Kylara hesitated. “You go ahead,” she said.

“Ah.” His face seemed to soften as he looked at her, the hard edge he had before quickly fading. “Of course, take your time. I’ll be in my room. You know where to find me.” He turned and walked away swiftly.

Kylara watched him leave.

It seemed strange to Kylara, how easily he had stood up to Wawiriya. People tended to be more cautious around Wanderers, even kind elderly ones like Wawiriya. Most people thought Wanderers were creepy. Maybe the University was different?

“You should go with him,” Wawiriya said, breaking the silence.

Kylara looked at her in surprise. “I should?” she asked. “Why?”

“Because I won’t let someone I care about ignore this opportunity.”

Kylara laughed at that. “What opportunity?” she said. “I know almost nothing. I know his name is Multhamurra. I know he went to the University, I know he travels a lot, and I know that he owns a book that I can borrow. Where is the great opportunity there? I’ve not even sure why you are advocating for him, considering the fight you two just got into.” She repeated the conversation in her head:

You don’t know me, Wawiriya. In the future, I suggest you don’t presume otherwise.

He had practically threatened her. Why was Wawiriya suddenly advocating for him?

“He’s offering to teach you, Kylara.”

“He didn’t say that.”

“He will, and you need to take that offer when it comes. If not for you, then for Yalmay’s sake. Do not squander it.”

Kylara took a moment to gather her thoughts before speaking. “No,” she said after a moment, “not yet. First, you need to tell me what that was about. You were angry at him–more than angry. And now, barely a minute later, you are defending him. Tell me why.”

“I don’t know,” Wawiriya said, before frowning, “and even if I did, I’m not sure it would be my place to say. But,” it took Wawiriya a minute to finish, “because I trust him, I suppose.”

That told Kylara nothing. Trust him why? Since when did Wawiriya have connections at the University? No, she wanted more answers.

Kylara crossed her arms. “That’s not enough,” she said. Wawiriya was an old woman, and while Kylara felt slightly bad about pressing it, she knew the Wanderer could handle a bit of questioning. “Why were you so upset about the butterflies?” she asked.

“I always worry when untested magic comes within our borders. You know this. Every time there is a new entad, it comes to me and I check it.”

Kylara shook her head. She didn’t believe her. “That seemed like more than just a precaution,” she said. “Dhaligir found a new entad yesterday–a hairclip, I know you know about it,” Wawiriya nodded, “and you haven’t mentioned that. That was dangerous and untested. But the magsman summoned butterflies? Frankly that seems like nothing in comparison.”

Wawiriya sighed. “You’re right, but I know Dhaligir. He’s harmless.”

Ah.

“And Multhamurra isn’t?” Kylara said.

Wawiriya hesitated. “He’s harmless too, but in a different way. Warblers have power.” This attitude was news to Kylara.

“But I’ve met plenty of warblers before,” Kylara pointed out. “You’ve never had objections then.”

“Things are different now,” Wawiriya said. “I didn’t used to be so up in arms about it. But I am old, and I know what things used to be like.”

“Is this about the Snap?” Kylara asked.

“In a way, yes. Before the Snap, the royal court of Warrung was unmatched by any other nation.”

“It still is,” Kylara said.

“It’s a shadow of its former self.”

Kylara frowned.

Warrung was the most powerful city in the world, unrivalled by any other. It had decreased in power over the last few years, true, but it still wasn’t like it had any rivals. Oh, Moahar and some other nations tried, but they were never a real threat. Warrung was a league in itself. Even Kookaburra Creek was under Warrung’s thumb. The town was technically in Goorahan, but everyone knew that the kings of Goorahan were only kings when the Queen of Warrung said they were.

Warrung was the city that, unofficially, ruled the world.

“What changed?” Kylara asked.

Wawiriya smiled. “Well,” she said, “they used to fix the world. The current queen, her mother before her, her grandfather before that… Every year, they would hear hundred of petitions to fix local magic systems. Broken entads, dangerous summonings, even Desert incursions and cracked warrens. I even petitioned before them once myself.”

