The Wayward Heron
An alternate timeline to the Wheel of Time.
In this world, the events of the Eye of the World ended abruptly before they could truly begin. The death of a companion throws The Wheel off balance, Rand never quite makes it out of the Two Rivers and many of the characters we love were forced onto path's of their own, a base reflection of their true destinies.
The world moved on without the Dragon, twenty years passing since the events of Winternight. The Seanchan land to the west and establish a foothold on the continent, the White Tower rises to oppose the invaders while the rest of the nations try to remain neutral. The two powerful forces eventually find themselves locked in a stalemate, with armies and channelers poised along the border between West and East.
The Aiel remained in the waste, with no Car'a'carn to lead them.
The Dark One, with no Dragon to oppose him and in no rush to break free from his prison and spur a unification of the armies of the light, spent those decades further building the forces of Darkness. Now, with the blight filled to breaking point with Shadowspawn and the nations of man splintered -their focus upon one another rather than the imminent threat looming to the north- the Dark One begins his campaign to crush humanity.
Moiraine and Siuan's carefully laid plans have come to nothing, the prophecy which they witnessed having seemingly failed. Some few devoted Aes Sedai pour over scrolls and research, trying to understand why the Dragon has not yet risen to fulfill the prophecies.
One such Aes Sedai stumbles upon an astonishing truth, that the Dragon had risen twenty years before, unknown to the world, and unknown to the world the savior of the light had passed from this cycle of the pattern.
With no hope of surviving the imminent war to come, a seemingly impossible plan is hatched. Right the wrong, return the Wheel to its path.
Save the Dragon.
This project began as an outlet, yet over the course of its writing it has become something I believe worth pursuing. Thank you to those who read the initial version, this version has been edited slightly and more content added to the beginning chapters to provide a more solid foundation for the rest of the story.
Thank you for reading.
Chapter One
The wind blew across the Mountains of Mist, pulling fresh snow along in its wake to dance along the grey stone. It blew onwards, down the mountain and into the forest of pine which bent dutifully to its sovereignty. A few of the trees' toughened needles blew free to accompany the wind as it tore down through the dense branches of the forest and into the valley of the Two Rivers, passing empty fields which should have held crops of wheat and barley to the height of a man's boots by now.
Farmers looked up from their work attending cows, pulling trowels behind stubborn donkeys, their keen affinity with the land left them nervous. The land was being as stubborn as those donkeys; crops refusing to take root, the edge of winter hanging on for far too long, and wolves had been reported at the edges of many farms, something not seen for a generation.
Onwards the wind blew through the small village of Emond's Field, here aiding the good-wives and house mistresses in their washing lines; drying moisture from the carefully soaked garments that had been pulled from storage trunks in preparation for this night. Bel Tine had come to the Two Rivers, and despite the chill in the air and absence of greenery, none of it's people had any intention of putting off the celebrations.
The wind carried the scents of their kitchens, where meals were already in preparation for the feast that night. Meat pies and salted caramel tarts, steamed vegetables covered in soured cream. Young girls and boys playing nearby would catch the scent on the wind, their excitement and anticipation for the nights festivities heightened as stomachs grumbled.
Past the Newspring Inn the wind traveled, built upon the foundation of the old Inn, once named the Winspring Inn. Words the wind took as well, there were rumors of a gleeman in the village, traveled down from Baerlon at the bequest of the village council. The village had not known of a visit from one such in many years, not since the night of terrors that had burnt half the village to the ground, including the old Inn, and claimed the lives of dozens of families. Spoken in even more hushed tones were those superstitious rumors that a gleeman was ill luck, that it foreshadowed another disaster such as that Winternight, a night that had grown in infamy in the Two Rivers, now named the Bloodlight Night. Many a door had had its surface marred with the dragon fang for years after the night of blood and flame, and the village council was quick to quell any rising evidence of a return to those mistrusting times.
Through the streets the wind blew, passing out beyond the last houses and past those few travelers from outlying farms that were slowly making their way into the village for Bel Tine, rustling the cloaks and thatched hats of women seated in carts pulled by their husbands oxen. Past them it blew, its strength beginning to wane as it came to a small farm on the very outskirts of the Westwood. In through the small, neatly kept yard, it finally came to rest as a soft mix of all these things at the feet of a young man with dark brown hair and grey eyes.
The youth sat upon a stool he'd dragged out into the yard, mending the head of a scythe that had come loose. He was a tall young man, tall not just for his age but tall for this part of the world too. That height he had inherited from his father, along with his eyes. From his mother, his darker features, dark brown hair that he kept trimmed, though if not exactly neatly then well enough for what could be accomplished with a pair of shearing scissors and a badly silvered mirror.
