Kylara figured Yalmay and Joontah wanted the rest of the evening alone. The two were a couple—at least in part—and Kylara couldn't begrudge them their time together. Especially when her stunt with Billy had probably hurt their relationship. Yalmay was already on thin ground with most of Joontah’s family.

Kylara casually kicked a loose rock as she walked, thinking back to before. How could she have been so stupid? Of all the people she needed to stay on good terms with, Julya Biraga of all people was one of the most important.

Wawiriya’s daughter, Julya was one of the most closely connected people in Kookaburra Creek.

And worse, she gossiped.

Kylara looked back to their house and sighed. Maybe leaving wasn’t the solution. She bit her lip and debated going back. Yalmay was not exactly known for her finessing. There was a very good chance she would just make it worse.

She absentmindedly tapping her index finger against her hip as she debated. Yalmay had never got on well with Joontah’s mother. Some of it was just her irresponsible personality, and some of it was her wanderlust to move away from Kookaburra Creek. Following her dream and going to the University meant either leaving a heartbroken Joontah behind or taking him with her, separating him from his family. Neither was something Julya Biraga wanted.

But Kylara hadn’t been lying when she asked Yalmay if the problems with Joontah’s family were her fault. They had gotten worse lately and Kylara blamed it on her current pariah status.

Kylara moved to go back, took a few steps, then changed her mind. She doubted she would make things worse, but Yalmay would be annoyed and that was reason enough.

But then what to do?

The entads were out of the question–she had told her grandad she would wait. Checking on Dhaligir was also an option, but Kylara was almost certain that would be a disaster. Not that a disaster didn’t have its own appeal–it would certainly be amusing in the very least–but Kylara generally didn’t try to stir up conflict unless absolutely necessary.

She sighed. She could look for Janeyca, she supposed. See if she was around. Janeyca was Joontah’s twin sister and had, for a time, been one of Kylara’s best friends. She was usually who Kylara went to when Yalmay and Joontah were being too insular for a third.

Or she had been. Lately Janeyca was always busy.

Kylara’s lip twitched up.

Busy.

Ha.

Janeyca was never busy. She gave herself work. She seemed to spend most of the day sleeping (bizarre hours, usually in the middle of the day), reading (the boring books, the stuff Yalmay liked), or doing chores (her own as well as Joontah’s, Joontah never did his own anymore).

If Janeyca wanted to hang out with her, she could easily skip doing any of those things. She didn’t need to do Joontah’s chores or nap five hours a day. But she did anyway.

Excuse after excuse, and Kylara had eventually taken the hint. Janeyca was interested in one thing only and that was herself.

Well, herself and her brother. Why she did Joontah’s chores everyday was a mystery neither of them shared. It seemed unhealthy to Kylara, but every time she brought it up they brushed it off as no big deal. She liked doing chores for him, apparently. Said she needed the time to think and recharge.

Whatever.

Kylara glanced at the sun, which was almost set. Janeyca had probably just woken up an hour or two ago, knowing her. Kylara sighed before deciding to go see her. Janeyca was always friendly, if distant, so it wasn’t like their relationship could get much worse.

Kylara headed down to the courtyard behind Costa Street. Janeyca would probably be chopping wood. Joontah’s chore, not her own, but she would be doing it anyway.

Walking down the path, Kylara pushed aside some bauera bushes and craned her neck over the tangled leaves to get a good look at the courtyard.

Janeyca was there, alone. She wasn’t chopping wood, but she was breaking it. Most of the pieces were thin enough for her to snap with her hands. When she got to a larger one, she threw it casually in a pile next to her.

Her head was slightly bowed, her hands were folded in front of her, and for a fraction of a second, when she spotted Kylara, she looked angry. She quickly reeled the expression in then opened her mouth slightly, as if she were about to say something. But a thought seemed to occur to her that made her stop short again.

Have I done anything to annoy her lately? Kylara thought frantically. She didn’t think so, but it was so hard to tell these days. Especially with Janeyca.

“Hey, Kya,” she said. “Sorry, I can’t really hang out right now, I’m super busy.”

And I didn’t ask, Kylara thought.

“Yeah, no worries,” Kylara said smoothly. Janeyca hadn’t stopped snapping twigs. “You look it.”

“I’m trimming some wattle bark to boil. Imla wants to mix it with ochre and some tallow to make a burn salve.”

