OOC: Note: Some of the material in here is rather violent. The whole MRP. You have been warned. =D

On another note, every post whose title is preceded by "Purgatory" is part of the Prologue. The posts of the MRP will have titles preceded by "Inferno."

Can an eternity of floating on the wind in each other’s arms be a punishment for lovers? That is just what their passion, if left to speak for itself, would have chosen. It is what passion stops at and would gladly prolong for ever. Divine judgement has only taken it as its word. . . Abandon yourself, Dante would say to us,—abandon yourself altogether to a love that is nothing but love, and you are in Hell already.

-- G. Santayana

It was impossible to tell who they were – the darkness cloaked them more effectively than any disguise. The sparse moonlight did little to aid identification; it only silhouetted them enough that an astute observer could distinguish their sexes. One was a girl, and one was a boy. Both bore muscled physiques, if not quite to the extent of the Gaidin. But they moved with a fluid grace that even the darkness could not conceal. They were both trainees to the White Tower’s Gaidin – no one else would’ve been perched on the Rough at that time of night if they didn’t belong there.

Then again, the Head Gaidin’s strictures against anyone in the Rough when they did not specifically belong there were rarely broken, as the punishment was so harsh that few dared to risk it. Though the current Head, Rysor Gaidin, had been neither the one to reopen the Rough nor the one to create the rules guiding its usage, he still upheld the near-traditional policies that limited the Rough only to sentimental Gaidin or newly-raised Sei’Tar. Regardless of rank, anyone would’ve caught punishment that decided it would be a good idea to dare the first few bells of the Rough to situate himself beneath the bell representing the White Ajah in the middle of the night. It was the third bell in the obstacle course that students were to find. But this time, it was not one person who had deemed it a good idea, but two.

It was a cold night a few seven-days past the Feast of Lights. Any trainee would’ve sympathized with the pair’s decision to take to the Rough. Privacy was practically nonexistent throughout the training yards; people could hide in trees and still hear rumors about their activities the day after. The Rough was regarded with a sort of superstitious awe, considering the amount of people who had met their death there, and thus it was left alone. Only the most daring – or the stupidest – thought to take advantage of the looming structure for personal use.

The girl shivered and snuggled against her companion. He obligingly put his arm around her. The nature of their relationship was sealed, or almost. The girl didn’t notice it, but an interloper might have noticed the way the man hesitated a moment too long before adding his warmth to his counterpart’s. Facial expressions blended into the darkness; not even the girl would have been able to recognize the contemplative, anxious look writ across the man’s face. He might not have known it was there, either, had it not been for the contrary thoughts circulating his mind.

A light flared in the darkness as the man brought a match to the bowl of his pipe. He puffed, sending clouds of exhalation and smoke into the clear night air. The man passed it to the woman, sharing it without a second thought. He could forget the situation and his intentions in matters as habitual as this one.

“Why are you so quiet tonight?” the girl queried. Her voice wasn’t at all worried – she had no idea that the man had already decided that their relationship was over. In fact, her tone was obviously teasing, like it was banter shared between two people who had been connected for so long that exchanges like this were second nature. For her, they were. She didn’t know that it had stopped being second nature to her boy a long time ago.

He said her name, but it faded into the wind. She straightened a bit at his tone; the intonations were not any that he had ever applied to her. He wasn’t angry, but he was solemn. He was naturally solemn, but not with her – with her, he had always been able to break free and express himself as he always wished he had been able to in his everyday company. He had only ever been free with her. That wasn’t the case, not anymore.

“There’s…someone else,” he continued lamely. He had formulated such an eloquent, well-reasoned confession to her weeks in advance, but he had never had the courage to say it. Now, it was inevitable. He regretted that he had fumbled so badly and merely come out with it like that, but at least it was out. At least he wasn’t pinning it inside him, waiting for the familiar feelings to come back and seal him to the girl as they had once been before. But the love was gone – and thus, the relationship needed to be, too. He couldn’t fake it any longer, and he couldn’t bear to let her think that he still loved her when he was far away. He had found someone else, and she let him be himself without the demands that this one constantly made.

“What?” The question was strangled, more a whisper than an audible statement. But still, he heard. The girl jerked away abruptly, shivering once more, but this time it was more a result of the psyche than physiology. “What are you talking about? How long? Who is she?” It was like the dam had broken; the questions poured out in an onslaught that brushed across the male’s face like a frigid breeze or a harsh backhand. Soon enough, the feeling was replaced by a real backhand dealt from the girl’s more than capable fist. It would bruise, leaving a telltale discoloration later.

At least, it would have.

But the girl had never been able to control herself, and the boy had never been able to contain her sometimes harsh wiles.

“You…you…lied to me!” The accusation was more like spittle; she was fully angry, now. This was one of the reasons he had made his decision. Embarrassed at her outbreak but realizing the futility of stopping then, the girl continued, “How long, Patrick? Is she better in bed than I am?” They were standing now, the girl pressing her companion closer to the edge without realizing it. Or perhaps she did realize it, but she was too caught up in her own emotions to hold herself back. “Is she prettier? Is she less a man?” She paused, and her face grew calm – it became sad. “Are you in love with her?”

“Yes,” he hissed, inclining his face toward hers so that she could see the intensity of his blue-eyed gaze.

She pushed.

He fell from the precipice on which the bell was situated, a resounding crack betraying the finality of the girl’s rash action.

His blue eyes stared upward, never to see again. 

---

superbia, invidia e avarizia sono le tre faville c’ hanno i cuori accesi                Canto VI, lines 74-75

Pride, envy and avarice are the three sparks that have set these hearts on fire.

The Sei’Tar wiped her sweaty hands against the dull brown breeches, ashamed that she had to do it in the first place. Blood and ashes, she was a Sei’Tar, not a silly, green recruit who jumped every time she saw an Aes Sedai! But though she did her best to hide it, Gillian was really just as bad. She had come to the Tower because her commander in the Shienaren regiment from which she heralded had recommended her, and one didn’t turn down a recommendation like that, not when it got one training with the Gaidin.

