Fanfic:Jaryd's Great Stairs
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Whenever Jaryd smiled, the scar on the right side of his face tugged at his skin, a mute reminder of that peculiar night in the Gardens. Years had passed since someone had tried to kill him, and he still had no answers, only more questions...and a scar that he was certain he would bear for the rest of his life.
In the intervening time, he had worked hard, studied harder, and grown ever more certain of his Ajah choice, though he wisely kept his preference very quiet. His decision had been complicated by Carra's rapid ascension in the upper echelons of Tower leadership, of course. Now his...friend? Leader? Companion? wore an eight-striped stole, and if he chose the Red Ajah, he would be the only one.
Assuming I ever get raised, the lithe Altaran thought sardonically, rubbing at his cheek. He sat cross-legged on the floor of his room, a small board balanced across his knees. To his right sat a mug of tea and his ink pot; to his left, books were stacked in multiple haphazard piles in a crescent shape just within his reach. A collection of papers were scattered in any available space, along with a pretty rock the size of a fist, a black stone threaded onto a silver chain, a whetstone, and a collection of throwing daggers.
He turned a page of the book he held while reaching for his ink pot with the pen. He dipped, touched it to the paper, then looked down and realized that he had mistaken his tea cup for ink. Again. He wiped the nib on his breeches, then reached for the correct receptacle.
[i]Thump thump.[/i] The swarthy man jumped, eyes flying guiltily about the room. Book titles and their subjects flashed into his vision, each one more damning than the next. False Dragons- who they were, where they came from, and what became of them. A collection of books on the Taint. Anything he could find on the White Tower and the Black. The Breaking, Artur Hawkwing, and The Trolloc Wars. A person would have to be lacking in brains not to realize Jaryd sought information on a very sensitive subject indeed.
Not much to be done about it now. He dropped his pen and scrambled through his research, hastily shoving a double handful of papers and two or three of the more...interesting...books between the mattress and the frame of the bed he sat against.
Then he answered the door. Seth stood there, his youthful face somber. "What did I do this time?" Jaryd asked wryly.
The Yellow Asha'man silenced him with a graceful flick of his performer's fingers, and gave him a meaningful stare. "Oh Light," Jaryd gasped, falling against the doorframe for a moment. His thought from only a few minutes earlier floated back through his head, and he had to muffle a laugh. Then he collected himself and followed the Yellow Asha'man in silence, his teeth smashed so tightly together it made his jaw ache.
In the depths of the Grey Tower's cellars, far below the room Carra had so briefly called home, Seth led him through a set of enormous double doors. The domed room within had lanterns ringing the walls, and Jaryd paused for a moment while his eyes adjusted to the light. When he could see again, he found himself surrounded by seven Asha'man with their Ajah cords prominently displayed. The absence of red bothered him, even though he had already known that with the only Red recently raised to the Amyrlin Seat, there would be no representative at his raising. That will change soon.
Seth spoke then. "Attend. You came here in ignorance. How would you depart?"
Jaryd floundered for a moment, and then the months of memorization immediately after his raising came to his rescue. "In knowledge of myself," he said.
"For what reason have you been summoned here?"
"To be tried." I will do the world no favors if I flee in the face of adversity as I have so many times before.
"For what reason should you be tried?"
"So that I may learn whether I am worthy." Do I have the courage to do what must be done?
"For what would you be found worthy?"
"To wear the Cord." To be Red. To balance the scales. To serve the Tower and the world.
"Therefore, I will instruct you." Jaryd's gaze found a spot somewhere above their heads to rest as Seth's words flowed around him, ceremonial instruction on how to survive a test that no one truly understood. Whispers that an eighth stair had appeared after Carra's raising had reached even the learning ranks' quarters. How could such a thing happen? His mind raced even as he acknowledged what he was being told.
"If you are ready, you may begin," Seth finished, gesturing towards a door that Jaryd had somehow managed to miss on the opposite side of the chamber. Or perhaps it wasn't there until now, he thought, and for some reason that idea unsettled him more than anything else. He jerked his head in agreement, and two torches flared up to either side of the door. "May the Light illumine and keep you."
Shivering, Jaryd walked towards the door. He thought he could feel eight pairs of eyes on him even after he had passed between the torches into darkness.
The smell of lemongrass filled his nose. He shook his head, and realized that a step made of marble the color of summer honey floated in the darkness before him. Ahead he could see seven more stairs, ranging in color from green to red. Each step was bracketed by torches that burned without illuminating anything but the stair itself. What would I see if I turned around? Shaking his head at his own endless curiosity, the former vigilante lifted his foot and placed it solidly on the yellow stone. Bring it. The torches flared, then all went dark.
Jaryd stood in the middle of a street with no name. The reek of stagnant water, refuse, and garbage assaulted him, and he gagged. "Why did they bloody send me here?" He asked the air. A dark-haired woman with a knife hanging about her throat glared at him. He returned the look with bland indifference, and after a moment she shrugged uncomfortably and went about her business.
He had grown up on this street. He knew it as well as –better than- the back of his hand. Reena the laundry woman lived in the building to his left. She always had extra soup for children in need. She had no children of her own, but the couple who lived across the street did- a whole gaggle of them, spanning over a decade in age. The butcher a little bit up the block was known to scavenge his meat from alley ways and sell it to unwary customers. His mind raced on, naming each building or establishment, the people who lived there, what they were known for.
