Fanfic:A Midnight Excursion
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Elia lay in bed, watching shadows dance across the ceiling from the candlelight. On the other side of the room, Sinead sat on the floor working on her studies, the soft scratching of quill on paper the only sound that broke the silence. Not that the silence was uncomfortable, but the waiting was starting to irk Elia. It was well past the fourth bell after Low, and by all accounts, both novices should have been asleep. Sinead was in her shift ready for bed, but Elia was still clothed in her white dress, crumpled and dirtied from time in the kitchens. Not that she truly cared what state she was in. She wasn’t the one trying to seduce the person she was waiting on.
Before that thought developed further, there was a gentle knock at the door. Elia was on her feet before the door cracked open. It just enough so that she could see a dark uniform and a golden pin glittering from the hallway lanterns. Sinead hadn’t moved, but she watched the gap in the doorway with interest. Elia picked her way through her friend’s notes, gave her an appreciative smile, then slipped out the doorway.
Smoothing her dress, she looked up into blue-grey eyes. They warmed considerably upon seeing her, although the Gaidin’s face was still hard, like sculpted stone. “El.” His tone was quiet, respectful for the hour.
“Ravak.” By all rights, neither of them should have been here. Everyone in the Novices’ Quarters should be in bed. Even as one of the titled members of the Warder Yard, the Master of Training had no authority here. He wasn’t likely to get in trouble - the thought of Mirin Sedai paddling Ravak’s bottom made her smile - but brother and sister walked calmly through the halls as if it were the middle of a freeday.
The air outside was chilly, but no worse than an autumn’s evening in Shienar. Ravak seemed completely unaffected, but Elia hugged her shoulders for a little additional warmth. It had been quite hot earlier in the day, so the dress she wore wasn’t the warmest. After skirting around the perimeter of the Tower, passing guards and servants and an Asha’man scribbling notes in a small notebook, they arrived at the Warder Hall. It was considerably warmer inside, the fire still roaring along the huge mantle. Following a familiar path, they walked up the stairs. A short walk took them to a closed door, which Ravak slipped a key into and unlocked.
The Master of Training’s office was all hard angles and wood, in designs common to Shienar. The fireplace here was unlit, but Ravak lit a few candles to suffuse the room with light. After that, he settled in the tall, leather-backed chair behind a desk of solid oak. Elia pushed the door closed with a click, then moved to take the chair on the near side of the desk, opposite her brother.
His attention has already vanished into a book. It was a small volume, likely a treatise on something military. As he read, he played idly with a dagger in his other hand. She sniffed at that, not that Ravak took any notice. He had fulfilled his first duty for this evening, and his second wouldn't come for a little while yet.
With all concerns about Ravak dealt with, Elia leant forward and picked up two objects on the desk. One was a small stone inkwell. It was incredibly sleek to the touch, the craftsmanship equivalent to Ogier’s stonemasons, or so she imagined. The inside held some dried remnants of ink. Using a thumbnail, she prized the black deposits and shook them out over the desk. The briefest glance proved that Ravak was not as absorbed in his book as he made out, but he made no other motion.
Rotating and examining the inkwell, she could feel a little of the real work that had gone into it. Guiltily glancing around the room - as if anyone could be concealed by furniture set flush against the walls - she embraced saidar. The One Power slowly filled her with a long yearned for warmth. The normal world felt drab and pale in comparison to the things she experienced whilst touching saidar. She was a golden rose, basking the light of the True Source. Everything about the inkwell came into sharp focus. There were no imperfections to be felt as she moved a thumb across its surface. Wrought by the One Power. She knew this already from what Ravak had told her, but words were hollow against what she experienced now. Below what seemed like a solid stone surface was a layer of shimmering colour, only visible in the right light. The candle flames were unsteady, but now and then there was a glimmer of purple or blue, then yellow and red. An entire rainbow, caught within the shaped stone.
With no small amount of reluctance, she placed the inkwell back on the desk, then started to examine the other object of interest. It was a quill, the nib looking recently sharpened. By all accounts - Rav’s account - that nib never dulled no matter how much he used it. She softly pressed a finger again it, infinitesimal adjustments of pressure judging the wear and tear it had experienced. She detected none. It is undamaged by use and time.
Rotating it slowly in the candlelight, it glittered brightly. Like the inkwell, there was a layer of iridescent light, but it was magnified a hundred-fold, a thousand-fold. Even without the One Power enhancing her senses, she would have easily spotted the multicoloured hue that no bird’s plumage ever had. That the feather seemed as firm as stone also allayed any suspicions she had that it was not what Ravak had claimed.
A ter’angreal. Not a relic from the Age of Legends, nor even something lost since the Trolloc Wars. No, these two objects had been made a year ago, in the Tower Library by a Dedicated. She couldn’t recall the name of the Dedicated, but frankly she didn’t care. It was the product of his work that she was fascinated in. The thinnest slivers of saidar probed at the quill, seeking out some clues to its manufacture. At the time, Elia wove threads of the Power around the inkwell.
It was hard to put into words, but she felt a spark of resonance as she touched the two objects with threads of Spirit. It felt like the quill and inkwell were drawn towards one another, two halves of the same piece. Gingerly she moved them apart, but the resonance remained unchanged. She released the flows of Spirit, but held onto saidar, delighting in its gentle bliss. Making a sound in her throat, blue-grey eyes moved to look at her.
