Lifting her hands to her hair once more, she tied the longer length in the
center. Her parents had always hated how she dressed, how she wore her
hair. Now they were crying, wether out of joy or sadness, she wasn't
entirely certain. She wasn't all too interested in her family, not for the
last few years. She had distanced herself from them as much as possible, to
escape their world of adult hardships and adult problems. She was still
very young according to most society's viewpoints, but she had seen enough
in her few years to understand everything; everything that was important in
her eyes anyways.
Born and raised her thirteen years of life in Jaramide, Cara Rainhardt had always tried to impress everyone, to make her way in life by having as many friends as possible. The youngest of her four siblings, she was also the most different. The women in her family line had been given a strange gift; white hair and sometimes eyes at very young ages marked them for their family name. They were neither poor nor rich, but well known in the area for their difference in appearance. All of her siblings had inherited either the eyes or hair, but Cara had recieved both from her mother, as well as her grace and looks. She was her father's little angel he always said, and she seemed to bring a smile to his face just by being there. Her dark skin and love of white clothing seemed to make most people laugh.
Always the one to follow a different path than her family members, Cara had spent most of her life studying the ways of fighting without weapons, relying on one's own fists and feet. Anyone who saw her now would comment on how much she made it look a dance, a dance of battle, flowing from one attack to another. Her natural grace and skill at true dancing enhanced her fighting skills. When not learning how to fight, she'd spent her days mastering her mother's flute, a simple wooden instrument made by her mother's own loving hands.
Smiling to herself, Cara adjusted the band of fabric that covered one shoulder, then running down to her hip. She quietly recalled the meeting, where an Aes Sedai from the fabled White Tower had discovered her. Supposedly she had the makings of a great Aes Sedai, which made Cara feel wonderful. She still couldn't believe herself as an Aes Sedai, serving the White Tower. It all seemed a dream, until her preparations pulled her back to reality, the prearations for her departure to the great city of Tar Valon. She decided her parents were crying for both joy and pain; losing their daughter and yet she was going to become something more than a simple business man's daughter.
She stood, her feet bare as they always were, and smoothed the white silk gown that her mother had sewn for her. It was time. Taking a deep breath, flute in hand, she stepped outside, the first step in her journey to a new life . . .
***
She tugged absently at one of her white bangs, sighing as she read over the script she had been given. Most of it seemed what she had been shown, but certain parts seemed incorrect from what she'd learned so far. Two years already in the Tower, and she'd become one of the most well-known people in the Tower, even though she was nothing more than a Novice. Her block did nothing to slow her learning rate down; all she had to do to watch the invisible actions of Saidar was to play her mother's flute, or even hum lightly. Music was power, the key to the soul itself. Those thoughts were probably what had given birth to her block. She was just thankful that her block wasn't based on getting into fights to channel.
Cara sighed once more, turning the page. The Weaves explained in the book sounded correct, but when she pictured them in her mind they didn't seem to flow right. She was allowed so many things, more things than average Novices, such as access to the library for studies with what little time she could find. The Sisters all seemed to respect her love of studying, even when she should've been sleeping with chores piled up for the next day.
So far she'd only gotten into one fight, and that hadn't escalated further than arguing about the use of Spirit in certain Fire Weaves. She couldn't help it, she'd always had a quick tongue and even quicker feet, but thankfully her anger hadn't built greatly.
She blinked, sighed, then straightened. The sun was beginning it's climb over the horizon. In only a few hours, she would have to be in her basic Saidar classes, and then chores with Semil Sedai, and . . . so much more after that as well.
For a moment, and only a moment, she remembered her friend Todaran. She missed the days of freely running in the sun, playing games with all her friends. She thankd the Light that many of her chores were outdoors; she always prided herself on the exotic darkness of her skin that drew eyes.
Smiling, she yawned and closed the book,then went to nap until class . . .
***
Darkness had long swept over the great city of Tar Valon, the lights of house windows long stiffled. The sun had been a beautiful orange, framed by the unmoving clouds that hovered at the horizon. Now that it's golden orange rays had vanished, candle light was all there was to see by, save the occasional globe of Power created by an Accepted or Sister. Shadows played at the edge of her candle as she turned the page in the dusty old book she had acquired from the great library. In the dim light, she could make out every word and symbol, every sketch on it's ancient material.
So much promise they said, so much potential. She had even once been called limitless potential, whatever that meant. And yet, they had all dismissed the fact that she was a Wilder. Every other one of her kind had been shunted, eyed and walked lightly around. And yet, they whispered of her future, of how great she would become. Why? Her block was an annoyance, and yet a gift all at once. Annoying to her, in that she could never channel at will, like the younger Novices could after their first few months of learning. But it was a gift in that she had could spread the beauty of her voice, her singing and haunting lyrics. Her mother had been a singer in Jaramide, before they moved. Her own voice, a young reflection of her mother's, had been what called someone to her. A friend she would never forget, no matter where she was.
"Todaran . . . " she said quietly into the darkness of her tiny room. Many Novices had to crowd together, but she was given her own to stay in. It was from here that she was allowed to write music for fun, to read and learn. But she realized with a sigh that it was taking it's toll. She hadn't been outside in ages. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy pointing at the young men in the Training yards, or walking the gardens. She did enjoy them, but she had so much to read, so much to learn. Almost half a year had been spent on trying to break her of her block, but every attempt had failed without the slightest indication of any success. Her voice was both blessing and curse.
