Dhaligir walked down the quiet street by himself. He didn’t like it when the street was empty. He didn’t like to be alone with his own thoughts. But Kylara had woken him up, so here he was, wandering and wondering alone in the dark.
He wondered what his parents were doing. They were supposed to be making the trek back from Saltsbury today. Dhaligir was looking forward to it. He missed them, although he’d never cough up to it. He’d been lonely the past week.
He wished he knew when they would get back. They had said today, but he didn’t know if that meant here-today or there-today. It made a difference. Days in Saltsbury were thirty-two minutes shorter than days in Kookaburra Creek–different warren, different sky, different sun and all that. Nothing ever synced up. It could be that morning had already hit Saltsbury. Or even that ‘today’ had already passed. Hell, maybe his folks were just a stone's throw away. He had no idea. It frustrated him, not knowing.
His teachers had taught him how to figure it out with maths, but Dhaligir had never paid much attention in school. Perhaps he should have listened. It would be nice to know. But he had a pride thing going on. He was too embarrassed to admit he didn't know.
Speaking of being embarrassed. When his parents got back, he would need to break the news that he had managed to get himself arrested. Talk about a conversation starter. They would be pissed. Especially his dear mum. He could practically see her face–that quiet disappointment. And then she would get to work. She always worked. She spent all day working. Dhaligir wondered if she was going to work until her last day here. Probably. She didn’t need to, but she would.
Dhaligir kicked another rock.
She always would.
His mum and dad and him would only be in Kookaburra Creek a few more days before bailing again, this time permanently. They were going to Bormbora, city of a thousand isles. A permanent vacation, Dhaligir supposed. Everyone said it was very nice.
Dhaligir hated that. Niceness. He didn’t want niceness. He wanted realness. He kicked the rock. It hurt his foot. He kicked it again because why not.
People kept saying Bormbora would be a fresh start, good for them all.
Fresh start.
New beginning.
Clean slate.
The same annoying phrases tossed around like galapples. Cheap platitudes and cliched stupid jingles. Just thinking about them made Dhaligir’s skin itch.
New beginnings were a pointless fantasy anyway. Wherever you went, you were stuck with yourself. New countries didn’t transform you magically into a new person, despite what some of the newer preachers tried to sell you.
It would be breakfast time soon. Dhaligir was hungry. He didn’t like this getting-up-early business. His body hated it.
He had no idea how Joontah did it. Dhaligir had gone to get Wawiriya like Kylara had asked him to, and Joontah had already been up. Joontah had asked him lots of questions and Dhaligir did not know the answers so he had left.
Why did he need Wawiriya? Joontah had asked. Dhaligir didn’t know.
Okay, then why was he out and about instead of following his house arrest deal? Dhaligir had drawn a blank. He supposed it was because Kylara had tossed some "it's all good" line in his direction and he had listened, but honestly, why? He had no clue. Did she even have the authority? He never knew when he was listening to the right person.
Alright, Joontah had said, why was Kylara up at this hour? And again, Dhaligir didn’t know. Kylara had mentioned something about looking for someone, but to be honest he hadn’t been paying attention. So he hadn’t answered Joontah. He had gone quiet and given up and left.
Now he was going to get Imla (like Kylara had also asked) and he resolved to do better this time. No more getting all flustered and bolting. Dhaligir was tired, he needed sleep, but Imla was less imitating than Joontah so he could power through. At the start of the year Dhaligir had promised himself he would get better at talking to people so he had to try. He thought he was mostly doing a decent job. Joontah was just scary and the exception. Joontah hadn’t liked him ever since Dhaligir had asked out his sister a few years back. Dhaligir didn’t know why, but he knew Janeyca was a snitch and a tattletale.
Dhaligir walked up to Imla’s door, knocked, and waited.
Imla’s house was really nice. Two storeys with a wide grey door and six white support columns outside. The windows had shutters. And there were lanterns attached to the wall inside and out. It was in that classic style with the charming wraparound verandah that looked built for sitting on the porch with a cold drink and watching the world go by and feeling like you're the king of your own little universe.
Dhaligir marvelled at it.
He wished this was his house. This house was so nice. So much better than the one he had grown up in by the orchard. That one was small and ugly. He should be more grateful.
Why was he only ever happy when he was looking forward to something? He had thought about confronting Kylara for days before it had happened. Then he had done it and it just became a thing that had happened. No celebration, no gratification–just a thing that had come and gone.
No one was answering the door. He knocked again twice. He hated waiting.
