The First Age

[[old thread, when Mal was newly raised; just adding so I can easily reference]]



Plans had gone awry and Malaika's mentor, Eithne Sedai (along with her atha'an miere gaidar, Anura), had replaced Brenna on the impending trip to Arad Doman.  Ke'sera Raldiin of the Gray (a Domani herself), her Warder Dolaran and a rather quiet sister of the Blue had also joined the party, and they convened on a grassy bank outside Tar Valon on the morn that they were to Travel.

Ke’sera Sedai smiled brightly and chatted amiably all the way; one would not think she had been summoned to interrogate a suspected spy, but her chiming voice was an easy enough distraction from the tight knot in Malaika’s stomach. She listened, nodding when appropriate, but found her thoughts drifting to what lay ahead. Under Eithne's tutorage, she had spent the previous day perfecting the threads of illusion to disguise her features best she could. Though her hair remained sleek and black and her skin pale, her eyes were no longer tilted, and her face, usually soft and rounded, was angular, her nose straighter and more prominent. There was little she could do for her accent, but years in Tar Valon had dulled the slurring inflections and holding her tongue was certainly something she was accustomed to anyway.

“Sister, if you would.”  As a matter of politeness, Eithne, as the oldest and most senior present, directed the proceedings. The older Brown was resplendent today in folds of bright, clashing fabrics and colours.  As a former Tinker, she adopted a myriad of different styles, today including the dazzlingly slashed skirts of Ebou Dar. A sash of emerald green nipped in her ample waist, and a garland of dried winter flowers held back her ebony locks. 

Beside her, her gaidar was not much subtler in dress. Amidst Anura’s leather armour were flashes of bright silk - among them a royal blue at her breast and a hanging sash of scarlet at her waist, which loosely caressed the sheathed rapier there also. A yellow bandana held back the black hair from her face, revealing a number of gold hoops through her ears. She was a wild looking thing - intimidating, surely, but Malaika had spent enough time with her to see past the stoical Sea Folk exterior.

At Eithne’s word, Ke’sera grew bright with saidar. A silvery slit tore a neat line through the air, widening to a hole enough for two astride should they walk closely.  Malaika's heart was in the pits of her stomach as she peered through to the scenery beyond.  She had never left Tar Valon - had barely explored the city itself - and now, mere feet ahead of her, lay a country leagues and leagues away, unaware of her very existence and untouched by the everyday dealings of the Tower.  She had read up on Arad Doman, of course, but it did little to prepare her.

"Come, Sisters." Eithne's bright tones lifted her from reverie in the effortless way they so often did.  She had merry countenance that opened many hearts to her charms, and her easy presence was a welcome relief to the discomfort Malaika usually faced around others; indeed, the vibrant woman had been a very specific choice of mentor for the serious and reserved young Aes Sedai. 

Led by the Warders Anura and Dolaran, the four Aes Sedai stepped through the gate…

They arrived in an empty courtyard, by a grand fountain gushing an exquisite and complex flow of sparkling water. The centrepiece was a bronzed statuette, the woman’s curvaceous form flaunted in traditional Domani dress of such craftsmanship that one could swear the mock fabric really did shimmer in the light. In her hands she offered a bowl of fruit, and there was a captivating smile on her full lips.

“Talhia Raldiin, my great, great grandmother,” said the Gray, Ke’sera. She pointed to the bowl. “Legend says she enticed my great, great grandfather with that, and he always swore nothing tasted as sweet.  I fear he may not have been talking about the fruit.” She laughed throatily, despite her Warder’s disproving look, and waved them across the square. Malaika glanced once more at that scantily clad statue as they passed, her ears burning beneath the thick velvet of her hair.  And such a comment from a Gray as well!

Eithne did nothing but smile in that quaint, merry way of hers, but made no comment, and the Gray presently led them out of the high walls that surrounded the court. They surfaced in a close-knit warren of roads, but soon found their way out to a busy market-place. The sheer amount of people - and the noise! - was enough to take Malaika aback. She paused for a second, until Eithne’s hand pushed gently into the small of her back.

“Off we go, Sister,” she said in hushed, kind tones.  Ke’sera had already stepped out, her Warder on her heels, and Malaika swallowed back the sudden, unexpected swell of fear.  Afraid of what? she asked herself, and found no answer but the irrational. The Aes Sedai test had been far more than this - she had faced that alone, and here she was among her sisters. Bracing herself, she followed the Gray, and though that first step was an accomplishment all in itself, if for no audience but her own mind, she found that her initial panic was quickly swept up in sheer awe.

The Blue, whom had never parted with her name, left them soon after. She gave little more than a cursorily nod to her sisters, but Malaika was too enthralled to much notice her departure. The young Brown tried to be surreptitious in her wonder, but stare she did at the bustle around her; the swathes of swirling sheer fabric and scent of spice and musky perfume; the tall, copper-skin women with their lustrous black hair, calling out their wares with seductive smiles; the men with their elegantly curled moustaches and bronze rings through their ears. The accents, the bright colours - even the temperature was different. (and certainly the temprement - to her left she could hear the warring tones of a man and woman, if not the cause of the argument).

“Bandar Eban,” she murmured, trailing after the Aes Sedai and Warders.  Anura led the way through the market square; she was at ease in this place, the red sash tied through her belt loop swaying with her hips. It was not unusual for the ath’an miere to trade with the Domani, Malaika recalled, and clearly the gaidar had been here before. People stood aside to let them pass, and some stared. Eithne paid none of it any mind, and Malaika emulated her indifference for the most part, but within her heart beat a torrent in her chest.

Such colour, such vibrancy! It was as if the pages of her study books bounded to life around her, and the thrill of it was immeasurable, if so far it felt a little surreal. The pleasure was short-lived, for they did not stay in the market-place long. Soon the rows of bright tents and treasure-laden wagons gave way to quieter streets. Anura led them on to a stone building, its carved doors patrolled by two men in the armour of Domani soldiers. Here Eithne took the lead, her gaidar close to her side. Malaika stood a little behind Ke'sera, curious but composed.

"You are expecting us, I presume," the older Brown said.

“Aes Sedai.” The guard bowed low, a fist to his heart. Malaika was excited to notice the Sword and Hand emblem on his chest - a symbol she had seen so many times copied into books on history and politics. Here, though, picked out in stitches of gold, it seemed to mean something. She managed to control the wide-eyed look that threatened to break the calm exterior of her expression, but a rare smile played on her lips. When the guard looked back up he glanced at her strangely, as though she were some slow child, but did not linger on it (with her young face, he had no reason to believe she even was Aes Sedai). “Of course.  It is this way.”

They followed him into the building and down a series of steps. Some of Malaika’s mirth dampened as they descended. She thought of the Tower’s basements - of the secrets and horrors it held - and remembered that they were here for serious business. Seanchan business. 

Eventually the guard stopped at a heavy oak door, tapped once then opened it. "He is within, Aes Sedai."

Eithne nodded and led the way, though Anura's frown suggested she was not happy with that particular arrangement. Malaika waited for the Gray and her Warder, but Ke'sera gestured her in first, so she followed her mentor into the dank room. Stale sweat and fear assaulted senses that had earlier been seduced by the delights of the Domani trading grounds. It was empty but for a few chairs, its centremost one occupied by the prisoner in question. He was bound by hands and feet, his dark haired head limp over his chest. Two Domani guard flanked both sides.

