CHAPTER 67 – The Valleys of Youth

At last came the morning when Saphienne and Faylar were to leave the Eastern Vale with Filaurel. Despite the early hour, the sun having barely risen, Celaena and Laewyn and Iolas and even Thessa came out to see them off, and the whole group walked together as far as the lake to the north of the village.

Filaurel had requested more practical clothes for the journey itself, and so all three travellers were dressed in warm and waterproof coats, trousers, and boots. Each of them also carried backpacks that the librarian had filled, and each had within their pockets the Ring of Misperception that had been loaned to them; Saphienne’s enchanted choker was secured in her pack, and Filaurel leaned on her staff of living oak as a walking stick, a yellow hyacinth now set beside the mugwort.

“You both look like adults,” Laewyn had immediately remarked, a little taken aback.

“Our shirts are white,” Faylar had replied, defensive in his uneasiness.

Filaurel and Thessa had both been amused.

“You really can’t wear much white when travelling,” Iolas had explained. “It’ll just get stained. Thessa and I dressed in forest colours when we journeyed to the Vale of the White River — and haven’t you been to the Thorny Vale, Faylar? Surely you dressed pragmatically?”

“My aunt arranged a portal,” he had admitted, blushing.

Laewyn and Thessa had teased Faylar mercilessly for the next while, until Celaena opined that she didn’t see a problem with using magic for easy travel, at which point Iolas had joined them in gently making fun of her.

They were all in high spirits by the time they reached the shore of the lake.

“Well,” Filaurel said as she halted upon the beach, “unless you four want to climb all the way to the overlook, now would be the time for your farewells.”

Hugs had duly been exchanged — Laewyn getting a little emotional. “You’ll all take care of yourselves?”

“We’ll only be gone three days,” Saphienne reassured her. “Four if there’s unexpected storms or snows.”

Celaena held Laewyn from behind. “And the divinations say the weather will be mild… but you’ll take care all the same? Humans can be unpredictable.”

Filaurel giggled. “Not the man we’re going to meet. We’ve been trading for a good few years, and he’s fun to talk to, but very tame.”

Her description satisfied Celaena. “Father once said that most mortals can be tamed with patience and kindness.”

The librarian’s eyes narrowed. “…I meant it in the same way as I’d say about anyone: Cosme talks all sorts of outlandish nonsense, and he’s been around the world, but he’s hardly what you’d call wild. Successful merchants are very averse to risk.”

“My aunt told me that,” Faylar agreed. “She said she likes human traders because they’re predictable, and care about maintaining their reputations. She said human chieftains and their retinues are the ones to watch out for.”

“Well,” Filaurel moved them on, “we certainly won’t be meeting any chieftains.”

Thessa read the librarian’s mood, and she nudged Iolas, who studied her in confusion for a moment before suddenly remembering the satchel he was carrying. “Oh! Saphienne, we were hoping you’d take these offerings to the shrine for us–”

“What shrine?” Filaurel turned to Saphienne with suspicion. “You didn’t say anything about visiting a shrine.”

Saphienne wanted to kick Iolas. “…I was going to ask while we were on our way. There’s a shrine to Our Lady of the Balanced Scales not far from where you said we’re going, so I was wondering if we could–”

“Near the protectorate.” Her mentor was scrutinising her closely. “I know it. And you’re right, it’s only a thirty minute walk away… but it’s right on the edge of the forest.”

She could tell what Filaurel was thinking. “I don’t want to visit the protectorate — I want to make an offering at the shrine.” Saphienne glanced to the satchel Iolas was sheepishly holding for her. “More than one offering, now.”

Yet Faylar wasn’t keen. “You want us to go an hour out of our way, when we could be talking with a human?”

“I wasn’t going to ask anyone else to come with me.” Saphienne folded her arms, her eyes on Filaurel. “You said we’d be safe if we stayed within the woodlands; I’ll have Hyacinth with me; and you’re already trusting me not to embarrass us in front of humans.”

The librarian didn’t like it… but she glanced to Thessa and Iolas, both of whom nodded in encouragement. Filaurel’s sigh was equal parts affection and exasperation. “If I get a lecture from the Wardens of the Wilds because of you, I’ll take your library key from you, and I’ll never invite you to make this trip again.”

Saphienne grinned as she accepted the satchel from Iolas. “Don’t worry: I’ll behave.”

 

* * *

 

Around the shore, and then across and along the banks of the river that fed the lake, Saphienne and Faylar followed Filaurel, going through the thinning trees and up the steepening path that led out from the Eastern Vale. The river rumbled beside them for much of the climb, then at last receded into a lulling hiss as they reached the level land at the northernmost lip of the valley — and turned to see the view.

“Beautiful,” Faylar murmured.

Filaurel sat on a long-fallen tree trunk. “Very. I sometimes come up here just to take it all in and think.”

