Saphienne had always felt safe in the library.
The other elven children rarely visited it in the morning, and the way the tall, glass windows lit up in the early light made her feel refreshed and calm. When it rained, she would curl up on a cushion by the window, letting the drumming against the panes slow the rhythm of her breathing; when it snowed, she would watch the flakes drift down from her seat next to the fireplace, enjoying its magical warmth as she shared the cozy silence with the librarian. Nobody ever troubled her in the library. The library was where she felt welcome.
Standing there on that morning, with Kylantha sobbing in her arms, an oddly distant and impersonal part of Saphienne knew that she would never again feel the same away about the library. The tall elf in autumnal armour had violated that sanctuary.
Later, she would feel guilt for thinking that. Her first thought had been of her own loss, rather than of the friend whom she was about to lose. But Saphienne was only a child, and what was unfolding was far too much for any child to experience, and much, much later she would understand that some losses are too great to feel when they are fresh, let alone when they are occurring.
"Taking you away?" she whispered.
Kylantha tried to nod, and fell against her chest again as fresh sobs stole her breath.
An older Saphienne would have pulled Kylantha behind her, protected her. All she knew how to do then was look up at the crouching stranger and ask him, "Why?"
"She is a half-elf." His mossy eyes were sympathetic, but as he spoke she realised his sympathy was chiefly for her. "She is cursed to wither, and she will enter decline before your childhood is done. I'm sorry."
She squeezed her friend all the tighter. "But… why does she have to leave?"
"Because it would be an unkindness for her to live among us."
Saphienne considered this without emotion, burying all she felt beneath the puzzle. "But she needs kindness. Someone will have to take care of her when she's sick. Someone will have to help her when she's frail." She tried to make sense of it. "Is her mother going with her?"
Now Kylantha was shrieking, and Saphienne started in surprise, and felt something hot and wet spill down her own cheeks.
The man who had come for the half-elf shook his head. "The kindness is for you. And for her mother. It wouldn't be fair on you, to watch that happen to her. And no parent should watch their child diminish."
"But she wouldn't want–"
"She knows. She has said goodbye. And so must you."
And then Saphienne understood why Kylantha was howling, and why she had ran, not to the embrace of her mother, but for the only person who still wanted her.
In the background, the librarian had been looking away, but as the man spoke she took a breath and walked forward and around him. At first Saphienne thought she was coming to Kylantha's defence, only to be disappointed when she stepped behind the pair of girls and gently laid her hand on the young elf's shoulder.
"Saphienne…" Kylantha's voice was a moan.
Saphienne's eyes fell to her friend's head. "You can't take her away," she said, and felt the hand on her shoulder squeeze.
The man stood, and as he stepped forward Kylantha pressed herself into her friend more desperately. "Saphienne!"
"You can't," Saphienne repeated, her voice frail, watching as his gloved hands took Kylantha by the arms and pulled her, delicately at first, then more insistently.
"Saphienne! Saphienne, help! Saphienne!"
But Saphienne could not help.
She just watched, eyes streaming, as her only friend was dragged away from her, to be carried out of the world she knew.
* * *
I said before that Saphienne was a quiet child. Never was she quieter than on the walk back from the library, when the librarian held her hand and led her back to the tree from which her family home was grown. She was not truly present for the journey.
Her mother was upstairs when they arrived, having lazed the morning away, and she was tying a silvery robe about her waist as she came down to meet them. "Saphienne? Is something the matter?"
The librarian answered for her. "Kylantha left."
"Oh." Her mother stopped midway down the stairs, fingers touching the smooth wood of the living wall. "I forgot that was today. What unpleasantness. Thank you for bringing her home, Filaurel."
Saphienne looked up, seeing her mother clearly for the first time. "You knew?"
"Oh, my darling Saphienne." The carefree, careless elf finished descending the stairs and bent over to speak to her. "They told me last season. I wanted to make it easier on you. I was going to tell you the night before, but things just–"
She never heard the rest. Saphienne pulled free from Filaurel and ran past her mother, up the stairs, along the hall, into her small and undecorated bedroom, shutting the door with enough force to rattle the house from roots to leaves.
* * *
Eventually her mother called her for lunch. She did not answer.
Nor did she rise from her bed when her mother knocked on the door to tell her dinner was ready. Even when her mother said they had acorn cake, which was once her favourite, she gave no reply.
When sunset came and the door to her room opened, she faced the wall listlessly. Her cheek was cool to her mother's kiss.