Malaika worked to keep her expression neutral against the barrage of emotion she felt within and she found it hard to look upon her countryman; instead her eyes flicked to Eithne, seeking some sort of direction, but the woman did not break her eyes away from the bound man. Though it left her feeling uncertain, Brenna had made it clear she was here in the capacity of a student, so she melted against the shadows and prepared to watch events unfold.

“Four days,” the guard said. “And all he swears is that he is innocent.  His armour is in the corner, the blade too.”

“Indeed,” said Eithne absently. She looked up at the guard, her green eyes pleasant. “Thank you, soldier.  We will take it from here.  And you must give our thanks to King Daryen; the White Tower is much appreciative of his cooperation in this matter.”

The guard, slightly offset by this dismissal, paused before nodding stiffly and signalling the two other men out. “Should you need us, Aes Sedai, you have but to call.” 

They closed the bulky door behind them.

Malaika felt Eithne embrace and brighten the light of the room; the torches blared and a small ball of light sparked into being by her head.  The older Brown retired to a chair in a corner, pulling a book from the confines of her voluminous skirts, Anura hovering by her side.

“This is your field of expertise, Ke’sera,” she said flipping to a page marked with a bright pink slip of silk. The Gray nodded and Eithne turned to her reading as though tucked away in some comfortable corner of the Brown Halls. Something of her composure bothered Malaika somewhat and she stole a glance at the shackled man, realising that there was a sick, weighty feeling in the pit of her stomach. Eithne’s voice broke through her thoughts. “And Malaika.  As our authority on the Seanchan, perhaps you might take a look at the young man’s belongings.”

Ke’sera circled the chair, grey silk skirts swirling about her ankles. The Seanchan man finally looked up, but Malaika dare not meet his eyes for fear of her own reaction. What should she feel?  Hatred, terror, anger? A mixture, perhaps, or nothing at all - what was Seanchan to her but a memory, and a bad one at that? Still, she was uncomfortable, certainly, as she headed towards the armour as bid - perhaps even a little guilty, as if she should be somehow responsible for her kin and their actions. But these were feelings that had no place in her Aes Sedai façade, and she let nothing of it touch her smooth expression. We are sisters three she thought, and here for a duty.

Ke’sera’s voice rang clear in the cell, but Malaika was focused on her own task and did not hear the barrage of questions nor their answers (or even if the Seanchan deigned to answer her at all). The pile of armour glinted dully in the light and she ran her fingers over the gilded metal, thinking. It was familiar - like a hazed memory at the edge of her mind, and yet so distant now; she no longer belonged to this foreign world, and it was as alien to her as to her sisters. She pulled out the beetle-like helm, with its curled mandibles, then turned her attention to the adorned breastplate. It was old and rusting, the once rich paintwork faded from lack of use. Parts of the gilt had chipped off and there were crumpled dents where the metal had been reshaped after countless battle-blows.

She ran her slender fingers over the beast emblazoned in the centre of the plate, a memory firing from deep within. Torm. She recalled the graceful beasts, a recollection not of book or parchment, but of memory. The deep bellow their call, the ripple of bronze scales and the intensity of their gaze. Such beautiful creatures. Deadly.

“Old,” she murmured to herself, placing the chest plate down with a chink. And there were no personal affects to be found here. Her attention rose to the sound of the man’s pleading. It was as the guard had said; he swore to his innocence.

“Blood and bloody ashes! Damn the Dark One. Damn the Creator! I’m no spy, I swear it. Bloody witches! Can’t you just read my mind or something? What use is the bloody power is you can’t even see I’m telling the truth?!” Despite his bravado, there was fear in his voice, and a deep desperation. His dark eyes were wide, glazed, and she noticed that beneath the bindings of his hands his fingers were trembling. A mop of onyx hair distorted his features (and hid some of the bruising to his right cheek) but despite the small tuft of hair beneath his lip it was suddenly clear that he was very young. Old enough to be a soldier, certainly - the Empire recruited young - but something did not sit right. He did not look Seanchan, not to her.

“This armour cannot be his - it looks older than he does, sisters.” Malaika stood and wished she had the Brown shawl to wrap tightly about her shoulders; the comfort should have been appreciated, but she made do with an expression as close to unruffled serenity as she could fathom.

“He is Ebou Dari,” Ke’sera agreed rather casually. Perhaps disappointed. “At least in part. An easy mistake to make, and the Domani have been flighty since the Seanchan invasion.”

“Yes, YES!” He tilted his head back, eyes heavenward. "How many times must I say it? This is all a mistake, a stupid bloody mistake! A trip around Tarabon, then on to Arad Doman - a tour of the world's finest women. I'm not a bloody spy!"

As his head tipped back, Malaika caught sight of the moist sheen of tears on his cheeks. No Seanchan spy. She glanced at Eithne, still apparently preoccupied with her book, and then at Ke’sera, as if seeking permission to speak - to interrogate the man herself. The gray inclined her head, for which Malaika was infinitely glad.

“Where did you come by this armour?” she asked.

“My father,” he insisted. “Blood and bloody ashes, if I’d thought it was going to land me in this much trouble…Light! Even Domani women aren’t worth the effort. I’ll swear on whatever you want. Tell me how to prove it and I will.”

Eithne snapped her book shut. “Then we are concluded, sisters?  The boy will need escorting home and a verification of his story.  If he is found to be lying he will fall under Tower jurisdiction, though I am sure Mother will keep Arad Doman appraised. If you would be so kind as to formalise our decision with the relevant authorities, Ke’sera?”

The gray nodded. “Consider it done, Eithne.  I can provide you with passage to outside the city, if you wish.”

Eithne tucked the book away and stood. The ball of illumination she had used to read by winked from existence, and the light of the room dipped to flickering flame and shadow. The pile of Seanchan armour now looked like some monstrous beast in the corner, fire catching in the metal like twitching movement. Malaika seemed the only to notice it, but Eithne's voice drew her away from the observation almost as soon as she'd made it.

“That would be wonderful." She smiled cheerily and one would never know they had spent the better part of the last hour in the gloomy interrogation cell. "And sister, your assistance in this matter has been most appreciated.”

The Domani Gray smiled and flicked her eyes to Malaika. “Indeed,” she replied, embracing saidar.  A silver gate sprung to glittering life in the corner of the room, and the prisoner boy’s bonds unknotted and slithered to the floor, though it was clear from his face that he was still unable to move.

“Here, sister.”  Though Eithne was her senior, Malaika was stronger in the Power so the older Brown was happy to pass the weaves and let her younger companion hold the prisoner.  Malaika took the responsibility gravely, glancing at the supposed spy, who stared back at her with wide, black eyes.

It transpired that his name was Kasimir Navaren, of Seanchan and Altaran parentage, although he had lived all his life in Ebou Dar. He told them that his old man was a prickly bore and his mother not much better, so he had left to find his fortune elsewhere and ended up in Arad Doman. Taking the opportunity to boast his skills with the dagger shamelessly, he also said he had taken his father’s armour and blade in the hopes of impressing some ladies with a half-baked story of having vanquished a Seanchan soldier (who knew he resembled the old man so much they would think he was Seanchan?!) Then he thanked them profusely for ‘rescuing’ him from the Domani authorities, but that there was no need to take him home because he swore to the truth of it…

All this he told in rapid fire as they emerged from the silvery gate, he floating on tendrils of Air. Eithne Sedai listened politely and nodded in the right places, but when he had finished said: “What an interesting tale, Kasimir Nevaren.  You have surely missed a calling as a Gleeman. Now, if you would be so kind as to provide us directions so that we might be on our way?”

