L. J. Amber
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TEWWBAD Chapter 29
🕑 Added 2025-03-25 13:00:11 +0000 UTCCHAPTER 29 – The Outline of Barriers
Rain poured down across the Eastern Vale, flowing down the sloped centre of the grove and on through the elaborate, winding channels that led to the western river. Saphienne always liked the rain, and when she was little she hadn’t cared whether she was soaked through from walking in it, much to the amusement of others. Now in her teens, she pulled up the thick hood of her outer robes – the fabric tightly woven to resist water – as she left her family home and headed out to meet Iolas, consciously making an effort to blend in.
She needn’t have bothered. Iolas was grinning at her where he stood at the bottom of the hill, hood up — and shielded from the inclement weather by a large umbrella. “Never thought I’d see you underprepared.”
Saphienne blinked. With a deep sigh, she reached up and threw back her hood before she fell in beside him — opposite his umbrella. “Sod fitting in.”
Swapping the umbrella to his other hand, Iolas puzzled over the expression. “The way you said that… is that a swearword? I’ve never heard it before.”
She shrugged. “Human profanity.”
“What does it mean?”
There, Saphienne hesitated. “…You know, I don’t actually know. I heard Filaurel use it once, but when I asked her to explain, she just blushed. I think that means it’s something sexual?”
“Oh, so it’s like saying ‘fuck’?” He nodded, noting it for future use. “Still, what did you mean, ‘fuck fitting in’?”
“I’ve never cared about keeping dry.”
“…You like getting rained on?”
“So what if I do?” She flashed him a smile. “I like the feel of the wind on my skin, and the rain rolling down. I’ve never really been bothered by it… as long as it’s not too cold.”
“What would Celaena say? Odd bird.” He grinned as they strolled across the grass, and even stamped a little, making the puddles splash.
Saphienne was growing used to the term of affection. “You’re in a good mood. Aren’t you a little old, to play with puddles?”
“Don’t be a killjoy. Didn’t you just say, sod fitting in?”
When he put it like that, Saphienne found it hard to argue. She mimicked his stride, splashing water on his shoes, and he laughed, nudging her out from under the umbrella. They carried on like that until a passing adult came into sight, at which point they quietened down, conscious that future wizards ought not to be seen cavorting in the rain.
* * *
Celaena was nowhere to be found when they arrived at their master’s home, and when they tried the front door they discovered it was locked.
Iolas raised his eyebrows, craning his neck as though he could peer around the building. “Surely not, in this weather…”
Yet what they saw when they trudged behind the tree awed them.
The garden was dry. Before them, the rain rolled down across thin air, outlining what appeared to be a large dome that covered the flowerbeds, and the grass, and the gravel. Through the eerie rivulets of water they could see that Almon had set up his lectern in the middle of the circle once more, and that the wizard was presently striding back and forth behind it, whispering to himself as he prepared for the lesson.
Iolas exhaled. “Well, you don’t see this every day.”
“It doesn’t rain every day,” Saphienne said, absently, reaching out toward the dome… before recent experience gave her pause.
He smirked at her. “Saphienne, it’s an express–”
But their master had heard them talking, and he called for them to join him. “Come in — out of the rain!” When they didn’t immediately approach, he smiled. “Ah, so caution has finally taken hold? You may cross this boundary safely: the abjuration wards off the rain, nothing more.”
They glanced at each other, unsure.
Almon sighed. “The lesson of the day has not yet begun. You have my word, as your master, that there is no trick, contrivance, or deception at play now. Do you wish to be dry, or not?”
Saphienne straightened up, Iolas squared his shoulders, and they stepped through the wall of rainwater–
Which brushed coldly and unnaturally over and across their skin, the sensation much like emerging from a pool. To Saphienne’s surprise, she found that droplets – including those once beaded on her robes and hair – hung around where she had crossed over, her outline briefly visible before they ran down toward the ground; Iolas shook out his umbrella before he realised it was dry. Above them, the rain gently pattered as though hitting the ground, lacking the reverberation that accompanied drumming on glass.
“Marvellous, isn’t it?” Almon approached them as they studied the dome. “I never tire of this particular spell.”
Though her animosity toward him remained, Saphienne had to agree with the wizard. “It’s impressive.”
