The First Age

In the far north of the ocean was called the Dead Sea. It was far from the lifelessness of a corpse, but so named for the casualties it incurred. The Atha’an Miere had maps that chartered as far as their ships could sail. Enormous ice caps ended voyages north. She once poured over those maps, inquiring after the tales of the destination. She never beheld the ice walls herself, but she had sailed far enough north to see the ice floats for herself. When enormous chunks of ice broke away and floated on the currents, they made for the most dangerous of headings, hiding bulbous undermounts and jags sharp enough to rip a ship apart. The first time she saw the spire of ice bobbing up and down, piercing the surface of the sea like a knife, she did not think it was so bad. Then the Windfinders upturned its shape so to sweep it out of their heading and the wide underbelly was revealed, like a toothy cragfish intent to swallow them whole, she was terrified. The lesson was learned, too. Not to trust only what was seen on the surface.

That was how she felt when she was forced to deal with the men who channeled. She never trusted what they hid below the skin. She could not sense nor see saidin, not for all the ter’angreal in the White Tower. How she wished she could create such an object. Her life would be decidedly easier as if she could see beneath the surface of the waves and avoid an icy death.

Lacking one useful object of the power did not mean she lacked in others. The Red Ajah signaled secrets like doves, and it was a white stone dove that she picked up to examine just then. The eyes were black beads, but the wings moved on hinges. She did not push them back, not yet, and instead re-read the page an open ledger on her desk.

It was an accounting of the Tower’s holdings of the Objects of Power; what were officially on record, anyway. The Reds managed their security, an extremely important task, but Kekura felt their Ajah was wasted on bookkeeping better suited to Browns. She wanted to protect the world of errant channelers, and tie them to the White Tower as they should. Being Atha’an Miere, she might once have protested to such a claim on independence, but ties to the Tower did not mean deference. There were three groups in the world she was going to prioritize when she was Amyrlin. The Seanchan topped that list. The army of the Dark One, dreadlords, came next. Then they had to investigate these tales of the people beyond the Aiel Waste. With the rediscovery of Traveling, an army of mad channelers could flood the land over night. If that happened, the White Tower would be utterly unprepared. They knew next to nothing about the people of the far east. Even her own people kept to their ships when taking port in Shara. The Mistress of the Ships would see reason when she found an Amyrlin Seat came from her own people. So many priorities. For now, the ledger contained a very important line that was going to play an important role in this night’s unfolding situation. The Oath Rod had disappeared from right under Kaydrienne’s grasp. That or the Blue had it smuggled out. Either way was just as bad.

The moment she felt the glimmer of the One Power, Kekura swept from her study and came into the main suite of her quarters. She glanced at the two women speaking quietly over tea as she entered. Her gaze was haughty, she was aware, but it was deserved. She had promised this would happen, and now her providence proved right, she stood to meet it head on.

The Asha’man filled the round of the gateway, casting it swirling light upon his face. In the background, she glimpsed Lythia, but only barely. The Sitters at her side would not have been able to see the Green. Kekura bid that he enter. When he did, he would find the White Tower as it always stood. Her particular quarters had a few silks draping its edges, but the furniture was sparse as it was for all Sisters.

The gateway rolled away after he passed through. The two Sitters in her company were nonplussed by what Kekura invited into her quarters, though they had not been prepped on who exactly would be coming. There was the risk that none would at all, but Kekura believed the Wheel wove as it willed, and that this was the will of the pattern. Kekura did conceal a sigh of relief, though. Much depended on this man.

She nodded her head upon his introduction, but it was only a small measure of respect. At her side, the Sitters were still as the namesake of the Sea. His was not a famous name among the Black Tower so much as Kekura knew, nor was he a player of power that courts recognized and rulers greeted - save one.

He was remarkably formal, Kekura thought with great approval. When last she saw him it was at the graves of Moiridrosin, where the families of Tar Valon often buried their departed in the earth. She knew enough that he was of that line of people. Hailing from the city itself. It was why he would have such great faith in the White Tower and seek answers here, or so she had hoped when she laid the letter on the hillside.

“I am Kekura Sedai. This is Esenya Sedai and Reloane Sedai,” she gestured to the two women nearby.

“I am aware you are put in a difficult position, Asha’man Kojima,” she said. She invited him in, though he did not seem like the sort to want to sit and speak. It felt strangely tense to stay on their feet. Kekura was the first to sit, and with it, the two Sitters deferred and followed. Of the three, she was the strongest in the One Power, although the Hall had traditions that may overrule such considerations. Neither Sitter came close to it, though. They would follow her lead in custom, but it was her goal that they follow her designs by vote.

Reloane spoke first. Perhaps it was a sign of the Gray’s eagerness to determine which side of the law she was going to take.
“You are assigned to the palace at Bandar Eban, are you not?”

There were other questions that followed. Simply wanting to hear for themselves that the Asha’man was who he claimed to be.

How long have you been there? Did you attend the signing of the treaty today? Who else was attended? Were there sul’dam and damane?

Kekura let them speak. She only participated when she felt the need to guide the conversation to the matter at hand or redirect the Asha’man should his impulses tear him away. At the graves, she saw the madness in him, but tonight, he was as calm as the Sitters. Perhaps she had misjudged.

