Kylara's solitude was short-lived as she became aware of footsteps approaching her from behind on the gentle terrain.
“I’m sorry,” a woman said, not sounding sorry in the least. Kylara’s nostrils flared up as she recognised the voice. “Am I interrupting something?”
Kylara took a deep breath–through her stomach instead of her chest–she needed the extra air–before turning around. She was not looking forward to this conversation at all.
“Hi Malyun,” she said to the senior councilwoman.
Malyun was was scowling at her, like always. It didn’t do any favours for her somewhat unfortunate looking face. Kylara suspected that the only reason her frown wasn’t permanently carved into her cheeks was because her face was just too fat. It was too bouncy to settle.
Malyun was a short women, with a narrow jaw, thin eyebrows, and beady black eyes like a gwiyala. The little hair that she had left hung down to the back of her neck in a tight braid, but even with it loose she was the most severe looking person Kylara had ever met, with several ugly scars on her face. She had one running down the side of her check, another running into her hairline, and a third skirting the tip of her nose. Supposedly they were from a hunting accident when she had been a young woman.
When Kylara had been little–maybe six or seven, her father had told her how after an accident, a person’s kuiunpa, or soul, would sometimes run away from the body and hide to protect itself. Sometimes it hid for a long time. Kylara had not fully understood what he meant, and had spent years thinking Malyun’s soul had hidden itself away because of her accident. She used to wonder when it would find its way back.
At nineteen, Kylara didn’t believe in child’s tales anymore. But more than ever, she was convinced Malyun was soulless, albeit for entirely different reasons.
The woman was an egotist and a narcissist. If there was ever any opportunity to not be a arsehole, she seemed to deliberately go out of her way to avoid doing it.
“What are you doing?” Malyun asked, in a voice that somehow sounded old and petulant at the same time.
What does it look like I am doing?
“I am watching the pushball game,” Kylara said, as evenly as she could manage.
“Why?”
Good question.
“Some of the parents think it’ll help me pick the next warder,” Kylara said.
“And has it?”
“It doesn’t help me relax, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Malyun let out a laugh that was half amused and half mocking. “So you haven’t found someone then,” she said. It was a statement, not a question.
“No,” Kylara said, clenching her teeth.
Obviously.
“You’ve read my reports,” Kylara added. “You know my progress.”
“Hmm,” Malyun said. “Have you talked to your grandfather today?”
Kylara’s eyes flickered to met Malyun’s. “I have,” she said carefully, “he said you are trying to pass measures against me. Measures with the Council.”
“Measures,” Malyun paused as she seemed to savour the words, “that are long since overdue.”
Something uncomfortable twinged in Kylara’s gut as she took in statement. The woman was planning something. She just needed to find out what it was.
She wants to hurt me, Kylara thought frantically. But how? If I was as vindictive and bitter as her, how would I go about it? What would I ask the Council?
She could always ask her directly, but she doubted that Malyun would give her a straight answer. The old woman was the kind of person that liked to let the dread and anticipation fester.
Kylara frowned. Maybe if she let the conversation drag on, Malyun would give a hint of what she was planning. The woman had, after all, approached her for a reason. She presumably wanted to talk.
“I’ll find someone,” Kylara said. “I have a few candidates already.”
“I know. You’ve been watching them for weeks.”
“I’ve been doing my job.”
“Have you?” Malyun said. “Because it doesn’t look like you have.”
Kylara pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Would you rather I not watch them?” she asked.
“Don’t try to be funny,” Malyun said. She leaned back on one foot as she looked Kylara up and down. “It is your responsibility,” she stated. “You are neglecting it.”
“I’m not,” Kylara said. She rubbed her eyes. “Look, I’m already trying it your way. I do interviews every morning with the kids. I write you reports on who I think might work. I’ve given half a dozen speeches to the Council on the progress. It’s not like I’m sitting around doing nothing.”
“Aren’t you?” Malyun sneered.
