CHAPTER 54 – The Substance of Change

After the apprentices had finished their lesson – ending by meditating on a pointedly realistic hallucination of a lavender shrub, Almon sitting with them to maintain it against their disbelief – they went back to Celaena’s home. Since the key insights of the day were light on magical theory, Saphienne suggested they take the opportunity to review all they had learned so far, and to hypothesise what they might be taught over the years to come. Whether their conjecture was accurate, the exercise of developing and questioning inferences would be good practice.

Iolas and Celaena couldn’t match the sudden leaps that Saphienne made, and yet they weren’t dissuaded from participating, having accepted that there was more to be gained from earnest collaboration than ego-driven competition. On her part, Saphienne liked having friends to talk to about her interests, and walking them through her thinking was the only way they could keep up. She resolved to never let herself be impatient when they couldn’t immediately see what she did. At the time, she thought she hid her frustration quite well.

Though less frequently than the young prodigy, the older children did offer insightful contributions. Iolas had given substantial thought to the implications of Invocation, relating the material that Celaena shared to sacred rites he had once observed, deconstructing the religious pageantry with a wizardly, rational detachment. Meanwhile, Celaena had plenty to say about Translocation, connecting it to every facet of their lives with an enthusiasm that sometimes took flight from reason into wishful thinking.

And that, sometimes, was painfully grounded.

“There’s a tension at the heart of this,” Celaena observed, sitting by the open window to listen for familiar birdsong, “between what we’re doing now and what we’ll have to do later on.”

Iolas raised an eyebrow, having been idly practicing his calligraphy during their discussion. “Group versus solitary study? I don’t think they’re opposed.”

“Not that.” She closed the window over with a sigh. “Between sharing what we know, and holding back our secrets… letting people know us, versus keeping them away.”

Inspired by Iolas – and by Thessa – Saphienne was crudely sketching Celaena’s profile with a borrowed charcoal pencil. She frowned as she put it down. “To impede their divinations of us… their auguries and scrying. You expect we’ll have secrets to hide from each other?”

“Everyone has secrets,” Celaena said, but she shook her head. “I don’t mean that, though: I just imagine it’ll be hard. We’ll have to be reserved with the people we meet… even our own families… and especially wizards and sorcerers. That habit–”

“Celaena,” Iolas asked, resting his pen against inkwell, “is this about your father?”

Her eyes widened — then narrowed as she blushed. “Isn’t it rude to pry into people’s family lives, Iolas?”

“I’m not trying to pry.” He paid no mind to her defensiveness, patient. “I was thinking that, if I were you, I would be wondering whether my father keeping his distance from me was related to what we learned.”

She folded her arms, pivoting toward him with subdued anger. “Father isn’t distant. We write to each other. He’s keenly interested in my education — he wants me to join him, when I’m ready.”

Iolas raised his hand in a calming gesture. “I’m saying, maybe he loves you enough that he’s trying to raise you to be reserved by nature? So you’ll be better at protecting yourself? Isn’t that what you’re wondering?”

Her anger thinned, deeper emotions stirred beneath it. A little too stiffly, she turned back to the window. “…I was wondering…” She spoke more loosely, her enunciation fraying. “…I was wondering whether he finds it hard. Father loves me, I’m sure, but he’s always very…”

Uncomfortable, Saphienne took a deep breath. “He’s raising you like himself.”

“Of course.” Celaena and her faint reflection flashed their superior smiles. “He’s an accomplished wizard of the Luminary Vale: who wouldn’t want to be like him?”

Saphienne’s gaze fell to the sketch of the girl before her, smoky and smudged, yet with a sentiment of angular loneliness Saphienne found all too familiar. “What I meant was: he’s raising you like he thinks would have been best for him. That’s what a good parent would do.”

“Odd bird.” Celaena’s smile softened with affection. “You may be right. Father does talk about me like he speaks about himself… and he does give plenty of advice about how I should go about things.”

Saphienne shut her eyes. “Well, at least your father cares about you, in his own way. I only see mine every few years… and there’s nothing about him worth emulating.”

