The Dark Cloak of Night [Attn: Carise]

[Isra]

“I can see lights in the distance,

Trembling in the dark cloak of night…”

Loreena McKennitt

 

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Something woke her. It was not, as it had been many times during the past fortnight, a nightmare clawing relentlessly to her sleeping self. Perhaps the herbs given to her by Alivan of the Yellow and steeped in her tea had driven them away. Perhaps.

 

Grateful that her heart was calm and her nightrail was not twisted and damp with sweat, Isra swung pale legs over the edge of her bed and stood. Darkness was closing in, cool and silent. And where normally she would have remained awake, staving off sleep with study and contemplation, this evening she’d succumbed.

 

Her ribs ached. Gavrin has earned himself a bruise in the practice yards, she thought silently, knowing how he’d often put off visiting the infirmary until she complained of an echoing hurt. And then…”No,” she spoke aloud, disbelievingly. “No. Gavrin is long ago dead.” She was upset with herself then, for her inability to remember. The circumstances of his death had been traumatic, and the journey afterwards had kept her distracted. But now that she was returned to the quiet scheming of the Tower, his death had settled all the more forcefully in her mind. She was finding acceptance of it very difficult.

 

Moving to the window, she threw open the latticework shutters and let the cool wind kiss her face and arms. She had never liked nature before, found it too wild and illogical. And while she still preferred the halls and rooms of the Tower to the wild gardens, she now had a grudging respect for the elements. She and Gavrin had spent a good many days on open roads in wide green countries on their way to Kandor, and she and Taya had spent as many more on their return journey.

 

In the nightshadows the white stone of the city glowed. The delicate bridges looked like woven glass and the rising spires like arms of stars. Giving in to a sudden temptation, she dressed quickly in her raven-black silk riding dress, the one sewn with tiny pinprick chrysoprases. With determined strides she made the way from her rooms to the stables, ordering the saddling of her dappled steed. Aris nickered softly in greeting and she smoothed his gray neck before mounting. Reins in hand, she urged him from the gold-lit stables into the evening-fallen city.

 

It was still quiet, the hush of the markets and squares not yet replaced by the raucous laughter and music from the taverns. Isra let Aris go where he would, enjoying the cool evening air. One of the bridges loomed, the stone like moonglow. And on it, two Aes Sedai, with a litter between them. Isra recognized Halvie and Serena both from her former time in the Tower. A Green and a Blue, not unusual in itself, but considering the time of night and the pale occupant of the bed strung between them, it was very interesting.

 

And Isra had always been observant when it came to the interesting. She slowed Aris, moving him into the shadows of a building near the arching bridge, watching the pair make their slow way towards the Tower. No Warders accompanied them. She had not yet encountered either of them, not since her return, and did not know their status among their Ajahs or among the Hall. Halvie, if she recalled, had once been friend or at least ally of Sirayn. Perhaps this was the work of the Amyrlin?

 

She followed them with her eyes until they had been swallowed in darkness, and returned her gaze to the bridge in contemplation. And found a sight that added a second degree of interest to the entire incident: Carise, a sister of the Red, was picking her way along the bridge on her horse. It was far too coincidental to be an accident, and despite the caution she had taken in not being seen in the company of Serena and Halvie, Isra nonetheless suspected a connection. It was only logical.

 

“Well,” she murmured quietly, and Aris flicked an ear her direction. Giving the trio enough time to return to the Tower and relinquish their horses to the stablehands, she followed. Turning over Aris to the care of the stableboys, she entered the Tower and sought her rooms once more. Much as she would have liked to send a missive immediately, it was too late into the night. The arrival of a sister of any Ajah at her quarters would provoke suspicion at this hour, a Red even moreso. She could imagine Josefina finding an excuse to visit, were she to find out.

 

And while normally she would have chosen Halvie or Serena as the one most appropriate to have over for tea and politics, in this case she knew Carise was the youngest. She could only hope that that translated into most easily manipulated as well.

 

Settling into the chair before her desk, she began to write, glad for the distraction from the book of horror that was laid in the chest on her vanity.

 

The morning found her in the same place, with a note carefully prepared. A novice, her morning chores interrupted, was bidden to deliver it to Carise Sedai of the Red Ajah. It read simply I would speak with you, if you have time this morning. Isra of the White.

 

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[frosted_drop]

She was home.

 

Everything about Carise Doraile spoke unmistakably of the fact, from the air of spring on her hands and face, cooler here than in the south, to the sounds of the waking city below. Each city, to one with a city-dwelling background and keen observing eye such as hers, had its own distinct character. Ebou Dar, in her homeland, had its tang of salt spray and the bustling noises of its harbour, the splashing of oars in its canals and the clatter of feet on its wooden bridges. Land-locked Murandy had its particular mix of lilting accents and sounding echoes of wagon-wheels on its narrow cobblestone streets. Far Madding was particularly difficult to observe beyond its frightening void of saidar, but city as it was it had a peculiar small-town air, with vendors hawking their wares on every street.

