Shadows Move [Attn: Matty] COMPLETE

[Jenny]

The bell had last tolled nearly two hours ago, and the night was still and quiet. Two dark figures moved quickly along the empty hallway, their faces hidden in dark cowls. One of the figures was much shorter than the other. Curly tendrils of dark hair peeked out from the edge of her cloak.

“I don’t understand why I have to come,” she said. Her voice rose hardly above a whisper. “He knows me. Do you realize what I am risking?”

“I realize many more things that you know, Mirin.”

Her companion glanced down at her, and in the darkness she saw white teeth gleam. Mirin frowned. Burn the man!

Emmond continued. “Worry not. We’re simply here to assess the boy, much like Lydarian did you.”

Mirin bristled. She did not like being reminded of that time of her life. When she had been weak, nearly worthless, with no choice but to dance along at the beck and call of others. Hindsight showed, of course, that she could have refused, but then she would not be in the position of power that she had today. Power came at a price, a price that she did not like thinking about.

The boy, he had said. Ha! Murdock had to be ten, maybe fifteen years, older than her. Emmond, however, was well into his eighth decade of life. He, perhaps, had the right to call Murdock a mere boy. Still, Emmond was young for a channeler, and appeared to be a hale man in his thirties or forties. His ageless face played tricks on the mind.

Mirin sighed. “You don’t need me, Emmond. Why bring me along?”

“Hush, girl. This door.”

She bit back a sharp retort. They stopped at the door, and Emmond bent forward.

“Don’t channel,” he hissed in her ear. “We don’t want to warn him.”

He placed his hand on the doorknob and twisted it open. They rushed in, and Emmond leapt forward toward the sleeping figure in the bed, to clasp his hand over their victim’s mouth. His other hand clutched a knife that he pressed to the man’s throat. Mirin followed him closely, and shut the door behind her. She stepped back as the men struggled.

“Don’t move. We will not hurt you,” said Emmond. Murdock stopped moving, and for a moment, Mirin wondered if Emmond had killed him. It would not be the first time – she knew few who murdered as ruthlessly and calmly as the Grey Asha’man.

“All we would like is for you to demonstrate a little of your talents. Come here, Mirin.”

Mirin’s eyes widened as she suddenly understood the situation. “Emmond!” she gasped. “Please, no! I – I can’t, Emmond! He will kill me! How could you? You can’t do this to me! You can’t!”

“Is that so? Come here.”

Emmond spoke pleasantly, yet the absence of any tension in his voice made him seem all the more dangerous. And the Oaths, the Dark Oaths that she had sworn, forced her to obey. Trembling, she moved forward and dropped onto her knees by the bed.

“Give him your arm. Now, Murdock. Show us what you can do.”

Mirin did as the Asha’man ordered and closed her eyes. Perhaps this will be how it ends, she thought. And then, for the first time in a long while, she prayed. May the Creator have mercy on my soul.

[Chris]

Sleep came quite easily to Murdock. It wasn't the falling asleep part that he had trouble with, it was the dreams, but he was the sort of fellow who woke up in a cold sweat and let them ride away into the dark recesses of his mind where they belonged. The cold light of day served to cleanse and refresh the man, leaving him pretty much the same as when he went to sleep. Guilt and worry plagued him during the day, but at night he gained some respite in those moments before resting.

This dream was strangely vivid though. Murdock was resting on a chair in his childhood home, reading a book. But the book was written with blood, and as he stared at it the tome flew up to smother his face-

so when Murdock woke up, his dark eyes wide, it took a second for him to realise he was now awake and that there was someone on top of him on the bed. Light! The Dedicated struggled instinctively, but he was at a disadvantage and with the knife to his throat, it was plain to see that there was no escape. Panic began to bubble in his chest and his scream was muffled, though he could still breathe somewhat frantically through his nose. He didn't want to die, when it came down to it. He missed Giselle and he often said he couldn't live without her, but the fact was that he already was, and would continue to do so for the rest of his life. He lay there obediently, staring up at the man looming over him and trying to make out his face. He recognised the voice but he couldn't quite put a finger on where.

