Fanfic:Efflorescence of Insanity (SFC Excerpt)
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The Gardens lay quiet after curfew, and the snow had ceased to fall. The previous night had brought violence to this area of the Grey Tower, but as it were, the snow was lit by the newly lit moon.
The eerie night called for thoughts of your own mortality, and especially in retrospect of the strange incidents that had happened at the Grey Tower; a public birching of fully raised channelers, an attack upon the Master of Arms, the return of a Mistress of Arms that had been rejected entry, the attack upon a fellow Drin'far'ji and with a suspected shadowsworn being interrogated below ground. All these things within one day, it was no small wonder a lone Drin'far'ji made his way out in the snow for reflection.
Dwillon Drin'far'ji was his name, and even though his thoughts were not reflected in his moonlit features, it was easy to guess some of them due to the past events.
The night was dark and cold. The trees whispered endless conversations in the wind, shedding blankets of snow onto the tired ground below. The rushing brook ran and sang its never ending songs, running on and on through eternity.
And here was where Dwillon Ji'alantin sat, against one such whisperer, contemplating his thoughts.
Even though he still had a curfew, later though it was than if he were still Drin'far'ji, he had managed to receive permission to remain out of his quarters for meditation and practice. Lord Caden had been very strict, especially from the events of the night before, but had been a slight bit more willing when Dwillon mentioned what he would be practicing. It also seemed that the Master of Arms sensed something else was on Dwillon's mind, but one could never really tell what the face of the Master hid behind it.
Last night had been a hard one on him. Not because of Geano and the fight, not because of Lord Caden's ire, not even his decision to watch over the Learning Ranks instead of sending them home. No, it had been hard because of the many thoughts he had been engulfed in, sitting there at the Inn more and more frequently to try and escape them somehow. Despite all this, he had been drinking less and less and was opposed to drinking himself into a stupor as often as he could. No, he preferred to have a mind that was fresh - one that he could use to find a way to surpass his memories and regain who he once was before it had all happened.
Twice now Lord Caden had inadvertently assisted Dwillon in overcoming his memories. The first, he had come to Dwillon and Janwill in search of two who would help to free Lianna Sedai, who had been kidnapped within the Tower itself and tortured by, of all things, the Black Ajah. While Dwillon had been assaulted inwardly at the sight of her by old memories, he came to realize his need to protect, and that (and a little spurring from Janwill) had gotten him moving.
Then there were the Portrayals. It had not been long since he had learned them, in his first visit to the Citadel, and the memories were still fresh in his mind. Most of the lessons had been of forms and movements he had already known, but the Void.... It and the emotionless state of Oneness had been a new experience altogether. He had never seen nor heard of either up until that point, and yet, when he had achieved the Void and even a small fraction of the Oneness Lord Caden had spoken of, it was an experience so unlike anything he had ever felt before that it gave him a hope he had almost lost.
And with it, himself.
With all that was going on - the Banquet, the fight in the Yards, the Inn, the winter chill, the recent knowledge of his family - Dwillon had still only been allowed to stay out for two bells past light's out. The time was now short, and to achieve what he meant to do tonight he would have to use it all.
Dwillon reached over, then unstrapped and grasped the familiar hilt of a sword that had been his friend and ally for many years. Together they had lived, slew trollocs, protected friends and allies from the darkness, and yet to his mind the blade still felt...somehow stained. Was what he had done not enough? Had he not atoned for the past? Would he ever? As the ageless questions came, he found himself wavering, faltering, unable to concentrate - unable to regain the calm he had obtained from the meditation a moment ago. His mind attacked him without quarter from every direction. It was almost all he could do to keep from sinking back down against the tree, berated as he was with his memories, his emotions, his feelings - yet suddenly everything changed.
He fought back.
A familiar flame began to burn in his mind as he pushed back the thoughts that assaulted him. As he pushed, his body rose, and the blade of his longsword slid out of the scabbard. He left the scabbard where it lay, instead moving toward the center of the small clearing in the trees. Immediately every memory vanished into the flame of the Void, every thought and feeling, and a now familiar voice echoed in his head.
Begin!
This was not the voice of another, no. This was merely an extension of his conscience, given voice by the Void and the Portrayals. It was himself, and he knew it, but until he surpassed his memories he could not regain it. As of yet, his practices in other areas of the Yards had not helped to succeed at this, and that is why he was grateful to the Master for allowing him to try something new here, tonight, in the Gardens.
In his emotionless state he moved through forms that he had been taught throughout his training in the sword, motions his body knew well. He made these motions continuously, without pause, moving straight from one into the next. While he moved, the voice - his voice - echoed throughout his body, reminding him why he was there, pushing him through where most others would falter.
You are still holding back! You have not let go!
Suddenly the view of the world around him changed. All around him he could feel movement: the trees, the wind, the distant brook, the snow; all around him he felt these, and yet did not. This was the Oneness: the ability to sense everything and move with it, feel those around you and move with them, all the while unclouded with emotion, moving fast as the Light itself. It was a long time yet before Dwillon would master this, but he would try. He must try.
You must let go of that which you dwell on. It will haunt you until the end of time!
Spurred into motion, Dwillon began moving faster and faster. Most others would have collapsed from exhaustion by now, but Dwillon had gone through much training in the Yards. His endurance had increased; his speed and ability had quickly followed suit when he found how much more he could do. Suddenly, though, his outward actions ceased mid-strike, as if an unseen force held him.
You cannot succeed. You will not succeed. Not unless you overcome!
Another whisper of wind pierced the clearing, and with it something new. Countless shadowy figures bathed in hazy blue light erupted out of the snow and surrounded him, each brandishing a weapon. Conjured certainly by the depths of his mind, these visages seemed familiar to Dwillon.
Do not be so surprised, said the voice in a slightly mocking tone. These are your memories. If you cannot defeat them, they will most certainly defeat you.
Without warning each figure attacked, and it was all Dwillon could do even with the aid of the Void to keep up. If anyone watched him, it would seem as if the practice from moments before began again with more fervor, moving through new forms even faster than before, but to Dwillon, who could "see" the figures, it seemed a fight for his life. There was no time for attack - every time he succeeded in diverting a strike from one another would move in immediately, keeping his blade occupied. Parry here, twist there, block here again - it was all too fast, and soon an unvoiced, unthought question arose, hidden in the Void yet rising unbidden. At that moment, a laugh reverberated throughout him, and the swarm became a slithering fog, twisting and turning all around him.
