Mercedes sat in an ornately appointed room- her mother’s room, on her mother’s lap.

  They sat together at her mother’s desk, where her mother slowly moved her finger across the lines on the page, reading to the young girl.

  “...the world is vast, and there are yet mysteries to be discovered. There may be all manner of animals and plants and life that the Goddess has yet to reveal to us.” the older woman read, and then, to Mercedes, she asked, “isn’t that something?” She prompted the girl. “That there are still mysteries yet to be learned about the world?”

  Mercedes was eight years old. Her mother was an archbishop, and served on the council of archbishops, only one step below the Pope, but it seemed to Mercedes that her mother was perhaps the wisest woman in the entire world.

  “You don’t know them all?” Mercedes asked curiously. Her mother chuckled a little, and the chuckle turned into a cough that made the both of them frown.

  “No one person could possibly know all there is to know about the world... except the Goddess.” Her mother replied, after the coughing fit had passed. Her mother glanced at the handkerchief she’d used to cover her mouth while she coughed, and frowned at whatever it contained.

  She pushed Mercedes off her lap. “I think you’re getting a bit too big and heavy for me to have you on my lap for long.” She observed, and then pat her daughter’s head. “You’re looking a bit restless, why don’t you run around the gardens until the next bell? I’ll give you another lesson in numbers, then.”

  Mercedes brightened when she was told to go and play, but her face darkened at the thought of math. She made a sour face.

  “I don’t like numbers.” Mercedes frowned, and her mother laughed again, prompting a longer coughing fit.

  “No one does, but they’re important, dear.” Her mother paused. “Sometimes we have to learn things that are unpleasant.” she added in a lower voice, a voice tinged with bitterness, frustration, and helplessness.

  “Mother?” Mercedes prompted at the strange look on her mother’s face.

  The taller woman shook her head and made the handkerchief disappear up her sleeve. “It’s... something we’ll talk about another time, Mercedes. For now, run along and play.”

  Mercedes nodded doubtfully, and left her mother’s apartments and headed towards the back of the mansion where the large garden was planted.

  The garden was a wonder of landscaping, with carefully cultivated mounds of flowers, tracts of sweet-smelling herbs, a cluster of apple trees and even a small pond that had a few ornamental fish, all set behind tastefully trimmed hedges.

  Mercedes loved to run. There was something deeply and richly satisfying about it, about pushing her whole body to its limits, feeling her heart thunder in her chest, her breath searing in her throat, her arms swinging, her legs pumping, her whole body sweating as she forced herself to go faster. It felt good to run.

  In the far corner of the garden was a small stone circle, a few running steps across. No grass grew there, only a ring of stones that stuck up from the naked dirt, hooking slightly inward. She never understood why it was there, and her mother offered no explanations, either.

  The sight of the stone ring always evoked a strange and mysterious sense of dread and unease in the young girl. The stones, a little taller than the young girl, looked a little like clutching stone fingers clawing up through the ground.

  Normally, Mercedes avoided the stone ring and the sense of unease it invoked within her, but for some reason, the young girl found her feet inexorably taking her towards the unsetting formation.

  The midday summer sun was hot, the sky brilliantly clear and almost painful to look at. The heat was just shy of unbearable, and the air was thick with humidity, so Mercedes was drenched in sweat, nearly slippery with it when she approached the forbidding circle.

  Perched on one of the curved stones was a beautiful dragonfly, the sun playing off the chitin of its body so that it looked encrusted in jewels. The fine, lacey wings seemed like glassy prisms, edged in rainbows. Even so, it almost seemed ethereal, as if she could see right through it.

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  She hadn’t seen a dragonfly so large before, so brilliantly colored. She leaned forward, towards the shimmering insect.

  “Your mother is very sick, Mercedes. She needs medicine from the blue lotus flower in Radu, or she’ll die.”

  Mercedes fell backwards, landing on her butt, her sweat icy cold as adrenaline splashed into her bloodstream. The dragonfly launched itself into the air and then vanished. One moment it was there, the next it was gone.

  Mercedes shrieked in pure terror, and bolted back to the mansion, her veins icy, her heart a hot coal in her chest. Sweat ran in her eyes, burning. The world lost its color as she ran, the pleasant ache in her legs ratcheting up to a burning scream.

  The doors that led to the garden were a delicate latticework of steel and cut glass, extremely rare and precious.