But she was only here for the training. Women didn’t scare her, but Aes Sedai did. Part of Gill knew that the Aes Sedai were mostly women, too – and Gillian was more comfortable among those that weren’t, anyway – but they seemed elevated. The Creator had bestowed upon them an unparalleled gift, and that placed them only a step below Him. Gillian had minor experience with Aes Sedai; she was a Borderlander, after all. She was in awe of them. But she didn’t know what to do with herself when they came around the training yards and eyed the trainees like calves that would one day yield a delicious steak. In fact, Gillian was dreading the day that she became Gaidin – she was dreading the Aes Sedai approaching her, sizing her up, and the inevitable proposal one of them would make. She told herself that when the right Aes Sedai came along, she would know. Light, Gillian hoped so.

She almost shat herself when Caerolinia Sedai sought her in the training yards. Unsuspecting, Gillian was practicing the sword with a delectable little piece of female flesh, an Aethan’Tar named Kora. If it hadn’t been for the Aethan’Tar’s unusual affinity for the sword, Gillian probably would’ve noticed the Yellow long before Caerolinia tapped Gillian on the shoulder. But adding on the fact that Kora was delicious (and woefully uninterested), Gillian had been caught completely unaware.

“You are one of Pahdua Makari’s barrack mates, are you not?” The Yellow was tiny, scarcely up to Gillian’s chest, but her eyes were serious and firm, as was the tone of her voice. One forgot height when delivered with that kind of force.

Gillian almost stumbled as her body tried to curtsy and bow at the same time. She had never been sure which to employ – as a Gaidin in training and rather more masculine than the typical girl, she felt inclined to bow, but Gill could not ignore her sex. Her cheeks suffused with the red of embarrassment, Gillian nodded and said, “Yes, I’m one of her barrack mates. My name’s Gillian Haruna.” The response came out in one slur of a word, almost unintelligible. Burn me for a fool.

Contrary to Gillian’s expectations, the Aes Sedai merely smiled. “I am Caerolinia Sedai of the Yellow Ajah. I’m afraid there’s been an…accident.” Were the Yellow’s brows furrowed, or was Gillian making something out of nothing? No, that wasn’t possible – Aes Sedai didn’t lose control like that, even when the Aes Sedai was a Healer concerned over an injured –

Oh, Light – Pahdua. She was hurt, and here Gillian was standing like an oaf, worrying about the flitting of an Aes Sedai’s expressions! “An accident? What are you talking about?” Her words came out more clearly now, likely because her wayward mind had realized that there were more important things than how she appeared in front of another woman, Aes Sedai or no – like Pahdua’s safety.

Gillian sighed and gazed at the door with no small amount of tribulation. The Sei’Tar had been to the Infirmary her fair share of times throughout training, but she had never gone to visit a friend, and she had certainly never heard of Pahdua going there. Her best friend was…determined, or so she described herself – in truth, she could be bloody stupid. Pahdua’s version of determination was trying everything, no matter how ridiculous, and telling herself that she could do anything if she tried hard enough. Fortunately for the young Kandori, Pahdua had impeccable luck. Gillian supposed that it must have caught up with her.

Caerolinia Sedai had said that Pahdua was injured and unconscious, but she didn’t seem to be in imminent danger. That had been the word the Aes Sedai had used: imminent. She made it sound like it was inevitable that Pahdua would die; she just didn’t say when. Bloody Aes Sedai and their word tricks! Although Gillian had protested that she wanted to see her friend immediately, the Yellow had stalwartly ignored her requests, using the excuse that Pahdua needed rest right now, not a worried friend tugging on her unresponsive arms. “Come tomorrow,” Caerolinia said warmly. “I would like to ask you a few questions about your roommate, as well.” She had phrased it like she was doing Gillian a favor, but even this Shienaren did not miss the undertone: She wanted to ask her questions. No Aes Sedai would so cordially offer to escort a Sei’Tar to see her Aethan’Tar friend unless she had an ulterior motive. Burn Aes Sedai, Gillian thought irritably, burn all of them! 

---

Temer si dee di sola quelle cose   c’ hanno potenza di fare altrui male;   dell’altre no, chè non son paurose.                Canto II, lines 88-90

Only those things should be feared that have power to do us ill, nothing else, for nothing else is fearful.

Gillian opened the broad double door effortlessly; the muscles weren’t just for show. To be truthful, Gillian looked more like a man than a woman, or at least, that was how she perceived herself. She had dark, almost black hair and pale blue eyes, but the effect was not at all striking on this woman. Her eyes were too wide for her face; her mouth was too narrow. The ending result was that she looked like a dark-haired fish set in a constant pucker. Unfortunately, her body didn’t compensate for her face’s shortcomings – she was tall and broad-shouldered with arms more muscled than most men’s. She did maintain a semblance of femininity through the curve of her waist, but it was her only feminine aspect. Even her hair was short.

She peered down the hallway. It was lined with offices and sickrooms on either side; Gillian knew it terminated in a much larger sickroom. The building had other floors above this one, but the White Tower’s numbers were dwindling: It no longer had enough people to fill its many rooms. The Dragon’s coming heralded Tarmon Gai’don, but the Aes Sedai and their cronies might as well be caught with their pants around their ankles, for all their preparation.

Perhaps Gillian’s lack of femininity had been what had drawn her to her younger roommate. Pahdua was – well, she wasn’t the smartest of people, though blood and ashes, the Aethan’Tar would insist otherwise. When Gillian had met her that first day, she hadn’t expected the Aethan’Tar to last a week – but here she was, almost a year later. She had grown up so much in that time, too. She had strengthened, gained experience, and Gillian knew for a fact that the flame-tongued dagger was well within Pahdua’s reach. It would only be a matter of time until –

But the Aes Sedai had said “imminent.” She hadn’t been serious, had she? Blood and ashes, Gillian had to stop herself from thinking so hard. She was only running herself around in circles and making everything ten times worse.

So she stepped into the Infirmary’s main office. A serene Accepted presided over the main desk; she was there to register new patients and answer inquiries. Gillian reminded herself that the girl was not yet Aes Sedai, and in fact, the Accepted looked to be several years Gillian’s junior, with those blonde curls and innocent blue eyes. Thus, Gillian approached with fewer nerves than before, asking for Caerolinia Sedai in as calm a voice as she could muster. The effort was half-successful – at least the Accepted didn’t look at her like she’d grown another head. “If you’ll go through that door,” the Accepted said with a gesture, “you’ll find her in there with a patient. Don’t interrupt.” Delivered with a small smile, the girl returned to her work, fitfully dismissing the Sei’Tar.

