Haxia stared up at her ceiling, her head propped on her flat, lumpy pillow, and tried not to cry. It was all so… terribly insurmountable. It had seemed that it should all be easy, once she started to apply herself in truth! But saidar slipped from her like water through a sieve, no matter how diligently she tried to call it to her. Tia Sedai had been replaced by a stream of Accepted, who went from competent to surly to resigned as she failed to make any significant step forward. And now she had been relocated to lessons in which a single Accepted taught a multitude of novices. Haxia had never had anything less than a private tutor, and being one student in the crowd was more than enough to make her bristle. And worse than that, any hope that other girls struggled as much as she did had been summarily extinguished.
Even Amaranie, who Haxia considered to be her equal in most things, was so far ahead of her that Haxia had found herself quite unable to speak to the other girl throughout the entire lesson earlier that morning. She scowled, sitting up to punch ineffectually at her pillow in an attempt to pound it into a more comfortable shape. The whole situation was unbearable. Haxia was certainly unused to being jealous; in her experience it had always been other women envious of her, not the other way around.
She rubbed her stocking feet against the bedspread, trying ineffectually to warm herself. It was not just that she was the worst of her classes- what if it did take her decades to become Aes Sedai? Haxia had heard of women who had taken more than twenty years to gain the shawl. That would be unendurable, and worse than that- what if she could never become Aes Sedai? There were women who were sent from the Tower, who were judged to be too weak to take up that mantle.
Haxia sat up, tucked her cold feet under her. “I will not be sent home.” She whispered to herself, more than a little furious. There would be at least a few minutes before Amaranie returned. The other girl had taken their free hour to go somewhere- the kitchens or library perhaps. Haxia had not been in the mood to listen. That was more than enough time to practice the weave the Accepted had taught them that morning. If the Tower would not give her her own teacher nor the time to practice, she would take matters into her own hands. She would not be sent home in disgrace, decades older.
She stilled, laid her palms on her thighs to steady herself, and thought carefully of a blooming rose. A small bud in the morning light, opening into a blossom. That, at least, had begun to come a little easier- it only took her a handful of tries to feel the warmth of saidar. She just held it, for a long moment, let herself feel both the satisfaction of her success and the bright joy of saidar itself. But she likely didn’t have that long before Amaranie returned, and Haxia knew the other girl wouldn’t approve of breaking Tower rules.
With a deft hand, Haxia worked a white ribbon out of her hair. The weave was a small illusion, enough to change the color of an object. Carefully, she formed delicate threads of Fire and Air. It was easiest with Fire; that was the one place where Haxia surpassed her peers. None of the other novices were half as comfortable with Fire as she was. She made the weave over the ribbon, working painstakingly to entwine the thread of fire with her thin flows of air. It was harder to manage the two flows of Air; they were hard to make thin enough for the weave. Frowning, she turned her attention from her thread of Fire to those flows of Air, braiding them together-
And screamed as the ribbon caught fire, burning her hand. Saidar fled from her as she leapt up from the bed, half tripping over her own feet, to thrust her hand into the pitcher at their washbasin. The water steamed for a moment, and Haxia pulled her hand out, afraid to look. Her hand throbbed as she tucked it against her chest, sobbing quietly. Oh light, it felt like it was still on fire. Haxia sunk down, still cradling her hand, and cried. She could not even change the color of a ribbon. She would never be Aes Sedai.
Even Amaranie, who Haxia considered to be her equal in most things, was so far ahead of her that Haxia had found herself quite unable to speak to the other girl throughout the entire lesson earlier that morning. She scowled, sitting up to punch ineffectually at her pillow in an attempt to pound it into a more comfortable shape. The whole situation was unbearable. Haxia was certainly unused to being jealous; in her experience it had always been other women envious of her, not the other way around.
She rubbed her stocking feet against the bedspread, trying ineffectually to warm herself. It was not just that she was the worst of her classes- what if it did take her decades to become Aes Sedai? Haxia had heard of women who had taken more than twenty years to gain the shawl. That would be unendurable, and worse than that- what if she could never become Aes Sedai? There were women who were sent from the Tower, who were judged to be too weak to take up that mantle.
Haxia sat up, tucked her cold feet under her. “I will not be sent home.” She whispered to herself, more than a little furious. There would be at least a few minutes before Amaranie returned. The other girl had taken their free hour to go somewhere- the kitchens or library perhaps. Haxia had not been in the mood to listen. That was more than enough time to practice the weave the Accepted had taught them that morning. If the Tower would not give her her own teacher nor the time to practice, she would take matters into her own hands. She would not be sent home in disgrace, decades older.
She stilled, laid her palms on her thighs to steady herself, and thought carefully of a blooming rose. A small bud in the morning light, opening into a blossom. That, at least, had begun to come a little easier- it only took her a handful of tries to feel the warmth of saidar. She just held it, for a long moment, let herself feel both the satisfaction of her success and the bright joy of saidar itself. But she likely didn’t have that long before Amaranie returned, and Haxia knew the other girl wouldn’t approve of breaking Tower rules.
With a deft hand, Haxia worked a white ribbon out of her hair. The weave was a small illusion, enough to change the color of an object. Carefully, she formed delicate threads of Fire and Air. It was easiest with Fire; that was the one place where Haxia surpassed her peers. None of the other novices were half as comfortable with Fire as she was. She made the weave over the ribbon, working painstakingly to entwine the thread of fire with her thin flows of air. It was harder to manage the two flows of Air; they were hard to make thin enough for the weave. Frowning, she turned her attention from her thread of Fire to those flows of Air, braiding them together-
And screamed as the ribbon caught fire, burning her hand. Saidar fled from her as she leapt up from the bed, half tripping over her own feet, to thrust her hand into the pitcher at their washbasin. The water steamed for a moment, and Haxia pulled her hand out, afraid to look. Her hand throbbed as she tucked it against her chest, sobbing quietly. Oh light, it felt like it was still on fire. Haxia sunk down, still cradling her hand, and cried. She could not even change the color of a ribbon. She would never be Aes Sedai.