CHAPTER 114 – Her Inflection

Formal acknowledgement by the regional consensus was not bestowed commonly, for its meetings were irregular. Rarer still were conclaves called by the elders to discuss significant matters, even within the local consensus of the Eastern Vale. That the elders visiting for the summer festival had expressly convened to valorise Saphienne was extraordinary, signalling that she was a hero whose deeds were to be remembered — and elven memories were very long indeed.

Alas, meetings of the consensus had to follow their rules.

Once Saphienne had been thoroughly applauded, she was seated in a place of honour directly before it. Another chair was placed beside her, and Thessa was given the same treatment when she was brought into the hall, blushing crimson the entire time, more so when she saw Saphienne was joining in with unconcealed glee.

“…I don’t belong here,” the artist whispered as she sat.

Saphienne gave her a wry smile. “…Neither do I…”

Anaeluin called the meeting back to order – just as commanding as when he had once invoked elder prerogative from the mezzanine – then asked Filaurel to read aloud the record of business conducted earlier in the day. The secretary did so with impartial dryness that nevertheless was suffused with relish, articulating that the elders had opened by electing Anaeluin as chair and Helaen as assistant chair, then had unanimously agreed that the girls Saphienne and Thessa were deserving of public acknowledgement for their heroism, and that each should be rewarded in proportion to their bravery. Subsequently, the meeting had debated for the better part of an hour on the wording of the formal motions to recognise each of them, then had discussed several proposals for what would serve as fitting rewards–

“Thank you, Secretary — that will suffice for now.” He grinned playfully to Saphienne and Thessa. “We wouldn’t want to ruin the anticipation, would we?”

Gentle laughter rippled around the auditorium.

“Let us read the first proposed motion–”

Helaen touched the chair’s elbow; he leant down and listened, then sighed.

“…My apologies, but the assistant chair has corrected me. Does anyone object to the minutes as recounted, with the exclusion of the omitted content we will shortly be reading?”

Saphienne crossed her arms and leant back. “Here we go…”

Sure enough, there was always someone who had to slow everything down. “This is less an objection than a request for clarification …”

Thessa slowly slumped in her chair.

 

* * *

 

Thirty minutes of tedious back-and-forth later, Filaurel persuaded the elders that her minutes were accurate and had captured enough detail to stand unamended; Saphienne had gained a new appreciation for her patience by the end.

At last, Thessa was called to stand.

“Thessa of the Eastern Vale, daughter to Mathileyn and Athidyn, sister to Iolas,” Anaeluin read aloud. “The consensus of the eastern woodlands acknowledges your selfless bravery during the summer solstice festival. Despite great peril to your own life, and having opportunity to flee, you returned to guide children much younger than yourself away from the dragon that had descended in fiery wrath upon the lake.”

Saphienne bit her tongue.

“Where most stood paralysed, you acted. You did so alone and unarmed, risking your eternity to save the eternities of others. The consensus of the eastern woodlands applauds your courage and conviction, that they be emulated across all time to come.” He lowered the page, solemnly casting his gaze across the assembly. “Fellow elders, in keeping with ‘The Rules of Order for Reaching Consensus,’ I propose that this motion be decided by acclaim. Are there any objections?”

This time, no one dared delay.

“Then all those in favour, please raise your–”

Had Saphienne not personally seen there were only two hundred or so people in the room, she would have believed the hall full by the deafening cry that rang out.

“…I believe that’s unanimous!”

Raucous applause accompanied Tolduin approaching with a laurel wreath, crowning Thessa as she trembled under scrutiny. When she tried to bow he stopped her — for in this moment, her status exceeded all others in the vale.

Next came the rewards that had been long deliberated. In due course, the elders voted to grant her priority in requesting whatever she desired from the storehouses for the next ten years, together with the promise of a personal studio once she felt ready, before which she could make use of the crafting hall however she chose — for they awarded Thessa her very own key.

Sweetest of all? She received a permanent place to exhibit her work in the gallery.

Thessa was overwhelmed when she sat back down, Saphienne rubbing her back as she struggled to hold her composure. Anaeluin was kind enough to give them a moment together before he called for the meeting to return to order.

“Saphienne, please rise.”

Steeling herself for what she intended, Saphienne took the spot before the stage where her friend had stood.

“Saphienne of the Eastern Vale, daughter to Lynnariel and Delred,” he recited. “In awe of the will of the gods made manifest, the consensus of the eastern woodlands acknowledges your peerless self-sacrifice during the summer solstice festival. Holding no hope for your own survival, you went forth to contest the dread might of the dragon in word and deed, defending those who could not defend themselves. In this you acted far beyond your scant nineteen years–”

Murmurs from the elders attested to their enduring astonishment.

