Gesri turned out to be a remarkably lively town, bustling with activity and energy that was immediately apparent the moment we entered its boundaries. We weren't planning to stay overnight in the settlement, Arvid had explained during our approach. Our visit would be brief and purely functional—we were merely stopping to replenish our water supplies and stock up on food, along with any other necessities that might be required for the challenging desert crossing that lay ahead. A quick resupply stop, nothing more.
But despite the brevity of our intended visit, I found myself immediately charmed by the place. The town practically beamed with life and commerce. Merchant stalls lined every available space along the main thoroughfare, their proprietors calling out to passersby with enthusiastic energy, advertising their wares with creative descriptions designed to catch attention and entice purchases. The air was filled with a cacophony of voices—haggling, laughing, shouting prices, greeting friends and customers.
This was clearly a merchant town through and through, I realized as I observed the organized chaos around us. The entire settlement had been deliberately built and designed to serve the caravans that regularly crossed the Great Sand Desert in both directions. Over decades or perhaps centuries of existence, Gesri had adapted itself completely to meet the specific needs of desert travelers, learning to anticipate what supplies they would require and ensuring those items were readily available. It was a symbiotic relationship—the caravans needed Gesri, and Gesri's entire economy depended on serving those caravans with dutiful efficiency.
I decided to take the opportunity to browse through some of the various merchant stalls myself rather than remaining sequestered in the carriage. It would be educational to see what kinds of goods were available in a frontier town like this, what items were considered essential for desert survival. Rora followed along behind me as always, maintaining her respectful distance of several steps, her eyes still habitually fixed on the ground rather than looking around with curiosity as I was doing.
The stalls we passed initially sold mostly practical supplies—dry foods that wouldn't spoil in heat, various preserved fruits and vegetables, dried meats, hard cheeses, things designed to last for extended periods without refrigeration. Water containers of various sizes were prominently displayed, along with canvas for temporary shelters and other desert survival equipment.
But then I noticed one stall that stood out from the others, catching my attention through a completely different means: smell. The aroma emanating from this particular shop was nearly divine—a complex, layered fragrance created by various types of medicinal herbs mixing together in the air. Sharp and sweet notes intermingled with earthy undertones, creating an olfactory experience that was both pleasant and somehow healing just to breathe in.
I decided immediately that I wanted to examine this stall more closely. As we approached, I got a better look at the proprietor. The merchant running this herb shop was an elderly southern woman whose hair had turned completely white with age, creating a striking contrast against her skin. She had a notably darker tone of earthen-colored complexion—one of the deepest, richest brown shades I had seen, suggesting generations of ancestors who had lived under the intense southern sun.
"Come closer, pretty thing!" she called out enthusiastically as she noticed us approaching her stall. Her voice was warm and welcoming, carrying genuine friendliness rather than the slightly aggressive sales pitch I had heard from some other merchants. "There are fresh herbs that arrived just this morning, carried in by the dawn caravan! There's quite an impressive variety to choose from today!"
Her eyes crinkled with a genuine smile as she spoke, and I found myself smiling back automatically in response to her infectious warmth.
As I got closer and could see her features more clearly, I realized something interesting: even though she possessed the rich, dark southern skin tone, her actual facial features were distinctively characteristic of someone from the Eastern lands rather than purely southern heritage. The shape of her eyes, the structure of her cheekbones, the way her features were arranged—it all reminded me strongly of Jiao.
That resemblance made me smile with both pleasure and a touch of melancholy. I had written a letter to Jiao shortly after we left Kima, wanting to check on his recovery and ensure he had made it back to Draga safely. But I hadn't received any reply yet, which was probably just a matter of timing—mail took considerable time to travel such distances. Still, I found myself hoping he was well, that he had recovered fully from his ordeal in the frozen forest.
I turned my attention to browsing what the elderly merchant had displayed on her stall. There was quite an impressive variety, as she had promised. I saw several types of flowers that had been carefully dried and preserved, their petals still holding faint traces of their original colors. Various plants had been dried as well, some still attached to their roots, suggesting they were valued for the medicinal properties contained in the entire plant rather than just the leaves or flowers. Turmeric root was prominently displayed, its distinctive golden-orange color immediately recognizable. Sandalwood was there as well, the fragrant wood adding its characteristic sweet, woody scent to the overall aromatic symphony.
Everything smelled absolutely wonderful. The combination of scents was complex but harmonious, creating a fragrance that was simultaneously invigorating and calming.
"What are you looking for specifically, dear?" the old lady asked, her experienced eyes studying me carefully, clearly trying to assess what kind of customer I was and what my needs might be. "Are you seeking remedies for a particular ailment? Preventative medicines? Ingredients for cooking?"
"I'm looking for herbs or herbal preparations that can be used to treat wounds," I answered, being as specific as possible. "Anything that promotes healing, prevents infection, reduces scarring. And if you happen to have any antidotes for poison—the kind used on arrows or darts—that would be excellent as well."
