Fanfic:The Cost of Acceptance
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Mirin followed Illyria Sedai slowly into the chamber. The domed room had been carved out of bedrock; the smooth walls seamlessly reflected the light of the lamps. Centered under the dome was a ter’angreal made of three round, silver arches. A strange light flickered in its center. Three Aes Sedai sat cross-legged at the corners of the arches, staring into the light. They were wearing their shawls – an indigo, a blue, and a yellow – and the glow of saidar surrounded them.
Another Aes Sedai, wearing her grey shawl, stood nearby, beside a plain table on which sat three large silver chalices. Each, Mirin knew, was filled with clear water. She had been taught of the ceremony in her classes.
Illyria turned to face Mirin. “I will tell you two things which no woman hears until they stand where you do. Once you begin, you must go on till the end. Refuse at any point, and you will be put out of the Tower. Second. To seek, to strive, is to know danger."
She sounded as if she has said this many times. There was a light of sympathy in her eyes, but her face was stern. Mirin clenched her jaw as her stomach flipped nervously. I will not refuse, she thought fiercely. I will not fail!
“Some women have entered, and never come out. Even when the ter’angreal was allowed to grow quiet, they were not there. They were never seen again. If you will survive, you must be steadfast. Falter, fail, and...”
Illyria’s face drove the unspoken words home. Mirin stood silently, resisting the sudden urge to shiver.
“This is your last chance. Refuse now and it only counts as the first refusal. You may still try twice more. If you accept now, there is no turning back. It is no shame to refuse. Many current Aes Sedai could not face the Arches the first time. Choose.”
"I accept." Her voice was far steadier than she felt.
Illyria nodded. “Then ready yourself.”
Mirin hastily removed her dress, her shoes, and stockings. The stone felt cold under her bare feet. Her face turned bright red with embarrassment at her nakedness, and she stared defiantly at the women around her, as though daring them to look. But the three Aes Sedai around the glowing ter’angreal remained focused on it, while the other two faces remained smooth, their eyes unconcerned and impersonal.
She stepped forward toward the arches, Illyria gliding at her side.
“Whom do you bring with you, Sister?” The grey-shawled sister spoke in loud, formal tones.
“One who comes as a candidate for Acceptance, Sister,” Illyria replied, just as formally.
“Is she ready?”
“She is ready to leave behind what she was, and, passing through her fears, gain Acceptance.”
“Does she know her fears?”
“She has never faced them, but now is willing.”
“Then let her face what she fears.”
Mirin stood straight, pulled her shoulders back, and struggled to control her breath. She would not go through this test trembling in fear.
“The first time is for what was,” Illyria intoned. “The way back will come but once. Be steadfast.”
Mirin stepped forward. The light of the ter’angreal enveloped her.
She stood in a beautiful garden, summer flowers blossoming in an explosion of color. She glanced down at herself, and smiled, pleased at the way the soft green silk hugged her body. Lifting her head proudly, she strolled calmly down the path, enjoying the scents and visual pleasures. This garden was very familiar. She had spent many pleasant hours here with Wilmer Osiellin, whispering sweet nothings in his ear. It was at his father’s estate, just outside of Cairhien.
Mirin noticed a man approaching her, and she changed her walk, gliding across the ground, swaying her hips in a way that… suggested. Wilmer was taller than she remembered, and more handsome, having outgrown his pimples and… wait. She blinked. What was she thinking? She had been with Wilmer nearly every day for the last five years. Why would he be more handsome than she remembered? Like a different voice, another thought came. The way out will come but once. Be steadfast.
“I knew I would find you here, Mirin!” Wilmer called out.
She waited until he was closer, and then she curtsied gracefully, peering up at him seductively through her lashes. “My lord,” she murmured demurely.
He placed a gentle hand on her cheek. “Come, my beautiful lady. Everything is ready.”
“Come where?”
Wilmer’s eyes were suddenly full of worry. “Have you changed your mind? It’s our engagement party-”
His words were cut off as Mirin threw herself at him, “Oh, Wilmer, darling! Of course I will marry you!” She laughed, with relief and victory. After the wedding, she would become Lady Osiellin, a noblewoman of a major House, with hundreds of servants and a bank vault full of gold coin at her disposal! Mirin could not wait to order her first wardrobe of fine dresses!