Absently, she studied her left arm under the candle light. Paler, compared to how she had been. She had always possessed her mother's dark skin, but now it had lightened slightly. She would have to train more outside it seemed.
A knock at her door woke her from her thoughts. Straightening her Novice dress, she took the two steps to the door and opened it, covering her eyes with a hand as the Mistress of Novices' Light Sphere cast bright illumination for a good distance in every direction. somehow, that white light made the woman even more frightening than before. "Come with me." was all she said, as she stepped back from the doorway, allowing Cara room to walk out. She did so, glancing up and down the empty halls. They seemed stark, lifeless. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself and followed the woman and her bright sphere.
Ages passed as they continued deeper and deeper within the walls of the Tower, passing through locked doors that gave way to the Mistress' keys. every step seemed an eternity, and all Cara could do was think this was either punishment for something she hadn't done, or a another test to break her block. Her questions were answered though, as they passed through monstrous doors into a large room. Voices echoed even as she set her first steps within this place. She had read enough to know what the enormous silver rings were, joined together almost like art. She gave a start as the voices became clear, her mind coming out of it's deep place of thought.
"Whom do you bring with you, Sister?"
"One who comes as a candidate for Acceptance, Sister."
"Is she ready?"
"She is ready to leave behind what she was, and, passing through her fears, gain Acceptance."
"Does she know her fears?"
"She has never faced them, but now is willing."
"Then let her face what she fears."
She swallowed nervously, waiting for someone to point out what she obviously already knew. She had always been overly modest, and know all eyes were on her, save the Sisters who sat about the rings, concentrating too deeply to notice what was going on about them. The Mistress of Novices turned to her, smiling an all too knowing smile. "Remove your garments. You cannot pass through here . . . " Cara cut her off silently, removing her dress, but she cradled her shift to her body for a moment, before removing that too. One of the woman gawked at her lack of shoes or stockings, but she had never worn anything on her feet in the first place. She wrapped her arms about herself, turning five shades of red, her eyes closed. She frowned when she heard someone laugh softly at her modesty. She couldn't help who she was.
""The first time is for what was. The way back will come but once. Be steadfast."
The words bit into Cara's mind, and she knew this would alter her life in some way. She had seen newly raised Accepteds on their first few days after being Raised. Tears streaming down their faces at odd intervals. Staying to their rooms for hours, even days. She could only guess what was inside.
Taking a deep breath, she cleared her mind and spirit, as she'd learned when studying the Way of the Fist. She felt felaxed, enough to put her fists at her sides, her teeth shut together tightly. One foot in front of the other, and she stepped through, her mind splintering in a thousand directions at once . . .
"Cara!" The voice came from behind her as she ran, plowing through people with her small frame. A woman and her basket of vegetables became the next targets, losing her balance easily as she sped by. Bare feet slapped the stones as she left her persuer in the dust. Her smile was fiendish as she rounded another corner, and slid to a stop, her feet tingling from the action. She sat there, catching her breath for a moment, as she led the game into the lower part of the city.
"Cara! Wait for me!" The young buy rounded the corner, having only enough time to yelp as she playfully socked him in the gut. Being only a sucker punch, he dropped back and brought his fists up, making quick little jabs to tell her he was only playing too. She laughed, bringing her foot up smoothly in a kick to his face. almost in slow motion, he brought his wrist up, blocking the attack. She giggled as she spun in place, digging her feet into the stones once more. He was alright at sparring, but he would never outrun her.
"Todaran Todaran! Can't catch me!" She ran five steps before slamming into a seemingly soft wall, bouncing her backwards onto her bottom. Only seven years old, and she was forced to look straight up at the man she had plowed into while not looking. Mentally, she cursed herself for not watching where she was going. As she stood, she cried out, the man's enormous hand lifting her by the front of her dress.
"Well, what do we have here? Wee little lass thinks she can run me over does she?" He laughed at her, showing a very toothless mouth. As she pulled on his hand, she heard something connect with flesh, and she was dropped to the ground. The large man was on his knees, his face a mask of pain. Todaran stood next to her, his hands balled into fists, his mouth a small snarl. She couldn't help but stare at him like he was mad.
Thinking would get them into more trouble, so she grabbed him by the arm and pulled him away from the group of men, who were all pointing at Todaran and her. As they ran, they heard the man who had been cruel to her start coughing orders. They ran as fast as their young legs could carry them, as far as they could take them. They continued until they reached the old home that had been abandoned, where they spent their time playing around with the leftover furniture and other things. They sat, breathing hard, as they tried to gather their wits.
"What were you thinking?! They might've killed you!" she looked at him worriedly, her hands around her neck where the man had held her captive. She blinked wiping tears from her eyes that had suddenly started to form. "Thank you Todaran. But I don't want you to get hurt."
After a few deep breaths, he looked down at her smiling. "I couldn't let them hurt you. You're my friend." His face was so warm, his smile so honest, that she laughed weakly. They stood, but as they started to walk again, she heard a muffled cry. She spun in place, only to find her friend in the hands of one of the man's friends. She knew automatically that he had followed them. Her tiny fists balled up, her feet instinctively going into her fighting stance. She was yuong, but her teacher said she was excellent for her age, and that someday she might surpass even him.
the man looked at her and laughed, as he held Todaran tight in his hand. "How cute, the little thing thinks she can fight." Two other men rounded the opposite corner, trapping the two of them. The men behind her began to advance slowly, one drawing a dagger, the other cracking his knuckles sickeningly. As she stood there, ready for their attacks, she silently knew that she could defeat every one of them, and save her friend.
iBe steadfast . . . /i
The voice was almost an echo, bouncing through her mind. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw it. A silver arch, just ten paces away, easily ran to. But she saw Todaran, and watched as the man pulled a sword from his side, holding it up to the boy's throat. "I'll beat a young one like this could fetch a pretty silver on the market." he laughed, looking her straight in the eyes.
