Chapter Nine
By the light of her single lamp and a low fire, Bode dressed herself carefully, like before Bel Tine back in Emond's Field. Only this time was far more important. She suppressed a yawn with some effort. A night of contemplation meant sleep was forbidden and she was feeling the effects. But she wouldn't have been able to sleep even if she had wanted to; not with what was coming.
Bode finished dressing and began laying out the items she would carry over into her new life. Her clothes she left in the wardrobe; they would be washed and passed on to other Accepted. Bode had just finished laying down her grandmother's ivory comb, a gift from when she had left Emond's field, on the bed when they came for her. Bode jumped a little at the soft knock and straightened her skirt. She brushed her hair with her fingers and calmly, calmly, answered.
At the door stood seven sisters, one from each Ajah, and each with their shawls wrapped around silk or wool dresses. A small smile twitched at Bode's lips when she saw moiraine was the Blue. In about an hour they would be equals, in rank if not experience, and Bode would be able to speak to her about her adventures in much more detail.
Bode joined the sisters wordlessly, the door closing behind her, and the sisters formed a circle around her and escorted her through the halls of the White Tower. Bode kept silent through the journey, almost desperate to maintain the ritual silence. The sisters retrace the path to the chamber where she had been tested, where they had all been tested, and broke apart to form a line before the doorway.
"Who come here?" Pevara sounded from inside.
"Bodewhin Cauthon," Bode answered confidently. Her heart fluttered with joy, but she had realized that part of being Aes Sedai was giving the appearance of calm, of control, even if you didn't truly feel it.
"For what reason do you come?"
"To swear the Three Oaths, and thereby claim the shawl of an Aes Sedai," she said clearly.
"By what do you claim this burden?"
"By right of having made the passage, submitting myself to the will of the White Tower."
"Then enter, if you dare, and bind yourself to the White Tower." Pevara wore a well-cut dress of grey wool that contrasted the Amyrlin's stole around her neck quite well. She stood framed by the oval ter'angreal, the colors shifting slowly through silver and gold and all colors of all the Ajahs with sparkling radiance. Tesan stood to her side, a velvet cushion in both hands. The Sitters of the Hall of the Tower stood with their shawls in a ring around the walls, as well as two more sisters from each Ajah, all with their own shawls and an extra folded over their arms.
Bode resisted the urge to fidget under the sisters' expressionless stares. She gathered her skirts and passed through the ter'angreal to kneel before the Amyrlin Seat.
From the velvet cushion in Tesan's hands, Pevara took the Oath Rod, a smooth, snow-white cylinder a foot long and a little thicker than Bode's wrist. This ter'angreal would bind her to the Three Oaths and to the White Tower forever. Bode breathed serenely, her journey almost complete, her journey almost begun.
Bode lifted her hands and Pevara placed the Rod gently to nestle in her palms. The glow of saidar surrounded Pevara and she touched the Rod with a thin flow of Spirit. Bode closed her hands around the Oath Rod; it felt like glass, but if possible was even smoother.
"Under the Light and by my hope of salvation and rebirth, I vow never to speak a word that is not true." The Oath settled onto her very being, like weighted air pressing down on her. "Under the Light and by my hope of salvation and rebirth, I vow I will never make a weapon for one man to kill another." Not that it will do much good with the Black Tower free to do so, she thought as the Oath settled, increasing the pressure she felt like and anchor. Bode tensed and relaxed, unwilling to pause. "Under the light and by my hope of salvation and rebirth, I vow that I will never use the One Power as a weapon except against Shadowspawn, or in a last extreme of defending my life or that of my Warder, or that of another sister." The Oaths settled even tighter, like chains wrapped tight around her body, and she breathed deeply. The feeling would fade, but only after a year. Pray that day came fast.
"It is done," the Amyrlin proclaimed, "and the White Tower is graven upon your bones. Rise now, Aes Sedai, and choose your Ajah, and all will be done that may be done under the Light." Bode kissed Pevara's serpent ring before turning and joining the blue sisters.
Like any Accepted, Bode had discussed the seven Ajahs with her friends, debating merits and faults. She had even discussed it with Rif, whose lack of experience in the matter allowed her to voice what she knew and examine it all with greater precision. Rif had supported her eventual choice wholeheartedly. The "Seekers after Causes" motto had made him smile. Bode would have it no other way. She smiled radiantly as she joined Moiraine and the others.
