When Saphienne finally resurfaced, she felt warm and caring hands tracing gently across her brow. She lay wherever she was and let herself be soothed, aware that aches and pains awaited her once the moment was passed.

Eventually, curiosity made her eyelids peel back. She was in a dark place, and could barely discern the horns of the woman petting her, finding it difficult to focus her eyes by the light of the smouldering fire. She tried to speak; the aftertaste of bitter vomit made her softly cough, and she needed a moment to pry her tongue from where it stuck in her mouth. “Nelathiel? Where’s…” She closed her eyes in realisation. “…Where’s Holly?”

“Before you I await.”

When Saphienne looked again, Nelathiel was staring down at her — eyes tawny and playful under the influence of the spirit.

“Have you slept well?” Holly’s question was teasing, but she didn’t stop caressing Saphienne. “There is no rush to rise. Let sickness quell.”

Normally, Saphienne would have heard that as a challenge… but she felt utterly exhausted in a way she never had before. Her eyes drifted closed, and she breathed more deeply, inhaling the pleasant scent of smoke and fur, noticing in turn the acrid reek of fearful sweat that clung to her robes. She managed to raise a hand, and felt that her outer robes had been discarded, her inner wrapped more loosely around her than when she had dressed.

“You were too warm,” said Nelathiel, her voice more wholly her own. “Holly said you left your mantle in the passage.”

“…I don’t remember discarding it.” She yawned, feeling aches along her side where she lay — propped on the priest’s lap. Embarrassed, she tried to sit up–

The cave around her spun, her head throbbing as the priest caught her and eased her back down onto the furs. “…Fuck.”

Whether Holly or Nelathiel laughed, she couldn’t say, but the elf was the one who replied. “Not appropriate language for your age, Saphienne, but very appropriate all the same. Water would help — do you think you can drink?”

There was no lingering nausea, and the promise of water was divine. “Please.”

The priest rose and stepped away into the dark, returning with a waterskin which she held to her lips. “Don’t try to sit up. Small sips.”

This time, Saphienne listened to her advice. The cool relief she felt was only mildly dampened by the bitterness that intensified as she slowly swallowed.

After she had drank her fill, her thoughts turned to the riotous memory of the performance. “…That was amazing. I’m never doing that again.”

This second time, she felt confident that both of them were laughing at her.

“You say that now,” mused Nelathiel, “but I think Holly might not have been wrong when she said you’re destined to become a priest. You handled yourself very well. I was worried you wouldn’t make it down the steps.”

A dim memory of the sunlight before her descent made Saphienne wiggle her toes, and her eyebrows lifted. “…I think I know why you don’t wear shoes.”

“One of many reasons.” Nelathiel grinned, and lifted the waterskin.

“You don’t seem as worn out as I am,” Saphienne observed, watching the woman as she drained the rest of the water from the skin. “Are you resistant to the–”

“Gods, no.” She chuckled. “Saphienne, you imbibed a heroic measure. When Holly told you to…” She paused, and when she spoke again it was with Holly’s melody. “Advised did I that you drink deep — not all! To holy heights did you ascend, then fall.”

“I do feel like I’ve landed hard.” Idly, she wondered how Taerelle had felt after she threw herself out of her tree… then blinked, surprised her thoughts were wandering. “Am I still under the influence of the mushrooms?”

“You’re not hallucinating, no…” Nelathiel laid a reassuring hand on her arm. “…But you will feel the benefits for at least another month. Some may stay with you throughout your life.”

The thought of not being herself gave Saphienne the necessary urgency to rise, but she sat up slowly, wincing and taking hold of the priest’s offered hand. Immediately, she hung her head forward and clutched her ears. “…Headache…”

Nelathiel rubbed her back. “It will ease quickly. Your body is adjusting to the shift from sitting up. Drinking more water, and then eating something wholesome will fully restore you.”

Sure enough, the stabbing pain inside her skull diminished to a bearable throb. She sighed as she looked over the embers of the fire. “What are the benefits?”