I am helping you! the voice exclaimed in answer to his unsaid question. I cannot help you the way you want me too, however. You must learn by yourself. Until you defeat your past and overcome yourself, we cannot be as one again. You cannot succeed otherwise.
Moments later, the twisting fog separated and converged, moving to the edge of the clearing. Once again it took on the form of a person, but with the hazy light he could not make out who it was. From it, rather than inside his mind, his conscience spoke again.
Defeat is not an option when your own self is at stake. The figure moved in closer then stopped, taking a stance similar to the one Dwillon stood in now and a weapon appeared in its hand. Again it cried out the word that started it all. Begin!
Dwillon rushed the figure, sword held in a trailing Tail Guard position, then struck upwards fast and hard. It seemed his mind wanted to play tricks on him this night, even in the Void, and he would not lose himself to it. If this was how he could defeat his past, he refused to lose.
Moving silently through the quiet Gardens, the Master of Arms soon found the Trainee from the sounds his blade made in the winter air - the echo carried by skeleton trees.
Besides the faint cuts of steel into emptiness, the Gardens were perfectly quiet. It seems to me Ji'alantin Dwillon was not lying when he told me he wished to practice after curfew. In the light of all the other things happening, the quite ordinary task he had set for himself seemed a blessing. He was merely to retrieve one of his Trainees: to remind him that the time allowed him had been spent and it was time to return to the barracks. Yet when the younger man came into view, he paused his steps to bear witness to the display.
What in the Light's name...?
The... fervour that Dwillon Ji'alantin put into his techniques was more than out of the ordinary. It was as if he actually saw the opponents before him in the darkness, yet his face betrayed no emotion to accompany the desperation in his movements. He turned his head this way and that, changed his stance over and over - sometimes adjusting his strikes mid-way as if the unseen opponent offered a counter prematurely. He followed through with each strike he managed to land, withdrew the blade as if he met the resistance of a rib-cage around the steel - yanking it free from thin air.
Is this truly the result of his own imagination? Caden's frown lowered over his eyes as he stepped into the clearing.
"Ji'alantin," he rasped, his voice echoing back at him without any reply from the Trainee. "Ji'alantin!" The force of his voice shattered the air, but it was as if he spoke to someone outside reality. The Trainee then paused, but not by his call - a notable delay that did not suggest anything more than that Caden's voice was not its cause. He was looking at him - soulless eyes staring from a face that refused to admit the strain of cold air in his winded lungs.
"Lower your guard and sheath your blade," he rasped, hands by his sides and eyes not blinking. His melted fancloak had taken on the shades of trees against snow and darkness. In the best of his knowledge, he had to assume the Trainee was in fact seeing him, even though he was not directly meeting his gaze. "Your time is up."
The Trainee did not move, but continued to stare. The many times folded steel rippled in the nocturnal light of moon and snow.
"I said sheath!" Caden could not explain what was happening, but he could try to reach the Trainee again with more force in his command - with the threat of repercussions should he fail to obey a direct order. "You will sheath your blade or I will sheath mine in your gut! If you do not immediately do as you are told, I..."
The Trainee moved then - closed the distance with his blade low and to the side; attacking.
Caden's bastard sabre was still in its sheath by his hip. The Ji'alantin was right there in front of him - blade about to rise and cut him open from hip to shoulder. It was the second time he was attacked within a day. Pure instinct guided him, made his defence efficacious with the aide of considerate experience. Leopard in the Tree - one hand on the mouth of the scabbard and the other around the hilt - he was instantaneously there. He met the Ji'alantin's charge in order to intercept the strike before the blade rose. He drew his own blade out of the scabbard halfway to gain some range, and slammed the basket-hilt down upon Dwillon's left hand before the cut truly managed to climb.
The Sixth Portrayal, thought Caden, and it was the last reflection that crossed his mind before he entered the Oneness.
The counter-attack was already on its way. He bent his legs to lower his point of gravity and drew his sabre straight into Low Wind Rising - the opening of the Third Portrayal. The hand on the scabbard joined the one on the hilt as he pushed forward with his rear leg and struck downhill - right to left - completing the Third Portrayal's two strikes.
The figure in his mind wasted no time as well, charging close to stop Dwillon in his tracks. This would not be over quickly, it seemed. It did not surprise him, but in his emotionless mind he felt a little confused. Either his mind was cracking finally over the pressure of hiding his past, or there was something more sinister going on, but either way he must now defend himself.
The hazy being began immediately with a strike from the hilt, sword still encased partially in its sheathe to give it a slight bit more range. Dwillon barely had time to react to this - the speed of the attack was incredible! In the surprise, the most he could do was adjust the direction of the sword, losing all the strength behind the attack, and let go his left hand. His arms flew harmlessly up, but the hilt-strike also fell between his hands, barely missing their mark.
A mere fraction of a moment later, Dwillon had to almost throw his sword back down in time to block the first of what he was sure to be many more attacks to come. His block came to the side, pointed out and down at an angle, meant to deflect the oncoming blade, which it was sure to do from the force he had to put into it for it to make it in time - though it was a little higher than normal as the attack came from a higher angle. He was instantly surprised to feel the ringing contact when the figure's blade met his, but had no time to dwell on it as a second attack came in the opposite direction at his shoulder. Dwillon immediately shifted straight to a Window Guard - a stance similar to a version of Lion on the Hill as he had learned from, of all people, his very own Mentee.
Speed and agility will always surpass raw power! You know this well, yet you attack full-on? Do you not remember even these basics? They will save your life!
As fast as the first attacks had come, the view in Dwillon's mind shifted to a place he had not seen in nearly a decade. He found himself in a field, surrounded by death and battle. Immediately he recognized it: it was the fields where he had taken his first life. The tole it had taken on him had been immense, but through training and more battles he had come to deal with it. Now, however, his mind seemed to want to show him through his life, reminding him of... something. The way it was determined to remind him was disconcerting, but there was no room for pause in this new lesson.