Mildly disturbed by their exchange, Iolas glanced between both girls before he returned to his calligraphy. “Perhaps it’s not any one reason.” His tone was carefully conciliatory. “Anyway, I’m sure you’ll understand him better when you’re older — I’ve only just begun to get to know my parents.”

“You’re right.” Celaena stretched, and stood. “Once I’m in the Luminary Vale, we’ll feel much closer. And we’ll always have magical sympathy, won’t we?”

 

* * *

 

When Laewyn arrived they called it a day, Saphienne heading off on her errands and then to the library to study the common trade tongue with Faylar. In anticipation of their journey with Filaurel, they had agreed to focus solely on Saphienne’s learning, and he was dedicating their first week to giving her a grounding in basic vocabulary and pronunciation — much to her dismay, as she struggled to learn without understanding the grammar. Her complaints only made Faylar laugh, and he promised she would soon regret ever wanting anything to do with the grammar of the common trade tongue.

By the time she arrived home her mother was sleeping. Fresh bottles of wine were stacked under the stairs, and upon inspection Saphienne found that the pantry was restocked with food for the week ahead… along with two large jars of butter and syrup. The cupboards in the kitchen revealed four more bags of flour, and additional salt and yeast.

Of course her mother hadn’t listened. When did she ever?

Saphienne muttered darkly to herself as she ate a late snack.

Yet when she entered her bedroom, she found a tall stack of fresh paper waiting on her bed, along with fresh reservoirs of ink in different colours, and three empty binders for her notes.

Saphienne retraced her steps to the hall, staring at the door to her mother’s room with a blank countenance that belied the passions fluttering within her chest. Saphienne was even angrier than when she had seen the baking supplies… but that was not all she felt, and her disappointment wrestled with an unwanted twinge of happiness.

Most of all, she felt ashamed. But she pictured Iolas’ and Celaena’s families, and went back to her bedtime routine with a scowl, blaming her feelings on the deficiencies of her mother.

Who didn’t really care about her, of course. That was the truth.

 

* * *

 

“Let us begin this investigation by establishing what you know.” Almon paced the gravel circle with one hand in the breast pocket of his everyday robes, the other gesturing to the apprentices as he spoke. “Iolas: what are conventionally deemed the common metals?”

“Gold and silver,” he replied, tilting his head back as he remembered the others, “then iron, lead, tin, mercury, and copper.”

“Celaena: are these the only metals? What about brass?”

She clasped her hands behind her back as she answered, and Saphienne saw her squeezing her fingers. “Brass is an alloy of… copper, and another substance. I’ve heard it called false silver, but I know it has another name. Then there are the magical metals.”

The wizard waved his hand upward. “Ah, and you hit upon three pertinent issues. What has been described as ‘false silver’ is another metal — rarely encountered in its pure form, which superficially resembles silver. Brass is indeed an amalgamation of copper and this subtle metal — but does brass then count as another metal again?” He paused to study their faces as they contemplated the question. “We will touch upon the magical metals later. Saphienne: is brass a true metal, distinct from its constituent metals?”

She squinted at him. “…That depends on how a metal is defined, and on what the substance of the metal is.”

“Surely what a substance is must inform upon its definition?”

“Yes,” she accepted, “but only physically. Our language is not confined to our perceptions, and so how we think about things isn’t constrained to physical observations. Which can be wrong, as you like to stress.”

The wizard lowered his arm. “Give me an example of a thing that is more than the sum of its constituent parts, and cannot be reduced to them.”

“All of life.” She smiled to herself. “Any living thing can be reduced to whatever composes it, but so reduced, it is no longer a living thing.”

“Surely that implies structure plays a role?” He raised an eyebrow. “That life is merely constituent parts, and how they are arranged?”

“Perhaps, depending on how we define life. If you confine your definition to physical observations, that would appear so…” She crossed her arms. “…Except we don’t, do we? Life is equally composed of subjective experiences. Things like beauty, love, truth…”

“Indeed.” He smiled, sincerely. “Nowhere in nature will you find a single iota of truth, nor love, nor beauty, and yet these things abound. Are they less real than metals?”

Iolas interjected. “To the one who experiences them, they’re more real.”

“Then, Iolas,” Almon said, spinning to him, “perhaps we should cast a Fascination spell upon you, to stir up feelings of love! If it feels real then it must be real, mustn’t it?”

