The Grey Tower

The man was brought into the Infirmary by a pair of Tower guards; from their confused explanation, it sounded as though the man had simply appeared at the gates, as if Travelling but without a gateway in sight. Right then, Jaren couldn’t care less if he’d fallen out of the sky. There were more pressing matters to attend to, and assuming the man survived, they could simply ask him how he’d come to collapse at the gates of the Grey Tower.

Jaren guided the guards to set the patient on a bed in a private room. Joline and Minerva, the two Accepted assisting in the Infirmary that day, followed curiously, and for once Jaren was glad they had; he was going to need their help. The stranger was badly injured… And it looked like he’d been set upon by channellers. Which meant—

“Joline, get me Asha’man Jaryd,” Jaren said. The Accepted let out an alarmed squeak, and Jaren frowned irritably at her. “Today, please. He doesn’t bite.” Only when the girl ran off did it occur to Jaren what he’d actually said. Well, that’s an unexpected advantage to being oathless, he thought wryly. It would have been beyond embarrassing to choke on that sentence when the First Oath kicked in…

But the amusement drained out of him quickly when he Delved the patient in front of him. What the hell happened to you… “Minerva,” he said without looking at the remaining Accepted, “I’m going to need you to link with me.”

The climb back to consciousness was long and arduous. Voices spoke somewhere above him, he could hear the sound though he wasn’t aware enough to make out the words or even how many speakers there were. Saidin was channelled again — again? had he felt somebody channel earlier? — and something like a damp cloth touched his face…

He was alive.

The realisation crashed home, jolting him awake. The rush of adrenaline gave him the strength to push himself up on his elbows and he opened his eyes, squinting against the brightness of the daylight flooding the room. A hand settled on his chest, pushing him gently back down.

“Easy, there,” a voice said softly. A face came into view, though it took Mael several moments to focus his eyes enough to see more than just a figure with a halo of golden hair about its head. Wide, blue-grey eyes looked back at him, and an expressive mouth curled into a smile when he saw Mael had seen him. “I’m Jaren Marle, of the Yellow Ajah. You’ve just been Healed, and you were in pretty bad shape so don’t go trying any unnecessary heroics or I’ll have my Warder sit on you.” The smile widened a fraction. “…Never mind. The important thing is that you’re safe now.”

Yellow Ajah. The man wore a black uniform that was similar but not identical to those of the Black Tower, and the same applied to the pins on his collar. An Asha’man… of the Yellow Ajah. Who has a Warder. Mael closed his eyes, a sigh of relief escaping him. Evidently he’d made it to the Grey Tower.

There was the sound of a door opening, and Mael opened his eyes again. Marle was speaking to the newcomer in a low voice; “He’s awake and you should be able to question him for a bit, but he needs to rest…” But Mael’s eyes were fixed on the man who had entered the room. The man in red. The words from the Dream echoed in his head; Wake up, Akashi. It’s time to wake up.

“I’ve Dreamt about you,” Mael said abruptly, interrupting whatever Marle had been saying… and gaining the undivided attention of both men. “I’ve Dreamt about you,” he repeated slowly. “You told me to wake up.”

Jaryd sat cross-legged on the floor of his personal study. A painted map of the Westlands hung in front of him, stretching from floor to ceiling and wall to wall, and covered with pins, tiny notes, and bits of colorful string. He had destroyed the original in a black rage during the Seanchan invasion; it had taken him years to rebuild even a portion of the work he had lost due to his tantrum.

That had rarely struck him so hard as it did now. All his notes he had kept about the Black Tower had gone up in literal smoke that day. All he had left were the undependable observations of third party spies. From them he gleaned whispers of growing unrest, but they lacked the insight to explain why. What is going on over there?

A ringing bell in his head brought the Altaran back to the present. Someone had tried to enter his chambers. He frowned and went to the door, poking his head through curiously. An Accepted scrambled up from the floor; as she straightened, she rubbed at her bottom with a muttered curse. A moment later she froze, wide-eyed, as she realized he had seen her.

“A man came into the infirmary who’s pretty messed up. Asha’man Jaren took one look and said you should see him so I came to get you.” The words came out all in a rush; it took several breaths for Jaryd to understand what she had said.