“Is this the wizard’s apprentice asking,” Nelathiel prodded her, “or Saphienne, the initiate into the mysteries?”

That question implied that the benefits were disputed. She began to nod, winced, then sighed as she replied “What are they, in your personal experience?”

Pleased by her rephrasing of the question, Nelathiel stretched as she answered. “Lightened mood,” she began, “and reduced anxiety. Thoughts come more freely… though are less readily constrained. The rest depends on what you experienced while you were completely gone, together with how you felt during the performance.” She dropped her arms, leaning back on them as she arched her back to stretch her clicking shoulders. “If you felt fearful, and what you encountered inside you was frightening, then you may find yourself prone to brooding over the next few weeks. Alternatively, if the gods were gentle? Then you may know a greater measure of peace.”

Saphienne couldn’t remember anything meaningful. She had hallucinated Kylantha’s voice at the beginning… which gave her pause. “Were those mushrooms magical?”

“No more than sunlight,” smiled Holly. “I prepared the way.”

Unsure what she meant, Saphienne watched as the spirit finished stretching for Nelathiel. “My guess is, you used a spell to shape how they’d affect me. Am I close?”

“Close enough,” Nelathiel answered. “Without magic, the tea takes longer to brew, and the mushrooms are less predictable in what they stir up. With the help of spirits, and a little ritual suggestion…” She inclined her head. “…You know what you experienced better than we do. Whatever you followed here, it came from within you.”

Usually, Saphienne would have felt sad to think about Kylantha. For once, though she still felt the pain of her absence, she found herself more able to think about her friend while holding other feelings in her heart. Whether caused by the fruits of nature, the touch of the divine, or by magic — that change was miraculous.

“You have a lot to think about,” Nelathiel saw. “Can you stand?”

She knew she could; but at what cost? “Let’s see.”

* * *

The cavern spun for a second time as she clung to the priest, but her dizziness was quicker to recede. Saphienne had to relearn the use of her feet, walking around the dying fire as though she stood on stilts; she suddenly empathised with how Hyacinth must have struggled when she first possessed Celaena. Still, she remembered herself as she moved, and soon her attention turned to the cavern…

…Which was not so large as she had first perceived. The space was still impressive, spanning at least thirty feet, the true extent of it entirely hidden behind creamy, gossamer veils that encircled the furs on all sides, veils which she thought were made of paper until she ran her fingertips across one of their taut surfaces. “Parchment?”

“Something like it.” Nelathiel stood patiently, in no hurry. “All that is offered to our Lord should – where practical – be made from what has been hunted.”

She realised the sheets were secured at top and bottom, stretched in place. They were each much taller than any one animal’s skin; Saphienne wondered how many had been killed to furnish the chamber. “You used puppets…”

“And acting, and an enchantment.”

Saphienne wheeled around, delight blossoming on her lips. “At the summer solstice — you performed the show for us! That’s where we met.”

The priest laughed, happy to be recognised. “I wasn’t alone, but yes: that’s where I learned your name, when you went missing. My true art is spiritual service, but much of my daily bread is justified by my work at the crafting hall.” She approached a section of the screen and carefully slipped through the gap it concealed, emerging moments later holding an elaborate, eerily lifelike puppet in the semblance of a camouflaged, primeval elf. “I make ritual pieces like these, when asked by other priests, as well as toys for children… and whatever other amusements are requested.”

Saphienne drew closer, surprised that she couldn’t reconcile what the priest held with the living figures in her memory. “And you also hunt?”

“Animals? When I must.” Her smile was crooked. “I’m not a very skilled hunter… and in fact, I’m always very nervous when I set out. I never find it satisfying — more of a relief when I don’t embarrass myself. I do it because it’s difficult for me,” she confessed, “which is important.”

“I don’t like the idea of killing anything,” Saphienne admitted.

The priest’s eyes turned sombre. “No good person does.” She returned the puppet to its proper place as she spoke, her voice rising to carry back as she stepped out of sight. “Everything that lives a life worth living does so at the expense of other living beings. It’s easy to forget that, but it’s always true. Even plants are alive and know suffering — Holly could tell you all about it.”

Enshrouded by her own silhouette against the fire, Saphienne’s darkening eyes were obscured. “How do you justify it?”

Their conversation paused; when Nelathiel returned, she was carrying the war scythe of her god, and her lips were drawn. “When you ask that question, you’re really asking another: why should you have the right to live, if your life comes at the expense of another who lives? What makes you so special?” She studied the girl as she best she could, reflecting on what she knew about her. “I don’t think you’re conceited… I don’t think you see yourself as better than anyone else as a person. Do you?”

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Saphienne shook her head.

“But you know you’re gifted, and you carry yourself plainly, so I expect there are people who think you’re arrogant. Should you become a wizard, less will see you that way… do you know why that is?”

There, she had to think. “…Deference to power, a little…” She felt more was expected, and folded her arms. “…I think it has something to do with proving myself.”

“Isn’t it strange,” Nelathiel remarked, “how our insight struggles when it clashes with our motives? But you’ve shared the most important thing: you’re not seeking wizardry for power and authority.” She leant on the polearm and smirked. “I’d invite you to remember what I’m about to tell you, because it’s a lesson your master is unable to teach you. Saphienne, the heart of arrogance is believing you are superior to others — not merely in ability, but in worth. The conceited often justify that superiority by talking about their abilities, and so over-emphasise and exaggerate their skills.”

Nelathiel clearly knew Almon quite well. “I think I see.”

“Excessive regard for one’s talents implies arrogance.” The priest drummed her fingers on the polearm. “But, it isn’t the same thing. And whether or not we’re actually as capable as we think we are is a matter of judgement… which is the most important thing we’re tasked with learning, when we’re young.”

Saphienne shifted, her lingering headache fraying her patience. “Is this your polite way of telling me that I’m not–”

“No,” Nelathiel cut her off. “Your mind is better than mine. Better in how quickly it functions, and in the insight that it affords you. Perhaps you know exactly how superior your abilities are, or perhaps you’re overestimating them in your youth — but none of that matters.” She exhaled. “I’m telling you that your abilities don’t make you better than anyone else as a person. Even if they are – from your perspective – foolish, gullible, or small-minded.”

Her frown deepened. “I already told you: I don’t see myself that way.”

“For now. But there’ll come a day when others are wrong, when you’ll be frustrated by their ignorance and inability to see what you do. Then,” she prophesied, “you’ll be tempted to see yourself as greater. You’ll have all the justifications you could ever ask for, and perhaps your cause will be selfless, and entirely in the right. You will struggle to find a single reason not to see yourself as better than them, and if you have magic, if you have power…”

Slowly, Saphienne unfolded her arms. “Why are you teaching me this?”

“Because I don’t know if I’ll get another chance.” Her eyes were sad at the thought. “You asked how I justify my life over the lives that sustain me? How you see yourself in relation to others — that sits in the centre.”

“Fine,” Saphienne said, her fists clenching in the dim of the cavern. “You tell me not to see myself as superior — I don’t. But now you’re going to tell me my life is worth more than– than the life of a plant or animal, aren’t you?”

The priest nodded.

“How do you resolve that contradiction? Through faith?”

“Hope,” she answered. “I follow my conscience, as illuminated by my faith, in the hope that I’m living as kind a life as I’m able. I pray that I’m not in error. I also hope that, with greater wisdom and knowledge, the world can become a kinder place, and I seek to help it become so as best I know how. Kindness is where it all begins.”

Disappointed, Saphienne had to fight hard to hold back her rising sneer. “So good intentions are all you have. You don’t have a justification, just a hope that the way you live is secretly justified.”

“A hope that our lives are justified by our best efforts.” She went by Saphienne, pushing on a section of the screen that swung back on its frame, revealing the way out. “I believe the value in our lives can be found in our potential for kindness. You are capable of far more kindness, across a much longer period, than any deer. But for that to be true,” she insisted, “you have to forgo causing avoidable suffering, and maintain the humility that is required to be kind.”

