Chapter 2 - Feather of the Dove

The sun was just beginning to illuminate the horizon: the Light pushing back the ever-returning darkness. Prosht smiled at the daily affirmation of balance. Glancing around the village he surveyed the hodgepodge of tents and open campsites. Farmers and their families had been trickling into the village for two days, those too late to get a room, or too poor, had begun setting up an army of campsites around the village. Late in the night, the bulk of the outland merchants had arrived, taking up the rooms at the inn that were set aside for them. Today would start a week that was dedicated as much to frivolity as it was to commerce. Here in the Fifthland they celebrated the Harvest Festival. In Caemlyn and a few other large cities it was called the Festival of Thanks, it was celebrated everywhere: a thousand different places under as many different names.

Prosht and his Brothers had timed their visit to the Fifthland purposefully. Every person in the Fifth congregated at one of the five villages for the festival. Every man that farmed, herded, traded, or plied a trade (and every layabout) along with their families turned out for the Harvest Festival. Better five Brothers spend five days searching through the hectic festivals than eight or ten Brothers spend a month searching every farm and forest shack in the Fifthland.

Many of his Brothers had overlooked this task when the Father asked for volunteers.

"There is a man from the Fifth that we must find, Brothers. A soldier. I need volunteers from amongst you to go, find, and convince him to return here with you."

Laughable. A soldier? What need did the Servants have of a soldier? From the Fifth? When had the Fifthland last produced any soldiers? But as the Father spoke of volunteers a small white feather had fallen to the ground at Prosht's feet, and he knew it for a True Omen.

He hadn't looked up to see the dove flying overhead; he had simply bent down and picked up the feather, placing in his coat pocket. The bright blue aura around the small feather as it lay at his feet was a manifestation of his Talent, and it was enough to tell Prosht that the fool's quest into the Fifth was his. A radiant aura around an Omen signified that the Omen was True. A radiant blue aura signified that the Omen was meant for him.

Prosht was the only living Servant with a talent for Omens, and he was the only person ever known to have the Talent manifest itself in such a way that it indicated whom the Omen was meant for. Omens of the Raven was a required course during the second year of training for every Servant, but, without very extensive study, the subtleties and intricacies of Omenry kept most from putting any belief in the reading of omens. Once his Talent had been discovered, he had practically been locked in a library study room and force-fed every available text on Omenry. He would have chosen to study it on his own had he been given a chance. After all, what good was divining true Omens, if he couldn't interpret them?

Many thought it an Omen anytime a dove happened to lose a feather somewhere in their general vicinity. That was why so many thought Omenry unreliable at best. It was impossible to correctly apply limited knowledge to the way the Creator sent Omens. Every Omen was specifically outlined by necessary conditions. If you were out of doors, and the sun was completely unfettered, and you carried no edible thing, and your head was bare, and someone addressed a group about an undertaking, and a white feather from a dove fell before you, then that was a Dovefeather Omen. Knowing the circumstances and interpretation had only helped to shake Prosht's wits when he saw the Dovefeather land at his feet.

There was only one other record of a True Dovefeather Omen. Two thousand years ago, when Kandrol, King of Maradon, had crossed the Aiel Waste all the way to Rhuidean and rescued Elerin from a group of Wise Ones who had decided the Mother 'needed to learn Ji'.

At the Council of Elerin, every sovereign gathered had volunteered themselves, or their finest warrior, to undertake the recovery of the Mother. For many days and many nights heated discussions had played out with no progress made.

As Astoran, the last Seanchan Emperor, gave an impassioned speech on his singular ability to bring the Mother to safety, he had stopped abruptly, bringing a strange silence over the assembly. Eyes wide, hand shaking, he reached out to point at King Kandrol, who sat cross-legged staring up at the heavens with a small white feather resting on his knee. Astoran recovered himself enough to ask Kandrol if he had seen what bird had dropped the feather. Bringing his eyes down to stare at the feather, Kandrol had replied "A dove." Astoran had raised his voice again to address the assembled rulers, "King Kandrol of Maradon will rescue the Mother".

And Kandrol had done just that.

Elerin had arrived back in the Tower at Bel Tine. Two days before Sunday, she caught an assassin trying to kill the newly raised Father Banotil. Banotil was now regarded as one of the greatest leaders the Servants had ever known. Together Elerin and he implemented many just laws and he helped to avert at least two wars between large nations. If Elerin had remained lost and Banotil had been assassinated the world would surely have known chaos. Receiving a True Dovefeather Omen was tantamount to being given a charge by the Creator directly.

Later he had shown Father Caldon the feather and told him of the blue aura. He had been placed at the head of the group to find the Fifthland soldier and told to commandeer any 'volunteers' he thought best able to assist him.

Jontan, Baggin, Bern, Saml, and he had been in the Fifthland for a week. They met via Gateway every night at a remote clearing they had scouted. Ferryton, Deven Ride, Ahmerlins Field, and Baerlon had thus far yielded the same results as Ni'Baras Stand: none. But today began the festival and Prosht was confident that today would find his soldier.

Draining the last of the milk from the cup that the innkeeper's wife had given him, he rose to his feet. At that moment he saw three things. The sun peaked over a mountaintop to the west. A cart rounded a bend in the Whitechild road leading west out of the village driven by a solitary farmer. And a bright white aura surrounded both the sun and the man.

The soldier was riding into town.