After some time, they finally managed to exhaust all the butter and bread and tea the couple had to offer. Though that wasn’t entirely true, as the couple had actually offered to go and make fresh bread expressly for them. It was only after Soleiman and Rumi insisted that they had to leave lest they run behind on time that they were able to carry on with their side quest.

“We haven’t even gotten a single thing on the list,” Soleiman said, the two of them waving farewell to the couple as they headed back up to where they’d been directed.

“I mean, we did learn that there are no more coffee shops left,” Rumi said. “That’s at least something, right?”

“I suppose.”

On the way to the herbalist, the two of them came across a small gathering of people about a small shop. Or, actually, it wasn’t a shop. It was an open street. And that ‘small’ gathering of people was instead a massive outflowing crowd that clogged the entire walkway, stretching for tens of metres back to a relatively splendiferous structure some ways away from them.

“A mosque,” Soleiman remarked.

“A what?”

“It’s like the equivalent of a Solean or Caldarian church, but for Saracens,” he replied. “They're all the same, just called different things.”

“Why is there a crowd around it?”

“I, uh… it’s Friday, isn’t it?”

“Yeah- ohh,” Rumi cut herself off, the realisation dawning upon her as she recalled their attack on the Minlos encampment. “The Janubis have weekly prayers too?”

“Yeah, all of the old Maftuh tribes do,” he replied. “Some Merkezi also do too, but I believe they aren’t as big on the practice. Much more meditative worship and fasting in their case.”

“Would the prayers you do count more as Saracenic or Merkezi?”

“Saracenic,” he replied. “I mean, I never really figured out which one of the two I was a part of, so I just studied whatever materials were more available at the orphanage. Just so happens Saracenic Religion was more documented, at least in Amocolis.”

“In that case then,” Rumi continued. “If the Ahdi consider Calisura their angel and the Janubis and Sahlbaridis call Siraj theirs… who do you see as your angel?”

“I… I haven’t quite figured that one out yet.”

They pressed themselves up against the far side of the street, Soleiman’s fingers pressing into Rumi’s hand as the stray gazes of a few enthralled worshippers landed on her golden hair.

Her foreign golden hair.

At first, only a handful of the heads stopped to turn and face her. But that number grew, each extra pair of eyes that followed her with impeccable scrutiny dotting the sea of dark hair with another blip of light brown skin.

Emanating from the mosque the crowd was spilling out of were the distant chants of an imam’s sermon, the words and message behind his rallying call eluding Soleiman as the fangs of a viper sank streams of panic into his heart. He tugged on Rumi’s arm, positioning himself in between her and the crowd as the two of them rushed along, only a few of the words making it to his head.

Enough. No more.

They scurried along, their gaits just a little bit faster than usual. Fast enough to put some distance in between them and the crowd, while being slow enough that it was not overtly clear they were fully intent on booking it the hell out of there.

Even once they disappeared behind a bend and a corner and any lingering gazes of the crowd had long since vanished, Rumi’s fingers remained firmly clamped around Soleiman’s; even as he had eased up and they’d slowed back down.

“You okay, Rumi?” He asked, a few beads of sweat crowning her forehead and a distant, troubled look in her eyes.

“Uhm… yeah,” she said, pulling herself from the worry. “I’m okay. Let’s just keep going.”

It was strange. Usually, regardless of tribe or locality, the weekly prayers would take place at the crux of the day– at noon. Now, though, the sky had long since turned orange, and it had to have been at least a few hours since the prayer began. What could possibly have drawn such a large crowd to stay for such a long time entirely eluded him.

He wasn’t going to tell her either way. She didn’t need anything more to worry herself over.

Soon, they arrived at the front of the herbalist’s store. They stopped just before its door, squinting their eyes as the gleaming orange of the sky bounced off of the two large glass windows on either of its sides. Enframing those windows were thick borders made from mahogany wood, starkly contrasting the soft yellows of the concrete the building’s walls were fashioned out of.

Their eyes soon adjusted to the brightness of the unusually reflective windows, falling upon the singular sign that had been tacked onto the rough wood of the store’s front door.

Closed, the sign proclaimed.

“Well, bollocks,” Soleiman said, putting his hand on his hip. “It’s closed?”

“We… we really came all the way here just to not get a single thing on the list?” Rumi asked, turning to him.

“I mean, there’s still the Edenberries,” he responded, running his fingers through his pointy hair. “Man, I hope Qingxi doesn’t mind.”

