L. J. Amber
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TEWWBAD Chapter 30
🕑 Added 2025-03-27 13:00:15 +0000 UTCCHAPTER 30 – Defining Boundaries
Once the demonstration had concluded, and the doused braziers had been returned inside with the other implements, Almon instructed the three apprentices to sit on the grass and take notes while he lectured them at length on the discipline of Abjuration. But before he began, he informed them that they would not be covering all the principles that governed its practice, just as they had not governed all the principles concerning Conjuration and Invocation.
“Each of these early days is intended to introduce a different, important lesson concerning the general practice of magic,” he confessed. “From your lesson in Conjuration, you have learned that discernible laws govern the presence of magic in the world. From your lesson in Invocation, you have been shown the extreme danger of magic to the unwise.”
There, the wizard paused, one hand on his lectern. “Celaena, Iolas: can either of you tell me what today’s lesson has introduced?”
Iolas glanced to Saphienne as he answered. “I wouldn’t have been able to, without Saphienne… but you’re teaching the importance of understanding, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” Almon turned to Saphienne. “Saphienne: extrapolate from this.”
Her anger toward him had cooled since their exchange after the demonstration, hardened into resentment that matched his own — but for a different reason. “How a wizard understands the world limits her ability to affect the world with her Abjuration spells,” she said, keeping herself formal and detached from her contempt, “which is why wizards must study broadly and deeply. Since a wizard cannot fully abjure what she does not understand, are spells of the other disciplines of magic also limited by the extent of her comprehension?”
“Correct.” He gestured to the spell that hung overhead, shielding the garden from the now diminishing rain. “The ward above us functions against wind, rain, hail, and snow, but only because the wizard who developed its sigil fully understood and accounted for each, working that comprehension into their formulation of the spell. So too, a wizard who wished to conjure lightning would first have to understand it.”
Like an unabjured thunderbolt piercing through the orange veil, insight struck Saphienne. “…Spells below the First Degree don’t require any comprehension to cast, do they?”
Irritated, yet obliged to acknowledge she was right, Almon inclined his head. “Just so. Since you have leapt ahead in the syllabus… impress me, Saphienne: what distinguishes craft magic from spells below the First Degree?”
Contesting his challenge suited her mood. Saphienne closed her eyes, thinking back to what she had learned in her time with Eletha and Gaeleath. She remembered the first day she experienced the Second Sight… the way the metal Eletha worked looked under magical scrutiny, how the green of Transmutation appeared and shifted in response to her singing. “…Craft magic doesn’t take the form of a spell. Each song has a magical effect, but it’s not that the song creates a spell — the singing itself is magical, like sunlight is magical.”
“Well reasoned. And what does a spell require, that craft magic does not?”
There, she reached the limit of her conjecture. “…I would be guessing.” Her eyes opened, and she shook her head. “I know that magical talent is required to cast spells, and that the talent is distinct from skill with craft magic. I don’t know what that talent really is… only that there is no way to divine it.”
Celaena had been struggling to listen, but Saphienne’s last remark woke her up. “There isn’t?” She sought confirmation from Almon. “But it runs in families… is there really no spell that can detect it?”
Her master permitted himself a teasing smile. “Unfortunately not. My lesser art – the mere teaching of the Great Art – would be much simpler, were such a divination known. I’m afraid, Celaena, that it’s possible you lack magical talent…”
She grew pale.
“…Except, as you said, the talent runs in families. It is highly unlikely that the daughter of an accomplished wizard and a capable priest has no talent.” He swept his hands across the three of them. “Most elves have at least some talent with magic, and all talent can be nurtured. You all show promising signs. Take Iolas, for example: he has a distant blood relative, on his mother’s side, who proved to be a sorcerer.”
That was apparently news to Iolas, who took a moment to find his voice. “…You know my family?”
“I review the genealogical records of every potential student…” He paused; Saphienne felt him regard her from the corner of his vision. “…Where such records are available. Regardless, we have drifted far from the pertinent topic.”
Performatively, the wizard gestured to each girl with his open hands as he spoke their names. “Saphienne is correct — magical talent is required, and cannot be detected. So too, Celaena is correct — magical talent runs in bloodlines.” He brought both palms together with a smile. “This leads us, rather neatly, to the subject of sorcerers.”
* * *
Coming around his lectern, Almon loomed over where Saphienne sat on the grass. “Since you’re racing away from us, Saphienne: care to educate your fellow apprentices, on the difference between a sorcerer and a wizard?”
He was mocking her. “Other than supposing that the distinction has something to do with understanding and comprehension, no.”