“To an apprentice.” His tone was amused, not dismissive — not that Saphienne cared much for the distinction. “Almost every wizard I have met learned a variant of this spell as one of their first. Should you ever progress to mastering spells of the First Degree, your casting it will be a rite of passage.”
Thoughtfully, Iolas tapped the falling water with the tip of his umbrella. “So, we’re going to be studying Abjuration today?”
“We are.” Almon moved away, leading them toward the lectern. “And to reassure you, today’s structure is not prescribed by the Luminary Vale, and will not resemble your introduction to Invocation.”
The reminder rekindled her anger, and Saphienne channelled it into withering understatement. “You’ll forgive me, master, if I am not confident in your promises.”
The wizard laughed. “Then perhaps this will reassure you: there is considerable debate as to which discipline is best suited to first lessons. We who teach are evenly divided: between beginning with Conjuration, or starting the syllabus with Abjuration. Studying abjurations is among the safest practices of magic.”
Snorting, Iolas shook his head. “Which isn’t to say it’s safe.”
“Much better, Iolas.” Almon was pleased. “No magic is entirely safe, in the same way that no bladed tool is entirely safe. Safety is relative to application — that is, dependant on wise use.” He gestured toward the grass, dismissing them. “Occupy yourselves while we wait for Celaena.”
* * *
Except Celaena kept them waiting.
For the first hour, Saphienne meditated, focused on the gentle rain. As they entered the second, she relaxed her concentration to find that Iolas had fetched one of the writing boards and was practicing his calligraphy. Almon had gone back into his house to fetch tea, and was now drinking it as he leant on his lectern, staring expectantly into the rainy woods.
With nothing better to do, and not wanting to disturb Iolas or glower at Almon, she fetched a writing board for herself, and set to work making notes about Invocation; when she had written all she could recall – and exhausted her conjecture – she began recording mundane observations of the spell that hung over the garden.
Almon eventually hummed his dissatisfaction and cast a quick spell, indigo light flickering between his fingers. Moments later, Peacock emerged from an open window on the upper floor, fluttering down to land on the lectern with a dramatic bow.
His master was brusque. “Go find out what’s detained Celaena.”
“In the rain?” Peacock fluffed out his shimmering feathers. “I detest rain. I shan’t.”
“I’m not wasting a ward on you, bird.” Almon folded his arms. “Stop playing to the audience, and attend to your task.”
Peacock grumbled as he hopped around, peevishly parodying Almon’s command as he faced away, then took off. There was a splash as he passed through the dome, immediately followed by a squawk of displeasure–
Which made Saphienne pause her writing, turning to observe where the figment had intersected the abjuration. Rolling raindrops were already filling the space left behind by him, yet from what she knew, that shouldn’t have been possible… unless the spell that comprised him could interact with other spells?
Or, more likely–
The gap flickered and wavered, becoming unreal, and she smiled as she pointedly looked away, letting herself accept that the bird had splashed through the boundary. Peacock had explained how figments were sustained: he depended on the belief of more than one person, which suggested that she had imagined his passage, and the spell had shown her what she expected to see.
“Master Almon,” she said, holding back her acrimony for the sake of learning, “may I ask a question about figments?”
He was inclined to refuse, but then he surveyed the woodland, and she saw him concede he had nothing better to do. “…As long as it brief.”
“Peacock…” She paused to consider how to think about him. “…So as not to cause problems, let’s say that Peacock is a clever bird, and uses our imaginations to help him appear how he wishes to.”
Taken by surprise, Almon gave her a thin smile. “That is an effective way to imagine him — accepting he is magical, without reducing him to a mere spell. Helpful fictions are important for the practice of Hallucination.”
Saphienne cared little for his acknowledgement, and swiftly pressed on. “I saw how Peacock went through the abjuration, and I think I know why and how I saw what I saw. My question is: what happens if Peacock is perceived by someone who doesn’t have a vivid imagination? Or who doesn’t know enough to think about details? Say, a child?”
Her question won her master’s interest, and he casually leant on the lectern as he began to answer, animated as he gestured with his empty teacup. “Now that, Saphienne, is an excellent question–”
But something overhead distracted him.