At that, Kylara simply stared. She was deliberately trying to rile her up. She had to be, because there was no way she could respond to that without either lying or being disrespectful. Kylara clenched her fist tightly together. She was so tired of having to explain herself over and over again.
“Look,” she said haltingly, “I don’t want to have to answer questions from you about how it’s going, or what you think of my methods, but I do. I don’t want the town to be without a warder, but here we are. And if I could get people to like me again, I would do it in a heartbeat. I am trying. Would you rather you keep me in complete isolation?”
At that, Kylara took a shaky breath and pulled herself taller, watching Malyun’s reaction carefully.
She suspected that the “measures” Malyun wanted to enact were something along those lines. Isolation. Limited social contact except for duties specific to finding a new warder. It made the most sense. They couldn’t exile her, and they couldn’t directly punish her unless they wanted to hurt themselves. The only was they could hope to make progress was by isolating her until she broke.
But instead of looking surprised or alarmed that Kylara had mentioned her plan, Malyun only looked smug.
“That wouldn’t do me much good, would it?” Malyun said. “Isolation? I know the reason you haven’t chosen a new warder, even if the others don’t. Isolation won’t help. I already know you have a weak will.”
Kylara blinked hard, twice. Her eyes were watery and she knew if she looked at Malyun and her self-satisfied expression, she might break. She fixed her gaze straight ahead, at the match.
The game was indistinguishable from before. Instead of the players being spread randomly throughout the field, there was what looked like an inner circle and an outer circle. Ulinda was having the kids play in pairs, with each of the circles taking turns sending and receiving the ball. It didn’t look like there was much skill involved, but from her conversation with the coach, Kylara knew those types of things could be deceiving. This drill was probably much more difficult than before.
The parents seemed to agree with her that the drill didn’t look very impress. They were shouting at their kids louder than before. Some were being downright cruel.
“Pass to Blaik! No, no, not on your right. Left! Now follow! No Dayindi, Laklan’s there, no no remember what I said with your footwork! We worked on this. You can’t miss those! Pay attention! This isn’t the time to slack off! She’s here watching!”
At that, Kylara glared at the offending parent for a minute, hoping he would pause his tirade if he noticed her stare, but if anything that made it worse. Instead of being embarrassed, the man shook the woman next to him, pointed at Kylara, and then his wife started shouting abuse to Dayindi as well. Kylara pressed her lips together. Poor kid. There really was no way to win.
“You’re staring,” Malyun said. “Stop it. They think you are considering him.”
“I am considering him,” Kylara said, which was true. Dayindi was currently her top choice. He had been for the last several weeks. Despite–or perhaps because of–his parents, he was a good kid. Calm. Fair. Level headed. He acted older than his age.
“Dayindi?”
“Yes,” Kylara said. Which you would know if you have read any of my recent reports. The fact that Malyun hadn’t surprised her. “He’s very promising. He’s quiet, which is good. A little too indirect, but he’s improving.”
Malyun hummed in disagreement. She had a habit of doing that. It was annoying. The woman could at least dignify her with a verbal response.
“You don’t like him,” Kylara prodded. “Why?”
“He has a sour streak to him. It will not be good for us in the long term.”
“He’s young. He’ll grow out of it.”
Malyun hummed in disagreement again. “Have you considered my granddaughter?” She pointed at one of the girls currently standing in the outer circle, waiting for her turn on the play. It was the same girl that Ulinda had yelled at earlier for being out of position.
“Macalla? I– No. I’ve not. I don’t think she’s the type.” Kylara had interviewed her a few days ago. Macalla was a good kid, not like her grandmother at all. But she wasn’t the right temperament to be a warder.
“She’s quiet, like Dayindi,” Malyun said.
“No," Kylara shook her head, "she’s young and awkward. Not quiet. There’s a difference. She just wants to fit in.”
“Is that such a bad thing?” Malyun gave Kylara an aggressive look and carefully enunciated each syllable. “We don’t need another warder who thinks she’s above the rules.”
