A Bond of Faith (attn. Calia Sedai)

[Cass]

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~ ~ ~ ~~       Of Webs and Winds       ~~ ~ ~ ~

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Somewhere near the centre of Altara, gales of winds amassed in roughly reckoning force. Together and apart they stormed, raging and shifting across boundaries of settlements, towns and fertile farmlands with as much gusto as any other collection of Altarans with origins like theirs were wont to do. North and East they rumbled, unseen forces driving them towards the Damona Mountains. That low range of jagged peaks stood as it ever had - a hilly maze of crumbling cliff faces and rock-crowded canyons; a treacherous testament the Breaking of the World. The winds forced themselves through the Molvaine Gap and thundered through the Malvide Narrows. Roaring, they battled their way into the open spaces beyond, tumbling over each other in a race to cover the land…  

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

From the comfort of Socksie’s high saddle, Calia Sedai watched waves of wind buffet the long-stemmed grasses on either side of the road. For hours now, the winds had forced the grasses to bow and scrape across the trampled path from Remen in a way that had hinted at a powerful potential. She had been considering the possibility that perhaps there might have been a storm of some sorts gathering – something dark and almost solid behind the winds, with strength enough to simply flatten, bend and break everything in its place - permanently. But now she surmised this was most likely not the case.

 

The winds were cooler than one might expect for the temperate region, even this far North, but they were not cold enough yet that she felt compelled to close herself off from their chill. And they were rough enough to tug annoyingly at her ‘merchant’ clothing, her still-darkened hair and Socksie’s illusion-lightened mane. But as yet, despite their separate strengths, the winds lacked a sense of any cohesion.

 

True to Altaran form, Cal thought. Plenty of potential - all amounting to little more than a big, blustery, uncoordinated mess!

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Even if the winds continue unchanged, she decided, steadying Socksie with her knees and pushing a wildly waving wisp of hair away from her face, they're nothing that couldn’t be matched by a strong hand on the reins and a tighter weave…

 

Socksie chose that moment to shake her head vigorously with a soft whinny, and bow up and down several times as they walked – a sign Calia had learned to interpret as an indication from the horse that it was time for another scratch behind the ears.

 

Of course, she thought, smiling and leaning forward to comply, this one doesn’t seem to require a strong hand, from me, truly, unless it’s for a scratch, or to keep her away from a not-so-secret stash of apples!

 

She grinned and gave the ‘grey’ head a good, two-handed scratch until Socksie nickered gently in appreciation and, nearby, Stormbreaker snorted some sort of response. Her heart stretched a little at both sounds. She was more than a little glad that the would-be thieves in Remen had not succeeded in stealing either of these horses - and she was not afraid to admit it! The echo of feelings she felt flowing through the bond at the horses' antics was enough to let her know that her Warder felt much the same way. Studying the flick of Socksie’s ears for a moment longer and then turning her gaze to Elessar and Stormbreaker, the Sedai observed her gaidin and his mount with steadfast appreciation.

 

The ever-changing winds might have been the only certainty left to them on the darkening roads ahead, but Calia had to admit that, by Light, it was good to have these other three along for the ride!

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

The sun hadn’t quite touched the horizon when the last of the travelers around them turned off the road toward the next village. Instinctively, Calia’s eyes turned to Elessar – and his eyes to hers. Their connection beyond the bond was quick, subtle and more than adequate to convey their thoughts. With mutual smiles, but without a word, they continued on a ways, the slow and steady hoofbeats beneath them keeping a reliable tempo for their comfortable silence. At separate points, they each steered their horses from the road, cutting a careful, many-cornered path through the dancing grass so as not to leave an obvious, two-mounted-persons trail. Calia smiled at her gaidin, still dressed as her Murandian merchant brother, came back together in a small clearing that was well out of sight and earshot from the road.

 

Attached.

 

That’s what she was, Calia thought, as she dismounted.

 

Attached. 

 

As they each began their now familiar ‘rituals’ for setting up out of the way camp, she contemplated their current situation. 

 

The Wheel wove as the Wheel willed, without a doubt.

 

Despite all her intentions and efforts in the years after Aaran’s death, she knew she was inexplicably drawn and inextricably attached to Elessar and these two horses. She felt the connection, the tangling of life threads, between the four of them, down to her core. A core she had deliberately shut off from such connections years ago!

 

There was nothing for it. The world was changing.

 

Even if today's winds were nothing but bluster, she knew a storm was gathering.

 

If her eyes and ears were to be believed, the Pattern had been busy churning out ta’veren like the Dragon Reborn – Light, the DRAGON, REBORN! ! If that was the case, the storms ahead were only likely to get heavier, darker, wilder and more dangerous as the Wheel continued to turn.

 

And, if her thread was as caught up with Elessar’s in the Webs and swirls of this Age's Pattern - as it seemed to be - she could no more suppress that connection than she could smother the sunrise at dawn - nor did she want to.

 

The bond between herself and Elessar was cemented in so many more ways than one, now. Socksie and Stormbreaker, too, seemed unquestionably linked and specifically steadfast as a part of the quartet - and Calia had long ago decided that she was not about to be the fool who looked any such gift horse in the mouth!

 

Clearly, each of their - hers, Elessar's, Socksie's and Stormbreaker's - threads had become tangled together - tightly - with the turning of the Wheel. It was uncanny and unexpected, and against Calia's self-imposed grain, but it still felt right somehow.

She had other connections she could rely on, when needed, but with these three, it felt different. As if they had been drawn and plied together by a shifting in the Pattern itself. As if this permanent four-ply thread was, in fact, much stronger than her one might have been on its own. As if their joining was, without question, Ta’maral’ailen. 

 

- Pattern-related, pre-destined –

 

One could hope, to bring a brighter, Lighter and more steadfast swirl to this Age's

 

Webs of Destiny.

 

No matter the chaos of the gathering storms and shadows that were sure to rise on the path ahead, or the ways the winds of the world might carry on around them.

 

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[Elessar]

..  A Basin of Revelation. ..

►▼◄

 

“A Web on her mind?”

 

Taeda din Varede Four Moons, the Mistress of the Ships and ruler of the Atha’an Miere, stared back at her Windfinder questioningly.

 

Saevha din Karal Sea Breeze met Taeda’s eyes squarely.

 

She was a middle-aged woman with tanned skin and dark eyes, short dark hair and a strong chin. She had been Windfinder to the Mistress of the Ships for over a decade and was highly experienced in the Weaving of the Winds. The weave which encompassed manipulating the weather with flows of Air and Water to speed their ships through the oceans was something most Windfinders were proficient at, but some were better at it than others and Saevha was the best. As befitted her station.

 

She often debated with herself how much detail was useful to impart to Taeda when it came to channeling since the Mistress of the Ships did not have the spark herself and might get confused if she were told the intricacies of Saidar and its use. Saevha therefore often simplified things when she spoke to her of such matters. Not that she were holding things back. It was simply.. practical.

 

“That is the correct way of explaining it.” The Windfinder responded smoothly. “It is sometimes called a glamour, but it is a Web.. and one which is difficult to penetrate.” She gazed at Taeda to see if the other understood. Taeda’s eyes were iron hard as they most often were but did not tell Saevha anything. “It has been set by someone very accomplished in the Art.”

 

“The Art” was what Windfinders called Channeling. To name it ‘Channeling’ publicly came too close to speaking of Aes Sedai and their kind.. and so “embracing The Art” was more fitting.

 

Taeda noticed the emphasis her Windfinder placed on the word “very” and thought there was a touch of admiration in the way Saevha spoke it. Is this a sign that the person who set this Web is very powerful? Or that setting a Web is unusual? She had several questions she wanted to ask but it suited her purpose to seem a little ignorant of “The Art” and so she remained silent.

 

Seeing no response from Taeda, Saevha continued. “It must be an Aes Sedai of considerable power who did it.” There was a foul taste in her mouth when she said ‘Aes Sedai’. Those arrogant women in their White Tower who always thought they knew best. Who always wanted to take one of our initiates to be trained by them. Pfhaw!

 

“The question is why.” Her dark eyes narrowed and she ran a hand through her short hair. “Aes Sedai have never been fond of us”. Quite an understatement as she saw it. “But I would not have thought they would see any benefit in devious infiltration and assassination. What threat are we to them?”

 

●

 

The Mistress of the Ships turned away from her Windfinder, placing her hands on the rail of the balcony, and stared silently at the blue-green waters of the Aryth Ocean.

 

It was late afternoon, and cold winds from the North had driven black clouds southwards to the Aile Dashar. Rain was in the air. They had interrogated the imposter woman at length, alternating between cajoling and harder measures, but she had revealed nothing, continuing to proclaim that she knew nothing, remembered nothing. They believed her in the end and in the following days Saevha had attempted to learn as much as possible about this Web but without success. Whoever had placed the Web on the woman’s mind was more accomplished in the Art, at least in matters of the mind, than Saevha was, or at least so her Windfinder had told her.

 

A Hawk, eyes glinting dangerously, borne on the strong Northern winds passed by high above heading Westward further into the Aryth Ocean. The Mistress of the Ships followed the bird of prey with her eyes until it disappeared into the dark horizon.

 

Is the White Tower behind this devious plot? Really? But who else could it be?

 

Turning back to her Windfinder, Taeda nodded slowly. “I agree. It seems very peculiar.” Touching the medallions on the chain connected to her nose, she pursed her lips. “But we need to find out.” She left it at that and Saevha nodded silently.

