The Seanchan Spy

[Eidolon]

  

 Chakai & Malaika

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.