The Spirit Walker (BOOK ONE): The Ripple

Chapter Fifteen: Ku'a Gardh

Ku'a Gardh is more than a city. It feels like a sentient being- alive and aware. As we explore its wide, brick avenues and twisted cobblestone alleyways, I feel its heartbeat pulsing beneath my feet, hear its voice in the wind that rustles my hair.

I am happy you are here, it seems to whisper. Welcome home.

And in the strangest sense it does- feel like home. While it does not have any of the modern steel and glass structures that rise to kiss the sky I am so accustomed to, there is something of Raleigh's warmth in Ku'a Gardh's soul. There is a sense of familiarity, of belonging, to this sprawling, picturesque city, with its brick-and-stone buildings and wide-boughed mulberry trees.

I weave through crowds of people beside Elder Diyani, Maise several steps behind, making our way from the river-front streets and into the heart of the charming old city. Ness lurks somewhere in the background, never in my line of sight, but always there, watching.

True to his word, Calum had removed all of Ceallach's belongings from my room, leaving me with only the meagre selection of ready-made options Takiyostee had to offer. He had sent me into the city to procure everything I need for our extended trip, armed with a wallet stuffed with paper notes bearing images of a Native American woman, a Scottish man, a riverboat, a soaring eagle, and a howling wolf- depending on value of the bill.

The shopping list that Elder Diyani had prepared is exhaustive- cosmetics, toiletries, perfume, underthings, every-day clothes, evening-wear, and ceremonial garb. We need to visit every shop today, so that the items can be made by our departure date at the end of this week.

I was shocked to learn that convenience stores and strip malls with ready-made, easily purchased items do not exist here, in this ripple. Elder Diyani had been scandalized to learn that they do in mine.

"Where is the pride of your people?" She had demanded. "To trade artistry and skilled handicrafts for soulless items made by machines..." she had tutted.

I follow her to an apothecary, where the white-robed woman behind the counter does a full assessment of my skin type, tone, and texture before retreating to custom mix a moisturizer tailor made for me. She speaks no English, so Elder Diyani handles the transaction. The apothecary pinches my cheeks, and creates a liquid blush that is an exact match to my own natural flush. She hand mixes some of the moisturizer, clays, and other ingredients into a sheer foundation that perfectly matches my skin tone and blurs every blemish. A variety of micas are crushed and swirled and swiped, resulting in a shimmery eyeshadow that brings out flecks of amber and gold in my dark eyes.

In the perfumery, there are no ready-made creations to sample. Rather, I sit on a comfortable, plaid-patterned couch and answer a litany of questions: balsamic or wooded? Spicy or fruity? Green or floral? Aromatics or Citrus? The perfumer brings me small jars of ingredients to smell, and coffee beans to cleanse my nose. Oils are combined and swiped onto my wrist to test with my body chemistry. In the end, I am instructed to select a hand-blown, decorative perfume bottle from a glass case, which will house the creation.

The perfumer wrings his hands and complains when he hears the deadline, informing Elder Diyani that the oils will not have the appropriate amount of time to meld and merge and develop into their complex final notes, but there is nothing to be done. Under duress, he agrees to provide me with a sample-sized bottle for more immediate use, as long as I promise to let the larger bottle sit undisturbed for at least a month or more.

And so the day goes. I am poked and prodded and pinned and measured. I refuse to allow the tailors to touch me; the invasive methods of the seamstresses are enough to make my palms slick and my breath go shallow.