 

Tar Valon, by contrast, was an island city with island city sounds. From her open window on a still day, Carise could hear distantly the rush of water and the sounds of the port. But there was no salt here on the wind, and the background of city sounds was punctuated occasionally by calls or the clash of lathes from the Tower grounds below.

 

She was home.

 

But apart from a brief rush of familiarity the night before, homecoming did not afford her the comfort she had expected. This day, the raucous squawking of birds on her window sill woke Carise from a night of dark dreams. Every part of her body ached from the journey; half the known world separated Altara from Tar Valon, and she felt as if she had ridden over every bump and hole that existed in between. She was by far not as adequate a rider as her erstwhile companions, who had towed a litter behind them and arrived regal and spruce after weeks of travel.

 

The thought of her companions brought a frown to her face, and she waved the birds away from her window with a violent gesture even as she stared unseeingly out into the city. Here in the White Tower she was surrounded by others like them; Aes Sedai of smooth faces and smoother words, wielding power and saidar with equal ease. Being in the Tower brought back old feelings of uncertainty and inadequacy. In Altara, where the Red had spent the past decades, others jumped to do her bidding once she had established her authority there in the early years. At least, most of the time.

 

But here in the bastion of Aes Sedai power, where every word and gesture might hold some inner meaning to those skilled in the workings of the Great Game, Carise’s own political naivete made her feel at times like a child walking among giants, not that she would admit her discomfiture in so many words. Much as she disliked negotiating the machinations of the Tower’s inhabitants, only here would she unearth much-needed knowledge, engage in exchanges with her counterparts and hone, hopefully, her political skills or lack thereof.

 

This strange mix of yearning and dislike played in her mind as she considered the cryptic note she had received earlier in the morning, shortly after First, from Isra of the White. Nothing in the short missive, delivered by a prim novice, spoke of the other’s intention, and look as she would for hints Carise could not discover any connection she could possibly have with the White in question. Early on after her raising she had studied the Power for a time with the help of White sisters; at that time Isra Alisandair had been Sitter for the White, but even then Carise had not had any contact with the woman. A conversation with her sister Rayne Leseduire as they broke their fast together revealed that Isra had given up her seat before embarking on a long journey to the Borderlands and only recently returned. Other than that no information was forthcoming – Aes Sedai from courtesy did not inquire after the business of their sisters unless the particular sister was of interest for some reason.

 

And so she came up against a wall.

 

She looked again at the creased missive lying innocently on her rosewood table, frowning at it as if she did not already know by heart what it said. Inevitably, curiosity overcame Carise’s aversion for politics. For politics it was; a White would not invite a young Red for tea for the pleasure of her company, particularly if the White was a former Sitter. Was it not an Ebou Dari saying that curiosity hooked the fish? But even as a girl Carise had not attended the old wives’ tales.

 

Late morning found her walking briskly down the White Ajah halls. The halls were as austere as the women living in them, the plain walls and coloured tiles underfoot somewhat soothing. It was some time before she found Isra’s room. Tapping firmly at the wooden door of the suite, she waited for its occupant to appear.

 

Carise Doraile

Red Ajah

[Isra]

OOC: Hopefully you can do something with this. If not, let me know =)

 

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The book lay sleeping, in the same place Isra had found it every other time she’d looked in on it. The weaves, carefully tested, were all of them still there, each more intricate than the last. Isra had never been particularly strong in any single element, but she was a delicate weaver. Between her threads and Taya’s it would take a singular amount of concentration to unravel the work they had done.

 

Shutting it back up in its place, the White returned a final time to the mirror, turning a vase so that its painted side faced the room. She’d worn black again, as she had every day since Gavrin’s death, the only color in the small unicorn pin at her breast. It glittered menacingly in the mirror. Taya had seemingly befriended or, at least, come to terms with the lion. But the unicorn was a cold thing, its sharp horn made for tearing.

 

Ribbons wrapped her waist and wrists, their ends fluttering when she moved. Her hair was loose, laying straight over her shoulders. It had been a long time since she’d felt anything but unkempt, as though her outward appearance reflected her inner one. But the Tower had a soothing effect on her. Her nerves would never be what they once had been, but she was calmer now. She could play the White again without worry of cracking.

 

A knock sounded on her door and Isra turned to answer, wondering if she would find the woman she sought behind it or a novice with an excuse. Turning the knob, she pulled the door inwards and peered into the hall, her honey-colored gaze settling on the quarry she’d hoped for. Carise Doraile, young sister of the Red Ajah.

 

Carise Doraile, who also possessed an enormous network of connections within Altara. The girl was a goldmine of information, if only Isra could extract it from her.

