L. J. Amber
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TEWWBAD Chapter 77
🕑 Added 2025-09-02 12:00:22 +0000 UTCCHAPTER 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!”
–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.”
* * *
Celaena had fetched a bowl in which to set the hyacinths and their spilled soil, and as she scooped up the discarded plant she explained that Iolas and Laelansa had been sent away by Almon — Tolduin having gone out on an unknown errand not long before.
Saphienne dully studied Celaena from the bed: her airy dress was no longer stained with blood, but she moved as though weighed down by heavy thoughts, deliberately taking her time settling the bulb. “Did Tolduin or Almon say something?”
Celaena withered. She placed the bowl on the windowsill. “…Almon asked me to gather your belongings. He says that you’re not staying here.”
“…I suppose not.” Saphienne surveyed the cramped bedroom, which she only now realised was barely decorated. “Lynnariel can’t take care of me. Where is she now?”
“In the kitchen.” Her expression told Saphienne that Lynnariel wasn’t coping…
…And she ignored it. “Do you know where I’m going to be staying?”
There, Celaena brought her hands behind her back, doubtlessly squeezing her fingers as she paced over to Saphienne. “They didn’t say… but I was thinking…”
Images of the planned celebration – and the likely attendees – made Saphienne’s pulse quicken alongside her breath. “I’m sorry, Celaena, but I don’t want to be around lots of people tonight–”
Yet Celaena laughed wanly. “Oh, no! No, I’ve cancelled that.”
“Because of me?”
The older girl shook her head. “It doesn’t matter why. Would you like to come over?”
Hesitating, Saphienne could foresee Celaena fussing over her throughout the evening, giving her no space to herself. “…No. I don’t think–”
Tears spilled down Celaena’s cheeks, and she crumpled on the spot, her legs given out as she succumbed to dismay, her head bowed.
Saphienne stared. “…I’m sorry–”
“It’s not–” Celaena was bereft. “I just– why does– why does nobody want–”
Hyacinth very delicately nudged Saphienne’s control aside and stood from the bed, wobbling as she walked to where Celaena knelt, there lowering down, stiffly, so that she could reach out to caress the side of the older girl’s head.
All the tension in Celaena exploded into motion as she buried her face in Saphienne’s shoulder and sobbed.
Saphienne let Hyacinth stroke Celaena’s back, saying nothing.
“…She doesn’t like me.” There was no anger in Celaena’s eventual admission, no heat to make her pain more bearable. “We have nothing in common. She doesn’t even like father; she only agreed to have me because he’s very accomplished with magic, and she hoped to pass that talent on to her child. She wanted me to take after her… but I’m father’s daughter…”
Desensitised, Saphienne pondered aloud, “Your mother?”
Celaena shuddered. “I don’t know whether it’s better to be disliked or just…”
The incomplete thought hung over them both.
Saphienne closed her eyes; her ache wouldn’t be denied. “…Unloved.”
“Why…” Celaena’s crestfallen breath was a moan of despair. “…Why didn’t Laewyn come with me?”
Hyacinth pressed forward, and Saphienne let her speak. “Frightened, was she.”
Startled by the sing-song voice, the older girl recoiled. “I was talking to Saphienne — not you!”
“She does not know; I do.” Hyacinth was undeterred. “For long have I perceived this to be true: all elves reveal in deed what they would hide by word. With you does Laewyn still abide, for sore was she, ashamed to quit your side, and sought relief in wine. More have I spied: she is afraid that she is not enough — unequal, she, to all she might rebuff.”
Celaena wouldn’t hear it. “She had nothing to be scared of–”
“Save what your mother kindly heaped on you?”
She flinched.
Saphienne pulled the bloomkith away, reasserting herself. “I’m sorry–”
“Don’t.” Celaena massaged her face, sniffling, and the rage that had arisen in her grey gaze made her sharp. She leapt up and paced to the closet, throwing it open so she could roughly root through the belongings within. “I’ll pack your clothes. Tell me what else you want to bring with you for tonight.”
“Celaena–”
“She isn’t wrong.” The apprentice wizard seethed. “She isn’t wrong. She’s a bitch for the way she told me, but she isn’t wrong. So don’t say anything, Saphienne: just let me get over myself.”
At a loss for words, Saphienne let Hyacinth lead her back to sit on the bed.
* * *
By the time her meagre belongings were piled next to her, Gaelyn had finished writing out his prescription. He returned to go over the exercises – stretches, repetitive manipulations, bracing the bad hand against the good to copy its motions – while Celaena departed to request the loan of luggage. His instructions were clear enough that Saphienne didn’t need his notes, but he left them with her anyway.
No sooner did he leave than Almon knocked on the door. “Saphienne? Are you inclined to receive a visitor?”
Her composure was fragile enough that fresh pity was a threat. Self-consciousness made Saphienne arrange herself neatly — laying her unresponsive hand upon her opposite shoulder, crossing her arms, then lowering her wrist so that it rested naturally in the crook of her elbow. “…Yes.”
She had expected to see one of her friends — but it was Filaurel who entered, pale and tearful, her eyes sweeping across the bloodied floor to Saphienne, where they widened.
Tolduin watched until the door closed.
* * *
You have heard, but have you listened?
You have seen, but have you understood?
* * *
“Filaurel.” What scarce trace of emotion had been in Saphienne’s voice had vanished.
