The First Age

Sat cross-legged on the floor, papers and books piled high and far around, Malaika drummed her fingers lightly across her forehead, eyes half lidded, clearly in the midst of serious thought, when the door to her quarters opened and soft footsteps across the carpet shattered each painfully captured thought to oblivion. Kasmir. He usually knew not to bother her when she was so engrossed in her work, as the strewn-across-the-floor-seats-and-tables mess usually signified. The chaos was structured, but it was still chaos; such visualisation helped Malaika work, and each pile of paper had point, form and meaning in her own mind. Interruptions sent such delicate organisation crashing down, though, and often before she had had the chance to write the connecting thought processes down.

The Aes Sedai sighed, though it was the only sign of irritation she allowed to surface. She had all but given up chastising him for letting himself in, since countless warnings seemed to fade more and more quickly after an initial effort to knock. It was her own fault; if he was such an annoyance, she could easily send him away, or set wards upon her door to prevent such inopportune disturbances, but the truth was she was growing used to his presence, and even enjoyed his visits occasionally. He was not Chakai, but there were times he reminded her so vividly of her brother - the way he had used to be, that is - that the distinction grew blurred and his company became a comfort more than a nuisance.

“Sorry,” he said, dark-as-night eyes travelling over her kingdom of book and paper, then back to her, with an air of apology.  And he did actually look apologetic, too, which was strange.  She noted that he fingered a letter in his hands, turning it round and round until the edges had softened. 

Malaika pulled her hair over one shoulder, briefly massaging her neck while her thoughts shrunk and softened and she recalled that she should probably say something. “It’s okay.” She stood with a practised grace, and extricated herself from her working space, pausing to settle a few pieces of paper that alighted from their piles in the wake of her trailing skirts. “I’ve hit a point at which I’m stuck; I could use a break, I suppose.”

He had not stopped frowning; not a single quip left his lips at the state of her apartments, or her unconventional methods of work. Usually he would grin and tease and call her a sham of an Aes Sedai in such playfully errant ways that she was always unsure whether or not to tell him off for it. Certainly she would not have tolerated such insults from anyone else, whether they were meant in harmless jest or not. I’m too soft. Far, far too soft. The thought made her angry sometimes, until she realised she would rather be soft than humourless. “Did you need something, Kasimir,” she said to the silence, and it was not quite invitation as much as impatience. Thoughts of the Collam Daan, the subject of her research, still swirled around in her mind, distracting, and though she had soothed his interruption with the fact she really did need a short rest, she did not want to be away from her studies for long.

“Here.” Without preamble, he passed a letter sealed with blue wax, and she realised that he had not been holding one document, but two. Puzzled by his apparent mood, but beginning to suspect the cause of his mute tongue, Malaika opened the letter and unfolded it out. She scanned the words. Her eyes flicked up for a brief moment. “It’s from Sharain.” Not Chakai. Still, it was a wonder to receive anything at all, not least because it was addressed to her. She did not anticipate good news…

There was no room to sit, so as she read she leaned against a dresser untouched by parchment. One of the Ajah’s servants had set a great blue vase upon it, a mountain of winter flowers scenting the sitting room with a floral hint. Malaika had not even noticed until now where the wonderful smell had been coming from. 

At the conclusion of her read, she held the letter back out to Kasimir, frowning.

“Your… your father wants to see us.”

He nodded grimly. “But we’re not going to go, right?  There’s no point.”

“Perhaps Chakai wishes to reconcile with you.” She tilted her head, observing the glower lowering his brows. He had her full attention, now, and he never appeared to like the way her gaze seemed to understand far more than he ever said. “You are his son,” she added gently, although somewhat firmly.  Kasimir was a man grown and could make his own decisions, but it was in her interests to heal this rift if she possibly could.  It would be something, at least, to make her own situation feel better.

“So you want rid of me?” he snapped with sudden ire, as though her words had loosened a spring he had been holding coiled. “Cart me back to Ebou Dar the first chance you get?”

She didn’t roll her eyes, but she certainly felt like it. Perhaps she coddled him by keeping such sentiments to herself; for tolerating his fiery temper because she understood the brief and intense bursts of flame that compelled his moods. She knew he meant nothing by it; knew that his childishness was rooted, almost always, in thoughts of his father. “Oh for the love of the Creator act your age, Kasimir. If I did not wish you here, I would have sent you away, hmm? Stop filling your head with all that useless pity."

“I’m sorry, Aes Sedai,” he murmured, folding his arms and glaring down at his feet. He missed the amused smile that curved her lips. Such a child! She did understand, at least in part, although she did have to wonder how it was he had not gotten himself into serious trouble with another sister yet. Perhaps it was only Chakai that stoked his juvenile rage; she would be willing to warrant it so, because though he was feisty in temperament, he was not generally of such a foul disposition.

“You should at least think about it. Running away from your problems will not fix them, and I would not like to see you carry regret to your grave.”


Kas hated it when she did that; spoke as though she read his thoughts as easily as she read her books.  Aes Sedai really couldn’t read minds, or so everyone here said, but Malaika’s ability to cut to the quick was disturbing. He desperately wanted to shout at her. No, not really at her, just at something - someone, so he could ignore that feeling burrowing within. Guilt? No, surely not. But something uncomfortable, and that something only made worse by Malaika’s words.

He looked up at her, standing so apparently innocent (not that any of the Light-forsaken witches could even be called that), and with that bloody stare, as though he were an insect under glass. He couldn’t even hate her for it, because there was often a softness behind it; an interest that wasn’t clinical, but compassionate, as though she were emotionally invested in his struggles. He supposed she might be - she was his aunt, after all - but he had also seen that stare pressed down on others. She seemed to care a great deal for others, or at the least was of an empathetic nature.

May as well tell her. “He’s sick,” he said, and hoped he kept the bitterness from his tone. Probably not; not to her, at least, since all these Tower-trained women seemed in tune to the slightest nuance. “My sister Jahzara says he doesn’t leave his room, nor even his bed.  His leg, I suppose.  Else she’s saying it just to guilt me home.” He wasn’t sure he believed that entirely, if he wished it were true. It would be far easier to dismiss, then. What if he dies? Kas had wished that, guiltily and to his shame, but he had never really [/I]meant[/I] it. Could I live with the regret of never seeing him again? All that hatred stagnating without resolution.