The request for poison antidotes probably sounded unusual for a typical customer, but given we were about to enter territory controlled by hostile forces, it seemed prudent to prepare for all possibilities.
"Oh my dear, you are absolutely in luck!" the old woman exclaimed, her face brightening with enthusiasm. "I just received fresh stock of both those exact types of medicine! Perfect timing!"
She turned and began rummaging enthusiastically through the shelves behind her stall, moving bottles and containers around with practiced efficiency despite her advanced age. After a moment, she emerged triumphantly holding two glass bottles.
One bottle was short and relatively fat, with a wide mouth, and appeared to contain something with the consistency of a salve or thick cream. The substance inside had a greenish-yellow tint. The other bottle had a long, elegant neck and contained what looked like a dark green liquid that was almost black in the shadows.
"This first one," she said, holding up the bottle with the dark liquid, "is a detoxifying potion made primarily with curry leaves—which are excellent for neutralizing many common poisons—along with several other elements that possess natural detoxification properties. It's particularly effective against the kinds of poisons typically used by bandits and raiders in this region. You drink it immediately after exposure, and it will help your body process and eliminate the toxins before they can cause serious harm."
She set that bottle down carefully and picked up the other one.
"And this second one is a healing salve designed for application to wounds," she continued her explanation. "It works best on surface injuries—cuts, abrasions, burns, things like that. It promotes rapid healing and helps prevent infection. I should note that it's not particularly effective for very deep cuts or puncture wounds, as it doesn't penetrate that deeply. But for the kinds of injuries one typically sustains during travel—scrapes, minor cuts, blisters—it's remarkably effective."
She set both bottles down in front of me, clearly hoping I would make a purchase.
"I'd like to buy your entire stock of both these types of medicine," I told her without hesitation.
The old woman's eyes went wide with surprised delight. "Oh my! Thank you so much, lady! That's incredibly generous! Let me get everything ready for you right away!"
She immediately began bustling around her stall with renewed energy, gathering bottles from various shelves and storage areas, organizing them carefully.
I gestured to Rora, indicating she should go fetch some assistance for transporting what was clearly going to be a substantial quantity of bottles. She bowed and hurried off, returning shortly with several soldiers who looked slightly bemused but willing to help. They began carefully packing and loading the medicine according to the specific instructions the old lady provided—certain bottles needed to be kept upright, others needed padding to prevent breakage, everything needed to be organized so the right medicines could be found quickly if needed.
When everything had been packed and loaded, I paid the merchant three doi coins—substantial gold pieces that represented significant value.
"Oh dear," the old woman said, looking down at the three gleaming coins in her palm with wide eyes. "I'm terribly sorry, but I'm afraid I don't have adequate change for this amount. These are quite valuable coins, and I don't keep that much currency on hand..."
She looked genuinely distressed about the situation, clearly worried I might be upset or demand my money back.
In the southern economic system, doi coins were the highest denomination of currency, each one made from a full pound of gold. Below doi came soi coins, made from silver, and below those were moi, crafted from copper. The exchange rates were substantial: ten thousand moi equaled one soi, and five soi equaled one doi. Moi coins were the most common currency used in everyday transactions, while soi were less common and doi were genuinely rare—most ordinary people might go years without ever handling one.
So the old merchant's concern about not being able to provide change was entirely reasonable. The purchase I had made, while substantial, certainly didn't come close to equaling three pounds of gold in value.
"Then let me purchase some additional items to make up the difference," I told her with a reassuring smile. "What else do you have that you would recommend?"
Her face lit up with relief and renewed enthusiasm. She began showing me various other products from her inventory—different types of pain-relieving compounds, fever reducers, stomach settlers for digestive issues. I selected several varieties of painkillers that worked through different mechanisms, figuring having options would be useful. I also purchased a substantial quantity of soothing tea that she claimed was excellent for calming nerves and promoting restful sleep—something that would likely be appreciated by soldiers on campaign.
After this extended shopping session finally came to an end, I made my way back to the carriage with all the various goods I had just purchased being carefully loaded by the helpful soldiers. Rora followed along, looking slightly overwhelmed by the sheer quantity of medicine I had acquired.
Once I was settled back in the carriage's privacy, I finally had the opportunity to attempt something I had been eager to try. After reading through the elven-written tome that had come with Rulha's divine essence, I had discovered a particularly interesting spell—one designed to magically enhance the natural healing properties already present in medicines and herbs. By every measure, I desperately wanted to test whether this spell actually worked as described.
That's why I had purchased all these medicines with the money Arvid had given me for personal shopping. They would serve as test subjects for the enhancement spell.
I mentally retraced the spell's structure and pronunciation, making sure I had it exactly right. Then I spoke it aloud, carefully enunciating each syllable of the ancient elvish words:
"Retrote: spenia rosenga."
