L. J. Amber
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TEWWBAD Chapter 21
🕑 Added 2025-02-25 13:00:14 +0000 UTCCHAPTER 21 – All the Ease of Summertime
There had been a puppet show for the children. Saphienne would remember that, nearly five years later.
She had been nine years old, golden haired now summer had arrived, wearing her usual sundress — while all the other children wore clothes reserved for special occasions. In her unfolding memory she was sat at the back of the audience in the tented pavilion, beside Kylantha, who was always golden haired, nestled up against her as they laughed and gasped at the shadows cast by the puppets against the screen.
Saphienne had arrived late, which was also the reason she was underdressed. Her father was visiting her mother, and they had both promised her they would walk her to the festival grounds before evening came. She had waited on them all through the afternoon, waited while they played adult games with each other in her mother’s locked bedroom, looking up hopefully whenever one or the other would pass her room to fetch more wine from under the stairs. Then the sun had turned yellow in descent, and she couldn’t wait any longer, and had washed herself, and fed herself a meagre dinner, and put on yesterday’s clothes, and walked by herself to the festival grounds, where the young children had all been dropped off by their guardians, hours before.
Because she was late, she had missed making paper flowers. But she held one anyway as she leaned against Kylantha, a single daffodil that her friend had given her for safekeeping. The yellow leaves and green stem were thick, and the bloom was slightly askew from the excessive, tacky glue and string that held its parts together, but it still looked pretty, made with care and attention and the earnest love of a child for her mother. Saphienne clutched it like a talisman, but held it lightly, and it shook with her laughter every time the nimble puppets fell over.
Understand: this was a happy day. There were no dark thoughts, back then. All the world was on the stage before them, where forest wardens shooed goblins and fought dragons to save maidens, and magic glimmered in the shadows to make the sounds that accompanied the actors’ exaggerated voices. Kylantha and Saphienne both joined in when the puppets asked the children whether the dragon should eat the maiden — “No!” And they cheered when the dragon was driven off, and laughed when the goblins crept back in once the elves were gone, bickering over the scales and broken arrows left behind.
Eventually, the tale was done, and the tent was full of cheers. The lamps were lit, and gentle music played as the harpist returned to her chair, and one of the forever energetic caretakers stood before the puppet stage and shouted an invitation that was not voluntary, “Who wants to play a game!”
But Saphienne and Kylantha didn’t join in with the cheering that time. Instead, they looked at each other, Saphienne anxious and Kylantha wrinkling her nose.
“Come on,” Kylantha said. “Let’s explore.”
Saphienne bit her lip. “We’re meant to stay here. We’re not grown enough for the festival.”
Nothing else Saphienne could have said would have made Kylantha spring to her feet more quickly, and the half-elf planted her hands on her hips. “Says who? And we won’t do anything wrong. We’ll just…” Her brown eyes focused on the paper flower. “…We’ll take my flower to mother! Then we’ll come back.”
Saphienne knew Kylantha had no intention of doing just anything, but the younger girl’s boldness always brought out her own, and so Saphienne smiled in the slightly adoring way that young children do when they’re in awe of children who surely know better. She climbed to her feet, and took Kylantha’s hand, and the pair turned around toward the doorway, where another caretaker was minding the exit.
“She won’t let us leave,” Saphienne whispered.
Kylantha let go of her hand. “Go drink some juice. Then tell her you can’t find me. Tell her you’ve looked everywhere.”
“But you’re here?” She blinked. “You want me to… lie?”
“No. You won’t find me.” Kylantha smiled an impish smile. “If you want to try to find me, you can try…”
Saphienne liked playing hide and seek with Kylantha, and she giggled. Kylantha almost always won, but every time was different. Nodding, she left her best and only friend and went over to the low table at the far side of the room, where wooden cups filled with blackcurrant juice had been laid out for the children. She sipped one, then screwed shut her eyes, unsure if she liked the tart and faintly bitter flavour until she drank a second, third, and then fourth time.
That had to have been long enough. She set down the half-full cup and looked around the room, to where the other children were dividing themselves into teams. Not wanting to wait around and be forced to be included, she hurriedly glanced under the table and behind the stage and up at the lanterns, then walked over to the caretaker by the door.
“Is something wrong, Saphienne? Do you need me to take you to the bathroom?” The caretaker knew her, but Saphienne didn’t know the adult elf’s name, though she had a warm smile and kind eyes as she bent over to address her.
“I can’t find Kylantha.” Technically, she was telling the truth. “I went to have juice, but I can’t see her anywhere.”
