In the dank depths of the Carnaskan Jungles, my new friend and I wade through the sporadic rains on our way to Nebbana. I don’t mind the rain so much. It’s not a heavy downpour, which Trigger warned me is more common later in the season. He said the monsoons get so bad that they could whisk entire herds of large animals miles downstream. This is why his people typically build their homes in the trees. It’s not the first race of people I’ve encountered that live within tree structures, but I’m told life here isn’t as fancy. Trigger’s village is very small. There are possibly a couple hundred of them altogether. For the most part, Ishpah who still choose to live within their tribes lead a technologically deprived life.

He explains that this is exactly why he was caught out in the first place. Normally, it is very hard to catch Ishpah due to how their homes are hidden, but he was exiled from his tribe for reconstructing a long-range communication device abandoned by a caravan passing through the jungle. We may have come about for different reasons, but he and I aren’t in that different of situations. Both without our people, abandoned in a place that would like to kill us. I don’t have many friends anymore, so it’s great to have a new one. And it might be good for him as well. Outside of their tribes, Ishpah are often scooped up and sold off as servants to the wealthy. It isn’t so common in Thamia, but my dad has told me of such things. At least if Trigger is with me they may just assume he is my servant and nothing bad will come of it.

“So... what was that thing you did to the jerk back there?” I ask him.

“Oh, that?” he replies. “Th-that was a common lightning spell amplified to its second power. A lot of us in the magic community like to ref-f-fer to it as Electric Death.”

“That’s so cool! Can I learn to use magic!?” I question with utmost glee.

“S-sure,” he responds.” I could teach you the basics, but you’d have to learn the amp-plified versions on your own. I really don’t know how to go about teaching that sort of thing as it is.”

“Excellent!” I rejoice.

“What you need to know is that th-there are four main types of offensive magics commonly used known as Huǒmó, Bīngmó, Shǎnmó, and Fēngmó that each corresponds with an element of nature. Huǒmó is fire, Bīngmó is ice, Shǎnmó is lightning, and Fēngmó is wind.” Trigger rambles out swiftly.

“Those are some weird names.” I say in confusion.” Lots of mó. Mó, mó, mó, mó, mó, mó, mó.”

“-Mó is m-merely a s-s-suffix used for magic and the other s-syllables are the Ancient Mirra’n roots for that element.” he clarifies

“Oh, I know some Ancient Mirra’n.” I blurt out as if I have something of value to add to the lesson. “My dad thought it would be important for us to know. ‘Nǐ shì bùshì hěn gāoxìng jiàn dào wǒ ma,’ I think it means ‘Are you not glad to see me?’ or something like that. My brother used to say it all the time when I was upset with him.”

“You come from a weird family don’t you?” Trigger asks earnestly.

I don’t know how to respond to that. I guess he is right, even having never met anyone else in it. It has never been something I’ve bothered to think about because it has all been normal to me. But upon reflection, no kid back in Port Claude lived in a mansion large enough to be its own village. None of them had adopted siblings from different species. Some of them were schooled, but none of the ones my age were taught foreign tongues, combat techniques, obscure world history, or the current affairs of international politics. Definitely, none of them were magically tortured by their old siblings. And it seems uncommon that children run away from most homes to lead full lives before they even hit their teens. I’m starting to think that I actually do come from an odd family now that someone else brings it up. At least it leaves me primed for a magic lesson on the road.

After making many camps along the way, we finally arrive at the coast of the Nibble Sea. I had never seen anything quite like it before. The only time I had ever visited any other place aside from Port Claude had been by airship, far too high above the clouds to really notice anything. And the rough waters by the port have sprawling expanses of coral reefs with colorful sea life I could never have imagined. I think I’ll take off my shoes and walk the tide as long as I can.

“We s-still have a few miles until we reach a ferry town.” Trigger hollers at me.

We won’t be able to reach my uncle’s home on foot alone, sadly. The country of Nebbana rests solely on its island in the middle of the Nibble Sea. The real reason I imagine Anna dropped me off in Carnashka is that the elves of Masdou are not kind to pirates and their navy is scattered all over the hundred miles or so opening to the sea between their nation and Jesh’s winding peninsula. So, we will make our way to the town of Kokorah.

Walking into the town in the early evening, the first thing I notice is how different it is from Port Claude. There are no walls that surround the town on its sides not facing the water. In fact, almost none of the town is on land. It almost rolls off the beachfront into a maze of boardwalks and piers over the bay. Most of the main streets are made with carved stone and formed concrete supported by a mix of lacquered woods and metals, but the majority of crossings between them are entirely made of wood. On top of that, more than half the buildings here, between both the housing and the businesses, are built atop rafts and ships. There are wonderful flags and banners, tarps, and canopies draped across the town from structure to structure. And while it seems there aren’t many carriages or any motorized vehicles in Kokorah, many smaller canoes and gondolas are around to deliver pedestrians across town.