The Yellow Sitter was tall for a woman, as tall as most men. Long dark hair fell in an elegant river down her back, pinned neatly away from her dignified and ageless face. Her dark gaze was clear, and her silent confidence as majestic and solid as the mountains of her home – and as enduring. Only the simplest embellishments accompanied the severe lines of her modest dress, and the yellow fringed shawl was looped formally about her elbows as she waited beside Kekura Sedai. Saidar split the silvery Gate, for a moment reflecting its light in her eyes, but she did not see its creator beyond. The broad, black bound shoulders of the man it admitted filled almost all the space, and the shadows of night claimed what else swirled behind.

Esenya had not known who to expect, and for the briefest moment her gaze shone a surprised recognition. When last she had beheld this Asha’man it had been with a deep and mournful regret. None of this impinged upon her stately expression now, of course, though the Yellow always looked a touch mournfully judgemental. She did not know if he would remember her as the Sister who had healed him many months before, for Jai Asad Kojima had been deep in his cups, naked, and beaten to a bloody pulp when she had been called to the Tar Valoni home. A sadly poor example of his kind. One who had imbibed so much alcohol it had poisoned his very blood.

Her admonishment at the time had been a lament; that this was the calibre of man standing between the world and the Dark One was a great grief to her. She felt the weight of heavy dismay settle in her chest once more. The Black Tower, in its infancy, could not hope to rival the nobility and steadfastness of its White counterpart of course; Esenya’s expectations were not unreasonable in that regard. Still, she had been deeply disappointed in what she saw before her then. 

She did not look askance at Kekura, though she was sceptical now. Matters so serious as the ones contemplated tonight ought not rest on flimsy shoulders. The Hall would eviscerate the testimony of a weak man whether he spoke the truth or not. Worse, could they even trust the word of a drunkard?

It was a different creature who stood before them now, however. Tall and proud and formal, swathed in the severe black of his station. The pins gleamed at his throat. Esenya appreciated the solemnity of his bow, and found herself a little placated by it. Perhaps the man learned from such terrible lessons as she had witnessed in aftermath. One might hope. She had seen men brought low and trembling at the Blightborder, sometimes driven to poor vices by the crushing realisation of what must be faced. It did not mean they did not rise nobly to their responsibilities after. And he did call himself a veteran.

“Light’s blessings, Asha’man.” Her voice was deep for a woman, and inflected with the north. She followed the Red Sitter’s lead, naturally, but her solid gaze did not waver as they sat. Her hands folded in her lap. She would observe him closely for cracks. “Duty is seldom easy,” she added upon Kekua’s acknowledgement of his difficult position, sharing her agreement, but also placing the heavy mantle of responsibility upon his shoulders. Words she had said to him before, in fact. Though it was not stated in warning, just in expectation. Esenya was pleased to see he had not wilted. In fact he looked utterly calm and resolute. Not the man she remembered, thank the Creator.

For now Reloane Sedai did most of the speaking, as Grays were wont to do. There was a thorny issue of legality here after all. Esenya herself was more interested in ascertaining his credibility, and in so doing, deciding which way the Hall's favour was likely to fall.

When introduced, he greeted each Sister with a bow of the head. It wasn’t so formal as the initial introduction, but the lowering of eyes would be respectful. Words from the Old Tongue floated behind his eyes. A formal greeting to put Zakar to shame. They all had the same manners drilled into their childhoods. Old Tongue tutors and (for Jai) sword trainers. He knew the words and moves and motions, and perhaps a remnant of those traditions surfaced in his behavior. But he was rather sedate when meeting Esenya’s gaze in particular. Her voice was familiar, but it didn’t pierce the cloud of memory and regret. If he recollected the Yellow, it wasn’t apparent.

He preferred to stand, but yielded with the gentlest of suggestions to follow otherwise. His attentions remained upon Kekura Sedai primarily. He’d never met a Sea Folk Aes Sedai. They were thick in Bandar Eban, most near sight of the docks. The best card games had Sea Folk players around the table. He didn’t recognize the symbols on her hands. Now he thought to look. The ring glinted bright against her skin.

When he sat, it was with as straight and tall a back as to make the painter proud. He’d never finished that portrait. Maybe someday, he mused.

He took easy turns answering their questions. They had many. First to the Sister named Reloane.

“You are assigned to the palace at Bandar Eban, are you not?”

He nodded his head. “Yes, that’s correct. I report to Asha’man Daimon.”

“And you follow his orders?”

“Yes, of course. He outranks me in strength and age,” he added. Reloane shifted at the comparison of strength. Odd thing for someone so composed to be unsettled by, but they moved on.

“And what does he think of you being here?” she said.

“If he knew I was here, I imagine he wouldn’t be too pleased.” He read her look but didn’t elaborate.

“And how long have you been there?”

Jai thought a moment. A number pierced his mind like a flash bomb. The math done before he could even think about it. Almost down to the minute, he could tell them how long he’d been in his assignment. The precision felt too chaotic for the moment, and he amended his answer to a mere estimation.
“Almost ten years,” he said as if they were talking about happier kinds of anniversaries.

“Did you attend the signing of the treaty today?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yes.” Wouldn’t have missed that for the world.

“Who else attended?”

He drew a long breath as if considering where to start.
“It felt like the whole city was there, Aes Sedai. Everyone you can imagine. The Council of Merchants, their retinues, the General, the Court. Guards. But it was an easy affair. With the air of a holiday.” Not the kind of holiday he preferred.