Kasimir Nevaren’s face fell and he grew sullen.

Malaika did not pay this interaction much mind, bar to keep the flows of Air about his body. Her thoughts were spinning at the turn of events that had led her to Arad Doman and now Altara, and she could not stop herself from glancing about at the countryside in dreamy awe; the trees, the plants, and even the way the sunlight struck everything in a cool winter glow was somehow new and infinitely beautiful for it. The foliage here was all different from what was found in Tar Valon, and though the Aes Sedai (being themselves from all across the continent) often brought back or cultivated foreign things, it was an entirely different experience to see it in its natural habitat. 

Then her eyes drew to the city; Ebou Dar loomed ahead, though all she could see from here was the great, thick white wall that surrounded it.

Ebou Dar…

As they continued, making their way through the guards at the Three Towers Gate and then in to the city itself, Malaika reflected on the irony. This place she had never seen had been somewhat of a catalyst to her freedom, when all those years ago she was to be traded between handlers and shipped across the Eastern Ocean (the Aryth, that was what the mainlanders called it). She had been destined for Ebou Dar as a leashed one and now, years upon years later, she arrived with the shawl and her own bound captive in tow.

For his own part, Kasimir looked vastly uncomfortable being trussed about in bonds of saidar (especially when the gate guards had sneered down at him as if he really was a criminal), but appeared to have enough sense to hold his tongue unless spoken to. Now that she could see closely, in stark daylight, she realised that though his tilted eyes clearly pointed to Seanchan ancestry, his colouring was off and his features were slightly more angular than those of her kin. Of that much he clearly did speak the truth, and in a way, she was relieved that he was not pure-blooded.

Upon passing the security at the city’s walls, Eithne paused, beckoning that Malaika bring the young man closer. 

“I trust you have no intentions of running, dear?” She spoke to him so pleasantly it was as though they were on some delightful outing, rather than escorting an exile from Arad Doman. A line of consternation on the young man’s face revealed his thoughts to be similarly confused, but he assented with a nod. He had grown quiet, and despite his bravado in the interrogation cell he no longer seemed as eager to ‘prove’ the innocence he insisted so fervently upon. Lying, then?  Malaika wondered. Else afraid of something. Regardless, Eithne appeared not to notice, else to deign it unimportant for the moment.

“Very good. For I assure you, an Aes Sedai’s wrath is far worse than a few angry Domani. You may release his legs, sister.”

As bid, Malaika set him down gently on his feet, and melted the threads binding them together.  His arms she left as a reminder of authority, if his miserable expression suggested he needed no such thing.  Eithne nodded, pleased.

“Onwards then.” 

At her Aes Sedai’s words, Anura gave the man a quick prod in the back for good measure, a wicked smile on her exotic lips. “You heard my Aes Sedai, now hop to.”

The city about them was beautiful, but far different from the vibrancy, colour and spice of Arad Doman. The buildings were large and pale and there were as many canals as walkways, and dozens more bridges besides. As they travelled, men would drive their long, thin oar-sticks down into the water and call to them amidst the lapping waves, offering transport to wherever it was they were going, but Eithne waved them passed with a smile. Little other encouragement was needed to get them moving again, with Anura standing by her shoulder with that hard onyx stare.

Above the white stone buildings and into the distance, Malaika could see great spires and domes banded with gold and crimson. Sometimes she saw flags bearing the two golden leopards of Altara, but more often the fluttering symbols were of individual noble houses. Often the roads they followed would convene upon marble courtyards, where haughty eyed nobles would eye them on their way. The people were colder than the Domani; less inclined to trust and more to suspect, but they were markedly polite and Malaika found no qualms with them. All carried weapons, of course, and occasionally Anura had to steer them another path to avoid an ongoing duel.

Kasimir trudged on in brooding silence, eyes cast down at the floor like a petulant teenager. If Malaika had any doubts that he could be working for the Seanchan Empire, then by now they were truly dashed. She realised that she was inclined to believe what he had said, though she was sure that there was slightly more to it than he was saying. Eithne Sedai did not appear to find him a threat, though, and Anura Gaidar seemed to find amusement in the youth, for that wicked smile did not seem to be leaving her lips any time soon.

“Kasimir Nevaren!” 

Kasimir’s head shot up and his eyes widened.  He cast them away as a tall, olive-skinned woman stepped from a doorway. “Mother,” he sighed, as the woman threw her arms about him, kissing him five times in quick succession on the forehead. Then she drew back and proceeded to whack him about the head, the marriage knife swinging about her neck. Kasimir ducked as best he could, but with his arms strapped to his sides found himself utterly defenceless.

“Where in the bloody light have you been, boy?  You disappear off in the night and I hear no word?  Wait ‘til your father hears of this!--”

Kasimir winced, head lowered and shoulders hunched under the blows.

“--Mistress Nevaren.”  Eithne stepped forward, hands clasped in front of her colourful, sateen skirts. “Your son has found himself in a… spot of bother.  I should appreciate some time to speak with you and your husband.”

The Altaran woman noticed them as if for the first time. She stopped, black eyes roaming over the two Aes Sedai and their tall Sea Folk companion. Then they narrowed. She pushed her son behind her, unsheathing a jewelled dagger from her belt.

“Witches,” she spat. “You’re not welcome here.”

This was not the reception Malaika had anticipated - none of the literature she had read suggested Altarans were particularly hostile towards the White Tower, but then this woman had chosen to marry a Seanchan man. She stiffened, threads of saidar ready at her call, and glanced at the older Brown for direction. Eithne, though, was immeasurably calm, if her green eyes had hardened behind her serene mask. Anura lay a warning hand on her blade, frowning.

But Kasimir intervened, nudging his mother with his shoulder and sighing heavily. “I promised them, mother. I probably would have hanged without their interference.”

The woman spun on her heel, skirts swinging around her legs. “You what?!  Fool boy, fool fool fool boy.”  She clouted him once more about the head, then turned back around slowly, returning the blade to her belt.  Those black eyes measured them all, and the thin line of her lips told the tale of her feelings clearly. “Then I suppose you had best come this way,” she said coldly, signalling the doorway from whence she had come.

“My name is Eithne Sedai. This is my sister, Malaika Sedai, and my Warder, Anura.”

“Mmm.”

Kasimir’s mother led them through to an anteroom of sorts, the walls lined with shelves, books and ornamental furniture. Once they were all safely within, Malaika released the wisps of Air holding Kasimir rigid. He slumped a little, and looked relieved, but clearly did not know to whom he should glance his thanks. Malaika thought she had finally come to realise the source of the young man’s sullenness and wondered how it was he could still be so tied to his mother’s apron strings.

At the far end of the room was a solid, oaken door. Something of its majesty reminded Malaika of the Mistress of Novices office, but perhaps it was simply the simmering unease in her stomach; she was out of her comfort zone and out of her element, after all. Her Sister seemed unruffled enough for the both of them, and they had Anura Gaidar besides should things turn nasty, though she really didn’t expect that the situation would escalate; Kasimir’s mother, who had not even bothered to grace them with her name, was feisty and obviously had a bias against the denizens of the Tower, but was clearly not stupid. 