Exasperated, the caretaker sighed as she straightened up. “Oh, wherever has that child gone off to now… let’s see.”
Saphienne followed her gaze as she glanced throughout the tent, then watched as her expression shifted from frayed indulgence to growing concern, and then irritation. “Not again… can’t take your eyes off her for five minutes…” She made herself smile as she looked down at Saphienne. “If you wait here, I’ll go look for her.”
“Please.” She felt a little guilty, wasting the woman’s time.
The elf patted her affectionately on the head, then strode through the tent toward the other caretakers.
In an instant, Kylantha appeared beside her. “Let’s go!”
Saphienne jumped, but her hand had been taken and they were walking through the flap, and then they were running behind the pavilion while Kylantha giggled with glee, and the golden day made the younger girl’s braided hair gleam like a crown of triumph.
“Where were you?” Saphienne asked once they left the clearing. “I looked for you, but I didn’t see you anywhere.”
“In the crowd.” Kylantha spoke matter-of-factly. “I told Celaena I’d do whatever she told me. Then I stood on my tiptoes and hid behind her team. I had my back to the door, and I pulled my hair over my ears.”
Saphienne was amazed. “But you never do what they want!”
“And I always stand out.” She smiled. “But only when I want to.”
“Won’t they be mad?”
“She wanted me on her team. The others didn’t. And only because…” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. This is far enough — come on!”
They had been circling around the clearing just beyond the treeline, and Saphienne bounded along to keep up with the smaller, yet quicker girl as they went back into the clearing and passed between other tents, nearly tripping against her when they came to a halt.
Before them, a forest of long legs swayed back and forth, the crowd of adult elves laughing and talking loudly as they moved between tents and stalls, requesting food, trying their hands at games, contemplating the art on display — and discussing what should be done with it. Wine was flowing freely, song carried on the air from near and far, and warring music hovered above the throng from different directions, harmonious despite the differences.
Kylantha was looking at Saphienne. “Your hair isn’t braided.”
Saphienne touched her temples. “…I couldn’t do it myself.”
“Sit down.” Kylantha dropped down behind her. “I’ll do it. You’ve got to look right.”
“Do I really?” Saphienne sat regardless, fidgeting with the flower.
“Today you do.” Kylantha began to braid Saphienne’s hair in the same high circle she wore, though the older girl would have a longer tail, since her hair hung lower and more smoothly. “Mother said everyone should look their best.”
Enjoying the feeling of her hair being stroked through and lifted, Saphienne nodded, then blushed when Kylantha scolded her for moving, and sat unnaturally still for a few minutes more. No one paid them any mind — or at least, the ones who noticed them only smiled and cooed and waved, happy to see the picturesque scene of two girls at play.
“Where did all these people come from?” Saphienne asked.
“They’re from other villages.” Kylantha stuck her tongue back into the corner of her lips as she worked, then spoke again as she tried to remember the next steps. “Mother says a festival like this is held in a different village every year. Everyone sees who has the best festival. They compete.”
“What about their children?”
“They stay home. When they’re fourteen, they can travel with the adults. If they have permission.” She snorted.
Saphienne sighed. “That’s so long away.”
“Not that long. And I won’t go without you.” She finished, and leant forward to hug her. “There!”
Saphienne enjoyed the hug, and let Kylantha half-lift her as she stood, giggling. “How do I look?”
“Like sunshine!” Kylantha twirled her around. “Like a sunflower, growing up! All thin and tall, and yellow at the top.”
They both laughed together, and then Kylantha took her hand again and they went out where they weren’t supposed to be, seeking adventure.
* * *
“I could do that!”
Saphienne and Kylantha were stood beside a long table, watching as adult elves threw small stones at another table some forty feet away. The objective was to knock over a group of wooden statues, and the prize was nothing more than a treacle-covered apple on a stick. And the bragging rights, Saphienne supposed, but the game interested her less than the prize, having not eaten much before she left her family home.
“I could do better than that!” Kylantha insisted again.
The elf who was throwing glanced around in irritation, but he laughed when he saw the young girl insulting him. “Maybe you could! But wait your turn, little girl.”
Kylantha stuck her tongue out at him, and the adults around them all laughed, and one of them – a woman in a translucent dress that floated on the air – noticed Saphienne staring at the apple she’d won, and grinned as she handed it to her. Saphienne didn’t know what to say, and gave her a bow, like she’d seen others do, and the woman surprised her by bowing back while smiling all the more sweetly.
Meanwhile, the player missed his target again. “This is harder than it looks.”
Kylantha was unimpressed. “It doesn’t look that hard.”