There was humour in his voice when he looked back down. “…Which we will attempt to answer later…”
With another dramatic splash, Peacock dipped into the dome, squawking in complaint as he flew to the open window.
“…for Celaena is about to arrive.”
As though waiting for her cue, Celaena came around from the front of the residence, stopping to gape at the spell upon the garden.
Almon raised his voice. “Did you have pressing business, girl? Come in.”
Disappointed, Saphienne turned her attention to Celaena. “You’re safe to cross the barrier.”
“Ward,” Almon corrected her. “The rain is warded off, but the spell presents no barrier. I will clarify the nomenclature later.”
Having emerged into the garden, Celaena was clearly tired as she stared up at the hanging water, her exhaustion palpable as she belatedly remembered herself and hurried across to the lectern. “I’m sorry, master — I didn’t mean to disrespect your time.”
He waved away her apology. “What kept you?”
Burning with shame, her gaze fell to her shoes. “…I overslept.”
Almon wasn’t quick to rebuke her, his voice gentler than before. “Did you have trouble sleeping, last night?”
“…Yes.”
“I assume, the cause was related to yesterday’s lesson?”
Subdued, Celaena hazarded a small nod.
“Then I shall not hold you accountable.” His expression was sympathetic, and Saphienne wondered whether the wizard had once experienced the same. “What is not of your choosing is not your fault. Were you unwell, I would reschedule the lesson for another day.” He beckoned Iolas and Saphienne to join them. “When you are detained, I only ask that you please send word, if you are able.”
Trying not to react, Saphienne slipped her filled pages into her satchel. The hypocrisy of what he demanded of Saphienne, compared to the allowance he made for Celaena, made her–
“This applies to you as well, Saphienne.” His eyes glinted. “I expect your prompt attendance — when there is no good reason for you to be absent, or when you are not unavoidably delayed. You may judge yourself.”
Halfway through cleaning her pen, she slowly set it back down, lips pursed as she scrutinised the wizard. His expression betrayed no answers. She went back to what she was doing, then put away pen and ink as she spoke to him. “Is this some form of lesson, master? Or is it merely educational?”
“It is what you make of it, child.”
With that, he left them to ready themselves, taking his empty cup back inside.
* * *
Considerate as ever, Iolas kept his tone mild as the three stood waiting for the wizard to return. “How are you, Celaena?”
“Just a little tired,” she lied, shoulders tense. She was diminished since Saphienne had last seen her, somehow smaller and more frail than in the immediate aftermath of the possession.
Saphienne checked that Almon was still indoors, then stepped closer, gently touched her arm. “Nightmares?”
For a heartbeat, Celaena wavered, then forced a too-bright smile as she faced Saphienne, deliberately drifting away from her touch. “Thank you, Saphienne, but I’m fine. I’ll sleep better tonight.”
Behind Celaena, Iolas shook his head at Saphienne — urging her to leave well alone.
Returning the smile, though unable to hide her worry, Saphienne gave a polite bow and returned to where she had been standing.
Almon strode into the garden soon after, carrying several items to the lectern on a silver tray. “As I said,” he repeated for Celaena, “the study of Abjuration is among the safest forms of magical study. Today’s lessons are quite unlike yesterday’s, and more in keeping with our examination of Conjuration.”
Though she tried to hide it, Celaena was perturbed; her false cheer wilted.
Without a way to comfort her, Saphienne studied the items on the tray while Almon set about bestowing the Second Sight on each apprentice. Two miniature braziers were stacked with kindling, and two flat, metal sieves lay beside them; condensation beaded on a covered bowl, next to which a long spoon had been set. When her master tapped her head and granted her the power of magical scrutiny, she saw that none of the objects laid out were magical — and that the rainfall was kept away by a sparkling, orange veil, the dome curving inward under their feet until it faded from sight.
Staring down, Iolas gave a guess. “A sphere?”
Almon tucked up his sleeves as he stepped behind the lectern. “Correct. The Second Sight is impeded by gross matter – the earth, in this case – and so you are unable to see the full shape. Spheres are easiest to define and form, and for this spell, the effect is harmless underground.” He snapped his fingers, drawing their attention back to him. “Pay it no mind for now. You will meditate upon it when we conclude.”
