novelraw CHAPTER 140 – The Elf
CHAPTER 140 – The Elf
The priests at the temple were very patient with her. For the first month she couldn’t do anything without help. They taught her how to speak again, how to walk, how to hold the blunted cutlery at breakfast and dinnertime, how to sound out words and write her difficult name and count all the way to twelve.
Tolduin was kindest. He spent every day at her side, encouraging her recovery, delighting in every small improvement.
She had been unwell. She’d been bad, but they assured her she wasn’t to blame. All she needed to do was focus on healing. There was no hurry, for she was an elf of the woodlands, and elves had all the time in the world.
Tolduin promised she could go home to her mother when she was better. She didn’t remember her mother, but she knew her mother loved her very much, and that being with her mother was better than anything else. She knew because the priests said good girls wanted to be with their mothers, and she was a good girl: they told her so, every day.
“She’s showing an astonishing improvement,” one of the priests said to Tolduin, watching as she made a pile of the snow in the garden. “I didn’t think she’d walk again.”
“In sooth, Our Lady has shown great favour. Saphienne is belovèd by the gods.”
She didn’t know what that meant. Did they love her because she said her prayers?
“Do you think she will go home soon?”
“Another month. ‘Tis for the best: the Eastern Vale was aflame with passion when news spread of her treatment. Tranquil now those raging rivers, though a while longer for tempers to cool would do no harm.”
“Wise. She’ll need structure… have you given thought to her routine?”
Tolduin smiled at the mound she shaped. “Fret not: her future is decided. Saphienne isn’t suited to intellectual pursuits; something with her hands will be best.”
* * *
When the snow melted she went home. Her mother must have been very happy, for Lynnariel cried and cried for days and days, and would hug her tightly whenever they sat together. She wished she could answer the questions she was asked in the moments they were alone, but she didn’t understand them.
Tolduin and two more priests took turns observing her for the first week. She liked that there was always someone nearby when she had problems. Still, they encouraged her to do things without their assistance, and she found their confidence in her was justified, having come a long way since she stayed at the temple. Her mother helped when she needed an adult, and before long she bathed and clothed herself entirely on her own.
Helping Lynnariel bake was fun. She liked kneading the dough.
At the end of the week she met the men who would keep her safe. Tolduin complimented her manners, approving of how she bowed to them one after the other, and told her not to worry — theirs was a happy silence.
Through her bedroom window she heard a woman talking with one of them. “… Please listen: you don’t have to do this to yourself.”
“I do. This was my fault.” He sounded sad. “If I’d just kept hold of the girl…”
“Sundamar, you aren’t to blame. We don’t know it wasn’t going to happen anyway — madness runs in families.”
“Tolduin told me the trauma of Kylantha being taken away was too much. She might not have ended up like this if I’d given her a few days to say goodbye.”
“That wasn’t your decision to make.”
“I could have petitioned, couldn’t I? I could have pleaded for a little time. I should have left Filaurel to guard them, and went to find you at the lake, and we should have gone to Jorildyn and asked him to make a temporary ruling and call an extraordinary meeting. He would have agreed.”
“He might have been overruled.”
“She only needed a day or two.”
The woman sighed heavily. “Fulfilling our duty wasn’t wrong.”
“How we fulfilled it was!” Now he sounded angry. “She was right about me. Taking Kylantha back to her people wasn’t wrong, but how I made it happen… I was so invested in the rules that I hurt an innocent. Tearing them apart like that–”
“They would have separated anyway.”
“Justify it all you want, Alavara: hurting her was evil. We should have given her time, then taken Kylantha while she wasn’t with her.”
“She was a magician, she would have found out that–”
“Not so loud!”
The woman lowered her voice. “…Kylantha was going to die anyway; she was always going to go mad.”
“We can’t know that. I only know I let Kylantha run off, and now a gentlehearted girl has suffered.”
“She wasn’t gentle! She hurt you.”
“But she lied to comfort Phelorna. I deserved to know the consequences; I should be the one to deal with them.”
In her bedroom, she started over with a fresh sheet of paper, having filled the first with charcoal smears.
“…Promise me you won’t do this forever. Let someone else take over, later.”
“I’m not alone. Myrinel is taking the night shifts.”
“Sundamar…”
“You won’t talk me out of it. Anyway, I’m not your problem anymore. When are you leaving the vale?”
