פּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּ

Chapter Twenty-Four: Eternal Sunshine

They spent only one week in the Ways, a week that was the first respite that the Band of Red Hand had for a long time. With Airena guiding them, riding far in front to decipher the Ogier scripts on each guidestone, the journey was quick. Cathon often took to riding with Airena, more to distance himself from the marching men than any personal preference for her company. He was troubled by much on his mind, with his attention no longer occupied by battle.

Yet even so, it was difficult to focus on oneself when the terrain screamed to be noticed. There was a clamoring exuberance that made it difficult for him to concentrate. It was a pulsing energy—the almost indescribable but unforgettable energy of Spring. It was not only the essence of youth and rebirth, but something that is embedded in the very psyche of mankind. For spring, there is a smell, a memory, a sensation utterly inexpressible. It is the lushness, the exuberance, the essence of LIFE itself.

But it was also a paradox, for how could there be life in the midst of death, spring in the midst of winter? It seemed an impossibility. But then, what is all this greenness before his eyes. What can it be but the incarnate of eternal spring? Even now, Cathon, though having traveled this Wonderland for weeks, was still surprised by the sensation of spring all around him. He was a man who had spent fifteen years in the shadow of death and winter, and life seemed almost unrecognizable. But, that was not entirely true, for Cathon recognized spring like seeing a lost brother after a lifetime, and spring recognized him.

As he stared upon the vibrant blue sky and felt the cool wind swishing through his graying hair, he felt almost like a boy again. This was the wonders of the Earth that he had forgotten in his quest to slay and kill. But then he reminded himself that it was only a bottled essence of Spring. For in that blue sky, the sun always shone, and he knew that in this land of the Ways, there was no winter. An artificial spring. This was all a sham, like a plastered and frozen smile that does not touch the eyes. This was not the world, nor real life. This was a child's fantasy, and he was no longer a child.

But artificial or not, the men of the Band seemed to enjoy it. When they had first arrived in the Ways, they had been like blind men stumbling into the light and realizing that they could finally see. There was life after all! They greedily took in the sight, the soft grass, the odd gray-dust road with a striking white line running through the center. But the centerpieces of their attention were the fruit trees planted at the side of the roads, laden with treasures. Figs, apples, pears, apricots, and countless unnamed delicacies.

There was almost a mad stampede as the starved men scrabbled for the first real food they have seen in weeks. At the end of the first hour, the ground was pebbled with fruit mush and pulp, and most of the trees were barren of their loads, as if a swarm of locusts had descended.

But the trees aside, they were left mostly to their own devices in this green but lonely land. The men were rejuvenated and some even sang battle hymns, which once would have been suicide in the bitter cold North. Yet, Cathon knew they were still tired. And no matter how much they ate, they were still weak of energy. There was not a single man who did not have sunken cheeks or bagged eyes. Even so, Cathon could often hear the faint notes of "Midean's Ford" drifting from the Legions far behind, but the melody failed to stir his heart. While it was certainly true that the soldiers would not be winning any awards for their voices, it was not the lack of tone that irritated Cauthon.

"Midean's ford," He grumbled, "A hackneyed doggerel that makes men think with their hearts and not their brains."

"Yes, hard to believe that there are still those who believe in hope," Airena replied with an ironic tone, "But we have more important things. For one, we are not alone."

Cathon jerked his head up, and saw the group of massive shapes moving towards them. He bared two inches of steel before Airena held his hand. Then he raised his brows in recognition.

One of the large creatures raised a giant hand, and a deep voice rumbled. "Lo, Warsman, what brings you into the Ways!"

"Let me speak to him, Lawe." Airena murmured to Cathon, "I do not think he will be terribly happy having thousands of men trampling through their grass and trees. Let me handle it."

Cathon nodded his acquiescence and Airena rode up to meet the congregation.

The troupe of Ogiers stopped before them, and by standing alone loomed over the two mounted humans. At a distance, a man might confuse the sight of Ogiers with Trollocs with embarrassing results. But, size was the only characteristic they held in common. While Trollocs thirsted for war and death, Ogiers were the tenders of peace and life, as well seen in the paradise of the Ways. They were amiable, careful, and intelligent creatures, and now their large dish-sized eyes were focused on the two newest creatures of the Ways.

Then the Ogier who had spoken whom Cathon presumed to be the leader saw Airena and a broad smile stretched across his face, "Ah, Mistress Aes Sedai. You are always welcome here. And I see that your friend is a warsman of Manetheren. I am Halan son of Nadin son of Hasan, Elder of Stedding Shangtai. There is a meeting called, and that is our destination. If we were heading the same way, we would be quite happy to invite you into our company. But pardon my curiosity, what brings you two here? Is there something amiss in Manetheren?"