As her path became definate, the other Ajahs began their courtesies and departed in groups. After the Reds went, the last to depart, Pevara nodded her head and followed. What happened now was only for Blues.
Moiraine approached, followed by the Sitters for the Blue, and placed her blue-fringed shawl around Bode's shoulders. Another Blue, older by the color of her hair, kissed bode lightly on the cheeks, murmuring, "Welcome home, sister. We have waited long for you." Another in line repeated the action, and all the others.
Bode wiped a tear from her cheek with a joyous smile. She was home.
Rif sat in the Tower library as he waited for Bode to appear, a book of Andoran history in hand. She had said she would probably take some time, as she had to be schooled in the secrets of the Aes Sedai and the customs of the Blue Ajah in particular. It was barely past breakfast and he was already impatient.
Would she move past him? He was, after all, just a Dedicated. They had been of relatively equal rank before this raising, but now she would stand higher than him, an invisible and insurmountable barrier, unless he obtained the dragon pin. Rif finger the sword at his collar; it suddenly didn't seem so great.
"Rough time, lad?" Rif shot out of his seat into a salute to find Androl standing in front of him. Androl looked up at him with a small smile. "The girl will take some time, Riften. She has to become acquainted to it herself." The kind smile faded into a somber expression. :In the meantime, you have been summoned by the M'Hael."
Rif nodded without thinking, his training kicking in, and followed for five steps before hesitating, then continued on. Bode would take time and the M'Hael was waiting.
Rif swung at his opponent, Folding the Air, to which the Asha'man responded with Cutting the Clouds. Naeff had been a Queen's Guard before joining the Black Tower, and his swordsmanship was some of the best the Tower had to offer. Rif could barely keep up with the spinning wheel of light that was Naeff's sword. Rif knew he was outmatched, just as he had when he sparred with Lord Galad. But he couldn't afford to lose.
Rif whirled through the forms like a man possessed, similarities flowing through his mind. Folding the Fan, Unfolding the Fan. Leopard in the High Grass, Leopard in the Tree. Wind and Rain, The Cyclone Rages, Wind Blows over the Wall. Naeff appeared to falter, caught off guard by Rif's ferocity. Rif deviated, eyeing an opening, and swung for Naeff's neck, his blade stopping a hair's breadth from the Asha'man's neck. He barely registered Naeff's blade in an identical position on the opposite side.
Both men stood rigid, bodies tense. A draw; that was the best Rif could do. The sound of clapping caught his attention, breaking the spell over the combatants. Naeff grinned and sheathed his sword, bowing his head to Rif. Naeff approached the Telamons, who had watched their match and gave his report. Rif had passed.
Rif released a breath and trudged to an awning that had been erected in the shadow of Dragonmount, planning to take advantage of his quarter-hour break. Androl had brought him here to be tested for the dragon pin, for the mantle of Asha'man. Since the Last Battle, Logain and the Telamons had developed a set of standards for soldiers and Dedicated to strive for, the ideals of an Asha'man. Rif was being tested in these ideals, the Seven Skills of an Asha'man.
Upon Traveling to the base of Dragonmount, Rif had been shielded and told to work his way out of it. Not a hard job as all initiates of the Black Tower were trained to do so; and he had always been good at it. Then he had been told to shield Narishma; again, not easy but not overly difficult. That was the first Skill.
After that, they had begun flinging weaves at him, expecting him to cut them out of the air. Rif had enjoyed that particular test, even if it had pushed his limits. Cutting weaves, after he had learned how, had come as easy to him as walking. It had been his mission during the Last Battle to cut down enemy weaves.
Third had been an extremely thorough analysis of strategy. The Telamons had issued a string of possible scenarios for him to dissect and issue orders for as if he were the commander of the opposing force. No scenario had been the same, and all had been set against him. Difficult, but manageable. All Huntsmen were schooled in strategy for hunting down criminals. Each telamon had accepted his response.
