Kekura din Anor New Moon
Kekura din Anor was a wind finder of the Atha’an Miere, the People of the Sea, of Clan Catelar. Her husband was Cargo Master of another ship in the Clan. She was the mother of a young boy, Tayigi.
When the Seanchan attacked, many ships in her clan were decimated. Her Sailmistress sacrificed herself in order to protect Kekura the Windfinder from being captured, and so Kekura escaped in the arms of the sea, the sole survivor. She believed her husband and son were both among the dead.
She survived thirteen days in the ocean before drifting to shore. On the second day at sea, she cautiously utilized the One Power to flow the current and sweep the breeze and steer her body toward the Catal Islands. At dusk and sunrise, the One Power fluttered little knots of light to lure schools of fish or small sharks close enough to catch and eat with her bare hands. For water, she sucked on the eyeballs of her prey, caught condensation on the oiled breeches, or pulled water from the air straight to her tongue. She wrapped her clothing around her eyes to keep from blinding them in the unforgiving sun, but eventually her skin boiled and cracked. The pain of salt etching into the open wounds was excruciating. When she washed ashore following a storm she was too weak to control, the Amayar nursed her back to health, but only long enough for her hatred for the seanchan to churn to new purpose. The people of the sea could not defend themselves against this evil horde, and she believed the White Tower would be their last hope. She was in her 40’s when she entered the shining spire.
She was a novice only long enough to learn the rules of her new station. Even the Mistress of the Ships may be demoted to the lowest tier, and so Kekura was not abashed by the incrementally diminished station in which she found herself.
As an Accepted, her loyalty to the Tower was tested. The Sisters would not raise an Aes Sedai only to abandon them, and Kekura was a closed book on her inner motivations. Her salt name was New Moon, something bright and powerful that is hidden among the black night. So, Kekura’s aspirations were similarly obscured.
Promptly after joining the Red Ajah, she was appointed to a position as Mistress of Novices, and she found herself in charge of women with whom she once wore the white alongside. The sudden promotion did not bother her, given her comfort with jumping rank. She knew her assignment was meant to anchor her in Tar Valon, though, and she resented the Amyrlin for it. However, she was perhaps the best mistress of novices in hundreds of years, for her stern guidance and dispensation of wisdom.
Upon being released from mistress of novices, her work for the Red Ajah focused on channeler rights, both the freedom from Seanchan capture and the regulation of male channelers. She disapproved of the Black Tower’s methods and lack of oversight. Most of all, she disapproved of the Dragon’s truce with the Seanchan, which allowed them to retain the lands already captured and keep the damane already enslaved. She wanted them to be overthrown and driven back across the sea, or better yet, eradicated completely and thus freeing the lands they held hostage altogether.
When it became clear that the politics would not allow such goals, she aspired to change the politics herself. Old resentments churned, and she delve into great game, seeking to overthrow the current Amyrlin, a Blue-raised woman who was a strong ally of the Dragon Reborn and enforcer of peace. Kekura wanted the Seat for herself.
It was on a fateful journey to the Black Tower when she bore witness to the only other Atha’an Miere she had seen in years, a young man of great prowess and impressive strength. She quickly identified him as the son she thought was dead, and he identified her as the mother he thought was gone. She was reunited with Tayigi.
Tayigi was married to Kaliyani din Hai Sweeping Tide and the father of a girl, Saga, and boy, Tao.
Kekura was quite lonely in the Tower. As such, she focused on her purpose and calling for greater good, even at great personal sacrifice.
Current incarnation – Kemala
She prepared her muscles as she walked to the center of the deck, thighs twitching beneath the flowing creation of her skirt’s red chiffon, hips testing the bondage of the low fitted belt sitting straight across them, and everything above free to stretch in the open air as every part sensed the demand she was about to place upon them. The collection of energy she next summoned she intended to liquify her bones with it, sacrificing it all so nothing remained but the movement and story about to be realized.
She imagined her role to be the character of herself. Of imagined seagulls lifting her arms on a gliding breeze she began, with herself darting across the imagined water beneath in elongated, pointed jumps. Long minutes completely dedicated to the freedom of the skies above and world below, her feet carried her back and forth with the coasting freedom of innocent duty. Then she suddenly came to stillness, lifting her face toward the scent of her beloved, the night sky, as a low roll began in her stomach, slowly gaining the movement of her hips like a tide caressing its lover, the shore, churning upon the shallows to rise higher and higher in passion, loosing her chest and shoulders into the waves, arms following as she stretched from its foamy crest to clasp both sides of the moon in her palms and cannibalize its light with her mysterious darkness.
Then all that pent up tension to her muscles released like the snapping of a taut rope, flooding her in a flush of blood and arousal that when she looked upon her environment finally, she saw none of the audience, but only the world as it was draped in a veil of crimson blood. The heat of it burned her skin, lifting the soles of her feet one at a time away from the embers underneath to lift and spin away, kicking at the air vividly and counterbalancing with the loops of her arms in the other direction. Until she accepted the color’s painful consumption, but she dived into it rather than fight further. Tangling her hair between her fingers she brought her hands down her face and greedily into her center while bare-feet slicked with salt and sweat grounded herself to the deck below to seek balance in the calamity of what she just endured. Feeling every inch of herself becoming heavier and heavier until she collapsed as into sinking sands. She curved downward with it, every vertebrae rolling down upon themselves until the boneless sphere of her coiled shape rested close to the deck, accepting this new fate and unmoving except for the heavy panting of her chest and trickles of sweat beading down her skin, diverted by scar marks and wetting the ethereal bloom of the deadly creature climbing her ribs with its tattooed tentacles.
But her story was not over. The red mask faded from the world as she rose climatically into reality with palms flattened upon one another filling her with the deep loss akin to the expulsion of vomit registering the emotion of the kinesthetic feel of bile rising within that it made her body contort and twist painfully in the affect of such forlorn movements. She wanted, but knew no way to stop her heart which pulsed with near overwhelming pressure inside all of her sharply splayed fingers and pleading with the heavens in beat with the music of the swirling stars above as their child spun beneath them in anguish, a whirlpool of focus in the great void of the ocean’s mighty breadth, fighting to continue onward. She honored their glimmering points with every fiber of her being as each part of her body succombed to their Pattern. Shoulders and hips and wrists and ankles pulsed in contradiction to one another, until the imagery of these points on her constellation pulsed in time and the entire picture came together into one conformed projection: a conclusive, beautiful image.
Of herself. Still and reverent.
She bowed. The dance was ended.