Was this what Aes Sedai mind games felt like? She didn’t say another bloody word, and yet it was like she controlled his strings as surely as any puppeteer. I’m not running, he thought fiercely, but if he couldn’t even confront his father face to face, then what else did it look like? He glared down at the letter in his hand, at the blue torm’s head seal, and wanted to crush the wax in his fist; wanted to watch it erode and crumble… but that rise to temper would only show how much he cared and prove the precise nature of her words.

“Fine.  We’ll go, if you think it will make any difference.  But it’ll be a wasted trip if anyone thinks I’m going back to Ebou Dar.”

“You don’t have to stay there,” she said, and there was a lightness to the corners of her lips, as though she were smiling. “You just have to face your father.”

There were times – rare as they might be – that Malaika found no comfort in the solitude of her rooms, or the dusty security of books.  When escape to written worlds was barred to her it was inevitably because her head was too full of thoughts to concentrate.  As a Brown, an active mind was her lifeblood – assimilating ideas and facts and details, and weaving philosophies and concepts and histories so that she felt her brain might burst – but these deliberations were of a purely personal, distracting nature. Kasimir would call her brooding, but she did not think that was right. Contemplative, certainly. Analytical. (Coping with foreign emotions, she thought absently, in the way Broekk Sedai had taught her all those years ago).

The best remedy was to walk, and to think, and so that’s what she did. The day was pleasant enough – though truthfully she paid little attention, and temperature meant less to an Aes Sedai than it would to another. There were plenty enough people about – appropriate, she supposed, to whatever time of day it must have been. Perhaps lunch in the city would be nice. Or whichever meal was closest to the hour. Mistress Osilia’s place had become a favourite haunt, and a friendly face might alleviate the brewing tensions in her mind. There might even be advice to be had, if she could find a circumspect way to phrase it.

Lately, life had been good. Very good, in fact. And that, perhaps, was the problem. Do I deserve this much happiness? Rationally, yes – no more or less than any other person who had worked as hard as she had to get to where she had gotten. And yet… doubt hovered like a dark cloud.  Or perhaps as a warning, because she felt this time of contentedness was ending – slipping away like the last warm rays of summer.

He’s sick.

How sick? Her own letter, from Sharain, had hinted at some expediency… but she also knew they were desperate for Kasimir to return home. As an Aes Sedai it should not matter to her that her brother may be dying – especially a brother who cared little and less for her – and yet it weighed heavily on her. Had she really thought, after their last meeting, that there was any chance of reconciliation? And why should it even matter? Her life was here, at the Tower; her family in everything but blood.

The letter had not asked for her, so it would be easy to wash her hands of the whole thing – and let Kasimir go or stay as he pleased. But she couldn’t – or at least knew she wouldn’t on principle and, although Kasimir would surely not see it that way, for her nephew’s own benefit.  Chakai would not want to see her, of that she was certain, but Kasimir would not go alone, and if his father really was ill then she could not let him live with the guilt of ignoring the summons. It would be a heavy regret.  And, she thought, perhaps with her own twinge of guilt, it was her own way of offering amends. Kasimir remained adamant that he would not return home, but she accepted he might feel differently once he had seen his family again. Should he leave, it would be strange without him. Quiet. Empty, even.

Thoughts of lunch forgotten, she sat on a bench, blind to the view she must appear to be quite rapt in. Her injured hand lay cradled in the other, both resting in her lap amidst the folds of her skirts. I said I would never be that foolish again. And yet she knew she was going to go back to that house.

Malaika lacked enough knowledge of Ebou Dar to be able to Travel as close as would have been convenient. She remembered the street on which Kasimir’s family lived, but to open a gate there might have proven dangerous – and she certainly didn’t need any more of that. So when she’d opened the silvery portal it had been to a green wilderness outside of the city. Kasimir had led the way almost in silence, each of them quiet with their own thoughts.

It had been more than a year since her last visit … and nearly that since Kasimir had seen his family. So much had changed in that time; a year ago, Malaika could not have imagined making this journey alone. Ebou Dar did not hold as much wonder as it had the last time – not at first, at least. Ultimately, for one as untraveled as Malaika, it was impossible to ignore the foreign beauty around her, and the scenery provided a distraction from the meeting to come.

“I could show you around,” Kasimir said hopefully, noting the way she watched the boats in the many canals.  It really was a beautiful city, especially if you knew the right places to go, but she recognised the stall for what it was.

“Another time, perhaps.” A half smile, barely noticeable, accompanied a side-long glance.  He looked stressed, and she sympathised, but suspected it was his pride more than anything taking the beating.

---

“You stupid boy!  Where have you been?” Sharain grabbed Kasimir almost the moment the door opened, as though proximity to Malaika were somehow poisonous. Malaika took a moment to gather her composure, grateful that the culmination of her Aes Sedai training enabled her to distance herself. Her features betrayed little, though inside unease roiled.

There were no greetings, formal or casual. With a mistrustful glare, Sharain simply left the door open as she retreated with her son in tow. Malaika considered Travelling away and leaving this family to sort out their own wounds privately, until Sharain spoke over her shoulder.

“He wants to see you. Alone.”  She slipped her arm through Kasimir’s protectively, and led him away.  Kas gave her a plaintive look, but allowed himself to be led away.

The room was dim and cool, curtains drawn so that only a hazy light penetrated the stale darkness.  As she passed the threshold her gaze was pulled to the armour-stand on its plinth in the corner, illuminated by the light seeping in from the hall. She paused, hand still curled about the door handle.  A moment of hesitation.  The stand had been thrust round as if in anger, the insect-like armour skewed, the spear fallen like a lazy sentinel.  It sucked in what little light there was, made the air chill.  Fanciful thoughts… but even discarded like that it stoked an old fear.  She clicked the door shut, and the armour winked from existence.

“Chakai…”

It was difficult to see in such dim light, but as her gaze adjusted, she thought that he looked older than she remembered.  It had only been a year - she had barely changed; still untouched by agelessness, still unnaturally youthful.  He, though … he looked old before his time, laying prone in a bed heaped with sheets as though to stop the thin man within from simply floating away.

