The rain had finally soaked through every layer of clothing on the Dedicated’s body as he stood there, barking orders at a slow Soldier who was failing to grasp the concept of a small thread of the Power. His task was to pick up a pebble from the wet ground, dry it, shield it from the rain, and drop it in his own hand. So far, he’d made a lot of pebbles roll on the ground, make several explode in mid-air, and pelted himself with hot rocks more times than Jelsa could count. It was pitiful. And the worst thing of all was, the sun was likely to rise before this boy would get it right.

“Halt!” he shouted in frustration. Marching over to the lad angrily, he grasped him with a hand clutching each side of the Soldier’s skull. “Now watch me closely, paying especial attention to the threads I use, how thick they are, and how long I sustain them.”

Turning to face the same direction as the boy, Jelsa chose a pebble about six spans away from himself, lifted it with Air, dried it with a blend of Water and Fire, shielded it with a simple shell of Air, and brought it drop lightly in his hand. Showing it to the boy, he asked, “Did you see that?”

“Yes, sir,” he squawked. “I believe so.”

“Can you imitate it?” Jelsa asked, fearful that he would hear the likely truth.

“Yes, sir. I’ll do my best, sir,” he responded, half lying to himself, the Dedicated was sure.

Jelsa watched closely as the Soldier channeled to lift the pebble up, added enough heat to it to cause it to glow and turn nearby rain to steam, then shot it toward himself with enough force that it shot straight through his abdomen. The pebble ended up embedded in a tree fifteen spans or so away, whereas the Soldier was curled on the ground, clutching the hole in his stomach and making a sad gurgling sound. Slapping his hands away, Jelsa Healed the sizzling wound and picked him back up.

“Annis, I give you one more chance to do this tonight, and then I’ll set you to evening of this. If you cannot grasp the skills to manipulate saidin on this level, then you’ll surely kill yourself when you reach more complicated tasks.”

The Soldier tried once more to achieve the task with the pebble. He was very deliberate in all that he did, solidly lifting the stone into the air and letting it hover for a moment. When it came to the drying process, however, he faced the same problem that he had several times before. He channeled heat into the stone to dry it, and achieved that, but then he failed to cut off the flow of heat into the pebble, and watched as it began to glow, and eventually exploded. Fragments of stone flew in every direction, one striking Jelsa’s left hand, causing him to curse and recoil, drawing his hand against his chest to cradle for a moment as he picked the piece out. Once that was done, he turned to yell at Annis once more. He stood there, quaking in fear of his failure.

With a single thread of Air, Jelsa whipped the boy swiftly across his back. “You’re now my personal project, Soldier. You will report here half an hour after sunrise for a private lesson, in addition to reporting here tomorrow night to finish this task. Failure to make either appointment will result in fifteen laps around the Tower grounds, with fifty push-ups upon the completion of each lap. Your morning lessons will continue until I am satisfied with the growth I witness. Now go to bed.”

Jelsa was bone weary as he walked back toward his room in the Dedicated’s quarters. A quick bath and sleep were exactly what he had in mind to end this frustrating evening. What made it frustrating more so than jumpy Soldiers was the fact that it marked the third straight week of nights just like it, staying out training himself or another until after midnight. The only thought that sustained him was the constant rumor among the Asha’man who trained him that he’d soon be one as well. And, honestly, he found himself feeling more and more like one every day. Just two days earlier Jelsa had been on his way to the Gateways, to go to the Inn, and a Soldier slipped by. Remembering that that Soldier was supposed to be in a special lesson at that moment, which he’d earned for skipping a proper class, Jelsa was more than happy to march him all the way his instructor, with a whip to the calf after every step. He then handed the lad over to his Asha’man teacher, and for a moment they shared a mutual nod, and an expression of mild amusement, before Jelsa gave his brief salute and continued off. While that moment by itself was hardly enough to occasion comment, many moments like it added together to make him feel that he really was on the fringe of raising.

He went straight to the washroom without even swinging by his room. Getting clean was one of the greatest sensations a trainee in the Black Tower could find. Even as a Soldier with water that was heated only if you were lucky enough to pull it off yourself, a bath was one of the rare occasions that you could forget where you were and just enjoy life for a moment. This, of course, passes in less time than it takes for the water to cool because of the pressing nature of time and life for Soldiers and Dedicated. With his done, Jelsa wrapped a towel around himself and walked down the hall to his and Rodel’s room.