He was drawn sharply back to the present by someone tugging on his breeches. Realizing he could have lost a lot more than a purse with that moment of inattention, he looked down.
A little girl with enormous brown eyes looked back at him with solemn eyes. Her hair had probably never seen a comb, nor her face a wash basin. Her dirty brown bodice fit so tightly that it had torn and been patched several times, while her skirts were ragged and bared her filthy legs nearly to the knee. In that moment he became painfully aware of his own well-cut wool breeches, spotless linen shirt, cotton underthings, and sturdy boots, and how badly he stood out in this place he had once called home.
"I'm hungry," the little girl announced, unabashed by his discomfort.
Jaryd's fingers automatically moved to his purse before he could stop himself. What would such a tiny thing do with money? The second she was out of his sight someone bigger would take it from her. He would need to take her to get food instead. "What is your name?" He asked.
"Marisa," she said cheerfully. Abruptly, she began to cough. It went on, and on. After a few moments she collapsed, curling up in a tiny ball at his feet as she tried to control the coughs that tore at her body.
Shock held Jaryd captive for a moment as he stared at this tiny namesake of a woman he had once loved. Another set of dark eyes filled his vision, laughing at him. Then a woman's voice murmured mockingly "she is dying, my lord Kosari."
Surprised, Jaryd looked around for the speaker. No one was in sight save the little girl, whose hand was now spattered with blood. He knelt, but before he could touch her she emitted a soft cry and fell still in the dust.
"Blood and bloody ashes," Jaryd cursed. He knew nothing but the most basic of Healing, taught to anyone who had the strength to weave the flows. Would it be enough? He channeled, slamming the fiery tumult of saidin into that tiny body, burning away the illness by sheer strength of will. "Live. Live, please live," he begged as he worked.
When he released the Source, Marisa lay still and silent. She had a smile on her lips, and her eyes staring blankly at the sky. He held his breath as he stared at her, waiting for her chest to rise and fall. It wasn't until lights exploded before him and his vision began to darken that he realized she would never breathe again.
The inequity of the little girl's death and grief at his own inability to save her consumed him. He stared at her, tears rolling down his cheeks for an untold amount of time. The sun had shifted several finger widths to the west before he finally shook himself out of his daze. Carefully he smoothed her dress and tucked a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. "I will never understand why you had to die, little one," he told her quietly. "May you rest peacefully in the shelter of the Creator's hand, and may your next life be better than this one ever was."
He carefully closed her eyes. As his fingers pulled away, the world went dark.
The torches to either side went out, and the ones above the stair ahead roared. Jaryd stood still for several long moments, still battling the ache in his heart as he remembered the little girl's eyes, and how cheerfully she had introduced herself. Why Marisa?
The sharp scent of mint cleared his head, and the green stair seemed to grow richer, glowing like an emerald in the firelight. Pulling himself together with a sharp shake, the Dedicated moved forward.
When blood and dust mixed together in the sun, it emitted an overpowering odor that Jaryd found to be exceptionally unpleasant. It had been some time since he had had the dubious pleasure of experiencing that smell, and had hoped to continue in that trend for many years. Unfortunately, the Seanchan who had marched on Rocky Ford that morning seemed to have different ideas.
He and the villagers had fought them off- barely. Several of the villagers would be buried the next morning, and at least a dozen more lay in the inn being tended by the village Wisdom. If the Seanchan had had even a hand more men they would have lost.
He had known even as the villagers shouted victory that the Seanchan would send another patrol when the first did not return, and the second would likely have damane. With the aid of saidin and a helpful breeze he could hear them approaching now.
He channeled flows of Spirit. When he spoke, his voice rang as clearly as if he had shouted. "In this village I am simply Jaryd the peddler," he said. Heads turned to stare. "In the outside world of politics and vice, I am Asha'man Jaryd Kosari of the Grey Tower." The villagers gasped, nearly as one, and those closest to him actually stepped away. He sighed.
"What is about to come over that hill will kill you all unless you listen to me now as well as you did this morning," he continued. "You need to gather together inside the inn. Stay away from windows, out of sight. I will distract them- once they are gone, you must leave everything –including your dead- and flee. Go east to the river and cross it. Go north through the woods, and in about three weeks you will reach Hama Valon. If I haven't found you by then, tell them I sent you and why. They will give you food and shelter until you are able to find a new place to settle. If you value your lives and your freedom you must never return here."
The villagers looked at one another, murmuring softly. "Go. Now!" Jaryd said sharply. The group turned as one and made for the inn, with many fearful glances over their shoulders. The last one through the door –a young girl in a pale green dress- stopped and sketched him a quick curtsy.
Jaryd turned away and walked toward the patrol he knew would be arriving soon. Ten minutes later he topped a hill. He saw the patrol below him at the same time they saw him. The leader's fist went up, and they split into two groups. As Jaryd had suspected, they had damane- two of them, in fact, wearing demure gray and riding next to their sul'dam.
