L. J. Amber
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TEWWBAD Chapter 39
🕑 Added 2025-04-24 11:40:50 +0000 UTCCHAPTER 39 – Portents Unveiled in Black
For the second time in the same day, Saphienne was woken by her window rattling.
She yawned as she sat up, ears sweeping down and not quite rising to their usual height in her tiredness. Her eyes were slow to focus in the dawn light, and she wiped the sleep from them as she stumbled from bed and crossed over to her window, struggling to pull herself together. “Faylar… couldn’t you have knocked on–”
But Faylar wasn’t throwing stones at her window.
Saphienne blinked. Moving more cautiously, she reached out and unlatched the window, her expression guarded as it swung open. “What are you doing here?”
Hopping onto the windowsill, Peacock spread his vibrantly yellow wings and fluttered them in happy display as he bobbed up and down. “Good morning! Sorry for waking you, Saphienne. Your room is…” The familiar swivelled his head from side to side, chirping as he took in the furnishings. “…Quite bare. I imagined there would be more books–”
“Peacock.” She stifled another yawn. “Why are you here?”
“No fun.” He settled down, folding his wings together as he drummed his talons on the edge of his perch. His voice took on the inflection of his master’s, though tinged with pompousness. “Almon sends a message: today’s lessons are cancelled. He has been called to attend on urgent business of vital importance.”
Several different thoughts collided in Saphienne’s head at once — and she deliberately held them down as she nodded. “What’s going on?”
“I shan’t say…” He tilted his head. “…Because I’m not sure. Almon received a message by Translocation last night. He had me fetch two apprentices for him, and they’ve had me circling the local woods and reporting back to them on what I see. I think they’re looking for something, or someone.”
Keeping her cool, she frowned. “Something was stolen? Or a person’s gone missing?”
“Your guess is as good as mine!” He whistled a descending note as he turned around. “Enjoy your long rest; I have to give Iolas the good news.”
“Wait.” Saphienne pretended another concern. “What about tomorrow?”
“If I’m not sent again,” Peacock answered, “assume you’re to attend. See you later, Saphienne!”
She watched the figment take flight, then leant out the window to check he was flying off toward where she had heard Iolas lived — watching until the garish bird vanished into the morning forest.
Moving methodically, Saphienne shut the window, stripped off her nightwear, then fetched fresh underclothes, quickly dressing in her pale grey robes as she thought through the various possibilities portended by the cancelled lesson.
The simplest was coincidence, with whatever Almon was working on being unrelated to the events of yesterday. Her intuition told her this was unlikely. At the other extreme, it was possible that Almon had learned everything she’d done, and had sent Peacock to lull her and the others into lowering their guard while punishment was prepared… but that was fanciful paranoia. The Wardens of the Wilds could easily detain them all — and if keeping her at ease was the goal, Peacock wouldn’t have shared anything.
No, if this was related to what she had done, either Almon knew nothing about her involvement, or he knew just enough to suspect her. Perhaps Peacock had been sent to cause panic? As a disciple of Hallucination, Almon had the necessary cunning to expose her guilt through a manipulative ruse.
She had to find out what was going on, and avoid suspicion.
Downstairs, Faylar was still asleep on the couch. Her mother’s silk robe had tangled around his legs. She hesitated as she stood over him, studying the way his ears wiggled in time with his soft snoring, his face flattened against the cushions. Very delicately, she crouched down and brushed his hair out of his eyes, whispering his name.
His eyelids fluttered. “Mm… mother?”
Any other time, she would have made fun of him for that. “Faylar, wake up.”
Opening his eyes, Faylar took a moment to recognise Saphienne. He shut them again as he groaned. “I’m on your couch.”
“Not for much longer. You need to go home.”
He sighed as he pulled his arms under his chest, prying himself up onto his elbows. “Don’t suppose you have any more tea, do you?”
Saphienne nodded toward the kitchen as she stood. “Help yourself to whatever you want. Just make sure that the door shuts firmly when you leave — it slams in the wind.”
She was nearly out of the house when he asked, “Is this your mother’s?”