“You’ve petitioned Warrung?” Kylara asked, surprised. She had not known that.

“Aye, once. A long time ago. Centuries, in fact. It’s why the summoning is as safe as it is now. Once, it was possible to summon moths directly into someone’s throat, choking them. Now it’s impossible.” She smiled, as if reminiscing. “A change for the better, I think.”

Kylara had not even known they had that restriction. It had never occurred to her to test it. “And Warrung did that?” she asked. It was hard to comprehend. “They just… rewrote the magic here?”

“Something like that,” Wawiriya said, “the details were never clear to me.”

“Why’d they stop hearing petitions?”

“No one knows. It happened around the same time as the Snap.”

Kylara frowned. “You think Warrung killed the Wanderers?”

Wawiriya laughed. “No,” she said. “We’re awfully hard to kill. If anything, it would be the other way around. Now go.” She made a shooing motion with her hand. “Talk to Multhamurra about lessons. I know Yalmay would appreciate it, and I know she’s been having some issues with my daughter lately. Let her know it was from me, okay?”

Julya Biraga and Yalmay having ‘issues’ was a bit of an understatement, in Kylara’s opinion, but she nodded anyway.

“One last thing,” Kylara asked. “Why trust the magsman?”

Wawiriya hesitated. “I’ll tell you this, in my many years, I’ve always found that the most powerful of our kind have always been a little mad. The most powerful of your kind even more so. I think Multhamurra is an exception. That, and he once did me a favour. I owe him more than you can imagine. Now go. I suspect he’s waiting for you.”

Kylara nodded once, then left, following the mysterious stranger.

It took Kylara a while to catch up with the magsman, but Wawiriya had been right. He was waiting for her. She found him leaning against one of the gum trees on the far side of the courtyard. His arms were crossed and his expression was smug. He did not look up as she approached. “Decided to come after all?” he said. He pushed himself off the tree trunk in one smooth motion.

“Wawiriya convinced me.”

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“Ah.” That did not seem to surprise him. “I thought she might. I’m glad she changed her mind about me.” He beckoned her forward, then turned and headed in the direction of the Nest. “Come on, I’ll show you what I’ve got.” After a second, Kylara followed.

They did not speak much as they walked. Multhamurra both seemed to have his own thoughts to occupy them, and while the silence was not comfortable, Kylara did not think it was uncomfortable either. She wondered what he was thinking about.

The walk back to the Nest did not go as expected. Kylara had planned to stay a step or two back and let Multhamurra lead–a subtle way to see how confident he was with the layout of the town. As it turned out, subtly was not needed. Not only did Multhamurra barely hesitate, he barely looked up at his surroundings at all. It was like he knew Kookaburra Creek well enough to walk it blind.

That, and he walked fast.

Very fast. Almost too fast.

It took effort for Kylara to keep up with him at all. She was fairly tall for a woman and even then, she needed to jog every few steps to keep up with him. Luckily most of their walk was out of sight of Footcross Field, because if Yalmay saw her following him like a small child…Well. She’d never hear the end of it. Being outpaced by someone almost four times her age was not something she wanted to be remembered for.

She glared daggers at Multhamurra’s back as she struggled to keep up.

Either he had not noticed her struggles or he was doing a good job of ignoring them, because he did not slow down even slightly. Instead, he was looking straight ahead, quietly muttering to himself like he was mulling something over.

Some people did that. Kylara often went for walks when something was bothering her, and both Joontah and Janeyca went for runs. Perhaps Multhamurra went for walk-runs? Or whatever you called this. Either way, she was beginning to think he was younger than he looked. No one his age was this fit.

They did not stop until they reached the slightly sloped path at the far end of Kiwah Street, the last turn of the walk. There, he stopped, looked back at her abruptly, and turned right, noticeably slower than before. The rest of the walk, he went a reasonable pace.

They arrived a minute later. “This is the place,” Multhamurra muttered, probably for his sake more than hers, “I forgot to ask, does it have a name?”