What was this, a memory? A waking dream? Dwillon had no idea, but he knew he must defeat it for it to end. As if spurred by his resolve, the figure in his mind's eye became more solidified, taking on the visage of the man who's life he had taken. Dwillon, though startled, had no time to sit and wait to see what it would do. Pushing quickly up to untangle the blades that sat connected together in their arms, Dwillon sliced downwards in the direction the opponent in his mind had originally intended his own to go. With a speed he had only obtained from his practices of the Portrayals, he circled his blade back and struck downwards again from his own right side, but pulled it back partway down in a feint that turned immediately into a thrust to the dark memory's chest.
To anyone that gazed upon him, no time had been spent waiting. Only his mind took the time to show him what he saw in those minute instances. His body moved immediately with the blocks and attacks, no hesitation or waiting at all. If one were to look harder, though, the man's eyes would seem distant, disconnected - as the one he fought could only be seen in his mind.
Through all this, however, Dwillon could only hope this strange occurrence was what he searched for - a way to finally defeat the ghosts of his past and free his mind. Only then could he finally protect where once he had failed.
The moral dilemma of killing a Trainee on Tower Grounds held no room in the Oneness, it was there, somewhere, coating the Void - but that was all.
The Trainee used the cross guard of his longsword to catch his second strike, and thus, he had managed to defy the Portrayal Coalescence. Being hard pressed as he was, the young man had still managed to avoid Caden's trap - making the fight take off for real. The Portrayals would not aid the Gaidin any longer, since they only dealt with the opening of the storm. It mattered naught. The Portrayals were only a single facet of the fight, while the herons on his blade made him a master of all aspects of the conflict.
He gave ground, something longsword students did not like to do, but used the space cunningly. He did it by swaying to the right with his body and stepping back and across with his left leg. The Cross Strike*. As he was pivoting to the right, he was already holding the hilt high, but he angled the blade down, catching the longsword from underneath. This motion brought the back of the sabre towards the Ji'alantin. As he did so, Caden could not place his right thumb on to the flat of the sabre because of the basket hilt, but the thumb-ring inside the handguard gave him the same leverage to make Dwillon's first strike slide away down the length oh his curved blade.
The Ji'alantin had a second attack already in mind, so the mindless being that used to be Caden reacted instinctively to it.
He pushed forward with his rear left leg and turned his blade around in a full circle. The Crooked Strike*. Counter-clockwise, the light yet long arc of steel came around in a vertical strike made with his arms extended and his wrists crossing in the end. It was a maiming strike meant to cut off the Ji'alantin's forearms, delivered without a soul's remorse.
The rabid Ji'alantin being fortunate, the falling strike had been a feint, and his hands withdrew in time. Caden merely followed through with his own falling strike and thus managed to steer off the intended thrust safely to the right of his body. With both their blades low and to the side, Caden instantaneously leant in and attempted to head-butt the Trainee full in the face.
Regardless if he felt his semi-scarred forehead connect with the Ji'alantin or not, he would gain enough room to raise his bastard sabre through a half-circle, extending towards the opponent as it rose. At the top of that climbing motion, he turned the blade so that the edge was to the side, and brought it across horizontally to the right. The Wind Blows Over the Wall. The first motion served to get inside the Ji'alantin's guard, and the second was the actual attack, meant to hit either neck, throat, or the side of the head.
The man from his past, despite his face being contorted into that eternal scream Dwillon had once left him with, blocked his every attack, and nearly sliced off Dwillon's arms if not for the feint. Each time the swords struck, Dwillon got slightly more confused, wondering what was connecting - if anything - to make the blade shudder as it did. Then again, he found it a slight bit easier to send those thoughts past and into the Void rather than to dwell on them.
He had no time for thoughts and distractions at the moment. For now all he could do was fight - and claim whatever his mind had in store for him.
Out of nowhere, with both of their blades locked momentarily down and to the side, the figure darted into the small space and attacked full-on, connecting its head against Dwillon's own surprised and unprotected face. Taken off balance, Dwillon stumbled but held on to the Void as hard as he could. There was sure to be a lump where he had been hit, and more than likely blood, but somehow, here in the dark, emotionless Void, he didn't care. It was not important.
Despite this, however, the "voice" continued to scold him. You still hesitate! You leave yourself wide open and forget that the blade isn't the only threat! Dwillon scowled at he stumbled, then heard the slice of the blade pass in front of him and remembered he still had to protect himself.
There was very little time for Dwillon to bring his blade vertical to block the second part of the attack, and as such he had to place his left hand against the blade to add support and strength. From this, though, he would be able to throw in some surprises of his own.
From his current position, he was sure that tangling the blades would be expected, so instead he took a page from the visage's book and moved in closer, shoving hard with his shoulder. During this, he pushed his own blade out, hoping to give himself a little more room with the next surprise. In the short time he had, Dwillon removed his right hand from the hilt, gripping the blade now with his left, and swung his sword as a miner would swing his hammer, bringing the cross-guard down hard at the figure who fought him.
Wasting no time to keep the visage off guard, after the hammer-strike Dwillon circled his sword back the way it came and switched hands back to how they were, following immediately with a quick thrust - but the attack wavered momentarily. The figure in front of him had changed again, and had become more cruel. This time a memory washed through his mind, one of more pain and one that Dwillon had tried to suppress for much too long.
"The battle is ours!" Commander Tokeen cries as the enemy runs. Jump. A house stands in the distance. Fellow soldiers running in and out of the house. Jump. Inside now; he is confused at what is going on. A sound from behind - a scream from a woman, being dragged. They leave the house; he follows, curious. Another scream; she breaks away. Runs. The commander is there.
Dwillon screamed inwardly and jumped back, fully realizing the new visage in front of him: it was the woman, with a knife imbedded in her abdomen. Her face was empty, mouth slack, face pale, and yet she held the weapon as steadily as the previous visage had. Dwillon's rage and sadness were consumed immediately within the Void, but if anyone looked upon him, they might notice a new stream of tears flowing slowly from his eyes.
These tears were unknown to Dwillon, however, as he stepped into a Crossed Guard position - left arm raised in front and right holding the sword, which rested across his left wrist. It was excellent for defense, and it gave him a moment to collect himself after the shock.