Light, but her heart was beating wildly, though, and she clasped her hands together much the way she had the day she had met Kekura Sedai, if this time her head was held aloft and proud. For the first time in a long time she thought of the rosebud and let those serene pink petals calm her.

“Wait here.” 

The Ebou Dari woman took her son by the arm, clearly with the intention of leading him from the room.

“Your son must remain in our custody for now, Mistress Nevaren.” Eithne did not move, but Kasimir’s mother did stop in her tracks. The lithe, muscular form of Anura Gaidar was more than ample encouragement. “The allegations against him are a serious affair.  But as a Light-fearing citizen, I am sure you understand that.”

“He is my son,” she reminded boldly. The way her fingers flexed she was itching to raise her blade, but an ageless face and the serpent ring calms many a fierce heart. The woman pursed her lips, the muscles in her jaw working furiously for a moment, but she even managed to hold her tongue. Kasimir touched her shoulder gingerly but the gesture did not seem to be much appreciated. “Wait here,” she repeated coolly, then disappeared into the room.

The woman’s hostility left Malaika on edge, but she was aware of her own ignorance in such matters.  One did not face much hostility against Aes Sedai in Tar Valon, and even as a Seanchan initiate she had found herself welcomed into the fold without much incident. This expedition was all a continuance of her training, of course; Brenna had said as much; she could not be Aes Sedai and remain ignorant of the world outside the Shining Walls forever. Whatever those without the Brown shawl about their shoulders thought of her Ajah, her sisters recognised the difference between the fact of the page and the fact of the eye. Malaika had read much of the worldly literature found in the library, but it was no substitute for experience.

Beside them, seemingly rejuvenated now that his mother had gone, Kasimir sighed loudly and muttered obscenities to himself.  “Blood and ashes, blood and bloody ashes what a mess.”  He tilted his head towards Eithne. “You witches grant protection to those who ask for it, right?

But then the door opened and his mother stood austere and tall in the doorway, the dagger flashing one white and two red stones at her throat. “My husband will see you.”

“…because I need it,” Kasimir murmured as they entered.

The room within was decorated after a Seanchan fashion; sparse and simple, with curving furniture and silken carpets.  There was a great canvas painting on the far wall, picturing the city of Seander at daybreak, with a plaque beneath that she could not read from this distance. There were no seats.

A dark-haired, broadly built man stood with his back to them, his attention facing an armour-stand raised half a foot in the air by a plinth. It was empty but for a tall, tasselled spear, the ornately carved tip gleaming. 

“Come here, boy.” The man’s voice was deep and drawling. It had been so long since Malaika had heard the accent of her kin that it sent a silent shiver down her spine. She was not the only to shiver, though; Kasimir hesitated at the command, and Malaika tilted her head to look at him. Not afraid of his mother, she realised, but of his father.

The older man turned awkwardly, heavy-set frame reliant on a thick cane. His fingers curled around the cat-like head of a torm, two of its glinting three eyes winking rubies and the centre-most polished white. The creature’s likeness alighted something of the young Brown’s memories, if she kept the smile to herself; few would think it, but it was not as if her entire past before the Tower had been horrendous - she had not been a damane all her life.  Still, now was not the time for nostalgia, and she did not allow herself its sweeping pleasure.

The man before them was grizzled and far into his middle years, with a heavily lined face and black hair greying silver at the temples. His tilted eyes and the soft lines of his features marked him as Seanchan, and pure blooded at that.

“At least show the honour of sei'taer, boy. Look at me when I speak to you!”

Malaika noticed the young man’s eyes spark under a mop of ebony hair, but when he raised them they were nothing but solid black pools. “Yes, father,” he intoned. 

“Hierarchy, Kasimir, protocol, honour, respect. The Wheel would not have made you my son should it not have intended for you to obey my word. And yet here I find you have stolen from me.”  He waved at the empty stand and Malaika remembered the gilded insectile helm. “In Seander you would have your arm shortened by a hand for such a disgrace.”  The man’s fingers were white about the torm head cane, and Malaika sensed he might have struck the boy if he could’ve. Her clasped hands twitched, but otherwise she remained still. It was not for her to disagree with a father’s discipline of a son; she had no children, and more as like never would.

Eithne cleared her throat.

“It is fortunate, then, that we are not in Seanchan. Light shine on you, sir,” she interrupted, and with her voice the room silenced. The small, plump woman looked as regal as a queen, and nothing of the stereotypical dreaminess lingered in that suddenly shrewd gaze. “I am Eithne Sedai, and this--”

“--Witches,” the older man corrected succinctly. “And I have no need to learn the name of witches. But I am Chakai, this boy’s father. What further crime has he committed to earn such a nefarious escort?”

Chakai. The name rang through her skull. Malaika eyes widened a fraction, but the name was a common enough one. A cruel twist of the Wheel, no more. She glanced at Eithne and found the woman looking back at her mere moments before she turned her gaze back to Chakai.

“He was arrested in Arad Doman and held under the suspicion of being a foreign spy,” Eithne explained calmly. Malaika noticed the admirable subtly with which the Brown tackled her words; she did not alienate Chakai with accusations, though the set of the man’s mouth made it clear she may as well have said Seanchan instead of foreign.  She also noticed the way Kasimir’s mother’s black eyes grew considerably larger. “He pleaded his innocence, but his story needs verifying.”

Chaki snorted. “The boy is no spy, just a common thief. And one that will be dealt with accordingly. What proof have you?” He made his way towards them, cane padding softly on the silk floor. His left leg trailed and jerked, giving him an erratic and difficult gait.

“Armour, a Seanchan blade.” At Eithne’s words, Anura lowered the bulging bag from her back and let the offending items spill messily on the floor.

Chakai scowled. “An Aes Sedai who cannot see what is right in front of her nose - how very… unsual. Do not mock me for a fool, woman.” He jerked an arm back. “The boy stole them. I hope you are not so blind as to realise I am Seanchan, and no bloody spy, either.”

“I do not mock, sir,” Eithne replied coldly. “The White tower takes its duties very seriously. We do not assume, and we do not take kindly to insolence. Should you continue unto that end, we might quite easily return your son to the hands of the Domani authorities. I’m sure they would be happy to hang him a spy.”

“Chakai!” There was fear in the woman’s voice; fear of a mother’s prerogative. She caressed the marriage knife, as much an Ebou Dari threat as a reminder of the children she had born. “Husband, please. Tell them whatever it is they need to make them leave.”

Chakai grunted, but his tense shoulder sagged. His gaze returned to the Aes Sedai, settling on the older Brown. “Upon the breastplate there is the image of a torm, a creature which bears the likeness of my cane. The helm is dented in many places, most noticeably the rear, where an axe blow nearly cost me my head, and the sword is inscribed with the words: ‘By the hope of a higher name’.”

Anura checked as he spoke, laying the items out on the floor one after the other. She nodded the truth of it.

“Torm,” Eithne repeated. “Scouting animals, are they not?  What do you know of them, sister?”

Malaika opened her mouth to speak, but the old man cut her off.

“Do I look as though I still ride? Or that I keep one of the creatures here? The armour and blade is mine and the boy is innocent, and now that I have proven it I ask you to leave.”