 

●

 

“What about the Coramoor?” the Ruler of the Atha’an Miere asked in a measured tone after a moment of silence.

 

“We have discovered where he is.” The Windfinder’s reply was matter-of-fact but her eyes lit up. “He is in southern Arad Doman.”

 

Taeda nodded, her mind running in a hundred directions when it came to the Coramoor. The man predicted by the Jendai Prophecies to lead them to greater glory and domination of all the seas of the world. The man who they would pledge allegiance to. But who could say what this man would be like? Would he have the strength and character needed to lead them? Would he need.. persuasion? Would he need coaxing? The prophecies said nothing of such matters.

 

Would this likely be the same man the land dwellers called the Dragon Reborn? A man practicing The Art?

 

She shuddered involuntarily at the thought. Among her kind such men were an abomination and were dealt with. Permanently. So, in a way, such a man would be of Light and Shadow as she saw it, a dangerous combination. But perhaps a necessary one. She did not dare speak her uncertainty, and sometimes even doubt, publicly. Nor privately for that matter. She did not want to sow any doubt among her people regarding the Coramoor, but deep inside she debated and hoped her misgivings would not bear fruit.

 

“Good.” She responded at last. “We will send emissaries to the Coramoor and establish an agreement.”

 

Her Windfinder nodded, a finger to her lips in respect, her dark eyes hopeful as she thought of the Coramoor, a man of legends and prophecies who would bring greatness to the Sea Folk.

 

“So it shall be done.”

 

●

 

Faolahr was lost in Dreams.

 

But they were strange dreams, memories that were not his own.

 

“Thranduil Alahr Sehn”, the blond man said in an angry voice. His violet eyes glinted dangerously. “You do not listen to voices of discontent. You and many other Aes Sedai here”, he pointed accusingly at the members of the Aes Sedai Assembly, “are arrogant in your belief that the insurgents will be defeated. It is time you listen to the voices of those who know better!”

 

“Amir Tavaneh Vendahlin”, the tall well-built blond man with those striking blue eyes replied in a steadfast tone. “We have heard your warnings before. They have been needless. Do not try and spread discontent where there is none.”

 

“Fool!” the Aes Sedai in his dark robe with white symbols running down the side muttered. Then, in a louder voice, “We must bring them to heel so they understand the error of their ways.”

 

Turning to the many members of the Assembly, Amir added. “You all know I speak the truth.”

 

Many of the gathered Aes Sedai, both men and women, shook their heads but some nodded softly.

 

The two men faced one another a few paces apart, both standing strongly and proudly atop the huge Aes Sedai Symbol dominating the white marble floor: the circle divided equally into black and white halves representing the One Power, Saidin and Saidar, and their interdependence.

 

“It is time to act! To show strength” Amir Aes Sedai said emphatically as he met the other man’s blue eyes squarely. “We are the leaders.. and we must lead, not show weakness!”

 

Thranduil Aes Sedai shook his head, his white robe with black symbols running down the side folding around his strong body as he moved to face the Assembly.

 

“It is not weakness, just prudence.” His voice was strong but calm to breed confidence. “The measures already set in motion will be enough. We have more important matters to focus on. The ongoing development of the SkyShear for one.”

 

“That can wait!” Amir responded coldly. “Your arrogance, Thranduil, will be the end of you!”

 

The Violet eyes of the man in Black flared while the Blue eyes of the man in White stared calmly back though tinged with an inner fire.

 

Meanwhile, it was as if the Aes Sedai Symbol beneath their feet echoed the Radiance of this Place of Power, flowing into a Basin of Revelation.

 

●

 

Remember who you are!

 

A whisper!

 

Remember who you can be.

 

Another whisper!

 

Remember who you must be!

 

Silence.

 

●

 

Waking up slowly, the echo of whispers still in his mind, Faolahr brushed sleep from his eyes and stared up at the roof of his master tent in silence.

 

It was just a dream. It had to be just a dream!

 

But he knew it was not.

 

Closing his eyes again he listened for the whispers to return, but they did not.

 

The violet eyes of the man Amir in his dream, the man who had opposed the leader of the Aes Sedai who would later be known as the Dragon, echoed in his mind though. Those eyes bespoke of power and ambition. And of greed. He must have been a powerful individual, Faolahr thought.

 

The striking blue eyes of Thranduil were even stronger in his mind.. and at one point he could have sworn the man was speaking to him, to Faolahr, though that was, of course, impossible..

 

He knew without knowing that he had somehow witnessed something important from the past.

 

Real memories.

 

From the Age of Legends.

 

From the Dragon.

 

●

 

Amaranth

 

gazed at the sunset

 

beautiful in its splendour

 

from atop the white glass-columns of Whitebridge

 

his black cloak on white

 

dark marble

 

travelling in his mind

 

into the past

 

●

 

Somewhere near the centre of Altara, gales of winds amassed in roughly reckoning force. Together and apart they stormed, raging and shifting across boundaries of settlements, towns and fertile farmlands with as much gusto as any other collection of Altarans with origins like theirs were wont to do. North and East they rumbled, unseen forces driving them towards the Damona Mountains..

 

The ever-stronger winds ruffled Elessar’s travelling coat as they rode through a region with long-stemmed grasses on either side of the road. The winds pushed the grass backwards almost to breaking point as if a hand of providence was at work, and it made the Warder think that a Storm was probably Gathering. The sky had darkened in the past few hours as well and rain was in the air. He saw Calia lean forward to whisper something in Socksie’s ear and the mare whinnied as if she, of course, understood every word. Which she probably did. Stormbreaker carried the Gaidin strongly forwards whatever the terrain and he guided the horse with experience using his legs to steady and the reins to control. Elessar and Stormbreaker had been companions on the road for many years, and they cared for one another. It was the only way he could think of it. And he would protect Stormbreaker too with his life.

 

Feeling the cool wind on his face, a wind which was cooler than normal for this temperate region, he gazed across at Calia. Or rather at the merchant she was seeming to be. Her darkened hair was familiar by now but in his mind he saw her blonde hair and how she really looked. He grinned thinking of his changed appearance too. Even so, he would not mind when they would change back to their real appearances again.

 

He smiled inside when he saw Calia give Socksie’s head a good, two-handed scratch until the mare nickered gently in appreciation. Stormbreaker snorted in response, a sign of approval as the Warder saw it. The Aes Sedai and Socksie had formed a strong bond and it was strange to think that the mare had only been part of their travelling party for a relatively short time. There was little doubt that Calia had found a special travelling companion. He hoped she would enjoy many years with Socksie, though darkening clouds of a global kind were rising in the horizon.

 

His gaze remained as he observed his Aes Sedai and her mount with steadfast appreciation. He was glad to have her, Socksie and Stormbreaker along for this journey!

 

●

 

When the remaining travellers turned off the road toward the nearest village, Elessar and Calia exchanged a quick look instinctively, their eyes meeting in silent understanding, before continuing along the road.

 

Their connection beyond the bond was quick, subtle and more than adequate to convey their thoughts. With mutual smiles, but without a word, they continued on a ways, the slow and steady hoofbeats beneath them keeping a reliable tempo for their comfortable silence. At separate points, they each steered their horses from the road, cutting a careful, many-cornered path through the dancing grass so as not to leave an obvious, two-mounted-persons trail..

 

Elessar returned Calia’s smile as they came back together in a small clearing well out of sight and earshot from the road. They dismounted and Elessar led the horses away to be tethered at the nearest tree. They continued the by now familiar ‘rituals’ for setting up out-of-the-way camp and the Warder soon took a walk along the perimeter of the camp and its surroundings to check for any potential dangers (better safe than sorry, as he always thought) while Calia built a small fire and prepared some kaf and something to eat. Upon his return Elessar sat down to enjoy a little food and drink and they chit-chatted for a while.

 

As twilight cloaked this region of central Altara, the darkness covering the trees and grass and meadows, the Warder brushed down both horses, gave them each an apple to enjoy (and by the sound of it both Socksie and Stormbreaker enjoyed the treat mightily!) and walked another time around the ‘outer encampment’ as he thought of it, the area several hundred meters surrounding it on all sides, without seeing anything of note. Rain had finally arrived by the time he was back, a drizzle at first but soon heavier, but they were protected by the trees and the coverings he had set up.

 

The last thing Elessar thought before going into the practiced half-sleep of Warders was how right his bond and connection with Calia felt and that he was fortunate to have this strong and valued bond now at a time where Storms were Coming and Destinies Shaped.

 

●

 

Varanis, in the guise of the court painter Sinthan, studied his latest painting and smiled in appreciation

 

Seated as usual in his upstairs room in the left wing of the Royal Castle in Fal Moran, smudges of paint on his hands, he applied his paintbrush expertly to the work of art before him and watched it come alive before his eyes. The painting was huge in a tall wooden frame six feet tall by five feet wide. It was a frame he used for all his paintings; a frame that was, in fact, a Ter’angreal and a special one.

 

The scene depicted was of the courtyard in front of the Royal Palace which was filling with people and soldiers. Servants and retainers rushed from the castle doors to the gate to ensure all was in place for the Commander’s arrival. The Shienaran Army’s Commander, General Varar Sukhata, was returning with his army after a battle further west with Shadowspawn and most of Fal Moran had come out to welcome him home. Flags had been waved through the streets and the populace had been jubilant and now the rows upon rows of soldiers rode through the Castle gate.

