CHAPTER 77 – Unrequited

“…Our hand is numb. We cannot move it.”

Behold what Saphienne beheld in her mind as she and Hyacinth drew apart: vines writhing across the library and all upon the steps, their blossoms twinkling with motes of gold within an oppressive darkness. Lightning cracked the sky – the sun smothered by thundersnow – and revealed the endless field was buried beneath bleakest winter.

Saphienne was eerily calm within the embrace of the spirit. “…Filaurel said that old wounds can’t be healed…”

“This is not old!” Hyacinth had abandoned all rhythm and rhyme, too distraught for poesy as she clung to Saphienne and desperately tried to mend whatever was still broken. “All is stitched in mirror of its twin! This should not be happening!”

Yet Saphienne’s left hand remained numb and useless where it hung upon her wrist in the bedroom; mere seconds had passed since she and Hyacinth had spoken aloud.

“Please stop panicking.” The black clouds spun around the library. “Explain why old wounds can’t be healed.”

The bloomkith poured herself into every inch between shoulder and fingertip, relentless in her search for her error. “…When the body has healed, nothing is left to restore. Scars are beyond recovery to all but the most powerful magic — and they heal through total transmutation.”

That made sense to Saphienne. “Could anything else interfere?”

Hyacinth clawed at the petals in her own hair. “No! No! No, this should not–”

“And you matched my left arm to my right? Every part of it?”

“Each is a perfect reflection of the other!”

Hail fell around them then, pummelling the flowers, chipping the steps, smashing the windows of the library.

Detached from all the horrifying implications, Saphienne nodded and released Hyacinth, inured to the weather by her trauma. “Gaelyn might know something useful; I’ll ask what he thinks.”

The bloomkith stood. “I will seek Wormwood–”

Her plea was quiet, her face expressionless. “Please don’t leave me. I need you to keep my thoughts clear. I’m going to be very upset when I’m on my own, and I don’t have the time or the strength to face that right now.”

 

* * *

 

Having had Celaena shut the door, the healer examined Saphienne’s wrist as she sat wrapped in the bedsheet. There was no pain as he rotated her hand through its full range of motion, but it wouldn’t obey when he demanded she grip and push.

“Hyacinth is sure there aren’t any fractures?” Gaelyn was too alarmed to be anything other than blunt. “No severed nerves? What about lesions on–”

“She says she can find nothing wrong.” Saphienne had checked with the bloomkith, and she avoided glancing at Celaena as she considered how much more to share. “Hyacinth once healed me from a very serious injury: she knows what she’s doing.”

He paused to consult with his own possessing spirit. “…Spire agrees. I’d be happier if she confirmed it herself, but she refuses to do anything that might count as a blessing.”

There was no way to avoid the question hanging over her. “You want to know why none of the other spirits will help me.”

“Not an unreasonable thing to wonder.”

“I won’t tell you.”

“…This is quite a contradiction.” He folded his arms. “To have a spirit appointed as your personal guardian? That’s a very high honour. But to be denied the blessings of spirits of the woodlands? That’s a rare and extreme punishment.”

Saphienne tugged the sheet tighter around herself. “Unless the spirits explain what happened, I can’t talk about it.”

“Spire told me the ancient ways forbid her from sharing.” He tapped his elbow as he puzzled through it. “But I know her well enough to tell: she thinks you and Hyacinth are blameless for whatever you’re swept up in.”

She took a deep breath. “Gaelyn? Please leave this matter alone. You too, Celaena.”

The healer didn’t notice Celaena’s sad smirk.

“…Your master will have questions,” Gaelyn promised her. “As will Tolduin.”

That meant she would soon have a huge problem — but it could join the queue. “They’ll receive the same answer. What about my hand?”

He avoided her gaze. “…We’ll need to examine you more thoroughly. There could be several reasons for the loss of sensation, and I don’t want to guess until some have been ruled out. Let’s get you tidied up.”

 

* * *

 

Gaelyn cast the same red-green spell on Saphienne as he had used to cleanse his hands, leaving her to wipe away the disintegrated blood and dirt while Celaena fetched out laundered clothes. When she tried and failed to brush out her hair with only one hand, the older girl sat behind her and carefully combed through it, scattering black dust over the floor.

Celaena wordlessly hugged her when she was done. She left the door faintly ajar when she departed, in case Saphienne needed to call for help.

Ironically, the outfit Celaena had found for Saphienne was undersized, the very same dress as she had worn when she’d tried to manipulate Jorildyn; she wanted to laugh as she staggered to her closet to retrieve another. Under different circumstances Hyacinth would have laughed too — but the spirit was preoccupied, hunting for whatever careless oversight she must have made, eager to accept embarrassment and teasing if she could only discover her mistake.

Saphienne couldn’t fault her for distracting herself.

She finished dressing in plain white, then abruptly sat on the floor, all but drained by the effort it had taken to clothe herself with only one hand.

