The Hunt

[Jay Carpenter]

No wiser words could be spoken. Like most things, the end of the world was not as it appears. Perhaps surprisingly, her wisdom did not spark the catalyst of depression. In truth, there was a strange comfort in the thought. The only certainty in the world was its uncertainty; the only thing to trust was the inevitable. It seemed to amuse Nythadri, such was the twist in her grin. Something of Jai's old amusement caught its scent, a contagion of macabre surfacing to the call of its own kind. The hint of that banished emotion clawed its way back into his cynical smile as he tried to capture her gaze.

It never bothered him before. Daryen's voice crashed the moment like the noise below drowning out the other sounds of night. He waited for the fall of guilt like a heavy cloak to drag down his shoulders. It never came. Because the man was right. There was more, though. He felt Daryen's study even now, contemplating him like seeking the enormity of meaning left on the canvas of a great artist's painting. Jai felt the rousing of what slept behind that canvas begin to stir. He knew then as he did now the answer to Daryen's questions as certain as he knew what waited behind the guilt. But it was a cloak he refused to lift. More than not being bothered by melting flesh from the skulls of their enemies; he enjoyed it. Sating a hunger for victory. Conquering those scripts when the country's greatest minds failed. The taste of metal filling his mouth with every seize of saidin. Throwing fire. Watching brave men flee. Cutting down the more foolish of them screaming ferociously as they ran into the face of death.

Accepting that within worked against him now. What was a solid floor of identity was now a sinking pit of sand: an Asha'man sacrificing to save the world or just another sell-sword going to the highest bidder. And he did not know which would delay death the longest: to struggle for life or let the grains swallow him whole. He enjoyed it because those skulls were enemies. The very civilization that would undo sanity itself if they were allowed the chance. And Daryen wanted to break bread and share his cup with their kind like the last ten years never happened. It sickened him like the stench of decay.

Like stench, cynicism had a way of seeping into everything. Like into his laugh. And he laughed. Tinting any joviality with the color of sarcasm's much needed relief. He scratched his chin and laughed like he'd forgotten how.

He leaned rather fashionably, swept a hand up and down the line of black like some tailor's model, and grinned.

"As a matter of fact, it is a lot of work to keep this up."
A flashed a questioning look. Seeking her assessment before calming the playfulness down to something far more serious. He tilted his chin to catch the flattering light of a distant flame. It wasn't hard to do.

"You think I should go back and shave?"
He held the pose, looking from the corner of his eye.

Light. What if she said yes? He wasn't going to give her the chance to answer. Especially after the answer she did give. Tempting? Yeah. More than a little tempting.

He leaned dramatically close to steal the next few moments. A player of this kind of game in his own right. She smelled like flowers and sunset, whatever that smelled like; it was nice.

"You know, a more honorable man would wait for you to say yes before taking you."
A grin slowly emerged as he searched those startling eyes for the truth he thought he saw.

"A huge favor. Trust me. You can't imagine how huge. It's killing me, actually."
The grin was sincere on every level; of which there was really only one. For once, the words were too. Shocking.

But Jai was nothing if he wasn't good for his word. He receeded for only a moment to brace for the strength to capture saidin and bend it to his will.

"Look over the edge."
It wasn't a suggestion, but no less friendly. Without regret, he turned his attentions from Nythadri to something far more bedeviling and was unable to see through the tangle of channeling if she obeyed. Down there in the distance of night a silver sword sliced the belly of black air. It churned surreal in the shadows and ripped the Pattern a new hole with its razor-sharp edge. In the same instant, salt and sound hit them nearby. A matching doorway opened just behind them.

The sheer joy of channeling drove every ache into that sea as sure as a Daryen's bootheel on the invader's throat the night he took the capital. So alive: to hold saidin was to grip his own beating heart and squeeze until it hurt. Beauty and pain; madness and life. That was the power a channeler craved to control. The essence of it.

Concentration shifted from construction to maintenance, he freely flashed a most sinister suggestion. Baiting her with as much temptation as he knew how while stepping through to the other side. She would be able to see him standing in two places, now. The first, so close. She could if she so chose to accept the palm he raised in offering escort. An honest one. One which would close around her hand and pull her away from the monotony of duty and rules and politics into the hungry arms of warm sand and tempting waves. If only for a short time. But while it lasted the only game behind his offer was the one they both thoroughly enjoyed to play. The second, a light-casted reflection waiting small and diminished at the bottom of the cliff. Like she could look into her own future. A blessing few people ever knew.

He held the gate as he held his arm: waiting. And hoping the risk of looking like an idiot should she reject him paid off.