“Are you finished?” Ravak was already marking a passage in his book with a throwing dagger. Elia rolled her eyes at that, but she shook her head in answer to the question.
“No, not quite. I had a question.” He nodded before she continued. “Have you ever used either without the other? Don’t tell me what happened, just...”
Ravak watched her silently for a moment. His stare was hard and penetrating, even unnerving. That this was the little boy she had taught to read, or had instructed on the art of wooing girls, did nothing to alleviate the knot of worry that started coalescing in her stomach. Peace Ravak, stop glaring at me like that. After what seemed like minutes, but was possibly only a few seconds, he glanced down at the ter’angreal consideringly. She let go of the breath she was holding with the sound of too much relief, and then those blue-grey eyes were on her once more. “Please Ravak.”
That was all it took, and his face softened, his eyes taking on a concerned quality. “I’m sorry, El.” This was a lot more like the brother she had grown up with. He reached out with his injured hand, picking up the quill in a light grasp. “Yes, I’ve used the quill by itself. You don’t want me to say what happened?” He nodded with understanding. “But I haven’t used the inkwell without this.” He twirled the quill’s nib between thumb and forefinger in a flashy display of colour, fleeting beams of iridescent light catching in the candlelight. There was awe in his expression, subtle maybe but clear to her.
“One doesn’t work without the other, does it?” Elia phrased it as a rhetorical question, but Ravak bobbed his head in agreement. “I imagine apart, they work like just any inkwell or quill.” Again, a nod.
She stretched her hand out flat on the desk, palm up. With only a moment’s hesitation, the quill was laid gently in it. Flows of Spirit, Air and Water moved out from her, inspecting the quill’s dimensions, its weight, the delicate yet firm nature. Nothing like a feather, for all of its aesthetics, but certainly a functional quill. But she sensed more, that resonance between the pen and inkwell. It wasn’t a reciprocal force. The quill seemed to pull on the inkwell. With her other hand and flows of Air, she explored the space between the two objects. Power-enhanced senses couldn’t feel anything in the distance between the two, but the flows of Air were softly disturbed.
“I think...” she started, her slippered feet rubbing against the Taraboner rug excitedly, “The quill draws ink from the well.” Ravak’s approving nod was thoroughly irritating - you’re not my teacher little brother - and he yelped in surprise more than pain as a palm of Air struck against his face. Suddenly there was a dangerous light in his eyes, and she firmed the air in front of her instinctively.
He growled - actually growled! - as he rose, fists planted on the desk. Fear ran through her veins like wildfire before any rational thought occurred, and the soothing light of saidar vanished behind her block. “You shouldn’t be channelling without supervision.”
Those weren’t the words she had anticipated, but they got through to her as clearly as any warning. That the True Source was already distant and unobtainable did nothing to lessen her obedient response. “Yes, Ravak Gaidin.”
There was a pause, a singular beat of unbroken silence before the two Darrows burst into laughter. Elia’s giggling was high and musical, whereas Ravak was a rumbling bellow. Both shook from their respective mirth, Ravak collapsing back into his chair as he gripped onto his stomach. Between gleeful sounds, the Master of Training got through a few words. “Light, I’ve never heard you so serious.”
She waited until she was calm enough to draw in regular breaths before she responded, her voice a mimicry of her brother. “You shouldn’t be channeling without supervision.” That brought more laughter, although quieter in respect for the hour.
Wiping a tear from her eye, Elia pushed the ter’angreal back into place. “Thank you brother. I am done here.” She rose, smoothing her skirt carefully as Ravak rose once more from his chair. His face had returned to stone, but at least his eyes weren’t similarly hard, as he moved towards the door.
They walked back towards the Novices’ Quarters in silence, the song of nightbirds and the crunching of pebbles underfoot the only disturbance of sound. Once again, they passed the Asha’man, still scribbling notes in his little pad. Siblings shared a glance of novel amusement over that.
“Ravak. I appreciate what you’ve done for me. I know you didn’t come here to be my personal escort, or to help me...” She had been about to say ”flaunt the rules”, but even to herself she didn’t like to admit it.
A solid grasp clasped her shoulder. “I serve the Grey Tower, and through that duty, I may serve you occasionally.” He didn’t speak with any particular emotion, which made Elia curious, but she accepted his words at face value. “I care for you, Elia. But please don’t make a habit of looking for favours. I don’t have any authority over novices, and I don’t relish an impromptu meeting with Mirin Sedai any more than you do, I imagine.”
They moved through the corridors of the Novices’ Quarters, the palatable stillness and the mention of the Mistress of Novices making a notable impression on her mood. At her doorway, she paused with a hand on the doorknob. Turning to look up at her brother, she mouthed “Thank you.” He nodded with a slight smile on his face. Pressing his fist into his breast, he mouthed back “Take care.” Elia watched Ravak stalked away, the shimmering fancloak making anything but the mop of reddish hair hard to focus upon. He made no sound as he vanished out of sight. With only one further pause to consider what may happen if Mirin Sedai found out about their evening excursion, Elia turned the handle and stepped into her room.
