Fanfic:Stories Told (Lembirt's Great Stair)
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I am Lembirt Antii, Dedicated of the Indigo Ajah. This is my room. Changing my Ajah of Aspiration was one of the hardest decisions I have ever had to consciously make. It was an entirely different sort of difficult than the Three Arches - here, in the real world, I had to convince myself that what waited in my future as a Brown Asha'man was truly worse than having to stand before that giant of a man and admit that I had chosen incorrectly.
The funny thing is, after all the strain of moving my belongings into my new quarters in the Indigo Halls - it was quite a struggle getting Ma'darath there without him being found out! - I only inhabited that new room with its purple doorframe for a few days. I was on my way to a class on examining power-modified metal and stone - well, actually, I hadn't made much 'way' at all - Daimenin al'Donai, the Master of Soldiers, was waiting silently for me just outside my door. Grace, but that was quite a scare!
At first, I assumed he was there to exact some sort of bizarre penance from me as a continued payment for switching Ajahs. I can tell you, I was quite frightened when the man led me up all of those flights of stairs, I half-thought that we were going to see the M'Hael! Twice is more than enough for any Dedicated, really. There's something... more than menacing about that fellow.
But no, in fact I was not going to see the M'Hael. I was going somewhere far more unnerving than that. When those oaken doors swung open, and I could see that staircase with its seven steps...
I believe that the Great Stair is a little like the Arches; we really aren't supposed to tell anyone about what happens to us, and what actions we take in there. Normally, I wouldn't tell anyone, of course. But you aren't just anyone. You understand me. I trust you.
I did not really think I was ready at all, but I made the ritual replies anyway. Before I knew it, I was standing before that staircase. One polished boot settled down on the yellow stone step. So far, nothing too terrifying. I lifted my other foot, and brought it down as well. The world seemed to shiver, and then I was... elsewhere.
The Yellow Ajah
I stood on a yellow stone, placed incongruously in the middle of a city street. Dark skinned people bustled around me, bumping into me occasionally with their unkind words. I stepped off the stone, wondering what was expected of me - and then it hit me. Of course! I was in Tear, with a small group of initiates, here to comb the antiques and jewellery shops for Objects of Power. I had found a pendant made of power-wrought metal here as a Dedicated, and I wanted to see if the find had been one of a kind. Well, that, and the Maul was a perfect place for my experiments.
My destination, for the moment, was the house of a wealthy merchant. As he was the owner of several of the shops I had sent my Dedicated to explore, I planned to negotiate a deal with him to purchase several items for a slightly lowered price. My funds aren't unlimited, whatever some people might think. When I reached the man's house - a sober building with three stories and bluish trimming about the casements - I found that he was in no condition to make any sort of business transaction. A servant showed me to the man's room, where he lay in a stupor in his bed, obviously suffering from some sort of fever. I excused the servant, and delved the merchant; my first guess was right, and he was indeed gravely ill. So, I sent for Dedicated Imshar, a Yellow aspirant who had been included in the mission because of his affinity for ter'angreal. Soon, colour returned to the merchant's face, and he thanked me profusely. Why, in return for his health, he offered an even greater discount than I had been planning to ask for! Of course I tried to convince him that it wasn't necessary, but he wouldn't listen.
And, just like that, when I was about to return to the inn I was staying at and announce the good news to the rest of my party, it all disappeared. I was on the Yellow stair once more, lit from either side by bright, yellow torches. Ahead was the Green step, and it seemed like there was nothing in else in the world. It was a rather strange feeling, looking back on it, even if it seemed normal at the time.
I climbed to the next level.
The Green Ajah
This time, I found myself standing on the wall walk of a heavily fortified keep. The green stone was decidedly out of place against the blue-grey, crystalline diorite the rest of the keep was built from. Soldiers rushed here and there in a panic, and off to the side stood a man who was richly dressed in the fashions of the Borderlands. Wondering how in the world I had ever found myself in such a place, I took a step toward the fellow, quite obviously Nobility of some sort.
The green stone vanished behind me. Jaran Zhafayn, Lord of Fal Ishka, hailed me. There were more Trollocs this time than ever before, and the Eyeless as well to drive them on. Like any Kandori city, Fal Ishka had seen its share of Trolloc raids, but nothing to compare to the hoard that scouts had spotted earlier. We walked along the wall, into one of the guard Towers nearby. The keep was packed with townsfolk from both the city proper and numerous neighbouring villages. This sort of news spread fast. With ample food and water, the Keep was well stocked in case of a siege. Of course, Trollocs rarely had the attention span to sit through any sort of lengthy siege, even with Myrdraal to watch them, as I was sure to tell the noble. We were discussing the best place to keep the civilians safe, when a cry rose from outside. The Trollocs were attacking!
