Lessons of Shifting Sands [Fanfic]

[Bruce]

Herarn Age 12

Herarn woke up from his place in the tent and looked around. Nothing seemed out of place, but somehow there was something wrong. He felt it, but he didn't know how to put words to the feelings. Carefully, he stepped around the sleeping bodies of the other children of the sept. He stepped outside and immediately regretted not pulling the hood of his cadin'sor up before coming out. The sun struck him like a hammer, but he ignored it as he shaded his eyes to look around. Nothing but sand for as far as the eye could see.

“Boy, get back inside the tent. It's just past midday, the heat will fry your brain if you stay out too long.” said one of the warriors. An Aethan Dor judging from the markings on his buckler.

“There's a storm coming.” mumbled Herarn sleepily.

“You dreamt of it, now go.” said the warrior nudging him with the butt of his spear.

“No, it woke me. It's a bad storm and we need to be prepared for it.” said Herarn looking about for his mother. Spotting her in the shade of the Wise One's tent, he scurried over before the warrior could stop him. “Mother! There's a storm coming. A really big one.”

His mother knelt down before him and smiled, “Are you certain that you didn't have a nightmare, my son? I know they frighten you.”

Herarn shook his head vigorously. He pointed into the distance towards the south-southeast. “It will come from that direction.”

His mother, Therana, looked at him in that way she always did as if trying to find out if he was lying to her or not. When she stopped, she pulled him into the tent. She motioned to the other Wise Ones to be silent for a moment.

“Describe how you came to the assumption that there will be a storm coming?”

Herarn opened his mouth to speak but stopped, “I feel…. It’s like feeling the heat of the sun…. or… or the stickiness of a cactus fruit. It’s like I feel the faint breeze across my body and blood in my mouth but nothing moves and there is no blood in my mouth. I don’t know how to describe it, Mother. I just do.”

Several of the Wise Ones wiggled their fingers at one another, but the movements happened too fast for him to catch anything. A couple laughed but said nothing, only wiggled their fingers back and forth.

Therana smiled and pulled him close to kiss him on the forehead, to which he pulled back sharply, “Mother! I’m not a little kid anymore. I’m almost old enough to join a Warrior Society! And warriors don’t get kissed on their forehead!”

She smiled and ruffled his hair, “Is that so, oh wise and knowledgeable Clan Chief?”

He nodded vigorously as he moved to straighten his hair.

“Very well then. But for now get back to your sleeping mat and get back to sleep. We will have the warriors watch for the first sign of a storm coming from that direction.” Said his mother with mock seriousness.

“Why does everyone think I’m playing a game!? I’m serious!” said Herarn vehemently.

Therana grabbed him by the ear and lowered her voice in that way all mothers do when they are displeased with their children. “Do not take that tone with me, young man. Now you will return to your sleeping mats with the other children and if there is a storm then we will handle it accordingly.”

Herarn humfed and did as he was told, but he woke his brother and told him to be prepared for a bad storm… just in case.

Two hours later a storm ripped over their encampment. But the storm itself wasn’t so bad as the fact that it covered the advance of a group of raiders from another Sept from the Taardad.

No one said anything of it to him, but the Wise Ones held council about it afterwards.


Four years later….

Herarn looked around as he emerged from his tent at the base of the Dragonspine. He could see Kinslayer’s Dagger to the south and knew that he had another day’s run to the north before he would find the pass into Shienar where he would seek directions to the Black Tower for formal training in the use of saidin.

But he had that feeling of an impending storm. It was a feeling he had come to rely on, because it never led him astray. Hefting his spear, he looked to the north. He had to go in that direction, but that was the direction of the storm. Anything coming from the North was ill-omened as it meant Sightblinder was stretching forward his grasp into the Three Fold Land.

He wanted to make good time so he could get to fulfilling his Water Oath, but the sense of foreboding warned him away. Rolling up his tent, he started northeast in the direction of a Holding he had seen signs pointing towards.