"Elder Halan, greetings from the White Tower. I am Airena Andalusa, Aes Sedai of the Yellow Ajah, and this warsman with me is Marshal-General Cathon of the Band of Red Hand."

"Truly? We have heard of some of your exploits." The Ogier rumbled. Cathon was dubious of Halan's familiarity with the Band. Ogiers were relatively safe behind their Steddings against the ravages of the Trolloc Wars, and probably to them, seemed irrelevant to their lives.

Airena quickly continued, "Elder Halan, we have entered the Ways because of dire need. We have received word that Manetheren and the Grove is under heavy assault from the Leafburner's Horde. And the Ways were the only possible route in which the General and his Grand-Legion may reach there in time."

"Manetheren under attack?" Halan looked troubled, and there were whispers exchanged between the Ogiers, like the rumblings of a deep birdsong, tickling Cathon's ears. "This is not good. Not good at all, I am afraid. But I see that your need is indeed great, and I wish you speedy return to Manetheren." Halan was silent for a moment. "I will tell you this, but I cannot promise anything. At the meeting, I will try to convince my people to send aid. But, as you must know, we are not a hasty people, and decisions are not easily made." He sighed, a bumblebee rumble. "It is a beautiful city and a beautiful grove, and I cannot bear to see them lost to the Leafblighter. We will try. We will try."

"My eternal gratitudes." Cathon finally spoke, "But we must be moving. I can hear my legions closing up behind us."

"Yes, yes. But of course." Halan nodded, "I pray you make it on time. No, I know you will make it on time."

"Elder Halan." Airena added as the Ogier troupe was departing and placed something in the Ogier's giant hand, "I have more bad news. Sherandu is no more. The veil of shadows has set on it."

"Yes, we have heard already. A terrible, terrible loss. I fear for us all." Halan murmured sadly into the wind. He glanced at the two Avendesora-shaped Way keys that Airena had given him, "I hate to see a Waygate destroyed, but I understand that it must be done."

Then the two groups parted ways, each staring bleakly at the future.

Cathon realized then that everyone had lost something in the war. There were none who escaped the ravages, not even those whose homes are bar to the Shadow. For the Ogiers, safety had been snatched away from them, and perhaps now they realized that they must strike back. For Cathon, it was his men that were lost—his people, his blood. There was the recent loss of Vader, the man who had become the Bastion and the solid leader and commander of the oldest Manetheren legion. He was older than Cathon, though Vader liked to keep his age a secret. And he was the father and the mentor, and certainly well-respected, if not exactly well-liked, by the men. And in the end, it took the fires of heaven to subdue the Bastion. Not even a Shell of Caldazar could keep him from his fate, to die in the flames of glory.

And then there was Jot Diadrem, who would be called an idealist in another time and place. The General who was at one with his men, who refused the Shell of Caldazar, saying "And I will not go into battle knowing that I am at less risk than they are. I ask the same of them that I ask of myself. I cannot." And who is to say that he was wrong? Perhaps the Timari provided no more protection than confidence, and Diadrem was already infused with it.

Cathon almost felt envious of Vader and Diadrem and Hill and the countless nameless thousands that had fallen. They had served and died for their country, with no responsibility or duty to drag them through the world of life. But, what does the future hold for him? Perhaps court-marshaled or, more likely, death with the Band slipping from his grasp. Caldazar certainly didn't save Vader, and it is quite conceivable that it isn't certainly going to help him. Such thoughts plagued him from his arrival in the Ways, and his moods became darker and fouler. He didn't understand why. It was a mental trap that green commanders fell for, after their first battle. But burn it if the black temper clung to him like an itch that he just can't scratch, a bloody burning itch.

The worst part was he couldn't keep the bitterness to himself, and he lashed out. Nathen Austern used to bring him reports on the Legion, until Cathon bit his head off for bothering him. The other Generals avoided him like the blood plagues, and even the men themselves became quiet whenever Cathon passed them. Airena was the only one who seemed to stand him, though Cathon often caught her studying him with her bloody Aes Sedai looks. Yet for some reason, he did not seem to mind her presence, no matter how much she seems to get under his skin.

"What are you thinking about? What have you been thinking about all this time while you snarl to yourself and stare sullenly like a punished child." Airena's voice broke his reverie.

"Me? The scattered thoughts of a failed man." Cathon muttered, "How I have sat at the edge of victory, only to stand in the abyss of ruins. How I am utterly alone in this paradise."