At that, he swiped his hands over each brazier, two flashes of red signalling small acts of Conjuration that sparked the kindling. As the wood smoked and smouldered, he uncovered the bowl — revealing small fragments of ice. Using the spoon, he lifted a large shard and sat it on one sieve, then heaped several more onto the other. All of this accomplished, he covered the bowl once more, set down the spoon, and clasped his hands.
“I am going to cast two abjurations,” he told them. “You are free to scrutinise them, but you are not expected to comprehend them.”
Saphienne recognised the challenge. “Are we to look for differences?”
“If you can notice them,” the wizard answered.
Placing his hands either side of the fuller sieve, he began to intone several unfamiliar words as his fingers wove around the ice, a bright, coppery glimmer appearing in the frozen midst — and exploding outward, forming another, much smaller sphere. The flowing surface of the spell was alive with a shimmering pattern, reminiscent of interlocking, stylised waves.
Almon then repeated the casting on the other sieve, his enunciation seemingly identical, his gestures appearing the same, and so too the abjuration that sprang into being closely matched the first.
Except, Saphienne saw that the pattern of the later spell was more chaotic — actually, more elaborate. The motif was embellished, the waves denser, the edges of each peak ragged… and yet, still interlocking.
“This one,” she said, “uses the same pattern, but–”
“With more flourishes,” Iolas agreed, his sight just as keen.
Almon grinned. “Quite apart from rendering sigils, the study of calligraphy imparts skills that are useful in examining spells. Celaena! What else do you notice?”
Celaena started, having been caught wandering in her thoughts. “The colours… are the same…”
He shook his head. “True, but facile. Provide another observation.”
She was silent as she squinted, slower than usual. “The patterns on the spheres… they move in different directions?”
“Better. Pay more attention, Celaena.”
As they had been studying the abjurations, the twin fires had grown hot and tall; the wizard lifted the sieves by their handles, and very carefully set each of them atop the paired braziers.
“Now,” he clasped his hands again, “observe carefully. One of these wards is malformed, and insufficient for its intended purpose.”
Saphienne smirked. “Insufficient for teaching us?”
Almon sighed heavily. “Yes, Saphienne, very good.” His sarcasm was without venom. “I obviously mean that one of them will not prevent the ice from melting. Taking this as their purpose, what can you tell about each ward’s function?”
In the same way as the rain stopped against the abjuration above them, the tongues of each fire terminated abruptly where they reached the spells, dancing across the glowing surfaces as though they were solid metal. And yet, small droplets of water began to hiss where they fell from the sieve piled high with ice.
“Those are melting,” Iolas pointed.
Celaena leant closer to the other sieve. “There’s water on this one too… but not from the ice melting… condensation?”
Curious, the three apprentices studied the solitary shard.
Iolas glanced at Almon. “The ice is the same on both?”
“Yes…” The wizard had more to say, but waited.
Saphienne saw what was happening. “The ward around the single piece of ice — it’s cooling everything within?”
With a click of his tongue, Iolas stepped back. “And the condensation is starting to freeze against the cold metal.”
“Correct.” Almon gestured to the now clearly dwindling pile. “Allow me to remove an irrelevancy — I only stacked more ice here to delay its melting.”
Suspecting she understood what was happening, Saphienne caught herself before reaching out. “Master, if I place my fingers in the air within each ward, will any eventuality occur that I would regret?”
Satisfied by her restraint, he gestured for her to proceed. “You will be safe.”
While Celaena and Iolas watched, she held her hand out, feeling the temperature within each ward: the air above the ice that was melting felt subtly warm, while the air above the solitary piece was sharply chilling. “Both ward against fire… but only one wards against heat.”
“Accurately described.” He folded his arms. “Celaena, Iolas: can either of you hazard a guess, as to what this tells us about Abjuration spells?”
Celaena gave Iolas a pleading look, and he did his best to reply. “I think… wards define what they exclude, and maybe what they permit to enter… very specifically?”
“Continue.”
“Both abjure the fire… but…” He frowned. “Heat is part of the fire, isn’t it? So I’m not sure how one abjures fire but lets heat through… Saphienne?”
She waited for Almon’s consent before she began. “I see two possibilities: the malformed spell abjures a list of features like light, sound, and smoke — but not heat; or maybe the malformed spell abjures fire, but the way fire is understood does not include the heat shed by the fire.”
