There had already been trouble for Jelsa, passing through farmland or by villages. Either word of the Shaido had reached here, or the band that he had encountered on the Plains of Moredo was not alone, because they had chased him away from their homes as quickly as they could. Only a great pity for their lack of knowledge kept Jelsa from fighting back when such things happened; instead, he merely continued on his path, ignoring the threats and avoiding the brandished weapons. Today, however, was different. There was a small town just beyond this hill that possessed the only bridge he'd yet seen across this river, thus being his necessary, though unpleasant, route onward. The only problem was that, as he sat among these gigantic trees, greatly bereft of leaves, he began to feel sick. First it was a mere aching his belly, which made sense as he hadn't eaten since yesterday, but then it grew to include pains across the whole of his abdomen and eventually his arms and legs. Sitting there, waiting for the feeling to pass and trying to think of its cause, he grew faint, his vision darkened, and suddenly the ground leapt up to meet him.

Jelsa awoke in the most curious of rooms. He laid on a narrow little bed, against one wall in this tiny room, painted with the most vivid colors. The cabinets were a virulent shade of yellow, the borders a green to make the richest grass pale; everything in the room was in such violent colors that Jelsa began to wonder what bizarre, light-forsaken place he'd been taken to. His curiosity was most rudely answered when a man walked in, the type of person he was more loath to see than one of the Forsaken. Oh light! I've been taken in by the Tuatha'an. This was worse than he could have imagined, it was bad enough seeing them pass through the waste, stuck in their pacifistic ways and mindlessly searching for their Song, but now he was among them, weak and incapable of making his escape. Everything the Car'a'carn had said in the waste, about them being the last remnant of what the Aiel once were, was pounding in his head. He had been able to handle, though with much shock and distress, but seeing the Lost Ones only aggravated it.

“So you're finally awake,” the Tuatha'an man said, showing Jelsa a somewhat strained smile. “We were afraid for a while that you weren't going to wake up. You've been asleep for a day since we found you, screaming at people I can only guess are enemies and feebly rolling about; but then you fell silent, about eight hours ago and hardly even breathed. You definitely had us worried,” his forehead furrowed momentarily before his eyes lit up with a seemingly inextinguishable brightness. “But now you are awake, and just in time for supper. My name is Vandaran Tuina; I am the Mahdi of this band, and I welcome you to my fires to eat. Come, none are turned away and we never let a sick man go hungry. So, either you come willingly, or my wife will come in here and force-feed you.” He laughed deeply and richly at that, as if it were some wonderful joke. Perhaps the Tuatha'an had added wetlander humor to their list of strange behaviors.

He hesitated before responding, but then, the man had shown Jelsa naught but kindness and courtesy, and it would only serve to dishonor him if Jelsa didn't say anything. “I am Jelsa tel'Amarant of the Cold Stones Sept of the Taardad Aiel, may you find water and shade this day.”

“Finding water should be little trouble in these lands, my friend, and shade is certainly in an abundance. Now if you could rustle up a batch of honeycakes with some strawberries and clotted cream, now that would be a different story. But enough of such talk! Come now, let's go eat.”

Stumbling outside, Jelsa was met with everything from a few suspicious and almost cold stares to warm embraces and words of welcome. He met red-haired Talia, Vandaran's wife whose green eyes burned like the sun at noon, and Rhyn their son smiled brightly beneath a curtain of black hair, much like his father's, with his mother's eyes. He was greeted by Saskia who seemed to dance with every step, casting her silky black hair about with a joyous laugh as she flung herself about Jelsa's neck (nearly knocking him over) in what he later learned was her standard greeting for any stranger; he also met young Zahra, an aspiring musician and singer whose talent with the dulcimer and flute were the best he'd ever heard, and whose voice would put a nightingale to shame. It was a seemingly endless stream of faces, all with the same bright clothes, the mild temperaments, and the cheerful demeanors. The food was excellent, so much so that he had to stop himself after the third serving, and the dancing and music that followed was hypnotic to say the least.

