novelraw CHAPTER 134 – Arise
CHAPTER 134 – Arise
All that could be done had been done; Saphienne and her allies were as ready as they would ever be. Whether or not their efforts were doomed to failure, whatever the consequences that awaited each of them in the aftermath, they were committed to giving everything they could to the cause.
Saphienne arrived at the meeting hall well before the doors were due to close, and she stood to one side with Laelansa and Iolas to watch the crowd streaming in. The senior apprentice had done his task well: almost every adult elf in the Eastern Vale was in attendance, those below their first century being directed upstairs by an exasperated doorman.
“This might be standing room only,” Iolas observed, pleased with himself.
Laelansa misunderstood him. “Don’t worry: Celaena is reserving seats for us.”
Bemused glances from passersby were directed at Saphienne, who was dressed as she’d been on her eighteenth birthday… save that her waist was adorned with a belt of golden scales, her fingers with clawed finger rings, and her brow with curling horns. Her appearance was decidedly odd.
Iolas reacted more viscerally to their judgement than she did. “Are you sure you want to be dressed like that?”
“I know what I’m doing.” Or she hoped she did. “How’s Athidyn? He seemed confident when we spoke.”
“He’s well.” Iolas stared down and across the steps to where his father was faintly visible behind tall bushes, engaged in conversation with Nelathiel in the meeting hall’s front garden. “It’s been a strange week at home. I’m more worried about–”
“Loitering outside? You three must be up to no good!”
Saphienne returned Faylar’s grin as he sauntered up the steps, Laewyn dawdling behind him with Syndelle and Thessa. “Trouble knows its semblance, one supposes. I’m surprised you’re here.”
“Laewyn is too curious about what’s going on.” He hugged Saphienne and then nodded to Laelansa and Iolas. “Really, though: do any of you know what this is about?”
Telling too many people – especially Laewyn – risked word spreading, and so neither Faylar nor Celaena had been forewarned. Saphienne affected mystery as she shrugged. “Filaurel might have intimated something…”
“Of course she’d tell you.” He rolled his eyes, waving for the others to catch up. “No matter that I’m working alongside her most days — I’m just her apprentice.”
Iolas was mellow, hands in the pockets of his outer robes. “Aren’t you meant to be seeing my master soon? You’re not going to be her apprentice for much longer.”
This delighted Faylar. “Yes, I am; and no, I’m not, am I? I’m going to become just as boring as you and Celaena.”
“Enjoy saying that while you can. Junior apprentices are meant to treat their seniors with respect.”
Faylar snorted. “As if! I saw how Saphienne spoke to Taerelle.”
“Master Taerelle,” Saphienne corrected him. “Get in the habit of using titles when in public — Master Almon won’t be impressed if you’re too casual.”
“Thank you, Master Saphienne.” His sarcasm was delivered with a smile. “I’ll be sure to be on my best behaviour. Speaking of my best, are we still meeting?”
“In a couple of days.” She saw Athidyn and Nelathiel emerge from the garden, the priest in full religious garb, peering back over her shoulder. “I’m not allowed to prepare you with answers, but I can test your learning and give you critical feedback.”
Laelansa leaned on her shoulder. “Brace yourself. She’ll be merciless.”
Faylar chuckled. “When isn’t she?”
That seemed as good a cue as any to head inside. “Come on,” Saphienne said. “Celaena is waiting. Let’s see whether this was worth the fuss.”
* * *
Even the mezzanine was full, young adults and children occupying most of the seats overlooking the main floor. Anyone who wasn’t entitled to vote had been banished upstairs to free up space below, and so Faylar and Laewyn were forced to sit at the back with Thessa and Syndelle. At the end of the aisle, Celaena had draped her outer robe across three other chairs, having positioned herself adjacent to the two elders – Anaeluin and Helaen – who were keeping a watchful eye over proceedings.
Saphienne flicked the tail of her belt aside as she sat next to her friend. “Snuck in any more sweets?”
The nearest elder surreptitiously passed a paper bag back to Celaena, who had to finish chewing before she could answer. “…Toffee.”