“Subjectively.” Iolas was far from fazed. “Saphienne all but said life is where the subjective meets the objective, and depends upon both. In the larger context, the feelings inspired by a fascination would be real feelings, but their significance would be very different from naturally emerging love.” He nodded to her. “That’s why the definition of a metal matters. What the substance of a thing is only gives us facts, without meaning.”

“Then,” Almon moved back to Saphienne, “is brass another metal, or better described as the mixture of two metals?”

She foresaw his trap. “In what context?”

The wizard chuckled, waving off her question. “Very good. To an artisan smelting copper and then heating it with the appropriate ore, brass is very much the amalgamation of two metals. To another artisan working with brass to produce some useful tool, brass is an entirely distinct metal.”

Having listened carefully, Celaena asked “What about a magical context?”

“Therein,” their teacher declared, “we come to the heart of the issue. Months ago, Saphienne suggested that knowing what is before us might make the performance of magic easier…”

He had her full attention. “You said I was correct to think that, and also wrong.”

“Indeed.” He strode to his lectern, where he took his time to survey the woods around his garden before he continued. “You would doubtless hazard that the answer lies in the differences between the disciplines.”

Addressed, she considered the proposal carefully. “…Superficially, Hallucination requires less understanding of a subject to reproduce that subject than Conjuration… but the deeper one understands, the more believable the hallucination will be. At least, to others.”

Her master was surprised. “Expand upon that last part?”

“The more familiar you are with a subject, surely the harder it is to believe in a Hallucination spell that mimics it?” She searched his face for an answer. “Is that why Transmutation is your weakest discipline — does it require deep understanding of a subject, to transmute it?”

Perhaps for the first time in all their lessons, Almon regarded her with undiluted admiration. “Extraordinary. The answer to both questions is yes. But if you are asking whether the disciplines of Transmutation and Hallucination are necessarily opposed…” He bowed. “…The answer is yes, and also no.”

Frustrated, but sensing there was more to follow, Saphienne inclined her head. “Then the answer isn’t that different disciplines approach the world in different ways; is it that different wizards do?”

“Oh!” Celaena had a realisation. “Is that what a magical praxis is?”

Almon sighed, his enthusiasm draining away. “Of course you have heard the term, child. And it seems Saphienne’s penchant for spoiling revelations is infectious.”

She flushed, but this time she didn’t wilt under his disapproval. “Father never explained what it meant, but he talked about the necessity of developing a magical praxis over time.”

“Then,” Saphienne pressed on, “the reason you have more difficulty with Transmutation and Translocation is because how you think and feel about magic doesn’t lend itself as well to casting those spells, isn’t it? But it lends itself very well to Hallucination…” A spark took hold in her mind. “…Certainty. Your magical praxis struggles with being certain, doesn’t it?”

Rubbing his jaw, Iolas spoke up. “Wait. Wouldn’t that impede Conjuration as well, since conjuring requires certainty about the properties of whatever’s being conjured?”

“Conjured from nothing.” Saphienne grinned, watching as Almon stared off into the woodland in bleak resignation. “A conjurer causes something to come into being where it previously didn’t exist, and that undermines certainty. In fact, if a conjurer were absolutely certain that something didn’t exist, how could they conjure it?”

Celaena hummed. “What about Translocation?”

“I’m not sure,” she replied, “but it’s probably not to do with magical sympathy, since sympathy applies to other disciplines. Our master used sympathy when casting his Hallucination spells yesterday. My guess is–”

“Enough.” The wizard leant on the podium. “Saphienne is quite enough, without the rest of you joining in to encourage her.” Yet he tapped his fingers contemplatively on the wood, quickly reaching a decision as he straightened and resumed his pacing. “Your proposed definition of magical praxis is grossly incomplete — but it will suffice for the purpose of today’s lesson. How a wizard relates to magic, and relates magic to the world, advantages and disadvantages their magical ability with different disciplines.”

Iolas was troubled by the implications. “…This is why Invocation can be employed by priests, isn’t it? They don’t understand magic in the way a wizard does, but their religious faith makes a good basis for a magical praxis that facilitates Invocation. It’s got nothing to do with the existence of the gods.”

