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The Call of the Horny	By : SAF Category: S through Z > Wheel of Time Series Views: 8384 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Wheel of Time series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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CHAPTER 33: Pieces of the Pattern

Elayne’s fair skin reddened from the exertion, and sweat darkened her hair. Min stuffed her hands in her pockets and shifted her feet uncomfortably. Watching her friend work while she stood idle made her feel guilty, but the last time she had pitched in to help Laras had come at her with a spoon that was nearly long enough to be a shortsword. She liked the Mistress of the Kitchens—she laughed loud and often—but when it came to the Novices here in the Tower she could be nearly as strict as Sheriam. Or three Sheriams; Laras was a ... big woman. And no-one Min wanted to get on the wrong side of.
“Just a dozen more turns, Elayne, and you’ll be the hero of a story,” Min said with an encouraging grin. “Build that character!”
Elayne was all poise. Usually. But as she turned the handle on the spit, sweat dripping from her chin to further dampen the once-white dress that now clung to her body, she shot a fierce glare at the spit dog lounging nearby.
The brindled hound wagged his tail when she looked his way, seemingly convinced he had made a new friend. The wicker wheel he would normally have been running on lay idle at his side. The Aes Sedai thought work built character, so Novices and Accepted alike were set chores all throughout the Tower. Even if it meant displacing those whose job it would normally be.
“I doubt Birgitte Silverbow ever had to do a hound’s work for it,” Elayne said, voice sharp with outrage. And a touch breathless. She was remarkably friendly and tolerant for someone raised in a palace, dutiful and not at all snobbish; but physical labour had definitely not been something required of the Daughter-Heir.
“If she did they neglected to make a song of it for some strange reason. How would that go?” She put on her best gleeman voice. “ ‘Run back to your puppies, faithful mutt! I will track these villains’, said the legendary archer as she bent low to sniff the trail, her hips wagging heroically.”
She won a laugh from Elayne, and felt a little less useless. I can at least cheer her up. It’s not much, but it’s something.
The smell of good beef roasting on the roaring fire filled the room and made Min’s stomach grumble.
“I’m hungry too,” Elayne said politely.
“That’s hard to miss,” someone muttered.
Min looked askance at the Domani Accepted who bustled by, her mop scrubbing along a floor that already gleamed. Daniele was never shy of speaking her mind, and like most of the Accepted she didn’t seem to know what to make of Min. She wasn’t an initiate of the Tower, but she was of an age with those who were. She wandered the halls with seemingly no work to do or reason for being there. But she had been personally escorted to the city by an Aes Sedai. Other than Elayne, none of the young women seemed interested in making her feel welcome, though Daniele at least limited herself to the occasional barbed comment.
“Anyway,” Min said. “Do you want to meet up in the library again after your class? Assuming you aren’t so tired you don’t just crawl straight into bed.”
Elayne kept turning the spit, breathing heavily now. “I fear I might do just that. But I will try to meet you there, and apologise in advance if I do not.”
Min waved her hand dismissively. “No need for apologies. Any time you feel up for it is fine with me.”
Daniele grunted softly. Min tried to ignore her.
Elayne was flagging visibly. Min turned slowly, and took a sneaky peek at Laras. The cook’s wide frame was blocking several stoves and her back was to Min and Elayne. Now’s my chance.
With a cheeky grin, she waved Elayne away from the handle and took hold of it. Min had worked as a tavern maid, a dyer, a weaver, a stablegirl and a cook’s helper; she might not be allowed to do the job for Elayne but she could at least do it long enough for her to rest her arms.
“Thank you,” Elayne whispered with a small smile. She let her arms swing at her sides, opening and closing her hands to try and limber them. “It is surprisingly hard on one’s arms for such a simple task.”
Min nodded. This close to the fire she could already feel sweat starting to prick her forehead. “It is. But you get used to it after a while. Your arms will be sore for days after, then the next time they’ll be sore for hours, then minutes, then not at all.”
“I will persist,” Elayne said solemnly, “and grow stronger.”
Min couldn’t help herself. “Of course, you’ll have shoulders about three times the size of the rest of your body combined. But since Aes Sedai don’t marry anyway, what’s the harm?”
Elayne cocked her head and stared at nothing for a moment, before giggling. “I can’t even picture it. I should look like a Trolloc with long hair.”
