990 NE

Nicola watched the action before her, the avid appreciation plain on the features of her face. The performers, a man and a woman currently, wore thin silk of the most pure white, from the slippers on their feet to the transparent veils clinging to the bottom halves of their faces. They danced with a passion rarely seen, except by those lucky enough to have experienced it first hand in the privacy of their own quarters. The group of nobles had gathered in one of the luscious gardens of the Panarch’s Palace, offering their full attention to the performance. The Panarch herself, seated beside Nicola, had invited both the selected nobles and the dancers at the young Aes Sedai’s advice. Some of the guests were poised to make great strategic movements among the other noble houses, others were already settled in their lofty position, and everyone in attendance had participated in many meetings like this, disguised in masks. Smugglers could be found anywhere in Tarabon, and they were not rare these days.

Clad in her own scarlet silk, the dark haired woman cast a glance over at Zurir, dressed in matching red baggy trousers and coat embroidered with thread of gold. The Sea Folk man smiled back at his Aes Sedai from beneath his thin veil, causing her heart to flip flop. They’d first met when he was known as Zurir din Calai Whitewater of clan Takana. They’d met in Cairhien and now, half a world and a decade later, they were in Tarabon sniffing out potential Darkfriends. The Panarch was aware that her new advisor was a woman of Tar Valon, her man her Gaidin. She respected both, outfitting both with anything they needed, including safeguarding their identities. According to the others, this was an afternoon party, an opportunity to drink, be entertained, and forget about the worldly troubles and the ever-present heat. Nicola signaled for one of the Panarch’s servants to attend her, accepting a fresh glass of wine from the tray the child held. They were all dressed the same; white dresses belted in green with a tree on the left breast atop the outline of a trefoil leaf, and a linen veil scraped almost as sheer as silk. The moment would have been something she would have dreamed of during her days of childhood in Mayene, but even she wouldn’t have been able to imagine such a lovely afternoon, though spent with such debauched people. I

nstead of thinking about the present, Nicola watched the raised platform before her and reminisced of the past. Her hardest days were yet to come, she knew, sooner rather than later.

999 NE

The afternoon was heavy with heat and humidity. It was usually cooler in Cairhien than places like Ebou Dar, Illian, or Bandar Eban, but the only difference Nicola could tell was the clothing. The people of the Foregate were dressed in shabby, but colorful clothing, carousing happily. Despite the heat, noblewomen were wearing rich velvet dresses with skirts wider than the average doorway, marked horizontally with the colors of their houses, and noblemen wore trousers and caps of velvet – though some were also going bare-chested, to Nicola’s clandestine delight. These she watched surreptitiously from the corner of her eye. Before, during, and after her training in the White Tower, the native Mayener had never had a boyfriend. That is, to say, she’d never strayed from her studies long enough to keep a man’s attention long enough. There were more important things to do. That didn’t stop her from appreciating a handsome man when he came along. The Cairhienin fashion provided some relief from the heat, at least, allowing the Green Aes Sedai to pile her chocolate curls on top of her head. Even though it was difficult to restrain her curls so, the higher the better for these people. What a headache.

“Miss! Miss! Would the fair lady like a piece of jewelry? A pair of firedrop earrings, perhaps, to bring the young man calling?” the Foregate was alive with people. Merchants were avidly selling their wares, the nobles were buying them, and the commoners were going about their business and enjoying the street shows.

“Rugs! Fine rugs! Straight from Arad Doman! Selling cheap!”

“Relics! One hundred percent genuine relics of The Dragon Reborn, the Lord of the Morning! Hurry now to get your piece of the rubble from the Stone of Tear while I’ve still got it!”

“Tabac! Fine tabac!”

“Lace, needles, tea, pots! All your household needs! Pins, cloth, tea, thimbles, silk!” Nicola was tempted to stop and see what kind of quality silk the last peddler was selling, but forced herself to move on.

