Boggle away, serendipitous clay (Attn: Vera Sedai)

[Lih-Lyh]

William al’Haddon was an utter delight. The first of his Hundred Tales of Sadness was incredible, for it flowed wondrously, and made for the best all-nighters. Then she found Kate, the main and rather thickheaded Novice in Hundred Tales, more developed as a character, and growth was kind, for it showed the inevitability of change, and the potential for further change in the sequel when she was raised Accepted. Of course, al’Haddon’s Tales was purely whimsical – to suggest that a man would harbour even the faintest notion of the mechanics of the White Tower would be ludicrous. Why, he had gotten everything from Novice doors in the library to where the entrance to the Groves wrong, yet his words though erroneous (misinformed?) tapped into a solitude she neither realized nor understood how behind the façade of grandeur she was in a similar strait to this Katherine lass. “Shaping? A person changes as according to her situation, despite her natural resolve” she pronounced, hearing the words in her mind she longed to devise penned better than she could, reading on “and sometimes one unwarily strays wayward to her plan. Life is complicated, with many problems, but if you keep adjusting to the immediate needs by appeasing others with choices that seem easiest, little by little, it will not be long before you address only immediate concerns, deviating from your goals, fitting to the current standards of others.’ The little pucker on Kate’s brow deepened as she finally asked, ‘But Aes Sedai, how must the people restore their faith in the Tower? Is what you do right?’ ‘I do not know what I do is right, but it is my choice.’ Narya Sedai gave Kate a rare smile before the moment of clarity came, and as hard of understanding as she always was, Kate blinked uncomprehending. Light, why does the Aes Sedai always teach in such cryptic manner? Even in blunt terms, they are difficult to grasp.” Though usually she preferred to read the play before watching the puppeteer show, this was one story she watched that made her read the book, and she treasured them both equally, if such fair adoration existed. Figures glided gracefully, conveying their purported expressions in each precious motion: a brilliantly crafted look, the meaningful leap into the dance, and the elegant musical accompaniment made such an execution perfect. They surrendered to their art, and attained a ... product, for lack of a superior word.

 

She fumbled. Losing that control frightened her. Without my inhibitions, would I really be me? When would she devote herself to a cause she placed all her faith in?

 

The light by the candle lent shade to the parchment that lay on stretch of the dark lacquered mahogany separating her from the other. Oh dear. This project could take ages. Once more she regretted having procrastinated on the coursework. The guilt was cutting her in tiny slabs with each word that Mina smothered with her thick accent. Barely concentrating, she permitted the sentences to languish in their emptiness, formed yet unattached, devoid of any meaning.

 

As Mina busied herself talking at her (a proclivity to piss on about things nobody cared about, making for a one-sided conversation), she picked out another selection from Tales by Master al’Haddon to read, “He was regretting all the whiskey that sluiced down as his hands did the dance, trembling more than they ever had.” Drunk she remembered having been a few times, rather miserably so. How like a piteous mewling creature she appeared the following morning, with her body pounded by what poisons, those which in moderation relaxing, which in excess nauseating, she poured maliciously into her system. Once her mentor told her when she was in a tough patch to try to do things and learn through her body, get out of her comfort zone, and learn through experience, instead of worrying over how to take everything with a grain of salt, or choose what to believe in.

 

