L. J. Amber
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TEWWBAD Chapter 45
🕑 Added 2025-05-13 12:00:08 +0000 UTCCHAPTER 45 – The Bones of Her World
Within the grassy grounds of the shrine to Our Lord of the Endless Hunt, Saphienne sat before the sacred icon in sudden dread. She dared not show her concern to the priest, however, and slipped back into the same posture of deceit as she had adopted throughout the rest of the morning.
Her voice was calm and light when she asked, “Why is it necessary to invoke a spirit before you teach me? Is it symbolism, or is there a practical reason?”
Her question made Nelathiel break from her religious pageantry with laughter. “Such a wizardly thing to wonder! Couldn’t it be both? Who says that symbolism isn’t practical?”
“In my experience, it’s better when my teachers are direct.” Saphienne wasn’t really so literal-minded that she couldn’t see the point of symbolism; her problem was that calling a spirit to bestow a blessing risked the spirit refusing, which would prompt difficult questions about why it was forbidden for anyone but Hyacinth to bless her. She needed to stall for time while she found a solution.
Fortunately, the priest had no problem believing her. “Have you heard,” began Nelathiel, rising as she spoke, “about performative speech?”
She had read about it, but chose to pretend ignorance. “Things said to change how people see us, rather than out of conviction?”
Nelathiel rolled her eyes. “So I’ve heard it phrased… but no. That’s a misunderstanding of what performance actually is, and so what it means to speak performatively.” She gestured to the fur-draped icon of her god. “Suppose I offer an invocation to Our Lord — casting no spell, but simply calling upon Him to witness our discussion. What is the consequence of that speech?”
Despite her predicament, Saphienne was drawn in. “I can’t speak to what Our Lord of the Endless Hunt might do, but in more immediate terms, you would be solemnising our meeting.”
“Exactly!” Nelathiel half-crouched with the exclamation, hands raised, as though she were pouncing upon her quarry. “The speech in itself performs an action. Performative speech has an effect on the world, changing the way people relate to each other by changing the context in which they exist. This isn’t the same thing as making people feel a certain way, or making them think a certain way…” She pressed her palms together. “…The speech doesn’t exert influence, or make a request of people, but instead does something that is socially recognised, and understood to be true.”
“I follow.” Inwardly, she wondered if Hyacinth could answer the call… but she had no way of ensuring that Hyacinth would do so, or even telling whether she was near. “I suppose there’s more nuance? Relating it to symbolism?”
“In a sense.” She approached the statue made in the likeness of her god. “We are constantly performing ourselves to the world. This doesn’t mean we pretend. To perform ourselves as being a certain way for long enough is to become that performance to a lesser or greater degree. What makes an elf an elf, Saphienne?”
Just as quickly as dread had arrived, Saphienne felt goosebumps, and all thoughts about the invocation stilled. Her eyes were bright and focused. “…I’ve wondered about that. I’m not satisfied by any of the answers I read.”
The priest was pleased by her reply. “You can’t be. To be an elf is to perform your life as an elf, and for that performance to be recognised as authentic — upheld as true by the world in which you find yourself. There is no one thing, or even a set of things, that convey being an elf upon you.”
“So then,” Saphienne tested, “a human could be an elf, if she were to perform her life as an elf, and be welcomed among elves?”
“No.” Nelathiel tilted her head to the side, her horns dipping toward the woods. “There are many things bound up in the performance of being an elf, and some of those things are materially impossible for a human to perform. We do not wither with age, and we do not die from that withering. Those are key parts of our performance, one that most humans cannot match…” She pointed in the direction her horns indicated. “If you were to ask someone from the village what made an elf an elf, they would talk about these material things as though they were the whole of being an elf. Our ears, our agelessness…”
Saphienne hung on her words, and had to wet her lips before speaking. “So these are important for the authenticity of the performance, but it’s the authenticity of the performance as acknowledged by elves that make one an elf?”
“Yes… at least,” she qualified, “in the general sense. When someone refers to you as an elf sincerely, that itself is performative speech, for it performs the social acknowledgement that is bound up in making you an elf.”
“What about the reverse?” Saphienne’s mind was swept up in events from her past. “Could someone be born able to be an elf, with agelessness and tall ears and all the rest, but then be denied that life because they weren’t acknowledged?”
