Chapter Twenty

Algarin Pendaloin, known to his brothers in the Black Tower by his brother's name, Emarin, sat on a cushioned chair on the verandah of his small house in Shar'aman, watching his grandchildren play with the other children of the Black Tower. Beside him sat his oldest grandson, dressed in the pinless black coat of a soldier, trying to light a fire to cook dinner for the evening. Some part of Algarin knew he was dreaming, but it hardly mattered.

Suddenly, Algarin felt a chill rise from the ground, the atmosphere darken like a cloud blocking the sun. This happened sometimes, he had found. All throughout his life this had happened, say, once a year. Dreams of things that may come to pass. It had happened far more often since he joined the Black Tower, as if responding to his accepting that last part of himself. The books delivered by the late Rand al'Thor had described it as a Talent called "Dreaming".

The children disappeared as if they had never been there. Algarin yelped as he felt blazing heat burn him and turned to find himself standing several feet from his home, the house burning as if possessed. The dream shifted and he saw all of Shar'aman burning, a small group of men in dark grey coats cackling as they led all of the asha'man away in chains.

The dream shifted again and he saw the same thing happening in Tar Valon, the White Tower crumbling before him as the Aes Sedai were led away.

The dream shifted a final time and a small group were watching the Towers burn from the top of a cliff. A large weasel with black fur and white markings on its collar bone. A white cat with red highlights along its head and neck, clutching a silvery chain in its mouth. And at the end of the chain was a black dog, a friendly-looking creature that radiated sorrow and shame. The weasel and cat looked to the dog, who flinched in fear. Both animals cackled with disturbingly human voices.

Algarin sat up, jolted from his vision by the terror he had felt. Parts of the dream were unmistakable. Both of the Great Towers were in terrible danger, but the danger could be narrowly avoided with the right intervention. The Towers would be betrayed by a member of each, using a loyal Asha'man as a tool.

Other parts were not clear. Who were these traitors? Who would be used against the Black Tower? How would they be tricked or forced into attacking? Why would these two do all of this in the first place? After a moment of contemplation, Algarin decided what he didn't know would reveal itself in time. All they could do now was praise the creator that they had been warned and use their time wisely.

Algarin quickly got dressed and headed for Lord Logain's home. He would not likely appreciate the late hour, it was sometime before dawn, but he needed to know. And Light help them when this came to pass.

Rif sat at the small table used for dining in his home at the Black Tower. He, Bode and Alivia had spent a few more days in Comfrey after his "breakdown", as Alivia called it. Rif had spoken to his mother, who had told him the true story of his father in person. After that, Bode and she had cleared the air and come to something of an understanding. It had made their remaining time their satisfyingly less awkward.

After Comfrey, and his mother's assurances that all three of them would be welcome there and her interrogations as to when she would see her grandchildren "as she wasn't getting any younger" were over, Alivia had woven the gateway to the Black Tower for the end of Rif's Pilgrimage. The Pilgrimage was a choice given to those newly raised to the dragon pin, a chance to see and experience the world they had pledged themselves to protect. Rif's was ending, so his official duties, whatever they were, were to begin shortly.

But that was not the focus of Rif's thoughts at the moment. At the moment, he was considering the leather vambrace decorated with coin-like ter'angreal. He had given his "breakdown" a lot of thought over the last few days. He had come to terms with his father's death, with the fact that he had let anger cloud his judgement. And he had wondered very strongly on what he had done to make that Brown tell him heavily-guarded secrets so easily, to make her faint, and to point him to the precise page he needed when he had needed it.

But right now, he thought about the wards. He should have seen them coming, should have known that the Aes Sedai would protect their secrets with the One Power. And yet, without the paralis-net, specifically the fox-engraved coin that dissolved weaves, he would at best be hurt; at worst, he would be dead many times over.

Rif ran a finger over the leather that kept the fox-coin in place. It was sealed in, and the leather was Power-treated, very durable. Plus, he didn't want to damage the vambrace anyway. On impulse, Rif channeled a thin flow of Spirit at the edge of the coin. The leather surrounding it reacted, absorbing the flow and … receding. The vambrace seemed to gently vibrate and the leather receded until the fox-coin popped from the surrounding leather, allowing it to grow back over and leave nothing but a slight indent in its wake.

Rif picked up the fox-coin, which was larger than he had realized, and ran a thumb over it. At the very top, previously concealed by the leather of the vambrace, was a small hole. An idea sprung to mind and Rif quickly left the house, headed for the town's market. Specifically the smithies.

Alivia, dressed in a sturdy black dress with silver at the hems, stood across a large circle dug in the ground from one of the Black Tower's initiates, a newly-raised Dedicated. The boy, who couldn't have had to shave more than once a week, fingered his sword nervously. Alivia smirked; her reputation preceded her. Even the formerly so-called weapons were wary of her. A circle of other Dedicated and an Asha'man instructor watched on from the outside of the circle.