Helaen popped a sugary square into her mouth and winked. “We won’t tell if you won’t. Hello again, Master Saphienne.”
Further along, Anaeluin inclined his head in greeting.
Celaena shook the bag. “Want some? No? How about you two?”
Laelansa was too queasy to indulge, handing the toffees to Iolas.
“I don’t suppose,” Helaen quietly inquired of Saphienne, “that you know what all the excitement is about? The agenda appears quite dull.”
“I haven’t seen it.” Saphienne wasn’t lying: she hadn’t needed to read the motions.
Anaeluin swallowed. “…Probably just someone’s idea of a joke. Every five hundred years, another prankster thinks that exciting everyone over nothing is the height of comedy. Jorildyn doesn’t believe this will amount to much.”
Looking down, Saphienne saw the tailor talking with Almon before the stage. “Will he be elected to chair the meeting?”
“He usually is,” Helaen noted, lifting her knitting. “Bless his patience. I’ve tried to convince Lyndis to chair on occasion, but she insists that supporting him is enough.”
Anaeluin approved. “Wise woman. I should never have listened to you…”
“Taking turns is only fair.”
Curiosity made for a good distraction from her anxiety, and so Saphienne faced them with brows raised. “If you don’t mind me asking… how long have you two been chairing meetings for our esteemed elders?”
The pair shared an uncertain look; Anaeluin was contemplative. “Five hundred years? Longer? When did Eletha talk you into chairing?”
“Soon after I qualified.” Helaen sighed as she reckoned the years. “By my count, eight hundred years or so, which means six hundred for you.”
“Can’t be that long already… can it?”
Celaena flicked her gaze to Saphienne without moving her head, unnerved. “…You both speak modern Elfish very well.”
“Why wouldn’t we?” Helaen tutted. “Art thou fain to hear this tongue? ‘Tis scarce the elder to thine youthful prattle.”
Anaeluin was amused. “You’ll find that you sound like the people you surround yourselves with. The Eastern Vale isn’t that old — lots of children here. Elders to the west are slower to adopt changes.”
“We share notes. That’s the only way to keep Elfish consistent across the woodlands.”
Saphienne couldn’t resist. “Excuse me, but I’ve always wondered… why not insist that Elfish stay the same?”
They both smiled at her naivety.
“That was tried before we were born.” Anaeluin settled back. “It doesn’t work. Every new generation wants to distinguish themselves from their parents. Pronunciation drifts, idioms become popular, and before long they’re almost incomprehensible.”
Helaen was agreeable. “Unity is more important than tradition. Consensus has to be maintained, which requires compromise between generations. You’ll understand when you’re older: there’s a limit to what can be imposed.”
Laelansa reached for Saphienne’s hand, squeezing hard.
* * *
Jorildyn chaired; Lyndis assisted; Filaurel took minutes as the secretary. The doors were closed and the hall called to order, and so keen was the assembly to discover the drama that the record of the previous meeting was approved with only a perfunctory smattering of irrelevant questions.
Athidyn was not scheduled to speak first. He was, in fact, quite far down the agenda, calculated by Filaurel to lull the meeting before the grand reveal.
Saphienne beheld the consensus growing restless. Almon was fidgeting by the aisle; even Tolduin stifled a yawn in the front row, bored by the report on reclamation being read aloud as prelude to debating adjustments to the household quotas.
Finally, Jorildyn called on Athidyn. “We now hear a motion proposed by Athidyn and seconded by Mathileyn, concerning expansion of the shrine to Our Lady of the Balanced Scales.”
A groan rolled through the auditorium; Saphienne suppressed her smile.
On cue, Nelathiel’s horns rose. “Point of order.”
“The chair recognises Nelathiel.”
“I wish to move an amendment to the motion from the floor.” Murmurs rippled around her.
Jorildyn adjusted his hold on the amethyst that projected his voice. “Does this amendment conflict with the substance of the existing motion?”
“No: it expands upon it.”
Now people were sitting up. The tailor on the stage stood. “Out of courtesy, does the proposer of the original motion object to the amendment being heard?”
Athidyn bowed. “May it please our consensus: I fully support the amendment.”
