Present day.
Leah the Aromatherapist: Oh!
The little aromatherapist perches on her toes, leaning over the sandy ground next to the bonfire.
Leah the Aromatherapist: So that's what this bonfire gathering's all about—a big-time cleansing ritual.
Cooper the Healer: Before I joined this ritual, I'd never done a group meditation with this many people.
Cooper the Healer: I always feel like we're more connected afterward.
Cooper takes Maich's hand to her left and Leah's to her right.
Maich the Peddler: After about seven or eight rituals, we'd all pretty much been purified, so not many people come looking for Mercuria anymore. There's just us, really—and a few meditation enthusiasts.
Maich the Peddler: It's kinda turned into our own little private thing.
Cooper the Healer: We groove to Edgar's guitar, try Phoebe's latest mixes, and sometimes try to help Dex figure things out.
Cooper the Healer: Like hooking him up with purifying tools.
Leah the Aromatherapist: What have they given you?
Dexter the Unlucky One: These.
Dexter rolls up his left sleeve, revealing a number of jingling bracelets.
Maich the Peddler: Oh! There's the energy-cleansing bracelet I gave you!
Edgardo the Masseur: And my wooden beads.
Phoebe the Herbalist: Hmm—let me think, let me think.
Suddenly, she gets an idea.
Phoebe the Herbalist: Oh! Horseshoes!
Dexter parts his coat to reveal a belt adorned with not only horseshoe trinkets but also several rabbit's feet.
Maich the Peddler: Lucky cards!
Dexter the Unlucky One: Oh ...
Dexter lets his coat fall back into place.
Maich the Peddler: Where's the lucky card Soraya gave you? If you've lost it, there's no getting a new one. She's long gone.
Dexter the Unlucky One: I just didn't bring it with me. I keep it under my pillow, so I don't lose it.
Maich nods in agreement.
Leah the Aromatherapist: I might have something I can give you too.
She grabs a scented candle and sets it down next to Dexter.
Leah the Aromatherapist: This'll help you sleep.
Cooper the Healer: That's all we can do to help, Dexter. Poor thing. I wish there were something else we could do.
A hush descends as everyone contemplates how else to help him. Maich quickly devises a solution.
Maich the Peddler: Well, we are missing someone from the market crowd—someone who's never even spoken with Dexter.
Cooper the Healer: Who's that?
Maich the Peddler: Bianca!
The group exchanges glances.
Cooper the Healer: Are we really gonna ask her?
Maich the Peddler: Bianca's never been to one of our bonfire gatherings, has she? Maybe she'll come up with something useful.
Phoebe the Herbalist: But I haven't seen her talk to anyone since Soraya took off.
Phoebe the Herbalist: Plus, her dad just showed up again.
Leah the Aromatherapist: Oh ...
Leah claps a hand over her mouth.
Leah the Aromatherapist: You mean that guy who was banging on her trailer's gas tank, hollering for booze money?
Phoebe the Herbalist: That's him. She's probably ducked to avoid the hassle. She tends to vanish for a couple of days whenever he shows up.
Dexter the Unlucky One: Let's not bother Bianca, then.
Dexter shifts uncomfortably.
Dexter the Unlucky One: Ah! Why's there mud here?
He despairingly smears the clump of mud from his hand onto his clothes.
Dexter the Unlucky One: Maybe if Mercuria purifies me a few more times, I'll get better!
The group's focus turns to the long-silent Mercuria. She's basking in the moonlight, cradling a crystal in her hands.
Mercuria: All I can do is pull the weeds. But, Dexter, your heart's already too tangled up.
Mercuria: Pretty soon, I won't be able to clear them as fast as they grow, and then nothing will work.
Dexter the Unlucky One: What should I do?
He starts to panic again. Even the others start to feel uneasy.
Mercuria instinctively waves away the spiritual energy spilling from Dexter's anxiety and lights another bundle of herbs.
Mercuria: I'll retrieve your mother's necklace. Will you come with me?
Dexter the Unlucky One: …
Dexter lowers his head, inhaling the smoke from the sage.
Dexter the Unlucky One: cough
Dexter the Unlucky One: …
Dexter the Unlucky One: It's been lost for nearly ten months now. No one knows where it is, Mercuria.
Mercuria: I know.
Dexter the Unlucky One: If I go with you ...
Edgardo the Masseur: Dex.
Edgardo, not usually one to butt in, cuts Dexter off.
Dexter the Unlucky One: Huh?
Maich the Peddler: You're in no shape to leave the market.
Maich the Peddler: Even if Mercuria's not here, you've still got us, and there are plenty of herbs and crystals to keep you steady.
Dexter the Unlucky One: …
Cooper the Healer: If you leave the market, you'll scatter your energy everywhere. Mercuria can't handle all that on her own.
Dexter looks up at Mercuria, but she doesn't react. She's waiting for him to decide.
Dexter the Unlucky One: …
The sage is burning unusually fast. Perhaps because there's an unusually large amount of energy to cleanse.
Mercuria: Have you made your decision?
Dexter stands still, running his fingertips over the grooves on the crate.
Dexter the Unlucky One: I think I'd better stay.
Mercuria: I see.
Mercuria: I'll leave you some purifying circles and tools. Do your best to keep a peaceful heart while I'm gone.
Mercuria: I'll set off first thing in the morning.
Maich the Peddler: But ...
Maich the Peddler: How're you gonna find it? We have no idea where he lost it in the first place.
Everyone nods in agreement. Maich has voiced the question on everyone's mind.
Mercuria closes her eyes. Slowly, her right hand rises, and her finger points. Her forehead gradually tilts in the same direction.
Mercuria: If you let it go, you'll find it one day.
Cooper the Healer: When will you come back?
Mercuria opens her eyes and looks at her companions by the fire.
Mercuria: We'll meet again.
Dawn. Mercuria sits on the ground.
Her stall is as empty as it was when she first arrived.
Mercuria has distributed her belongings among the members of the market, except for the worn map of America that she now holds in her hands.
Mercuria: Well ...
Her fingers glide across the map as she feels the energy beneath them. It's like she's searching for veins.
Like the path created by the fallen leaves of a tree or the echo of a cheerful little tune.
The bow slides joyfully against the strings. Whether in four or eight beats, its sound is sustained.
Then, it lands ever so softly, without stirring a single speck of dust.
Mercuria: Fresno.
Her fingertips land precisely on the name.
Mercuria: Huh?
Mercuria looks over at Bianca's trailer. It's been parked there for ages.
The yellow paint has long since flaked off, and the remaining patches have been obscured by dust.
It no longer serves as a vehicle, but its structure is intact enough to shelter Bianca from the elements.
After watching for a moment, Mercuria stands up.
She pats off the dirt on her backside, folds up the map, and begins her journey.