He didn't know what these people wanted from him. Their cloaked figures sent a chill up his spine, and there was little doubt in Murdock's mind that he was at their mercy. He could sense the ominous aura of the man straddling him as he held Saidin, more than Murdock could comfortably shield. I'm still not shielded. That was a little odd, but the reason for it soon became apparent as he was asked to display his talents. On a woman whose name he definitely recognised as being the Mistress of Novices herself.

"I beg your pardon?" Murdock asked as the man sitting on him retreated, watching him carefully still. The Dedicated sat up, the covers falling away. He slept in smallclothes, and was ultimately very glad he didn't wear less. Honestly though, he was more shocked at the idea that he was being asked to display his talents on the Mistress of Novices herself, and she was even more against it than he. How they knew what he was able to do, he wasn't really sure, but apparently he hadn't been as discrete as he would have liked. Mirin Sedai. She had to have suspected something when she saw him in Hama Valon, and now here she was. Curiosity killed the nosy bitch, wasn't that the saying?

"I won't repeat myself," Asha'man Emmond said. Murdock decided against overthinking the fact that a Grey and a Blue were in his room in the dead of night and asking him to Rend an Aes Sedai. This was serious business, over his head for sure, and Murdock felt quite confident in the fact that refusal would be a very bad idea for his general wellbeing. Asha'man Emmond was a pleasant speaker and even now he sounded quite gentle and calm, but that only served to heighten Murdock's unease. Still, orders were orders.

Sat up on his bed now, Murdock looked at the arm offered out to him by the woman. This was actually happening, wasn't it? He could try out his Rending with permission from an Asha'man. Whatever twisted circumstances he found himself in, he was going to have to make the most of them.

"I don't want to kill an Aes Sedai," he said to them both in his own quiet, low voice. "But I don't need to in order to show what I can do." He imagined Giselle, sitting at his desk and watching him, in order to seize Saidin. She was shaking her head at him, and he gave her an irritated look. "Stay out of this!" he growled at her, before he drew upon Spirit to place a shield over the Blue.

A chuckle escaped the Grey. He still wore his hood, needlessly. "A fine shield." But not what he was asking for, Murdock knew.

He drew upon Spirit, Earth and Air. He spoke conversationally, trying to keep his voice calm as he worked. Thanks to the void, he could manage that - outside of it, he was in a near panic. "There are so many different ways to harm instead of Heal. This is one I've not tried on a person before." It was a beautiful weave, strips of Air and Earth pressed down by Spirit and settled into the woman's arm. He had to think of her as another subject, a Dunseth or a farmer's wife, not the Mistress of Novices. That threatened the fine flows he weaved into her.

The result was as intended. The breaks along the bone were subtle and constant, cracking down her arm enough to cause a fracture rather than a clean break. "Fractures hurt much more than a full break." Murdock looked to the Grey Asha'man, still holding onto the broken arm. The woman was no doubt in a great deal of pain but she wouldn't die from this, it was only up to her elbow for the time being. "Sir, would you like me to Heal the arm and show you some other variations?"

[Jenny]

"A fine shield," said Emmond. A strangled gasp escaped Mirin's mouth. Despite herself, she reached for saidar, her mind tentatively searching for the comfort of that golden light. Instead, she came up against a wall. She worked her way around the shield searching for cracks, or weak points, or anything, really to hold on to. There was nothing except for a single, soft point of attachment - the point where Murdock held the shield. She pushed against it gently, not quite daring to attempt breaking it.

Then she was abruptly pulled away from her search by the pain. Oh Light, the pain! It started as an uncomfortable, warm feeling, and then suddenly blazed down her arm. Healing was often cold, like being doused by a bucket of freezing water. But this... this Rending, Light, it burned! Mirin hissed through her teeth, and struggled not to pull her arm back. Emmond would not approve. A phrase that she had once read came to mind, a litany against fear.

"I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer..."

She mouthed these words silently to herself. I must not fear. How could she not fear when it felt like her arm was being thrust in fire? Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. Her fingers twitched uselessly, writhing and clutching at the blankets of the bed. I must face my fear. She focused her mind, searching for something, anything, to stop the pain. She came upon that soft spot in the shield again, and this time she pushed into it, wanting to grab its holder, wanting to crush his mind into smithereens...

Mirin was one of the strongest female channelers at the Tower, stronger than even most of the men. It was impossible that a mere Dedicated could hold her. She pushed, desperately, expecting the shield to break. And instead it bent, stretching in a way that Mirin had never experienced before.