Without looking, she knew that his confusion toward his makeshift bedding was really surprise that Saphienne had covered him with it. She smiled down at her satchel as she opened the front door. “She has plenty of others. Just leave it on the couch.”
* * *
Her explanation for attending was simple: she didn’t trust Almon’s message.
Yet the moment she arrived at his home, Saphienne surmised that her master harboured no suspicion toward her. A thick line of white powder had been poured across the ground surrounding the flowerbeds, and she could see that it curved out of sight around the building, only to reemerge on the opposite side, encircling his sanctum in a ward.
She crouched down and followed the trail with her eyes until she saw a desiccated slug. Salt: that made sense to Saphienne, since salt prevented plants from growing. Perhaps that was of ritual significance to the boundary, which she felt confident was to exclude woodland spirits.
Nervously, remembering what had happened when Celaena first entered a magic circle, she stepped inside and continued on to the classroom.
Almon was not within when she opened the door — but two other elves paused in their work to wordlessly look up. They appeared more tired than her. Both were dressed in the black robes of senior apprentices, each older than Iolas but not as old as full adults, one kneeling on the floor surrounded by spread papers, the other sat on the wizard’s chair with a metal bowl held in one hand and a weighted necklace hanging from her other.
“Oh…” Saphienne shut the door behind her. “…I see. The lesson really is cancelled.”
The apprentice sitting on the chair sighed, and she lowered the necklace to her lap as she turned to yell up the stairs. “Master! One of the unproven apprentices is here.”
Squawking answered her — and Peacock hopped down from the next floor, peering through the banister with his beak slowly opening. “Well, really! The nerve of you…”
Before Saphienne could say anything, the wizard called down after his familiar with withering dryness. “I anticipate that Saphienne ignored the message — or did the sun rise in the West this morning?”
Folding her arms, she glared up at the ceiling as she answered back. “You might have been testing us.”
The kneeling apprentice rubbed his lower back as he straightened up, asking a question of their master. “Should we send her away?”
Almon laughed, his echoing voice betraying high spirits. “She can wait; I’ll be down to address you all when my preparations are done. Peacock, attend me.”
Peacock clicked dismissively, and fluttered back upstairs.
Shrugging, the physically grown boy went back to studying his papers. “Might as well make yourself comfortable, then. He’ll be at least another hour, now.”
The girl slumped back in the chair. “Gods, you’re right… he’ll have to start over.” She fixed Saphienne with a mournful look, then laughed wryly, shaking her head. “Thank you for the unnecessary interruption; you’re living up to your reputation.”
Riled, but with her anger held in check by overriding concerns, Saphienne crossed toward them as she unfolded her arms. “Please excuse me; you have me at a disadvantage. Unless I’m mistaken, we haven’t been introduced — and I don’t recognise either of you from around the village.”
“You’re not wrong,” said the apprentice on the floor. “We hardly see daylight, these days. Not really much time for socialising…”
His peer nodded, and she carefully rested the bowl on an arm of the chair. “The Great Art leaves room for little else. Perhaps you’ll find out one day. But we haven’t really answered your unspoken question, have we?” The girl stood, the long braid of her brown hair uncoiling to her waist, and despite her fatigue she gave Saphienne an elegant bow as she swept her hand toward her fellow student in black. “My gloomy companion here is Rydel; I’m Taerelle.”
Saphienne did her best to match the depth of her bow. “Saphienne.”
“We know,” Rydel said, his eyes still on his work. “You’re the would-be prodigy.”
Taerelle laughed as she heavily sat back down. “Our master has mentioned you. Apparently, your intellect is remarkable…”
“And you’re prone to causing problems.” Rydel glanced up. “At least for our master. Did you really disbelieve his meadow?”
Grinning, Taerelle leant forward. “And did you tell him to his face that his flowers were rubbish?”
Saphienne wasn’t sure about how they regarded her; she decided to err on the side of caution. “I didn’t say his flowers were bad, just that the details were wrong: that’s how I knew it was a hallucination. And yes,” she admitted, “I disbelieved it. I didn’t know that would collapse the spell.”
