A Spirit Born of Flames

By Sitara Bregard

Chill winds blew and whistled outside, but the room was warm, thanks to the large fire that burnt in the stone hearth. To the sleeping girl it was still cold as she was unused to the colder weather of Tar Valon, but she tossed in her sleep, sweat drenching her shift, plastering her black hair to her head.

Work for a novice was hard, and the girls were always glad when an opportunity for rest came, being exhausted in both mind and body, but she feared to sleep, for with sleep came dreams, and no one, not even Aes Sedai, could control the dreams birthed from one's own mind. Sleep took her back.......back to the past.

The clinging white satin was cool against her skin, as was the lush green grass that she lay on as she stared up into blue sky dotted with scudding white clouds and framed by the branches of the apple trees, laden with fruit. She knew this place; it was her father's orchard. She had spent many summers thus, dreaming as she lay on the grass. "Sitara !" The cry came faintly, and she sat up to see her other accompanied by her old nurse, entering the orchard under the old stone arches. "Sitara, where are you ?"

Suddenly, she was a child again, and giggling, she picked up her pink linen skirts and tiptoed away to hide in the bushes, in a state of glee as she watched her mother hunt for her. Her mother was so pretty, with waving auburn hair that fell in a burnished cascade down the back of her yellow gown as she walked through the grass, a lovely smile on her fair, oval face. "Sitara, darling, won't you come to mother ? I have a stick of sugar for you."

That was inducement enough. She ran out of her hiding place and towards her mother with arms spread, laughter falling like silver coins scattered from a purse as she crossed the sunlight-dappled ground. Her mother caught her in a laughing embrace, and she was surrounded by warmth, by the perfume she knew so well, by security and contentment. The arms let go suddenly. "You MUST wed him, if only for the sake of your family !" She drew back in confusion. The scene had changed. She was in the dining hall, with it's vaulted plaster ceiling and it's heavy furniture of a dark wood so fine that it's name was not known to people outside Arad Doman. She sat in her usual place at the table, and as she looked down in wonderment she saw the pearl-stitched bodice of her powder-blue gown. The memory hit her. She was a girl of sixteen on this day. They were sitting down to her birthday dinner.

Her mother sat at one end of the rectangular table, and her father at the other. Her father.....had he really been so grey, so tired-looking ? In his coat of red velvet embroidered with gold he looked all the more frail, a pallor in his face. It was he who had spoken, and his dark eyes were fixed on her, his hooked nose still giving him an air of command even in his condition. She had taken her colouring from him, with hair so black it held tints of blue and his large, slightly tilted bold black eyes, a sign of his traces of Saldaen blood.

Looking at him, she wanted to weep, to hold him, so old and frail, but her mouth opened and the words she had spoken on that fateful night spilled out exactly as she remembered them, venomous, rebellious and angry. "I will never marry him, and I don't care how rich and how influential he is ! He is proud, arrogant, cruel, and I hate him with a fervour that matches my hate for the Dark One himself !"

And there came the sound of her mother's sursa clattering down amidst the fine porcelain dishes, a sound that haunted her dreams still. Her mother was a strong-willed woman, a fact which she managed to hide under her considerable beauty as all Domani women could, but she was a skilled trader and ruled her household with an iron fist. When Sitara lifted her eyes to meet the cold blue ones of her mother, her heart lurched as it had done on that night, seemingly an age ago. This was not the laughing young woman who had held her so tenderly under the apple trees, this was the steely woman who controlled everything, directly or indirectly, in their lives. She had hated her mother then, but now with her new eyes she saw the pain and fatigue hidden in the blue depths of her mother's eyes, slightly reddened by another night of futile crying, crying for the young son she had lost to fever and for the older boy who had died in the bloody war that tore their land even as they spoke, far from the battle in their country manor.

"If you do not follow our wishes and marry this man, then we have nothing." Her mother spoke calmly. Her beringed fingers drummed a staccato on the table, sapphires and rubies to match her red, blue and gold gown. She wanted to cry out, to comfort her mother, but to her horror the words that came out were a repetition of the biting words she had spoken then. "How can we have nothing ? You have just bought acres of new farmland, engaged more servants and peasants, and look at US ! Look at those stones on your fingers, at father's coat, at our full stables and our fine plates !" Her mother had trained her as every Domani woman trains her daughters, not only to wind men around her finger but also in the intricacies and subterfuges of trade.

