CHAPTER 76 – Oaths of Bone and Wind

When Saphienne had been healed of her injuries by Hyacinth the transformation had been dramatic, restoring her to near-perfect health in an instant. She would later understand it was because her wounds had been fresh, the magic of the bloomkith well-suited to mending the injuries she had sustained.

Gaelyn’s spell was not so immediate.

She moaned as she resurfaced from her seizure, violently shaking where she lay held down by Celaena and Laelansa on her bedroom floor. Her head hurt as though it’d been split open, her stomach burned like it’d been pierced, and her left arm was a stabbing shard of cold glass beneath the elbow; everything else just throbbed.

“Saphienne!” Celaena was too overcome to do more than slump down, crying.

Grimacing, Saphienne attempted to comfort her–

“She needs water,” Gaelyn told Laelansa, who was already on her feet.

The light stung her eyes. “…I’m…”

“Don’t try to talk.” The healer kept his hand on her forehead, his palm warm yet tense where he pressed. “Don’t try to move: you’re badly injured.”

“…How…”

“I said no talking!” His frustration exposed deep concern. “I don’t know how much you can understand: your skull was broken, and you had blood pooling against your brain. The swelling is gone and the break is mended…”

He was worried about damage to her mind. “…Un… der… stand…”

“Stop speaking! And you,” he turned to Celaena, “stop weeping! You can cry all you want later — right now, you’re distracting me.”

His stern command made Celaena recoil, her expression blank as she sniffled.

Hovering above Saphienne, Gaelyn looked her over thoroughly… and the more he saw, the more drawn and grey he became. “She’s been beaten.” He frowned as his eyes stopped on her groin, consternation behind them as they rose to her aching face. “Saphienne: blink once for yes, twice for no. Can you do that?”

Now she felt patronised, and glared as she blinked twice.

A little colour returned to him. “Blink once for me?” When she had done so, he smiled wryly. “Sarcasm — that’s a very good sign. I need to ask you–”

Hurrying back into the room with water from the kitchen and a towel from the linen closet, Laelansa interrupted Gaelyn as she crouched down beside Saphienne and dipped the towel into the jug she’d filled, pressing the wet cloth to her mouth. “Can you suck?”

Saphienne could — and the water soothed her tongue.

The healer was watching Laelansa as she tended to her. “Apprentice to a priest?”

“I’m a novice,” she confirmed. “Some of Saphienne’s ribs are broken. I don’t think her lungs are punctured.”

“She’d be dead if they were.” Gaelyn’s candour implied grim experience. “Don’t give her any more water yet — I haven’t assessed the internal damage.” He waved Laelansa away as his attention reverted to Saphienne. “I need you to answer some questions. Whoever hurt you…” He reconsidered how best to ask, leant down to whisper in her ear; his sudden tact betrayed intense worry. “…Did they do more than beat you? Did they touch you?”

Touch her? Saphienne nearly blinked; but then she understood what he was asking, and her face contorted as a bitter smile parted her lips. She blinked twice, paused, then blinked twice more.

He scrutinised her carefully before he continued. “…You still have internal injuries,” he moved on, speaking at normal volume. “I need to examine you, and I need to cast some spells. Would you like me to numb the pain?”

Gods, yes. She blinked hard.

The healer placed his hand on her brow once more, whispering, his closed eyelids fluttering… and then Saphienne relaxed below a waterfall of tranquillity, all agonies washed away as it poured down her body.

Everything was perfect.

But her eyes narrowed, and she jolted as though pushed free from his grasp; the fascination evaporated faster than it had descended.

“Gods damn you — don’t do that!” He was taken aback. “Why resist?”

Saphienne hadn’t intended to; her suffering was worse now, magnified through contrast with her momentary relief. “…Didn’t mean to…” Her throat still felt raw. “…Sorry…”

“Obstinate fool of a girl — stop talking!” Gaelyn huffed. “You’ll have to endure: I need to reserve my remaining strength.” He turned to Celaena and Laelansa, thinking, then announced “One of you has to go fetch her master, or her priest, and the other has to stay here while I examine her. I know she’s apprenticed to Almon — do either of you know who her priest is?”

Saphienne whispered “…Tolduin…”

He abandoned any further attempt to silence her. “Of course he is… you’re Lynnariel’s daughter…” His eyes rolled in exasperation as he addressed the other girls. “Almon will be at the chess tournament in the village hall — let him get word to Tolduin. Which of you is going?”

Celaena rose. “I am. Laelansa doesn’t know the village.”

“Then go, and shut the door behind you.” He busied himself with a heavy leather satchel that Saphienne hadn’t noticed him carry in, pulling out what looked like fabric shears.

Lingering, Celaena leaned down to plant a kiss on Saphienne’s forehead–

“I said go! Stop getting in the way, child!”

She ignored him. “Please feel better…”

Petrified, Saphienne only started breathing again once Gaelyn started cutting her free from her ruined dress.

* * *

Being stripped and inspected would ordinarily have embarrassed Saphienne, and she knew she ought to be mortified for Laelansa to see her naked and bloodied.

Yet she was unperturbed.

Reason told her that she was distracted by pain, separated from herself by trauma — much like in the aftermath of her near-death in the hidden clearing. She wondered how upset she really was…

Gaelyn was as gentle and respectful as he could be, having Laelansa support her as he delicately maneuvered her limbs, prodded at her torso, diagnosed the harm visited upon her. A divination glimmered in his pupils — reminding Saphienne of Taerelle, and how the senior apprentice had so knowledgably and dispassionately analysed the broken tree and spilled blood left behind. He apologised before his most intimate examination–

Then sat back in distress. “…What age are you?”

