09-09-2016, 04:14 PM
If it were cruel to remind Jai of his uniform, then the cruelty was ironic. Asha'man of the Black Tower tended to live in two camps: M'Hael or Dragon; uniformed or civilian; married or alone. Like showing off that scarlet stamp on their heads, those uniformed proudly stood apart from the rest of the world, encroaching upon their lives like some shadow of an unwanted but necessary blemish. An Aes Sedai might take off her ring, but her face could not be swapped out so easily. In their vein, that second camp made the effort. To swap out the black, unfasten the pins, and set them aside all for the chance at a Sunday coat. To each their own. But Jai preferred to keep his pair.
He sighed at the simplicity of the door brushing fingertips away with a lingering, eye-roaming stare at those flat planks for half a moment until separating steps caught him up with Nythadri. And the door slowly returned to its place. Regime or soothing habit for the Power swung it shut, not for show. Had Jai wanted to show off for the Accepted, he would have done something far flashier. But that was not his style.
She called him something he was not. More than once. And it dulled her, somewhat: like a woman's outline dimmed on the banks of riverfog. She had not struck him as one prone to aimless flattery; if so, it was disappointing. Unless. . . Like seeking the horizon on a viewglass, he glanced down at her with a searching study.
No, conclusion reached. That could not have been what she meant. Except in their short minutes together, topics delved to a level he had not anticipated. Nor wanted to find. Perhaps then, she had meant it the way he took it. In which case, his rule floated to the surface.
"Best not answer that one, either."
No longing, but neither was there gusto in the answer likely to disappoint her in turn. At least it was better to suppress an answer of this magnitude than to entertain the idea that she was buttering up someone with a good opportunity to make her life a living hell. He liked to think she was too strong-willed and independent for that. Denial, after all, was a construct of the stubborn.
He might answer, someday. If circumstances ever brought them into a place of peace. Best they not hold their breaths though. For now, he had another answer.
"Even undeserved, if we found a way to escape our destinies, would I want to?"
The shift from the collective pronoun to the solitary was an accident, but one far more telling of a nature long abandoned.
Initially, it sounded like the sacrifice of an honorable man. There was one, down in there. That good man stayed his hand from stroking Jaslene's cheek. It lived with regret for every stolen life, no matter the heinous atrocities those lives represented. That good man was equally as good at his post and grimly accepted the attached accolades: toasts from nobles and recently revealed honorable mentions by Tomdry's remaining regiment. Yet for all the good there were flaws, deep ones. Selfishly, he could not stand to carry out a simple order from a superior Asha'man, one gravely misunderstood. If barely, but still, respected. Instead, he abandoned the entire post and walked away completely.
The shift was not one of noble sacrifice, however. It was gratification. Masochistic impulse. He kept the black, stayed apart, and watched through the window of his life what might have been to practice the discipline of containing the building resentment. It was playing with flames in a silo for the thrill of the practice, to beat back the boredom, to focus a mind on something constantly seeking a new edge. That great-mother's self-denial of generations past emerged in this Kojima's blood like a sorry inheritance, apparently. Or ironically. It didn’t matter which.
That edge, there was no honest way to explain where it lie. Because the only ones who knew where it was, were the ones who had gone over. Those others, the living, remain so only because they pushed themselves as far as they cared to and for some reason pulled back, or slowed down, or did whatever was needed when it came time to decide between life or death. Now or later. Because for all, that edge was still out there. Waiting. And so was death. Only once did he charge that edge, toed it and looked off the cliff, but was pulled violently back. Dirt and guts stuffed back inside. Sewn up by the needle of the Power. He was not willing to repeat the search yet. Someday, though. That inevitable second would tick by and the flaws might be buried by a man who would charge once more.
But not with a family on his arm. Their beloved faces and silent devotion would ground him from that duty. Just not strong enough; and he knew it. There was conviction in his answer. But not depression. No philosophy. Just his interpretation of what was right and knowing his own limits at fulfilling it.
"And what would normal life look like?"
The rhetoric of a man curious in Nythadri's answer continued without satisfaction, unless she had the chance to respond before this mysterious and surprising channeler opened their gate among the grounds now within sight. A cordoned off Traveling yard that for now earned only casual glances on his periphery.
"Courting? Wedding ribbons? A garden? A farm? Sheep and corn? And when your family ages and dies in front of you, how long do we wait before starting another? Or am I filled with too much shame and guilt to even consider it? Or stay with the future generations, slowly fading into the backdrop. A prisoner's vacation for however many years we all exist. Unless the Last Battle spares our family the burden, of course."
