Red Politics
Ignition
Grey,
bloated clouds hung
miserably over the
dully shimmering
towers of Tar Valon.
Peals of thunder
occasionally rolled
through the hallways
of the overcast sky,
forks of lightning
momentarily
splitting the
heavenly realm. The
whole city sweltered
in the heavy
humidity, waiting,
tense, suppressed
and expectant for
some event not yet
known.
Wrapped
in this stifling
gloom, Dallah now
stood in the
courtyard outside
the Court of Eternal
Justice. Directly
opposite her stood
the imposing figure
of the Red Sitter,
Zarlash, the harsh
lines of her brow
always drawn to give
a distinctly
sour-faced look.
Today, she exuded
some dangerous
purpose that was as
yet unfathomable.
Standing closely
next to her was
Niwenay, a senior
with steel-streaked
hair just returned
from her sojourns in
the continent,
bearing a prize that
every Red desired in
her lifetime. She
would be one of
Zarlash's staunch
supporters. Both
pairs of their
blazing eyes would
have turned any
lesser woman's
stomach inside out.
Disturbingly,
Laurya, one of the
newly raised and
having given birth
to a healthy girl,
was standing on
Zarlash's other
side, eyeing Dallah
severely like a
judge about to pass
sentence. So much
had changed since
the time she had
taken the then
Accepted Laurya out
into Tar Valon for a
pleasant evening
outing. Almost
touching Laurya was
Idinya, also much
changed ever since
she had broken down
in Dallah's arms,
baring her soul and
perceived failure.
She no longer
regarded her Head
with demure
deference but with a
strange frictional
defiance that
threatened to erupt
any time. Dallah was
not so sure about
her support now.
Just
slightly apart from
them was Yavanne,
another fresh face
in the Red Ajah
ranks. Her brightly
glowing eyes showed
how much her former
mentee looked up to
her, how much faith
she placed on her
leadership. By
contrast, Delhanha's
glances shot rapidly
between the Red
Head, the Red
Sitter, then
everyone else before
resuming the whole
cycle all over
again. At least she
was not the only one
who knew that more
was at stake here
than met the eye.
Finally, there was
Sephirael, a more
thoughtfully
perturbed woman
after returning from
the Black Tower
Embassy mission. At
this point in time,
she seemed caught up
in some faraway
place. Both of them
were wildcards, they
could swing either
way in this
political game.
Finally,
Dallah's eyes rested
upon a disheveled,
unshaved man,
kneeling in the
centre of the
courtyard. His head
was bowed so low, it
almost touched the
ground. This was
Niwenay's prize.
After five days of
trial, in which the
man had done nothing
to dispute any of
the charges, he had
resignedly accepted
his sentence as if
all his lifeforce
had drained away. "You
are aware that you
have been sentenced
to be gentled,
Master Tilagan Peere,"
she pronounced each
word slowly and
deliberately,
knowing without
having to hear the
indrawn hisses of
Zarlash and Niwenay,
that they
disapproved of this.
It was not good
practice for a Red
to address a male
channeler unless
absolutely
necessary, much less
call him by name. It
signified a
recognition that he
was a man, a person,
not some Trolloc to
which most Reds had
traditionally
equated male
channelers.
Throughout
history since the
Time of Madness, it
had been the Reds'
thankless though
important task to
root out anything
that disrupted the
peace, that
threatened the world
with another
Breaking. Seeking
out men who
channeled,
shielding, trying
and then gentling
them required a
hardness of heart
and desensitisation
of the mind. It made
essential the
depersonalisation of
all male channelers;
otherwise matters
would be complicated
beyond unraveling.
Dallah
was aware of all
this. And was
prepared to change
it all. Another
thunderclap sounded,
closer. "Master
Tilagan Peere,"
her voice held a
note of command. Torturedly,
the young man who
had probably not
seen seventeen
summers, raised his
head. A tear rolled
from his bloodshot
eyes down his
haggard, ravaged
face. Dallah was
startled. She had
faced rage, fear,
resentment, even
blind hatred before.
But never this
brokeness, this
absolute
devastation. The
world had betrayed
him, cast him out,
rejected him beyond
reconciliation. "I
don't-don't want to
b-be a beast
anymore," he
stuttered in a
near-whisper,
"I don't w-want
all this hate."
As
if out of her
volition, the man's
face was suddenly
superimposed by
another, that of the
honourable,
chivalrous Shienaran
nobleman, Al Lex, an
Ashaman of the Black
Tower. Her soul's
link. What would she
do if it was him
before her now? A
man noble of heart,
shattered in mind
and soul, wishing to
die. If she would
not wish this fate
of him, could she
wish it of any man?
Was it any man's
fault that he was
born with the trait
to channel? But
then, how could the
world be protected?
Zarlash's
voice slided through
the dense air like a
sword entering a
body. "An
indecisive Ajah Head
is like a lead horse
with a broken
leg." It was
punctuated by
cacophonous burst of
thunder just
overhead, before the
clouds vomited
needle-like drops of
rain. At last,
the confrontation. What
Dallah felt was
relief.
