CHAPTER 29 – The Outline of Barriers

Rain poured down across the Eastern Vale, flowing down the sloped centre of the grove and on through the elaborate, winding channels that led to the western river. Saphienne always liked the rain, and when she was little she hadn’t cared whether she was soaked through from walking in it, much to the amusement of others. Now in her teens, she pulled up the thick hood of her outer robes – the fabric tightly woven to resist water – as she left her family home and headed out to meet Iolas, consciously making an effort to blend in.

She needn’t have bothered. Iolas was grinning at her where he stood at the bottom of the hill, hood up — and shielded from the inclement weather by a large umbrella. “Never thought I’d see you underprepared.”

Saphienne blinked. With a deep sigh, she reached up and threw back her hood before she fell in beside him — opposite his umbrella. “Sod fitting in.”

Swapping the umbrella to his other hand, Iolas puzzled over the expression. “The way you said that… is that a swearword? I’ve never heard it before.”

She shrugged. “Human profanity.”

“What does it mean?”

There, Saphienne hesitated. “…You know, I don’t actually know. I heard Filaurel use it once, but when I asked her to explain, she just blushed. I think that means it’s something sexual?”

“Oh, so it’s like saying ‘fuck’?” He nodded, noting it for future use. “Still, what did you mean, ‘fuck fitting in’?”

“I’ve never cared about keeping dry.”

“…You like getting rained on?”

“So what if I do?” She flashed him a smile. “I like the feel of the wind on my skin, and the rain rolling down. I’ve never really been bothered by it… as long as it’s not too cold.”

“What would Celaena say? Odd bird.” He grinned as they strolled across the grass, and even stamped a little, making the puddles splash.

Saphienne was growing used to the term of affection. “You’re in a good mood. Aren’t you a little old, to play with puddles?”

“Don’t be a killjoy. Didn’t you just say, sod fitting in?”

When he put it like that, Saphienne found it hard to argue. She mimicked his stride, splashing water on his shoes, and he laughed, nudging her out from under the umbrella. They carried on like that until a passing adult came into sight, at which point they quietened down, conscious that future wizards ought not to be seen cavorting in the rain.

* * *

Celaena was nowhere to be found when they arrived at their master’s home, and when they tried the front door they discovered it was locked.

Iolas raised his eyebrows, craning his neck as though he could peer around the building. “Surely not, in this weather…”

Yet what they saw when they trudged behind the tree awed them.

The garden was dry. Before them, the rain rolled down across thin air, outlining what appeared to be a large dome that covered the flowerbeds, and the grass, and the gravel. Through the eerie rivulets of water they could see that Almon had set up his lectern in the middle of the circle once more, and that the wizard was presently striding back and forth behind it, whispering to himself as he prepared for the lesson.

Iolas exhaled. “Well, you don’t see this every day.”

“It doesn’t rain every day,” Saphienne said, absently, reaching out toward the dome… before recent experience gave her pause.

He smirked at her. “Saphienne, it’s an express–”

But their master had heard them talking, and he called for them to join him. “Come in — out of the rain!” When they didn’t immediately approach, he smiled. “Ah, so caution has finally taken hold? You may cross this boundary safely: the abjuration wards off the rain, nothing more.”

They glanced at each other, unsure.

Almon sighed. “The lesson of the day has not yet begun. You have my word, as your master, that there is no trick, contrivance, or deception at play now. Do you wish to be dry, or not?”

Saphienne straightened up, Iolas squared his shoulders, and they stepped through the wall of rainwater–

Which brushed coldly and unnaturally over and across their skin, the sensation much like emerging from a pool. To Saphienne’s surprise, she found that droplets – including those once beaded on her robes and hair – hung around where she had crossed over, her outline briefly visible before they ran down toward the ground; Iolas shook out his umbrella before he realised it was dry. Above them, the rain gently pattered as though hitting the ground, lacking the reverberation that accompanied drumming on glass.

“Marvellous, isn’t it?” Almon approached them as they studied the dome. “I never tire of this particular spell.”

Though her animosity toward him remained, Saphienne had to agree with the wizard. “It’s impressive.”

“To an apprentice.” His tone was amused, not dismissive — not that Saphienne cared much for the distinction. “Almost every wizard I have met learned a variant of this spell as one of their first. Should you ever progress to mastering spells of the First Degree, your casting it will be a rite of passage.”

Thoughtfully, Iolas tapped the falling water with the tip of his umbrella. “So, we’re going to be studying Abjuration today?”

“We are.” Almon moved away, leading them toward the lectern. “And to reassure you, today’s structure is not prescribed by the Luminary Vale, and will not resemble your introduction to Invocation.”

The reminder rekindled her anger, and Saphienne channelled it into withering understatement. “You’ll forgive me, master, if I am not confident in your promises.”

The wizard laughed. “Then perhaps this will reassure you: there is considerable debate as to which discipline is best suited to first lessons. We who teach are evenly divided: between beginning with Conjuration, or starting the syllabus with Abjuration. Studying abjurations is among the safest practices of magic.”

Snorting, Iolas shook his head. “Which isn’t to say it’s safe.”