Eithne nodded. “I believe we had what we came for, Chakai Nevaren. Your cooperation has been appreciated, and the White Tower thanks you for your time.  he boy is free to go.”

With a small cry, Kasimir’s mother brought him in to an embrace. Chakai, though, leaned in close, the hand on the cane trembling under the weight. “The day comes when the Empire rises, marath’damane.  And when it does, I shall rejoice.”

Eithne's eyes held no twinkle, and no mirth. "So, too, comes the day when your son will leave you, Seanchan.  We shall not bring him back next time."

“That’s it?” Malaika asked once they were clear of the house.

“It was clear from the start that the boy told the truth,” the Brown answered. “But putting a little fear in people can do them good. We don’t want the same mishap to happen again, though I doubt the young Ebou Dari will be quite so keen on Domani women, no?” She smiled, and there were dimples in her ageless face. “What did you make of it all, sister?”

She had not paused to think on it before now. Eithne watched her reaction with eyes that had returned to their customary twinkle, like she knew a secret everyone else did not. Malaika was used to that look but it made her suddenly uncomfortable now. Truthfully she thought there was more to it than the woman was saying; Aes Sedai did not Travel countries in order to scare young men out of behaving like dolts. But she did not wish to look as though she was questioning her elder; Eithne’s business was her own business, and she would tell Malaika only what she deemed necessary. Malaika trusted her in that.

“It was informative,” she replied, nodding affirmatively once the words were out. Eithne chuckled and took her young sister by the arm.

“Informative, indeed,” she agreed.

It was too late to head out of Ebou Dar that evening for, as neither Eithne or Malaika could Travel, their journey home would be one on hooves (and for that Malaika was infinitely glad Broekk Sedai had including horse riding among her many lessons). Anura arranged them accommodation at a nearby inn and, after a evening meal of soup and crusted rolls, they retired to bed.

Malaika could not sleep.

Though the room and the noises coming from without were unfamiliar and the bed too soft for her liking (“Only the best for Aes Sedai” the frenzied inn-keep had exclaimed), it was the torrent through her mind that stopped her resting. She stared up at the ceiling, dark-hair splayed out upon her pillow… and thought of Chakai. Not the old man, Kasimir’s father, but of her brother, whom she had not seen in a lifetime. I would have recognised him if it were he…And yet the doubt had burrowed deep; a little voice within cried ‘what if’ to the point that, though she was weary with travel, her eyes were wide saucers and her mind whirling.

It couldn’t be….

She tried to remember the last time she had seen him, but only succeeded in unearthing memories muddled with those of her Arches. What really happened, and what didn’t? Oh, how she had doted on her older brother; his charm, his smile and quick laugh. As a child she had rejoiced at the days her brother returned from his duties as morat’torm, determined that she would follow in his footsteps and become a trainer of the rare beasts. How wrong I was in that, she thought wryly, turning on to her side and resting her head on her hands. The serpent ring glistened in her peripheral.

With some great effort (for she rarely poked beyond the surface murk of her past) she pulled up her memory of him. In her mind’s eye she saw him in the black and brown uniform of morat’torm, grinning for all the world like a fool with his jet-black hair wind-tousled and in dire need of a good trim. Bright eyes sparkled some untold secret, and undoubtedly he was hiding some new war-wound sustained by his love for Seanchan’s exotic beasts. She had shared that love, if only because it had been his first.

Malaika smiled - could not help it. And then the doubt increased. Two morat’torm named Chakai? She sat up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. Kasimir’s Chakai did not look like her brother; not even slightly… and yet… close on thirty years was a long time. And then she recalled the eyes. A tight knot formed in her chest. Could she live with not knowing? This might be her last chance to ever find out.

It was unusual for Malaika Niele to ever act rashly; she was one prone to bouts of thought so deep that some thought her slow in the mind. And yet at that moment she could think of nothing but getting dressed, braving the dangerous night-time streets of Ebou Dar, and knocking on the door she had been so relieved to leave behind.

Malaika’s doubts receded when she saw him again.

“I have some more questions,” she said.

“And I’ve had enough of your bloody questions, witch. The boy will be punished, and you are no longer welcome here.” Chakai Nevaren made to slam the door in her face, but she pressed her palm to the wood and spoke swiftly.

“--About your family, your sisters.”

Her stared at her for a moment, gaze narrowed and jaw muscles tight. The lines about his eyes and mouth deepened. When did you start to frown so much, Chakai? He had changed almost beyond recognition and something within knew that this endeavour would be fruitless, that it would bring no more than extra heartache to a memory that should be cast aside with the others. And yet she couldn’t quite let go, not with him standing there and this, perhaps, the last chance she would have to speak with him again.

“The only family I have is here. I have no others. No sisters.”  That frown seemed to deepen further, but something piqued in his eyes. He did not welcome the conversation, she could see that, but he was curious, if more than a touch wary for it. Still, it was the only advantage she had to manipulate, and- for all her usual reticence - she met him gaze for gaze in that shadowed doorway.

“Will you hear my questions?” 

The words hung in the air for an eternity and longer. She wasn’t even sure what she hoped to accomplish, but there was a fever on her heart. When he finally nodded, her skin began to tingle for all that the doubt was already on her. She had never been this reckless, nor so spontaneous. She had no idea what she planned to say, or what it was she expected from him.

He led her into the modest sitting room, its décor a strange mix of Seanchan and Ebou Dari style. She noticed a screen dividing the latter portion of the room, decorated with tropical foliage and brightly plumed birds. It reminded her of a distant, foggy memory; of a woman’s voice, a sweet singing melody, and the smell of rain on freshly bloomed flowers. She did not try to capture the memory - was not sure what others it might dredge up, for the time Before was a dangerous period of her life to dwell on - but did bask in its meagre glow, happy to feel something.

“I don’t know what you think you’re going to learn.” Chakai’s voice broke through whatever pleasant reminiscence had caressed the edges of her mind. “I have no family, and certainly no sisters.”

No sisters. The way he continued to repeat that stung deeply and she thought of Zurafai, still a tiny babe-in-arm when she had been taken. It did not fill her with hope, this all encompassing renouncement, but neither did he mention Assaru. No family, not just no sisters. She watched as he crossed the room with an erratic step, slumped into a high-backed chair and poured himself a glass of amber liquid.  The angry, grizzled man she saw with her eyes was not the same as that which she saw with her heart.

“A village, Abunai, was where you were born. A brother, two sisters. You were morat’torm, Chakai.”  She called saidar to her as she spoke, lacing into her words a weave secreted by those who wore the Brown shawls. As it settled about him he blinked, but showed no evidence of having noticed anything untoward. He sipped his drink and the line between his brows finally relaxed, if the crease there remained.

“Ai, that’s right.” He spoke as though confiding in a friend. “But it was a long time ago now. Vicious beasts, torm. Not that the likes of you would know.  Unpredictable, too, even for the best of trainers.”  He rapped on his leg and fell into apparent thought. That line between his eyes returned with more vigour.

“Assaru, your brother. And your sisters… Zurafai… and Malaika.” She scoured his lined face for even a hint of recognition, but was rewarded with nothing but the upturn of his lip.

