Free The Wish Kin by Joss Hedley Page B

little and they pick up their gear and shuffle forwards a few steps. The movement ceases and they settle into standing still again. More people have joined the line, travellers like themselves, it seems, though far more ragged in appearance.
    â€˜Where are you from?’ asks the young man behind them.
    â€˜Windirup,’ says Colm.
    The young man furrows his brow. ‘North coast?’
    Colm shakes his head. ‘West,’ he says. ‘And you?’
    But the young man is shocked. ‘You’re from the west coast! You’re heading south?’
    â€˜North,’ says Colm. ‘Elan Plains.’
    â€˜North! But haven’t you heard? The Centre has burned up. There’s nothing left. You can’t get in there. Everyone’s heading south or west to get away from the fire.’
    â€˜What fire?’
    The young man laughs, disbelieving. ‘Where have you two been hiding? Surely you know! The underground fire that’s burning its way across the country. They say it’s swallowing whole towns and setting lightto mountains. There’s no going north now. The place is a furnace.’
    The line begins to move again and Colm and Lydia find themselves inside the hut, out of the reach of the sun.
    â€˜We have to change our story,’ whispers Colm to Lydia so the young man can’t hear him. ‘We can’t be going to Elan Plains if it doesn’t exist.’
    â€˜But how do we know that what he’s saying is true? How can the earth be on fire? He could be telling us anything!’
    Colm turns briefly to look at the young man, who is talking now with a family behind him.
    â€˜He’s certainly friendly. It’s hard to imagine that he’s lying.’
    Lydia grimaces. ‘Let’s not change our story yet. Let’s wait until we find out more.’
    The line creeps slowly forward and at last Colm and Lydia are at the head of it. A woman in a heavy black mourning veil looks up from behind a ragged wooden desk. Her forehead creases when she sees them.
    â€˜Your names, please,’ she says.
    Colm is not expecting this, and stumbles. ‘Um – pardon?’ he says.
    â€˜What are your names?’
    â€˜Jem and Erica Windhover,’ says Lydia quickly.
    The woman writes the names down slowly in small, even letters. ‘Windhover,’ she repeats.
    â€˜Yes,’ says Lydia, and spells it out for her.
    The woman looks at the name on the page, and then at the children before her. ‘We need to check all those who pass through our town,’ she says. But Colm thinks she is stalling.
    â€˜Can you tell us where we can get water, please?’ he asks. ‘We tried at the well but were told to come here.’
    â€˜Quite right,’ says the woman. ‘Itinerants must line up after sundown at the well behind the old quarry. Head past the town square and through the northern gates. You’ll find it about a kilometre on.’
    The woman looks at them a little more closely. ‘Just the two of you?’ she asks.
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜No father? Mother?’
    â€˜No.’
    The woman frowns slightly and flicks through a sheaf of papers. She scans a paragraph then looks up. ‘Where are you from?’ she asks.
    â€˜Windirup,’ says Colm. ‘On our way north.’
    The woman looks again at the page then whispers something to the fellow beside her. The fellow glances at the children, then twists his face into dismissal and returns to his work.
    â€˜You’re not Rafe Bell’s kids are you?’ the woman asks as though it is an afterthought.
    â€˜No,’ says Lydia.
    â€˜Right,’ says the woman, though her face seems unsure. ‘You’re free to go. Just be certain to stay together. The area can get a bit rough of an evening.’
    They pass back through the door, barely acknowledging the young man as he takes their place at the desk. Colm glances back at the woman: she and the man