Saphienne’s footsteps grew far more steady as she went toward the priest, fixed on her with such intensity of vision that she failed to notice when she walked across the ashen remains of the fire. “And what about when others are unkind?”

The priest closed her eyes. “We ask the gods for the courage to change what we can, the peace to accept what we cannot, and the wisdom to know the difference.” They opened again. “But, for now? You’re a child. Lay down strong roots, before you seek out storms.”

Silent throughout their exchange, Holly’s presence brightened in Nelathiel’s eyes, and her words were delicately chosen. “The gods inspire us all toward the light; those whom the gods most love behold the right; those whom the gods would destroy, they incite…”

Saphienne waited. When nothing further was said, she asked, “Incite to what?”

Reasserting control of her body, the priest bid the girl leave the cave. “May you never find out, Saphienne.”

* * *

Sure enough, Saphienne found that she had discarded her outer robe in the passage. She held it against her chest as she went ahead of the priest, discovering too that the sloping passage to the surface was only thirty feet or so in length when she emerged–

“Sunset?” She blinked, both in surprise and because her eyes were adjusting. She glanced back to where Nelathiel was emerging. “Just how long was I unconscious?”

“You were conscious,” the priest observed, hefting the war scythe against her hip, “just not of the world around you. About eight hours or so.”

She felt like swearing — and soon did, when she saw her satchel lying half-open on the steps of the shrine. One shoe was easily retrieved from where it lay on the grass, while the other had somehow landed high in the branches of one of the trees on the slope of the hill.

“Not to worry.” Nelathiel casually used the divine weapon she held to knock the shoe down, then easily scooped it up on the flat of the blade, flicking it back to Saphienne. “The gods provide.”

As she redressed, Saphienne puzzled over the woman who had been teaching her. “You know… you’re not who I expected.”

“No? Were you only expecting stories and superstition?” The priest read her reaction, and rested the shaft of the war scythe flat across her shoulders, posing with it wryly. “Or am I not reverent enough for you, Saphienne?”

Reddening, she replied with a sheepish smile.

“Some are more so, some are less.” She moved away as she spoke, approaching the idol. “But the performance of reverence is less important than living in a state of reverence toward the gods. Our Lord of the Endless Hunt knows my devotion. Everyone else who attends my performance of the liturgies knows, too. And this?” She let the polearm drop from her back, discarding it on the grass before the idol. “This is just a weapon. Much like this is just a statue.”

Astonished to the point of confusion, Saphienne blurted out “But you said he was here–”

“And He is here.” She knelt, and bowed her horns to the ground before the idol, then lifted the war scythe and gently wiped along the wood and metal with the hem of her robe. “And this is His weapon of war. But at the same time,” she explained, returning what she had borrowed to her god, “this is just a statue, and just

a tool.”

Rising, Saphienne came to stand a few paces away. “How can it be both? And how do you decide how to treat them, in a given moment?”

“If the statue were to break, it would be mended or replaced. There are even circumstances – holy rites – where it must be intentionally shattered.” She gave Saphienne a shrug. “I was told, when I was young, that wisdom takes the form of being able to see the world from many different perspectives, holding them all true, and yet knowing which truth is paramount in the moment. To see with the same eye the god, and the statue.” She inclined her head as she went on, “Were you to take up His weapon so, it would be fair to consider it sacrilegious… unless you wielded it for good purpose. You have not performed reverence for Him sufficient to become reverent.”

Unconvinced, Saphienne folded her arms. “You said truth is implied by what we place our faith in,” she said. “Doesn’t your faith in your god always take precedent? Isn’t his potential for kindness far greater than ours?”

Mocking her lightly, Nelathiel folded her arms as well. “You’re accusing me of hypocrisy — whether or not you’ll admit it.”