“–And exceeded our finest in the Wardens of the Wilds. You stood fast against the dragon’s terror where no one else held firm, refusing to flinch in the face of certain death.” Anaeluin shook his head, unnerved by the events he contemplated. “Through a feat of spellcraft that mystifies our most learned magicians, you duelled and defeated the dragon–”

Cheers interrupted the chair, and he made no attempt to assert his authority until the crowd had exhausted themselves, subjecting Saphienne to several minutes of excruciating commendation.

“…The secretary will please minute the duration and character of that interruption…”

Laughs approved.

“I will resume reading from the motion,” he continued. “Through a feat of spellcraft that mystifies our most learned magicians, you duelled and defeated the dragon that had attacked the Eastern Vale–”

Saphienne raised her hand. “Point of order.”

Anaeluin paused his reading with eyebrows raised. “…The chair recognises–”

Another interjection – from the assistant chair – saw him listen attentively, their ensuing conversation low, urgent, and exasperated in equal measure.

“…My apologies for the delay.” He spoke not to Saphienne, but to his peers. “For the sake of expediency, I hereby propose temporarily suspending the section of the rules that restricts who may raise a valid point of order. Does anyone have meaningful reason to object to this proposal?”

Somewhere behind Saphienne, hisses conveyed that someone had been about to, and was being encouraged to reconsider.

“No? Then I ask all those in favour to please raise their hands.” He smiled as he studied the scene before him. “That appears to be overwhelmingly carried — the chair recognises a point of order from Saphienne of the Eastern Vale.”

Saphienne bowed. “May it please our consensus to know that the motion is incompetent to proceed,” she asserted, ignoring the confusion she sensed from the assembly, “on the basis that it is factually inaccurate. The provisions for–”

“Inaccurate?” Anaeluin grinned as he indulged her. “Would you please explain?”

Never would she let her history be abridged. “The dragon Parthenos did not attack the Eastern Vale — she did not come here intent on murder. She had been wounded by an encounter with another dragon, then assaulted while resting, and was unable to keep flying when–”

“Saphienne.” His tone was superior but charitable. “Did you – or did you not – place yourself in danger to save young Thessa here, along with the other children?”

“Yes, but–”

“And in doing so,” he carried on, “did a dragon try to end your life?”

Saphienne blinked. “Well, that’s not–”

“Yes or no?”

She wavered for a long moment. “…Yes…”

“Then as endearing as your humility is,” he announced, to fond chuckles, “you belong to the Eastern Vale, therefore the motion is substantively true — and your point of order is overruled.”

Disbelieving though she was, Saphienne couldn’t help but feel that the gods were mocking her.

 

* * *

 

There could be no opposing the unanimous adoption of the motion, and once the ecstatic assent died away she listened with growing disquiet to her rewards. She was to receive priority from the storehouses for a century; gifts of appreciation from everyone in the eastern woodlands; and a grand home was to be grown for her, befitting her heroism. Furthermore, works of art commemorating her deed were to be commissioned in every medium, with a statue to be erected upon the island where–

Saphienne had heard enough. “Point of order.”

“Again?” Less graciously than before, Anaeluin nonetheless took his responsibilities under the rules seriously. “The chair recognises Saphienne of the Eastern Vale.”

“May it please our consensus to know: I decline these rewards.”

Befuddled silence greeted her refusal.

Helaen spoke up as assistant chair. “…You decline them?”

“Under the consensus of the woodlands,” Saphienne declared, confident in what she’d read when she’d understudied Filaurel, “I cannot be compelled to make use of rights afforded to me, take possession of personal property that is not already mine, or surrender myself to sit for artists. There is no provision that permits this: I am neither party to a property dispute nor accused of any wrongdoing, and public safety does not depend upon my acceptance.” She clasped her hands. “Therefore, with respect for our consensus: I decline these rewards.”

Whispers spread, the elders unsure what to make of her.

The chair called for silence. “Saphienne! Child. You should be grateful that–”

Another hand shot up, atop a cerulean sleeve. “Point of order!”

Wary now, Anaeluin was subdued as he acknowledged the new speaker. “The chair recognises the esteemed representative of the Luminary Vale…?”

Almon pointedly joined Saphienne in front of the stage before he addressed the meeting. “Speaking for the Luminary Vale – which has accepted Master Saphienne’s application, for all that she has not yet been admitted – I must remind and require our consensus to address her with the full title, respect, and dignity she has earned through her accomplishment with the Great Art.”

Anaeluin reluctantly bowed. “Sustained. My apologies, Master Saphienne: would you care to articulate why you are opposed to being rewarded?”

Saphienne bowed back to him. “I neither need nor want priority from the storehouses; I find the notion of compelled gifts a contradiction; my existing accommodation is perfectly sufficient; and while I would never interfere with anyone’s right to practice their chosen art, I strongly object to additional monuments intruding upon the island, for fear of disrupting its natural beauty and displacing the wildlife.” As she straightened, she adopted a conciliatory tone. “My apologies, but I did what any elven magician ought do — no more. I believe receiving personal rewards for doing the right thing would set a poor example.”