Frowning, Nelathiel took a moment to respond. “…The answer is yes, but…” She crossed her arms and looked to the statue, her lips moving in silent prayer before she said more. “…This lies close to the heart of the ancient ways. How acknowledgement is conveyed – by what right, and through which rites – is central to how our people join together to make our society. We share our faith, and we share beliefs that complement our faith, and among them lies an understanding of the proper ways to acknowledge or refuse what is performed by individuals and groups in society.”
“The consensus of the woodlands,” Saphienne murmured.
“You understand.” The priest shifted, uncomfortable. “But many things in our lives lie below the notice of the consensus. Most things, actually, until they cause great enough concern that they must be brought to everyone’s attention, and consensus sought. And even where consensus is found…” She sighed through her smile, hinting exasperation. “…Not everyone personally agrees, even if they go along with the consensus socially. Their going along, their publicly abiding while privately disagreeing, is performative in nature, in that it makes them part of the consensus.”
“I think I understand.”
“Then you’ll be thinking about how the consensus changes over time,” Nelathiel said, “and how even settled matters continue to be disputed, and advocated, and revisited, and how all these arguments are themselves an important contribution to how the consensus lives.”
“Does that imply,” Saphienne wondered, “that who is treated as an elf can change?”
“Were it not laid down in the ancient ways, yes.”
Saphienne’s breath silently caught.
“And yet,” Nelathiel went on, having not noticed the effect of her words on Saphienne, “you asked if elves could be denied their being, and I said yes. There is a rite to declare someone no longer an elf, and no longer subject to the ancient ways. The person becomes anathema – detested, loathed, condemned to exclusion – and their name is unspoken in society, even struck from historical record.” The priest mistook Saphienne’s silence for concern, and her gaze shone with reassurance. “This is not done lightly! It happens very rarely, and only to true and unrepentant apostates.”
With a shiver, Saphienne stirred. “…What makes someone an apostate? Lack of belief in the gods?”
Another laugh answered her. “Gods witness me, no! Whether or not you believe doesn’t change their existence. Many elves question the existence of the gods… and, privately?” She stepped closer, her voice lowering. “Many spirits do as well. But this knowledge is private to those of us who have come to know the spirits of the woodlands as individuals. Most elves know them as servants of the gods — which is true, in the sense that we, too, serve the gods with them.”
“Then, if not a matter of belief…”
“An apostate,” Nelathiel explained, “is one who renounces the ancient ways through their deeds. It is not enough to fail to uphold them, or to dispute their interpretation; an apostate has to actively oppose and reject them through their deliberate, significant actions. And you, especially, mustn’t worry,” she insisted, “because until you’re taught the ancient ways in full, you cannot be an apostate.”
She was silent.
Uneasy, not sure how to read her, the priest bowed and stepped back to the statue. “Anyone declared an apostate forfeits their place in elven life, and is no longer an elf… but, even then, there will be some who still see them as elves, who acknowledge them in that way privately. So long as the ancient ways are upheld, including by performative speech, such private opinions can be ignored.”
“But,” Saphienne asked, passion showing, “are they true? Which is true: the opinion of the majority, or of the individual?”
“Truth emerges from whence we place our faith.” Wryly amused, she nodded to the idol. “I don’t mean faith in the gods, necessarily. Whatever we invest our trust and faith into shapes what we believe to be true. We don’t choose the truth… but in choosing what we abide in, and in whom we trust, we are choosing the truth of the world.”
Then the priest faced her god, and she raised up her hands in supplication, and her low voice grew in majesty as she spoke. “Oh Lord of the Endless Hunt, I beseech You: bear witness to the truth I now share with this child.” Invocation complete, she knelt and pressed her horns to the ground, then addressed Saphienne, still kneeling. “What you behold before you is no mere statue: this icon of Our Lord embodies His presence. To look upon His icon is to look upon Him. The symbol is His presence.”
Saphienne slowly stood. “Because your faith tells you so.”
“But you can see,” she asked, sitting up, “how what is symbolic is also practical? All words are symbols for meaning, but beyond that, symbols embody meaning, and meaning we accept determines what is practical — what is necessary, or frivolous. Symbols are not just poetic ways to teach, but are paths to engaging directly with whatever they convey.”
Recognising that Nelathiel was trying to share, Saphienne tried in turn to be diplomatic. “I understand how a priest finds symbolism so important.”
