he next day Tamsyn had to work so I left with her around mid-morning and headed to the town by the harbor.

It was a sunny day, pleasantly so for the time of year, and it was nice to not feel a chill along my skin. I spent much of the day milling around the harbor, speaking to both the citizens and the traders. I had hoped to ask a few more probing questions about the blue-clothed workers. However my attempts were unsuccessful. Whenever I asked people would say how they were the backbone of the island, how they kept everything running. But the second I turned to who they were, how they could be family, or how utterly cruel their lives were, people seemed to reflexively deflect and change the conversation.

Malcolm insisted I still join him and his family for dinner on my final night on the island, and as the light began to fade from the day, the sun shifting from its bright yellow to a copper red, I began making my way back through the town. I assumed Tamsyn would soon be finishing her work, and I hoped to meet up with her for the walk back up the hill.

I was walking towards where she worked when I became aware of a feeling of unease. There were no obvious signs of why, but I could sense something seemed off. Instead of walking calmly, people seemed to have either stopped or began rushing away. Too many faces were turned, staring to the north. The usual flow of the town had been disrupted.

In a thin gap between a few of the buildings, I caught sight of a crowd of people walking through the town. I picked up my pace and weaved my way through the streets towards them until I was on the same street.

There were maybe twenty or thirty people. Most of them were normal citizens, but towards the back, there were a few blue shirts as well, their heads lowered, and their pace less forthright.

A man turned to me. “They are going to Malcolm’s place. He took one of the blues back to his house, saying it’s his daughter.”

I felt a tightness in my throat watching the mob move through the town, coming for Malcolm and Perdita.

“What do you reckon they will do?” I didn’t look at the man as I spoke. My eyes were fixed on the crowd.

“Take her back,” he replied in a monotone calmness.

“He did what?” Another voice interrupted. I turned to find an older woman, her face red and taught.

I recognized the woman’s face immediately. It was the same woman I had seen a few days earlier watching a blue-clothed worker attentively, watching his movements back and forth along the harbor.

The man repeated to the woman what he had told me.

Suddenly the woman burst out. “Christopher,” she wailed. Her head was buried in her hands and she leaned over as if punched in the stomach. “I abandoned him. I should’ve done the same.”

“Christopher?” the man asked.

“My son,” the woman let out a muffled cry through her cupped hands. “I should’ve done the same.”

“You know the rules,” the man said with clenched teeth. “How do you even know he’s your son?”

“He’s the right age. He has thick black hair, and he looks just like his father did at that age.”

“There are a hundred blues with black hair,” the man scoffed.

“I know it’s him,” the woman screeched. There were thick tears on her cheeks, and she stared back at the man with bloodshot eyes. “I should rescue him.”

The man raised an arm to stop her. “Where are you going?”

“To rescue my son.”

The woman tried to step around the man, but he moved to block her passage.

“Get out of my way!”

She pushed weakly against the man, trying to convince him to move. However, he reacted back with his own shove, that sent her back a good three paces before she was able to recover her balance.

The conflict exploded.

The woman let out a primal howl as she lunged at the man. There was a confused blur as a flurry of untrained arms attacked and parried each other until there was a low seething moan from the man. He retaliated with a fast right arm that punched the woman across the side of her head and she fell to the ground in a heap, clutching her head. It was only with the two parted that I could see the cut on the side of the man’s face, and the faint trickle of blood running down his cheek.

“Stop. What did you do?” Another islander called out as they ran in.

“She was going to rescue some blue,” the man shouted back.

“You… you just have no respect for the blues do you?” said the approaching man.

“What?”

“I saw the way you pushed that blue the other day, sent him flying to the ground.”

“He was a blue…”

“He was my brother,” came a final retort that was followed by a flailing fist. There was a thud as it made contact with the man’s jaw, and the victim fell back, only to be caught by two more islanders rushing in.

It was the final spark. Men and women began grappling with each other all around me. Years, maybe generations, of repression were bubbling to the surface, and people were taking out that confusion on the first thing they laid eyes on - each other.

I turn and ran, worried that I might become entangled in the unraveling brawl. I looked up the street to see the original group of people already heading up the hill towards Malcolm’s house.

I needed to get to Tamsyn.

