Filling the Days

[Morven]

Devika Sirideán

Aes Sedai of the Red Ajah

✥

She glanced at him under her lashes, irritated with the smirk and the sensation of his amusement at her expense. As far as her guardianship of him went, he might be surprised at her ferocity. It was not forged from a personal attachment, but yes, if Jole proved himself as useful as he claimed, he was worth her protection. The Forsaken might look down their noses at the Aes Sedai of this Age, but among her own Devika’s reputation well proceeded her. She was proud of it, and of her achievements. Even this, once they succeeded.

“I will feel fonder once you smell better, Jole,” she said, sweet as you like, but apparently unable to relinquish the last word. She left him to it.

---

Whilst they remained in Tear she had no undue concerns about the mischief he might achieve left to his own devices. The Maidens were always watching, and Jole at least gave the impression he wanted to win her trust. But soon they would no longer be safe in the seat of the Dragon’s power. When she had made her demands to him she had also asked that he speak to his Maidens, to see if any among them would volunteer to be his spear instead of his shield. Now, she went to see what came of the request.

Near thirty years had passed since Devika had glued herself to the Dragon’s side, and she had seen many of these women grow from girlhood. Rand held her Ajah against her no matter her proven loyalties, but the Aiel women who protected him had come to see in her a kindred spirit. She could not say for sure if any of them would leave his side, and she would not ask him to force it by assigning one against her desire. Devika was too proud for that, and this task was too important for reluctant aid besides. But she hoped for the trust. Jole was slippery, and he had enemies. She would sleep better knowing she had another set of eyes on her side. Especially Far Dareis Mai eyes.

The woman who presented herself was one of the Aiel who had watched over the Dragon in Rhuidean, and still numbered amongst his personal guard. Her hair was iron and silver now, her handsome face lined and fierce beneath the tower of her spears. Devika knew her well, and she could have asked for no better woman to join her. Her smile was both pleased and warm when she clasped the other woman’s arm. “I see you, Tiallin Sharif,” she said.

"Till shade is gone, till water is gone, into the Shadow with teeth bared, screaming defiance with the last breath, to spit in Sightblinder's eye on the last Day,” the woman said in response. “I will be the Dragon’s spear, Aes Sedai.”

They spoke at length but with the efficiency time demanded, and Tiallin was assigned her task, though not without an offer first. Devika had no need of a warder, but a bond the way the Tower did them would amplify Tiallin’s already formidable prowess. Their strength may be shared. Endurance enhanced. And communication would flow easier between them. The Aiel understood such things already, though sister-bonds were quite different in purpose and meaning. It would make them sisters though, to a dangerous cause that would see the Light triumphant or them both dead in the attempt. Tiallin accepted as though it were simple common sense, but the jut of her chin spoke of something more fiercely proud when she did.

Devika had never imagined performing the weave even once in her life, let alone twice in fewer days. The second presence in her mind was a far easier acclimation, though, and she was a woman of action, always decisive. There was no time for anything else. Today’s work was not yet done.

---

Pleased with the alliance, Devika left Tiallin to familiarise to her new duties and finally wove her Gate to the Tower; a place she had not set foot in years, and one she could under no circumstances ever countenance bringing the Forsaken. She never moved serenely; she was a bejewelled force, hair whipping, stride purposeful. Most women would not recognise the estranged Red, but all moved out of her way. She spared neither glance nor word for any until she descended upon her Ajah’s halls, upon which demanding to see the Highest, she discovered the cataclysmic changes wrought in her absence. Another Sister had replaced Kekura, a woman Devika neither knew nor cared to stay long enough to hear more than a name.

She spared no time for the politics. She would speak to none but Kekura with the news she bore, whatever titles adorned the woman now, for her fellow Red was the only woman Devika trusted to have some common bloody sense. With a pinched mouth, she whirled around, a storm set on a new path.

The woman in the Keeper’s stole was a Brown, of all things; one old enough to recognise the face before her. “Devika Sedai,” she said, mildly surprised. Perhaps her look was one harbouring a little curiosity, though who could really tell with Browns. “Unexpected. Though I believe the Mother will see you.”

***

Devika was pleased though not surprised to find the Mother prioritising her previous Ajah. After the formal obsequences she knew Kekura would require they did not waste time on small talk or pleasantries. Neither woman had time for it. They spoke of the Dragon, of course: it was the first thing the Mother asked. Vika shared her private concerns for the man’s sanity, and his ability to meet the bar when the time came. He was weary. Paranoid. Melancholy, sometimes. She vowed to do all in her power to tip the scales in his favour – though his new choice of M’hael clearly left a lot to be desired. A man old enough to know the madness. Now, of all times, their Brothers needed reigning in, not another unsteady hand at the wheel.

Kekura seemed unmoved by the news of Larnair’s murder, even when she named the perpetrator, despite the heat in Devika’s voice when she spoke the name. Arikan. She refused Devika’s request to pool the entire Tower’s weight into the hunt, though did not forbid her from handling the matter herself, or availing of Ajah resources deemed necessary. It segued perfectly into Devika’s final question, and the one she only trusted Kekura enough to ask: of the possibility of a ter’angreal which might Turn a person from the Light. The answer was indeed interesting.

---

She did not check on Jole upon her return. Tiallin’s steady presence in her mind assured her all was well. When the Aiel woman found her later, she was fresh from bathing, fragrant with oils, and in a robe for bed. Her brows daggered low the moment the message was shared, and her nostrils flared wide in anger. A Forsaken. Here. She belted an embroidered coat, strapped a dagger, and ran her fingers over the gold at her throat; then she was out the door, Tiallin in her wake.

Jole must have felt the waves of her fury when she approached, but she listened when he spoke. Threats were unnecessary when he could feel the inferno of her mood, and she the fear slithering beneath his determination. When it came to it, Vika trusted in the moment the way warriors acted in the heat of battle. She did not waste time second guessing, only told him to go.

She concealed herself as directed, and watched with a sour turn of her mouth. Hiding was not something which aligned easily with her nature. Her truer instinct even now was a desire to signal Tiallin to fleet foot it to the Dragon. Samóch would not fear betrayal, and this might be as close to a moment of advantage as they’d ever have to sweep him clean from the board. But it would come at Jole’s expense, and any value he had diminished with it. She understood that in order for this bargain to work, risks must be taken. This trust in him was the first.

Which did not mean she did not hold herself ready.

When it happened she did not flinch. Each impact struck with excruciating clarity through the bond before she muted it sharply. Samóch left without a second glance. The curse words that sprawled from Devika’s mouth were indelicate and unsuited to her ageless face as she strode from the shadows. Saidar burst like a supernova, an impotent reaction to having been restrained in such a way. She felt no pity for a man who’d willingly sold his soul to the Dark, but it sat uneasily all the same: to have been expected to watch and not interfere in such a moment. Blood slicked the walls, running black in the torchlight. Forsaken were not ordinary mortals, yet she had little true idea of how such a thing as their cursed immortality actually worked. He looked dead, and only the bond told her he was not, for it remained between them still despite the mask which protected her from his pain. Jole was cunning. He must have known Samóch required a favour – why else would one of the Forsaken bother? Which meant the odds had been high on this ending. Commitment to performance indeed. But the point was taken. She was sure Jole would appreciate the pun.

“We must get him down,” she said to Tiallin. The One Power already assisted the work, but it would go easier with two sets of hands. Nothing could be healed until he was no longer impaled.