If the field is level, all bets are off. Eban's voice rang in his head, and Jaryd bit his lip, hesitating. Even as he weighed his options, the sul'dam pointed at him. He threw himself to the side as the ground erupted beneath his feet. He rolled then scrambled back to a stand.
"There has to be a different way! Cleaner, and honorable!" he snapped at the memory. There didn't seem to be one. The Seanchan channelers continued to attack, and the soldiers moved in to surround him. Hampered by his attempts to evade the damane attacks, he felt like a fly being pulled into a spider's nest.
If I don't stop them, those villagers will die, and that Wisdom will spend the rest of her life like a dog on a leash. The thought flowed through him and settled around him like a shroud. Jaryd looked up, and with unexpected clarity realized there was only one way to win this battle. Eban was right. The villagers did not deserve to die, and he had the ability to make it stop.
He reached for saidin as if in a dream, flows of Fire and Earth leaping to his bidding, weaving together into a thick cord that he slammed into the ground with every ounce of strength he possessed, rending stone to dust as it raced towards his enemy. As the rolling wave of destruction left his grasp, he could swear he heard saidin laughing at him.
As the Seanchan patrol exploded in a hellish ball of burning rock, ash, and screaming agony, he felt himself falling through a rift in reality.
When he opened his eyes, the torches to either side had guttered out, and the sapphire stair ahead pulsed, beckoning to him. The memory of what he had just done sickened him; he crouched for a moment, desperately pulling himself together lest he fall to his knees. Would I fail the test if I vomited? Best not to find out. He took several deep breathes, and slowly calmed himself. Never again. Never!
The stair pulsed again, like a stern mother beckoning a recalcitrant child, and the smell of violets filled the air. Ordering his stomach to behave, he took a shaky step forward.
Jaryd sat on a wooden bench outside a tavern called the Impish Lion. Despite its name, the establishment was an unassuming brick building at the center of a small town named Kelwyn's Crossing. They were located somewhere on Almoth Plain, where the law ran thin and tempers ran high.
A man named Ricard had been accused of murder two nights before. The shouts and torches had pulled the Altaran out of his bed long after midnight. The accused had been shoved into a room down the hall from his and the door had been locked. Jaryd had been in the town for some time already, and the people knew what he was. After some deliberation, the mayor had asked him to serve as an impartial judge at the trial. Therefore, Jaryd watched, listened, and learned. If he were to judge, he wanted to make sure he made the right decision.
When the sun hit its peak, the Asha'man drained his cup and went into the tavern. The common room had been set up as a court room, and most of the people of Kelwyn's Crossing had gathered there. As soon as he arrived, two men fetched Ricard and sat him in the chair in the center of the room.
Jaryd called the room to order, and began to take statements. Time passed slowly as he gathered information. Ricard was not known for being violent, but he was known for disliking his son in law Coram. They had engaged in several public altercations, in which Ricard had accused Coram of being abusive towards his wife, and on at least one occasion told him he deserved to die.
Coram's wife was named Driana, and she was not present. When Jaryd sent someone to fetch her, she refused to leave her home. No one could remember ever seeing any marks on her, and the messenger claimed she was whole and hearty as well.
With a heavy sigh, Jaryd asked Ricard for his story.
"I hate that bastard, but I didn't kill him," the Taraboner said coldly. "Wish him ill will and death? Sure. Actually do it? Never." He spat on the floor. "Dria left the gate open last night and the goats got out. Coram and I went after them, but that dumb son of a sheep had too much ale with his supper. He was staggering all over the place! When we got to Killian's Rock, we could see one of them blasted goats way up at the top." Ricard made an annoyed gesture.
"There's a perfectly safe track to get up there if you go a half mile around, but he would have none of it. I told him I'd meet him there, and kept walking. He made it about halfway up the rock I guess...maybe a little more... before he slipped. here was nothing I could do but watch him fall from where I stood. I ran back, but he'd hit his head on a stone." Ricard fell silent, glaring at the crowd. "Nothing can be done about a split skull, you all know that! I got him back here as fast as my legs could carry him anyway, but he took his last breath long before I got here."
Jaryd sat back and thought for several long moments. "I do not have enough evidence to find this man guilty of murder," he said finally, drumming his fingers on the table. "He will live the rest of his life with his conscious, and the knowledge that a moment's lack of empathy led to another person's death. That is punishment enough."
He gestured; reluctantly, the two men guarding Ricard stepped away and the older man leapt to his feet, laughing hysterically. Jaryd put up his hand before he could leave. "Although I believe you are innocent, many in this village do not. I strongly advise you to pack whatever possessions you hold most dear, and find a new place to call home- immediately."
Ricard nodded, sketched a bow that might have been mocking and might have simply been unpracticed, and dashed out of the room.
As Jaryd sat back in his chair, he felt the room begin to swirl into shadow.
Did I make the right choice? Jaryd pondered as he stared at the indigo step ahead. Did I save an innocent man, or let a murderer walk free? The only thing that gave him any pause was that Ricard's own daughter had refused to speak for him. Surely if her husband had hurt her and her father had tried to defend her, she would have been willing to say something, even while grieving?
The heady scent of jasmine filled his head, and he took a step forward as if in a dream.