If not for their greatly divergent lifestyles, Jelsa could have had more fun with them; if not for his obligations elsewhere, he might have stayed a while with them. But then, according to the secrets of Rhuidean that the Car'a'carn had revealed, he should be with them. Still, he had taken oaths as a warrior, and he had placed his loyalty in He Who Comes at Dawn, and his loyalty was not lightly given and taken. He had said that he would follow him to the Last Battle, in proper Aiel fashion, and so he would. Besides, a few weeks with them would drive me crazy, Jelsa explained to himself, I mean, who could stand nothing but wandering, dancing, and eating. I would soon long for the thrill of combat and the need to hone my newfound skill in the power.

As it was, Jelsa resided with the caravan for a few days, successfully passing through the town without incident and passing over the border into Andor. But the time came when Jelsa felt he had to go his own way, searching for the Black Tower in the wilderness of this land. It was the evening of his last day with the Tuatha'an that Jelsa brought this up with Vandaran. He told the man all that he knew about the Tower, about his probable future there, and his reasons for going.

“Well, I don't know where it is, my boy, and I certainly wish I could discourage you from going into so heartless a career. One of our own went there, not more than five months ago; we lose a few of our number once in a while, some to more questionable lifestyles than others. We saw him helping those black-coated demons recruit in a village a week and a half ago. He was joyless and distant, tried to pretend he didn't see us, though I'm not certain I would have spoken much to him if he had. But he was changed, a machine rather than a man; his eyes didn't hold their old sparkle; his smile seemed long forgotten, replaced by a knowing grimace. He lost everything that he was, and I fear the same for you. You are not like the rest of your kind that I have met, you have a mind in you that can see beyond your precepts and is not locked into a set form. I pray that you'll not lose it, for your sake, and everyone else's.”

Jelsa lay back on the log, gazing up at the clear stars above. He knew the constellations by pet names he and his sister had given them as a child. There was the Maiden, so named because she held her spear and stood above the forms of the Red Shield and the Thunderwalkers. Looking at them gave him a longing for his childhood home, for a simpler time when all he had to worry about was if he would one day be a Clan Chief. I cannot lose what I am. I am Aiel, and I am a faithful follower of the Car'a'carn unto the Pit of Doom itself. If I lose that than I cease to be, and life might as well be over.

“You don't need to worry about me, Vandaran Tuina, for I shall not lose that battle. And you must have heard of the firm determination Aiel have. More important however, is the question, what will you do now?”

Vandaran looked to the heavens; that had become the evening tradition these last three days: travel, eat, and dance during the day; stargaze and discussion life in the evening. Something troubled him though, for he searched the stars almost desperately. “The world needs the Song dearly, to escape these woes and all this violence, in order to return to the ways of old, when all was peaceful and right. I believe I can do this, I believe I know where the Song is. It is a dangerous road, but our sacrifice would be small compared to the benefits everyone would reap. It needs to be done, I must do it.”

Jelsa sat up, curious where Vandaran intended to go, “Where do you think the Song is?”

“The Green Man, the guardian of all things that grow, kept a garden in the Blight. It is heralded a place of beauty and peace, where anyone can reflect and find satisfaction in themselves. That is also what I believe the Song will do for humanity. So, if the logic follows, the Green Man may well use the Song in his work.” Vandaran hesitated for a moment, “Now, I have heard the rumors that the Green Man died, fighting a great evil. But even if that is the case, his garden should live for at least a while longer, and surely the Song would still resonate in all the plants and the very air itself.”

“A dangerous plan to say the least. How will you find the garden? Do you know where it is, or will you wander about searching, as I must. Only in a much more hostile place.”

Vandaran seemed frustrated, “No, I do not know where it lies, but we must find it, and many stories have it making itself available to any who seek it with great need.”

Now Jelsa was feeling anger. They will get themselves killed if they aren't careful. “But Vandaran Tuina, with this Way of the Leaf, you will be like lambs in a hostile land; ripe, innocent, and vulnerable. Please reconsider, or at least seek a guard from one of the Borderlands.”

“Never!” Vandaran really was angry now. “You don't understand it do you? This is what we are; peace and faith are what we are. If we change that, then we truly are lost. Any outsider we bring with us, who doesn't understand or follow the Way of the Leaf, will only soil our mission with his disbelief and his violent ways. If we must venture into the mouth of the beast to achieve our goal, then it must be done for the good of all. If I should die, I will account my life well spent and accept the will of the Wheel, as it should be. Good night, Jelsa.” Without another word, Vandaran strolled into his wagon. Jelsa just lay on the log, seeking answers in the stars for quite some time. When the sun came up, he helped the young girls prepare breakfast, a feast of parting, as it were.

There was an abundance of fruits, bread, butter, honey, juices, and tea. It seemed that these people sought to turn the sorrowful event of leaving into a joyous feast of excess. The morning itself was cool and tranquil, the birds sang and there were a few clouds in the sky. All in all, Jelsa could not have imagined a more pleasant day to set about searching the wetlands. Jelsa was only buttering his second piece of warm bread when Vandaran approached him. “I see you, Vandaran Tuina,” Jelsa said, rising to greet the man.

“Good morning Jelsa,” the man said with a quick smile. “Now I ask you one last time, would you please change your way? Go home, stay with us, anything, so long as you don't go to that accursed place.”

Jelsa sighed, “I must go to the Tower, so that I don't become a danger to myself and others, and so that I can offer real assistance during Tarmon Gaidon. But I beg you to reconsider your own path. The Blight is somewhere that my own people put great efforts into preparing for, it is not a place lightly ventured into.”

“You know I must go, please don't try to stop me. But you must promise me something.”

“What is it?” Jelsa asked.

Vandaran looked sadly into Jelsa's eyes, “Promise me that you will not let them destroy you, that you will hold on to what you are.”

“I will try my best.”

“No,” Vandaran said firmly. “There will be no trying, you will do this.”

“I will.” After that, there was an event very similar to what Jelsa went through on his first day among the Tuatha'an. Everyone came up to him and said goodbye, shaking his hand, hugging him, or kissing his cheeks. Considering how much affection an Aiel typically shows in public, this was rather awkward and a little embarrassing to say the least, but it was their custom, so Jelsa was able to justify it to himself. Before the sun was halfway to its zenith, he had departed to the northwest to search the wilderness of Andor for this Black Tower.

* * *

Five months of scouring the Andorran landscape had proved futile. A thousand rumors sent him in a zigzagging path, often repeating areas before he caught himself. He had examined a good map of the lands extending from the Dragonwall to the Aryth Ocean while he was in Cairhien. If he closed his eyes right now, he could still see it, every detail intact, every city named. How it frustrated him that many of the farmers he'd asked (the ones who hadn't chased him off) often didn't even know much of the land beyond the next town, or even their neighbors' lands. These wetlanders were a sorry lot.

How could anyone live without knowing the layout of their homeland; how could you approve or disapprove of your leader's choices if you couldn't comprehend where the lands they dealt with lay beyond the vaguest reckoning with a gesture to the east or south? Jelsa should have expected poor intelligence concerning the Black Tower from these people, yet he still followed their directions, desperately hoping that this one might get it right. So far, this method had taken him to within sight of Whitebridge, up the Manetherendrelle, then slowly meandering east until he reached his current location a day or two out of Caemlyn.

It had taken a month and a half, but Jelsa no had a decent handle on his channeling. Not to say that he had any degree of grace or ability in doing it, but he could embrace the source of his own accord and could differentiate between the different threads. Empowered by this control, Jelsa was strongly tempted to give up and join the Legion of the Dragon, so near to Caemlyn as he was. But what would that say of his strength and resolve? As it was, Jelsa feared he would receive a healthy scolding from his sept's Wise Ones for having abandoned the army, without adding such weak-willed behavior as that to his sins. Today had been a real test of his resolution, though.

