Saphienne could be forgiven for thinking that all her lessons in magic would take the form of gentle demonstration followed by intellectual discussion. After all, while he had emphasised the wonder and awe in spellcasting, Almon had stressed that magic was an exercise in careful thinking and observation. Nor was she alone in that expectation; Iolas and Celaena both found their studies academically interesting, but expected that the excitent would soon subside as they beca accustod to wizardry.
Their third day of lessons would prove them all very, very wrong.
“Abjuration, Conjuration, Divination, Fascination, Hallucination, Invocation, Translocation, and Transmutation.” Almon paced the gravel circle in his garden as he spoke to his three newest apprentices. “These are the eight disciplines of magic. You have learned a little about the laws that govern Conjuration. Iolas: define Conjuration, and summarise these laws.”
Iolas didn’t need to take out his notes. “A spell of the discipline of Conjuration causes sothing to co into being within the natural world, which otherwise would not exist — whether permanently, or for the spell’s duration. As for the laws…” He nodded to Saphienne and Celaena as he summarised their pooled insights. “A wizard cannot conjure sothing into the natural world where it could not exist in the natural world. Where sothing conjured would require specific conditions to sustain itself, if those conditions are not present when the spell is complete, whatever was conjured ceases to exist. A wizard who wishes to maintain a conjuration that cannot sustain itself must therefore continue to concentrate on the spell.”
“Good. And you have used the language properly.” Almon ceased pacing. “A spell of the discipline of Conjuration is called a Conjuration spell. The result of that Conjuration spell is called a conjuration. So too, a spell of the discipline of Abjuration is properly referred to as an Abjuration spell. The result of that Abjuration spell is properly referred to as an abjuration. So too for the other disciplines — which produce divinations, fascinations, hallucinations, invocations, translocations, and transmutations.”
Saphienne thought it over. While the language was awkward, she didn’t find it confusing. “So when you talk about Conjuration, in general, you an the discipline of Conjuration. When you talk about a conjuration, you refer to sothing that has been caused by a Conjuration spell.”
“Correct. Casual discussion may confuse the terms, but wizards must be precise. Which also ans,” he instructed them, “you should avoid using the nas of the disciplines in the way that a common person might — at least when talking to a wizard, or a sorcerer. If you say soone is ‘fascinated,’ that could be mistaken for aning that they are under the influence of a Fascination spell.”
Iolas nodded. “Priests talk about their invocations…”
“Which may refer to the Invocation spells they use,” Almon sighed, “or may simply an their prayers. They see no reason for precision, for spells and prayers are the sa thing, to them. Invocation is the only discipline they use.”
That made the youth frown. “But, I’ve seen priests do things that–”
Seizing the mont, Almon interrupted him. “–Things which would appear to fall under the purview of the other disciplines! Quite confusing, isn’t it?” The wizard folded his arms. “Consider yesterday’s lesson on Conjuration. You heard that Conjuration was once confused with Invocation. So too, other disciplines can be confused with Invocation, and before the first schools of magic were identified and separated out, they were.”
Saphienne had a thought. “Wouldn’t they be obviously different, to the Second Sight?”
Almon challenged her with her own question. “Wouldn’t they?”
Forced to think it through, she slowly shook her head. “…The Second Sight is a Divination spell. And you told us it’s not the only Divination spell that achieves the sa goal. Which suggests the spell was developed after magic was split into multiple disciplines, wasn’t it?”
“And so?”
“The Second Sight shows us disciplines as different colours… because whoever discovered the spell identified the disciplines with those colours.” She looked at him. “Did older variants of the spell not make the sa distinctions?”
“Correct.”
Yet Iolas was unsatisfied by this. “Wait a mont. When you’ve cast Hallucination spells, even without the Second Sight, they’ve appeared blue to the naked eye. Wasn’t that always the case?”
The wizard gave Iolas a small bow. “Well observed! And no, it wasn’t always the case — nor does the magic of dragons or, let us say, humans appear the sa as ours, not without magical scrutiny. This is one of the mysteries about which there has been much speculation.” He began to pace again. “A wizard can change the presentation of his spells when they are cast, and a skilled wizard can even change how they appear when examined with spells such as the Second Sight. But this is not what the wizards who learn outside our elven tradition are doing.”
Celaena sounded surprised. “There are other traditions of magic?”