"I'm telling you, he's touched by the Dark One." Tory sat hunched over the table, his mug of beer clutched in trembling hands, his piercing blue eyes fixed on Jaryd's face. The Altaran nodded sympathetically, but his mind was far away, remembering a time in his own life when it felt like the Dark One's eye had fallen on him.
"Tell me more about Rett," he said calmly. "Does he ever get sick?"
"How did you know?" Tory nearly fell over in his shock, then hastily took a long drag off his bear, wiping his hand with the back of his hand before speaking again. "He has been horribly sick several times this year. Fevers and chills by turns, won't eat, screaming in pain but nothing the Wise Man does makes it better."
Nor will it, Jaryd thought with a sigh, taking a sip of his tea. Should he tell this Amadician that his brother could channel? How could he explain that if Rett did not go to either the Grey Tower or the Black, he would die before he saw his eighteenth birthday? If he said anything, would Tory still want his help, or would he call for the Whitecloaks? "Please tell me you can help him, my lord."
"What makes you think I can help him?" Jaryd asked. His eyes were fixed on the window, where he had just seen a flash of white and silver pass by. The Children were always watching in Amadicia.
"You..." Tory's voice dropped again, an edge of desperation creeping into his tone. "You aren't from here. Surely you know more about these oddities than any small village could." Jaryd quirked an eyebrow up, half-smiling.
"I might be able to help him," he said quietly. Tory exhaled sharply, and Jaryd hastened to add, "but in order for me to do so, you must tell me where he is, and then leave us be. You may never see your brother again, but I promise you- he will be safe, healthy, and whole where I will take him."
Tory nodded enthusiastically, drained his mug, then stood, clearly ready to take Jaryd to his brother right then and there. With a quiet chuckle, Jaryd tossed a coin on the table and followed the stocky man out.
They walked through the village and into the forest that surrounded it in silence. They traveled along a cobble stone path for a little over half an hour before it emerged into a clearing that had a large house built of wood in the center. "This is our house," Tory confided. "Rett is usually in the living room. Should I come with you?"
Jaryd shook his head. "You have done more than enough, Tory," he said. "If you go now, you will not have to lie when the Children ask you about me." The Amadician blanched, turned on his heel, and vanished back into the forest.
The Asha'man quickly walked up the path to the house, and knocked sharply on the door. A few moments later, a skinny youth with the same straw colored hair as Tory opened it and peeked out. "What do you want?" He asked gruffly.
"I'd like to talk to you, if you don't mind," Jaryd said. "You are Rett, I presume?" The youth nodded slowly. "My name is Jaryd. Tory told me you've had some...odd...things happen. I was hoping you could tell me more about them." Rett tried to slam the door, but Jaryd stopped him with a hand on the wrist.
"I know you can channel, boy," he said. Rett froze, the color draining from his face. Jaryd sighed. "I am an Asha'man of the Grey Tower. Your brother asked me to help you."
That seemed to stir something in Rett, because he finally spoke. "Tory asked you to help me?" Disbelief colored his voice.
"Certainly, and I would be happy to explain- later. Unless you want to sit around chatting until the Children show up to make you tell them all about how the Dark One has touched your soul, I suggest you follow me." He turned, and walked away briskly. After a few moments he heard the door latch click shut, and quick foot steps behind him.
"Where are you taking me?" The boy's youth was betrayed by the fear and curiosity in his voice.
"A place called the Grey Tower," Jaryd said, weaving the flows to Skim to a safer location. As he tied the flows off, the world faded to darkness.
The torches to either side went out as Jaryd's awareness of the stairs returned. Did two young brothers named Tory and Rett exist in Amadicia? What would happen to them if they did? With a smile, Jaryd stepped through a cloud of citrus onto the brown step.
"I'm looking for a book," Jaryd told the Brown who sat at the desk in the front of the Library. He knew she was named Narine, but had never personally spoken to her before. She was Taraboner, and proud of it. Her honey-gold hair hung in dozens of tiny brains around her round face, and even with the ageless features of an Aes Sedai she seemed to pout.
"Funny, I thought you were looking for a horse," Narine said sarcastically, her tone at odds with her long lashes and full lips.
"I was reading The Catastrophes of the War of the Second Dragon," Jaryd said, blithely ignoring her annoyance, "and it referenced a book that Doran Nahalseen wrote after the fall of Guaire Amalasan. I think it was called The Mask of Insanity, but my copy of Catastrophes is damaged and that page got blurred out by water. Have you heard of it?"
Narine pursed her lips thoughtfully, tapping her chin with one perfectly lacquered fingernail. "No..." she said finally, drawing the word out as if she disliked admitting her lack of knowledge. "Can you show me where it was referenced?"
He pulled a leather case out of his shoulder bag, laid it on the table, and carefully pulled open the buckles that held it shut. Narine watched nervously as he pulled the old volume out of its safe spot, but she could not fault him for the care with which he handled it. He opened it to the page he had marked with a ribbon, and showed her the reference.
"This is not the same version of the book we have," she said after a moment of surprised silence. "I have never seen this before. Tylina, come here." Another Brown joined them, this one with a sprinkle of gray in her dark hair. The two women bent over the book, clucking thoughtfully at each other as they examined the tome. Some time passed before they seemed to recall Jaryd's presence. "This may very well be an original edition of this book. Where did you get it?" Narine asked.