There was a tightness when she asked about sul’dam and damane. Likewise, when he answered, it was quick. Almost as if thinking about them was an exercise he preferred to end as fast as possible.
“None that I saw.”

“and Trista Gaidar?”

He nodded. “Of course.” In all her desired glory.

The Gray glanced aside at Kekura, who nodded that he could continue. Jai searched for the words, but the tale was empty of heat. He might as well have been reading one of those dusty Old Tongue dictionaries.

The Gray pushed, “What does the Black Tower think of this treaty?”

Jai might have been concerned over the mention of politics stirring inside his home, but a breath swat the worry aside. “You know I can’t answer that,” his gaze leveled, he finally considered the Yellow. She had been quiet most of this time.

“Aes Sedai have been in the palace since the treaty negotiations began months ago. I know because I was present through the whole of it. Today they disappeared. Everyone assumes the White Tower sanctioned Trista’s presence. She’s not a warder so far as I can tell. So why was she there?" He shrugged. They all knew. It didn't need spoken. "She was downcast. Slow to walk. Intentional but sad, I think." He tried to remember. For some reason, her face blurred.

But a fresh draw of breath saw him continue, resolve reformed. "That’s why I am here. King Daimon is stuck between the two of our Towers, and I fear the White is withdrawing after many months of appearing otherwise. This treaty is signed and Trista is gone. There may be little that can be done to save her now, but I hope the White Tower returns or I fear the Seanchan will swallow us all up. And more of your Sisters with it.” He briefly considered Nythadri in a damane collar.

It was as heartfelt a request as he could muster in the stiff circumstances. Though it felt like another man was speaking. He found his hands idly trailing the cording of the hilt, but it was casual and soft as a caress. Almost like the motion meant something to him, but he couldn’t quite remember what.

He didn’t break Esenya’s gaze, but for some reason he quietly added something, not sure where the words came. As though asking if it was the honest truth. “Servant of all?”

He answered Reloane’s questions efficiently, and Esenya watched him the entire time. Kojima sat straight-backed. He remained calm. He spoke clearly and confidently.

He told them Daryen Daimon was caught between the Towers, and the suggestion threatened a frown she did not indulge, though she did turn her dark eyes to Kekura. Was he saying that the M’hael had sanctioned this heinous act? Relations between the White and Black Towers had been favourable since Kaydrienne’s own brother Michael Whiteraven, but a great many men had held the title since then. Esenya was loath to think of the Mother involved in such a conspiracy. Perhaps the withdrawal was a tactic disapproval of Daimon’s own poor practices, condoned by his own foolish brothers. But then why was a gaidar there at all? What hold did the Asha’man king have that pushed Trista’s feet with such slow intention as was described? Esenya knew the shape of an answer to that, but she did not like it.

A plot of such nature was a very serious matter. The potential involvement of the M’hael was not something she had considered, and yet should it be true, it was worrying. The Black Tower ought to be arming itself for Tarmon Gai’don, not interfering with the politics of nations. An Asha’man for a king had been a dangerous choice; she had thought it at the time, and she thought it again vehemently now. It had given them ideas. Elayne would not be so utterly witless.

Perhaps a Red Amyrlin would be sensible, in those circumstances.

For a moment Esenya considered her position. And Kekura’s intentions. The Greens and Whites were absent, which perhaps meant the Red Sitter was assured of their support already. The Blues would have no say in the matter, and the Browns had Daryen’s own sister among their Sitters. She wondered how Reloane’s opinion was forming. The Gray asked a great many questions, but her serene decorum did not give much away as to her judgement.

She held the Asha’man’s gaze. He implied the White Tower was poised to abandon Arad Doman entirely. That this treaty was a gateway to Seanchan practises on their very shores. A very dangerous accusation. One that bristled.

“You were wise to come to us,” she assured. Servant of all. Perhaps he did remember then. “We are indeed Servants of all.” Esenya’s face was serious. It did not contain an ounce of warmth, and yet it was the very foundation of strength. “You must be plain, Asha’man. We do not need to know what is assumed or what you think. Do you mean to tell us the king of Arad Doman has sold a gaidar of the White Tower?”

The shadow of shadow of darkness. It dashed through the back of his head. Wise? He did not feel wise. Zakar was always wise. Even if he didn’t follow his own wisdom. His insights were brilliant. Except when he accused his baby brother of stealing because he was a bigot. Not that it mattered in the end. But Esenya's description should be directed at someone else. Lythia Sedai perhaps. Or Kekura Sedai. Jai shook his head.

“I am a man who had no other choice, Esenya Sedai,” he said. No corners pressed against his back. Just truth. The end of a road and either turn around and go back or hack your way through the woods alone.

“The High Lord coveted Trista. She best his Voice twice in sparring, and the gaidar is beautiful. Cold as dead skin. But beautiful. He wanted her. You could see it in his eyes. Not of the body. Not like that. Like a thief spying sapphires.” Tashir’s falcon had sapphires in its claws. Jai could practically see it dangling the neck of the beaten man. Snatched away along with the rest of his valuables. Resting against the sweaty chest of his killer for years unknown. The same color as Daryen's eyes.

Breath came slowly.

“Months with no progress on the treaty. Then the day following the second spar. It’s announced.” He'd been there. Watched it happen before drawing the High Lord's attention himself. Would Daryen have bartered Jai away? Surely not. No. Daryen wouldn't do that.