The town may even be more festive today than normal. In all my stress from recent events, I completely forgot that Shindayan was coming around. Maybe it’s also because it isn’t the New Year festival we celebrate at home. While most people here celebrate the planet finishing an agreed-upon cycle around our sun, my father insisted we honor an older set of festivals starting with Twunjyay which marks a seasonal rotation that doesn’t quite line up with the world we live on.

Passing through the center of town as the sun lowers, I notice everyone has gathered around in celebration. Kiosks are set up with all manner of games, ornaments, and treats. Boats are floating out in the water far enough for a big fireworks show to ring in the new year. Everyone in town is dressed for the occasion in loose suits and frilly dresses. Couples are enjoying each other’s company and those who aren’t hooked up already are out looking for someone to have fun with. Maybe even trying a little too hard.

“C’mon, sweet thing. Give us a big kiss!” jests a strangely dressed man, inebriated enough to tranquilize a cow.

“Nooooooooooo. Please, just let me go!!!” screams a young woman about the same age as my sister. She is dressed in a fine pink gown covered in frills and ornaments, fighting off the approaches of what looks to be six soldiers or something of a similar nature.

“Aw, you know you want some,” one of the other members exclaims. “Now, stop playing so hard to get.”

“Hey, buddy! You mind listening to what the lady is saying?” I say unable to sit by while something like this happens in front of me. I’m not sure why I feel the need to get involved. Trigger yanking on the back of my tunic to get me to stop should be enough to break me from this impulse, but I’m compelled. Maybe because it’s something I think my dad would do.

“Hold on. Did I,” the drunkard laughs out, “Did I just hear a little girl tell me what to do? Buzz off you lil’---”

Before I can let him finish speaking, I jump up into the air and plant both my feet into his face. You might be able to blame Anna for this, but I never could stand being called a girl. As I land back on my feet, the others turn and unholster pistols from within their suit jackets. Without any delay, I kick back, grab Trigger, and hop behind cover.

“Wrong move, asswipe!” one of them hollers at me. “Do you know who we are? We’re soldiers of the IBKP! You’re toast!” Oh great, it’s these guys. My dad was always talking trash on the IBKP. After the fall of the Dreadnaught Armada, the nations rebuilt and formed an organization they called the International Bureau of Keeping the Peace. While each nation still maintains its military, they also send volunteers to a joint paramilitary that enjoys a mild form of diplomatic immunity. Everyone believed this would keep the nations in check with each other and prevent another superpower from rising again, but more often it leads to pricks like this abusing their ranks. Though, I was never sure if the organization actually does more harm than good or if my dad just made fun of it because my Uncle Jagan was one of its leaders.

I have to admit that my nerves are rattling. I’ve experienced many dangers for my age, but gunfire is a first. The shots boom through the air as the nearby crowd runs screaming. No one, not even the local law enforcement, would dare interfere with what the IBKP is wrapped up in. Luckily for us, the walkway had trees in large, raised planters lined with wooden logs and filled with rich, tightly packed dirt. That puts about six feet of solid material between bullets and us for now.

I look over and notice that Trigger is not about to wait for his death yet again. With his reserves refilled from our casual pace on the way here, he blasts bolts of electricity back at those awful men. Not like he did to Tala before. Trigger could easily wipe out an entire chunk of this city if he wanted. Luckily, the little guy has a conscience and would rather keep the risk higher for us than everyone else in town. But, that actually gives me an idea.

“Hey, Trigger!” I shout to him. “I got a plan if you are willing to turn the heat up a bit!”

He nods at me. I tell him to close his eyes, count to ten, and let off a big one. Grabbing him by the collar, I dive over and toss Trigger into a cart from one of the food stands. I pick the cart up over my head, causing the men to stop firing out of shock that a kid my age could do this, and throw it in their general direction. The men wipe the sweat off their brows as the cart misses, landing about two yards to their right.

“Kid, you might want to aim better next time,” The guy in charge scoffs. “Not that you’ll have a next time.”

He readies his firearm but gets distracted by the wobbling and crackling coming from the cart off to the side. Suddenly, the cart explodes, sending sheets of metal flying in all directions. The force alone sends the nearby soldiers over the ledge and into the ocean. Thankfully, all the bystanders started clearing out the second they heard gunshots.

“Did I d-do good?” asks Triggers as he scurries his way back over to me.

“Most excellent,” I reply. “Now let’s get on a ferry out of here before those guys sober up and manage to get back on deck.”

I’m honestly not too worried about them. I doubt they’ll remember us or that woman they harassed with any real detail. And it’ll take them quite a while to get back up here. I also doubt anyone will give them a hand up, so I gather they’ll be swimming all the way back to shore. Still, better safe than sorry and we get to catch the fireworks on the ship out of here.

A much better ride than last time. I was given money to help my way to Uncle Jagan’s, but this was my first chance to use any. Truth be told, if I didn’t keep it in my boots, Anna would have taken it before getting rid of me. One benefit of having notoriously stinky feet is that your big sister will never check your shoes for anything. As far as Anna would be concerned, it belongs to the fire at that point. I bought my buddy and me a meal and a bath on the boat and we set sail for the shores of Nebbana at last.