"She comes. She comes. She comes..."

It was far from the first time Xianthea had heard the words intoned, and she doubted it would be the last. Xianthea do Korovni, Aes Sedai of the Violet Ajah, had worn her shawl long enough that her colorless eyes held no more emotion than would chips of glass. Her translucent skin, which helped to lend an ethereal aura to the already ageless face, was marred by not a wrinkle, not a fine line. Rumor had it Xianthea was older than the Tower itself, preposterous as that was, but in reality, she was barely over a century old. Only now approaching middle age for an Aes Sedai.

Her hair, soft as snow and every bit as white, was coiled around her head in a coronet of braids, each twisting into the others until the individual braids were lost. She stood still as a statue, a statue of ice, or perhaps snow-covered marble, not blinking, not turning her head until the Amyrlin's introduction was complete. By rote, Xianthea curtsied, a deep curtsey she had not practiced in many decades. It was a wonder she did not topple onto her head, but somehow, as she swept her pale lavender skirts aside, it all rushed back to her, and she was an Accepted again, spreading her skirts in an arching tribute to a Brown who had pestered her until she was ready to strangle the woman.

"Child, you will never learn anything if you are constantly daydreaming."

Xianthea's head popped up and she looked at Bianadari, one of the few Browns whose head was not commonly in the clouds. Xianthea's face might have colored had she the ability to blush, but the same quirk of nature that had bestowed upon her white hair and colorless eyes had made it all but impossible for anything to put color into her skin. She inclined her head, though, properly abashed, and murmured an apologetic, "Yes, Aes Sedai."

She was far from meek, and never had been. A blacksmith's daughter, she had learned at an early age to ask for what she wanted, and it amazed her how often she got it. That was what had happened here. She had asked to be allowed to study ter'angreal, and the efficient Brown had offered to sit with her while she poured over texts in a language long forgotten by most. Bianadari, however, knew the Old Tongue. She didn't know just a few words as so many nobles did who claimed to speak it fluently. Bianadari knew the Old Tongue, and most of the nuances. One of the few in the Tower who could claim that ability. It was why she was such a marvelous choice for this task, and why Xianthea was lucky to have such a mentor as she.

Xianthea opened her mouth to respond, but Keturah answered first, of course. "Aes Sedai," she said, standing, "I found four fragments of text, dating to the Age of Legends. The first details the selection of an item for the creation of some object of the Power, presumably a ter'angreal. The second is with regards to the..." Xianthea tuned her out. She had no desire to listen to all this again. Keturah was the perfect Brown, and perfect for the Ajah. Xianthea was not. Three hours of studying these texts, and she had found nothing common sense would not have told her anyway.

Xianthea rose from her curtsey, and the formalities began. The Hall was made silent, the necessary precautions made. Then, it began, without preamble, and without prelude.

A Blue spoke first, and Xianthea picked out the Violet Sitters and silently willed them to show solidarity. The Ajah had long been subject to faction, and the last thing they needed right now was to fall into Ajah politics. They needed to be united, to stand firmly against this threat, as they had so often. The Blue's words were suddenly on Xianthea's ears, ringing through her minds like the tolls of a funeral bell. "...novices dead. One Accepted dead. The Holds were breached for the second time in Tower History, and now the question must be raised. I would ask that the Hall allow a report from one who was there, the Violet Sister who knows more about the Holds than any other in the Tower."

Heads swivled towards Xianthea, and she stepped forward, and began speaking by rote. She had planned out what to say, had rehearsed it, and now she spoke it with the same detached tone she used for lecturing. "Just after noon, three weeks past..." The story came out, the shipment of ter'angreal, the gathering of novices to help catalogue, the shielding of the holds to prevent accidents. The story was not that complex, actually, particularly when it was the whole truth she told instead of some edited version of it. The shipment had been a ruse, designed to bring the level of security in the Holds down sufficiently, and then a faction of Darkfriends, including three Black Ajah, had attacked. Novices had been taken hostage, and one of the Accepted, Tamika Ulanti, collared with an a'dam with the intent of using her strength in the attack. The demands had been simple. Xianthea was to release the shield on the Holds, and open the doors, or novices would die. The choice had been simple, the only conscionable option: while the price was high, the life of a novice weighed against the Holds in the hands of the Black Ajah, there was no comparison. And novice after novice had died, sacrificed because Xianthea would not give up the Holds to the forces of the Shadow, whatever the cost. She took full responsibility for those actions. Tamika's death had come at the hands of another channeler, and this was the only time Xianthea's tongue tripped over words which were not the full truth. "There was so much channeling, from all sides... pinpointing where the weave originated would be a feat for a master indeed." And it would have been. Except that Xianthea had not seen the weave touch Curien, who held the a'dam which bound Tamika to her. That Xianthea had not seen the weave marked it saidin, which meant it could have come from one place only, and that was Jak. But she would not bring him into this, not if she could avoid it. All those children had suffered enough.