Whispers raced along the mezzanine as Jorildyn asked if the amendment had a seconder.
Mathileyn joined Athidyn in standing, smiling at her partner. “I second the amendment, and seek that it be moved with the consent of our consensus.”
Assisting the chair, Lyndis reminded Jorildyn of the rules for amendments; when she had finished, he pivoted to Nelathiel. “The assistant chair notes that – to be ruled in order – amendments must not exceed the subject of the original motion. Before I invite objections to your amendment, could you explain its substance?”
“Our amendment is quite detailed,” Nelathiel repeated, well-rehearsed, “but it elaborates on precisely how the shrine will be extended, and substantiates why the extension is necessary through theological argument.” Moans and laughter met her response.
Jorildyn relaxed. “…Is this really necessary?”
“In faith, we believe so.”
Filaurel had predicted resistance, and so Saphienne took to her feet and raised her hand. Heads swivelled to her, including those belonging to the chair and assistant chair, but she lacked for the right to intervene, and so was not invited to speak.
Before her prearranged intercessor could speak up, an unexpected voice called out. “Point of order!”
“The chair recognises… Tordynar?”
“I invite Master Saphienne to deliver my point of order.”
Saphienne smiled at Celaena’s old tutor in the philosophy of numbers, touched that he thought so highly of her opinion. “Could the assistant chair please confirm that amendments from the floor that are within order and have the support of our consensus must be heard?”
Now the room came alive, energised by her veiled endorsement. Jorildyn didn’t wait for Lyndis to agree. “Master Saphienne is correct, as she clearly knows: please sit down.”
She did as instructed, satisfied.
“…Let’s not drag this out any further. All those in favour of the amendment being heard, please raise your– yes, that’s carried overwhelmingly. Nelathiel will read her amendment to the motion.”
Nelathiel bowed. “May it please our consensus, the amendment will be moved by Athidyn.”
“Of course! Athidyn? Care to enlighten us? Why were these procedural shenanigans necessary?”
Athidyn took a deep breath. “Chair, to properly answer I must request your consent to fetch something from outside the hall that is profoundly illustrative. Someone is waiting: I won’t take longer than a minute.”
Jorildyn’s ears lowered in rare irritation. “I think I speak for everyone when I say this had better be worth our time. Under my authority as chair, I direct that the door be unbolted, and Athidyn permitted to bring in his prop.”
Halfway down the aisle, Athidyn turned and bowed. “Not a prop, chair.”
“Get on with it, please.”
Doors opened; anticipation filled the hall.
And then…
Gasps, shouts of alarm, and growing incredulity preceded Athidyn, rippling out from the aisle and then rising in volume as the craning elves further away saw, exploding into cacophony as he came into view of the upper level–
Revealing the short figure in yellow walking fearfully beside him.
* * *
“Point of order! Elves are the only people allowed into meetings of our consensus!”
“May I remind the chair: goblins are not regarded as people by our consensus, therefore bringing one isn’t against the rules.”
“Point of order! Pets aren’t allowed!”
“Chair, this goblin is not my pet. He is here of his own volition, having been my guest this past week.”
“Point of order! Vermin are–”
“Kob!”
Stunned silence.
“Goblin is Kob! Kob is goblin!”
“…May it please our consensus to meet Kob, a goblin who worships Our Lady of the Balanced Scales.”
* * *
Utter farce ensued for most of an hour. Objection after objection was raised, but Saphienne and Filaurel had gone through every permutation they could imagine, articulating to Athidyn how they could be dismissed.
However, there was one eventuality they couldn’t counter.
“Elder prerogative!” Anaeluin had let the scene play out long enough. “In the interest of maintaining decorum befitting our consensus, I invoke elder prerogative to rule these proceedings out of order, and direct the chair to summon the wardens to eject this creature from the hall.”
Ah, but there was someone who Athidyn could count on.
“Elder prerogative; I invoke elder prerogative to countermand Master Anaeluin.”
Anaeluin was taken aback, glaring down. “Tolduin? What in the world are you doing? This is no moment for games!”