Wilmer smiled. “So you said last month when I asked.” He pulled on her hand. “Come. Everyone is waiting for you.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a silver arch standing between two trees, an arch filled with soft, silver radiance. The way back…
She took a step toward the arch. Wilmer tugged at her hand and she turned her head. His expression had turned worried again.
“Mirin, my love, where are you going? Is something wrong?”
“There’s nothing wrong,” she murmured. “This is all I’ve ever wanted.”
“Then why do you hesitate?”
Mirin glanced back at the silver arch, which flickered. The way out will come but once. “I must go,” she whispered. Then again, in a stronger voice, she repeated, “I must go.”
“But why? Don’t you want to marry me? I will give you anything you ask for. Anything!” he pleaded.
She stared at the arch. Somehow – she didn’t know how – but she knew that it led to a harder life. A life away from soft, pretty dresses and the petty plots of Daes Dae’mar, a life filled with responsibility and danger. She looked around one last time, at the beautiful blossoms of the garden, and the rich architecture of the estate, and then turned away bitterly. Oh, she wanted it! If she stayed, she could have anything that she dreamed! But no, this life was not hers. She could not stay.
Mirin pulled her hand away and ran into the arch. Wilmer’s anguished shouts followed her.
“Mirin! My love!”
A soft glow surrounded her.
She stumbled and her knees hit the ground. Water poured over her head. The domed room swam back into view. The Aes Sedai still sat around the ter’angreal. Nothing had moved in the room since she passed through the first arch.
“You are washed clean of what sin you may have done,” the Grey sister intoned, “and of those done against you. You are washed clean of what crime you may have committed, and of those committed against you. You come to us washed clean and pure, in heart and soul.”
Her memories returned, crashing into her mind. She gasped from shock as much as from the cold water running down her body. Mirin stood, her eyes unfocused as if looking at something no one else could see. “It was all I’ve ever wanted,” she whispered. “And I left it all behind.”
Illyria gave her a sympathetic, but considering look. “Would you like to stop, child? Remember, if you stop now, you will be put out of the Tower.”
“No! I will continue.” Mirin stood in front of the second arch. I will do it, she thought. I will become Aes Sedai. She had already given up her dreams – what more could be taken from her?
“The second time is for what is. The way back will come but once. Be steadfast.”
She stepped into the second arch.
Mirin stood in a dark street in Cairhien. She flinched, startled – why was she standing still in the middle of the road? – and, hugging her cloak around her, started walking quickly. It was not safe for a woman to be out alone at a time like this.
Her feet took her by instinct to the only home she knew. She ducked through a narrow alleyway and knocked on the back door.
Her mother opened it. “Mirin, you’re home!” Esra said in surprise.
Mirin instantly knew there was something wrong. Her mother looked terrified. They stared at each other for a few long seconds.
“Will you let me in, mother?” Mirin finally asked.
Esra hesitated, and then quickly whispered. “Your father has come back. It’s best that you leave before he sees you.”
Mirin froze. “That Light-forsaken dog is no father of mine,” she hissed.
Esra’s eyes widened. “You mustn’t say that,” she muttered. “You should leave, daughter. Leave! Before he comes!” She tried to push Mirin away. Her sleeve slipped, revealing a few inches of skin. Bruises dotted her arm.
The world turned red. Mirin bared her teeth and snarled. She had only been a small child when her father last hit Esra – but now she could make him pay. She opened herself to saidar, drinking in the One Power. She pushed past her mother and stepped through the door.
Her mother’s quiet sobs followed her. The darkness of the hallway did not bother Mirin, her senses enhanced by the One Power surging through her veins.
She found him. The cocky bastard leaned casually against the kitchen table. He still looked young, and was devilishly handsome, although Mirin didn’t see it. All she saw was the monster that beat her mother.
Weaves of Air flashed forward, binding him. Mirin leaped without thinking and grasped his throat between her hands.
“I’ll kill you!” she screamed. “I’ll kill you –”
Suddenly a fist crashed into her face. Mirin fell to the floor, dazed. Saidar threatened to slip away, but she clung to it desperately and somehow managed to hold on.
She looked up in horror. Her father moved forward, free of his invisible restraints. ‘’How?!!’’ Her mouth fell open.
He laughed, a throaty dark chuckle. It sent shivers down her spine. “Where do you think you got the ability from?” he leered. “Your bitch of a mother certainly can’t channel a trickle.”
