Under Guard

[Jay Carpenter]

He woke sudden.  Startled.  And instinctively grabbed at Saidin and flared the room to light to check out what was going on.  Which was nothing.  Just an empty room.  There were no windows in here.  No hearth to clear out.  Only four slick walls and the dark floor.  If an Asha'man couldn't warm his room, he dealt with it.  Jai laid back and reluctantly released the knot of death he'd started to twine up.  His head throbbed dully like it was going to pound in the distant future.  However far off that was. 

He groaned, annoyed by the headache-stabbing brightness and rolled to his stomach.  Reaching as he did with one hand flopped over the side of the low laying bed, and felt around on the floor.  Glass clinked together, and he tried to decide if what he knocked over sounded empty or not. 

"Uhh--"
He rubbed his eyes.  What was that blasted Dedicated's name?  He'd said it.  At some point.  Todwyn?  Giorden?  Jordy?  He touched a bit of Spirit and Fire together and called.  Voice carrying this time, "Uhhh, Dedicated."
  He pushed to sit up, head shuddering uncertainly.  He was rubbing the rejoined flesh on his arm when the man entered.  He didn't think he could ever erase the memory of how it'd looked before Healing.  The honor guard, or babysitter, which was about the same thing asked what was needed. 
"Get me another one will you?" 

The Dedicated looked at the glass strewn about on the floor.  And frowned.  "Sir, you've signed out your limit today." 


Not the answer he wanted to hear.  Jai grabbed his boots instead; they were his, he checked.  His name was on the inside calf.  A security measure; and sometimes the only way to identify a man, by the name on his boots.  Must have shoved them off at some point in the night.  He had no idea when; he barely remembered making it to his room at all. 
"Then use your name!"
  The demand sounded empty to his own ears, but staring hard at the fellow, it must have sank in, because the Dedicated's frown smoothed itself out and a few moments later, he nodded and left. 

Alone with the pounding in his head, Jai came to realize what lay on the nearby table.  Two flat bars of steel crossed and melded at the center onto one another.  He didn't remember digging that thing out, either.  He hesitated, then curled his fingers around it, brought it close and pressed it painfully into his palm.  The cold steel warmed in his clutch, and he finally brought himself to look at the engraving.  Sharp, thin lines on the back sliced out his name and assigned Legion.  Well, assignment at the time. 

The pride that threatened to rise turned to a dangerous bubble of nausea.  That day he ignored the orders he was trained to follow, and they honored him for it.  The man who regarded him with such disappointment last night shook his hand once.  At the time, Jai hadn't known combat before then, so never would have guessed he'd been stupid enough to take command into his own hands.  Of course, he'd never guessed he'd do most of what he found himself doing. 

That day, and for many following days, he stepped forward, raised his hands and told the world he was willing.  To walk the line between life and death unknowing which would be the day to join brothers already gone.  And every day until it was his turn, spit square in the face of the Dark One.  To be one number in an army of terrors.  Fear and rejection cheering them on to fight the battle nobody else could fight.  A cavern of hopelessness awaiting ahead.  Yet being one solitary shadow in a legend of darkness was a transient redemption.  He knew.  They all did.  They were going to do this time what the Dragon tried once before.  Reseal the Dark One.  Kill him if they could.  But likely destroy the world again, if not with the taint, then with their fury, but hopefully dent only enough to salvage a fragment.  They would buy time.  To prop the Dragon Reborn on their shoulders so he might face what none of them could in his place, as the world, while fearing and hating, meant to do for them in turn.  In such a pyramid of burdens, how could one man complain so much about his own fate?

Jai pressed his palms across his face and doubled over sickly.  He complained about it, but he was still going to go.  He shivered again, and furiously ran his hands up and down his arms.  A century old heirloom.  Squandered.  For what?  For pride.  He should never have touched it all those years ago.  It wasn't even his to inherit. 

He dropped the medal back on the table and stood abruptly.  The floor lurched dark waves around his feet as he coaxed his way to the middle of the room.  A sword was in here.  Not his, obviously.  It was a standard short, and might have fit in any soldier's belt.  It felt awkward in his hands, though, but picking it up he vaguely remembered demanding his Dedicated-guard-babysitter surrender it to him for a time.  The grip was too short to sweep with much momentum or balance the subsequent arc with a second hand.  It was a hacking blade, or a stabbing one, supposedly.  But better than holding a broom handle.  A guy had to use what he could, after all.

He raised it to starting position in the middle of the room.  Or thought it was the middle.  And tried to empty his mind.  The first swing felt awkward, and his feet stumbled too many steps forward.  And nearly crashed into a wardrobe; with a precise routine, the tip of the sword barely missed the furniture.  He dragged himself back to starting, took a breath and tried again.  The memorized routine came mindlessly.  He knew what to do, how to move and where to step, but his arms and legs felt clumsy.  He lost count how many times he started over, barely to make it any farther than in the previous attempt. 

He couldn't catch his breath.  Like sucking up air in a dust cloud.  His skin crawled ferociously and by the time the Dedicated returned, he'd pitched the naked sword to a corner and just paced. 

