Tzora burned.
Flames lit the tops of glittering towers like the watchfires of the First Age, beacons in the night that reflected off what little of the famous multicolored glass remained. The burning light highlighted the rubble of the fallen towers, the husks of abandoned and destroyed jo-cars, the shattered metal and glass stained with the blood of the fallen. The bodies that lay all about, crushed, burned, and battered, fallen where they had tried to flee, draped over others they had tried to protect. In a few places, far too few, the light allowed for glimpses of the few citizens who still ran through the streets, desperate to escape their home before it came down on their heads.
All fled in the same direction, no matter where the fires burned, where the towers fell, where clogged masses of panicked refugees got in one another's way as they squeezed through alleys and around the rubble. Some ran right through the flames, others running right under falling buildings in their haste. They always ran the same direction. North. Worse waited for them in the south.
Karam watched another group run past them, blood streaked across their clothing and panic in their eyes. He ached to offer help, but that would have to be left to others this night. He had another task, one that could not wait. He walked on.
A group of a few thousand walked behind him, the crowd growing larger and larger as others from other parts of the city came to join them. Emen and Adan walked by his sides, Niel and Courmarin behind them, and behind them many he knew well, still more that he did not. Brave souls all. The bravest he had ever known. All had the red hair and wore the cadin'sor that marked them as Da'shain Aiel.
They walked south.
By the time they reached the square the group had grown. There must have been ten thousand in all, walking side by side, helping one another climb over rubble and avoid the places where the shaking ground had torn furrows in the streets. All the buildings burned here; the heat was a burning wall pushing them back. Karam walked on, past the rubble and the bodies, past the few citizens that limped their way past the group, terror and wonder in their eyes as they fled, looking back to watch the Aiel walking towards death.
Karam stopped before the entrance to the square. He did not speak; they knew what they needed to do. The Aiel began to split up, small groups forming then moving off to the left and right, to enter from the other sides of the square. He waited, giving them time to get into position, before raising his hand and motioning his group forward.
They walked to meet death.
The famous silver spires of Tsora's Torien Square were nothing more than molten puddles now; so were many of the buildings. The heat had long ago burned away anything else in the square, leaving nothing but the paving stones and a thick layer of ash. Karam did not want to know what had left those ashes behind. His eyes flickered over the destruction before landing on the source, lit by the steady light of the lava. A tall man, hair dark as the night, wearing the tattered remains of the uniform of the Hundred Companions. His hands stained black up to the elbows from the ash. Jaric Mondoran.
He turned at their approach, and despite himself Karam missed a step, his heart freezing. Those eyes. He was too far to see their color, though he knew them to be a warm brown. He was not too far to see the pain. Perhaps others would call it madness. The power of the Dark One, his counterstroke, the taint upon the purity of the True Source, seeping into the men who touched saidin. Driving them to madness, rotting them away from the inside. Yes, others might call the light and shadow in Jaric's eyes madness. Karam could only see his pain.
He stepped forward and held out his arms to either side. His friends, his brothers, his people, stepped up beside him, linking arms with him and one another, spreading out until they formed one side of a circle, the beginnings of a second circle forming behind them. At the other sides of the square the other groups of Aiel appeared, linking arms to form the other sides of the circles, joining with those already there. Soon they ringed the entire square, several circles deep, arms locked together in mutual support. Trapping the madman within.
Jaric just watched them, head cocked to the side, his half-shadowed silhouette all too familiar. Karam grabbed on to that pain, not allowing it to flee. Embracing it. He had served Jaric Sedai for over twenty years; he'd seen his gentle smile as he wove Earth to make little castles for the children, laughed with him as they worked on his latest experiment. This man, whose steps caused quakes to rumble though the ground as he stalked towards them, who made the air ripple with heat when his hands rose, whose eyes were darker than the deepest night and who held such pain, did not resemble him at all.
So little remained of the man he'd served so proudly. The man he'd counted a friend. He had to hope something of that man remained. He was here to bring him back.
They were the Da'shain Aiel; they kept the Covenant; they served the Aes Sedai. Always. Tonight, they would do their duty. Tonight, they stopped the Aes Sedai from destroying the city before the people could flee. Tonight, they brought a broken man back from the brink. Tonight, they offered to the Servant of All all they had to give.
Karam's voice was the first to rise in song.