That battle... it only affirms in my memory why I never wished to find myself in such a situation. It was chaos. Men around me screamed as Trolloc arrows tore devastating wounds through their bodies; the roars of trollocs and the deadly rustle of arrows being fired made it almost impossible to think. There couldn't have been fewer than ten fists of Trollocs out there, and a similar number of Fades to drive them. I can remember screaming to a fellow manning a siege crossbow - invented by the Cairhienin in the Second Aiel War - to aim for the Fades as best he could, for without them the Trollocs would not have the wherewithal to continue the attack in any sort of organized fashion.
I can also remember taking matters into my own hands. Drawing as much of the One Power as the angreal I had acquired from the Indigo Storerooms would allow me, I threw fire at as many of the Halfmen as I could see from my standpoint. I have always been good with fire, but to hit such a small target over such a great distance took real skill. Between me and the Ballista-men, we got every one of the Light forsaken creatures. Several of the trolloc fists must have been bound to their Myrdraal, because they were immediately incapacitated, falling to the ground and writhering about in agony. Many of the rest took to infighting, their blood lust showing them that the Trolloc around them - many from warring bands - were much easier targets than the human high above on the walls.
Lord Jaran turned to me, then, and thanked me for my help. Certainly it would have been a much longer, bloodier siege if I hadn't been there to lend my hand to the cause. I had scarcely opened my mouth to reply when I realized that the stone between my feet was green, and everything around me faded. There was only the stair I stood upon, and the radiant blue light of the torches ahead of me.
The Blue Ajah
I stood in a doorway, the threshold made of a length of blue stone despite the otherwise dilapidated, stone plastered building. Women with knives covered in glass beads, and men with open vests that showed off their olive-toned skin laughed raucously within the dim interior of the tavern. I stepped into the dim recesses of the Ebou Dari inn, and quite suddenly I remembered exactly why I was frequenting such a place, deep in the Rahad as it was.
My experiments were what brought me here, just as they had brought me to the Maul of Tear and to the Foregate in my own home city. I'd already been in Altara for a few weeks, but certain circumstances had caused me to feel the need to change my residence. It was could be quite troublesome, for an Asha'man to venture within to a Seanchan city. My disguise was a different one now; olive skin replaced my natural, paler shade, and my clothing and hair matched the Ebou Dari fashions. I had even taken the care to modify my tone into a fitting accent.
I arranged for a room - amidst a joking comment from the innkeeper that my wife must have thrown me out, if I needed to stay at an inn - and then took a seat at the back of the smoky common-room. The wine this place had was harsh stuff, but I ordered a mug of it anyway; after that near-miss with the Damane, I needed something to calm my nerves.
The girl that brought it over had obviously seen the wrong side of some man's fist, judging by the bruises on her arms and face, and the hangdog air about her. What sort of man would I be, if I stood by and let someone be treated like that!
But at the same time.... No, I would put the fear of the creator into man. It was a simple enough plan to execute, really. A few coins dropped here and there took care of a lot of it. First, I went to the room I was staying in and removed my illusion. It was not hard to set a new one in place, one that depicted me as member of the Seanchan Nobility. Not a High Lord, certainly, but one of the lesser ones with the strange haircuts. I say, the innkeeper looked more than a little surprised when I confronted him! I told him in no uncertain terms that the empire did not take kindly to innkeepers who felt they could treat their serving girls like mongrel dogs, and that I had more than resources enough to know if he ever mistreated one of the women again, even so much as an over-harsh word.
The men in the crowd that I had paid to shoot the innkeeper knowing glances, and the glare I sent him myself once I had changed my illusion to an Ebou Dari peasant once more were quite enough to convince him. Not only would those girls be spared an unjust hand, but now I would have a good source of reconnaissance from my new Eyes and Ears.
I sipped my bitter wine, sending a glance at one of the girls who had no idea she had just been spared from a continuing life of abuse. Just as I caught her downcast eyes with my own, everything once again faded away into the void. Blue light surrounded me, and ahead shone a pair of brilliantly burning indigo torches. Nothing else existed beyond the blue step my feet rested on, the Indigo step I was about to step to.
The Indigo Ajah
Although the simple inn common room had a plank floor, one of the long boards was replaced with a rectangular, indigo stone. I stepped off the weird beam - somehow it made me feel uncomfortable - and turned to face the plainly dressed young man who had come here to speak to me.
Toniegh's River was a relatively small town in Kandor, far enough south of the Blight Border that it rarely, if ever, saw Trolloc Raids. I was on my way to Fal Ishtar to visit with Lord Jaran; years ago, when I travelled through Kandor on the way to Saldaea, I had discovered several ter'angreal within his city, and he had allowed me to keep them for study. I always felt somehow obligated to help Jaran and his people after that, and when news had come of increasing Trolloc attacks, I felt like I should lend my hand however possible.