With a sigh, Gillian followed directions and entered the room, hoping she wouldn’t see too many broken bones. Blood she could deal with, but Gill had never been comfortable with the sight of bones jutting through skin. Everything else was almost acceptable, but for that type of thing. It was odd, but the Shienaren had never considered herself anything else.

To her satisfaction, the patient was neither broken nor bloody – in fact, she wasn’t even conscious. Pahdua was spread like a corpse beneath crisp white linen sheets, her body thin and her face pallid. She looked like she had seen a Fade, but she was perfectly intact, at least from what Gill could see. Caerolinia was perched over the prone Aethan’Tar, fluffing pillows or something equally innocuous. Gillian stifled irritation and jealousy at the sight; the woman was a stranger, yet she had more contact than Gillian had ever had with Pahdua, except for… Better left unsaid, Gill reminded herself, ignoring the creep of crimson throughout her cheeks.

The Yellow turned and caught sight of her. “Ah, there you are,” she remonstrated, her tone teasing but severe. She made it sound like the Sei’Tar had been tardy. Gillian merely nodded blankly, her mouth turned down in something akin to irritation. “Here’s your friend, safe and sound, as you can see. Now shall we adjourn to my office?” Without waiting for an affirmation, the Aes Sedai turned heel and hurried off away from Gillian. She had no choice but to follow. 

Lo giorno se n’andara, e l’aere bruno   toglieva li animai che sono in terra   dalle fatiche loco; e io sol uno  m’apparecchiava a sonstener la guerra   sì del cammino e sì della pietate,   che ritrarrà la mente che non erra.               Canto II, lines 1-6

The day was departing and the darkened air releasing the creatures on the earth from their labors, and I, alone, was preparing to endure the conflict both of the way and of the pity of it, which memory that does not err shall recount.

“Oh, Gillie,” Pahdua said, throwing her arms around the Sei’Tar’s neck. It was one of the few nights Gillian had ever seen the Aethan’Tar indulge. Pahdua was so abstemious that she was usually up before dawn, and then she’d spend the day working herself to the bone. She rarely made it an hour past dusk before she collapsed into bed. She was certainly the least sensible person Gillian had ever met.

The Sei’Tar shifted uncomfortably, eyeing the little Aethan’Tar nervously. They were excellent friends; they had been a soon as Gillian had been friendly to Pahdua on the girl’s first day in the Tower. But Pahdua had never seemed to notice that Gillian rarely commented with the younger girl went on about her latest flirtation with a boy, or the way Gillian looked at girls with more consideration than she’d ever give a man. It was either that, or Pahdua did things like this on purpose – the girl was clever in some aspects, but Gillian didn’t think she was that clever. Or that conniving. Pahdua meant well; she just didn’t know what she was doing the grand majority of the time.

“You’re drunk,” Gill mumbled, tolerating Pahdua’s embrace because she had no other choice. Of course, though she would never have admitted it to her friend, Gill enjoyed moments like this, when she could relish Pahdua’s lack of control without being ashamed of it. She had succored the hope that one day Pahdua might extend her over-affectionate ministrations to Gillian, as well, but Pahdua extended those to every man in sight; only occasionally did she stretch her boundaries for a girl. And that girl was never Gillian. Sometimes, Gillian wished she was just another mindless stranger that Pahdua could use to make herself look better.

But in truth, Pahdua really did care, or so Gillian told herself. She tried to make herself Pahdua’s closest, most trusted confidante, and Gill believed that she had succeeded. It was the only way she could make herself feel like she was important when she knew that Pahdua would never see Gill as she saw Pahdua. It was the only way Gill could cope with her roommate’s proximity without letting her emotions take control. It was pathetic, but Gill knew that it tended to be so when one was in love.

“I’m very drunk,” Pahdua slurred, letting herself fall down Gillian’s torso, caressing her all the way down. Cursing in an extended internal monologue, Gillian ignored the way the girl’s breasts felt and tried to stop her own body’s reaction before it could come to fruition. Pahdua really was stupid sometimes.

The only way Gillian could keep herself from latching on to the unsuspecting girl was by pushing her away. So the Sei’Tar merely took a step back, a contemptuous expression on her face. She wasn’t sure if it was aimed at herself or her companion. Both were likely candidates. She was angry at herself for enjoying this so much and then making it so difficult, but she was also angry at Pahdua for creating this situation. If Pahdua had never decided that this day in the middle of the week would be a good one to get bloody drunk off her arse – it was an apt time to mention that the stupid chit hadn’t any tolerance – then Gillian would never have been forced to care for her in her time of need.

But Light, who bloody cared? It was the middle of the night; no sensible Aethan or Sei’Tar would be up to see a couple of friendly girls weaving their way to bed. All the sensible folk are in bed, Gillian’s thoughts reminded her tartly. No one would be around to see Gillian casually slip her arm around the unsuspecting girl’s waist and guide her to their room…and if luck was with her, no one would be in their room, either.

Gillian knew it was unlikely, but she couldn’t resist the opportunity to do what she had dreamed at least. She couldn’t recall the number of times she had slept on Pahdua’s upper bunk, keenly aware of the way the girl shifted before she fell asleep, the way her breath lengthened and evened out as she drifted away. Gillian had spent hours just listening to her breathing, marveling at the fact that such a woman could exist. She would lie there afraid to move, afraid that anything would disrupt Pahdua and attract her attention. Gillian just wanted to listen; she wanted to remain in the dreamworld where everything was right and everything made sense. She didn’t want to return to real life.

She supposed that scenario was creeping into this one. Pahdua was so inebriated that Gillian truly doubted that she would remember a single event that occurred tonight, let alone be able to function in the morning. The girl wasn’t sober enough to judge Gillian’s sobriety; if Pahdua did remember in the morning, than Gill could always attribute it to too much alcohol. Her roommate had used the same excuse a myriad of times, and everyone had seemed satisfied to accept it.

