The Seanchan Spy

[Eidolon]

“My name is Eithne Sedai. This is my sister, Malaika Sedai, and my Warder, Anura.”

“Mmm.”

Kasimir’s mother led them through to an anteroom of sorts, the walls lined with shelves, books and ornamental furniture. Once they were all safely within, Malaika released the wisps of Air holding Kasimir rigid. He slumped a little, and looked relieved, but clearly did not know to whom he should glance his thanks. Malaika thought she had finally come to realise the source of the young man’s sullenness and wondered how it was he could still be so tied to his mother’s apron strings.

At the far end of the room was a solid, oaken door. Something of its majesty reminded Malaika of the Mistress of Novices office, but perhaps it was simply the simmering unease in her stomach; she was out of her comfort zone and out of her element, after all. Her Sister seemed unruffled enough for the both of them, and they had Anura Gaidar besides should things turn nasty, though she really didn’t expect that the situation would escalate; Kasimir’s mother, who had not even bothered to grace them with her name, was feisty and obviously had a bias against the denizens of the Tower, but was clearly not stupid. 

Light, but her heart was beating wildly, though, and she clasped her hands together much the way she had the day she had met Kekura Sedai, if this time her head was held aloft and proud. For the first time in a long time she thought of the rosebud and let those serene pink petals calm her.

“Wait here.” 

The Ebou Dari woman took her son by the arm, clearly with the intention of leading him from the room.

“Your son must remain in our custody for now, Mistress Nevaren.” Eithne did not move, but Kasimir’s mother did stop in her tracks. The lithe, muscular form of Anura Gaidar was more than ample encouragement. “The allegations against him are a serious affair.  But as a Light-fearing citizen, I am sure you understand that.”

“He is my son,” she reminded boldly. The way her fingers flexed she was itching to raise her blade, but an ageless face and the serpent ring calms many a fierce heart. The woman pursed her lips, the muscles in her jaw working furiously for a moment, but she even managed to hold her tongue. Kasimir touched her shoulder gingerly but the gesture did not seem to be much appreciated. “Wait here,” she repeated coolly, then disappeared into the room.

The woman’s hostility left Malaika on edge, but she was aware of her own ignorance in such matters.  One did not face much hostility against Aes Sedai in Tar Valon, and even as a Seanchan initiate she had found herself welcomed into the fold without much incident. This expedition was all a continuance of her training, of course; Brenna had said as much; she could not be Aes Sedai and remain ignorant of the world outside the Shining Walls forever. Whatever those without the Brown shawl about their shoulders thought of her Ajah, her sisters recognised the difference between the fact of the page and the fact of the eye. Malaika had read much of the worldly literature found in the library, but it was no substitute for experience.

Beside them, seemingly rejuvenated now that his mother had gone, Kasimir sighed loudly and muttered obscenities to himself.  “Blood and ashes, blood and bloody ashes what a mess.”  He tilted his head towards Eithne. “You witches grant protection to those who ask for it, right?

But then the door opened and his mother stood austere and tall in the doorway, the dagger flashing one white and two red stones at her throat. “My husband will see you.”

“…because I need it,” Kasimir murmured as they entered.

The room within was decorated after a Seanchan fashion; sparse and simple, with curving furniture and silken carpets.  There was a great canvas painting on the far wall, picturing the city of Seander at daybreak, with a plaque beneath that she could not read from this distance. There were no seats.

A dark-haired, broadly built man stood with his back to them, his attention facing an armour-stand raised half a foot in the air by a plinth. It was empty but for a tall, tasselled spear, the ornately carved tip gleaming. 

“Come here, boy.” The man’s voice was deep and drawling. It had been so long since Malaika had heard the accent of her kin that it sent a silent shiver down her spine. She was not the only to shiver, though; Kasimir hesitated at the command, and Malaika tilted her head to look at him. Not afraid of his mother, she realised, but of his father.

The older man turned awkwardly, heavy-set frame reliant on a thick cane. His fingers curled around the cat-like head of a torm, two of its glinting three eyes winking rubies and the centre-most polished white. The creature’s likeness alighted something of the young Brown’s memories, if she kept the smile to herself; few would think it, but it was not as if her entire past before the Tower had been horrendous - she had not been a damane all her life.  Still, now was not the time for nostalgia, and she did not allow herself its sweeping pleasure.

The man before them was grizzled and far into his middle years, with a heavily lined face and black hair greying silver at the temples. His tilted eyes and the soft lines of his features marked him as Seanchan, and pure blooded at that.