Through her pain, she heard herself cry out.

"The shield, Emmond! He knows how to stretch shields!"

"Heal her."

The cold shiver of Healing ran through her body. She jerked her arm back and flexed her fingers. It was whole again as though the Rending had never happened. The pain was only a memory. Emmond's lips were set at an odd angle and his eyes held a look of greed. Mirin had not seen such an expression on the Asha'man's face since he had discovered her own Talent. A new fear entered Mirin's thoughts and she glared at the Dedicated. No, she would not be replaced by a boy! If only she could channel right now, she would spin webs upon webs of Spirit to wipe that ingratiating smirk off Murdock's face!

Emmond turned toward Murdock.

"Interesting. What is this, Dedicated?"

[Chris]

Murdock couldn’t help it. When he felt the shield stretch, a small smile crossed his face. He didn’t particularly enjoy shielding Aes Sedai but what he did particularly appreciate was the fact that she was in no position to hand his hide to him whilst he performed his Rending. There might have also been a slight thrill at the power he held over this woman who had lorded over him in the Infirmary, acting like his problems were universal and would go away with enough hard work and empathy. Hah! And now she was skulking around in the shadows of the night, and he was breaking her arm in a half dozen places. Wasn’t the Creator a funny fellow.

He Healed Mirin Sedai as instructed, using all five elements to perform the best Healing possible. It came to him as Rending did, the two of them working in tandem so all that was left at the end of it was a slightly more troubled Blue sister. Her arm was just fine, as if he had never even touched it. He didn’t bother with Delving her, he knew his work was perfect. “Sir, this is what we call Rending. The weaves for Healing are almost inverted and used to cause harm instead.” He looked at the Asha’man, his voice steady once more. He had to continue to think of this as another mere experiment, nothing personal and nothing intimate. Another test. “That weave used Earth predominantly, but most of them require Air and Spirit in order to work. Would you care to see some other weaves?”

“Yes.” Emmond nodded his head, “show me some more. Mirin, your arm.” His voice was still pleasant and casual, as if Murdock was showing him a trick with a ball of light rather than tearing someone’s arm to pieces.

It was clear the woman did not want to do this, but Murdock held on to her shield and diverted his flows to perform more Rending. Taking her arm once again, he avoided eye contact as he did what he was instructed to do. “This is Spirit, Air and Fire,” he said. “It burns the skin from the inside.” He began to weave, Fire and Air together with the layer of Spirit guiding it beneath the skin, running along the arm which had been broken a moment before. It barely reddened a little on the surface but beneath, it would feel like she had sat in the sun for too long, far too long.

Giselle tilted her head, just out the corner of his eye. Murdock turned away, ignoring her. Instead he tightened his grip and concentrated, to the point where he felt he had sufficiently made his point. “Had I continued,” he said as he Healed once more, “the burning would have travelled to the outer layer of her skin, and started to corrode her bones.”

“Fascinating,” Emmond said. Murdock looked up briefly, saw a glint of... something... in his eyes... and looked away again. He didn’t know what it was, but he knew he bloody well didn’t like it. “What else is there?”

Murdock licked his lips, his dark eyes moving from Emmond to Mirin to Giselle. “Ahhh,” he began to say a little uncertainly. But the Grey Asha’man shifted, and he was quick to obey. “There is more to Rending than injuring the arm. The internal organs as well, can be attacked. I haven’t had many opportunities to test this, as animals tend to die before they can take effect...”

“It is a risk we can take in this instance,” Emmond said smoothly.

Murdock swallowed hard and began to weave Spirit and Air. He was holding onto the woman’s arm, but this was not his intended target. “This weave is intricate. I lay it over the lungs like so, and it makes the subject have difficulty breathing. I can tie the weave off and compress the lungs until a Healer unravels it, or I can squeeze until they are crushed completely.” He applied just enough pressure to hopefully cause some gasping and choking without there being any permanent damage. If there was any regret or apologies to be made by the Dedicated, they were certainly not forthcoming at this moment in time.

[Jenny]

I must not fear...

Fear? Mirin could feel no fear, only pain. She wanted to cry out and scream for help, but knew that it would be fruitless. Although she could not see weaves of saidin, Emmond would not be careless enough to let a sound escape the room. She moaned quietly instead, huddling inward as a second bout of pain shot down her arm. And then another weave closed around her lungs. She struggled for breath. What kind of sick mind can bear to practice this? she thought. Compulsion, in contrast, was far more humane.