And I still haven’t asked, Kylara thought snidely.

“I was just hoping you could check on your brother for me,” she said.

“Joontah’s fine,” Janeyca replied curtly.

“Your other brother actually,” Kylara said. “Billy.” Of course Janeyca had forgotten she had two brothers. She was way too codependent on Joontah, despite him never returning the favour.

“Billy?” Oddly, Janeyca’s expression seemed to soften a bit at that.

“Yeah, Billy.”

Why did she look relieved at that? Has Joontah done something to annoy her? Were they fighting?

Kylara quickly dismissed the thought. They never fought. In fact, it was bizarre how well the twins got along considering they barely talked. It made Kylara wonder if they were are close as they seemed. They had completely different sleep schedules, interests, and groups of friends, but the few times they were together, they worked in tandem better than anyone Kylara knew. She wondered if it was just a twin thing, but Toba and Tabara were nothing like that.

“I think I got him upset,” Kylara continued. “If you could just make sure he’s alright when you go back home, that would be great.”

Janeyca’s face seemed to soften a bit more. “Yeah, of course,” she said. “No worries. I’ll check on him, make sure everything is alright.” She looked at Kylara, and seeing her face, added, “Considering how hyper Billy’s been lately, I won’t worry too much. He’s probably not even upset anymore. In fact, I’m certain of it.”

Oddly, Kylara believed her. Janeyca sometimes said things like that–things she couldn’t know but somehow did. They usually turned out to be correct.

It made Kylara feel a bit better and she headed back.

It was dark enough now that her eyes needed some time to adjust. It had been quite an unremarkable sunset, just a gradual fading to grey and then black, but she liked it anyway for the simplicity. She could just make out three of the seven sisters in the sky. The constellations were different in every country, and she had seen dozens of different skies. Kookaburra Creek’s sky was quite unremarkable–a few little white stars and two moons. But it was still her favourite. Today, it somehow seemed more real than ever.

She walked slowly down the street. At this time of night, Kookaburra Creek was bustling. People who had hid away from the afternoon heat were hurrying to get the day’s chores done. Rouseabouts loaded carts with wool and supplies for the market. They would be shipped out to Saltsbury tomorrow. The local butcher's shop was open, a steady stream of locals passing through to purchase meat for dinner. Kylara stopped briefly and looked for her stepmother, but she wasn’t there.

As she walked down the street, she could feel the eyes on her. She got a lot of stares, of course, especially in the past few weeks, but tonight seemed more than usual. Especially since she had her glove on.

News of her collapsing on her grandfather’s poach–or perhaps of the fight with Dhaligir–must have got out. It was hard to tell which. She stared straight ahead, but because she refused to make eye contact back, so it was hard to if the eyes were fearful or pitying.

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She guessed a mix of both. That meant news of both the fight and the collapse had likely spread. Hopefully she could at least get home before someone decided to confront her. She just wanted to go home and sleep.

But sure enough, as she turned the corner, she heard a shout.

“Hey, it’s her!” It was a child’s voice, breathing hard from running. That meant one thing.

A group of children were playing pushball in the square across from her house, throwing the ball back and forth in a strange formation.

Kylara sighed in concession, knowing what was coming next. The kids had seen her, which meant the parents had too. Perhaps she could duck into her house without anyone noticing? Was that why they had set up directly in front of her door? To block her way out?

Second time today I ended up stuck because someone blocked the exit, she thought.

And worst of all, she couldn’t just turn back around. Not with what had happened earlier with Dhaligir. She needed to make a good impression.

Kylara forced a smile into place and walked quickly to the other side of the pitch, not far from the coach. At least on this side the parents would not come up to speak with her. Probably.

The kid’s faces were clean, hair neat, and it looked like some of them were wearing their best clothes. Kylara rolled her eyes. If they thought they weren’t being obvious…

There were a mix of boys and girls, most looked about fourteen. In fact, Kylara was willing to bet none of them were older than fourteen years, three months, and twelve days. Hopefully no one older than that had been kicked off the team. She would have to ask at some point. See if there was some other misfortune she could blame herself for.

One of the boys ran up to the coach and whispered something in her ear. Then he pointed at Kylara. The coach nodded, made some sort of gesture with her arm, and the children switched to a different drill, one that seemed to involve a lot more running.