"Cara, help . . . I can't fight them . . . "
iBe steadfast . . . /i
Tears welled up in her eyes as her friend struggled. She could beat them! She knew she could! And yet, the arch shimmered mockingly at her, fading for a moment. She would save him, she could save him, and yet . . . she wasn't being allowed to. She drove her feet sideways, as she spun towards the silver. Behind her, she could still hear todaran's cries, begging for help, as she plowed headlong into the arch . . .
. . . and stumbled out into the cold, dark room in the Tower. She slid to a stop on her knees, tears flowing freely. Her tears vanished though as cold water fell over her, making her squeek in agitation. The words that were spoken passed over her deaf ears, as the Mistress of Novices helped her to her feet She had left him there, she had left him to be killed, or sold as a slave! She couldn't hear anything that was spoken until the woman pulled her to the next ring.
"The second time is for what is. The way back will come but once. Be steadfast."
Choking back her tears and shivering in the cold, she straightened her back, standing regally among the shadows of the room. She would not back down from this next challenge. She had already lost her friend, and she would never lose again.
She stepped into the light again . . .
. . . and into darkness . . .
All around her was nothingness, empty non-existence. She glanced behind her, then around slowly, trying to find anything. She was herself, but this place couldn't have been real. Could it?
She tapped her foot, feeling solidness beneath her. But when she looked down, nothingness looked back at her. Her clothing was the dress her mother had sewn for her when she'd left for the Tower; white with black trim, her white sash thrown over her shoulder, down to the opposing hip. Her skin was dark again, but she was taller, older than when she first came to train with the Aes Sedai. She was who she really was, but this place terrified her.
Her ears quirked as she picked out the sound of approaching footsteps, slow and carefully placed. The slight swishing of a dress accomapnied each step, the sounds altogether just noticeable. "H-hello?" She turned in place, trying vainly to find the source of the steps. "Is . . . anyone there?" Sweat began to bead on her forehead, running down her back beneath her dress. She had never felt this nervous in her life. For some reason, she also felt powerless, like whoever was coming towards her could tear her limb from limb in seconds, and she wuold be unable to do anything about it. "Please speak. Who are you? I mean you no harm, please help me."
Finally, she turned in the direction of the intruder, the footsteps just beyond her vision. For some reason, a small amount of light seemed to surround her, allowing her to see a short distance. Into that light, stepped a nightmare, a being of fear on quiet feet. The shadows seemed to part, allowing it room to enter her small area of light, her small place of safety. She backed away from it, sensing the hate pouring from it.
From first glance, it was a woman, roughly the same height as herself, but there the similarities ended. Skin, pale as a maggot's hide, shone in the darkness, reflecting the in soft light. Raven black hair ran down her back, touching the ground lightly with its tips. A black dress, which left her shoulders and collar bone exposed, was as black as the darkness that surrounded them. But her face was what had caught her attention the most. A mask covered the woman's face, split down the middle by a single line; one half grey, the other half black. The only other features on the mask were narrow slits, where from inside she felt that powerful hate pour from. for a moment, she could see into those windows, into the eyes behind the mask, and for a moment her body shivered, the trembling of someone who felt they were being killed slowly.
Cara's eyes trailed down the woman's left arm, until she gasped at what lay there. Covering most of the woman's arm was a black metal gauntlet, twisted like some sort of insect monsters hide. the fingers of the glove ended in razor tips, obviously meant for stabbing and tearing. The gauntlet seemed to draw in the small amount of light that struck it, crushing the light within it's twisted walls.
"W-who . . . are you?" Cara stuttered, her fists already up to protect herself. She knew now why she had felt powerless earlier.
She was going to die . . .
It spoke, it's voice like ice sliding over a long-decayed corpse, carrying decay upon it's lips. "I am Death, made flesh. I am it's shadow, the Reaper of death's hand." The demonic glove flexed open and closed slowly, as if awaiting something, making a slight grinding sound as the fingers moved against one another. That was all the words it spoke, for it needed no more. As Cara began to take a step back, she wished she hadn't. The woman, the ithing/i before her glided silently forward, into Cara's face before she could even take a breath, the black covered hand shooting out. Cara's hand rose to parry, but she cried out as crimson fanned out from her arm. The woman, the shadow, spun on it's heel, the clawed talons dancing merrily as they twirled. Again, the hand reached for her, slicing her other arm in a spray of blood. The wounds were fine, but each stung as though delt by a sword. Cara cried out, but lashed out with her feet, spinning in place to deliver a powerful blow to the woman's head. the thing stumbled backwards slightly, but from what she could tell, it seemed to be smiling at her from behind that metal shield.
Mockingly, it shook a finger at her, as if saying her struggling was useless. Cara choked back tears of pain as she knew she stood no chance against something that moved such as this. As if a snake, a serpent, reaching out and striking, then retreating again, only to strike a second, time, again and again, until it's venom too hold. Only, this snake possessed no venom, simply a touch that brought pain with every fluid motion.