Finding the room empty was an odd sign for Jelsa. Rodel worked as hard, if not harder than, he did, yet the man was never out this late. He was very careful about it, choosing to work in the very early morning, rather than the nighttime. Curious of where his roommate was, the Aiel gave Rodel’s desk and bed a quick perusal, only to find two notes addressed to him, one from Rodel, and a second from a neat hand that he didn’t recognize, opened.

He read the opened note first:
Jelsa tel’Amarant,

In the Light,
Your “White” Friend

Jelsa immediately realized that this was the note from one of Iridalle Sedai’s scoutmasters, in the White Tower. Back when he’d first arrived at the Black Tower, he’d had a conversation with her, and requested that she have her eyes and ears keep a watch for the Tinkers. Good to her word, she apparently had left instruction that he be sent a note when it did happen, though he wondered at how weak the attempts were at making it cryptic. Perhaps this person was better at processing information than hiding it. Fearing what he’d likely find in Rodel’s note, Jelsa cracked the seal and read:

Jelsa,

Rodel

“Light blasted fool!” Jelsa shouted after reading the Tinker’s letter. How could he think that that was a good idea? Why would he decide that damning himself to near-assured death from the M’Hael’s recollection service was a good idea. No matter the fact that the Tuatha’an band was in danger, Jelsa was so close to being raised that it soon wouldn’t make a difference anyway. Besides, Rodel couldn’t even Travel. Was he honestly going to run all the way to the Blight? Well, that would make him easy to catch for anyone who could. Jelsa was horrified by the next thought that came to him mind: I can Travel, and I’d be gentler on the Tinker…should I go for him?

Going would mean casting his fate in with Rodel’s, risking similar punishment if he were seen as a fellow runaway. But if he were able to bring his roommate back without their absences being noticed, then he’ll have done Rodel a great service, and saved Jak a great deal of trouble which he’d never know about.

Silent in his resolution, Jelsa donned his Dedicated uniform, straightening the sword pin on his collar, placed the axe in its loop at his waist, and then grasped the One Power and opened a Gateway to a location a few miles away from the Black Tower. It was the path that he knew Rodel would take, and he just needed to find the rogue’s tracks from there.

Scanning the ground, Jelsa soon found clear evidence the Rodel had passed through here. Guessing how long the man had been gone, and how much distance he had gained on him by Travelling, Jelsa chose the good Aiel method and began running after him. Three miles into the run, the Dedicated began to wonder if he’d misestimated how much of a lead the Tinker had on him, until he crested a ridge and saw him a quarter mile ahead, illuminated in the moonlight. Spurred on by the sight, Jelsa ran even faster, pushing into the famed Aiel speed that was said to be able to outpace a good horse. Reaching out with the Power, the Dedicated thickened the air around Rodel to slow him down for talking. In an instant, however, he had severed the weave and lashed back with a whip of Fire.

Slicing the weave without missing a step, Jelsa was shocked that his friend would resort to so violent an act, so quickly. Realizing the err in his approach, he attempted to insert a shield between the man and the Source, and almost succeeded, only to be thrown off by a sudden draw on the One Power. Frustrated, he set up an attack of non-lethal methods of slowing and capturing Rodel, barraging the man with flurries of ice and thick Air, along with stunning jolts of lightning and swinging clubs of very solid Air. The Tinker cut through with amazing skill, slicing most of the weaves as they materialized, though he was hit by a few of them, allowing Jelsa to close in on him.

“Rodel! Stop this right now!”

The man, by some miracle, did stop. He turned to face Jelsa with a curious look. “Why’d you attack me, Jelsa?”

“Me attack you? I tried to slow you down with thick Air, you’re the one who threw Fire, if I recall correctly.”

“You spooked me…I wasn’t expecting anyone so soon. Well, I’m glad to see that you’ve come. Let’s hurry, unless you can make a Gateway to the Borderlands.” The man looked so hopeful and expectant when he said that.

“I’m sorry, my friend, but this has to stop, and we have to return to the Tower.” He continued to speak, overriding any objections. “If you continue this course, the M’Hael will send men to capture you…kill you if you resist. Light, Rodel, you can’t yet Travel, you’d stand no chance. Just come back with me, I’ll be raised very soon, and then we can go on a rescue mission with a pair of Aes Sedai I’ve recruited. I’ll officially be supervising you on the trip, so you’ll be allowed to go along. If you can just wait.”