“You might even start a fashion trend among Trollocs. They’d be a lot less trouble if they spent more time competing to see who was the prettiest and less time raiding the Borderlands. Or the Theren. Maybe that’s what the Aes Sedai are planning with all this ‘character building’ they’re giving you.”
Elayne’s laughter tapered off. A small frown marred her brow. “I still can’t quite believe it. To think Trollocs could raid on Andoran soil without the Lion Throne knowing of it. Or responding. It is an outrage. And a shame to my House. If I ever see Rand al’Thor again I shall have words for him. This matter should have been brought to Mother’s attention when he was brought before her.”
Min turned the spit. Careful, careful. That topic was one she had given a lot of thought on how best to broach. And come up with not a single plan that didn’t sound crazy, even to her. “I’m ... sure you’ll have a chance to bend his ear about that someday,” she said slowly.
Elayne was watching her carefully. The girl knew too much already. And Min had never been good at deceiving people. “Hmmm. I suspect Nynaeve holds me accountable for the neglect of her region. And properly so. As an Andoran citizen she has a perfect right to bring a grievance against the throne over this matter.”
Min had sought out Nynaeve a few times since she had arrived in the White Tower. She knew the woman was tied up in the same mad web that she and Elayne were. She’d seen proof of that in Baerlon. So she figured, since they were likely to see quite a bit of each other, they might as well find a way to get along. But Nynaeve had not proved an easy woman to get along with, even before she passed the Accepted test. A great accomplishment, to be coveted and worked towards, the girls around here often said, but Nynaeve seemed to have no joy of it, nor of the golden ring, a serpent eating its own tail, that she now wore to mark her level. The few times Min had seen her in the past week Nynaeve’s eyes had looked shadowed, as if she had seen things she wished with all her heart not to have seen. And she’d been even more snappish than usual.
Maybe she’ll mellow once that Mat fellow wakes up. She did say he’d been asleep for more than a week. That’s definitely not normal. No doubt she’s worried about him. But if he hadn’t woken up by now, how long might it take? She knew he would wake eventually, she’d had viewings of him that couldn’t have happened yet, and her viewings always came true. Maybe I should tell Nynaeve about what I saw. Rand and the others might even have mentioned my ability to her already.
“I don’t think she blames you,” she told Elayne comfortingly. “She’s grouchy with almost everyone, from what I can tell. And besides, no-one from the Theren considers themselves Andoran citizens. Even in Baerlon your mother’s writ runs pretty thin, if you tried to tell anyone south of the Taren that they’re actually Andorans they’d probably think you were drunk.”
Elayne was far from comforted. “Well ... they are. In Baerlon and the Theren both.”
Min shrugged. “As you will. I don’t really care, myself. One flag flaps much like the next. I’m just saying she probably doesn’t blame you or Andor for the troubles down south.”
Elayne pondered that in silence for a time. She was so immersed in thought that she didn’t look up until a dark shadow fell upon them both. Its flickering, fire-cast bulk set the spit hound to whimpering softly.
Looking over Min’s shoulder, Elayne squeaked in a very unprincess-like way.
Min had no time to react. The steel weapon arced out and struck the back of her hand, right on the bone. She cursed and pulled her hand away from the spit handle. Her language won her another smack, this time right on the top of her head. She hopped away, trying to rub at both wounds at once.
Laras slapped the end of her spoon into one meaty hand. “I’ve warned you before about interfering with my girls, Min Farshaw,” she said angrily. She advanced like a great, billowing warship, and Min fled behind a table. She had the advantage of a slender body and sensible breeches; at least she could outrun the woman.
“I was only helping, Laras.” she moaned, rubbing her head furiously.
Around the kitchen, Novices, Accepted and the real cooks had stopped to watch. Only the cooks, Elayne and, surprisingly, Daniele looked sympathetic to Min’s plight.
“That’s no excuse. If the Sisters just wanted the work done fast and well, we wouldn’t be using Novices in the first place.”
Min smiled in mock sadness. “No character building for me then? Awww.”
A sniff that could have blown the Spray upriver issued from Laras’ nostrils. “Enough of your jokes, girl. Off with you. And don’t let me catch you in here again. At least not when this Novice is at her chores.”
“Alright, I’m going. Just ... stand clear with that oar you call a spoon.” Min kept a wary eye on the cook as she sidled towards the exit. A chagrined-looking Elayne gave her a small wave before she left.