Chakai grimaced as though the very sound of her voice grated against his nerves, and she wished bleakly that she could offer some sort of comfort – that she could sooth the taut lines of his face, that she could evoke a smile as she had been able to so easily during their childhood.  I am still me, she longed to whisper, to take his hand and caress his brow. 

But she knew she had nothing to offer him that he would accept. 

That discomfort settled to a tight feeling in her chest, an ache in her arms and fingers that longed to embrace him as the big brother she had loved and idolised in youth.  Nothing of that connection seemed to remain, though, aside from her memories, and those she barely let surface in her mind, lest they become tarnished by this man she did not want to be her brother.

Silence stretched for a long while, in which he refused to meet her eyes and she ran her gaze over his withering body, thin even under the blankets, and watched the shallow rises of his chest.  She felt almost desperate in her affections, to the point that some detached piece of her mind was disappointed with her irrationality.  You should not even care, she told herself.

“Kasimir is in the sitting room with your wife,” she said, joining her fingers in some mark of comfort to herself, holding them still in front of her.  She noticed he had made sure there were no chairs in the room; perhaps had even removed them in lieu of her visit.

A sigh gurgled from his throat – relief? – anger?  Was he in pain?

“You stole him, you blasted witches.  Poisoned his mind in a terrible way such as I cannot even fathom.  But you cannot have him, witch.  You cannot.”

She had expected no less, if she had hoped for more than hostile accusation.  Even in the gloom, with Chakai in the bed so far away, she wouldn’t allow herself to close her eyes, to mourn the way this meeting must go.  “He came to Tar Valon because he was curious, brother.  Because you would tell him nothing.”

Chakai hissed, and the following intake of air resulted in a rattling in his chest, and a wheezing cough.  “Brother?” He did not move his head, but his eyes darted to her, wide and bright white.  “Do not dare to call me that!”

“Let me get you some water,” she murmured, longing to avoid the battle to come, to lessen in some way the pain her presence caused.

“No.  I do not wish to speak with you, marath’damane.  I do not even wish to look upon you, or share the same space.”  The coughing had reddened his face, and he had clenched the sheets into crumpled fissures at his sides.  I could delve him.  Perhaps even Heal him.  She had some skill, if not a talent for it.  But she did not think his ailments were those that could be cured so easily.

“I want nothing from you but my son, whom you have stolen from me and refuse to return.”

She opened her mouth to refute his words – to remind him that Kasimir had come willingly, that she had no hand in keeping him in the White Tower.  Light, that it was down to her that he had answered his father’s summons at all!  But no words came.  He had already cast her as the enemy and nothing she could say would change that.  The best she could do for him was to avoid the argument, to simply accept all that he had to say.

“Kasimir is free to do as he pleases.  I have no claim on him and he is in no chains.”

“A bargain, witch.  I will have your word you’ll not take him back with you.”

He isn’t listening.

She considered leaving. The pain here was too great for either of them, and there was nothing to be gained. Perhaps this had been a mistake … no, she had known, deep down, that it was a mistake, but one that she had been powerless to avoid. Rather than dwelling on that inevitability, she began to form in her mind an answer that would satisfy Chakai – as much as she could, anyway. She had no intentional power over Kasimir – promising not to take him back with her would be meaningless, because ultimately Kasimir was free to follow as and when he pleased.

The silence spread; she could feel the tension blooming. Chakai was growing angrier. He took her silence for refusal. Light, I’m just making things worse. She opened her mouth to speak, to end this conversation. Chakai saw her as nothing more than an Aes Sedai, a channeling abomination, and it was time she stopped clinging to the memory of their shared blood. But Chakai spoke first.

“My son, for your sister.”

“Your father wants you to stay here, Kasimir.” His mother had not let go of him, even though the Aes Sedai had disappeared into his father’s rooms. Did she really think he would chase after, or that she could stop him if that’s what he chose? He turned his eyes to hers, glaring.

“I don’t give a –” Kas stopped himself from words he might later regret. His fists clenched, fingernails digging into his palm. “I don’t care what my father wants.” Each word was pronounced with final clarity, though even as he spoke he knew the words would not reach home. His mother’s fingers dug into his bicep, her face rigid with anger. Or fear, he couldn’t tell; there was so much raw emotion in this room it was suffocating

It was Jahzara who spoke.  “And what about us, Kas?”

“Malaika is our aunt, father’s sister,” he said, finally shrugging off his mother’s grip as he led the way into the sitting room. He opened his father’s cabinet and pulled out a bottle of amber liquid. Zara hovered at his side, and he glanced at her as he poured. Her eyes were narrowed in thought, and she stared at the sideboard. Suddenly her gaze snapped up.

“She’s… she’s still a witch.”

“A marath’damane, Kasimir,” Sharain reminded, her conviction more resolute than that of her daughter. “If the Empire were to hear of this … think of your father.”

“Father has not lived in Seanchan in years,” Kas spat.  “And none of us have been there.  Blood and Ashes, we are Altarans, and we live in the westlands!” He downed his glass, poured another.

Malaika left Chakai’s rooms with an envelope in her hands. She had made no promises in order to obtain it, despite that being her brother’s intention; he had had simply lost patience with her mild, obsequious manner and thrust it at her. It had taken a great deal of calm to ignore the wracking coughs heaving his chest as he held it out. That close, even in the gloom, she had seen the sweat pooling on his brow. But he had made it clear he cared nothing for any aid she had to offer.

There appeared to be some argument going on, spilling from the sitting room into the hallway. Kasimir, pacing, had the look of a sullen child, and his sister seemed close to desperate tears. Her cheeks were pink with anger or frustration, and she was screaming at him mercilessly. Their mother seemed resigned to the dispute, her face pinched and pale as she stood in the doorway. She pursed her lips and raised her chin at Malaika’s gaze. See what you have done to my family!

Things went quiet as Malaika’s presence was noted. Jahzara’s mouth snapped shut, tears spilling on her lashes, fists clenched tight. Despite her lack of experience with family matters, Malaika realised quickly that it was not exactly the Tower that was being discussed here, or even her Aes Sedai status. “Think long and hard before you choose the Tower, Kasimir,” she said softly.  Think of what you will lose. He was young, and stubborn. He thought only of his pride, blind to the loving – if flawed – family that were desperate to save him. Even if he didn’t need saving. Her words earned her only a glare, which she supposed she should have expected. It resolved her mind.

