Editing note: I have changed the passages that referred to Dirk as Kye in chapters 10 and 11. I did this for several reasons. Reason one was to prevent the difficulty of have too many K names in the story. Reason two, was because Dirk would be unlikely to refer to himself instantaneously as Kye, as he has been wearing the name Dirk for years now. Lastly, and quite importantly, I included in chapter 10 a paragraph where Kye/Dirk asks Kea to keep calling him Dirk because he feels there may be some danger for him in finding his answers. After all there is so much they do not know as regards why he has lost his pervious memories and life. So Kye is still referred to, in his own mind and by Kea, as Dirk.

Note: The character Dirk's real name is Kye. So either appellation refers to him.

Disclaimer: All profits to RJ

Chapter 12: A Life of Service

The boat was not a fast one. With only one sail and a wide berth it seemed to roll through the water rather than glide. The Elder Tub lived up to its name. Her Captain was jolly enough though and his fee had been light. The Aes Sedai it seemed had money and to spare, the only fear had been that no one would be taking shipments north. However, even Kera Sedai had managed a bittersweet smile on being told that, with the demand for food from the White Tower, all who could were shipping supplies to the Tower. That at least had kept questions few and the transport cheap. The 'rebels' who apparently were attacking the Aes Sedai in their stronghold were proving impotent against Tar Valon's strong natural and built defences.

Kea heard Dirk discussing it with the two remaining Warders. After they explained the manner and layout of Tar Valon, Dirk registered his amazement that anyone would even try to take it, never mind the fact that it was full of Aes Sedai to boot.

"It be a fool's errand!" he exclaimed.

"Indeed," replied Jerome. "But they are lead by Garth Bryne and so believe they can do anything. As for Aes Sedai, they have some of those themselves. That is why this is such a confused business. But enough talk of such things, we would not want to be overheard speaking of such."

That had ended the conversation but it left Kea anxious to see this city of channellers and its fabled White Tower. It was half excitement, but there was also some fear. Dirk was the only one she really trusted now. Her world had been destroyed. The sul'dam she had obeyed seemed more and more to be villainesses and enslavers. These new Aes Sedai had been ready to strike and even to kill them. Though they were helping them now, she was so unsure! The thing that kept worrying her was Dirk's actions and reactions. He had removed his memory but at the same time carefully planned himself a way back into that very life he had forgotten. He protected her and apparently that was the mandate of these Warders, so had he truly abandoned that life? The worst thing was she didn't know if he truly believed Tar Valon was safe and right. He hadn't told her if she could trust these people. He was taking her there, but at the same time he had not told these people that he had been a Warder called Kye. He hadn't told them about his box or his memory or anything. He talked of danger and had told her not to reveal these things. Now they were talking about rebel Aes Sedai. That sounded like marathe damane to Kea. That frightened her. She was no longer sure of where the daggers lay on her path.

There was only one way to be sure of what was right. Dirk would have to tell her because she trusted him. But he would not discuss it. He seemed afraid that the Aes Sedai or someone else would overhear them. That itself was confusing, how could he honour these Aes Sedai so highly and yet fear and be wary of them at the same time? Still there were other ways to get answers, if he wouldn't tell her his story.

That night she crept towards Dirk's sleeping form. By his side just under his hand lay his sheathed sword. Reaching out silently she touched the top of the pommel. Reaching into the metal, through the nine golden bees depicted in a diamond there, she began her weave.

The roots were buried deep within an object at its core. They hung there, exposed to any who knew where to look and how to read them. She only needed the Power to make them come alive so that they could be read. The Power was her eyes.

The sword had been around a long time she glided through its forging in the hottest of flames, to its quenching in icy waters. She breezed though the swords early duties. She saw faces swirl past, some old, some young, both those who were handsome and smiling and one of the ugliest men she had ever seen in her life. One man's face reminded her of a grolm she had seen mating. But when she arrived at Dirk picking up the blade she had no trouble recognising him, though he looked quite different.

His hair was lighter, almost blond and his cheeks still had a redness and plumpness that spoke of happy days and youth. Still as his hand gripped the sword, she felt his pride and the great strength in his hands. Though he was evidently a youth the sword felt right at home and his hands bore the calluses and scares of use, rather than youth.

The sword had been taken through many practises and drills. Then she saw it in a battle. She felt the sword as it struck down the enemies of its wielder. The resistance of their armour flesh and bones. She felt how sharp she was as she cut through them. How gifted her wielder was.

Kea shook herself. She was sinking too deeply into the weaves. She was NOT the sword. The sword was just an object and she was reading it that was all. To help she jerked forward in the story of the blade. She saw men dying on the sword and then she saw it sheathed and its owner kneeling. Two banners stood out before the sword. One of the banners carried the same nine bees as were on the sword, the other had three spotted cat-like creatures, one over the next. Between these two banners, and before the kneeling wielder, stood two shining black boots. Above them was a balding and yet kindly face. An old man from this side of the ocean, his beard already half white. His eyes seemed alert and his demeanour strong and yet he was evidently happy. On his head was a crown made of small points. Some faced up and others down but they continued all around the head, making a complete golden circlet. A sword then was moved and some kind of blessing given. The sword moved on.

It was raining and that old man she had just seen was there again. He was clear this time though. His whole body stood out rather than just boots, sword and face. He was shouting soundless commands and his body was clad in shinning steel with those bees forged on the breastplate. This was the clearest of all the images in the sword's roots. Around it were hundreds, maybe thousands of men. All of them were fighting and dying.

