02-01-2024, 10:00 PM
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.
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.
![[Image: cherry-blosson.png]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/08/cherry-blosson.png)