The Dedicated's eyes took on that steely cast that Alivia had long-since associated with their "Void" and prepared to strike. She embraced the Source and wove a series of weak bursts of Fire; no need to hurt the boy. The Dedicated sliced them out of the air, correctly guessing the placement of her weaves. What he didn't see was the threads of Earth she had eased into the ground. The dirt underneath her opponent exploded, sending him into the air; he landed with a thud and a groan, not seriously hurt.

"Take that as a lesson, men," the instructor said, voice amplified by the Power. "Battle is not choreographed, it is not planned, it is not fluid. It is chaotic and the smallest thing can go wrong. No plan survives first contact with the enemy. As soldiers and more we must remember to be fluid, adaptable. Always plan, but never become set in it. Prepare by preparing to improvise. Dismissed." The Dedicated class gave that asha'man salute and dispersed to whatever they did in their spare time.

Alivia left as well and began wandering about the town of Shar'aman, eventually settling in a small tavern. She ordered the best punch they had, made from fruit grown within the Tower's walls. Before she could pay, a hand clapped a silver crown down before her. "Keep the change," a young voice said. Alivia turned to find a young Andoran man, with dark hair and a thin beard. He looked to Alivia with a small smile and nursed his own drink.

"Thank you," she said. The man shrugged.

"Wouldn't be right to let a lady have to pay for her own," he said matter-of-factly. Alivia quirked and eyebrow and smiled. This man was polite and … she supposed he was handsome. She still wasn't very good at judging that. She decided that he was pleasant to look at and left it there. She held her drink in one hand and her other hand out to him.

"Alivia," she introduced. The man chuckled and shook it.

"Jaim Torfinn," he responded, "and I know who you are. Everyone who has been to the Tower from before the Last Battle knows who you are."

"Really," Alivia said, "and what do you know of me?" Jaim quirked his mouth to the side, looking guilty.

"They say you were a damane freed from the armies of the Seanchan, loyal to Rand al'Thor who freed you. They say you're as powerful as a woman can be, but don't care about your power. And they say you know nothing of men." By the end he was blushing, his forehead beaded with sweat. Alivia felt something stir within her belly. Could one think a man was … adorable? Had Min said that?

"Well, um …" she said, "I have to admit that for once the gossip is true," she admitted, though she couldn't say why. A thought came to her; a wicked thought that would make Min proud when she told this story. "Are you familiar with the slowing that happens to channelers?" she asked innocently. Jaim nodded. How old am I?" she asked sweetly.

Jaim started, then swallowed nervously, eyes flicking all over her face. He winced, his mouth twisted in an almost pained expression. "Early forties?" he hazarded, "Give or take a few?" Alivia kept her gaze level, a smile playing at her lips just as Min had taught her.

"That's sweet, but try just over four-hundred," she said. Jaim choked on his drink, coughing for a few moments before fixing Alivia with a disbelieving look.

"There's no way," he said. Alivia shrugged. Since being freed from the a'dam, she had learned how amazing the Power could be. Jaim regarded her with narrowed eyes, brushing his chin with his thumb.

"Can I buy you another drink?" he asked. Alivia smiled.

"You can buy me two," she answered.

Bode hummed a tune she had learned in the White Tower as she climbed the steps to Rif's house, a small stack of books recommended by Gabrelle balanced in her hands. A quick flick of Air opened the door and closed in behind her. She looked around to find Rif, knowing he was close, and found him snoozing on the small sofa in the living area.

Bode gently placed her books on the ground and approached, marveling at the man she loved. He looked so peaceful, his lips curled into a calm, natural smile. On impulse, Bode knelt and ran her fingers through his hair. He seemed to react to her touch, neck craning to feel more of her. Bode giggled, knowing full-well that she must appear a lovesick fool. And they would be half-right; she was lovesick.

Rif's eyes fluttered open and he glanced at her, cheeks coloring. He smiled and sat up, placing a chaste kiss on her lips. "Good …" he glanced at the window and noted the setting sun, "evening," he finished. Bode chuckled.

Rif's eyes brightened like they did when he remembered something important and he pulled her down next to him. "I have a gift for you, Bode," he said, pulling a small box out of his pocket, one that would store a small piece of jewelry. Bode took it and looked at him. He nodded in consent. Bode opened the box to find a pendant on a silvery chain. Bode gasped in joy and lifted it up to the light. Wait, why did this seem familiar?

Bode looked down to Rif's vambrace, confirming her suspicions. "Is this a ter'angreal?" she asked. Rif nodded with a wry grin.

"Call it peace of mind for me," he said. "If you wear this, at least I know something can't hurt you." Bode felt her cheeks darken, gratitude swelling in her chest. This ter'angreal was priceless to anyone, channeler or no. That he would give it to her was an amazing gift, as well as a show of unshakable trust.

Rif took the necklace, prompting Bode to turn so he could fasten it around her neck. It nestled perfectly above her breasts, feeling as natural as could be. Bode looked back at Rif, joy and love swelling inside, as well as something else. Before she could change her mind, she took Rif's hand and led him to the master bedroom. A quick flick of Air locked the door to make sure they weren't interrupted.