Things were never as good as he imagined them to be. Right now he should be happier than he had been in weeks. But he wasn’t happy. Just normal.
There was probably something wrong with him. He never stayed happy for long. Other people seemed to, but not him. He thought about it a lot. Sometimes he would just think that one thought on repeat for hours on end. He never got happy, just normal. Everything always felt normal. He hated normal.
A candlelight flickered in the house. Imla opened the door. She was holding a lantern.
Dhaligir stayed where he was.
“Hello,” the healer said after a moment, and Dhaligir realised he needed to talk.
“Kylara wants you,” he tossed out there.
Imla looked him up and down.
“What’s she want?” she asked.
“She is looking for someone,” Dhaligir said. He looked down at his feet. “She said it was important.” He knew it was a dumb answer. It didn't make anything clearer. He braced himself for an onslaught of more questions.
“Okay,” Imla said. She stepped back and ushered him in. “I just need to get my stuff then I’ll be right off.”
“That’s it?” Dhaligir mumbled, somewhat dumbfounded.
“Hmm?” Imla cocked an eyebrow.
“Nothing,” he quickly brushed off. Guess when you brought up Kylara's name, people tended to listen. He should have known.
“Is anyone injured?” Imla asked. She looked at him expectantly.
Dhaligir shrugged.
“Sick?” she ventured.
“I don’t know what’s wrong,” he confessed. “She just said to get you.”
“I’ll bring everything then,” Imla sighed. “It’ll be a minute. Stay here.” She disappeared into one of the rooms upstairs.
Dhaligir waited.
And waited some more. Then he felt anxious and started pacing.
He’d been pacing a lot lately. He didn’t know why. He should be happy. He was being useful for once. His parents were coming back today. He had just been taking off of that house arrest stuff (apparently). And most importantly of all, his big sis had said she’d move to Bormbora with them. She'd been teetering on it for what felt like forever. Dhaligir had been begging her for weeks. But three days ago, she had finally agreed.
He should be happy.
He was getting everything he wanted.
So why wasn’t he happy?
It wasn’t like he had forced his sister to make the decision. Sure, he'd wanted her to, but Dhaligir could never make her do anything she didn’t want to. She seemed happy to go. Excited even. The only thing holding her back had been her now ex-girlfriend–that bitch–but now she was out of the picture so his sis was free.
Dhaligir thought for a while. Perhaps he was wrong; it wasn’t guilt he was feeling. What was it then? What was his deal? Why wasn't he happy?
Imla came back with a bag. “Hold this,” she said. “I’ve just got to get one more thing.”
Dhaligir grabbed the bag. He wondered if Imla was always this disorganised. He couldn't shake the feeling that she ought to have a bag already packed and ready or something. She was the town healer. It’s not like she always had all the time in the world. What if someone was like dying or something?
Dhaligir browsed through the bag while Imla disappeared again. Most of the things in it were pastes but a few were in liquid or tablet form. Almost none of them were labelled, which he thought was weird. He wondered what they did. Probably interesting things. Dhaligir had only gone to Imla’s a few times as a kid so he didn’t really remember, but his friend Mark had told him he had once taken something from her and felt all shivery and happy and stupid for hours. Dhaligir wondered if these ones did that too.
Dhaligir picked up a bottle as Imla came back down the stairs.
“Can this get you high?” he asked.
Imla eyed him suspiciously. “Why are you asking?” she said.
Dhaligir cringed. That had been a bad question to say. “Just, you know, wondering,” he replied.
He slipped the bottle back into the bag where he found it, feeling stared at. He felt awkward.
“I think I’ll carry the bag, actually,” Imla said after a moment. Dhaligir reluctantly handed it back.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Skull Rock,” Dhaligir said. That was what Kylara had told him.
“Not far then.”
“Can I come?” Dhaligir asked.
“If you want. It’s not really my decision, is it?” Imla sounded annoyed.
“I guess not,” Dhaligir said awkwardly. The conversation had fizzled out so abruptly he felt disoriented. He wished he knew how to revive it. He didn’t like leaving things on a bad note. They tended to fester.
He tried not to get angry at Imla. He reminded himself it wasn’t her fault. Dhaligir had been practising a lot recently, really trying not to let that side of him take over. He thought he was getting better at it.
Several of the town aunties had come in to see him while he was locked up. They mostly lectured him about the whole knife situation. He hated lectures. Because no doubt about it, what he pulled with Kylara was all kinds of fucked up. He knew that. He wasn’t stupid. Dhaligir deserved the lectures, even if the words they said were so empty they made him want to scream. But then he would count to ten, or recite pushball plays, or rank all the hottest girls in town and he would get less angry. The little mind tricks helped keep everything at bay.