“The building or…”

“The building.”

“It’s called the Nest.”

“Did it used to have another name?”

“Not that I know of,” Kylara said. “Have you been here before?”

“Hmm? No, ‘course not.”

He nodded at the sign that hung precariously on the fence. Kylara knew from living here that it proclaimed the building “the Nest” but it was no wonder Multhamurra had misread it. You could hardly read the words. It looked more like “the Nel” than “the Nest.”

Once again, Kylara thought about how untidy the place looked. The flowers were overgrown, the fence heavy with wombat berry, and a small myrtle had sprouted in a crack in the foundation of the building. The place was falling apart.

“Fitting name,” Multhamurra muttered, looking at the rundown building. “let’s go inside.”

He walked up the steps onto the verandah and opened the door. A large grey moth, which had been resting, perfectly camouflaged, on the door, flew off as he touched the handle. It didn’t seem to startle him, but he did pause for a moment and watch it leave.

The ground floor of the building consisted of two large rooms–one that was used for storage and a sitting room used for gatherings. When the Garland family had owned the place, it had been a kitchen and a tavern. Now the kitchen was packed with boxes and the tavern was a random assortment of chairs.

Kylara moved besides a table that looked like it would fall apart at any moment. It really was a shame that the place had been abandoned. The Nest used to have the best meat pies.

As they stepped inside, Kylara was hit with a musty scent, like the smell of an old chest. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was a reminder of how little use the Nest was getting compared to its heyday. She could see light reflecting off little specks of dust in the sun. There were a few cobwebs in the corner of the stairs. They walked up.

Upstairs was a bit better. It still at least looked like an inn. Tinkers, traders, healers, preachers, performers, magsmen–when anyone needed to stay in Kookaburra Creek, they stayed here.

There were several miscellaneous doors on the floor. Four of them lead to guest rooms. Of those, only two rooms were kept up. The town rarely had more than two visitors at a time.

Multhamurra opened one of the doors–the largest of the guest rooms–and went inside.

She looked around. The room was a bit of a mess. It had a bed, a writing desk, a chair, and a nightstand with a small tin sink and a jug of water that had not been refilled. The floors were covered in a thin woven carpet. One wall had a bookshelf, the other had a brown and red mural depicting three figures standing next to Billy Creek Crater.

The bed had not been slept in or even made. Right now, it was just a frame with a mattress and net around it. The sheets and pillow were still in the moth box.

Multhamurra walked up to the bookshelf and looked at it for a few moments. "It's in here somewhere," he said, tapping his foot impatiently. “I put it in one of these earlier today.”

He ran his fingers along the shelf, reading each title in turn. Near the end of the row, he pulled one that was missing a label. He pulled it out, opened the box, flipped through it, and then returned it. “Not that one,” he said. He grabbed the next box. “Ah,” he said, “here it is. I almost couldn’t find it with this–” he waved his hand at the boxes on the bookshelf and made a face, “weird system you have here.”

“What is it?” Kylara took the book. It was fairly small, not much bigger than her hand, but very thick and quite heavy. She turned it over in her hands. It had no title on the front, and the back had just a name, Jemlin Gowie–presumably the author.

“It’s an etymology dictionary,” Multhamurra said.

“Etymology?”

“Yep. Give me a second, I’ll explain,” He turned back towards the bookshelf and ran his fingers along the other boxes on the shelf. Occasionally he would pause and make a quiet comment to himself. Kylara wondered if he approved of the collection. She imagined it was quite small by University standards.

After finishing with the row that was at his eye level, he moved to the next one, grabbing another box from the shelf and opening it. He pulled out the book inside and flipped through the pages of it. “Hmm,” he said, making a face, “bit boring.” He riffled back to the beginning, “and inaccurate too.” He dropped it unceremoniously back in the box.