“All right, all right,” Gillian mock grumbled, stepping forward to wrap her arms around Pahdua and pull her to her feet. The girl nestled comfortably against her; Gillian was tall, where Pahdua was short. Pahdua fit perfectly. With a scarcely audible sigh, Gillian began to steer the girl towards their room, telling herself that she would take a nice, long walk through the cold to gather herself once Pahdua was safe – passed out. Light knew she needed it.

A moment later, Pahdua’s altered homeostasis tackled them both to the ground, sending them in a pile, one on top of the other.

For a heartbeat, Gillian couldn’t move. She was torn between possibilities, one involving quickly disappearing clothing, the other gathering herself quickly and then helping the girl’s balance once more. Light, how she wished she had the self-control to do the latter! But it was the former that had her prone on top of her friend, who was giggling like a five-year-old with a fresh stalk of sugarcane in her sticky little fist. Pahdua was completely unaware of Gillian’s inner turmoil; but for that matter, the girl didn’t need to be drunk to be like that. She always had been.

Gillian stroked a finger across the girl’s cheek. Pahdua almost ruined it by declaring, “Blood and ashes, I can’t even feel that!” But Gillian shushed her a moment later by stroking that finger across her full red lips. Pahdua went quiet at that; it seemed that she had finally gathered Gillian’s intentions. Amazingly, she didn’t jerk away. Gillian wished that she could honestly believe that that was because Pahdua wanted this to happen. But she knew well enough to notice the telltale signs: the girl’s brown eyes were wide and disbelieving, her body seized up and tense. She didn’t know what to do, so she had frozen.

In the end, Gillian’s courage had collapsed around her. She couldn’t bear to excuse their first kiss later with alcohol; she wanted it to be something that occurred because they both wanted it, not because Pahdua was drunk and unsuspecting. Light knew that that minimized Gillian’s chances to slim to none – Pahdua enjoyed the opposite sex far too much to dally significantly in her own – but she had too much pride to stoop so low. She might not have had enough pride not to fall prey to a pretty, uninterested girl’s charms, but she had enough not to take advantage of one.

She stood slowly and then assisted the girl back to their room. The Sei’Tar spent the night sleepless, listening to Pahdua’s soft snore. If Pahdua ever remembered what had almost happened, she never mentioned it to Gillian. 

Ahi quanto cauti li uomini esser dienno   presso a color che non veggion pur l’ovra,   ma per entro i pensier miran col senno ! El disse a me : ‘Tosto verrà di sovra   ciò ch’ io attendo e che il tuo pensier sogna:   tosto convien ch’al tuo viso si scovra.’                Canto XVI, lines 118-123

The day was departing and the darkened air releasing the creatures on the earth from their labors, and I, alone, was preparing to endure the conflict both of the way and of the pity of it, which memory that does not err shall recount.

“Take a seat, child,” the Aes Sedai instructed in that infuriatingly pleasant tone. Those were another few reasons why Gillian was so uncomfortable around Aes Sedai: their constant patronization and the way they pretended to be pleasant when they were usually only doing it to get something that they wanted.

In this case, Gillian was truly baffled as to the Yellow’s desires. What could a stupid Sei’Tar do to help a stumped Yellow? Indeed, Pahdua was Gillian’s best friend, so she knew more about the girl than anyone else did. But she wasn’t in “imminent” danger; therefore, she would wake up. Gillian couldn’t grasp what was so urgent with this situation that Caerolinia Sedai had to drag an unwilling trainee into her office for questioning. It wasn’t as if Gillian had played any part in whatever irrational decision Pahdua had made to get her unconscious in the Infirmary.

But still, Gillian obeyed. The chair was rickety; it wobbled back and forth from leg to leg. One was longer than the other. Not wanting to appear too finicky, Gillian told herself that she would deal with it; she would not get up and switch chairs just because it irritated her. This was not the time to be overly critical of an unfamiliar Aes Sedai’s furnishing. She made herself as comfortable as she could – which wasn’t very, considering she had to shift her weight constantly from side to side to coax the seat into submission – but it was good enough. Light, she hoped that this supposed interrogation would be brief! Then again, Gillian couldn’t see how it could be anything but, since it was only about a silly Aethan’Tar who had likely gotten hit too hard in the head with a practice sword. See? Gillian could have been an Aes Sedai after all, with as astute reasoning skills as those!

The Aes Sedai was watching Gillian with too intent a gaze. Maybe something was amiss, something that Caerolinia had not seen fit to mention. Gillian was more trusting of Aes Sedai than the average person; she was a Borderlander, after all. But she had spent enough time around the White Tower’s initiates to recognize that the cliché was based on reality: An Aes Sedai never lies, but the truth she speaks may not be the truth you think you hear.

“So…” Gillian delivered the statement with discomfort – she had never been comfortable with silence. “What am I here to help you with, exactly?” She had wanted to sound nonchalant and blasé, but apparently her bewilderment and anxiety had leaked through, or so Caerolinia’s expression suggested. Blood and ashes. But regardless, the prompt would hasten the end of this flaming conversation.

The Aes Sedai folded her hands on top of the desk. So it’s down to business, is it? S’about time. “Pahdua shouldn’t be unconscious.” The statement was curt, much more succinct than Gillian had anticipated. She shifted once more, wondering what Caerolinia Sedai was getting at. “All things considered, she should be dead, but somehow, she…” Bloody Aes Sedai; why couldn’t she just spit it out?! With a sigh, the Aes Sedai followed Gillian’s mental instructions very obediently. The Sei’Tar was surprised. “Pahdua was found in the Rough yesterday morning, just before the bell representing the White Ajah.”

Gillian’s eyebrows were already raised, but at that, they shot up. That was just like Pahdua! She knew that Rysor Gaidin would beat any Aethan’Tar who attempted the Rough ahead of time to a bloody pulp, but she had to try it anyway, didn’t she? Blood and ashes, Gillian had rolled her eyes often enough when the Kandori girl made stupid boasts like that, but she had always thought they were just boasts, not actions Pahdua intended to fulfill! Everyone knew that Pahdua was more talk than action; if she had ever proven herself otherwise, then Gillian would’ve beaten the girl to a pulp herself and beat it out of her before Rysor had the bloody chance.

But wait… Gillian could guess what had led Pahdua to conclude that she needed to succeed in traversing the Rough.