He recited all the hottest girls in town now.
Janeyca, Whyabba, Yalmay, Nicola, Kylara, Miriam, Gemma, Lingangaror, Tahlia…
He wondered if Bormbora had hot girls too. He hoped it did. And maybe, because the hot girls wouldn’t know who he was, he would have a chance with them.
Imla and him walked to Skull Rock together. Dhaligir wondered whether Kylara would meet them there. He wondered if she would be angry at him for not getting Wawiriya. He had tried to get her but failed because Joontah was a bully and that wasn’t his fault. Dhaligir then wondered what was so urgent that Kylara asked for his help of all people, but it couldn’t have been super urgent cause she did spend like half an hour hunched over a book in the library before asking him. (He had spied on her a bit. She hadn’t noticed). He also wondered who she was looking for and whether she found him.
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Dhaligir guessed he’d find out soon enough.
“So,” Imla said, breaking the silence. “How have you been?”
“Fine.”
“Are you ready for the move?”
Ah, he thought. This was going to be one of those conversations.
“Yeah,” Dhaligir lied. “I’ve been packing.”
“Already?” Imla seemed surprised. “Great. It’s never good to leave things to the last minute.”
“I’ve got a lot to pack so I need to start early.” More lies. He had almost no possessions. His house had burnt down. But once he started lying, he could never stop.
“Do you know much about Bormbora?” Imla asked.
“Lots,” Dhaligir said confidently. “My mum’s been telling us all about it.”
“Good, good,” Imla nodded. “What’s Bormbora like? I’ve never been. What kind of food do they eat there?”
“Fish,” Dhaligir said. Bormbora was on the ocean. They probably ate lots of fish, he figured. “All kinds of fish. They have fish that taste like all sorts there. Fish that taste like crayfish and fish that taste like roo and fish that taste like berries.”
“Berries?” Imla said. “Really?”
“And colours too,” Dhaligir added. “They have blue fish. That’s a delicacy. I’ve had it a few times but I wasn’t too impressed. There’s other stuff you can get that’s better, you just need to know the right places.”
“I didn’t know you’ve been.”
“I haven’t,” Dhaligir said awkwardly. All of that had been a lie. “I just know some people who have,” he added. Another lie. He hated himself.
“Ah.”
“My mum bought us passage with the worldhoppers,” Dhaligir said. He deliberately used the fancy name for the warblers. He was trying to use more fancy words lately. It made people like him more. “She’s coming back today.”
Imla smiled at that and the conversation continued.
They talked for a while. Lots of polite questions. Have you ever seen the ocean? Of course. Where will you live? A big house on the beach. Do you like the beach? Yes, but it got boring after a while. What sports do they play there? Not sure, but he’s sure pushball is popular. He’d probably be the best at it because they have really bad coaches there and his sister would probably be top of the league.
Dhaligir wished Imla would stop asking him so many questions. Then he could stop lying. But it was hard. He was tired.
The insomnia he had last week hadn’t gone away. He just kept lying in bed thinking about how nothing felt real for hours on end. It made concentrating impossible. It was like he couldn’t hold an entire thought in his head. He would be thinking of something or other and then some other thought would come in and interrupt it and the whole thing would be gone. Like too many people trying to walk down a busy alleyway and get ahead.
Still, he was making a real effort.
“I think you’ll love the ocean,” Imla said. “I know your mother is looking forward to it. It’s always an honour to see someone look at it for the first time. It’s huge, more water than you’ve seen in your life, all in one place. There’s nothing else like it.”
“I’m excited,” Dhaligir said, and immediately realised he fucked up. He looked at Imla. She was smiling knowingly. Dhaligir wondered if she had always known he was lying. She probably had and he had made a fool of himself.
“You should be,” she said. "It is exciting."
Dhaligir looked at her. Imla had light eyes, he noticed. He should have known that. Light eyes were very rare. He never remembered much about people’s faces. He never looked at them long enough. It was really time he learnt to.
He suddenly realised that he liked Imla. Or maybe he was just grateful she was paying attention to him. Or perhaps he was so messed up he thought the feelings were one and the same.
They rounded the corner and saw a group huddled together next to Skull Rock. Dhaligir’s mood immediately turned sour. He hated people in groups, especially council members. Pemulabee wasn’t bad, but Malyun was the worst. Dhaligir sped up and walked ahead. He looked for Kylara but didn’t see her.