Feeling her ears tingle, she dropped her hands to her side. “…I’m just trying to understand.”

“We know,” she tilted her head as she smiled, the yellow in her eyes brightening as Holly spoke up. “Direct you be, and yet sincere in play.”

Feeling patronised, and also acutely aware that she was being too blunt, she bowed. “…I’m trying to learn better ways to express myself. I didn’t intend offense.”

“And none was taken,” the priest reassured her, unfolding her arms as well. “Your questions aren’t unreasonable. Answer this one: what is hypocrisy?”

Saphienne didn’t have to think. “The pretence of having principles that one doesn’t really possess, especially when behaving in a way one doesn’t truly agree with for the sake of approval.”

“Have you ever been a hypocrite, Saphienne?”

The preceding morning rushed through her in a blur. “…I have.”

“So are we all,” Holly interjected. “Strive we must — and fail. Be not ashamed, for everyone is frail.”

“But you don’t believe you’re being a hypocrite,” Saphienne concluded.

The priest shook her head. “No.”

“Can you explain your logic?”

In doing so, she turned and tapped the icon of her god. “This sacred art is less important than your life. You are a child of the gods, made by Them, and placed in this world with great gifts — which is to say, you are a gift, from Them to us. Mustn’t we be grateful for the gifts we receive? Shouldn’t we take good care of them?” Her mirth was threaded with sincerity. “Educating you in their ways is more important than showing reverence to symbols of the gods. Faith only exists where it is shared: that is how faith is performed, for teaching is the most performative of speech.”

Casually, Nelathiel leaned against her god. “If you or anyone else were in danger? Beset by a wild animal? I wouldn’t think twice about using His war scythe to defend you. Your life is worth more than any symbol, no matter how holy. You said His kindness exceeds ours,” she said, shameless in her belief, “so tell me: can’t we depend upon His kindness, when He looks on our actions?”

Saphienne understood. “You don’t think he’d mind.”

“No.” She stood away from the icon, and pointed to the polearm. “What was once a tool of the field became a tool of war. Would He object to it being used as another kind of tool, when the need arose? Especially if doing so helped illustrate His mystery?”

Pondering the logic, Saphienne studied the expression of the god. The longer she looked, the more the unasked question of her visit came into focus. “…How do you know you’re not just believing what you want to?”

“We don’t. We can’t.” Nelathiel shrugged. “That’s why it’s faith. It lives when questioned, and dies in certainty.”

The parallels between that and what she had learned about the consensus of the woodlands were not lost on Saphienne. She bowed, and realised as she did that she meant the respect she performed. “You’ve given me much to think about.”

“We are glad,” the priest replied, Holly’s tone intermingled with her own. Then she replied with a bow of her own, saying, “You can visit whenever you wish. I usually tend the shrine during midweek’s daytime, but any of the others will be happy to receive you. You chose the best season to wander in — spring is quietest for us.”

Saphienne nodded, and turned to leave.

“Fair child of elves,” Holly called after her, “your token lies yonder!”

Token? Saphienne looked back, followed the line from where the embodied spirit pointed to–

Upon the grass, watched intently by the god, her precious coin lay glinting, rosy gold against darkening, evening green.

Part of her screamed… and yet, she was tranquil as she went and bent to retrieve it, reassured by the weight and coolness of its metal on her palm. She hovered there, for a moment, contemplating herself reflected in the likeness of the tree stamped upon its face, aware that she was changing. What she held was precious to her; and though she couldn’t explain why, she knew in that moment that the value of the coin was no longer in what she had lost.

She glanced up at Our Lord of the Endless Hunt as she stood. He stared back at her in the same way he always had.

“Thank you,” Saphienne said, and quietly left the shrine.

She walked back to the village, satisfied that she had learned enough of what she set out to discover. She had worked out the only logical reason the ancient ways were obscured while she was still young, a reason that Nelathiel would never admit to herself, or perhaps could simply never conceive of.

And as for the gods? They had no answers for her. She doubted they existed at all.

End of Chapter 47