a slight nod. “Yeah, I can see why it might. Poor kid, especially with everything that’s been happening lately.”

“I know.”

The conversation lapped into silence and Kylara took a moment to listen to the magsman's story. Despite the unconventional plot, its execution was excellent. The magsman had a gentle, silvery voice and a way of telling things that made you feel like you were really there. She watched him closely, looking for any tricks of body language or any little theatrics he used to achieve the immersion. There was something to be learnt there, she thought. The children hung on his every word.

As the minutes ticked on, even Kylara felt like she was being sucked in. When the great ancestral hero Thalyermana defeated the monstrous Threldakel for the first time, she involuntarily breathed a sigh of relief.

“He’s good,” Yalmay said, gesturing at the magsman. “Who is he? I was only half listening before, but he’s really sucked me in. You realise how hard it is to get this many kids to actually paying attention when you talk?”

“I’m aware,” Kylara grumbled. Remember, I’ve dealt with our younger siblings for longer than you have. Your mother married in recently.

“So who is he?”

“Dunno,” Kylara said. “Just the most recent magsman, I suppose. He got in earlier today.”

He had arrived in Kookaburra Creek just after breakfast, after trekking in from Saltsbury in the east. The rules had been exchanged, his lodgings had been set up, and he had met with some of the elders to talk privately. Then had spent the rest of the morning wooing the town’s children, handing out sweets and conjuring butterflies. The younger kids were practically worshipping at his heel at this point. Kylara’s own younger siblings certainly were. It was rather annoying.

“This morning?” Yalmay asked, sitting back. “Really? It’s just, I swear I’ve seen him before. Do you recognise him?”

“I don’t,” Kylara said. She was fairly sure she would remember him if she had. The magsman was tall enough to stand out in a crowd, especially for someone his age. He was quite a few centimetres taller than Kylara, despite clearly being in his seventies.

“Huh,” Yalmay said. “Do you know where’s he from? Which country?”

Again, Kylara shrugged. “He didn’t say,” she said. Which, now that she thought about it, was quite unusual. Usually that was one of the first things you learnt about a person.

“I swear I’ve seen him before,” Yalmay muttered again.

Kylara looked at the old storyteller, now slightly curious. With his darker skin and thick head of hair, he was probably from Ngupuri. People from the north almost never balded. Kylara’s father had a habit of cursing out the lucky bastards.

But where in Ngupuri? That was the question. It was a big nation. Kylara had only been once, but she thought she knew enough about geography to figure it out. She leaned forward to get a better look at him.

The magsman was wearing a simple, open-chested jacket made of light fabric and leather. The pattern reminded Kylara of Nitida or Wat Nomi fashion, but the colours didn’t fit. Some sort of imitation, perhaps? But from where?

She looked closer. The material told a different story. It looked more southern than northern, where leather were more common because of the chilly weather. Maybe he was from Unoondara? Or a southern Ngupuri city like Ya-itma or Lamberside?

Puzzled, Kylara cast a few trigger wards. It was cheating a bit, she knew, but she liked giving herself little challenges and was curious to see this one through. Not to mention it was good practice. Figuring out what someone was wearing was essential to being a good warder.

Ah. Got it.

The leather was red kangaroo hide. That narrowed it down a bit. Only Nitida and Lamberside had those.

Which one though?

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Kylara furrowed her brow and thought. She should know this. There was a large section in her textbook dedicated to clothing and fabric around the world. She knew the Nitida only used female roo hides because they were softer… but the Lambersiders? She didn’t remember. Were they the ones who sewed beaten grass into their leather to make it more flexible, or was that someone else? Either way, she couldn’t remember what type of grass it was, and plants were near impossible to key a ward to without knowing their exact taxonomy. She sighed. She wished her books had focused more on clothing and less on shoes. If she could just remember…

Her train of thought was interrupted by Yalmay punching her shoulder. “Did you do something?” she whispered.

“Hm?”

“I dunno, did you cast one of those half-working ward things you sometimes do?”