“No! You don’t get it, do you? These are Tuatha’an in the Blight, they won’t last two days.”

“Have faith! They’re wise to the nature of plants there, I’m sure.”

“But there are other dangers there, which they can’t avoid by not touching a nasty looking leaf.”

“Please, Rodel,” Jelsa pleaded, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Just trust me. This is the Tower that we’re dealing with, something we’ve dedicated our lives to serving. We owe it the courtesy to give this a few more days. Speak to the M’Hael, he might let us go with an escort…”

“It’s no good, I couldn’t wait for my appointment tomorrow. I need to be there now.”

“Look, if we Travel in a week, we’ll still be there faster than you would be if I let you run right now. Isn’t the promise of assistance fighting off the Blight worth spending those days at the Black Tower rather than on the run? With your could-be help hunting you down? Because if you go, and you survive, your name will be anathema with the Tower, and your head will be set for the Traitor’s Tree.”

“What does it matter if I stay safe and they die?”

“You just have to trust that that won’t happen. Please.”

“No,” he said, turning away from Jelsa. “I can’t do it. I can’t go back.”

“Very well,” Jelsa said with a sigh. In an instant he had clubbed Rodel with the Power, shielded him, and bound his unconscious body in a hoist for easy carrying back to the Tower. Opening a Gateway, he stepped into his room, placed the man on his bed, and tied off the bounds that held and shielded him. Running outside quickly he set off to find an Asha’man who he knew he could trust to do the right thing for the Tower.

It was easy to get to the Gholam Inn after the rest of the evening, and he found Asha’man Contraxias’ room, upstairs and knocked on the door. When the door opened, it revealed a man wearing a pair of black linen pants and looking to have just woken up, though it was questionable if he was actually awake.

“Sorry for bothering you at this hour…sir?” the man really didn’t seem to be fully conscious. “I need to ask a favor of you, if you could.”

“Dedicated, you had better be coming here to tell me Shai’tan himself is standing in the courtyard of the Black Tower asking for me by name,” the Asha’man waved him into the room. “Now, since we both know that isn’t happening, why are you here?”

Jelsa stepped inside the room, noting the swords adorning the walls, and the banner of Seanchan behind Contraxias’ seat. “A friend of mine, my roommate, well his family is in the Blight, searching for the Green Man’s garden. They believe that the Song is there. Anyway, they’re there, and he wants desperately to be as well, and tonight he tried to run away to them. I chased him down because I don’t want to see him on the Traitor’s Tree, but I’m afraid that when he wakes, he’ll try again.”

The Asha’man walked across the room and looked around the corner into what was presumably the bedchamber. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he closed the door behind himself and channeled a fire into the hearth. Sitting down, he said, “Before we go any further, sit and tell me your name.”

Jelsa took a seat next to the fireplace, but is on the edge of the seat, far from comfortable considering the nature of his visit, and the decorations that surrounded the room. “I am Jelsa tel’Amarant, and we’ve met once or twice before, though we’ve hardly had a formal introduction.”

“Jelsa, I am Garret al’Contraxias, you can call me Garret or Asha’man Contraxias, whichever suits you.” He leaned back against the couch, tattooed arms crossing over a tattooed chest. “So tell me, Jelsa, what does another runaway trainee have to do with me?”

Jelsa sighed, feeling a soreness spread through his back after the efforts he’d expended earlier, collecting Rodel. “I acknowledge that this has little to do with you, except that this affects a man of the Black Tower, one who has the potential to be a great Asha’man. But if he’s allowed to run away, that will be lost. So I’m not just approaching you for my sake, because I would also love to be in the Blight helping these people, but out of loyalty to the Car’a’carn and the Black Tower.”

Garret sighed, “Yes, that do be all well and good, but the question remains boy, what would you have me do? Do you wish me to throttle him until he can no walk? Bind him with Air so he cannot move? Something we all do be required to learn be the ability to control ourselves. I can no see your friend becoming even a mediocre Asha’man if he cannot do that.”