 

Varanis watched the spectacle in his painting, his blue eyes slightly wild as usual, anticipation building as he waited for the Commander to appear. His paintbrush kept adding a few lines here and there, some colour in places, as the painting changed ever so slightly, elements disappearing and others appearing. He touched the scar on his face as he was wont to do, his excitement building.

 

●

 

And finally, the last of the soldiers had entered the palace courtyard, banners flying high, and the Commander, General Varar Sukhata, a proud man in his early forties and a brilliant soldier and leader, came riding slowly past the gate, in full battle armour, and towards the castle itself.

 

Changing his weave of Saidin ever so slightly, Varanis saw the Commander as if standing just fifteen feet away and recognized the triumphant look on the General’s face.

 

“Welcome home!” the Chosen whispered gloating, as he drew an ominous circle around the General’s face in the painting, feeding it with deadly weaves. In the painting he saw Varar Sukhata’s dark eyes widen in shock as his hands went to his throat, he started choking and fell off his horse and tumbled to the ground. His face gradually turned blue as his arms flailed uselessly and finally he stopped moving, dead.

 

People were rushing toward him, crying out in alarm, and Varanis watched it all now from a distance, a smug grin on his face.

 

“I guess you were not triumphant after all, General Varar Sukhata”, Varanis chuckled, his wild eyes glinting and his face grinning as he continued perfecting the painting, glorying in his art.

 

●

 

Sovenhia Sedai and her Warder passed the border into Altara on a sunny afternoon.

 

Their wagon pulled by four black carthorses travelled southwards along the dusty road that led to Ebou Dar further south. There were few travellers on this road and mostly locals going to and from farms along the woodlands. Sovenhia was pleased that the horses had turned out to be just as sturdy and reliable as she had hoped, and she was making sure they were travelling at a speed which did not exhaust the mounts.

 

Aran kept telling her it had not been their fault what happened in Amador, but she did not care to listen. There had been mistakes which they had made, not the least their late arrival; no need to ignore that fact. And by going to Ebou Dar they would redeem themselves. I will redeem myself.

 

Ebou Dar.

 

A New Beginning.

 

●

 

Aran stayed alert in the way of Warders as they passed a small village that mainly consisted of a street, a few houses, a blacksmith and an inn, and then tried to cheer up his Aes Sedai with stories as they continued their journey. His light-blue eyes were dancing as he told a particularly cheerful story of something hilarious that had happened before he joined the Warders, the grin on his face infectious and Sovenhia could not help but chuckle. His long blond hair tied in a bun was smudged and his face and travelling cloak dirty but he looked the same joyful Warder she had bonded.

 

Merchants they were supposed to be, but Aran would never pass as a simple merchant to a trained eye. Fortunately, most people only saw what they expected to see and the subterfuge had worked. So far. Altara was not as antagonistic toward Aes Sedai as Amadicia, but it would be wise to be careful in Ebou Dar.

 

Aran shared a smile with his bondholder and was glad to see that his stories had cheered her up somewhat. Her dark hair flowed down her back and her brown eyes looked intently back at him, eyes that seemed a little more hopeful than in the last few days. He needed to be her rock as he saw it, the defence against all enemies but also the defence against her own doubts and insecurities.

 

He knew he was young and inexperienced as a Gaidin and had much to learn, but he had belief in himself and faith in their connection, their bond, and he was learning.

 

Above all, he had optimism - and he knew they would succeed!

 

●

 

Hidden deep beneath the Royal Palace of Andor, were cellars that had once stored important things. Valuable things. Rare things.

 

Dangerous things.

 

They had also served as dungeons in use by Queens of Andor during times of strife and war.

 

In the past decades the cellars had, however, not been used and the deepest parts were all but forgotten.

 

Walking down dusty stairs to the lower part of the dark cellars, a globe of light above her head lighting up the darkness, Nymeria the Chosen stared fixedly ahead as she passed cobwebs aplenty. She had inverted the weave, an ability and talent thought lost in this Age, to ensure the resident Aes Sedai did not detect that another channeler was on the Palace grounds. Not that she would struggle to take care of the Sister if necessary, but it was prudent to carry out such a task in the shadows.

 

Qariahna would just have blasted a hole in the Sister advising the Andoran Queen and gone about her business.

 

The thought made her grin lopsidedly. She knew her too well.

 

Opening a door as old as the Trolloc Wars, surprised it was still standing when she glanced quickly back over her shoulder, she then entered a stone chamber which was almost empty. The size of a small room, it was covered in dust from top to bottom and it was clear no one had entered in at least half a century. Walking up to the only piece of furniture in the room, an ancient cupboard about two meters tall and one meter wide that appeared made of stone but with no drawers, she stopped and studied it carefully for a long moment.

 

Then, with a satisfied smile, she pointed at the lower half of the cupboard and channeled, Earth and Spirit, in intricate weaves, until they became a solitary light. A buzzing sound broke the dark silence as the protection weave was removed and a small compartment appeared, sliding open. The Chosen’s sapphire-blue eyes were fixed on what was inside.

 

A medallion.

 

●

 

Nymeria grinned as she picked up the medallion and studied it for a few moments.

 

This was no ordinary medallion. This was something ancient. Something very valuable. She touched its marble surface and her eyes glinted.

 

Placing it reverently in the inside-pocket of her light-green dress, she turned back toward the cupboard and channeled. Soon the drawer was gone from sight, hidden by invisible weaves, and the cupboard looked all stone again - and unbreakable. Nodding with satisfaction she returned whence she had come, climbing the stairs carefully and navigating the cellar corridors with care.

 

When she left the Royal Palace, passing the Grand Hall (often used for state occasions) and the Blue Reception Room (with its blue floor tiles and arched ceiling painted to display the sky and white clouds) on her way out, she left behind servants puzzled by moments of dizziness and shadows. Unnoticed by anyone, she departed and was soon back in the centre of Caemlyn.

 

Her blonde hair, falling in golden waves down her back, shone in the strong afternoon sun and her smile was triumphant as she headed toward her next destination.

 

●

 

A pair of dark eyes followed the blonde woman studiously as she passed a plaza with a beautiful fountain of Ishara Casalain, the first Queen of Andor, holding a ruler’s scepter high, and several statues and monuments of historical importance before stopping at a street corner beside a small flower shop.

 

The eyes tightened in eager anticipation.

  ▀▄

[Cass]

~ ( Bursts of Light ) ~

 

The sun slipped closer to the horizon and the last of the day's golden rays bled into the surrounding hues of amber and rose in the furthest corner of the cloudy sky, colouring the entirety of the windswept world beneath. Over the scents of brewing kaf and cooking food, and under that subtle veil of Light and Shadow that twilight was beginning to cast over their camp, Calia watched her Warder brush the horses down. She stood as Elessar caught her gaze and indicated he was done. A small smile played over her lips as Socksie and Stormbreaker nickered in what seemed to be appreciation for his care - and the treats he left them with. Despite the creeping weight of fatigue and wariness that tugged at her body and soul, the threat of storms yet to come, and the biting, bickering breeze that still snatched wildly at her clothes and hair, she felt centered. The path and way forward were not even close to being clear in her mind - but what was in front of her was steadfast.

 

And the next step, at least, was easy enough.

 

Embracing saidar, the Sedai made her way to the horses. Her heart twinged as she reworked the Illusion weaves. For just a moment before the new threads slipped into place, each horse appeared as their true selves: distinct, proud, alert. Just a moment, and then they were, yet again, disguised.

 

Stormbreaker no longer shone with the golden glow of a palomino stallion; instead the weave offered a dusty roan facade. Socksie, transformed from the long-ago-beloved patterns of her namesake, now appeared a dark chestnut gelding of limited value. The weaves weren't quite enough to completely conceal the proud set of either horse's head when they lifted it in curiosity, or the sharp intelligence in either of their eyes, but they were sufficient enough to conceal their true colours and worth at both distance and close quarters, and they were inverted well enough that noone would ever even be able to sense the web of deceit. 

 

The fact that the wild wind had already undone a fair proportion of Elessar's grooming work, and had whipped each mane and tail into a frightful mess, made Calia grimace. It would not be as easy a task to work the Finder-woven beads back into place. Especially if this time she intended for them to be both better hidden, and more secure. 

 

Socksie's tangles were the first challenge, but Calia hadn't been combing the flailing locks for long before she found herself nudged so abruptly that she stumbled sideways into an involuntary half-step, the curry-comb catching awkwardly in the tangle of the 'gelding's darkened mane.

 

"Socks-!"

 

The horse huffed impatiently in response as if to say,"What?" and nudged again with force at the hip pocket of Calia's split skirts, where a couple of apples were stashed. 

 

The force this horse exerts in her search for apples is always enthusiastic, at least! She thought with a half-smile.

 

Out loud she simply cautioned, "You can wait, girl!"

 

At which point the horse stamped a chestnut-coloured rear hoof and swished her tail impatiently, but otherwise stood still. 

 

"Thank-you," Calia muttered, finishing the job and then sifting carefully through the pouch of priceless Jakandan Silver trinkets, searching for the two she had previously attached to each horse. She was glad that these, too, had not been lost in Remen's near horse-thievery adventures.

 

The apple-shaped bead found its way to her palm first, and she sighed softly at the sight of it, and the tug of the strings it still inevitably had looped around her heart.