 

“Come in sister,” Isra said, motioning for the woman to enter and take a chair of her choosing. “Sit if you please. Tea?” Throwing the door back into place, the White retrieved the porcelain teapot from its place on the silver tray, pouring two cups. “Honey and sugar, or cream if you prefer,” she continued, indicating the items.

 

Isra meanwhile admired the woman’s patience, for many sisters would have asked the purpose of the invitation before even entering. Before even entering the hallways of another Ajah, even. Preferring to let the girl sit for a while, the White moved to the windows of her room, throwing open the shutters. The wind danced in.

 

“A pretty morning, is it not? There was some rain yesterday afternoon, enough to wash the world and cool the air.” All meaningless banter, designed to throw one off-balance. Isra turned and found a seat near Carise, offering the echo of a smile. Taking up her teacup, she stirred and sipped from it. “I was out riding in the coolness, yesterday evening. But then, so were you. Tell me, what do you think of a Red who has a Blue and Green sister for companions?”

 

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[frosted_drop]

Somehow, Isra’s room had the characteristics Carise expected of a White’s. She looked about the room with open curiosity, letting her gaze fall on the intricately-patterned vases, all facing the right way; the elegantly-arranged furnishings. She had always thought it more polite, if one had to look, to be upfront about it instead of sneaking glances through the corners of her eyes.

 

Isra did not seem to mind as she busied herself with the tea, features calm as a pond. But of course, there would be nothing of note carelessly left about. Carise accepted a cup with a little honey and cream, and sipped in the pleasant warmth as Isra opened the shutters. The White, curiously, was all in black. Black, Carise thought, was the antithesis of White. Perhaps it was the Whites’ colour of mourning; hadn’t Rayne said something about a lost Warder?

 

The flutter of sympathy that rose in her was stilled at Isra’s words. So the woman had been spying, for want of a better description. Carise let a small smile hover on her lips as she considered the consequences of that. No real loss; they had known all along that word of their venture would get out sooner or later. Carise had thrown her bets on later, but even with the word out she expected nothing more than untoward reactions within her own Ajah. Which made her wonder what the White gained by playing this card besides her discomfiture.

 

At this thought she realised that all Isra’s comments had been targeted to throw her off-balance. And despite the warnings of her logical mind, she was discomfited.

 

“I would think that Red had more sense than most,” she told Isra, trying to inject as much carelessness into her tone as the White had in hers. “I’ve always thought it such a waste that the Ajahs don’t pool their resources, especially in such troubled times. You have heard of recent happenings on your return?” She continued at Isra’s nod.

 

“The Red and Blue Ajahs are especially guilty; I sometimes wonder if the animosity between them comes from the fact that they are so alike. Both are formed of women who, among the Aes Sedai, are singularly devoted to their causes.” Distantly, she wondered why she was telling the White this. It had been precisely such views that led to the Ajah’s stranglehold on her in the early years after she gained the shawl.

 

“Of course, that’s hardly the Red Ajah’s official take on the matter.” Carise smiled, and sipped the tea again, keeping her gaze on Isra. She was too distracted to taste its sweetness.

 

Carise Doraile

Easily discomfited ;)

 

OOC: That was a lovely post. Tell me if this doesn’t work…

[Isra]

OOC: Hopefully this is all right. ><

 

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A pity the girl wasn’t a White. She had a logician’s brain, although her tongue was looser than Isra would have allowed had she been Carise’s Ajah Head. From her own perspective though, as one who wanted information, she appreciated it.

 

She’d once thought along similar lines as the Red sister. The pooling of resources, strength in unity, binding the Ajahs together before Tarmon Gaidon, which was certainly looming. But that had been in her naïve days, when she had thought the other Ajahs were trustworthy. Before the Greens had taken hold of the Amyrlin Seat and not let go, going even so far as to replace the Hall-approved Blue Keeper with one of their own Ajah. That had done much to destroy her respect for the warrior Ajah. And she was not involved enough in Tower politics yet to know if they had rebuilt what they had torn down, if the relations between the Yellows, Browns, Whites and Blues with the largest Ajah had been yet repaired.

 

But it was a pleasant thought, peace in the White Tower.

 

“You are unique then, among the Reds, as one who can see beyond the cause of your Ajah,” Isra murmured, and she meant it truly as a compliment. Whether Carise would take it that way or no was up to the girl herself. “And I must assume Halvie and Serena share a similar willingness to put aside the divisions of Ajah to do what must be done.”

 

She remembered Halvie only vaguely, but Serena came a bit more clearly. She seemed to recall amiable conversations with the Blue, many years past.

 

“I also assume what you were doing was on orders of the Amyrlin, for unless you were friends as novices – and that cannot be, as you are not all of the same age – there is no other reason such disparate individuals would come together to complete a task. I would find it even more laughable if the Ajah Heads of Blue, Green and Red set you to it.