Anaeluin let the hall fall into disordered debate as he turned to Filaurel, who was trying very hard to smother her amusement.

Almon leant closer. “…Careful, Saphienne…”

“Thank you, Master Almon.”

Rebuked, he let her be.

Meanwhile, the chair waved the hall to calm. “Master Saphienne: accepting your objections as reasonable, might I inquire whether there is anything our consensus might offer that wouldn’t meet with your objection?”

“To benefit myself? No.”

Hums of understanding lifted the room; smiles broke out on the faces regarding her, and Anaeluin relaxed.

“In your quite admirable modesty,” he hazarded, “would you perhaps be content to accept reward in a form that does not directly benefit you? Perhaps, you might take this as an opportunity to request assistance in aid of others?”

A sudden intake of breath signalled Tolduin realising what she was up to.

She let him sweat. “I can think of five ways that I could be of greater help to the woodlands, were I to have the support of our consensus. Would it please the chair for me to iterate them, beginning with the least significant?”

By now implicitly conceding that Saphienne had her audience at a disadvantage, Anaeluin had no choice but to consent.

“Most of what I would like to do,” Saphienne began, “requires the approval of the Luminary Vale.”

At her side, Almon tensed.

“I would stress that I am only seeking the support of our consensus in putting my proposals forward. No matter how my suggestions are received here today, the judgement of the Luminary Vale stands supreme over magical affairs.”

He folded his arms, suspicious of what she was dragging him into.

“First,” she revealed, “while I await admission to the Luminary Vale, I would like to devote my studies to learning about dragons — better to meet them, should any return to our woodlands.”

Aware that the elders were expecting his commentary, the wizard cleared his throat. “…I think a letter of recommendation could be arranged; given your prestige, I don’t foresee that being declined.”

“Second,” she went on, “concerns a creature in my care. There is a tame and friendly spider, named Minina, whom I subjected to experimentation as part of my application to join the Luminary Vale. She is intelligent and social, and through my efforts she has been transmuted to subsist on an entirely vegetarian diet. I must also stress that she is incapable of reproduction: she poses no risk to our stewardship of the forest.”

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Almon was nodding. “You want permission for the aberration to leave its enclosure?”

“While she’s striking to the unfamiliar, she’s harmless, and I’m fond of her.”

“A highly unorthodox request, but hardly impossible to grant.”

“Third,” she smiled at him, “concerns a matter that has been known to the esteemed representative of the Luminary Vale for some time.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Years ago, Faylar of the Eastern Vale applied to apprentice under Master Almon…” She held up her hand to forestall his defensiveness. “…And my old friend was correct to reject that application! His judgement was that the boy lacked the character necessary to study wizardry, and my experience has led me to concur with his appraisal.”

“…But?”

“Faylar is no longer the boy he was.” She inclined her head. “It is my dispassionate belief that he is wiser and better suited in temperament now than then, and so I would ask – as a favour – that his application be reconsidered. If he remains unsuited to the pursuit of the Great Art, I will abide by the reaffirmed decision of my old friend.”

Despite his dislike of being pressured by her in public, Almon found humour in his self-inflicted blunder. “…I have been known to miss what children try to show me…”

“Fourth,” she moved on, “concerns an arrangement previously instituted by the Luminary Vale, sadly curtailed by the departure of–”

“You can’t be serious.”

His interjection earned the curiosity of their audience; Saphienne took the opportunity to bow low. “Master Almon, your young friend Master Taerelle previously supported your superlative pedagogy as my tutor. My feeling is that Apprentices Celaena and Iolas have been discouraged in their pursuit of the Great Art by comparisons to myself; and so,” she said as she dipped even lower, “should my petition meet with your favour, I would like to redress this disadvantage — by tutoring them.”

Almon’s cheer boiled away against his anger at being placed in a winning check. “…You’ve put significant thought into how to approach the subject, Master Saphienne. Should the Luminary Vale approve, I see no credible basis on which I might refuse you.”

Her gambit was not merely to entrap the wizard, however. She remained bowed as she added, “Thank you for receiving my suggestions with such patience, and for engaging with them so reasonably. Truly, I am honoured to be taken seriously by an esteemed member of the Luminary Vale — especially one so respected by the discerning elders of our consensus.”

From the corner of her eye, she observed Tolduin glaring.

Anaeluin coughed. “Master Saphienne… were the proposed motion to be amended in endorsement of these submissions, I anticipate that our consensus would be unsatisfied by such a small gesture. Does your final suggestion fall within the direct power of our consensus to grant?”

She stood tall as she faced the crowd. “It does. I would like to visit–”