Falling there sounded tragic. Or fortunate. Depending on the field of one's life left behind. A man with a reason to live might hold something back. Jai would not.
Too late? Maybe. Plucked young, unlike many previously established brothers taking the black, he found himself in the backwoods of an Andoran forest with no baggage to tie him down. Just a conscious, if one wavering back and forth across sanity's wide clearing. That valley's end still blurred from view. Like that edge.
Jai was soon wrenched from the affliction of these claustrophobic thoughts thanks to a force which pulled him toward the deceptive serenity of empty space in the Yard. There was a thunder there, one only he could sense. It clenched his jaw, that menace that crept up unexpectedly. And like that distant rumble, he quietly explained for Nythadri's behalf.
"Saidin."
He waited the split second as one prepared to defend. Fate's words ringing in his ears. She arranged for a Gate to open; he hadn’t expected it to be opened by a man. He stared, cold and ready, as the line of Saidin punctured the pattern, ripping it apart like fingers gripping apart the buttons on a shirt. Had Fate discovered the vacation of this deserter? Was this her clever way to send him to Arad Doman with his tail between his legs? Punishment for his dereliction to see him escorted back to his Tower in front of Nythadri?
It was relief that stilled his judgement, when that parting line framed a man's face like a portrait of light. It dropped his jaw open.
"Daryen?"
Shock, certainly. It was his fellow Asha'man's thumb on the Power which fed the Gate's life. A superior Asha'man. The one to whom Jai reported in Arad Doman. And its bloody king. And like his fellow's recognition of him, he needed not look down to know the man would not be in the Black. One of those from another camp. Anger and angst suddenly surfaced all over again. And he ripped his gaze from the man responsible when a nearly as familiar face stepped forward to burst the rising pressure.
A portal to another camp, Nythadri was also invited? He looked between the women, but knew how to best protect his stones. Where Yui and the White Tower were concerned, it was bloody hot. Best stay out of the line of fire. A break in these dark clouds would be Nythadri's joining them if she could. And hoped for. But where Fate was pulling the strings, however, Jai had a feeling she didn't have a choice. Perhaps he could still get that game of cards out of this.
Women dealing among themselves, he addressed the one he knew he could take on. And had done before. His gaze fell to the sapphire blue eyes of a bloody royal, a cold smirk chilling his grin "So you're the prized Razor I get to ride?"
That suppressed animosity clouded his usual sarcasm with a shade of seriousness. Long strides carried him closer to said prize fearlessly and with familiarity. Not to be tossed back into the thick of Arad Doman by a bloody Aes Sedai with her fingers in the Black Tower. No. Jai would bloody walk there.
He sighed at the simplicity of the door brushing fingertips away with a lingering, eye-roaming stare at those flat planks for half a moment until separating steps caught him up with Nythadri. And the door slowly returned to its place. Regime or soothing habit for the Power swung it shut, not for show. Had Jai wanted to show off for the Accepted, he would have done something far flashier. But that was not his style.
She called him something he was not. More than once. And it dulled her, somewhat: like a woman's outline dimmed on the banks of riverfog. She had not struck him as one prone to aimless flattery; if so, it was disappointing. Unless. . . Like seeking the horizon on a viewglass, he glanced down at her with a searching study.
No, conclusion reached. That could not have been what she meant. Except in their short minutes together, topics delved to a level he had not anticipated. Nor wanted to find. Perhaps then, she had meant it the way he took it. In which case, his rule floated to the surface.
"Best not answer that one, either."
No longing, but neither was there gusto in the answer likely to disappoint her in turn. At least it was better to suppress an answer of this magnitude than to entertain the idea that she was buttering up someone with a good opportunity to make her life a living hell. He liked to think she was too strong-willed and independent for that. Denial, after all, was a construct of the stubborn.
He might answer, someday. If circumstances ever brought them into a place of peace. Best they not hold their breaths though. For now, he had another answer.
"Even undeserved, if we found a way to escape our destinies, would I want to?"
The shift from the collective pronoun to the solitary was an accident, but one far more telling of a nature long abandoned.
Initially, it sounded like the sacrifice of an honorable man. There was one, down in there. That good man stayed his hand from stroking Jaslene's cheek. It lived with regret for every stolen life, no matter the heinous atrocities those lives represented. That good man was equally as good at his post and grimly accepted the attached accolades: toasts from nobles and recently revealed honorable mentions by Tomdry's remaining regiment. Yet for all the good there were flaws, deep ones. Selfishly, he could not stand to carry out a simple order from a superior Asha'man, one gravely misunderstood. If barely, but still, respected. Instead, he abandoned the entire post and walked away completely.