More laughter greeted her words, and the kind woman standing next to the man nudged him. “Save your last stone for her.”
“She can get her own.”
“Afraid she’ll humble you?”
“As if.” He threw, and this time his aim was true, and a small cheer went up.
Kylantha unfolded her arms and nodded. “About time. Good throw!”
Taking his apple, he gestured for her to step up. “Well? Don’t keep us in suspense, Master Thrower.” He waved to the game’s referee. “Can the girl play?”
“On your say-so!” the other elf called back, busy resetting the statues and collecting the tossed stones. “Make sure she doesn’t hurt herself!”
Laughing, the woman nudged her friend a second time. “Or someone else.”
Kylantha took her opportunity to come closer to the table, and she dragged Saphienne along with her. Saphienne licked her apple and watched as Kylantha stretched up and reached for the small pile of stones, not quite touching them.
“Harder than it looks, isn’t it?” the man chuckled.
“Oh,” the woman next to him sighed, “don’t be petty. Lift her up!”
Offended, Kylantha turned to argue, then shrieked with surprise when he hoisted her by her waist and set her on the table, there to wobble for a moment as she found her balance. A small circle was forming to watch, intrigued.
“Now you’re tall enough.” He stepped back. “You get three throws — wait! Let him come back to the table, girl.”
Kylantha had snatched up her stones in an instant; restraining herself took effort. She looked down at Saphienne, surprised to see she already had an apple. “…I was going to win you one.”
Saphienne waved the apple by the stick poked into its core. “Can you win me another? They’re good.”
Desire flashed in Kylantha’s eyes as she stared at the apple. She grinned. “We’ll share. Don’t take a bite. Not until I’ve won.”
Happy with this, Saphienne returned to licking off the treacle, and watched as Kylantha readied her first throw–
Which flew like an arrow loosed from a bow and struck the middlemost statue squarely in the centre, making it wobble.
Applause broke out, and the man standing next to her blushed. “Well, shi– uh…” The man caught himself. “…Excuse me. Master Thrower, please: teach me your ways!”
“I didn’t knock it down.” Kylantha was pouting.
“Try again,” the woman said, “and throw harder.”
Saphienne stopped chewing the thick sugar. “You can do it!”
Encouraged, Kylantha took aim again–
And struck in an instant, in the same place, harder than before, but still not hard enough to knock the statue down.
“You’ve got good aim,” the referee admitted, “but you’re just not strong enough. Sorry girl. I’ll give you an apple anyway, if you make your last throw.”
Kylantha stared at the stone in her hand. “…Fine! Wait.”
Surprising everyone, she tossed the stone back on the pile and jumped off the table, and she reached out and snatched away Saphienne’s apple, leaning up to kiss her cheek before the older girl could complain. Then she scrambled back onto the table, pulling out the stick with her teeth as she straightened up.
“Wait, you’re supposed to–”
But the referee’s injunction mattered nothing to the short half-elf, who wiped the apple on her bare arm, took hold, and heaved it with all her might.
Everyone watched, spellbound, as it soared more slowly through the air, arcing down toward the distant table with growing momentum–
And then thudded into one of the statues, nearly missing it, glancing off its left side and causing it to spin around — and to tip, and to clatter into the middle statue, which fell over in turn and shouldered the next; four fell in quick succession, leaving three on the far edges swaying, but holding their places.
As the crowd applauded, Kylantha sucked the sugar from her wrist and smirked at the referee. “Four apples?”
Saphienne glowered, as menacingly as she could. “She earned them!”
* * *
After a long argument between the crowd and the referee, a compromise was reached, and two apples were given to the girls. Saphienne held them as the referee made Kylantha help him pick up the statues, and the younger girl came back with the half-smashed apple she had thrown, biting into it with relish.
Then someone in the crowd asked them why they weren’t with the other young children, and Saphienne waved the flower and explained, mouth full, that they were looking for Kylantha’s mother and going right back, they promised.
“Oh, well… as long as it’s something that important, carry on.”
Which they did, and Kylantha said something Saphienne didn’t quite hear about direction and valour as they scampered off into the crowd.
The apples lasted five minutes, and Saphienne ate the most of two of them, still feeling hungry as they wandered from the games to the area set aside for food. Kylantha noticed her lingering by a stall laden with fruit, and she sidled up to it with exaggerated innocence, casually lifting a pear as though to study its finer properties.
“You don’t look fourteen.”
The elf in charge of the fruit loomed over them, her smile wicked.
Saphienne glanced at Kylantha in worry, but her friend was bowing. “I’m just short for my age. Saphienne is hungry.”
