CHAPTER 93 – The Unknown, and the Unfamiliar

Never before had the apprentices seen their master so elated as he was in his garden after Iolas cast his first spell. Almon laughed for joy, forwent bowing to instead applaud his student with great enthusiasm, delighted beyond measure at the feat he had just witnessed.

“Excellent! No — magnificent!” His grin showed not the slightest care for the dignity with which a wizard ought comport himself. “Utterly superb!”

Catching her breath, Saphienne couldn’t restrain the giggle in her voice as she called out to him. “Well done!”

“Extremely well done!” agreed Almon, forgetting his disapproval of her as he strode across the gravel. “Yours is the fastest proving of any I have ever taught, my boy.”

Embarrassed by the effusive praise, Iolas did his best to appear unmoved, undermined by his blushing ears and the tremble that ran through him. “Thank you…”

Celaena caught up with the others, more composed as she bowed. “Congratulations on your success.”

The wizard went so far as to clap him on his shoulder. “Indeed! Yours is a noteworthy attainment, one in which you should take immense pride.” He laughed again as he glanced over at the plant shell Hyacinth occupied, in disbelief at the scene. “I presume that a single casting is your limit? Ordinarily there would be no question, but I find myself in uncharted waters.”

Nodding, Iolas absently accepted the hug Saphienne gave him. “Yes — I don’t have the sigil any more. Was I supposed to–”

“Not at all.” Almon withdrew a step and clasped the lapels of his robes. “Though spells below the First Degree are simple, holding a sigil long enough to complete its casting is accomplishment enough. Going forward, you will practice what you have done until you can accommodate another and retain it throughout the day.”

“So…” Iolas was struggling in the moment. “…I’m a proven apprentice?”

“Tremendously so.”

All his performative confidence gone, Iolas shook himself. “…Fuck.”

Hyacinth rattled as she joined in with their laughter.

 

* * *

 

Inevitably, Almon reminded himself that he was resentful of Saphienne and Celaena, banishing them back to the parlour with instructions to read a particular book while he went over what would follow for Iolas.

Saphienne folded her arms. “But what was the spell he cast?”

“You needn’t concern yourself with–”

Iolas interrupted. “Master — may I share, please?”

Performative disapproval warred with good cheer; the wizard pretended more reluctance than he felt as he gave permission. “For the sake of celebrating your achievement…”

His newly proven apprentice bowed, then smiled at Saphienne. “The spell is an invocation that captures and magnifies the magic of sunlight, presenting it for woodland spirits to consume.” Iolas gestured to where Hyacinth was attentively watching. “She was energised enough to grow her plants however she chose: this body was her way of showing me that I’d succeeded.”

“Then,” Saphienne wondered, “it’s a lesser version of the circle that our master cast when she was invoked to teach us?”

“I… imagine so?” He looked to Almon for confirmation.

The wizard glared at Saphienne, but spoke to Iolas. “That is correct. Your spell was the Least Gift of Sunlight. The spell cast during your introduction to Invocation was the Shared Gift of Sunlight, a spell of the Second Degree, which provides a more substantial benefit to any spirits who enter into the circle.”

She noted the names, sure that she would have recourse to use them herself one day. “Does it function during the night?” Like her master, she also addressed Iolas. “Your shadow impeded it until you backed away.”

His smile became a excited grin. “I don’t know! I’ll have to experiment after dark.”

Almon waved the girls off. “Enough chatter. Attend to your studies, and anticipate being thoroughly tested on the chapters I have set.”

Sensing it would be unwise to push further, Saphienne bowed, joined by Celaena, then retreated with her from the garden.

 

* * *

 

As they entered the classroom, Saphienne was worried. “Are you feeling well?” she asked Celaena. “You didn’t say very much to Iolas.”

Her friend sighed and sank down on the floor. “You do know what this means?”

“We have fifty-six days to prove ourselves,” Saphienne replied as she went over to the bookcases. “There won’t be any possibility of an extension.”