Alivia would have to make her own arrangement for the night.

Alivia hummed in contentment, wrapped in Jaim's arms as he snored lightly. To think she had been forced to miss out on … that for four centuries. What a wasted time. She brushed her nails along the young man's chest, causing him to hold her tighter. She nestled back into his embrace, more content than she could remember ever being. This young man made her feel … secure. And that was a wonderful thing. She felt she could get used to this.

Rif snored lightly as he held Bode, his arms wrapped around her waist. He felt more relaxed, more at peace than ever before. And he had felt through the bond, before Bode fell asleep in his arms, that she felt the same. And that just made it better, better than any pair of non-channelers could feel.

He continued to doze until something brushed against his consciousness. He shifted a little, nuzzling his cheek into Bode's hair, but it happened again. Rif breathed deep and lifted his head a little, unsure if he was dreaming or not. There it was again, some feeling of impending danger. Now fully awake, Rif carefully moved away from Bode, thankfully not waking her. He placed a soft kiss on her temple before slipping on his trousers and boots, his coat and sword in his hands.

Rif left the house, open coat revealing his shirtlessness and sword buckled in place. He had even spared a moment to buckle on his paralis-net. Rif looked around at the side street lit by lamps that used the One Power to burn. The feeling brushed against him again; he could almost hear his name. Rif followed the feeling through the streets of Shar'aman, the cold night air making him regret getting out of bed. Regret leaving Bode's side.

After a while he had left the buildings behind by some distance as he appraoched the site of the Black Tower's construction. He looked around, the feeling suddenly gone. He turned, feeling like a fool in multiple ways, before a tingling broke out along his arms. At the same time, he felt his vambrace heat up. A woman was channeling near him, and she was not happy.

After a long moment, a figure walked into the lamplight around the site. As they drew closer, Rif recognized … him. "Zavier?" Rif asked, suddenly on alert. Zavier grinned maliciously, and weaves of fire darted from him. Rif seized the Source and sliced the weaves out of the air, reflex taking over. In return, Rif shot arrows of Air, a trick he had developed in the Two Rivers.

And so the two fought, firing weaves at each other and slashing their opponents out of the air when not dodging them. Rif briefly noticed a huge ward against noise woven around the area, muffling the noise of their fight. So Zavier had planned this out, had he? Rif decided to end it.

Rif wove an inverted Deathgate and sent it hurtling toward Zavier, who reacted with a shout of surprise and leapt to the side. As he did, he failed to notice the threads of Earth Rif had sowed; jerked them up in an explosion of soil. Alivia had shown him that and he had worked it out himself. Zavier landed with a loud thud and deep groan of pain.

Rif approached cautiously. In his experience with the man from their time at the White Tower, he knew the Cairhienin to be exceedingly arrogant, but also quite wily. Rif nudged him with his boot, to which the man barely moved. Rif knelt and Delved him, seeing nothing but bruises forming. Meh, let them form. He deserved it. Rif stood and released the Source, turning for home. His report could wait until the morning.

One thing niggled at him, though. He had felt a woman channeling, so where …? His train of thought was cut off by a shield cutting him off from the True Source. Rif spun around to see another unwelcome familiar face. Irella, the Accepted from the White Tower. He noticed the red belt across her torso that marked her as a Kinswoman. He couldn't make himself feel pity for her.

Rif felt saidin being channeled and shouted as he was lifted by the ankle into the air and dropped unceremoniously. He leapt to his feet to find Zavier standing. They were … working together? When did that happen?!

"He's shielded?" Zavier said. Irella nodded with a grim smile. Rif saw and then felt another shield slide into place as the first dissolved. Now Zavier was maintaining it. Irella approached with something in her hand, something metal. He waited before she was a few steps away before acting.

Rif drew upon the Well in his paralis-net and forced her back with a small weave of Wind, then used Spirit to slice the shield away. In that moment of distraction when the weave collapsed back into Zavier, he seized the Source and sent threads of Air to wrap around Zavier's ankles and lift him up, just as he had done. He was about to slam the smug noble into the ground, courtesy and restraint be burned, when he felt something cold click around his neck and saidin melted from his grasp. Rif felt at his neck, finding a metal band secured firmly above his collar bone.

Rumors and descriptions from Asha'man reports flooded into his mind, fear knitting them together. He knew what this was. Unbidden, Rif cried out in fear. He knew what this was! How had this happened?! HOW?!

All of this ran through his head before he felt the manacle force him to his knees, pain racing through him like molten lead in his veins. His vocal cords seized up, preventing him from crying out. All that escaped was a pained groan.

Zavier and Irella walked into his field of vision, Irella's smaller metal bracelet catching the eye. Zavier sneered and struck Rif across the face. Irella let him fall as he felt blood trickle down his chin. Zavier knelt down in his view, that sneer more terrifying than Rif remembered.

"Who's stronger now, eh, Arason?" he asked lowly. "Let's have some fun."

Scary enough? Leave a review, tell me what you think.