Much as Min regretted being exiled from Elayne’s company she had an appointment of her own to keep, and would have had to excuse herself soon anyway. Whatever the Accepted thought, she did not just wander the halls for her own amusement. The Amyrlin Seat insisted she report to her every second day and describe every viewing she had had, along with their meanings. She insisted on it with a firmness that made Laras or Sheriam seem pushovers. Only Elaida had ever made Min feel as wrung out as the Amyrlin did, and that one could probably break down walls with her face.
Min’s shirt clung to her from the heat of the kitchen, just as it had when she was finally released from Elaida’s interrogation, though it had been a nice, breezy day then.
She still didn’t know how Elaida had known that Moiraine had summoned her. Min had been sure that was a secret known only to her, Moiraine, Dynahir, Sheriam and the Amyrlin Seat. And all those questions about Rand. It had not been easy keeping a smooth face and a steady eye while telling an Aes Sedai to her face that she had never heard of him and knew nothing of him. What does she want with him? Light, what does Moiraine want with him? What is he? Light, I don’t want to fall in love with a man I’ve only met once, and a farmboy at that.
The section of the Tower where the Amyrlin had her rooms was much more spacious than the Novice Quarters. The corridors there were wide enough for a wagon to pass down easily, and taller than they were wide. Colourful tapestries hung on the walls, of floral designs and forest scenes, of heroic deeds and intricate patterns, some so old they looked as if they might break if handled. The tiles she walked on were diamond-shaped and showed the colours of the seven Ajahs.
Very few men came into that part of the Tower, and Min saw only two: Warders walking side by side in conversation, one with his sword on his hip, the other with his on his back. One was short and slender, even slight, the other almost as wide as he was tall, yet both moved with a dangerous grace. Arinvar and Ogrin. They were bonded to Sheriam and Falion respectively. She was required to remember as many names as she could as part of her spying duties but there were so many people here that she found herself struggling to recall even half. The colour-shifting Warder cloaks made them queasy-making to watch for long, parts of them sometimes seeming to fade into the walls beyond. For once she was glad to focus her sight on the images and auras that floated around the men.
To her eyes alone Arinvar appeared to be surrounded by dark, faceless figures. He raged in their midst, sword in his hand. No meaning came to her, and Min refused to speculate. She had learned how dangerous that could be years ago.
A sickly green aura followed Ogrin, and from within it a multitude of sharp needles stabbed at his back. Min snorted softly to herself. Threatening as the image appeared, its meaning came to her instinctually, as the meanings sometimes did. Ogrin would have a head-splitting hangover soon.
The antechamber of the Amyrlin Seat’s study was grand enough for any palace, though the chairs scattered about for those who might wait were plain. And empty. The only people around today were the Amyrlin’s tall, grey-haired Warder, Alric, standing sentry at her door, and the ever-present Keeper, Leane.
Leane looked somewhat like Daniele, but even taller and leaner and kept her hair cut short. She was used to Min’s visits by now, and waved her through with a perfunctory gesture.
The Amyrlin Seat sat behind the table, examining papers. She glanced at Min, briefly and only once. “Report. What have you seen since your last visit.” She pushed a note aside and pulled another one to her.
Nice to meet you too. She sighed and launched into it. “I saw Arinvar surrounded by dark, faceless figures. He was angry and wielding a sword.”
The Amyrlin snorted. “A Warder in a fight. Tell me something useful, girl.”
Min scowled to herself. She didn’t bother explaining that the images weren’t always literal; they’d already had that conversation. I should tell her about Ogrin, she did insist on knowing everything I see, after all. Serve her right. But why start trouble over nothing. And besides, it wasn’t as if she wasn’t keeping some things back. She hadn’t told and wouldn’t tell the Amyrlin anything about Elayne, or Rand, or their friends and families. Most of them didn’t even know her, but they would one day, and she wasn’t about to betray their secrets.
“Useful. Right. Laras is sheltering a fishbowl between her breasts ...”
“Girl,” the Amyrlin interrupted, in a deadly soft voice. “If you play your games with me you will howl for it.”
Min, mouth open mid-recitation, let her teeth click together and sighed in exasperation. “I’m not playing. You asked to know what I see around people. I told you at the time that it doesn’t always make sense. Rarely, in fact, makes sense. Laras has a fishbowl down her dress. I have no idea why, or what it’s supposed to mean.”
