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.