 

She played over the silver softly with her thumb, remembering. The bead was small, but exquisitely carved - like all of the artist's Jakandan Silverwork Aaran had commissioned to be added to the the set, year by year. This one, the first of the eight anniversary beads which succeeded the initial wedding set, was the shape of a tiny apple. Etched into the surface, intricately interwoven branches formed the shapes of the two Great Trees. Between the branches, faintly-coloured depictions of red and Green fruit were so fine that she could almost, almost smell the sweetness of the apples on the boughs, and the moments captured in her mind. Every time she looked at it...

 

A warm summer evening in the orchard at Four Kings…

 

The sun had slipped closer to the horizon and the last of the day's golden rays shone through the surrounding hues of amber and rose across the sky. 

 

Aaran, turning slowly from the Great Green to face her, his expression solemn but also full of deep satisfaction and joy. 

 

His name, carved into the bark alongside hers.

 

Warder and Sedai.

 

So marked,

each beside the other,

enduring

for as long as the tree should live.

Joined, in Light's purpose and intent.

 

Earlier, when the orchard had been lively with the hum of bees, the chatter of family and the peals of Thayet's grandchildrens' laughter, he had carved his name into the Great Red. 

 

His name, carved into the bark alongside hers.

 

Metsar and Luin, entwined.

 

Each beside the other,
 

Joined, in Life's purpose and intent.

Enduring,

for as long as the tree should live.

 

As Husband and Wife. 

 

Joem, young and awestruck enough still to duck behind his grandmother's skirts whenever Calia or Aaran looked at him, had danced on the spot with his sister Caliane.

 

And Thayet's hand, as old and papery-thin as it was still warm, had squeezed Calia's own, patting with such matronly, genuine happiness that it had taken the Sedai by surprise.   

 

 

Rain startled Cal abrubptly out of her reverie.

 

She blinked, shaking off the memory as well as the raindrops, and held the bead aloft. If ever a token suited attunement to a Finder Weave for Socksie, this was it. The threads of Spirit wove easily beneath her fingers, flowing like water into the silver, binding anew to the bead, linking them with a bond of direction and distance.  With careful hands, she wove a braid into the underside of Socksie’s mane, tying the bead securely at its top end where it would remain hidden, Illusion weave or no. The 'chestnut gelding' shook her head, perhaps testing the weight of the addition, perhaps simply adjusting to the change in weather. Either way, she stilled when Calia stroked her neck.

 

“Steady, girl,” Calia murmured, her voice soft.

 

“There. Now you’re ready to keep out of trouble.”

 

It was no surprise when the 'gelding' snorted. 

 

Moving next to Stormbreaker, Cal fetched the bead she had chosen as his. The 'lightning bead' was cool and solid against her palm. Tiny veins of silver crackled across its dark silver surface, mimicking the jagged brilliance of a storm-touched sky. It was heavier than the apple-tree bead, its edges finely etched with spirals of wind and rain. Calia’s mind wandered as her fingers traced the familiar grooves, even as she concentrated on attaching the weave...

 

A storm in the Borderlands, its fury unleashed across the rolling plains.

 

Rain, so thick it blurred the line between earth and sky.

 

Thunder rolling, aptly, like a war drum in the distance.

 

Aaran’s laughter, ringing out as Calia, conserving her energy for the fight she knew was yet to come, refused him the comfort of a weather shield and had forced him instead to wait and shelter a while at her side, beneath an outcropping of rock.

 

“I don't begrudge you, but oh Cal, Dancing is sweeter on the edge of a sword - if one can only see and doesn't have to swim!” he had teased, shaking water from his hair.

 

"Light, the middle of a storm is no place to be dancing on a sword at all!" She had grumbled back at him, her experience trumping his enthusiasm. "Not when we're both going to have to strike faster and harder than the lightning does before this day is through!"

 

And so, they had.

 

Later, when both storm and battle had broken and the night had settled into the sort of quiet that reminded those alive how lucky they were to have survived, she was not the only one with experience that saw such sense, nor carrying the heavy sense of gratitude that they could. 

 

The threads of Spirit twined through the bead and glowed faintly before fading to stillness. She affixed it to a braid in Stormbreaker’s mane, weaving the strands tightly to ensure it held fast. The warhorse swished his tail, raindrops and rivulets of water running unheeded over his 'roan' coat. The bead was perfect for him. He too could strike like black lightning when it counted, and he had been around long enough to know that this rain, too, would pass.

 

Calia checked the Illusion weaves on each of the mounts one last time, and then, satisfied, turned back to the shelter Elessar had already arranged. 

 

"The Storms will come, but we will stand and dance together, striking like lightning when we must, for as long as we can!" the declaration Aaran had given with the bead floated to the front of Calia's mind.

 

"Indeed. But for now," she thought, "We prepare as best we can, and bide our time."

She made her way back to her gaidin. Irrespective of memories and scars from the past and all the illusions and various webs of Power that were being woven into the present and the Age ahead, each of them were bound to the other for the right reasons. And they would continue to be steadfast. Even if the exact path ahead was unclear, it was perfectly clear there was no better Warder alive to have by her side.

 

Later, as she drifted into sleep, the residue patterns of that lightning-bright weave once again burst their way through her dreams. This time, they lit up her mind in time with the storm... each burst seeming to emphasise Cal's understanding, and her belief that the Wheel would Weave as the Wheel Willed, but where there was a will, there was always a Way ... for the Light to come through...

[Elessar]

.. Walking A Path of Redemption ..

►▼◄

 

Watching Calia drift to sleep in her blankets a few feet away, listening to the soft fall of raindrops from the darkened sky, the forest all but silent around them, made Elessar open his mind to the past.

 

Not yet ready to enter the half-sleep, half-awareness of Warders, he gazed into the black night and memories flowed inside him.

 

●

 

“Welcome to our house, Aes Sedai - we are honoured”, said a tall broad-shouldered man in a friendly and respectful voice, beckoning them inside.

 

Valdherien Telcontar, lord of this manor, was a hospitable man. He wore silver chains over a formal dark-blue coat cut in the Kandori fashion, muted silk trousers and Borderlander footwear. His beard was in the distinctive forked style of his countrymen, he had two jewelled earrings in each ear, there were some gray patches in his dark hair, and his jaw protruded a little more from his tanned face than was the case with Elessar, but even so it was not difficult to see that the two were brothers. They clasped shoulders in heartfelt welcome, though Valdherien’s eyes were slightly hesitant, a look which the Warder returned. The moment passed and they joined the others - Valdherien’s wife Leonorah, a tall beautiful Borderlander woman who wore a stylish Kandori dress with a necklace made in an intricate pattern known as the ‘Kandori snowflake pattern’, and their two daughters, leading the way - as they headed down a hallway and into the main lounge.

 

“Father?” Elessar asked his brother, in an uneasy voice, as they rounded a corner, and Valdherien, with a sigh he was unable to repress, replied that their father was out in the gardens. Elessar nodded and said no more, but inside he was debating with himself whether it would be wise to postpone the confrontation with his father, or simply get it over with. He had not decided by the time they reached the main lounge and his older brother bade them seat themselves in the ancient-looking chairs in the room and have a drink. On the walls were old paintings depicting Borderland history - scenery, towns, Borderlander warriors and battles -, paintings that Elessar knew from old had been passed down through several Telcontar generations. His age-long interest in history and battles had been born in part due to these old paintings and the small but distinct library of history and story-books that resided in a different part of the manor.

 

●

 

After drink and some polite conversation Elessar excused himself, with a quick nod toward Kathleen, his Aes Sedai, which was returned, and headed out into the gardens. His unease increased as he walked toward a lonely figure standing some way off, tension he was sure his bondholder would feel through the Bond, but he had to get this over with. He had been in doubt whether to wait or - possibly - avoid the confrontation, but in the end had decided that this was the only way. He had to deal with his father at some point and he was tired of this chasm of anger and distrust which had developed between them.

 

●

 

Elessar, staring coldly into the darkness surrounding their camp in Altara, sighed. Things were never easy. And sometimes more than difficult.

 

He went back to Kandor in his mind and to the garden at their family estate. Oh father!

 

As he neared the lone figure, standing by an Apple Tree, he recognized his father’s features and posture. The old man turned around and faced his son in silence. He looked just as Elessar remembered him from his last visit several years before, though perhaps a touch frailer. Saamlin Telcontar, a proud man of brown skin (tanned from countless days outdoors) with angry dark eyes and a hard face, stared angrily at Elessar but said nothing. Of all the brothers Elessar had always resembled his father the most, also becoming the martial son his father had always wanted - and nurtured. Elessar, however, thought it might be this very sameness - almost like a mirror image - that had driven his father from great pride in his son, as he had travelled to Tar Valon to become a Warder of the White Tower, to great, unyielding anger at him - and perhaps himself - for Elessar being unable to save the youngest son Vehran from drowning.

 

It had happened on his first visit home a few years after finishing Warder training, during a forest trek in one of Kandor’s several valleys. Vehran and he had gone swimming in a Borderland river there, the currents had been strong - stronger than they had anticipated - and Vehran had accidentally slipped and knocked his head on a rock, disappearing flailing into the rushing water. Elessar had heard his brother’s scream but had been too far away to do anything, and by the time he reached his brother’s body, carried by the frantic stream further downriver, and got it out of the water, it was too late.