“We need to get her something else,” she said, looking around as her eyes scoured the street for any quirky looking stores that had anything of worth. “We can’t just go back with only Edenberries.”

The door suddenly swung open, creaking on its hinges as a woman stood within its frame.

“You here to buy herbs?” She asked, her long brown apron and dusty gown swaying slightly in the wind.

“Yes, Miss,” Rumi replied.

She bowed slightly, beckoning them in.

“Be sure to close the door behind you,” she said.

Crossing the threshold of the doorframe, they felt as the cool air on the indoors hit them like a wall. Shielded from the sky and kept well ventilated by the windcatcher built into the building's roof, stepping into the store was like entering a whole nother microclimate.

The heavy wooden door thudded shut behind them as Soleiman pulled it into the place; and he turned around to behold a sight he’d never before seen.

“Alright, here’s everything,” she said.

There were rows. Rows upon rows of jars– so numerous and so plentiful it took him a moment to fully register the scale of her catalogue. Each jar, ranging anywhere from a litre to the size of a glass ampule in size, had been stocked plentifully with dried herbs, spices and medicinal plants; forming walls of dull greens with the occasional spot of white, brown or black. They were arranged to perfection, each one aligned immaculately with the other fifty that sat alongside it on its row; of which there were several of, split up into six rows of shelves that ran down the length of the room.

“Wow, that's…” he started, his eyes utterly overwhelmed by the surge of information flooding into his brain from the identifying labels that had been stuck onto each of the jars.

“A lot,” Rumi finished.

“They’re arranged alphabetically,” the herbalist said, heading down the aisle and returning to her seat behind the counter. “‘A’s are on your left, ‘Z’s are on your right.”

Looking closely, each row had been segmented by little dividers with small signs that indicated which letter the succeeding row of herbs would start with attached to them.

Soleiman looked at Rumi, and she hurriedly proceeded to yank the mildly crumpled and rolled up list of groceries from her purse.

“Be quick, if you can,” she said, picking up a pen from the countertop as she pulled a half-written letter closer to herself. “Try not to stay here any longer than you need to. And stay away from the windows.”

The two of them could just barely see her from over the tops of the shelves, Rumi having to tiptoe to make up for her height.

“Yes, Miss,” they said, shuffling to the side of the large window directly behind them as they stubbornly checked the list.

Ginger, turmeric, cinnamon, honeysuckle, forsythia and dried orange peel. And as many varieties of tea as you can find.

Soleiman went on to scour the aisles for the listed plants, Rumi deciding to head on over to ask the herbalist for ‘as many varieties of tea’ as she had.

“Excuse me, Miss,” she said, approaching the counter while fixing her purse into place.

“Hmm?”

“What kind of tea do you have?”

The lady paused for a moment, staring up at Rumi with a mildly unimpressed look. She shifted, leaning back in her seat and placing her pen back down.

“What kind of tea do I have?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Sweetie, you do know everything here can be made into tea, right?”

“R…really?”

She opened her mouth as if to say something, pausing as she ran the calculations in her mind and eventually decided it wasn’t going to be worth it.

“Do you perhaps mean the variants of camellia tea?” The herbalist asked. “That’s the plant used in most true teas.”

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

“I… uhm,” Rumi said, eyes wandering as she thought up a response. “I think so?”

The herbalist huffed gently through her nose, closing her eyes with a slight smile.

“Alright, then,” she said. “You can find them all in the ‘C’ aisle; they have additional labels to help differentiate each one.”

“Oh, okay,” Rumi said, her feet already turning and rearing to return to Soleiman. “Thank you, Miss-”

“Hold on,” she said, flagging Rumi back with a wave of her hand. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

Soleiman poked his head out from above a shelf, stopping midway through locating the ginger to make sure everything was alright.

“Uhm, yes, Miss,” she said, though it took her a moment to decide on whether or not she would lie. “Why do you ask?”

“Do you happen to stay at the Shrine?”

“Yeah,” Rumi responded, stuck on the syllable as though her mind was still trying to figure out if it would be wise to disclose such information by the time her mouth had begun speaking.

“Great,” she said. “Once you’re done shopping, do you mind helping to pass this letter on to the Head Maiden, please?”

The herbalist picked the piece of paper up, flicking it gently.

“I’d go myself, but,” she said. “I’m a little busy, and it’s a bit of a toss up whether the couriers will actually hand it in.”

“Oh, of course,” Rumi responded. “So we just have to get this letter to the Head Maiden?”