Wawiriya was there though. That meant that Joontah must have woken her up even after saying he wouldn’t. Dhaligir wondered if he would get credit for that. Probably not. He doubted anyone was keeping track. People never kept track of things that mattered to him.
He glanced back at Imla, who was a way away down the path. The medicine bag she was carrying was slowing her down. Despite Dhaligir's offering, she insisted on carrying it herself.
Dhaligir walked closer. The group of elders were all huddled together, chatting away in these low, calm voices. Dhaligir could hear them crystal clear as he strolled forward. He had good ears and could be quiet when he wanted to. It didn’t seem like they were paying attention either.
“–It’s bad luck, being so close to the village,” Malyun was saying. “It will make the spirits upset.”
“I’ll have people come and move everything later,” Pemulabee said.
“No,” Malyun said. She shook her head. “We should do it now. Let them think it happened further in the woods. You know how people can get superstitious.”
“You think we should do it ourselves?” Pemulabee asked, crossing his arms. “How?”
“I think there’s five of us here.”
“None of which would be able to lift her.”
“One of us could,” Malyun hummed. “In fact, I don’t think she’d need our help at all.”
At that, Wawiriya, who'd been quiet throughout the whole talk, spun on Malyun. She didn’t hold back. “Kylara is not your slave,” Wawiriya growled. Dhaligir flinched. “Do not treat her like one.”
“I didn’t say that. I simply said–”
“I will not let you do that to her. She is nineteen. Can you imagine how guilty she must feel? A woman has died. Do not make it worse than it is.”
Dhaligir froze.
A woman had died? Was that what all this was about?
He leaned in closer, trying to catch every word. The air was thick with tension. He felt like he was eavesdropping on something he probably shouldn’t be, but right now he couldn’t give a toss. He really couldn’t be arsed. In fact, he was finding that he was caring less and less by the second.
Because of course. It all made sense now.
Dhaligir felt like laughing.
That’s why Kylara had been so panicked at the council house. That’s why she told him to get a healer. He was so thick. So unbelievably thick.
“I’m just being realistic here,” Malyun was saying, “if we move the body further into the woods, no one will stumble on it. We get valuable time.” She turned to Pemulabee. “Look,” Malyun said, “Kylara says she knows where this man is. We delay long enough to catch him. Then, when people find out a woman was murdered in cold blood we already have someone to ping it on. We avoid the panic.”
Dhaligir’s eyes bulged. Someone to ping it on? He leaned in closer. There was more going on here. He was missing something. Something important.
“It’s a decent idea,” Pemulabee said thoughtfully. “Wawiriya?”
“Not Kylara,” she said. “I won’t have her help. But I may know someone who will.”
“Where is she anyway?” Malyun asked.
“Near the body,” Wawiriya said.
“She shouldn’t be there,” Pemulabee frowned.
“And you’re going to be the one to pull her away, are you?” Wawiriya crossed her arms and stared. “No? Didn’t think so.”
“I just think she’s making a mistake,” Pemulabee said.
“One of many she’s made tonight,” Malyun muttered.
And Dhaligir pieced together the last part of the puzzle. Kylara had made mistakes. Wawiriya said she was feeling guilty. Pemulabee thought it was disrespectful for her to be near the body. And Malyun had mentioned a man to ping everything on.
It all made sense.
Kylara had killed someone–or had been involved, anyway–Dhaligir still wasn’t sure who this man they were looking for was–but Kylara was definitely involved. The council was covering up their own.
That was why Kylara hadn’t fetched a healer right away. That was why she had refused to tell him what was wrong when they were in the council house together. In fact, it was probably the reason she had gone there in the first place. To read up on how to hide a body?
No.
Dhaligir thought hard.
Kylara was still technically the town warder. Special rules applied to her. Laws always had little loopholes in them like that and Kylara was smart. It had just taken her a second to find it in the books. That must have been it. Once she had found it written down, she was safe. Warders needed to follow the letter of the law, not its spirit. She just needed something to cite.
And she had said she was tracking someone too, but couldn’t tell him who. Probably her accomplice.
He felt angry. More powerless than he had in a long time. He’d been manipulated before, felt pretty damn powerless plenty of times in his life, but never like this. This was something else. Kylara had been playing a twisted game and he hadn’t even known he was on the field.
He glanced back at Imla–who was resting, leaning against a tree (Dhaligir assumed the bag was too heavy for her). Something snapped inside him.