When Dwillon attempted to break Caden's balance - while both their blades were held high - the Master of Arms only gave enough room to set his feet in a wider stance. Thus, he lowered his point of gravity towards the snow-covered ground and remained fixed to the earth like a mountain. He swayed back with the force of collision, but did not yield much else.
Was he prepared to kill a Trainee, even when attacked in such a strange manner? Was the Reaper willing? How could he live with himself afterwards, if it turned out the Tairen lad was innocent? Was it an effect of Compulsion? Was the Black Ajah nearby, controlling the lad's soul?
These were the thoughts that pearled and ran along the surface of the Void.
It might have been that they affected him somewhat, since he chose to block the handguard strike upon the base of the lad's blade with a sweeping sideways arc while stepping back with his right foot - instead of accepting the blow upon his person and immediately strike towards the head, chest or extended arm. Whatever made him decide to prolong the fight, it did not matter - he did not have the time and mind to decipher his own instincts.
The form was named the Falling Leaf. Starting high, it had blocked the blunt strike and now came back to glance off the consecutive yet somehow hesitant thrust made against his chest. He crouched down to deliver a third strike - aiming it so that he could injure the lad's leg. Yet he missed, since his opponent had stepped back into a longsword guard stance.
Caden gradually rose to his feet again and entered the Guard of Wrath. "Why the tears, Ji'alantin?" he asked the lad, his own eyes staring in its serpentine intensity. He spoke as if in the third person, without a soul giving texture to the grating pitch, "You are committing treason already, and it's too late to have regrets now. Listen to me. Throw down your sword and I will not kill you this Light-forsaken night."
There was no answer, seconds passed.
The Master of Arms predicted but one outcome. "So be it." He closed the distance without further preamble - right there in the dance of steel and demise again.
Moon Rises Over the Water. The initial tentative slash cut across to make the Ji'alantin block it, then the rising slash came deep and meant to pierce the last shreds of defences. He paired it with the Swallow Takes Flight - the sword circling down for another rising strike - this one diagonal from left to right - followed with a thrust to the heart.
Damn his own soul. How had it come to this? He had been Gaidin Captain once, and the Trainees had been like sons and daughters to him as he played the role of their spokesperson and representative. He still considered them all his family, even though he treated them - trained them - ever so harshly just so that they could live on to see the Fourth Age. Somewhere far beyond the Void, in the deepest reaches of his frost-coated heart, he was still that unburned Gaidin who had entrusted the future of the Grey Tower to a handful of Drin'far'ji and one Ji'alantin. He had believed in them, and still did. He could not fathom that he was about to kill one of his own sons - how his hand was forced to do things his mind would not allow.
There had to be some other way, but the Void did not allow it due consideration.
The waking was just another representation of the dream that stirred him that night. The sweat the dripped from his body was another sign of the nightmare that was just racing through his mind. The sheets of his bed were damp with the sweat as it ran off his body. Sitting up he placed his head in his hands. His long white hair swept down over his hands. Thoughts of the nightmare were still at hand. But the sound of foot steps in the door way was the only sound that could be heard. Lifting his head out of his hands he looked towards the door.
In the doorway a figure stood where the door had been. Unhinged, the door lay on the ground in front of the figure. "Who's there?" Deek rasped. But no response came from the figure. "Leave now" he demanded. But still the figure did not move. The light coming from behind the figure made it hard to see anything but the size. And the size could mean anyone in the tower. This could be any Warder or trainee. Even another Soldier or Dedicated, it could mean anyone. But there was no way to tell who.
Reaching with an out stretch hand, Deek tried hard to grasp onto the source. But nothing came of it. Trying again he leapt for the source. This time a wall like feeling stopped him in mid stride. Why would you try to hurt me? You should not be doing things like that my boy. Don't make another attempt at that or you will loose your life this night. Not a word said but the sound was in his mind. There was no way to get to the source. He was being blocked. But by what? He knew that if he didn't do something soon he might loose his life. Reaching to the stand next to his bed he grabbed the candle and threw it at the figure. Right as the candle left his hand Deek dove from his bed to the table that had his Katana. The Katana that he was still taking classes to learn how to use properly. But a weapon was a weapon none the less. And Deek would not go down without a fight.
Getting up from the floor he turned with is Katana at his side in preparation for a fight. Looking back towards the door he caught a glimpse of the figure leaving the doorway heading down the hallway. Deek still had his pants on from the day. Grabbing his coat he attached his Katana and headed down the hallway after the figure. It was already after curfew. But his door being taken down like that was a good reason for being out. And the fact that this figure had blocked him for taking the source.
Rounding yet another corner the figure had stopped at the other end of the hall and was a different shape this time. This time the figure was in the shape and appearance of his little sister. Impossible at the most but yet it was still the fact at hand. She was there right before him. And she was not ill. Running ahead again she turned and went down the next hallway. His height mad it easy for him to gain some ground on her. She was not very tall. She was yet still young. Not even a wind of fatigue in his body. His green eyes glistened to the thought of catching up with his beloved sister. The sweat on his face ran straight down the scar across his right eye. The sweat was actually kind of cooling to the heat of his body. But he just knew that he had to catch up to her. She should not be here. As far as he knew she was still ill where he had left her.
Ahead he saw her again. Her direction would take her right to the gardens. Still he pursued her. Now there was a sound steel on steel. The sound of a battle. The figure had vanished. There was no trace left that she was even there. Thoughts of the night to this point enter into his mind. And he now knew that it was not really his sister. Either his mind was playing tricks on him or something wanted him here. Either way he was here now. And something was amiss. The way that the two of them were fighting meant something was wrong. One of them had a distant look in his eyes. As if he was really fighting a battle elsewhere. The other one was the Master of Arms. Deek had seen him before, only in a passing on occasion. But still his skill in combat was known to all and fear by all. But this fight was yet different. The Master of Arms already had regret in his eyes. The assumption that Deek got was that the other person had no idea who he was fighting. Some of the things that he did, like the way that he would step back and the stances that he was taking told Deek that he was completely unaware of who it was that he was in this battle against.