“In sooth,” Tolduin called back, hands clasped before him, “I think well of young Athidyn, Mathileyn, and Nelathiel. Their devotion to the gods is commendable, and ne’er have they been given to fanciful jesting. What they present, I fain would hear.”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
“Don’t ‘sooth’ me, you pompous little–”
Helaen grabbed Anaeluin’s wrist, hissing, “Not in front of the children.”
Poor Jorildyn coughed. “…Under the standing orders, elder prerogative can only be invoked where there is unity among the elders present. Elders Anaeluin, Tolduin: do you need a short adjournment to discuss the matter?”
Tolduin sank back down. “No, chair. Pray, let Athidyn proceed.”
Reflecting on the personalities involved, Saphienne had to wonder whether Athidyn had been right about Tolduin’s religious motivations, or whether the elder was exacting petty vengeance on Anaeluin for allowing her to humiliate him before his peers.
No matter. Whatever his reasons, the priest had done what they needed.
* * *
Clasping the staff that Saphienne had left with him, Kob stood beside Athidyn as his story was told, trying his best to follow along with the little Elfish he’d managed to learn from Ruddles. Just the image of him – listening civilly, stave hung with spirit-gifted marigolds – made a powerful impression on the gathered elves.
Saphienne drew strength from Laelansa when her own part in the story was recounted, trusting that the audience’s astonishment wouldn’t subside into disbelief. If ever her sanctification were to serve a purpose, she willed that it serve her today.
Athidyn ceded the floor to Nelathiel, who summarised the theological argument that worship of the gods by goblins was not profane. Encouragingly, many heads around the hall began to nod, especially as she clarified that she wasn’t arguing for joint worship — or for Kob and his kin to be permitted to use the same offering trees as elven faithful.
Tolduin interjected with thoughtful queries, his contemplative manner reminding Saphienne that – for all his failings toward her mother – he was caring in his own way.
Religious controversy duly addressed, Athidyn reclaimed the floor. “Friends… neighbours…” He held up his hands. “…We are not fools: we know that this matter is too great to be settled in this meeting of our consensus. I apologise for our deviousness in bringing it before you, but we saw no other way to ensure Kob and his people would not be dismissed out of hand.”
Despite his fear, the goblin stood straighter at the mention of his name.
“This is not an abstract issue, nor could it have waited. The goblins who Kob preaches to are sincere in their faith, and wish to make amends for their trespass. Their desire is to worship Our Lady in peace — to find a lasting balance with us. I ask you to look beyond what we have assumed about his kind, to set aside the history of desperation and ignorance that has defined their conduct, and to see with the same merciful eye as do the gods.”
Athidyn knelt, and offered his hand to Kob; the goblin trembled as he took it.
“Today, goblins are treated as a nuisance. There are plans for a cull come winter; to kill them; to murder Kob. I ask you whether this is how we should treat those who sincerely give praise to the gods. I don’t believe Kob should suffer for his faith.” Athidyn bowed with Kob to the assembly. “We propose that an offering tree be planted for the goblins, set apart from our shrine; we propose that the wardens stay their hand; we propose that this matter be escalated to the regional consensus, as a prelude to being considered by the consensus of the woodlands; and we propose that, while this due consideration is ongoing, a section of the protectorates be reserved for goblins who worship Our Lady, and that we explore how they might one day be integrated with the mortals to whom we are benefactors. Thank you.”
Somewhere under the mezzanine, a lone figure applauded.
Jorildyn was troubled. “Are there any questions on the amendment?”
A hand raised, unseen by Saphienne; people groaned.
“…The chair invites Ninleyn to speak, reminding her that we have been here for some time, and there are more motions to be heard after this. Please keep your remarks brief.”
Audible footsteps preceded the shoemaker, who was wearing footwear with elaborate heels as she approached the stage. She turned and peered upward, seeking the gaze of her former apprentice…
Saphienne reciprocated her old master’s smile.