“Indeed. The way that dragons cast spells is sowhat similar to our elven tradition, but still quite different. So too, the juvenile traditions that humans follow.” He waved his hand as though dismissing a thought. “Oh, they have similarities. And our spells will interact with their spells in mostly the ways you might expect. But there are subtleties. Take Conjuration as an example: humans misunderstand the discipline, and mistakenly believe it is two separate disciplines.”
Saphienne wondered. “Is it?”
Her master glared. “No. The separation of the disciplines is not arbitrary: they are separated based on cause, while humans confuse themselves with re effect.”
She was prepared to accept his explanation, but the mystery still intrigued her. “Why the differing colours in each tradition, then? What are the theories?”
“There are several. None of them are conclusive.” Almon paused, deliberating whether to say more… and for once took pity on her curiosity. “They are not relevant for today, but I will share one, which I personally believe to be most likely. When a wizard casts a spell, the spell takes form in his mind, and each ntal formation has significance to the wizard. A wizard who was taught that Hallucination spells are blue will feel they are blue, and so will cause those spells to appear blue, unless he deliberately intends otherwise.”
“So spellcasting is subjective?”
Almon sighed. “My own fault for encouraging you. Yes, and also no. You are not yet capable of understanding. And,” he added, begrudgingly, “you should also keep in mind: I could be wrong. My favourite theory could be incorrect. A good wizard must be prepared to accept they are in error, if that error stands between them and further accomplishnt with the Great Art.”
“In that case,” Iolas asked, “did all spells once share one colour?” He thought back to earlier lessons. “Were they once all white, like Divination?”
“Perhaps.” Almon shrugged. “Truthfully, I don’t know. Through a prism, white light will separate into all the colours of the rainbow — and yet, very curiously, the white light shed by Divination spells does not separate when shone through such a glass. While Divination is the eldest discipline, it does not contain the other disciplines within it, nor does the colour of its magic contain their colours. Perhaps a truly ancient elder would rember, but such a wizard would be far too busy to disturb with such an insignificant question.”
The wizard looked over his students, realising that he had wandered far away from his intended lesson. He unfolded his arms, and clapped his hands together. “Enough. Let us return to the pertinent topic: that Invocation spells appear to do many of the things that other disciplines accomplish. Why do you think this is, Iolas?”
“…I’m not sure.” He shifted, staring at his feet. “If I were to guess, the clue is in the na. An Invocation spell is invoking a spirit to achieve an effect, rather than directly doing it yourself with magic. But that seems too simple.”
“Correct.”
Iolas looked up, his smile disbelieving. “Really?”
Their master laughed at him, amused by his innocent surprise. “Really! And that insight was once obscure, back when every feat of Conjuration was believed to be the result of invoking spirits. After all, both disciplines appear to cause sothing to erge as though from nowhere.”
Celaena half-raised her hand, before dropping it and just asking her question. “Does that an Invocation is the most powerful discipline? I know you said Divination was the eldest discipline, and that the Second Sight is maybe the most powerful spell, but… if it can do almost anything, why learn anything else?”
“Ah.” Almon smiled, and his eyes glead with anticipation. “What an interesting question. Shall we answer it?”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to for the genuine story.
* * *
The wizard let his apprentices watch his preparations for the next spell, but he refused to answer any questions while he worked — only cast the Second Sight on each of them, and urged them to watch closely.
From a nearby flowerbed he plucked hyacinths and bluebells, along with immature blackthorns and violets, the ease with which he casually uprooted them disturbing Celaena and Iolas. Saphienne was unconcerned; there was nothing wrong with harvesting the bounty of the wilds, so long as it wasn’t wasted. Almon obviously knew what he was doing, and as much as he enjoyed his pageantry, she doubted he would vandalise his garden without good cause.
Their master stripped the petals and leaves from the flowers and then tore apart the stems, scattering the remains in the centre of the gravel circle where yesterday his podium had stood. Then he gestured for his students to retreat, and he took five asured paces from the centre, turning to face it as he raised his hands and let his sleeves fall away.
Almon walked as he cast the first Invocation spell, one hand swaying, his fingers rolling in slow waves as he enunciated several different words, none of which the students knew. Golden light followed in his wake, but not from his hands — the spell took form around one of his feet, which he was dragging through the gravel as he wound sunwise around the broken flowers, inscribing a luminous circle upon the ground.
