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.
We arrive in the dead of night. The captain asks if we want to sleep on the ship until morning since they won't be leaving again until then. I tell him that we're not interested and leave in the direction of the capital. Nebbana is a fairly small island country no more than about five hundred miles across in its longest direction. Sadly, at the angle, we are taking that's also about how long our trip is. No worries. Unlike Carnashka, Nebbana is a highly populated country with several major cities, many roads, and regular traffic from any given point. We might be on our feet for a day or so, but I'm sure we'll easily hitch a ride to the capital from someone. Who wouldn't pick up a small child and his even smaller companion wandering down the vast roads of a tropical island?
"That's the eighteenth truck to leave us high and dry!" I belt out.
"Y-yeah, you think aft-ter five days w-we'd find somebody w-w-willing to pick us up," Trigger moans.
"That's it!" I scream while taking off my boots and socks. "Trigger, hang on to my collar as best as you can!"
He grabs on and I take off like the wind. We're getting on that truck whether they want us to or not. You might be able to leave your average child behind, but back on the ranch, my father used to make us wrangle the saedirs by hand. By the age of five, I was already running upwards of twenty miles per hour and I kept running for these last four years. As we get closer, I notice the woman in the driver's seat looking in the sideview mirror. We lock eyes as she freaks out about the kid chasing her and floors the gas.
"Trigger!" I holler back to him. "Give me a boost"
"H-how!?" He yells back.
"I don't know," I shout angrily. "Some kind of magic!?"
"Oh…" Trigger says as if he forgot that was an option. "Fēngmó'lì!" I can't see what his spell did, but it felt like a turbine began propelling me with the wind speed of a cyclone. We're gaining on the truck again. With a mighty leap, I leap for the bed of the truck. SLAM! Going too fast, we overshoot and land on the engine hood.
"AHHHHH! What do you ruffians want with me!?" the driver screams as begins swerving left and right trying to shake us off. Hanging on with my other hand, I grab Trigger and toss him into the cabin. He lands on her face causing her to freak out even further. In the chaos, I manage to swing into the open window on the passenger side and pull Trigger off her face.
"Now, we've had a bad day, lady," I say to her with as tough a face a nine-year-old can make. "We're sick and tired of all these drivers passing us by, so you are gonna take us as far Northeast as you were already gonna or my magic friend here will blow us all up for good measure." Reading the situation, Trigger gulps before giving her a mean stare while nodding his head.
For the next three hours, we rode in near silence. Sporadically the radio would pick something up from a nearby station, but the lady dared not utter a word after our encounter earlier. We arrive at a fork splitting West and Northeast. Since this is her turn, this is as far Northeast as she was naturally going to go. Trigger and I try to thank the lady as we get out of the truck, but the second the door closes she takes off at full speed. I would say that I don't blame her, but all these drivers are jerks who wouldn't stop to help a lost kid unless they were forced to.
Just a few miles beyond the fork and I finally see the end of the jungle. If I never have to step foot in the jungle again for the rest of my life, I will die a happy boy. The territory before us known as the Black Plains is way more what I'm accustomed to. It feels like a much bigger version of the fields back at the ranch. Fields for miles and miles. Neither Father nor Uncle Jagan ever told why they call such a vibrant place the Black Plains though.
"S-s-say, Boss," Trigger says while grabbing my shoulder. He's shaking enough to mix sugar into tea without a spoon. "It's g-getting awfully d-d-dark. I th-think we should st-stay the n-n-n-night at that r-ranch in the d-distance."
"Oh, hey," I respond, "I didn't even see that there. While I do fancy me a good ranch, I don't think it would be good for our luck to bum a night off them after that truck incident. We can just walk until we're tired and then find a nice tree to sleep in somewhere in the fields."
"B-b-but it gets v-very dangerous out here at n-night," Trigger continues. "I've h-heard some b-b-b-bad fairytales about this p-place."
"Bah, "I scoff at him, "I'm not afraid of fairytales. What's the worst that can happen after the week we've had: bloodthirsty monsters just rise from the ground the moment the sun sets?" Not even seconds after I say those words, the sun dips beyond the horizon and the ground begins to rustle. A bony hand sprouts from the ground and then another. Soon, many skeletal hands grasped the soil and pulled up the bony remains of countless dreadknights. Before any of them can fully emerge, I take off across the fields as fast as I can.