Chuckling, Nelathiel tilted her head to Saphienne, though her eyes remained on her god. “Have you never been given a gift by a friend? Flowers, perhaps? Did the sight of them, the scent and touch of them — did they not impart the meaning of your friendship, even when your friend wasn’t present?”
Then, stirred by the revelation, Saphienne could feel the pouch in her pocket grow heavy, could taste the copper of the coin it cradled. Her heart ached, and her eyes watered, and she suddenly understood that symbols were not abstract, but entirely real, underpinning all of life.
The priest glanced her way, seeing her unshed tears, and behind the thick face paint Nelathiel’s expression softened. “Now you understand. Calling a spirit to attend is symbolic, but the performance of that symbol affirms the ancient ways by embodying their purpose, and in doing so gives a practical lesson in the nature of our faith.” She returned to her feet. “I will invoke one now.”
Earlier, Saphienne would have interrupted. Were she not so tired – had the day, and the days before not been so much – then she might have had the will to resist. But she was overcome, and it was all she could do to wipe at her eyes and pull her outer robe tighter around her shoulders, resigning herself to whatever awaited in her bittersweet grief.
She felt for the coin, and understood why she held it so tightly.
* * *
The calling of the spirit was very different from how Almon had invoked Hyacinth. No circle was made upon the grass, though Saphienne – recovering her calm through intellectual distraction – noted that the area around and before the icon was circular, the boundary demarcated by carefully arranged offerings. So too, the spell that Nelathiel cast didn’t take the form of arcane whispers and mysterious gestures, but was embodied through a prayer she spoke around as she threw wide her arms and swayed.
“Oh gods of the woodlands,” called the priest, “hear your servant! Bone cries out in need: whose winds will answer? Come now you faithful, kin of wood and kith of bloom: in this shrine a priest awaits you! Tread the trod, stride the way — join your song to dance!”
Yellow light faintly glimmered around her, and she stepped back, leaving an outline of herself upon the air. Lowering her hands, she bowed to the icon and then to her magical silhouette, retreating beside Saphienne to wait.
Which, as the minutes passed, increasingly surprised Nelathiel. “…They are usually much quicker to attend.”
Nervous, Saphienne disguised her hope with a question. “Could they be busy?”
“It’s possible.” She tried to crack her fingers again, then gave up and clasped her hands, twirling her thumbs around each other in distraction. “Yesterday, the spirit I often walk with was urgently called away. She reassured me all was well… but I spoke to other priests, and we all had similar interruptions.” She shrugged. “The spirits can be… private. There are parts of their existence that they avoid trying to explain.”
“…Because it’s difficult?”
The priest nodded. “That’s what I believe. They will speak when asked, but I can tell when they’re struggling to find a way to translate their experiences into Elfish — experiences that aren’t based in the world of forms are tricky. Metaphor can only take us so far.”
Curious, Saphienne thought about the glimpses she’d stolen when she plunged into the depths of Hyacinth’s being. “Do we have experiences that they struggle with?”
“Less so, but yes. The difference is that they can walk with us, and so can experience our lives through us, but the reverse isn’t so simple. Even where they share their memories with us…” She shook her head, lost in the reflection. “Slowly, as I’ve grown from walking with them, I’ve been able to comprehend more, but it’s very disorientating. Their lives aren’t just invisible, or immaterial, but entirely without the boundaries with which we understand ourselves.” She closed her eyes. “Don’t ask me to explain it to you… I don’t really understand. I only know it subjectively.”
“Then, what about us puzzles them?”
“Oh.” She grinned as she opened her eyes, and Saphienne could tell by her ears that she was blushing under the paint. “Sorry. They struggle to understand many things on an intuitive level in the way that you and I do. Fear of death and physical harm isn’t natural to them… they don’t experience their lives and the time before as distinct, and they don’t die in the sense that you or I would understand. They arise as though from a waking dream, and to it they can return.”
Saphienne stared quizzically. “What does that mean?”
Laughing, the priest patted her on the shoulder. “Welcome, novice, to at least half the struggle of being a priest. As best I understand, spirits aren’t born, but have existed forever… except they don’t always exist as distinct from the world. When they arise, they become self-aware, but they recall their existence before they were differentiated; they don’t fear returning to that state, though they have the same preference for their present lives as you or I do.”
“…So they don’t conceive of themselves as the bodies they occupy,” Saphienne said as she thought it through, “and so don’t feel physical harm as a threat.”