Fourth was hand-to-hand combat, issued by a grey-haired Aiel who had chosen to stay at the Black Tower. Rif didn't stand a chance of winning against an Aiel, but Moshim had deemed him skilled enough to defeat any Westlander that came his way.
Fifth, partly as a break, Rif had been ordered to choose a subject from a list and, on the spot, compose a speech in regards to it. He had chosen the bonding of Aes Sedai and Asha'man as Warders, having thought about that many times during his tenure at the White Tower. In the test for public speaking, surprisingly enough, he had passed with flying colors.
The sixth test had been swordsmanship, which he had apparently done well in. Logain approached him, flanked by Flinn and Narishma, and gestured for Rif to follow. Rif stood and did as he was told despite his protesting muscles. Androl opened a gateway for them and Rif started at its destination. They were atop Dragonmount. Before him stood a large, thick, ornate metal door, worked from black iron with flames, thorns, eldritch symbols, and dragons.
Logain stood to the side and began the instructions. "Asha'man, in the Old Tongue, refers to a guardian or defender; a man who would give everything to pursuit of justice. We all know this, now you must learn it, Riften." He gestured to the gathered Asha'man, who seized the Source and began channeling into the doorframe. The symbols covering the doorframe began to glow, the dragons breathing arcs of fire. "Through that door is your final test, Arason. Remember: do not let you courage falter, for without it, we cannot call ourselves Asha'man."
The space within the doorway began to glow a fierce orange, like a raging fire burned in the other side. Rif stripped down to his leggings, his coat and shirt left behind and sword in hand, and entered the doorway …
Rif hacked and slashed at the shadows, red eyes glaring from their heads. A small family, father, mother, and three children, huddled behind him in fear. He didn't know how, but he knew that they were in danger from these … things. And he had to protect them.
The shadows, shaped like men and insect-like movements, lunged for him with glistening claws. His body was covered in scratches from the things. Others tried to get around him, to get to the family. Rif blocked their passage, wrapped in the Void and saidin raging within him.
Rif wove lances of Fire to give himself breathing room. Before, those lances had destroyed two or three shadows a piece, now they barely finished one. The sun was setting, and somehow he knew that these things would be unstoppable in the night. Rif released the Source, too exhausted to channel. He readied his sword and fought on. They just kept coming.
A shriek caught his ear, and a wailing cry. He turned to find one of the shadows had gotten past him. The youngest child, an infant girl, was wailing in its arms as the monster fled. Rif shouted and pursued the creature, determined to save the baby. He caught up and slashed the shadow into oblivion, catching the child in a gentle grip. An instant later, pained cries filled the air. Rif gasped in horror as the shadows fell upon the rest of the family, tearing them to shreds. He had abandoned his post to save one child and left the rest to die.
Tears welled in Rif's eyes, but he refused to let sorrow consume him. He had saved at least one. With that thought, as if called by it, the shadows turned to him and approached, eager for the babe in his arms. Rif steeled himself and held the child close. He lashed out at one of the shadows, then killed another. He was exhausted and bleeding and near death himself, but he refused to let this child die.
A shadow knocked his sword away and lashed at Rif, who fell back to avoid its claws. He cradled the crying baby in his arms as the creatures advanced. A final desperate gambit rolled into his mind; it would never work, but it was this child's only chance. Rif stood on quaking knees and shouted in defiance, charging through the shadows, the child wrapped in his arms. He would shield her, he would save her. As the shadows clawed at him, brought him down, Rif curled inward to protect the baby girl. He shook the claws off and ran, one last burst …
Rif fell into the grass clinging to the top of Dragonmount. His sword lay behind him, no child in his arms. Rif's eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he collapsed into the embrace of sleep.
In the courtyard before the ever-growing Black Tower, under the giant statue of the Dragon Reborn that faced outward and under a clear-blue sky, Logain held a velvet bag in his hands. Rif, dirty and exhausted even after being Healed and passed out for less than an hour, knelt on one knee before the M'Hael with his sheathed sword standing next to him like a staff.
Logain grinned widely and produced a gold, red-enameled dragon pin from the bag. "Riften Arason, under the light and by the will of the Dragon, I imbue you with the mark of an Asha'man." Rif's gaze jerked up to stare at Logain. Hadn't he failed to save the family? "Wear it with dignity," Logain continued, "as a symbol of what we stand for: justice, honor, courage. Courage to protect the innocent."
