Gleeman Bob writes: this is not a story from before when the Last Lightborn entered the stasis box in which he slept his long sleep, but it takes place a dozen years before the events in He Sleeps Under the Hill, so it is at least a tale from prior to his emergence. it introduces a new character who will figure prominently in the sequel; In the Land of the Madmen. and her Gholam. I wish I had my own Gholam... what fun adventures we could have together! no, not really...

Walk in the Light!

Feyr and the Gholam

Feyr and the Gholam crouched by the large boulder, watching the Madman walk slowly along through the wasteland, still a distant speck but getting gradually larger. He had not seen them yet, but sooner or later, he assuredly would.

"Do you want to do it or shall I?" asked Feyr, in a bored tone of voice.

"Toss a coin," suggested the Gholam, flatly.

"I do not possess a coin… was that supposed to be a jest, Gholam?"

"Yes."

"Honestly, Gholam, sometimes I despair of you. Whose turn is it?"

"Yours."

"Liar! Lying, lazy Gholam. I do not quite remember, but I expect that you are lying when you say that it is my turn. As usual. Hmph. No coin…"

"Rock, paper, scissors."

"No, you cheat."

"I do not cheat."

"Yes you do, you look at my hands and do not make your move until you can see what mine shall be. You are a big cheat, Gholam."

The Gholam arranged its thin lips into the approximation of a smile.

"A cheat… and a liar." Feyr's tone was decisive.

The Gholam narrowed its dark eyes. "You are fat."

"You see? Another lie. Anyone can see from looking at me that I am not remotely fat."

The Gholam did not choose to respond, staring instead at the approaching Madman. He was getting steadily closer… but not steadily enough.

"I am hungry," the Gholam stated.

"Go and get him then. But I shall be very cross with you if you kill this one, Gholam. I am hungry too. No killing, this time."

"I did not mean to kill that last one. His head hit a rock when he fell."

"Hmph."

Silence.

"Gholam?"

A longish pause, then, grudgingly;

"What."

"Don't you ever miss it?"

"Miss it?"

"Don't you ever miss being able to kill people… you know, on purpose and not just by accident?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Liar."

"I do not lie."

"Yet another lie! Honestly, Gholam, you must think me stupid!"

"You are not stupid."

"Thank-you, Gholam."

"But you are fat."

"Honestly, Gholam! Two thoughts occur to me; firstly, I have seen the way you look at them when I finish them off and I know that you would so much rather be doing it yourself... and I would so much rather you be doing it also, by the way."

"That is not true on either count. You are the liar."

"No, you are. And secondly, I know damned well-"

"You should not say that word, Young Mistress."

Feyr laughed abruptly, an odd, yipping sound. "I love it when you do that!"

The Gholam frowned. It knew what was coming.

"Damn!" cried Feyr.

"You should not say that word, Young Mistress."

"Damn, damn, damn!" Feyr added.

"You should not say that word, Young Mistress. You should not say that word, Young Mistress. You should not say that word, Young Mistress."

Feyr chuckled softly. "Father taught you to say it just like old Ledrin always did… just like him!" Then, she too frowned. "You interrupted me, Gholam. I hate interruptions… what was I saying?"

"Saying that you were fat."

"Honestly, Gholam! The other thing is-"

"The Madman is closer now, he will see us soon."

"I told you not to interrupt me! Disobedient Gholam! Wicked Gholam!"

"You said that you hated interruptions. You did not command me to not interrupt you."

"Hmph. Stand on your head, Gholam."

The Gholam promptly stood on its head, balancing with smooth grace, pale hands flat on the ground to either side of its blank face. Feyr nodded with satisfaction. "There, that is so very much better. Just as Father used to say of you; 'a place for every Gholam, and every Gholam in its place.' "

"Fat. What of the Madman?"

"Oh, he shan't notice us until he's right on top of us, they never do. They aren't accustomed to people just waiting for them to arrive."

"We are not people."

"So, Gholam... you do tell the truth occasionally!"

The Gholam just shrugged its thin shoulders, which - since it was standing on its head - should have been difficult. The Gholam managed it well enough, though.

"I suppose the Madmen are more used to people running away from them," Feyr mused.

"Fat people like you cannot run fast."

"If I let you cease balancing on your head, will you stop lying about me being fat for at least until after we have eaten?"