The pair glanced at each other, exchanging enigmatic smiles, and then chuckled together, Rydel returning to his task as Taerelle thoughtfully steepled her fingers.
“Dare I ask,” Saphienne hazarded, “what our master has said about me?”
“You can ask,” Rydel allowed. “But I’m not going to answer.”
Taerelle clicked her tongue scornfully. “Coward.”
“You tell her, then.”
“I will.” She reached behind her shoulder, pulling forward her braid to dangle beside the chair, playing with it as she studied Saphienne in aloof amusement. “He makes no great secret of his opinions. And I understand there’s very little love lost, between you and him.”
Saphienne smirked. “It would seem so.”
“Interesting phrasing.” Her eyes were a cold blue, but they sparkled with warmth. “He’s mentioned that you pick up on theory faster than anyone he’s ever taught, but that you’re very conceited, prone to being contrary, and you’re most animated whenever you’re having an argument with someone. He thinks you might make a good wizard, if you survive whatever lesson in humility awaits you.”
The irony wasn’t lost on Saphienne, doubly so because she couldn’t show it. She folded her arms again, rocking on the balls of her feet. “Well, at least he’s thinking about me.”
“That’s the spirit,” Taerelle grinned. “I’ll let you in on a secret: our master can be wrong about people.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You think I don’t know?”
Rydel laughed. “Conceited, contrary, and picking a fight — our master’s three for three with you.”
Taerelle’s grin widened. “Four for four, I’d wager. I’m only telling you so that you hear it from someone who knows him well. You know part of him wants you to succeed? He would never admit it — and he’ll try to make you fail. But that’s because…” She paused, pursing her lips. “…You tell me, prodigy. Why?”
Rolling her shoulders, Saphienne shook her head. “He wants a worthy opponent?”
Rydel guffawed.
Yet Taerelle inclined her head. “In a sense. You both like arguing. He really can’t help himself when he thinks he’s right. But he needs to be right, for winning to count.”
“Related to his magical praxis,” Rydel added, then paused. “…And you won’t have a clue what that means.”
“Careful,” Taerelle tutted, “no teaching.”
Saphienne had the sense that she was a very welcome distraction from whatever they had been doing all night, and that the pair were channelling their discomfort and stress into toying with her. “You’ve learned his pageantry, I see.”
“I have,” Taerelle admitted. “Rydel is more of an understudy for Peacock.”
He was clearly used to her barbs. “The nice thing about that bird? If you ignore him hard enough, he actually disappears. Unlike some people…”
Shifting, Saphienne set down her satchel. “You both like showing off as much as he does, too.”
Taerelle flicked her braid away. “Rite of passage. You’re a long way from donning the black, young apprentice. We’re supposed to be intriguing, slightly intimidating, and a little overbearing to our juniors.”
Saphienne rested her gaze on Rydel, surreptitiously examining the papers he busied himself with — maps of the local woodland. “Well, I suppose one out of three is a start.”
He smiled as he met her gaze. “I hope you keep this up when you meet Arelyn.”
“Who’s Arelyn?”
Taerelle waved her hand airily. “The master’s most senior apprentice. He’s attained spells of the Second Degree, has chosen his colour, and is deferring donning it while he works on a thesis for his application to the Luminary Vale.”
Parsing out the terminology took Saphienne a moment. “Choosing a colour means choosing a discipline to focus on, doesn’t it? And wearing robes in that colour means being recognised as a wizard.”
“Yes. Light grey robes for unproven apprentices, who have yet to cast a spell; dark grey for junior apprentices, who have not attained the First Degree; black for senior apprentices, who are striving for the Second Degree; and the colours of magic are reserved for true wizards.” Taerelle covered her mouth as she yawned. “Our master will have Arelyn accidentally drop in on you and your peers at some point. Inspire you all to emulate his success, and so forth.”
Rydel tossed one of the maps aside. “Arelyn is nice enough. He’s just a bit full of himself since he attained the Second Degree — thinks he’s got a natural gift for teaching, and that he’s destined to follow in our master’s footsteps.”
Taerelle snorted. “Rydel, is that jealousy I hear?”
