Bringing a lost student to the Hall

On a yellow paper, nicely folded several times and placed inside an envelop the fooling lines, written with a straggling handwriting, can be read:

Abramin Sedai waited a second outside the door, brushing the travel dust from her worn brown dress. Her plump figure was not so well known here, but wanted to work as quietly as possible. She opened the door and stepped inside to meet her contact. She was surprised to find that every inch of the room was in use, the walls covered with shelves containing all kind of wares. All heavy goods had been left on the floor, and she stepped past sacks of wool and turnips. When she reached the desk on the other side of the room she found the owner, a fat man clothed in some kind of cheap wool, very much like her own with a exception of the dirt yellow colour. Hid moments, his eyes, everything about him gave a sluggish and dumb impression. When she saw the other costumer she forced herself to wait, not to raise suspicion. She sat down on a sack of turnips, and idly looked out over the crowded room. A sudden moment behind a barrel of wine caught her eye. A moment later she watched as a young boy clothed in rags dashed past the opening between two groups of barrels and hid again. She had seen street children on several occasion, and had no problem recognise one of them. The dirt and the bone thin but still muscular shape was enough. The other costumer left the shop with a heavy wood axe and she stood up. As the shopkeeper turned to her she forgot about the boy for more important matters. The fat old man grinned, showing that he missed most of his teeth, and asked her not so politely to follow him to his private room. Following the shopkeeper she felt something brushing past her. Out of a reflex she turned around and grabbed the boy by his wrist. He held her purse with most of the coins she had brought. The boy snarled at her as she forced him to let go of her purse with a quick snap of the wrist. The shopkeeper turned around slowly, like things were happening to fast, and his face shone with some evil kind of recognising when he saw the boy.

“Didn’t I tell you that would wring your bloody neck if you ever showed your dirty face here again?” The shopkeeper yelled at the top of his lungs and Abramin felt the boy struggle in fear to get a way. When the shopkeeper took a step towards the boy he ceased to struggle. She saw that the boy’s face was concentrated. It was all warning she got before a deafening roar tore the world apart.

Abramin felt pain spreading from several spots over her body. She had been thrown all over the room and lay on a pile of what once was the furnishing of the room. She could barely see the shopkeeper lying on the ground in the inner room. The floor was clean except for a large black hole between where they had been standing. She managed to get on her feet and with her ears ringing and the afterglow of the explosion limiting her vision she walked over to the shopkeeper. The man didn’t look seriously hurt, but he had been thrown over five meters into the inner room. She healed the man, and left him resting on the floor. To avoid the people who were gathering on the front side she sneaked out through a back door.

Walking back to the inn she bent forward, hiding the dark blood stains on her dress. She had a feeling that everyone was staring at her. Her pace grew slower and slower, and the world became colder. Even the hot sunshine felt like frozen when she unsteadily stepped into the inn, and walked up the stairs to her room, she fumbled with the door as a cold darkness closed in on her vision. She fell forward, into the room, barely noticing Michaels surprise as he looked up from his book.

*******************************************

I hid behind wagon on the other side of the street, watching the chaos around the shop. Pisces of glass was scattered al over the ground and the front door had nearly been knocked of it hinges. I shivered when I realised to what degree I had misjudged the weave. I opened the leather purse, and carefully counted the coins, most from Paaran Disen. More than enough silver to get out of this light forsaken city. On the bottom there were even two rings stored away. The first ring was of plain silver, but the second one… It was of massive gold. I turned it around to see the insignia better. First then I realised what kind of bad luck I had. I stuffed the silver and the rings in my belt pouch and ran away from the house. I heard people call after me but they soon lost the trail among all the small alleys.

I reached my “home” in an alley behind a smith. A few cats were looking down from the roofs, but everything was calm and as filthy as ever. I sat down, trying to calm down and stop my heart from beating so hard. As I rested soft steps echoed down the alley, and a yellow dog strolled into view. The dog, I had named her Fire, greeted me with a grin. She had lived in this alley as long as I had, and she was one of the few sources of friendship in this cold, light-forsaken city. Fire curled up against me to share her body heat, and like so many nights before we fell asleep together.

The first beam of sunlight in the down hit me, and gently woke me up. I sat up with a yawn, waking Fire up in the process. Fire, looked as sleepy as ever when we both stood up. She had never liked mornings. We walked down to the market, enjoying the morning. Fire danced around me, for she knew that this meant food. Well on the market place I repaid my debts, and found a farmer who sold cheap sausages. I bought a few sausages, but didn’t notice the greedy looks on a few “rough” men nearby when they saw the silver.