Lately, this had been happening a lot. She was half convinced that the practices were scheduled around her at this point, because she kept a regular routine and the team always seemed to be out at the same time as her. It was annoying. They also practiced right in front of her house, which was a coincidence but one they were definitely taking advantage of. They seemed to be gradually giving up on the subtlety, too. Kylara would swear that they were moving closer to her doorway every practice, crowding her in.

Ever since it had been announced that she was handing down the warding ability, it had became unbearable. Every parent wanted their kid to be the next warder, so they tried to butter Kylara up and impress her, even if they did not like her.

And the conversations all went the same.

Sorry to both you, but my kid absolutely adores you, you are her hero.

Did you know my daughter once wrote sang a piece so beautiful the mayor of Saltsbury was in tears?

My son is looked up to by all his teammates, has the best marks in school, and would you mind watching him play? It would mean so much to him.

And then Kylara would smile and say , “Of course I would,” because they had asked if she had minded and yes, she did. She very much minded. But then they would smile and nod as though they had heard what they wanted to hear and go back to the stands happy.

They were always trying to one-up each other. Kylara was sick of it.

At least the game was interesting today. There were two boys that were noticeably faster than the rest, and they were dominating the passes. They were several centimetres taller than the others and had little wisps of facial hair on their chin. Only one girl was rivalling them for the ball. The rest of the kids kept a safe distance.

She settled on the side of the pitch and got comfortable. The ground here was soft, and the grass was worn. The kids were in two groups, playing in a rotating substitution. Some of them looked nervous, occasionally glancing at their parents on the sideline, but most of them looked like they were having fun.

Kylara shifted on her feet. It would have been better if she had brought a blanket to sit on, or a chair, but she wasn’t going to go get one. It might invite conversation.

Last time she had been roped into watching a pushball practice, one of the parents (Kylara couldn’t remember which, they seemed to take turns talking to her), had told her that pushball was an ancient pastime invented by the old Warrung kings. The theory was that the royal guards would train to protect the king using specific drills, which over the centuries evolved to become the rules of pushball.

It was the only interesting thing Kylara remembered about the conversation. He had spent the rest of it not-so-subtly bragging about his son and explaining to her that being a good pushball player was a sign of good character and teamwork and the keeping of ancient traditions. It was also, coincidently, the exact same skills little Tommy-or-whatever-his-name-was needed to be a good warder and that Kylara should totally choose him out of all the candidates.

Kylara had smiled and nodded.

At least on this side of the pitch, she hopefully wouldn’t need to endure the small talk. She stared at some of the parents, trying to judge which one’s turn it was to talk to her, but none of them made a move.

Maybe getting into a knife fight had some benefits.

The formation was different than last time, some sort of modified wide-wall. The coach seemed to switch up the strategy every game, which Kylara thought was quite unusual. And bold. It showed that she really cared. When Kylara had played as a kid, she had been stuck in the back every game. It was nice that this coach gave everyone a chance to find their footing somewhere.

Kylara walked up to her, a tall woman with a stern face and a strong neck. She had keloid scars on both of her arms and the swollen, damaged ears of someone who had played pushball for many years. On her head, she was wearing a thin, straw hat with bright pink rock orchids stitched on and a rather feminine dress. It was at an odd contrast with her face.

Kylara pointed to one of the taller boys who currently had the ball. “He is doing good today.”

“Blaik,” the coach said. “Yeah, he is.”

“Usually he gets challenged more, doesn’t he?”

The coach looked at her as if she was surprised Kylara had been paying that much attention. Then she held out her hand. “Ulinda,” she said.

“Kylara,” Kylara said, shaking it.

“Yes, I know who you are.”

Kylara pulled her hand back. “Ah.”

“Are you staying long?” Ulinda asked.

Kylara surveyed her for a moment before answering. “For a few minutes, if that’s alright,” she said.

Ulinda sighed, then turned back to the pitch. “It’s fine,” she said, in a voice that sounded very much not fine about the situation.

There was a short silence, and then Ulinda added, “don’t judge the others too hard today. It’s dark. The kids who are doing good today are the kids that can actually see the ball. It’s not an accurate show of talent.”

“I’ll keep it mind,” Kylara said. She hadn’t considered that, but now it seemed glaringly obvious. Not like she was considering pushball prowess as a factor in finding the next warder anyway, but it was good to know. “Why are you practising so late, anyway?”