…Saphienne’s bedroom was a mess. She would have to repot the hyacinths, mop the blood, strip and wash the bedding… and her beautiful dress would need drastic repairs. Would Celaena loan the wholestone to her? What about the Rod of Cleansing?

“… Attempted murder?!”

A raised voice carried from beyond the door. She slid closer, pressed herself to the wall so that she could peer through the gap between hinges and frame.

“… No other way I can interpret it.” Gaelyn was leaning back against the railing, gripping it with both hands as he spoke to an unknown audience. “Saphienne would be dead if Celaena hadn’t fetched me. She very nearly died in my arms.”

“I agree with Gaelyn.” Her master’s blue robes were briefly visible as he shifted. “Whoever attacked her went far beyond expressing anger. I saw her after her worst injuries were healed, and she still looked half-dead.”

The third speaker was incredulous. “Such villainy has not befallen the vale in centuries. Who looses such grand ire upon a child? What compels an assault on–”

“Not an assault: attempted murder.” Gaelyn’s fury was palpable, and his skin reddened as he recounted what he’d witnessed. “She had four broken ribs, a shattered wrist, countless contusions, a broken jaw, a fractured eye socket, and the top of her skull was visibly caved in. The blood swelling against her brain–”

“Tolduin,” Almon interjected, “listen to the man: Saphienne’s malefactor wanted to put her in the ground. Someone tried to kill a wizard’s apprentice. Surely you can appreciate the gravity of this situation?”

Saphienne belatedly recognised Tolduin’s voice, which was lower and slightly more accented than when she had previously encountered the elder. “…You have the right of it. Alack, horror makes an ass of me.”

“As for the identity of the attacker,” the wizard went on, “my first suspicion lies with someone close to Phelorna. Saphienne had an altercation with her yesterday afternoon.”

“Of this,” said Tolduin, “I have been made aware. Her behaviour was deplorable.”

“Some of what is circulating is patently false.” Saphienne was surprised to hear Almon rise to her defence. “What she is reputed to have said is simply not in her character: Saphienne would never call anyone a corpsefucker, even were she to detest them.”

“Forwhy are you sure?”

“The girl suffers from an excess of sympathy for mortals,” Almon sighed, “and I must credit her with absolute commitment to her convictions — to her detriment. I expect the reason for her dislike of Phelorna has less to do with the woman’s choice of lover, and more to do with the regrettable consequences. She once asked whether half-elves live in the protectorates.”

“…Poor child.” Tolduin paced into view, faced away from the door he overlooked the sitting room. “Lynnariel dwells on the day when she and Saphienne were first at odds. Saphienne was a friend to the half-elf…”

Her eyelids were heavy; of course, no elder would have sympathy for Kylantha.

Then the front door crashed open — someone panting on the threshold. “Saphienne!”

Almon pushed between Tolduin and Gaelyn. “Iolas! Apprentice, comport yourself as befits a wizard.”

“Is she–”

“She is recovering — and will not recover any sooner for your theatrics.” Saphienne watched the wizard stride off in the direction of the stairs.

Celaena called to Iolas from the kitchen; Saphienne smiled as she listened to a breathless Iolas being soothed, aware that he must have ran the entire distance from where he and Hyacinth had been walking together.

 

* * *

 

Inwardly, she turned to the bloomkith. “Where were you both, when you heard?”

Hyacinth had stopped fretting to pay attention. “On the far side of the lake… he was aggrieved to learn what had befallen you, and urged I fly with haste.”

“You seem more fond of him.”

“I am; my regard for Iolas has grown.” His worried inquiries made the spirit smile, her winter mellowing as she hazarded a rhyme. “I will not share all that I learned, from he… but I admit… much in common, had we.”

 

* * *

 

“…What say you on the matter of her hand?”

Tolduin’s question drew the attention of Saphienne, who watched Gaelyn brooding as he answered. “I can’t be certain yet. There could be several different explanations for why she can’t move it… but the fact that she’s lost sensation is concerning. Her guardian spirit claims there’s nothing physically wrong with her arm–”

“You suspect an illness of the mind?”

“No.” He pursed his lips. “Not in that way. I’m concerned about the swelling, and how long elapsed before it was healed. She had a seizure right after I arrived, and there may well have been others.”

Saphienne’s breath caught.

“Physical damage to the brain?” Tolduin sagged against the railing. “That would be most unfortunate. I will rule out damage to her nerves before–”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Gaelyn objected. “I haven’t concluded my examinations.”

Tolduin straightened. “While your thoroughness is commendable, young Saphienne is my responsibility–”

“She’s my patient.” He rounded on Tolduin. “I’m not going to let you interfere in her recovery, not after–”

“Need I remind you, Gaelyn, that you address an elder?”

What little composure the younger man still possessed shattered into frosty acrimony. “Stick your elder privilege up your narrow asshole, you pompous old fuck. This was a terrible idea — I warned you!”