"You know," I holler out, "I only said that as a joke because I didn't think something like this could happen to me twice in my life!"
"Th-this has happened to you b-b-before!?" Trigger cries.
"With a bunch of cows when I was five, but that is a story for another time," I shout. "The story for this time is that fairytale! Why are undead here!?"
"W-well," Trigger answers, "they s-s-say that the Dreadnought Armada had trouble t-taking Nabbana by air or s-sea, so the t-t-troops marched through Masduo, r-r-rowed to shore in the dead of n-night, and tried to take Dryadsah b-by foot. But Steve the Mammoth, b-before he was King, fought them off with the Nebbana army, n-not sparing a s-s-soul. They s-s-say their hatred c-causes them to r-r-rise up every night to this d-day."
"I guess that explains why they call this place the Black Plains," I say letting out a deep sigh. It doesn't matter how far we run as more and more of them crawl out of the ground in any direction we go. They grab at us and swing their rusty swords as they surface. Luckily, I'm much faster than any of these lumbering ghouls even after they have fully risen. If I could keep this up all night, we'd be fine.
"They won't be catching us after all, isn't that right, Trigger?" I try to boast to my little buddy. He doesn't respond. I turn my head back and realize that he passed out from exhaustion while maintaining a death grip on my outer collar. I reach back and grab him to carry him in a more secure position, but then it starts to hit me, too. The initial adrenaline is wearing off about the time I realize why Trigger passed out: we haven't slept in three days. It's not exactly like there is always a good spot for you to crash when you are walking along the side of the road in a rainforest and that's about how long we've been on foot since the last city on the main highway. I can feel my eyes getting heavier as I continue to dodge and weave these monsters with Trigger cupped in my arms almost like I'm playing some type of contact sport. I won't last much longer either. I'm told after three days you start to hallucinate and auditory hallucinations are starting to kick in. I can hear faint music playing.
Wait a minute. I don't even recognize this song. Can you hallucinate music you've never heard before? Maybe if you are a songwriter or something, but I'm definitely not that creative. It's getting louder by the second. A bright light bounces over a nearby hill with the music accompanying it. Both are coming from the same source: a militarized vehicle of some kind. The buggy zooms by and mows over many of the dreadknights in the process. Several more buggies of the same kind follow it. Men in masks lean out the sides and shatter some of the ghouls with heavy bats. They howl with enjoyment, not unlike those drunkards we ran into back at the ferry town.
One of the buggies pulls up toward us. They must have noticed something other than the dreadknights wandering around. A few more pull up and encircle us. It seems the bright light and loud music prevent the dreadknights from rising up nearby but looking at these wild freaks in masks makes me wonder if I'm trading one evil for another. On the very brink of passing out, I start to recall my dad telling me about these types. He called them Mengma Xiji, which literally just means masked cultists but they prefer that older tongue for their name. He told me that the one they follow is unreliable and that under no circumstance should I ever get involved with them. Anyone who gives up everything in life, including their own identity, to follow some fool around in a caravan of similar people is no good in his view. However today, I may not have much of a choice.
"Ay, look. A child and a jungle rat." I overhear one of them say.
"It's probably his servant," another says. "He can't keep it if he joins us, but we can always sell it back into the slave trade once we cross into a kingdom that's still in it."
"Hey, kid," one of them yells. I can no longer keep track of if it was the first, second, or another. "Want to join our club? You get this cool keychain."
"Fuck off," I reply in an exasperated tone.
"Ha! What a mouth for such a young brat," he chuckles out.
"It's not so bad, kid," another says jovially, "all you gotta do is give up everything you ever were, are, or would be and become just another faceless man in a mask. Beats giving up your life instead." The man pulls out a curved blade and shines it with a rag.
"Don't really see a difference there," I bark back. "Besides, sounds like a horrible way to meet girls."
"Hey! Number 137 over there is a girl," the other one shouts.
"Present," one of them in the back of a different buggy stupidly hollers as if to prove a point.
"Thanks, Number 137," he hollers back to her. "Oh well. We always try to get them young, but I guess dying is more your style.
I hold Trigger tighter to my chest as the masked man steps closer to me with his blade in hand. My eyes grow so heavy that I'm not even sure if I'll be awake to see myself die. A pretty lame way to go after the month I've had, all things considered.