Her cheek stung before she even realised the girl had slapped her.  Malaika pressed a hand to her face, blinking slowly as Kasimir grabbed his sister’s hand and wrenched her back.

“Zara!” he yelled.

Jahzara was struggling against his arms, waving a hand, pointing at Malaika.  “I challenge you, witch. Duel me! Let me show you how Altarans solve disputes!”

“Blood and Ashes, Zar, she’s Aes Sedai, not a ruff from the Rahad!”

Even Sharain looked alarmed. She pushed Kasimir behind her, pulling her daughter back, smoothing her hair as the tears began to fall. “Control yourself, girl!” Jahzara’s fight left her, and she began to sob as Sharain pressed her head to her chest.  In that moment her eyes met Malaika’s, a grudging respect there, beneath the contempt.  I understand what you are, what you could do, that look said. It made Malaika finally release, begrudgingly, that these people were not her family, shared blood or no. A mask of indifference stilled her features.

“You would do well to control your child, Mistress Nevaren, as well as to teach her some manners. You will not find most Aes Sedai as accommodating of such a … display.” Though most Aes Sedai would not have let their guard down enough to have let such a thing occur in the first place. She had made a fool of herself. Again. Eyes usually cool, she looked to Kasimir, and then she left.

Your sister. The words rang in her head long after they had been spoken. They brought a cold certainty that, before now, had merely been a dreaded suspicion. She had chased this road for so long that its conclusion seemed almost hollow, and its journey wearying beyond measure. Tired eyes searched the envelope in her hands, uncrumpled, pristine – held in her palm like it was the most fragile thing in the world. She didn’t open it, couldn’t bring herself to. Not yet. A trap, Kasimir had warned. Or a hoax, or an act of pure cruelty. She would put none of those options passed Chakai; not given the man he had become, but she was not ready to crush her hope. The contents of the envelope could wait. She hoped.

Her rooms were dark when she returned, illuminated only for the moment before the Gate dissolved. She had informed the staff that she would be away, with an indefinite home-coming. They had seemed eager to keep her hearth lit and swept in her absence, but it seemed wasteful, and she had ended up ordering against it. Servant egos were fragile, and the Tower’s staff among the most dedicated in the known world. She wanted no miscommunication, no-one’s time wasted with meaningless chores, and the direct approach was always best. Despite urgings from other sisters, she had not taken a personal maid either. That, too, seemed unnecessary, when she had cared for herself for countless years. Therefore there was no one to welcome her back from Ebou Dar – few, even, who had known she’d left, let alone to have missed her presence. Browns were renowned for their reclusiveness, and sometimes that stereotype had its advantages. Her melancholy mood needed no company, no fussing.

She locked the envelope in a cabinet by her bedside. Saidar flooded her with warmth and comfort when she embraced to ward it too, so much so that she was at loath to let go. The shadows that rushed in seemed darker when she did, and the chill more pronounced. Her gaze lingered, but she forced herself to turn. There was no point dwelling. The decision to open it or not would take careful consideration, and right now the emotion in her ran too rampant for true contemplation.

---

Days passed. Despite the affection that had grown in Kasimir’s familiar presence, Malaika had not expected to truly miss her nephew. Notice his absence, perhaps even reflect on it, but miss it? She was accustomed to spending her time alone, but she had never felt lonely the way she did now. A place that had begun to feel homely now felt vacant and too large. Why did an Aes Sedai need all this space? All these chairs she never sat on, cabinets she never used, windows she never peered out of. Even the books, much as she loved them, seemed strangely extravagant, kept simply for her own pleasure - for her own perusal and no-one else’s.

She recognised the thoughts as illogical and, ultimately, irrelevant; she had the rooms because they had been given her; she had the space that was afforded her title, a title that had a reputation to be maintained despite the eccentricities of the woman who held it. It was not the space that was the problem, just the emptiness of it, and that was a matter of opinion. It would take time to acclimatise to it, that was all, just as it had taken time to get used to Kasimir’s presence in the first place.

It was midmorning and she had still not dressed, only pulled a light robe over her nightclothes. The curtains she had thrown open, but only because the darkness fuelled her melancholy. The woman who had brought her breakfast had asked if she were well, but Malaika had brushed her off with the vagaries expected of a Brown ensconced in study. But she had not touched the chaos of her many projects today, nor planned to.

It was not simply melancholy. She felt displaced from her own reality, like the identity she had spent years discovering had somehow slipped her grasp like sand through fingers. She studied the scar on her hand, running her nails over the numbness as though the pain might bring her back to her senses. She even considered contacting Broekk, the woman to whom she owed so much of her recovery, but the White was a Sitter and of another Ajah besides. Malaika was at loath to let even the sisters of her own Ajah witness the weakness in her. I passed all the Tests. But today she did not feel worthy; today she wondered if it had been a fluke, a mistake. She closed her eyes.

Your sister. The words should not haunt her so. If she were truly devoted to the Tower, she would not wonder over the welfare of a sister she had not seen since infancy, would she? She was not a Blue, to rally against the Seanchan and their leashes for the good of moral righteousness; her investment was purely personal. Would another freed damane benefit the Tower? Possibly – every channeler for the Light was a channeler to fight the war against the Dark. But if she should fall? Or worse, find herself leashed once more? Her fingers caressed the line of her neck where the collar had once sat.

She did not make a habit of dwelling on her past; it served no purpose but to drag her to the depths of depression. Her life, no matter its darkest years, was blessed, and she had more in life than anyone had any right to ask for, or to expect. The Wheel Weaves, and brooding alone in my rooms serves no purpose. If she was lonely, she would seek company. Or at least the bustle of busy lives around her, where she could remind herself that the Pattern continued on.

When the door closed behind her, he could quite believe it. She had promised… hadn’t she? He thought back furiously, to try recall her exact wording, but was thwarted by an anger that made everything grow black and querulous. She left me…

Zara’s sobs stilled, and Sharain left her to place a hand on Kas’ shoulder. It was a gentle touch – almost hesitant – but to Kasimir it might as well have been wrenching him back to the Dark One’s pit. His jaw hardened, fists clenching and unclenching as he fought to get a reign on his emotions. They treat me like a child, and I act like one.

