CHAPTER 58 – Her Reflection

Rather than leave immediately – and having sat alone with herself for quite long enough – Saphienne went out to look for Laewyn and Iolas, searching through the labyrinth that was Celaena’s house until she eventually wandered into a grand dining hall. She found them eating toasted bread, fruit, and pastries together, and so joined them for a proper breakfast while she waited on Celaena rising, not wishing to depart without saying farewell.

That Laewyn was with them meant that neither of the apprentice wizards could discuss what they had learned the night before. Saphienne surreptitiously studied Iolas for clues as to how he was feeling: although his robes were mildly crumpled and he had a few hairs out of place, he appeared to have slept well enough, the barest bruising beneath his eyes suggesting that he had lain awake longer than she. He was smiling as he talked, his posture relaxed… which wasn’t an act, judging by the way a quip from Laewyn nearly made him choke on his toast with laughter.

His glances back at Saphienne revealed Iolas was wondering much the same; she gave him a bright smile and a helpless shrug — which made him chuckle. They both lied smoothly to Laewyn about why.

Celaena eventually descended from her bedroom, yawning and holding up her hand to refuse conversation until she had poured and drank half a cup of bitter black tea, whereupon she quietly rejoined the living. The teasing presence of Laewyn gradually banished whatever still haunted her from the night before, until she was giggling along with her girlfriend’s friendly sarcasm.

When at last Saphienne was preparing to leave she tightly hugged Iolas, leaning up to whisper in his ear. “Perhaps not being able to share everything won’t be so bad…”

He nodded back thoughtfully, not yet convinced.

Celaena embraced her after — and then so did Laewyn, offering a flirtatious remark about hugs being enough ‘for now’ that made Saphienne blush, Iolas roll his eyes, and Celaena poke her girlfriend hard in the ribs.

On reflection – as she skipped down through the terraced garden – Saphienne decided she wasn’t quite happy…

…But for the moment, she was contented.

* * *

Lynnariel was busy with the fascinator when Saphienne arrived home, and she remained oblivious as her daughter climbed the stairs and crept down the hall.

Once Saphienne had shut the door to her bedroom, she took the time to put on fresh clothes before she brought out the immature bulb and opened the window. Then she pondered: did the window have to be open, or could Hyacinth still enter if it were closed? The circle of salt that Almon had made around his home would suggest so — and in any case, the window frame wasn’t completely airtight. She was tempted to try the ritual with the panes pulled shut, but that struck her as too inhospitable, for all that it might have been enlightening.

Then she flushed in self-awareness. “…Why not just ask her…”

Still, when she set the bulb on the windowsill she thought for a moment, promptly licking her finger to smear a circle with her saliva.

“Hyacinth!” Saphienne invoked the spirit with melody. “Fair and sylvan, friend and servant — come you now unto this circle, wound in bond of peace, in accordance with the ancient ways. Hyacinth! Heed my cry, heed my need — come you now into this circle, wound as I beseech, in accordance with your ancient ways. Hyacinth! Tread the trod, stride the way — come you forth within this circle, wound that you might reach, in accordance with our ancient ways.”

A breeze was against her cheek before she had finished, the tresses of her hair fanning out behind her as the spirit descended to the circle. Saphienne didn’t wait either, and simply touched the bulb.

* * *

The third time Hyacinth possessed Saphienne, the field of her namesake flowers glittered beneath a rainbow haze, snowflakes melting on the air to form prisms before the radiant sun. She bounded to Saphienne in her mirroring, floral form with an eager grin that suggested she had been waiting — and stumbled to a halt, having to stop herself from immediately taking root upon the steps, obviously raring to share with the elf.

Saphienne’s smile was more tempered as she nodded. She retreated a pace away and sat, watching the twining blooms find purchase on stone, feeling her speech being enveloped by the woodland spirit as she greeted her. “Good afternoon, Hyacinth. The same terms as last time.”

Disappointment showed on the bloomkith’s cheeks as her blossoms wilted. “And I had hoped to hail success with rhyme…”

“…One, then. Better make it a good one.”

“As though my verse is ever less than prime!” Offended, the spirit had folded her arms as she shot back her retort — and now gasped in realisation. “No– wait!”

Saphienne giggled. “I said one. That will have to satisfy you, for today.”

Hyacinth sank down onto the field, seeming dejected. “As elves go, you are a harsh master.”

“Compared to Almon? I think not.” She clasped her hands together, leaning forward as she peered upon the bloomkith and sensed her playfulness. “Don’t pretend you’re actually upset.”

“As elves go, you are no fun.” She stuck her tongue out, briefly reminding Saphienne of Kylantha before she leant back on her palms. “Why did you keep me waiting?”

“I’ve had a busy week…” Her evasion felt obvious. “…And I’m not sure how I feel about talking to you. But we’ll get to that. How did you obscure the tracks from the clearing?”

Her admission drew Hyacinth’s interest, but the spirit let the matter wait, being eager to tell of her accomplishment. “Beneath the hoof and claw of beast — easily done for one such as I, for all that it drew the attention of your wardens. My sisters, too… who were quite annoyed by my interference, but accepted it was in service to a worthy cause.”