“Unless they had sentimental value, you wouldn’t feel a visceral attachment to your clothing, would you?” Nelathiel smirked. “We’re not clothes to them, but the physical world isn’t a fundamental part of them like it is for us. In a way, you are your hands, your eyes, and your ears… but they don’t have anything like that.”
Hyacinth’s pleasure in sharing Saphienne’s body made more sense. “The spirit I talked to… she walked with me for a short time. I felt the world more clearly while we were together, and she told me she delighted in sharing my life.”
Nelathiel seemed surprised. “That’s unusual. Walking with a spirit so soon after your first lesson, I mean. But,” she went on, “their presence suffuses us with their vitality, and they in turn get to feel themselves in the world in the way we do. Plants don’t experience life with the same animation, and animals lack the minds to experience it as richly and meaningfully.”
Much like a growing spirit, a half-formed idea was arising in Saphienne’s mind. “Nelathiel… the festival around the summer solstice…”
There, the priest faced her, and moved Saphienne by her shoulders so that they looked deeply into each other’s eyes. She spoke with quiet insistence. “Saphienne: you are too young to wonder about such things. Even if you were competent to learn the ancient ways, much of what proceeds from them would still be too much to share with you. Listen to me, speaking from experience: you are not ready. You’re not even ready to ask the appropriate questions, let alone try answering them.” She held her gaze. “There’s no great or terrible secret there, and nothing to fear… but you are too young, and should focus on the ways in which you’re ready to grow.”
Impassively, Saphienne listened. She breathed in before she spoke. “There’s sex, then.”
The priest squeezed shut her eyes and gave a frustrated sigh, letting go of Saphienne’s shoulders. “…Gods witness my efforts.” She folded her arms. “I will say only this: sex is not the only aspect of adulthood that you’re not yet grown enough to really understand. There are many facets of life that you’re only just beginning to comprehend, and that you’re incapable of fully knowing in your present years. They’re hard — hard enough, even before involving the ancient ways. So, as best you are able: try not to fathom the depths of the lake before you’re even in the shallows.”
Part of Saphienne felt like pouting… but part of her still felt very unprepared for adulthood, and she could see the wisdom in holding back. Nevertheless, seeing the imposing priest struggling stirred her sense of mischief. “So there’s no secret sacrifices in blood or–”
“Gods, no!” Nelathiel snorted. “Where did that come from? Have you been reading about human religions?”
“A little.” She found herself smiling. “I haven’t had much religious education, so–”
“Very funny.” Scowling, the priest nudged her with her elbow, tall enough and strong enough that Saphienne staggered back a step. “We’ll correct that, when someone arrives…”
Saphienne rubbed her arm as she returned to her place by Nelathiel, still amused, her fears easing the longer the spirit delayed. “If they arrive…”
Together, they contemplated the twinkling spell.
* * *
Just when Saphienne let herself relax, the glimmering in the air stirred, blown by a breeze that spiralled into the shrine. As she watched, heart sinking, the now glittering motes multiplied and smeared, becoming a cloak of light that spread around the emerging spirit, shaping itself into contours that resembled an impossibly stylised elf.
“Greetings, sister.” The voice of the spirit was melodious, and reverberated strangely, words echoing before they were spoken. “Alas, I was detained — by matters theological, constrained, until at last consensus we attained.”
“Welcome, sister.” Nelathiel bowed, and Saphienne mirrored her. “Forgive my curiosity, if you are weary of discussing them, but what were the matters under consideration?”
The answer was clear to Saphienne, judging by the way the spirit looked at her.
“This child you teach,” the spirit said. “Another guards her life. Attending her with you may have raised strife.”
Braced for what would follow, Saphienne was surprised when Nelathiel clapped her hands in delight. “A guardian spirit! You should have told me, Saphienne: that is quite a high honour. Although…” She tilted her head as she spoke to the spirit. “…Why would your assisting Saphienne on her behalf cause a dispute?”
“Alone, my sister must attend this child,” she replied, glancing contemplatively up at the icon. “A test of faith: her nature reconciled in service given true. She may prove mild, perhaps, and show us that the gods have smiled.”
Bemused, the priest studied Saphienne. “Did you know this? What happened?”
There was no way out if she lied. “We succeeded against her when she was called by the rite, and so we won the right to experience a mystery. She set it in motion… but it ended up going badly for us. We were hurt,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “and though she never intended it, the other spirits were quite angry. She agreed to take on responsibility for my wellbeing until I’m an adult.”