“She’s fourteen,” Laelansa answered.

“This shouldn’t be possible…” He cast another spell, a green-red glow around his hands causing dust to fall as he shook his fingers. “…I don’t believe the blood is from injury. But you’re far too young for your menarche, Saphienne.”

That word was unfamiliar to Laelansa. “What’s menarche?”

“Reproductive maturity,” Saphienne murmured.

The healer was preoccupied as he draped her ruined dress across her lower body. “Saphienne… were you in discomfort before you were attacked? Cramps? Poor temper?”

She nodded — and cursed at herself, her scalp screaming.

“Definitely menarche.” A hint of amazement was in his voice. “Ten years too early; awful timing for your first menses.” He sprang to his feet and went to the window. “I’ll learn more when your spirit-friend comes… and we’ll have to talk about that, too, once you’re well.”

Laelansa couldn’t contain herself any longer. “Is she going to be alright?”

“She’s in no immediate danger. She needs the blessings of a woodland spirit…” He rolled his neck to alleviate tension, his jaw set. “…But if they’re delayed too long, I can transmute her remaining injuries — at least the serious ones.”

Saphienne belatedly realised that Laelansa was holding her right hand when the girl squeezed it in relief. However, Laelansa wasn’t satisfied. “Why not heal her now?”

“Because I don’t have the necessary spells internalised,” he replied, “and I’ve already expended one sigil from my spellbook.” He smiled in sympathy as he saw Laelansa didn’t understand. “But you’re training to become a priest, so you’ll have no reference for the limitations of sorcery.”

“I’m too young to receive spells.”

He kept a inquisitive eye on Saphienne as he explained. “Sorcerers don’t receive spells from spirits; nor do wizards. Our spells are contained in the sigils we study. Wizards memorise their sigils each day, copying them into mind, and they expend the copied sigil when casting. I cast my spell directly from the page…”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“…And the page turned blank.” The novice canted her head. “The sigil is gone?”

“Expended: I’ll need to transcribe it again.” Gaelyn patted the book on his belt. “That takes considerable time and effort… but having a reserve for emergencies is why I carry this. Many sorcerers don’t bother with spellbooks.”

Saphienne was grateful for the chance to occupy herself. “And sorcerers… what about your sigils?”

“My sigils are part of me.” The healer had been testing her wits — and was pleased she’d followed along. He instructed Laelansa with a gesture to the jug. “Sit Saphienne up – carefully – and give her small sips of water. We’ll move her once she’s rehydrated.”

* * *

Even lying on her bed was an ordeal. Gaelyn had retrieved two clean sheets from her cupboard, spreading one atop her blanket and pillow before she reclined and then draping the other over her. Laelansa had helped her hobble across the room, and now offered her as much water as she was able to drink.

“Don’t let her sleep,” Gaelyn cautioned Laelansa. “We’ll need to watch her closely if she falls unconscious. And Saphienne — tell us if you feel dizzy.”

Although her headache had eased, rest was impossible, her chest twinging whenever she inhaled or exhaled too far. All Saphienne could do was stare at the ceiling and await Hyacinth, seething at the unknown spirit who had refused to make her whole.

When the novice tried to stroke her head, Saphienne flinched.

* * *

Her master arrived before the bloomkith.

The wizard announced his presence by loudly swearing as he entered the sitting room, his staff thumping on the stairs as he climbed. He was met by Gaelyn in the doorway, who kept him out while they held a muffled conference.

Saphienne closed her eyes. Almon was the last person she wanted to see.

Yet he was kneeling next to her when she reopened them, Celaena gently shaking her shoulder and calling her name.

Gaelyn and Laelansa listened at the foot of her bed; she tried to ignore them, focusing on her master. “…Almon.”

He was livid. “Apprentice.”

She wilted before his pettiness. “I meant, Master.”

But her teacher balked — and then laughed bitterly. “No, no! I’m not angry with you, Saphienne. Your apprenticeship is secure.” He patted her right arm through the sheet. “Our hostilities are suspended in light of your incapacity: we are at truce.”

Despite her broken bones and pounding head, Saphienne snorted. “Never. There will be no truce…”

Almon turned away. “…Foolish girl.” His voice was hoarse, and he coughed before he continued. “Then you have yet again forced a concession from me, albeit through methods that I consider underhanded.” He faced her with resentment in his glistening eyes. “For today – and only today – I offer you my conditional surrender. You win — on a technicality. Will that satisfy you?”

His submission was entirely insincere… but his willingness to offer up his pride before an audience meant more to Saphienne than she would ever admit. She forced a bruised smile. “You really don’t know me at all, if you think I’d settle for that.”

“Such a wretched child you are.” His tone could almost be mistaken for affectionate; then Almon grew serious, wrath gathering as he sought answers. “Gaelyn tells me you received a blow to your head. Do you remember what led to it?”

–Lensa loomed over her with glee–

“No.” She shook her head — and promptly winced at her hubris. “…Fuck…”

Her master was patient. “Take a moment, Saphienne: a wizard’s time is her own.”

“The last thing…” She let her dizziness subside. “…The last thing I remember was leaving here, to go to Iolas’ house.”