"Perhaps."

"That will have to do, I suppose. Stop standing on your head, Gholam."

The Gholam stopped standing on its head and smoothly returned to its crouching posture beside Feyr. They watched the Madman.

"I'm famished," muttered Feyr under her breath, blinking her pale eyes slowly. She turned to the Gholam and poked it accusingly with a long-nailed, slender finger. "Yes of course, that was the other thing I was going to remark upon... big, lying Gholam! It was clever of Father to make you take the Oath... say it, Gholam!"

"I may not harm a human or Ogier except in protection of the existence of my Mistress, or in preservation of my own…" The Gholam trailed-off. It scowled.

"And the other part, Gholam?" asked Feyr, innocently. The Gholam should not have been able to sigh, but Feyr had taught it to do so. The Gholam sighed. A surprisingly convincing sound that carried great weariness.

"All manner of Shadow-wrought and Friends of the Dark are to be exterminated whenever feasible. I am a silly Gholam. I am a stupid Djinn. I went to assassinate Chaime Kufer Mors, Aes Sedai, constructor of the Lightborn, but became trapped in a bottle instead. Praise the Creator. Shai'tan is a fool."

Feyr had already burst into a peel of her strange, yipping laughter half-way through this recitation, though she had heard it many times before. Father had had such a wonderful sense of humour! Not only capturing and reconditioning a Gholam, but teaching it to say all sorts of amusing phrases, triggered by bizarre stimuli... hilarious!

Feyr did not really have feelings or emotions, as a human would understand them, but even so, she missed Father. He had been so diverting, his stock of experiences and memories so rich and fulfilling. They had shared the exact same sense of humour.

"All hail the Great Lord of the Dark, down with the Creator, you are fat," the Gholam added, of its own volition. It usually said something rude after being ordered to repeat its Oath. But just the one Oath. Feyr scowled, her arched, russet eyebrows drawing down over pale eyes. The Gholam stared back at her coldly.

"I am not fat, Gholam! If only Father had the sense to make you take the Truth Oath as well as the other one!"

The Gholam declined to respond, but smiled its thin smile again.

"You didn't like Father, did you," Feyr stated, though she made it sound like a question, despite already knowing the answer.

"No. I did not." The Gholam frowned.

"Fair enough, I suppose. Not many people did…"

"I am not people."

"That you most certainly are not, Gholam."

"And neither are you."

" 'And neither are you, Mistress!' "

"And neither are you, Mistress."

"That is better. Why did Father have to saddle me with so disrespectful a Gholam? Hmph."

"The Madman is-"

"I am not blind, Gholam! I can perfectly well see that he's noticed us. Wait here. And it's your turn next time!"

"I very much hope that the Madman does not kill you, fat Mistress." The Gholam always said something like that when it was Feyr's turn... which, to be fair, it was.

"Liar!"

"Fat."

The Stone God ceased shuffling along and stood still, staring in bemusement as the pallid-skinned young woman rose from amongst the rocks to one side and strode unconcernedly out to meet him. He distantly wondered why she was coming towards him and not fleeing in terror. She was tall for a woman, clad in a ragged maroon dress, feet bare. The nails on her fingers and toes were long, as was her hair; a russet crest that swept back from a high, white forehead and down well past her shoulders, held in a loose braid. Oddly, her ears rose to slight points, pressed to the sides of her skull. The eyes that examined him were large and very pale. A slight smile curved her full lips as she soundlessly approached, moving with a lithe, feral grace.

The Stone God peered closer... the companion of the strange young woman was watching intently from beside a boulder; a slight, dark-eyed female with short, black hair, wearing loose trews and a patched shirt of tattered cloth. Neither of these strangers seemed to be scared of him; an extremely unusual response to his presence. The Stone God shrugged unconcernedly, then raised his hands to destroy them both, shuddering as the sickly sweetness of the Dread Power flowed into him… but his murderous weaves fell apart even as he cast them, shattering and splintering all around. He blinked, lowering his hands. That had certainly never happened before. Vaguely, he wondered what to do next…

The tall, vulpine woman continued stalking towards him. She was uncomfortably close, now. "Hello, Madman," she called out conversationally, in what the Stone God recognised as an archaic dialect of the Old Tongue. "I am dreadfully sorry for what I'm about to do to you…" her smile widened, white incisors rather sharp-looking, "…but after all, a girl has to eat."