He sat now, eyes intent on his work, though his mind was elsewhere, occupied once again with the strange figure he had seen a few days before, a figure that had sent a shiver through his spine and left a chill through his chest.
It had seemed to be a man upon a horse, cloaked in a dark hood that fell almost to his ankles. The figure had stared at him a moment before reigning in the horse and galloping off into the distance. There had been a feeling to that stare, an anger, a hatred for everyone and everything.
Kaelin shook his head, shaking off the odd feeling. With a shrug he returned to his work, slowly mending the haft of a scythe that had come worn with age. He had no business with strange men on horses, odd as they were, his business lay with finishing his work so he could return to his books. His life was simple, and he was generally content. An orphan, he lived life on the farm that had once been his father's, and his fathers before him. He had inherited the land at a young age and had spent his life in solitude, excepting some few, annoyingly stubborn neighbours.
"Kaelin!" A bull throated voice boomed over the rustle of the dying wind. Kaelin sighed, recognizing his neighbour; Ewin.
Ewin Finnigar was a tall man in his middle years who lived on the neighboring farm to the east. He had tried a few times, unsuccessfully, to act as Kaelin's uncle. A shoulder to cry on, a male figure to admire and aspire to. Kaelin needed none of these things but their relationship had found equilibrium in recent years. Though not close the two had become almost friends.
"Aye Ewin, I see you."
The tall man walked up to the well-tended wooden fence that encircled Kaelin's small yard, resting hairy forearms and grinning at the younger man. "Well now, I'm not as young as I used to be and certainly can't claim to be a man of fashion, but I'd be mightily surprised if the latest trends involved shite covered boots and a stained tunic."
Kaelin looked down at his clothes, shrugging. "They seem appropriate for the present company."
Ewin chuckled. "Aye that they may be, but not for any of the fine young ladies in the village. They might forgive a young man treading on their toes during a dance but I'll assure you there'll be no smiles if you get any of that shite on their pretty shoes."
It was Kaelin's turn to chuckle. "What do you want old man, you know I'm not going."
"Aye, I assumed you'd not be, but I thought I might check, just in case you had decided to join the world of the living. I've Nancy and the girls already settled in the cart, was just checking to see if you'd change your mind about this year? There's rumor of a gleeman appearance."
Kaelin paused, eyes widening despite himself. A gleeman. He'd never seen a gleeman.
"I don't think so, Ewin. I've too much to do on the farm as it is." It was a thin excuse, but Kaelin bent back to his work on the haft. How long had it been since he had attended Bel Tine? Once, years ago, Ewin had managed to convince the younger Kaelin to attend. It had been a disaster.
Full of nerves at the crowded celebrations he had kept to the edges of the festivities, content with spectating rather than joining in. Those who did notice the tall young man who kept to the edges of the firelight recognized him instantly and chose to avoid him anyway. His family had long held a reputation as oddities within the Two Rivers. His mother's unexplained death and the subsequent degradation of his father in the public eye had begun the decay of the family name. His father's mysterious demise years later, coupled with Kaelin's own reclusive nature, had sealed that reputation.
And yet despite all this there were some, like Ewin and his wife Nancy, who would not be put off. Liseyra had also been one of those rare few. He still blushed at the memory of his first and only encounter with Liseyra Annlien, the cooper's daughter .
With an effort Kaelin pulled his mind from that memory, forcing his attention back to his work. The scythe blades head had become loose, Kaelin was carefully tapping a sliver of pine that he had fashioned into the groove between blade and haft, stabilizing it's hold.
Ewin shrugged. "I assumed as much, but then stranger things have happened. One of these days lad, you're going to have to put down those books and take an interest in the world or you'll find yourself an old man, full of regrets and not a soul for miles who'll be willing to listen to you prattle on about the old days, mark my words."
Kaelin chuckled again. "I thought you'd be proud to see me follow in your footsteps, old man."
"Well now you can dispense with the 'old man' if it please you, and I've a wife and children to listen to my prattle, not counting your charming self." The man gave him a wink, Kaelin rolled his eyes.
Ewin sighed then, his face becoming serious.
"Now listen lad-" He said, glancing out towards the surrounding fields. "I've not dropped by purely to bask in the joy of your company, these are troubled times and mischief is afoot, mark my words. There's been accounts of a man on horseback wandering around the countryside, staring at farms from a distance, spooking good honest folk. I'm wondering if you've seen sight of him yourself?"