“I do not see how your misgivings have any import upon–”

“You don’t see?” His voice became a hiss. “You don’t see?”

Saphienne watched Gaelyn stalk toward her mother’s bedroom, felt the door slam hard enough to shake the branches of the house. He strode back into view only to seize Tolduin, shoving him toward the bedroom. “Look!”

“Unhand me!” The priest struggled against his hold–

“Look!”

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–And froze.

“See? See how much there is?” Gaelyn shook Tolduin by the back of his neck. “Did you see the streaks on the stairs? She dragged herself up and sat there, pleading for her mother! And your poor Lynnariel lay just a few paces away, drunk.”

Although Saphienne had no view of Tolduin’s expression, she watched him tremble.

Almon called a warning from the stairs. “Gaelyn…”

“You did this, Tolduin.” Gaelyn released the elder. “You overruled everyone, and you made Saphienne the responsibility of an unwell child. Pray to your goddess that she recovers – pray to whichever gods will give a damn – but I’m not letting you take charge of her healing. Never.” He pressed closer. “And if you fight me? I’ll drag the entire mess before the consensus.”

“…I can make no sense of it…” Tolduin’s voice was almost a whisper. “…Our Lady was well pleased…”

“Not the first thing you’ve been wrong about.”

Dazed, Saphienne forced herself to breathe more deeply as she climbed to her feet and went back to the bed. While Hyacinth strained to contain her roiling feelings she busied herself pulling the dirty sheet from atop her blanket and pillow — then fell down upon them, curled on her side, facing the wall.

…It wasn’t her fault…

…None of it was her fault.

 

* * *

 

Did she sleep? Saphienne couldn’t be sure. She had the strange sensation of dozing in body while Hyacinth cradled her daydreaming mind, storms receding as she dwelled on blurred memories that brought her faint comfort. She read to Kylantha and Hyacinth in the library, roamed with the pair throughout the woods, then giggled as Kylantha dragged her and Hyacinth away from the wizard’s home.

And always, she came back to her mother.

 

* * *

 

She was roused by Gaelyn, who had retrieved a thick book from somewhere, and who had her sit up while he went over the criteria contained within, examining her using sight that glowed with the pitiless white of Divination.

He asked her to raise both arms; to touch her nose; to stand on one foot and then the other; to do all manner of exercises that she surmised were for the purpose of establishing the extent of the physical damage. So too he tested her vision, and her hearing, and had her read aloud and later recite passages from the book to him, passages dense with descriptions of maladies and the means by which they could be excluded from a diagnosis.

Finally, he used a pin to assess her sense of pain.

“That hurts,” Saphienne confirmed, the point pressed on the hilt of her lifeless palm.

He moved the pin higher. “And now?”

No pain, no pressure — nothing.

The healer repeated his tests on the back of her hand, which was more sensitive, though nowhere near to what she ought to feel. Then he closed the book and sank down on his haunches, defeated.

Saphienne took a deep breath. “Is my brain damaged?”

“…It would appear so.” He made no effort to honey the truth. “Your hand is responding to stimuli, and the responses are being conveyed. The pattern of numbness doesn’t fit with the arrangement of your nerves… and neither does the way you describe the sensations of what you can and can’t feel.”

She looked down at her palm. “…Then, a fascination will be required, perhaps even a powerful transmutation–”

“That may,” Gaelyn softly cautioned her, “be optimistic.”

“But if it’s just physical damage, surely a spell can–”

“Fascinations typically work with existing structures.” For all he was direct in speech, he was apologetic in manner. “They can emulate parts of the mind, but only if whoever makes the spell understands them — and the structures of the lower mind are least accessible to scrutiny. We know very little about how they function.”

“Transmutation?”

“Transmuting the mind is extremely dangerous. Spells like that are only ever attempted when there’s no other choice available — and never on the lower mind. The danger–”

“–Is that they’d make the damage worse.” Unfeeling, Saphienne followed the inescapable logic to its conclusion. “No one will risk casting them, especially when a paralysed hand is a relatively minor ailment. What about natural recovery? Could it be possible?”

“Potentially.” He rubbed his jaw behind his ears. “The brain has a limited capacity to heal over time. There are exercises that may help reforge the broken links — and the sooner you start them, the better your chances.”

“Do you know of any mitigations?”

“There are enchantments…” He shrugged. “I’m not the person to speak to about those, but I’ll be writing to specialist healers today, including specialists in corrective enchantments. You can anticipate further examinations–”

A knock at the door interrupted them.

Gaelyn obtained her consent before he replied, “What is it?”

Celaena appeared, nervous. “I don’t mean to interrupt…”

Grateful for the intrusion, Saphienne’s reply was pointed. “We’re done. Gaelyn is going to write out some exercises for me.”

“Why, so I am.” He rose, though lingered by the door. “I suspect this will be the hardest thing for you to hear… but try to be gentle with yourself, Saphienne. Rest is just as important for recovery as exercise.”

 

* * *