The Grey Tower

At some point in this… unpleasant conversation, she had embraced saidar.

Rhyka realized it slowly, as Wilhelmaena spoke, as calm and collected as any Aes Sedai ought to be. But Wilhelmaena was not as an Aes Sedai ought to be, and she should not be calm. As her anger ebbed away, replaced by burning curiosity, Rhyka finally felt it. Saidar. She was so shocked, the blood draining from her face, that she almost fumbled that connection, almost let saidar slip away. Rhyka had never, not even once, in her earliest days as a novice, embraced the source on accident.

Her gaze sharpened to focus on Wilhelmaena, ignoring the insipid dribble of advice and Aes Sedai plotting spilling from her mouth. She stared, uncomprehendingly, at the simple, twisting strands of Spirit that connected her to Wilhelmaena. It was… beautiful in it’s simplicity, elegant and malevolent, twinning about Wilhelmaena’s skull as if it had a life of it’s own. It took her breath away.

Only the realization that she had been the one to create something so beautiful shocked her into taking her next breath. What was it? What had she woven without thought, so lost in her own anger? Rhyka had been taught, like every novice before her had been, that the only way to embrace and weave saidar was to do so in a state of complete serenity. This weave… the sweet feeling of saidar that filled her at this very moment… stood in direct opposition to that teaching.

Experimentally, all but forgetting Wilhelmaena in her all-encompassing curiosity, Rhyka began to manipulate the weave. It came without thought. Rhyka grinned, the expression stretching across her face unnaturally, as she wove more and more twisting strands of Spirit into her weave, more and more threads of the One Power, which dipped into Wilhelmaena’s face like snakes.

What would the woman think of this? The White sitter sat before her as complacently as a lamb, her eyes drooping with each new tangle of Spirit that Rhyka completed. Rhyka leaned forward, her eyes trained on Wilhelmaena’s face, her fingers twisting in unconscious gestures as she wove.

This woman who had the audacity to suggest that Rhyka needed her help, who was arrogant enough to think that a lowly novice like Rhyka would be too stupid to see the inherent traps in such a thing, was lolling against her chair like a puppet. Who needs help now? Rhyka thought, vicious and angry. Her anger had abated, washed away by the consuming desire to understand what, exactly, she had crafted, but was not gone. Rhyka seized upon it, gathering up the courage to take the mental leap that had come to her the moment the White Aes Sedai had not acted as she should.

This was Compulsion. This was Compulsion, a forbidden weave that Rhyka had fantasized about ever since she had come across snippets of text in the library alluding to its existence. She had poured over those books, filled with wishful desire and very little hope.

But this was Compulsion. This was the weave that would allow her to take her place in the world.

“Why did Lydarian ask you to speak to me?” Rhyka asked, her voice cool and jubilant all at once. In a single stroke of rage, she had won. No one would be able to stand against her now. Not Wilhelmaena, not Elysianne, not even Lydie.

In time… in time, the Black Ajah would be hers.

Wilhelmaena Osiellin "Ly...Lydarian?" She did not recognize her own voice; it reached her ears like a foreign entity, soft and clouded with what seemed to be drunkenness. When did I drink...? Where's Martyn? I never drink without Martyn. She tried to look, her head lolling on her neck, but found that she could not take her eyes away from the novice in front of her. Brunette and fiercely beautiful, Rhykana Meran became the focal point of the universe. So very pretty. Wila found that she wanted to serve - she wanted nothing more than to please the pretty girl in novice whites.

Since when... Who's...Rhykana...?

"She wants you," she said thickly, "Lydarian likes pretty pawns. She... But you're different. You're better."

Wilhelmaena felt a surge of admiration and adoration - this girl would change everything. She would lead her deeper into darkness and pull her out at the end into blinding and total victory. Immortality had always been appealing, but never before had it seemed so tangible. So real, nor so beautiful. And Rhykana, merciful and beautiful, might give her a tiny sliver, if only she could please her... "The Black Ajah," she said beneath her breath, as some small part of her remembered that it was important that it remained secret, "She wants you for the Black Ajah."

She wants you for the Black Ajah.

It was as if all of the air was punched out of her lungs. Rhyka stared, unblinking at the Aes Sedai before her. So it was all true. It was all true. She had known, she had hoped, but she had not quite known for sure until this moment. But now, now she knew that it would all be as she hoped. She would become Aes Sedai, and the Three Oaths would not drag her into insignificance. It would be just like Lydie had promised in vague hints; Derin would pay for what he did.

Rhyka grinned, lips stretching over her teeth. “Yes, she does.” She answered, absentmindedly tangling new strands of Spirit into her weave. This was an opportunity that she had not expected; to have a Black Aes Sedai at her mercy, answering every question with truth. It was not something that she dared to squander. “Tell me, Wilhelmaena, who else is a member of the Black Ajah?” Rhyka stared into Wilhelmaena’s dull, drunk eyes and smiled. “Who do you suspect is a member of the Black Ajah?”