Well, that wasn't important, for the moment. What was important was the young peasant standing before me, telling me a bizarre tale about his brother's misfortunes. My first thought was that the young man might be Channelling without knowing it. Men with the Spark were rare enough, but not unheard of. Especially since the Red Ajah had begun to have a bit less success in hunting them all down, now that the Black and Grey Towers brought so many men in for training.
I wouldn't have been much of an Indigo if I wasn't curious.
When I arrived at the man's house - with the murky shadow of a teardrop balanced on its point still half-visible on the door - I quietly announced myself for what I was. I had been travelling under the guise of a Hunter for the Horn, believable enough of a solitary Noble appearing in a backwater village with only a single retainer and just one valet. They were... shocked, at first, to learn what I was. We still aren't exactly respected, as I'm sure you know.
The boy's mother cried when I told her what I thought her son might be, even amidst the assurances that saidin was no longer tainted. When I persuaded the family to let me test to boy - after explaining to them exactly what happened to those born with the Spark if they weren't trained - the result I found wasn't at all what I expected. There was no resonance, none at all, even when I strengthened the weave as much as I dared without hurting the child's mind. Not only did he not have the spark, it would seem that he wasn't even able to learn to channel. I told his family the good news, of course, but that didn't explain at all why unusual things had been happening around him. After some further thought, I decided to try something else. I had borrowed a ter'angreal from Anshie Sedai, one of my fellow Indigos. She owned it, personally, yet it was of little use to her since it required saidin in order to function.
I tried the device in the boy's presence, and immediately, to my eyes, he seemed to glow like a torch. Ta'veren, I explained to his parents, are people who are able to twist the pattern about themselves in unpredictable ways. They nearly always have some greater purpose to serve, and although I hadn't a clue what this boy's might be, I was able to convince his parents to let me take him to the Grey Tower on my return trip from Fal Ishka. It would not have been right to drag the young man off to what might very well be a battle, you see.
A satisfied smile on my face, I stepped through the door of the modest dwelling, and found myself, once more, standing in a void on an indigo-coloured stair. This time, ahead and above me was a brown step. Brown, like I once thought my Ajah would be. There was nowhere to go but forward.
The Brown Ajah
Amidst the broken flagstone path was a single, long, unbroken stone. Brown, despite the slate-grey of the other stones, and oddly enough, placed directly beneath my own well-shined boots. I stepped off it, moving toward the... shack ahead. My trip to Saldaea had been less than effective. How in the world had I ever expected to find a person when all I knew was that her family were ice pepper merchants, and she lived on the banks of a river? On my way south again - via the Black Hills, it was a lot faster than going all the way east again just so that I could take the Tar Valon road, however well constructed it might be - I had heard rumours about an old recluse who had a trove of books, supposedly left over from the Age of Legends. According to local Myth, they were written in the Old Tongue. Of course I went to see if there was any truth in the myth. I was almost a Brown, for the love of Grace.
So, I stepped into the hovel, and spoke to the... hermit who dwelled within. He let me have the books without much of a fuss at all. It turned out that he couldn't read them anyway, and had only kept them because he felt that something that was obviously so old should be preserved.
Since I read the Old Tongue as well as I speak it - and that is very well - I checked the books over as soon as I was away from the shack and its owner. They seemed to be from around the time of the Ten Nations, not from the Age of Legends, but it was still quite a find. Most of them were of great historical significance - books on philosophy, or history, or the political climate of the era - and one was actually about channelling, with direct references to how a man might perform the weave instead of a woman. Perhaps it was written by an Aes Sedai of the time, one who longed to return to the days of mixed circles. Then again, considering the nature of many of the weaves within, the writer could very well have been of a rather different sort.
I packaged the tomes with notes for the Librarians at the Tower, and made ready to return. Well, except for the last volume, the one that contained references to Channeling; I kept that one for myself. For my Ajah, I mean. Certainly I wouldn't want possibly dangerous weaves to be available to the public before an Ajah of men and women trained in such things had a chance to study them. Such a thing would be unconscionable.
All of that in order, I prepared to mount Shae'drelle once more and return to the Tower. Much to my surprise, instead of my foot landing in the stirrup as I aimed, I jarringly found myself once more standing alone on a Brown stair, gazing ever onward to the Grey step above me. Ahead, besides the Grey stair, I thought I could begin to see sparkles of white light, flittering around like living stars. Between those two steps, I had no idea how many times I had lifted my foot from one to the other, nor had I any idea of what would be behind me if I turned. It did not really, matter though, because I walked forward.
