Fanfic:Avram's Survival Test
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"Come with me."
Avram looked up from his book. His schedule had finally lightened enough from clean up that he could secret himself in the depths of the library with The Rise and Fall of Manetheren, but apparently a Gaidin needed him. He reached back through his memory, trying to find a name for the hard face with greying temples in front of him, but he drew a blank. Fancloak. Formal occasion. Andoran by accent. He would check his journal later. He didn't have everyone yet, but he was well on his way. It was strange that he was being summoned by a Gaidin he had never worked with much before.
"Yes Gaidin." Avram murmured quietly, respecting the library, and stood, closing the book and placing it neatly on the table. The Gaidin led the way at a brisk pace, not offering his name, and Avram trotted behind him, forcing the embarrassment of running like a child behind an elder brother from his face. Every time he thought he was used to the disadvantages of his height, it crept back up on him.
The Gaidin brought him out to the stables, meeting another three people there with their with five saddled horses. One of the Gaidin Avram did not know, almost as short as he was but with an impressive air of danger. Tarna Gaidin, an Altaran with a wicked temper and a bow to match almost anyone short of the Mistress of Arms herself (and apparently a remarkable singing voice once she had a few drinks. Any who spoke of it in her presence rarely did so twice.) And the Master of Training, Ravak Gaidin. Avram's brain sparked, the pieces connecting. The Test of Survival. Nobody ever spoke of it directly, and all Avram had managed to glean despite a good deal of effort was that it involved surviving something. But Master Darrow brought those to be disciplined to him in his office, he did not come to them, and he certainly did not have them brought to him in the stables. Avram swallowed hard. This was not how he wanted to spend his day.
The Shienaran's expression was as hard as granite, with two polished orbs of grey-blue ice staring out from the rock face. Ravak's tone was ceremonial. "Avram Nolaisen, Drin'far'ji of the Grey Tower. Today, you will be leaving the Tower's protection for the first time since you began your training. Over the next two days, you will be blindfolded, and your care will be in the hands of your escort. You will be fed, watered, defended and cared for like a child. You will be a child, for all intents and purposes. You will not remove that blindfold for any reason, even if your escort comes under attack. Do you understand me?"
Avram swallowed. He understood, but was a very far way from liking it. The thought of being blindfolded for an extended period of time terrified him, no matter how powerful his protectors. But this didn't really seem like the sort of thing he could back out from. At least, not if he wanted to continue here. And he did. That much he knew now. He took a deep breath and nodded. "I understand. Just get it over with." His nerves jangled in his head, screaming at him as the blindfold settled over his eyes. He quickly visualized a flame, allowing it to burn through his mind until it settled into the void. His singing nerves and sweating hands were far away. Hands helped him mount a horse, another cause of nervousness. He hadn't ridden since he was disowned by his family. Hopefully they would go slowly.
The trip was a blur of motion and unease. They were never attacked, but the only thing that kept Avram from tearing the blindfold from his face and letting the Light burn the consequences was the Void. He never left it for the entire trip, the fears twisting his stomach into knots far away, the constant unease and being surrounded by people, even people he knew he should trust, and being completely unaware of them, pressing hard on the Void, compressing it and hardening it. Time moved slowly but consistently around him as he ate when they gave him food and slept when they ordered, waking up several times each night to the pressing darkness. He barely kept himself from ripping it off to scan the area each time. Finally, they arrived. Or at least, when they dismounted this time he heard the thump of something hitting the ground and Ravak Gaidin began speaking.
His voice was loud, shouted from a short distance. "Avram, this is your survival test. You are in the Mountains of Mist, to the west of the Grey Tower. You shall remain behind in this area for four days, where your training and knowledge will be tested in order to survive. The only supplies you shall have are the clothes on your back, a waterskin, a utility knife, and a day's worth of pack rations."
"At the beginning of the fifth day, you may make your way back to the Grey Tower. One week from now, at the sunset of the tenth day, you shall arrive at the Warders' Hall. You shall walk this journey alone and unaided. Should you leave the wilderness before the end of the fourth day, you will fail. If you arrive at the Grey Tower either late or early, you will fail. If you seek help from anyone, you will fail. And failure has only one price; expulsion from the Grey Tower, never to return."
"Do you have any questions?"
Avram said nothing, not trusting himself to do anything but scream before he got the blindfold off.
"Then t his is the end of our journey, and the beginning of yours. You can remove the blindfold once you can no longer hear us depart." A moment later, horse hooves rung out as the assembly of Gaidin rode away, leaving Avram alone.