Running around the backs of buildings I reached the small office building where she worked. I ran inside and called out before I had even spotted her. “Tamsyn, you need to come quick.”

I found Tamsyn at a desk in the corner. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“There’s a crowd heading to your house. They’re going for Perdita… or Malcolm… I’m not sure.”

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Tamsyn stood up in a short, her face pale. She rushed to the door and we headed outside.

---------------------

We walked up the hill as quickly as we could, but it was a steep climb, and there was only so fast a pace we could make against the gradient. When we arrived at the house, the crowd was gathered outside on the road. Night had arrived, and the main light came from the handheld lanterns of the mob outside the house casting a yellow stain across the mass of faces.

At the head of the crowd, I could see Steven, the island leader Malcolm had introduced me to the other day. He was already shouting through the doorway as we joined the back of the crowd.

“We don’t want to have to break down the door, Malcolm. You know she doesn’t belong here.” Steven paused. There was silence. He leaned back against the wall of the house, slouching. “Malcolm, we’ve waited patiently enough. We aren’t after you.”

A member of the crowd turned and saw us. “Tamsyn, please, perhaps you can talk some sense into him,” they pleaded.

Tamsyn nodded and headed through the crowd. She stood in front of the door for a few seconds, biting her lip. She looked up at the large stone walls, then to the sky, then back to the door again. “Dad. I want you to be safe. I’m not here to say what you did was wrong. I know why you went and found her. I’ve felt the same way too.” She paused and took a deep breath. “But I want you to be safe. I love you, and I need you. And if you don’t open up this door... then I don’t know what will happen.”

She stood tall, staring at the door. The flicker of the lanterns reflected in the tears beginning to form on her face.

“Your daughter speaks some sense, Malcolm. This is your last chance, otherwise, we’ll make our way in without your permission.”

There was another wait of silence. A quick gust of wind blew, and the lanterns clung onto their flames, as the air whistled around the web of bodies.

The silence was broken by a desperate plea from Tamsyn. “Please, dad.”

She crouched, her previously tall stance broken. She stared at the ground below her as the mass of people moved forward.

There was a thud as someone threw their body against the door. They took a step back, and threw themselves at the door again. On the third attempt, the thud was replaced by the sound of wood splintering. And finally, on the fourth, the door swung open.

Within a matter of seconds, Perdita was brought silently out onto the streets. Her head was lowered, and she didn’t fight the two large men grabbing her forcefully by each arm. They dragged her out to the front of the building and threw her onto the road. She fell to the ground, her skin sliding across the gravel.

She made no noise. She simply rolled back over, and with an oddly neutral expression inspected her legs and arms for scratches.

Tamsyn had no such calmness. She ran over to her sister, reaching her arms down and embracing her in a closely held hug. It was a tight, and yet soft grip. A silent, steady, tender moment. The first, and only, time they’d ever touched.

“Get away from her,” a voice barked.

Tamsyn released her embrace but rested her hands on her sister’s shoulders. She stared into her eyes. Tamsyn let out the faintest of nods. Perdita nodded back. And with that, Tamsyn released her sister and turned back to face the house.

Malcolm was trying to force his way outside now, but he was being pushed back by a man and a woman in the doorway. Standing on the edge of his toes, trying desperately to see over the throng, he screamed for Perdita to stay put, to not listen to the others.

The people holding Malcolm began forcing him back into the house. They pushed him a couple of paces before he fought back with renewed vigor. He dragged the two people forward, before with a large thrash he ripped off the man clinging to his right-hand side, and shoved him away. The man fell backward. His elbow clattering into the glass window at the front of the house, the large pane splintering as his arm fell through.

The man pulled himself back up and left, blood visibly showing through the back of his sleeve. The nighttime breeze entered through the cracked window and flickered the curtains so that they blew gently in and out of the home.

Malcolm continued his fight. More people moved in to hold him back, and he tried moving sideways through them, moving in front of the broken window. Another two people moved forward to subdue him. One tried meekly to push back with their right hand, while they held a lantern in the other.