"How can you call yourself alone when your men love you? When they would dearly lay their life down for you."

"Exactly. You say that they would die for me. But then it is unrequited friendship, for who would send their friends out to their deaths? No, there is no room in my life for love or friends. When I had met my compatriot of the North, Nonoc Bashere, he had told me, 'You can lead your men, or you can weep for the dead, but you cannot do both.' And I chose the first. And I can weep for no man. And none will weep for me. But why am I telling you this?" Cathon shut his mouth.

"It is a harsh way of living." Airena watched Cathon with her penetrating eyes. That wretched woman was always trying to crack his shell, trying to probe into his core, and dredging up his emotions. Well, she is free to them!

"Well, we live in a harsh world," Cathon growled, "Have you not seen this with your eyes? There is no safety, no room for hope or useless emotions. No crusades or causes. We live by the sword and we die by the sword. There is NOTHING but the sword; it is the end-all."

"I refuse to believe that. You refused to believe that! 'There is always hope.' You were the one who told me that. That is what makes us human."

"Well, there is no hope for me. And I was wrong. The Cathon you knew is dead." Cathon did not feel like talking anymore. He didn't ride up here to talk. He wanted some bloody room to clear out his attic, but the fool woman wouldn't keep silent. He nudged his horse to a faster trot, but Airena stubbornly kept up.

"Lawe, look at me! Lawe! You cannot give up now, not when you are needed. Not when your men need you. Not when humanity needs you. Damn it, even I need you."

"Where's Warder?" Maybe he could change the subject.

She ignored the question, "Lawe, you are acting like a...like a...fool of a man! The Light burn it! Bury the past and see the present!"

"Bury the past like all those unmarked graves in the North. The thousands of men who died in a fool's crusade?" Cathon roared, "I am like a man who stood before the destruction of a city, thinking it was the enemy's, until he realized it was his own! THE LIGHT TAKE IT! I GIVE UP! They have me on my knees, the Creator, Fate, and bloody Caldazar!"

"Then you really are dead." Airena spoke in her infuriatingly calm voice. "Perhaps I was wrong about you."

"WHY DO YOU CARE? You know nothing of me, Airena!" Cathon seized the reins of her horse, stopping both horses in mid-trot. He grabbed her arm and pulled her close so they were staring face to face. He whispered hoarsely, "Nothing. I am a General like my father before me. I thought I could be different, that I could break free of this damned vicious cycle. My father died a bitter, bitter man, fighting a war he grew to loath more than death itself. He was a fool too, who believed that there is an end in sight, but he was broken by his own bloody dignity. You know nothing about me. Forget me for I am lost." Cathon repeated himself, glancing away from her, as if drowning in memories.

"I know nothing?" Airena grasped him by the crest of his cloak and pulled him closer until their noses almost touched. Her eyes loomed large and clear. There was a quiver in her normally serene voice, "You want to know what I know? I know about your family, your father, your mentor, and your past. But, most importantly, I know you. More than you know yourself. I know that you are a man with an unfinished destiny, a man that does not have his flame easily extinguished. I remember a brash but fiery man who dared to take on the Dark One himself. I know that you rile against your fortunes. I know that you are mired in your own doubts and guilt. But, I also know that it is not over for you. Though Shayol Ghul still stands, you-YOU-will help bring it to its knees. It may not be in this Turning of the Wheel, but trust me-TRUST ME- when I say that you will be there at its end.

And for a moment, her voice softened, that for one moment she was vulnerable, as she whispered, "I know all this. And I know that I love you, you damned fool of a man."

Her eyes were wet, but she stared at him defiantly through her tears. Cathon felt like he was pierced by a lance of fire, his mind reeling in shock. At her words, at their meanings.

He acted without thinking, drew her in and kissed her hard, and she returned it willfully.

Then she pulled away, her eyes wide, "And I know that I shouldn't have done that." Her eyes flashed through her tears, but they softened for just a moment, almost pleading. "We cannot speak of this. Not now. I am sorry I did that."

"Airena…." Cathon managed to find his voice.

Airena shook her head fiercely, and clenched his hands tightly in her own, then released them, and rode away at a canter. Though her eyes were red and her cheek was streaked with tears, she sat as if nothing had happened, looking like a regal queen above the world.

Cathon sat there by himself, emotions rolling through his mind. No longer did he feel the black void eating him from inside. No, it was replaced by…by…what exactly? What was he doing? She's an Aes Sedai! Better to kiss a viper! Come to your senses! An Aes Sedai! And I do love her back. Burn him for a fool!

פּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּ