CHAPTER 62 – Covered in Full

On the night before her next lesson with Almon, Saphienne set about reasoning through what she would say in her essay.

She was not in a rush: she never had any difficulty putting what she understood into words – assuming she did understand – and so she knew that whatever needed saying could be written out quickly. Were it just as simple as writing what she believed, she was confident she could produce her essay within the hour.

But as she stood by her bedroom windowsill and watered the freshly repotted hyacinth now flourishing upon it, Saphienne was sure that sharing how she really felt would see her apprenticeship immediately ended.

She drank the remaining water from the cup she held, studying her appearance in the night-dark glass in front of her; she looked far less angry than she felt. Saphienne supposed that was fortunate. Filaurel, at least, was proud she had grown better at restraining herself, no longer the same grieving child who had sneered in anger on the library steps.

There was a certain irony in it. Becoming an accomplished liar was not generally considered a laudable attainment in elven society. Yet Saphienne was forced to be one, compelled to deceive by circumstance — the harm done to her when they took Kylantha away compounded by moral harm.

And that harm would worsen.

The fraught path leading her through the woodlands had been illuminated by her conversations with Nelathiel, Filaurel, and Athidyn. Saphienne would forevermore have to represent herself as someone she was not. She would always have to hide her apostasy from the community that surrounded her, from people whom she believed – whom she knew – were wrong.

Never mind her intelligence; Saphienne had far better reasons to consider herself superior to them, had all the justifications for which she could ever ask. Whether or not she could call herself selfless — her beliefs were just. That was the inescapable conclusion she had come to, on the day she had read the ancient poem and sat in the lovely garden. Anyone who understood what she did wouldn’t blame her for looking down on the benighted elves of her village.

But the moment she let herself feel she was better than them?

Then, she would fall to moral hazard. No matter what form her descent took — it would be irresistible. To place herself above her people was to hold them in contempt, contempt that would fester, contempt that could only lead to preferencing herself before them. Together with the ability to deceive, to lie, to manipulate? Whether or not she attained mastery of the Great Art, she was certain to become a terrible person.

Saphienne was simply not allowed to be good.

Yet the spirits and the Luminary Vale demanded she pretend — convincingly.

Seeing the ire in her own gaze, Saphienne had enough self-awareness by then to question whether or not she should become a wizard. If her green eyes were doomed to become jaded, wouldn’t it be better to learn from history, and bow out before she accrued the power to cause serious harm? Filaurel had only wanted her to become an apprentice wizard so she would have leeway to be angry and difficult while she matured…

…What did she want?

Thoughtfully, Saphienne went to where she had hung her robes upon the door, fetching out the priceless coin that Kylantha had given her.

Months ago, she had done as her best friend had shown her — had made a wager to decide her fate. She previously told herself it was chance that had pushed her through the doors to the library, but now Saphienne wondered: were the coin to have landed the other way, would she have done what she later did, and flipped it over? Had she already made her choice to become a wizard, even before she sought her apprenticeship?

Was it even a choice at all? Saphienne wasn’t sure. She had experienced losing her mind, knew how it felt to believe she was making a decision that she was powerless to resist, and it had seemed much like sanity at the time. There was every possibility that all the moments which followed had been unavoidably set in motion by her separation from Kylantha.

But then, that was a foolish thread to pull upon, for where would it end? Their friendship had first come about because she was an outsider by nature; and her being an outsider owed much to the deficiencies of her mother. To say she was always powerless before herself was to abdicate accountability in favour of endless victimhood — and whether or not she was a victim, she refused to remain so.

Her smile to herself in the window was another sneer of grief.

That was what she wanted: to never again be so powerless that she couldn’t resist. What a foolish notion! What grand and delusional naivety! She had already accepted there was nothing she could do to change or defy the ancient ways, not even were she to become a wizard, and that was before she had learned that another had tried.

Why, then, should she desire to become a wizard?

What was the point?

* * *

Almost a week before she asked herself that question, Saphienne had gone back to visit Gaeleath at their studio in the tented pavilion.

The sculptor had been hard at work when she arrived, singing to the medium before them as their hands roughly shaped it, redistributing all the excess sandstone to one point, there to be easily cut away. She waited quietly until they were done, watching as the glittering stone sheared off in a single tap and thudded onto the floor.