He stole the delivery from midair and didn't even bother with pouring a glass.  A pitcher of unrequested water went on a table.  The drink was warming, and not at all as strong as he remembered that first bottle to be.  Though he couldn't compare it to the intervening ones.  Was it the same stuff?  The label was all blurred on this one.  Holding it up close to read the brand, he somehow noticed what the Dedicated was studying.  The medal sitting out.  Jai shrugged off thoughts of brandy conspiracies, took a longer drought and told him what it was, since the guy probably wondered. 
"It was for bravery." 

The Dedicated looked up, concerned he'd been caught doing something offensive, saluted and quickly returned to his post outside. 

A babysitter.  Why did they think he needed a babysitter?  It made no sense.  He could take the kid if it came to a difference in opinion of what should or shouldn't be done.  At least, he thought so.  Saidin throbbed, a storm on the horizon, he thought he could control it.  If push came to shove.  Yeah.  Sure, he could.  Of course.  He was an Asha'man, it's what he did.  He went to straighten the pins on his throat, but finding only flesh, remembered he wasn't wearing his coat and looked around.  His shirt and coat were strewn across a chair.  There were four knots of light pulsing the room with continual glow, but he gave up trying to remember when he'd made them.  Maybe the Dedicated had. 

He left the empty bottle with the others and made it out the door.  Coat on too, but fluttering about his knees unbuttoned.  The shirt underneath was, though.  Kind of.  Black, like the coat.  Some guys wore white, some nothing at all.  It didn't matter much, once the collar was done up all the way.  He didn't realize until later that the Dedicated was following.  Though the babysitter stayed half a step behind like a parent following a wobbly kid around.  Probably the sort of thing Jaslene did with her curly haired tots.  Following within reach to catch one as he went down.  Light her kid was cute.  How had Mikel made something so adorable?  Must have been Jaslene's part.  The commission on the kiddo’s newly forged sword should be finished soon.  Every kid should have one waiting for their coming of age.  They were going to need it.
"Should check on that order..,"
he mumbled to himself.  The Dedicated nodded like he knew what Jai was talking about. 

He thought of the pyramid again.  A faceless earth shielded beneath an enormous shadow.  One warrior at the pinnacle.  The shield their salvation and terror at the same time.  What would the ratios be?  Population to shield to savior.  The counting steps quieted, shoved off into a duller corner of his head, as he made room for the calculation on the forefront of his thoughts.  He felt like choking again, and rubbed his sleeves across his arms as the last of the numbers fell into balanced slots.  Walking was good.  He seemed able to walk again.  After they'd pulled him off his knees last night, he thought he'd never stand again. 

He looked up from studying his path, and the corridor spun.  Wait.  No.  Haitham's sword would be delivered on order.  He had to let these things go.  Let everyone go. 
"Numbers don't have family." 

How did the married ones do it?  They had kids and wives.  How could they leave them behind every day knowing eventually they'd not come back.  How could they choose like that?  The counting resumed. 

He wasn't sure where he was walking, but as he got there, he realized it was outside.  Grounds.  Part of the grounds sectioned off for training.  Not for channeling kind.  He could vaguely feel the vein of Power surging in other directions.  Morning then.  Or some time after it.  His Dedicated guard paused as he did, then followed along as Jai took off again.  Now he remembered why he came out here.  He hadn't finished his routine, and would be useless without doing so.

Not that he felt of much use right now, he thought, latching onto a rail to make it down the steps without breaking his neck.  He stole a random, generic built sword from a rack, which felt oddly heavy, and took off to claim a bit of space.  It was so blasted sunny.  Could have gone for a hat just about then.  Hats were great.  Kept the rain off your face.  Sun out of your eyes.  What had happened to Winther's squealy little cousin's hat?  That had been a good one.  Should have kept that.

He shoved his way into an empty space, Dedicated guardsman looking about, frowning.  That guy frowned a lot.  He emptied his head, but hadn't made it into starting position before he realized who was near.  Bloody master-flaming-swordsman Lennox Orander. 

Jai glanced at his companion, "This should be fun." 


Lennox was the grim reaper of perfection once again.  Long hair tied back.  Clean shaven and proud in his pitch-straight uniform.  Jai scratched at some random growth on his neck.  It'd been plenty long enough since he'd shaved to look properly scraggly.  He thought he'd remember bathing if he had last night, but there were a lot of holes.  In fact, he couldn't remember the last bath he'd had at all.  Unless the rainstorm in Caemlyn counted.  He was thirsty again, too.  Probably should have sent Gorden, or whatever his name was, to fetch another bottle. 

There was no sweat on Lennox's proud brow, though he surely must have been here a while.  Plenty of faces glanced his way when they thought they wouldn't be caught staring.  Dex was right, though.  The lads left him alone.  Jai couldn't imagine why. 

A bit of a wind picked up.  It kicked up some dust and swept his coat against his knees.  But carried his greeting well.  "I hear you only take on trained blokes these days.  So well here you go." 


And he rushed forward.