“Hang on,” Iolas interjected. “I can see how you get there from knowing the focus of the lesson… but that doesn’t seem like enough for you to propose that, given the way you think. What am I missing?”
The completely earnest way he asked the question, together with how accurately he read her, made Saphienne blush. “Our master has told us that wizards are distinct from sorcerers, though both have magical talent that runs in bloodlines; he suggested that a spell to tell whether someone has magical talent would make his life easier as a teacher; and just now, he related such a spell to sorcerers. Together, along with understanding being necessary for significant spellcasting, it suggests that sorcerers and wizards have to be taught differently.”
Frowning, Iolas turned to Almon. “Is she–”
“She is, yes.” Almon sighed as he paced along before them. “Sorcerers approach magic intuitively. They do not need to be taught the practice of magic, because the talent of their blood manifests through an unconscious understanding of the world — usually in situations of extreme emotion. Because their magic is intuitive, it requires far less effort for a sorcerer to cast a spell than a wizard, which means that a typical sorcerer can cast more than an equivalently learned wizard.”
Celaena hesitated before she spoke up. “…Father once told me that wizards were almost all superior to sorcerers in mastery of the Great Art.”
Naturally, the wizard nodded. “Quite a common view. Did he tell you any more?”
“Both use sigils…” She shifted, uncomfortable. “…But, he never explained how, or really what sigils actually are.”
“You may relax, Celaena: your father wouldn’t dream of sharing anything with you against the rules.” He tilted his head as he paused next to her. “Tell me, though: have you ever seen a sigil?”
She started to shake her head…
…Almon raised his eyebrows…
…And Celaena sagged. “I have — but, father didn’t show it to me.”
Her master laughed. “If you were able to steal a glimpse inside his spellbook, Celaena, then although he technically never showed you, that terrible transgression of yours was very much intended by him. No wizard of your father’s ability would leave his spellbook unwarded.” Running a hand across his jaw, he smoothed away his smile, though his eyes still faintly glimmered. “As long as nothing was explained, he broke no rule. Many wizards test their younger relatives that way, to see if they have the requisite curiosity for wizardry.”
Though interested to learn more about Celaena’s father, Saphienne had been holding back her next question for too long. “If sorcerers can cast spells more easily, how are wizards considered superior in the Great Art?”
“Flexibility.” Almon clasped his hands behind his back. “Deciphering sigils will follow after you have received your first spell. For now, know that each sigil is magically-imbued notation, formed into a glyph that contains and embodies the understanding required to cast a spell. A wizard prepares his spells by studying the associated sigil, fixing it in his mind through intense concentration, then later enacting it upon the world as a spell, which depletes or exhausts his grasp of that sigil.”
Iolas smiled broadly. “I’m guessing the calligraphy for sigils is very elaborate?”
Almon returned his smile as he resumed walking. “Correct. There are no wizards with bad handwriting.”
Saphienne remained focused on sorcerers. “Which implies that… sorcerers don’t study sigils the same way? How do they–”
There, her master abruptly paused. “I don’t know,” he shrugged.
That caught them all by surprise, Saphienne most of all — especially at how readily he admitted it.
Her voice faltered. “You… don’t?”
“I’m not a sorcerer.” His disinterest was clear. “For our purposes, it is enough to know that sorcerers are born with magical talent that causes sigil-like symbols to develop in their mind as they reach maturity. The specific form of these symbols usually relates to the ultimate source of their magical lineage — which may be a particularly potent wizard, or perhaps an ancestor who was frequently spirit-ridden. Eventually, a sorcerer will cast a spell, without training, without understanding, and without control.”
The pattering rain overhead filled the silence.
Almon nodded, and began pacing back toward Saphienne from near Iolas. “Good: you all understand the severity. Sorcerers can be trained by other sorcerers, and while I don’t know the particulars, they learn to incorporate sigils into their sorcery. I understand that doing so takes a great amount of time and effort, and usually involves replacing whichever symbols first developed, within themselves.”
Saphienne was perplexed. “But, if sigils are the understanding of the spell–”
Iolas cut in. “They learn sigils intuitively, don’t they?”
“So I have heard,” the wizard replied, studying the ground. “The process is a complete mystery to anyone but sorcerers. They are, to an elf, uniformly and frustratingly inarticulate about their approach to the Great Art. But once fixed in mind, their sigils remain steady, making the only limit of their spellcasting their mental and physical endurance.”
Celaena softly smiled. “So father is right. Wizards are superior, because wizards can adapt to any situation.”
“While sorcerers are highly capable in areas of narrow focus, yes.”
Iolas was thoughtful. “Can a sorcerer learn wizardry?”