The speed at which these two were fighting made Deek unsure of who would win. The only thing that he knew is that if they did not stop soon then one of them would be injured of killed. And he would bet that the Master of Arms would still be standing. "Cease this right now. There is no need for this. Caden sir, please stop this. Your going to kill the man if you don't stop this." The offer was there but unspoken. The way that Deek always offered help. The unspoken statement, or question. The only thing that Deek could do now was to just wait and see how this played itself out, unless assistance was called for by one or the other.
Why the tears, Ji'alantin?
Dwillon stood a moment longer in the guarded stance, tears he did not feel flowing freely from his eyes. The "voice" that had been speaking thus far from his mind and from the being ahead seemed to take on a more real form when the poor woman he saw in front of him spoke. It was almost as if whatever his mind had decided to send him through was becoming more and more real - threatening to send him over the edge of sanity and into the sea of turmoil.
As he stood, the figure continued to speak, but the words were somehow muffled. After a pause, however, he distinctly heard three words that sent a cold shiver through his spine that seeped through the empty Void.
So be it.
The visage that was the woman darted forward, striking from the side. In his guarded position it was simple to block, as all he needed to do was lift the hilt upwards, making the blade horizontal to block and the arm it crossed to add stability, but before he could counter, another strike had already begun from below, taking his blade up and with it.
Dwillon became a little worried inside the Void as he saw the visage in front of him circling its blade for another strike, but it did not last long. His time in the Tower had taught him much, and his speed and agility had increased quite a lot since last he saw this woman. Snapping his blade down to a similar position as he had near the beginning of this test of his mind, he once again interposed his blade and cross-guard before the rising slash.
When the opposing blade smacked against the guard, the visage became blurry once again, but the attacks did not cease. A thrust came immediately from the blocked blade, almost as if it was an expected and prepared counter. Dwillon had very little time, but again with the speed he had learned and with the assistance of the Void he was able to raise the tip of his sword again, and pushed outward to his left to redirect the thrust.
As he and the visage closed together from this counter, Dwillon had begun to reach above his right arm with his left to grasp the hilt of his imagined - and yet real - opponent, but once again in that moment the being in front of him came into focus, and as before, snatches of memory and grief erupted at the sight before him.
The woman falls, the knife imbedded in her chest. The commander frowns slightly, his hand now empty, but then smiles for reasons unknown to Dwillon. Jump. Orders arrive, speaking of another attack that night. No sleep, he guesses, cleaning and maintaining his blade. Jump. Weeks later, many missions similar, and Dwillon becomes more and more concerned at where and who they attack - seems to be more women and children than armed enemies. The trust he has in the man he looked up to is waning. Jump. He has had the final straw. What they are doing is wrong. They are killing civilians - not the enemy. Something must be done. He arrives at the tent of the commander, to confront him. The man is there, but Dwillon stops in his tracks, shock and hatred exploding on his face.
Commander Tokeen stood in front of him now, the shock of the sight of Dwillon catching him as he did that night still showing on his face. Anger, pain, hatred, sadness - all of these emotions flashed upon Dwillon's face despite the hold his mind had on the Void which it refused to let go of. Those that were near him, those that even now he was unaware of, could see these clearly, and it seemed as if something inside him had begun to break down. He pushed away the sword to instead counter with a strike to each shoulder of the man he so utterly despised, but each strike losing the heart he had given them previously, as despair and pain were finally taking their hold on him. Tonight, whatever was happening to his mind had played a dirty trick, and had finally found a way to break the fragile wall he had erected to hold his turmoil at bay.
Out of the cold, dark recesses of his mind, and as the halfhearted strikes came down, Dwillon repeated his final words to the man who somehow once again stood before him. "Why? Why do you betray your country, Tokeen?" He was unaware that these words were spoken aloud, as in his mind he was still reliving the memory. Whatever would happen next only the Light and the destiny it had prepared knew.
As Dwillon guided his blade to the side, it was as if he saw Caden's face at last. At least it looked like he suddenly saw the monster he fought.
Caden Ives soulless mind had earlier heard the shout from the undergrowth, registered it and filed it away for the opportune moment to address it. As it were, he had still been fighting, and his sole focus was the young man before him. As Dwillon paused and stared at him, he remembered the shout. Yet he was not given the opportunity to decipher who had come to the Gardens and seen this eerie conflict take place.
Dwillon's face twisted from recognition to a mask of true despair, and he heaved Caden's bastard sabre to the side.
What came next was a series of hard yet foolhardy strikes raining form side to side against him. Caden suspected a trap initially, and withdrew in order to keep his distance and to safely, easily, maintain perfect control in the fight. His mindless focus did not wonder what had gotten into the Ji'alantin to fight so poorly all of a sudden. His mind merely gauged the probability for a trap set to spring any second should he overreach himself, and when he judged that it was not the case, he acted. A strike came in from the right, and this time, he met it head on, sabre pointing to the nocturnal sky.
"Why? Why do you betray your country, Tokeen?"
Deflecting the strike above himself, Caden spun his sabre over his head while he passed Dwillon's left side. The counter came down diagonally towards the Ji'alantin's neck - aimed to cut off his head; a fitting and swift mercy. But then, the words spoken before the strike fell registered in Caden's head, and the Void shattered like glass as he realised what he was about to do.
He turned the flat side of his blade towards the young man's neck in the last moment.
The blow of the long steel blade was still considerate, but not the least fatal. After the strike had fallen, Caden staggered back, sabre held low. What did I almost do? he thought, his green eye as wide as the white one. What am I? He rested the tip of his weapon in the snow, both hands still curled around the hilt inside the basket guard. He could feel his blood racing now, the Void giving leeway to grasp every emotion that streamed by behind his mismatched eyes. He was high on adrenaline, his breath making plumes of mist before his face - lungs pumping furiously to give oxygen to his blood.
I almost killed a, there was no apt name for the unknown condition Dwillon was suffering, but the word he found made his sin even more plain, "...Sleepwalker."
Realising that he was still holding his weapon, he sheathed it forcefully. He had a brief inclination to throw it away, but at least he hoped he would never have to see it drawn again this night. His clam returning with another deep breath, he looked around to find a white-haired Soldier standing at the edge of the glade.
"Your words were spoken to deaf ears, but I thank you for them nevertheless, young man." He looked away from the young man to the Ji'alantin, "He is not of his right mind. We need to take him to the Infirmary. Maybe they have answers I don't. Come here, Soldier....."