“Not really my choice,” Ulinda said.

So my fault then, Kylara thought.

“Sorry,” she said.

This entire practice was already a write-off.

“Not really your choice either,” Ulinda said. Kylara turned to her sharply, but Ulinda was looking away. Her attention was on the game. “I hear what they say about you. I don't know if it's true, but I know you don’t want to be here either.”

“Sorry–” Kylara started.

“I don’t really care.”

Harsh, Kylara thought. She liked Ulinda already.

“What do they say about me?” she ventured, figuring this woman might actually be honest with her for once. She had guesses, but that was it at the moment.

“Lots of things,” Ulinda said.

“Like?”

“They say you’re a spoilt brat who has had everything handed to her because of chance and privilege and now isn’t returning the favour. That you don’t have any real talents and are just delaying for praise and attention. That you’re ungrateful, and that your mother should have taught you better but she’s gone so your father should have stepped up. That even if the fire wasn’t your fault, you still haven’t chosen anyone to be the next warder and the delay is going to kill the town.”

This is more like it, Kylara thought. Finally someone is being honest with me for once.

“Is that what you wanted to hear?” Ulinda asked.

Kylara looked at her, and tried to see the prying attitude or mocking pity she had grown used to lately around town, but there was none. Ulinda wasn’t mocking. She was just a messenger.

“Yes, actually,” Kylara said. “That was exactly what I wanted to hear.”

They paused their conversation and looked back to the game. “They are playing better today,” Ulinda said after a moment. “I think they are getting bored of you.”

“I was making them play worse?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.”

Interesting.

She supposed it made sense. The parents putting a lot of pressure on the kids to perform well when she was watching, the kids collapsing under the pressure, the parents then putting more pressure on them… it seemed like it could spiral out of control quickly.

“It’s not what you’re thinking,” Ulinda said. “The kids have good attitudes about it. They are passing to each other fine. No one is hogging the ball. We had one kid–I won’t say which–who was struggling with teamwork, used to throw up his arms and kick the grass in frustration every time he missed, but I told him that I used to do the same and it never helped me get better. So we now do breathing exercises before each game. If a kid gets frustrated, they let me know and I pull them out, no consequences. So far it’s working.”

Kylara frowned. “So why were they playing badly when I’m here?” she asked. If it wasn’t the competitiveness, what was it?

“It’s the positioning. Some are more flashy than others, so I have to rotate them out frequently or the parents complain. The problem is half the kids have never played these positions before. I’d teach them but there’s no time, so we’re stuck doing a lot of variations on the same old thing.”

“Do you usually do what the parents say?” Kylara asked, hoping Ulinda would not be offended by the question. But she didn’t seem like the type.

“Nah,” she said. “Usually they don’t care. I should have set boundaries earlier, but now it’s too late. When they announced that you were passing down your warding power, I figured it would just be a few day thing so I didn’t put up a fuss, but–”

“But it’s turning out to be more like a few months,” Kylara said. Sorry.

“It’s fine,” Ulinda said. This time, her voice matched her words. “You’re not what I expected.”

“How so?” Kylara asked.

“You’re more sociable than people say.”

“Really?” Kylara asked, incredulous. She had barely said anything the whole conversation. “Because I–”

“Look!” Ulinda shouted. “Macalla’s out of position again. Macalla!” A skinny girl looked up. “Move back, you should be across from Tamarli!” The girl nodded, then shifted a few steps back hesitantly.

Ulinda sighed. “I’m not sure I should even bother correcting them at this point. Every time I talk to them, it works for about five minutes, and then they go back to where they were.”

“Maybe you should switch to a different drill?” Kylara asked.

“Good idea,” Ulinda said, suddenly looking cheery. “Now I have an excuse if they ask. The warder told me to switch. Fantastic!” She clapped her hands.

“Sure thing,” Kylara said, lips tight. Well, it wouldn’t be a lie. I guess take the opportunities given to you?

Ulinda then put two fingers in her mouth and whistled. “Good work everyone,” she shouted, voice projecting strongly over the din of the field. “We’re going to move on to different drill now. The warder requested something new.”

Ulinda then ran into the centre of the field and joined a circle of the players, leaving Kylara alone and wondering why she had said anything at all.