Mirin felt something attempting to slide between her and the Source. She screamed in defiance and drew deeply on the Power, as much as she could hold, clutching at her connection to the Source. Her father frowned, and his shield slid away harmlessly.
She split her flow and lashed out, attacking with a razor-sharp weave of Air. He roared in pain as it cut his face. Then he threw out a hand. Mirin ducked around the door, the fireball barely missing her head. She pressed herself against the wall and wove quickly, preparing weaves to shield and bind her father.
Then something silvery caught her eye. She looked to her side. At the opposite end of the hall stood a silver arch, glowing with cold light. She had the vague feeling she needed to walk through it. But why…?
She heard Esra shout. “Stop! Leave my daughter alone! Oh, Light! Stop!” Esra began to scream, long terrible screams of pain.
Mirin spun around, ready to release her weaves. Rage bubbled inside of her. Words echoed in her head. The way back will come but once. No! Not now!
Mirin strode purposefully away from the arch and drank in the One Power. It would only take a few minutes. She had to cut him off from the Source, and then somehow save Esra. Oh Light! She had to do it! She must!
She glanced over her shoulder. The arch was flickering, and she thought it looked a little fainter than before, as though it was fading. No!
She halted. And then, hating herself more with every single step, she ran toward the arch.
Behind her, Esra’s screams pierced the air.
The light surrounded her.
Mirin fell through the arch, onto her knees, tears streaming down her face. Clear water poured over her, mixing with her tears.
“You are washed clean of false pride. You are washed clean of false ambition. You come to us washed clean, in heart and soul.” I am not clean, Mirin thought. I left my mother to suffer.
Illyria knelt beside her. Mirin turned to the Aes Sedai and grabbed her by the shoulders.
“Tell me I didn’t just leave her. Tell me!” she shouted.
“It is not real, child,” Illyria replied, softly.
“I left my mother… I left my mother… with the Dark One himself! Oh Light!”
“Do you wish to continue?”
Mirin stared at the floor for a few long seconds. Then she looked up at Illyria. Her grey eyes were hard as steel.
“Just one more?”
“Just one more.”
Mirin struggled to her feet. “I can do it,” she whispered. Then louder, so Illyria could hear. “I can do it,” she repeated.
Slowly, Illyria guided her to the third arch. Mirin stared at it, with anger and distrust. And fear. She was afraid.
“The third time is for what will be,” said Illyria. “The way back will come but once. Be steadfast.”
It was cold and rainy. Mirin was running through a forest, soaked to the skin. What was she doing?
A man peered around a tree in front of her, and she saw his drawn bow with the arrow notched, pointing straight at her. An enemy! The glow of saidar surrounded her and she raised her hand. She wove a complex weave of Spirit, the threads flying so quickly that they seemed to blur. In less time than it took to blink, she knew the man – who he was, all his fears, what he loved. Then her hand balled into a fist. The weave contracted and vanished. And the man’s arms dropped, his weapons falling loose from his hands. His eyes held a blank stare.
A part of her stared at the man, shocked. No! I swore I’d never use it! But it had been so easy, as natural as breathing. Then the rest of her took over. Her feet carried her past him without stopping. Of course she would use it. She would use anything, even a forbidden weave, to find her daughter. She would use whatever she could.
Rage filled her. How dared the Black Ajah take her daughter!
Lightning flashed. She looked up at the sky, worried, and saw the thick ropes of saidar dancing in the sky. Fear filled her. A Cloud Dancer, she thought. If only she could find where the channeler was –
With a gasp, she leapt sideways. A lightning bolt struck where she had been standing.
She hated lightning! The weaves were extremely quick, striking almost immediately. It left little time for its victims to react. But with that strike, the location of the channeler was exposed. She could trace the residues of the weave back to where it came from. She gritted her teeth, and then, gathering her skirts, she continued to run, this time following the pattern of saidar in the sky.
Another bolt. Then another. Each time, she barely managed dodge it. A few more men rushed toward her, brandishing weapons, but she dispatched them easily with weaves of Compulsion that left them staring emptily.
She could see her enemy, the Cloud Dancer, standing in a small clearing before her, channeling thick torrents of Water, Air, and Fire into the sky. With a cry, Mirin leapt forward, spinning threads of Spirit to take over the woman’s mind.