 

His father had never forgiven him for not saving Vehran’s life.

 

“You were the older brother, it was your responsibility to take care of him, Elessar! How could you not see the danger!? How were you, a trained Warder, unable to save him!? It is on your head. You are no longer a son of mine!”

 

●

 

The harsh, bitter words rang in Elessar’s head still, even after so many years. And perhaps his father was right. He blamed himself for his younger brother’s death, even if perhaps unfairly, another sin weighing down on his soul.

 

Too many sins. Too many doubts. We carry burdens inside that weigh us down.

 

Some of us more than others.

 

He remembered turning away from his father’s accusing stare.

 

He stared silently into the orchard of Apple Trees, flowerbeds and grassy grounds that enveloped the estate. Compared to other Kandori estates, of greater noble families, this was a fairly modest sized estate. Even so, it would have been considered a fair-sized estate in some smaller countries and to a young Elessar it had, at the time, seemed the world.

 

It was the world to me. For a while.

 

As he had stood there staring silently out at the gardens with their blooming life, his father’s damning eyes on his back, he had remembered a different day, a much better day, when he was a child..

 

It had been a beautiful spring afternoon..

 

..the sun shining from a cloudless sky, a young Borderlander boy running freely around in play, face full of boyish glee, his two brothers at his heels - one older, one younger, but all three in many ways the same - none of them with any cares in the world. Screams of delight and childish banter between brothers..

 

”Wait for me, Elessar!” screams Vehran as he tries to catch up with his two elder brothers.

“Faster, Vehran!” shouts Elessar as he tries to get to the Tree before a panting Valdherien.

“Elessar, I will beat you..!” shouts Valdherien as he runs shoulder to shoulder with him.

“Never!” screams the ever competitive Elessar back, as he storms ahead for the narrow win.

Soon all three brothers lay laughing, gasping for air in the grass before the Climbing Tree ..

 

●

 

Without turning, his eyes fixed on the Climbing Tree of his childhood some way off, Elessar said in a clear, strong voice. “Father, I am sorry.. but we must end this!”. His voice cut through the wall of silence between them. “This anger, this hatred.. will not bring Vehran back.”

 

Vehran, I am sorry. My brother, forgive me.

 

“Blame me all you wish, father.. I blame myself also, though I did what I could.. but please, let us end this strife. It’s been too long. It is destroying our family!” It is destroying you, he added in his mind. He clenched his fists and calmed his thoughts, trying to find the Flame and the Void. It was a struggle due to his inner distress.

 

His father remained silent and Elessar could feel his eyes boring into his back. Seconds stretched into what seemed forever, the Warder waiting for the outburst that would surely come, but there was only silence.

 

The Silence of Finality.

 

Just as Elessar was certain his father would not respond, the prolonged silence was broken by a malevolent curse. His father spat another curse and leaving obscenities in his wake he stomped off toward the manor without looking back. Elessar sighed heavily, shaking his head sadly, and turned in time to see the figure of his angry father in the distance, closing in on the manor buildings. I tried. He thought in misery. Blast, but I tried! He had known that his attempt at reconciliation might not succeed, that this deep chasm between them was perhaps yet too deep, but he had hoped..

 

Perhaps his father simply needed more time.

 

●

 

Ah, but some wounds never heal.

 

The rain was picking up and Elessar listened to the patter of rain falling on the protective covering above his head. Rain falling like tears. It was quite some time since that journey into the Borderlands with Kathleen, a journey that had unexpectedly ended with her releasing the bond, but his father’s harsh stance had never changed.

 

The last time Elessar had visited his home in Kandor he had stayed away from his father to avoid any unpleasantries.

 

Perhaps things never would change after all with his father. Perhaps that chasm was forever.

 

●

 

“You must stop blaming yourself, Elessar.” His bondholder Myrrhi had told him some years later, her hand on his shoulder. Her kind eyes had shown empathy with his personal plight.

 

“You have reached out a hand of reconciliation.. and it is not your fault that you father has declined it.” He had smiled back at her, appreciating her understanding and support, but his feeling of guilt had remained.

 

He had always been good at feeling guilt.

 

And I still am.

 

Shifting his eyes back to Calia he saw her lie still and the calm of sleep was felt through the bond. Smiling to himself he blessed the hands of fortune that had brought her into his life now in these perilous times. They were connected in every way and working as a functional and effective unit through the bond.

 

We are One.

 

Just as Leandreen and I were One.

 

Oh Leandreen. Forgive me.

 

 

The ancient wound in his soul opened for a moment

 

And he stared into the Abyss, his heart stopping..

 

●

 

I said I would die for you. And I will.

 

No, it’s not too late. I will save you!

 

I promised you, my life before yours.

 

My life before yours.

 

Yours.

 

I will bring them down. For you!

 

I will.

 

My life before yours.

 

It is my duty.

 

Duty.

 

I am too late. Oh my Sedai, I am too late!

 

Too late.

 

 

Confusion and darkness everywhere.

Past and present intertwined.

 

Mother!?

 

 

A scream in his soul makes a shiver run down his back.

 

 

Mother, I will save you!

 

I will save you!

 

 

The stench of death, the cries of those being slaughtered crashes into him.

 

 

 

No, it is happening again!

 

I must stop them!

 

No, it is too late!

 

Never too late!

 

Never!

 

 

Hacking into the Trollocs he is death reincarnated.

The blood flowing makes him grin evilly in satisfaction.

 

 

Justice.

 

Then silence.

 

Silence.

 

 

Leandreen, are you there?

 

●

 

Standing together with Carrain Sedai watching Leandreen’s burning funeral pyre lighting up the darkness, Elessar feels the fire tearing into him. The Borderlander night is silent, as if in homage to a brave warrior. She seems so regal laying there, her Emerald green eyes closed and her fiery Red hair embracing her so familiar face, ready for the final journey. Soon she is enveloped in flames, the fires joining her inner fire, in a blaze of light that defies the night.

 

Oh Leandreen, forgive me.

 

Now he can breathe again. But the sin remains.

 

The failure.

 

●

 

Turning over on his other side now, Elessar let Leandreen’s Emerald Green eyes recede in his mind, the deep sorrow making him ache inside. So sorry.

 

He lay listening to the raindrops in the Altaran night for a long while, his mind gradually flowing into other memories.

 

Ebou Dar. The Tarasin Palace.

 

●

 

..In the split of a second he took in the scene before him: a square room about thirty feet by twenty feet, moderately decorated with pale green walls, and with four golden leopard statues, mirror-images of the predators appearing on the Altaran Sigil and Banner, one in each corner. The man, sword in hand and an intensely dark look on his face, stood on the right side of the room, ready to throw himself into the deadly duel. Coming to his feet Elessar walked forwards slowly, blade raised, before coming to a stop ten feet or so from the other man. His eyes met the other man’s and he nodded. There was no need for words. This was a Darkfriend.

 

Staring hard at the tall, dark cloaked Warder, the man from Lugard held his sword high, in challenge, almost as if proclaiming that if this somewhat modest and almost forgotten Palace backroom, with its four silent golden guardians, was to be their chosen battleground, then so be it!

 

Elessar was one with his blade as he moved back and forth with elegance, striking out and parrying, feinting and thrusting. He moved with agility and purpose and so did his opponent who Elessar found surprisingly accomplished. It was almost as if there was a driving force behind the Lugarder. Sweat beaded on the Warder’s brow as he went on the attack once more. His opponent countered well but seemed also to be tiring, his strokes becoming ever slower. As they duelled Elessar felt the calm of the Flame and the Void filling him and it gave him inner strength. In Warder-training his teacher had always said:

 

Flow through the motions, be one with the sword. And when you see signs of weakness in your opponent or find an opening, seize the moment! Precision is everything!

 

●

 

And seeing weakness in his enemy now he struck out with his blade, moving inside the other man’s guard and slamming the hilt of his sword into the man’s shoulder. The Darkfriend was too slow to defend himself, his sword coming up too late, and screamed out in pain as he fell to the floor in agony. Elessar combined sword forms and smashed his blade toward the man’s body to finish him off, but somehow the other man managed to twist to the side and the Warder’s strike missed. The momentum brought the Gaidin slightly off balance and he corrected by moving away from the man who was trying to gain his feet.

 

Elessar panted slightly, feeling weariness rushing over him. He knew that he would have been even more tired had he not gained the added strength through the bond from his Sedai. Perhaps the bond would save his life today, even if his bondholder Carys was some way away in the city. She would know something was up with him. She would feel it. Now all he had to do was to stay alive. After their shared experiences in the relatively short time they had been acquainted and their rewarding Warder-Sedai companionship on the road and in the face of grave danger, it would somehow be.. a touch irritating if he were to go ahead and die right now. These thoughts went through his mind in the few seconds before he faced his adversary again. 

 

The man had by now regained his feet, and came toward the Warder with his sword half raised. He seemed surprisingly unaffected by the heavy sword-blow to his shoulder. Throwing the Warder a scornful look he said in a spiteful voice: “The Great Lord will enjoy your blood, Gaidin!” One moment he was several feet away, the next he was right in front of Elessar! The Warder did not have time to consider how the man had caught him off guard. He tried to deflect the blow but the Darkfriend moved with quick feet inside the Warder’s guard and struck out hard, his blade slicing into Elessar’s shoulder, drawing blood. Elessar cried out in pain, taking a step back, and brought his sword up to deflect a second blow. The man stepped aside, obviously less weary than he had let on.