Logain lifted Rif to his feet and fastened the pin to the right of Rif's collar. Logain gestured to Neald, who produced a sword wrapped in a scabbard of fine, black snakeskin leather embossed with the Dragon's Fang in silver thread. "And as with all Asha'man, a Power-wrought sword. Like it's blade may your spirit never break, and like it's edge may your dedication and strength never fade or wear away." Logain presented the sword to rif, who buckled it onto his belt to replace his old sword.
Logain backed away and saluted to Rif, followed closely by the Telamons and all other Asha'man, dedicated, and soldiers in the crowd. "Hail Riften Arason, Asha'man of the Black Tower!" the men around him whooped three times and dispersed.
Logain approached Rif, Androl and Jur Grady—the newest Telamon, the Herald of Hinderstap—at his left and right. "Your tenure at the White Tower is officaly complete, Arason," Logain said. "Another Dedicated has been sent to take your place, as per the Al'Vere Pact. Enjoy your first week as an Asha'man as you see fit." With that, Logain turned away and left.
Rif's spirits, so high moments before, plummeted like a stone in a lake. He was finished with the White Tower? What about Bode?
"Remember your orders, boy," Jur said in his composed way. Rif looked up at the rugged farmer's face. "Enjoy your time as you see fit." With a small grin, he turned and followed the M'Hael. Androl passed a large envelope to him with a wink, and followed as well.
After a moment, Rif's eyes widened in comprehension and and a smile split his face. He quickly wove a gateway and bolted through. What he didn't see was the Brown sister Gabrelle, wife and Warder of Logain, smiling at him from beside her husband. She had always admired young love.
Bode walked serenely, wrapped in her blue-fringed shawl, toward the Aes Sedai dining hall. She had left the Blue quarters earlier to look for Rif, but had yet to find hide nor hair of him. It was as if he had disappeared. Her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a figure in a black coat coming toward her. Her spirits soared for a brief moment, until she realized she didn't recognize the man.
She had never seen this one. A tall, lean Sea Folk with dark skin and tattooed hands, his head completely shaved. An Accepted was guiding him along, presumably to the Accepted dining hall. The Accepted curtsied and the Dedicated bowed gracefully as they passed.
"Who is this?" Bode asked, masking her rising anxiety.
"This is a new dedicated, Aes Sedai, to replace the andoran who was raised Asha'man. I was told to show him around." Bode kept her face straight and gestured for the girl to continue on.
The Andoran? That had to be Rif. He was gone? Well, she had been raised, so why not he? He probably had to learn the secrets of being a full-fledged Asha'man, act as an extension of their Tower. To go on missions to find men who could channel, search out pockets of living Shadowspawn, train soldiers. All of these thoughts did nothing to lessen the pain in Bode's heart. Would he ever come back?
"Bode?" She froze at the sound of that voice. Bode turned to see Rif, his back straight and his arms folded to hold the lapels of his coat. He would have looked quite debonair if the look of concern on his face weren't so … vivid.
"Bode, are you okay?" Rif approached her, his posture relaxing, and placed a hand on her shoulder. Bode folded into the gesture and hugged him tight, Aes Sedai dignity or no.
"I'm glad you're here," Bode whispered.
"Me, too," he replied.
Bode pulled away and examined him, her eye falling into the dragon pin sitting on his collar. "Well, it seems I heard correctly," she said with a smile. "Congratulations, Asha'man Arason." Bode gave a small curtsey.
"Congratulations, Bodewhin Sedai," Rif countered with a bow. Both laughed quietly, both secretly happy that these changes wouldn't harm their friendship. Or, whatever it was between them. Bode reflected on that line of thought and took Rif's arm, guiding him away from the dining hall.
"Where are we going?" Rif asked.
"You'll see," Bode replied, her mischievous streak kicking in. Bode and rif soon arrived in the garden where they had first met—or at least had first interacted—and turned to face Rif, her cheeks rosy with nervousness.
"Riften Arason," she looked him in the eye with as much determination as she could muster, "I would have you as my Warder. Will you accept?"
Rif's eyes widened in surprise before a smile spread across his face. "I would bond you, Bodewhin Cauthon. Will you accept?" he asked.
