On an exceptionally hot midsummer morning a woman emerged from the broken stone and the plaster, scaffolding, bricks, and dust all about her. She walked slowly, as though in hesitation, toward the docks. In spite of all the neat fastidiousness of her dress she minded the rubble least of all in the streets and alleys at the heart of Illian. It made her very uneasy to rejoin the crowd. Her face was veiled, first of all but it failed to excite any interest beyond general mistrust and positive hostility at all these foreigners in the city. Owing to the proximity of the council, the number of establishments of poor character, the preponderance of the trading class population crowded into the market, types so various were seen in those quarters that no figure, however odd, would have caused surprise. Besides, the stench from the perfumed quarters were so familiar to all who were unable to escape in the summer, many covered their noses with a damp cloth while passing through.

 

Still, she had to remove her veil in order to charter a ship and, browbeaten by her firm insistance to stay put, the captain was eager to set sail. He would leave navigation matters to his mate, but he could be found wounding about the ship's figurehead; somedays he climbed the riggings, his jaunty, tarred boots with red turn-over tops dipping into full view before his person as he swung down the ropes. With a vigilant watch, they were making good speed and would be inside Tar Valon in three weeks tops. Although it was within her ability to make the passage more swift, her help was neither offered nor sought.

 

Rather than bring wind to their sails, she baked as the crew worked, making scones for their tea. At the counter stood a boy of about fourteen and a somewhat younger girl who handed whatever was wanted. She wore a set of prized spices procurred through travels. Over the years she continued to cook since it provided her with a livelihood; also because it was theuropeutic, mastering the pots and pans reminded her of happier times. A particular perk in her chosen profession upon which she did not remark to her employers. Those she worked for were simply disinterested, showing a shade of condescending contempt for her as a person of station and culture inferior to theirs, with whom it might well be useless for them to converse.

 

As it were, cooking occupied very little of her time onboard. In the past few days she had been toying with the idea of a work on geography of the areas they were surveying; perhaps even a paper on the usefulness of Earth weaves. But not seriously: she knew too much of herself to subject anybody to that. All her sallies at writing posts had bogged down in tedium. The truth was—she was tired, more out of place than ever. So were others of her acquaintances from the old days, burdened with upbringings inappropriate to the tasks they were set to perform; clerics in a post-faith age.

 

Upon the ship nearing the pier she became super aware of her fears. Years apart, and the memories never faded. It was such a burden to carry the vestiges of dead dreams, but she could not stop wondering if Rory still thought of her . . . or was there somebody else between them?

 

Thoughts of old acquaintances worked painfully on her nerves. Even so, she had fulfilled her obligations to her Ajah, and the Tower. Month after month she sat, gathered, read, and annotated the assignments from her Eyes and Ears, correcting lapses in logic, interrogating weak arguments, and appending to each report a brief, considered critique. She did not bother sending any of her official work in. Despite the heat she wore a full coat, as she did not want to meet with any Aes Sedai.

 

So it followed, a few minutes after dropping anchor in port, Maegan Sedai found her. Saline turned and tried to walk away, but it was too late. For a person with impaired eyesight, Maegan was surprisingly adept at sniffing her out and too soon began demanding where on the light-forsaken world she'd been.

 

"South," she answered vaguely, as though hesitating what she would say. But there was a look of sharp determination on her pale, ageless face. "I have come for my friends . . . to make amends . . . I meant to say, former friends."

 

-Saline-

 

The name whispered on the tongues of the passing Reds -so many unaware of what was occurring in their very Gardens- brought a whole new level of anger to the Cairhien Aes Sedai. With no word to the other Reds, Maegan hiked up her skirts and with purposeful steps walked right out of the Tower and into Tar Valon, her formal shawl flapping behind her and causing nobility and commoner alike to jump well out of the way of the Red Sister. The look on her face was far from pleasant, and the ripples in her brow spoke magnitudes to her mood. Not that it was Saline's fault. Oh, hardly could the blame be placed on the young Aes Sedai's shoulders. There were a great many things the Red could do but anger Maegan? It was inconceivable, and yet with her return Maegan could not help but feel angered by the girls timing.

 

::The moment the Black Tower ends up on our door step, and Light knows what that Amyrlin and her precious Highest may be plotting, Saline find her way back home. Light guard me, but it is safer way from the Tower than in it!:: Maegan's thoughts trailed as she saw ahead the poor victim of her foul mood. After all, she could not yell at her other sisters at the moment. Not when they all supported their Bloody Highest. Blind bats, they were.

 

"Saline Sedai! Where on this Light-Forsaken World have you been!"

 

"South," Saline answered vaguely, as though hesitating what she would say. But there was a look of sharp determination on her pale, ageless face. "I have come for my friends . . . to make amends . . . I meant to say, former friends."