Jelsa laughed bitterly, sitting back in the seat. “I’m not certain what I want you to do. I only knew that you’re an Asha’man who’s very loyal to the Tower, and I felt that I could trust you to make a sound decision. I’m not certain what I want you to do, but I’m clueless as to what I’m to do. I’d hoped to beseech you for your wisdom as well.”

The Asha’man laughed wryly, “Jelsa, each man has his own path that he must follow. There is nothing I can do to bind your friend to the Tower, short of doing just that. He has already shown that an almost certain death will not stop him from running. Now, it is not I, the Asha’man, who can stop this boy. He does not know me, and he will likely not heed me…but you already know this, I believe. So tell me, Jelsa, why do you come here at this hour. What is your real question?”

Jelsa sighed, “I’m aware that the best I can hope for with Rodel is to talk to him, but how do I help him see that he’s best served by staying in the Tower? How do I convince the man to wait just a little longer, and trust in the Creator and the Wheel to protect his people?”

“What rank is your friend, Rodel?”

“He’s a newly raised Dedicated, held the rank for about two months now.”

Garret thinks for a moment, “The Blight is a dangerous place, even for a veteran Asha’man. For a Dedicated to go there is suicide. His family is dead already, or will be in the time it takes for him to get there. He is all that is left of that family now. The greatest service he can do for his family is to live, become an Asha’man, and help us to achieve our final victory over the Shadow, because for him to go the will ensure only that his family dies there, all of them. If he stays here and trains, he can avenge them later.” He paused to smile sadly, “The Wheel and the Creator be things far beyond us, my boy. They do not concern themselves with our lives and our struggles. The Wheel weaves the Creator’s pattern, as it always has, and always will.”

It was a bitter thought to swallow, but Jelsa nodded, realizing just how familiar it actually was. Soulara’s face swam to the surface of his mind as he thought of this, and he tiredly pushed it away. Still, he could not suppress a childish hope. “But there is a chance that the Tuatha’an band could survive there, even for a while?”

Asha’man Contraxias shook his head, “No, the Blight is a land of death where even the trees will take your life if you are not careful. I do not see how a band of Tuatha’an could survive there.”

A tear struggled to leak from Jelsa’s eye, but the Dedicated fought it down. Still he mourned the eminent death of Vandaran. It appeared that his planned rescue mission would be, instead, seeking out the remains of the caravan. “I will try to explain this to Rodel when he wakes, help him to see the hopelessness of their cause and the chance that the Tower provides him. I just hope that he’ll listen.”

Garret rose and placed a hand on Jelsa’s shoulder, “You will do your best, and he will follow his path. Whatever happens, it is not your fault. Your friend is a man, and a man makes his own decisions.”

Jelsa swallowed hard, not appreciating the uncomfortable question that came to him, “If he runs again, should I report it to Jak, or recollect him myself?”

Staring into the fire, the Asha’man replied, “If he runs again, you will come to me, and we will collect him, and then I shall show him the fate of those who enter the Blight but would refuse to raise a weapon to save their life.”

It was a relief to hear this, because Jelsa had been too unsure to ask for the man’s help before, but once it was freely offered, the Aiel could only give a sigh of relief. “Thank you, sir. Thank you very much. I’m loath to have the hounds set on him, but he needs to be protected until I can show him his band’s remains. Perhaps my words can have an effect on him, and perhaps he’ll stay this time. I pray that he will.”

The Asha’man rose and walked toward the bedchamber door. With his hand on the doorknob, he looked at the Dedicated and said, “Speak well, Jelsa, but remember we all follow our own path. Right now, mine leads me back to bed, and yours will take you back to the Black Tower.” He yawned and turned the knob. “Sleep well and wake, Jelsa tel’Amarant,” he said in the traditional Aiel manner before walking through the doorway.

Jelsa stood up and saluted the Asha’man. “Thank you, Garret al’Contraxias, and sleep well.” Turning away from the man, the Dedicated left the room and stood in the hallway for a moment, debating with himself. Deciding that he’d tired himself enough that night, he chose to walk to the Gateways to return to the Black Tower. The night was cool and the walk didn’t take too long. Soon Jelsa was back on the Tower grounds, making his way steadily toward the Dedicated housing. Running up to the second floor, Jelsa hurried down the hall and entered his and Rodel’s room.