"I have a special interest in False Dragons," Jaryd said calmly. "My Eyes and Ears located this book in Caemlyn and sent it to me some months ago." He tried to quell the little spark of glee he felt at having something the Browns –the Browns!- had not known existed. "I must confess, there's not a lot in it that I didn't already know. However, the last time Mask was seen was in the royal library in Chachin, and as you know, they donated most of their collection to us when the Tower was new. Therefore, it seems likely that it may be here."
"I have never seen it, and I have tended to these shelves for a hundred years or more," Tylina admitted. "If we have it, it may be in one of the vaults waiting to be catalogued."
Jaryd paused at that. He had never personally seen the Library's vaults, but he knew they were immense. How many books would he need to sort through? Did it matter? Doran had been one of Guaire's closest confidants, and there was much that could be learned from him. Ignoring the pit in his stomach that told him he was signing up for years of frustration, he spoke. "Finding that book is terribly important to my research. Would you grant me the privilege of looking through the vaults?"
As the two Aes Sedai's cool eyes turned on him in disbelief, the world faded.
As with all the rest, Jaryd paused a moment as he contemplated what he had just experienced. This time, his curiosity was truly piqued. He knew the two Aes Sedai he had spoken to, and False Dragons were already an acute interest of his. He filed the two book titles away for later consideration- perhaps they existed, perhaps they did not. It couldn't hurt to ask.
With a small smile, he stepped into a cloud of sandalwood. As his foot landed on the gray stair, the world vanished.
"I am Joslyn do Feana a'Soian, the Queen of Murandy. I demand to be given better quarters at once."
The musical tone to the woman's voice was at odds with the angry expression on her pointed face. She had her hair coiffed into an elaborate arrangement, adorned with a variety of flashy decorations. The center of the ensemble was a gold crown studded with pearls, emeralds, and rubies.
She looked as ridiculous as her country thought she was.
Jaryd suppressed the urge to laugh wildly, or simply walk away. Instead, he counted to thirty slowly while envisioning a flame, slowly placing himself back into the cold comfort of the Void. Then he spoke. "I understand you dislike your current living arrangements," he said calmly.
"Of course I do! My rooms overlook the stables, while that Tomana woman has a view of the Gardens. The smell that assaulted my nose upon entering my rooms cannot be described. This insult cannot be borne in silence!"
Jaryd arched an eyebrow in disbelief at her arrogance. Without thought, his demeanor shifted into the aloof stance of Cat Crosses the Courtyard as he took a step towards her. The immediate effect on his ‘delicate' companion was profound. Her dark eyes grew huge, and she pushed her hands against her full skirts as if to distance herself from him.
"Tomana do Regina a'Clair Sedai," he began in a voice heavy with disdain, "is an Aes Sedai of the Green Ajah. She is quartered with her sisters in the Green Ajah quarters. You, on the other hand, are a guest. Additionally, you are supposedly in disguise," his eye flicked to the crown, "and you arrived in the middle of the night. You were given the most appropriate quarters we had available given the circumstances. If you dislike your chambers, I am certain something can be arranged, but we will not," and he made a sharp gesture with his hand, "be displacing our Sister to satisfy your pettiness. Do I make myself quite clear?"
Joslyn sniffed, loudly. "If this is how you treat nobility, I am not surprised your "Tower" is considered a clan of upstart runaways and stablehands," she said coldly. "I believe I have more important business to attend to with the real Tower, where they treat Queens in a manner befitting their station."
Flows of Air wrapped around the woman with gentle strength, holding her in place as she turned to leave. She froze, stark terror emblazoned on her face, and he turned her in place until he could look her in the eye.
"If you spoke to an Aes Sedai of Tar Valon the way you just spoke to me, little sister," he said in the kindest tone he possessed, "You would still be howling long after your faithful counsel replaced you with another trite figurehead. Which, I might remind you, would take them less than a week from learning you had angered the White Tower. Once you stopped screaming, you would be set to scrub pots in the main square, still wearing your fancy gown and ridiculous crown. If you survived the shame, you might then be placed as a serving maid in the Tower itself, or you might be bundled off to Murandy in a sack...and do I need to describe what would happen to you there?" She grew pale at the thought.
"You are lucky, Queen Joslyn, that the Grey Tower –and the Grey Ajah- believes in interacting with the world in a kinder, more understanding way. We understand that Murandian politics make it difficult for anyone to remain an authority figure for long, and that occasionally, that person may wish to escape the rapids before they literally lose their heads." She flinched. "We allowed you to stay, even with your ridiculous posturing and nonexistent humility, because we are quite aware that you are not safe in your own palace, let alone at large in the country you supposedly rule." Her gaze dropped to study the floor, and he nodded with satisfaction.
"Now tell me, child, do you still wish to go to the White Tower with your tales of mistreated woe? Or would you prefer to apologize for your rude comments and formally identify yourself as the Queen of Murandy so we can give you more suitable accommodations?"