“Etymology is the study of the history of a language,” he said after a moment, “with a focus on words specifically. If you want to be romantic about it, etymology is a collection of the origins of words, written in words–a kind of autobiography, if you were.” He walked back over to Kylara. “You said your sister wanted to be a linguist or a translator, right?” He pointed at the book Kylara was holding. “Any idea where she’s leaning?”

“I don’t think she’s gotten that far,” Kylara said.

Mostly because everyone except Yalmay thinks she’s chasing a pipe dream.

“Hm,” Multhamurra hummed. He moved back to look at the bookshelf. “That book would probably be more helpful tool for a linguist, but it can be a good basis for translation too, if you’re clever about it. Here–open it and read me a section, I’ll show you what I mean.”

Kylara looked down at the page in apprehension. Reading had never been her strong suit. It was not as bad as writing, but it definitely was not her favourite thing. It always gave her a headache.

After a second’s deliberation, she opened the book to a random page and breathed a sigh of relief. Luckily, it was formatted as a series of entries. Those were always easier to read. There was a special place in the Desert reserved for authors who wrote books in walls of text.

The book was written in a slightly archaic style of Common, despite the entries being in Kadigal. Two languages. Confusing. There were two words in the top margin–probably guide words, for searching the book in alphabetical order. Below that, the entry word was bolded, with a definition, a pronunciation guide, and a few symbols Kylara did not recognise. Overall, it looked like any of the other dictionaries in Yalmay’s collection. In fact, the only difference between this one and them was the long list of author’s notes at the bottom of the page. Maybe those were what made it special.

She flipped to a short entry and started reading. “Warr-i-pim-ib,” she sounded out, rolling the r, “a Kadigal word meaning long period of time, especially referring to the distant past or the theo-retical time before the shattering. The era where the earliest traditions orient–sorry, originate.”

He took the book from her.

“Sorry,” Kylara said, shuffling her feet, “I do that a lot when I’m reading–mixing words up. I say ‘house’ instead of ‘home’ or ‘world’ instead of ‘ward’ or ‘wonder’ instead of ‘wander.’ Or I omit things, or I repeat things, or–”

“No worries,” Multhamurra interrupted, “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”

“Plus, it’s written in Common,” Kylara felt the need to point out. “I’m not used to that.” In Kookaburra Creek, they mostly spoke Koulan, with some Kadigal or Common thrown in. She was only as fluent as she was because of her stepmother.

“Again, no issue. Here,” he read effortlessly, “Warripimib. It translates to aeon or archaic age. The word comes the the Classical Kadigalie word warripimibi, itself from warrin gipib in Old Kadigalie. Doublet of wurawura, which means white. Cognate with Curralie’s warribimp, Aeyiya’s warrigopan, and Quayling’s warrigamba.”

He snapped the book shut.

“I don’t know what your sister is interested in, but if it’s translation, there’s some tricks I can show her to learn faster. It always helps to know history. Like, er,” he smacked his lips together as if trying to find an example, “like here’s one,” he pointed at the top of the page. “Classical Kadigalie didn’t have a distinction between ‘p’ and ‘b’ sounds, but both of its descendants do. In Kadigal its mostly random, but Curralie has a pattern–see, if the sound is near the beginning of a word, it’s a ‘b’ sound, and if it’s at the end, it’s more like a ‘p.’ So a word like you just read–”

“Warripimib would be warribimip in Curralie,” Kylara finished.

“Well, technically it’s warribimp–they dropped a syllable at the end–but same difference. You can often deduce the Curralie word if you already know Kadigal.” He handed her back the book. “There’s a few other things–tricks, abbreviations, naming conventions–that I want to show her, but how about this? You, your sister, and anyone else who might be interested can meet me tomorrow and I can explain then. It’ll be fun, trust me. It’s fascinating stuff.”

It did not sound all that fun to Kylara, but she supposed there were ways to make anything interesting. Plus, Yalmay would absolutely love it. Meeting someone with Multhamurra’s background–it would be like a dream come true for her. And maybe he would be able to teach Kylara something too.

She’d ignore the lessons in linguistics, of course. She wanted to learn about the worldhoppers.