Gillian and Pahdua walked side by side from the mess hall. Pahdua was chewing on the remnants of some stone-hard bread; she claimed it was more than edible due to its soft innards. But then, Pahdua wouldn’t know good food if it bit her in the face – she had grown up in a farm in Kandor or something like that, some village in the middle of nowhere that probably didn’t even have an inn. Gillian couldn’t help but smile at that – Pahdua might have left that village behind, but it would never leave her entirely, much to the Aethan’Tar’s chagrin.

“Oh, Paaahdua!” a voice catcalled from behind them. Pahdua turned heel immediately, her dark eyes already lit with either anger or anticipation; Gillian couldn’t have said. She recognized the voice, though – it was another Aethan’Tar named Isabelle. Neither Pahdua nor Gillian liked the girl, but Pahdua detested her, and Isabelle knew it. What the girl was doing calling an open nemesis out into the open was beyond Gillian, especially since Pahdua was a far better fighter than Isabelle ever would be (not that Gillian would ever admit that to Pahdua to her face, of course).

Gillian turned slowly, already dreading the inevitable confrontation. She didn’t want to know what bait Isabelle had concocted this time, but a part of her knew that she would have to learn of it. Someone had to keep Pahdua within rein, after all.

It was Killian. Oh, blood and ashes, it was Killian! Gillian wasn’t sure what was going on between the Sei’Tar and Pahdua, but the intimations were clear – Pahdua was half in love with him. And there he was, an arm draped openly about Isabelle’s frame. Killian, of course, was clueless as to Pahdua’s esteem. Unfortunately, Isabelle was not – she knew exactly how Pahdua felt about him, and she was using her current relations with him to get her as riled as possible. Light, Isabelle was almost as bad as that one Gaidar, Ingrid, had been!

It didn’t take much to get Pahdua’s temper going, and the girl had no control over it. Isabelle hadn’t seemed to have gathered that once she got Pahdua angry, she would get nothing but a fight – and Isabelle had no chance against this Kandori in a plain, hand-to-hand fight.

Pahdua went screaming, her lips curled back in a snarl, her body already prepared for attack. But contrary to Gillian’s expectations, Isabelle’s mouth didn’t turn to a wide O of surprise – she smiled and readied herself. She smiled. Knowing something had gone awry, Gillian realized that it was too late for her to do anything. Yes, she had jurisdiction over Aethan’Tar, but she knew Pahdua would never forgive her for interrupting something Pahdua thought she was sure to win, and Gillian, love-sick fool that she was, couldn’t allow that to happen to herself. For better or for worse, she loved Pahdua – and she didn’t want to lose her now.

The fight was over almost as quickly as it had begun, with Isabelle the victor. She had Pahdua pinned to the ground uncomfortably, her neck wrenched to the side, cheek resting in its own blood. Gillian watched with horror as the gathered crowd tittered at Pahdua, teasing her at her lack of victory – Pahdua, one of the best fighters among the Aethan’Tar, bested by the latest harlot of the Gaidin. 

---

‘Ecco la fiera con la coda aguzza,   che passa i monti, e rompe i muri e l’armi;   ecco colei che tutto ‘l mondo appuzza!’                Canto XVII, lines 1-3

‘Lo, the beast with the pointed tail, that passes mountains and breaks through walls and arms! Lo, he that infects all the world!’

Isabelle had ruined Pahdua’s reputation with that gamble. She had planned it ahead of time; she had likely taken Killian as a conquest for no reason beyond the knowledge that Pahdua wanted him. Isabelle had waited to provoke the confrontation until she knew she could best Pahdua; it had been a risk, but for one, the stupid harlot had succeeded. It had humiliated Pahdua; Gillian knew this the best of any, as she had spent the majority of the night cosseting Pahdua’s furious tears. So Pahdua had taken the one route that she could conceive to put Isabelle – and the rest of the skeptical Tower – in its place. She had tried to best the Rough, instead.

But she hadn’t finished it. The white bell was only the third, preceded by both the gray and the red. No one had ever not finished the Rough once started. Gillian supposed that Pahdua had achieved her notoriety there, at least. But how had she gotten out?

“A Sei’Tar discovered her yesterday morning. We have no idea how long she was in there. When was the last time you saw her?”

That question Gillian could answer easily enough. “The night before…the day before yesterday,” Gillian responded promptly. “She went to bed that night in our room, and then she was out early the next morning. I guess I should’ve figured something was wrong when I didn’t see her at all the next day, but…Pahdua’s been known to disappear on occasion.” That was for sure. The girl was more a maiden than anyone Gillian knew, despite Pahdua’s efforts to impress to the contrary, but she still managed to hook up with more men than Gillian had ever talked to. What they did all night, she hadn’t the faintest, but at least Pahdua’s maidenhead was still intact. She had never been foolish when it came to matters like that. “And then you came to talk to me yesterday, so…” Light, she felt ashamed! It sounded callous coming from her mouth, that Gillian had thought Pahdua was out canoodling with some man, that the chance of her being in danger had never occurred to her. Burn me, Pahdua spent an entire day in the Rough… “Is that…bad?”

Fortunately, the Yellow understood. Gillian hoped it wasn’t pretense. “In this case, no. Under normal circumstances, the patient would be in danger. But the patient was not injured; in fact, we can find no reason for Pahdua’s unconsciousness, not so much as a bump on the head. The most damage she endured was dehydration and a sunburn.” Then how had she lost consciousness? Light, if the world’s leading medics couldn’t even figure that out, then maybe they did need Gillian’s help! “Does Pahdua have any…enemies?”

Light, how did that factor? The girl was unconscious in the Rough, not lying prone in an alleyway. It wasn’t as if someone could beat her upside with the club and dump her right beneath the gray bell. “Well,” Gillian began, unsure how to continue. She couldn’t very well inform the Aes Sedai that that was a stupid question. “Pahdua’s a pretty girl, and she can be kind of…obnoxious. It’s impossible for a girl like that not to have a few people angry at her all the time.” Gillian could name several off the top of her head, all of them female. Pahdua was by no means beautiful, but she was confident – obnoxious – enough to catch any man’s eye. And she loved stealing attractive men from interested girls, just to prove that she could. “But I don’t think any of the people who don’t like her would ever have done something like this.” Not only that, but the Gaidin trainees weren’t exactly prone to tackling one another in the middle of the Rough. If they hated each other that much, then they resorted to a good old fist fight. The men did, anyway. Sometimes Gillian couldn’t help but forget to which sex she belonged.