Iolas was completely perplexed. “How are those different?”
Saphienne tried to explain. “Perhaps wards list individual features to be excluded, or perhaps they only list the overall fire — but the way the wizard understands fire changes how the spell performs.” She studied the dancing flames. “Actually, both could be true. A third option: wards define what they exclude, which can be one or more things of varying complexity, but all definitions depend on the wizard’s understanding, and so something complex is more easily misunderstood — making the ward malformed.”
Rocking back on his heels, Almon gave nothing away. “Which do you propose?”
Saphienne took her time reviewing the patterns on each spell. “The third option,” she said. “I think both spells abjure fire, but both use a flawed understanding of fire — and the one that still works compensates by also abjuring heat.”
“Why?”
“Because the water condensing and freezing is not explained by simply excluding fire… but would be explained by excluding heat. Assuming that wards do not prevent passage in both directions, then as air flows out, and only cool air is allowed in, the temperature within must drop.” She remembered the raindrops slipping from between the strands of her hair. “Actually, no: the ward must be stripping heat from all the air entering, to freeze so quickly.”
“Fuck,” Celaena whispered — then realised she’d spoken aloud, covering her face as she cringed.
Almon failed to hide his amusement as he admonished Celaena. “Mind your language, child.”
Smothering a smile, Iolas returned to the lesson. “Is Saphienne correct?”
“Exactly so.” The wizard flicked his fingers in a strange dance, and the deficient spell collapsed. “Saphienne… I presume you drew upon what I told you about Hallucination, together with the theory of how colours attach to magical disciplines?”
She shrugged. “If the way a wizard feels about magic determines how spells are coloured, and their knowledge can shape a hallucination of flowers… and perhaps whether water is conjured with or without minerals… it stands to reason, that how a wizard comprehends fire would affect the function of the ward.”
“Wait.” Iolas rubbed his forehead, disbelief in his eyes. “How do you put all of that together? How do you hold all of that in your mind, at once?”
Saphienne blinked. “…It’s just there. And then I think about it, carefully.”
Almon leant against the lectern. “Saphienne,” he began, “what I am about to say is not a compliment. Intelligence is a gift, not a virtue, for virtues must be cultivated through hard work.” He hesitated. “…Though, I must admit, you have clearly worked hard to train the use of your intellect.”
She folded her arms. “Filaurel taught me.”
“…Which she clearly did very well.” The wizard spoke in resignation, pained to admit what was plain to see. “Nevertheless, our gifts are not virtues. Some of the greatest discoveries in the history of the Great Art have been made by wizards who were of only slightly greater than average intelligence. They were all disciplined, careful thinkers, who cultivated wisdom in their approach to magic. Similarly,” he went on, “there are wizards of surpassing intellect whose studies have amounted to relatively little.”
Iolas swallowed. “Because they lacked discipline, were lax in their thought, and they approached magic without wisdom?”
“Yes. Intelligence is necessary to be a wizard,” Almon decreed, “but intelligence alone does not a wizard make. With all of this said…” He paused, steeling himself, and spoke to the elder two apprentices. “…Iolas, Celaena: you are both highly intelligent, or I would not have accepted you for apprenticeship.”
Celaena spoke very quietly. “But Saphienne is on another level.”
“Yes.” He read Saphienne’s reaction carefully. “Saphienne has received a greater gift from nature than almost all of the wizards I know.”
For the first time, Saphienne understood why Filaurel had looked on her with dread, that day when the librarian had tested her. She was more intelligent than Almon. And her master knew it, too — and that was why he couldn’t refuse her the chance to study magic, not in good conscience. Was that also why he resented her? Was his pride wounded by her existence, festering with jealousy?
“Almost all.” He smiled, still confident he was her superior. “Everyone, at one time or another, is humbled to encounter someone more gifted than they are. Saphienne will be slower to learn that lesson; I expect it will be more painful for her, too.”
A soft laugh left Saphienne’s lips. “…So, that’s how it is. You don’t understand me.”
“Spoken in the conceit that you know yourself.”
She could feel Iolas and Celaena watching, and held firm. “I know enough. I know what matters.”
But the wizard’s smile became a grin. “Time will tell, Saphienne. Sooner or later, time will tell.”
