The Grey Tower

In place of his physical caretaker, Jaryd now had a new presence in his head, a constant reminder that the choice to live had been taken from him. Zeen did not hesitate to use the bond to enforce what he believed to be acceptable behavior. If not for the guilt and true caring that the Altaran felt every time Spirit touched the bridge between them he might have hated the big Green. As it was, anger still bubbled up, and he avoided his friend as much as Zeen would allow. Someday, perhaps, he would be willing to talk about it...but not then.

Thus it was that six months after the death of his love and bondmate and his summary removal from the Triumvirate, Jaryd Kosari found himself pulling the scraps of his life back together. When he began to unpack his possessions he found piles of his journals, carefully wrapped and apparently untouched. Only a fool would believe that prying eyes had not glanced through those pages, but the information within was protected by a cypher that would have taken more than a few hurried minutes to untangle.

Those books held decades of research, a combination of his own studies, Kaia’s, and even some he had gleaned from what Carra had left behind when she disappeared. Dates. Events. Names. Locations. Vague descriptions…all of it carefully organized for ease of reference. One set of journals contained information about possible Shadowsworn activity, and another set contained information about channelers, both Tower and non-Tower. A third set, triple-ciphered and carefully hidden inside false covers, held information about both.

The information was not complete; in his foolish display of temper before his captivity he had destroyed a great deal of his work. However, it was a start; something to focus on so he did not fall down the hole that had once been Kaia. He began to add current events to what he knew, and gradually a pattern began to develop. The center of this particular net was in Cairhien. Again? He felt sick, but...the Red Ajah had a duty, and it was long past time for him to shoulder the burden once more.

Two days before the Feast of Lights, Jaryd sent a servant to fetch Avyra Moeryr to his quarters. When she arrived, he gestured for her to take a seat in one of the arm chairs near his window, then settled in the other just across from her. “Thank you for coming, Avyra,” he said. They exchanged small pleasantries as they settled, but he could nearly taste her curiosity. “I am sure you want to know why I brought you here," he said finally as he pulled the tea tray over to settle on the table between them with a flow of Air. "I need someone small, outspoken, and familiar with Cairhien, who could pose as my….little sister, in a manner of speaking...and assist me in a Red Ajah investigation.”

He poured her a cup of tea, and handed it to her with spidery, scar-laced fingers. “What we will do will be unpleasant at times and may be frightening, but I give you my word you will be safe from harm, and your assistance would be invaluable. Are you interested?”

Jaryd watched as Avyra thought about what he had said. She did not drink her tea, and her eyes stayed focused on him. Green eyes. Not quite the same as Kaia’s, and yet something of the same fierceness shone there….and fear. She was afraid of him. Long lashes dropped to block her from his sight, the Void snapping around him as he fought to control another outpouring of grief. He felt a surge of frustrated concern over the bond and then Zeen vanished. Jaryd took a breath and looked at his new companion once more.

The Accepted spoke then, bringing him back to the present. Her questions did not surprise him, but the odd note of uncertainty in her voice before she fell silent did. How can I possibly be of any help, she had said, as if used to being delegated to uselessness. That concern seemed at odds with what information he had gathered on her in preceding weeks, and he filed it away for later consideration.

For the moment the Red had more pressing concerns. He set his teacup on the tray untouched and rose to go to the desk that sat in one corner. It faced the wall so he did not have to contemplate the emptiness of a room more than large enough for two while he worked. Almost he got sucked into the blackness of that memory. Almost. He curled his hand into a fist, fingernails biting hard into his palm, and snatched a document from the collection that covered the dark wood surface. Then he rejoined the Accepted.

“We will be hunting a Dreadlord,” he said as he found his seat again. She set her cup down sharply and stared at him, and he made a quick gesture with his fingers. “We will not be fighting the Dreadlord, Avyra. All we will be doing is information gathering. I’ve finally identified the next step in my search, and it’s in Cairhien. I can’t do it alone, however- that is where you come in.” She made a disbelieving noise, and he sighed, looking down at the paper. Kaia’s writing covered half the page, some words blurred by dried tears. His own scrawl covered the rest.