No warning came as the woman flowed at her. Everything slowed down, and Cara screamed in pain as the woman seemed to caress her face with the black metal. At first, the touch made her cringe, but pain shot through more quickly than a crossbow bolt. For a moment, all she could see was red, the pain so great that the world faded for a moment. She spun, trying to blindly defend herself, but it was in vain. Again and again, the claws shot out, raking her arms and legs, her back and sides. She felt wetness running down her stomach and back, her head and hands. She tried to turn and flee, and instead slid in slickness, falling onto her knees and hands. She forced her good eye open, the other soaked in her own blood, staring into the blackness that supported her and the thing. Tears carved a path through the blood that now covered most of her face, and she trembled from the loss of her blood. Her heart beat so quickly as to burst from her chest. She could see her blood covering everything, coating the black floor, the trail that had been slithered through it as she slid. Even the taste of it had invaded her mouth, making her gag.
She could feel it's eyes on her destroyed back, her clothes long died a deep red. It circled her like a bird of prey, taking in it's soon to be dinner. Those eyes bore holes in her back as she pulled herself upright, wobbling in her crimson misery, but weakly pulled herself into her fighting stance. She would beat this thing, she knew she could. Nothing was invincible. Nothing.
Once more, those dead, black eyes sparkled at her from behind the mask. She knew now. Her opponent's fighting style was to rush in, strike, exactly like the snake she had thought of. If she could forsee the next target, she could win in one blow. She felt more than saw, as her foe rushed forward, the dark hand reaching out to tear away her throat, to get at her lifeblood. Cara spun in place, her back to the empty sky, and she felt it connect, the talons never reaching her. Her foot tingled in response, and she found herself smiling, knowing she had hit. She weakly stumbled backwards, turning until she was looking at her opponent again.
And found herself looking back . . .
Lips trembling, she fell to her knees beneath those dead eyes, her hands spasming in terror. Her face, but with black hair, black eyes. Dead. It was like looking at her own corpse, given life. Her mouth worked soundlessly as the dark figure strode over to her, humming a soft song, a song she knew all too well.
iRequiem . . . my song . . . my face . . . /i
She realized that her foe, herself, the thing, had been dazed, it's motionlessness and empty stare speaking volumns. She saw behind it, the gleam of the silver arch, a point of light in the darkness. The floor, wet and red, shone like a trail to the ring, where she had been standing only minutes before. On legs weakened from pain and loss of blood, she limped towards it, around the figure.
iI will be steadfast . . . no victory is worth this . . . /i
The tears came strongly now, washing her face of her own blood. She limped more quickly, her eyes wide from terror. She had begun to go numb from her wounds, her life slowly ebbing away through the gouges carved into her body. As she neared it, she stumbled, crying out. Her nails dug into the darkness, and a scream emitted from her throat. She'd never been scared in her life like this, never felt anything so. Powerless, she could've defeated her. She was helpless. She could've ended the fight there, with honor.
iMe, me . . . it was me . . . why, why I am seeing this? Why am I dying? I don't want this, I don't want to see this. Why . . . have you forsaken me?!/i
She screamed again, pulling herself upright, the numbness stronger now, her mind beginning to spin. She reached the silver arch, and hurled herself through . . .
Startled cries sounded throughout the room as she met the cold stone floor. Voices were muddled, but she could see the pool of blood that had fanned out from where she had collapsed. Many of the Sisters were coming towards her, she could see. But her vision was blurred, seeing only muddled shapes. Hands were placed on her, and she felt the Weaves flow into her. Deep from her throat, a soft sound began to flow out, the song that had been sung to her since before she had even left her mother's womb. It was her song, not that beast's. She trembled violently as they Healed her, wrapping her in a blanket someone had brought down. Unconsciousness came as she felt her mind go numb . . .
Failure. She had failed. For days, she sat, staring at the closed book on her tiny desk, in her tiny room. She turned them down. She wouldn't go into the third arch. She couldn't go into it. Something such as this had never happened. The room where the ter'annreal was kept had been cleaned, but even the Power couldn't erase what had happened that night. She sang her song quietly, rocking lightly, her knees tucked underneath her chin, as she stared into nothingness.
No one was ever allowed to go again after turning away from the testing. Whispers spoke of demons, problems with the test itself, but Cara herself knew why she had failed. It had been their fault. The Sisters of the great and fabled White Tower. They had sent her in there to die, and she had survived. They were afraid she would show them she was more than what they had thought. Eyes stuck wide open, she stared into emptiness. She wanted to be held by someone, but all around her were those who had tried to kill her. They had sent that vision after her, to end her life. To take her place perhaps. A week had passed, she had eaten what they left for her, afraid she might start scremaing again, as she had when they'd brought her back to her room.
After that time, a pouch of money and a letter was placed on her desk. It was a dismissal; she was trash, unwanted, unclean. She had failed. Useless and powerless. Her belongings in her bag, she stepped away from the life she had sought, from the lie she had strived to become. Her life had ended in that bloody spectacle, her life as a struggling visage.
Away from the gleaming white walls she walked, staring at the small bag of coins as if searching for answers within it's cloth casing. White eyes scanned it for any imperfection. It hadn't just been them, she knew that now. It had been him, the one who controlled them, and guided their hands.
