The Testing

by Yveva Teslayn

"Two things I will tell you now, that no woman hears until she is in this room. The first is this. Once you begin, you must continue to the end. Refuse to go on, and no matter your potential, you will be very kindly put from the Tower with enough silver to support you for a year, and you will never be allowed back." The Mistress of Novices was right, Shelam had never heard of that requirement. She had come to the tower at age thirteen after being tested, and found to have potential to learn, in Caemlyn.

For eight years Shelam had studied as a novice. Eight years of dishes, and errands, and classes, and more errands. But it would all be worth it to become Aes Sedai. An Aes Sedai, with smooth cheeks, fringed shawl, and the ability to make nations move at her suggestion. Not that she would of course.

The prospect of walking through the arches did not worry Shelam. She had known other novices who had become accepted, and though they did not speak of what they had seen in the arches they were still alive, so it must not have been that terrible.

Besides, Shelam would do anything, anything, to be Aes Sedai. Born to a minor house in Andor Shelam had visited the palace on feast days and seen the Aes Sedai pass through Caemlyn’s streets on their way to see the Queen and her advisor from the White Tower. Oh to have that majesty and serenity. And now she would! Well— soon she would…

"Second." The Mistress of Novices’ voice cut through Shelam’s reverie, "To seek, to strive, is to know danger. You will know danger here. Some women have entered, and never come out. When the ter’ angreal was allowed to grow quiet, they were not there. If you will survive, you must be steadfast. Falter, fail, and… This is your last chance daughter. You may turn back now and you will only have one mark against you. You may come here twice more, and only after refusing a third time will you be put from the Tower."

Shelam was not afraid, anxious to begin the ritual she had been taught of in the past years yes, but not afraid, never afraid. "I am ready." She answered confidently, with the touch of deference Aes Sedai required of novices. The last time she would answer as a novice.

A Brown sister spoke, continuing the traditional dialogue which had passed between novice and Aes Sedai in this room thousands of times since the Breaking of the World. "Whom do you bring with you, Sister?"

"One who comes as a candidate for acceptance, Sister."

"Is she ready?"

"She is ready to leave behind what she was, and, passing through her fears, gain Acceptance."

"Does she know her fears?"

"She has never faced them but now is willing."

"Then let her face her fears."

As she had been told in her class earlier Shelam took off her dress and shift and approached the arches. "The first time," intoned the Mistress of Novices "is for what was. The way back will come but once. Be steadfast."

Trying to move with dignity and not show her impatience to be Accepted Shelam stepped into the first arch. The light washed over her, and through her.

The streets were crowded, tomorrow was a feast day and people bustled about trying to find the freshest produce for the lowest price with which to prepare tomorrow’s meal. She had slipped away from her lessons when Master Leffvit had left the room. How could anyone study on such a day?

The blue sky stretched overhead, it’s smooth expanse occasionally interrupted by a wisp of cloud. Around her the bright colors of people’s clothing seemed merrier in the sunlight, and their jewelry sparkled, casting lightfae on the people around them. The crowd swept around her and she laughed. On a day like this how could anyone not laugh?

The crowd shifted and suddenly she found herself in a narrow alleyway. She was about to leave when she heard something. Something similar to a muffled cat’s meow. She loved animals. Walking carefully in the alley, almost night dark to her sun-accustomed eyes, she almost stepped on a bundle of rags. She crouched down to get a better look. The eyes still shone.

She reached out to close the woman’s eyes, the lids were warm. The woman’s bodice glistened with something wet and dark. Her eyes were becoming more used to the shadowy alley. She gasped as she made out the smooth cheeks. Involuntarily she backed away from the still form. Who could do such a thing? The woman’s stiff fingers were clenched around the red fringe of her shawl. So, no one would know to come. Something about her hands seemed odd, the alley was dark, but, something about her skin-- it was blackening. Yes, even now it was darker than it had been moments before.

She felt sick, a horrible, twisting, wrenching sensation. She had never felt such vileness before.

The shadows in one of the corners appeared to swirl together and manifest themselves into what might be called a human form. It raised what on a human would be called an arm and removed it’s head covering. The pasty white complexion glimmered in the semi-darkness and it flowed, for flowing could be the only word for it, effortlessly, seamlessly the black blade was drawn and came flying toward her.