A sudden realisation came to Caden and he froze before had taken three steps towards the Ji'alantin. A thought that had skimmed the surface of the Void previously returned to him. Was indeed the Black Ajah here - controlling his mind to see things that weren't real?
"Soldier," he rasped, his voice changed into something far more ugly than himself - which would be an abomination. "Why are you here?"
The light shinned off the snow covered garden, and made Deek's eyes seem a darker shade of green then they really were. He still had has hand resting on the exquisitely bound leather wrapping around the hilt. His gaze did not falter off the two warriors locked in battle, this evil feeling of a battle. Nothing about this night seemed right. Not the figure in the door way nor this battle. The Master of Arms was in an all out fight to the death with one of his students. It was even noticeable that it was a student of his with the skill and technique that was being used. It was almost as if they were fighting themselves, not the other person. At least with the way that the student was going and with what was just said it did seem that he was fighting someone other than the Master of Arms.
Why? Why would they be doing this? There is no reason for this? Stepping back? No don't move back move in. End this thing right now, don't move away. That means the battle will keep going, they need to stop this right now. I need to do something to stop the, to get their attention. Deek's mind was all confused and jumbled up from the night. He was watching the Master of Arms move away from the fight. It seemed like he was trying to be cautious but it also seemed like maybe he wanted it to go longer. But before Deek even knew what was going on the battle took a turn, possibly for the worst. After the blade fell on the students neck Deek realized it was just the flat side. It was not the fighting side. A sigh of relief left Deek's mouth as the Master of Arms put his blade away.
Taking a step forward at the first order he then paused. The Master of Arms asked for an explanation. One that Deek was sure he would not be satisfied with. It almost seemed as if he was not being trusted now. How would he explain this? He had forgotten all about it being past curfew. With everything that had been going on with this battle and the figure that he was chasing and everything, curfew slipped his mind. But an explanation was still in need of being told.
"Sir, this might sound abnormal but I was chasing a figure. Someone that I could not make out. They broke into my room. My life was being threatened. Once I got to were I had the advantage of a weapon I chased them. They ran down the halls towards here. Once I got here they disappeared. If you send someone to my room they can verify that my door was taken down, from the outside. Also on a side note whoever it was made it so that I could not Channel. That is why I took up my blade and chased them. I had no other means of fighting back." The recap of events of the night seemed to take so long to go through his mind. When in reality it was only a brief time pass. Deek knew that he was in the wrong to have stayed here instead of informing the guards or someone of the sort. But he would have also been in the wrong to not be here as a witness incase something happen.
"Would you still like for me to give you a hand in taking him to the infirmary?" Deek had a bit of a rasping whisper to his voice. What is going on around here? Everything that has happened this night has been next to impossible. My sister being here, this battle, everything. There has to be some sort of explanation. Maybe the Master of Arms would know someone that I could go and talk to about this to see if there is any way that someone here would know of my sister. If I could get a hold of my mother to see if she is ok. Who would know of my sister. I have not told a lot of people. But the details were right on. For a brief moment Deek had sadness on his face. But as soon as it appeared it was gone again. He had learned quite quickly to hide his feelings and expressions.
It was obvious that the visage of the commander in front of him was very upset at the change in Dwillon's strikes, as a deep scowl appeared on its face. When he pulled away and struck at one shoulder, the figure stepped back at first, wary in case of a trick or feint, but the scowl deepened as the second attack struck down. The visage struck then, striking his blade full-on and sending it up and above the two of them.
And this, boy, is why you fail.
Dwillon watched helplessly as the blade of Commander Tokeen arced toward his neck - a killing blow that almost seemed like a strike of mercy. It felt as if the time it took to reach him stretched on for an eternity, and in those moments Dwillon's mind shifted back to the horrors of that night so long ago.
The woman lay bare upon the ground of the tent, wearing only a leather band around her mouth to keep her silent. Blood oozed out of a wound in her chest - abated only by the dagger that still sat within it. Commander Tokeen knelt above her, hands red and his uniform cast aside. Tokeen had the look of a madman, caught in the act of utter betrayal and only now realizing what that betrayal would cost.
Dwillon stood for a moment, mouth agape in confusion and thoughts silenced by anger. Not two hours ago he had saved her from the clutches of a fellow soldier, blood-crazy and bent on more death. It had hurt to have had to kill him, but the man wished for Dwillon's blood as well, and it had been all he could do to stay alive. Only the thought of saving her had kept him moving.
And now, her lifeless body lay ravaged in the tent of the man who Dwillon had once idolized.
He did not remember much of what happened next, as his mind filled with a fiery rage he had never felt before. Somehow his sword had been drawn. The commander had backed up into his cot and the man had fallen against it. At that moment his mind cleared, and at that moment his sword pierced the heart of the evil that lay cowering below him, and again through its neck.
Only then did he realize what he had just done. He had killed - murdered - his commanding officer. The horror of it crept in upon Dwillon, even as he tried to justify the actions in his mind. The man had forced them to kill civilians. The man had become uncaring, watching them die even as he laughed. And now the man had forced himself upon the very woman that Dwillon had risked his life to save.
But no one would listen, his mind told him. The men were blinded by their greed and their lust. They had become like Tokeen: uncaring murderers, no longer wishing for the wars to end. They would not side with him. They would wish for his blood to repay for that which he took from the commander.
Wiping his blade with the discarded uniform of the man who was once great, Dwillon sheathed his sword again and began to run. All he could think of now was escape. There was no time for him to waste, no plan to prepare. All that was on his mind told him to run.
Nothing else mattered.
The memory, clearer than anything he had seen before, faded into white as the blade struck his neck. His own fell from his grasp and he fell to the side as the Void his mind held so strongly collapsed instantly. The cold ground below rushed up to meet him, connecting almost as painfully as the blade had. For a few moments, Dwillon prepared for whatever may come, be it death or eternal suffering. Despite everything his mind had sent him through, the contacts with the singular blade had been... almost real. He was unsure if it had actually been anyone, but a part of him seemed certain of it.