Half a dozen refutes sprang into Kylara’s mind. She bit her tongue on them. “It’s a bad thing here.” She looked back at Macalla.
The girl looked nothing like her grandmother, with her gangly body, sharp features, and flared nose. In fact, she looked a bit like Toba and Tabara. Macalla wasn’t officially related to them, but people did speculate. Their father had his ways with younger women. Personally, Kylara thought it was just a coincidence.
Macalla, at the moment, was trying to join a clique of girls talking in the line on one side of the drill. She wasn’t doing a very good job. Only her leg was in the circle, and none of the other girls had offered to shove over and let her in. Kylara wished she could help her more. Macalla was a sweet kid. She was lucky she wasn’t a warder candidate.
Kylara turned back towards Malyun. “I’ve been her before. Fitting in is one thing, but wanting to fit in and not quite being there? It’s too easy to change. It’s dangerous.”
“Hmmm,” Malyun hummed, “I suppose you’d know.”
“Right,” Kylara said, sucking in a small breath. Her voice shook a little. “I suppose I’d know.”
It wasn’t her fault that she had never fit in. She knew that. She pressed her nail against her palm just in case. The pain helped remind her.
“Do you remember a time before you were a warder?” Malyun asked.
Kylara looked at her. “Why?”
“I want to know.”
“I was ten,” she said. She remembered, but the memory was faint. Most memories at that age were (unless, of course, you happened to be a Wanderer). “I remember the feeling more than anything. Not really any specifics.”
She closed her eyes. It seemed inconceivable that there was an ever a time before this. Before warding and all its responsibilities. Back when she thought she could do anything and be anyone. It had been a wonderful feeling. She’d long since shelved that optimism and replaced it with… what exactly? Experience? Wisdom? Some sort of hard-won maturity? She wasn’t sure.
“Well, I’m going to give you some advice,” Malyun said. “It’s time to move on. Accept it. You’re not Koolkuna’s warder anymore. We need a replacement and we need one now. You’re young. You still have a lot of things ahead of you. Pick Dayindi or Macalla or whoever and commit.”
“Commit?” Kylara almost laughed. “Commit? I’m not going back and forth between candidates, Malyun. You of all people know that choosing the kid is not the problem. Stop lying to yourself.”
Kylara glanced at the children playing. She was surprised to see that the game had drawn a bit of a crowd. She spotted a few familiar faces–in particular, Wawiriya and two of the other Wanderers. Kylara was surprised that they were interested. Oddly, the magsman was also there, but instead of being on the sidelines, he was standing in the centre of the field, talking to Ulinda. Weirdly, she didn’t look like she wanted to kick him off despite the fact that he was standing in the middle of the drill.
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“Most of those kids are more suited to warding than I was,” Kylara said. “And I lasted nine years. They would do fine if given the chance.”
“So give it to one of them.”
“I would,” Kylara said, folding her arms and narrowing her eyes at Malyun.
“Mmm,” the old woman hummed. She shrugged and said nothing, not offering a response to Kylara's accusing glare.
“I’m not the only one whose should be doing something,” Kylara said. “You could help smooth things over. Half the town hates me. It’s making my job hard. It’s making my life hard.”
Malyun had the gall to laugh at that. “I’ve already given you the apology you wanted,” she said.
It’s more than that though, Kylara thought angrily. They hate me because I’m already taking the fall for your stupid ego. Your stupid mistake.
“You gave me the apology I demanded,” Kylara corrected. “I can’t keep going with the situation like this.” Pain in her arm. A lie. “Not forever,” she added. The pain went away. Apparently truthful enough.
“You getting into fights is not something I can do something about,” Malyun said.
“So you’ve heard about–”
“Dhaligir, yes. Imla is fixing him up as best she can. She isn’t sure his leg will ever heal properly. He might walk with a slight limp for the rest of his life.” She closed her eyes. “You’re really trying to make things difficult for yourself, aren’t you? The amount of work the Council is going to have to do to smooth things over is staggering. You lost a lot of sympathy today.”