“I have no sisters. Do those Aes Sedai ears of yours not work?” He stood, clearly agitated, and limped over to the fireplace, where he balanced his glass on the mantle and leaned heavily against the wall.  An expression of pain clouded his face. “Agh, this damn leg! Cherish your youth, girl, for it is not pleasant to be old. If your kind even ever become old, unnatural lot that you are.  Would that you were all collared and be bloody done with it.”

She ignored the snipe.  He knew no better. “The sul’dam feast day some twenty, thirty-odd years ago--”

“--Is where my first sister died. Who are you, anyway, to bring such ghosts to my door?”  He spun round and her grip over him wavered for a moment. Oh but his gaze was so world weary, his face lined, his hair silvering. Where was that youthful, cocky smile?  He had always been so quick to laughter…

“You were always so kind to me, Chakai. Do you remember the times Assaru would trick me, how you would wipe away my tears? And the days we would play in the caves when the Empress let you return home on leave?” In a moment of recklessness, in pure and blind hope, she let go of the illusion distorting her face.

By the time thought caught up with her - her usual, cautionary senses - it was too late.  She could not tell if he truly recognised her, but he clearly recognised the ethnicity of her new features. His eyes widened, narrowed.

“What manner of fae trick is this? I HAVE no sisters!” Chakai pulled back his fist, glinting with metal. Instinct and saidar flooded her senses, but it was her old damane training which directed the threads. Light! She faltered mid-flow, stopped herself from releasing a weave she’d long since promised would never surface again. The internalisation - the shock-back - left her gasping, and the hesitation cost her. Without thinking she had met the Ebou Dari blade with her hand; it sliced deeply into soft palm-flesh and the searing pain wrenched saidar from her control. In some desperate corner of her mind she heard Lythia Sedai’s instructing voice, and would later thank the light that she ever braved the Green Halls in search of defensive tutorage. She drove her other fist into Chakai’s chest, then thrust her knee up hard. He lurched backwards, whacking his head on the mantel and crumpled with a heavy crunch on his lame leg. The glass of whiskey followed him down, smashing to a thousand glittering pieces on his face and neck.

Malaika stared in horror and took a step back, wrapping her fingers around her wrist, already bloodied.  Her pulse flared in her fingertips, gushing blood from the ragged lesions to her fingers and palm, and dripping in great red blobs to the floor.

“Chakai, I….”

“I think it’s time for you to leave.”

The voice startled her and she spun on her heel to find Chakai’s wife stood in the doorway, twin Ebou Dari blades glinting in either hand. The marriage knife flashed at her throat, a match to the fierce, protective blaze in her eyes. Chakai’s son stood behind her, his face shadowed by the darkness of the room within.

“I…”

She could not bring herself to look upon the prone form of her brother, but she could hear him groaning amidst the tinkling debris.  There was little she could say, or do for that matter.  She had disgraced herself. A grave quiet settled over her despite the blaring pain, and with as much Aes Sedai dignity as she could manage she retreated from the house.

Her composure did not last in the cool night air. She had acted rashly, selfishly. What had she expected but rejection?  Chakai was a Seanchan of the Empire, and she would be forever tainted in her beloved brother’s eyes. Desperate to be away from this place, she hurried through the deserted streets, until a voice stopped her in her tracks.

“You have been very foolish, sister.”

Eithne Sedai materialised as if from shadow, Anura Gaidar on her heels. The hot white pain in Malaika’s hand was too great for her to even wonder how the sister had found her, or to concern herself with the consequences of her actions.  She squeezed her wrist, a sickening lurch in her stomach at the slick warmth running down to her elbow. It was all she could do to hold her composure at this moment.

“Shall I deal with that fiend?” The gaidar’s deep, husky voice held a measure of restrained threat, and she wound her fingers about the hilt of her rapier. Polished onyx eyes were glaring back down the shadowed road from whence Malaika had come. The young sister felt a flash of panic; Chakai had, after all, assaulted an Aes Sedai. 

“That will not be necessary, Anura.” Eithne laid a bejewelled hand on the atha’an miere’s arm and the woman softened almost imperceptibly. 

“I did not like that man,” she retorted. “Such rudeness should not go unanswered.” She released the grip on her weapon without quarrel, if the fixed, displeased set of her expression did not change. The Brown patted her gaidar’s arm and turned back to her young protégée, her green gaze unusually sombre. Then she sighed heavily.

“Perhaps you may now be able to put this folly behind us, Malaika.” Eithne placed an arm round Malaika’s shoulder and began to lead them down the street. Malaika complied without thinking, one foot blindly following the other, as Eithne’s voice rang in her ears. “The Tower is your home, and we your sisters.  You have no need for more, and nor should you want for it. But come now, discussion of penance can wait until we return to the Tower. First we must see to that hand.” 

The Aes Sedai’s words washed over her, but did not go unheeded. A test, she thought incredulously. She makes it sound like some kind of test of loyalty, to ensure I have no further ties to the Seanchan. Had she not proven herself in the Arches, and in the final test, like every other woman who wore the shawl and ring? It couldn’t have been planned, could it? Brenna Sedai certainly knew as much of her past as Malaika did herself, though, and had the channels to find out more than she did. And how easily I slipped from the inn without Eithne or her gaidar noticing me…

“You do not trust me…?” The words found their way to her tongue without permission; in her right mind she would never have been so bold, but in the darkened streets of a foreign city, pain burning what sense remained to her, it seemed she had little to lose from candour.

“You are our sister, a daughter of the Tower no different from any other. We respect that you had ghosts that needed putting to rest, child, and we acted accordingly. The Council and Brenna Sedai agreed. We would not neglect you and have you end up the way of the Greens…” She sniffed at her own indiscretion. Lianora and Aliray; those were the sisters she meant, Seanchan born both. Malaika lowered her eyes and made no judgement of her own. Neither did she miss the Brown’s use of ‘child’.  Clearly, she had overstepped a mark. 

A frustrated sigh struggled to inflate her lungs, but she fought it off.  She had no one but herself to blame for her predicament, and the disappointment weighed heavy upon her. It was all true, she supposed; she had been driven blindly by a desire to find her family - a family that were hers no longer, and had not been for far more than the two decades she had been at the Tower. She had those answers now, painful as they were to look upon, and not even the outcome she had dreamed of. And a dream it had been, a mere fantasy from which she had not paused once to consider the consequences. What might it have cost her? Utter disgrace? The disapproval of her sisters? Or worse? Fear gripped her but she would not show it. I am a disappointment.

“Here will do.  Anura, arrange those boxes so that our sister may sit.”

The gaidar abided with her customary silence. Malaika’s legs buckled as much as she lowered herself, but since there was none to see she suffered little embarrassment over the fact. Eithne knelt beside her, one hand resting on her shoulder, the other her knee. There was kindly worry in her gaze, mother to daughter, sister to sister, but bizarrely Malaika thought of her time as damane and how disgraceful such a comforting touch would have been then. Things had changed for her - changed beyond any recognition - and still she had sought acceptance in the one place she had been sure of rejection. Tears prickled the back of her eyes, but she was Tower trained, and well so. They did not fall.

“Anura,” said Eithne. “Our inn is not more than two hundred yards along this road. I would very much appreciate it if you could arrange a hearty meal for the three of us; the Light knows we shall be needing it.”

“Of course, Aes Sedai.”  The gaidar took off at a trot, her red sash swinging in the wind. When she had gone from view, Eithne turned back to Malaika.

