The Wheel Turns

[Natalie Grey]

Accepted Nythadri Vanditera

The night was still, like a held breath; though maybe that was her own, caught like ice in pained lungs. She should not be out after last bell at all, but this time it was both rule and custom she flouted as she trod a familiar route through tower grounds. Her skin still chilled from memory, exhaustion a shadow that hounded her steps. There had been no guards on the door, though she doubted even her silver tongue could undo the trouble she’d find herself in if caught. Had a woman ever been denied after passing the final tests? She did not know, and she doubted the Aes Sedai would speak of it if it were so. Courting trouble was not a new endeavour for Nythadri, but even she might feel the sharp sting of regret should it cost her everything she had worked for these past years. Light fingers traced the cold serpent squeezing her finger, but it was the letter folded in her belt pouch that mired her thoughts.

She had barely had time to comprehend the note’s contents before her calling, but she had read it through twice now, until she needed the words no longer. Family was a shackle she shed easily the day she donned the white, though truthfully its hold had loosened long before Karina Sedai brought her to the Tower. Nythadri had long been at peace with that stillness -- the light knew she had always been a poor daughter. But Jai churned up those settled waters when he waded through blood to return Tashir’s pendant, and still the ripples of consequence tied pretty strings about her wrists. 

She paused beneath the boughs of a tree, its long skyward-reaching fingers obscuring the spangle of stars above. She did not search for constellations she recalled from the arms of the Aryth, nor allowed fresher memories to stir. Despite the desire, she’d always quashed the urge to write him in Arad Doman, even in those soft moments when she remembered the mumbled story he’d told before falling asleep in her lap. He promised the world like she was deserving of the gift, but she would never ask for it. Better for him to forget.

Better for her, too, though she never did.

Her eyes half lidded, jaw tense, but she set the thoughts aside. She would not think of the test.

In the letter, her father had been unforgivably sparse with the truth. Mishael was shrewd enough to tally the rumours by now, though, and she had sent the pendant home to him before knowing the full grim story, and how it would tie her to it. He had accused her of involvement the day he signed the paperwork in Tar Valon, brushed away easily at the time, but since then news of Black Tower recompense spread of necessity to calm the city. He clearly smelled the lie, a blame that did not wound her. Bound by the secrets she must keep now, she could not afford to ignore him, yet what right did he have to ask a favour?

Ahead, two women shared a bench in the shadows. Nythadri paused, irritated that distraction had almost landed her in their laps. One she did not recognise, a woman with a strip of leather keeping raven locks from spilling over her cheeks, dressed like a man, but with the laces of her shirt loose enough to expose an expanse of tanned bosom. The other she did though. The other was Aes Sedai. Light burn me for a fool. A Brown, though. Perhaps the Creator smiled, and the woman would not pause to investigate the pulse of familiarity that betrayed another channeler was near. The trees and darkness obscured all but the most direct of incidental glances, so long as she remained still. But Nythadri did not place much faith in luck.

“I am... sorry about Razmira, Eleanore,” the Aes Sedai said. Her accent slurred softly, the words little more than a whisper; not in effort of secrecy, but a habitual nuance of the speaker. Nythadri could not recall ever having spoken with this sister, but she did know Malaika’s reputation amongst the novices, and the rumours that surrounded her past. Few women could contemplate the collar without a shiver.

The other woman’s voice was as rich and deep as honey, but the laugh that followed was bitter. “The Wheel weaves as it wills, I suppose. Speak not of it.” She stood. Embroidery decorated the wide trousers that fell atop her boots. Her hand brushed hilt and heart beneath a short bow that the Aes Sedai acknowledged with a dip of her own head, before her attention drifted to something nestled in her lap. “Thank you for your help. I will not keep you further.”

“A sad task. I hope he found the mother’s embrace, no matter the end he chose.” Long legs took her away; she bore a warrior’s grace, but Nythadri did not think her one of the Warders. The woman’s dark eyes caught her purposefully in passing, one brow raised in amusement or accusation, Nythadri could not tell. She did not pause, though, despite that she must have seen the white and rainbow-banded dress. Definitely not of the Tower. Prickled with a little guilt for things she ought not have heard, Nythadri glanced back at the Brown and wondered how easily she might now slip away.

“Each thread is precious, and deserving. To cut oneself free early, I cannot imagine the pain.” For a moment Nythadri thought the Aes Sedai oblivious to the departure of her companion, or perhaps murmuring quietly to herself, but presently she patted the seat of the bench beside her. Her dark eyes did not lift from the burden in her skirts -- and burden it must be, by the words and the soft hint of frown on her porcelain pale face. Malaika was thin as a reed, covered throat to ankle in dark wool. The straight silk of her hair melted into that darkness, so that she seemed almost incorporeal in the night air. A necklace of smokey quartz was her only visible adornment beyond the ring.

Nythadri hesitated, even knowing there was only one path forward. Fear did not root her, only disappointment in her own stupidity. Jai must be rubbing off. Whatever tangled emotion in her chest, leaving her room -- tonight, of all nights -- had been a pointless risk. Her hands tightened, until her nails punctured the soft flesh of her palm, and then she stepped out smoothly and sat as bid. No words escaped, and she smothered the fatalistic sigh threatening to spill. Her white skirts glowed softly in the half-light. The Aes Sedai could not fail to notice she had been joined by an Accepted. Still, she let the silence wash over her.

It was a dagger in the Aes Sedai’s lap, she realised, cradled in her hands. Her thumbs traced a sigil buried in the hilt, though Nythadri could not make it out. She knew better than to ask, of course.

“An ancient name. I did not expect that.” Malaika folded the weapon carefully in cloth, paying no apparent mind to her company. Her movements were slow and delicate, so that even an Ogier might approve of the deliberation. Sorrow tinged her words, yet the conversation Nythadri had overheard made it clear she had not known the man to whom the dagger had belonged. Discomfort for such raw emotion sensed in another warred with an edge of impatience to discover her punishment. The novices branded this one as soft-hearted as she was softly-spoken, but the leniency a sister might extend to them would likely differ from that given to a child they considered should know better, as the bands and ring attested.

“The sun is down,” she said after a moment more. Her head lifted to the pale marble of the buildings ahead, twisting and arching fearlessly into the night. She never met Nythadri’s eye, caught quite thoroughly in whatever currents swept her sad thoughts. She cradled her bundle with a touch of reverence as she stood. “An Accepted would not stray from her bed at such an hour, I think, and certainly not tonight. I’m quite sure I did not see you, child, but to be sure I will expect to see you tomorrow. I would welcome a sister’s company for the heavy task ahead.”

Nythadri’s expression betrayed little as she was left to her own company. A shiver burrowed, goosing the flesh of her arms with something not quite understood.

---

[[FYI this past life thread follows from the events in Dealing with Bankers roughly 3 months or so later. I'm rereading the books and feel like writing something in Randland.

Some context: Elly and Mal are both old characters of mine. Malaika is self-explanatory: a Seanchan Brown Aes Sedai. Eleanore was a character I inherited from another writer; she is a Blight-veteran who accompanied a Brown from the Blight (Razmira) expecting to be bonded, but was rejected. She has Malkieri blood on her mother's side, but was raised in Kandor. I can't find her bio, but that part is relevant to why she was able to recognise the origins of the dagger. 

Nythadri's wiki page now has a section for brief descriptions of the characters she has/will encounter in this thread, just scroll down to the end.]]