Jaryd smiled and closed the door behind him, then touched his ring to the latch. “Well then, let’s walk.”

-

No one knew the stranger’s name, but he had worn a black coat; the gossip was quiet, but rampant. It took little effort for Jaryd to locate the correct room in the Infirmary. The door opened as they approached and Jaren peered out. The Altaran grinned at his lover, his eyes saying what he could not respectfully voice aloud while the Yellow was on duty.

“Is he awake?” He asked.

“He’s awake and you should-” Jaren pulled him into the room, indicating the dark-haired figure on the bed as he spoke . The man did look exhausted. “Whoever attacked him could channel,” the Andoran continued, “and they wanted him dead; he’s lucky to be in one piece. You-”

“I’ve Dreamt about you.” The stranger on the bed said. Jaryd and Jaren turned as one to stare at him. “I’ve Dreamt about you...you told me to wake up.”

Curious.

“Sadly, I can’t claim responsibility for what antics my image may get up to in the World of Dreams,” Jaryd responded with a short chuckle. “That isn’t a Talent I have ever possessed...and not for lack of trying. However, if my instructions helped you get here, then I’d say it’s a good thing they came to you, even if I am deadly curious as to why.”

The Altaran settled on the stool by the bedside with his forearms across his knees, studying his new acquaintance with dark eyes. “I am Jaryd Kosari, an Asha’man of the Red Ajah. Can you tell me what happened to bring you here looking like something the cat dragged in?”

The man in red spoke, and though both his words and voice were friendly enough, there was something about the man that spoke louder than words that he was a dangerous one, not one to mess with… And then he introduced himself. Jaryd Kosari. Mael knew that name; every full-ranked Asha’man in the Black Tower knew that name. A deserter of extraordinary strength in the Power, and one who had managed to evade the Black Tower’s reach for decades at that. Light, he's still alive?

It took Mael a moment to realise he’d been asked a question, and another to mentally backtrack enough to recall it. Can you tell me what happened… Mael closed his eyes. Alastair was dead. Alastair was dead, and Mael… might still be as good as. He was a deserter, now, too; like the man questioning him.

The man in red was Jaryd Kosari. That was almost funny.

He opened his eyes again, meeting Kosari’s gaze steadily. “My name is Mael Akashi…” To the side, Marle made a startled sound; Mael looked at him, and saw the man staring wide-eyed back at him. But Marle just shook his head and gestured for Mael to continue. “As you may have already figured, I am—” He cut off with a faint grimace. “…I was an Asha’man of the Black Tower. There has been…” How did one begin to explain what had happened? How did one sum up Alastair’s dream of a better Black Tower, his life’s work to bring some justice into an inherently unjust system?

He couldn’t.

Alastair had always been bound to fail. He’d only been one man against a system of favouritism, bullying, and control through fear. Alastair had never stood a chance, and he’d paid the ultimate price for his stubborn refusal to give up on the idea of the Black Tower that could have been.

Marle touched Kosari’s arm lightly. “Maybe we should let him rest…”

But Mael interrupted him. “I know your name,” he said, addressing Kosari. The man in red. “Jaryd Kosari. A deserter… like I am now, I suppose. I don’t know if you knew or remember Alastair Trenvael—” Anyone who had ever met Alastair surely would remember him, Mael thought, but then he was hardly an unbiased judge. “—but he… he’s dead, and that is why I am here.”

Dark eyes snapped to Jaren as the stranger introduced himself, concern painted across his face for the entire world to see. What are the chances? Whatever the Andoran thought, he hid it well; Jaryd gave him one more intent look, then turned his attention back to this….Mael.

At least he didn’t try to hide his allegiance. Not that he would have had a choice, with the uniform he had arrived in, but sometimes desperate people did ridiculous things. The Red listened intently through what followed, his too-young face devoid of expression, but inside he was grateful Jaren had chosen to stay. The Black Tower. The bloody Black Tower. Nothing good ever came from that place, and now this man had landed in his metaphoric lap. What did it mean?

“Maybe we should let him rest-”

Again the Asha’man interrupted. Jaryd lifted an eyebrow and opened his mouth to give him a sharp lesson in manners, but the words that poured from the stranger’s lips gave him pause. It wasn’t just what he said, however. It was how he said it, the look on his face, the strain in his voice as he forced the dead man’s name out of his mouth. This is a man in mourning. As well he might be, if what he said was true.