 

“No. It must have been Mother.” She set her teacup down, pinning Carise with her hazel gaze. “Would you care to share with me the nature of the task? No ordinary thief would have required three sisters.

 

“You should not feel any obligation, of course. I will find out some other way if necessary. I’d just hoped to hear it from you.” Isra lifted slim shoulders in a shrug, her ghosting smile again present. “I am a collector of information, is all. You need not worry that I will spread your tale among my sisters.”

 

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[frosted_drop]

If Carise had not put her teacup back on the table, she might have dropped it out of incredulity. As it turned out, it was only a few moments later that she was aware of her wide eyes, and turned her gaze forcibly away from Isra on the pretext of stirring her tea.

 

Had the woman forgotten all vestiges of Aes Sedai custom after her long journey? Or did she think Carise was still a girl in whites? Carise liked to believe that the years after the shawl had bestowed on her a reservoir of patience in dealing with surprises, but even so there must come a time when patience wore out.

 

Leaning forward slightly on her elbows, she fixed her gaze again on Isra. The White sat with a slightly enigmatic smile on her pale face, looking for all the world as if she were enjoying a casual tea-time chat.

 

“So you observed our little jaunt and was curious about it,” Carise commented to her inquirer as calmly as she could. There was no need for evasion here; she had no doubt that Isra could not be taken in by such parlour tricks. “Still, a mere collector of information would not ask their subjects politely to drop in for tea just to tell them, as politely, that their business was being investigated.”

 

What could Isra’s motive be? The tidy room about them and Isra’s elegant personality were a brick wall behind which could be hidden a dozen devious plots and more dark secrets, none of which were visible from Carise’s vantage point. A very low vantage point indeed. She felt as if she were grappling blindly in the dark. Stilling a flutter of nerves, she pressed on.

 

“Perhaps I would be amenable to your request, but at this moment, clueless about you and your intent, I see no reason for meeting it.” A toss of her head marked her point. Perhaps things were different up north where you went, Carise thought petulantly, but here in the Tower not everyone bends to your will like the cowed Borderlanders.

 

Not that she could fulfill Isra’s curiosity completely, even had she wanted to. The events as she knew it had sparked off when, at an unexpected call from one of her agents, she had walked into the common room of an inn and come face to face with her former mentor and the slightly mad but brilliant Halvie of the Green. Exactly what had passed between the two she could not fathom, even after weeks in their presence, but she believed she had an inkling, and that inkling spelled out the word blackmail. What Serena had to hide she had no idea.

 

A fleeting thought came to mind – perhaps Isra could be her answer to this particular mystery. But even as it came Carise discarded it with distaste. Trying to use the White, she rather suspected, would be like handling red-hot coals; and subjecting Serena, once a friend, to Isra’s sly tricks would be unmerciful.

 

So Carise sat and waited for Isra to explain herself.

 

Carise Doraile

Red Ajah

[Isra]

OOC: I actually had this finished a while ago but then DM went down. >< Not my best effort, but at least I've finally given you a post:

 

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She noticed the wide eyes and the sudden diversion to stirring tea and smiled inwardly. Surprise was only one small method of manipulation, one of many, but sometimes the most effective. The accompanying reactions often told a fine tale.

 

Isra wondered briefly if Carise had taken the Daes Dae'mar class during her training. If she had, either the lessons had not sat well or the woman hadn’t yet encountered the need to truly learn the Great Game. Even that small reaction gave away much to one well-versed in politics. Bloody Josefina would have divined her darkest secrets from that small thing, Isra thought with some amusement, knowing the older White – and many others like her – could read people like the Browns read their books.

 

She was young yet though, and perhaps this was her first secret worth keeping, worth learning the Game for. The girl was smart, articulate, and calm even in her surprise. It would be no shock to Isra to find that she was a deadly player once she mastered Daes Dae’mar.

 

“Have you heard the tale of the maiden and the mouse?” Isra did not wait for an answer. “Some long time ago, in the time before the time before the Breaking, there lived a maiden who found a mouse at the mercy of a cat. Frightening the cat away, she was surprised when the mouse addressed her in human tongue and bid her to call on him whenever she had the need.

 

“It was not too long afterwards that the maiden was kidnapped by an evil man hoping to ransom her. He bound her with rope and stowed her in his cellar, wherefrom she cried and cried for help although none could hear her. Except – as I am sure you have guessed – the mouse. His tiny knives of teeth sawed through the ropes quickly, and the maiden was able to escape.

 

“I have no care whether I am the maiden or the mouse, but you will surely see the wisdom in helping one another. A White gets bored within the Tower, and if you will indulge me my one small whim of familiarizing myself with the goings-on of Tar Valon, I believe I may in return be of some assistance to you.”

 

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