The shift was not one of noble sacrifice, however. It was gratification. Masochistic impulse. He kept the black, stayed apart, and watched through the window of his life what might have been to practice the discipline of containing the building resentment. It was playing with flames in a silo for the thrill of the practice, to beat back the boredom, to focus a mind on something constantly seeking a new edge. That great-mother's self-denial of generations past emerged in this Kojima's blood like a sorry inheritance, apparently. Or ironically. It didn’t matter which.
That edge, there was no honest way to explain where it lie. Because the only ones who knew where it was, were the ones who had gone over. Those others, the living, remain so only because they pushed themselves as far as they cared to and for some reason pulled back, or slowed down, or did whatever was needed when it came time to decide between life or death. Now or later. Because for all, that edge was still out there. Waiting. And so was death. Only once did he charge that edge, toed it and looked off the cliff, but was pulled violently back. Dirt and guts stuffed back inside. Sewn up by the needle of the Power. He was not willing to repeat the search yet. Someday, though. That inevitable second would tick by and the flaws might be buried by a man who would charge once more.
But not with a family on his arm. Their beloved faces and silent devotion would ground him from that duty. Just not strong enough; and he knew it. There was conviction in his answer. But not depression. No philosophy. Just his interpretation of what was right and knowing his own limits at fulfilling it.
"And what would normal life look like?"
The rhetoric of a man curious in Nythadri's answer continued without satisfaction, unless she had the chance to respond before this mysterious and surprising channeler opened their gate among the grounds now within sight. A cordoned off Traveling yard that for now earned only casual glances on his periphery.
"Courting? Wedding ribbons? A garden? A farm? Sheep and corn? And when your family ages and dies in front of you, how long do we wait before starting another? Or am I filled with too much shame and guilt to even consider it? Or stay with the future generations, slowly fading into the backdrop. A prisoner's vacation for however many years we all exist. Unless the Last Battle spares our family the burden, of course."
Falling there sounded tragic. Or fortunate. Depending on the field of one's life left behind. A man with a reason to live might hold something back. Jai would not.
Too late? Maybe. Plucked young, unlike many previously established brothers taking the black, he found himself in the backwoods of an Andoran forest with no baggage to tie him down. Just a conscious, if one wavering back and forth across sanity's wide clearing. That valley's end still blurred from view. Like that edge.
Jai was soon wrenched from the affliction of these claustrophobic thoughts thanks to a force which pulled him toward the deceptive serenity of empty space in the Yard. There was a thunder there, one only he could sense. It clenched his jaw, that menace that crept up unexpectedly. And like that distant rumble, he quietly explained for Nythadri's behalf.
"Saidin."
He waited the split second as one prepared to defend. Fate's words ringing in his ears. She arranged for a Gate to open; he hadn’t expected it to be opened by a man. He stared, cold and ready, as the line of Saidin punctured the pattern, ripping it apart like fingers gripping apart the buttons on a shirt. Had Fate discovered the vacation of this deserter? Was this her clever way to send him to Arad Doman with his tail between his legs? Punishment for his dereliction to see him escorted back to his Tower in front of Nythadri?
It was relief that stilled his judgement, when that parting line framed a man's face like a portrait of light. It dropped his jaw open.
"Daryen?"
Shock, certainly. It was his fellow Asha'man's thumb on the Power which fed the Gate's life. A superior Asha'man. The one to whom Jai reported in Arad Doman. And its bloody king. And like his fellow's recognition of him, he needed not look down to know the man would not be in the Black. One of those from another camp. Anger and angst suddenly surfaced all over again. And he ripped his gaze from the man responsible when a nearly as familiar face stepped forward to burst the rising pressure.
A portal to another camp, Nythadri was also invited? He looked between the women, but knew how to best protect his stones. Where Yui and the White Tower were concerned, it was bloody hot. Best stay out of the line of fire. A break in these dark clouds would be Nythadri's joining them if she could. And hoped for. But where Fate was pulling the strings, however, Jai had a feeling she didn't have a choice. Perhaps he could still get that game of cards out of this.
Women dealing among themselves, he addressed the one he knew he could take on. And had done before. His gaze fell to the sapphire blue eyes of a bloody royal, a cold smirk chilling his grin "So you're the prized Razor I get to ride?"
That suppressed animosity clouded his usual sarcasm with a shade of seriousness. Long strides carried him closer to said prize fearlessly and with familiarity. Not to be tossed back into the thick of Arad Doman by a bloody Aes Sedai with her fingers in the Black Tower. No. Jai would bloody walk there.
Only darkness shows you the light.