This real world is a strange one to our eyes. The country of Roumania, a powerful nation, is at the center of a net of intrigues. Temporarily under the control of Germany (which is also at war with czarist Russia), the land chafes under the machinations of two rival conjurers: the Elector of Ratisbon and Baroness Nicola Ceaucescu, each struggling to assume complete control of the homeland, where Neanderthals lurk in the deep dark forests and shrines to ancient gods await unwary visitors. Meanwhile, Africa is a bastion of culture and science far outshining Europe, and North America is a sparsely settled wilderness.

We learned most of this in last year's A Princess of Roumania, which ended with Miranda and her two otherworldly friends—Peter Gross and Andromeda—transported across the dimensions to the world of their birth, specifically to uncivilized North America. Here buried memories begin to flood back into their minds, and strange changes assail their bodies. With the removal of spells, they age five years instantly, becoming adults. Miranda begins to recalls her royal upbringing. Peter realizes he was a legendary soldier and champion named Pieter de Graz. And most alarmingly, Andromeda becomes a were-dog, savage and strong.

Through supernatural means, Miranda ends up back in Roumania, separated from her companions, who still have to endure some desperate times in the American wilderness. Miranda acquires a young Gypsy companion named Luda Rat-tooth. Together the women flee across the countryside, looking to escape the henchmen of the Baroness while rallying support among loyal peasants for the return of Miranda to the throne. Miranda receives occult guidance as well, from various sources.

We also follow the fortunes of the Baroness and the Elector, as they strive to outdo each other in villainy. For a time it seems Nicola has the upper hand, as the magical jewel of the title comes into her possession. But the Elector is not without his own powers, and he holds Nicola's son as hostage, along with Miranda's birth-mother.

Eventually Peter and Andromeda end up in Turkey, where they encounter many difficulties on their journey back to Miranda's side. Peter's original memories begin to swamp the innocent teenager he was, and Andromeda's canine nature grows more unpredictable.

Will Miranda survive to mount a coup? Can Peter and Andromeda master their changing natures? Will the tourmaline shift the long standoff between the rival conjurers? All these questions might be rendered moot by the Baroness' insane plan to attack Berlin with the most horrific weapon of all.

A world both grim and Grimm

In this second book of his open-ended fantasy series, Paul Park succeeds in the impossible: He truly gets us to believe that our Earth is a crude fiction in comparison to his invention, so palpably does he flesh out his imaginary venue, Miranda's birth-world. The international rivalries, the long backstory of intrigues, the current politics—these all ring as solidly as journalism. The heft of exotic fabrics, the clatter of shoe leather on streets, the cathedrals of primeval forests—we inhabit these sensually. The magic in the air (check out the great set piece of Miranda invoking a goddess in Chapter 15)—creepy, eerie, awesome. And the range of characters—from soldiers to farmers to Turkish officials (the egotistical Zorba-like judge who deals with Peter, Aristophanes Turkkan, is unforgettable) to a nasty vampire named Zelea Codreanu—are as real and vivid as our neighbors. All of this impact thanks to Park's fecund imagination and elegant prose (both qualities reminiscent of Gene Wolfe's oeuvre).

But these virtues are all simply the setting for the jewel of the narrative, which is the way Miranda, Peter and, to a lesser degree, Andromeda, cope with the new responsibilities and identities dumped upon their shoulders. Like orphans in a Grimm fairytale, the children/adults must confront changes both within themselves and without, and it's the scariest of challenges, more so than mere mortal harms. When Peter/Pieter and Miranda are finally united, it's to a sad refrain: "And she [Miranda] knew suddenly and with foreboding that it was stupid to imagine even for a moment nothing had changed. ... Because nothing ever stays the same, and everything is always different ... and everyone is simultaneously rushing toward someone and rushing away, especially people who care about each other. ..."

It's this dramatic and emotional and nerve-wracking odyssey by which one acquires this kind of hard-won knowledge that Park is concerned about conveying, and he does so magnificently, while providing plenty of narrative thrills along the way, in the manner of some master storyteller of yore: think Robert Louis Stevenson crossed with Philip Pullman.