An arm reached up around Malcolm’s neck and tried pulling him down towards the ground. His back arched as he began to lose his balance. Fighting to stay upright, Malcolm swung his arms wildly trying to find balance or grasp onto something for purchase. His hand made contact, and he clasped onto what he felt. But instead of something stable, he found the lantern carried by one of his apprehenders. The lantern flew from the man’s hand, and Malcolm’s momentum carried it over to the broken window. The lantern smashed against the corner of the window, and a large spray of oil shot out from its container, immediately igniting as it landed on the curtain.

The whole crowd stopped and watched. There was a vacuum, as the crowd collectively drew in a shocked gasp. All the fighting stopped as bright yellow overcame the crowd’s senses.

Bits of curtain detached from the rest of the fabric and floated through the air before settling on the couch, until it too began to catch fire. The fire was quickly gaining momentum, and it wouldn’t be long until the whole house was claimed. A sudden thought crossed my mind, and I remembered that my bag with all my belongings was sat in the kitchen.

I pushed past the crowd, forcing my way past those trying to stop me. I ran into the house. Trying my best to ignore the heat coming from my left, I turned right into the kitchen, found my bag and lifted it up onto my shoulder.

As I turned, I caught sight of the living room. The flames were already beginning to spread. To the right of the doorway, the couch was alight, while flames still crept up the curtain to the left. But there, framed between the two pillars of light, on the opposite wall, I could make out the two portraits of Malcolm and Tamsyn.

The house was gone. It would soon be engulfed. But maybe there was still time to save something, to save a small part of that history Malcolm loved so much.

I removed the bag from my shoulder and flung it through the open door outside. And then, holding my arms up to shield my face, I ran into the smoke-filled room. I coughed as soon as the toxic air hit me, and I could feel my body convulse as my lungs were filled with the poison.

Stumbling, I grabbed the two portraits off the wall and marched back towards the doorway. As I passed, a sudden breeze picked up the curtain and threw it towards me. Instinctively I raised my right hand to protect myself. The flame-ridden curtain lapped against the painting in my right hand. The painting stopped the flames from reaching my body, but it too was quickly engulfed, and I dropped it to the floor.

I stepped outside and collapsed to my knees. I turned over the one painting I had left. The face of a young Malcolm stared back at me, and I thought temporarily of Tamsyn’s portrait being feasted on by the flames.

I looked up to see Malcolm. I lifted up the painting and he took it from me. He let out a small whimper. He didn’t say anything. He just stared at the portrait as the roar of the flames echoed around us.

The quiet was broken by the sound of exploding glass. The fire had reached one of the oil lamps inside the home and sent another wave of the flammable oil across the home.

One of the crowd reached down and lifted me to my feet. “Come on,” he said. “It’s not safe here.” He handed me my bag and dragged me away from the fire.

We slowly began walking away from the building, and although we were soon out of range of any possible danger, I found my feet continuing to shuffle forwards. I continued away from the building, slowly down the hill, until the light of the fire was no brighter than one of the lanterns had been up close.

I turned to find Malcolm and Tamsyn, but they had gone. I ran back towards the house looking for them, but Malcolm, Tamsyn, and Perdita were all nowhere to be seen. I contemplated calling out, asking those who remained where they had gone, but I was aware that my presence wasn’t needed at this time. I wanted to say goodbye to them. But in the circumstances, it seemed like a selfish gesture.

Instead, lost, I let my tired body continue to walk down the hill, down into the town by the harbor.

There, I was greeted with the aftermath of the brawl I had seen earlier. One woman lay dead on the ground, a small pool of blood around where her head lay. Further down the street, a second body. This one in blue. He was a young boy, probably around fourteen. A woman, a citizen, knelt over him, clutching his blood-soaked shirt.

“My boy,” she cried. “My boy.”

I turned and walked between two buildings, hoping to leave the woman to grieve in peace.

Down by the harbor, boats bobbed peacefully in the waves. I found a spot at the end of the harbor wall and sat next to some crates that blocked out the breeze. There was the faint sound of a bell on one of the boats chiming as the waves continued slowly rolling underneath. Up, far on the hill, I could make out the faint outline of the fire from Malcolm’s home.

The last time I had seen fire it had been a victory. This felt much different.

I wrapped myself up tightly in my clothes, leaned back against the wooden boxes, and waited for daybreak, and my next journey to arrive.