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The sentence was indisputable. Lord Crestes’ teaching credentials were nullified, the Words of the Wise withdrawn and he was to remain at his barren Atelier. Beldaruit did not fault to notice his own determination was needed for such a penalty to come to pass. There had been those that had dared balance the harm done against the so-called “quality witches” Lord Crestes produced with his methods. The consideration alone was a failure by Beldaruit´s standards. Talent and clean lines alone had never been the decisive proof to grant a witch their Fifth Test, but such was the curse of carrying a renown family name, as he himself was guilty of. It´s weight easily tilted scales in favor, and children had their arms whipped bloody as result.
The chamber felt like a trial. It rose tall above the underwater streets of the Great Hall, so close to the surface that the sun´s warmth almost reached them. Elegant columns and arches held an impressive ceiling above their heads, but no walls restricted the outside view and so fish swam freely among the columns like birds did on the surface.
Riliphin stood in the center like a convict declared guilty. He was.
He wouldn't look up and awe at the beauty of the hall, or the waving patterns of sunlight, or the funny fish. Especially the fish. Their pearly scales reminded him of his little sister and perhaps for that very reason, his eyes remained stuck to the tessellated floors. He saw her more clearly now than the witches before him, fuzzy in the edge of his vision, clouded by the tears that stung his eyes. He saw her face, always so honest, crumble in resignation; her eyes, so similar to his own, except for the confidence the elder brother would never dare portray.
In his memory she stared up at him, but Riliphin dared not move. Dared not speak, because he was- He was. And her sister read through his silence, for she pressed a kiss to his cheek and left with a flutter of her ribbons.
He held his hands in shackles of his own making, nails digging painful crescent moons on his skin through long sleeves and bandages alike. He felt the weight of the ribbon Riche had gifted him in her departure. A promise for her. Guilt, for Riliphin.
The echoed clip-clop of hooves on the stone floor pulled him from his mind vortex. The eyes of the Assembly Witches felt daunting, but among them, one was heaviest. The Wise of Teachings approached as all others quieted, the sealchair that carried him kneeling down to be leveled with a young boy of 12 that felt tiny as a mouse.
“Young Riliphin. Our decision to revoke your former master´s teaching emblem will ensure no more witches endure his cruel lectures, but does little to dull the pain he has caused to victims of present. It also left you lack of mentor. For that, I must ask for your trust, to let yourself be guided towards witchhood by hands that mean no harm nor control. I will deliver so, as it is my promise to uphold.”
Riliphin had been somewhat aware of the meaning behind these assemblies. Lord Crestes‘ s flock of students had been redistributed among teachers deemed fit to look after them. His own sister had left by her own choice, to a new atelier outside the Great Hall. It was his turn to decide whether to move forward or remain as he was, stuck and haunted.
“The Assembly has failed you, and wariness is warranted. Despite so, I would like to offer you this, if you would accept it. It´s unfair, and terribly scary to be put in your position, of that I'm sure, and I apologise." The item held in Beldaruit´s hands was no other than a pearly cap, a diamond shaped ornament at it´s tip; twin to the Wise´s own. “Would you agree to be my apprentice, young Riliphin?”
The boy visibly flinched, his vision sharpening, the glint of the gold ornaments suddenly so blinding, their meaning clear and exposed to the entire room. Beldaruit´s offer was at reach but unassertive. For a moment he pictured her sister, always seeking his comfort, his approval. One Riliphin could not provide. He could not face her.
Riliphin took the cap, not for courage or worthiness but because he was good at looking away. He bit into his chaffed lips one more confession.
“Thank you” He said instead.
Days passed in a flurry and life settled into a new reality. Some things had changed and others remained the same. The looming shadow of his previous teacher was a ghost in his memory but Riliphin hid his ruined spells. His robes were now pearl and teal but his arms still ached with mistakes past. Riche no longer clung to his hand but her ribbon remained tied to his wrist like a promise. He had been granted a solution but Riliphin had questions all the same.
The Wise of Teachings often worked from his chambers, health too bleak to personally attend all his duties. His illusions floated elsewhere, lost far and wide within the Great Hall, addressing both committees and playful children. For some time now, he had been immersed in paperwork while muttering to himself about said process. Riliphin sat on the very same desk, meant to continue his study on runes while his Master settled his apprenticeship and prepared new lectures. But the tome remained stagnant and his quill dry over blank pages. Lord Beldaruit did not mind nor reprimand him, as Riliphin continued to observe his work instead. He laid comfortably on a divan and his penmanship remained as elegant as he was whimsy.
He was a strange character, so unlike Lord Crestes, leaving Riliphin unsure on how to behave. What lines not to cross. So he remained quiet and alert, until shame gnawed too deep in his chest, and the words he had kept trapped within since the assembly had requested them came flowing out unprovoked.
“I didn't say anything.” His voice was so small, he hoped his Master hadn’t heard.
Beldaruit paused, but quickly offered a kind smile. “Some words are not needed-”
“Not at the assembly. Not after. But not before either, when it mattered. When Riche’s magic was discarded like wasted paper, nor when I welcomed her to the Atelier and yet couldn’t meet her eyes. When I knew I could make it stop and didn’t.”
His teacher settled down his work then, shifting his body to address doubts he perhaps had foreseen.
“Listen to me, Riliphin, listen here.” When Riliphin met his gaze, he found a sea of turbulent silver staring back. “This is not a burden for you to carry. You did not fail her, nor yourself, nor the other children. Your teacher did, and me, for not seeing sooner the damage such cruel being was unfurling, unchecked. We are the ones at fault because it's our responsibility as teachers to nurture bright young minds like yourself.”
Riliphin shook his head, eyes dark and guilt-struck.
“You claim your blame. My parents begged forgiveness. All they ever wanted was my prosperity, my sister´s happiness. It is not fair. How can you be at fault of not knowing when I made no sign nor word? When I put a collar on my neck and a blindfold on my sister?” Tears of frustration welled. “Why did you choose me?” His voice broke in part accusation, part plea.
There was a twinkle in the elder's eye “Allow this cheeky rebound; why did you accept?”
“Because I-” Because he is a coward, because he would rather hide behind a stranger´s robe than face his fears. His fingers tangled on the ribbon attached to his wrist “I cannot disappoint my sister again.”
“Your choice was not easy. You could have stepped back, turned away from this place. And nobody would find fault in that. And yet here you are, head donned with a heavy responsibility.” he reached forward and Riliphin tried to stop himself from flinching, but his teacher’s hand twirled at the loose end of Riche’s ribbon “You found strength here, no?”
“It´s my sister’s magic. It´s as dazzling and strong as her. I can only- hold onto it.”
The Wise nodded, strands of silver flowing down his cheek. From his robes he manifested an embroidered handkerchief for his student to wipe his tears and worries away “I chose you, Riliphin, because before me stood a young witch with a bright future ahead that no one should dare dim. Not even yourself. And it will be my honour to guide you upwards among the stars where you are meant to be. I can only hope to one day deserve the trust you have granted me by accepting my teachings.” He laid back into his chair, the glint of Riliphin´s cap shimmering in his eye.
A subtle sigh that could easily be mistaken for a breeze was proof that Riliphin didn’t believe his words. That was all right. Beldaruit would be there until he was ready to accept them.