All through the night, and all through the next day, she did nothing but lie upon her bed and breathe. Well, not quite nothing: she also clutched a poorly made pouch of cloth and wood against her aching chest, and silently, furiously cried.
* * *
On the second day after Kylantha was taken from her, Saphienne was shaken awake by her mother, who had come into her room and stripped back the blanket and now forced her to stand and walk to the bathroom. Despite her wordless resistance she was made to bathe, and then to dress in fresh clothes, and then to eat a tasteless breakfast by her exasperated mother, who all the while spoke thoughtlessly about things she did not wish to understand.
"When you're grown, you'll see why it had to be this way. It would have been much worse if she'd stayed. You'd have ended up resenting her, and then you'd have felt guilty for resenting her, and then she'd have died, and that would be the end for her, but you'd still be carrying her memory everywhere you went. She'd have sucked the joy out of everything. What's the point in living a joyless life? Oh, but you'll see, when you're older."
And then, when she had eaten, her mother pushed her out of the house. "Go play. If you won't talk to me, go talk to your friends."
Once more, Saphienne found herself on the edge of the clearing, watching the other children play. They seemed happier than ever before, judging by the laughter and the teasing, and the longer she watched the blacker the green in her eyes became, until there was scarcely any colour in them at all.
"Saphienne?"
She spun around on the log so quickly that she raked her ankle, but it wasn't Kylantha who called.
Filaurel, the librarian, had approached silently, and stood over her. "I'm sorry I startled you. Would you come with me, please?"
Soothing her ankle, trying not to show the pain, Saphienne slowly gathered herself together and followed after. This time, as she walked, she didn't hold the librarian's hand; but nor did Filaurel offer it.
When they arrived at the entrance to the library, Saphienne paused. Her feet refused to carry her any further. Even her breath deserted her.
Filaurel saw her distress. Rather than go inside, she shut the door, and leant against it to face the younger elf. She studied her with sensitive, sea-green eyes.
Saphienne found her breath again, inhaling deeply as she turned to leave.
"It doesn't get any easier."
That gave her pause. She glanced back, her face expressionless as she met the gaze of the librarian. "Doesn't it?" Deep inside, she felt something shift, roused to wakeful wrath for the first time. "Won't I get used to it? Won't I feel better? Won't there be joy?"
Filaurel took a deliberate, steadying breath.
Which had the effect of calming Saphienne too, who fell back into her usual meekness, and looked down. "Sorry."
"Don't apologise. You've done nothing wrong." Filaurel sounded tired. "She did nothing wrong, either. She didn't deserve that."
Saphienne brushed at her eyes. "You let them take her away."
"Yes. I couldn't have stopped it." Filaurel's voice became firm. "And you couldn't have stopped it, Saphienne. You won't believe me. Not now. Perhaps you never will. Yet, I am telling you the truth: nothing you could have done would have prevented Kylantha from being taken from our village."
"Are you finished?"
The librarian smiled, though there was no happiness in her expression. "No. But nothing I can say will make it better for you. So I'm not going to say anything else about her, not unless you ask." She took a deep breath. "Saphienne, you're nearly twelve, aren't you?"
"Not until spring."
"Close enough, then." She reopened the door to the library. "Children of twelve are meant to begin the search for their art. I don't know what your art will be, but I know you like the library, and you enjoy reading. I'd like to teach you the art of books."
"I'm too young." Saphienne shuffled her feet. "And," she admitted, "I don't want to read anymore."
"You don't want to come into the library. I know. But I want to ask you…" Filaurel's tone was piercing. "Are you going to let them take this place from you, too?"
Anger made Saphienne clench her fists.
Filaurel nodded, satisfied. "Good. There are unhappy memories in here. There are also happy memories. You will remember them all, but whether you make new memories that are happy or unhappy is your decision. It would be a shame if you stopped reading, Saphienne, because I know at least two people who liked to listen to you reading aloud, and one of them is still here." She stepped into the library. "Door's open for you."
Saphienne watched as the librarian left.
Then she sagged, and hugged herself. She didn't know what to do. She didn't know what Kylantha would want.
* * *
"What are you doing?"
"Just watch." Kylantha had taken the coin from her hand. The half-elf balanced it upon her fingers, and flicked it into the air. "Heads!"
* * *
Outside the library, Saphienne found herself holding the pouch within her pocket. She couldn't quite see it clearly as she took it out, and in fact struggled to see anything at all as she fished for the copper coin, balancing it unsteadily upon her fingers.
"Heads," she whispered.
Turning edge over edge, the coin glittered in the air.
End of Chapter 2