Suddenly the fact that Wilhelmaena was her puppet, hands and mind twitching at each strand of Spirit was of hardly any significance. New questions came to her; important questions that Rhyka had thought would take years of subterfuge to answer. “Who is the head of the Black Ajah? How does the Black Ajah operate? How are the three oaths removed? Are they replaced?” The White sister struggled, but Rhyka fought her back down with nets of Spirit, tangling into her mind and befuddling her thought. Rhyka forced her through each question, intent on the knowledge that had seemed so out of her reach until this moment, until Wilhelmaena’s voice rasped through the last answer Rhyka could think to demand. The Aes Sedai's answers were limited; something stopped her from speaking, something Rhyka's Compulsion could not touch. It was as if she was attempting to force a true Aes Sedai to lie; and Rhyka could not help but suspect some sort of Oath was keeping Wilhelmaena from answering many of her questions.

Wilhelmaena Osiellin Everything was fogged, like a fractured reality; she had read books about Portal Stones... What's a Portal Stone? Wilhelmaena looked to the pretty novice, and considered groveling at her feet - the temptation was strong, stronger than almost anything... In the back of her mind, she could feel something like concern, but she knew that it wasn't her own. It was stronger, like a little slice of clarity. But where did it come from?

“Tell me, Wilhelmaena, who else is a member of the Black Ajah?” Rhykana's voice was soft, gentle, so assuring - Wilhelmaena began to try and speak, but her tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth, and fire ran through her veins. She couldn't say. The answers were there, all ready to spill from her lips, but something held her back. In her silence, the need to reveal everything to Rhykana only became more oppressive, and she could feel tears gathering at the corners of her eyes.

"I... I can't..." the pain had made her voice hoarse, but it almost didn't register. More than anything, she felt earth-shattering disappointment; she wept in truth, now. And the concern was getting closer. She tried to swat it away, tried to focus only on the girl before her, but it was to no avail. "I'm bound," she said, grief punctuating her syllables, "I can't -"

Just then, the door swung open with a violent crash, and Wilhelmaena tried to roll her head towards the source of the sound. It appeared to be the source of the concern that she had felt with such clarity as well: Martyn towered in the doorway, looking daggers at Rhykana.

"Wila," her Warder said harshly, "What's the meaning of this?" In an instant, it felt as though the entire world shifted. She gasped, as though she'd been doused with icy water, and her perception changed dramatically, almost too quickly for her to keep up with it. Martyn looked as though he would kill Rhykana if he did not have an answer, and Wilhelmaena knew that she could not die. Rhykana Meran was critically important, even if she could not remember why.

"A lesson, Martyn," she said crisply, turning to look at him, her senses and movement fully restored. His brows climbed, and she knew that he would reach for his dagger if she was not convincing. Few people were fond of her, but Martyn's unwavering devotion was unquestionable. He would gladly sit before the Mistress of Novices and explain exactly why he had nearly killed a novice, and gladly hang for it too. For some reason, she thought that he would not hang if he was allowed to explain himself. She knew that Rhykana would hang instead. That could not happen.

"But you -" he tried to interject, moving towards her now, as if to assess her for injury.

"But nothing," Wilhelmaena asserted smoothly, even if she felt like a rabbit facing down a wolf, "I am fine, Martyn." Everything depended upon convincing him. That much, she was sure of.

"You did not seem fine," he said roughly, and knelt beside her chair then took her face into his hands. His blue gaze was cold and searching. "I disrupted an entire class to come to you."

"Then you've wasted their time," Wilhelmaena said stiffly, but patted his hands reassuringly. "Go back to the Yards." He lingered a moment, looking from her to Rhykana, and his features were pinched with dissatisfaction and mistrust. How to fix that...?

"I'd rather not, if it's all the same to you."

"You will not stay," Wila said firmly, peeling his hands away from her face, "But we will talk later? Yes?" He did not move. "That is an order," she said softly, "One that you are sworn by your salvation and rebirth to follow. Go." Martyn lingered momentarily, took a moment to stare at the novice, and Wilhelmaena was sure that his gaze was burning and accusatory, but there was nothing she could do about that for now.

She was lucky that Martyn had not sold his soul or traded rebirth for eternal life; he left after that, turning on his heels and storming out of the chambers. He was angry, he was confused, and he was resolute. She knew that he would try to pry an explanation from her later, but she had faith in her ability to hide. After all, that was what she had been doing for the past decade.

"You should not stay either, Rhykana. That was my Warder, and he is.... unpredictable at times." The drive to protect the girl was somehow not strong enough to forbid her from a final request; now that the danger had passed, the adoration blossomed again, full force. "But... We shall meet again?"