As Simone worked the sapling with her knife into something useful, the smaller elf talked to Mercedes about the spirits, focusing more on etiquette and how to treat with and address them.

  “Remember that you are small and mortal, when compared to a spirit.” Simone advised, splitting and shaping the sapling with her knife. Mercedes was surprised how quickly and efficiently Simone worked the wood, transforming the slender trunk of the sapling into a tool. “Always ask, and always assume that they will refuse you at any time.” Simone didn’t bother looking at Mercedes as she worked; her attention was focused entirely on her work.

  “The spirits might require offerings, or sometimes you’ll be required to abstain from certain things before they deign to listen to your request.” Simone paused for a moment, and then smiled. “You were given two ears, but only one mouth. This is so you’ll listen twice as hard and speak half as much. Always remember that you are small and unimportant- you will die and the world will go on without you. Never ask a spirit to do something for you that you can do yourself. Always listen for a spirit’s wisdom, and when you get it, think carefully about what you have been told, because they see things differently than we do. Be reverent and appreciative, but not servile or ...” Simone trailed off. “Your word is ‘obsequious’, I think.”

  Simone continued in this vein for some time as she worked.

  “Why should I learn this?” Mercedes asked after Simone settled down. The plains elf gave the taller elf a baffled look.

  “Because you can talk to spirits. You have to learn how to do it safely.”

  Mercedes frowned. “Just because I can do something, doesn’t mean that I should.” She replied.

  Simone dwelled on this for a moment, but shook her head. “I would say that this is mostly true, but... a spirit gave you a name to address it with. It wants to speak with you.”

  “I worship the Goddess, Simone. I can’t simply stop, and worship a spirit instead.”

  Simone frowned at that. “It’s not worship. It’s ... respect and fear.” The slender elf pointed at Mercedes’ sword. “That is dangerous. You respect it, fear it, appreciate it...” The elf trailed off, “...but you don’t worship it.” She paused, and sent Mercedes a searching look. “Do you?” She asked.

  Mercedes shook her head. “What do you talk to spirits about?”

  Simone hesitated, choosing words carefully. “There is a lot about being in the forest that I don't know. dangerous animals and plants, where to find clean water- things like that. Normally this would be something I would need to figure out for myself, but the Pearl is important, and the spirits are impatient.” Mercedes nodded, and Simone continued: “When I was younger, I met a human. We couldn't understand each other. The shaman of my tribe used her spiritual power to join our minds enough so that we could understand each others’ languages.”

  Simone glanced at Mercedes- “Something I did with you.”

  Mercedes raised an eyebrow. “That was magic, Simone.”

  Simone gave her a puzzled look. “You've said that word before, ‘magic’. I have no idea what it is or what it means.”

  Mercedes gave Simone a vexed look. She wasn't skilled in magic, she was a soldier, and not skilled in magic. She could try to explain what she knew, but Simone was a barbarian, the concepts and ideas about magic that Mercedes had taken in with her training would go right over the small girl's head.

  On the other hand, Simone seemed to be suggesting that Mercedes herself could use magic, a patent impossibility. Mercedes could sense magic, but lacked the necessary component to use it.

  Mercedes tried to explain what she knew, which seemed to confuse Simone even more.

  “It sounds like they somehow borrow the power of the spirits, without asking the spirits.” Simone mused thoughtfully. “To me, that sounds dangerous.” She looked at Mercedes. “You, at least, could ask the spirits to do what you need... though it would depend on what you need, and the whim of the spirit.”

  Mercedes couldn't believe what Simone was suggesting. Mercedes could use magic? That was both amazing and terrifying.

  “What... can I do?” Mercedes asked hesitantly, adjusting her position. Her legs were falling asleep; she wasn't meant to sit like she was, in her armor, for as long as she had.

  Simone sighed, and held out her spirit stick. “From time to time, the spirits will give you a symbol.” She pointed to a symbol that looked like a row of the letter ‘c’ that wrapped around the stick. “this is a symbol for water; I don’t need to pray for this, I dwell on the symbol, and-” a thin stream of water ran out of the end of the stick for a moment, hissing in the flames.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “So that's why we haven't run out of water.” Mercedes mused thoughtfully. Simone nodded.

  “But the thing is, for the spirits to give you these things-” Simone began, and gestured with her hands as she struggled for words, “it's a gesture of trust on their part. They're letting you use their power for something.” She lifted the spear, and showed Mercedes. Every inch of the shaft was covered in dense rows of symbols carved in intricate and artful designs.

  Based on what Simone had explained, that spear was likely immensely powerful, Mercedes mused.

  Simone read the expression on Mercedes’ face and knew what she was thinking.

  “It'll take me a very long time to learn the secrets within this spear.” She replied to Mercedes' unspoken thought. “Decades, likely- and only with the help of the spirits.”

  “Will I need a... spirit stick?” Mercedes asked.