Saphienne saw why. Pristine forest stretched from where they stood to the far horizon, visibly broken only by the lake that reflected it against the pinks and pallid blues of the early morning sky. Even to elven eyesight, there were no signs of the village, only the faintest wisps of smoke visible where they dissipated in the distance. No human onlooker would have thought the vale occupied.

She came to sit beside Filaurel, finding that the bark was worn smooth. “It’s almost like we don’t exist. We barely leave any mark.”

Her mentor inclined her head. “Even in the oldest settlements, we maintain harmony with the woodlands… but those places are more visible than our home. The Eastern Vale is a very young community.”

Faylar peered over the edge of the rock on which he was stood, the river having long ago exposed the grey stone — before the ensuing years had dragged it eastward. “It didn’t seem like we were this far up when we were on the slope…”

His wonderment made Filaurel laugh. “Isn’t that always how it is? You never realise how high you are until you look down. And you never realise how far you’ve come until you stop to look back.” She shook her head as she stood again. “There’s a life lesson somewhere in that — but I’m not here to play elder. Shall we get moving?”

As Filaurel and Faylar went on, Saphienne lingered a little longer. Part of her felt inexplicably sad, and she didn’t know why until she had approached the drop, whereupon she took out her coin to squeeze it in her palm.

Kylantha had once stood where she stood now. And when – through her tears – the young mortal elf had beheld the view of the only home she’d ever known? For all that her emotions had been very different, they must have been powerful, their sympathy still potent enough to make Saphienne’s chest ache.

Filaurel called.

Taking a deep breath, Saphienne exhaled her sorrow across the Eastern Vale, then turned to leave.

 

* * *

 

They made good time. Filaurel had warned the children that they would walk for nine hours or so, taking an hour to rest halfway through, and in doing so they’d cover about thirty-nine of the fifty-two miles to the meeting place.

Near the end of the eighth hour, as it began to lightly rain, Saphienne was tired enough to complain. “Couldn’t we stop now, and walk an extra hour tomorrow?”

Filaurel slowed, and passed her the staff to lean on. “No. We need the hour to prepare for the meeting.”

Faylar was more grown than Saphienne, but months spent reading and writing within the library had left him poorly conditioned. He was panting as he asked, “And what– what exactly do we have to– do we have to do?”

Seeing that he was flushed, Filaurel tutted. “The pair of you are sitting around far too long for your own good…” She relented as she stopped. “Saphienne? Please put on the necklace, and ask your spirit friend if she’ll find a place – about four miles ahead – where we can camp for the night. We’ll wait here while she looks.”

Grateful, Faylar leaned against the nearest tree.

Saphienne set down her backpack and held the staff in the crook of her arm as she fetched out the golden choker, studying the artistry of its depicted leaves before she slipped the metal against her throat and felt its magic taking effect. She straightened up and cleared her throat–

Which reverberated with a rich mellowness, reminding her of the spell that Almon had cast upon himself when he had invoked Hyacinth. “…Does my voice sound–”

Faylar’s mouth was open in disbelief; Filaurel was amused.

“I see that it does,” Saphienne concluded. “Well, let’s give this a try: Hyacinth, Hyacinth, Hyacinth?”

Against her shoulder shook the staff, the yellow blossoms upon it stirring as their petals turned white. Then a breeze wound down the wood and along her arm, blowing cool and admiringly around her new neckwear before retreating to circle her in playful anticipation.

“You can understand me?”

A sudden gust carried her ponytail up, letting it fall.

Saphienne blinked. “…Did you just nod with–”

Again Hyacinth lifted her hair and let it fall, then swept away to the treetops and back, her merriment palpable on the damp air.

Filaurel was laughing at Saphienne’s incredulity.

“Don’t do that,” she muttered, pouting through her blush. “Filaurel asks that you go four miles ahead of us and find somewhere we can rest for the night. Would you mind assisting?”

This time, the spirit buffeted Saphienne’s ponytail from side to side — before fleeing from her dismay in a gale that shook the nearby boughs.

“You’ll be a wizard yet,” Filaurel complimented her, mirthful as she took back the staff and waved it. “Which reminds me — do you know how this works?”

She shook her head. “It has something to do with spirits. I wouldn’t like to propose my conjecture without seeing it used.”

“I’ll guess,” Faylar interjected, coming closer to admire the limb. “The wood is alive, and the plants growing upon it seem nourished… does it carry the spirits, so they can travel with us in comfort?”

“Close,” Filaurel said. “They can rest in the flowers if they wish, but the real purpose of a Staff of Bloomkiths is to help them shape a physical form if they need one, should we encounter an emergency and need their protection.”

Understandably, given what he had witnessed, Faylar was unnerved by the prospect.

Saphienne recognised his worry and tried to redirect his attention, focusing on their learning. “I’ve seen spirits shape bodies for themselves from plants with magical assistance, and I’ve otherwise seen them manifest with bodies formed by spells. My guess is shaping a body without help is difficult?”