“At least show the honour of sei'taer, boy. Look at me when I speak to you!”

Malaika noticed the young man’s eyes spark under a mop of ebony hair, but when he raised them they were nothing but solid black pools. “Yes, father,” he intoned. 

“Hierarchy, Kasimir, protocol, honour, respect. The Wheel would not have made you my son should it not have intended for you to obey my word. And yet here I find you have stolen from me.”  He waved at the empty stand and Malaika remembered the gilded insectile helm. “In Seander you would have your arm shortened by a hand for such a disgrace.”  The man’s fingers were white about the torm head cane, and Malaika sensed he might have struck the boy if he could’ve. Her clasped hands twitched, but otherwise she remained still. It was not for her to disagree with a father’s discipline of a son; she had no children, and more as like never would.

Eithne cleared her throat.

“It is fortunate, then, that we are not in Seanchan. Light shine on you, sir,” she interrupted, and with her voice the room silenced. The small, plump woman looked as regal as a queen, and nothing of the stereotypical dreaminess lingered in that suddenly shrewd gaze. “I am Eithne Sedai, and this--”

“--Witches,” the older man corrected succinctly. “And I have no need to learn the name of witches. But I am Chakai, this boy’s father. What further crime has he committed to earn such a nefarious escort?”

Chakai. The name rang through her skull. Malaika eyes widened a fraction, but the name was a common enough one. A cruel twist of the Wheel, no more. She glanced at Eithne and found the woman looking back at her mere moments before she turned her gaze back to Chakai.

“He was arrested in Arad Doman and held under the suspicion of being a foreign spy,” Eithne explained calmly. Malaika noticed the admirable subtly with which the Brown tackled her words; she did not alienate Chakai with accusations, though the set of the man’s mouth made it clear she may as well have said Seanchan instead of foreign.  She also noticed the way Kasimir’s mother’s black eyes grew considerably larger. “He pleaded his innocence, but his story needs verifying.”

Chaki snorted. “The boy is no spy, just a common thief. And one that will be dealt with accordingly. What proof have you?” He made his way towards them, cane padding softly on the silk floor. His left leg trailed and jerked, giving him an erratic and difficult gait.

“Armour, a Seanchan blade.” At Eithne’s words, Anura lowered the bulging bag from her back and let the offending items spill messily on the floor.

Chakai scowled. “An Aes Sedai who cannot see what is right in front of her nose - how very… unsual. Do not mock me for a fool, woman.” He jerked an arm back. “The boy stole them. I hope you are not so blind as to realise I am Seanchan, and no bloody spy, either.”

“I do not mock, sir,” Eithne replied coldly. “The White tower takes its duties very seriously. We do not assume, and we do not take kindly to insolence. Should you continue unto that end, we might quite easily return your son to the hands of the Domani authorities. I’m sure they would be happy to hang him a spy.”

“Chakai!” There was fear in the woman’s voice; fear of a mother’s prerogative. She caressed the marriage knife, as much an Ebou Dari threat as a reminder of the children she had born. “Husband, please. Tell them whatever it is they need to make them leave.”

Chakai grunted, but his tense shoulder sagged. His gaze returned to the Aes Sedai, settling on the older Brown. “Upon the breastplate there is the image of a torm, a creature which bears the likeness of my cane. The helm is dented in many places, most noticeably the rear, where an axe blow nearly cost me my head, and the sword is inscribed with the words: ‘By the hope of a higher name’.”

Anura checked as he spoke, laying the items out on the floor one after the other. She nodded the truth of it.

“Torm,” Eithne repeated. “Scouting animals, are they not?  What do you know of them, sister?”

Malaika opened her mouth to speak, but the old man cut her off.

“Do I look as though I still ride? Or that I keep one of the creatures here? The armour and blade is mine and the boy is innocent, and now that I have proven it I ask you to leave.”

Eithne nodded. “I believe we had what we came for, Chakai Nevaren. Your cooperation has been appreciated, and the White Tower thanks you for your time.  he boy is free to go.”

With a small cry, Kasimir’s mother brought him in to an embrace. Chakai, though, leaned in close, the hand on the cane trembling under the weight. “The day comes when the Empire rises, marath’damane.  And when it does, I shall rejoice.”

Eithne's eyes held no twinkle, and no mirth. "So, too, comes the day when your son will leave you, Seanchan.  We shall not bring him back next time."