“Much better, Iolas.” Almon was pleased. “No magic is entirely safe, in the same way that no bladed tool is entirely safe. Safety is relative to application — that is, dependant on wise use.” He gestured toward the grass, dismissing them. “Occupy yourselves while we wait for Celaena.”

* * *

Except Celaena kept them waiting.

For the first hour, Saphienne meditated, focused on the gentle rain. As they entered the second, she relaxed her concentration to find that Iolas had fetched one of the writing boards and was practicing his calligraphy. Almon had gone back into his house to fetch tea, and was now drinking it as he leant on his lectern, staring expectantly into the rainy woods.

With nothing better to do, and not wanting to disturb Iolas or glower at Almon, she fetched a writing board for herself, and set to work making notes about Invocation; when she had written all she could recall – and exhausted her conjecture – she began recording mundane observations of the spell that hung over the garden.

Almon eventually hummed his dissatisfaction and cast a quick spell, indigo light flickering between his fingers. Moments later, Peacock emerged from an open window on the upper floor, fluttering down to land on the lectern with a dramatic bow.

His master was brusque. “Go find out what’s detained Celaena.”

“In the rain?” Peacock fluffed out his shimmering feathers. “I detest rain. I shan’t.”

“I’m not wasting a ward on you, bird.” Almon folded his arms. “Stop playing to the audience, and attend to your task.”

Peacock grumbled as he hopped around, peevishly parodying Almon’s command as he faced away, then took off. There was a splash as he passed through the dome, immediately followed by a squawk of displeasure–

Which made Saphienne pause her writing, turning to observe where the figment had intersected the abjuration. Rolling raindrops were already filling the space left behind by him, yet from what she knew, that shouldn’t have been possible… unless the spell that comprised him could interact with other spells?

Or, more likely–

The gap flickered and wavered, becoming unreal, and she smiled as she pointedly looked away, letting herself accept that the bird had splashed through the boundary. Peacock had explained how figments were sustained: he depended on the belief of more than one person, which suggested that she had imagined his passage, and the spell had shown her what she expected to see.

“Master Almon,” she said, holding back her acrimony for the sake of learning, “may I ask a question about figments?”

He was inclined to refuse, but then he surveyed the woodland, and she saw him concede he had nothing better to do. “…As long as it brief.”

“Peacock…” She paused to consider how to think about him. “…So as not to cause problems, let’s say that Peacock is a clever bird, and uses our imaginations to help him appear how he wishes to.”

Taken by surprise, Almon gave her a thin smile. “That is an effective way to imagine him — accepting he is magical, without reducing him to a mere spell. Helpful fictions are important for the practice of Hallucination.”

Saphienne cared little for his acknowledgement, and swiftly pressed on. “I saw how Peacock went through the abjuration, and I think I know why and how I saw what I saw. My question is: what happens if Peacock is perceived by someone who doesn’t have a vivid imagination? Or who doesn’t know enough to think about details? Say, a child?”

Her question won her master’s interest, and he casually leant on the lectern as he began to answer, animated as he gestured with his empty teacup. “Now that, Saphienne, is an excellent question–”

But something overhead distracted him.

There was humour in his voice when he looked back down. “…Which we will attempt to answer later…”

With another dramatic splash, Peacock dipped into the dome, squawking in complaint as he flew to the open window.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“…for Celaena is about to arrive.”

As though waiting for her cue, Celaena came around from the front of the residence, stopping to gape at the spell upon the garden.

Almon raised his voice. “Did you have pressing business, girl? Come in.”

Disappointed, Saphienne turned her attention to Celaena. “You’re safe to cross the barrier.”

“Ward,” Almon corrected her. “The rain is warded off, but the spell presents no barrier. I will clarify the nomenclature later.”

Having emerged into the garden, Celaena was clearly tired as she stared up at the hanging water, her exhaustion palpable as she belatedly remembered herself and hurried across to the lectern. “I’m sorry, master — I didn’t mean to disrespect your time.”

He waved away her apology. “What kept you?”

Burning with shame, her gaze fell to her shoes. “…I overslept.”

Almon wasn’t quick to rebuke her, his voice gentler than before. “Did you have trouble sleeping, last night?”

“…Yes.”

“I assume, the cause was related to yesterday’s lesson?”

Subdued, Celaena hazarded a small nod.

“Then I shall not hold you accountable.” His expression was sympathetic, and Saphienne wondered whether the wizard had once experienced the same. “What is not of your choosing is not your fault. Were you unwell, I would reschedule the lesson for another day.” He beckoned Iolas and Saphienne to join them. “When you are detained, I only ask that you please send word, if you are able.”

Trying not to react, Saphienne slipped her filled pages into her satchel. The hypocrisy of what he demanded of Saphienne, compared to the allowance he made for Celaena, made her–

“This applies to you as well, Saphienne.” His eyes glinted. “I expect your prompt attendance — when there is no good reason for you to be absent, or when you are not unavoidably delayed. You may judge yourself.”

Halfway through cleaning her pen, she slowly set it back down, lips pursed as she scrutinised the wizard. His expression betrayed no answers. She went back to what she was doing, then put away pen and ink as she spoke to him. “Is this some form of lesson, master? Or is it merely educational?”