A rasping voice, unknown to her, answered quietly. “Though to ye elves our labour seemest slight, through toil must we a semblance groweth right.”

Saphienne and Faylar stared at the staff in fright.

Even Filaurel had flinched. She recovered, and addressed the spirit upon it warily. “…Thank you for answering Saphienne’s question.”

Saphienne and Faylar watched the spring of mugwort twine as though stretching, but then it was unmoving, and no further response followed.

The librarian shook her head as she apologised to the children. “Please don’t mind her. She’s an old family friend, and for all that her manners belie her age, she’ll help whenever we need her.” She pushed the heel of the staff into the grass at her feet, where it creaked as it took root to drink. “Anyway: yes. Woodkin can always just inhabit and animate a tree, but bloomkith can’t really do much with flowers, not without growing them, and that’s demanding without magical assistance.”

Faylar glanced meaningfully at Saphienne. “…Let’s hope our trip is quiet.”

She tried for a second time to distract him. “What about the human we’re meeting? You said we need time to prepare?”

“We do,” Filaurel confirmed. “I told you before: there’s an ancient pageantry we’re obliged to uphold when dealing with humans.”

“The costumes,” Faylar groaned.

“Not just the costumes,” Filaurel corrected him. “There’s a performance that goes along with it. You have a good singing voice, which will be helpful.”

Now Saphienne felt apprehensive. “We have to sing to him?”

“From a distance.” The librarian seemed equally unenthused. “And when we meet him in person, we have to take him by surprise. We also–”

“How are we to catch him by surprise if he hears us singing?” Saphienne was thoroughly bewildered. “And what in the world is the point of all of this?”

Faylar nudged her. “You’re being prickly.”

“No,” Filaurel promised, “you’re reacting appropriately: this is entirely ridiculous, at least on the surface.”

Vindicated, Saphienne stuck her tongue out at Faylar before she spoke again. “So what is the point?”

There her mentor shrugged, the many years between them falling from her shoulders. “We’re supposed to keep them second-guessing themselves. No one from outside the woodlands – not even the people in the protectorates – can know much about us. They don’t get to know where we live, or how many of us there are, or what we’re capable of doing should they decide to aggress against us.” Her gaze conveyed her deep scepticism. “We’re to be aloof, eternal, and thoroughly mysterious.”

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“…I can see it,” Faylar said. “My mother told me that the Wardens of the Wilds use stealth and manoeuvrability to their advantage. The less someone knows, the more vulnerable they are.”

Yet Saphienne shifted her weight as she frowned. “We’re intimidating them. I thought no one dared to intrude into the woodlands? Isn’t the Luminary Vale a fearsome enough threat?”

Filaurel smiled a wan smile as she reached for the staff, pulling it loose and shaking the dirt from its retreating roots. “That depends on the audience… Cosme? He wouldn’t dream of doing anything that might upset us — he makes very good money from being able to trade with me each year. And even if that weren’t the case? Yes, he knows the reputation of elven magic.”

“But?”

“There are many different kinds of people outside the woodlands,” Filaurel told them, “and not all of them are capable of thinking logically. The leaders of the human lands know that messing with the woodlands in any way will earn a swift reprisal, and every honest magician around them will counsel against it. Yet everyday people? All they have are timeless stories and superstitions to warn them away.”

Faylar snorted. “Gods, that puts things into perspective. Mother says goblins only bother us because they keep forgetting the warnings — there’s no point in trying to reason with them.”

Filaurel’s gaze sharpened. “They’re not very sophisticated as a culture,” she accepted, “but goblins can listen. And everyone is superstitious, even if only a little, so it’s worth keeping the stories circulating.”

Saphienne remained unconvinced. “You’ve met Cosme several times. Doesn’t he know by now that you’re putting on act?”

“To an small extent.” Filaurel fidgeted with the braid she’d put her hair into. “More than a small extent: he’s quite observant. He knows who I am, and he’s probably guessed that I’m performing whenever we meet together. But every time he tells the story, people will hear what happened before they hear what he thinks — and I’m reasonably sure he wouldn’t share his true thoughts.”

“…This feels like another ancient tradition.”

Faylar would have nudged her again, but froze as Filaurel burst out laughing and leaned in to hug Saphienne tightly. “Trees keep you for your honesty,” she giggled, winking at Faylar as she drew back. “You can think whatever you like about all of this; personally, I think it’s unnecessary, but the consensus of the woodlands is clear.”

Running a hand through his short hair, Faylar hazarded a smile. “You’re much less uptight about rules in private than you are in public, Filaurel.”

Her gaze cooled; the librarian folded her arms. “You think I’m uptight?”

He swallowed and stepped back. “I didn’t mean–”

Saphienne and Filaurel laughed at him until his ears were scarlet.

“…Asses. You’re both asses — and you’re where Saphienne gets it from, Filaurel!”

 

* * *