As soon as the hoofbeats were gone he ripped the blindfold off, the Void shattering as his heart pounded, looking around. Everything was quiet. His ears strained desperately for the sound of a conversation, or someone walking on booted feet, the chatter that was the background of his existence. He had never had to deal with such complete silence outside of perhaps the confines of his room. The gardens in the tower had birds and streams and noise at all hours. This wilderness, at least for the moment was completely silent.
He looked down at the sack on the ground. A waterskin, a knife, and a day's worth of rations. Probably two days, maybe even three if I start buckling down now. And where am I going to get food out here? I'm no hunter. He pulled out the rations they had given him and sighed. It was generous of them to call it a day's rations, but only by comparison to the lean times in the Foregate where rats were a supplementary course on the menu. But he could make it last for two days if he had to. That just left two in the woods and six travelling back. I should get as close to the edge of the woods as i can in those four days. No sense staying here.
He slung the bag with everything in it over his shoulder but paused before he started walking. Where is the edge of the woods? They said I was west but where is east? After the moment's hesitation he started off in the direction he was facing. He would find a source of water, and maybe some food for the night. The sun would rise in the east and he could follow it in the right general direction.
A stream ran through the gardens of the Tower. He had sat by it for long enough to recognize the sound anywhere. As he walked he listened. Most of the noises he heard were his own - twigs breaking underfoot, leaves rustling. Give him a crowded street and he could disappear. This place was alien. Unnerved he took the knife in hand. It wasn't exactly a good weapon, but it was reasonably sharp and certainly better than nothing. The weight in his hand comforted him somewhat, and he wrapped himself in the Void. The unseen eyes on him seemed to recede and allow him to focus more on listening properly.
After what felt like hours he heard the faint burbling of running water nearby. He broke into a run towards it, finally having a goal for now. He almost stumbled over the small creek, and did fall down a small hill. He landed hard, almost in the water, shivering. He did not want to be wet. It would be cold enough tonight. He took a drink and sat, thinking.
First, basic needs. Food. Water. Warmth. He had food for now, but would need to get more. Water he could probably go for at least a day on what was in the skin and could refill it at streams like this one. They couldn't be too rare. Warmth… He had his cloak. He had been cold before. There wasn't much to be done about it, really. He could hardly build a fire. That was not a part of his skill set. He had a vague idea that some kind of rock and a piece of metal, but that was about it.
In the morning, he would head east. If he was lucky at some point he would cross the tracks that had brought him here, but he probably couldn't recognize them if they were painted in bright pink. But the Tower itself was hard to hide, and they had said they had left him to the west of the tower. He would head east, out of the forest and decide from there. On the fourth day He reminded himself. It would not do to be cast out because he broke one of the rules he was carefully bending.
How best to get food though? He certainly couldn't sneak up on animals. And he did not relish a diet of whatever berries he could find. He looked down at the knife in his hands. If only I didn't need to get close…
"But I want to learn to throw it," Avram insisted. Eli laughed, the patches on his cloak fluttering as he shook.
"You don't throw those young'un," he said, looking down and tousling Avram's hair. "There are special knives for that. Look." He abruptly held a bizarre looking knife in his hand, with no handle and a small hole in the middle. "It's weighted so it can be thrown true." He flicked it down the empty hall, the tip burying itself in the far wall.
"If, on the other hand, we use this." he took the kitchen knife from the young boy in front of him, "it will spin in odd circles and I won't be able to hit a thing." He threw it, using the exact same motion but slowed down, and the knife tumbled end over end in bizarre patterns, bouncing off the wall.
"It just can't be done."
"But it must be," Avram said aloud. He was sure he could wait long enough to get some small game. And they would be much more filling than any berries he found. And even he knew enough not to trust mushrooms.
So he would have to learn this. He looked down, pensive, turning the knife over in his hands. A plain, black wrapped hilt stared up at him, with a small pommel and cross piece more meant to keep it secure in the sheath than to protect a hand, and a plain blade that tapered slowly to a point. He held it, balancing it to find the center of its weight.
Eli had taught him to know his weapons. His brother had taught him the basics, but Eli had shown him how to make them a part of him. The flourishes and hidden sheathes, how to draw them as quickly and easily as thought. But most importantly, that a known and familiar weapon would behave better, travel better, than a stranger. If he was going to throw this thing, he would need to know it as well as his own hands.