"Oh shit! Number 84, he caught back up to us," a cultist in yet another buggy screams as he drives by.
Suddenly, a man in a red suit, cloak, and hat leaps over the circle of buggies and clobbers the lunatic holding a knife to me with a wooden training sword. He most definitely has a real sword hanging from his hip, but I guess he felt a wooden trainer was more than enough. He manages to knock out seven of them before the others pull out of the circle and escape.
"Don't run! Bah, freaks," He says as he loads the incapacitated cultists into a buggy that was left behind, likely because he knocked out the driver. Then he notices me. "They caught a kid this time. Well, I can't exactly take you to the detention center." He may have had more to say, but finally, that is my breaking point.
You ever had one of those sleeps where you are so tired that you don't even remember dreaming? I wake sometime later in a strange bed. I'm a little sore from everything, but I'm not tired anymore. It's hard to focus, but I don't think Trigger is lying in bed with me. No, the thing next to me is much too large to be my furry little friend.
"Ahhhhhhh!" I scream out in startled confusion. A half-awake red-headed girl, roughly my age, is snuggling my half-naked body.
"Deriah! What did I tell you about sneaking into bed with the guests!?" A coarse-sounding man scolds from just beyond the doorway. As the portly man with thick red hair and overalls walks in, the girl jolts awake and jumps out the window of the second-story rooms.
"Dear, Bob!" I shockingly shout.
"Oh, don't worry about her," the man says, "She does this all the time, though I wish she wouldn't sneak in here in the first place. There is a thatch roof on the other side of that window, so she'll be fine. That's my little girl Deriah and she loves to sneak in here anytime people stop by to avoid the terrors at night. Well, mostly only if it's a cute boy that's in here. Ha! She wouldn't even know what to do with 'em anyway. Still, gotta try to crush those habits before she's old enough to figure it out."
"Um, yeah," I say still confused. "Do you know how I got here?"
"Same as half the folks this month tend to get here," he responds. "That mister in red dropped you and your fuzzy little buddy off last night. He's been patrolling around these parts ever since the masked weirdos came through. I think he's hunting 'em or something. You're the eighth person he's brought by and I still haven't gotten his name yet. Anywho, mine is Kanrio Boskins."
"Na," I say politely, "Na Riknia."
"Well, Mister Riknia. You've been out like a light all day. Dinner is already on the table and I insist that you two stay at least another night with how it is out there after sunset. You won't be putting us out. We are used to being hospitable by now. If you need a ride into town, you can hitch one with us on our milk run in the morning."
"Thanks. Which town though?" I ask
"Why, the big one! Dryadsah" he bellows out cheerfully. "With our delivery truck, we can cross the Black Plains in no time flat. Your buddy already let me know that's where you are heading and luckily for you, we deliver there twice a week."
After a nice meal and waking up to that same strange girl in my bed yet again, it's nice to be on the road again. It seems I've already become more accustomed to traveling than staying in one place. I guess to some extent I always have been. This is definitely a more comfortable ride than the trips to and from my ranch and the closest town. The countryside even looks more beautiful in the daytime when undead skeleton knights are trying to kill you.
Dryadsah is a very modern city all things considered. Back at home, some of the buildings at the port have been around for so many generations that a lot of the people living there have lost count. But here most of the buildings are barely older than I am. People from all over the world migrated here during the reign of the Dreadnought Armada and entire sections of the town are still constantly being torn down and replaced with higher structures just to house the growing population. Uncle Jagan once said that even in his lifetime this city was littered with picketed yards and beautiful brick roads, but now it's all four-story apartments surrounded by concrete. At least they try to keep the architecture nice. It's all curved triangles everywhere you look. Very different from anything back in Thamia.
They take us all the way into the market of the city, which saves us a lot of walking since Uncle Jagan lives nearby. It's been so long that I can't remember the way, but what I do recall is that you can't miss it. Right next to the main marketplace of Dryadsah is a sanctuary that towers over all the other buildings in the district. It must be at least ten stories tall. It's an IBKP building, so not only does it serve as a temple to the local gods, but it is also a haven for mages in addition to being Uncle Jagan's home.