Jumping as the source of her exasperation reached across the trenches of their papers and flicked shut her well-thumbed obsession, hidden inside the text she pretended to be reading, Saline put aside her dog-eared novel, and watched the Illianer settle back into the cushion, heaving a great sigh. Sigh indeed, braced with the sleeplessness of the night before, but how worth it, the Accepted turned her mind to the duty she was neglecting at hand, slightly abashed, more than aggravated, assaying to cover a yawn as she imagined sticking pins into a Mina Daryl cushion. Sharp stabbing pins would be required to inoculate new ideas, for the White Aspirant insisted on being as stubborn as a mule. Nay, mules could be whipped; oh Mina had been sent to the Mistress of Novices before, and returned from the office with as tender a bottom as any other, but refused to budge even so, despite frequent disciplining. Usually Saline would have appreciated such a challenge for a study partner, but a cup of watery tea rendered the Taraboner a tetchy companion. The transformation was gradual, but dramatic nevertheless. Her generous lips a withering rosebud, playful beads exchanged for a cropped cap, its fringes framing a face full of strangeness to Saline, but it was hers. Today her face wore a terrible slackness, though a flush of forbidden pleasure touched it as her thoughts concerned the inevitable mortality of those who led chaste sinless lives, only death would be a release, a relief. Pins proved too much for her fancy, and she had to dip a smile of guilty if vicarious amusement into the tea cup.

 

“…thinking there do be a way for discerning the truth. If only there do be stipulations for everybody to takes the Three Oaths on birth.”

 

If only what? Honeyed curls, primped to perfection, as her darling Syara would have added, swayed vehemently, and the incessant coughing began, her poor brew indecisive over whether to spew out or stay where it was, choking her. Still spluttering at the Illianer, eyes widening in absolute horror over the handkerchief, Saline focused her undivided attention on the woman’s incredulous statement. Mina pounded her back just as forcefully, despite her desperate fending the Taraboner giggled helplessly being quite ticklish about the shoulders and the neck. Think with your body indeed! She snorted, abandoning the struggle to rein her nastiness in. Pushing Mina’s hard fists away and brushing automatically at her rumpled dress, Saline turned to give the idiot woman the what-for. Then the aforementioned idiot woman turned those clear gray blinkers upon her and she softened, her anger stemmed from the cacophony assuaged.

 

Figures, she was always a sucker for a cute face. But soft, this was Mina she was associating with liking, Mina physically she of the unibrow and when you get to know her of an inflexible one tracked mind, but she could not deny in respect to attractiveness that Mina Daryl was comely in that pleasantly plump mold that most men seemed to prefer, all curves and soft padding, and that cornflower blue gave her face enough leverage to make it a pretty one, with dimples to top it off.

 

“Your reality can be changed by your experiences, and what the individual perceives to be true. We believe in different realities, and influence others with our interactions.” She pointed out, troubled by the proposal. “Even so how can you enforce such a law?”

 

Saline deliberated whether to remain silent, or say something else. Why do I bother, she wondered as she opened her mouth, then closed it again as Mina continued her argument, “I do be thinking that you do be wrong Miss Saline.”

 

“Do you really?” Sarcasm was the lowest wit, Saline admonished herself. Why am I so bitchy? It was early to be that time of the month…

[ashara]

Soft words for soft faces, so turned the phrase. True advocate though she was of such sprucely expressions and many others just so, there was little that had delighted Vera’s day with proof for how these axioms first came to be. It began with her being awakened by a loud crash, for Miss Luna was as dexterous as they came, but she was no Mierie and the sudden appearance of a shrieking ‘banshee’ as she had put it blanched and shaking, had brought a lovely cup of Altaran porcelain tumbling down and with it, the milky tea and hardened sugar crystals that Vera so liked. Vexed though she was, the Gray Sister could not help the concern that came blossoming through. Question upon question asked to a flushing Luna brought her the realization that it had in fact been a Novice. Her mentee Moa had come seeking her, sobbing due to ghastly dreams and more despondent tidings. She would have to meet with her soon, midday perhaps. Midday brought no such luck, for Moa was not present in the dining halls or in her room and roaming the Tower was hardly something she had time for anymore.