It wasn’t like Imla was going to be any help, was she? Not if the woman was already dead. Why Kylara had even bothered, he didn’t know. He felt sick. He felt angry.
Lurking in the anger was a quiet voice trying to make itself heard. A fear. A little nagging doubt. Dhaligir couldn't ignore it, even if he wanted to. He couldn’t breathe.
He looked around for Kylara. He didn’t see her. He went over to the edge of the rock. He looked over. The council group noticed him. They called to him. He ignored them. He saw Kylara. He saw a man he didn’t recognise. He saw something bright.
The tall stranger said something to Kylara. She smiled. Her shoulders crunched back and she covered her nose with her hand. The man did the same. Their motion was so similar Dhaligir wondered if they were related. Maybe they were. Kylara already had one murderer in her family. This would make three.
Dhaligir couldn't hear what the stranger was saying to her, but it didn't matter. Kylara looked so happy, so genuinely delighted. It made Dhaligir seethe.
Without thinking, he climbed down. His hands gripped the rocks hard. He imagined they were Kylara’s neck. The descent took an eternity. His heart raced faster. Butterflies flew in his face. In his eyes. He squashed them. His hands came away glittery with their corpses.
He wondered what that was about. People always said flies hung around death. Maybe in Kookaburra Creek, flies were the same as butterflies.
The council members continued to call out to him. Their words were a distant hum in his ears. Dhaligir approached. Kylara turned to him. Her smile faded.
“Dhaligir?” Kylara said. She didn’t look concerned to see him there. She looked away after just a moment.
The tall man didn’t. He was staring at Dhaligir with a mix of curiosity and caution. He looked up at the council members. He looked back down at Dhaligir. Then he looked at the shiny thing to his right. “Oh,” he said quietly. His expression changed. “Oh no.”
Dhaligir’s anger finally boiled over. He couldn't take it anymore. He lunged at Kylara. He was hit by the tall man, who had stepped in front of her at the last second.
It didn’t matter. The tall man was strong, but he was old and he had not been in the right stance to withstand a tackle. And Dhaligir was good at tackling. His sister had taught him well. She was a great pushball coach.
It didn’t take much for Dhaligir to push the old man over the edge. Skull Rock was tall and the drop was long but Dhaligir didn’t care. The man probably deserved it anyway. The man fell. A thud below. The butterflies went wild.
Hundreds of them were in the air in a second. They were in his face, in his eyes, in his mouth. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t find Kylara. Their numbers seemed to multiply, creating a swirling vertex of wings.
It took a second to find Kylara in the fury. She was covering her face with her hands. Dhaligir stumbled forward. She looked up. Dhaligir swung at her face. Kylara’s face registered shock. She stumbled backward, trying to defend herself, but froze when her foot crested the edge of the rock.
Dhaligir followed. He grabbed Kylara’s arm–a strange, cloud-like white colour–he had never seen her without a glove before–and squeezed. He squeezed until he felt like her bone would shatter.
Kylara tried to pull away, but Dhaligir held on. He was stronger than her. More determined. He hurled himself back on instinct, away from the edge. He pulled Kylara with him. Both of them tumbled onto the rock–first Kylara onto her back and then him on top of her. Dhaligir’s knee scrapped against the gravel of the stone. He didn’t care.
Kylara did not move. It took him a second to register that she was unconscious. She must have hit her head harder than he thought. He pulled himself up, staring at her face. She looked asleep. The butterflies were calmer now. It was like they had gone to sleep with her. He could see more clearly.
He took a deep breath and pulled his arm back again, winding up another punch. It touched skin. He swirled around to see who was strong enough–unafraid enough–to stop him when something caught his attention.
In the corner of his eye… something familiar. Something he had seen just yesterday.
The little nagging doubt he had disappeared, replaced with a crushing reality. He recognised those shoes. The trousers, the shirt, the jumper… the hair. All familiar. They were his sister’s. The face though–he didn’t recognise that. That was not Ulinda’s face. Dhaligir wasn’t sure that it was a face at all.
His arm fell slack in the old man’s hand and suddenly his whole body was surrounded by a warm embrace.
“I’m sorry,” someone said to him. “I’m so sorry.”
There was a flurry of movement. Dhaligir stared at his hands.
“Is she okay?” someone asked.
“A concussion, nothing more.”
“But she’ll be alright? Warders heal from those?”
“She might have some memory loss, but nothing else. She’s lucky. Even the best healers in Warrung don’t hold a candle to what warders can recover from.”
“Shall we move her?”
“No.”
“So, what, we just wait here then?”