“Mhm. I'm not done with it yet, though. Just take it with you once you're done paying.”

Rumi returned to Soleiman’s side, finding him as he picked out the last of the six medicinal herbs and spices.

“Did you find out where the tea is?” He asked her, having to lean forward to pick up the jar of turmeric with his left hand whilst still cradling the other five jars– also with that left arm.

“Mm, it’s in with the rest of the ‘C’s,” she said. “Do you need any help with that?”

“I’m okay,” he said. “Just help me pick out the jars and I’ll be fine.”

So they went on over to the first aisle again, Soleiman getting onto his knees so Rumi could have an easier time picking out each variant of camellia sinensis one by one and placing it onto the pile of jars cradled within his singular functioning arm.

Matcha, sencha and tencha to boot.

Gyokuro, kabusecha and bancha too.

They didn’t know what the words meant, nor what their original Sino-Japonic characters read, but Qingxi did ask for ‘as many varieties of tea’ as they could find. And they would not let her down on that front.

Carefully, now, Rumi led Soleiman back to the counter, the two of them anxiously eyeing the precarious mountain of glass clutched within his grasp.

The jars soon hit the wooden top of the counter, the herbalist helping them to arrange them neatly so she could properly calculate the total cost.

“That’ll be 12 coins,” she said, sticking a receipt onto the jars before disappearing below the counter to fetch a paper bag.

“You have the money right, Rumi?”

“Yeah-”

“Oh no,” the herbalist cut in, reappearing with a bag in hand. “Don’t pay here. There’s a little bar just upstreet, you can pay there.”

“Wait we… can’t pay here?” Soleiman asked, Rumi equally confused with her hand frozen mid-search.

“...No.”

First they were told to stay away from the windows. Now they were supposed to go somewhere else to complete the transaction?

“Mmm,” he hummed. “Is… is there a reason why?”

The herbalist thought on it for a moment. After a while spent gazing off to the side, she eventually responded.

“We’re not allowed to sell anything. Shrine’s rules.”

Did… did they just purchase something illegally?

“It’s not because we’re illegitimate or anything,” she was quick to say, showing her palms. “It’s just that we’re temporarily banned from selling any of our products.”

“But why?” Rumi asked.

“Well. We tried growing some new crops out back instead of having to source them from other herbalists,” she said, resting her elbow on her table and rubbing her fist against her temple. “But apparently that wasn’t allowed since the Shrine was already cultivating it themselves; and apparently me growing my own ran the risk of spreading crop disease.”

“I… see,” Rumi said.

“No! No you don’t see!” She said, jolting Rumi and Soleiman back a bit. “It doesn’t make any sense! How could something I grow give their plants an infection? And guess what? They banned me from selling anything for a month because of that!”

“A month?” Soleiman repeated.

“Yes! How am I supposed to feed my family now?”

“Oh…”

The herbalist sighed softly, giving a quick glance to the windows before continuing.

“You wouldn’t tell on me, right? Especially since you’re in on it now, too.”

“We wouldn’t,” Rumi said, shaking her head.

“Good. Just try not to let them catch you bringing the jars in,” she said. “And, yeah, that’s about it. Remember, the bar’s just up the street.”

“Alright,” Soleiman said. “Actually, one more thing.”

“Hmm?”

“Do you know where we could find any Edenberries?”

The herbalist’s eyebrows raised momentarily as the word graced her ears.

“You want to buy Edenberries?”

“Yes, Miss,” Rumi said. “We need them for our friend.”

“I…” she struggled. “There’s a vendor slightly deeper into the city, near to the town hall. But I’d advise against buying any at all.”

“Why?” Soleiman asked, turning his back so Rumi could stuff the paper bag into his backpack.

She gestured to Rumi. To Rumi and her golden hair.

“Aqsa al-Gharb’s not in a very good state at the moment,” she said. “A foreigner walking around runs a high enough risk as is with riling up the wrong crowd. A foreigner with Edenberries, and, well,” she stared Rumi dead in the eyes. “I can’t guarantee you’ll be safe.”

Rumi was silent.

“T-thank you, Miss,” Soleiman quickly cut in as he grabbed her hand.

“Pleasure doing business.”

The two of them thanked her again, hurriedly making their way to the door to get the day over and done with.

“Overgoverning Shitsunites,” they could hear the herbalist whisper to herself. “If only she hadn’t taken power.”

They made their way back to the Shrine, making sure to take a detour to avoid the mosque and walking at a slightly faster pace than usual.