“It’s for the best son,” she said. Something about the set of her mouth betrayed that she would have said more – none of it, he imagined, very complimentary to the life he had been living, and where he had been living it, but worry for his father pulled her away, and she left with a simple squeeze to his shoulder. As though that were all the comfort he needed to pick up the pieces and carry on like none of this sorry debacle had ever happened.

His sister was crumpled on the floor, perhaps knocked down by the knowledge that she had attacked a bloody Aes Sedai. Left alone he stared at her as she sniffed and rubbed her face. Her large black eyes were pink and glassy, and hair had come free of her braids. She met Kasimir’s gaze, and it looked as though more tears might spill over the brim of her lashes. Her mouth opened to speak, but he cut her off coldly.

“Do you know what the penalty for assaulting an Aes Sedai is in Tar Valon, little sister?”

Her lips pursed, she looked down at her hands. She knew, of course she knew. “I didn’t mean…These past few months, they’ve just been so hard – and when I thought she was going to take you away again!”

“Malaika Sedai-” how ironic that he should remember the honorific now, when it no longer mattered “-could have had your hide for it. But she’s not like that, and it’s not because we’re family. They’re not all bad, sis. And they’re not all witches.”

She stared at him, her resolve starting to overcome her tears. “They’ve brainwashed you, Kas.”

“Or did our honourable father do the brainwashing?”

“But she-”

“I left of my own accord. I swear it on the Creator, Jahzara. She didn’t keep me there against my will either. When mother sent the letter, I would not have come home at all if not for her encouragement.” And now she’s left without me, he thought coldly. Still, not the time to share that. He offered a hand to his sister, as well a wayward grin. “I’m still me, Zara.”

She nodded, and took his hand firmly in her own; but did not look convinced.

Home cooking. That seemed to be his mother’s answer to the ordeal, as though she suspected the Tower had not fed him well, else she might somehow tie him to her kitchen table with memories of childhood. Spiced stew and cheeses and bread, still warm, with watered wine in a cool pitcher. Humble by Tower standards, but Kasimir was content. He ate while his mother still bustled about the kitchen, anticipating the conversation that would follow. Never brace a man with a difficult conversation when he had an empty stomach; Altaran women knew that.

Zara was at the other end of the table, picking at some of the dishes, but with a face that suggested she realised it would be her washing up later. She had been awfully quiet since last night. They both had. It was like they tip-toed around him, afraid the wrong word would set him running off again. Or perhaps they were simply tired of the arguments; the things Zar had said last night… it had not been a happy household in his absence.

His mother had not yet tried to foist a visitation on his father, though she spent plenty of time tending to him herself. Light but he was not looking forward to that conversation, content in the stomach or not. No matter what his mother or sister – or even Malaika – thought, his relationship with Chakai was too fractured to repair. He had tried – and so many times. Probably Chakai had tried to, but they were on parallel paths, black and white, destined never to see eye to eye. But it seemed Kasimir was the only one willing to accept it.

When his mother finally broached conversation, it was not what he had expected.

“I’m going to hire help, for your father.”

Jahzara, who had made quite the mess picking apart a bread roll, looked up, eyes wide. “Mother, we can’t afford something like that.”

Sharain frowned, and Kasimir saw the truth of it. He must be bad if she thinks he really needs this. Guilt, or duty – or something – pricked at his conscience. He scraped back his chair. Sharain nearly dropped the plate in her hand, banging it down on the table and clutching his arm. As if he was going to click his fingers and disappear. He patted her fingers.

“We need more money. So I am going to get a job.”

---

He had said it so nonchalantly, but actually finding a job was harder than he had thought. A morning passed in a blur of shaking heads and grumbled ‘nos’, until Kas had relented to an afternoon tipple with his scant coin. Truth told, the idea of a mundane job made his spirit sink like lead. There was only one thing he was good at, but one didn’t make honest coin that way. Glass of amber liquid in one hand, he flipped a dagger from the sleeve of the other, and contemplated it thoughtfully.

He downed the last of his drink, mind set to its course. It was hours until dark, and home was the last place he wished to return to. He didn’t have the funds to spend the time wandering taverns, and there was somewhere – and someone – he should really visit now that he was back.

---

“Please, sit.” Kat gestured with her head, crossing the room to take a chair herself. The dark-haired babe in her arms stirred, making small baby-like noises, then settled. The young toddler by the gated hearth watched with coal-black eyes as he sat, ceasing the game he was making of a wood-carved dagger, painted to resemble the real thing.

“Papi chair,” he said, turning to implore his mother.

“This is your uncle, Tav. Uncle Kasimir.”

“Papi chair!”

“Yes, but papi is working, Tav. Hush now, so I may speak with your uncle.”

“Papi chair"

The kid’s face was growing red, and not simply from the warmth of the fire. Creator help me, shut the brat up. “I can move…”

“No.” Kataria’s face grew stern, a mirror of their mother’s. “Tavrin Mubrel, you will listen to your mother and behave yourself.”

The kid’s face grew redder, like he was holding his breath, and he made a long, screechy noise in retaliation, but he said nothing more, and after a moment returned to his game with a determined sulkiness. Kat’s lips quirked into a smile, and her attention returned to Kas. He smiled, a little uneasily, in return.

“I could’ve just moved, sis.”

“Tav needs to learn. How are you, Kasimir? It’s been a long time.”

Kas grinned wryly and shook his head, brushing back the hair from his face. Always to the point, was Kat. She and their mother were probably thick as thieves, and she would know of this conversation before Kas had even made it home. “Fresh from the White Tower, as I’m sure Mother has told you. I met our Aunt. It was… interesting.” He poked the arm of the chair with his finger, waiting out the interrogation.  Black eyes moved between his sister and her son by the hearth, the epitome of normal family life… and he realised how little he wanted any of it.

Kataria was quiet a moment, her attention apparently on the babe in her arms, though the furrow in her brow spoke otherwise. “Family is important. If it grieves our father so much that you went to the White Tower, perhaps you should stay away. But it doesn’t do you any good living in that house, either. You’re a man grown, not a boy.” Her dark eyes rose, and a light of mirth crept into their depths. There’s my sister. “Married, that’s what you should be, Kasimir Nevaran. A good woman would sort you out in no time, but I don’t know a single woman I would force you on, you insufferable lout.”