The Amyrlin gave a grunt and waved for Min to continue.
“Alanna Mosvani is trying to put a saddle on an angry lion and it’s not going well for her. Her Warder, the Andoran one, Owein is it? Anyway, he’s squinting against the sun but it’s too bright for him to see. I don’t know what either viewing means. But I do know that Sarene Nemdahl is going to meet a man and have a tempestuous love affair with him.” Min grimaced. It felt wrong, revealing intimate details of a stranger’s life like that. Sarene was no friend of hers, she only knew the woman’s name because she’d been required to learn it, but still ...
The Amyrlin wasn’t troubled by such things. “Sarene? With a man?” She snorted. “I’ll believe that when silverpike learn to climb the docks.”
Min was bewildered. Sarene was easily one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen, why would it be a surprise that there would be a lover in her future? She would have thought the woman would have a dozen men competing for her attention. And more importantly ... “No. No, Mother, that is. Ah, the meaning came to me with that one, as it sometimes does. It will happen.”
The Amyrlin shook her head, a small smile on her lips. “Sarene ... Well, it’s a small matter. Go on. What else have you seen.”
“I saw Elaida a’Roihan standing at the bottom of a sheer cliff. She was trying to climb it by punching holes into the rock for her hands and feet, but far above her the landslide was starting and her every blow just made it come faster.” She didn’t know the meaning of that one, but privately she hoped it would be unpleasant. Elaida gave her the creeps, even if she was Elayne’s teacher.
“Poor Elaida,” said the Amyrlin dryly. “And?”
“Danelle Marris was wearing an Accepted’s dress and looked surprised, only she was really wearing brown wool and looked distracted.” That could not have been literal, since Danelle was an Aes Sedai already and, so far as she knew, they never got demoted. “Tarna Feir was standing next to an empty shell painted to look like her, its face frozen in horror. She was fighting it, but it was winning. I saw Merilille Caendevin hop down onto a boat, but the boat quickly sunk under her. She drowned, but not drowned, drowned, you know? It didn’t feel threatening, exactly, that viewing, is what I’m saying. I don’t know about the other two.”
Min hesitated, wondering how best to say it. Aes Sedai didn’t like to talk about the topic, as she’d quickly learned. The good news first. “There were two others I was certain of. I saw the Flame of Tar Valon on Sareitha Tomares’ back, only it was brown instead of white. She will pass her test and become Aes Sedai soon. And she will choose the Brown Ajah.”
“Good,” said the Amyrlin with a firm nod, still intent on her reading. “And the other?”
“Sashalle Anderly will be Stilled. I don’t know when, or what for, just that it will happen.”
Cold blue eyes pierced Min. The Amyrlin stared at her, unblinking, for what felt like a long time. At last she spoke, in a voice that grew progressively harder. “Sashalle. A Red. Stilled. I see. You will say nothing of this. Or of the rest. Do you understand me, girl? Nothing.”
“I understand,” she said hastily. “I wouldn’t tell at all, usually. But here we are.”
She snorted, frowning once more at the papers on her desk. “Good work. You can go now. Report back at week’s end with your new viewings.”
Min sighed. “Yes, Mother.” She left the Amyrlin to brood and slipped out into the antechamber.
She decided to head to the library. If Elayne met up with her there after her classes, great, but if not then at least she would have something to read. The Aes Sedai hadn’t denied her the right to leave the Tower. Perhaps the city—she hadn’t tried to leave yet, so she couldn’t be certain—but not the Tower.
The Great Library of Tar Valon was not actually inside the White Tower, for all that most people called it the Tower Library. Instead it was housed in a nearby building, the second-tallest in the city. It was very beautiful, all carved from pale stone heavily streaked with blue. It was everything its reputation said it would be. The Library and Elayne were more than enough to make the trip to Tar Valon worth it to Min, even if she did have to play the spy for the Amyrlin.
It was a pleasantly sunny day outside, fitting for Amadaine, the first month of summer. She stretched her back as she strolled across the paving stones towards the library, letting the light breeze cool her down. It made her glad she had left her coat behind.
The Library was divided into twelve depositories, each given over to a specific kind of text, from maths to history to philosophy and so on. Min made her way to the tall wooden doors that led to the sixth depository, philosophy. Elayne had said she was taking history lessons today, but she hardly needed to study that topic at all; as the Daughter-Heir of Andor her knowledge of history already surpassed that of most people. And Min had developed a peculiar fascination with the books in the sixth. They were hard reading, but she liked to think of them as puzzles in written form. It was fun trying to figure out their meaning.