“If it pleases – or even if it shouldn’t please, but be tolerated by – our consensus, I would like to ask for clarification on something that wasn’t really addressed by Athidyn – not that I mean to criticise – during his speech, which was finely worded, and well delivered, and heartfelt in its compassion, owing – no doubt – to substantial practice with the other fine people who brought this matter to us, such as the lovely Mathileyn, and the erudite Nelathiel, and most of all the accomplished wizard – and my former apprentice – Master Saphienne, to whom I want to direct my inquiry, since she was central to what happened, and is better placed to speak to things than the esteemed individuals we’ve heard from, particularly because she is knowledgeable about goblins, judging by the compelling – and informative – book that she has authored, which I’d recommend to anyone who wants to learn a little about them — no pun intended.”
Saphienne tried not to laugh at the weariness come over the room, choosing instead to stand and bow.
“Whyever,” Ninleyn asked, entirely genuinely, “should anyone take this seriously?”
Dozens more echoed her sentiment.
“…That’s fair.” Saphienne made a show of tapping her claws on the railing, drawing attention to her outlandish attire as she seemingly contemplated her answer. “I’m afraid it’s quite difficult to say. Everything we’ve been taught about goblins is that they’re crude, ignorant, and foolish — that they’re pitiful creatures.”
She saw agreement on too many faces.
Still, she smiled. “Look at Kob: he’s short, ugly, brown like mud… you’d be pardoned for thinking he’s feral. After all, we’re told goblins have no culture, no ability to understand culture, and they don’t feel any emotions but anger, fear, simple happiness, or childish wonder.”
Somewhere behind her, she knew Faylar was blushing as she borrowed his words.
“And they’re quick with violence… aren’t they? And they have short memories, making them unable to learn.” She shrugged performatively. “So why should anyone take this seriously? On the surface it’s ridiculous. The idea that a goblin could be civilised, or that a dragon could be merciful, or that a child of twenty-one could be a twofold master of the Great Art? Pure nonsense. Why take seriously what looks silly?
“Why,” Saphienne pondered, “apart from all these things being true? I’m afraid I don’t know. Either the substance behind the semblance matters, or it doesn’t. You’ll have to decide that for yourself.”
There were no further questions.
* * *
“An intriguing speech, Master Saphienne.” Almon was reserved when he approached in the foyer. “One might infer that you’d been planning it for some time.”
“Less than you would think.” She exchanged waves with the strangers streaming past them. “I noticed that you declined to vote.”
“Should the matter come before the Luminary Vale, I will speak on it.” His subdued tone doubted that it would. “Master Vestaele also abstained. What you’ve brought is too fraught to risk implying endorsement by the vale…”
“You might have raised a point of order prior to voting, informing everyone that the vale hadn’t taken a position.”
“Do you remember what I told you about encouraging others? A wizard–”
“Has to live with her conscience.” She rounded on him with a smile. “Anyone who contravenes the ancient ways overreaches. Short of that, I must try for the best possible world that the woodlands are willing to accept. This was a matter of life or death.”
He bowed. “Your devotion to your principles remains laudable. Let us see whether the elders are as willing to be convinced, and assent to referral to the regional consensus. Good evening, Saphienne.”
“Good evening, Almon.”
Laelansa skipped past him as she came back inside, grinning as she threw her arms around her beloved. “You’re brilliant.”
“So are you.” She kissed her cheek. “What now?”
“Athidyn has invited us to celebrate — he and Mathileyn have gone ahead with Nelathiel and Filaurel. Everyone else is waiting for you; Laewyn is amazed we kept this a secret.”
Saphienne rolled her eyes. “As long as she isn’t upset. Let me finish–”
“Saphienne?”
The soft voice that hailed her made the rest of the world recede.
Saphienne turned to see Phelorna hovering nearby, dressed more modestly than when they’d last spoken. Kylantha’s mother was shorter than Saphienne had unconsciously believed, diminished of her ease by sobriety, her eyes a pair of dark moons… that glittered with a faint and lonely star of hope.
“…Laelansa,” Saphienne whispered, “please go with the others; I’ll join you soon.”
* * *
Twilight made the groves smaller as Saphienne walked with Phelorna, warm in the dying days of summer.
They had yet to talk. Each was terrified of the other, albeit for differing reasons.
Saphienne broke their impasse. “I’m sorry. I was unkind to you.”
“You were a child.” Phelorna held herself as she paced, gaze low. “Everything you said was what I deserved.”