“Is that so?” The woman looked to Saphienne, who didn’t dare nod.
“I’d like to request these pears–”
“Kylantha,” the woman said, not looking away from Saphienne, “we all know who you are. You’re not a day over seven.”
Kylantha blushed, but she was grinning. “I’m twice the elf you think I am.”
“Oho!” The woman laughed, but her laugh held an edge. “Look at you, being clever! I’d say you’re half the elf you think you are, child.”
Kylantha stopped grinning.
Saphienne looked between them, then tried to ease the tension. “We’re looking for her mother. And she’s telling the truth: I’m hungry.”
Glancing to Saphienne, the woman softened a little. “I’m only teasing, girl,” she told Kylantha, and fetched a paper bag. “Here. Take some pears. You two shouldn’t go hungry, least of all on the solstice.”
Mollified by this, but still wary, Kylantha took the bag silently, and began stuffing it with pears.
Still, the woman couldn’t leave her alone. “You know, Kylantha, you shouldn’t steal.”
“I wasn’t stealing!” She spoke quickly, indignant. “I was waiting to see if you’d let me take the pear.”
“And if I hadn’t noticed you, then you would have put it back? Come now, child. Don’t be a liar as well as a thief. Your human side is showing.”
Kylantha dropped a pear as she balled her fist. “It’s not stealing if I give it back. And you’re being rude!”
Saphienne quickly hugged her from behind, her arms folding protectively around the younger girl.
Back then, Saphienne didn’t understand what she saw, but the woman behind the stall glanced between her and Kylantha, and then again, and her face slowly darkened with a flush. Shame came over her, though whether it was for insulting Kylantha, or for embarrassing Saphienne’s friend in front of her, Saphienne would never really know for sure.
Whatever the reason, the spirit of that carefree summer day took hold of the elf. She took a slow breath. “Since you’re looking for your mother,” she said, and continued speaking as she ducked under the counter, “why don’t you share these with her?”
Saphienne and Kylantha both smiled in surprise upon her return, and all indignities were forgotten as they took her peace offering: a small box of strawberries.
* * *
As children often do, they thoughtlessly ate most of the strawberries as they went about their search. So long as they left one for Kylantha’s mother, they were sharing with her. Saphienne was sure about that — and anyway, they had plenty of pears.
The competing music grew louder as they left the stalls and approached the centre of the field, where several dance floors had been raised. Different musicians performed beside each, but all bands performed in the same key, and in tempos that were complementary, for all that they differed in pace. The effect was mesmerising to the two girls, who watched as a dozen paired elves swayed together in close embrace, their timing different from – but in synch with – the next stage, where two lines danced together at quicker pace, who were slower in turn than the elegant whirling of the dancers on the stage beyond.
Kylantha looked around, and led Saphienne over to a half-occupied bench. Jumping up onto it, once more catching her balance, she tapped the nearest elf on the shoulder. “Excuse me! Could you watch our things?”
Quite drunk, the man struggled to focus on her. “Things? Oh, some fruit? Why, yes, yes– and would you like some wine?”
“No thank you,” Kylantha said as she leapt down, and she took the paper flower from Saphienne’s hand to thread through her own hair. “We’re dancing.”
Saphienne froze in fear. “We’re dancing? We’re not dancing! I don’t know how–”
But Kylantha dragged her by her wrists between the stages, to the edge of the stage where the elves were spinning together, and she took her up the steps and counted the beat and waited for an opening as Saphienne protested. She smiled serenely all the while. As the dancers paused to reverse direction she pulled Saphienne onto the wooden boards and spun her like she had earlier, and Saphienne responded with an instinctual pirouette, her elven grace carrying her as Kylantha clumsily copied what she saw the others doing.
There was laughter.
But, the laughter wasn’t cruel, and the smiles weren’t hard, and the dancers shifted and rolled around them to drive them to the centre of the dancefloor, and some whistles from beyond the stage heralded a change in the dance. Saphienne was terrified, trying to keep up with Kylantha, who was laughing madly, and spinning her around and around over crossed wrists, the dancers around them copying their childish moves, struggling through their laughter — and yet carried by the song.
The music swelled, and the tempo broke from its elegant lockstep with the other stages, and a little discord swept into the clearing. But no one much minded, not even Saphienne, who began to smile, and then to scream her giggles, exhilarated, eyes shining, and without a care in the world.
* * *
The pears were gone by the time they took a bow and were ushered off the stage, but the last strawberry wasn’t, and they retrieved the box, guarding its precious treasure as they set out into the sea of benches and tables where the adults were at leisure.