The Madman did not struggle, seemed more confused than angry. Feyr knelt with her legs astride his chest, pinning him to the ground by his shoulders. She smiled down at him. The Madman regarded her contemptuously. He was dressed in dirty rags, his hair and beard filthy and matted, but managed contempt very well, even so.

"I AM A GOD," the Madman declared loudly, sounding as though he believed it. His yellowing teeth were filed to rough points. Clearly; he was - or had been - one of the locals. The debased natives of this chaotic Land.

Feyr sighed. "I'm not even sure what a 'God' is." She wrinkled her nose. The Madman stank. "Why do you foolish Madmen always claim that you are Gods?" Feyr did not expect a coherent answer to this query, and did not receive one.

"I AM THE STONE GOD! I WILL DESTROY YOU!"

"No you won't, and you're not the Stone God you big liar, I met him a couple of moons ago and he did not look one bit like you. Besides, I ate him! And gave what I did not want to my Gholam, as I always do… I ate the Stone God, just like I'm going to eat you, Madman! What do you say to that?"

What the Madman said to that was depressingly familiar. "I AM THE STONE GOD NOW! I TOOK THE LAST STONE GOD'S NAME WHEN I HEARD HE WAS SLAIN BY THE QUEEN OF THE FOX-DAEMONS AND THEN I-" the Madman's mouth snapped shut and he blinked rapidly several times before staring wildly up at Feir, then in a different voice, with one of the thick, local accents, whispered; "thank Creator! You are Fox-Daemon Queen! Quick, end it before he comes back- SILENCE, PIG! WHO SAID THAT YOU MIGHT SPEAK? STONE GOD WILL KILL THE QUEEN OF DAEMONS AND ALL HER PEOPLE – STONE GOD SHALL CRUSH YOU!"

Feyr sneered derisively. "No you bloody won't! And I will give you such a bad N'zoarese-burn on your wrist if you even try it, phoney Stony God! Honestly, can't you Madmen ever make up interesting and original names for yourselves? Apparently not... alright, that's enough conversation, I am bored now. You are tiresome, Madman, even the dull Gholam is less boring than you."

"Thank-you, Mistress," muttered the Gholam, which had prowled over to watch the proceedings.

"HARLOT! UNBELIEVER! SHE WHO CONSORTS WITH-" The rest was muffled beneath Feyr's hands. The Madman's bloodshot eyes glared furiously up at her.

"Yes... well, it has been lovely talking to you, Madman, though actually I am just being polite, really... it has been a bit of a chore, to be honest." Feyr sighed again.

The Gholam made a grumbling noise. Why did the Mistress always have to conduct these pointless conversations with the prey? She was just like her devious Father, the accursed Traitor; always toying with his victims. All those cat-and-mouse mind-games, after dark…

Feyr heard the impatient sound. "Hmm. It would seem that I have a hungry Gholam to feed. Well, goodnight sweet Madman. Don't be cross, I am doing you a favour, honestly I am."

Feyr leant forward over the Madman, inhaling, her eyes widening, pupils stretching. The Madman who thought he was the Stone God (except in those brief, lucid moments that they occasionally had where you heard the voice of the person they used to be before they began to channel and went insane) was unable to threaten her further because after his last objectionable comments, Feyr had decided to press both of her sharp-nailed, long-fingered hands down over his mouth. She was much stronger than she looked; he was a rabbit gripped in the jaws of… something that likes to eat rabbits. And to eat saidin also… but not saidar, Feyr could not absorb the stuff, despite being every bit as immune to its power. All part of Father's Design. She was a counter to male channellers only, after all.

As Feyr often did when considering her provenance, she tugged the bodice of her dress out a little with her teeth, then glanced down at the red diamond-shape tattooed onto her left breast… it shone faintly in the encroaching gloom. Her Light-mark always reminded Feyr of what she was. A living weapon.

When Feyr had drunk her fill of Tainted saidin, the Dark One's touch giving it added savour, she cut the comatose Madman's throat with the Power-wrought bronze blade that Father had given her on the day he told her what she was. It had to be bronze, she could not touch iron, even momentary contact with the metal gave her severe burns which took a long time to heal. Feyr rose and turned to the Gholam which, as usual, was practically licking its lips. Yuck!