Still, though, even as he gripped her hand, he could feel her unease in the troubled look on her face and the tense silence about her.

“Hey, Rumi,” he said. Maybe if he could distract her, she’d feel a little less worried.

“Mm?”

“Do you wanna know something interesting?”

“Sure, Soleiman.”

“So you know how Qingxi’s been teaching me some Wind Techniques, right?”

“Mmmhm.”

“So that I can move my right arm again?”

“Yeahuh,” she said, turning to look at him as he raised his right arm in front of them.

“Well, did you know,” he started, drawing it out to try and raise the tension and lure her in as best as he could– though she was already entirely immersed.

“This was exactly how all magic started?”

“What, every Technique?” She asked, raising her eyebrow in pleasant surprise.

“Yeah! Rumour has it, out of the five original Techniques, Shafraturriyah was the first to be discovered,” he said.

“Really? Even before… uhm… What was the Ahdi’s Fire Technique called again?”

“Hariqul-jabar,” he replied. “Yeah, even before that. So basically, back when Incolumnitus– the first Elemental Lord and the Lord of Water– invaded the Basr Emirate, it caused a lot of people to go into hiding in the mountains just north of them. In the Shafraturriyahn Range, Qingxi’s homeland.”

“The… Basr Emirate?”

“Oh, well, it no longer exists anymore,” he said. “It was flooded after the year long rains of The Ruining.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Mm, right,” he said. “So what happened is that one of these refugees was a wounded soldier who’d lost control over his legs after taking part in a battle against Incolumnitus.”

“Owie.”

“And what he did was everyday he would try and train to get control over his legs again,” Soleiman said. “But it never worked.”

“So then what happened?”

“There was this fairy; a spirit specialising in Wind Magic,” he said. “Up until this point the only entities capable of using magic were spirits. But this fairy saw the wounded soldier getting up everyday in vain to try and train, so she decided to try and help him. And, in time, this cooperation between the two of them led him to learning how to use Wind Magic for himself to make up for his lack of mobility.”

“Ooh,” Rumi said. “Just like you and Qingxi!”

“Mmm!” Soleiman hummed excitedly. “Exactly! And once the bridge was crossed, it was much easier for him to teach the Techniques to other humans than it was to learn it from a spirit; forever putting magic into the limelight.”

“Wow,” Rumi said, a little lost in thought. “So this caused every other Technique to be created?”

“Well, not exactly,” Soleiman said. “But it did prove that it was possible for humans to use mana– through Techniques. And in turn, it made all the Elemental Lords more inclined to pass their powers unto humans of their own so they wouldn’t be entirely alone.”

“I see,” Rumi said. “So like Calisura and the Ahd?”

“Exactly,” Soleiman responded. “And the best part? That Wind Fairy…”

“Mmm?”

“She ended up becoming Clementia.”

“The Lady of Wind?” Rumi asked, a little surprised.

“Precisely.”

“Oh wow,” Rumi said to herself. That troubled look had entirely disappeared, the worry and anxiety and fear in her eyes suddenly replaced by a genuine curiosity and a newfound hunger for learning. “You’re so smart, Soleiman.”

“Thank you,” he said.

Maybe he wasn’t very useful outside of his smarts. After all, he couldn’t fight off threats or protect his fellows from any direct harm.

But maybe that was okay. His intellect was part and parcel of who he was. And so long as he would be able to continue stoking that fire of curiosity in them– making sure they stayed out of trouble and kept a clear view of the path ahead all the while– maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing that it was his only strength.

Rumi giggled slightly.

“You did that on purpose, right?” She asked, smiling as she looked at him.

“Hm?”

Rumi stopped, tugging on his hand and halting him too.

“You told me all that so that I wouldn’t worry too much.”

“I…”

Well, alright. Maybe he wasn’t as slick as he’d thought.

“Yeah, I did,” he admitted, hanging his head slightly.

“That’s the other part I like about you,” she said, letting go of his hand so she could place a hand on his cheek. “Even more than your smarts.”

"Rumi?”

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, just as she could feel hers. The sounds and sights of the surrounding street quickly faded as they fell entranced by each other’s company.

She looked around briefly, checking to see if the street was clear.

“You’re always so kind,” she said, tiptoeing to bring her face in closer. To do something she’d been wanting to do for a very long time.

And with the scarlet sky overhead, warm rays of skylight bathing the street in a loving, comforting embrace...

Their lips met.