“Kylantha?”
Kylantha’s mother had seen them on the dance floor, and Kylantha gave a happy yell and ran to her, throwing her arms around her neck as the tall elf bent to sweep up her daughter, both laughing as she cradled her.
“Mother!”
“I saw you dancing,” her mother laughed, and she winked at Saphienne, her moonstone eyes teasing. “Saphienne did well, showing you how.”
“I was showing her!” Kylantha pouted as she was set down, and she took her mother’s hand automatically as Saphienne fell in beside them. “But we did good, didn’t we?”
“You did.” She leant down and kissed her forehead. “So graceful. And, what’s this you’ve put in your hair?”
Kylantha remembered the paper flower, but the glue had stuck it in place, and Saphienne had to carefully unpick it from her braid to pull it free while her mother grinned and tutted. Still, Kylantha’s mother listened as her daughter excitedly told her what they had done – skipping over their escape from the pavilion – and she complimented the girls’ daring as she learned all about their grand adventure. Saphienne watched her relish the remaining strawberry.
At last they arrived at the table where Kylantha’s mother had been sitting, and the other elves seated there waved and raised their glasses. One spoke up, asking, “Is this your daughter, Phelorna?”
“And her friend,” Phelorna said, “Saphienne. She’s Lynnariel’s?”
Her reply was met with tolerant nods and accommodating smiles.
“Hello,” Saphienne said, trying another bow.
“What about the flower?” Phelorna faced her daughter as she sat. “You were going to tell me about it.”
“Oh!” Kylantha took it from Saphienne, and held it up. “I made it for you. We were bringing it to you… before you were drunk.”
Laughs rolled around the table, but her mother only blushed slightly. “Wise of you,” she answered, and accepted the paper flower, pretending to sniff it as she raised her reclaimed glass. “I’m pretty far gone already. Quest well accomplished, my brave little knight.”
Kylantha beamed.
“But,” Phelorna said, “you do need to go back with the other children.”
“Can’t we stay? We can be quiet. We’ll sit together.”
“Saphienne can be quiet,” Phelorna answered, “but you’re never so. Which is fine and well, when you’re with children.”
Addressed, Saphienne spoke up. “Why can’t we stay?”
“As the sun sets, different parties begin,” she answered. “Parties that are not for children to attend. When you’re older, you’ll see.”
Saphienne thought back to her mother and father, and the privacy they needed for their games, and she nodded as though she understood.
“But,” Kylantha complained, “I… I need the bathroom, first.”
“Well, on you go, then.” Phelorna pointed some distance away, beyond the sprawl of the tables. “I’ll wait for you here. Saphienne, do you need to go as well?”
Saphienne shook her head.
Beside her, Kylantha seemed a little disappointed. “Won’t you come with me, mother?”
“You’re a brave knight.” Phelorna stroked her cheek. “You can rove forth alone. We’ll still be here, when you come back.”
Saphienne felt tremendous envy, then, seeing the affection between mother and daughter. Kylantha straightened up, and with a nod to her friend, she turned on her heel and strode–
“Other way, dearest.”
…In a languid curve toward the bathroom, perhaps to get lost on the way.
Across the table, another woman stood, and when she came around she kissed Phelorna deeply on the lips before sitting beside her, caressing her hair. “It’s good that you’re encouraging her to be independent.”
Phelorna nodded, and for a moment her expression grew still. “…It’s too early. She needs more time.”
“She’ll have it. You both have a little more time.”
Saphienne looked between them. “Time for what?”
At that, Phelorna smiled a strange smile, a smile that Saphienne would not understand until well after she had reached adulthood of her own, a smile that told of happiness and fear and love and grief, and above all an awareness that the things her smile portended were not for Saphienne to know, or so Phelorna hoped. She patted her lap, then held out her arms, inviting Saphienne to sit with her, which she duly did.
“Time for her to learn about herself,” she whispered to Saphienne, and held her more tightly than her own mother did. “She’s got a lot of growing still to do.”
Saphienne accepted this, just as she accepted the embrace. She closed her eyes, and, just for a little while, she pretended that Phelorna was her mother, and that she was as well-loved and wanted as Kylantha. Just for a little while.
And eventually, far later than she should have, Kylantha returned, and the three walked hand in hand back toward the children’s pavilion, meeting a frantic caretaker coming the other way. Phelorna defended the girls from reprimand, and gave both Kylantha and Saphienne hugs, waving to them as they parted.
Over her shoulder, Saphienne watched Phelorna turn away, and she admired how the woman strolled so gracefully into the gathering night, moving with all the ease of summertime.