I had learned the elvish tongue with remarkable speed and ease the moment I first touched the ancient tome—the knowledge had simply flowed into me as though I had always known it, as though it had been waiting dormant in my mind and merely needed activation. I assumed this instant linguistic acquisition had come as an automatic benefit, a kind of magical gift that accompanied inheriting such a powerful and ancient tome.
As the final syllable of the spell left my lips, the entire interior of the carriage suddenly began glowing with brilliant golden light. The radiance was intense but not painful to look at, washing over everything in warm, shimmering waves. It was absolutely astonishing to witness—magic made visible and tangible in a way I had rarely experienced.
The medicine bottles themselves began glowing from within, as though they had been filled with liquid sunshine rather than herbal preparations. The light pulsed and intensified for several seconds, then gradually faded, the bottles settling back to their normal appearance but somehow seeming subtly different—slightly more vibrant perhaps, or carrying a faint luminescence that hadn't been there before.
I felt a profound sense of satisfaction. The spell had clearly worked, and I hadn't needed to use my own blood as a medium or power source, which was a considerable improvement over the curse magic I had employed previously. Elvish spells were proving to be remarkably convenient and efficient.
Aiona had explained to me that most of the spells I had used before—the ones I had learned from various sources throughout my life—had actually originated with elven mages as well. But over the centuries and millennia since their creation, those spells had been translated from the ancient elvish tongue into other languages as magical knowledge spread to different cultures and peoples. The problem was that in the process of translation, the spells had lost much of their original power and elegance. What we used now were essentially degraded copies, retaining perhaps only one-tenth of their original potency and effectiveness.
So I found myself wondering: if these were the diminished, translated versions, just how extraordinarily powerful were genuine elvish spells when cast in their original form? We would likely get to see the answer to that question soon enough, given that I now had access to a tome full of such spells.
I was still examining my enhanced medicines, pleased with the results, when Arvid approached the carriage. He looked inside, taking in the numerous bottles and containers I had acquired, and a smile played across his lips.
"I gave you money specifically to buy something for yourself—something you wanted personally, perhaps clothing or jewelry or some luxury item," he said, his tone carrying amusement rather than any real displeasure. "But instead you went ahead and purchased an entire apothecary's worth of medicine."
He was clearly entertained by my choice rather than annoyed by it.
"It was something I genuinely wanted to do," I answered, smiling back at him. "So it absolutely counts as something for myself. These medicines will bring me considerable satisfaction to have available."
"Well, this leaves me absolutely no choice then," Arvid replied, his smile widening. He extended his hand toward me in clear invitation. "You'll have to come with me. I'm not allowing you to return to Arpa without at least some proper adornment."
I was immediately curious about what he had planned. I took his offered hand and allowed him to help me down from the carriage. We walked back toward the market area together, but this time we ventured considerably deeper into the commercial district, moving past the basic supply stalls toward a section that featured more permanent, established shops.
The stalls gradually transformed into actual buildings—proper stores with walls and roofs, clearly catering to wealthier clientele who could afford more expensive goods. Arvid stopped in front of one such establishment, and I looked up at the wooden sign hanging above its entrance.
"Glamis and Son's Jewelries," the ornate lettering proclaimed.
Oh no.
"Wait—" I protested immediately, pulling back slightly. "I really don't need anything so grand or expensive! Medicine was perfectly sufficient!"
Arvid just smiled at my protest, completely unfazed.
"Hmm. If you genuinely don't want jewelry, we won't purchase any," he said reasonably. "I'm not going to force you. But I think you should know that it's actually a deeply ingrained southern custom for husbands to shower their wives with gold jewelry. Extensively. From head to toe, ideally. The quantity and quality of jewels a wife wears is considered a direct reflection of how much love she receives from her husband."
He paused, his expression becoming more serious.
"If you don't wear a single piece of gold jewelry, it sends a very specific message in southern society," he continued. "It marks me as a husband who doesn't love his wife, who doesn't value her, who perhaps married for purely political reasons without any genuine affection. Now, I personally don't particularly care about what people think or what message my behavior sends to society. But I do care about preventing anyone from getting ideas."
His eyes met mine with quiet intensity.
"If people believe I don't care about you, if they think our marriage is purely political without genuine feeling, that makes you vulnerable," he explained. "It suggests you lack my protection, my favor. And that creates opportunities for people with bad intentions—people who might think they can harm you without facing consequences, or who might try to use you as a pawn in their schemes against me."
I understood his reasoning, even if the southern custom itself seemed somewhat excessive to my northern sensibilities.
"Let's buy something then," I conceded. "Just one piece. One significant piece of jewelry should be sufficient to make the point, shouldn't it?"
Arvid's smile suggested he had anticipated this compromise and was perfectly satisfied with it.
"One piece it is," he agreed, guiding me toward the shop's entrance. "But let's make it a memorable one."