The older man moved back, he was in danger and he must be protected. Before the sword were seas of men dressed in white-cloaks. Banners with golden circles on white marched forward soundlessly as if to smother the sword and its wielder. She could see Dirk's face, a little older now, stronger. The sword fought well that day, it took many, many lives and preserved the life of the old man. The sword almost seemed to hum with pride. She could feel a word being etched into the steel. The word was important to the sword's history: Soremaine.

Here Kea stopped and took her hand off the sheathed weapon. She looked down at Dirk wondering if he was really as trust worthy as she had thought. How could he forget all these things, these battles he had been in? Did he not fight still with those skills he had earned on those fields of battle? Did he not still have this urge to use his sword to protect others? Had he truly forgotten or was he playing her for a fool? She shook herself physically and silently cursed herself for being a fool. If she doubted Dirk she doubted everything. He had proved his trustworthiness time and time again. He would have nothing to gain from putting this on as an act and much to lose; his whole life in fact.

She was about to leave but she could not. Curiosity beckoned and she could not resist. She remembered dimly having been a curious girl once. She certainly remembered some of her sul'dam handlers, complaining that it was her most grievous failing. But it had been beaten out of her many, many years ago. Now though, with this new freedom to do what she wanted she felt it return. Felt herself becoming reckless. If Dirk punished her then she would see better what he was like and what he felt he needed to hide. So carefully she tugged the sword away from him. She had not realised, she had held her breath for the attempt, until she was successful and released it in a single gasp. Dirk stirred but did not wake. Slowly she unsheathed the blade, marvelling that she could. Damane, could not touch weapons of any kind without immense pain from the a'dam. There it was, she had barley exposed a hand's breath when she saw the word. There were two other sets of words written above it, closer to the hilt and crossguard. The first was Maredo Night and the next word written was Swamp Campaign. Then there it was written clear for all to see; Soremaine.

She realised that she probably knew more about Dirk's life now than he did. Though the images meant very little to her, he didn't remember them at all. Now she had begun she could not stop. She moved to his bags. She felt a slight pang at her actions; after all she knew Dirk would not feel right about doing this to someone else. But she could not resist, she needed to know more about him. She thirsted to know him better and he was too close mouthed. A small voice spoke in his defence but she silenced it with her rediscovered curiosity and recklessness. There it was; she had not had to search far: his Warder's cloak. She touched it and was filled.

The cloak had been everywhere. She saw it atop mountains, looking over deserts, on boats going down fast flowing rivers and on masts of great ships in rolling seas. She saw it always with the same woman. The woman was crouched over but her face was not that of an old woman. She was difficult to put an age to, but her eyes carried experience, knowledge, more than anyone person should hold. She laughed in some of the experiences, with the cloak, but in most she seemed pained by hidden and secret knowledge. She seemed a little like an owl, with searching eyes but distinctly lonely and mournful. She was neither attractive nor charismatic in her looks or actions. Still there was an intensity to her that could not be denied. The roots of the cloak carried a powerful desire to see her safe, an even greater desire than that for the man, who had the shinny black boots and golden circlet about his head. It was almost fanatical in its devotion. She saw the cloak spying, coving Dirk who was older now. He looked more like how she knew him. Yet there was a difference. He too looked like he was carrying heavy secrets behind pained eyes. His mouth looked like it never smiled and his arms look fit, only for killing. He would not hold her or protect her with those arms! Surprising herself she almost came out of her weaving. Silently reprimanding herself she concentrated once more on the task at hand.

She saw something and like the old battle it carried the crystal clarity of something of true importance. It looked like a visor of some kind, without a helm to go with it. A curved band of metal apparently to fit around someone's head and cover their eyes. In the middle of the thin horizontal strip at the front that would be over the eyes was a line of blue. Someone wearing the visor would have their eyes totally covered and would have to look through this line of blue… it appeared to be a kind of stone, quartz maybe. It did not sparkle but when light hit it you could see it bouncing inside. It was a strange thing and it made her feel uncomfortable. Somehow though she knew the cloaked man and the hunched woman wanted it. They were searching for it. They knew where it was and they were going to use it. They were going to be victorious. She felt a rise in her own chest and almost pumped her fist in victory. Then, without any warning, desolation. The woman her hair with only the slightest touch of grey was now dead. It was obvious she was laid on the floor breathless and unmoving. But it was even clearer than that. The Power was gone from around her and though she showed no mark she had been killed. The cloak was sure.

The grief was overwhelming and Kea would not have been able to understand it but she did now. Now she had spoken with Kera Sedai. This was Dirk's Aes Sedai and she had died. Dirk had felt this: This feeling of ultimate abandonment and failure. She had been family, mistress, friend, job and religion to him. The cloak was linked to him as a Warder and reflected his Warder duties and feelings, his anger too.

He had wanted death then. Death and anger and more death. She could see another Aes Sedai now. This one younger and wearing a yellow fringed shawl. She saw her take Dirk and show him another circlet. It was a simple band of iron with a tiny sigil chiselled into it at one point. She felt fear and relief and then she saw the box and she knew the roots were running to an end.

Finally she released the flows and sagged back, opening her eyes. "Find out anything interesting Kea?" Dirk was squatting directly in front of her. His eyes only a hand's breadth from her own.