“Not on your life.” He frowned, and reached for the topographical sketch he’d just discarded. “No, I’m not the slightest bit interested in teaching, thank you very much. Give me some vineyards to tend to, and I’ll be content.” Comparing the reference he held to another spread over the floorboards, he gave up and stood. “Arelyn wouldn’t be happy as a teacher, either. The sooner he figures that out, the better.”
Saphienne knew she should be trying to learn more about what Almon had them doing, but she really was intrigued by the senior apprentices. “Attending a vineyard… as a wizard?”
“Practical spellcraft.” He backed toward the one of the bookshelves, rubbing his aching muscles against its corner as he stretched. “Overseeing food production might not seem glamorous, but it’s interesting work that isn’t arduous.”
“As for me,” Taerelle said, “I’ll also be applying to the Luminary Vale, but only as a prelude to what I really want to do: advanced enchanting. I need a stronger grasp of theory than our master can teach, if I’m going to do anything that hasn’t been done before.” She smiled at Saphienne’s quizzical glance toward the ceiling. “I’m not defaming him: our master told me so himself. He knows enough to make us into well-rounded wizards, but the esoterica of enchanting isn’t really for him.”
“Don’t worry about it all,” Rydel advised, closing his eyes. “You shouldn’t even be thinking about how you’ll use magic, not until you’ve proven yourself capable. And even then, our master won’t expect you to decide on your future until you’re on our level.”
Looking between them, Saphienne realised the senior apprentices were being quite friendly to her, and that they were being kind by speaking so freely about their studies. “Thank you. I thought our master’s other apprentices would be–”
“Archly superior?” Taerelle suggested, tongue-in-cheek. “Some of us are. A few won’t spare you a sliver of sunlight until you’re wearing dark grey.”
“How many students does our master have?”
Taerelle’s eyes glazed over as she counted “…Twenty, I think. No, twenty-one: Rophana is still an apprentice, she’s just been wilds-walking for the past year or two.” She shook her head. “Our master takes no more than five every six years… most of us study for around thirty years, but there’s attrition as some drop out. Usually at the start, occasionally at the end.”
“And how long have you each–”
“Twenty-four years,” Rydel answered. “We’re in the same cohort. But everyone who wears black knows each other — our master encourages collaborative study. Once you’re senior, there’s not much meaning to seniority.”
Saphienne caught an implication to the way he said it. “You’re treating me without much regard for seniority.”
“We’re being pragmatic,” Taerelle countered. “A hundred years from now, you might be a highly accomplished wizard. What if one of us needs a favour?”
“The woodlands become smaller the longer you live,” Rydel agreed. “If you’re noteworthy enough for our master to complain about you, then it would be quite stupid to throw our weight around. There’s no knowing who you’ll turn out to be.”
That explained how they had sized her up. Saphienne found herself grinning, less at the implicit compliment than at the wisdom they were sharing. “You’re also being very direct with me… which means our master has mentioned–”
“That you’re sharp, but very blunt.” Taerelle returned her approving grin. “So let’s be explicit: don’t expect any help with your studies. If you end up wearing black before we don our colours, maybe we’ll share some notes.”
Rydel sagged. “What a bleak notion. I’d rather not do this for ten more years.”
Gaeleath had mentioned that casting spells of the First Degree took ten years to learn, on average. That implied Rydel and Taerelle were fourteen years into studying the Second Degree, which could take as much as twenty-five years to comprehend. “What if it only takes me five to catch up?”
Taerelle snorted more vehemently than before. “Then you really would be a prodigy! Rydel managed it in nine, and it took me eleven. The fastest any of our master’s apprentices has managed was seven years — and she still took twenty-one to attain the Second Degree. No,” she insisted, “you might manage it before we’re done, but that’s as much on the pair of us as it is on you.”
“On the subject of passing time,” Rydel cut in as he reluctantly dragged himself over to the maps, “you’ll have to excuse us: we need to get back to our search.”
And Saphienne needed to uncover what they were searching for.
* * *
The two senior apprentices were quite incisive: Saphienne had to be careful.