There was always a Brown sister on duty at the library doors and today it was stick-thin Phaedrine with her perpetual frown. That frown deepened when she saw Min approach but the Aes Sedai did not prevent her from entering. The Sisters were there to ensure no books left the library and took their jobs seriously, as Min had learned when she tried to take a few back to her room. She gave the woman a friendly smile and got a sniff in return.
Inside was a large chamber, a long oval with a flattened dome for a ceiling, filled with row on row of tall wooden shelves, each surrounded by a narrow walkway four paces above the seven-coloured floor tiles. Tall ladders stood alongside the shelves, on wheels so they could be moved easily, both on the floor and on the walkways, and mirrored brass stand-lamps with heavy bases. The stand-lamps all burned brightly, but were tightly shuttered to avoid the risk of fire.
The library was not empty. Several Aes Sedai, all but one of the Brown Ajah, and a handful of Accepted waited within, perusing the shelves or sitting at the long tables, reading quietly. And there was a man, a rare visitor to the Tower Library. Most men preferred to avoid anything to do with Aes Sedai. This fellow drew eyes, and not just because of his gender.
Galadedrid Mantear was Elayne’s half-brother, but did not stand very high in her regard. Min wasn’t entirely certain why. The fellow seemed polite enough, if a bit full of himself. But Elayne doubtless knew him a lot better than she did. Galad was also about as pretty as it was possible for a man to be, and even the vaunted reserve of the Aes Sedai had been known to crack at the sight of him. Min wasn’t moved by his looks, not really; she’d never much cared for pretty boys. Which was part of what made it so exasperating that the Pattern had decided to match her with Rand, who looked a bit like a more muscular, fairer-skinned, paler-eyed, red-haired version of Galad, come to think of it.
He was replacing a copy of Lothair Mantelar’s The Way of the Light on the shelf when she approached. She’d read that one already, but hadn’t liked it. Far too preachy. As he turned towards her his lifeblood suddenly spurted from a hole in the left side of his neck. A silver sword with flapping wings attached to its blade was lodged in his flesh.
She stopped dead and her mouth fell open.
Galad smiled down on her kindly. He wasn’t hurt of course, it was just a viewing. He wasn’t surprised by her reaction either, in fact he looked quite used to it.
Min felt her cheeks colour. For the love of ...! The bloody man thinks I was ogling him. Burn these viewings!
“Miss Farshaw,” he said with a polite tip of his head. “I trust you are well. Have you seen my lady sister lately? How is she?”
“They are working her like a dog,” Min growled. The viewing had not come with a meaning attached, but it was no less ominous for that.
Galad looked troubled. “Is that so?”
Min waved her hand dismissively, trying to recover her balance. “Ah, I’m probably exaggerating. She is doing the same work as the other Novices. Never mind me. Elayne’s fine, and she’ll be fine.”
“I hope so. If you will excuse me.” He strolled past her without waiting for a response, moving with a cat-like grace that would have suited a Warder.
Min turned her attention back to the books, but she seemed to be one of the few. A great many pairs of female eyes watched Galad leave. She smiled wryly. The Aes Sedai in the muted yellow dress, Yuna she thought the name was, stood by a shelf examining the titles of the books, head slightly lowered and her hands folded before her, the very picture of solemn dignity. But once Galad was far enough away that he couldn’t notice her, she turned her head slightly towards him and took a sneaky peek. Min’s smile became a grin.
She sought out The Limitations of Pure Reason, the book she had been reading when she last visited. While looking through the shelf she couldn’t help but notice Pieces of the Pattern, the book Juilaine Madome had written about her viewings a few years ago. She’d never read it, and didn’t want to read it ... Mostly, she didn’t. She was, perhaps, a little curious. It was what had first drawn her to this section of the library. Just to see if it was there, mind. The book didn’t mention her by name, Juilaine had promised it wouldn’t, and Aes Sedai couldn’t lie. She wondered briefly why it was kept in the philosophy section as she resolutely marched past it and took The Limitations of Pure Reason from its place. Resolutely refusing to look back, she went to find a comfortable, private spot to read.
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The Call of the Horny