CHAPTER 2 – The World on Its Edge

Saphienne had always felt safe in the library.

The other elven children rarely visited it in the morning, and the way the tall, glass windows lit up in the early light made her feel refreshed and calm. When it rained, she would curl up on a cushion by the window, letting the drumming against the panes slow the rhythm of her breathing; when it snowed, she would watch the flakes drift down from her seat next to the fireplace, enjoying its magical warmth as she shared the cozy silence with the librarian. Nobody ever troubled her in the library. The library was where she felt welcome.

Standing there on that morning, with Kylantha sobbing in her arms, an oddly distant and impersonal part of Saphienne knew that she would never again feel the same way about the library. The tall elf in autumnal armour had violated that sanctuary.

Later, she would feel guilt for thinking that. Her first thought had been of her own loss, rather than of the friend whom she was about to lose. But Saphienne was only a child, and what was unfolding was far too much for any child to experience, and much, much later she would understand that some losses are too great to feel when they are fresh, let alone when they are occurring.

“Taking you away?” she whispered.

Kylantha tried to nod, and fell against her chest again as fresh sobs stole her breath.

An older Saphienne would have pulled Kylantha behind her, protected her. All she knew how to do then was look up at the crouching stranger and ask him, “Why?”

“She is a half-elf.” His mossy eyes were sympathetic, but as he spoke she realised his sympathy was chiefly for her. “She is cursed to wither, and she will enter decline before your childhood is done. I’m sorry.”

She squeezed her friend all the tighter. “But… why does she have to leave?”

“Because it would be an unkindness for her to live among us.”

Saphienne considered this without emotion, burying all she felt beneath the puzzle. “But she needs kindness. Someone will have to take care of her when she’s sick. Someone will have to help her when she’s frail.” She tried to make sense of it. “Is her mother going with her?”

Now Kylantha was shrieking, and Saphienne started in surprise, and felt something hot and wet spill down her own cheeks.

The man who had come for the half-elf shook his head. “The kindness is for you. And for her mother. It wouldn’t be fair on you, to watch that happen to her. And no parent should watch their child diminish.”

“But she wouldn’t want–”

“She knows. She has said goodbye. And so must you.”

And then Saphienne understood why Kylantha was howling, and why she had ran, not to the embrace of her mother, but for the only person who still wanted her.

In the background, the librarian had been looking away, but as the man spoke she took a breath and walked forward and around him. At first Saphienne thought she was coming to Kylantha’s defence, only to be disappointed when she stepped behind the pair of girls and gently laid her hand on the young elf’s shoulder.

“Saphienne…” Kylantha’s voice was a moan.

Saphienne’s eyes fell to her friend’s head. “You can’t take her away,” she said, and felt the hand on her shoulder squeeze.

The man stood, and as he stepped forward Kylantha pressed herself into her friend more desperately. “Saphienne!”

“You can’t,” Saphienne repeated, her voice frail, watching as his gloved hands took Kylantha by the arms and pulled her, delicately at first, then more insistently.

“Saphienne! Saphienne, help! Saphienne!”

But Saphienne could not help.

She just watched, eyes streaming, as her only friend was dragged away from her, to be carried out of the world she knew.

* * *

I said before that Saphienne was a quiet child. Never was she quieter than on the walk back from the library, when the librarian held her hand and led her back to the tree from which her family home was grown. She was not truly present for the journey.

Her mother was upstairs when they arrived, having lazed the morning away, and she was tying a silvery robe about her waist as she came down to meet them. “Saphienne? Is something the matter?”

The librarian answered for her. “Kylantha left.”

“Oh.” Her mother stopped midway down the stairs, fingers touching the smooth wood of the living wall. “I forgot that was today. What unpleasantness. Thank you for bringing her home, Filaurel.”

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Saphienne looked up, seeing her mother clearly for the first time. “You knew?”

“Oh, my darling Saphienne.” The carefree, careless elf finished descending the stairs and bent over to speak to her. “They told me last season. I wanted to make it easier on you. I was going to tell you the night before, but things just–”

She never heard the rest. Saphienne pulled free from Filaurel and ran past her mother, up the stairs, along the hall, into her small and undecorated bedroom, slamming the door with enough force to rattle the house from roots to leaves.

* * *

Eventually her mother called her for lunch. She did not answer.

Nor did she rise from her bed when her mother knocked on the door to tell her dinner was ready. Even when her mother said they had acorn cake, which was once her favourite, she gave no reply.

When sunset came and the door to her room opened, she faced the wall listlessly. Her cheek was cool to her mother’s kiss.

All through the night, and all through the next day, she did nothing but lie upon her bed and breathe. Well, not quite nothing: she also clutched a poorly made pouch of cloth and wood against her aching chest, and silently, furiously cried.