The Tinker was still unconscious when Jelsa entered the room, so he untied the flows that were holding and shielding him. Things would be as comfortable as possible when Rodel woke, so that Jelsa might stand a chance of convincing him of something. The Aiel sat on his bed and watched his friend shuffle restlessly as he slowly began to regain consciousness. Jelsa’s breath caught as the boy finally woke.

“Hello Rodel,” Jelsa said softly.

“What do you want?” he snapped.

“How are you feeling, do you need me to get you anything?”

“There’s little that a traitor like you could do to make me feel better.” The words hurt Jelsa deeply, though he disguised it carefully, looking at Rodel with concern. “Why did you stop me—attack me?”

“I couldn’t let you go, my friend. It would be a likely death if you were caught, and even more certain death if you’d made it to the Blight. I’ve spoken to Asha’man, Warders, and Aes Sedai who’ve been there…there’s little hope that they’ll survive more than a day there, but if we went, we wouldn’t stand any better a chance. The Blight is a very cruel place. The best thing you can do, Rodel, is to stay here with the Tower, and train to be the best you can.”

“You’re telling me to abandon my family and the friends who I’ve known since birth?”

Jelsa sighed, he’d known that this would happen. “Rodel, by the time you get up there, they’ll already be dead. If we Travelled, they’d be dead by the time we actually find them. It’s a lost cause, as much as it hurts me to say it. We lost them the minute they entered that accursed place. The best you can hope for, right now, is to train hard, and seek your vengeance through the Black Tower, as an Asha’man.”

“But-but this means that my whole family is dead…”

“Except you. Unless you want to run up there and get yourself killed as well. Then you entire family line will have been destroyed by that place, and I would be the only person to avenge all of them.” Jelsa attempted something resembling humor, “I already have my first love’s death to scourge the Blight in compensation for; I think adding you and your family would be a spot too much.”

“You really can be tactless at times, you know? Do you understand how it feels to be told that everyone you knew while growing up is doomed to die within the next few days, and there’s nothing you can do about it?”

“No I don’t,” Jelsa admitted. “However, I do understand what it is to lose the woman you love, and every aspect of the life that you’ve always known you’d live. When I came to the Wetlands, the twistings of the Dark One destroyed the truths about my people that I’d believed unshakable, killed my Soulara, and led to my channeling, which forced me out of my Red Shield society. And the family members of mine who are still alive are living in that separate world which I can never rightly rejoin. So, while I can visit them, they will never have quite the same relationship to me.”

“It’s not the same,” Rodel snapped, “and you can’t understand what I’m feeling right now. I don’t care if I die, I just want to try and help my people.”

“I know that! But one thing I do understand is that Vandaran and the rest of them would not want you dying in vain to try to help them. And consider the good that you can do by living, and completing your education as an Asha’man. One day we can fight back the forces of the Dark One everywhere, using the gift that the weavings of the Wheel granted us. Why waste it in a moment of grief and anger? Think of the lives that we can one day save by staying loyal to the Black Tower.”

“Why should I care about being loyal to the Black Tower?” he spat.

“Because it’s our adopted family. I’ve witnessed a great deal that some will do to protect the members of the Tower, and we owe the same to them. We watch out for one another because we share the common cause of the Car’a’carn’s fight against the Dark One. Whether or not you see it, this is our home now. You need to accept that and consider what you mean to do about it. Good night, Rodel. I’m going for a walk. Please don’t leave again, because I will catch you again, with the assistance of an Asha’man or two, and we’ll be none to kind in reclaiming you.”

Without saying another word, Jelsa left the room, walked outside of the building. It was still raining, but the cool drops felt good on his face, seeming to wash away the trouble from earlier. While walking he thought about everything that had happened this evening.

“We get a little too relaxed at times, and need to remember that it doesn’t hurt to hurt once in a while.”

He’d spoken those words to Soldier Kile Delego at the Inn once, explaining the harsh actions of Asha’man Contraxias toward a prankster, and ever since then he’d thought about just how much he meant it. How far was he willing to go for the Tower and its well-being? After nearly two years in the Black Tower, loyalty meant a great deal to him. For the most part, its purposes were his own, its members were his family, and its boundaries demarcated the home that he’d come to know. For the Tower he was willing to do many things, and now was the time to wonder just how much he would give up for it; how much he had already given up for it.