“Oh how you wound me, dearest sister!” He pressed a hand to his chest in mock offence, but didn’t bother continuing the charade as he usually would. “Mother’s going to hire help for our father. She needs extra coin to be able to do so, and I can get it. I know I can get it…” his voice trailed off. Kat looked suspicious. “But there’s only one way I can get it, and we both know she won’t approve. But if she doesn’t know…”

“Spit it out, brother dearest.”

“Tell her I’m working for your husband.”

“Lie to our mother.”

“…Protect her from information that would only upset her further.”

After a moment, she sighed. “You’re a rogue, Kas, and you’ll never change. I’ll cover for you, because I know it won’t stop you duelling if I don’t. But you owe me.”

---

He lay staring at the ceiling, one arm cushioning his head, as dawn light began to soften the room’s dark shadow to grey. Suran had already stirred beside him, and slipped her warm body from the bed.  Her soft skin glowed in half-light, and he turned his black eyes to watch as she moved about the room, deftly retrieving items of clothing. She was beautiful, and what woman wouldn’t be with curls of ebony hair cascading down her back, tickling over her shoulders and down her chest as she bent to the floor. But lust had left him now, his thoughts were elsewhere. She caught his gaze, though, a smirk at the corner of her lips, and a pair of breeches promptly smacked him in the head.

An errant grin brightened his face as he pulled them off, depositing them the other side of the bed, but the expression was short-lived. He sighed, half-lidding his eyes, sleep an intoxicating ghost at his side. He’d lost her attention now, but didn’t realise it. He also missed the way in which she began to dress quickly, pulling her dark locks from her collar and looking at him with pursed lips. Eventually she cleared her throat, but he only looked up at her when she banged the dresser beside her bed. Something gold glittered in her hands. He squinted and sat up, watching as she fastened the necklace. Oh, trolloc piss

A slender brow rose in her forehead as the knife settled in the cut-out collar above her breasts. “My husband will be home soon. He works with the Night Guard.” Her eyes alighted on the water-clock by the window. “I would guess you have about-”

“Dark One’s bloody pit, why didn’t you-” He shook his head, legs already out of the bed, breeches to his knees.  She had said, in all the subtle huffs and sighs since she had risen, but he had been too busy emptying his sorrows to pay attention.Blood and bloody ashes! “I’m gone,” he said, tying his boot and eyeing the room for the other. There. As he pulled it on, she approached with his shirt hooked on the end of her delicate finger. He grinned, plucked it off.

“Tick tock,” she said, a lazy smile on her beautiful lips. Until the sound of a door opening and closing downstairs echoed up to the bedroom; at that she certainly stiffened, and all her coy pretensions ceased cold. “Out!” One arm in, the other joining it with a shrug, but she was already bundling him to the window.

“That’s an awfully long drop, Suran…” Now it was his turn to tease her, but with her blazing eyes and desperate fingers navigating the shutters, she was having none of it. One foot on the sill – and damn, his laces were loose. But she was already shoving him by the backside, urging him out face-first if he wasn’t careful. “I’m going, light, I’m going.” He twisted, kept his footing with a mixture of skill and luck, eyed his way down, then finally turned back. A grin lifted his lips and he kissed the pretty little nose on her stricken face. A wink, half-hidden by black hair tousled round his face, and he dropped. The shutter banged shut after him.

It was still early, but not early enough for the streets to be deserted. In pale dawn light, the world was already coming to life. Kasimir nodded his head in greeting at someone staring as he closed the buttons up his scruffy, untucked shirt. The man, trundling a cart after him, turned his eyes quickly and carried on his way. The whole day awaited him like unrolled canvas, just waiting for the splashes of colour and line that would shape the day.

The Rahad would not grow busy until sunset, and his pockets would be light until then. Time to find something to fill the time between.

---

“Look after the children, Kas, I will be as fast as I can.” Already she was pressing the baby in his arms, and already Kasimir thought his arms were turning to water.

“Wait, I ca-”

“You are my brother, Kasimir Nevaren, and you help out how you can. Suralee visits her mother this morning, and she will be back before lunch if I am not before then. A few hours, at the most. Shiana has been fed and changed – she will sleep through, I swear.”

“Shiana’s not the one I’m-”

“Thank you brother.” She kissed him on the cheek.
The babe was in its cot, quiet as you like, but it was Tav he had not relished spending time with. Of course, being the resourceful human being that he was, Kasimir had devised a way to entertain him. The boy sat at his feet, staring as the dagger glittered and twirled in the air, then disappeared up a sleeve.

“Again!”

This part, of course, he had not anticipated. Half an hour had passed already. Kasimir had never thought he’d ever tire of his blades, but this was getting… tedious. He ran a hand through his hair.

“Don’t you need to sleep, eat? Let’s do something else, eh?”

“Again!”

“How about…? No?”

“Again, again, again! Ucle Kasi, again!”

“One more? Okay? Last time, kid.” He waited for some sign of assent to the agreement, but the boy simply clapped his hands and gurgled a laugh. Right. Kas sighed, splaying his palms so he could see they were empty. “Ready?” A snap of the wrist and the dagger was in his hands, a twirl and it danced over his fingers. “One, two, three!” Up it went, spinning in the air, until Kas caught it hilt first. Another flick, and gone.

“Again!”

Creator give me strength!

“All gone now. Finished.”

Tavrin’s eyes narrowed. He seemed to be thinking, steaming under his breath, but suddenly thrust out his chubby hand. “Mine,” he demanded, “Is mine.”

“You can’t have it. Dangerous, okay? Hurt yourself. Kill yourself! Bad, very bad. You don’t want it.”

“Is mine, ucle kasi.” His fingers opened and closed in a grabbing motion. His face was going pink.

“Right…right…” And then it came to him. “Where’s your one, huh? Yes, that’s it! That’s your one. Well done. Clever boy.” Quick bloody thinking. As his nephew preoccupied himself with his wood painted dagger, Kasimir leaned back in the chair, running both hands over his head.

Thunk, thunk, thunk, the dagger tapped against his foot. He had to stop himself kicking out – creator above, this was an exercise in control like nothing before. He had to remind himself, physically remind himself, that it was a child – barely older than a baby, and his sister’s child to boot. His nephew. “Don’t do that, Tav.”

Thunk, thunk, thunk.

“You’re gonna ruin perfectly good boots. Stop it, please. Go and play over there, yeah? Your mama will be home soon.”