Half-working? Kylara thought. Really?

“Yeah,” Kylara frowned. “I did. Why?”

“Because I think the magsman noticed.”

“Really?” Kylara looked at the magsman with renewed interest. “Are you certain?”

Wards were hard to see. It was fairly unusual for nonwarders to notice them. Or rather, it was unusual for them to notice them without specifically looking for them, which the magsman had no reason to do. It meant he had probably gotten training somewhere, or been a warder himself once. Based on the how rare warders were, Kylara guessed the former.

But still.

Something was off.

Yalmay was right. The ward she had made was just a construct. A half-working ward. Constructs were barely considered wards in the first place. They were so insubstantial other warders had trouble seeing them. If he had noticed that… Well. That was a rare ability indeed.

“I’m sure,” Yalmay said. “He definitely noticed something. You didn’t see him staring directly at you? It was almost creepy.”

No, Kylara thought, feeling slightly embarrassed. I hadn’t noticed.

She scolded herself. She needed to be more observant, especially with things like this. If she was going to be invasive, she needed to at least be competent about it.

“Sorry,” she said. “I’ll stop.”

“What were trying to do anyway?” Yalmay asked.

“Guess where he was from based on the material in his clothes.”

“You can do that?”

Kylara shrugged. “Sometimes. He’s wearing red kangaroo leather, which you don’t find in a lot of places. We mostly have grey ones here, and he’s got none of that on him. I was thinking Nitida, perhaps. Or another city in southern Ngupuri.”

“I think he’s from Warrung,” Yalmay said.

Of course she thought that.

Kylara rolled her eyes. “You think everyone is from Warrung,” she said. Alright, bit of a lie. “Or rather, you suspect too many people are from there.”

“No, no, really! Listen to how he talks. He softens his vowels like he’s from the coast.”

Kylara listened, then slumped her shoulders. It was subtle, but Yalmay was usually right about guessing accents. “I think you’re right,” Kylara conceded. Warrung hadn’t been her first guess. Or any of her guesses, actually. It wasn’t even near Ngupuri, although that did not mean much.

“‘Course I’m right,” Yalmay said, gaining confidence. “I know how people sound, and he sounds like he’s from Warrung. Do you think he’s studied at the University? Wyreth is in Warrung.”

Kylara sighed. “You can’t assume that everyone from Warrung went to the University, Yalmay.”

“Yeah but, he must have at least been there before, right? I mean, it’s big. And in the centre of the city. It’d be coming to Kookaburra Creek and not seeing the Scar Tree.”

Kylara heaved another sigh. You could walk through the entire town of Kookaburra Creek in little more than a couple of minutes. Warrung was the biggest, most powerful city in the world. The comparison did not work at all.

Yalmay was her sister and closest friend, but she could get a bit obsessive when it came to the University. She had wanted to go there to study languages since they were little. Kylara understood the appeal, but it was far away–even with the songlines–and the chances of Yalmay getting in were practically zero. Personally Kylara didn’t see the point, although she kept that thought mostly to herself.

But looking at the happiness in Yalmay’s face couldn’t be ignored.

“You can ask him if he’s been there,” Kylara said.

Yalmay perked up. “You’ll come with me to ask?” she said.

“Er.” Kylara grimaced.

That was not what she had meant. In fact, she had hoped she wouldn’t need to be present for that particular conversation. Every time someone from Warrung passed through Kookaburra Creek, Yalmay pestering them relentlessly about the University. It happened every few months. Usually, Kylara ended up being dragged along and having to apologise profusely for her sister’s rudeness. It was not something she enjoyed. She’d prefer not be roped into it again.

Although, Kylara mused, the chances that the magsman had been to the University were fairly high if he was seeing her wards that easily.

“I think I’ll ask him after I find Billy,” Yalmay decided. “You want to come with?”

To question the magsman or to find the bratty six-year old? Kylara thought. Either way, she absolutely do not want to go.

“Er, well–” Kylara began.