 

He turned almost nonchalantly toward the Warder and waited for him to rejoin the duel. Moving out of sword’s reach Elessar felt at his injury with his left arm. It was not a deep wound though it would need tending to. He tried to ignore the pain. I underestimated him, he thought darkly. I will not do so again. He met the other man’s ugly grin with a cold stare. Then he raised his sword again and they resumed their Dance.

 

●

 

Back and forth they flowed, thrusting and parrying, attacking and spinning out of range and moving swiftly from stance to stance, two opponents locked in deadly combat. At one point a sudden move from the Darkfriend brought his blade arching towards Elessar’s neck. Steel met steel but the blow was deflected and the Gaidin sidestepped out of the way of an oncoming strike. He in turn swept his scimitar in low and the Shadow figure blocked it and immediately retaliated, bringing his sword up and around in a way that gave his opponent only one blocking-move and one which could well leave him open for new attacks..

 

At another point, a little later on, Elessar suddenly moved forwards and performed a vertical slash, high to low, but which altered course in mid-swing. The other blocked the move deftly but the Warder followed up with another hard swing which was parried. Then the Gaidin changed form, performing a diagonal slash which began low and rose cleanly and, on the return-swing, began a series of powerful overhand blows. This took great stamina and strength and Elessar was only able to keep it up for so long. The Darkfriend parried well, however, with powerful strokes, but was driven back on the defensive..

 

Elessar could not tell how long they had fought, but it felt like an eternity.

 

And just when he needed it the most, he found a deep strength from within. Though his body was exhausted he kept on fighting, refusing to give in. Perhaps it was that part of him that never would or could accept defeat that helped him now. Perhaps it also was his anger and fear of failing in his duty yet another time. And perhaps it was strength coming through the bond from his Aes Sedai, as well as an attitude in him that nothing! was going to destroy his bond with Carys. He fought on relentlessly against this clearly highly accomplished swordsman of the Dark.

 

●

 

Then it happened. Just as Elessar struck the Darkfriend in the side with his blade, in a surprise move where he combined several difficult sword forms, bringing the man to his knees, his sword falling to the floor, bells rang in the Warder’s ears, he felt dizzy and his movements slowed.. ,

 

He stumbled backwards

 

away from the kneeling Darkfriend,

 

further back..

 

and then his hands touched the wall.

 

Surprised that he had come so far back in the room, he looked down and saw one of the golden leopards laying on its side. When did that happen? he wondered.

 

 

What..?

 

 

His mind went blank for a moment and all was white..

 

 

Then he blinked -

 

and slowly felt his senses returning.

 

Removing his hand from the golden leopard, standing up again against the wall, he breathed in and out heavily, almost as if testing the air. As if testing that he was still alive.

 

His gaze fell upon the Shadow swordsman who was attempting to gain his feet, one hand on his blade. Elessar walked toward him, raised his blade and unceremoniously thrust it hard into the man’s back between the shoulder blades. The Darkfriend cried out in great pain and cursed loudly. As he fell backwards, blood gushing out of his mouth, his arm swung out almost reflexively and caught the Warder’s right leg. A sharp knife cut deeply into Elessar’s flesh and it was the Gaidin’s turn to cry out in pain. Elessar cursed loudly and berated himself for not being cautious enough, but even as he felt the pain run through his body, he felt a sigh of relief that the knife had not been poisoned. That feeling of pain, sudden overpowering pain, I will never forget! He thought, recalling the poison-episode earlier on their journey.

 

Beside him the Darkfriend now lay dead, his eyes forever lost to the Light of the world. His last thought before dying was one of horror: in his mind’s eye he imagined eternal torture from the Great Lord for his constant failures.

 

●

 

Elessar sat down on the floor, for a moment ignoring the pain and the exhaustion he felt. He put his sword aside and closed his eyes. This time, I did not fail! I did my duty!

 

A strong feeling came over him, of gladness, of deep contentment, of satisfaction, of pride. Though he did not know how, he knew deep inside that this experience.. this necessary accomplishment.. had been a kind of cleansing for him.

 

You must forgive yourself, Elessar!

 

Leandreen’s whispered words from his dreams echoed in his mind and he felt tears starting to flow down his cheeks.

 

A stream of tears.

 

He could not stop them, and did not want to, nor the wide smile that gradually came upon his lips. It would take time to heal him completely, from the guilt that for so long had been a part of him, but he had started down that road, he knew that now.

 

He had started the process of forgiving himself.

 

A Path of Redemption.

 

●

 

I am still walking that path, thought Elessar now, Emerald Green eyes gazing into his Soul. as he closed his eyes to the night and the Darkness.

 

With the soft wind touching his Warder-face in a mother’s loving, soothing embrace, brushing away for the moment all his worries and doubts and dark memories, and as the sound of raindrops falling on tree leaves, flower petals and a sodden ground drew away the darkness and opened up for Light, Elessar Telcontar of Kandor slowly entered into the half-sleep of his warrior kind.

 

    ▀▄

[Cass]

- A FLASH OF HOPE -

 

The dark clouds were rising, smothering the sky...

 

 

The orchards were burning...

 

The horses were running...

 

The inn was aflame...

 

The green was red,

and far too still.

 

Again.

 

 

The distant screams and howls were out-competing the roar of the flames nearby...

 

 

She burned - burned! 

with the heat of Saidar,

 

 

with the deep and desperate need for revenge...

 

 

This time,

by LIGHT,

 

the Shadow would PAY!

 

 

She rounded the corner and - 

 

   FLASH!   

 

 

 

- nothing but the burn of the flash's after-image and the partly obscured residue of glowing threads remained.

 

 

Again.

 

 

 

                                               

 

 

Calia awoke, opening her eyes to the dark stillness of the night. There was no residue, no burning after-image affecting her line of sight. Just the darkness, the shadows, the lack of light. She sighed, releasing a rush of breath she hadn't realised she was holding. What did it mean?

 

Her head, as well as her heart, ached.

 

What in the Light had they faced at Four Kings and, before that, on the Plain of Lances? What manner of Shadow were they facing now, as they headed towards Ebou Dar? It was nothing she had encountered before, that was for certain - not in all of her hundred-plus years.

 

 

She had her suspicions. 

 

And they went beyond even the possible growth of vileness once again, to a set of circumstances that were far, far worse. 

 

Had the Tower tarried too long before setting Sisters out in earnest for this task?

 

Were they too late? 

 

The darkness, the shadows, a lack of light - was that all that would lay ahead for them now?

 

She squashed the thought as quickly as she knew how.

 

She didn't like to believe that there was no hope.

 

Light!

 

They would prevail again! Surely. She was not the only Sister who had trained and dedicated her life to the cause of standing ready for these days - and surely they could not be completely outnumbered!

 

But still. How to move forward when it felt like everything was possibly going dark?

 

Her thoughts chased themselves around and around in her head, the implications weighing heavy on her heart.

 

Eventually, Elessar stirred and Calia felt her attention shift out toward him through their bond.

 

To any other, he would have seemed asleep, but she knew better. The warder was keen readiness wrapped in stillness, not sleep. The bond between them hummed with his presence, solid and steady, a warm weight she had long since adjusted to having linked with her own mind. She allowed her thoughts to slow, concentrated on matching her breathing with his. It had been months since the weave had settled between them, tying them together, making them one, and still, she could not help but marvel at how different this attachment was to the others she had known. How natural it had - and still -  felt. 

 

She had known that the moment of their bonding would be significant, had expected the weight of it, the shift in awareness that had inevitably come. But nothing had prepared her for the sense of familiarity that had swept through her as those threads of Spirit settled into place. That sense of oneness that still remained. It had been like stepping into a current already moving in the exact direction of her own, something deeper than mere compatibility or shared purpose. He had felt… aligned.  Strength beside strength, quiet resolve beside her own. It had not required adjustment so much as acceptance, as though she had simply to recognise something she had always known to be true.

 

Rolling towards him in the half-light, she studied her warder for a long moment. His breath came slow and steady, his features were softened in the quiet of night. A protector. A warrior. A poet. And her gaidin. Someone who, despite all reason, and her previous intentions, felt to her like an anchor in the storm.

 

The weight of their task had settled heavy on her shoulders, doubt lingered like a shadow in the edges of her thoughts. The Vileness had not been completely rooted out—of that, she was certain. The battle near the Plain of Lances had been but one battle before all the battles unfolding, and the power their enemies had wielded there had left her more than wary. Whether the earlier winds had settled or no, the road ahead of them was uncertain, and the storms were sure to come.

 

Now, knowing that the secrecy of their current mission had been compromised and that there had been similar levels of power at play during their journey, it was almost impossible to know who to trust. 

 

But at least they had each other. Not everything was going dark. The light of hers and Elessar's bond was unmistakable - and they would be steadfast. Together. And as ready as they could ever be.

 

. . .

 

Her thoughts drifted from the Warder by her side to Liss, Neve and Emine - her Sisters across over a century of time and every possible combination of space.

 

They too, were proven anchors in chaotic times.

 

Her heart ached at the distances that lay between each of them currently. She had Elessar by her side, true, and his strength was appreciated. But what she wouldn't give for one of Lissinda's pertinent stares, Emine's flirtatious laughs or Neve's gentle strokes of her hair!