Quote:Lord Sivikawa slowly turned.  Then his Voice spoke.  "It is said a single Asha'man--" she wrestled with the word "--is worth a thousand swords in battle."
Jai shrugged and Daryen cast him a coy smile that dared him to go easy.  "Do not believe every rumor you hear," he spoke directly to the Lord rather than his Voice, "It’s at least twice that many." 
But the Lord's response drained the grin from his face. His Voice spoke, "Then we must assume it takes two thousand soldiers to bruise the face of one Asha'man.  An impressive feat.  The battle must have been long and glorious indeed."

His hands folded in his lap, but they wanted to touch his cheek. Andreu's fists bloomed those colors.

Chin tilted slightly. ”She was sold to appease the terms of the treaty.” It felt like a weight lifted as soon as the words left his mouth. A key turned in the locks inside his head. A great secret bared. A burden passed to Sisters who may be able to unload it.

Did the King of Arad Doman sell her? Yes. But on whose orders. Tyrant. Darkfriend. The words whispered. It was some moments before he spoke again. Likely struggling to find the right words. But they felt stuck. Like a wheel broken on a rut unable to turn. Jai reported to Daryen. Daryen outranked him in strength and age. And it had been more than a decade since Daryen knelt at the dais of the Black Tower. The M’Hael was a ruler second only to the Dragon Reborn. They all reported to someone. Suppose the Dragon reported to the Creator?

“We’re all Asha’man, Sister.” Was all he said. It was truth, and truth was freeing as a calm sky and distant horizon. Some comfort, he supposed.

He stood to signal his testimony was done. Though he would answer their questions as long as they posed them, it was to Kekura Sedai that his study settled.

---

The Asha’man was well-spoken. Kekura had arranged for this private audience with the two remaining Sitters whose vote she had not yet assured in an effort to avoid an audience with the full Hall of the Tower. Now, however, she seemed her conservative efforts may have been unnecessary. She would not course-correct otherwise if given the chance to do it all again. The Asha’man’s volatility was uncertain, and she had no idea how strong the grip of madness might have had on him, if it did at all. Perhaps she had misjudged him at Moiridrosin, being gripped instead with grief rather than instability. He did well. Kekura could not have arranged a better testimony than if she had tutored him herself. Lythia’s promises came through, then. All the better for the Green that they did.

A look was shared with the Brown and Yellow Sitters. They had fallen quiet and contemplative. Roalane was the most inquisitive, something quite natural to the Gray. Esenya was reserved, also consistent with her personality. However knowing what Kekura did of them, she interpreted their quietude as conclusion. She stood.

“Thank you, Asha’man. Your service is acknowledged.” Kekura shared little company with men of the Black Tower, excluding Lennox. Even her own offspring was an Asha’man, but twenty years passing as dead in the eyes of her son, she had no relationship with Tayigi as a full grown man. However many faults she found with the Black Tower, she did recognize their efforts at the Blight Border, but given the Dragon’s ignoring the Seanchan threat, she would rather see them pitted against the likes of sul’dam and damane as well. But where the Dragon dragged his feet, the White Tower wouldn’t stand for it. Not if Kekura had her way.

She showed Jai to the door where a flank of servants awaited. “Allow someone to show you the way to the traveling yards,” she explained.

After he had gone, Kekura turned back, waiting to hear Reloane and Esenya declare their allegiance to the cause. Shortly after, Kekura beckoned them to come and she called a meeting of the Hall. The Sitters were already assembled by the time they arrived.

He followed the Aes Sedai to his feet. She was tall for a woman, though he had glimpsed similar Sea Folk of towering height. He supposed he’d never see any of them again, but there was no reason to linger. Except one phrase gave him pause. He stopped at the door, turning to study each of them again as if he misheard.

Did she reference his service to her personally or service to the light itself? Drenched in black and bearing the kind of weapon that already tasted blood, he’d not assume it was the latter. A sarcastic answer tipped his tongue, but something held it. A curt nod was the only goodbye, and he left in the company of servants.

The hall was the same generic stone that marked every other part of the White Tower he’d spied before. He once visited Fate Sedai in her room, on promise to deliver his coat for all reasons. He still didn’t know what she planned to do with the thing. Not like it would fit her. How high in the Tower were they? Somewhere private to account for the conversation and servants in the hall, probably. He was eager to be gone, and looked to the woman leading the way. 
“How far is the walk to the —“ and then he stopped. Eyes caught on a banner fixed to the wall. The flag of Tar Valon was something familiar. The flame something he once dreamed to wear on his back as a guard of the city. It shouldn’t give him pause. Never really did. Except this one was wreathed in red.

He looked back over one shoulder.
“Was that the Red Ajah?” he asked with fresh perspective. The decor might have fit in any rich domain, but now he looked, there were glimpses of red more than anything. The servant noticed that he had stopped, surveying his appreciation of the banner and their surroundings.

“Of course. You were a guest of Kekura Sedai, Sitter of the Red Ajah. Surely you knew that?” she peered at him as if confused by this ignorance.

This was normally the kind of news that would make him run for the hills. Make him want to crawl out of his skin and put on the face of someone else just to make sure they didn’t find him again. The Red Ajah gentled men who could channel for three thousand years. They hunted men who could channel. Given Jai’s personal appreciation of what it meant to hunt something down and kill it, that should be concerning.