This accomplished, he then stood before the space he had marked out, and began to cast a second spell, this one causing yellow light to appear about his hands and rise up along his arms, gilding his throat as though he wore a collar that shone like the afternoon sun.
“We are ready,” he said to them, and his voice held a llow richness it had previously lacked, his words lingering in their ears after his lips had stopped moving. “Let us accomplish the invocation.”
Raising his hands one more ti, the wizard called out. “Spirit of the woodlands! Fair and sylvan, friend and judge — co you now unto this circle, wound in bond of peace, in accordance with the ancient ways! Spirit of the woodlands! Heed my cry, heed our need — co you now into this circle, wound that it might teach, in accordance with your ancient ways! Spirit of the woodlands! Tread the trod, stride the way — co you forth within this circle, wound that you might reach, in accordance with our ancient ways!”
Nothing happened. There was no further glimr of magic, not beyond the gold of the summoning circle and the light that brightened his voice.
Slowly, Almon lowered his hands.
Iolas glanced at the others, nervous. His question to Almon was delicate. “Did the spell fail to–”
“We wait.” Almon didn’t face them. “In this, a wizard’s ti is not his own.”
The wind stirred.
Saphienne peered beyond the circle, to the trees, and deeper into the woodland, hoping to catch sight of the spirit’s approach. No matter how carefully she looked as she slowly swept her gaze across all that lay before her, nothing magical caught her eye.
The stirring breeze began to blow more intently, and the leaves of the trees whispered, first figuratively, and then with a literal sibilance that drifted on the moaning wind. So too the flowers in the garden danced back and forth, and with a start Saphienne realised the wind was blowing around the circle, winding in the sa direction as Almon had inscribed it, an unseen presence spiralling toward the floral offering.
All at once, the whispers ceased, and the eerie wind died.
Then the circle creaked like knotted wood, and the scattered parts of the flowers began to sprout and grow, becoming a mass of mishappen plant life that blended together the features of the hyacinths, bluebells, blackthorns, and violets. New stems and blooms budded off from the remains in ways that seed contrary to nature, leaves blurring into petals as though the flowers had been lted down rather than torn apart. With another creak the puddle of nature wrenched upward, the outline of a limb – an arm – taking shape, the plant mass flowing around empty space, put on like a garnt by the spirit that climbed to its feet, completely invisible to the Second Sight.
Yet the spirit was physically visible within the flowers, and had an androgynously feminine shape, the flowers that blanketed her suggesting long legs and thin arms, wide hips and a bosom, her face pitiless behind a mask of twining green. Her mouth appeared as she spoke, and her voice was low and musical, replete with tones that rose and fell with each word, her language unknown to the apprentices.
Almon bowed — and so did Iolas, imitated a mont later by Celaena and Saphienne.
“Thank you for attending,” Almon said, mild and respectful. “Allow to introduce my newest students in wizardry: Iolas, Celaena, and Saphienne.”
Within the circle, the spirit wrenched her feet free from the gravel – where roots had grown in – and ca closer, tilting her head so far that it disconcertingly lay against her shoulder, as though her neck were broken. She spoke, and gestured to Iolas.
Almon nodded. “Yes, most likely.”
Iolas, eyes wide with fear, bowed to the spirit. “Please excuse , but I don’t understand your words.”
The wizard turned his head. “The spirit recognises you, and asked whether you used to leave daily offerings at the woodland shrines.”
Iolas cald, but he couldn’t hide his faint frown.
Indicating Saphienne, the spirit asked another question.
Almon listened intently, and thought before he answered. “Perhaps.” He waved vaguely to Saphienne. “The spirit asks… well, translating the aning, the spirit asks if you have been crying in the woods.”
Saphienne tensed. With an effort of will, conscious of her friends watching, she nodded to the spirit.
Lastly, the spirit focused on Celaena, and pointed to the satchel at her side.
Almon raised his eyebrows, and bowed to the spirit before addressing his apprentice. “Celaena,” he asked, “are you carrying seeds?”
She flushed. “Yes.”
“And do you… regularly feed the birds?”
She nodded as well.
Not needing Almon to answer, the spirit raised and rattled her head in response, dropping her arms back to her side as she stood and waited for whatever was to follow.