“Next week …”
The second drawing was turning out much better. She focused on the toes, trying to make the webbing look right.
* * *
Master Almon was a nice man. She’d been worried when Tolduin said he was going back to the temple, but then he’d introduced the man in blue, who was friendly, and who amazed her by making plants grow. Master Almon did his best to entertain, and she couldn’t help but giggle when he planted a flower on her shoulder, pretty with its purple petals, and rounded leaves, and soothing scent.
“Tolduin,” she heard him ask as she sat amid the blossoms, “when do you intend to return that to her?”
Her priest raised his hand, inspecting the golden jewellery he constantly wore. “Once she is well enough to understand its significance. To reveal its provenance before she is restored may be disheartening.”
“…You can’t seriously think she’ll make a full recovery.”
“I have faith. No other elf would have been so injured; and no other elf would have come back from catatonia in but a few months. A hundred years hence, she may once more work with metal — how sweet a triumph that shall be!”
Master Almon said nothing, his gaze on her as she brushed her believing hand along a stem she’d plucked.
* * *
“… Her lessons are going well.”
She absorbed the conversation passively, busy with wood.
“To claim I had no hand in her work would be a lie.” Gaeleath was wry where they chatted with Master Almon by the entrance to the pavilion. “But to say what you see comes from fresh lessons would also be a lie. She may not be the girl she was, but her hands remember.”
Master Almon smiled extremely broadly. “Really? You haven’t shown her?”
“I asked what she wanted to see me sculpt, and she picked out the wood. While I spoke to Sundamar she moved it from my plinth to hers, and I watched her feel it over before lifting a chisel.” They shook their head. “Wrong tool for the task, but she can’t sing the songs like before. Nor was she one to work with other than stone and metal…”
“Remarkable; Tolduin said she remembered nothing.”
“Muscle memory is different.” Bitterness crept in. “Don’t be hopeful. I don’t expect she’ll ever impress. She’ll never make art like she once did; the artist in her is gone.”
Master Almon approached to study her efforts. “…This is rough, but if she improves–”
“Look outside, behind the studio: that one subject is all she tries. Every day, a fresh attempt… we have enough to fill a pond.”
“Well, children often have a favourite animal–”
“Ask her about it.”
There was an awkward pause. When the man in blue spoke he faltered, as though he too had been learning to talk again. “Saphienne… what’s this you’re making?”
She didn’t stop carving; her tone was childlike and flat. “I don’t know.”
“…You don’t know what this is called?”
“No.”
He waited; she kept scraping at the neatly folded feet.
Gaeleath had their arms crossed. “You see now? The spark of curiosity is snuffed, and with it went all possibility of art. She’ll only make semblances of what she’s seen around herself — the creative act is impossible for one who cannot question.”
“It’s only been four months! Saphienne is–”
“Gone. You and Tolduin saw to that.” Gaeleath drifted back to their plinth, where the art was less complete than ever. “I’ll do what I was asked: I’ll keep the girl company. You may call her my apprentice if you please, but I won’t teach her, for she has no desire to learn.”
“Surely she can assist–”
“Shame on you.” They didn’t turn around. “You’re right: she’s very obedient, this girl you’re calling Saphienne. She’ll do whatever she’s told. Tell her to play, and she’ll play; tell her to work, and she’ll follow instructions to completion. You’ve made her into what you wanted… but I won’t use her like a tool. I haven’t the stomach.”
Master Almon was annoyed. “Then why agree?”
“Same as your man guarding the door: in penance.” Lifting their implements, the sculptor began tapping on marble. “You might consider seeking your own. But then, I can’t imagine what you would have to undertake, to find solace.”
“…This is why you’re no wizard, Gaeleath. You don’t understand the burden of power. You don’t have the fortitude to make difficult choices.”
“You’re right: I don’t. I haven’t the faintest clue how you live with yourself.”
Were they upset because of her? She hoped not. She didn’t really understand what she’d heard, nor why the friendly man patted her shoulder.
“It’s a frog. You’re making a frog.”
Was she? “Oh.”
She collected a file from the bench, smoothing down the skin. No more conversation ensued. She barely noticed when the nice man left.
* * *
The green light had been peaceful; she was unmoving when the glow subsided.
“Very good,” said Tolduin, returning the green and white gem to Master Almon as he leant back in the cushioned chair. “You did well today.”
He expected good manners. “Thank you.”