I should probably explain that my Uncle Jagan is actually a pretty important guy. When the International Bureau of Keeping the Peace was formed, they decided that the best way to get everyone to play ball was to copy the legends of the old world and thus made a council of twelve. These twelve each oversee different customs and disciplines throughout the world and have the final say over what is taboo or even a war crime. The seats include the Mage, Sage, Paladin, Smith, Summoner, Priest, General, Chemist, Fighter, Merchant, Hunter, and Fiend. Despite the name, the Arch Fiend is not actually a bad guy. He just holds certain responsibilities that are very misunderstood. As far as I know, they are only relieved of their positions if they die, no matter what acts they commit. At the top of that sanctuary is the home of the Arch Mage who is responsible for the practices of modern destructive magic, and the laws around them, and leads the field of research in magical advancement. Uncle Jagan is a pretty cool guy.
"I don't care how far you've traveled or how long it's been since you've eaten. If you don't have the coin you can't have any food," A man angrily yells loud enough I can hear him over the crowd.
"Why are people here so stingy that they wouldn't feed a hungry traveler?" asks a man so tall you could see him despite the crowd. "I've had it with this place. I came here seeking aid for my people, but if the common man won't help just me why should I expect those who lead these men to be any better? Might as well burn it all down and do this world a favor."
His staff began glowing brightly as though mana was flowing through it. I could tell he was preparing a spell, like when Trigger's orb glows. Why is it that I'm the only one ever willing to do something about this?
"Hey, buddy," I shout at him before he casts anything. "I'd cool it if I were you."
"B-b-boss, of all people to confront, I d-d-d-d-don't think the n-nearly seven-foot t-t-tall wizard is the best choice," Trigger worryingly begs.
The man turns around looking for me in the crowd of people and asks, "Who said that? Was it this fuzzball floating here?"
"No, it was the boy right next to him!" I holler.
"Sorry, Blondie. I thought it might have been an adult or someone that actually mattered," he joked.
Oh, well that was uncalled for. For that, I'm gonna jump up and drop-kick him in the crotch.
"Ow! What the-" He cries while grasping his nethers. "Okay, if you wanna pick a fight with me, then you can have a fight with me. Let's see how you like this. Mófǎ Fēidàn!" Bright lights zoom out of his staff like missiles homing right for us. They're fast, but not quite as fast as a bullet. I grab Trigger and bolt at the last second. The missiles hit the ground and blow rubble from the street into the air causing the crowd to disperse.
"Hmm... that usually never misses," the tall wizard mutters as he prepares his magic again.
"Hey, Trigger," I mention, "let's split up. You provide some cover fire and I'll try to route him from the side."
"G-g-got it, Boss!" he eagerly replies. He flutters off a little to the left before shouting "Huǒmó'lì" and begins hurling fireballs at the man.
"Crap!" the wizard shouts leaping out of the way. He's surprisingly nimble for a man standing roughly six foot eight. The fireballs collide with a nearby shop and the explosion shoots debris into the air like a smoky cloud. I can't imagine the Arch Mage would approve of such activity in his town and so close to his home no less. Landing cleanly on his feet, the wizard tries to cast another spell. Through the cover of the debris, I launch myself full speed at his torso. We land on the ground and I throw a couple punches into the sides of his face. I'm sure he feels that, but to no surprise, he immediately tosses me off with ease. I probably weigh nothing to him.
"You're tough little guy, aren't you," he asks jokingly. "Let's see if you are tough enough for this. Huǒmó'èrlì!" Oh dear. That's a second-order fire spell and in point-blank range. An explosion the size of the truck we rode here in zoomed out of his staff faster than I could jump away. Luckily, thanks to the size difference, he had to aim mostly down to hit me and the street took most of the blast. Otherwise, I'm pretty sure that spell would have nearly killed me then and there. Though, maybe that would be the less painful death. Catching some air at the last second, I can feel that the part of the blast that did hit me has sent me currently flying high enough that I just saw the top of one of those apartment buildings from above. Oof! And then a sudden stop. There is only one thing tall enough around here to stop me mid-flight above these buildings.
I fall down after hitting the wall of the tallest building in the district and land in some trees and then some bushes in the courtyard of the sanctuary. Guess I finally found Uncle Jagan's place. I'm definitely still alive, but I think I cracked a rib or something because it hurts when I move just about anything. But I can't worry about that now. I left Trigger out there in the streets with that maniac. If only I had a weapon or something. Maybe if I feel around this courtyard I can at least find a branch or something. Then, as I try to get some footing, the ground gives loose beneath me and I fall yet again.