As the moments dragged on, the pain in his neck began throbbing, and he began to realize that, in fact, he would not die that night. Whoever - or whatever - it was that struck him did not deal a fatal blow as he had thought. It certainly hurt, and he would feel it for a time, but he would live. The experience, however, still held its sway upon him and the tears continued to flow, adding to the already muddy ground below him.
Behind him, in the dark, cold air, he could hear two other voices. One he recognized almost immediately as his mind began to clear again, the other he did not. Fear and confusion again began to wrack his brain at the possibility that lay before him: could the one that fought him be the Master of Arms? If so, his punishment would be more severe than he could imagine. He may be thrust from the Yards this night for attacking the Master, or worse yet due to the added punishment from his actions the night before.
What was he to do?
Dwillon clutched his neck and curled inwards upon the ground, sobbing freely now, but quietly. He was not one to openly display his emotions, but he would not retreat to the Void this time to avoid his pain - he deserved it and would not skirt away from it.
As he sobbed, a phrase he had asked once to the one he now looked up to nearly as a father snuck out, stuttered slightly in his state. There was more emotion to be heard in it now than when he had first uttered it at the news of his family, but the question remained the same. It asked of duty, it asked of failure, and most of all, it asked of whatever punishment he would receive. He knew he would be, and would take whatever he was given without question.
"My l...lord? What... would you have m-me do?"
Caden had submitted the Soldier to his unwavering scrutiny while he recaptured the events that had led him into the wintry Gardens.
The tale, in itself, was indeed an absurd one, detailing either insanity or the mind-tricks of a channeler. How the door had been unhinged, how the Soldier had believed he had seen people threatening him, how they had vanished in thin air. Nevertheless, the peculiar thing was how the assailants had run away - to here, of all places, before vanishing. There were missing pieces there too, and he had a feeling that the Soldier wanted to tell more, but couldn't bring himself to do it.
The story was quite vague, and Caden had learned over time - both in questioning Trainees when they had been up to mischief and in interrogating prisoners of war - that the last shred of information that was kept to themselves were details that were strictly personal. Or, as in this case, the details were shameful, as if the Soldier didn't think Caden wouldn't believe him, to be precise, that he would be shamefaced in met by the disbelief.
As a veteran Warder, he had been reading people all his life in order to keep his bondmate and himself alive. The story told added up to the Soldier's innocence, if not his honesty about all details. Right then, Dwilon spoke up from his prone position in the snow.
"My l...lord? What... would you have m-me do?"
Caden turned his head and looked back at him from across his shoulder.
"Is that your standard answer when you are thrown off guard?" he said harshly, piercing the lad with his horrid glare, "Do you expect others to guide you through your life by the hand? You know bloody well there is no fitting Punishment for delusions that make you attack your superior Officer. Either one go by the Hall of Justice and have you put on Trial, which would make you end up in the gallows - since there, the law is followed no matter the circumstances. Or, one takes your delusions into account and lay the responsibility on me to deal a fitting Punishment that would match an unintended transgression of such outrageous proportion. The first way is unethical, and the latter impossible."
Caden looked back at the white-haired soldier. There was a pause. This night portend things I can only begin to guess at. The last time I felt this out of control - so abandoned to fate and tangled up in the Threads of the Pattern - was the day I was burned.
"It was not fate that brought you here this night," he told the Soldier, "that suggested to me that there was more to this event that met my eye. You were brought here for a reason, and I believe this is a sign from someone that means to tell us something - warn us in some peculiar way."
The tally kept adding up, he realised. He had discussed the events with Miahala this morning. During the day, more events had been piled upon the others. Geano had escaped the Infirmary, and was still at large inside the Tower Grounds. Aric had told him that there might have been an ambush set in his study by Vergil Brighteyes - who had been sent to the Infirmary as well. The interrogation with the Dedicated whom had attaked his Mentee had been interrupted. Light knew how the Sovin Tar fared in the woods outside Jehannah - what predicaments they faced and what they were up against in order to retrieve their informants.
Caden shook his head, he tried to keep everything inside - to sort out all factors in the equation, but this final straw left him stunned.
"Both of you could be victims to Compulsion," he began, wondering if they even knew what this Forbidden Weave was, "Yet the Shadow would not like to attract my attention - would not lead you here, Soldier. Why were you led here in such a case? To aid me in my fight? Even to save me? What design is this that serves no end? For if it was an agent of the Light who brought you here, how come he or she knew what Dwillon would do before the fight even began? Even if that was the case, why would an agent of the Light have you, Dwillon, attack me in the first place?"
The only solution Caden saw, was that there was a third party involved in this conflict - one who's agenda remained shrouded in mist. And this third player on the board, this mastermind who could control the hearts and souls of others...
He must be right here. Watching.
The Master of Arms turned away from the two Learning Ranks and gazed into the darkness. Where was the channeler who played with Forbidden Weaves? The Gardens had an eerie feeling now, and it made Caden's hackles rise. The darkness omitted nothing, silent as the grave. Snow fell like the night before now, like sediments floating to the bottom of a glass.
"Who are you?" Caden asked in a whisper under his breath, his scowl deepening. "Where are you?"
Deek had no idea what was meant by the words that were said. He was left so confused, but then again he had left the Master of Arms with so many questions. Some of which could be answered, but for the most part they could not be answered. There was only one thing that Deek knew for sure, and that was that he would have to explain himself once they left this place.
The garden now made Deek feel sick, the feelings that he was getting. The feelings reminded him of when that figure in his doorway had some how kept him from reaching Saidin . He was getting the same feeling that he had right before he tried the last time. He did not want to try again, since he was warned last time if he tried then he would be killed. But this time it would be him and the Master of Arms to stand up if something did happen. Dwillon was not in the shape or condition, at this time, to try to fight at all.
The same image kept making its way into his mind. The figure that had been a duplicate of his sister down the hall. Was something trying to warn me? Tell me of a future event? Or am I just going mad?
"Ha! Going made just like the ones so long ago. You just might be."
Ok now I'm just hearing things. Or I really have mental issues. I am hearing voices in my head. I need to get some help or just get out of this area. Yes that is it, we need to get out of this area.
"Oh so now your just going to ignore me? How rude of you. You should talk to me more. Come on. I'm all alone here. I have no one to keep me company. Please stay."