 

Maegan studied her with a severe and unhappy sort of set of eyes. Her spectacles seemingly the only thing from keeping Saline from flaming into a pile of ash with such a gaze. "I shall assume that you speak of Rory? She is gone. Not a fortnight after you decided to disappear without a word." Maegan mentally flinched, easing but a grain of her anger. Had she not done the same with Estel? Maegan's eyes narrowed more so with each passing thought. "North with Lillian and Abigail. Unusual acquaintances did I not know of Lillian's boundless need for friends outside her Ajah. Either way, you will not find them here."

 

 

 

 

Maegan Ryanne

Red Aes Sedai

"Burn me! Burn me!" Saline muttered, but half consciously, as though scarcely able to realise what had happened. The last statement sounded strange in her ears. Here was something new: Saline came back and Rory was not waiting where she should be.

 

The fact was that up to the last moment she never expected such an ending; she had been evading to the last degree, never dreaming that three such involved and overbearing women could break from the Tower's control. This conviction was strengthened by her selfishness and conceit. She had expected to be reconciled with them. That all would be as before.

 

"She has got to be here," she said in a half-whisper to herself, almost shuddering. Maegan's austere eyes looked almost with exasperation at the newcomer, although she must have noticed this disproportionate terror. It was no question whom she referred to. Surely Maegan realised why Saline could not bring herself to believe otherwise.

 

With a sick feeling Saline could not help recalling Lillian too, but soon she reassured herself on that score; as though a Sister like the White could be bothered, could be concerned with one such as her! The woman she dreaded in earnest was the person who she dreamt of, Rory . . . She had, in short, a great deal to see to . . . 

 

"You don't know? . . . " she whispered softly and as it were breathlessly. Saline forced herself to talk normally, but at the third word her voice broke like an overstrained string. There was a catch in her breath.

 

She stopped and looked up quickly at Maegan, and controlling herself went on speaking. Drawing a painful breath, Saline told the other distinctly and forcibly as though she were making a public confession of love. "But they haven't heard what I have to say. Rory," she started off like a warhorse at the trumpets' call, "she means everything. I go where she is. Here . . . having so to speak anxieties of my own. We might begin the search to-day. Maegan Sedai am I right? Will you help?"

 

There was a familiarity to the woman's voice that stung to Maegan's core. A denial that what was could still be despite all supporting evidence suggested, proved, otherwise. Maegan could see that pain, relate to it and harbor it in her own secret hell within her heart. Knowing she would never sit for tea with Annais again broke her heart every waking hour. However despair had been overtaken by angry over Annais' senseless death. Fallen off a horse? Bloody unlikely. The Black Ajah would pay dearly for her loss. She did not need to lose herself to the emotions of sadness when there were women of the Shadow, women they foolishly called 'sister' still wandering the chambers of the White Tower. It was a pity she could not lie to the pretty faced Red. So young. So dearly young and naive.

 

"I do, Saline Sedai, but that is no reason to sniffle over their absense. They are not your lapdogs no more than you are mine. Set that chin properly, there you go." Maegan scolded with little room for less than absolute obedience.

 

"If you doubt my words, then go hunt the Halls of the Tower. You will not find them here. I do not have the time to spend away on a journey North." Although she would give anything to give up her shawl and just leave. Tarmon Gai'don. She was required to stay. Damn the Tower. Damn them all.

 

"I will send ahead to someone that will be able to help you. She will do well as a guide and may know how to find Rory." And Lillian ... and Abigail. Abigail was such an after thought but Maegan did not know the woman well. Other then they were rarely on the same side of any argument. Such were the ways of her and the White Ajah.

"Thanks, Maegan Sedai," Saline began, as soon as they were in the street, "I really feel relieved now at coming back--more firm in my purpose. Little did I think yesterday on the ship that Rory can ever be in trouble, more fool me. How nice it is for one to get a breath of air here. I tell you, it is fearfully close in the ship. No wonder I could not think properly; of course, of course! Yes I declare, I shall go for her," muttering as though to convince herself more "Yes, yes I'll am going . . . I won't be worth much if I do not."

 

Realising Maegan Sedai was still there, gazing at her with those eyes. Saline in confusion (and excitement from the fact they were for the first time speaking openly about Rory) gave her a hurried, frightened curtsy. There was a look of poignant discomfort in her face, she was still reconciling her return to the knowledge of how foolish she was. "Goodbye! That is till we meet. I do not like saying goodbye. Goodbye, Maegan Sedai," repeated Saline frantically, as though to refute what Maegan's intelligence had unravelled in herself "ah, I have quite muddled it and said goodbye again." With excessive politeness she departed in a flutter from the market district.

 

She was relieved to have ran away from Maegan Sedai and the stern energy flashing through the Red's eyes. In a few minutes she was smiling, revisited by new sight sound and smells of the city. Only now and then Saline turned white and frowned, remembering what had passed. It was in those moments the streets themselves appeared gloomy and sullen, and for some steps Saline saw nothing. She was by now approaching the Tower gate and yard.

 

But can that be true? she cried to herself. Can Rory denounce everything she held dear? Who could say grief has not made her gone from her life? Is the process already begun? . . . No, she couldn't have. This is ridiculous. The next day, the very next day it must all be set right, smoothed over, settled.