“Ah,” the Aes Sedai replied, making a note in a book that Gillian hadn’t noticed before. So much for all of her Gaidin training. “Then I believe that will be all. We will likely notify you when Pahdua reaches consciousness once more. I’m sure she’d appreciate a friendly face. Feel free to check up on her on your way out.” With a smile, a direct stare, and something that was more an order than a polite request, Caerolinia Sedai asked the Sei’Tar out. She didn’t even bother to walk her out the door.

Sighing, Gillian closed the door quietly behind her. That had been more painless than she had expected, but she came out of it feeling…uneasy. She glanced down the hallway to the room in which Pahdua was situated and decided that it couldn’t hurt to take a peak at her. Gillian doubted she could solve this mystery, but she wanted to see her friend.

Pahdua was lying just as she had been before, but a slight frown had pinched her face. At least she no longer looked like she had seen a ghost. Gillian stepped forward slowly and seated herself at the edge of Pahdua’s sickbed. Lifting a hand, the Sei’Tar brushed the girl’s pale locks from her gaze. They weren’t open – and from the Aes Sedai’s terminology, there was no telling when they would be – but Gillian didn’t want Pahdua to be in any discomfort. One thing could be said: At least she was no longer remembering whatever had shocked her into unconsciousness.

---

Per me si va hella città dolente,   per me si va nell; etterno dolore, &nsbp; per me si va tra la perduta gente. Guistizia mosse il mio alto fattore:   fecemi la divina potestate,   la comma sapienza e ‘l primo amore. Dinanzi a mi fuor cose create   se non etterne, e io etterna duro.   Lasciate ogni speranza, voi ch’ entrate.                Canto III, lines 1-9

Through me the way into the woeful city, through me the way to the eternal pain, through me the way among the lost people. Justice moved my maker on high, divine power made me and supreme wisdom and primal love; before nothing was created but eternal things and I endure eternally. Abandon every hope, ye that enter here.

The room was dim. I couldn’t tell if it was night or day. It looked like a basement, like the depths of the White Tower, but less extreme, less auspicious. Still, it had that uninhabited air that reminded me of basements – something akin to despair, to longing, to desolation.

I didn’t recognize my surroundings, but that wasn’t surprising – it was just a dream, after all. My dreams were usually vividly colored; this one was unusually somber. The colors almost seemed gray-scaled, but hints of color attracted my attention. Her dress, for example – it was a brilliant blue. It matched the schema of the room, but it drew the eye. She was the center of my attention, and I didn’t know why. My subconscious hadn’t stolen her from some aspect of my life – but I wasn’t sure I knew that anymore. I wasn’t sure who I was, not tonight.

I didn’t know what was happening. All I knew was that there was a knife in my hand, and that dress was all I could see. I advanced slowly, the glimmer of steel the only light in the room. The woman didn’t move. She just stood there, watching me approach, a look like death in her eyes. Maybe she was already dead; maybe the slash of my blade wouldn’t do anything to harm her. I hoped it wouldn’t, but I knew that wouldn’t be the case. Somehow, I knew before it happened that she was going to die, and she was going to die by my hand.

It was easy – too easy, but that was the nature of dreams. I didn’t even feel the tear of her flesh beneath the knife. One moment, I was pressing the slender edge against her smooth stomach, indenting the round flesh around the silver tip. The next, it was parting beneath my grip, the blade like an extension of a finger, ripping from the force of the digit’s point. Her intestines bathed me in vibrant crimson, soaking me, giving me life where before, there was none…

She didn’t even scream. She just collapsed in a heap in my arms, a dancing corpse, my only partner in this deadly dance. I didn’t seem to mind, and no one else was there to witness it and object. I was alone, and thus the deed was accomplished.

Pillowcase in hand, I scooped up the blessed contours of the woman’s stomach and dumped them inside. Miraculously, the pillowcase remained a rigid white. The body hung over my arm; I was unusually strong, able to support her drooping body even as gravity pulled its arms down. Gravity didn’t affect me, not now. I cleaned out every organ within her; without the knowledge to identify each red creature, I handled them all indifferently. I dropped the corpse like a sack of barley and turned away, returning with frost-nipped chicken wings. I dumped them inside the pillowcase along with the steaming innards, at which point the chicken promptly melted. Dinner of two served steaming – ideal.

Her body disappeared. It must have happened when I wasn’t looking. I went to bed that night, stuffing my pillowcase with feathers and fluffy dreams, and thought nothing of the unusual accompaniment. I slept more soundly that night than I could ever remember – but then, in dreams, my memory span did not extend very far.

---

A mewl escaped her parted lips. Her body reacted, a spasm wracking her spine and lifting her from the bed. A concerned, alert Accepted hurried across the room to Pahdua’s bedside, where she attempted to still the Aethan’Tar’s shuddering figure. But the girl didn’t calm to the Accepted’s cool touch; if anything, she became all the more riled. A scream tore from her lips that woke all of the Infirmary’s patients who were not in the grip of unconsciousness.

Moments later, the Kandori had collapsed like a corpse once more. The Accepted returned to her duties rather than reporting the incident to the monitoring Yellow; she saw no point in disrupting the Aes Sedai when everything had so obviously mended itself. But even in sleep, Pahdua had appeared peaceful before – now she appeared frightened. 

Ruppemi l’alto sonno bella testa   un greve truono, sì ch’ io mi riscossi   come persona ch’ è per forza desta; e l’acchio riposato intorna mossi,   dritto levato, e fiso riguardai   per conoscer lo loco dov’ io fossi. Vero è che ‘n su la proda mi trovai   della valle d’abisso dolorosa   che truono accoglie d’ infiniti guai. Oscura e profunda era e nebulosa,   tanto che, per ficcar lo viso a fondo,   io non vi discernea alcuna cosa.                Canto IV, lines 1-12

A heavy thunder-clap broke the deep sleep in my head so that I started like one who is waked by force, and, my eyes being rested, I stood up and looked about me, then set my gaze steadily to know where I was. I found myself in fact on the brink of the abysmal valley of pain, which resounds with noise of countless wailings; it was so dark and deep and full of vapors that, straining my sight to reach the bottom, I could make out nothing there.