“Channelers who have sworn their service to the Dark One are hard to track down,” he told her quietly. “They swear oaths to protect his interests...and they have their own ambitions and plans to care for as well. They often hide in plain sight, and frequently pose as a figure that their surrounding community loves and trusts.” Abruptly he realized he spoke not to another Red, nor even to an Aes Sedai, but to one of the Accepted. A girl who could not possibly be older than twenty five, who had good reason to have nightmares for years given what he had just told her. How often did an Asha’man just up and admit that Dreadlords existed? Never. Even the Red Ajah cited less extreme reasons for their existence when asked. “I apologize,” he said quietly. “I do not mean to frighten you.” His fingers tightened on the paper.

“I need to go to Cairhien and pose as a refugee in the Foregate to pursue the lead I found,” he told her. “While I am there, I will need an assistant who can help me maintain that cover. I need someone who is familiar with Cairhien. Someone who fits in in ways that I certainly would not,” he gestured to his dark skin and curls with a slight smile. “Someone who can listen to rumors and put together clues from what she hears, who can garner sympathy in one breath and start a distracting argument or fight with the next. Someone who, if the situation indicated necessity, could crawl through a window and open a door for me.”

He smoothed the paper over his knee. “Are you still interested? I understand if you are not. That is quite a lot to swallow at once.”

Jaryd arched an expressive eyebrow, flat dark eyes intent on the woman who sat before him. He had done his research before asking for her, of course, and thus her reaction did not entirely surprise him. Talented, yet convinced of her own lack of ability, one of her instructors had told him. Utterly obsessed with height as a measurement of worth, another had said. Smart, they had all told him. And if that wasn’t enough, she had passed the Three Arches.

The Altaran struggled daily with irrational grief and rage, but even shrouded in mourning he could not understand how anyone could cling so stubbornly to untruths. Thus his response, when it came, was perhaps not as sympathetic as it might have been. “If you wish to persist in believing you are ‘nothing’, then you are welcome to do so, but you will keep those thoughts to yourself. I have neither the time nor the patience to tell you what many others have already tried to convey.” His fingers flickered dismissively. “You have the power to do anything you wish if you allow yourself to do so, child, and you have the One Power to assist you, which is far more than most of the world can claim.”

His head tilted to the side and he gave her an intent look. “What's important is that I picked you to assist me, and assist me you shall.”

His eyes fell to the paper in his hand and he scanned it quickly before speaking again. “The Tower laundry has instructions to provide you with clothing for our journey. Collect the bag from them this evening, and be sure to get plenty of rest. They will have given you a simple country dress- wear that, and meet me at the Channeling Yard at first light tomorrow. I will explain more once we are on our way.”

Jaryd sat on a rock in the practice yards, flipping a narrow dagger in the air. He wore a decidedly dingy shirt with tattered sleeves, breeches that seemed to have more patches and tears than actual cloth, and a heavy woolen cloak. His boots were scruffy and tied together with twine. His hair, normally a halo of perfect curls around his olive-toned face, had been matted into indecipherable snarls, and a dark bruise marred his left cheek. In short, the man who had once been the M’Hael now resembled nothing so much as a feckless hoodlum.

“Ah, Avyra,” he said, as the Accepted approached him. She wore similarly disreputable apparel, but her skirts and cloak dragged on the ground and she looked distinctly annoyed as she yanked them around to make way for her feet. “That won’t do,” he commented, looking at the fabric thoughtfully. “I thought I’d given the servants better instructions, my apologies.” A moment later he crouched in front of her, his finger touching the rough wool about half a hand above the ground. “With your permission, I can fix this,” he said, looking up at her.

She shrugged, which he took as acceptance. A moment later, a circular net of Air and Spirit settled around her, delicate flows weaving in and out of the fabric, over and over, until abruptly they pulled outward and a solid half a foot of fabric fell away, leaving a perfectly even, neatly-sliced edge that fell just far enough to cover her ankles while leaving her feet free to move.