“I don’t think it was.” Saphienne dared to look at her. “I don’t think you deserve to go into the ground and rot. I was angry; mostly at myself.”
Shocked, Phelorna raised her head. “Why? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I couldn’t protect her.” Could she not say her name? “I couldn’t protect Kylantha from the wardens.”
“You were a child,” Phelorna repeated herself. “Her own mother couldn’t…”
Saphienne halted. “But you wanted to, didn’t you?”
How remorseful her nod. “I would have done anything. I would have left with her, but they warned me that they would be watching. I don’t have your talents… your magic… I couldn’t have ran with her and escaped. I’m just a chronicler. All I had for her were stories.”
“They told you to forget her.”
“They did.” Shame and defiance encircled Kylantha’s mother. “I can’t. I could forget her father, but I’ll never forget her. She deserved– she deserved so much better than–”
Saphienne shut her eyes as Phelorna wept, and for once she put aside herself and offered up a silent prayer to whichever god would listen, praying not that she be forgiven for what was demanded in the moment, but that her perfidy to Kylantha’s memory harm only herself — that she might grant to the mother she had once dreamed of being her own a measure of the peace that she herself didn’t know, could never know, even should it weigh against her on the scales of judgement… even should Kylantha’s ghost haunt her forevermore.
She stepped forward and embraced Phelorna; her smile was gentle. “You don’t need to cry, Phelorna. Kylantha isn’t crying for us. She isn’t alone. She deserved better from us, but she isn’t suffering anymore. We don’t matter to her now. She’s found peace.”
And the heartbroken mother pulled back, gazing deep into her deceiver. Her lips moved soundlessly, feeling for courage. “…Has she? Is she happy?”
Forgive Saphienne: she lied with all her heart. “Kylantha is happy. She has friends, and a family who love her. Humans have been kinder to her than we ever could be. We’ve been very fortunate.”
Did Phelorna see the truth? Did she choose to ignore it? No; she struggled only to accept that what she’d yearned for had come to pass.
“…Where is she?”
“I’m not allowed to say. I’m not supposed to know.” Saphienne stepped away, offering her hand. “I’d show you… but we’d be caught if I scried again. I’ll tell you everything.”
Falteringly, and then in relief that seared Saphienne, the mother who had lost her daughter took the hand of the hallucinator, rapt as she absorbed the prettiest of falsehoods, oblivious to the wrenching agony caused by their telling.
* * *
Celebrations lasted until morning, wine flowing freely in the colourful house atop the hill, most freely of all to Saphienne’s glass, which she drank in smiling quietude where she cuddled with Laelansa.
Hilariously to Thessa? Kob didn’t like wine. He just sat by Saphienne’s feet, asking questions about the elven world that she was obliged to meet with partial fabrications.
Presently, Faylar was chatting with Mathileyn; Thessa was drunkenly giving sketching advice to Syndelle; Filaurel and Athidyn and Nelathiel were animatedly arguing about something esoteric that none of them really cared about; Laewyn was feeding chocolate to Celaena, amorously whispering in her ear while Iolas told them to take it upstairs.
Amid the happiness, her mind was on Phelorna, who now loved Saphienne as though she were the absent daughter to whom they were both devoted, and who would soon be visiting her mother. Phelorna had sorely missed Lynnariel. Saphienne would have to keep pretending–
“Pity we couldn’t reserve a place for them,” Iolas opined as he slumped on the floor beside Kob.
Laelansa sighed contentedly. “That was never going to work. Saphienne, tell him.”
Saphienne swirled the amber wine in her glass. “The protectorate close to the Eastern Vale is our responsibility, but we don’t have authority to make decisions on who should be welcome there. We asked for that so that we could be refused; to let everyone who disagreed feel that they were heard, and that the compromise was fair.”
“Fair is give,” interjected Kob in Elfish, recognising the word. “Fair is get.”
“Yes, Kob… Kob is yes.”
His smile was gleeful. “Yes, Saph! Saph is yes. Saph is-is yes-yes!”
Athidyn heard him from across the room — and a toast to that soon followed.