 

There were some things only a Sister of the Tower could understand - and those three knew it all when it came to her past and her present. They had seen her at her best and worst, steadied her when she had been too broken to stand, held her and shielded her from herself when sudden grief had driven her everything toward instant destruction. They would understand the twisted mess of her heart at all of the recent events, rumours and news. And surely, surely, they could still be trusted.

 

Light, it would be good to have even one of them by her side...

 

She closed her eyes again, exhaling softly.

 

Sleep took her once more, and, in her dreams, the past and the present blurred...

 

. . .

 

 

 

   FLASH!   

 

This time the    FLASH!    OF LIGHT was one she knew.

Would never forget.

 

 

Neve and Emine held her

as tightly as they were able

with the Power

as well as with their hands.

Their voices were fierce

and insistent,

but Calia heard them not at all.

 

 

She sank to her knees in the red sand,

her face streaming with tears,

her hands covered with the blood

of both of her brothers.

Of the shadowspawn they, and she, had killed.

 

 

 

Liss stood fifty paces in front of them all,

a handful of Sisters by her side, ending the very few shadowspawn that were left alive on the field.

 

 

More than one of the Sisters looked

back at Calia with pale expressions of horror. 

 

 

Her flash of light had decimated almost

the entire field of trollocs

in a single burst.

 

And then, she had simply screamed again,

 

wordlessly,

 

drawing more - and more - and more - of saidar,

ready to kill them all and Light take her!

 

It. was. not. enough!

 

 

 

It had not been enough, but somehow now, beneath the memories of the grief, the rage, the helplessness... a whisper of strength was flowing between her and her Sisters.

 

A whisper... 

 

...A whisper that took on the voice of all three of her anchor-Sisters,

and the Wise One she had, at that time, been yet to meet. 

 

 

 

The Wheel Wills...

 

...And Where there's a Will

... There's a Way .... For the Light!

 

   FLASH!   

 

The dream twisted. 

 

   FLASH!   

 

Nothing but residue.

 

It was dark. So dark. So cold. 

 

Where was she?

 

Where was the Light?

 

Carefully, she embraced the source.

 

   FLASH!   

 

A globe of light glowed, far, far above her outstretched hand. 

 

The Light.

 

The warmth. 

 

She needed it to be bigger, brighter, closer, safer!

 

 

She drew a little deeper, and this time, in the space between sleep and wakefulness, her hands moved, her thoughts became action. 

 

The threads twisted, and - 

 

       FLASH!      

 

 

Calia's eyes flew open just as the sliver of light before her became a blinding rent in the darkness of night. The light split the darkness.

 

A window - no larger than the width of her shoulders, hung in the air before her.

And through it - impossibly - 

 

 

A Saldaean chamber

 she had not seen with her own eyes in years. 

 

 

She sat bolt upright, her hand flying to her mouth.

 

Through the sliver of that impossible window, was Neve, newly standing, astonished and instantly surrounded by the glow of saidar, her dark eyes wider than Calia had ever seen them. Kerin was drawing his sword, an equal look of shock and action on his dark features.

 

Calia's breath caught, the impossibility of it all striking her like a physical blow. 

 

It was real. 

 

REAL!

 

"Ca-?" 

"Emi-!"

 

The window snapped shut.

 

The residual glow of threads slowly dissipated into the dark. 

 

Cal studied them with wide eyes, her breath coming fast, her heart hammering against her chest as if it would break free of her ribs. She grabbed fistfuls of blanket to stop her hands from trembling. Threw the blankets aside.

 

The space before her was as dark and empty as it had been when she'd fallen asleep, but she could still see that room, the warm realness of it, the stunned expressions, the way Neve's lips had just begun to form her name. 

 

"Elessar!" she hissed, knowing he was also now wide awake.

 

"Did you see that?"

Edited March 17 by Cass

[Elessar]

 

.. “Follow me into Shadow..” ..

►▼◄

 

Whispers and Echoes, 

                               Dreams and Sorrows 

                                                             as Despair battles Hope 

                                                                                                in the endless Turning of the Wheel of Time..

 

 

Ω

When Day turns into Night

As all Hope is Lost

Sing His Praises!

 

Reflections in Mirrors

Floods of Tears

The Knife that Destroys!

 

Seals Weaken, Souls are Broken

Screams are Embraced

In the Darkness of the Lord!

 

Prepare for His Return

Your Salvation is Near

As the World Drowns in Blood!

 

 

From

The Prophecies of the Shadow

207 NE, the 3rd Age

Author unknown

 

●

 

Qariahna

 

gazed lustfully, intensely at the naked man pinned against the brick wall with invisible bonds of Saidar.

 

His arms were stretched high above his head, his face twisted in gruesome pain. His legs were parted and his male member blooded. His right thigh was a mass of blood, flesh hanging from what remained of bones and muscles. His other thigh was crisscrossed with red wounds from end to end where her sharp knife had made painful incisions.

 

The Chosen’s almost black eyes were wide and elated, the pale red dress she was wearing with patches of crimson red where blood had splattered. She did not usually take such pleasure in torture, not like certain others of her brethren did, and part of her knew she was going over the top this time, but she did not care. This time this man had pushed her too far. Far too far!

 

First, she had raped him, forcing him into sexual acts he did not desire, and then she had started torturing him, cutting off several of his fingers, before moving on to more.. delicate areas.

 

Slices of afternoon sunshine came through the dust-worn windows of the old and run down shed. It was situated in a back alley close to a rugged barn in the outskirts of Lugard well away from the main road leading into the city. Beside some farming equipment, a half-cracked table and a wooden chair that was practically falling apart, the shed was pretty much empty.

 

Except for the two of them.

 

●

 

Raising her eyes to his torn face, Qariahna’s eyes blazed with anger and pleasure.

 

This insolent man had doubted her word. Had doubted HER! A Friend of the Dark had laughed in her face and called HER a pretender, a fraud!

 

He had lost his left eye for that remark.

 

He had lost his right ear for his second remark.

 

Betrayers of the Shadow, of the Chosen, of the Great Lord, were never to be forgiven. Not in this life. Nor in death. The Great Lord would make sure of that.

 

“I will make you suffer for a few more moments, for your insolence and betrayal.” The Chosen said gleefully but with ice-cold eyes. “You will learn what it means to betray the Shadow.”

 

To betray me.

 

Running a hand through her long black hair, her painted fingernails brushing her stunningly beautiful face, revelling in the feel of Saidar streaming through her whole body, bubbling with energy and life, the woman once called Caitriona Sandher Neidhar of V’saine finally slit his throat from end to end using ever so tiny streams of the One Power..

 

..and watched triumphantly the blood flowing down his crushed body in rivulets of crimson.

 

●

 

Tinuviel

 

opened the Gateway, the threads of Saidar precise, and stepped confidently through.

 

Closing it behind her, echoes of her apartment in Jehannah still lingering in the air for a second before the silver line snapped shut, she turned to face the Tarasin Palace in the far distance with its prominent marble-white dome and spires. She was still wearing her pale blue dress with a low neckline, matching earrings and a light-blue necklace beneath her travelling coat. She had seen no reason to change before Traveling.

 

Her lips were painted red as usual, her constant reminder of blood and of her sacred femininity. Her hands were also partly crimson at the moment. She had not cared to wash them after taking pleasure in killing that beautiful Ghealdan girl who had listened at the keyhole.

 

Licking the blood from her fingers now, she relished the thought of the delicious sex she had had with that young voluptuous girl in the past few days. Reaching the heights of pleasure time and again had for a moment removed the pain of her past from her mind.

 

●

 

She tasted the salt in the sea air, the smell carried on the soft breeze coming out of the west, and her hard blue eyes turned to face the blue-black ocean. It was before midday and she saw the ocean water reflected by the sun’s rays. Heading in that direction, following a dusty path that meandered among brush and patches of green grass, she approached the seafront a quarter of an hour later.

 

Walking down to the waterline, a small rocky beach with pebbles of all sizes perhaps a few hundred paces wide, she cleaned her hands in the ocean water with an almost regretful sigh and then switched her gaze to the couple coming in her direction. A middle-aged man and woman dressed in local attire they hardly gave her a glance as they passed her by, walking hand in hand near where the soft waves brushed the rocks. The Chosen watched them carefully, noting the delectable figure of the female, before she too departed.

 

She followed the larger path above the beach, stone-paved and well maintained, in the direction of the city. New rumours from her agents had indicated that the object she was seeking might be found in Ebou Dar. It was no certainty, of course, but the best lead she had and so she would visit the city and see if her luck was changing.

 

I must find the Seal. She thought as she walked, her eyes narrowing. And soon!

 

●

 

Amaranth

 

gazed determinedly at the ancient marble chess board before him on the glass table.

 

The marble chess pieces were of famous rulers from his former life, in what they now called the Age of Legends.

 

Men the world have forgotten.

 

Amaranth remembered though, and cherished this chess board almost as much as he cherished what it represented: the ultimate Game of Strategy and Power.

 

The whole marble chamber shimmered slightly in the way of Tel’aran’rhiod, the Unseen World, but he was so used to it that it hardly registered. His striking violet eyes fixed on one of the pieces, the White Queen who was half-way up the board. Moving the piece slightly to the right, away from the centre, he nodded to himself.

 

He then leaned back in his ornate high-backed chair, running a hand through his neck-long blond hair, enjoying the touch of velvet in his black coat, and closed his eyes for a moment.

 

A Queen to move. And to be moved.