Idenya
glowered when she
heard Zarlash's
voice. The Sitter's confrontation
with Dallah, while
too long in the
coming, was
inappropriate here.
Idenya was anxious
to get Niwenay's
quarry taken care
of. Yes, she also
wondered if the new
Head was torturing
this fellow more
than need be, or *shivers*
sympathizing with
him, but this was not
the time to be
dealing with the
internal strifes of
the Red Ajah.
And she said as
much, directly to
the Red Sitter:
"Sitter Zarlash:
now is not the time
for discussion of
strong leadership
requirements—anybody
will be enough to
lead us into what
needs to be done at
this juncture. We
need to come
together
and..." she
paused, looked icily
towards Dallah, and
continued in a
forceful voice,
"do. that.
which. needs. to.
be. done."
Hopefully, even
if Dallah was weakening
in her resolve
—Light! Did she
want to give the man
to the Black Tower,
so we could turn
around and fight him
again tomorrow?!—
Idenya's
interruption of the
Sitter would give
Dallah opportunity
to continue with the
gentling without
further ado.
Sharp
stings of lightning
pinched at
Zarlash’s
conflicting
emotions. Rain would
come soon, but not
now. It was not a
time to relax and
let pour her anger.
She ground her teeth
in rage, but said
nothing, and showed
nothing on her face,
a practiced calm.
Fine serenity masked
all suspicion.
Zarlash didn’t
need to look at
Idenya to feel the
anger boiling.
The girl is
too weak for her own
good…
The Red
Sitter’s gaze
peirced through
the… man’s…
eyes. His gaze was
empty with broken
hope and
resignation, both
something she
reveled in seeing. A
man need know when
he is defeated.
“If
you cannot finish
the task, Dallah. I
suggest you find
someone who
_can_.”
The
last was said with
icy coldness…
stinging like a pair
of viper fangs.
Weakness was
something that would
not be tolerated; it
must be dealt with
and dismembered.
Thunder
crashed through the
courtyard as the two
Red sisters glared
at each other.
Delhanha grimaced
inwardly, but
refused to let any
emotion cross her
face. Dallah,
what in the Light
are you doing?
she cursed silently.
She wanted to scream
at Zarlash, but knew
her place was well
below that of the
venerable Sitter. Now
is not the time, nor
the place, she
mused. This was just
the beginning, she
knew. Her time would
come when she would
be required to take
a stand, one way or
the other.
But
for now, all
Delhanha could do
was stand silently
and watch, while her
stomach wriled with
apprehension. She
knew that today, a
man would be
gentled, but as she
observed the
struggle for power
among her sisters,
she was afraid that
he would not be the
only victim of this
battle. Smoothing
the folds of her
dress, her sweaty
palms left damp
streaks on the green
silk. Taking a deep
breath, she adjusted
the shawl on her
shoulders to and
turned an expectant
gaze towards Dallah.
Yavanne
was not interested
in any
politics...she knew
that someday she
would have to decide
on which side
stand...and the time
had came. She had
decided
quickly...her
loyalty lies into
Head of Red Ajah.
She said "I
think that some of
you gone too
far...our duty is to
tower, AMyrlin Seat
and our Head. Dallah
Sedai knows what she
is doing, and even
enemy should be
treated with
respect." She
looked at Zarlash
and Laurya and
continued "I
don't know which is
more
dangerous...Black
Tower or the enemy
inside Ajah. And
with mae channelers
runing the world
it's not ime for
struggles...but if
some of you really
wants to make mess
around here, I'll be
more then happy to
help our Head in
disposing the
problems...".
Then she went near
Dallah Sedai and
stood at her side...
Laurya's
eyes were ice, her
face like stone,
hiding any and all
emotion. She looked
up at the sitter who
had said what she
had said... then
cast a glance at
Yavanne. The
gauntlet had been
cast down.
Laurya
took a deep breath,
then stepped
forward, away from
Zarlash. Hearing the
intake of breath
from the imposing
sitter, Laurya
strode toward the
Ajah Head. She was
not weak in her own
right, and Zarlash
would not speak a
word to stop her.
Neatly
skirting around the
rubbish pleading for
its life, she
approached Dallah.
Gazing into Dallah's
eyes, she saw the
conflicting emotions
there. Laurya
relaxed her own
face, the stone mask
melting away, her
eyes warm and
vibrant. Her face
held pain,
compassion, warmth.
She raised a hand to
cradle Dallah's
cheek, leaned
close...
With
warmth in her voice,
"Lest there be
any doubt,
sister..." Her
eyes grew cold, she
withdrew her hand,
and her voice shot
daggers, "He
WILL be gentled.
They ALL will."
That last hissed
softly to Dallah, so
only she and Yavanne
could hear. She
whirled and returned
to her spot next to
Zarlash, glowering. |