Jaric froze, head turning from side to side as the voices of the Aiel rose in the burning night. They sang as one, singing the seed song as they would before a plowed field yet to grow. They sang to encourage the buried, dying seed of Jaric Mondoran to grow once again.
Karam sang loudest of all. As always, the song caught him up, and he felt that the song carried his heart, the whole of himself, as it rose on the breeze. It was easy to believe that he was the song, instead of the one singing it. He cast himself upon the wind and mixed with the song of his friends, his brothers, his family. He sang and reminded the man who stood at their center who he was. Who they were.
Jaric's hands rose, and lightning split the night, streaking down from the smoke-ridden sky.
Karam's eyes burned and his song nearly faltered as he blinked rapidly, streaks of light fading from his vision with each blink before he forced his eyes to stay open.
A hole had opened in the Aiel lines, and in the ground itself, a crater of ash and bodies thrown to the ground. They lay frozen, fallen, burned, and broken like the city itself. Karam wanted to wail, to weep, to run to them and see if there were any that could be saved.
He kept singing. The Aiel kept singing, their song unbroken, and once they were sure no more lightning would be called to the same spot those on either side of the breach began to move. They too wore burns now, stumbling on unsteady legs, clambering over the rubble while lifting their legs high to avoid tripping, eyes blinking constantly to try to wipe away the white lines that burned across their vision. As one, they moved to fill the hole. Their arms picked up those who had fallen that could still stand and linked arms, supporting one another as the hole in the circle was mended. All throughout, they continued the song, never slowing, never stopping, singing with all they had and more.
Jaric just watched, his head still cocked to one side. They filled the hole and Jaric's hands rose again. The lightning struck the opposite side of the circles this time, screams echoing but overpowered by the song as men were tossed about, some rising again, most not. Those on the edges once again filled the hole, those in the back moving forward to fill the gaps in the front lines, picking their way around molten puddles of glass, around the edges of the crater where small fires still burned, stepping over the corpses of the fallen, taking special care not to tread on them. Again, the men linked arms and sang as one, their song never ending.
Jaric lashed out again. Three sections of the line this time, with fire as his weapon. Balls of blue, gold, and red exploded into existence, wiping out hundreds at a time, leaving nothing more than ash behind. Jaric's face twisted into a mad smile. A cruel smile. It became a frown as the Aiel began to pull together once again, to fill in the lines. Karam felt himself take a few steps forward as the circles contracted.
Jaric lashed out again and again. Where he struck, the Aiel fell. Flames burned them to ashes, the heat a searing wind that washed over them all and dried the tears falling freely from Karam's eyes for a moment. Lightning called from the sky flung them far and tore them to shreds, leaving broken bodies behind and forcing the Aiel to walk past their fallen. Fissures in the ground opened beneath their feet and pulled them down, dragging others along where the strength of the lines could not pull them up, dragging Karam's heart with them.
No matter what Jaric did, the song did not stop. With each attack, with each hole opened in their lines, with each man who fell, their hearts ached, but they did not stop. The tears that streaked down his face, the grief, pain, and sadness that tore Karam's heart to shreds and suffused every part of his thoughts, the lump in his throat, nothing stopped his singing or the singing of those around him.
Every moment they sang was another that the people of the city could use to escape. Every moment they sang was another for their wives and daughters and children to lead the people to safety, to where the remaining Aes Sedai could protect them and shelter them. Every moment they sang was another for the people to live. And every moment they sang was another chance to bring Jaric back. So they sang on, no matter what.
Jaric's face was marred by a rictus snarl now, moving faster and faster, dealing out death with every moment. They barely had time to fill in the holes now, the circles contracting faster and faster. The third circle was gone now, all the men there having moved forward to fill the holes in the first and second circles. Light, how many had already fallen? Too many to count. Far too many. Most of them bore bruises, cuts, and burns now, inflicted by proximity to a blast, by falling in the rubble, by flying debris.
Karam stepped over the body of one of the fallen and to his infinite sorrow, recognized the man. No, the boy. Mael had been no more than sixteen. He'd barely been old enough to join in the seed singing, his voice finally deep enough to join them. They'd tried to stop him coming with them, encouraged him to join the women and children guiding the refugees out of the city. He'd refused, arguing that he had as much right as any of them to be here, to serve, to honor their promises. He would not be dissuaded. And now here he lay, eyes wide in death.