* * *
After exhaustive scrutiny that had covered every approach she could conceive, Saphienne was reluctantly forced to render a verdict. “…You will probably be accepted…”
Faylar whooped loudly enough to make her wince.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself!” She went through to her kitchen, Audacity close at her heels and then jumping onto the sink to watch as she tipped down the pitcher. “I can only assess you on your suitability to learn magic from the perspective of competency — Master Almon might refuse you on other grounds.”
“Don’t be so negative.” He caught up and petted the drake, Audacity tolerating his scratches while she swatted at the flowing water. “You said it yourself: I’m far more mature than I was last time, and my apprenticeship to Filaurel has proven I can be trusted with a position of responsibility.”
Saphienne frowned, lifting her pet – to meowed protest – and setting her down at their feet before filling the kettle. “Off the counter! And yes, Faylar, you’ve come a long way. If he doesn’t take you then you’ll be well-positioned to apply to another wizard.”
“In fifty years? Not happening.” Audacity leapt back up, and he resumed stroking her without a glance. “In fifty years, I’m going to be a wizard like my aunt — and apprenticing to her as a trader for the woodlands.”
“You’ve decided that’s what you want?”
“Blame Felipe.” He lifted his hand away after Audacity smacked him with her tail. “He’s made me want to see the world, and that’s the only way I will.”
Assuming his ambitions unfolded as he desired, Saphienne envied him. “…Let’s hope that Master Almon–”
A crash from the sitting room interrupted them, the front door thrown open.
Saphienne blinked at the shadow in the doorway. “…Celaena?”
“Did you know?” She was distraught — stare piercing and reddened as she stalked through to the kitchen. “Did you?”
Faylar was whom she fixated on; he backed against the sink. “Know what?”
“Don’t play games.” She was breathing quickly. “Did she tell you before me?”
Audacity climbed onto Saphienne’s shoulders, back arched, curling protectively around the frozen magician.
Faylar brushed back his hair. “…She told me she was thinking about–”
Celaena screamed murderously as she spun away and kicked the nearest chair, slamming her hands on the kitchen table while profanities streamed from her mouth to match her spilling tears.
“I told Laewyn to talk to you before deciding!” He looked for support from their host. “So did Saphienne!”
Before she could rebuke him, Audacity growled on Saphienne’s behalf; her glower matched her pet’s. “Faylar, that isn’t helpful.”
Sagging against the far wall, Celaena shook with rage and sorrow, betrayal clear in the regard she showed to the man who’d been her best friend. “Fuck you, Faylar. You should have come to me. We could have talked her out of this.”
He tried to placate her. “Acting is Laewyn’s dream! And her apprenticeship won’t last forever. She’ll only be going to the Vale of the White River, and once she’s done she’ll come back to open a theatre–”
“There’ll be someone else.” Celaena’s fury cracked, grief welling up. “She’ll fall for someone else…”
Crossing to her, Saphienne took her arm. “You don’t know that; Laelansa and I remained a couple in spite of the distance. I’ll make you both Tomes of Correspondence–”
Celaena shrugged her off. “Laewyn isn’t Laelansa! She’ll have lovers, and then what happened with Faylar the first time will–”
“This isn’t my fault.” Faylar crossed his arms. “Don’t blame me for this. I don’t want her to go, either.”
The senior apprentice stared. “Did you tell her that?”
His mouth hung open. “…I didn’t want to discourage her.”
She covered her face with her black sleeves.
A moment later, Celaena departed the kitchen, straining to hold her head high as she went toward the open entrance. “Don’t try to talk to me. I don’t want to see you, Faylar. We’re not friends right now.”
“Celaena–”
“We might not be ever again.”
A gesture from the apprentice wizard slammed the door in her wake.
* * *
Five days hence, Saphienne received another unanticipated guest.
“Young Lynnariel fair thrives.” Tolduin remained on the doorstep, having not been invited within. “I confess: seeing her abroad in the village astounds the mind, uplifts the heart, and checks my certitude.”
Saphienne was distracted by his horse, grazing in the grove. “…If you’re here to apologise, I’m not the person owed your apology.”