“…Yes, that too.” Celaena was glum. “But I was thinking of how, as far as our master is concerned, I’m going to be the last one to cast my spell. Even if I manage before you, he’ll fail you if you’re last…”

That Celaena remembered the promise she had made to Saphienne touched her. “I wasn’t focused on the consequences for you… thank you, for holding back.”

“You’ll probably be quicker.” She smirked sadly. “You and Iolas are much smarter than I am… though, I’ll still try my best to get there ahead of you.”

Unsure of how to respond, Saphienne busied herself with browsing the shelves, searching for the text they were to study. Her eyes caught on the thick slab of ‘Meditations on the Aether,’ and she was tempted to sneak a glimpse at its contents… but the last thing either of them needed was to be discovered misbehaving.

“Here we are,” she announced, lifting down a much lighter volume. “‘Identifying Languages Ancient and Contemporary: A Primer on Glyphs.’ Do you think this is the transparent busywork it feels like?”

“Maybe.” Celaena shuffled closer as Saphienne sat beside her. “Then again, I suppose it could be useful to be able to identify languages we don’t speak.”

“I’d rather learn them than how to recognise them.” Nevertheless, Saphienne shrugged and turned to the first chapter, absorbing the opening page before flicking–

“Saphienne?”

…Celaena wasn’t anywhere near as swift a reader. “Sorry; you take it.” She tried not to feel frustrated with her glacial pace.

 

* * *

 

Intending to stave off boredom, Saphienne fetched a writing board and began making notes on the languages as they went, not noticing until she was halfway through her first summary that she’d made Celaena self-conscious. She gingerly set her pen down–

“…Just keep writing…”

Well, the damage had been done.

She knew the alphabets for many of the human languages, being as they contributed to the common trade tongue, but it was still interesting to recognise the differences between Aiglantois, Hareñol, and the stranger symbols from lands far beyond. Dwarfish she was very familiar with, but dutifully recorded for Celaena–

She blinked as the page turned. “Magical script?”

Celaena was confused. “What? This doesn’t remotely look like magical script.”

Saphienne was busy reading, marvelling at the curved, slash-like, yet flowing strokes in which the incomprehensible words were written. The legend at the bottom captured her attention — and her imagination. “…The tongue of dragons. I’d heard that dragons taught magic to the first elven wizards…”

Sceptical, Celaena squinted. “…Maybe. Seems like a stretch to me.”

But Saphienne had spied the half-formed symmetries, which presented themselves most obviously, for all they were unknown.

 

* * *

 

That night, after returning from celebrating with Iolas and his family, Saphienne shut herself away in Celaena’s study and once more attempted to memorise the sigil in blue ink. She stared long into its fathomless depths, knowing and feeling the layers that made the transcendental truth apprehensible, regarding it with the same conviction as had Nelathiel when the priest had gazed upon the sacred icon. The magic was immanent, occupying all levels at once, in the world and yet not of the world…

…And yet, and yet! For all that it writhed to escape the scroll, the hallucination was unable to leap into her yearning mind. She gathered all the parts of it into herself, yet the stacked tinder could not catch the vital spark, and what should have burned steady and clear instead blew out the instant she closed her eyes.

Over, and over again she tried. Her concentration was so absolute that, by the end, she emerged from her reverie to realise she was dehydrated and had a pounding headache, the pot of tea beside her long gone cold.

She drank from the spout as she stood by the window; she let the unseen wardens judge her however they wished.

To persist with the same when the result was constant would be folly. What was she missing? What hadn’t she considered, that was so obvious to Iolas? How would he approach the problem?

She paced back and forth as she finished the pot, then went over what she knew about how he saw the world. To Iolas, life was not a solitary endeavour, and he naturally let what he felt be coloured by the company he kept…

…Was it that simple? Was she too inflexible? Did she need to see the world, not as Iolas did, but through the cerulean hue of the spell?