“Good morning, Saphienne.”

She smiled; they had known she was in the entranceway. “Good morning Gaeleath. What’s this one going to be? Do you know yet?”

Ever the contradiction, Gaeleath was dressed in rugged, masculine style that day, but had applied vibrant lipstick and eyeshadow that were decidedly feminine. They grinned at her across their shoulder as they answered. “This one will be an abstract work; an exploration of being through struggle and contrast. I feel compelled to do something very few will appreciate, after all the time I spent on my exhibit for the solstice festival.”

Fortunately for Saphienne, the painstakingly beautiful, explicit statue had been moved elsewhere. “I’m sure all that hard work will earn you some public acclaim,” she replied, her even tone concealing her pun. “Where are you storing your exhibit, anyway?”

“Right now? Over at the crafting hall — one of the apprentice tailors has been kind enough to dress the figures.” They set down their chisel as they turned around, resting the weight of the hammer on their shoulder. “Have you ever been to the crafting hall?”

She shook her head.

“How about the gallery? No?” This surprised them. “But you were apprenticed to three crafters before you landed with me…”

“They all have their own workshops,” Saphienne shrugged. “Eletha is a master jeweller, and Jorildyn and Ninleyn are close enough that they spend all their time producing clothes and shoes for the village.”

Her admission made the sculptor’s eyebrows raise even higher. “…Well, now I feel the fool. I’d wondered why it was, that none of the sculptors in the hall had been willing to take you on.”

Saphienne blinked. “They weren’t?”

Gaeleath laughed at her expression, swinging the hammer down to join the chisels on their tool bench. “I think they would have been — had you asked them. Did Filaurel arrange all your apprenticeships?”

She frowned, pacing toward the latest sculpture. “…I didn’t feel like she did. When I told her I wanted to study tailoring, she told me she would think about who best to ask; she told me the next day that she knew just the right person to approach. Then when I asked after jewellers in the village, Filaurel said that none of them were as capable as Eletha, but that she wouldn’t take me on as an apprentice.” Saphienne’s gaze grew brighter as she spoke. “Filaurel was the one who suggested I ask to watch.”

“And the shoemaker?”

“Ninleyn was seeking an apprentice: she hadn’t had much luck keeping them. She came looking for me when she heard I was interested…” Saphienne grinned. “…Probably from Filaurel. Which only leaves you.”

Grinning in return, Gaeleath put their hands on their hips and inclined their head. “Your Filaurel asked for recommendations from the librarian of the village I was in, and he asked me if I’d like a change of scenery. I was already packed when Filaurel sent the invitation to meet you.”

Marvelling at the effort her mentor had gone to, Saphienne hugged herself. “Why would she–”

“Because you were too gifted to waste on the merely average, I’d say.” Their voice lowered in their earnestness. “Filaurel told me you were special in her letter, and stressed that you were certain to make good of our time together. I wasn’t convinced until I interviewed you — until I understood you.”

Of course Filaurel would want only the best for her.

“Well,” Gaeleath chuckled, “you should go along to the crafting hall. Or at least visit the gallery adjoining it — nothing means more to an artist, than to see their work is appreciated.”

Saphienne shifted with unease, dropping her arms to her side. “I’m not sure I feel that way about my own art. I don’t want to be praised.”

“For now.” They went back to their work, taking their time as they chose which of the available chisels to employ next. “You’re driven to make art because you want to understand yourself — but once you make a work that shows you to yourself? Then you’ll want to find people who value that work, because what they’ll really be valuing is you.”

“You think they’ll know me through my work?”

“They’ll see far more than you would let them,” the sculptor replied, “and you’ll be humbled by how much they like who they see. Art bonds us together, Saphienne. To truly embrace the work of an artist is to become a little bit like them — and to sculpt the life of another, and be sculpted by them in turn? That’s a far greater art than even the Great Art.”

To hear that sentiment from a former apprentice in wizardry was unexpected… though less than it would have been, had she not known Gaeleath as well as she did. Or as well as she thought she did. “Gaeleath…”

They had selected a claw chisel of medium size, and lifted their hammer as they answered. “Saphienne?”