The librarian drifted across to her, mirroring her posture until she was near, whereupon she knelt down and gingerly offered a hug. “Saphienne… they told me what happened…”
“I’m fine now.” Saphienne couldn’t move. “It’s only my hand.”
Filaurel leaned forward and wrapped her arms about Saphienne, holding the girl against her shoulder, shaking with unspeakable grief.
The room around Saphienne was empty. “I’m fine. Really, I’m fine.” Inside, Hyacinth strained against the surging tempest. “It could have been much worse.” Branches snapped from the library, shattered by an unvoiced howl. “I’m very lucky: at least it wasn’t the hand I write with.”
Filaurel choked.
“You don’t need to cry for me.”
“I’m sorry,” Filaurel murmured. “This is my fault. I should never have–”
“It’s not your fault. You’re not responsible for me. You’re not…”
Saphienne’s whisper was so very timid, yet louder than thunder from within the eye of the storm.
“…You’re not my mother.”
The girl spoke as though she didn’t secretly hope.
But the librarian stilled.
“…Filaurel?”
Drying her tears on her sleeve, Filaurel gave Saphienne a very weak smile as she gently kissed her student’s brow. “You’re a good girl.” She withdrew as she stood. “You must be exhausted. I’ll give you some space; we’ll talk more, later.”
Saphienne blinked.
Filaurel retreated. “Rest well, Saphienne.”
The door clicked shut.
* * *
A few minutes later, voices carried through the open window.
“… I pray you, tell me: how long is time enough?”
“Tolduin, if you knew what you were asking of me, you would know better than to ever pose that question.”
Saphienne hung back from the windowsill; she didn’t want Filaurel to see her.
“Lynnariel is–”
“Yes.” The librarian was bitter.
“Then–”
“No. No, Tolduin.” Filaurel receded. “I can’t.”
Inside, Hyacinth was bewildered as the storm died, perturbed by the utter desolation left in its wake.
“If not you, Filaurel, then who?”
But no one would answer the priest; his gods maintained their silence.
* * *
Someone touched her shoulder. “Saphienne?”
She hadn’t heard Celaena enter, but she didn’t react. “I’m fine.”
“…Are you sure? Did something happen between you and Filaurel?”
“Don’t be silly.” Saphienne leant on Celaena as she was brought back to the bed. “Nothing happened. She cares about me very deeply. We’re good friends — we’re like family. Whatever could have happened?”
* * *
She changed her mind; she belonged with Celaena. Her fellow apprentice needed reassurance, but she promised that she hadn’t really meant her first refusal — she had just been afraid of being a burden on her friend.
Celaena couldn’t spot her deception while Hyacinth possessed her.
The older girl was overcome, and swiftly convinced Almon that Saphienne would be safest being attended by her close friend in the warded home of a powerful wizard, at least in the short term. Once Saphienne had rested and eaten toast, their master came to escort them from the house, carrying her luggage with his magic, insisting that she lean on Celaena and take her time descending the stairs.
Yet, when they tried to usher her through the front door, Saphienne turned on her heel and went through the sitting room; it seemed too small.
Lynnariel was not drunk, not by then. Her oceanic eyes were red, and she breathed ragged where she slumped, hugging herself, at the kitchen table. She didn’t notice Saphienne come in — fascinated by a point in space and time that lay somewhere beneath the tile floor, perhaps beyond the woodlands.
When Saphienne stepped into her view, she looked up in dread. “Saph–”
Saphienne hugged her mother.
Lynnariel was petrified.
“…I love you, mother.” Saphienne did not lie. “I’ve always loved you. I will always love you.”
She couldn’t even breathe.
“None of this was your fault.” Saphienne was unblinking. “You did the best you could. You tried very hard.”
“…I love you, my darling.”
“I know you love me very much. I know you tried to show it.” Saphienne turned to kiss her cheek.
She wilted.
“You can’t be the mother I need, but it’s all right. No one can.” Saphienne let her mother go. “I forgive you. Please don’t hate yourself.”
After her daughter was taken away, Lynnariel wailed.
* * *
I, in the likeness of my father, have written poetry.
One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;
And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter
Of the observable sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,
Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place
For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing herself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.
* * *
She took to the guest room of gold and blue, accustomed now to the desert where nothing grown could endure, content to send Celaena out the door and Hyacinth from the window before she closed both and drew the curtains, leaving the lamps dim so that the fiction of stars would twinkle above where she lay, clothed and wretched, upon silks.
Of course she cried.
So too, restlessly, she slept without dreaming.
When she awoke, she unpacked from her luggage the book Faylar had gifted her, and took out the letter from its hidden place within the cover, and studied it upon her lap through touch, repeating to herself the words that were not quite a promise, but yet an invitation.
In time, she turned to the pale grey robes that had been reclaimed from Iolas’ house, and the satchel, and the scroll within, and the sigil of blue ink and magic.
That was how Saphienne became ready to master the Great Art:
By having nothing else.
End of Chapter 77
Comments
L. J. Amber
Google "forwhy" and then consider who's talking. <3
DeleteLuna
“Forwhy are you sure?” Needs a space between for and why.
Zed Nitrill
this poetry... we end up scrutinizing each word to guess what happened to Saphienne because we know that precious clues are given to us but we remain dazzled by these verses which impose more magic than what Saphienne will learn in all her life.