 

●

 

On the white walls of the chamber hung objects of light. A reflection of his own chamber. Otherwise, the walls were bare. It was always that way. It was the way he liked it.

 

Whitebridge

 

He had found what he was looking for there. Though not perhaps in the fashion he had expected.

 

It is the way of life

 

There were many secrets to be uncovered in this new Age of Men.

 

The Stone of Tear

 

A Passage. And a Spiral.

 

Secrets. Always secrets.

 

A soft sound made him open his eyes again and a smile came upon his lips as the beautiful woman came sliding along the floor, her naked body desirable, her eyes lustful. She gazed at him lasciviously, her blood-red lips wet, and came up to him and sat down in his lap, her arms warmly around his neck, her mouth quickly meeting his.

 

Another Queen to move around the board that is life. Amaranth thought excitedly as he felt himself stir. And to enjoy. Oh yes!

 

●

 

Erandel

 

stared at the five kneeling Black Ajah Sisters from behind her elaborate mask..

 

knowing her One Power-wrought shimmering appearance made it impossible for them to discern her facial features and appearance.

 

They finally got to their feet and stood silently in a semi-circle nine feet away, their faces partly downcast. The Aes Sedai shawls on their shoulders were of several colours. Two were Green, one blue, one white and one yellow. The Sisters were all more than a hundred years old and fairly prominent in their Ajahs.

 

And all had knelt before the Great Lord and had sworn new Oaths.

 

Binding Oaths

 

“The time is coming.” Erandel began softly.

 

It was past midnight and they were in the hidden cellars deep beneath the White Tower, a place where they would not be disturbed. A few lights hung on the walls but otherwise the stone chamber was dark, cobwebs hanging from the shadowy corners.

 

“The time of the Great Lord’s Return is approaching!”

 

Her voice was changed too and sounded strange and unrecognizable to the gathered women but it did not matter. The eagerness and excitement in the voice when she told of the Great Lord’s imminent Return was clear and made several of the women smile in anticipation.

 

“You each have your orders.” Erandel added in a stronger voice, looking at each of the women in turn. “You each are important to the Great Lord’s plans.

 

This was a slight exaggeration but it helped to have all of them believing they were important.

 

“We are increasing our numbers monthly”. The Chosen said truthfully. Their methods had been effective. Most would choose Life in the Shadow before Death. “It pleases the Great Lord to see so many choose to follow the.. Right path.”

 

“Do you rejoice, ladies?”

 

Several whispered eagerly and there was joy in their eyes. Speaking for them all, the elderly Green replied: “Of course, Great Mistress! There is joy in our hearts!”

 

Erandel nodded, believing it was so for most of these women. She was uncertain about one of them though, but that could wait until later.

 

●

 

Channeling briefly, a yellow flame appeared in the palm of the Chosen’s left hand. It grew steadily until it almost stood taller than her.

 

“We are the Flame.” Erandel intoned. “We are the Darkness. We are the Power.”

 

They stared impressed as the flame turned green and then blue and then red and finally appearing with all the colours blended in a net of flames spread above their heads, tiny threads of Saidar woven faster and way more intricately together than they had ever seen.

 

“We bask”, Erandel said in a rapturous voice, “in the Great Lord’s glory!”

 

When the net of flames finally disappeared, glimmers remaining in the air for a few moments before dissipating, she heard several of the Sisters letting go of their breath.

 

Smiling to herself, knowing the importance of showing power and proving her superiority to these channeling women who called themselves Aes Sedai, though hardly worthy of that title in her view, Erandel raised a hand. The women went immediately to one knee again.

 

“You live to obey!” she said, her voice now hard as a whip. “Any betrayal will be met by death!”

 

She saw them all nod and promise they would obey. Erandel nodded to herself. If anyone betrayed them, she would kill that woman herself.

 

A small smile came upon her blood-red painted lips as she bade them all rise to their feet.

 

She whispered the words but they all heard.

 

“The White Tower.. is Ours.”

 

●

 

Dalimar

 

whispered into the King’s ear.

 

“They lie.” He said smoothly. “They do not want peace. They pretend they do, but they don’t.”

 

The King turned halfway toward his Advisor and whispered. “How can you tell?”

 

Dalimar remained patient. A truce or even worse, peace between these two nations would not benefit the Shadow. It was necessary to keep the conflict going. The chaos.

 

He had taken on the guise of the Royal Advisor, an astute middle aged man, several months hence and the King most often had listened to his advice. Recently though the King had been less reluctant to heed that advice. It was something Dalimar, or rather Seighan the Advisor, would have to deal with.

 

“The tone of his voice.” Dalimar lied. “I have met his kind before. They say one thing but mean another. Also”, he added smoothly, “he too readily accepts this truce.”

 

The King, an elderly though stately man in his early sixties, nodded, touching his long grey beard pensively, though he still seemed unconvinced.

 

The Chosen was not fond of using Compulsion, unlike some of his other brethren, in part because he found it a kind of mental manipulation that only sometimes worked, in part because Compulsion was not one of his strengths. Even so, it was clear to him that he would now need to use some on this Monarch.

 

Subtly, using Spirit, he entwined some threads of Saidin around the old King’s mind and continued to argue the case. After a while they had a break in the discussions and the negotiators from the other nation left the throne room leaving Dalimar and the King alone.

 

“Perhaps you have a point”, the King said finally, shrugging. “They still sound sincere to me”, he added carefully, not wanting to antagonize his very accomplished Advisor, “but you probably know better.”

 

Dalimar smiled to himself as the weaves of Compulsion started to work on the old King.

 

●

 

When the old man stumbled a little latter, as he was making his way to his bed chamber, and hit his head on a marble statue in one of the corridors, drops of red blood were seen on his forehead before one of the servants removed them with a handkerchief.

 

Dalimar supported the King as he walked half by himself to his bed chamber and made sure the Monarch was not badly injured and in a good shape.

 

Before his Advisor left, the King took him by the shoulder and whispered in his ear, his voice earnest, “I am fortunate to have such loyal good-hearted men like you advising me.”

 

●

 

"Elessar!" she hissed, knowing he was also now wide awake.

 

"Did you see that?"

 

Her Warder crashed out of his half-sleep, feeling through the bond the shock Calia had just experienced, and rushed to his feet sword in hand, looking for the threat. His eyes flew in every direction but then settled on his bondholder.

 

He could see her eyes were still wide from whatever had stunned her, she still felt overwhelmed by what had happened to her if the feelings coming through the bond were anything to go by. He had half-sensed some glimmer of light piercing the darkness for a second.. but had no idea what it could be.

 

“Are you alright?” he asked, and Calia nodded back, though he saw she was still dealing with whatever had happened. He nodded with some relief but kept looking around them for any potential threats. He saw none and his dark eyes fastened on his Aes Sedai again.

 

“I saw.. something.” He replied softly, his dark eyes narrowing. “Some kind of light glimmering for a moment.. but my attention was mostly on our surroundings in case there was any threat.”

 

His eyes narrowed further. “We have experienced many strange.. things.. on our journey”, he added squarely, “and this is another one.” Nodding to himself he took another long look around in the dark. “Perhaps you can guess better than I can.”

 

A small smile came upon his lips though he remained stone-faced in the way of many Warders.

 

The world is changing, he thought to himself as the silence deepened. We are walking new paths, facing new wonders.. and horrors.

 

●

 

They passed the Damona Mountains, riding slowly and carefully through a couple of passes, and continued southwards towards Ebou Dar.

 

Several days later, in late afternoon and under a blue sky with glimmers of sunshine, they reached the stone-walled town of Maderin. A prosperous town, it was surrounded by farms and olive groves and the streets were wide and stone-paved. The three and four story brick houses had tile roofs and seemed well built and the local commerce, they quickly learned, was based on olive oil, lacquerware and lace.

 

Finding an inn was easy since there were several in this town, both west and east within the stone walls, and they chose the “Old Grove” which lay in the eastern part. The inn was of decent size and seemed decently clean and well-cared for. The innkeeper, a fat broad-shouldered man wearing a white apron with a few smudges who had a chubby face, a prominent moustache and a huge smile, welcomed the merchant pair to Maderin.

 

Rooms for them were found quickly, Elessar’s smaller room adjacent to Calia’s, and they got settled in. Their horses were taken care of by stable hands (who received clear instructions from Elessar) and Calia relished the thought of a warm bath after several days’ heavy riding on dusty roads.

 

Elessar would not mind a hot bath either if he were honest, and for a moment, being in a somewhat cheeky, playful mood, he considered surprising Calia and joining his bondholder in her bath in the way of many Green Sedais and Warders.. but upon second thought he found it.. safest to wait for his own bath.

 

They were both pleased to be much closer to Ebou Dar, their present destination, although some travelling still remained before they reached the Altaran Capital further south.

 

●

 

That night Elessar tossed and turned in his bed, dreaming of rivers of blood.. and woke abruptly from his half-sleep, his dark eyes wide, his heart pounding.

 

He was not surprised to learn that he had bitten his lip and red blood was dripping onto his pillow.

 

●

 

EPILOGUE:

 

Day turned into Night

 

as the loyal citizens of Maradon, Capital of Saldaea

 

gazed fearfully into the Borderland sky that mid-afternoon,

 

as a Shadow passed over the Light of the Sun,

 

wondering if the prophesized Darkness was finally upon them.

 

    ▀▄