One more time, she leant over the table, her long hair tumbled loose to curtain off the sigil from all distractions. Saphienne made herself believe in the songs she might sing through its magic, willed herself to be the music that the Hallucination spell would loose, suspending all judgement and doubt. “…Become melody…”

There, at last, what had seemed frantic became calm upon the page, satisfied that it beheld itself in her wide and receptive pupils. Inside, Saphienne discerned the sigil coalescing, welcomed as a guest–

And then, disintegrated.

She flinched, unsure what had happened. The resonance before her was once again demanding entry, but what had become of its mirror? She’d held it — and she’d been focused on it absolutely.

Only for it to shatter, ejected from her memory with prejudice.

She slid down to the floor – uncaring that her chair waited nearby – and clutched her face in the inexpressible grief of disillusionment. Just when it had seemed tangible–

Her left hand spasmed.

“Not now!”

Saphienne slammed her clenching palm on the floor — where it absurdly obeyed, falling limp and tingling by her side.

She snorted. Then, she laughed at herself, cradling the palm that faintly stung where it was reddened, raising her head to the shelves across from her. If only those books contained the answers she needed… but they were not tomes of mystical insight, and their academic yet mundane contents were scarcely worth rereading. She suspected Celaena had studied them all exactly once, for her friend never referenced them.

What a pitiful display! Both the unloved library, and the frustrated girl groaning in self-awareness as she returned to her feet.

She redoubled her efforts, to no avail.

 

* * *

 

What point was there in having a tutor if she couldn’t turn to her when she struggled with the Great Art? Although Saphienne knew Taerelle was unlikely to give her an advantage in her proving, having someone she could complain to who would listen and then tell her to stop being self-pitying was helpful.

When she knocked on the now less menacing grey door, however, she found that Taerelle was not home alone.

“Speak the spirit’s name! Come in, prodigy. We were just talking about you.”

Saphienne hovered in the entrance as she scrutinised the man she didn’t know, observing that he was dressed in black robes like Taerelle, yet with minor alterations — the sleeves of his outer robes held to his wrists with dark, near-black crimson silk. His hair was short for an elf, coming to his shoulders, and he wore it in a functional half-tail that was braided without care for appearance, ostensibly to keep the strands behind his ears.

Where he studied her, the apprentice she intuited to be Arelyn did so with a gaze of evening blue. “Good to meet you, Saphienne. I’ve heard you’re a character.”

Remembering herself, she didn’t immediately join them. “I’m sorry for dropping in on you so unexpectedly, Taerelle, I can return another–”

“He knows.” Taerelle descended into her armchair, at ease. “Shut the door.”

Her body moved of its own accord as her thoughts raced, closing the entrance as she moved toward the couch. “…You told him?”

“Taerelle wanted my advice.” His thin smile was less from aloofness than from mild entertainment. “And to forewarn me about our futures. When she shared that I would be accepted by the Vale, I stopped being a perfectionist about my thesis.”

She was probably safe; Arelyn had as much to lose from exposing her as–

“Prodigy…” Taerelle knew her mind. “Sit down. Arelyn is a friend, and one day the three of us are going to share the dubious honour of all being wizards of the Luminary Vale who were first taught by Master Almon. Do you trust my judgement, or not?”

She should: Kylantha had. Saphienne sat on the couch, leaving space between herself and Arelyn. “…How much did she share?”

“Nothing too personal,” he answered, propping an arm along the back of the couch as he stretched out his legs. “I’m aware of the particulars of your activities, and Celaena’s, and the consequences that have proceeded from them.” He offered her a slightly superior, yet warm smile. “She’s also told me about the kind of person you are: what you’re afraid of becoming, and who you’re trying to be. Your natural competencies are intriguing.”

Reflexively, she crossed her arms. “You have me at a disadvantage.”

Both of the senior apprentices laughed.

Arelyn tilted his head. “Ask you a candid question?”

“You may.”

“What do you think of Almon’s instructional methods?”