But instead he shrugged and followed on. His hand didn’t even brush the hilt of his sword.

Eventually, they came to more familiar hallways. Ones decidedly nearer the ground. His head was down as he walked, but there was no counting his steps. For some reason, the emptiness was nice. The last time he was here was in the company of an Accepted with striking eyes and a wit sharp as a guillotine. He was already considering his next destination when fresh air wafted in the distance. It was going to be difficult to get close to the M'Hael. Not after the last time he was in the Tower wrecked his reputation. Could request an audience? Take him by surprise? An angreal would help, but the few in the Tower were fiercely guarded. Stealing one would be almost harder than the primary task at hand.

The city was cool this night. An idle thought bubbled his planning. Would be a shame to leave it. Andor’s temperate air was usually riddled with humidity. Nothing like Arad Doman, but more than the city of his birth. For some reason, he had a feeling it was going to be storming when he jumped south.

The Hall of the Tower

No one put a proposal before the Hall without speaking to some of the Sitters beforehand. This was tradition as much as practicality. In the case of the matter before the Hall tonight, secrecy was required. Law generally stated that the Amyrlin had to be notified when the Hall was to sit but for one notable exception. That very thing was the key to the night’s proceedings. It was Kekura who formally called the Hall together, and momentarily, there were seventeen Sitters entering its doors.

All seventeen were shawled. The trio of Sitters each rested in their stone seats, expressions ranging from serenely blank to outright intense. They all wore their finest attire, each matching the colors of their Ajahs. As Kekura peered around them, she waved a hand and the doors were locked from within. There were no warders inside. No guards. No channeling was allowed inside the Hall, so the heavy bolts of latches thudding into place was the only sign of their shared sealed fates.

Her gaze swept the rotund hall. She had the support of every pair of eyes to gaze back into hers. When she stood, her shawl fell like a red wave from her shoulders. Her hair was heavy with braids, but tonight they were pinned tight from her face. Naturally, she could not help but glance at the three empty seats opposite her. Of all the Ajahs, not a single one from the Blue was present. Secrecy was maintained, and they had not been informed of the congress. At the left of the empty chairs was a fourth. Aubrey and Brenna were the only representation of the Brown. Due to her conflict of interest in the matter, Fate was banned from attendance.

“Sitters, I bring before you a grave matter. I call for a vote of Consensus of deposition of Kaydrienne Lindelle as Amyrlin Seat.”

There were no murmurings and no shiftings of weight. They all know why they were there.

“I will present my formal evidence thusly. I begin with the precedent of Tetsuan, raised from the Red Ajah, served during the Trolloc Wars, was deposed and stilled in 1200 AB for having let her jealousy and pride almost destroy the White Tower and all of the land with it. Tetsuan, jealous of Queen Eldrene ay Ellan ay Carlan's strength in the One Power, betrayed Manetheren, by ordering the promised reinforcements to stay their ground. Tetsuan was found unfit to hold the stole and staff, and was replaced by a sister raised from the Blue Ajah, thereby igniting the two thousand year long animosity between the two Ajahs.”

It would be shocking that Kekura shared this story now. She was the face of the Red Ajah, both by name and as its head. However, she was above such animosities now, and used this story as evidence that the Hall be above Ajahs and see the greater good.

“Kaydrienne Lindelle’s has repeatedly enacted policies that allow Seanchan greater and greater authority. These policies date back many years and are in direct contradiction to her claims that she will protect our children who may channel. She has taken no action against them, and has advised royals to do the same. We have proof before us in the form of the King of Arad Doman. For months she has sent Sisters to oversee the negotiation of a treaty between Arad Doman and Seanchan that gives them equal rights to access, ownership, legitimacy, and rule. These Sisters have reported successful negotiations, yet the treaty stalled. Until today. We have all learned that this very morning, a woman of the Tower, a Gaidar by the name of Trista Alquin, was sold as part of the terms of the treaty. Given as property to a Seanchan High Lord, and the treaty signed immediately after.”

Kekura knew they all were aware of the rumors. The only two Sitters who were hesitant spoke to someone actually present, whose testimony sealed their decision. She glanced then at Reloane and Esenya, each seated apart from each other among the Gray and Yellow Ajahs, respectively.

“Kaydrienne’s attempt to gain favor with the Hall is a thin, last hope. She forbade the attendance of any Sister at the treaty so that she may appear against it and to limit the number of reliable witnesses to Trista’s enslavement. Sitters, her policies are leading us toward Seanchan invasion.” She took a breath only to fill her lungs with resolution, but it was not needed to steel her already strong nerves. Kekura felt strong in the middle of the hall. Her voice was sure and confident. This was the right thing to do. “I call for you to stand in support of this motion to depose, still, and execute Kaydrienne Lindelle.”

“Jai?”

His head was down, but his stride smooth and purposeful; utterly focused. Recognition took a moment to swipe through her initial confusion; Jai shouldn’t be here, he couldn’t be here, and for the briefest moment she fancied it was naught but the conjuring of a mirage from her own spinning thoughts. Though as far as fantasies went, this one disappointed quickly. Something sharp punctured her chest when he did not so much as acknowledge her voice, and for a moment her head tumbled with all the gut-churning memories of her final test. Despite it Nythadri turned quickly, not caring what the servant thought of her haste. She reached for the crook of his arm, sank her fingers into the soft wool, and found her grip swept away almost as quickly; for he did not pause, or turn towards her, or even slow.