The Creator had abandoned her, and her dream, and shattered her mind and body like a glass doll . . .
iYou will die, every one of you. Never again shall I become a pawn of a master who would break me across his knee like so much kindling. From this day forth, I serve the shdaow that showed me the path to my strength. Forever, I am one with the Lord of the Night. I will kill every one of you, with my own hands . . . /i She flexed her hands, closing them and opening them slowly, staring at her palms. iAnd, with the gift you yourselves have given me . . . /i
***
To Be Continued
Born and raised her thirteen years of life in Jaramide, Cara Rainhardt had always tried to impress everyone, to make her way in life by having as many friends as possible. The youngest of her four siblings, she was also the most different. The women in her family line had been given a strange gift; white hair and sometimes eyes at very young ages marked them for their family name. They were neither poor nor rich, but well known in the area for their difference in appearance. All of her siblings had inherited either the eyes or hair, but Cara had recieved both from her mother, as well as her grace and looks. She was her father's little angel he always said, and she seemed to bring a smile to his face just by being there. Her dark skin and love of white clothing seemed to make most people laugh.
Always the one to follow a different path than her family members, Cara had spent most of her life studying the ways of fighting without weapons, relying on one's own fists and feet. Anyone who saw her now would comment on how much she made it look a dance, a dance of battle, flowing from one attack to another. Her natural grace and skill at true dancing enhanced her fighting skills. When not learning how to fight, she'd spent her days mastering her mother's flute, a simple wooden instrument made by her mother's own loving hands.
Smiling to herself, Cara adjusted the band of fabric that covered one shoulder, then running down to her hip. She quietly recalled the meeting, where an Aes Sedai from the fabled White Tower had discovered her. Supposedly she had the makings of a great Aes Sedai, which made Cara feel wonderful. She still couldn't believe herself as an Aes Sedai, serving the White Tower. It all seemed a dream, until her preparations pulled her back to reality, the prearations for her departure to the great city of Tar Valon. She decided her parents were crying for both joy and pain; losing their daughter and yet she was going to become something more than a simple business man's daughter.
She stood, her feet bare as they always were, and smoothed the white silk gown that her mother had sewn for her. It was time. Taking a deep breath, flute in hand, she stepped outside, the first step in her journey to a new life . . .
***
She tugged absently at one of her white bangs, sighing as she read over the script she had been given. Most of it seemed what she had been shown, but certain parts seemed incorrect from what she'd learned so far. Two years already in the Tower, and she'd become one of the most well-known people in the Tower, even though she was nothing more than a Novice. Her block did nothing to slow her learning rate down; all she had to do to watch the invisible actions of Saidar was to play her mother's flute, or even hum lightly. Music was power, the key to the soul itself. Those thoughts were probably what had given birth to her block. She was just thankful that her block wasn't based on getting into fights to channel.
Cara sighed once more, turning the page. The Weaves explained in the book sounded correct, but when she pictured them in her mind they didn't seem to flow right. She was allowed so many things, more things than average Novices, such as access to the library for studies with what little time she could find. The Sisters all seemed to respect her love of studying, even when she should've been sleeping with chores piled up for the next day.
So far she'd only gotten into one fight, and that hadn't escalated further than arguing about the use of Spirit in certain Fire Weaves. She couldn't help it, she'd always had a quick tongue and even quicker feet, but thankfully her anger hadn't built greatly.
She blinked, sighed, then straightened. The sun was beginning it's climb over the horizon. In only a few hours, she would have to be in her basic Saidar classes, and then chores with Semil Sedai, and . . . so much more after that as well.
For a moment, and only a moment, she remembered her friend Todaran. She missed the days of freely running in the sun, playing games with all her friends. She thankd the Light that many of her chores were outdoors; she always prided herself on the exotic darkness of her skin that drew eyes.
Smiling, she yawned and closed the book,then went to nap until class . . .
***
Darkness had long swept over the great city of Tar Valon, the lights of house windows long stiffled. The sun had been a beautiful orange, framed by the unmoving clouds that hovered at the horizon. Now that it's golden orange rays had vanished, candle light was all there was to see by, save the occasional globe of Power created by an Accepted or Sister. Shadows played at the edge of her candle as she turned the page in the dusty old book she had acquired from the great library. In the dim light, she could make out every word and symbol, every sketch on it's ancient material.
So much promise they said, so much potential. She had even once been called limitless potential, whatever that meant. And yet, they had all dismissed the fact that she was a Wilder. Every other one of her kind had been shunted, eyed and walked lightly around. And yet, they whispered of her future, of how great she would become. Why? Her block was an annoyance, and yet a gift all at once. Annoying to her, in that she could never channel at will, like the younger Novices could after their first few months of learning. But it was a gift in that she had could spread the beauty of her voice, her singing and haunting lyrics. Her mother had been a singer in Jaramide, before they moved. Her own voice, a young reflection of her mother's, had been what called someone to her. A friend she would never forget, no matter where she was.
"Todaran . . . " she said quietly into the darkness of her tiny room. Many Novices had to crowd together, but she was given her own to stay in. It was from here that she was allowed to write music for fun, to read and learn. But she realized with a sigh that it was taking it's toll. She hadn't been outside in ages. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy pointing at the young men in the Training yards, or walking the gardens. She did enjoy them, but she had so much to read, so much to learn. Almost half a year had been spent on trying to break her of her block, but every attempt had failed without the slightest indication of any success. Her voice was both blessing and curse.
Absently, she studied her left arm under the candle light. Paler, compared to how she had been. She had always possessed her mother's dark skin, but now it had lightened slightly. She would have to train more outside it seemed.