The man beside her had ambitions of being a teacher, she recalled. “…I think–”

Taerelle interjected. “Be honest.”

Was she so readable? Or was it just that Taerelle assumed she would fall back into the habits she wanted to break? “…I don’t know.” She exhaled as she settled back on the cushions. “He seems to have some talent, or the Luminary Vale wouldn’t have appointed him. Iolas proved himself yesterday–”

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“Already?” Taerelle’s eyebrows couldn’t be higher.

“Our master was overjoyed.” As had Saphienne been, before she’d attempted to match him. “Therefore I’m not prepared to say that his teaching methods are without merit… and anyway, I find it hard to distinguish how I feel from what I objectively think of them.”

Arelyn accepted her appraisal thoughtfully. “He follows a very classical, combative style of pedagogy. Not that it’s all for the sake of teaching — he’s inclined to it by his pugnacious personality.”

“His teacher was the same, wasn’t he?”

“Keenly perceived.” Arelyn’s smile was impressed. “Yes: Almon was challenged throughout his studies. His master believed he wasn’t suited to the Great Art, because his master had no affinity for Hallucination, nor patience for the whimsy it requires.”

She’d suspected so since their lesson on Divination. “Even before… everything that happened… he never liked me much.”

“I imagine you scare him.” His own comment made him frown. “Not in the sense of being afraid of you, but rather that he is inadequate to teach you. Added to that, he’s playing out the same pattern that was visited on him in his apprenticeship, and the two of you apparently have enough similarities to repel each other.”

Why was Arelyn sharing? “What do you think of his teaching method?”

“It’s awful.” His grin was for Taerelle. “Our beautiful and learned host might get along well with antagonism, but I believe the best way to learn is with unambiguous faith from one’s instructor. Quite the minority view, so I’m told.”

“…That’s why you want to teach?”

“Be the change?” He shrugged. “Teaching isn’t what I want to do forever, but the best way to learn what you have is to teach it to someone else. If I can shift some attitudes along the way, I’ll be satisfied.”

Taerelle stirred. “Arelyn doesn’t see teaching as a sacred duty. He’s not as committed as our master.”

Her guest didn’t object to her characterisation of him.

“Why did you stop by today, prodigy?”

Anticipating that she would be laughed at again, Saphienne pushed aside her reluctance to share. “I’m having trouble committing my sigil to memory, and I wanted to moan about it.”

Taerelle did laugh — but Arelyn leant forward, engaged. “Proving is quite testing, but every wizard is tested in different ways. What’s giving you difficulty?”

Saphienne hesitated. “…Are you allowed to help me?”

“I won’t confirm or imply anything about what you should be doing.” He brushed her apprehension aside. “There are other ways to aid you than to provide solutions, and Taerelle can offer emotional encouragement.”

The woman across from him chuckled. “He means listen to you whine and then tell you to get back to it.”

“An important step.”

There was no harm in trying.

 

* * *

 

A quarter of an hour later, having exhausted her thoughts, she lapsed into silence and sought to read their reactions — in vain. Neither senior apprentice gave any indication of whether she was on the right path.

“It would appear,” Arelyn hazarded, “that you have made some progress. I can’t say more than that without prejudicing the outcome.”

Did he mean that she had made progress – and he was qualifying the confirmation with plausible deniability – or that she was mistaken? “I know this is meant to teach us the reality of wizardry… what it’s like to seek what no one else knows. I think I’d be less dissatisfied if it was something no one else knew.”

Taerelle steepled her fingers. “Very understandable. Being out ahead and falling behind feel just as lonely, but the pressures are distinct.”

“They are,” Arelyn affirmed. “Attaining the Second Degree felt easier for me than casting my first spell. At least with the secrets of the degrees, for all that they are transformative revelations, each builds on what came before. Working the Great Art for the first time has no precedent.”

His phrasing grabbed her. “…The secrets of the degrees? Each degree rests on a specific principle?”