“A penance,” Nelathiel mused. “I see. Does your master know?”
“No one does…” Saphienne shaped the truth like she was sculpting stone, one tap at a time. “…We were warned that what happened could imperil the trust between elves and spirits were it widely known… and… my master can be–”
“Contrary.” The priest gave her a sympathetic smile, but her eyes showed new respect for Saphienne. “So that’s why you’re here, and why you already understand so much about the ancient ways.”
“Please don’t share this with anyone else.” She swallowed. “Not with my mother — not even with Tolduin.”
“As you wish.” She returned her attention to the spirit. “You all decided that this wouldn’t be interfering with her penance, then.”
The spirit moved closer to the icon, stretching up her hands before it as though reaching to the sky. “So argued I. My presence serves my gods, not Saphienne: how could it lie at odds with their design? She will yet walk unshod.”
Frowning, Saphienne understood that the spirit was using an idiom – and strongly emphasising it, by breaking her rhymes – yet couldn’t decipher it. “Please forgive me, spirit, but I don’t understand–”
“She’s saying you’ll become a priest.” Nelathiel was grinning, and gestured to her bare feet on the grass. “We walk unshod on holy ground. The spirit believes you are destined to serve the gods.”
“Her past predicts her future,” the spirit replied, dropping her arms as she moved away from her god. “I foresee this child as blessed, for bless-ed she must be. Her heart is kind and just.” Pausing before Saphienne, she bowed deeply. “All will yet see.”
Beside her, Saphienne felt the priest’s growing astonishment, and tried her best to look bewildered while, inside, she felt a sense of rising panic. “You expect too much of me.”
“No.” The spirit lifted her head, and her eyes were urgent and full of fervour. “I foresee more kindness ‘neath the sun, once all have seen the gods’ will has been done.”
“Holly,” Nelathiel interrupted, “what are you talking about?” She looked between them both. “What has Saphienne done that’s so important?”
The bloomkith smiled an eerie smile; Saphienne read too many passions at play, too many fervid dreams depending on the way the spirit needed her to be seen. “She put her joy at hazard, selflessly, to save a life entrapped quite helplessly.”
Nelathiel’s astonishment was growing. “Who?”
Before Saphienne could speak, the spirit giggled and sang, “Celaena. Fairly snared by ancient rite.”
Caught in her glowing gaze, Saphienne knew Holly was toying with her, quite playfully — and that every word she had said was true. The bloomkith, so rich in faith as to regularly attend a shrine, had decided that Hyacinth’s appeal to the will of the gods had to be the explanation for what she’d done; which meant that Saphienne, to her, was the instrument of divine mercy. That in turn meant that Hyacinth must be vindicated, that Saphienne must become an elf worthy of admiration, for in doing so–
“Your sense of humour grows stranger every year,” Nelathiel mused, exasperated. “I’m happy to know you like Saphienne, but… how about we wait until we’ve taught her, before you set a halo on her brow?”
“Allow my jests,” Holly complained, though her eyes were still on Saphienne. “We are in service bound. Together, then, let her with truth be crowned.”
“I would like that,” Saphienne said, understanding the subtext. “I’d like to know more about your faith… our faith, as believed by spirits and elves.”
“Good,” agreed Nelathiel. “In that case, Saphienne: go wait before the icon. I need to talk to Holly about what we’re going to share with you, and what you aren’t yet ready to be told.”
Inclining her head, Saphienne went closer to the idol while the spirit and priest drifted away, watching the pair walk side-by-side as she did, seeing how at ease they were in each other’s presence. She was surprised by how quickly she, too, was growing used to the active presence of spirits in her life, along with their eccentricities.
Yet, as she studied elf and bloomkith from the shadow of the tawny canopy, what Holly had implied weighed heavily on her mind. Though she didn’t know for sure, she suspected that the spirits organised themselves along similar lines to the elves, and so they had their own consensus in parallel to the consensus of the woodlands she knew. They, she remembered with horrible clarity, argued over meaning — and over their interpretation of the ancient ways. And that was why Holly wanted, needed Saphienne to show the spirits she was good and virtuous:
For if the gods had granted mercy to one apostate, shouldn’t there be grace for others?
End of Chapter 45
Comments
Claire Hiria Ahuriri-Dunning
oh man.... Saphienne is riding so close to the line here hahaha