Her instincts all curdled in response. She felt a foolish amount of hurt, though she realised at the same time that something was also very clearly wrong. Daryen’s words replayed at speed, thoroughly dissected in the work of an instant. Not that he couldn’t lie if he’d wanted to, but she had no reason to suspect he would give her leave to speak to the gate guards, only to nudge her in the direction she would actually find him a moment later –  and not in such a manner as the strange concern imparted. With the memory of it her stomach fluttered cold, then flooded like ice through her limbs. She’d never considered Daryen might mean Jai was the danger.

She matched his pace. A steady breath refortified the manner of her armour. She detached herself from the moment. Light she had to.

"I'm simply dying to know how many steps there are between where in the light you've just been, and where it is you think you're bloody going,” she said, tone arid. Pale eyes watched sidelong at his expression, but it was deeply focused. Not in the manner of obsession, coiled tight as he had been when he contemplated the hunt’s conspiracies. In fact he did not seem tense at all given he was in the heart of the White Tower itself. She recognised what she saw, though. It was planning

"Actually, I don't know. I wasn't counting." His voice was soft, as though strangely surprised to admit it; then the consideration seemed to float away and he sank back into the mire of his own thoughts. He was silent again, contemplative; distant. Though he shot a brief glance at the accompanying servant, who dutifully ignored the conversation.

He kept walking.

Nythadri didn’t respond, though her heart was beating fiercely now. He seemed detached as mist over the sea, but she was not sure what instincts might still be whipped to the fore should she delve him with saidar. She had never witnessed the effects of Compulsion, but she could not imagine it to be anything else. Daryen claimed to have last seen Jai hours before. That left a small window of opportunity. Jai would not have come here of his own volition, surely; and certainly not to do what she was beginning to imagine, with no small amount of horror, what it was he must have just done. Light. The coercion could not have been Daryen either; he would not have needed to, even if she could fathom some kind of motive for self-sabotage. Which meant another Aes Sedai had been in Arad Doman, despite the Mother’s directive.

Compulsion of any significance was deeply forbidden. Most sisters would not even know how, Nythadri included. Which left the loose thread of a grim certainty; one she intended to pull on sharply the moment she could. Her jaw hardened. Protectiveness surged with such vehemence she felt an answering query from Eleanore. It was an effort to still the rise of her emotions, to smooth the intensity from her expression. Anger soaked the fear for what had been done to him. She vowed to root out the sister who dared. But she had to ride the wave of this first. What in the light was he supposed to do next?

And how was she going to stop him?

“He’s been in the Red halls?” The words were directed to the servant, who nodded. She recognised Larissa Telerian for the same reason everyone in the trainee Towers did; her miscreant daughter, Keio, who was more scourge than even the youngest, most mischievous novices. The flame stitched neatly at the woman’s breast gave no obvious indication in the dim evening light, but Nythadri knew she headed the flank of servants allocated to the Red’s halls. That had to be an answer to the coming insurrection; she was sure of it. Of the three Sitters, the instigator was an easy guess, but she could not imagine Kekura would be responsible for this. Shadows permeated the crevices, pulling the strings in cover of darkness; she was starting to see the shape of it. Just not who. “Where are you taking him?”

“The Travelling Grounds, Aes Sedai.”

A disagreeably uninformative answer, but she didn’t expect the woman to know more. Her attention returned to Jai, equally sure he would be obstructive, but she tried anyway.

“And where are you intending to Travel to, Jai?”

“I can’t say.”

“Wonderful,” she muttered. A glance around them ascertained their proximity to the grounds. A night breeze wafted from the wide windows, blessedly cool and fragrant with blossom. It seemed too pleasant a night for such ill omens. “Thank you, Larissa. I will take care of the Asha’man from here.”

The servant nodded, sweeping her skirts in the bob of a curtsy, and returned the way they had come.

Jai did not slow despite her departure. She imagined he recognised enough of where he was now to make the rest of the way unaided. Nythadri walked close, her shoulder brushing against his arm. Interrogation wasn’t likely to amount to much, but she searched for cracks anyway. Each question was answered the same way: “I can’t say.”

“You’d better be fighting this, Jai. And you’d bloody well better survive it.” She narrowed her eyes, but the sting was absent, even if he’d been present enough to acknowledge it.

As they crossed the last of the distance, leaving the Tower’s halls for the moon-drenched open night air, she listed the things a Black sister might wish for him to do, informed against what she suspected he had completed already. The precipice of dissolution did not affect her; she was not thinking about the future or the devastation he had already unknowingly wrought. Just the connections. An uncomfortable intuition glimmered; enough to catch her breath, but she couldn’t act on a hunch alone. She needed more certainty – if she was wrong and she left for help now, she would lose him entirely. It wasn’t a risk she was prepared to take.

And who could help?

Had Araya yet returned to Tar Valon? She’d not been able to spare the time to visit Hana first, and Elly had not said. Daryen would come, if she could find him quickly enough in the throes of his party. At least she thought he would come. But rushing into such a public ceremony, especially one barred to her, would be indelicate. And if the Shadow was watching it would paint a target right over Nythadri’s head. The sister who set this in motion might yet still be there.