He released her and she took a step to regain her balance. Then she stood in silence for several long moments. "I suppose I will meet with the Amyrlin," she said finally, her voice only a little shaky. "I have something I need to tell her." She gave him a sidelong glance. "You are not as you seem, Jaryd Kosari."
The comment seemed odd coming out of her mouth, as if she were not really the one saying it. It echoed, almost, like a memory. He blinked.
That was unexpected. Until Carra has created the Red Ajah, he had planned on being Grey. However, he somewhat suspected that if he had joined the Grey Ajah and spoken to a visiting noble –even one in disguise- the way he had just addressed Joslyn, he would never have survived his penance. Perhaps it is a good thing the Tower took their time in raising me, he thought.
His eyes shifted ahead. He only had two steps left. The first shone like a pearl in the torch light, and the second...he forced himself to ignore the second, instead moving forward to stand on the white stair.
He stood near a column that soared at least seven times his height before it met with the vaulted ceiling over his head. The ceiling itself had been inlaid with colored stone to resemble a seven-spoked wheel. Red, brown, white, gray, green, blue, and yellow stared at him. The absence of indigo jarred him. Why am I in the White Tower?
He looked around, and realized that he was not alone; many people were in the room with him. Farmers, nobles and merchants alike all stared about in awe. Time passed and the group milled about, chatting quietly about inconsequential subjects as strangers do. Occasionally a woman in novice white or an Accepted's seven-striped hems spoke briefly to one of the people then took them away. Even more rarely an Aes Sedai moved through, her ageless face and graceful step marking her presence more strikingly than a blaring trumpet.
One by one they took the crowd away, until only Jaryd remained. He sat down against the pillar that marked the line between red and blue on the ceiling, and tried to conceal his discomfort.
"You are Jaryd Kosari," a voice said some time later. The woman who spoke to him wore all white, from the pearls in her hair to the slippers that peeked from beneath her lacy skirts. Her hair and eyes were in stark contrast with her dress, however. Her eyes were a piercing green, and wild red curls fell in reckless abandon over her shoulders, down her back. He could not deny she was the most stunningly beautiful woman he had ever seen.
"I am," he said simply.
She tilted her head. "What brings you to the White Tower?"
He met her gaze squarely, knowing the Aes Sedai would find it disconcerting. "I am an Asha'man of the Grey Tower," he said after a long pause. "I came in search of peace."
"What peace do you hope to find here?"
"Your sisters are unjustly killing my brothers," he said. "You declare to the world that all men who can channel are mad, those destroying their trust in the work we do. Then you hunt us like animals, try us like criminals, and kill us like vermin." His voice had grown harsh with emotion, and he struggled to regain the Void. "You do this because without the protection your Tower supposedly offers the world against our madness, you have nothing on which to retain your status." He pushed himself to his feet, saidin raging to be free inside him.
"We have no proof that the Madness is gone," she said calmly, clasping her hands at her waist. "Only the claims of the very men tainted by the Dark One...and what reasonable person trusts the words of a madman?"
Jaryd paused for a moment, but then he found the hole in her argument. "While it is true you cannot trust the word of a madman," he said, "it is not a man who has been telling you the Taint is cleansed. It is all men who can channel, and there is a point where you must trust the consistency of their reports. When ten men who have never met each other all tell you the same thing at the same time, how can you disregard that truth?"
"Perhaps the madness has taken a new form," the Aes Sedai said. "Perhaps they are simply too young to recognize the signs just yet."
Jaryd laughed. "I have never felt the Taint," he said, "but in books I have read, channelers described it like reaching through grease. If there were a barrier of filth between me and the pure joy that is saidin, I would know it." He paused, thoughtful, an idea stirring in his mind.
"You seem to be inclined to rational thought," he said finally. "Come to the Grey Tower, Aes Sedai. Talk to the men there. Some are old enough that they remember the Taint, while others were born long after it was cleansed. Watch them individually and as a group. One man could maintain a lie for a long time, it is true, but a whole group of men, of varied experience, backgrounds, and ages? It is illogical to believe they could all maintain the same lie for an untold amount of time."
She thought on that, her ageless face still and emotionless, for several minutes. "I'm afraid I simply cannot trust you," she said finally. "It may be illogical to disbelieve a large group of people, but it is even more illogical to willingly go into a place of danger on the words of a man who is likely half-mad already."
His skin tingled. He seized saidin, filling himself to the brim with power, and the shield she had attempted to weave fell aside. "I could level your Tower if I wished, Aes Sedai," he said coldly. "I hope you do not live to regret your choice to remain willfully ignorant of the truth."
His own shield slammed into place so hard she staggered, clutching at her chest as if he had punched her. He took a step, and fell into darkness.
The torches to either side of the white stair went out. There remained only one step, and the ruby-red stone glowed, almost pulsing in the light of the flames.
This is it, he thought, staring at it. One more, and I'm through. I will be Asha'man. He tapped his fingers on his thighs, chewing on his lip. Is this really what I want?
Memories flashed before his eyes. Marisa laughed as she tossed a knife at a straw target...and then screamed as flames raced around the courtyard she had died in. Amidst the darkness of unholy fear and grief that he struggled with at the Black Tower, the memory of discovering his Talent for Wards and protection glowed warm. He had run away and wandered, and those years were a gray fog until he remembered his mother's voice telling him of the Grey Tower.