"Look, I don't want to lose a hand over this." The man was being hyperbolic, Avram was sure. Even a Damodred wouldn't cut off a hand for sharing some information about grain shipments. Shipments that a time schedule for would be very appreciated by merchants who could know when to start lowering prices and undercutting their competitors. It all worked together neatly, if he did say so himself. He very carefully did not smile.
"Johan, don't worry. No one saw you come in, no one can see us meeting here, and we both walk away from this with what we want." At least, they had better. This was a good deal more ambitious than he had been before, but he had his bases covered. There wouldn't be a problem. "Now, you mentioned there would be some shipments coming in?" He thanked the Light for the gleeman he had worked with when he was younger. The silver seemed to simply appear on the middle of the table. Johan looked at it and nodded. "All is as agreed then. But you did make one mistake." He leaned back and knocked on the wall. Guards in the uniform of house Damodred began entering through every escape route Avram had planned. "You failed to sufficiently check my background. We knew someone had been ferreting around lately, and now you answer our questions."
Avram woke after a night wrapped in his cloak and buried in fallen leaves. The cloak helped as he stood slowly and methodically took one of the portions he had cut from the rations he had been left with and ate it before putting the rest back away. Already he could feel the empty sensation in his stomach that a small piece of food did not fix. But he knew the sensation, even if he had not had to deal with it in a long time. He had become soft. He almost drew on the Void, but stopped. He couldn't live in there all the time. He didn't need it for a bit of hunger.
Looking to the rising sun, he began walking towards it, carefully twirling the dagger in his fingers. He thought he could visualize it flying soon, spinning through the air around a point a bit under the guard. It wasn't the worst balanced thing he had handled. It just wasn't balanced for throwing. He kept his ears open, listening for the noise of a stream. Besides his footsteps, it seemed to him as quiet as the grave. He fought to stay calm, turning frequently to look back over his trail and telling himself it wasn't to check for eyes staring at him.
He was being followed. Again. Was this one from the guards, or was it one of his rivals again? His information went far, but to get it he had his fingers at least on, if not in, so many pies it was difficult to keep up sometimes. The Snakes had thought it an affront that anyone else dared to trade in things that they thought were theirs. The Crows had thought it worse that any others would offer protection to merchants. Truth be told, that had been at least as much for his own amusement and to tweak the Crows as it was to gain an advantage. He told all under his protection that most of what he offered protection from was other crews. And of course, any number of others had been upset at his crew burgling hideouts. He didn't want to stray afoul of the law by robbing people who could report the crime, but others like him were fair game.
He looked over the display in the shop window again, using the semi-rare glass to catch a glimpse of the same man he had been seeing in the crowds behind him all day. He thought he recognized him. One of the Snakes. A smaller man, and not hiding the two fanged necklace that marked him. Avram was tired of being followed. Maybe he should do something about it.
He wandered through the shops to find one of his seconds getting a dagger sharpened. All anyone else would have seen was Avram stopping briefly to look at prices before leaving disgusted, but shortly afterwards the second and a few other former street rats had a loud argument in the street. The only avenue left was to squeeze by the side, near a dark alley. As the tail did, trying not to lose sight of his prey, a larger man quickly grabbed him and dragged him into the shadows. He would be returned a few days later, with several bruises and a few broken fingers, and a note in his pocket.
If Avram was to be watched, they had better put more effort into it.
The hilt bounced off the tree Avram had picked near his second campsite, by a trickle that Avram supposed should barely be called a brook. He had refilled the waterskin and found a few berry bushes through the day that helped push the rations a bit but his stomach was twisted in a knot that he refused to acknowledge from deep in the Void. He could see how the knife turned in the air, inscribing two wobbly circles as it flew, but he was a long way from being able to reliably hit something. Dents all over the tree indicated improvement, but he had yet to sink the blade in even once.
He hadn't thought about the Foregate in a long time, but there wasn't much to do moving through the woods but think. It had been a long time since he remembered the crew he had left. Well, left might be a strong word. Avram thought bitterly. He had left just ahead of his family's wrath. They were small, but bigger than his crew.
"Chief, there isn't much time," Yohannes told Avram as they grabbed the boxes of books and loose paper that were most of what they had. The runners had all been sent ahead with the money and warnings of the consequences that would befall them if they arrived with less than had been sent. Avram and his right hand man were gathering the real treasure that Avram had been working to amass for the past few months, since he had started seriously hunting the tidbits that could be sold to one house or another. Always through intermediaries, and no one knowing who was at the center of it all. It was safer that way.