“Yep.”
“How long?”
“Depends.”
“On?”
“How hard he hit her. Who was she?”
It took a second for Dhaligir to realise the man was talking to him. It took another second to realise that the man was still holding him in an embrace. He felt embarrassed.
“She was someone important to you, wasn’t she?” the man asked softly. Dhaligir nodded. “Who was she? A sister? A cousin? You look very much alike.”
“H– h- how can you tell?” Dhaligir managed to force out. “Her face is– her face is–”
Destroyed, he wanted to say. Her face is destroyed. Ulinda's beautiful face was–
The man pulled him tighter.
“I’m sorry,” the man said again.
“Were they eating her?” Dhaligir asked.
“Hm?”
“Were they eating her? The butterflies, like flies eating–”
“They weren’t eating her,” the man said softly. “They were just resting. I offered, and Kylara thought she would like them. A carpet of butterflies, it seemed like a fitting death attire."
Dhaligir had thought they were beautiful.
“Did she–?” he managed. "Did Kylara–"
“No. She didn’t. She tried to save her.”
Dhaligir nodded. He believed the man. He didn’t know why, but he did. Kylara hadn't killed her.
Dhaligir sniffled and wiped his nose and the water from his eyes. He looked up at the face of the man holding him. It took him a second to recognise it, if only because of his nose, which was now broken. It was weirdly obvious on the magsman's face because it was otherwise so symmetrical. Dhaligir felt horrid for pushing him off the rock. He was a terrible person and this was the ultimate proof. He had hurt a kind old man just trying to help.
Dhaligir had only seen the magsman from afar, but everyone in town was talking about him. His sister had raved about him. The new magsman. Apparently, he had joined Ulinda on one of her pushball practices. She said he was fantastic with the kids. Dhaligir had wanted to meet him, but he hadn’t until now. He'd been stuck under house arrest.
The magsman smiled at him softly–a sad smile full of mourning. Then patted his shoulder and stood up.
“Your nose–” Malyun said.
“Just broken,” the magsman replied. “I’ll be fine.”
“I’m so sorry about him,” Pemulabee said. “His name is Dhaligir. I thought Kylara had told him already. That’s his sister there. I shouldn’t have assumed. He was arrested a few days ago for attacking her with a knife… I should have known she wouldn’t have told him–he’s violent, you see. Hopeless. We already were exiling him, we should have done it sooner. I'm so sorry...” Pemulabee was rambling.
“Hopeless,” the magsman muttered, distracted. “Interesting you think that. Dhaligir stopped attacking Kylara once he saw his sister. A nameless woman, that he could get enraged about… but his sister... and no... he suddenly couldn’t do it.”
“What are you saying?”
“Nothing,” the magsman shook his head. He started pacing. “Nothing, I’m just thinking. Too many things in my head, it’s not importan–” his throat hitched. The magsman’s body suddenly turned slack, like a puppet detached from its strings. “We have much, much bigger things to worry about right now,” he said.
“Can you feel that?” Wawiriya said. Abrupt, as if she hadn’t expected herself to speak. “It’s like…”
“I know,” the magsman said.
“What is it?” Imla asked.
“Remember those trigger wards Kylara put over the town?” the magsman asked. There was a new, hoarse note in his voice. Malyun and Pemulabee nodded. Dhaligir didn't know what he was talking about.
“Kylara said they were to track the killer,” Malyun said.
“They were,” the magsman said. He was looking up at the sky, “and they are. They are tracking the killer right now. The killer circles back into town and the wards break, one by one until none are left, closer and closer until…”
“Are you saying that these wards are breaking?” Pemulabee interrupted. He looked down at Kylara, who was still unconscious. Pemulabee looked back at the magsman. “You can see them,” he said. “Can you figure out where this man is?”
“The wards wouldn’t be that specific,” Wawiriya said. “We’d need a warder to do that”–a pause as the Wanderer looked down at Kylara–“a conscious one,” she added.
“Alright," Pemulabee said frantically, "Another plan then. We rush back. We wake everyone up. We form a perimeter around town. We can’t let this man back in. Not after what he did.”
“We could,” Wawiriya said. "If we leave now–"
“We can’t,” the magsman said. “Too late for that. There’s only one ward left,” the man paused. A long pause. Long enough Dhaligir thought he might not speak again. “Aaand it’s gone,” he swallowed. “The last ward is gone.” The magsman pulled his eyes away from the sky and looked directly into Wawiriya's eyes. “Whoever killed her is already back in town.”