A knock at her door woke her from her thoughts. Straightening her Novice dress, she took the two steps to the door and opened it, covering her eyes with a hand as the Mistress of Novices' Light Sphere cast bright illumination for a good distance in every direction. somehow, that white light made the woman even more frightening than before. "Come with me." was all she said, as she stepped back from the doorway, allowing Cara room to walk out. She did so, glancing up and down the empty halls. They seemed stark, lifeless. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself and followed the woman and her bright sphere.
Ages passed as they continued deeper and deeper within the walls of the Tower, passing through locked doors that gave way to the Mistress' keys. every step seemed an eternity, and all Cara could do was think this was either punishment for something she hadn't done, or a another test to break her block. Her questions were answered though, as they passed through monstrous doors into a large room. Voices echoed even as she set her first steps within this place. She had read enough to know what the enormous silver rings were, joined together almost like art. She gave a start as the voices became clear, her mind coming out of it's deep place of thought.
"Whom do you bring with you, Sister?"
"One who comes as a candidate for Acceptance, Sister."
"Is she ready?"
"She is ready to leave behind what she was, and, passing through her fears, gain Acceptance."
"Does she know her fears?"
"She has never faced them, but now is willing."
"Then let her face what she fears."
She swallowed nervously, waiting for someone to point out what she obviously already knew. She had always been overly modest, and know all eyes were on her, save the Sisters who sat about the rings, concentrating too deeply to notice what was going on about them. The Mistress of Novices turned to her, smiling an all too knowing smile. "Remove your garments. You cannot pass through here . . . " Cara cut her off silently, removing her dress, but she cradled her shift to her body for a moment, before removing that too. One of the woman gawked at her lack of shoes or stockings, but she had never worn anything on her feet in the first place. She wrapped her arms about herself, turning five shades of red, her eyes closed. She frowned when she heard someone laugh softly at her modesty. She couldn't help who she was.
""The first time is for what was. The way back will come but once. Be steadfast."
The words bit into Cara's mind, and she knew this would alter her life in some way. She had seen newly raised Accepteds on their first few days after being Raised. Tears streaming down their faces at odd intervals. Staying to their rooms for hours, even days. She could only guess what was inside.
Taking a deep breath, she cleared her mind and spirit, as she'd learned when studying the Way of the Fist. She felt felaxed, enough to put her fists at her sides, her teeth shut together tightly. One foot in front of the other, and she stepped through, her mind splintering in a thousand directions at once . . .
"Cara!" The voice came from behind her as she ran, plowing through people with her small frame. A woman and her basket of vegetables became the next targets, losing her balance easily as she sped by. Bare feet slapped the stones as she left her persuer in the dust. Her smile was fiendish as she rounded another corner, and slid to a stop, her feet tingling from the action. She sat there, catching her breath for a moment, as she led the game into the lower part of the city.
"Cara! Wait for me!" The young buy rounded the corner, having only enough time to yelp as she playfully socked him in the gut. Being only a sucker punch, he dropped back and brought his fists up, making quick little jabs to tell her he was only playing too. She laughed, bringing her foot up smoothly in a kick to his face. almost in slow motion, he brought his wrist up, blocking the attack. She giggled as she spun in place, digging her feet into the stones once more. He was alright at sparring, but he would never outrun her.
"Todaran Todaran! Can't catch me!" She ran five steps before slamming into a seemingly soft wall, bouncing her backwards onto her bottom. Only seven years old, and she was forced to look straight up at the man she had plowed into while not looking. Mentally, she cursed herself for not watching where she was going. As she stood, she cried out, the man's enormous hand lifting her by the front of her dress.
"Well, what do we have here? Wee little lass thinks she can run me over does she?" He laughed at her, showing a very toothless mouth. As she pulled on his hand, she heard something connect with flesh, and she was dropped to the ground. The large man was on his knees, his face a mask of pain. Todaran stood next to her, his hands balled into fists, his mouth a small snarl. She couldn't help but stare at him like he was mad.
Thinking would get them into more trouble, so she grabbed him by the arm and pulled him away from the group of men, who were all pointing at Todaran and her. As they ran, they heard the man who had been cruel to her start coughing orders. They ran as fast as their young legs could carry them, as far as they could take them. They continued until they reached the old home that had been abandoned, where they spent their time playing around with the leftover furniture and other things. They sat, breathing hard, as they tried to gather their wits.
"What were you thinking?! They might've killed you!" she looked at him worriedly, her hands around her neck where the man had held her captive. She blinked wiping tears from her eyes that had suddenly started to form. "Thank you Todaran. But I don't want you to get hurt."
After a few deep breaths, he looked down at her smiling. "I couldn't let them hurt you. You're my friend." His face was so warm, his smile so honest, that she laughed weakly. They stood, but as they started to walk again, she heard a muffled cry. She spun in place, only to find her friend in the hands of one of the man's friends. She knew automatically that he had followed them. Her tiny fists balled up, her feet instinctively going into her fighting stance. She was yuong, but her teacher said she was excellent for her age, and that someday she might surpass even him.
the man looked at her and laughed, as he held Todaran tight in his hand. "How cute, the little thing thinks she can fight." Two other men rounded the opposite corner, trapping the two of them. The men behind her began to advance slowly, one drawing a dagger, the other cracking his knuckles sickeningly. As she stood there, ready for their attacks, she silently knew that she could defeat every one of them, and save her friend.
iBe steadfast . . . /i
The voice was almost an echo, bouncing through her mind. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw it. A silver arch, just ten paces away, easily ran to. But she saw Todaran, and watched as the man pulled a sword from his side, holding it up to the boy's throat. "I'll beat a young one like this could fetch a pretty silver on the market." he laughed, looking her straight in the eyes.