Apparently satisfied that introductions were concluded, Almon thanked his visitor for showing an interest in his students, then stepped away from the circle. “Make your examinations,” he instructed the apprentices. “This spirit is friendly to elves.”
Nervously, the apprentices gathered themselves together.
* * *
Iolas was the first to find his courage, and he bowed yet again to the spirit as he ca forward, walking around the circle while studying her. She turned her head to follow him – twisting it in a full circle that made Saphienne uncomfortable – but otherwise did not respond.
“I don’t see the Invocation spell on her,” Iolas concluded. “This isn’t the sa as how a spirit was summoned at the shrine.”
Saphienne was still on guard, but she joined him. “The circle looks like the golden yellow you described seeing on the shrine. Is it the sa?”
“…Almost.” He studied it closely. “There’s sothing else to it. I don’t think it’s the sa sort of spell. Well, beyond being an Invocation spell, I an.”
“Our master said that the enchantnt on the shrine would have aided in the invocation of spirits.” Saphienne scrutinised the space within the circle. “Perhaps this accomplishes the sa, in a different way.”
Celaena approached as well. “I think the spell on our master is translating. To invoke soone ans you have to talk to them, and the spirit isn’t speaking Elfish.”
Almon interjected. “Well reasoned. The spell is translating my words for the spirit.”
What he didn’t say made Saphienne glance his way. “But not translating the spirit’s words for you. Does that an you speak the tongue of sylvan creatures?”
He narrowed his eyes. “…Also well reasoned. Yes, the spell is for the purposes of demonstration; we could converse without it, for I speak the sylvan tongue.”
Iolas had crouched down to examine the circle more closely. “So this is what’s doing the conjuring…” He reached out as though to touch it, but held back, having learned better from the day before. “Master Almon, if I touch the circle, will harm befall … or anyone else present? Will it lead to negative consequences?”
“So long as you do not break the circle,” Almon replied, “the spell will continue without interruption. And no, rely touching it shouldn’t result in anything you would regret.”
Reassured, Iolas ran his fingertips over the indentation in the gravel where the yellow light pooled. “I don’t feel anything.”
Celaena stepped closer, and leant forward to peer at the spirit, who mirrored her. She blushed, and bowed, and the spirit’s floral face playfully reflected her expression, fresh violets blossoming on the spirit’s cheeks. “Perhaps it can only be felt by spirits.” She held her hand up, and the spirit copied her.
Saphienne nodded. “I was thinking the sa.”
“Unless it feels different inside?” Iolas wondered.
Celaena nodded. “That’s a thought.” Glancing down, she quickly and carefully stepped over the glowing line.
Stunned, Saphienne was slow to lunge for her. “Celaena, wait–”
But she had crossed into the space with the spirit, and was unperturbed. “The spirit’s friendly to elves.” She shrugged. “And it doesn’t feel different in here.”
Iolas urgently stood and addressed Almon. “Is she in danger? Can the spirit hurt her?”
The wizard was smiling oddly. “Danger is relative, Iolas. And yes, the spirit can hurt her, but won’t.”
As Saphienne watched, the spirit offered its hand to Celaena. Grinning, the girl took its wrist, and felt it clasp her own. “See? She’s friendl–”
All at once, the mass of green collapsed at her feet, falling apart, whatever had held it together now gone.
“What did you do?” Saphienne stared at the wilting flowers. “Did you…” She sought an explanation from Almon. “Did she hurt the spirit?”
“Not so,” said Celaena’s voice, in a chiming tone that was not her own.
Feeling goosebumps rise on the back of her neck, Saphienne spun to face Celaena, her eyes wide.
Celaena touched her own hands, her own arms, and then felt her own torso, running her fingertips over her body like one might trace the bark of a tree. Then she opened her eyes, and they were a vibrant, buttercup yellow as she smiled. “Observe that I am well, sweet child of elves.”
Iolas backed away. “What have you done to Celaena?”
“Ce-lae-na…” the spirit purred. “Yes! That is the form I wear. ‘Tis such a very pretty Elfish na. Celaena, child, did not my pact beware, and so I don her flesh to play this ga.”
Her smile split too widely as she stepped out of the circle, flowers sprouting beneath her every footstep. “I have revealed enough — flee from hither! That I may chase and catch — run thee thither!”
End of Chapter 25
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