Lightning flashed, not from above, but from her enemy’s hands. Mirin’s eyes widened in shock, and then the electricity filled her. She screamed in pain and saidar slipped away. Her limbs contracted rigidly. When it finally left her body, she slumped to the ground.
My daughter! She thought hazily. A name and a face filled her mind. Little Lina, her sweet face framed with black curls, her eyes stormy grey.
She tried to climb to her feet, but failed. She tried again. And again. Sobbing, she fell, over and over, but her limbs would not support her. Then, she felt the vibration of footsteps, though she could not hear them due to the ringing in her ears. She opened her eyes, but could not see past the after-flash of the lightning. Instinctively, she embraced saidar, and attempted to strike again. But even as her weaves formed, a shield came between her and the Source. She screamed and beat at it futilely.
She thought she heard a female voice speak. “Fool,” it said. Rough hands grabbed her head, and a cool, minty liquid filled her mouth. Forkroot, she thought, and she thrashed, refusing to drink. The voice cursed, and then fingers pinched her nose shut, forcing her to swallow or suffocate. She choked on the liquid, but despite her efforts, her throat reflexively swallowed. All went black.
“Mother?”
Dry straw poked her back through her clothes. Mirin opened her eyes. She was in a jail cell. Her daughter hovered over her. “Lina?” she croaked, her throat dry. She licked her lips and tried to sit up. Her head throbbed in pain, and she fell back onto the straw with a groan. I am a fool, she thought. I should not have acted alone. I was blinded by fear and desperation. I am a fool.
“Mother! I was so afraid you were dead!”
Mirin reached for her daughter. Little ten-year-old Lina, her black curls matted and dirty, her eyes wide with fear, but she was alive. Light, she was beautiful. Mirin’s heart almost burst in relief at seeing her daughter alive and well.
But perhaps not for long. Mirin felt an insane desire to laugh. There were things worse than death.
She tried reaching for saidar but she couldn’t seem to grasp ahold of it. The glow was there, but stayed just out of reach. Forkroot, an herb that seemed to specifically target channelers, not only knocked out its victims, but also hindered their ability to channel. It would take hours to wear off.
Footsteps echoed down the hall. Lina shrank back against her mother.
Tall, cloaked figures moved toward them. Mirin counted thirteen. They looked like tall men, but their dead, white faces had no eyes under their hoods. Thirteen Myrddraal. It took thirteen Myrddraal and thirteen Dreadlords to Turn a channeler to the Shadow. How do I know this? Her head spun. There were strange holes in her memory; she seemed to know things that she shouldn’t. Mirin dismissed the thought. It didn’t matter. She had to focus on the present.
For some reason, Mirin did not feel afraid. She had no more room for fear. Determination filled her heart. She would protect her daughter. Or die.
Keys jingled, and then they were guided from their cell. The Myrddraal surrounded them. Mirin held her daughter’s hand. She could feel Lina trembling.
They moved up stairs, down long halls, up more stairs, and then across a great atrium. The architecture was fine and intricate, the furniture was luxurious and delicately carved, but darkness permeated the building.
They reached a large, ornate door inlaid with gold and silver. And entered.
There were at least twenty people in the room. Mirin could sense the ability to channel in all the women. She assumed that the men, likewise, could channel. Some, but not all, had a strange empty look in their eyes. They were the ones who had been Turned to the Shadow against their will. The rest, whose eyes still retained a spark of life, were the ones who had willingly joined the Shadow without being forced.
Mirin felt a sense of recognition for many of the faces, but their names seemed difficult to remember. She ignored the feeling and focused on the woman sitting in a throne-like chair at the end of the hall.
Mirin felt for her ability, and nearly gasped. She was the strongest channeler that Mirin had ever met. The woman regarded Mirin and her daughter regally.
“Mirin. Evangelina. Welcome. You may address me as Great Mistress.”
Mirin bowed her head. “Yes, Great Mistress,” she said, in a tight voice.
The woman gestured. A Myrddraal seized Lina and pressed a blade to her throat. Her little hand slipped out of Mirin’s.
“Mother!!” Lina screamed.
Mirin stayed still, her eyes on the woman, although she couldn’t stop her hands from clenching into fists.
“Swear to the Great Lord, or you will be Turned and your daughter dies.”