As she continued the tale, her mind drifted back to another time when the holds had been violated. "Xianthea, you cannot expect them to work past midnight."

They worked into the night, just past midnight. It would be four weeks before they realized that there were items missing from the holds. Three of them. And Xianthea had stood before the Hall of the Sitters and explained, to the best of her ability, how the Holds had been violated for the first time in 3000 years to anyone's knowledge. She had explained how the Ajah formed to prevent precisely that from occurring had allowed it to happen. And she had known even then that the Ajah was on a shaky foundation, one which was stable so long as the winds never changed.

"And thus," she said, her voice betraying not the slightest hint of emotion, "the Holds were attacked, but unsuccessfully. The price was high, but the Holds remained unbreached." The price had been high indeed. How many lives? And the prices still being revealed. To protect the Holds at all costs...

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Xianthea sat in her study, determinedly making notes about the statue on her desk, determinedly not thinking about what was buzzing through the Tower. The Hall had been sequestered for nearly a week, and every hour that they sat behind those closed doors was a step closer to that which no one had thought would happen.

Xianthea knew. She knew in her heart, she remembered it from before, and she knew the signs, but she did not think she had the courage to face it again. Not now, not yet. Not like this. Her colorless eyes seemed a bit more liquid than they normally would, and she tried to tell herself she was not crying. Xianthea did not cry. It accomplished nothing, and she was nothing if not efficient. It was a waste of time and energy to sit and cry over things that could not be changed, and it was a crime to cry over those that could, particularly when one was crying in lieu of acting. She was not crying because she did not cry, and that smear of ink had nothing to do with the moisture in her eyes.

A hesitant knock at her door, and Xianthea looked up. "Come," she called, her voice not nearly so strong as she would have liked it to be.

The door swung open, and in stepped an Accepted, bending into a curtsey that was much deeper than was normal. "Zytka Sedai is calling a meeting of the Violets. Everyone is to be in her study in fifteen minutes, Aes Sedai."

Xianthea's gaze swept the girl, and she nodded. "Thank you, Elza. You may be about your tasks."

At least Elza was not one of the girls who sought to be Violet. Those were the ones for whom Xianthea's heart ached. There were a bare handful who were committed to the Violet Ajah. Very few indeed. There were many who had shown interest, but only a handful who had made any great strides towards it. A few who stood on the brink of earning their shawls, and now all their work was for naught.

No, Xianthea could no longer pretend that this was a dream from which she would wake. She could no longer fool herself into believing it wasn't happening, it wasn't real. She closed her eyes, gathering her strength, then stood, straightened her skirts, and walked over to the shelf by the mantle. She took down a gilded box and set it on her desk, opening it carefully. Inside was her most formal shawl, shimmering white silk embroidered with a fine lattice pattern, tiny pearls holding the fringe in place. She swung it around her shoulders, and slid her fingers along that fringe, watching as the foot-long threads slipped through her hands, a shifting, shimmering, silken melody of indigo and lavender, rich magenta and soft orchid. She straightened her ring, and stepped out into the corridor, spinning a Ward onto her door.

She glided down the hall, her skirts hardly moving as she walked, though the pace she set was not one that was overly gentle. She did not see the bobbing curtsies as she passed, and did not notice the worried looks from novices and Accepted, and did not pause to wonder why there were so many of them in the Violet Halls. Those halls had become something of a spectator event. Everyone wanted to see where it had happened.

Xianthea entered Zytka's study, and her colorless eyes met the Sitter's, and she nodded to the other woman. The study seemed cramped with all the Violet sisters in the Tower and their Warders, and many who had been out of the Tower. The night after the attack, pigeons had flown in every direction, and by sunrise, sisters from every corner of the continent had begun to pour in. The world seemed to be spinning out of control, but in the Violet Ajah, time seemed to stand still.

The door swung closed, a Ward sprang up, and Zytka wasted no words. "I think you all know why we are here. The Hall has reached their decision. The Holds are to be removed to the Browns' jurisdiction, and the Violet Ajah is no more."

Stunned silence hung in the air like the heady perfume of over ripe fruit. Stunned, but not shocked. This was not an announcement, but a confirmation of what everyone, from the lowliest scullery to the Amyrlin herself, must have known was coming. A voice from somewhere behind Xianthea spoke, giving volume to the thought that must have been on every mind. "Effective when?"