Thoughts of her favorite weave distracted her, and she began fantasizing about all the ways she could destroy Murdock's mind. From the look on Emmond's face, he probably wouldn't allow her - but Mirin was patient. I will find a way, she vowed.

Emmond bent over her, examining Murdock's work. Through her gasps, Mirin managed to choke out a few words. "Emmond... why...?"

He cupped her face in his hands. "Do not worry, little one," he murmured. "The Great Lord of the Dark rewards those who endure in His name."

Then why don't you take a turn? Mirin wanted to ask. But she did not dare. She knew what Emmond could do if she displeased him. And she could no longer speak, as the weave squeezed tighter. She began trembling, her body breaking out in cold sweat as it fought for survival. My heart, she thought, hazily. If this continues, my lungs will collapse around my heart and then I will die...

Just before darkness took her, a cold wave of comfort passed through her body as, again, Healing was performed. It left her body feeling strangely refreshed, but Mirin was too angry to think on what that could mean. She stayed curled on the floor, doing her best to draw as little attention as possible.

"Let us talk," Emmond said, abruptly. A chair moved across the room pulled by invisible threads. He took a seat, ignoring the Mistress of Novices. When he spoke, his voice was smoother than silk.

"I've heard that you are married, Murdock. Tell me about your wife. What would you do to see her again?"

[Chris]

Murdock knew what he was doing with this weave, even though it was his first time trying it on a human. He could feel the weaves and how tightly they compressed, and he had an awareness of how difficult it was to breathe. He did know how long it was appropriate to hold a woman for without air, so he did let the subject free before he could cause any permanent damage. A quick, almost mindless Heal sorted out her injuries, and that was that. The Far Madding man sat back on his bed.

He sat up as Asha'man Emmond drew a chair up to sit across from him. He had no spare thoughts for the woman on the floor, there was no channelling involved for the time being and Murdock really had no use for her until he was instructed otherwise. He did tie off the shield, earning a small smirk from beneath the Asha'man's hood. Murdock did release Saidin then but even without it he felt exhilarated from the exertion he had made on the subject.

"I've heard that you are married, Murdock. Tell me about your wife. What would you do to see her again?"

A cold silence filled the room as the two men looked at one another. There could well have been other sounds but to Murdock, all he heard was the void surrounding his heavy breathing, eyes wide and an uncertain swallow making a lump in his throat. The man's mouth opened a little, but the struggle was real and it was longer than a mere pause before the man could find words. "My wife... Giselle. She is the Light of my life, the reason for my living. The Black Tower killed her with their rough ways. What would I do to see her again?" At this point he wanted to say anything, he would do absolutely anything, but did he need to? Dark eyes moved to the desk, where he saw Giselle sitting. "I don't need to do a thing. I can already see her. She's with me, always." A low laugh escaped his chest, but it was humourless and as cold as the walls of the room.

Giselle simply shook her head at him, and Murdock shook his own in a mirrored gesture. This seemed to shake her off as he sat up a little straighter and return to the here and now. "What would I do? Sir, I would tear the Black Tower apart, brick by brick. I would snap the neck of this woman on my floor, and drink her blood. I would break every bone in the Amyrlin's body in exchange for one more day with Giselle." His gaze bored into the Grey Asha'man's eyes now, unblinking and solemn. Was such a thing even possible? There was hope in his voice, a twinge that said perhaps there was more to his life than this longing, this want, this emptiness even Saidin didn't quite fulfil. He would give his soul to not feel alone any more.

[Jenny]

"I know how to make that happen," said Emmond. "Although your wife may have passed on, her thread may still be respun into the Pattern. You may yet still see her alive. I serve a master who can hold Creation in the palm of His hand, and His influence on the Pattern is strong. Let me tell you more..."

Mirin did not want to move. No, she wanted to stay curled up on the floor, or perhaps flee to her own quarters where she could fling herself on her bed and cry. But she would not have been chosen to join the Black Ajah nor survived her initiation if she had been a weak woman. And so, as the men spoke, she quietly moved.