  Terrified beyond thought, beyond consideration, Mercedes slammed into the door like an elven bullet. The thin metal wires snapped, the glass shattered, she lost her footing, tripped and fell, tumbling over and over.

  The House Guards dashed outside to face whatever threat had dared approach the estate, but there was a lot of ground to cover in the garden.

  One of the maids found Mercedes unconscious, and she was brought to her room, her cuts treated and bandaged, and her mother was summoned.

  As she lay in the bed, there was a strange sense of predestination: Her mother would come through the door, they would talk, and Mercedes would relay the dire message, and her mother would brush it off as whimsical nonsense. A few months later, her mother would be dead.

  Instead, an elf she’d never seen before- one that was a complete stranger, yet bafflingly, overwhelmingly familiar appeared in her room. Slim, flat-chested, with warm brown skin, long hair as white as her sheets, and wide blue eyes. The elf wore a sleeveless shirt that was cut scandalously high, showing off her belly, and a long skirt that hung from the hips, with a shawl casually looped over her arms. Everything was fringed and patterned in triangles, squares, and spirals.

  Crosses drifted in the elf’s eyes, catching the light, gleaming.

  “So there are spirits where you lived.” The elf remarked in an almost clinical voice. “It just seems like no one was taught how to communicate with them.”

  Mercedes stared at the stranger in her bedroom. “Who are you?” She asked.

  The unfamiliar elf looked at Mercedes, and smiled a little. “You’re cute like this.” The elf’s smile turned into a smirk.

  “This is a dream, Mercedes. You should wake up.” The elf held out a tanned hand to the young girl. “Come.”

  The world wavered, trembling, melting into surreal pools of color that slowly resolved to a forest. Simone was holding Mercedes’ hands in her own.

  “Come back, Mercedes.” the smaller elf urged.

  Mercedes blinked.

  “A dream?” Mercedes asked in a voice that croaked.

  Simone nodded. “You fled from the dream I showed you of the Great Terror.” Simone prompted, and Mercedes gasped as everything came back to her.

  Her mother had died, her warning had been ignored. Her uncle had enrolled her in the church’s schools, where she’d developed an aptitude for soldiering.

  She chose to come to the New World. Chose to come to the forest. Chose to accompany the strange, slender elf.

  “What... what are you, Simone?” She asked in a husked-out voice.

  “I’m... a shaman.” Simone replied with a frown. “I can treat most illnesses and injuries with herbs, I can discern the paths of the sun and stars, predict the weather, and... I can speak with spirits and walk the spirit world.” Simone offered a wry grin and a helpless shrug. “I’d rather be a hunter, but... we don’t always get to pick and choose what we do in life.”

  Simone released Mercedes’ hands, and cupped her own together. A mammoth dragonfly appeared, perched on the smaller elf’s hands.

  “This one has been trying to get your attention for a very long time.” Simone offered quietly. “Spirits are fickle, and they’re eternal. They don’t often take notice of individuals.”

  “What... what is its name?” Mercedes asked, a memory of her childhood terror filling her breast.

  “Is there a name you would like Mercedes to address you by?” Simone asked the spectral insect.

  “Liatris.” The insect faded away, and Simone lowered her hands.

  Mercedes took a deep, shuddering breath, held it, and let it out. A lot had happened in a very short period of time, and she needed to sort her thoughts.

  “You’re from the plains.” Mercedes confirmed, and Simone nodded.

  “What are you doing in the forest?” Mercedes asked. “That vision you sent me, the People of the Plains don’t leave, so... why are you here?” She asked.

  Simone sighed unhappily. “I hunt the Pearl of N’Granek.” She replied reluctantly, after a long moment. “It’s a horrible thing, a terrible thing, and it must be destroyed.”

  Mercedes frowned. “The pearl of what?” She prompted- there was no way she’d be able to pronounce that strange word.

  Simone shook her head. “Just understand this: it’s likely the cause of the animal transformations.”

  Mercedes tilted her head, confused. A pearl did that? Weren’t they tiny? The magic stones in her belt pouch were huge in comparison to a pearl.

  “I don’t understand.” Mercedes offered, and Simone nodded.

  “I promise I’ll tell you what I know, but... It’s... not something to be discussed casually. It’s serious, Mercedes. And I think I’m going to need your help.”

  “And the Protean?” Mercedes asked doubtfully.

  “It’s in our way.” Simone replied. “Truthfully, it’s a threat- a dangerous one that normally I would go to the other shamans and gain their help- but The Pearl is the highest priority.”