The creature screamed; for a moment the blast deafened me, rendering me motionless. Seconds later, the monster was gone, replaced instead by my own compatriots. This should have comforted me, but it did just the opposite. They darted through the forest as if possessed. Some had faces yellow as the absent sun; others had eyes surrounded with a dark red like the blood in their veins. I knew then that they were contagious, that I had to get away –

But it was too late. I lifted a shaking hand to my eyes to find them caked with that same crimson. I collapsed to my knees, unable to breathe as the import of the situation struck me – not only was I going to die, but I was going to take several people with me, as well.

I could already feel it coming. It seemed to seep into my bloodstream and begin to permeate my body thus; it began in my toes and steadily circulated up to my mind. I could do nothing to prevent the process. Still, I crouched there as if immobility would keep the process from finalizing, as illogical as I knew the idea to be. But nothing could help me now – I was beyond aid.

I think I lost consciousness then. It wasn’t that I could no longer move; it was that it wasn’t me that began to chase after the few people not yet infected with one of the deadly diseases. I knew, then, that the red coating my eyes was a physical manifestation of the desire newly berthed within me – I had to complete myself with more of the same color. It wasn’t that I needed the mere color; that was not it, not it at all. I needed to feel that same hot, silky flow of a person’s blood. I needed to rub my face against a living, burning body like a cat marking its territory; I needed to tear at it with my fingernails and teeth and complete myself with the rolling fluid…

---

Pahdua jerked upward, her eyes opening for the first time in days. Her sight was bleary, but at least it was intact. Her muscles screamed in agony at the unaccustomed usage; she had been Aethan’Tar long enough that her brief coma had not decreased her strength, but their lack of use had made them stiff and uncomfortable. Even her body felt uncomfortable; it didn’t seem…right. The Kandori smoothed a wavering hand over the slim musculature of her frame and found it different; she was missing perhaps a stone of weight. How long have I been in here?

She recognized her location easily enough – it was the Infirmary. She wasn’t in a private room, but not another soul populated the vicinity. Pahdua returned to her back, grateful for the support it provided, as her body seemed almost incapable of performing such basic functions. She couldn’t remember. She knew who she was and what she was doing in the White Tower, but the last thing she could remember was…

The Rough! She had been at the Rough. But why? What had possessed her to go to a place where Aethan’Tar were not allowed? And why did her mind insinuate that she had not been alone? 

---

Finito questo, la buia campagna   tremò sì forte, che dello spavento   la mente di sudore ancor mi bagna. La terra lagrimosa diede vento,   che balenò una luce vermiglia   la qual mi vinse ciascun sentimento; e caddi come l’vom che l’ conno piglia.                Canto III, lines 130-136

When he had ended, the gloomy plain shook so violently that the remembrance of my terror bathes me again with sweat. The fearful ground gave forth wind and a red blaze flashed which overcame all my senses, and I fell like one that is seized with sleep.

One could do just about anything with enough determination – that was Pahdua’s motto. It had brought her from that tiny town in Kandor to the White Tower, and it had led her to enlist beneath the renowned Gaidin when the Aes Sedai had told her that she could not channel. It had kept her alive and thriving to this day, an Aethan’Tar slowly but diligently working her way to that flame-marked dagger.

It was what brought her to stand before the Rough in all its glory that calm morning.

Pahdua had heard newly raised Sei’Tar refer to it as a jungle, but she had never given the thing more than a passing glance. It was something that she would conquer when her time came for it, and although conceited, the girl was well aware that she had much to learn and accomplish before she would tackle that structure. This morning, she studied it like a mountain lion about to pounce – something that was deadly and more than capable of killing her. She studied it like an opponent – and one that was more than worthy, at that.

It was cold, but some of the Gaidin’s stalwart dismissal of the climate had rubbed off on her. She had been here almost a year; the process had been inevitable. But Pahdua was too young and inexperienced to know how to guard herself against shivers and perspiration, especially not on a morning like this. It was frigid despite the complete lack of air movement; not a breath of wind caressed her tightly-pulled blonde tresses. Clad in only a pair of tight breeches and a loose blouse, Pahdua was as susceptible to the temperature as any green novice, regardless of her Kandori upbringing. The wan sun did nothing to increase the temperature and lessen her discomfort, but Pahdua wasn’t looking for comfort this morning. She was looking for respect.

Pahdua’s brown eyes glanced surreptitiously around her, checking the vicinity for inhabitants. If truth were told, she wasn’t allowed anywhere near here, let alone with that frowning, pensive expression. Aethan’Tar had died here before. But it was late enough in the morning that most of the trainees had long since finished their warm-ups and had vacated the premises in favor of the more frequently used yards. Although the sun had just peaked the horizon, lessons had long since commenced. She had checked the boards; she knew that no Gaidin had scheduled usage of the Rough for today. All was clear. So why did she hesitate?

The answer was simple enough: So many people had died here. The Kandori had heard horror stories about eager Aethan’Tar who had superceded the Head Gaidin’s orders – just as Pahdua intended to do today – who had met their fate in an attempt to gain a little acclaim. Put like that, it sounded stupid, not to mention immature. But it was neither – it was just that so much was expected from the White Tower’s heralded trainees, and most of the time, it was difficult to live up to expectations. She knew it from personal experience.

Still, the jungle wrought no small amount of fear in her small frame. Pahdua was ashamed to admit that she knew exactly what she was up against, and the odds were on the mixed beast stretched before her.

She knew it, and she intended to go through with it anyway. Sometimes Pahdua could be very intelligent.

But it was worth it. She knew it was worth it. It had to be. Maybe Pahdua was not the brightest of girls all the time, but that didn’t mean she’d risk herself for nothing. She wanted the acclaim; she needed it. So she might suffer a bit under Rysor Gaidin’s stern gaze and possibly earn a beating a two. It would be humiliating, but she could get through it with the knowledge that she had just completed the Rough. She, Pahdua Makari, would be the first Aethan’Tar to traverse the Rough…and live.