He pushed himself upright and answered her question as if nothing had happened at all. “We’re going to Cairhien, of course,” he said simply, as a slash of light rotated open before them. The field in front of them was blanketed in snow. “Of course it’s bloody snowing,” Jaryd snapped, and released the flows. A moment later a new slash appeared, this one opening only a few feet from a road. The snow had been trampled by people, horses, and carts there, but thankfully no other travelers were in sight. It was risky indeed to Travel to a road, but even more risky to leave a path to an obvious gateway. He gestured for the Accepted to walk through, then let the door snap shut.

“You will need to hide your ring, forget my title, and pretend that the One Power scares the living daylights out of you,” he told his companion in a low voice as they walked up the road. “While we are here, my name is Adwal and I’m a street thug with a penchant for bragging,” he told his companion. “You were freezing and starving on the side of the road when I found you and took you under my wing. Make up any stories you like about me, but do try to avoid getting me arrested unless I specifically ask for it.” His teeth flashed in an amused smile, but his companion did not seem to share his humor. He shrugged, slender fingers splaying.

“You will need a name as well. Just let me know what to use before we get to the city. And...” He paused, pulling his cloak closer around him, "if you have questions, don't hesitate to ask. I may not be able to answer all, but I will do my best."

Jaryd had expected the cold and snow to dampen his spirit, but somehow he had been unprepared for the effect the nation itself would have. The last time he had been to Cairhien, he had fought a Dreadlord with Durent. Last time he had been there, he had spent three days in the Foregate before paying a visit to House Riatin to keep his promise to a young woman with brown eyes. The last time I was here was the first time I saw- Memory overwhelmed him and he could not have spoken to save his life.

He didn’t know if Avyra saw his tears or heard his ragged gasps for breath as he fought to control his grief and anger. In truth, the Red didn’t care. If he got them both to the city without tearing the road apart and throwing himself to the merciful depths of earth and fire, that would be victory enough. As it happened, the cold touch of Zeen’s Compulsion did its duty despite his best efforts, and he stumbled forward in bleary emptiness.

Hours of miserable walking later they arrived in the Foregate unscathed save for the biting cold that numbed their faces and hands.

He saw Avyra glancing around hopefully, and shook his head. “Ain’t got the coin to be wastin on a room,” he commented. He had not had much chance to befriend Betrys, but the Yellow’s brogue had stuck with him through the years. Knowing it came in handy occasionally. “At lees ye ain’t blue-faced an' puffy on t'side t’road, Kyella. I coulda left ya, but I dint. Shut yer bloody month, ye might choke on a fly iffen they ain’t all froze yet.” The young woman’s green eyes flashed with annoyance and for a moment Jaryd could barely breathe. She looked nothing like Kaia, and yet- Light, get a hold of yourself.

The Asha’man took his companion by the shoulder and hustled her roughly through the twisting streets of the Foregate, twisting and turning past knots of other travelers, drifts of dirty snow, and thick patches of ice. A sharp left took them into an alley where overhanging thatch kept the ground clear of snow. They made faster progress then, and he led her deep within the warren of ramshackle buildings. Finally they found themselves in a corner between several buildings that had seen better days. “This will do,” he muttered, looking around. .

“Do for what?”

“For sleeping,” he said simply. “It’s late, and that walk was brutal.” He shoved debris out of the way with his foot, then sat with his back to the wall, gesturing for her to join him. “There’s a meat pie and some cheese in your bag,” he said. “Maybe an apple. Eat- we’ll have to scrounge tomorrow, no point in having an empty stomach now.”

The Accepted’s teeth noticeably chattered as she settled. Jaryd sat in silence as she ate, weighing his options. Finally her discomfort drilled through other concerns and he wove thin flows of Fire, spreading them through the ground beneath her and surrounding her in warmth. The small gesture was as much an apology as he could give her for what he had already, and would continue to, put her through.

“Tomorrow I’ll teach you how to climb walls,” he said before she could comment on what he had done. He pulled a heel of bread out of his shirt sleeve and began to gnaw on it. “And maybe how to cut purse strings. Have you ever thought of being a pickpocket?”