Saphienne remembered what Faylar’s mother had mentioned to him about unusual migration patterns, amused. “Interference?”

“These woods are tended well from both sides,” Hyacinth answered, “and the roaming of the animals is of significance to how they grow over time. After I had covered over the trail you and your friends left behind, my sisters had to return the beasts to their proper places. The lay of the land depends upon what grazes, and hunts, where.”

Intrigued, she pursed her lips. “Why do spirits and the wardens make so great an effort? Why maintain the forest to such an exacting standard?”

Laughing, Hyacinth tilted her head back, bathing in her own mind’s sunlight. “…In accordance with the ancient ways. But this knowledge is not forbidden to you, only difficult to explain in full. Saphienne, what benefit do elves receive from our tending to the wilds?”

She knew what she had been told. “Abundance, and peace. We always have enough to eat and drink, and the creatures of the woodlands see us as kin.”

“Save where you go horned.” Her smirk was knowing. “Holly sends her regards. You acquitted yourself well with her.”

“Is she a friend of yours?”

“I have few friends.” She met Saphienne’s gaze. “Holly is gentle and forgiving by nature — but she is not my confidant. She, too, would set horns upon her brow, should a hunt be called.”

The symbolism was unclear to Saphienne. “We didn’t talk much about hunting. What’s the significance of horns?”

“Elves wear horns when they hunt, so that your prey does not associate your hornless heads with danger.”

Which implied that Holly was nominally sympathetic, but would turn on them both if she had reason to believe they were apostates. “…I see.”

“Good.” The bloomkith relaxed again, flowers soaking up the warmth. “You are fed from the bounty of the woodland and excepted from its struggles. We, too, are fed from that same bounty, and excepted from similar struggles. We also…” Hyacinth hesitated. “…How we arise is a consequence of the woodlands, both what grows to form it, and what dwells within it.”

“You’re dependent on the plants and animals?”

“And the elves.” Hyacinth let out a slow sigh. “How the forest unfolds across the centuries, and how that unfolding is identified by all who behold it, both calls us forth and grants us shape. Not merely physical shape.”

A ripple of associations ran across Saphienne’s mind. “Sympathy of identity… acting on resonance…”

“The maple-blooded remains quick, I see.”

Saphienne stood, advancing to the edge of the field. “Sunlight is magical. Woodland spirits favour the east because the sun rises there, and sunlight feeds your magic… which I’m beginning to understand isn’t just your spells, is it?”

Hyacinth’s giggle danced, silver chimes in the wind. “Are we not all magical?”

“Sunlight feeds the forest, and the magic of sunlight bleeds through the forest by sympathetic connection…” She hesitated. “…What resonance does sunlight have?”

“Pure.” Her yellow eyes shone to the word. “The sun is fair. All things thrive beneath the light, and so too, all things are bleached and burned.”

“Then… the resonance flows through space–”

“By touch of root and leaf.”

“Across time–”

“As the turning of the seasons.”

“And by semblance?”

Hyacinth sat up, stroking her fingers across the flowers on her shoulder, and also trailing them through the stems upon the field. “As bloom to its kith, and wood to its kin.”

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Yet Hyacinth had said the spirits were shaped by animals and elves. “…And identity? What form does identity take?”

The bloomkith beamed with pride. “Me, and my sisters.”

* * *

Hyacinth hadn’t been lying: Saphienne struggled to fully comprehend what the spirit did her utmost to explain.

After what felt like endless revolutions of questions and answers, Saphienne massaged her temples. “Then… how animals and elves experience the forest determines which spirits will arise, and the type of person they will be?”

“More that you shape how we understand ourselves.” Hyacinth was being patient, but did nothing to conceal her mild boredom as she idly played with her blossoms. “We are the land in which we dwell. What you might conceive as death for us is more like falling back asleep… unconsciousness, not oblivion. When we arise from the land, we arise from where what you call resonance has pooled.”

Saphienne nodded. “Physically, where it’s accumulated in space and across time… with your form determined by the strongest sympathetic connection of semblance. So if the resonance happens to collect in a patch of hyacinths–”

There, Hyacinth laughed. “Not by mere happenstance, not for I. We cultivate the forest, and so my elder sisters are one half of my parentage.”

The profound implications of the ancient ways on spirits began to take shape. “And elves are the other?”

“Arguably the greater, through what you call sympathy of identity.” She grinned. “I would have you know: when I asked ‘Upon what spirit has thy heart been fed?’ I was making a very funny joke.”

Reeling, Saphienne began to pace back and forth. “So you’re… does that mean…” Her stride lengthened, and she skipped over the line of flowers growing in front of her each time she approached them, spinning on the ball of her foot whenever she reached either end of the steps. “…Hyacinth, does how I understand you change you?”

Nervousness showing, Hyacinth stood. “It could.”

She stopped in her tracks.

“When we are newly arisen,” the bloomkith shared, “we are entirely shaped by the identity prepared for us. As we grow into ourselves, we take on what surrounds us, including what is shared with us by other spirits of our kith, and more distantly our kin. When elves are introduced to us–”

“At nine.” Saphienne recalled the rite. “That’s when we’re properly made aware of you… which I suppose is held back until we’re old enough not to be afraid, which makes a lot of sense now.”