Her dark cloak concealed her hand as she carefully drew her own blade from her belt. She was listening to the conversation, but there was only one thought on her mind: revenge. She could not stand being seen as weak by this upstart of a Dedicated. She had to prove to Emmond that she was worth more than this young and Talented man.

She prodded again at the shield and found to her delight that the soft point had hardened. Murdock had tied it off! Excited, she prodded the hard knot, picking at it with her mind in an effort to loosen the weave. Although the shield would stretch if she tried to break it, a knot could be loosened and untied.

As she worked on loosening the shield, she slowly crept closer to Murdock.

Then she froze. Emmond's dark eyes were watching her. For a moment, she was afraid that he disapproved. Then, the corner of his lip quirked up. He nodded slightly, and then continued speaking with the Dedicated, distracting him from Mirin.

His approval spurred her to action. She dug at the hard point desperately, as though working her fingers under the edges of the knot. And suddenly, it came apart and saidar poured into her. She hadn't realized how much she had been yearning for it until it came flooding in. The details of the room jumped forward as the Power magnified her senses. Immediately, she channeled her own shield and placed it on the Dedicated. At the same time, her knife darted forward, pressing again to Murdock's neck.

A beast within her roared. Make him pay make him pay make him pay!! it screamed. Her hand trembled as she resisted the urge to slit his throat. But her ambition was greater than the memory of her humiliation, and she looked at Emmond for instruction.

Emmond stood and smiled benevolently at the Dedicated.

"Would you like to serve the Great Lord of the Dark, Murdock? Mirin, make him tell the truth."

Mirin smiled. "Gladly," she said. And then she split her flow of Spirit so that she could continue to sustain the shield. With the flow, she wove a complex, whip-like web of Spirit. And then she struck. Murdock looked up at her with a glazed, worshipful appearance, as though he were hanging on her every word. Her smile widened. Revenge was delicious.

"You will tell me the truth," she said, sweetly. "Would you like to serve the Great Lord of the Dark?"

[Chris]

It was more than a man could hope for. Murdock was not a man who generally put much stock into the Creator and his threads, given the way he had decided to remove Giselle before her time, but the possibility of her being respun into the pattern? It might be unlikely, impossible even, but good luck getting that across to Murdock. He heard what he wanted to hear, and he heard that he could be with his wife again. That was good enough for him. He leaned forwards now, his dark eyes narrowed.

This master he spoke of – it only occurred to Murdock at this point, what he had said to the Mistress of Novices earlier. The Great Lord of the Dark. The only force known to rival the power of the Creator himself. The Creator had always stood for life and living, the Dark One death and despair. But after having so much loss and grief at the hands of the Creator, who could be so sure about these boundaries? Not a simple man like Murdock. If Asha’man Emmond said there might be a way to be with his wife again, he was going to do what he had to.

No matter what.

Asha'man Emmond spoke kindly to the Dedicated. "The Great Lord of the Dark gives to those who serve," he said. "We have all suffered from our wanting, from our lack of something. The Creator may draw out our threads and have us make do with what he has provided, scant as it may be. But the Great Lord will help you get what it is you want. What it is you need. Obey, and he will provide. You do not need to settle for your lot; He can respin the pattern and reward the faithful. As I said," here Emmond sounded a little more firm, "you obey, and serve, and are rewarded."

The implications of what he was getting into ought to have shocked him, but Murdock had no time to think on them as suddenly, the test subject was on her feet with a knife at his neck. The Dedicated blinked with surprise, trying to look down and failing. An attempt to grasp Saidin was met with a shield, and the man looked to the Mistress of Novices with alarm. I had her shielded, he thought, licking his lips. His mouth was dry and looking at the woman now, Murdock felt like he was staring at the rest of his life, what seconds he had left of it. At least after this he could be with Giselle again. But was that enough, after Asha’man Emmond had just filled him with such hope?

His eyes shifted back to Asha’man Emmond as he stood, smiling at him. In this moment Murdock knew that his previous life and everything in it was about to change, but the implications were lost on him suddenly with the man’s simple question. "Would you like to serve the Great Lord of the Dark, Murdock? Mirin, make him tell the truth."

Make me tell the truth? How- What sort of question was how? Mirin Sedai was an amazing, glorious woman, and she could do anything, ask Murdock to do anything, and he would gladly do it. He looked up at her, honoured that she would deign to visit his rooms at this hour, ashamed that he was unclothed, and fervently waiting for any instructions she had for him. To live was to serve.