The other information brokers had not taken terribly kindly to his entrance, and one of the larger ones had agents on their way now. Not their own, of course, but mercenaries were no less dangerous than another crew. More, likely. And as Avram stuffed the last few books into a box there was a loud crash in the front room.
"Go!" Yohannes yelled, dumping his armful on top of the box Avram carried. With a dagger in his hand, and not a terribly good one at that, the taller man went to the doorway to block it. Avram gritted his teeth and ducked out the back way, running to the backup hideout he had prepared. They had known this would happen, him and the first couple street kids he had gathered to make something of themselves, but he didn't want to lose half his info every couple of months.
Or the closest friends I make whispered in the back of his head as he ran.
He had failed that time. The dagger bounced off the next tree. He had been walking for about half the day when the woods started thinning. He had to stop as soon as he started seeing major breaks in the trees: it was only the third day. He backtracked to a trickle of water - he had gotten good at listening for them through the noise he still made - and sat, taking out the last piece of preserved food he had. I need to get this right. And soon. Berries had stretched the rations he had been given to this point, but his stomach was a mass of pain and he had been drifting into the past more and more frequently.
He chewed slowly, the dried meat tough and nearly tasteless on his tongue. Half the waterskin followed it, being immediately refilled as Avram took his usual stance looking at a tree.
It felt curious. He was floating in the Void constantly at this point, the only way to ignore the hunger pains clawing at him. But now he felt even more detached, looking out through another's eyes, feeling another's hand draw back in a familiar motion. No, just a touch more. The hand hesitated before adjusting, and smoothly letting fly. In almost slow motion the knife floated forward through the air, spinning in its erratic but now familiar path.
Avram sat at a table in a tavern. "Drinks are on me tonight! We've just finished getting the place set up and a deal has been struck!" A cheer rose as the man on the far side raised his fist. Ben did a good job as figurehead.
Looking around, Avram smiled. Eli stood on a stage in the center of the tavern, strumming at his harp and reciting a passage from The Great Hunt of the Horn, not noticing the boy he had tutored sitting a few tables away. Just another man in a crowd. Not a target, certainly not a crew boss. Just another member of the celebrating crew. His crew was happy and fed. He had made a difference. Him.
Thunk
Avram stared at the knife, embedded in the bark of the tree. He had done it. The Void shattered.
His hands shook slightly, from hunger and sudden release of tension. That was why he was here. To make a difference. To gain the power to make a difference. He had thought to do it at the side of an Aes Sedai or Asha'man, adding his abilities to theirs, but why should he not respect his own abilities? He had not been successful in the past. But he had learned, and grown, and could certainly do better here.
His eyes hardened. But first he needed food. And for food, he needed to do this reliably.
Avram panted, pausing his unarmed practice. He had been at it every morning for a while now, following Dax's advice. He had his share of combat experience, but most of it was running away. He would need to change that now he supposed. He was supposed to be a fighter now. He would need to learn the tools of his trade. This was the first step.
Again. Avram dropped into his stance and bent his knees, pivoting into a hook and then smoothly into an uppercut. These would be weapons, and weapons needed to be exactly the same, exactly perfect, every time. So he would practice again and again, until his new weapons were perfectly reliable.
He closed his eyes, feeling for that sensation of looking over his own shoulder. He found the detachment he needed, further than even the Void, and let the dagger fly. He could have closed his eyes and told how it would turn at any time. Days spent on learning a single knife with no distractions were good for that apparently.
Thunk
Thunk
Thunk
Thunk
Thunk
He had it now. He had the tool he needed.
Avram closed the book and tucked it into the box he had gotten from the back of a tavern. It had held wine for shipping once, and now it held something much more precious. He had filled enough books to need to reorganize, and he had spent the last week's worth of nights creating an index system and an order to his books. Names and ranks of channelers and members of the Yards were in the index, and referenced the book they were in. There was space to expand and all the information was well organized and encoded so anyone besides him would get garbled letters.
It was a beautiful system and contained probably more information already than anybody had collected on purpose. It was growing every day as more rumors were filtered in through gossiping servants, as he listened to Drin in the mess, as words flowed through the Tower as reliably as the soft winds through the gardens.
With these tools, he could do anything.
A squirrel lay dead at the bottom of the tree. Avram twisted his mouth slightly as he cut the skin off clumsily and dismembered it. He had never been personally taking an animal from lively to meat himself, but he knew the general gist of it. It had been a long time since he ate raw meat, but he had little choice now.