“You’re almost at the point where you can begin using a fascinator.”
Master Almon hovered by the stairway to his private rooms. “Does that make her full recovery more likely?”
Her priest waved off the possibility as he switched back to his strange way of speaking when he talked to other adults. “In sooth, ‘tis only that she has held fast to the tale that gives shape to her mind. The foundation for her happiness is well-laid. Fascination may exhort her to discover old joys anew, but in substance, she is dimmed from prior brilliance, and gains have slowed. The gods see fit to bring her hither, and no further.”
Wordlessly, Master Almon carried the gemstone back upstairs.
“We’re done for today, Saphienne. Go down to Sundamar and have him take you home. I’ll see you next month.”
* * *
The pink light proved harder. She did as she’d been told, and repeated the phrases that Tolduin had made her memorise, but she struggled to picture what he’d described, her mind blank.
“I am an elf. I live in the woodlands. I am loved.”
Did adults see things in their heads? She couldn’t.
“I love my mother; my mother loves me. I love my priest; my priest loves me. I love the gods; the gods love me.”
As she said the last line she tried looking at the painting on the wall of her bedroom, where the pretty lady holding the sleeping snake up to the sun smiled at her, but the pinkness faded away, and the words became just words.
Would Tolduin be unhappy? She wanted to please him.
She tried again. “I am an elf. I live in the woodlands. I am loved …”
* * *
Her mother had a fascinator as well. Over dinner, she asked if Lynnariel did the same exercises.
Sundamar dropped his spoon. “…You asked a question.”
Did he mishear? “Yes.”
Why this made everyone happy was a mystery. She decided she should ask another, but there weren’t any she could think to ask.
* * *
Her mother helped her with the fascinator. At night – after Myrinel had replaced Sundamar – they would lie together on the big bed, and her mother would describe the things she was meant to see so the pink light would show them.
This went on for weeks. She started to see hazy outlines when she shut her eyes. That made her feel relieved: she wouldn’t have to pretend for Tolduin. Pretending was bad. She wasn’t supposed to lie, and must never lie to him.
Whenever she said her prayers, she asked the pretty lady who held the snake and loved her to stop her from ever telling a lie. She wanted the gods to make her good.
* * *
One autumn night, when her exercises were done, her mother told her to stay, and took out a book from under the pillow. “Saphienne, do you remember this?”
She traced the words inside the cover. “Tuh-huh-eh guh-ih-ar-el ah-en-duh tuh-huh-eh guh-uh-el-el-suh.”
“Very good!” Lynnariel kissed her forehead. “This story is called ‘The Girl and the Gulls,’ and we used to read it together. Do you remember?”
She shook her head.
“…That’s alright.” Her mother flipped over the gemstone in the ring, once more bathing the bedroom in pink. “Cuddle with me, and I’ll read it to you.”
Dutifully, she snuggled into her mother, keeping her gaze on the fascinator.
* * *
Let’s see…
Once upon a time, a pebbled beach was stirred by the sea. Gentle waves splashed on the shore and fell back, and the click of the rolling stones made a soft roar as they chased after them. The foam left behind was white like the sky, but was quick to fade away, while the sky lasted forever.
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Gulls nested on the cliff above the beach, laughing as they swooped down to the water and back, dancing on the wind. The birds loved the scent of salt, and the warmth shed by the sun when it peeked out from the clouds.
All of this was very strange to the girl. She had never seen the like before. Her eyes were wide as she stood with her mother, who held her hand at the bottom of the path that led up the cliff.
The girl asked, Does the sea ever end?
Her mother squeezed her hand, answering, The ocean has an edge, but its depths are fathomless.
The girl asked, What does fathomless mean?
Her mother answered, Too deep to measure.
Then the sea scared the girl, and she was afraid for the birds on the waves.
Her mother smile and said, It’s shallow close to the shore. Would you like to see?
The girl was nervous, but she wanted to be brave–
* * *
“What are you doing?”
Her mother sat up to answer Myrinel, who’d come into the room. “I’m reading a story to Saphienne.”
The man who kept her safe lifted the book, thumbing through its pages with a frown. “…She isn’t supposed to read anything without the approval of Elder Tolduin or Master Almon…”
“It’s just a children’s story. She used to love it when she was little.”
He closed the book. “…I have to report this.”
Lynnariel covered the fascinator, then slid off the blanket, coming around to him. “Please: just let me read to my daughter. A bedtime story won’t hurt anyone.”
“I’m not sure…”
“As a favour?” Lynnariel smiled and touched his arm. “For me?”
Myrinel blushed fiercely, thrusting the book back to her mother. “We’re not allowed to–”
“I’ve seen you looking.”
He backed against the frame of the door in rising panic. “Lynnariel– I– you’re very beautiful, but my duties require–”
“No one has to know. You can keep a secret, can’t you?”
“That isn’t–”
“I won’t tell, if you won’t.”
He shut his eyes. “…I’m not that kind of warden.”
Her mother didn’t relent. “What kind of person areyou, then?”
Myrinel eased out of the room. “…You can read to her; I’ll pretend I never noticed.”
“Are you sure? Don’t you want me to–”
“Just don’t let anyone find out — I’ll be in serious trouble if Sundamar hears.”
He shut the door as he retreated.
She was confused by her mother’s smile as Lynnariel settled on the bed. “Why did he say you can read to me? Shouldn’t we tell Tolduin?”
And her mother held her close. “Saphienne, I love you. Do you love me?”
Good girls loved their mothers. She nodded.
“And do you trust me? Will do you what I tell you?”
Good girls did as their mothers told them. “Yes.”
“Then never tell Tolduin anything that would make him unhappy. Don’t mention me reading to you, and don’t admit anything you think he wouldn’t like. He’s not your friend, my darling: none of them are.”
She didn’t understand, but she would do as her mother wished.
* * *
She couldn’t count the frogs now; far more than twelve were growing moss where she’d discarded them. She liked the green on their backs, and was quietly sad when winter froze stiff its softness, hoping that the plants would continue to spread come the thaw.
* * *
Spring brought her first visitor.
She heard Master Almon outside the tent. “Remember: nothing to distress her. This will only be a short visit.”
No one had told her to do anything differently, and so she continued to carve as an adult in black neared.
“…Saphienne?”
“Yes.”
He hesitated for a long moment. “Do you remember me?”
Diligently wiping her chisel on her grey apron before she set it down on the workbench, she turned to appraise the man, whose clothes were a little like those worn by Master Almon, and whose smile reminded her of her mother. His blue-green gaze was unfamiliar.
“No.”
“I’m Iolas.” He inclined his head. “Your friend?”
“Oh.” She bowed politely. “I forgot. I’m sorry.”
Gaeleath abruptly dropped their tools and left the studio, covering their face.
Her visitor clung on. “…You don’t remember me? Not at all?”
“No.” Her attention returned to the frog emerging from the block, and she lifted a smaller blade to add detail to the eyes. “I used to be very sick. Being sick made me forget things. I’m better now.”
He paced unsteadily to the workbench, leaning over her tools. She heard his breathing, saw him shaking, his hands balled into fists where they supported him. A low moan escaped from his lips.
Master Almon came to stand behind him. “I warned you: the recovery is gradual.”
His voice lowered; he slowly reached for her largest chisel. “…That isn’t Saphienne…”
“I understand seeing her like this is upsetting,” Master Almon said, placing a hand upon his shoulder, “but you must keep things in the proper perspective. Compared to how Saphienne used to be–”
Blue sparks erupted as Iolas swung for Master Almon, accompanied by a pained cry and spray of red that dotted her sculpture. She spun in surprise to see her friend grappling with another, shocked man she didn’t recognise, who was pinned on the ground and clutching at a gash along his neck, his other hand holding his furious attacker at bay–
“I’ll fucking kill you!”
Sundamar appeared to wrestle Iolas away, disarming him of the chisel as he continued to shout.
“Murderer! You murdered Saphienne! Gods damn you, Almon!”
The bleeding man waved his hand as he stood, sapphire flashes surrounding him as he became again the Master Almon she knew; his wound continued to weep. “…Get him out of here…”
“Monster! I hope you go into the ground and–”
“He’s mad with grief — get him out!”
Helplessly, she watched her friend be dragged away by the warden.
Master Almon drew a heaving breath. He glanced at her, then strode to the door, waiting for Gaeleath before he departed to seek healing.
* * *
No one else stopped by for weeks. She was glad: she didn’t want more visitors.
The days grew longer. On a sunny afternoon, while Gaeleath was absent from the studio, she heard a woman’s raised voice outside.
“… I spoke to Almon! These are all approved.”
“He never said anything to me.”
“Then go and ask him! Or read them yourself; there’s nothing here that’s subversive — I’d know.”
“You can go in, but you’ll have to leave those–”
“Fuck off, Sundamar.” The speaker entered the tent.
Wary, she faced the visitor with her chisel, ready to defend herself from attack.
The woman was carrying a stack of books, smiling with sea-green eyes that were as loving as her mother’s. “Saphienne? Do you know me?”
Her hold on the chisel relaxed. “…I think I do. You’re related to me.”
That sentiment made the woman swallow. “Do you remember my name?”
“No.”
“I’m Filaurel.”
“Oh.”
Sundamar had followed Filaurel into the tent, and hovered close by. “Master Almon said you were allowed a brief visit. The last time–”
“I heard.” Filaurel ignored him, stepping closer. “How are you, Saphienne?”
“I’m better.” She resumed fashioning her latest frog. “I’m not sick anymore.”
Was she meant to say something else? She couldn’t think of anything.
The relative who was visiting was hoarse. “Are you happy?”
“Yes.” Of course she was; she was a good girl.
A sniff. “I brought you some books to read.”
“I don’t read books.” The wood resisted her carving. “Reading is hard. My mother reads books; she’s good at reading. I’m not.”
“…I’ll leave them for you. Maybe practice will make it easier.”
She had no interest in them. “Thank you.”
Filaurel set the pile of books on the end of the workbench, where they would gather dust across the months to come.
* * *
Not long before the height of summer, yelling carried through the tent wall.
“… Let us through!”
“All visits have to be approved by–”
“With the gods as my witness, Sundamar, if you don’t let us in to see her, I’ll spend my eternity doing everything I can to make yours miserable. I swear it to Our Lady of the Balanced Scales — don’t think for a moment that I won’t.”
Gaeleath had wandered over to the entrance, and was rudely shoved back by the man who entered, trailed after by another two women. The trio came over to her as she moved behind the plinth for protection.
“…She doesn’t recognise us,” said one of the women, horror in her eyes.
The man was rendered speechless where he was standing, dishevelled, his beautiful, floral mantle torn.
The third visitor hugged him for support.
Gaeleath had collected their dignity, and they sidled up to the first woman. “Thessa?”
“Iolas told us…” Thessa was numb. “We needed to see for ourselves… my brother… he didn’t take it well…”
“Did something happen to him? I thought he wasn’t facing reprimand?”
“He wasn’t,” said the other woman, already having cried out every last tear. “Almon didn’t even want him to leave his apprenticeship.”
Unable to behold her any longer, the speechless man stalked away, anguish writ in the slump of his back.
His partner hurried after. “Athidyn… my love…”
Concerned for the pair, Gaeleath went after, leaving her alone with Thessa; she didn’t emerge from her safe retreat.
Thessa exhaled with a shudder. “We found a letter. Iolas left. He was meant to be going to the Vale of Rushes for the festival, but he’s fled the woodlands. He said he was going where you’d wanted to go. I don’t suppose you remember?”
She barely knew him. “No.”
“I didn’t think so.”
An inconsolable scream of despair carried from the woods.
Thessa flinched, then peered at the door. “…There was something else.” The woman whom she didn’t recall produced a sheet of paper, trying to hand it to her. “I found this on his desk; I think it was meant for you.”
Disconcerted by such strong emotions, she dared not accept it.
“…I’ll leave it here.” The page was set atop the books; Thessa took one last look about the tent, mournful in the absence of things forgotten. “I’m sorry, Saphienne. I hope you never realise what’s been taken from you.”
What did that mean? She didn’t comprehend. She just observed as the stranger went out into the golden haze of the evening.
Iolas’ epitaph, too, would gather dust.
* * *
Near summer’s end, a woman called in to see her.
“May we have some privacy?”
Gaeleath was apologetic. “Someone has to be with her at all times; if not me, then Sundamar…”
They gazed ruefully on the statue they had been detailing, then set aside their tools to lay their hands upon the marble, beginning an unusually loud song of stone as they carelessly smoothed away hours of meticulous progress.
The woman bowed low to the artist, then approached. “Saphienne; I don’t believe you’ll remember me. Do you?”
She squinted; apart from a pretty pendant that resembled a feather, little caught her attention. “No.”
“We were friends…” Saying that pained the stranger. “…More than friends. You were like a sister to me. You saved me from myself.”
Had that been bad? She’d been bad, when she was sick.
“My name is Celaena.”
She should be polite. “Hello. I’m pleased to meet you.”
“…Your eyes aren’t the same.” Celaena studied them, lost. “They’re so plain. You look like a painting of yourself; less than a figment.”
What was a figment? She didn’t understand.
“He was right… you really are gone,” her friend murmured, nearly drowned out by the singing.
She was confused. “I’m here.”
Did that upset Celaena? Smiles should be happy, but…
She pointed to the scoured wood. “I’m making a frog.”
“…So you are.” Her friend’s hands clasped. “That’s good. I came here to tell you some things you– that you would have wanted to know, if you were still yourself. I’m really telling you for my sake.”
She accepted this. Like when she met Filaurel, she didn’t feel threatened, so shifted back to her creation, cutting against the grain.
“Iolas made it out of the woodlands. He sent a letter back; it was written by someone else, so there wasn’t any way to scry on where he is. He’s always been mindful about how he’d be received…” Celaena hadn’t moved, but was far away. “Athidyn, Mathileyn, and Thessa couldn’t bring themselves to stay here. They’ve left, gone to live in the Thorny Vale for now; a fresh start. They offered for me to come with them…”
Why did Celaena laugh?
“I’m finishing out my apprenticeship. I’ve told Illimun that I won’t be applying to the Luminary Vale. I don’t know what I’ll do… but I know you would have wanted me to become a wizard despite this, and my master won’t release me to anyone else. He won’t say it, but he wants someone to forgive him for what he did; Peacock said he regrets everything, which is why he hasn’t taken on any more students.”
More laughter, now scornful.
“I won’t. But I’ll try to forget. I don’t want to be a vengeful wizard… you wouldn’t have wanted that.”
She didn’t know that word. If she used to be bad… what was being vengeful?
“Enough dragging this out. I should tell you about Laelansa–”
“She’s my best friend.”
Celaena choked. “…You remember her?”
“We met when I was little. She moved to the Vale of the White River. Tolduin says I’ll see her again.”
“…Yes.” Why was Celaena crying? “She is your best friend. They won’t let her see you. They wouldn’t even let her keep Audacity… nor would they let me… she was made to put her to sleep. Audacity is sleeping in the woods, somewhere pretty. Laelansa told me that, and I haven’t seen her since.” Her friend calmed. “Nelathiel told me she’s gone wildling with a spirit. Not Hyacinth: no one can find her. Laelansa walks with Woundwort… trying to find her faith again. I’ve been given the house, and I’m taking care of Inky.”
She felt Celaena behind her.
“The figment in the library… it’s like the ceiling of the guest room you slept in… but the stars are like the ones you penned the night we met. I wish you could have shown me them. I wish…”
She stilled as she was hugged, hearing Celaena’s distraught whisper.
“…Why did it have to be Faylar? Why couldn’t you have asked me?”
Then Gaeleath stopped singing to warn her friend, and they were separated.
* * *
Auburn were her tresses when Master Almon brought the last figure in black.
“…Prodigy?”
She didn’t know she was being spoken to.
“…Saphienne?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know me?”
Not all black; white lines threaded their dark. “No.”
“Taerelle.” Cool blue eyes glimmered where they scrutinised her. “I’m Taerelle. We lived together.”
“When I was bad?”
Did that anger Taerelle? Smiles should be happy, but…
“When you were… sick.” The woman with a long braid remained distant. “You were never bad; what happened was not your fault. I shan’t let you think that.”
She couldn’t make sense of that. The frog almost made sense, and so she lifted her file and polished its unseeing gaze.
Master Almon coughed. “Saphienne still has a great distance to traverse. I’ve written to several of our peers who specialise in Transmutation and Fascination; my hope is that advancements in the disciplines will be of assistance to Tolduin, perhaps sufficient to resume the promising trend we first witnessed.”
Taerelle gave no comment, wandering to the workbench. Although Master Almon was unsettled, the woman in broken black didn’t reach for the cutting edges, her fingertips stilling on the sheet atop the pile of books.
“Taerelle,” he insisted, “as difficult as this is for all of us, the alternative was worse. Saphienne was delusional, behaving erratically. What’s important is that we focus on her future: by combining our intellects, we may yet salvage something from her malady. My proposal is that we …”
* * *
Belovèd Friend
When first we met, we fought through written verse,
You took my hand and made me bend my knee;
I thought you odd, when next did we converse,
For I was blind to what I would not see.
In garden growth we gave a good account
‘Gainst vines and thines that snared my too-quick tongue;
You were the best, so blossoms shall recount,
And from that day, upon your words I hung.
Beneath the cloudy skies you shared your heart,
Your love of wind, and of the falling rain,
And then again you spoke of halves, and art,
Yet never would you share whence came your pain.
I hoped one day to know your truth in whole...
But sundered are all sonnets
And fleeting is the day
The sun descends without an end and all is lost to grey
You cast the die; I let you throw
Too coward to give chase
And now your stare is unaware of how I loved you so
Saphienne!
Three notes, or two?
Your name the spirits sung
And sing they shall forevermore
For ever are elves young
I would not see the cruelty;
I was my father’s son.
I cannot stay here anymore
I cannot bear to smile
I cannot bear what I abhor
I cannot live denial
Saphienne?
My life for you!
Your name I shall go singing
Lamenting that the sun must rise
But to your purpose clinging
Vine and thine, I was fast bound;
I shall pursue your sea.
I hope to die, but should I live?
I shall live on for thee.
* * *
“… That’s the outline. What do you say? Will you join your old friend?”
Taerelle’s hand lifted away. “No.”
Master Almon was thrown. “No? But Saphienne needs–”
“You’re not my friend.” Ice rained from those cool eyes. “You taught me the Great Art, but we will never be friends.”
“Taerelle–”
“Had I the knowledge,” said the woman, who was clothed in a frosted night that advanced on him unceasingly, “I would curse you to suffer the fate you let befall Saphienne. If I had been given such lessons, I would curse you to never sleep soundly again, and to lose everything you love — lose yourself. I would curse you to be left with nothing but ashes, losing even your name.”
His mouth hung open.
“If; but I wasn’t approved for those studies.” Taerelle glided past him. “You have nothing to fear.”
Stricken, he reacted with anger. “Childishness! I thought better of you. When next you come back–”
“I won’t. There’s nothing left for me here…”
She wasn’t looking at Taerelle, and didn’t see the devastation peering back to her from the threshold.
“…Fuck the Eastern Vale.”
* * *
No more elves would visit.
Yet there was one other still to come, who unbeknownst to all had concealed herself, biding her time where she would not be looked for, hiding in what had once been an inescapable prison. She searched by night, then spied by day, tracking the comings and goings of her quarry and the wardens.
Her plan was slowly spun.
Come the shedding of the trees, when the soil was dry and Gaeleath had gone to fetch supplies, she made her play. The first step was the most challenging, and her nerve nearly failed her — but she persisted despite her visceral fear.
Unobserved in her shell of leaves, she watched from above as Sundamar twitched.
“…Do you smell smoke?”
Her quarry ceased sculpting. “Yes.”
The warden ducked outside, where he saw a black plume rising in the woods. Would he be lured astray? He’d apparently been distracted in the past. She didn’t think he’d learned.
He backed into the tent. “Saphienne: be a good girl, and stay here.”
“I will.”
He ran, calling a warning about the fire she’d set.
Jubilant, she had no time to celebrate, brushing through the gap in the pavilion, her camouflage rustling in her haste as she attached a slender line and descended to the pile upon the workbench.
Her quarry did not notice; she waved.
Then her mother saw her, and Minina danced for joy, only restraining herself out of urgency. Come here, she signalled. Lift me, she pleaded. To the door, she begged.
Her mother held out an arm, and she severed her web and climbed on, tapping to hurry, hurry.
She was carried to the door, from which they would have to run–
But her mother crouched down, and gently nudged her onto the ground.
“Spiders don’t belong inside.” Her mother stood. “Shoo.”
Minina stared.
“Shoo.”
She reached for her–
But her mother pulled close the flap.
Presently, Minina heard a meaningless tapping on wood.
* * *
So this sorry affair unfolded: rejection begat rejection.
She who had once been Saphienne would no longer be disturbed by loved ones, condemned to shape frogs that never were quite right by day, listening by night to a fascinating story that somehow made her sad. Thus she spent all her remaining days, belovèd of the gods, destroyed by them in accordance with proverb.
Here concludes the story of the elf.
The End