She asked the same question as Asha’man Emmond, but she also wanted the truth. As if he would lie to her! Murdock smiled brightly as she addressed him directly, his response swift and completely honest. “I have little interest in the Creator or the Dark One, Mirin Sedai. But I will do anything for Giselle. I do not have much to offer the Dark... the Great Lord of the Dark, but if there is anything I can do then for Giselle, I will do it.” He smiled even more broadly, his eyes too bright with unshed tears. This opportunity was more than he could have ever hoped for, and for all this talk of the dark, there was a new lightness in his heart that hadn’t been there before. Even Rending couldn’t give him this much warmth and hope.

[Jenny]

Mirin did not like that answer. The man's attachment to his wife was a source of weakness that she thought would be a liability to the secrecy of her sworn Ajah. Her lip curled unpleasantly as her arm flexed to move the knife. But Emmond seemed to think the opposite. He grasped Mirin's wrist and jerked it away so that only the tip of the blade nicked Murdock's throat.

"Excellent," the Asha'man said, smiling warmly. "I think that we have discovered what we need to know. Mirin? Let us take our leave. The usual, please."

Mirin fumed, but turned back to Murdock, who was still staring at her like a lovesick puppy. Again, she wove, another web of silver that was even more complex - and more permanent - than before. It, too, acted like a whip, but with barbs that would anchor themselves into the man's mind.

"Very well," she said. Her anger seeped into her voice, and Emmond shot her a warning look which she ignored.

"This event and our words will be remembered, but our names, our faces, and our voices forgotten." Her voice reverberated commandingly. She watched as the threads of Spirit writhed in response. She settled the weave over the man, and his eyes glazed over.

"Remember what must be remembered," she intoned, feeling very much like she was taking part in a raising ceremony. The Black Ajah - Emmond, at least - had an interesting sense of humor. She still remembered the mocking way in which they had welcomed her home as a sister. That had been an unforgettable night, for all the wrong reasons.

"And forget all the rest," she finished, finally releasing saidar. Emmond gestured, and Mirin followed. They pulled their cloaks around themselves and left as suddenly and quietly as they had come.

[Chris]

What happened next was most unusual. Murdock knew this was the Mistress of Novices, and Asha’man Emmond. Mirin Sedai was the most wonderful Aes Sedai in the Grey Tower, and there was nothing he wouldn’t do for the woman. But then he felt a pain in his mind, burrowing into his thoughts and suddenly it was all becoming a blur. The woman he adored – what was her name? Mir- M... did it begin with M? No, he had no idea. All he saw were robed figures, one male and one female.

He remained seated where he was as his door closed, blinking at the space on the floor where the woman had lay. Murdock had seen.... had done... what have I done exactly? But he remembered. He had demonstrated his Rending, and agreed to do whatever he had to in the name of the Great Lord of the Dark.

Bile rose in the man’s throat and he didn’t make it to the washbasin before he was vomiting. He tried anyway, ending up on his knees and hunched over as his body retched and his mind reeled. Oh Light, Creator help me what have I done? He asked nobody, his dark eyes fixing on the pool of sick before him. All over his rug, lovely. A lean arm wiped across his mouth and he unsteadily stood again, grasping for his walking stick. He moved his chair back to the desk and sat at it, looking around furtively as if there was anybody still around before he lit a candle and took out a pencil. Unsteadily, his shaking hands plucked a book from beneath the rest, empty and as of yet unused. He’d been wondering what to write in it and now, it seemed he had a purpose for it after all.

He felt a stinging at his throat, and he covered it gingerly with his right hand as he began to scribble with his left. First, there was the code. Murdock had a code for some of his accounts on Rending, and the key was known to him alone. It was awkward work, writing with a code, but with some practice it would come to him quicker. The alternative was to have someone pick it up and read it, then where would he be? And so he wrote, uncertainly and slowly.

My name is Murdock Mather. Tonight, I was woken by a cloaked man and woman... The book would be hidden and Warded well – he would have to learn some suitable weaves for privacy purposes. This had to be a secret that remained with him, but he simply had to write it all down as well.

Change was coming, and Murdock was terrified. He wrote until he had no more need for his candle, and the vomit on his rug began to dry.