Jelsa had grown nervous, drawing so close to Caemlyn, that he had missed the Tower yet again. For this reason, he was glad to see a small village where he might ask about it; the expectation being that this close to the royal capital, with all of the Aiel there, the less fearful the locals would be of a lone Aiel. So went the expectation.

In actuality, the villagers had been jumpy from the first introduction, but they were perfectly tolerant. He had found three people chatting on the main street through the village. Two men and a woman, they all had light brown hair and ruddy tanned skin, and were all clad quite roughly in coarse wool. They had given their names in a manner imitating the Aiel fashion that he had given, and had attempted to make small talk as to what brought him through their area when he asked them about the Black Tower. In the blink of an eye, the edgy but friendly villagers turned decidedly rude. “So you're one of those, are you?” Derik said as his brother caught the swooning Madeline and gently set her on the grass. “I should have guessed, really. No other reason for your kind to be out here 'cept starting another war. Well I won't stand for it! You may burn me up with your dark powers, but I won't give up easily, and neither will Dan or our friends.”

Before Jelsa fully comprehended what was happening, a dozen or so angry men were chasing him with pitchforks, swords, and slings. Only a desire to keep another wetlander story of the evil Aiel from spreading kept him from fighting back. Instead, Jelsa ran with all of his might, easily outpacing the mob. Stones flying off from a sling go a little faster, though, and he made it back to his camp with bruises all about his body and what he suspected to be a cracked rib. It was a relief for Jelsa to set himself down on the ground and relax. Soon enough, the soothing sounds of the forest, coupled with the gentle warmth of the fire, convinced Jelsa to take a nap.

He was awoken by a sharp jolt to his thigh. Sitting up as quickly as he could, Jelsa came face to face with a young girl. She rested on her knees, looking at him with a strange curiosity, as one would have examining some dangerous creature. Her green eyes betrayed her fear, but she made no move to run. Her skin was coppery, not tanned, and her face was definitely something to make men look twice. With a small smile she brushed her black hair away from her eyes and spoke.

“Hello, good sir. I'm Rowena, Rowena Truesta.”

“Jelsa tel'Amarant of the Cold Stones Sept of the Taardad Aiel. May you find water and shade this day, Rowena Truesta.” Trying to decide what to say was difficult. He didn't wish to frighten her off with talk of the Black Tower, but he did need to know. Then again, her complexion told more plainly than anything else that she wasn't from around here; perhaps she wouldn't know. Before he could choose his small talk, she addressed him.

“Well, I'm pleased to meet you, Jelsa, and I notice that you're hurt. If you don't mind, I'd like to give you a hand with that.”

Before anyone could do anything, a woman came marching out of the trees, eyes locked on the girl. She was an odd person, her dress simple brown cloth, something to expect on a rustic or someone who couldn't afford finer, but her posture and expression spoke of pride and self-possession to give a Wise One a run for her money. Her expression. It looked wrong, but not for the slight scowl; no that wasn't it. When he tried to place an age to her, he realized he couldn't. That was it, she was Aes Sedai, a fact that was confirmed by the ring she revealed on her right hand as she pointed at Rowena.

“There you are. Whatever inspired you to go running off like that? I had Kris tracking you for half the afternoon, and it's lucky he found you when he did, fetching me in time to stop the village women from chasing you down and teaching you a lesson. Though, upon reflection, perhaps I should've.” She took a breath and it caught when her eyes met his. She hadn't even noticed me! She seemed to take all of him in for a moment: his clothes, his hair, his eyes, everything. “Light, what do we have here? An Aiel unless I'm very much mistaken. Well, you need not be afraid, lad, my name is Karin Sedai of the Brown Ajah and I am most pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“I am Jelsa tel'Amarant of the Cold Stones Sept of the Taardad Aiel, as I just told your young friend here. Your presence honors me, Karin Sedai.” He felt obliged to do more than that, and a bow was the first thing that came to mind. It wasn't exactly a successful endeavor, bowing from a seat on the ground, but perhaps the effort would count for something.