When Jai stopped, she stopped. Her hands laced, watching the menace of saidin descend. Nothing of concern pierced him. She imagined others would find him nothing but formal, the perfect vessel of everything an Asha’man was meant to be, but the empty shell she perceived instead struck her strangely lonely. She wanted to reach for his calloused fingers, like the touch might breach the divide, pull him back to her, but she wasn’t sure she could weather the way he would simply ignore it. She watched him closely, pale eyes lambent in the moonlight. The stir of feeling was foolish, but she realised then that this might be a game she could not win. The odds stacked high. Jai would know better himself the calculations. But she also knew she would not run.

There was no hand held out this time. No smirk and tease. Just steadfast, stubborn devotion.

“Since you can’t tell me anything, you realise I’m coming with you.”

[[mode with permission]]

“You’d better be fighting this, Jai.”

Of all the things Nythadri had been saying, this was the comment that tugged his profile from its focus. Bubbles of memory popped the surface. Of turning suddenly and finding the same icy eyes for the first time. He could stare into their swirls for an Age, he thought, and never discover all the facets of their color. In that moment, he blinked. Probably forgetting something important, but the concern for its loss slid away like melting ice. Dripping into snowmelt, puddled, then gone forever.

“Fight what?” he asked. “Its been a fight my whole life. I don’t think I’ve ever not been fighting. It’s really nice, actually. Not fighting,” he tapped his temple with his fingers. There was a short flash of self-deprecation, and lines formed crevices around the corners of his eyes when he smiled. Like sleeping under a pile of bricks only to realize how weightless it was once they were gone. He had fought enough battles for three lives, and the number of his age did not seem sufficient to capture all the years he’d walked. There was a different sword belted at the hip. The shape was familiar, but the details drastically different. His hand notably didn’t rest on the pommel as he walked, but then again, they turned into the courtyard about then, and the focus of the One Power required his attention.

The gateway was the same sliver of light that once brightened a nighttime beach. But this time, the other side revealed cold walls and dark stone. He turned to look at her one more time. The gate framed light behind him, her defiant gaze studying the destination beyond.

“Since you can’t tell me anything, you realise I’m coming with you.”

Moonlight trickled cold light from above. Torches sparked her hair to velvet folds. Light, she was so beautiful he was surprised he was breathing so steady. He’d wanted to talk to her so fiercely. There she was and now the chance came and he couldn’t quite remember what seemed so important. He considered her intent in silence. Contemplating whether or not it broke some rule.

“Did you ever move that money?” The question came from no where. Like a task requested of his father that he only now came around to finishing. Andreu was dead, so there would be no more digging into the connection with Lynn, Winther and Zakar. Ellis was out of the picture. After dropping him in Tar Valon, he’d not been seen since. That left Nythadri’s family fortune to account, and Zakar would be desperate to reignite his ambitions. There was no whisper of connections he wouldn’t use if he thought it would work.

Her answer cut sharp. But it didn't wound. Didn't leave so much as a mark. 
“That’s the first thing you want to ask me? I might be offended you think I wouldn’t keep my word.” He just stared at her. No sleeve tugging. No twitches. Waiting. Was that the question he wanted to ask earlier? 

And then she went on. "It’s back in my father’s hands. He has a notion to join House Vanditera with Winther to explain the newfound wealth. Not the first time he has proposed such a solution to his problems, but then I expect Oshara is a far better daughter than I ever was."

That was about the exact opposite outcome he intended. It wasn't Winther's money, but Aharon was Mathias' agent. But there was no frown of disapproval. Just a nod to indicate he understood. Problems for another day. He started to turn, but a sudden change of subject pulled a glance over one shoulder.

"I should have delivered the news in person, Jai. The reasons seem so trite now. I’m sorry that I didn’t."

The weight of that guilty stone skipped over the surface of his mind. One that couldn't even begin to process what it meant. There was nothing to fight. He just told her. Andreu was dead. Almost the worst possible outcome born from a plan to protect everything he loved. Vanditera was going to marry into Winther. It was a matter of time before Mathias figured it out. There only hope was that he did not want to risk a second, closer look by the Crown or ignite a truer reaction from the Black Tower.

"Hm." he murmured, blinked, then strode on through the gate.

The space beyond was confined as a stone coffin. And just as dark. He thoughtlessly spun up a few flames of light, settling them along walls smoothed by the brush of the One Power. There was a single bed in the corner. No blankets. No pillow. A table bare but for an old ink-bottle and broken pen. There wasn’t so much as a window nor a hearth. If an Asha’man couldn’t warm their room in winter, they dealt with it. The floor had been cleaned since he was last here. Not so much as a trace of bottles nor the smell of decay as he remembered. The crossed bars of the ironic medal remained on the table, though. Exactly where he’d left it. His gaze slid over it as he passed by, dismissing the temptation to hide it away. The oddity of a broomstick was propped in a corner.

The wardrobe was the last piece of furniture. Mostly empty, but whatever Jai was searching for, he found it soon enough, and tucked it into the depths of coat pockets. It was obvious this was his room. Or perhaps a tomb. Basically the same thing.

By then, the plan was set. He assumed Nythadri was going to follow, and nothing seemed to suggest that was a problem. Theirs was a quiet parade. Those passed paid no mind. Though the Aes Sedai earned a few extra nods now and then. It was a cold home. His steps carried him through twisting halls and erratic stairs. The Black Tower was not designed as the White had been, and the opposite of ornate. It was hardly a tower at all, but more a collection of add-ons. If he was lost in the White Tower’s sophisticated architecture, Jai knew exactly where he was going in the chaotic maze of the Black.