The Grey Ajah
It was a lordly manner that I found myself in, in Cairhien if I knew my architecture, and I certainly did. Out on a heavy balcony, the grey stone I stood on was barely visible against the dark grey marble of the floor. I turned around, to face the man speaking behind me. War between Cairhien and Andor was unthinkable, and those foolish Andorans were more than prickly enough to ignore Cairhienin reasoning and start a fight over something so trivial. Neither nation was in any condition for a war, at any rate; Andor was having trouble enough with the succession, and the Black Tower. Cairhien had barely recovered from the Civil War, not to mention the Second Aiel War and the Lord Dragon's continuing occupation.
At that moment, I was in the Cairhienin general's manor - he was minor nobility, with an estate granted to him for his military service. It didn't take much convincing to show the man that he had to show just how reasonable he could be here; obviously, the other side was too immature to listen to reason. My suggestion was simple; a military tribunal, according to Cairhienin custom, observed by the General himself but presided over by Andorans and held in Andor. That way, it would not give any more of the Cairhienin army the idea that they could turn to banditry and not fear reprisal, and both sides would know that the trial was fair.
Well, when I said it did not take much convincing, I was lying. It actually took a great deal of skill on my part, to make General Haderwynn see the logic in the statement, and to convince him that Cairhien would not be showing weakness by 'giving in' to the other side's demands. But, of course, I do not wish to brag.
Satisfied, I walked back to the balcony. It had been some time since I had a chance to gaze out upon the terraced hills of my home country. I missed them, but I had no real reason to return here, not since... Well, that is beside the point. On further thought, perhaps I did have a reason. My experimentation in the Maul had been quite successful; maybe I could take what I had learned there and advance my knowledge even further in the Foregate.
I stepped through the square arch onto the balcony, found myself once more in a near-empty place. Ahead of me, brilliant white torches gleamed with unnatural brightness, their radiant glow shattered into a million fluttering points of light. Once more, I stepped forward.
The White Ajah
In the sprawling grounds of an Illianer manor-house, I stood upon a lone white paving stone amidst the red and blue slate that formed the decorative pathways. To my side, an elderly Lord sat on a blue-veined bench of pink marble, looking lost in thought.
I had come to Illian, to the Perfumed Quarter, for the last phase of my experiments. Soon it would be time to begin my plan with Vairen, but for now, I felt that I had earned the right to spend a few months away from my work and devote myself to something relaxing. With that in mind, I had offered my services as an advisor to an elderly Illianer Lord by the name of Dallar Gee, one of the few in the city wealthy - and influential - enough to be known to take advice from an Asha'man.
I told him that the answer was quite simple; it didn't take a member of the White Ajah to see that the man's argument was self-defeating. It didn't really matter what the law was based on; if a man was going to argue that he hadn't had a choice in murdering that man because the Pattern fated his actions, then it was easy enough to say that pattern had also fated the consequences of those actions. If we lived in a world where killing a man in cold blood led to being hanged as a punishment, then when the Wheel wove it that a man killed another, then the Wheel also wove that the man should be hanged, I told him.
He smiled at me, thanking me for the advice. In addition to the usual political and financial advice I gave the man, once in a while I had the opportunity to flex my philosophical muscles, and I was grateful for it. Soon, I would be returning to the Grey Tower, and my work, and I wouldn't have much opportunity for this sort of light-hearted contemplation.
I smiled back at him, and everything dissolved once more, for what I would soon discover to be the last time.
Brilliant white light coalesced from the thousand tiny dancing flames. It tore me apart, like a piece of putty in of the Creator, until finally, I realized where I was.
Before me was the pedestal with the Oath Rod, and standing behind it were the Master of Soldiers, and the M'Hael, and the Ajah Heads. I knelt - something I can honestly say I have never done before - and grasped the smooth, cool rod. The Three Oaths seemed to burst forth from my throat almost without thought. Under the Light, I swear as a member of the Grey Tower to speak no word that is untrue. Under the Light, I swear as a member of the Grey Tower to make no weapon with which one man may kill another. Under the Light I swear as a member of the Grey Tower never to use the One Power as a weapon except against Shadowspawn, or in the last defense of my own life, that of my Warder, or that of another brother or sister of the Grey Tower.
As I pondered the uncomfortable sensation of feeling too confined within my own skin, the M'Hael and Master of Soldiers spoke their ritual words, and I indicated that I meant to join the Indigo Ajah. With a knot of indigo silk pinned to my shoulder, the reality of the situation suddenly dawned on me. I was an Asha'man.
So, you see, I am Lembirt Antii, and I do not live here anymore. But I'm glad that there was someone here to listen to my story.