Kylara almost rolled her eyes. She lost a lot of sympathy? Like it was her fault? Personally, she thought that being attacked by a madman with a knife would make a normal person more sympathetic to her plight, not less, but apparently not according to Malyun.
“He was upset because the Council was not treating him well,” Kylara said. “The Council you are on. The Council I am on. Maybe if we had just smoothed things out before, his family would not be leaving town.”
Malyun snorted. “They are leaving because of the fire, not the Council.”
“The fire was your mistake as well,” Kylara said. “Your shared responsibility.”
Malyun rolled her eyes. “That fire was entirely your fault,” she said. “You’re bad timing. I tried to smooth things over the best I could. Clean up your mess.”
Because all bad things that happen in my vicinity are my fault. Kylara thought. Of course. It all makes sense now.
Personally, she blamed Malyun equally for it. It would have been prevented if Malyun wasn’t being such a prick to her.
Just as Kylara was about to voice her opinion, suddenly a stray ball from the field came at them. Kylara moved to block it from hitting Malyun.
“Mmm,” Malyun hummed.
Picking up the ball, she looked for who had lost it and was surprised to see the magsman waving at her.
“Here!” he shouted.
Shrugging, Kylara threw it back in. He caught it, smiling. “Thanks!” he shouted back, before doing a showy move and spinning, then running back to Ulinda. To Kylara’s surprise, he ran quite fast, despite his age. He was easily ten or even twenty years older than Malyun, and she could barely walk more than four kilometres an hour.
“That man is nuisance,” Malyun said. “He will be bad for us.”
“Who?” Kylara asked. “The magsman?”
“Multhamurra, he calls himself,” Malyun said. Kylara could sense she disapproved.
Odd name, Kylara thought. She didn’t recognise it, but it sounded old. Like something from a storybook.
She had tried to figure out where he was from earlier, when she was listening to his stories at the Nest. She had thought perhaps Nitida or Lamberside, but the name Multhamurra didn’t sound either Nidish or Lamber. Yalmay had guessed he was from Warrung from the accent. Now Kylara was more confident that was correct. Multhamurra did not sound like a traditional Warrung name, but it was a diverse city. People had odd names there.
“You should know who he is by now,” Malyun added. “Considering I heard you skipped chores today to listen to his children’s stories.”
The way he told it, they weren’t just child’s stories, Kylara thought, then got angry. She had been at the Nest doing precisely what was expected of her. Watching the children. Pick the next warder and all that.
“I didn’t skip–” Kylara started, then stopped. Malyun knew that wasn’t true. It was pointless to explain further. She didn’t have the patience for her games today.
“Frankly, I don’t care if you skipped or not. It looked like you did. Which finally brings me to my point. I’ve asked the Council to take some measures, just small things, to see if we can reinforce some behaviour that looks better for the rest of the town.”
“My grandfather says you are having trouble finding the votes.”
“I have the votes,” Malyun said. “I found another way to get things done. See, the Council is understandably adverse to hurting you. They don’t trust that you won’t do something stupid. I do. I trust that you actually care about this town and its people more than you should. More than is healthy.”
A cold feeling seeped into Kylara’s gut.
Of course.
She had been asking the wrong questions. She shouldn’t have been asking what would she do if she was Malyun. Malyun was smart and she was adoptable. Instead, Kylara should have been asking what would cause the most amount of pain to her.
Before, she would’ve said that Malyun wasn’t wasn’t actively trying to make Kylara’s life miserable. She just… didn’t bother to not to. If Malyun could go about her day and while letting Kylara know how inadequate she was, that was fine. She just wouldn’t inconvenience herself to do so.
Clearly, she had underestimated the woman’s ability to spite.
“You wouldn’t,” Kylara said. Lie.
“I would do what is necessary,” Malyun said. Kylara’s arm started to itch.
“Yalmay’s done nothing wrong,” Kylara said.
“Mmm.”
Gods, Kylara hated Malyun’s constant fucking humming.
“She has nothing to do with this and you know it. Don’t punish her.”
“It will better for her in the long term anyway. I don’t know who gave that girl the idea that she could run away and go to the University, but they wouldn’t give her a second glance. They’re elitists. It is a preventive measure, saving her the heartbreak of rejection.”
Pain shot through Kylara’s arm. She still had not retracted her lie.
“So what? You would just keep her here? Like a caged animal? How? She’d just run away. And there are plenty of people here that would help her.”
Including me, if I could get away with it.
“Of a sort,” Malyun said. “It would be less of a formal thing. See, to run away, she needs somewhere to run to. And Saltsbury owes us a favour from the last time you helped them. We’ll just ask them to block passage to the gateways for her. Good luck getting to Warrung without access to the up over.”
“You’d block her access to the warrens?” Kylara said.
“As necessary,” Malyun said, smiling. “Of course, it would be conditional on you giving us a new warder, which I doubt will happen.”
Kylara brainstormed frantically. How did she get the votes? Wawiriya and her grandfather would never, which meant Pemulabee must have flipped. She wondered what Malyun had offered to do in exchange. What would he have wanted? Power? Money? A family marriage pact? She genuinely did not know.
“You wouldn’t do that,” Kylara said again.
Lie. Lie. Lie. Another lie. Of course Malyun would. Her arm was screaming at her now, and the pain was starting to spread. Kylara screwed up her face and tried to keep a neutral expression.
Malyun simply laughed. “Are you trying to call my bluff?” she said. “I wouldn’t do that? Of course I would. You know I am perfectly capable of doing what I say. I’m not lying.”
“Aren’t you?” Kylara asked. She stared Malyun dead in the eye, glad that she had long ago shelved the lessons she had learnt as a child about respect for her elders. Those rules did not apply to the warder.
Kylara reminded herself that she was just a rotten old woman with cold stone instead of a heart. She was better than her. Stronger. More capable.
Or at least, that was what Kylara told herself. Malyun’s expression did not change, or even flinch.
Then she smiled.
“Look at you,” Malyun said. “Trying to conceal your expression. It’s almost cute how hard you try, but I can tell you’re in pain right now. You know you told a lie. I know you told a lie.” She gestured to the crowd gathered watching the game. “I recommend you take it back or this would be all for nothing. We’d exile both you and Yalmay if we end up losing warding permanently because of this tantrum.” She licked her lips. “Especially with all these people watching.”
Kylara shrugged. Yes, she was in pain, but she thought she was putting on a pretty good show.
I have a few more minutes, she thought. This was the furthest she had skirted the limit in a long time, but she had gone further in the past. Much further. A few months ago, she had lost all physical warding. Then, she had gone, much, much too far. But this wasn’t that.
Kylara continued to stare at Malyun, deliberately letting some of the pain creep onto her face.
“Do you think you’re playing at something?” Malyun asked. “Do you want my pity? Is that it?”
“I didn’t ask for anything.”
“And you’re right not to,” Malyun said. She wasn’t making much sense, and Kylara could tell she was getting uncomfortable.
Maybe she truly thought that a lie about her own inner cruelness would be the lie that finally bring down the centuries long tradition of warding in Kookaburra Creek. The thought amused Kylara.
Either way, Kylara had a few more minutes and she would use them. If all it accomplished was making Malyun squirm, then it was still worth it.
It was a bluff, of course. The lie had been, word for word, “you wouldn’t”. Because Malyun would. She would hurt Yalmay and she would relish in it too.
It would only become a truth when Kylara believed it to be. And it would take a lot to make her believe that Malyun wasn’t capable of doing that. More than would be possible in the next few minutes.
And then the pain shifted.
For the third time that day, Kylara could not move. It was a horrible feeling, not quite the same as before. At the Nest, it had been panic. She had needed to find Billy and she had needed to find him now. Outside her grandad’s house, it had been dizziness and confusion. Now, it was simply a numbness. A cold numbness, like her skin was covered in ice.
She opened her mouth to fix the lie, to say that Malyun was a horrible person who was perfectly capable of hurting Yalmay if she wanted, but found she couldn’t. Her jaw was too stiff.
Her vision started clouding.
No, no no no no no—
She tried speaking again, then signing, but her hands didn’t work either.
Panic started setting in.
She needed to say something quickly, or they would lose warding forever. There would be nothing left of it for her to pass on. Kookaburra Creek had one of the last warding lineages remaining in the world, and it would be gone forever.
She tried blinking rapidly to fend off the black in her vision, and miraculously found she could. But she still could not talk. She looked to the side. Malyun wasn’t looking at her. It didn’t look like she had noticed.
What is happening? Is this a consequence of going back to normal? Did I misjudge and is this what it feels like to lose warding?
She had heard of warders who had felt weak or disassociated with their bodies after losing warding. Because they went back to healing like everyone else, old scars and injuries did occasionally come back.
But this bad?
It didn’t just feel like her arm was going to fall off. It felt like her whole body was about to stop working.
In the distance, she heard some shouts. Something was happening with the game. Was that why Malyun was not looking at her?
The field in front of them was adjacent to a small hill, with steps doing up to the street. A big tree grew next to it, with a swing hanging down from one of its branches. A father helped a girl climb on to swing on it. Kylara watched her for a moment, then moved her eyes slightly down. There weren’t very many other options. She couldn’t turn her head to look at anything else.
The magsman was still on the field. It looked like he had somehow talked his way into being assistant coach. As Kylara watched, he shouted something and several children ran as fast as they could, perhaps looking for a pass. Multhamurra waited until they were nearly at the hill, then kicked the ball quite high, perhaps looking for them to receive it. But it didn’t go to them. It went up. It seemed like an odd way to do things. Perhaps it was to compensate for it being dark?
There were a few more shouts to her left, but Kylara’s vision was limited to catch all of it. She wished she had the strength to turn completely around.
As the magsman’s ball reached the top of its trajectory, another ball from another drill–Kylara didn’t actually see what made it go astray–hit the descending one in mid air. It ricochetted backwards and somehow managed to go even higher than before, towards the hill.
It arched and hit the knee of the man pushing his daughter on the swing. He was facing away, and the impact of the ball seemed to startle him. Throwing out a hand to catch himself, he caught the rope of the swing and suddenly his whole body was hanging from it. The girl jumped out as the branch the swing had been hanging on snapped. The man rushed to cover her head, but the impact never happened. Instead, the branch swung like a hinge on the trunk.
The three flower pots that were next to the steps were hit. The first two seemed fine, but the third wobbled and then fell, rolling down and hitting each step with the sound of ceramic on stone. On the last step, it cracked and shattered.
Then the scene really exploded into motion.
The sound of the flowerpot startled a few sleeping gwiyalas, probably some of the more uncommon diurnal ones. One jumped on the neatest woman, who screamed and dropped the sign she was holding that said “Go Laklan!” (Most of the parents had signs with their kid’s name on them. Like Kylara didn’t remember all of their names.)
While falling, the sign knocked the nearby lamp off the bench. It wobbled and fell to the ground, shattering with a thud. A few shouts. Running. Then flames.
Meanwhile, another gwiyala, a rare fast one, had been running up the stairs in a panic. Kylara could hear the wheezing breath sounds it was making from the exertion. It ran into the street, where the wool cart Kylara had seen earlier was being hauled to the shred to be delivered to Saltsbury tomorrow.
The driver, a burly man with a bushy beard, pulled the reins tight as he saw the gwiyala run towards them, but it was too late. The draft bird pulling the cart let out a squawk. It reared up in surprise, then bolted, dragging the cart with it.
The driver jumped out of the cart just as it slammed to the side. He scrambled to grab the reigns of the birds and calm the creatures, and to Kylara’s surprise, he quickly did.
