Over and over she recalled the day when she’d flown her field sphinx down into Father Ri’s sacred cave, to the ancient shrine at the bottom. How it was bathed in streams of sunlight and strips of shadow. She’d taken her divination stones, etched with pictures in the language of the Sha, and offered them up to the faceless statue of wise Father Ri.

“I, Yenni Aja-Nifemi ka Yirba, princess of the Yirba tribe, have come to pledge myself to the royal rite of the sacred journey, to embark on Orire N’jem,” she’d said. “I ask that you protect my tribe from any looming threat, and in return I will journey to the Empire of Cresh. Tell me, Oh wise Father, what would you have me do there?”

She’d cast her eight-sided divination stones, and they’d clattered on the rocky floor, echoing through the silence. When at last they’d settled, one showed an open eye: search or find. The other depicted a flame—the symbol for the energy that ran through all things: ach’e.

Thus instructed, Yenni had devised her plan. She must travel to Cresh and study the Creshens’ use of ach’e—“magic,” as they put it. She would gain entrance to their best academy and learn all she could. To what end, she was not yet sure, but the Sha had spoken and her faith was strong. The key to understanding her father’s illness must somehow be tied to Creshen magic, she was sure.

She had twenty-three figurines all in a line when they docked at the Island of Sainte Ventas, the biggest of the islands colonized by Cresh and a hub for commerce. Yenni marveled at the stilted houses dotting the hills in flashes of bright pastel colors: pink and blue and yellow. Captain Morayo took her into the island proper, among the noise of rumbling donkey carts and calling vendors. The scents of fried fish and coconut. White painted storefronts with tall and welcoming arches. The people here looked so different! Some were dark skinned, like her, but some had skin the color of a sandy shore. Were these native Creshens? She had never seen a Creshen in person before, but she’d heard they were pink skinned, and the people she saw were more of a golden brown. Perhaps they simply had Creshen heritage.

Either way, most everyone she met was incredibly friendly, even the trader who’d bought her figurines. As her aunt had warned, he’d offered a sum so low that she’d had to counter ten times as much. Though he spluttered and cajoled, and she hadn’t understood half of what he’d said due to his strange Island dialect, they eventually met in the middle. With a sad sigh Yenni gave up her beloved treasures for a thick stack of Creshen duvvies.