She continued examining him, so thoroughly that Jelsa started to feel exposed, sitting here on the ground. She must have noticed his slight wince as he shifted, or maybe it was the bruise on his left cheek, because a look of concern came into her face as she said, “My ability with Healing may not be fantastic, but allow me to see to your injuries.” She did something, standing a few paces back from him, something with the One Power. His arms pebbled as if a freezing breeze had passed over him and he gave a slight shudder. Light that's uncomfortable! But what is she doing? And why? Unable to stand wondering, he asked. “What did you do?”

A puzzled look crossed her face, as if she didn't know. “I did nothing more than embrace the source. I would need to touch you to Heal your wounds. Your reaction, however, would be indicative of something else entirely, unless I am sorely mistaken. Let me see.”

Whatever she did, or stopped doing, worked. The feeling went away, his skin relaxed and Jelsa was a little more at ease. He was beginning to wonder what she was doing when the sensation came back. It seemed even worse this time, though his logically senses told him the feeling was no worse. It was strange, he had not been this disturbed when his sister and her fellow Maidens had put itchroot in his beddings. Karin Sedai took on a very pleased smile. “That's what I thought. You see, I have a friend in the Black Tower, a former lord who possessed an impressive library and love for knowledge. Well, he and I were discussing methods of detecting channeling at an inn, not too long ago. He told me of a most curious reaction to embracing Saidar that male channelers have, that you had my good Aiel.”

A quiet squeak drew Jelsa's attention to Rowena, who looked as if she had seen the Dark One himself. Her horrorstruck eyes darted from him to the Aes Sedai, and she stammered a bit before she got the words out. “Do you mean to say that Jelsa can channel?”

Well, now she knew. She didn't seem to be taking it too terribly, perhaps she could tell him where the Tower was. If she didn't know, the Aes Sedai surely would. “It's true,” Jelsa told them. “I've been channeling for about five months now.”

What had previously been a series of squeaks with each of Rowena's breathes erupted into a shrill, almost deafening, scream. Wetlanders could be most amusing at times. The girl jumped up and ran into the trees, stopping with a strongly built man, Karin's warder, probably. As soon as she was settled down, Karin Sedai walked up to Jelsa and placed her hands on his head. “I'm going to Heal you now. It won't be the most pleasant experience of your life, but it will take away all of your injuries.” A wall of cold suddenly enveloped him, as if the air itself had frozen to him. His arms flailed without encouragement, his legs twitched. The moment stretched on for an eternity. Without warning, it was over and he was leaning against her, desperate for breath and feeling quite weak. “The weakness will soon pass, but I would recommend that you eat a hearty meal. All of the strength for that came from you and it can be quite wearying.”

“Thank you, Karin Sedai.” Jelsa sat back on his heels, embarrassed by the feebleness that had had him resting against her. Well, it was now or never. She had mentioned a friend in the Black Tower, so she surely knew where it was. All that was left was to ask. “Pardon my asking, Karin Sedai, but where exactly is the Black Tower. I've been searching for it for these last five months to no avail. If you could give me a location, I would be most appreciative.”

“Of course, Jelsa.” She smiled at him in an almost motherly manner. “I'm always glad to help someone of either tower. In fact, I'll show you right where it is, on the map I have back in my saddle pack. But, in return, I'd ask that you convey a letter to my friend for me.”

“Gladly.” Jelsa couldn't help but smile as they walked back to her horse. When she showed him the location, no too far from where he was now, he could not believe his luck. He had come surprisingly close several times, but now he would be there inside the week. Before this time tomorrow if he could help it. He was going to the Black Tower; he would be trained in the service of the Car'a'carn.