She drew in a deep breath. “My master told me: your apprenticeship was stopped.”

Chisel lined up against the stone, Gaeleath hesitated.

“…That’s not strictly correct.” They lowered their tools and turned, crossed their arms as they leant back against the edge of the plinth and averted their eyes. “I have been told the condition for proceeding. For now, I decline to do so.”

Never before had Saphienne seen Gaeleath so guarded. “I’m not upset that you misled me; you warned me that you lie to everyone.”

Their smile for her was fond, but they were still tense. “I’m glad.”

“Every deception rests on a truth…” She searched her teacher’s face for the reason. “…Which makes me think you already told me. Gaeleath, why won’t you choose a discipline to focus on?”

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The would-be wizard closed their eyes. “We’re not allowed to talk about this, Saphienne. I can’t tell you anything that might affect your apprenticeship. The art of sculpture is the only of my arts that I may share with you.”

She exhaled. “I had you wrong. I thought you were indecisive… but that’s not who you are. Not at all.”

“We are who we perform as, so we must take pride in our performance.”

The way they spoke had none of their usual levity. Saphienne caught the outline of the wizard who might have been, first glimpsed in their indifference to expectations of gender, more clearly visible in the incomplete sculpture that loomed over them, looming all the taller for the like works that littered the ground behind the pavilion, deliberately undecided in imitation of their maker.

“Not uncertainty…” She whispered the word. “…Not like Almon. But your magical praxis won’t let you choose a discipline.”

Sighing, the sculptor tossed their tools to the floor and moved away. “If you won’t leave the matter be–”

“I will.” She blocked their path to the exit. “I won’t ask you any more questions about wizardry. Learning sculpture from you is enough.”

Gaeleath held Saphienne’s gaze for what felt like a very long time.

Then, they smiled. “Ah, but you’re a better child than I was. You’re not as proud as me: you won’t refuse to listen when you’re told. You’ll rise to meet their expectations, say only what should be heard, and go much further than I ever will.”

She recognised their warning. Yet, she was still curious about one thing. “May I ask you a personal question, instead?”

“I may answer a personal question.”

The way she phrased the question mattered. “Your name is very distinctive… were you named after an obscure historical figure?”

Her teacher erupted with laughter, immediately restored to good cheer as they flushed scarlet to the tips of their ears. “Ah, Saphienne!” They clasped her shoulders as their own shook. “You must be quite confused! But it’s not what you’re thinking. When I chose a new name for myself, I didn’t know what you’ve now learned — I’m not named in imitation! There are many old names with the same ending.”

Deep down, her disappointment was unexpected. “You chose your own name?”

“I changed it to have a modern, masculine prefix and an ancient, feminine suffix.” Gaeleath giggled at her expression. “I hadn’t the slightest clue! I thought the ending was as generational as any other, and had fallen out of use in the traditional way. I picked it because I liked the symmetry: the same sound appears twice, but the old form is written the opposite way around.”

Several questions were outraced by an idle thought. “Did they change the way it was written because–”

“Who dare say? Best not to ask such questions.”

* * *

Sat now on her bed, Saphienne ran her thumb over the emblem of the tree on the coin, her mind still on her essay — and that revealing exchange with Gaeleath. The longer she dwelled on what her teacher had imparted, the more she decided there were other reasons to want to become a wizard.

Filaurel had shared that she only focused on what she could achieve: everyone who went on to do good because of her efforts gave her justification for continuing in hope against a dark background. Saphienne wasn’t sure she could live for that.

But she could live for spite.

Not against any one person. Not in grief for Kylantha, nor in vengeance for herself. Saphienne would become a wizard simply to spite the people who would stop her if they knew who she really was, be they elf or spirit. She would become a wizard because Filaurel was unable, and Gaeleath denied, and Faylar refused.

That was why she would place herself at hazard, she promised herself. And no matter the moral hazard that awaited her, Saphienne wouldn’t justify the paranoia of the Luminary Vale by becoming an evil wizard. She refused to look down upon the misguided and flawed people who nevertheless tried their best, people like Nelathiel, like Athidyn…