"Cara, help . . . I can't fight them . . . "
iBe steadfast . . . /i
Tears welled up in her eyes as her friend struggled. She could beat them! She knew she could! And yet, the arch shimmered mockingly at her, fading for a moment. She would save him, she could save him, and yet . . . she wasn't being allowed to. She drove her feet sideways, as she spun towards the silver. Behind her, she could still hear todaran's cries, begging for help, as she plowed headlong into the arch . . .
. . . and stumbled out into the cold, dark room in the Tower. She slid to a stop on her knees, tears flowing freely. Her tears vanished though as cold water fell over her, making her squeek in agitation. The words that were spoken passed over her deaf ears, as the Mistress of Novices helped her to her feet She had left him there, she had left him to be killed, or sold as a slave! She couldn't hear anything that was spoken until the woman pulled her to the next ring.
"The second time is for what is. The way back will come but once. Be steadfast."
Choking back her tears and shivering in the cold, she straightened her back, standing regally among the shadows of the room. She would not back down from this next challenge. She had already lost her friend, and she would never lose again.
She stepped into the light again . . .
. . . and into darkness . . .
All around her was nothingness, empty non-existence. She glanced behind her, then around slowly, trying to find anything. She was herself, but this place couldn't have been real. Could it?
She tapped her foot, feeling solidness beneath her. But when she looked down, nothingness looked back at her. Her clothing was the dress her mother had sewn for her when she'd left for the Tower; white with black trim, her white sash thrown over her shoulder, down to the opposing hip. Her skin was dark again, but she was taller, older than when she first came to train with the Aes Sedai. She was who she really was, but this place terrified her.
Her ears quirked as she picked out the sound of approaching footsteps, slow and carefully placed. The slight swishing of a dress accomapnied each step, the sounds altogether just noticeable. "H-hello?" She turned in place, trying vainly to find the source of the steps. "Is . . . anyone there?" Sweat began to bead on her forehead, running down her back beneath her dress. She had never felt this nervous in her life. For some reason, she also felt powerless, like whoever was coming towards her could tear her limb from limb in seconds, and she wuold be unable to do anything about it. "Please speak. Who are you? I mean you no harm, please help me."
Finally, she turned in the direction of the intruder, the footsteps just beyond her vision. For some reason, a small amount of light seemed to surround her, allowing her to see a short distance. Into that light, stepped a nightmare, a being of fear on quiet feet. The shadows seemed to part, allowing it room to enter her small area of light, her small place of safety. She backed away from it, sensing the hate pouring from it.
From first glance, it was a woman, roughly the same height as herself, but there the similarities ended. Skin, pale as a maggot's hide, shone in the darkness, reflecting the in soft light. Raven black hair ran down her back, touching the ground lightly with its tips. A black dress, which left her shoulders and collar bone exposed, was as black as the darkness that surrounded them. But her face was what had caught her attention the most. A mask covered the woman's face, split down the middle by a single line; one half grey, the other half black. The only other features on the mask were narrow slits, where from inside she felt that powerful hate pour from. for a moment, she could see into those windows, into the eyes behind the mask, and for a moment her body shivered, the trembling of someone who felt they were being killed slowly.
Cara's eyes trailed down the woman's left arm, until she gasped at what lay there. Covering most of the woman's arm was a black metal gauntlet, twisted like some sort of insect monsters hide. the fingers of the glove ended in razor tips, obviously meant for stabbing and tearing. The gauntlet seemed to draw in the small amount of light that struck it, crushing the light within it's twisted walls.
"W-who . . . are you?" Cara stuttered, her fists already up to protect herself. She knew now why she had felt powerless earlier.
She was going to die . . .
It spoke, it's voice like ice sliding over a long-decayed corpse, carrying decay upon it's lips. "I am Death, made flesh. I am it's shadow, the Reaper of death's hand." The demonic glove flexed open and closed slowly, as if awaiting something, making a slight grinding sound as the fingers moved against one another. That was all the words it spoke, for it needed no more. As Cara began to take a step back, she wished she hadn't. The woman, the ithing/i before her glided silently forward, into Cara's face before she could even take a breath, the black covered hand shooting out. Cara's hand rose to parry, but she cried out as crimson fanned out from her arm. The woman, the shadow, spun on it's heel, the clawed talons dancing merrily as they twirled. Again, the hand reached for her, slicing her other arm in a spray of blood. The wounds were fine, but each stung as though delt by a sword. Cara cried out, but lashed out with her feet, spinning in place to deliver a powerful blow to the woman's head. the thing stumbled backwards slightly, but from what she could tell, it seemed to be smiling at her from behind that metal shield.
Mockingly, it shook a finger at her, as if saying her struggling was useless. Cara choked back tears of pain as she knew she stood no chance against something that moved such as this. As if a snake, a serpent, reaching out and striking, then retreating again, only to strike a second, time, again and again, until it's venom too hold. Only, this snake possessed no venom, simply a touch that brought pain with every fluid motion.