Shaking his head to get the thoughts out before they drove him insane, he turned to the Master of Arms. "I do not know what brought me here. If you would like to question me later then I have no objections at all. I will answer all the questions to the best of my ability. I know not the works of great evil nor the works of good, but this does not feel right. None of this feels right." Deek had a worried look on his face. He felt like someone was watching him. The Master of Arms had already turned away to look into the darkness, but another set of eyes must be on him. Dwillon did not seem to be looking at him. Deek could not really see Dwillon's face at all, but the fact remained that he felt like someone was watching him.
"Sir, you have no idea about the warnings that I have seen tonight. But that is a tale for another time. What would you like me to do? You mentioned that we need to get him some help, so should we be taking him on? I do not believe that we should stay here another minute, unless you have some Aes Sedai in your pocket or something. And I mean no disrespect with that comment. Please can we just leave here? If we stay here any longer you might have to carry two people to get help instead of just one." Deek was starting to loose color in his face. Whatever it was that had blocked him before must still be there. The feelings that he was getting made him sick, his stomach kept twisting and turning.
Stepping forward he began to walk towards Dwillon, to help get him to aid. He did not look to well. But then again the Master of Arms did not look like he was doing to good either. Both of them needed help. And Deek did not want to try to carry them both. Then there was the fact that he was not doing at all well himself. So it seemed really bad for any of them to be there. Making haste seemed to look like a better and better idea to him as each moment passed. He had to shake his head several times as the voice seemed to keep coming back again and again.
"What? You don't feel to good do you my boy? Oh poor baby, are you going to be sick? And you call yourself a man. A warrior? Ha! What a joke. You're so pathetic. Please, how can you live with yourself? I can barely even live with you. Someone should just get rid of your soul and save me the trouble of having to do it myself." Deek's head started to become more and more crowded with thoughts and that voice. Something was wrong. Part of him wanted him to seize the source, and find out who was out there watching him, if anyone. But the other part was pushing him towards taking up arms and slitting the throat of whoever was out there.
Deek knelt down next to Dwillon to see if he was even still awake, or if he had lost consciousness.
Dwillon listened carefully to the Master of Arms, waiting for him to direct whatever punishment he will, but became saddened of a different sort as none was applied - yet. It seemed that Lord Caden had misunderstood his statement as he had the last time he had said it. That time he had merely asked for orders so that he could have his mind on other things when he escaped the Void. Now, he asked for punishment - which he so fully deserved for his actions.
Instead, the Master rebuked him, thinking Dwillon would only rely on others for guidance when life throws him an errant dagger.
This did not change Dwillon's feelings, however, and he knew that he would receive punishment in due time. As it was, Lord Caden had other things to deal with, and apparently other people. Someone else had entered the scene, and this person Dwillon did not know.
As Lord Caden spoke with the other person, Dwillon rolled to his knees, holding his weakened upper body up with his arms. His breathing was still strained, what with the growing pain in his neck and the sobs from the tears. After a brief rest, the newcomer approached him to assist, but Dwillon shook his head and pulled away slightly, vying to carry himself. He rose slowly, still a little shaky from the loss of adrenalin and the impact of the fight, and returned to his sheath, which lay still at the foot of the tree. As he moved back to his fallen sword he removed the belt from his uniform, then replaced his weapon and tied it as best as he could manage.
It would not stop it from being drawn, but it would definitely slow it down.
Dwillon's face was red and blotchy, but he cried no more as he looked upon the Master of Arms for the first time since the beginning of it all. There was confusion, anger, and a slight bit of pain darting around Lord Caden's features, but the man had gone through much that night so it was no surprise that it showed through his mask even in the slightest. After a brief moment, Dwillon steeled himself and spoke again.
"My Lord, I do not know if I was compelled by another or if it was my own mind playing tricks. If it was, in fact, another, then what better way to lower your resolve than to kill one of your own trainees? What better way than to force you to break down what you have built up?" Dwillon still doubted that it was another, but perhaps his words would assist. And the possibility did remain: if there was someone out there that could control, could they not also invade the memories?
Dwillon clenched his jaw for a moment to get back on track, then continued. "I know almost nothing of Channeling, but the possibility is there sir. I just...." His resolve slipped again, and habits and instincts tried to take over, but Dwillon did his best to push through. "There... there are things I wish to tell you - things of before I came. I would wish to tell you them privately however, and...." Again the tears threatened to come, though he was empty it seemed of whatever water lay within him. He closed his eyes and sighed heavily, trying to push out the last of what he had already begun.
"...And they are very hard for me to say. I defer to your judgment and orders, as always, Lord Caden."
Once again, Dwillon forced himself to calm down and wait. He could only hope that, when the time came, he could finally be rid of the demons of his past and move on with the life he so desperately wished to lead.
Looking out into the Gardens, his single seeing eye scanning the dark terrain and the snow as he slowly turned, he still listened to the Learning Ranks behind him. In the end, the eye that resembled the moon came to settle upon them.
His thoughts were far from the subject of retreat, and equally far from hearing Dwillon's confession of the past. Nevertheless he addressed their concerns in a low voice. "Ji'alantin, you can stand, therefore you will walk to the Infirmary on your own two legs. Soldier, your assistance is not needed, but you may follow us to the Yellow Ajah and make your way back to your quarters from there."
With a last look out into the darkness, Caden turned towards the Tower's moonlit facade - its ghostly incandescence a reminder that Miahala waited for him, and that even though he would like to mobilise the patrols that searched for Geano Hashmal and make them comb through the Gardens, there was no chance to catch anyone that lurked there after he left. Of that, yet little else, he was certain.
"Come."
Leading the way, Caden set a grim pace out of the Gardens and towards the Yellow Ajah Halls. His mordant stride showed just how irritated he was by the fact of his impotence to do something more that particular night. Though the outcome of this night should be considered a triumph, since both he and the Ji'alantin was alive, the Master of Arms felt deceived and checkmated. Try me again, enigma, and I will prove to be a stout challenge. He bared his teeth to the darkness ahead of his path. That, I can assure you.
Time passed by in silence when they had left.
Yet after a few minutes, a violin could be heard playing in the halcyon Gardens, a faint echo of a song long forgotten.