…And it stopped. She could feel her skin near the blade crawl and try to escape it. The thing parted it’s lips and hissed a laugh which ran through her and found all the places not already repulsed by the dead woman. Found them, and seemed to twist them until by comparison the black blade hardly seemed foul at all.

"I spare you," it continued "I spare you because my Master sees a fit use for you yet. You shall go to her," he prodded the woman with the toe of his boot, "Tower." He spat the word out as if it were disgusting to him, "There you shall be wrought, and brought to serve his will."

She began to tremble but was too afraid to collapse on the ground. A silvery archway appeared behind it’s shoulder.

The way back will come but once. Be steadfast

The words echoed in her mind. She had heard them before. "Yes. Leave." It hissed. She felt drawn to the being, compelled to stare at it’s face, it’s horrible, eyeless face. She was drawn to see all of it. Everything. All of it’s distaste for her, it’s loathing of the dead woman, it’s pain, it’s blindness, and above all it’s lust to hate. Suddenly she was let go, and she dove for the silver arch without thinking.

The light seemed tainted and dim, lightly skimming over her skin until suddenly she was aware of the stone floor and her stomach trying to spill the contents it no longer held. Shelam’s every cell felt twisted and warped. She felt rancid and curdled as though every part of her had been twisted and changed. Struggling to her hands and knees she continued to retch and heave, every muscle in her body tensed. Her head swam and she began to shake uncontrollably. Heaving sobs rose in her throat and she collapsed on the floor again. Even her tears felt like corrosive acid. Anyone looking at her must be able to see through a translucent skin and view the rotten filth that was left of her. She must smell like a refuse pile during a hot, humid summer day.

Something cold was pouring down on her. Shelam opened her eyes and saw the hem of the Brown Sister’s dress.

"You are washed clean of what’s…"

"No!" Shelam roared as she struggled to her feet, nothing could wash her clean, let alone a symbolic cup of water. "It is evil! All is!! I will be no more a part of it!!" At the side of the room she saw her novice dress, still neatly folded –it had not yet been replaced by an accepted’s banded garment. She lunged for the familiar clothing and began to stumble into it.

"Shelam…"

She batted the woman’s arm away from her and tried to button the dress, one of the buttons popped off and rolled in a slow circle on the floor. Fed up with the buttons Shelam lurched toward the door. The Mistress of Novices stood in front of it. Shelam attempted to push her aside and found herself unable to move as the air around her became solid.

"By leaving now you turn your back on the White Tower and any hope you have of becoming Aes Sedai. You agree to leave in peace, say nothing of your life here, and never seek vengeance on the Tower, either by yourself, or by the formation of any organization or army. You may swear this or you may continue through the arches in order to become Accepted." The Mistress of Novices held a slim white rod before her, the Oath Rod.

Choking on barely repressed sobs Shelam placed her hands on the Rod. "I so swear." The oath settled into her, making her tainted skin feel tight over the filth it covered. Under her breath she whispered, "By the Light, salvation, and my hope of rebirth I swear to walk in the Light and oppose all agents of the Dark." Her second oath settled into her and made the foul parts of her feel even more foul, but now there was a speck of pure white among all the corrupted blackness.

Then the Oath Rod was out of her hands and she suddenly felt drained of all her energy. She sank to the floor.

********************

A chambermaid bustled into the room. "Ay, ya look to be much better, how do ya be feelin’ Shayleh? I be Melghran. Et yer porrige. Tha’s better." The maid began to open the heavy drapes covering the room’s sole window.

"Where am I?"

"At the Foolish Maiden’s dream, Ya do have a pretty view of the White Tower across the river from yer winda."

"I believe I am rested, will you leave me so I may dress alone? Thank-you."

As the chambermaid left she went over to the peg on which was hung a dress of plain gray wool, well cut though not particularly attractive. Looking in the leather scrip she found a spare shift and extra stockings. At the bottom was a purse filled with Ebou Dari silver marks. "Well, Ebou Dar is as good a place to forget as anywhere else," She sighed. Wrapping her breakfast bread she went outside the Inn. She looked up at the sign.

A young girl in white seemed to have a flame floating above her fingers and she looked impishly at a man dressed in clothing the colors of a forest. Above the sign, behind the Inn the White Tower glinted in the morning light. Turning her back the girl walked south, not looking back.