He had little in the way of gifts to give to the Roofmistress, but he hoped that he could find a source of water along the way so that he could at least give a skin full of water. It was another knack that he held and one he was certain that his sept would sorely miss. His uncanny ability to find water. As he jogged across the cooling sands under the night sky, he skidded to a halt when he felt that weird sensation he got when he felt water.

Carefully, he dug through the sand making sure that it didn’t spill back into his hole too much, he was about a good three feet down when water started to swell in the hole he had made. He continued to dig until his hands could cup the water. Taking a little he raised it to his lips to make sure it wasn’t brackish. When it came to his lips sweet, he filled all of his waterskins before filling the hole again. He would give the location as a gift to the Roofmistress of the Hold.

Stopping at a safe distance he called out, “Hail the Hold! I am Herarn of the Nakai, of the Black Cliffs Sept. I seek sanctuary during my travels.”

Two warriors came forward, their spears at the ready but not intent on harming him. Not unless he did something foolish. “Where do you travel, my brother? I am Narokk of the Duadhe Mahdi’in.”

Herarn smiled and approached to clasp arms with his Society brother. “I travel North to the pass into Shienar. I am under Water Oath to become Asha’man. The Creator saw fit to Gift me.”

“Business of the Wise Ones, then?” asked Narokk returning the clasp firmly before motioning him back towards the Hold. “Come, I will vouch for you.”

“Truly.” Laughed Herarn as he followed behind.

Herarn stopped at the entrance of the Hold and waited until a greying woman approached him, “What is it that you seek of my Hold, Herarn of the Black Cliffs Sept?”

“I seek sanctuary and the aide of my brothers, a storm comes from the north and it smells of Grassburner’s whelps. I bear gifts of water and the knowledge of a wellspring close to the surface of the sands near your hold.” Said Herarn with a nod, acknowledging her as the Roofmistress.

He handed one of his skins to Narokk who brought it to the Roofmistress. She uncorked it and took a swig and nodded. She could tell that it was still relatively fresh. “The Shaarad welcomes our Nakai kinsman. You are welcome within my Hold.”

About two hours later, after guiding some of the Duadhe Mahdi’in to the spot, they dug and were delighted to find such a treasure trove. He followed the leader of a band of fifteen warriors on a northwesterly route. Soon enough they came upon a Trolloc camp. It was small, no more then 30. But it was the Shadowman that stood by the fire torturing one of the Trollocs that would be the problem.

They spread out to completely encircle the camp before swooping down on them like an avalanche. The Three Fold Land was known as the Dying Ground by the Trollocs and with good measure. The Aiel did not suffer Sightblinder’s get in their territory. Two feuding septs would set aside their differences to stamp out anything Shadowspawn.

Soon enough all the Trolloc’s lay dead and the Shadowman was encircled with stabbing and slashing spears. They all brandished torches to keep the Shadowman from getting a clean shadow to run through. Soon enough, the leader of the little warband struck from the side, the blade of his spear cleaving the head from the creature’s shoulders.

After a brief celebration, they piled all the corpses up away from the Shadowman and set the Trolloc’s aflame before they started checking for injuries. The blades used by Trollocs were none too clean and a Fade’s blade was a whole different kind of poison. Seeing that no one was injured, they took it upon themselves to escort Herarn to the base of the pass he sought before turning back.

TBC

[Bruce]

Herarn Age 18

Herarn had finally broken his block. After nearly a year at the Black Tower. A year of cold meals, cold baths, and backbreaking chores. But he could seize saidin. The feeling of being filled with the One Power…. It was a sensation he didn’t even have the words to begin to describe the sensation.

He stood in the Common’s area and just breathed a deep sigh of relief. Now he was on his way to fulfilling his Water Oath. But as he breathed in, he felt that tingling sensation of being in an area that had been struck by dry lightning. His eyes snapped open and he looked around until he got a feel for the direction that the source of the storm would come. It was going to be a vicious storm, one the likes of which only the old timers could even begin to remember.

He knew that he had been dismissed from the Baijin’m’hael’s office, but he found that he would need to return to report this… feeling. He had learned that this was the season of storms for this region of Andor, but this just felt…. Powerful.

Knocking on the Baijin’m’hael’s office door, he waited until he was bade to enter.