Kaelin felt that chill return, like a knife skimming across bone. "Aye, I've seen a him a few times, he comes and goes."
Ewin nodded "Might be some troublemaker down from Taren Ferry. Hate to be leaving the farm with him around. I've spoken with a few of the others, Elam and Jac from Edgewood Farm have seen him too. Now, I've locked up the farm as best I can, and Nancy thinks I'm being overcautious but with us all gone tonight I'm worried. I'd really appreciate it if you would keep an ear out. I'm not asking for you to hike over and check every hour or so..." Though he did cock an eyebrow at that, only to nod acceptingly at Kaelin's snort. "Anyhow, if you hear anything, would you mind just checking on over? Weather's been enough of a bane lately not to add a troublemaker making off with one of the cows, or stealing my best tools in the mix."
"Aye, Ewin, if I hear anything I'll come take a look, but I'm not fighting off some Taren Ferry man on horseback who's just helped himself to your best scythe."
"Just take that bow of yours." Ewin said, glancing over at the longbow that lay propped against the fence in the corner of the yard. Kaelin had taken to keeping the thing nearby, though he would stubbornly refuse to admit that it's presence gave him comfort.
"I'm not going to shoot an arrow through a man either, Ewin."
"Never asked you too lad," He said, scratching at his balding head. "Just might scare him off is all."
Kaelin grunted.
"Alright, well I'll thank you for keeping that eye out, you have a good night with your books, I'll bring you back something tasty, if I remember!"
"Nothing with raisins in it." Kaelin called to the tall man's back. He turned once, giving a wave.
Kaelin was lost in thought as he completed the repairs to the scythe. It was rare for him to feel lonely, he preferred his own company, but Bel Tine was one such time that always left the young man feeling rather melancholy. His mind peeled back the years to the one Bel Tine he remembered attending, a bittersweet memory. More bitter than sweet, he admitted wryly.
He had been standing at the edges of the festivities, the bonfire had been enormous and song had filled the village square. The villagers, young and old, had been dancing around the fire, their shadows reflecting upon the houses, laughter and cheers accompanied the efforts of those few who could handle a fiddle or a flute. Kaelin had been handed a mug of ale and had begun to feel his nerves calm with modest sips as he watched the enjoyment of the others.
It was there that Liseyra had approached him. She was about his age -a few summers shy of adolescence- at least a head shorter than himself with blue eyes and golden hair, both of which seemed to reflect the firelight. That hair and eyes were rare in the village, her family having moved to Emond's field from far to the east. Her father had taken up residency as the towns new cooper after the death of the Candwin family on Winternight two decades before, and though their heritage would once have elevated them to celebrity status amongst the people of the Two Rivers, so many new families had moved in to repopulated the devastated Emond's field that things that would once have been the talk of the village for years had become accepted, if not outright common.
She had approached, winding her way through the dancing villagers to stand before him. Instantly he had felt all his previous calm vanish as she tilted her head up to him and spoke.
"You're Kaelin." It wasn't a question. He nodded slowly and she in turn nodded to herself. He felt his anxiety rise, his mind running through a hundred responses to questions she hadn't yet asked. Miraculously she said nothing, she didn't stare or ask questions, instead she simply moved to stand beside him. Kaelin stood awkwardly, one hand gripping his mug of ale and the other clenched at his side, but as the minutes passed he felt his calm slowly returning. They stood side by side, watching the dancing and singing, in what Kaelin had, to his surprise, come to realise was a comfortable silence.
He could feel her presence, no more than a hands breadth away, and as long minutes passed he found that he very much wanted to know her name.
"My mother died when I was young," She said, she spoken in a rush. Kaelin started, confused at the sudden words. "I don't remember her face, put my da says she looked like me."
Silence returned to them both. He wasn't sure what to say. Finally he spoke.
"I was too young to remember mine, I don't know what she looked like, but I heard once that I take after her."
She seemed to relax a bit then, her posture leaning in towards him. They both continued to stare at the fire.
"My name is Liseyra." He nodded. Liseyra.
A short time passed once more in silence before she spoke again. "I've wanted to talk to you, I've heard what they say about you. You're odd."
He remained silent, unsure how to proceed. She glanced back at him.
"Have you ever been to the foot of the mountains of mist?" She asked him.
"No," Kael replied cautiously. "Can't say I have."
"It's beautiful, when you're up that close and you stare upwards at that great expanse of rock, you realise how small you really are. I've heard that some few men have managed to reach the peaks, but that none have tried in a hundred years. I wonder what's up there."
He hadn't thought of that, what was up there? He shrugged.