Thunk, thunk, thunk.

Kasimir leaned forward in his chair, just as the child rammed the pointed end of the wooden dagger back into his foot. He looked up, grinning from ear to ear. Kas frowned, and tried to prise the toy dagger from his chubby hand, blind to the way the kid’s face grew pink and his eyes grew glassy. The shrill cry was the first he realised he’d made Tav cry. Light! This is, this is ridiculous! He glanced up, praying that at least the other one would stay sleeping, and tried to push the dagger back into Tav’s hands. He was having none of it.

“Hey, hey, quiet down? How about – hey, listen Tav, listen. How about I teach you to fly, yeah? High as a raken!” He held out his hands, and the boy’s cries muffled a little. He sniffed, contemplated the offer, and then a smile brightened his face like clouds on a sunny day – quick as you like! Baffled, annoyed, but at least relieved the bloody noise had stopped, he indicated with his hands that they boy should get up. Tav launched himself into Kas’ arms, and he lifted the kid high, whirling him about the room so that he giggled and dribbled.

Another hour. Kas’ arms burned like fire, but the kid had finally grown tired of the game – tired full stop, actually, and had snuggled against his side on the armchair. Kas dozed himself, sleep misting the edges of his senses.

And that’s when the other one started crying…

---

The sun was warm, and the river’s waves lapped at the sides of the boat with gentle rhythm. Jahzara lounged on her end, eyes half lidded. Kas half watched her, and half the man at the prow, who steered them through Ebou Dar’s many canals with a single long oar. His fingers trailed in the water, cold despite the spring weather.

“You don’t really work for Mubrel, do you.” It was not a question; Zara did even deign to open her eyes, though the smallest of smiles caught the edge of her lips.

“No.” Never lie when you were caught out, and especially not to a woman. They would only eke the truth out of you anyway, and make you pay for the trouble it took.

“I don’t know if mother knows. If she does she’s ignoring it. Thinks you’re well on the way to becoming a reputable man; wife, babies, the lot. But you don’t make coin like you do by selling turnips… or whatever it is Kat’s husband does.”

Kasimir laughed. “‘Reputable man’, huh.”

“I didn’t disabuse her of the notion. It makes her happy.”

He grinned and flicked his fingers, sprinkling icy water in Zara’s face. She squealed and sat forward, rocking the boat and eliciting a grumbling from the steerer. “For the record, it wouldn’t kill you to think about those things. You aren’t getting any younger. All the good women will be gone!”

He laughed. “Can you really see me with a wife and a dozen kids? That’s not a dream, it’s a nightmare!”

Zara sat forward, frowning. The sun lit her from behind, so her hair infused warmth, but her eyes looked black. “You really don’t want those things?”

Kas shrugged. “Do you?”

She stared at him for a long moment, and Kasimir slowly realised that they had stopped playing. All their lives had been playful banter, but ultimately they had been on the same side. It suddenly felt like Jahzara had defected. “Well… yes. I do. I want to be a mother, Kas. I want a family, and a good husband. That’s not strange.” She half laughed, but it faded when he realised he could think of nothing to say. It wasn’t strange, it was ordinary. It was expected. And it filled him with a sort of dread.

She leaned forward, her gaze uncomfortably intense. “You are so like our father, Kas, and you just can’t see it.”

Kasimir frowned, but kept his lips sealed. He would not rise to that bait, to that dark presence on the horizon that threatened to ruin such a pleasant afternoon. He hoped the sudden sourness of his expression would dissuade his sister from pursuing the topic, but either she was ignorant or chose to ignore. “Do you think papi would have chosen to settle in Ebou Dar, to take a wife and have children, if not for his leg?”

“Zara…”

“Think of the way he speaks of Seanchan – of glory and honour--”

“--don’t spoil the afternoon, Zar.”

“No, listen, Kas. You two are so similar, and if you’re not careful, you’re going to end up as bitter as him because of past regrets and stupid mistakes. Settle your affairs here and find your purpose. If it’s not a family you want, what is it you do want?”

And that really is the question, isn’t it. He lay back in the boat, huffing a sigh and utterly ignoring his sister’s question. Clouds skittered across the sky, and the humdrum of Ebou Dar continued on around them. But her voice echoed round and round in his head. What is it you do want?

He’d been putting off this moment for weeks. Had even considered avoiding it all together. Whenever the idea crossed his mind, anger roiled in his gut black as the Dark One’s pit and froze any last vestiges of compassion; of trying to understand. Or worse, trying to forgive. On those days he found solace in drink, in women, and in bloody duels. The coin flew steady, and his scars were few. Already he had carved a name for himself, and men sought him out to slap down their money and test their merit. Most times Kas won. When he did not, there were always his other two vices to fall back on.

Still, that heavy thought hung like a blade, always above his head. His father’s door opened and closed from time to time; his mother, Zara, the healer. Never the new servant, Mila; Chakai would not stomach a stranger seeing him in such an ill state. And never Kasimir, either. Though his eyes seemed ever drawn to that solid portentous door. He fancied death waited beyond, mostly when he was drunk. Shadows and mist and sweet-sick death to choke him of his freewill. His mother never broached the subject of visitation, but he often saw her gaze flick away when he had been staring too-long at that bloody door.

Time crept forward to a tense routine; a dragging march, and endless. The habitual became a cage that itched his bones even in content moments, and Zara’s question haunted his thoughts when they were idle. Invaded dreams. What he wanted had coalesced into something distant and adventurous; hazy, unformed, epic. What he knew he didn’t want lay in every corner of this house. In every young man who came courting his sister. In every banal evening he spent with Kat and her family. And every night he took out his frustrations on Ebou Dar’s underbelly. Slipping a little more recklessly each and every time.

Until something snapped. Or frayed. Or resolved.

Heat travelled his arm as he turned the door-handle, like some light-forsaken beast dwelled within. Which was not so far from the truth of Kas’s mind. Inside it was dark but for a few candles, and stifling like the air permeated the fever of dying. His father lay in the bed, nothing but bundled shadow. Light, was he sleeping? Had he finally forced himself to pass such a dreaded threshold, only to have to leave because the old man slept? The blankets rose and fell steady but faint, like the breath in those lungs had utterly diminished from the man Kas remembered as his father. There was no strength here. Just age; and even that slipping like it neared finale.