“No.” Almon dismissed the thought as he about-faced. “They simply lack the temperament. While many eventually learn other forms of discipline, they are given over to daydreaming and seeking novelty. They are also – speaking frankly, and on the understanding you will exercise tact – seldom of more than average intelligence.”
“And the ones who are?”
“Those very few who have become a wizard’s apprentice before their sorcery revealed itself have always failed. The means by which a wizard prepares and casts spells fundamentally conflicts with how a sorcerer accomplishes the same…” Anticipating her question, he headed off Saphienne. “…And the conflict cannot be articulated, not until you have cast your first spells.”
Saphienne smirked. “Can’t be articulated, or won’t be?”
“Ah, see now: Saphienne prepares to imply that wizards are just as inarticulate as sorcerers.” Almon rolled his eyes. “The distinction being, I can and I will explain more to you all — if you can attain the necessary point of reference. Until you have cast a spell, however, putting the process into words would inhibit your ability to accomplish it.”
“So we’re just meant to feel our way through it?” She smiled. “Perhaps, intuitively?”
“Yes, Saphienne — how very droll.” He shot her what he intended as a withering look, more in hope than expectation that he would cow her. “Remember this exchange, and should you ever have cause to try to discuss the Great Art with a sorcerer, do recollect it.”
“I’m sure it’ll be an interesting conversation.” Knowing Almon as she did, Saphienne imagined that sorcerers simply didn’t want to share with him — not with someone who looked down on them.
“Master,” Iolas asked, trying to break them up, “weren’t you going to teach us about sorcerers after our first week?”
“Good memory.” He stopped, and unclasped his hands. “Truthfully, this particular subject belongs in no specific place. Our discussion presented a good opportunity to cover it, and I recognised a way to move from sorcery back to Abjuration, so…” He wandered back to his lectern, leaning his palms flat upon it as he addressed his students. “…Suppose, one day, you achieve the highly estimable position of wizard in service to a village such as this one. Then, without warning–”
Almon threw out his hand and flicked his fingers, a red flash accompanying the clap of thunder in his palm.
“…A child of perhaps their late twenties is jilted by a desired lover, and lightning begins raining down all around them. What would you do, Celaena?”
She blinked, wide awake from the spectacle. “Defend myself with a ward?”
“And successfully! But, now the trees are on fire, not to mention the populace.” He eyed Iolas. “You’ve been sharp today, Iolas. What else might Celaena do?”
Pursing his lips, Iolas looked up at the dome, studying the glimmering orange as he thought carefully.
“…Should I have Saphienne answer?”
“That’s not encouraging me, nor are you making me resent her,” Iolas quietly said, meeting his master’s gaze. “Stop doing it, please.”
Almon silently stared; at last, he gave the boy a frosty smile. “Yesterday’s anger has done you some good. Quite a change, from the timid child who hesitated on my doorstep. What’s your answer, then?”
“Can a ward be inverted? Can it hold lightning inside, rather than keeping it out?”
“Indeed, it can.” The wizard grinned with greater warmth, pleased. “An inverted ward is known as a binding, for it is primarily used to bind in place what would otherwise roam freely. They have significant use in conjunction with the discipline of Invocation — to trap malign spirits, or less commonly, as a cunning means to strip a spirit from a victim of possession.”
Though grateful to Iolas, Saphienne was caught up in the implications. “Can an Abjuration spell ward or bind against a person? Or magic?”
Almon raised his hand. “Firstly, yes, but that strays into territory we will cover another day. Secondly…” He lowered his palm. “…There is one rule of Abjuration you should all burn into your memory. Though you can abjure specific spells with an abjuration of equal potency, and even entire disciplines with an abjuration of significantly greater power… no one, neither wizard nor sorcerer – not even the High Masters of the Luminary Vale – may cast an abjuration that binds or wards against magic itself.”
That made sense to Saphienne. “Of course, because forcing out all magic would collapse the Abjuration spell–”
“No.” The wizard dropped all semblance of his usual theatricality, gravely serious as he leant on the lectern and steepled his fingers.
Uneasy, his apprentices glanced at each other.
Celaena dared to ask, “Why not?”
Almon carefully made eye contact with each of them as he answered. “Because whenever a wizard successfully casts such an Abjuration spell, it will, without fail, kill him. And no one knows why.”
* * *
What followed afterward was much like what they had sat through on the day they were introduced to Conjuration: a thorough – yet uninteresting – explanation as to how Abjuration had developed as a magical discipline. Even Almon seemed bored by the history, reciting the names of past wizards with all the grandeur of reading from a laundry list — which suggested to Saphienne that this was also mandated by the Luminary Vale. Nevertheless, she wrote them all down, idly wondering how many of the mentioned elves were still pursuing the Great Art.