Zytka's response was a blade slicing through the rope that held a sinking ship to the pier. "Immediately." A murmur passed through the crowd, and the Ward dropped. First one, then another stirred, and the room emptied slowly. What now?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Xianthea sat in her chair, her knees tucked up under her, a book on her lap. She was tired. She'd never been so tired in all her life. She'd always been the indefatigable Aes Sedai, the one with a boundless supply of drive and energy, but for six days now, she'd hardly stirred from her chair. The book on her lap lay open, but she wasn't reading it, and wasn't even entirely sure there were words on the page. It had been six days since the Violet Ajah had died. Six days of shuffling in the hall, of whisperings in corners. Six days. Xianthea did not know what was going on out there, and she did not want to know. She did not care. For the first time in her life, she did not care what happened. She just didn't have the energy for it, and even if she did, it didn't matter because she was powerless to stop it. She knew something was going on, because she'd seen the Violet's emergency sign hanging on Zytka's door, but even that had not been enough to stoke her curiosity, and she had not attended the informal meeting, though she had known it was taking place. Something wasn't right, but she didn't know what was wrong, and simply did not care.

A knock on the door, and she looked up. "Come," she called, her voice hollow and bland.

The door opened, and an Accepted stepped inside, curtseying hurriedly. "Your presence has been requestedÑ"

"I don't care." Xianthea held up a hand to stop the words, and the Accepted looked at her, plainly stunned.

"But Aes Sedai," she began and Xianthea picked up her book from her lap and hurled it at the door and the young woman standing in it.

"I said I don't care!"

The Accepted had good reflexes, it seemed, and the book stopped midair, hovering in a net of saidar. "The Amyrlin has ordered you are to report to the holds immediately." The girl plucked the book from the air and stepped farther inside, placing it on the table. "Aes Sedai." The honorific was a heartbeat too late, and too deliberate to have been forgotten. That was a child who would go far if she was that unflappable. Close to the shawl, no doubt.

Xianthea sighed softly, and rose. She looked around the room, then stepped out into the corridor. She wore no shawl, though she had dozens in her rooms. She had shawls trimmed with fringe of azure and fringe of amethyst, and she was a part of neither Ajah now. She felt half naked as she stepped into the Holds, her eyes darting towards the doors out of habit, satisfying herself that the Wards were in place, and then spread her skirts in a curtsey before the Amyrlin.

"Mother," she murmured softly. "As you have summoned, so have I come."

When she rose and looked around, she frowned at what she saw. A number of sisters present, a wide array of Ajahs represented, but certainly not every sister in the Tower. And no discernible pattern. Newly raised stood along side those who had held the shawl when Xianthea had been a novice. Strong beside those who could barely channel. An occasional banded dress, as well, now that Xianthea studied the group a bit more closely. More drifted in, and then the doors were shut. Were shut. Not channeled shut. Something was wrong.

"Daughters," the Amyrlin rose from her chair, and Xianthea found her eyes riveted to the once-Green who looked as ready for battle as if she faced a horde of Trollocs, "I have summoned each of you here for a reason. The Holds are under attack again, though this time, it is far more deadly."

Xianthea's eyes darted to the doors of the Holds, and she looked at them for the first time since entering. Her horror was etched visibly on her face, she could feel it there, at what she saw. Those were not the Wards that were supposed to be there. She could see the threads of saidar, and there were places where she could not see threads, but could see where other threads made way for what must be there somewhere. Oh Light...

The Amyrlin was still speaking. "...changed the Wards on the Holds, and left like cowards in the night. You represent the most talented weavers of Wards in the Tower. We must unravel these Wards."

Xianthea's mind swirled. A voice whispered, "But where do we begin?"

And it was a good question. Where did they begin? The Ward, or rather Wards as it looked like those doors had more layers than an onion, were a labyrinth that could level the Tower and still anyone in thirty miles.

"Evacuate." It took a minute for Xianthea to realize that it was she who had spoken, and when she did, she blinked and turned her attention to the others. "Evacuate this section of the Tower, for five floors above and below, and make it known that channeling within fifty paces of the holds carries consequences no one wants to face."

She did not look at the Amyrlin, could not, because something else had dawned on her just now. There was a decided lack of former Violets in that room, and the Violets had long been recognized as the most talented weavers of Wards. That coupled with the emergency symbol on Zytka's door... Zytka. Xianthea's eyes scanned the faces, and she noted with something between fear and disappointment that the Sitter was not present.

