Dhaligir lunged at her, and Kylara quickly moved out of the way.

“I did not mean for it to happen,” she said.

“Well it did,” he sneered, “everything we had, everything we had worked for–it’s all gone because of you. That fire was your fault.” He spat on the ground. “Even if we could rebuild, there is nowhere to go.”

“The Council should have given you land,” Kylara said, frowning. “Did they not?” They had promised her. After the fire, they had said they would provide the resources people needed to build themselves back up. They had promised. That was supposed to mean something.

“Oh, they offered,” Dhaligir said, “but what was the point?” He leaned back. “Do you know what we did? How we made our living?”

Kylara said nothing. She was not sure he even wanted her to answer.

“We ran an orchard,” he said. “Or we did, until all the trees burned down. We grew fingerlimes. Do you know how long trees take to grow back from a fire?” He walked closer. Kylara backed up slowly. “It takes years. And all the Council offered was an empty plot land on the other side of town for our loss. Like that meant anything.” His voice was low and menacing, yet she could hear a hint of pain in it as well.

“I’m sure you would have had support if you wanted to start again,” Kylara said carefully. “I can ask them for more. They would give you what you needed.” Fingerlimes were one of the few fruits they grew locally. They were small, round, and bead like in shape with a slightly tangy taste. They were mostly used as a garnish in things like cocktails or desserts.

Kylara did not know much about growing them, but she thought they grew quickly, producing fruit within a year or two of planting. But she was not certain, and did not want to risk being wrong. She said nothing.

“Start again?” Dhaligir laughed bitterly. “Even if we wanted to wait five years for them to grow big enough, it’s complete chance. The fruits either are good enough to sell or they rot within days of harvest. It’s not the trees, they’re all grafted. Its the soil.”

Kylara frowned. “I’m sure the Council could arrange to move the plot if the soil–”

“No,” Dhaligir interrupted. “The soil is a complete toss-up. I wouldn’t know good from bad even if I got years to wait. Which I don’t. The Council offered us nothing, just untested dirt.”

“I’m sorry,” Kylara repeated, “I can still talk to them, if you want.”

He shook his head. “It’s too late now. My mum may be gullible about the warblers but she’s right about this. She knows when someone is bullshitting her and she knows when to leave.”

“I had no idea,” Kylara said.

The Council had told her that they had done all they could after the fire. They assured her that everyone was taken care of.

She scoffed. Apparently that had been a lie.

She wondered if they were filtering things for her purposely, or if that was just the product of how she lived. After the fire, she had tried to make an effort to talk to people, to see how the fire had affected everyone in town. But if Dhaligir and his family lived on one of the orchards… well. They were more remote. Kylara hadn’t really had a chance to talk to them.

“As if I’d believe that you’d help,” Dhaligir said.

Kylara looked at him. Was he trying to goad her or was he being genuine? She wasn’t sure.

“You should believe it,” she said seriously. “And I will talk to them, if you want me to. I can give you my word.”

Realisation gradually set in on his face. Apparently he had been being genuine. He looked at her baffled–and perhaps, Kylara thought, momentarily hopeful–but he quickly reeled it in. “I don’t want your help,” he said sharply. “You were the one who ruined it.”

“I did not start the fire.”

“You did not stop it.”

There, he was correct. “I’m sorry,” Kylara said again. She felt like she was apologising a lot. She was not used to people reacting like this. Only a few families had lost as much as him, and none of them had confronted her directly like this.

She felt out of place.

“My father loves this place,” Dhaligir said suddenly, looking around. “Kookaburra Creek, I mean. He knows everyone here. He wants to stay. And my mother had never known anywhere else. This is the sky she has lived under her entire life, where both her children were born.” Dhaligir laughed. “I thought she might change her mind until today. I really thought it. But she’s not going to. Not now she’s left for Saltsbury. My sister can cry herself to sleep all she wants, trying. Mum’ll stay awake and comfort her, but she’s still gonna leave. Nothing she can do can change it.”

“Little kids always adjust,” Kylara said. “She won’t even remember it here after a while.”

“My sister is thirty,” he said.

“Oh.” Kylara cringed.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

The fire had been bad. Very bad. The worst in a generation. There had been smoke in the air for days, so thick the sky turned red.

At one point, in the dead of night, the fire had crept dangerously close to town. That had been a scary few hours. Kylara had stayed awake, watching the flames helplessly from the rooftop.

The fire had been fast and brutal. It had burnt itself out quickly, but not before the entire western half of the country had turned to ashes. There one morning, gone the next.

Wawiriya said they were lucky about the aftermath. Many of the crops had been destroyed, but they had lost no sheep or people. Kookaburra Creek was still importing a lot of their food, but the town had a large store of gold and could afford to. For the most part, they were back to prospering.

In fact, Kylara’s loss of warding was probably a bigger financial hit to Kookaburra Creek than the fire, although they were so closely tied together so it was hard to differentiate between the two.

“She could stay,” Kylara said, but regretted the words the second the words left her mouth. Of course Dhaligir’s sister could stay. That was not the point, and it would come across as insensitive to assume so.