Later, the apprentices were left to meditate on the glowing orange spell that held back the diminishing rain. This was mostly uneventful… at least until the spell expired, water spattering down on them while Peacock laughed gleefully from the upper window.
“Fuck that bird,” Saphienne muttered under her breath as they left the garden. “He could have warned us.”
“Well, now we know what a collapsing ward looks like…” Iolas glanced at Celaena, but she was staring off into the distance, too tired to engage. “…And we won’t be forgetting it any time soon.”
“I suppose so.”
“I thought you liked the rain, anyway?”
Saphienne was mostly embarrassed, having been so focused on the spell that she had cried out when the rainwater splashed her upturned face. “…When I’m expecting it. I had my eyes closed, better to study the spell.”
He grinned. “I imagine our master would call that ‘educational.’”
That earned a playful sneer from her, and she imitated Almon. “Yes, Iolas, very good.”
They both laughed, which drew Celaena’s attention. Bleary-eyed, she smiled as though she had been listening, but said nothing, and soon Saphienne and Iolas lapsed into companionable silence with her, content to enjoy their stroll to her house as the sun finally broke through the clouds.
* * *
Amusingly, Iolas jumped when the doors to the grand foyer shut behind them. “…I’m not going to get used to that…”
Saphienne smiled, and would have made fun of him — but was interrupted.
“Celaena?” A voice, high and feminine, called out from somewhere overhead. “Um, is that you? Are you back?”
Halfway across the black tiles, Celaena jerked upright and froze in place, her scarlet blush visible where it rose up to the points of her ears.
Laewyn appeared above them, very obviously dressed in a shift as she peered over the third floor railing — and let out a small gasp, darting out of sight as she recognised Iolas and Saphienne.
Celaena’s ears drooped as she folded in on herself; she looked as though she wanted the dark floor to swallow her whole.
Iolas flashed a small smile at Saphienne as he passed by, then very deliberately smothered his amusement when he stopped beside Celaena. His voice was light and firm, his manner casual. “Oh, Laewyn is joining us today? That’s nice.”
Celaena’s reply was barely more than a whisper. “…I forgot she was still here…”
“I’m sure she won’t mind us,” Iolas said. “Why don’t you go on up and speak to her? We’ll wait.”
Shuffling over to the stairs, Celaena climbed them with excruciating slowness, finally disappearing as she reached the uppermost floor.
Saphienne was bemused when she joined Iolas, and she kept her voice low. “Why is she embarrassed?”
Unsure how to explain delicately, he tapped the point of his umbrella on the floor as he composed his response, filling the space with echoes. “…Well, the implication–”
“I get that.” Saphienne rolled her eyes at him. “But why is she embarrassed by it? We already talked about her having a love life. She knows neither of us cares.”
“She cares.” Iolas shook his head. “You can’t just rationalise embarrassment away, Saphienne. They haven’t even admitted they’re dating.”
Saphienne hesitated. “From what I remember, people don’t have to be dating to–”
Iolas flinched and raised his free hand. “Gods, no — we’re not having this conversation.” He laughed it off as he stared up at the vaulted ceiling, then tried again. “She’s obviously nervous. This has to be her first relationship. And Celaena pays more attention to what everyone thinks about her than most, so she’s hung up on how she looks to us.”
“She shouldn’t be so self-conscious.”
“Oh, don’t be a hypocrite — you were hung up on requesting tea, just the other day.”
He had a point, she realised. “…I went back on my own, yesterday.”
“Good for you.” Iolas meant it. “Just, be relaxed with Laewyn? And don’t make fun of Celaena for this, not until she’s comfortable enough to laugh about it.”
“I won’t… but, you were teasing her–”
“About being uptight.” He looked pointedly at Saphienne. “Not about her relationship. There’s a big difference.”
Not knowing how to reply, she busied herself adjusting the strap of her satchel. Finally, she offered, “Laewyn seems good for her.”
Iolas nodded. “She’s nice, isn’t she? I’d like to get to know her.”
Then Celaena called for them, and with a shared shrug, they went upstairs to do just that.
End of Chapter 30
This is a small note to say that I realised, while redrafting later chapters, that I hadn't paid proper attention to some terminology that I really ought to have. I've gone back through and made some blink-and-you'll-miss-it corrections to the published chapters. They're incredibly subtle, and I'll be impressed if anyone catches them. If you think you do, and you think you know what those edits imply, drop me a private message!