No warning came as the woman flowed at her. Everything slowed down, and Cara screamed in pain as the woman seemed to caress her face with the black metal. At first, the touch made her cringe, but pain shot through more quickly than a crossbow bolt. For a moment, all she could see was red, the pain so great that the world faded for a moment. She spun, trying to blindly defend herself, but it was in vain. Again and again, the claws shot out, raking her arms and legs, her back and sides. She felt wetness running down her stomach and back, her head and hands. She tried to turn and flee, and instead slid in slickness, falling onto her knees and hands. She forced her good eye open, the other soaked in her own blood, staring into the blackness that supported her and the thing. Tears carved a path through the blood that now covered most of her face, and she trembled from the loss of her blood. Her heart beat so quickly as to burst from her chest. She could see her blood covering everything, coating the black floor, the trail that had been slithered through it as she slid. Even the taste of it had invaded her mouth, making her gag.
She could feel it's eyes on her destroyed back, her clothes long died a deep red. It circled her like a bird of prey, taking in it's soon to be dinner. Those eyes bore holes in her back as she pulled herself upright, wobbling in her crimson misery, but weakly pulled herself into her fighting stance. She would beat this thing, she knew she could. Nothing was invincible. Nothing.
Once more, those dead, black eyes sparkled at her from behind the mask. She knew now. Her opponent's fighting style was to rush in, strike, exactly like the snake she had thought of. If she could forsee the next target, she could win in one blow. She felt more than saw, as her foe rushed forward, the dark hand reaching out to tear away her throat, to get at her lifeblood. Cara spun in place, her back to the empty sky, and she felt it connect, the talons never reaching her. Her foot tingled in response, and she found herself smiling, knowing she had hit. She weakly stumbled backwards, turning until she was looking at her opponent again.
And found herself looking back . . .
Lips trembling, she fell to her knees beneath those dead eyes, her hands spasming in terror. Her face, but with black hair, black eyes. Dead. It was like looking at her own corpse, given life. Her mouth worked soundlessly as the dark figure strode over to her, humming a soft song, a song she knew all too well.
iRequiem . . . my song . . . my face . . . /i
She realized that her foe, herself, the thing, had been dazed, it's motionlessness and empty stare speaking volumns. She saw behind it, the gleam of the silver arch, a point of light in the darkness. The floor, wet and red, shone like a trail to the ring, where she had been standing only minutes before. On legs weakened from pain and loss of blood, she limped towards it, around the figure.
iI will be steadfast . . . no victory is worth this . . . /i
The tears came strongly now, washing her face of her own blood. She limped more quickly, her eyes wide from terror. She had begun to go numb from her wounds, her life slowly ebbing away through the gouges carved into her body. As she neared it, she stumbled, crying out. Her nails dug into the darkness, and a scream emitted from her throat. She'd never been scared in her life like this, never felt anything so. Powerless, she could've defeated her. She was helpless. She could've ended the fight there, with honor.
iMe, me . . . it was me . . . why, why I am seeing this? Why am I dying? I don't want this, I don't want to see this. Why . . . have you forsaken me?!/i
She screamed again, pulling herself upright, the numbness stronger now, her mind beginning to spin. She reached the silver arch, and hurled herself through . . .
Startled cries sounded throughout the room as she met the cold stone floor. Voices were muddled, but she could see the pool of blood that had fanned out from where she had collapsed. Many of the Sisters were coming towards her, she could see. But her vision was blurred, seeing only muddled shapes. Hands were placed on her, and she felt the Weaves flow into her. Deep from her throat, a soft sound began to flow out, the song that had been sung to her since before she had even left her mother's womb. It was her song, not that beast's. She trembled violently as they Healed her, wrapping her in a blanket someone had brought down. Unconsciousness came as she felt her mind go numb . . .
Failure. She had failed. For days, she sat, staring at the closed book on her tiny desk, in her tiny room. She turned them down. She wouldn't go into the third arch. She couldn't go into it. Something such as this had never happened. The room where the ter'annreal was kept had been cleaned, but even the Power couldn't erase what had happened that night. She sang her song quietly, rocking lightly, her knees tucked underneath her chin, as she stared into nothingness.
No one was ever allowed to go again after turning away from the testing. Whispers spoke of demons, problems with the test itself, but Cara herself knew why she had failed. It had been their fault. The Sisters of the great and fabled White Tower. They had sent her in there to die, and she had survived. They were afraid she would show them she was more than what they had thought. Eyes stuck wide open, she stared into emptiness. She wanted to be held by someone, but all around her were those who had tried to kill her. They had sent that vision after her, to end her life. To take her place perhaps. A week had passed, she had eaten what they left for her, afraid she might start scremaing again, as she had when they'd brought her back to her room.
After that time, a pouch of money and a letter was placed on her desk. It was a dismissal; she was trash, unwanted, unclean. She had failed. Useless and powerless. Her belongings in her bag, she stepped away from the life she had sought, from the lie she had strived to become. Her life had ended in that bloody spectacle, her life as a struggling visage.
Away from the gleaming white walls she walked, staring at the small bag of coins as if searching for answers within it's cloth casing. White eyes scanned it for any imperfection. It hadn't just been them, she knew that now. It had been him, the one who controlled them, and guided their hands.
The Creator had abandoned her, and her dream, and shattered her mind and body like a glass doll . . .
iYou will die, every one of you. Never again shall I become a pawn of a master who would break me across his knee like so much kindling. From this day forth, I serve the shdaow that showed me the path to my strength. Forever, I am one with the Lord of the Night. I will kill every one of you, with my own hands . . . /i She flexed her hands, closing them and opening them slowly, staring at her palms. iAnd, with the gift you yourselves have given me . . . /i
***
To Be Continued