"You may feed, Gholam," Feyr graciously allowed. The Gholam eagerly slipped forward and crouched beside the twitching Madman. Feyr did not care to watch what the Gholam did next, so she turned her back, ignoring the wet, lapping sounds whilst gazing out across the shattered wasteland. A range of huge, smoking volcanoes loomed in the far distance. Closer; the ruins of ancient edifices. Slurping noises came from behind her. Feyr grimaced. Though she supposed it was no worse than what she did, really. Certainly messier, though.

The Gholam's soft, malevolent voice eventually spoke. "Finished."

Feyr turned and gazed down at the Gholam for a moment, a wry smile twisting her lips. The Gholam looked up at the high-cheek-boned, pointed face of its Mistress, with black and soul-less eyes. It licked the blood from its chin with a long tongue. "Fat," it hissed.

Feyr laughed delightedly, the odd, high-pitched, yipping sound that she always made when amused. "Honestly, Gholam!" And she ruffled the Gholam's short hair with what might almost have been affection. "Come along," Feyr then declared, "let us away… we should find somewhere sheltered to sleep for the night."

"And have a nice fire," the Gholam spitefully suggested.

"Gholam! You know I detest that sort of thing."

"Yes. Yes you do. You cannot even bring yourself to say the word."

"Yes I can. 'Fire.' There."

"Your face twisted when you said it. You are afraid of fire. You are a yellow chicken."

"Tsk. Foolish, chattering Gholam. Do not speak again until I say you may."

The Gholam closed its mouth. The Mistress would command it to speak again, sooner or later. She always did, it was inevitable. She was lonely, out here in the centre of the Land, with no-one else to talk to except for the occasional Madman, and she certainly never spoke to them for long.

Feyr was lonely in the Wastelands, with nobody to speak with except for the bloody Gholam. And the occasional Madman, she supposed, but they rarely seemed to say anything much back after their weaves failed, just mostly screamed, or made impotent threats. "I hope the Sign comes soon," Feyr murmured, "it will be nice to finally meet my Brother and have someone else to talk to at last, besides a boring old Gholam..."

It was getting dark. Feyr's keen ears could detect the distant, yipping calls of a pack of the real Fox-Daemons, who certainly were not her people, who certainly weren't people at all. Not that they had anything to fear from the likes of them… unlike the Madmen that their packs constantly fought with, or anyone else insane enough to wander into the Wastelands, which made the Great Blight look like Comelle sea-side on a pleasant day, she considered. Though Feyr had never seen the Blight, or much of anywhere else for that matter… she wondered what Shayol Ghul was like? Unpleasant, most likely. But Feyr would love to travel there one day, go right up to the Bore itself, to the hole in the Dark One's prison and taunt Shai'tan... explaining about how Father had avoided his dread gaze for all those years! He would have thoroughly approved if she did something like that…

But the Fox-Daemons out hunting in the night, even though they were presumably her distant (very distant!) cousins… Feyr had nothing to fear from them. Even had the Daemons not known what she and her Gholam were capable of doing to them - and they had provided a few lethal demonstrations shortly after arriving in the Wastelands - the feral creatures had long-since stopped trying to kill her. Even so, Feyr wished to avoid them; she did not care for the way that the Fox-Daemons would form a ring around her at the edge of the darkness... and watch her, closely. When there was nowhere available to take shelter, Feyr would occasionally let the Gholam build a fire, though she stayed as far away from it as she could, not looking at the horrid flames which burned painfully into her vision and gave her that panicky feeling… No, it was the manner in which the Daemonic pack would just crouch there in the flickering shadows, gazing upon Feyr with those big, pale eyes… ignoring the Gholam unless it moved, in which case they would glare at it warily and threateningly bare their fangs, but apart from this, staring at her with a disturbing kind of devotion... a dreadful, expectant awe…

"I'm not your bloody Queen," Feyr growled, under her breath.

Feyr set off toward one of the nearby ruins that looked promising. She was tired, but at least she wasn't hungry anymore. "Come along, Gholam." The Gholam followed, silently. "Yes, let us repair indoors and seek shelter… the night-time hereabouts is not safe, after all… no, not safe, even for a pair of monsters like us."