“Well reasoned.” Almon gave him a wry smile. “Learn from the errors of your predecessors, however, and never propose that to a priest… if you value your time.”

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

Thinking of Nelathiel, Saphienne snorted.

“Let us return to the question of brass.” With a flourish, he revealed a short rod of warm, golden metal he had secreted up his sleeve. “Is this a metal of its own, or the combination of two others? Saphienne–” he tossed her the rod “–tell us your answer.”

She caught the brass easily, weighing it. “I think it’s both. Knowing how you like to teach, I think Transmutation requires brass to be both at the same time, in order to change it into something else.”

Celaena was perplexed. “But, if our master’s praxis has issues with certainty, how does that–”

Iolas interrupted. “Both. Not either. Saphienne’s saying we have to be sure it’s both, at the same time. This is the paradox, isn’t it?” He beheld the wizard with begrudged esteem. “The reason you brought up what Saphienne guessed on the first night. She was right, in that knowing exactly what brass is helps transmute it, but she was wrong, because the act of transmuting it requires you see it another way.”

Almon clasped his hands together. “One paradox of many, apprentice. Sustaining a hallucination depends on believing it is true while remembering it is a lie; while performing a transmutation requires that a wizard know multiple truths about the subject of their spell. And to benefit your interest, Celaena,” he added, “Translocation requires certainty about exactly where an object is, while also knowing its precise movement.”

Beside Saphienne, Celaena furrowed her brow as she thought about what she’d been told, and the wizard let her concentrate until she understood. “…The speed of an object is measured by dividing the distance it travels by the time it takes to travel it. A moving object has no singular position, while an unmoving object has a fixed position but no measurable speed. If you want to be certain about an object’s position, you have to measure it in an instant, but that means you can’t measure over time, so you know nothing about where it’s going…”

Saphienne studied Almon. “Does every discipline contain a paradox?”

“All of magic is a paradox,” he answered as he approached her. “All of magic is a contravention of the laws of natural philosophy. To be a wizard requires a mind that is analytical, and a heart that can embrace the mystical, uniting together reason and passion.” Holding out his palm, he waited for her to pass back the rod, then gripped it in both palms as he took a step back. “Each wizard strives to understand magic objectively, but through their magical praxis, each wizard performs magic subjectively. Where a wizard constructs their praxis to accommodate all that they may discern, their reach is far, but their touch shallow. Where a wizard allows their praxis to develop in accordance with their nature? Then, they can truly grasp what they behold.”

“If your praxis struggles with certainty,” Saphienne asked, “how can you perform acts of Transmutation?”

He smiled. “With great difficulty.”

Almon whispered, and green light wreathed his fingers like fire, rippling as it caught upon the rod and burned — yet did not consume the metal. With tremendous effort, of will as well as flesh, the wizard pulled the rod apart from either end, causing the rod to shrink as it stretched, the brassy warmth fading from one end and concentrating in the other, until at last – with a snap – the metal broke in half…

Leaving him holding not one rod, but two: copper, and false silver.

He had broken out in a sweat, and tossed the rods to the gravel before his students as he went back to his lectern, composing himself while Celaena poked the result of the transmutation with her shoes. Their master caught his breath as he watched Iolas pick up the rods, which were imperfect twins, the copper twice as long, and both cool to the touch.

Her eyes wide, Saphienne tore her gaze away from the result of the Transmutation spell. “…You had to see it as its own metal to affect it with the spell, and as the combination of two separate metals for the spell to then be able to separate them, didn’t you? You had to know it was brass, but also know it was two entirely different things.”

“A wizard’s understanding,” Almon clarified, dabbing at his forehead with a cold blue handkerchief, “is supplemented by that of the creator of the spell. Yet understanding cannot substitute for experience. I do not understand brass, copper, and ‘false silver’ as well as the maker of the spell, but I had to conceive of them to be able to cast it, and also perceive them as simultaneously true and distinct.”

Iolas clinked the lengths together thoughtfully. “…And that’s just for a mixture of two metals.” His expression showed his eagerness, and also how daunted he was. “How much harder is it to heal a wound?”