As we walked back I felt happier than in a long time. We were nearly home when I heard a strange sound. Fire heard it to and leaped from my side, a blade cutting the air where she had been a moment earlier. I dashed into the ally, and picked up the thin oak staff that rested near my sleeping place. As I turned around again I found the way out of the ally blocked. Two men, armed with rusty swords, and with evil grins on their faces walked towards me. Wanting nothing but getting away I attacked. The first man blocked several blows before my staff found a way through his unskilled defences and with a quick blow to his right arm I disarmed him. The next blow hit his head with a sick crunching sound. I could see that the other man was far more skilled. Fire had engaged him, and kept his attention to give me a chance. The man made a swing at Fire, and as she tried to doge it the blade turned and hit her over the chest, creating a gashing wound and sending her body flying. The world turned into the strange red colour of adrenalin when I charged with all my strength, skill and anger. He blocked my first blow, and the second, and the third. The man never attacked, he just blocked, and each time his blade met my staff with a deep axe sound. A sudden thought crossed my mind; my oak staff wasn’t strong enough! Every time the blade met the wood a deep mark was made, and soon the staff would break, leaving me unarmed. I desperately fought down the fear, fought into a state without any feelings. Even the pain from my exhausted arms seamed dull and distant.

Some had described it as channelling, to guide the power, others has called it weaving, to create a pattern of threads. I have never found a good way to describe the feeling, the feeling of mixing threads of fire and earth, the feeling when the threads snaps together in the pattern I intended. Neither will I ever be able to describe the feeling when my staff burned through his blade, and left a path of burned flesh over his chest. Nothing can describe the euphoria of surviving or the sickness of taking somebody’s life with a power so joyful.

Tears were staining my face as I took two steps past the body, to the ragged, yellow and red shape that lay there forgotten. First when I bent down to give her a last sign of friendship did I realise that Fire was still breathing. Quickly I tried to form a healing weave. Tried I said, for a healing weave is among the most complicated known. The weave didn’t fit together, so I tried more desperately with a new one. It didn’t work either, so I forced myself to make the third one slowly. I begged for her to holdout until I managed to fit the ten thousands pieces three-dimensional puzzle my healing was together. I completed the weave, and started to turn around when something tugged at my power, strangling it. I don’t know today how I did it, but somehow I managed to cut the shield in desperation. I turned around, and searched for the source of the weave. A man in fine blue silk clothes stood at the end of the alley with a surprised look on his face. He started to weave a new shield, but I cut into the weave and it disappeared. While he recovered I created a copy of his own weave, but he cut the shield easily. So I created a new one, probably with influence of my talent. He cut into the weave time after time but couldn’t destroy it, and a tug in the weave told me that he was indeed shielded, and tried to break it. Remembering something I was told during my rather short training I channelled more power into the shield, reinforcing it. The man soon gave up resisting and just stood there staring at me. After a while I realised that I had no idea what to do with him. I knew that I couldn’t keep him in this state forever, and I knew that I would be sorry when ever I lost the control. The golden ring he wore was indeed not a good sign.

With my enchanted hearing I could pick out two voices closing in slowly, and when I stopped thinking and looked up I saw two women. One was unusually long and clothed all in black, while the other was short, and clothed in a stained brown dress. The brown woman was the one I took the purse from, while the black one obviously was an Aes Sedai with the golden ring on her left hand. Terror griped me as I saw my fate coming. To at least fight back in some way I created a new shield, it was far easier this time, and was surprised to find out that it was so easy to shield of the black woman. But I felt the edge of my limit as I tried to sustain both the shield, and the man threw all his power against the shield.

I threw my last remaining reserve of power into the shield, but I staggered backwards as my connection to the one power was cut off. I stood there, trying to keep a hold on the buffering void when the first blow hit me, crushed the void and left me whining on the ground. More blows followed, each and everyone brought more pain to my unprotected body, and soon more tears stained my cheeks. I could hear people scream somewhere, but couldn’t make out any words. After what felt like an eternity the blows ceased, but I could not do anything, my muscles were just too sore and my head too dizzy. Without the strength to resist I closed my eyes and felt my body being carried to a wagon, and from the wagon into a house. I felt something soft under me, I later learned that it was a bed, and I drifted of into a state not completely unlike sleep desperate all the pain and the blood taste in my mouth.

Abramin Sedai, with her “grandmother” appearance healed me, and taught me to trust people again. She brought me to the hall and my training. It was a great loss when I heard that she had been killed by a hidden dreadlord when she searched a battlefield for wounded soldiers in need of help.

Fire disappeared; I searched several times for her, but never found her. I can only hope that she survived.

This is the true story as long as I know. I have not been able to confirm anything with any other living human except for a few lines out of Abramin Sedai’s diary.

Signed
Manir Sedai