Her father's silver goblet clattered down onto the table, and he stated to say something, but her mother cut through, "Do you want the truth ? Well, then know this. Every thing you see here, every item of luxury, every horse, this dress you wear, even the stones beneath your feet under this carpet, they do not belong to us any longer." Her heart bled, but her face had assumed it's expression of shock, her jaw dropping. "Yes," her mother continued, coldly and softly. "I doctored the accounts, hid the books from you. We were so steeped in debt we would have starved here on our own, but your suitor has been most chivalrous. He bought our lands, our estates, our home. Everything you see here is rightfully his, though it is, in all appearances, ours. He is so enamoured with you that he was willing to undertake all this and to pay off our debts. You are also rightfully his, now."

A small sound came from her father, who had his head in his hands. There was a silence. Her mother's face could have been carved from marble. The words came tumbling out again, out of the mouth of an angry, stunned and betrayed young girl. "You sold me ?" "He is young, handsome, rich, and he loves......." "He is from Tarabon !!!"

A spasm showed in her mother's face then. "Old grudges should be dropped." Against her will, Sitara's face sneered. "They have burned and pillaged our land, spilled the blood of our men, spilled the blood of your own son, and for mere coin you could sell your own flesh and blood into their hands, as if you were renting out a doxy for the night."

"How dare you !!!" Her mother's face contorted with rage even as her own heart tore at hearing the damning words come out of her mouth no matter how hard she fought not to say them. Her mother's hand crashed against her cheek, sending her sprawling on the floor and into cool darkness.

'Forgive me, mother.......oh, please forgive me !!!!!!!!!!!!!!' The darkness swirled for an instant, then coalesced into shimmering green water. It rushed into her mouth as she screamed. Not again, not this torture, oh Light, please ! She tasted the salt tang of it as she struggled, her skirts tangling around her as pieces of debris rushed by, bruising her as she struggled to catch hold of them, of anything, her lungs bursting for want of air. She would remember the screams of the crew to her dying day as their ship exploded. She had been a fool not to pay attention to the rumours of invaders, of people with insect heads who collared Aes Sedai like animals, who kept monsters as pets. She choked on the water. It was so cold.....so cold suddenly, so horrifyingly cold. Something clicked in her at that moment, something happened as her mind reached out and she did something she did not know of. Hard wood bumped into her, and she grasped it desperately, hauling herself up, gasping and retching, water weighing down the filthy rags she had worn since they had lost everything and tried to flee their war-torn land. Her parents had been run down by the carriage of one of their friends, who had been in a frenzy to leave before the mob caught him. Crushed under the wheels like clods of dirt.

She lay there, half drowned and with a pounding head, when voices reached her. Weakly lifting her head, she looked up into a mask of horror, an insect's bulging eyes and mandibles framing a man's hard face. She blanched, but made no sound.

"It is she," a woman's voice said in a strange, slurring accent. There were three women in the boat, all pale-skinned and fair-haired. Two wore red and blue dresses with panels of silver lightning bolts, and one held what looked like a silvery leash connected to the necklace about the neck of a third, a woman dressed in a plain grey gown, and whose eyes never stirred from her hands.

'They collar Aes Sedai like animals.....'

She roared then, flailing with reserves of energy she didn't know she had. The man reached down and grabbed hold of her dress, trying to haul her into the boat, and in a blind rage she pulled him down into the water, holding him there and choking him as she was thrown against the side of the boat. Then something slid around her neck, something cold and confining. It was a leash. But she was no Aes Sedai ! The chain jerked tight, choking her so she had to release the soldier. She tore at it, gasping for air. The sul'dam frowned. "She is a new one, not even able to grasp the Power freely yet." The other woman nodded, twitching the leash she held. In a moment, Sitara was lifted into the boat, and blows rained down on her as she screamed, raw cries of anger, of rage. Even the armoured soldiers drew back a little at her ferocity, but the blows increased, and she subsided at last. Her head spun, and she could not even see properly for the pounding of her temples, but still the blows came. "If Cari may speak." Through her haze, she vaguely noticed that the grey-gowned woman was speaking, eyes downcast and head bent humbly, to the woman who held her leash. The sul'dam looked at her sharply, "Well, you have been good today. Speak."