Pahdua closed her eyes and steeled herself for the onslaught of emotions. None came. Her mind was a sea of emptiness, its center a rolling golden flame. The Void came easily to her now, she was confident to say. She had forced herself to practice it throughout the year, employing it at inconvenient times when her mind and body were otherwise occupied and forcing herself to maintain it. So for a few moments, she felt weightless – she was suspended in the air as if an Aes Sedai were lifting her. The weather stopped mattering – in fact, nothing mattered. She wasn’t Pahdua anymore; she was merely an empty onlooker, almost an interloper. One who could perform competently without being incapacitated by nerves or doubt. She was capable.

The Aethan’Tar rushed forward, loping easily over a wall constructed of wood with nothing for hand or footholds. The wood was smooth from continuous use; though the Rough’s use had been suspended for centuries, one of the more recent Heads had chosen to reemploy it, thinking it a viable tool for honing the Tower’s Eyes. The thoughts entered her mind and exited quickly; she couldn’t afford to waste precious mental capacity on anything that she did not have to surpass within the next few moments.

She leapt down from the wall and to the other side. She had no choice but to finish now. A number of routes available, Pahdua chose the one that looked as if it would lead to that gleam of red that symbolized the first of her targets: the bell representing the Red Ajah. The Rough was a jungle gym constructed with target points, each of them representing one of the seven Ajahs. The red bell was the first, with the gray in close succession.

Pahdua rushed through two walls, rapid but alert. Dangers lurked around every corner here. The walls narrowed as if they expected to trap the unsuspecting; the Aethan’Tar used both of her legs to pull herself up along the two walls, her weight balanced against each. It was a good thing, as a few moments later, the ground gave way beneath her feet. With labored breath she leapt from the two walls and landed just beyond the caved ground; she pulled herself away from the edge as it began to hiss breaths of dust that hinted at another oncoming collapse. She was gone before it had the chance to use her weight to its advantage.

With the first danger behind her, another person might have breathed easier – but not Pahdua. She looked to the red bell; she darted back and forth between blades resembling swinging pendulums, and then the bell was hers. If this had been the real test as a Sei’Tar, Pahdua would’ve rung the bell triumphantly to notify those awaiting her return of her success – but there was no one to hear but her, and she didn’t want to attract unwanted attention.

The next bell represented the Gray. Pahdua had to swing over a suspicious waterway; some might have swam, but the Aethan’Tar worried that there was more lurking beneath those murky depths than one might suspect. So she used a rope she had sighted to swing to the hall and hooked herself upward. Again, she passed the bell without ringing it.

She paused at the precipice upon which the gray bell rested. Pahdua frowned and glanced around, half expecting to see someone waving at her angrily from outside of the Rough. The area was deserted, just as it had been before she had entered. But still the feeling that she was being watched haunted her, sparking goose bumps at the nape of her neck and on her arms, and these were not results of the cold. Something felt awry, and she could not identify what. She almost considered turning back and daring traversing the Rough backwards, but that was sure to result in death. Once you started, you had to continue. So that was what Pahdua would do.

The Aethan’Tar dismissed her doubts as best she could, but in the end, it didn’t matter. 

Quali i fioretti, dal notturno gelo   chinati e chiusi, poi che ‘l sol li ‘mbianca   si drizzan tutti aperti in lore stelo, tal mi fec’ io di mia virtute stanca,   e tanto buono ardire al cor mi corse,   ch’ i’ cominciai come persona franca:                Canto VII, lines 13-15

As little flowers, bent down and closed with the chill of night, when the sun brightened them stand all open on their stems, such I became with my failing strength, and so much good courage ran into my heart that I began as one set free.

As predicted, Pahdua spent another week in the Infirmary. She had discovered things about herself and the White Tower that she would have appreciated had been left in ignorance, not to mention the blow her body had taken from Gillian’s attack. She had to sort herself out before she could return to the world – she had to analyze what had gone wrong with her and learn to live with the new ability that would curse her for the rest of her days.

When she had asked Caerolinia Sedai about it, the Aes Sedai had been sympathetic, but she hadn’t understood the problem. “You are what they call a Sniffer,” she had confided, speaking almost archaically, as if the Aethan’Tar ought to understand every bit of jargon the Yellow utilized. “You can sense violence, if only recently.” Frowning, Pahdua refrained from mentioning the remembrances of Trollocs, that Patrick’s death had happened months before her own excursion into the Rough. “The extent to which the Sniffer can sense the violence depends on just how grisly the crime was. A battlefield will stink for centuries, whereas a trip and a broken ankle might smell for half a day.”

That hadn’t been enough to answer Pahdua’s concerns, naturally. “It sounds as if your Talent was a gradual development, that the ability to actually smell the crime was the last step in a series. Your mind, unused to the new sense it possessed, conjured…well, figments of your imagination to compensate for what it felt it was lacking.”

When Pahdua had asked if the hallucinations would stop, the Aes Sedai had replied, “Yes, they should. Now that your body has completed the last step in the process of realizing its new ability, there is no reason for it to continue.” The Aes Sedai had paused, eyeing Pahdua consideringly, and then continued, “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to endure an interview with Sabin Sedai, would you? I don’t remember the last time we’ve had…one such as you in residence, and I’m sure he would appreciate any information you would have to contribute to this unusual phenomenon.

Naturally, Pahdua had declined, however politely.

---

A few days into her stay, Rysor Gaidin himself had come to visit her. Between stumbling over herself and trying to act as confident as possible (even half-naked in attire borrowed from the Infirmary), Pahdua had answered his questions as calmly as possible. He had wanted to know all that had occurred with Gillian. Pahdua had exploded – she had been unable to maintain even the smallest detail to herself, her dignity was so far gone. Though Rysor had been taken aback by the onslaught, he had accepted it, which was all Pahdua could ask for.

As he had been exiting the private room Pahdua had been afforded, she had interrupted his progress: “Has anyone named Patrick ever died in the Rough?”

The man raised a dark eyebrow and replied simply, “Yes. We assumed that he had done the same thing you did and gone into the Rough unprepared…and died.”


“Oh,” Pahdua replied, dark eyes wide, hands clenching silently into her coverlet.

“I expect you to report to my office as soon as you are able, Aethan’Tar. We have much to discuss regarding your punishment.” The Gaidin could not disguise the amusement glinting in his eyes.

It was over – so why did Pahdua feel as if her life had only just begun?