Fuck, how do I phrase this nicely?

“Look, Yalmay–”

“Shhhh!”

“Hm?”

“Look!” Yalmay pointed past her ear, to the magsman. Kylara turned around and breathed a sigh of relief. The magsman had done something, and was showing something off in his hand. Good, Kylara thought. A distraction. She’d been saved.

Several children were pushing each other to get a better view of whatever the magsman was holding. It took Kylara a second to make it out. She craned her neck forward.

Two giant butterflies were delicately resting on the magsman's his wrists. As Kylara watched, the magsman flicked his fingers and two more chequered swallowtails appeared.

He held them out as if on display. The children oohed and aahed as he stood up and walked slowly forward so everyone could get a better look.

“Speaking of magic,” Kylara muttered.

The magsman had a mischievous twinkle in his eye. He smiled, flickered his fingers, and another butterfly appeared from nowhere. It was also a swallowtail, but this one was much bigger. It fluttered and flew to the ceiling.

“I’ve never seen magic like that,” Yalmay said, “I’ll need to ask him how he’s doing it.”

Kylara hadn’t either, which made her slightly uneasy.

She’d travelled enough that she was used to not knowing which magics were possible and which weren’t, but that happened in distant countries. Not home. In Kookaburra Creek, she knew the rules and she knew them well. Butterfly summoning was different. It didn’t fit with the summoning or any of the local entads. And the magsman was from Warrung, so it couldn’t have been elder magic.

“I wonder if it is magic,” Kylara mused. There were plenty of possibilities, but at the moment some sort of trick seemed the most likely. Probably slight of hand or something of that vein?

But where was he keeping them all? The old man wasn’t even wearing a proper shirt, and live butterflies weren’t exactly durable. Maybe they were painted moths? Moths were a common sight in Kookaburra Creek because of the summoning, but how was he changing the shape and colour? And how were they alive and moving? In fact, it looked almost exactly like the summoning, but that was impossible. The summoning simply didn't do that.

The other possibility was an unknown entad. But an auditor from Warrung had come just last year and surveyed all the local ones. He had done a pretty thorough search of the area. Kylara had been apart of that Council meeting. The auditor had found nothing exciting. Nothing that could be used to summon butterflies in any case.

Yalmay seemed to be thinking the same. “Bit weird, isn’t it? Maybe,” she raised a finger, “he’s a Wanderer.”

“He’s not,” Kylara said. She’d gotten a good look at him before Yalmay had come in, close enough to be able to tell the man was human. That, and Wanderers had a way of moving that was often… unsettling. The magsman moved with a relaxed air of confidence and authority that felt natural. “And Wanderers wouldn’t be able summon butterflies either,” she added.

“You don’t know that,” Yalmay insisted. “You’re just taking Wawiriya’s word for stuff. Just because she claims things are true about the Wanderers doesn’t mean they are. She’s biased, anyway.”

“Perhaps,” Kylara said, letting the subject drop. Yalmay never seemed to trust Wawiriya much, despite the fact that they were practically family at this point. She didn’t know why.

“He could be a warlock,” Yalmay said, and Kylara laughed. “No, really. He could be. Why not?”

“Sorry,” Kylara said, trying to control her smile. Warlocks did not work that way. Not even a little. And even if they did, Kylara was fairly certain a warlock couldn’t be telling the kind of story the magsman was telling right now and stay a warlock. The magsman had messed up the opening line pretty badly and warlocks were not allowed to lie.

Kylara turned to her sister, “You’re going to need to know this stuff to get into the University, you know. If you go in without knowing what a warlock is, you might offend someone.”

“Nah,” Yalmay said, smiling. “I won’t offend anyone. Warlocks are cool, don’t worry. I’m cool with them. Or I would be if I ever met one.” She gave Kylara a light punch on the shoulder. “I bet warlocks are cooler than warders at the very least.”

Kylara rolled her eyes. “Shut up. I’m cool and you know it.”

The conversation drifted, and Kylara sunk into her chair. She probably should have been watching the kids, but she was tired and the magsman’s voice was relaxing. She sipped her drink and listened. He had a nice voice, she thought. Deep and kind.

The room was dim and quiet. It was midday, but the magsman had covered the windows with thick drapes. It gave the light an orange-ish tint. Only a few beams of sunlight peaked out from under the door. It felt hazy, and cozy, and relaxed. It took some effort to not doze off.

At some point, the magsman took out a lantern and Kylara realised why he had covered the windows in the first place. He wanted to use the light as part of the story.

And as he kept speaking, he did. Shadows moved with the lurch of his arm. They twisted about on his face as if they’d come to life. Flickering lights stretched around the wood beams, illuminating dark corners. Something about it sent shivers down Kylara’s spine, in a way she wasn’t sure she could describe.

This version of the tale… it didn’t feel more accurate, necessarily, but somehow it felt more real. More authentic.

No, that wasn’t right. Kylara shook her head. Relevant. That’s the word. It feels more relevant. It feels like important things rest on the words being spoken here. It was a ridiculous notion, of course, and after a while, Kylara realised it wasn’t because of the story, but the magsman himself. He just had a way of phrasing things. If not for the occasional pause to take a drink, or a bite of a biscuit, it was like he disappeared into the telling. And even then, the story would quickly continue on at the same pace as before when he began again.

Eventually the story wound down to its natural end. Thalyermana won, the gates were sealed, Threldakel was defeated, and peace and stability were returned to the land. The ending, unlike the beginning, was accurate.

“And so it went,” the magsman said. “Thalyermana travelled for the rest of his days, exploring countries and meeting new people. Some say he’s still out there, wandering and wondering the land under secret names, but all this happened so long ago no one could tell you, not even the rocks and rivers. For even they were different back then.”

The silence felt heavy.

There was a moment of shocked–almost reverent–stillness as the children digested what he had just said. Then abrupt chaos.

The magsman stood up suddenly and swung his arms in the air. A flurry of butterflies erupted from nowhere. Hundreds upon hundreds of colours and patterns. They fluttered and danced around him, their wings shimmering in the lantern light.

The children shouted and jumped up. Even little Alambee, who had been having an attack of shyness since the stranger arrived, jumped up in the hopes of snagging one from the air. Everyone was jumping and pushing. It was chaos. Someone–Kylara did not catch who–smacked against the window and with a thud the curtain came down. Light streamed into the room.

Kylara threw up a hand to prevent herself from being blinded.

Okaaay, she thought once her vision recovered. That was a lot of butterflies. More than anyone could reasonably conceal. Not slight of hand then. That meant an entad.

There was what–two hundred of them? Three? The air was absolutely swarming with them.

A small blue-grey butterfly landed on her nose. She stuck her tongue out at it. It fluttered away. A few seconds later more landed on her arms, their soft wings tickling her skin. A warm smile spread across her face.

“This is ridiculous,” she said, looking at Yalmay in delight.

Her sister’s face was covered in little blue wings. She looked absolutely terrified by it. “You okay?” Kylara asked, concerned.

Yalmay said nothing, but her right hand began moving. It took Kylara a second to recognise it, but Yalmay was spelling out a word. It was in Common Sign, one of the languages Yalmay was studying to test into the University. Kylara knew only the basics but Yalmay was almost fluent. “Can’t move,” she signed. “Might scare them off.”

"The butterflies?"

Yalmay's eyes widened.

“Sure, but I think you still need to breathe,” Kylara stated.

Yalmay signed something again, but this time Kylara did not recognise the word.

“Not sure what you’re saying,” she said, “but your eyes are starting to bulge. It might be a good time to stop holding your breath.”

Yalmay, very slowly, shook her head no. The movement caused a butterfly to twitch, then fly off. The rest followed.

“Fuck,” Yalmay said. “You distracted me.”

“Distracted you?”

“By breathing when I couldn’t! You were making me jealous.” Yalmay made a strangling motion in the air. Kylara raised an eyebrow at her. “It’s the law,” Yalmay explained, “you can’t disturb an animal when it is on top of you.”

“Is that what that sign meant?” Kylara asked. “Law?”

“Nah,” Yalmay said. “That one was prisoner.”

“Right,” she laughed. “Of course it did. You know,” Kylara said, reaching for Yalmay’s ear. “You’ve got something… right here,” she gently held the tip of her finger against the side of Yalmay’s head and a butterfly crawled on it. She held it up for her sister to see. “See? Not all of them flew off. This one was loyal.”

Yalmay held her palm out. The butterfly fluttered onto her finger. Then, resting a second, it flew away.

“Gonna disagree with loyal,” Yalmay said. “I think that one was just slow. Still, this is amazing.” She pointing at the magsman. “That man is amazing. I don’t know how he’s doing it, but at this point I don’t care.”

Surprisingly, Kylara found herself agreeing. A smile twitched its way onto her face. She’d give the magsman credit for one thing–this was the most fun she had had in months.

She looked at him to thank him. Oddly, he was completely ignoring the butterflies. In fact, he was moving rather sluggishly. He slowly picked up his lantern and put it down. Then did the same with the tin, picking it up and putting it down. Then the stool. Kylara frowned. What was he doing?

Kylara stood up. The man was old. Maybe he was confused–was this some sort of health scare? Was he having an apoplexy? But his face looked blank, not like he was in pain. She stepped closer and shoved Laklan–who was standing in front of her–out of the way. It was best to be sure.

Then the magsman caught her eye and winked.

Oh, she thought. Now she got what he was doing.

He was acting.

The magsman looked happy someone realised his little farce. He smiled widely. It Kylara off guard. She froze for a second, caught for a second by how distractingly white his teeth were. Odd.

Then he resumed picking up and putting down his lantern.

“What’s he doing?” Yalmay said, following Kylara’s gaze.

“He’s waiting for the kids to notice he’s leaving,” Kylara said. “He’s wants an encore. They’re just really, really unobservant.”

She glanced around the room, wondering when the excitement about the butterflies would settle down.

It took a few more minutes until someone noticed.

“Look!” Jugoorah shoved Birdie and pointed. “He’s leaving.”

“What?” Bu-una said. “He’s leaving?”

“You can’t leave!” Birdie shouted.

“No!” Matalie said, jumping up. “You can’t–it’s not done yet!”

“Yeah! You missed the best parts, you need to keep going.”

“Yeah, you got it all wrong.”

“Okay, okay,” the magsman said, putting his hands up in surrender. “I’m curious, what did I get wrong?”

Five children shouted at once, and the magsman sat down again. He waited patiently for things to quiet down.

“Well,” Laklan declared, hands on his hips, “Laldian wasn’t her child, he was her brother!”

“Yeah! And I’ve never heard that part about the balladeer. It makes no sense. How can someone bore an ocean to sleep?” Toba asked.

“What’s a balladeer?” Jack chimed in, promptly ignored.

“If I were the ocean, I’d go to sleep if you were singing it,” Tabara said. She stuck her tongue out at her brother.

“That’s just because you sleep all the time anyway,” Toba responded. He took a moment to savour his choice of insult before meeting Kylara’s eye and hesitating. “You’re… lazy,” he finished anticlimactically. He shoved his sister as he sat back down.

Another thing I need to scold the twins about later, Kylara thought with a sigh.

Bu-una spoke up, “And the first people didn’t become dirt. That would be creepy. They’re dolphins.” He threw some dirt on the girl next to him to emphasise his point.

“Ew! You put dead people in my hair!”

“That’s awesome.”

“It’s gross. What if this is like, some dead guy’s ear or something?”

“It could be a butt!” Tabara screamed.

Kylara stared at her younger sister for several moments, trying very hard to hold back a smile, then gave up. She burst out laughing.

This was a disaster. Their father was going to have quite a surprise when he was putting them to bed later. She was sure the twins would be asking lots of questions about sand and butts and sand as butts. Or butts as sand? Butts in sand? Either way, Jerong Kunyjiri would be so uncomfortable. Kylara could not wait.

Little Jack, meanwhile, was peering at the dirt intently, as though he was trying very hard to picture a butt but couldn’t quite get there. He looked up in puzzlement, “Are you sure you got this story right?” he asked the magsman.

The storyteller waved his hand to shush the crowd. To Kylara’s great surprise, they quieted. The nerve of them. They never listened to her that quickly.

“Am I sure I got the story’s right? Now that’s the crux of it, isn’t it? How sure I am that I’m right has nothing to do with how right I actually am.” He smiled again, unbothered by the children’s confused looks.

Dayindi broke the silence. “You’re saying that you just made the whole thing up…?” His voice trailed off, as though he couldn’t decide whether he was asking a question or making a statement.

The storyteller gave him a reproachful look, “Not quite, my child. There are some stories you cannot get wrong. Some are too rooted in the vistas of time.” He made a dramatic pinching movement with his fingers. “Stand too close to the truth of it and you only see the story. Stand a little further back, fill it with some half-lies and misdirections and then you might–just might–begin to see the bigger picture.” Kylara frowned. That was some very dangerous advice. She quickly glanced around the room, hoping no one was listening.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Tabara complained.

The old man sighed, suddenly serious. He rubbed his check, looking at each of the children in turn. Kylara couldn’t tell if he was nervous, embarrassed, or just plain uncomfortable. “No, I suppose it wouldn’t. Not this time and place, at least. Not quite.”

For a second, he caught Kylara’s eye. His eyes were cold. She looked away.

“Can you tell us another one?” Matalie asked.

“Yeah!” Laklan shouted. “I want to hear about the Snap!”

“Yeah, the Snap!” Jugoorah said. “Snap!” he chanted, “Snap! Snap! Snap!” After a few seconds, Birdie and the twins joined in, and after a few more nearly the whole group was chanting along. “Snap! Snap! Snap!” they shouted. A few of them tried snapping their fingers to go along with the chant, but none of them were very good at it.

“The Snap?” The magsman’s shoulders stiffened and he looked to the door, almost as if worried. Then he licked his lips. “A bit close to home, don’t you think? And more than a little depressing. No, I won’t tell that story today. It is too dark a tale for these quarters. Let’s choose another one.”

There was a moment of disappointment accompanied by a few groans, but the mood quickly recovered.

“Do Kieran and the drop bear!” Audrey shouted.

“Ha! Don’t you think that’s a little violent for someone your age?” The storyteller’s warm demeanour was back. The old man leaned forward, and stage whispered with comically raised eyebrows, “Your parents would get me in trouble!”

“What about Lutana and Djalu?” Tabara asked.

“No one likes love stories except you,” Toba said.

“Yeah well no one likes you but I still listen to you,” she shot back.

“Liar, you never listen to me!”

“Do too!”

“Quiet!” the storyteller interrupted. “My throat is already parched. I can do one more today, but only if it’s short. Lutana is too complex a tale, and I can’t shorten it and do it justice.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “What else do you have?”

“I still want Kieran and the drop bear,” Toba grumbled. “I like the ones with the bushrangers and they kill stuff.”

“That’s in like half of them, stupid,” Tabara said. “And if you bothered to pay attention, he already said he wouldn’t do it.”

“I still want it cos it’s the best.”

“Why should you get to choose?”

Kylara closed her eyes and worked her jaw back and forth. This was going to go on a while. The twins could stay up all night trying to get the last word. She rubbed her temples. Between the bickering and the stress, she was going to get a headache.

Yalmay seemed to notice. “Want to head out?” she asked.

Kylara nodded. “Yeah, let’s. I think they’re going to be at it for a while.” She stood up and, pushing the chair in, and headed out the door.

It didn’t escape her notice that the magsman’s gaze followed her the entire way out. Kylara shivered, despite the February heat.