He had spent years struggling with resentment as a soldier, getting a reputation as a troublemaker, a flirt, and perhaps a bit dishonest. Gradually the knot of fear inside him had unfurled, however. Then he met Carra and Amadie, and his world had changed again. He remembered talking to Carra in the library, deciding on his Ajah at that moment, even as he struggled not to put his feet in his mouth. Against the passion of that moment the cold memory of the assailant in the garden was a bitter reminder of the price of arrogance.
And now...now here he stood. Could he ever go back to being simply Jaryd the street rat? Did he want to, even if he could?
I will be Asha'man.
He stepped forward decisively, both feet landing squarely on the red step.
The pear-shaped roofs of Ebou Dar were even more colorful than Jaryd remembered, and the sun even more brutally hot. Thankfully he could choose not to allow that heat to touch him, and strode through the familiar streets calm-faced and perspiration free.
He had been sent there on a diplomatic mission, and today was the first time since his arrival nearly a week before that he had had a few hours to spare. A ramshackle building in the Rahad called his name. He traced his route home as easily that day as he would have so many years before, and arrived at the door steps brimming with excitement.
The door opened before he got to the steps, and a woman with dark eyes and swarthy skin came out on the stoop, drying her hands on her apron. "I heard you were in the city," she said. Her face was suspiciously blank, but her voice quavered.
"Mother," Jaryd said, unable to keep his own voice from breaking as he collapsed against her. This is unbefitting an Asha'man, a cynical voice murmured in his head. He chose to ignore it. "I came as soon as I could," he said, looking up at her. The loving face he remembered had been weathered by sun and hardship. There were too many wrinkles he did not know, and her hair had gone nearly white, but the kind turn of her lips stayed the same.
"I would have come to visit you but I didn't think they'd let an ornery old peasant woman into the royal palace," Eilana Kosari said in a wry tone. "I figured either your head had grown big to be tolerated anyway, or you would find your way when you could." She kissed him on each cheek before pulling away. She settled down on the top step, and patted the spot next to her.
Though suddenly self-conscious, he joined her, settling with forearms resting on his knees. She looked over, and seemed to notice the stone he wore around his neck for the first time. "That was Marisa's," she said. It wasn't a question, but he nodded anyway. "You still have it after all these years?" He nodded again.
His mother drew a hissing breath through her teeth, seeming suddenly guarded. "What is it?" He asked, looking at her intently. She knew how he had felt about his friend, and what he had done to her; there were no secrets between them. What could surprise her about that now?
"You know there were rumors after you left," Eilana said finally, fidgeting with her skirts.
He shrugged. "Of course there were. My entire gang went up in flames, and I vanished like a thief in the night. I am surprised no one drew a fang on your door, mother."
"Not about you," Eilana said, after another long pause.
Jaryd blinked. "What...sort of rumors...?" He asked hesitantly. Suddenly, he couldn't say whether he wanted to know or not.
"We know now what the men in black coats are," Eilana responded. "At the time, we just thought they were foreigners who didn't know how to dress. One of them was asking about you about three days before...before it happened." She gave him a sidelong look. "He had a nose like a purple potato."
"Londane?" Jaryd asked, incredulous. He had sought out the Asha'man after Marisa's death, and the man had said nothing.
"Yes, I think that's the right name," his mother said. "He was asking about you. Said he noticed you kept a tight ship around these parts. He wanted to know all the details. Of course we didn't tell him much –he was an outlander! What could he possibly know of our business?" She laughed.
"But...he came here the night that Marisa...passed. He told me he had heard there was a fire, and that you had caused it." Jaryd's fists clenched, the resurfacing pain of memory almost more than he could bear. "I didn't realize then," Eilana said slowly, "But he got here too quickly, and he knew too much, Jaryd. Eban was there with you, he saw everything, and he didn't get back to me until hours afterward...and even he didn't know as much as that Londane did."
Jaryd blinked, feeling as if his mind were moving through frozen honey. Something wasn't right. What was she telling him? The older Kosari looked at the younger, recognizing the confusion behind the impassive face. "I don't think you killed Marisa," she said bluntly. "I think that that...Asha'man...did."
Still struggling to understand, Jaryd leaned against the stair rail, trying to gather his thoughts. "Why would he do that?" he asked inanely, twisting his fingers in knots.
"The Black Tower has a bad name, my boy." Eilana wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulders. "They kidnap boys in the night, bully them, and turn them into killing machines. You told me some of it when you came back, but the rest...news travels fast. My body may be old, but my mind still works- I can see what's true and what isn't." She squeezed, then let go. "You can channel, and from what you told me, you're good at what you do. Perhaps he felt you lacked sufficient incentive to explore your skills."
It made sense...way too much sense. Saidin leapt to his grasp, and the air thrummed with electricity as his anger beat at the blank walls of the Void within his mind. His mother pulled away, watching him worriedly. "He is long gone now, Jaryd," she said quietly. "Pulling my house down around my ears won't get you the answers you seek."