"The girl is young. Cari thinks that when the ship went down, the fear made her reach for the True Source for the first time. Cari feels that she is afraid, and she does not understand what talent she has yet. She is already going through the pains of it."

"So," the woman holding the leash replied. "You speak true. I have worn many bracelets, and I have heard of this. It was fortunate she Channeled then, You may cease." She twitched the leash, and the damane stiffened at the blow. "Remember, Cari, it is a curse, not a talent. Guard your tongue." The blows stopped abruptly.

Slippered feet appeared in Sitara's vision, and she was jerked up. The pale blue eyes of the woman who was to be her sul'dam looked down at her. "You are now marath'damane, girl. You can Channel the One Power, and therefore you must be leashed, controlled. As you are new to this, I will forgive you, but you have felt what I can do to you as punishment. I will be your sul'dam. I shall teach you what you must know to serve the Empress, and you will do well to obey me. But in case you do not," she turned her head. "See Cari ? She is the same as you, save that once, in another life, she was Aes Sedai." The memories and days whirled by her.

They named her Betha. Training began immediately. It was merciless, but saidar was sweet, as it always was, and in a way it filled the void in her with it's fire, it's life, washed away pain and thoughts of before. The sul'dam was pleased. Once she said, "You are very strong, even stronger than Cari even though you are untrained. And you have spirit. It is always spirit bent to our wishes that make the best damane. Good, Betha." As if she was speaking to a pet dog.

On the journey to Falme, other sul'dam wore her leash. It was a life of pain. Some were cruel, vicious, some were firm but tolerant, all quick to tear her spirit as well as her nerves, trying to make her into a 'thing'. She fought, and screamed with pain. She lied, and was punished for they always found out. She withdrew into herself, thinking that one day she would be free, and it would be these women who felt the pain and suffering of the leash. One day.

Cari spoke to her when she could. It horrified Sitara in a way. Aes Sedai agelessness was the only thing which she had retained, for her eyes were frightened and her voice soft even when she cried. They were breaking her, slowly and surely. Sitara swore to herself that she would never give in, ever.

Cari's name was Irreille, and she had been Red. She had been caught in the melee of fleeing people, and it had been months since she had been here. She cried for what they had done to her, for what she had done, for the Tower and her sisters, and because she knew she was breaking. They had not been at Falme two days when it happened.

She had suffered the pain of the old days afresh, she had had buried wounds torn anew, and she swore again to herself as around them Falme began to shake with blood and fire and thundering hooves, as people screamed. The Dragon had come.

They were being pulled through the streets towards the docks, she and Irreille. Their sul'dam were terrified, eyes wide and panting as they ran. As her feet hit the stone pavement, she exulted, for she knew the end was coming.

As the wall toppled down, crushing the leash holders and knocking them all to the ground, she rose on her knees as she had done before, and she channeled at Cari's collar as her sul'dam lay unconcscious. The collar fell to the ground, and Cari's sul'dam tried to crawl away in fear, but Cari, Cari the damane was gone, and Irreille in full fury fell on her and beat her senseless.

"The Creator bless the Dragon Reborn," she said it again as they scrambled up the hillside at the far end of the city. "He won us our freedom and our lives."

The Red Aes Sedai's mouth dropped open at first, then she nodded. "May the Light shine on him for what he has done for us and for the others this day."

She sat up in the bed, soaked with sweat and panting as if she had run a race. Her gaze met the white walls. She was in her room in the White Tower, the heart of Tar Valon. She was safe. The nightmare was over. Or was it ? Irreille had told her that the Tower had been split down the middle, over the issue of the Dragon Reborn. The present Amyrlin, a power-hungry, predatory woman, wanted to capture and gentle him. The others, those who had rebelled, stood to guide him through the challenges and dangers he would face.

She was a mere Novice, but she knew what she must do. Irreille had told her that there was something dark moving in the Tower, something dangerous she could not name, but it was there all the same. Irreille had told her to pack. They were leaving on the morrow.