 

And so she put her concerns for her Novice charge away to the backburner, moving inwards to the Library for much needed respite and counsel from the Brown Sisters and their books and lore, and a few friends and the gardens alone could’ve cheered Vera Cadsanome the Gray better. Deeper she went into dust and tattered manuscripts, preserved only by Saidar’s intricate flows. Quietude came like a soothing balm, relaxing her brows and easing her straight back. Gradual persuasion of none but herself allowed Vera to lean slightly deeper into the chair, and page upon page was leafed through, for though she could never be a fast reader, long years had made her a decent one. She had sought sanctuary here with the excuse that there was much work she needed to do on the Aeil, only to find herself drawn to another world with extraordinarily different contents. Voices were never loud in the Library of the Browns, and yet these two came to her without straining her ears. Or was it one? For a strong Illianer accent seemed to trail on and on, like a winding road that never came to its end. Light, she’s a boring one, came the unbidden thought. An Aspirant. Of….?

 

Now Vera was never one for gossip- and certainly not gossip of the Accepted, for there were few in the Tower who could twist things more abhorrently. This conversation, however, was one of with some level of acumen attached to it. “Perhaps it do be good that Aes Sedai are bonded true by the Three Oaths. Atleast there do be some people in this world who truly do be speaking…truly.” What in the name of Light? Improper though it was, Vera found herself tilting her head, straining her already woe be gone neck only to look upon two women in the banded dress, resting against plump cushions. One, with ringlets of honey head bent and peering at some text, ensuring that she couldn’t see her face and the other, the speaker, the Illianer, with her earnest expression as she looked upon the other, gave Vera the urge to laugh. She reminded her of a stern judge, ready to give verdict. Dipping straight back to her original posture, she left her book open but paid little attention to the scriptures that clung so dearly to it. The dialogue resumed once more after a short pause, a little softer this time.

 

“…And truly, I do be thinking there do be a way for discerning the truth. If only there do be stipulations for everybody to takes the Three Oaths on birth.” Vera waited for a reply to come, a biting remark or tinkling laughter or even a guffaw. Instead, she found herself listening to what could only be…a splutter. And indeed when she gathered her skirts and stepped quickly into the vision of the two, the honey coloured curls were no longer embracing any book, but were now shaking wildly against a pale face that seemed more than startled. There was something vaguely familiar about her…a sweet face, certainly, but there were many of those in the Tower. A past chore? Baffled when suddenly a picture of her mentee Syara arose in her mind, Vera found all reassurance to be had come to late, for thoughts spoken aloud left the Taraboner’s lips swift and anxious. Moving back just under the shadow’s ever protective black, Vera listened and enjoyed for a few moments longer before she moved forward again. As if on cue on stage beside a gleeman’s harp, the Illianer’s eyes suddenly cast themselves at Vera and pronounced her Aes Sedai, calling for her aid.

 

“Here be an Aes Sedai. I do be thinking she do be more knowledgeable than us.”

 

Oh Lord, the girl was going to make her laugh. What a way to ‘enter and impress’ Vera thought ruefully, as she smiled at the two Accepted. And the other one- Saline? She knew her name! Surely this was not the same shy little Novice who had aided Vera in the making of Ellinielle’s garden? The bright red spots that had appeared on the Accepted’s cheeks however, seemed to signify that it was just so. “Good morning Accepted. I see…heard a most interesting conversation coming from this end. Perhaps you would care to share your thoughts with me?” She’d better not laugh, she told herself fiercely.

[Lih-Lyh]

Oh no...

 

She lifted the Hundred Tales over her face, as if to ask al'Haddon what Kate would have done to get out of this one.

 

Saline knew her of course; Vera Sedai was Syara's beloved Mentor. There had been a garden Syara, Rossa and herself helped construct for Ellinielle, another Mentee.

 

"Good morning Vera Sedai," Mina, having attracted an audience, recognised the Grey as she came near.

 

"I do be telling Saline," Wince. Lowering the novel by increments, she could only laugh weakly as the Illianer called attention to her. Vera Sedai only smiled before turning back to Mina.

 

What would Syara do?

 

"... And Saline do be disagreeing with my logic."

 

The Light turned from me! She wanted to cry. Instead she was caught in a world where the only option was compliance. She could not offend the Aes Sedai Syara loves, or any Aes Sedai come to think on it; the Accepted interjected, "Feel free to question me, Vera Sedai."

 

Well that took guts.