"Probably some trees and a bunch of rock." He saw her glance back at him again. "Maybe the bones of adventurers who died getting there, too." He added, grasping for something interesting to say.
She smiled then, and his heart leapt. "Maybe, could you imagine? Putting your life at risk to scale a mountain." She was facing him now, and her eyes had a far away look. "Imagine the feeling of reaching the very top of that peak, the whole world spread before you…" She trailed off, though her eyes were bright, her smile wide.
"It would be worth it for the view." He found himself saying, staring at the curve of her face. She nodded, returning her gaze back to the fire, though she kept her smile. He felt very warm here, next to her, and he wasn't quite sure if it had anything to do with the fire, or the mug of ale. That moment had been perfect, and yet like all things perfect it hadn't meant to last.
"I heard your father left the Two Rivers once." She said, and he felt cold suddenly despite the fire.
"Aye," He said slowly. "That he did, so I've heard."
"I heard he was lost for years, with your mother, and when he came back he was a changed man, your mother a different woman."
He frowned, though she was still gazing at the fire and didn't notice his growing discomfort.
"I heard they found adventure. You'd have to change, having seen things. Of course they would seem odd, having lived a life that wasn't solely dictated by the seasons, rising early to tend the cows, spending their best lives in the fields, retiring with the sun to repeat the whole damn thing again the next day. How else would you seem to 'normal' people but strange, if you had seen what was on the other side of the mountains…" She trailed off again, but he noticed her shiver, wrapping her arms around herself. She was still smiling, though it seemed contemplative.
That cold began to enveloped him now, it was the cold heat of a burning anger. He knew only fragments of his parents life. He knew that they had fled after the village had burnt, that both their parents had died waiting for them to return home. That once they had returned, his mother carrying the infant Kaelin in his arms, they had retired to his father's farm in the Westwood. That they had seldom left that farm, that his mother had died there under bizarre circumstances, that he had lived a life with a cold father who had muttered to himself, had ranted in the dead of the night and pointed at shadows as if they were alive. He did not think what they had been through was an adventure. Once, he had learnt, they had been good people. They had returned broken. They had become a broken family, and given rise to a broken son.
"There is nothing beyond that mountain-" Kaelin said suddenly, his voice soft, but harsh. "-there is nothing past the next hill but more of the same. You can spend your life running after the greener grass and at its end you'll be like a seed that never found fertile soil, a shrivelled dead thing with no purpose." A piece of him was shocked at his words, but another larger piece of him held what he said to be the burning truth.
She started, turning back to him. "I thought…" She said quietly, then seeing the anger in his eyes her voice became more sure. "I had thought you would understand, Kaelin al'Thor. But I see now that you are the same as the rest of them, the same as my Da. You want a life with your head buried in the soil, thinking only of your cows and your sheep and the next seasons crop. Fine. Well I won't do that, I won't waste my life having never seen past the next hill. I will find my way to the top of that mountain, no matter what it takes of me, no matter the cost."
She gave him one last look, an infuriating mix of pity and anger, and strode away from him. He had stood there, his hand clenching that mug of ale, his anger threatening to overwhelm him. How dare she assume, how dare she try to romanticize his parents life. They had died young, and left him to pick up the pieces. He felt no affection for their adventures, he didn't want a life that brought a new horizon each morning, he had wanted parents, he had wanted people that would be there.
He had stood for an hour in that spot, raging, though with time his boiling anger had faded away, leaving him feeling hollow instead. And with a heart heavier than he had felt in years he had turned away from the laughter and music of Bel Tine, to walk the miles back to his farm in darkness. He had been young, and a fool, and yet despite that anger he had thought back to that conversation many times in the years since.
Liseyra had been a babe when she was brought to the Two Rivers. Despite her hair and eyes she was very much an Emond's Fielder, though one that felt confined and smothered in the safety of the village. He understood now that she had a need to break free of this place, that her heart yearned for something beyond the next hill. He understood her need, but could not empathize with that need. He wanted nothing more than stability, a life that he could predict, could control, a life where he knew his place. People were unpredictable, as Liseyra had shown. They could change, they could want different things… they could leave you. Better to be safe, to be alone.
He sighed and shook his head, dispelling the memory. As he grew older he had learnt to accept his own shortcomings, but this memory was still agonizing and one of the main reasons he had vowed to stay away from Bel Tine. It was not for him.
As the sun began to set he stood, making his way back to the farm house. He took one last look at the far off hills, the direction of Emond's Field, the wind blowing through his hair, then turned his back on the sunset and left the yard to return to his books.