“I regret to tell you I have little skill in Healing, but perhaps a few scars will serve as an ample reminder of this night.” She grew bright in the dim street and the familiar threads of saidar united and fastened, cool and tingly over Malaika’s hand. She could feel the flesh as it knit back together and it was a strange experience. Eithne spoke as she worked, though Malaika could sense she wrested with a weak weave.

“The Brown Ajah is proud of you sister, do not misunderstand me in this. We are none of us perfect, and the years before agelessness are as much a learning period as acceptedhood, if only between sisters and ajahs. Serve your atonement and move on from this; it is best not to dwell, for you should know that we, your sisters, will not.”

Malaika did nothing but nod in answer, if the words suddenly warmed her within - touching upon the very core of her that had turned cold and numb at the thought of upsetting her sisters beyond reprieve. It was said Eithne had considered Yellow before Brown, but a lack of talent had stopped her pursuing that career. Though her weaves had not fully healed Maklaika’s hand, her words had done some great measure to heal her heart. 

Indeed, Eithne Sedai had not been chosen to mentor the young Aes Sedai by accident. 

Malaika flexed her stiff fingers and winced; Eithne had lessened the wound - made the slices less deep - but she had not been able to heal it entirely.  The cuts had crusted, and the skin about them was pink and tender and hot. Her sister had been right; there would undoubtedly be scars, and perhaps some nerve damage so deep had the blade gone. It was no matter, though, and it was certainly not the most painful thing she had faced this night.

“We shall find you some bandages, sister, and the Wise Women of Ebou Dar are famed for their herbal knowledge.” The light of saidar finally blinked out about the Brown and she sagged on the ground. It had been a long night, and Malaika suddenly felt a surge of gratitude; what might have happened had the woman not shown up.  A rare and sincere smile lit the Seanchan’s face and, though she still felt the disappointment at her own fallings, she offered out her good hand for her sister to take.

Kasimir watched from the doorway as his mother hurried over to his father, who lay groaning amidst a debris of glass and whiskey. I should have intervened, he thought, and yet he had stood and watched in shadows as his father had struck out and the woman had retaliated. Something had stayed his hand, some curiosity as to that strange exchange, and then his mother had run in and ruined it all.

“Mal… Malaika?… No…” Chakai’s eyes opened. “Sharain?  Light, Shar it is you…” With his wife’s help he eased himself up, bits of glass chinking to the floor. She wiped his mouth and chin with her skirts, then brushed away the bits of glass stuck to his skin.

“Light! Chakai, my love… Who was that woman? Burn her, whoever she is! I should show her the sharp side of my blade for what she has done to you!” The Ebou Dari made to stand, ready to chase the witch out into the night, but Chakai gripped her wrist.

“No. No… what’s done is done.  Help me up.”

His mother’s lips grew thin and though it was her right to challenge the duel, she did not argue. The twin daggers that were her pride and joy were flicked quickly back into their sheathes, one either side of her belt, and she offered out her arms to bear the weight of her husband.

Chakai grunted loudly as Shar helped to haul him up, then cried out when his weight fell awkwardly on his twisted leg.  Kaz hurried to pass his father his cane, and the man snatched it gratefully. The veins in his head were throbbing, his face red and puffed with the exertion. As their eyes met, he felt a familiar surge in his gut; that line between hatred and fear so often inspired under the scrutiny of his father. The man loathes me. He felt a flash of anger, of provocation.

“Malaika,” Kaz said, turning his gaze to his mother. “That was her name. It was the woman from before, the younger one with pale skin who did not speak.”

“Of course it was not.  Did you not see her face?  She looked Sean--”

“--enough!”

Shar caressed the marriage knife. “Are you in trouble, husband? Was she sent by the Empire? We pay our fealty; with your leg they cannot expect you to--”

“I said enough, woman. This matter is done and I will hear no more of it. I do not wish to hear that name again.” This time he looked at his son, before hobbling stiffly over the crunching fragments of his night-cap.

His mother frowned and gave a short, frustrated sigh as she watched him leave. "Make sure the door is bolted, Kaz," she said, caressing his cheek as she passed. No doubt off to soothe father's dented pride, he thought, kicking a foot at the mess on the floor. Why does he insist on hiding so much?

The hour was late, and darkness had long since fallen on the streets of Ebou Dar. Usually Kaz might be found roaming them in search of sport, else relaxing with a tankard of something strong and a game of dice among friends, but the day saw him unusually weary. Though he was infinitely glad to be out of that Domani cell, the last place he had wanted or expected to find himself this evening was here, the place he had gone to such great pains to escape.

It had taken a pouch of gold coins to convince the Wise Woman to be up at this late hour, and another half a crown for it to be enough for her to travel to the inn the Aes Sedai were staying in. She was a gruff woman, though perhaps that was simply because she had been roused from the comfort of her bed, and despite her less than hospitable bed-side manner performed her duties with precision and care.

“Healall,” she murmured. “No, perhaps too late for that… A poultice to ward against infection, though. And lionheart for the pain.” The woman frowned, rummaging around the contents of her satchel. Malaika’s outstretched hand - cleaned, now, of the dried brown blood from finger-tip to elbow - tingled in the cool air, and moreso when the Wise Woman began to administer her aides.

“This is what happens when foreigners mess with Ebou Dari blades,” she chastised. The foul smell of her ointments were enough to wrinkle Malaika’s nose, but she refrained from complaining. After bandaging her hand in soft white linen, the Wise Woman glanced over her shoulder to where Anura stood casually against the window, her silken accessories fluttering in the slight wind coming from between the slats.

“Don’t just stand there like a piece of furniture. Make yourself useful and boil the kettle.”

The Gaidar’s slender brow rose, and Eithne Sedai chuckled.

“Oh, Zella, dear, you really do not change! Here, allow me.”

The water was heated and the Wise Woman, Zella, went about preparing a mix of herbs and dried leaves.  The result was a mixture of insipid yellow-green water, stream roiling about the surface. Zella presented it to her in a mug.

“Foxtail and marisin to help you sleep, and with no grogginess in the morning,” she said. “Drink it all up, the quicker the better.  Don’t think about the taste now.”

Malaika drew the cup to her mouth, the drink bitter on her lips and pungent to her nose even before she dare take a sip.  Disgusting. She tipped back her head and let the whole lot slide down her throat with a wince, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand when done. The dried leaves fell back, a soggy heap at the bottom of the cup, and the aftertaste was marred by feathery bits in her mouth. A thoroughly foul concoction, but she was hopeful that it would do the trick; a peaceful night’s sleep, or what remained of it, was a welcome prospect indeed.

“You have our thanks, Zella, especially considering the lateness of the hour.”  Eithne rose from her stool, a weary smile on her lips.

Zella grinned back wryly. “You Aes Sedai are always a nuisance, aye, but you know you can call on me any time, Eithne”  She jangled her purse. “If a bit o’ the gold stuff doesn’t ever go amiss.” 

The woman packed up her things, yawning a little into the back of her hand as she did so, and Anura saw her from the room. Malaika gave her thanks also, tucking her feet up on the bed when the Wise Woman was gone. There was a heaviness in her head, deep and luxuriously intoxicating, and already no thought seemed to be able to swim through that haze. Even Chakai’s face, a bizarre mix of old and young, had no sway over her mind. The tea was doing its work. Light but I am weary.