“She does not want to stay!” Dhaligir cried. “You don’t get it, do you? Everyone knows you, and even if they don’t like you they’re at least grateful to you. You could literally burn down the town and half the people here would not care. And you did. You did exactly that and somehow you’re still on the Council. And then, instead of protecting us from the next fire, you refuse to do anything. I guess we’re just to hope and wait, aren’t we? Everything comes and goes at your whim.”

Kylara’s jaw clamped. It was always a bit difficult–everyone knew of her, and it tricked them into thinking they also knew her. But they didn’t.

Dhaligir knew nothing. She had not burnt down half the town and gotten away with it. It was anything but.

People hated her.

The only reason she was still on the Council was because of laws that had to be kept. The warder had to be on the Council. No exceptions. Kylara had no doubts that they would have kicked her off years ago if they could. No one liked the teenage girl sitting on the council controlled by male elders.

And while Dhaligir was right–Kookaburra Creek currently did not have any protection from fire–he was wrong on another account. Kylara was not refusing to do anything about it. She was actively working towards fixing it. It was just… taking a while, that was all.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

She doubted they needed to worry anyway. They weren’t at the end of fire season yet, but the bush was so charred it would not catch again easily. By the next time there was any real danger, Kylara would have chosen and trained the next warder. It was why she was spending so much time interviewing Kookaburra Creek’s children.

“I’m sorry,” Kylara said. “But that’s not entirely true.” He just wanted to be angry at someone, and unfortunately she was the most obvious target. She did not want to put up with that. “I’m sorry for everything that happened,” she said, “but I am trying to make things better. Genuinely. It’s the honest truth.” She emphasised the last few words, knowing that Dhaligir was not used used to speaking with warders.

That turned out to be the wrong thing to say.

“Sorry,” Dhaligir said, “Sorry? Sorry doesn’t cut it. My dog died in the fire.” Kylara cringed. She had not known that. "You and your carelessness burned down my home and killed my dog!" His eyes were wild and full of tears.“And now I’m left with the option lose my home or my parents,” he said. “What would you choose? You don’t know, do you?”

Let’s not bring up my parents, Kylara thought. That is not a subject I’d like to touch today.

"Sorry doesn't cut it," he growled. "How can you even look yourself in the mirror and say that with a straight face!"

Kylara looked down for a moment, then back up at him. She took a deep breath before speaking again.

"It was an accident," she said quietly.

Dhaligir took a step towards her. Kylara backed up until her heels hit a large rock. Then stopped.

He followed her. Then he grabbed her arm and spun her around so that they were facing each other. She pulled away. “Dhaligir,” she said. “This is not a good idea. It will not end well for you.” He gripped her wrist tighter. “Let me go,” she said. “I don’t think this is what you want.” The worst he could do was scare her, the worst Kylara could do was much worse than that.

“How do you know what I want?”

“Tell me then.”

“I want to settle the score. I just want the chance to say I did it. Please. All I want is a fair fight, that’s it.”

Kylara frowned. What a bizarre line of reasoning. If he wanted a fight, why not just start one? Why ask beforehand?

“I won’t tell anyone about it,” he added. “Not if you don’t.”

“I’m not making any promises I can’t keep,” Kylara said. “Just let me pass.”

“No.”

“Dhaligir, you know the punishments will be for starting something like this,” with me, “if you were upset about not having good choices before,” she looked him in the eye, “if you start this, the Council won’t take to it kindly. I doubt you will even have a choice.”

Anyone who was considered a threat to the town warder would be considered a threat to the entire town. If he started a fight now, Dhaligir would probably be exiled.

“I don’t care what the council thinks,” Dhaligir said. He smiled nastily. “It’s a matter of honour.”

He walked towards her, hand clenched in a fist. “Dhaligir, don’t–” Kylara started–and just like that, he swung at her.

The punch was quick–quicker than Kylara had expected. His fist landed on Kylara’s shoulder, rocking her back on her feet.

She had been expecting it, but it still caused her to lose balance. She fell to her knees, blinked, then stood back up.

They were about the same height, him only a few centimetres taller, but judging by his punch, he was stronger than he looked. Warders healed much faster than regular people, but Kylara would rather not take a hit from him again. The first one had hurt.

He circled back, and Kylara widened her stance, this time more ready.

The next blow she backed away from, avoiding it narrowly. And the one after that too.

Luckily for her, Dhaligir did not seem very creative. He swung frequently, using the exact same trajectory and timing as the first time. Once Kylara had taken one, avoiding the rest was child’s play. She dodged each swing easily.

She was quicker than him, and could tell he was getting frustrated. That was his problem. If he just stuck with quick, varied attacks he would have her. Hopefully he wouldn’t get frustrated enough to try something new.

Is this all you imagined it to be, Dhaligir? Kylara thought. Is this the type of fight you had pictured in your head?

Dhaligir, obviously frustrated, threw his full weight on his next swing, and Kylara pivoted to avoid it. At least that one was different, although the slowness had kept the balance in her favour. She would need to strike him soon, although the more tired he got, the better.