“Yet one shall be born to face the Shadow, born once more as he was born before and shall be born again, time without end. The Dragon shall be Reborn, and there shall be wailing and gnashing of teeth at his rebirth. In sackcloth and ashes shall he clothe the people, and he shall break the world again by his coming, tearing apart all ties that bind!” The unmistakable boom of a Gleeman’s voice echoed over the crowd, piercing through the din of the throng around her. Nicola gravitated toward that voice, transfixed by the compelling prophecy of the Karaethon Cycle. When she finally caught sight of the graying man through the multitude of heads in front of her, her practiced eyes could see that the talented man was actually quite bored – he’d been telling the prophecies of the Dragon a number of times since the rumors had begun spreading that The Sword That Could Not Be Touched had, in fact, been removed from the Stone of Tear by mortal hands. “ - yet shall the Dragon Reborn confront the Shadow at the Last Battle,” the man continued, his eyes dull while his voice fell and rose, pulsing with the life of a practiced storyteller, “and his blood shall give us the Light. Let tears flow, O ye people of the world. Weep for your salvation."

The audience applauded, cheered, and called for more while the Gleeman bowed from his perch on the back of a wagon, fluttering his patched cloak behind him. It almost seemed too appalling, but if Nicola had to guess, she would have to say that someone, or a number of someones, had trapped the poor man there, begging him to perform. She wasn’t terribly worried – a Gleeman was capable of defending himself, and the only weapon that prevented him from taking his leave was his own vanity.

“More!”

“Tell us about the Breaking!”

“Tell us about the Horn of Valere!”

Nicola took pity on the poor man and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Tell us The Thousand Tales of Anla, the Wise Counselor!” The crowd tried to overrule her request, but the Gleeman, with a wide grin of appreciation, immediately flung out his cloak in a majestic motion and began telling of the Wise Counselor. By the time he was finished, he would have delivered a magnificent story and have earned a well-deserved reprieve.

“Mistress,” Nicola felt a tug on her sleeve and looked down to see a young woman, barely more than a child, “Books, Mistress! As many books as the Sun Palace itself!” the child was only repeating what she’d been told to say, not expecting an Aes Sedai for an audience. As much to quiet the child’s boasting as anything, the Aes Sedai followed the girl into the bookshop. It was rather small to one accustomed to the White Tower library – probably one of the largest in the Foregate, nonetheless. The shelves were filled with everything from bawdy verses to thick volumes of written historical accounts – she would have to tell Ralyse Sedai about this shop; if she could hold a conversation with the woman for five minutes without setting her skirts on fire, that is. A thin man, a least a hand shorter than Nicola, emerged from the back, wiping his hands on his apron. “A lovely selection, Master..?”

“Oh, please mistress, they call me Owen. After my father’s father, you see. A great man, he was – he was a soldier, though. Likely never read a book in his life,” the owner of the book shop showed a toothy grin and ran a hand through his scraggly hair before wiping his hands on his apron again. Nicola almost didn’t bother correcting his assumption of illiterate armies – the supposition that just because war was often senseless, the armies were also never ceased to tire the young Aes Sedai. She just opened her mouth to correct the man when a particular section of books, apparently concentrating on the theory and psychology of battle caught Nicola’s attention, and she became so engrossed in perusing one book, The Aiel Execution, that she hardly noticed the shop owner had begun speaking again. To see a book of this nature in Cairhien – to see a book like this at all! – was quite a treasure! “- and what with all this natter of a new Dragon being about, every whisper more disturbing than the last, of course, and the Sea Folk being in the harbor on top of that. Things have been very exciting around here, very exciting indeed. We’re down to the very last of our stock until another shipment arrives next week – why, I haven’t seen that book before. I apologize very much, mistress, I’ve no idea how it came to be here – most upsetting…”

After half an hour of being shown what must have been every book in the building – herded away from the embarrassment of such a book about the war that killed the proud King Laman - Nicola finally bought a book of rather vulgar poems for Jezebel Sedai, another Green at the White Tower who made an art of enjoying men. She would absolutely adore Nicola, and gush over the book for weeks. Hopefully she wouldn’t also feel the need to share. After debating with herself for some time, and then spending an exorbitant amount of time convincing the shop owner that she wasn’t offended by the book’s nature, Nicola finally purchased The Aiel Execution for herself, as well.

Much later, Nicola stepped out onto the paved street, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. She wasn’t sure exactly how long she had spent in that book shop, but she had an inkling; and if she ever told Jezebel, it would surely shock the Source out of her. Despite the mental exercise taught to every Aes Sedai to ward off the temporary physical effects of weather, it felt as though the sweat was dripping off of her, and she imagined that where there was one stray curl, others would follow. She wanted very little more than to strip naked and dive into the Alguenya River to soak for relief.

“Excuse me, Aes Sedai.” A young man brushed past her, and Nicola caught a hint of dark skin and long, dark hair before he disappeared in the crowd around her. Wait… Aes Sedai? She wasn’t wearing her Great Serpent Ring, and hadn’t for the entire duration of her stay in Cairhien. It remained secure in a purse tied beneath her skirts – where no bloody light fingers was apt to lift it from! Setting her jaw, Nicola surged forward, pushing her way through people going about their daily business. Had he turned? Gone down an alleyway, or inside a building? In this sort of crowd, he could be on the other side of the street and it would be almost impossible for her to know. Nicola stopped and glanced around briefly before continuing to fight her way through the masses of the Foregate. She rushed past a parade of giant puppets, catching sight of a dark-skinned man in baggy breeches held by a narrow, bright green sash among the large figures. “Hey!”

After hearing her outcry the Sea Folk man turned, regarding her solemnly. He bowed respectfully in such a way that made Nicola suspect that she hadn’t misheard what he’d called her only a few moments before. With an ease that ever continued to fill her with a sense of wonder, Nicola embraced the Source, preparing to wrap the man in bonds of Air. There was one sort of person that would know what she was: the sort that deserved to be dragged to Tar Valon to face justice. She was far from being among the strongest in the Tower – a feat that was becoming less and less impressive, these days – but she excelled at Battleweaves. Saidar was unnecessary, however. The man remained in place while she approached. “Who are you?” It was a demand, not a question.

“My name is Zurir din Calai Whitewater, Cargomaster of the Free Runner of clan Takana,” the Sea Folk man – Zurir – bowed slightly as Nicola nodded her head in greeting. There was respect between the Atha’an Miere and the White Tower, no authority.

“I am Nicola,” she hesitated only slightly before continuing in a much softer voice, “Nicola Sedai of the Green Ajah from the White Tower. I suspect, however, that I am not telling you anything you haven’t heard already, Zurir. You have one minute to explain.”

Instead of looking afraid, or at least alarmed to some extent, Zurir simply smiled a slow, sensuous smile that hinted at a shared secret. Nicola’s heart skipped a beat. “Let’s get some lunch, shall we?” Nicola narrowed her eyes at the dark-skinned man before inclining her head slowly, maintaining her hold on Saidar while following him to The Way of the Boar inn, near to the Janghai Gate. It wasn’t a long walk, but it was a chore to pick ones way through the mob. They were greeted at the door of the common room by a portly woman of middle age who was all smiles and quickly shown a private dining room.

“We have a lovely pork with yellow peppers and – “ Zurir held up a hand, silencing the woman, “that sounds fine. We would like some wine, as well.” The woman bobbed a curtsey and left the room, leaving Nicola to consider the man sitting opposite her with dark brown eyes. She was accustomed to the pecking order of Tar Valon – women were treated with tremendous honor, assured her own safety even on the streets at night time. Seeing a man command such respect with the wave of a hand was very strange for the Aes Sedai who spent almost her entire life in the White Tower.

Zurir leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his loose shirt. “Many years ago I met a woman. She looked no older than you yourself, had the amazing ability to make you do whatever she wanted with no force other than spoken word – and she could make you think you were doing what you had intended to all along, too. I found out much later that she was at least five times my age, which rather impressed me the most, at first. She also had a special gift, this woman, to speak of what was to come.” At this point, Nicola, too, was leaning forward in her seat. Zurir was plainly describing a woman who could Channel, and had the Talent of Foretelling. That in itself was something of note. If this man had witnessed a Foretelling, that was remarkable, too. However…

“Where would you have met a woman with the Foretelling? None of the Sea Folk Aes Sedai have the Talent – there are very few living Aes Sedai with that Talent at all... Only one I know of, and she’s – not exactly available to civilian visitors. Not that she would be willing to meet with you, anyway,” Nicola snorted. The man smiled again, but this time it seemed almost patronizing – somewhat annoying.

“Your Sea Folk women are not the only Atha’an Miere who can Channel the One Power, Aes Sedai, and not that it matters, but do you truly find me so offensive that your Foreteller would outright refuse to see me?” At that moment, the woman entered the room, moving with surprising speed for her size, serving each of the table’s occupants a glass of wine. Left to chew on some very disturbing news, Nicola waited impatiently while the woman fussed about the room, setting out a plate of cheese and fruit, taking an occasional worried glance at the Aes Sedai’s thunderous face. When she was finished, the stout woman made haste to leave, again bobbing a curtsey at the door.

“Nothing against you, Zurir,” Nicola reached for the wine, suddenly realizing not only how thirsty, but how starving she was. The Aes Sedai had broken her fast early that morning, and spent much too long in the book shop. “The woman is a Red. She not only despises men, but I suspect she has a grudge against everyone but the bloody Queen of Andor. Enough about that – are you telling me that the Sea Folk have been lying to the White Tower for almost eight hundred years?” The man smiled an awful lot for a Sea Folk Cargomaster.

“Of course not,” he was practically laughing! “Have you ever heard an Atha’an Miere admit that those sent to the White Tower were the only ones? Forgive me for being so bold as to suggest that you made it easy for us, Aes Sedai; your Tower made the assumption, we simply didn’t correct you.”

“For eight hundred - !” Nicola interrupted herself by bringing her wine glass to her lips and not removing it until it was empty. When that was done, she promptly went about refilling the flute. The man sitting across from her remained composed, smiling.

“I suppose I should continue with my story, then,” Nicola inclined her head, indicating her agreement while Zurir sampled his wine, sighing in satisfaction when he did so. “I particularly enjoy blueberry wine. This woman, she often did nothing special, other than her meddlesome habit of manipulating us into doing whatever she wanted. Every so often, however – no more often than three or four full cycles of the moon did she do this, if that – she would simply stop, go dead all over…” Zurir went limp at that moment, obviously mimicking what the woman would do when a moment of Foretelling would overtake her.

“It was never anything of great import, but we didn’t know that. We never understood anything she said until the time came for that thing to come to pass,” he said, coming to life again to retrieve his wine glass. “But one day there was a terrible storm I was on duty on deck, she was supposed to be below.” Zurir looked down at his hands, clenching on top of the table. His smile faltered for the first time. “I saw her coming toward me, told her to return below deck – she was not safe. The look on her face, I am ashamed to say, alarmed me. The storm was powerful, but she had woven more powerful winds before.” The strange man before her paused again and took a deep breath before continuing. Nicola was intrigued by the story, but she couldn’t help but wonder why this man, a high-ranking member of a Sea Folk clan, was divulging all of this to her. The Atha’an Miere was known to be as closed-mouth a people as the Ariel, and almost as solemn. “This gift, the Foretelling, had come upon her again; this time her gift was for me. Translated from the Old Tongue, it means;

“She wanted to train with Rima, our Windfinder. Elenja never told us how she figured out our Windfinder could Channel, but she promised it had been all on her own – swore on the light, the Three Oaths, and her hope of being reborn all in the same breath. Rima raged aboard the Free Runner for a week before deciding to allow the woman on the ship,” the smile appeared again, but his eyes were distant and fond, as though he were thinking of a favorite sister. Nevertheless, it caused her heart to go pitter-patter. “She was dedicated, to be sure, sticking through everything Rima put her through. No one on the ship made anything any harder on that woman than necessary – not that we helped her with her work, mind you. She wouldn’t have allowed us if we tried, but… That night she collapsed into my arms, dead with not a single mark upon her body. Not even Rima’s fiercest rage didn’t give that woman pause…”

That day Zurir set in motions that would begin the fulfillment of the final prophecy uttered by the Tar Valon woman who fell dead in his arms that stormy night. After they dined at The Way, Zurir escorted Nicola to her own inn, where she immediately prepared a letter to the White Tower to formally notify the Amyrlin of the death of Elenja Sedai of the Brown Ajah.