It was the sixth day. He had been walking east for two days now, out of the woods and dealing with the taste and feel of raw meat. His stomach twisted with revulsion in addition to the hunger, but he would finish this test. Still no sign of the Tower.
Jem pushed him against the tree again, and Avram stumbled, dropping the roll that was what was left of his lunch. He knew better than to try and defend himself. He could deal with the guard if he had to, but the bigger man would squirm his way out of it. Whatever the law was supposed to be, it always protected its own. He had learned that time and again.
He just wished he could convince himself that Fiona and the others he knew the bullies had set their sights on would do better than him.
The seventh day. Another squirrel and a rabbit this time. His kills were getting better, and the hunger was lessening somewhat. He still almost vomited anytime the Void dropped away from him. It was still hard to force himself to stumble forward, almost aimlessly. He tried to remember the view from the top of the tower, but it was so hard. Why couldn't he just stop? Why was he forcing himself to do this?
The to'raken roared again as the ragged collection of students injured it again. Avram bit back an oath as it still refused to go down. They were all going to die here.
The Seanchan camp was chaos. He dragged Natlya through it towards the woods, praying some of their little crew would survive the night.
The magistrate sentenced his crew to die, one by one, and Avram knew it was his fault. He had told them the crimes they had committed were barely worth jail time, at least the ones the magistrates knew about. Apparently someone else had gotten to this one. He shouldn't have trusted the law to work anywhere.
Avram sat in the bed of a wagon heading west and turned to look at the topless towers. He swore on them that he would not let himself be helpless again. He would make a difference.
Avram opened his eyes on the ninth day, the Tower nowhere in sight, and remembered. He remembered his burning ambition of the early days, and remembered the hard dedication to his crew and his ideals, sworn on the topless towers of Cairhien. The lessons his family had taught him, and how he planned to use them.
What had he done? He had cowered in front of minor bullies. He had refused to use his most potent tools and weapons. He had failed to gather influence or do anything other than learn. And what was the point of the books of knowledge if it didn't go anywhere?
He breathed in deep and remembered the view of the forest and the mountains from the top of the Tower, the few times he had managed to be up there. He remembered a prominent ridge and where the mountain range turned. In the rising sun, the turn was in visible, but the ridge was perfectly silhouetted. He turned his back to it and began to jog, abandoning his slow pace of the days before. He would not die out here.
He had people to protect.
He had bullies to punish and destroy.
He had information to use.
He had money and power to get.
He had a world to change.
Jem. Use someone else's law to bring him down. I can get something bad enough, maybe poisons, that he won't be able to get out of it.
Fiona. Natlya. Muireen. Paks. Felix. Danos. I'll find others. They can be useful. And they're going to be part of my crew.
The learning ranks need something to do and I can sell that. Games are few and far between. I can provide that for a price.
Anything else people need, so long as I'm willing to handle it, can be provided.
I will make the Grey Tower the site of my rebirth.
The Grey Tower poked above the horizon halfway through the tenth day. Avram forced his legs into a run. Sunset. I will not be cast out.
He raced the sun, dropping to a jog only when his legs were about to give out and only long enough to allow him to continue. The sun dropped steadily, and Avram desperately stretched his legs, screaming back at them as they burned to allow him this one last effort, despite the awful and insufficient food. He just needed this one thing, and then he could rest. And then he could get started.
He sprinted through the gates of Hama Valon, staggering as he ran through the ruined streets. The Tower loomed, large in the sky, damaged but not destroyed. The guards at the gate knew him, and knew to be expecting him. The gates opened enough for him to not stop or even slow.
He barely registered the red carpet, the warriors lining the sides of the hall as he sprinted forward, not trusting himself to keep going if he stopped. He saw, in the narrowest of tunnel vision, Riahana Gaidin, the Mistress of Arms, with a ceremonial sword. Flanking her on either side he saw Ravak Gaidin, the Master of Training, and Amayani Gaidin, the Gaidin Captain. His legs gave out and he fell to his knees in front of the figures who controlled his life, and vomited just off of the carpet.
"I have completed my test, and come before you to be raised, Gaidin," he got out, hoarse from the running and the bile, flat from the Void.
They left him on his knees, which was good since he could not stand. The sword tapped his shoulders, his head, and then he was pulled to his feet and held there, the Tower's newest Ji'val.