And it was down.

Soon enough, stairs creaking under foot spat them out into a basement. A Dedicated stood as the Asha’man entered. Jai didn’t recognize him, but he had little reason to know any of the current ones. Except that one....whatever his name was. The liquor stores were not far. In fact, they were probably better guarded than present space suggested. Seemed the Black Tower kept their priceless possessions underground.

Set into the back wall was simple door. Nothing like the vault it was. A tangle of threads overlaid its surface, thicker and more complex than any ward Jai had reason to even attempt to construct. It explained why there was a single Dedicated guarding it. Well. Less of a guard and more of a book keeper.

Jai studied the ward while the Dedicated looked between the two guests, confusion riddled his expression. None would be here unless they knew the secret to opening it, and the M’Hael revealed those keys to only a trusted few. Knowledge Jai did not possess. But that wasn’t going to stop him.

He glanced to the Dedicated.
“You can go,” he said. Standard procedure, the Dedicated saluted and slipped away. No middle ranking kid could learn the secret. He glanced at Nythadri as he passed, nodding his head for the ring on her finger. Lucky for him, there was nothing to suspect. But before he reached the door, the One Power swarmed and the Dedicated collapsed. Jai glanced at Nythadri, urging her to quietude with a simple look. Though he didn't think she would do anything to stop him, neither could he allow anything to halt what had to be done.

The kid wasn’t dead. But he would wake up with a headache for a few days. He couldn’t have the kid coming back in an hour to find out what was taking so long. Nor could he be interrupted. He might actually kill him if he did, and some anonymous Dedicated wasn’t the one he was after. Nor did he want to have to deal with finding a solution to the body should instinct blaze rash.

Bonds of the One Power pulled him toward the wall and made sure he stayed there should he rouse. More wrapped his mouth, but Jai was careful to keep his nose clear. It was a good way to suffocate an unconscious man. Next, Jai was at the ledger left behind. Records, was all, names and lists. But it wasn’t the information Jai wanted. It was the paper.

He ripped a wad from blank pages in the back, snatched the ink and quill, and dragged the table square in front of the door. Knot theory was a subfield in mathematics. It was the kind of toy that a kid whose mind raved for focus might occupy himself with for hours on end. Puzzle boxes and ropes. Opening and closing them a hundred times over. Predicting how to do it in the fewest moves possible. Knots were just numbers wrapped up in themselves.  A circle that had to open itself somehow. It just took knowing the right pattern.

Burning eyes flicked at the door then to the paper. Then up to door. Over and over again. Soon, parametric equations slanted randomly. Complex variables were defined. Letters and lines filled every inch of paper. The number of times the knot crossed on itself was captured, plugged into the longitude of a torus, multiplied by the geometry of meridian. He first had to determine if the knot of the ward was a circle, vector or a trefoil since the geometry required to untangle each was drastically different. Eventually mad scribbles eradicated what was worked out and the paper was shoved aside, falling to the floor like a tissue tossed on the wind. He started over, testing the next formula.

The ink bottle was near to empty by then. Which meant he had to dig around in his pocket for the spare taken from the wardrobe. This ink was cleaner. The black darker. It was higher quality than the stock stuff kept for the basement ledger. The marks of his penmanship was thin and sharp. Well accustomed to the frenzy of focus. When the next page was full, he grabbed another. And another. Until the papers were gone and he had to re-write over the top of the first page. Never mind that what was beneath was smudged to nonsense. The edge of wrist was nearly black by then. He frowned from time to time, scratching out wide swaths of work and starting again. Frustration and fear were far away. Only thought remained. A problem to solve the only way he knew how.

The equivalence problem explained how different knots of vastly different appearances may in fact originate from the same pattern. It was easy to distinguish in the program of numbers. Simply deform the knot into the number of crossings over itself. Count the number of twists. Represent it in a new way.

There was a way to calculate the number of moves it would require to untangle. The sequence of those moves was what differentiated one knot’s appearance from the next. Until you end up with the same basic shape hidden deep within. Once the topological form was known, it would be easy to pry apart. Just like a ward, you needed the key to open it. Problem was, if the threads of a ward had more than 23 crossings of the One Power, that meant it could take on more than a billion different shapes. Determining the base topography from something so vast was an impossible task to deconstruct. Even for him.

Polynomials worked though. By using knot invariates, mathematically, you could back-predict the origin of the shape, and once know the original knot type, infer exactly how to open it. The beautiful part was the math required the law of colorability, a mix and match of colors to the knot loops that formed a matrix. And in the case of the One Power, threads were easily replaced with colors.

The ward over the door was complex. It most likely originated from the mind of the M’Hael himself, and none alive should be able to open it without the key. If the M’Hael trusted a man with what was behind the door, the key would be shared and the door opened. None alive should be able to figure it out. Except perhaps the man curled over a table with ink up to his wrists and a head full of patterns. 

By the time the matrix table was half-filled, his posture had deteriorated to a curled lump over incomprehensible papers written layer upon layer over each other.  His breathing was slow and steady. Probably doing the best work of his life what with the cobwebs swept from the corners of his head. He had the clarity to check over his shoulder once in a while. To glance at the Dedicated to see if he’d woken yet. Nobody was coming, though, and he worked all the faster to complete the task.




[[Written with Nythadri]]