Stepping in, he saluted briskly.

“Soldier Herarn, did you forget something? I thought our business was complete.” Said Baijin’m’hael Torvald barely looking up long enough to return the salute before going back to the paperwork in front of him.

“Sir, no, sir. I know that what I am about to report is… unorthodox. But there is a storm coming and it’s going to be bad. I know there isn’t a cloud in the sky… but it’s coming and it will be here before nightfall.” Said Herarn briskly, snapping his arm to his side while staying at attention.

Baijin’m’hael Torvald sighed and set aside whatever it was he was looking at before putting down his quill carefully. “Soldier, I am not one to suffer fools lightly. Nor will I give orders on merely the whim of a Soldier’s ‘feelings’. Especially those of a Soldier who is not familiar with the finer points of local weather patterns.”

Herarn opened his mouth to respond, but was silenced by the Baijin’m’hael raising a hand to silence him. “However, it is the season for storms and a little emergency preparedness wouldn’t hurt the Black Tower. You will not speak of this to anyone outside this office, excepting only the M’Hael or the Tsorovan’m’hael. If I hear that you’ve been blabbering about how you convinced me to run a preparedness drill, I’ll give you twenty lashes with a knoute myself, do you hear?”

“I hear and understand, my Baijin’m’hael.” said Herarn as he saluted again briskly.

“You are dismissed.” said the Baijin’m’hael cooly.

Later that night, multiple tornadoes ripped through the area and would have severely damaged the Black Tower grounds had they not been prepared. For the next several weeks, they were busy helping their neighbors rebuild and bury their dead.


Three years later…

Herarn had that feeling of charged atmosphere around his skin again. It started the second he had received the summons to the M’Hael’s office. He had wracked his brain as to why the M’Hael of all people would have summoned him. He couldn’t think of anything that had been bad, nor anything exemplary that would have required him to be summoned before the M’Hael.

He didn’t even have a chance to knock on the door before the M’Hael hollered out, “Enter!”

The feeling of ill omens only increased when the door slammed shut behind him and he saw a double layer of warding go up around the inside of the M’Hael’s office.

The M’Hael sat on the corner of his desk looking at him in much the same way a child might examine the insides of a fish. Cold, calculating, assessing, and weighing.

“I have a mission of the utmost importance for you to fulfill, Soldier. You must have surely have heard about this supposed ‘Grey’ Tower that trains it’s so called Aes Sedai and Asha’man. Little more than children playing as adults if you ask me. But their numbers have increased to where they can no longer be ignored. I need someone dependable, someone that they won’t consider to spy for me. I need weekly reports on anything that might be construed as a buildup for military activity. Amassing of food stuffs, metal for the fabrication of weapons, maneuvers that strike you as militaristic in nature, or anything else that strikes you as a possible prelude to war.” said the M’Hael. “If you complete this task successfully, the rewards will be… impressive.”

Herarn saluted briskly, “I do my duty to the Tower as I should, not for any reward for service. I am a loyal Soldier to the Black Tower.”

“I know, that is why you were selected for this task. Your loyalty is beyond question and any report that hits my desk will not be jaded by personal feelings. I will be sending you in command of nearly a dozen men who will be transferred to this ‘Grey’ Tower as an action meant to open political channels, but it’s real purpose will be to sneak you in. Remember Soldier, that the actions of you and the men in your command will reflect the honor of the Black Tower while you travel, and I expect that you will ensure the men in your command will act thusly.”

Herarn nodded. “I will ensure it personally, Sir.”

“Good. Do you have any questions? Before I teach you a few weaves that you will need to complete your duties?” asked the M’Hael.

“I request, Soldier Addric Hayworth as my Second for this mission.” said Heran almost immediately.

“Why?”

“I will need someone I can trust to send any relevant information if I come under suspicion and only Soldier Hayworth has taken any real effort at befriending me here.” Said Herarn simply.

The M’Hael nodded. “Alright, let us begin with the weave for Travelling….”

Only the M’Hael would know that Herarn would ultimately be betrayed by the Black Tower and decreed as a Traitor to the Black Tower within a year of his mission starting.