But the cart was already tipping down the hill. It fell, gaining momentum and speed as it heads towards the field. The man pulled his daughter off the swing just in time.
Bags of wool spilt out onto the field as the cart emptied most of its cargo on the grass. One of the bags split open, spilling clumps of wool onto the ground. The cart bounced and jolted until it finally came to a stop right over the small fire that had been started. Kylara waited for the fire to catch, but nothing happened.
A whistle blew. “Come in!” Ulinda shouted. “Everyone in! To me!” The children started running.
And then someone grabbed Kylara’s hand.
“Malyun, right?” the magsman said, inches from her ear. “Sorry, just got here–not the best with names. Are you on the Council?”
Kylara tried to turn to see him–she had no idea when he had sneaked up on her–but she still couldn’t move more than a few centimetres.
“I am,” Malyun said.
The magsman pointed at the chaos on the field. “I think Ulinda needs you over there,” he said. “Said you’re more capable than most. In fact, the most capable.” He patted Kylara on the shoulder. She nodded, the slightest bit. She could still barely move.
And then, suddenly, she could. The tension instantly left. Kylara took a deep breath in relief. The magsman’s grip on her arm strengthened, and she leaned on it slightly to avoid falling over.
It took her a second to realise what had happened. She hadn’t been able to talk, but nodding with the magsman, agreeing that Malyun was capable of anything–that had counted as correcting the lie she had said. Malyun was capable of anything. Including, it seemed, using Yalmay as a pawn in her games.
Malyun looked between Multhamurra and the field three times before she nodded in agreement. “I am not sure what happened here,” she said.
Multhamurra laughed. He was still holding Kylara’s hand. She couldn’t pull away. “I’m not sure anyone does,” he said. “But I’ve travelled more than almost anyone, and one thing I’ve gotten very good at is spotting a leader. You’re the right person, I take it?”
“I suppose so,” she said, eyeing him carefully. She looked at his hand. Malyun had definitely noticed that she had not taken her lie back yet.
Leave, Kylara thought. Please leave. If I am about to lose warding permanently, I don’t want it to be in front of you.
“Malyun!” Ulinda shouted from the field. “I told Ben to go grab some of the boys to help with the cart. Is that alright?”
Multhamurra clicked his tongue. “Yeah,” he said. “Better get on that wool before the magpies nick it too.”
Malyun gave them another odd look and then left.
“I never know what I should tell people,” the magsman said once she got out of earshot. He turned to Kylara. She felt exhausted–easily more tired than she had ever been before. She could barely think.
“You threw the ball,” she eventually managed.
“Well, I just couldn’t resist the temptation of joining. I know I get weird looks–why is this old man playing pushball? Who does he think he is? But I just love it. And this town’s such a kind and interesting bunch.”
“No,” Kylara shook her head. The words took some effort. “The ball that caused all that. You threw it.”
“What? Crash the cart? Knock over the lamp?” The magsman wrinkled his nose. “Nah. Just a coincidence. An interesting one, I’ll give you that, and also a lucky one, but it had nothing to do with me. Trust me. I’ve been around a while, had lots of time to get good at pushball, but even my aim isn’t that good.”
Kylara looked at him oddly. She had no idea if he was lying or not.
“You look terrible,” he said. “No offence meant, of course, but you do.”
Kylara nodded and looked longingly at the door to her house. She wanted to leave. Sleep. She wasn’t sure she ever wanted to do anything as bad in her life.
Multhamurra followed her gaze. “That your place over there?” he asked. He looked back at her. “I’ll walk you over,” he said. “You look like you are having a hard time.”
He held out his hand to her. She took it with after hesitation, but at this point she did not care about appearances. His grip was strong and his skin was wrinkled. She had thought after Multhamurra’s performance at pushball that maybe he was much younger than he looked, but hands could not lie. He was old.
“Ow!” she said suddenly, looking down at the hand Multhamurra was holding. She had just felt something sharp.
“Did you just—” Kylara started.
“Nah,” he said, “coincidence.”
Lie.