Karam forced his eyes up, his feet forward, and sang on, the inexorable pull of his brothers' linked arms calling him forward as they stepped forward, the circle growing smaller and smaller with each step. Their song was softer now, sung by fewer voices, but it was still strong. They sang with all they had, to remind the man who killed them who he was. Who he had been. Of the Covenant they all served. They sang to remind him, that the world had not abandoned him, even if he had abandoned the world.
Jaric switched tactics when there was only one circle left. Karam could not have said how long they had sung, how much time had passed between the moment they first stepped into the square and the moment when the second circle melted into the ragged remains of the first. They were close to Jaric now, close enough that they could see his features, make out more than the snarl frozen on his face. Karam could see the cold fury etched into the lines of his jaw and eyes. Jaric's hands rose again, and he braced himself, as well as he could, for whatever came next.
Burning liquid fire, brighter than lightning, formed a thin spear before Jaric's outstretched hand before shooting forward and striking Emen, locked arm in arm with Karam on his right. For a moment he flashed with light, his colors reversed, before fading away as if he had never been there. A distant part of Karam's horrified mind knew that, to the Pattern, he truly hadn't been. Balefire. Forbidden even by the Shadow for the way it destabilized the Pattern, for how it burned life-threads away.
For the briefest of moments, the song faltered. Their horror, their panic at seeing the forbidden weave, was an overwhelming wave. What would happen if they were the next ones hit, they all had to be asking. Would they be burned from the Pattern, lost for all ages? Would the Wheel grind to a halt as the Pattern tore itself apart, balefire burning the threads to ashes?
They could not stop. He could not let them stop. So Karam lifted his arm and linked up with Niel to his right and sang on. He threw himself into the song, more than ever before, imaging that he drew strength from the earth itself, from the men who linked arms on either side of him and beyond, drawing strength from them like the circles of channelers did when they made their greatest creations, the wonders of the Age. He sang on, stronger and louder than before, and the others sang with him. Jaric struck again, leaving a blurred line across Karam's vision and another hole in the line, but this time there was no pause. The Aiel to the left and right stepped together and linked arms, and sang on without stopping, without hesitation. There was nothing left for them but the song.
One by one, he killed them. He continued to use balefire, burning each man out of the Pattern one at a time, only occasionally using fire and lightning when he wanted to take out more than one. Karam could almost hear the Pattern screaming. But the intervals between killings were growing now. Jaric was moving slower, watching them as they sang. His hands rose lethargically, the weaves forming sluggishly. Once or twice, the men managed to dodge the deadly weaves before they hit, returning to the line as soon as it was safe to do so. Their line dwindled, loosing men in twos and threes, then one at a time, but slower now.
Karam had lost track of time long ago. His lungs and throat burned; his head ached. The burns and cuts and bruises pained him, and his legs were close to giving out on him due to exhaustion. He should have stopped singing hours ago; if he had any voice left after this it would be a miracle. But it was worth it to see Jaric slowly, ever so slowly, begin to respond.
Before he knew it, Karam was the only one left. He did not know what had happened to those on either side of him. Perhaps he did not want to remember. He found himself standing alone in the square but for Jaric, only a few steps away from him now. Only his voice rose in song, rough and somewhat raspy with the ache of hours upon hours singing and the effects of smoke inhalation.
He looked up to meet Jaric's eyes.
Those eyes.
They held pain, more than before if that were possible. But the shadow, so dark as to be nearly visible, had lightened from those eyes, if only just. There was something new there, in the eyes that Karam had known so well. Knew so well.
They asked him, no, begged him, to stop him. To stop the destruction, the madness, and above all the pain.
There were only two ways to stop this man. The first he could not give. So he chose the second.
He gave himself, all of himself, to the song, singing as he never had before and never would again. He gave himself to its peace. He gave himself to hope and offered his song of hope to the lost.
He offered the song and sang in a moment that knew no end. He offered his song until something indefinable in those dark eyes changed, and the world lit up with white as stone, metal, and flesh burned.
#
Three thousand years later, at the bottom of an ocean that spans what had once been continents, there lies a plane of glass, mirrorlike and perfectly smooth. Under the ocean lies a sheet of glass where the second greatest city in the world once stood. Under the ocean lies a sheet of glass that still echoes with strains of a long-forgotten song.