“We shall take our leave now, sister.  I trust you shall get a good night’s sleep and be rested for the morn. We have a long journey ahead of us.”

“Of course, sister.” Malaika nodded her head and the motion seemed to want to carry it down to the soft goose-feather pillow. Eithne smiled, but Malaika did not even see the woman and her gaidar leave, or hear the door close quietly behind them. Neither did she have the energy to undress, and barely enough to kick off her shoes before she was drifting and in to a dreamless sleep.

Kasimir didn’t remember falling asleep in his father’s chair, but when he woke there was sunlight streaming through the windows. He jolted, the dagger entwined loosely in his fingers finally slipping from his grasp. Damn. He sat up to see Jahzara grinning at him as she cleared up the remained of last night’s … intrigue.

“And you looked so sweet, Kaz, with that drool hanging from your lip.”

He scowled and ran his hand over his mouth, though found it dry. His sister giggled.

“So, are you going to tell me what happened last night? Papi won’t come out of his room, and mother has a face like thunder this morning. No one tells me anything. Just ‘clean this, Zara’ and ‘clean that.’  I don’t see why we can’t hire in help like everyone else.”

“You’re a kid, Zara. A kid that does too much nosing and not enough cleaning. That’s why no one tells you anything.” 

“Yes, but I’m your little sister. If I can’t count on my big brother to tell me what’s going on, who can I count on, huh?”  She looked at him with wide black eyes, her lips pouted.

Kasimir smirked, flipping the dagger from the floor and back into his grasp. The cool metal glinted between his fingers before the blade was back in its sheathe. He crossed his legs, resting back into the cushions of the chair, and lay his arms along the plush armrests. One brow quirked at his sister, but he kept his mouth shut. Let her stew.

Jahzara blew the dark hair from her face and scowled, scrubbing hard at the floor. Her knuckles were white.  "Just look at all this blood. Don’t try and tell me Papi cut his hand, because I won’t believe you.”

“Damn bloody right he didn’t.”

“Language! Light, you speak like you’re from the Rahad!” She stopped scrubbing, and raised her brows. Clearly she was waiting for him to elaborate, but when he didn’t answer she sat back on her heels, dark eyes flashing with a look she had inherited from their mother. “Well, I know one thing. You’re in big trouble, Kaz. And you’ll be in even more if Papi finds you in his chair.”

Kasimir’s body jerked as though suddenly discovering he’d been sitting on a nest of vipers, and he leapt to his feet, Zara laughing mercilessly. Wicked girl, he thought, his brow tightening to a frown. He straightened himself up with a quick brush down his front, glancing at his sister from the corner of his eye, his lips pursed into a thin line.

“You missed a bit.” Three swift strides took Kaz from the room, and he gave a pleased laugh when he heard Jahzara huffing loudly behind him.

The hallway beyond was cool and dim and windowless. It seemed to focus his thoughts, that dim, as he recalled to himself what had happened the night before. It what as if from a dream and the face of the Seanchan woman was blurring in his mind, if her name was burned in his mind. Malaika. He rubbed his head, running dark hair through his fingers. The grogginess of having just woken was still on him, and he was hungry besides. Famished even. When was the last time he had eaten?  His stomach gurgled protest, and he remembered that there was usually left-over cold meat and cheese in the cellar…

But his impromptu breakfast wasn’t to be. Barely two feet from the door, a voice called down the hall.

“Boy, is that you?”

Kasimir sighed, his footsteps falling still on the carpet. Sometimes he envied his eldest sister, Kataria, for having married out of the family already. Burn the man, but he treats me like I’m twelve! At his age he could have been married himself, of course, and even have children of his own to boss about and make miserable, but Light be damned if he wanted to get stuck with some domineering Ebou Dari who’s knife was bigger than the sense in her head. If only I hadn’t gotten bloody well hauled back from bloody Arad Doman! He scuffed the floor with his boot, sighing heavily in his chest.

He could leave of course; turn his back, ignore the call. But he wouldn’t. He knew he wouldn’t. Burn the man, bloody well burn him!

“Coming, father.” The words were hollow and formulaic. And burn me too!

Chakai was in his room - the room he spent hours in, his Seanchan room. The armour Kaz had stolen had been replaced on the stand and gleamed to a new shine, like a great insectile god upon its raised plinth. His father faced it, looking up as he often did, and though he could not see his face Kasimir knew he would be frowning and deep in thought. Remembering, maybe, though what Kaz could not say.

He felt like a child again, loitering in the doorway, and hated every second of it. But reminding himself otherwise didn’t seem to ease the knot in his stomach. Fear or anger, or maybe both. He knew what the man had to say; the lecture, the admonishment, the declaration of disappointment. Oh, he had been here before. And yet, for now, the room remained strangely silent…

His father had always had his crutch, but he did note (to a point of self-satisfaction) that while the long ebony cane was as strong and beautiful as ever, the man who depended upon it was beginning to shrivel. Despite it, Kaz still felt that familiar militant strength from him; the tough, unyielding core that had bore down him ever since he was old enough to walk. The memories bubbled up, stoking a fierce temper within, but he forced it down to a simmer.

Chakai finally turned, resting his weight greatly on the cane. He was slower, more stiff than usual. Clearly the fall from last night had effected him. And yet even now the man insisted on having no seats in his room. Protocol before comfort, he would always say, though Kaz would be dammed if he knew what that meant.

“My only son…”

“It’s just armour, father. Metal and gilding--”

“--memories!”

A short, frustrated sigh steamed from Kaz’s nostrils. Memories, secrets, lies!  “You want to speak about memories, father? Who was she, last night?  Mal--”

“--Do not. I warn you!”

“Or what? Father, look around you. We are not in Seanchan. This stuff, it all means nothing to me! You speak of honour and sei'taer, and yet you hoard your memories and your secrets, then expect me to give a damn. Well I don’t. I really, really don’t.”

Chakai’s face had gone very white and his hand trembled upon the cat-like head of his cane. His eyes and expression were vivid with emotion, but it all appeared too convoluted to decipher. Kaz noted too late the rings of sleeplessness and the red glaze to the whites of his eyes. Afraid. The word popped into his head. Sad.

He blinked and the anger died as quickly as it had inflamed.

… had he jumped to conclusions? He was about to push his luck; ask again about the woman in the sudden hope for answers, but before he could make up his mind Chakai’s face had turned, and when it looked back it seemed to have reanimated itself in stone. His father’s lips were pursed, the teeth grinding within.

“You will get out of my sight, boy. You will get out of my sight, now.” The words were spoken with immeasurable calm; but it was a calm that sent an uneasy chill down Kasimir’s spine. This is not just about the armour, he realised. And I have just made things ten times worse.

"Tell me, father. Tell me who she was..."  Kasimir's voice was soft, and he realised that he, too, was talking of more than he appeared.  All the secrets...  He just wanted to know - the answer itself was not even that important. He could let it drop like that, never mention it again if that's what was asked of him. Light, he just wanted his father to confide in him, to share the burden he had carried since leaving Seanchan all those years ago.

But Chakai's face remained unchanged. He breathed in, sucking up all the anger and frustration, so that his voice was steady when he spoke. "Leave, boy. You will leave."

Kasimir's hopes sank, and something within him hardened to mirror the expression of his father. This conversation was done.