On the one hand, passive observation could only take her so far. On the other, showing too much interest might arouse suspicion that would be hard to deflect. And the danger with trying to chart a middle course was that she might seem intentionally incurious, which was certain to raise uncomfortable questions.
Weighing up her options, Saphienne determined that her best chance for success lay in doubling down on exactly what they – and Almon – expected from her. That meant being overconfident, and seeking confrontation… but perhaps, in the aftermath of being teased about her flaws, trying and failing to hold herself back.
Most of all, she needed to make Rydel and Taerelle bring her further into their confidence. Hyacinth’s lesson on control came to mind, and she asked herself what they most wanted from her in that moment. “I’ll stay out of your way, then… unless I can help somehow?”
Both of the senior students smiled — charmed by her offer, amused by her eagerness, and incredulous at the notion she could possibly contribute.
Stretching, Taerelle raised the necklace she was holding, its cylinder of white quartz swinging back and forth as she gestured toward Saphienne. “Certainly. How about you do something simple: write down all the locations of magical confluence you know within five miles of the village, identify your corresponding degree of sympathy to each, and diagram their resonance? That way we can utilise your passive attunement to exclude them from the divinations.”
Saphienne felt the heat of a blush in her cheeks. That was good: Saphienne needed to let Taerelle succeed at putting her down, if she was to keep her wanting to engage. “Consider me put in my place,” she murmured. Then she squared her shoulders. “So… you’re looking for something magical, and you’ve never encountered it before, so you’re trying to find it by filtering out all the magic you do recognise… to come up with a shortlist of places to investigate?”
They stared at her. She had their real attention, now.
Taerelle stood. “…How much of what I said did you understand?”
“I’ve not been taught the concepts. But you asked about places with significant magic, said you were doing a divination, and that you wanted to exclude those places from the divination. Peacock told me earlier you’ve had him flying over places in the forest… and those are maps, aren’t they?”
Rydel folded his arms. “Four for four. Glad I didn’t take that wager.”
“How,” Taerelle pressed her, walking closer, “did you know we haven’t encountered what we’re searching for?”
Saphienne shrugged, and doubled down on her chosen strategy. “The implication of that word: resonance. Normally, resonance is to do with vibration — I’ve read that different musical instruments of the same design all have slightly different resonances. To a trained ear, their individual sounds can be recognised.” She clasped her hands together behind her back, squeezing her fingers. “If the Great Art uses the word in a similar way… well, you said you’re using knowledge of the resonance of magic you already know to exclude that magic from your search. That suggests you don’t know the resonance you are searching for, because why not just listen out for it specifically? Why go to the trouble of excluding the others, unless you’re making a list of unfamiliar–”
“Enough.” Taerelle shook her head. Her smile was very thin. “Consider me impressed. I won’t confirm or deny your guesses about magical resonance. Still,” she conceded, “you’ve made it quite close on very little information. We’re looking for an uncommon enchantment of unusual strength — and we have to approach it indirectly, because even if we had encountered it before, its nature resists our attempts at divination.”
She knew what they were searching for, then. Rather than worry about it, Saphienne embraced the magical puzzle, and let her curiosity show. “What is it you’re looking for, that’s so hard to find? Why does it resist Divination?”
Rydel let his head fall back. “It doesn’t resist Divination — it resists our attempts to construct a Divination spell.” He groaned. “We’re looking for a gross perceptual veil… a type of Fascination spell. One large enough to hide a clearing, and potent enough to go unnoticed by trained wizards and priests.” He straightened back up, rubbing his neck. “And the really annoying thing? Our master says it must be at least a thousand years old…”
“…And we don’t know what’s inside,” Taerelle concluded. “That’s what the Luminary Vale has asked him to find out.”
End of Chapter 39
Comments
L. J. Amber
Good catches, thank you. Edited accordingly.
Claire Hiria Ahuriri-Dunning
Hoo boy! I wonder if she'll get away with it! Two errors noticed: 'As a discipline of Hallucination, Almon had the necessary cunning to expose her guilt through a manipulative ruse.' - discipline - disciple '“Don’t worry about it all,” Taerelle advised, closing his eyes. ' - you mean Rydel here, I think