Kasimir frowned, pushed back his dark hair, scrubbed his chin. I tried. I bloody tried. The door was not so far; he could steal away and be gone before his father even stirred. Even knew he had ever tried.

“Boy?”

His heart sank. He cleared his throat, fortified himself for battle. “Father.”

One step closer, two. Hands clasped behind his back, expression serious as the grave. How apt.

“Boy? Boy? Is it you?” Words ended in coughing, then shuffling as his father tried to sit up. Like he could not bear for his son to see him prone. A little too late to worry about that. “My stick. I need my stick.”

“You’re sick, father,” he mumbled, wondering belatedly if the man was even lucid. Perhaps it was just stubborn pride. Or something even more innate; those father-son bonds that had always held them at a staunch and formal distance. Seeing the man in bed was strangely and discomfortingly intimate. He was so thin, so weak, under those coverlets. So far removed from the man Kas remembered. And he was still struggling to sit up. Was he expecting aid from his only son? If so, Kas felt no sympathy. His gut twisted satisfaction, but it dissolved to sickness at his own coldness. This man – this shell that had once been his formidable father – was too frail to hate.

Silence stretched. He could never think of anything he wanted to say. Nothing he wanted to share, to reveal of himself. Even the purpose that had driven him here dried on his tongue. Chakai had stopped struggling, wilted, pressed the heel of his hand into his eyes. Frustration roiled off him in waves. When his hand fell, he stared up at the ceiling. “The blade, boy. Bring it here to me now.”

Blade? Black eyes traversed the shadows until they fell upon the dark planes making up his father’s armour.

“I will bequeath it to you. A man needs a sword, and a father- -”

“I don’t want it.”

“Bring it to me, boy.”

“I’m Altaran, father. Not Seanchan. I can’t even use it.”

A long painful wheeze issued from the man’s lips, like a silent scream, and Kas almost regretted rebuffing the kindness. Almost. It was too late, far too late, for such meaningless offerings. Ominous footsteps brought him closer, until he was kneeling by his father’s bed. Seething. “And do you even think to wonder why? How many times did I beg you teach me, father? How many times did I sit at your knee – imploring your attention? You gave me nothing.”

“I..I..” the words were choking him. This close, in obscure candlelight, Kas could see the sweat-slicked skin, the pinked and hollowed eyes. And he couldn’t quite define the feelings that hit him, except that they were too bloody strong to endure – so that he felt like bracing his fist against that frail, frail body to crumble it to dust for every careless word, every dismissive gesture. Light! Get a grip!

“What happened to you?” Light. He moved back, sat on the floor like a child, legs folded, head in his hands. He shouldn’t have come. No reconciliation to find, no closure, just poker-red pain and a gut-load of regret. He needed air. No, he needed a stiff drink and a forgiving cloud of haze to forget. A year, and Chakai had fallen so far. He was not old enough to die. There was no connection to make between the man Kas had left and the man he had come back to find. Had Malaika done this? Had her presence unravelled everything Chakai had knotted so tight for so long? He guessed he would never know. And that he’d better get used to never knowing.

“I can’t stay here.” A sigh drew through his lips as the admission finally seeped out. He bent forward, elbows pressed into his knees, fingers clasped and resting against his chin. His gaze bore a hole through the floor. “I don’t want a wife. I don’t want children. Or any of that banality. This. Place. Is. Suffocating.”

Croaking came from the bed above. It took him a while to realise it was laughter. Sad, tragic laughter; but laughter all the same. Defensiveness seared fire, but though Kas straightened he also held back his tongue. Grit his teeth. Balled his fists. After a moment he softened, like the anger was too much to sustain. Zara’s words haunted him. Was he really so much like his father? Darkness closed in. He didn’t know. Chakai’s life before was mirrors and smoke, imagination and dreams and supposition, gleamed from impossibly meagre scraps of nothing.

Laughter dissolved to coughing, wheezing, and then hard-won words: “The Wheel Weaves as it Wills and makes a mockery of my life, that it should send me a son like you.” The words burned Kas’s ears, stoked the dull pain of failure. He couldn’t cope with these emotions, couldn’t fathom a way to either release them or beat them off without waves and waves of regret. His first instinct was to run, slam the door for the last time behind him, and let those words chase him to the edges of the world. A son like you. But his body betrayed him. Numbness weighted his legs like lead, and he buried his face in his hands. On the bed above, Chakai ‘s laboured breaths punctuated the silence. “So. Like. Me. And so. Different.”

“We’re nothing alike.” He ran his hands over his head, stared into darkness. For a while there was silence; a horrible, burdensome silence. Even his father’s breathing grew low, and for a morbid moment Kas wondered if he was going to die here and now, with the last things they’d ever said to each other insults. Despite himself, he felt a cold sliver of fear; a desperation that that should not happen. But it would be just like the old man, to leave me with such regrets. His legs slid out, lying flat against the floor; his head rested against the wall.

“I was morat’torm, boy. In Seander. And I would never have come here if they had not broken my leg.”

“The beasts.” He’d heard this story before, a dozen and more times; of how the creatures his father loved and trained had turned on him, and ended his career. How Chakai had then crossed the ocean.

Had met Kas’ mother.

“No.” Chakai sighed, painfully. “Not the torm. Never my beloved torm. The Seanchan, boy. In recompense for my violations. I never would have taken a wife if not for my leg, never had a family. Glory, duty, honour. These were the things that mattered to me.”

Seanchan. Violations. The words swam. “Why did they punish you?”

“Not the point, boy. The point is I understand why you need to leave.”

It was as close to permission, as a blessing, as Kas was likely to get. He should take it and preserve it and move on. But he repeated the question, quieter: “Why did they punish you, father?”

Silence; again. Seconds trickled to minutes, until the brief glimmer of hope was consumed by the darkness.  A sigh whispered past his lips, and he pulled himself to his feet. This conversation was over, and he should take what positives he could from it. His fingers grasped the door handle, twisted; Chakai’s last words whispered from his bed.

“Family, Kasimir. Family undid me. They took Malaika while I away on duty, and I never believed she was what they told me. Damane. It was an unhealthy obsession, and it ruined me in the end. Leave, if you must. But stay away from Tar Valon. Stay away from her.”

Kas closed the door tight behind him.