“Aha! No. We will yet see what your innovation bequeaths. I pray the gods to–”
“Tolduin.” Saphienne centred her attention. “I know fine well that your manner of speech is an affectation. You’re perfectly capable of speaking Elfish in contemporary style: you use it when you’re talking to young children, I remember.”
His smile was wry. “That I can. You prefer I speak to you like a child?”
“I prefer you not perform yourself to me. I know you’re an elder; you know that my respect isn’t so easily won.”
“As you like.” His smile failed. “Has she shared her delusion with you?”
Lynnariel had been drunk when she told Saphienne she was human. “She’s said nothing to me that I consider delusional.”
“…Perhaps she has improved.” He wouldn’t expose the madness of the girl nominally in his care. “I’ll say this: if she should start behaving erratically, professing beliefs that concern you? I will not abuse you for seeking my counsel.”
“As I said before: may we both live so very long.” She made to shut the door. “Good afternoon, Tolduin.”
“Wait.”
Saphienne paused.
Tolduin appraised the branches overhead. “…That isn’t why I have come. Nor did I ask to be the one to tell you; I am sent in penance for supporting disorder.”
“…Tolduin?”
“Your motion was to be heard by the elders of the Eastern Vale.” He met her stare. “That consideration was pre-empted: elders of the Luminary Vale interceded, holding a conclave to which I was invited. I spoke in favour, but truthfully, the outcome was preordained.”
Dread bade Saphienne still.
“I am told the goblins have been expelled.” He exhaled. “The worship of the gods by mortals – even separately – was deemed likely to provoke social unrest. In this, I bow to the wisdom of my peers, and accept that the kindness we contemplated was misguided.”
“…I see.”
“Master Almon wishes to speak with you.” He backed away. “And I’m further tasked with telling you: the aberrations you keep aren’t be walked in the village. They’re too unsettling.”
What could she do? Saphienne politely thanked him.
Then, after he’d ridden away, she went to see her old friend.
* * *
Vestaele was waiting in the woods when she emerged from her meeting with Almon. “Master Saphienne — a word?”
Every fibre of Saphienne’s being wanted nothing to do with the sorcerer; she forced herself to bow. “How convenient that you’re here. Master Almon said I might wish to confer with you.”
“Indeed.” Vestaele brushed back the hood of her short mantle, folding her arms. “You understood the message?”
“My status as tutor is rescinded; my entry to the Luminary Vale has been deferred another decade; and Faylar isn’t to study wizardry until he reaches adulthood.”
“I inquired about the message.”
“But of course.” Saphienne clasped her hands behind her back. “No more advocacy from me; no more special dispensations from the vale.” She held her passions at bay. “All I have to ask is… why? I was prepared to fail, and graciously. I would have made a public show of deferring–”
“You still will.” The sorcerer was severe. “You’ll cease being anything but orthodox, and recant your intervention as ill-considered.”
“…Why is this necessary?”
“You didn’t consult your peers.” Vestaele advanced on her. “You still don’t comprehend what I’ve been trying to tell you. Outside of Masters Almon and Tolduin, and myself? No one else in this vale is your peer, Saphienne. And no magician, no matter how talented, gets to rule alone.”
“That wasn’t what–”
“Final warning, Saphienne. Grow up, or your invitation will be withdrawn.”
* * *
Listless, she walked home…
Until horror struck.
“…Kob.”
* * *
She intercepted the wardens by the lake, leading Kob by his bound wrists, undignified in his loincloth. They refused to stop.
He cried to her as they took him away. “Saph! Kob give yes-yes! Kob get no?”
Her legs trembled as she strode alongside.
“Give is get! Give is-is get!” His panicked bewilderment grew. “Goblin is elf! Elf is goblin! Saph is goblin!”
“…I’m sorry…”
He stumbled to his knees, eyes upturned to the sky. “God is yes-yes?”
Her throat was tight. “…Give is get…”
Kob was yanked to his feet.
Her vision blurred as she slowed. “…Get is give…”
And the little priest was hollow as he meekly went. “…God is no.”
That was when Saphienne knew she, too, could not abide in the woodlands.
End of Chapter 134