She was just about to wind up for a hook with her right arm when she looked down.

Dhaligir was fumbling with something in his hand. It looked sharp.

He drew closer, close enough now that if she reached out, she would be able to feel his breath on her arm.

Distract him.

“What’s that for?” Kylara asked abruptly.

“What?”

“The thing you’re holding–what is it?” She had thought it was a hair clip from far away, but now that he was closer, she was certain.

“It’s nothing.”

She continued to stare at it. It looked sharp.

“It's a family thing,” he said defensively. “Leave it.”

Well, that was probably good advise. She scolded herself. Distracting him from the sharp metal he was holding by asking him about it? Not the best idea you’ve ever had, Kylara.

She backed up and looked at it. No, she confirmed after a second. Not metal. Perhaps bone?

He gripped it tighter.

Kylara backed up debating whether she should just run, but she figured this was not the type of fight that would be resolved by running. It seemed like he just wanted to make her feel some pain.

Well then.

On the next hit, she half attempted to dodge, but not fast enough. The blow stuck the side of her check.

But Kylara had braced herself for it well. She was barely knocked off balance by the blow. She exaggerated a little of the fallout, moving a bit too stiffly and grimacing a bit more than she usually would.

Satisfying enough for you? Kylara thought. Well, I can sell it a little more.

She spit on the dirt, facing away from him, then quickly rubbed her hand over the cut she had gotten on the way here, smearing it. From his angle, it would look like she had spit blood from her mouth. It was the blood from her old cut, of course. But he didn’t need to know that.

It was a careful line to tread–she was not allowed to sell it too much. But a little exaggeration was not prohibited.

“That hurt?” he asked. Kylara did not answer, just glared.

Yeah, she was selling it well. She could read it on his face. He was so transparent. It was almost funny.

She was lucky her attacker wore his heart so high on his sleeve.

Kylara frowned. Not the right phrase, there. Maybe heart on his sleeve was a bit generous. Was there a not-so-nice way of saying that? She would have to ask Yalmay. She would know.

Distracted, Kylara did not notice until too late when Dhaligir hit her again. This time she was not prepared. The punch hit her full force. She had just enough time to reflexively block it with her arm.

Caught off guard, she stumbled backward, staggering back a few steps before regaining her footing.

Ow.

Her hand.

She twisted her wrist around and wiggled her fingers. It hurt no matter how she position it. It would probably end up bruised after all this.

Then Dhaligir took out a knife.

“What are you doing?” Kylara shouted.

“It’s not that sharp,” he said, examining the blade. “And I know warders heal quickly.” He paused. “I’ll stop if it hurts too much.”

“Put it down,” Kylara said, backing up slowly.

She wanted to get away from him but the problem was her position. She had been careless, too confident in her ability to win. She had not planned for a serious, drawn out fight. Right now, her back was to the wall. She’d need to run past him, past his knife, if she wanted to escape.

Angling her body, she raised her hand in what she hoped was a nonthreatening gesture. She didn't want him drawing blood, but if it was necessary, she would rather it be on her right side.

She watched him closely, hoping he would make a move before she was pressed against the wall.

Luckily, he did.

Dhaligir lunged for her.

This time, Kylara jumped to the side so quickly it made her a bit dizzy. He tried to follow up with another attack, but she managed to prevent it again by grabbing his arm and pulling up.

His knife scrapped the side of his check, drawing a thin line of blood. He cried out and struggled out of her grasp.

Kylara caught his wrist again, but he flicked his knife slightly upward and cut Kylara on the side of her arm. Her blood dripped on his hand. She let go. He shrank back.

Kylara was about to breath a sigh of relief when Dhaligir again moved closer.

Was he mad?

But even as she thought it, he was already moving. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her. His grip was strong, and he held her firm enough to pull her to the ground. She landed hard on the gravel.

“You know what?” Dhaligir said. He raised his arm–which still had some of Kylara’s blood on it–to his face, wiping his own cut. “You remind me of this one person I used to know. She was–”

Kylara hit him in the shin with a rock. It made a breaking noise. Dhaligir fell to the ground.

Kylara kicked him in the face.

If you wanted to win, she thought, you would have stopped talking.

“You bastard,” he cried, “what did you do to me?”

Probably less than you deserve.

He looked down at his leg and then at her. Kylara stood over him, still holding the rock in her hand. She had broken his leg.

She wasn’t sure how she knew, but she was certain. The leg was broken.

Bone was not supposed to make that sound.

She knelt down and pried the knife out from his clenched fist, stepping on one of his fingers when he refused to give it up. He let out a howl of pain, but she ignored him.

“Stop, stop!” he said. “I’ll let go.”

He did, and Kylara took the knife and uttered a thankless thank you.

Dhaligir rolled over on the ground in pain, gripping his leg and sobbing. “Damn,” he said, “all I wanted was a fair fight, but you just kick us when we’re down, don’t you?”

“If you wanted a fair fight,” Kylara explained gently, “you should have brought two knives.”