Bode gasped at the thought, then remembered Androl and Pevara. The first double-bond, unique in its creation. The Aes sedai had come to view double-bonding as an act of utter faith. And who did she have more faith in than Riften?Bode nodded at the same time as Rif, accepting each other's offer.
Bode embraced the Source and slowly, carefully, wove the complex Warder's bond out of Spirit. The detached cast to Rif's expression told her that he was doing something similar. Bode lifted the weave above Rif's head, preparing to settle it over him, when Rif placed a hand on her cheek, rubbing softly. He leant forward and kissed her sweetly and she felt the asha'man bond settle over her. Bode melted into the kiss and settled the Warder bond over him in turn, linking them forever.
They broke the kiss and bode felt something strange; a blossoming of emotion in the back of her mind that she had read was part of the Warder bond, and then it circled back on her like a reflection in a mirror. Her own self melded with his in and endless circle. Rif's life flashed before her mind's eye, she saw his memories in full. And she felt him as he felt the same for her. This was like a circle had been … but it was far more intimate than the circle ever could have been.
After a few moments that felt like hours, the sensation began to fade. Not entirely, not by a long shot, but they seemed to achieve a sort of … balance. Bode collapsed to her knees, very aware of rif doing the same as he held her close. She felt different, as if everything before now had been a dream and she had finally woken up. It was like when she had first channeled, yet entirely different.
Bode looked up at Rif and started. He was glowing a soft orange, like a candle flame. She felt from his emotions that he was holding the Source. And then a thought struck her; it resembled the glow of saidar. And she felt in his mind a sense of relief, of tranquility, the utter opposite of how he described saidin.
Rif stood shakily and lifted bode to her feet. "Well," he chuckled awkwardly, 'that happened." Bode laughed out loud at the statement, her pent up emotions giving way to joy. After a moment, Rif joined her. "And I don't know how to undo this bond, so I suppose you're stuck with me." Bode sobered up and pulled rif into a fierce hug, and kissed him on the cheek. Channelers could live for centuries, and she swore then that she would never, in all that time, let him go.
Karl Zavier fumed in his room over this turn of events, thinking furiously—both in rage and in pace. Arason had been elevated! And by the look of them passing in the halls, he had bonded the Cauthon chit, who had been raised to Aes Sedai. This complicated his plans. The boy had to pay, for the duel months ago and the disgrace in their training, the dragon-fight. But now that payment would take even greater care. Logain had not ended the practice of the Traitor's Tree, and Karl had no intention of having his head decorating the branches for others to view on the way to training.
A soft tap at the door halted his thoughts. Karl seized the Source, just to be safe, and opened the door wide. Before him stood a red-haired, Taraboner Accepted. That alone was off, but it wasn't what caught his attention. This one had a familiar look in her eyes, in the set of her shoulders. He saw hatred in this woman.
Karl had not always been the best at the Game of Houses, at least among his fellow Cairheinin—his emotions ruled him too well for that—but he had always been talented at recognizing an opportunity. He gestured for the woman to enter; she did, with an air of arrogance to rival a full Aes Sedai.
As soon as the door closed shut behind her, a shield slammed between him and the Source, catching him by surprise and snapping his connection like a twig. She had done it so fast he hadn't even felt her connect to saidar. Flows of Air wrapped around him and bound him like a snared pig. Outrage flared within Zavier's gut.
"Release me, girl! Or suf-" A whip of air snapped across his face, cutting him off mid-sentence. He felt a welt begin to rise across his cheekbone.
"Just so we are clear," the girl said. "I have come to make a bargain. We both want the same thing: those who humiliated us to suffer. They outrank us now, on both sides of the coin." The accepted lifted him closer. "The only way to get what we want is together. But we must be patient."
The Accepted released the flows of air, but not the shield. She held out her hand. "Irella Bathor," she said. Karl hesitated, shamefully intimidated by this woman. But his rage flared back even hotter than before, once again reflected at Arason. In a way, this entire situation was the Huntsman's fault as well.
He took Irella's hand in a firm grip. "Lord Karl Zavier."
Easily my longest chapter yet. How'd I do on the Asha'man test? R&R