Jaryd shuddered, the simultaneous pull of saidin and wrath tearing at him with relentless strength. He thought of a flame, intending to regain some peace, and instead it exploded into a miasma of fire and smoke, shadow smoke biting his eyes, phantom screams assailing his ears, and ghostly fingers clawing at his skin. He lost himself to the horror for long moments, feeling the earth quiver in response to the blinding torrent of saidin that roared within him.
You are washed clean of Jaryd Kosari of Ebou Dar, Landrin's calm voice cut through the chaos and echoed clearly in his mind. For a moment he felt the cold rush of water pouring over his skin, taking away his rage and horror and leaving behind only grief and painful acceptance.
He opened his eyes, and slowly released the death grip he had taken on the stair rail. His mother still sat beside him, rigidly self-composed, though his trained eyes could see the signs of fear and anguished indecision in her face.
"I want to kill him," he admitted raggedly, staring blankly at the building across the street. "But killing him now in fear and anger would not absolve my guilt, nor end the pain her family felt when she passed." He paused thoughtfully. "I will find the truth...and if he did kill her, five Dragons together will not be able to prevent me from dragging him to face the lawful justice that Marisa's memory deserves."
His fists connected with the wood on either side of his thighs, and as the blow rattled his body, the world faded to white light.
Shaken, Jaryd lurched forward, one shoulder connecting with the door at the end of the stairs as the torches over the red stair went out. Light help me, was that real? he thought, staring blankly ahead into another domed chamber filled with white light. I need to know. I must know!
He stumbled forward a few steps, until he came toe to toe with Seth. To either side of the young Master of Soldiers stood seven Asha'man, one from each of the Ajahs who had a representative.
Seth took a step back and clapped his hands. "It is done. Let no one ever speak of what has passed here. It is for us to share in silence with he who has experienced it. It is done." He clapped again, and then a third time. "It is done!" Jaryd's head pounded, his ears rang. He just wanted to sit down, to be alone, to think, to grieve. When would he have the time?
"Who comes here?" That was not Seth's voice, and its timber steadied Jaryd's scattered mind.
"Jaryd Kosari."
"For what reason do you come?"
"To swear the Three Oaths, and thereby claim the Cord of an Asha'man."
"By what right do you claim this burden?"
"By right of having made the passage, submitting myself to the will of the Grey Tower."
"Then enter if you dare, and bind yourself to the Grey Tower."
The Asha'man parted, and Jaryd looked ahead to see Riven and Carra standing together beyond. The break with tradition surprised him- but then, no one had been raised since Carra had gained the Amyrlin Seat. Perhaps this was a sort of...training exercise. The thought made him smile, so when he approached them, the old spark of humor had come back to life in his face.
Jaryd knelt silently, and when Riven lifted the Oath Rod, he held his hands out palm-up, his self-assured actions at odds with the uncertainty roiling in his mind. Riven laid the rod across his hands and Jaryd closed his fingers. What exactly does it mean to be bound?
Riven instructed him on the first oath, and without hesitation, Jaryd repeated it. "Under the Light, by my hope of salvation and rebirth, I swear to speak no word that is untrue." Almost immediately, the unpleasant feeling of having his entire being crushed into a space far too small for comfort consumed him. He rocked back for a moment, eyes closed, then forced himself to meet the M'hael's eyes once more.
Once again, he repeated as instructed. "Under the Light and by my hope of salvation and rebirth, I vow to make no weapon with which one man may kill another." Once again that unpleasant sensation rolled through him.
A third time he repeated as instructed, speaking slowly and clearly to avoid stumbling over the long phrase. "Under the Light and by my hope of salvation and rebirth, I vow never to use the One Power as a weapon except against Shadowspawn, in the last defense of my own life, that of my Warder, or that of another Brother or Sister of the Grey Tower." He clamped his jaw against the suffocating feeling, but a gasp of discomfort still escaped him. A few moments passed, and he felt the feeling loosen, barely perceptible.
No one in the room was willing to wait for him to grow used to his new state of existence, it seemed. "It is done. The Oaths are graven on your bones. You are bound to the Grey Tower," Riven placed the Oath Rod back on its cushion, then leaned over him to pin the gold dragon pin on Jaryd's collar. "Rise now, Asha'man; choose your Ajah and take your place among us."
Jaryd kissed Riven's ring, then twisted to look where Riven had gestured. The Asha'man had arranged themselves against the wall, each of them holding a bundle. On the far right, a simple wooden chair had been placed against the wall, a similar bundle on its seat. Among the Asha'man, the Grey and the Brown stared at each other, both of them wearing a cautiously triumphant expression.
The new Asha'man rose and strode unerringly to the chair, untying the bundle and removing the red cord it contained. "I choose the Red Ajah," he said clearly. After a moment of surprised silence, the Grey and Brown Asha'man looked at each other, shrugged, and walked out, followed quickly by the others.
It became clear, then, why Carra had attended the raising. She carried out the duties of the Red Head of Ajah with cool indifference while Riven looked on; when she had finished, she kissed his cheek and said "Welcome home Brother. We have waited long for you," so calmly she might have been asking him about the weather. He watched her, wondered, but said nothing. She was the Amyrlin, now.
A short time later someone opened the doors and ushered Jaryd out, the gold dragon of his rank and the blood-red cord of his Ajah glowing in the lantern light.