Without hesitation, Mirin knelt. Her voice did not shake. “I revoke my hope of salvation and rebirth and swear myself to the Great Lord. I swear to serve the Great Lord whatever way he requires for as long as he requires. I swear I will serve to the best to my ability.” I will do anything to keep Lina safe.
The woman smiled. “Good girl. Things go so much smoother when you are compliant.” She gestured again, and a servant brought forth an object on a pillow. It was a smooth, ivory-white cylinder, a foot long and wrist-thick, with odd, cursive script carved into it. An Oath Rod.
“Revoke your silly so-called Aes Sedai oaths and swear new ones to the Great Lord. Do so, and you and your daughter will go free.”
Mirin reached for the Oath Rod. Then a gleam caught Mirin’s eye. A silver arch stood beside her, so close that it almost brushed her shoulder. She only had to take a small step to the side. A way out! Startled, she glanced around. No one else seemed to be able to see it.
But Lina was several paces away from her, crying softly in the arms of the Myrddraal. And here, enemies surrounded her. Even if she had not consumed forkroot, she could not fight them all.
“Why do you hesitate? Did you think that we would not make your oaths binding, Mirin? Swear, or Lina dies!”
A small voice inside her cried out. No! I can’t leave Lina! What am I doing? But another, louder voice resonated in her skull. The way back comes but once. Be steadfast!
Mirin pulled her hand away from the Oath Rod and stood. The woman gestured. And the Myrddraal’s blade sliced across Lina’s pale throat. Her cries choked off, and her body fell limp.
They turned to Mirin, but she gave them no chance to seize her. She stepped to the side, through the arch. The silvery glow enveloped her.
She strode out of the arch, her entire body feeling numb. For the third time, the memories came crashing back. Mirin did not fall to her knees, or scream, or cry. She felt disembodied, as though she weren’t really controlling her body. She walked forward steadily. Illyria Sedai fell in step beside her.
“The Black Ajah exists,” she told Illyria. Her voice sounded calm and confident.
The Mistress of Novices missed a step, and then whispered, “What goes on in the ter’angreal is not real, child.”
“I am certain. The Black Ajah exists,” Mirin repeated. She turned, her grey eyes full of cold determination, to look at the Aes Sedai.
Illyria frowned. “Do not speak of it here,” she warned.
Mirin suddenly realized that there were more Aes Sedai in the chamber. The Amyrlin was there, in her striped stole, and there was a shawled sister from each Ajah standing in a neat line on either side of her, all of them watching Mirin approach.
“They took my daughter.” Mirin’s voice was husky. “They killed my daughter.”
Illyria’s eyes were sympathetic, but she did not reply. They drew close to the Amyrlin and the line of sisters, and then Mirin took the last few steps alone.
She knelt gracefully before the Amyrlin. Water poured over her head.
“You are washed clean of Mirin Ronaile of Cairhien,” the Amyrlin intoned. “You are washed clean of all ties that bind you to the world. You come to us washed clean, in heart and soul. You are Mirin Ronaile, Accepted of the Grey Tower.”
The Amyrlin drew Mirin to her feet. “You are sealed to us, now.”
Then, the Amyrlin produced a gold ring in the shape of a serpent biting its own tail. Mirin raised her left hand, and the Amyrlin slipped the Great Serpent ring onto her third finger. She moved closer to kiss Mirin on the cheek; first one, and then the other.
“Welcome, Daughter,” she said. “Welcome.”
There was a thick towel for Mirin to dry herself off, and then Illyria Sedai handed her a white dress banded at the bottom with all the colors of the Ajahs. The ring on her hand felt unfamiliarly heavy. She twirled it around her finger, and frowned.
Mirin had imagined this moment many times. She always thought that she would feel different, perhaps a sense of achievement and victory. Instead, she only felt a cold sense of purpose. The Black Ajah exists, she thought. Her fingers clenched as she remembered crushing her enemies’ minds. She wanted to destroy every one of them. They had killed her daughter.
It didn’t matter that her daughter had existed only within the ter’angreal. The pain, raw and fresh, stabbed her straight through the heart. If only she had been just a little stronger, just a little faster, then the Cloud Dancer would have been hers, too. She must become stronger. She must learn, and train. But who could teach her?
The Black Ajah exists. Surely there were members of the Black Ajah who could teach her to master her Talent in Compulsion. Mirin could become strong enough, so that she would never be powerless again.
And then, if anyone ever dared to hurt her, she would make them pay.