"Or a hole. I could just find a stupid hole," I feel the need to say aloud. How could the Mages Guild or the local clergy be so careless about the grounds of this sanctuary? A child could get hurt here. This doesn't appear to be just some random grotto formed by erosion. This place has support beams and is at least partially furnished. I must be in some basement for the building, though it looks more like the basement of the ranch house at home than it does anything around here. Actually, I don't remember this building even having a basement.
I hobble around looking for either an exit or something that can help me in a fight. The part I fell into feeds into this larger room that looks almost like a shrine in the same way my father's armory felt like a shrine to his old weapons. In the center of the chamber looks to be a pedestal with a sword in a scabbard laying on it. The sword is far too big for me, or just about anyone for that matter. It looks like something my dad would use. The entire handle is jet black aside from an emerald embedded on both sides of a circular piece at the hilt that fastened the blade and grip to these two golden, geometrical horns that acted as the handguard. Handle and all, it must stand about five and a half feet tall and the blade itself looks nearly half a foot wide. This thing is bigger than me. Screw it. I've been needing a weapon and this is what the world gives me so I'm just gonna take it. Now where is that exit?
Ahh! Before I know it, I'm falling again. I'm back in the bushes from before. How did I go up from going down? Did I just imagine all that when I hit my head? No. I still got that stupid sword. This scabbard is gonna drag against the ground regardless, but I might as well sling it over my shoulder until I find a better way to carry this thing. But for now, I better draw it out first because it is time to fight.
Trigger is still engaged with the wizard firing spells back and forth at each other in the street. I'm surprised the police haven't shown up and tried to arrest anyone, especially with how close we are to the sanctuary. I rush back over with the sword already gripped up for swinging.
"Hey, streetlamp!" I shout thinking it was something clever to call a guy that tall. He notices me right away and begins to cast another spell at me. It's the missile one from earlier. I ain't taking anymore of this. If this sword isn't tough enough to block a spell like that, it ain't worth its size. I swing the hunk of metal and make contact with the magical bolts. Upon touching the blade, the missiles bounce off and fly back in the direction they came. Did this sword just reflect magic?
"Did that sword just reflect magic?" the wizard frighteningly questions as if we had the exact same thought. "Yeah, nope. When shit starts reflecting magic, that's when I'm out." His staff emitted darkness in the same way it would glow and he tapped it hard against the ground as smoke erupts everywhere covering the street for a block in all directions. By the time the smoke faded, the wizard was already gone.
"That's a lame way to end a fight," I say disappointed.
Trigger flies over to me. Thankfully, it appears he took very little damage while I was gone. It must be easier to dodge when you are that small and can fly.
"Where d-did you get that sword, Boss?" Trigger wonders.
"I honestly have no idea, but now I'm keeping it." I assert proudly. "Let's just try to forget this whole day and find my uncle."
Still hurt, we slowly make our way into the sanctuary and ascend to the top floor. When we finally make it to Uncle Jagan's quarters there is a note on the door that reads: "Sorry for the inconvenience, but I'm out of office for the next month as I escort the King's daughters on their vacation. In case of emergency, bring the azure vase to the rooftop and break it to send the lightning bird to retrieve me."
Damn it all. No one actually let Uncle Jagan know I was coming. Rascal you single-minded buffoon. You just wanted an excuse to contact my sister this whole time. I bust into Uncle Jagan's office and grab the only possible thing that could be the azure vase he was talking about in the note and head to the roof.
"W-w-what do you think he means b-by lightning bird?" Trigger asks scared of the name.
"Probably just some kind of fancy magical carrier bird small enough to deliver a message."
I break the vase to find out that is definitely not the case. Exploding out like a bolt of lightning, a staticky bird of prey the size of a small cottage forms before us. I grab Trigger and hop on before it has a chance to take off.
"This looks fun!" I holler.
"B-b-b-b-b-boss, I think this is a b-b-b-bad idea!" Trigger whines
"Nonsense," I retort, "if this thing knows where Uncle Jagan is, then let's go!"
The bird takes to the sky and we are off to find wherever my uncle went.