  Simmone nodded. “You could try to memorize the symbols, but it's easier to have them on hand.”

  Mercedes sighed, shifted position again. “The Protean.”

  Simone nodded, and picked up the piece of sapling she'd carved. “I was given a symbol for handling it, but I need time to practice the symbol before I can add it to my stick.” She gave a wry, bitter smile. “I keep praying for luck and a steady hand when carving the symbol- it has to be done precisely, with no mistakes.”

  Mercedes nodded, and rose to her feet. “I'm going to walk around some, my legs are falling asleep.”

  Simone nodded and bent to her task again.

  The tall elf paced around a bit, and, feeling restless, decided to work through her sword forms. “If you have time to feel bored, you have time to drill!” her instructor barked from her memories; Mercedes grinned wryly as she stepped and thrust, slashed and cut the air.

  Using magic. It was something she'd wanted to do all her life. Her bloodline was descended from the most powerful mages, and the fact that she couldn't do what her family had done with ease for generations dug at her. The notion excited but also terrified her.

  Liatris, what is it you expect of me? She wondered in her head as she worked through her forms.

  Meditate on the sound of silence, a voice unlike her own answered in a tone that simultaneously seemed both bored and somewhat patronizing.

  What was that supposed to mean? It made no sense. Silence was silence because it had no sound. She could hear her breathing, the subtle creak of the leather clothes under her armor, the clink and rattle of the armor itself, the susurration of wind through the trees, the unmistakable sound of forest animals scurrying around, the subdued crackle of the campfire, she could even hear Simone's muttered curses as she worked. This place certainly wasn't silent.

  There was a pattering, a scratching noise coming from behind her; likely a squirrel scaling one of the trees. She pivoted, bringing her sword around in a graceful arc- the point of her blade sheared through the head of a gigantic squirrel in mid-leap towards her.

  The squirrel, already dead, slammed into Mercedes’ armor, then dropped to the forest floor. Mercedes, numb with shock, took a stunned step backwards, stumbled, and nearly lost her footing.

  What just happened? the tip of her blade gleamed wet with blood, there was a splatter of blood on her breastplate from the squirrel.

  Mercedes glanced over at Simone; the smaller elf's brows were furrowed in concentration; likely Simone hadn't even noticed.

  Mercedes numbly knelt and examined the giant rodent's corpse. Thorny bones erupted through its skin down its spine, and just above its brows, needle-sharp.

  Most animals wish to be larger, stronger, able to weather the dangers of its life. This one was no different.

  Mercedes thrust her sword into the thing's ribcage, and felt the unmistakable clink of metal against something hard inside it. She put her foot on the dog-sized body of the squirrel and twisted her sword, opening up the chest. A magical stone the size of her thumbnail glittered up at her from the rodent's viscera.

  Mercedes retrieved the stone, and tucked it into her belt pouch. The Baronet back in New Degan would be overjoyed to have so many things to study.

  Go north.

  Mercedes blinked, and glanced towards Simone.

  That one will be fine. It's not far.

  Mercedes took a step, and then frowned. With all the trees surrounding them, it was hard to tell-

  There was an impatient sigh in Mercedes’ head. Your left.

  Mercedes turned to the left, and took a few steps. There was no sense of demurral, so she kept going, passing small trees and saplings.

  Right there.

  Mercedes stopped, and glanced around. There was a somewhat larger tree near her, with long leaves that vaguely reminded her of spearpoints. Lying on the ground near the tree was a fallen branch; a storm of images and sensations rushed through Mercedes’ mind, causing her to wobble on her feet, leaving her disoriented and groggy. The intent was clear, however: Liatris wanted her to use the branch for her spirit stick, and wanted Mercedes to leave behind the smaller magic stone in payment.

  Mercedes glanced back the way she came, she could still see Simone bent to her task, sitting on the forest floor.

  I'm warning you, I don't know anything about spirits or anything. Mercedes offered in her mind.

  That's fine. You're only mortal, after all. There was a certain condescension implied in that observation, as though Mercedes was some form of exceptionally stupid child that had wandered into a gathering of adults.

  Mercedes frowned, knelt, and buried the stone at the base of the tree. She picked up the branch, and used her knife to trim away the smaller branches and leaves.

  She returned to Simone, and joined the smaller elf at the fire. Simone didn't even look up, she was so focused on her task.

  “Ash is a good wood.” Simone observed, without looking up. “Some tribes trade for it, because they consider it sacred.” She paused. “I don't know if it's actually true or not; my tribe uses aspen because it's easier to get.”

  Mercedes awkwardly worked the wood, trimming and shaping it down until she had a baton roughly the length of her forearm. The wood was hard, fine-grained, and difficult to work. Her knife was getting a real workout, a blade meant for combat, not utility.

  This will be a battle of faith, and in any battle, every tool is necessary.