"We work in shifts, an hour at a time, linked so that the link need only be passed to the next person..." Xianthea knew this, knew it from her years of experience. She had picked apart many a Ward, even inverted ones, and it was tedious work, usually requiring three Sisters working for the better part of six hors, passing a link between them. Of course, those were Wards that stood to injure or still people within a few feet, not ones that threatened the entire Tower. She pushed that thought aside. A Ward was a Ward, and all could be picked apart, given time and patience and care. Even these.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Four days into it, the Wards were peeling away slowly, one at a time. It was like trying to lift spider webs off thistle bushes, and any wrong move could bring a nest of angry hornets to life. Already, five of the twenty-three sisters who had begun the task had been injured and were resting in the Infirmary. One had burnt herself out. It was with a grim knowledge matched only by an even more grim determination that the remaining women worked, one thread at a time to unravel a mile of lace without ripping it.

Xianthea was exhausted, and she knew the others were as well. There were few who had the temperament to work so diligently and carefully for so long, and even those who did have such a temperament were beginning to show the effects of long hours on end.

Things go wrong. The best-laid plans have faults which are not visible until they become problems. The best battle plan lasts only until the first arrow flies. In every file of knowledge, something is missing, and one must only be prepared to accept that what is missing is the most important piece of information. Once can stare at trees for hours and not see the forest; one can sit on the shore, never noticing the tide creeping in until one drowns. One can pick carefully at saidar for four days without realizing there is a weave of saidin in the midst of it.

There was a warning tremble, then a blast, and the flames crawled up the walls, and smoke billowed through the corridors. It was only a moment before a stampede of boots came clamoring down the corridor, and there were heart-wrenching sobs and gut-gripping moans. Xianthea pushed herself up, and looked around, never dreaming that the puddle of crimson on the floor beneath her hands belonged to her.

A gaping hole in the wall marked the newly created, if quite by accident, entrance to the Holds, the Wards all set off now. The smell of burning flesh, the sickening, metallic scent of blood, the stomach-turning odor of singed hair. It all mingled in the air, hanging as thick as the smoke. Around the room, there were bodies, and pools of blood, and smears of blood, and three other forms moving. Xianthea felt a firm hand under her elbow, and she jerked away from the Warder who was trying to help her up.

"They will pay for this," she hissed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Xianthea sat outside the Hall, her dress a blush off being white. She wore no shawl, and it did not matter. It had been more than three months since the Violets had been disbanded, and she had barely stopped to breathe during that time. Between the Wards, and then hunting down those manipulative women who had the nerve to call themselves Aes Sedai, and Violets at that. They had been brought to justice, every one of them. Stilled and executed, from the Black Ajah Zytka and her Darkfriend Warder, to the simpering fools who said they had the Holds' best interest in mind.

Xianthea did not know what was happening in this meeting of the Hall, and she did not care. What she did know was that she still had her place in the Tower, and it was in the same place it had always been. She would be defending the Holds until the day she drew her last breath, and she would do it from wherever she needed to be. Even if that meant petitioning the Browns for admittance to their Ajah, though it rankled her to no end that Keturah had already done that. She was lost in her thoughts when the door swung open, and Xianthea was beckoned within.

She entered, and curtseyed to the Amyrlin and to the Hall. As she stood before the Hall, she could feel eyes on her, though in a way that she had never felt them before. She was used to being stared at, but never like this. "It would seem, Xianthea, that you have been quite busy."

Xianthea's colorless eyes turned to the Amyrlin, and she did not speak and did not move.

"You have dedicated yourself to the protection of the Holds, have you not?"

This time, Xianthea nodded, but no more.

"And you have proven your dedication to that task, again and again, despite what has been thrown in your path. You have sacrificed much for the safety of the Holds. Why?"

Xianthea spoke without hesitation. "The Holds are the single most valuable concentration of power in the World. In the wrong hands, any four of those items could bring about destruction and horror. With everything behind those doors, the world could be broken again in a blink of an eye, by fewer women than the men who broke it the first time. I would prefer not to see the world broken again."

There was silence; a weighty, deafening, blinding silence, then the Amyrlin spoke again. "There was once an Ajah whose dedication was to see that the world never broke. They did, of course, expect the Breaking to come from men gone mad from the taint on saidin. Tales of that Ajah's bravery and willingness to do what must be done live on, though its shawls have not been seen these many years. I charge you, Xianthea do Korovni, to give it full life once more. An Ajah once more to protect the world from danger--at any cost. I charge you, Xianthea do Korovni, to protect the world from those who would seek to Break it. I charge you, Xianthea do Korovni, to give life back to the Red Ajah."