First things first.

“The Black Tower has always had a long memory,” he leaned forward a little as he spoke, “and it seems they still haven’t added manners to their curriculum. Treat Jaren like furniture one more time and I might break your face.” The words were said so lightly the comment could have been taken as a joke, but the Red held Mael’s gaze for a moment longer than strictly necessary before sitting back in his seat and moving on.

“Alistair was a good man,” he continued in a more serious tone. “He treated me well when I was a soldier there, which is more than I can say for most of the Asha'man who trained me. I am sorry for your loss.” That seemed appropriate, judging by how Akashi had spoken of the man. “I assume from your condition and your tone that he didn’t die of old age. Did you come here seeking asylum or assistance?”

Kosari’s words brought Mael back to the present. Light… He wasn’t sure he had a satisfactory answer to Kosari’s question, but he knew he had not come here to make enemies, not if he could help it. He drew a breath and addressed Marle. “I apologise if I have given offence.” He had no idea if it came out sounding anywhere close to sincere — he was not good with such things as apologies even on a good day — but he hoped trying counted for something. “Please forgive me.”

The young man nodded gracefully. “No harm done.” Somehow Mael was sure the Healer was actually young and didn’t just appear so because of the slowing. There was a… lightness to him that few older channellers were able to retain. Few? In truth, Mael had not met a single one. Though maybe things were different, here.

“And to answer your question,” he continued, turning his full attention to Kosari again. “I… do not rightly know.” It made him grimace, having to admit to such a weakness, surrounded by and at the mercy of people he didn’t know, but he saw no point in anything but complete honesty. “I came here chasing a Dream when all else was taken from me. What happened to Alastair—” His voice cracked ever so slightly at the name, and Marle shifted where he was standing, the look on his face suddenly very familiar though he looked nothing like Brendon. Healers, he supposed, were the same everywhere. But the man didn’t speak, and Mael was glad for that. He didn’t want to be rude, but he was not interested in resting.

“What happened to Alastair is not entirely clear to me,” he went on. “I was away from the Tower when the word reached me. And when I Travelled back—” That had been foolish. “—I was attacked as well. Whether they are Darkfriends or simply men too fond of the power they wield, I do not know. Alastair and the M’Hael always had their differences but what triggered the confrontation, why now?” He closed his eyes; the room seemed to rotate slowly around him. “I wish I had more to tell you.”

There were many reasons for Jaryd to believe Mael Akashi was a decent human being no matter what color his coat. He had not tried to kill the Red on sight, for one; a welcome change from Jaryd’s usual experience with Black Tower Asha’man. He knew Trenvael and clearly respected him, for another. He had featured in Jaren’s Stair -and what was that about, anyway?- as a third. And finally, he had apologized to the Yellow with all apparent sincerity, despite his own obvious distress.

Perhaps the last was a paltry reason to trust another in many people’s eyes, but for Jaryd it mattered most. Connections could be fabricated, attitudes adjusted, and the Stairs weren’t real. For a man to take time in the midst of trauma to acknowledge his own errors, however? That took a certain type of...honor...that Jaryd respected to his core.

The matter of trust settled, the Altaran relaxed and listened to the rest of the man’s story with attentive care.

“What happened to Alastair.” Akashi’s voice broke and his face paled, the image of exhaustion. Something else flickered in his eyes when he spoke, however, an emotion Jaryd knew all too well. It confirmed what he had thought earlier; whether lover or brother, Trenvael had been more than a friend to this strange man.

Jaryd reached out and took the Asha’man’s hand in his, squeezing gently before pulling his hand back once more. “I am so sorry,” he repeated. “I am glad you got out alive.” He felt more than saw Jaren move, and looked up to find the Yellow giving him a look louder than words. Make it fast, that stare said.

The Red nodded and turned back to Mael. “I cannot speak for the Grey Tower anymore,” his smile was mirthless, “but I can speak for the Red Ajah and its resources. When you have rested I will help you find your answers. Given the Black Tower’s attitude about deserters, if you wish to swear your allegiance to our Triumvirate I will stand for you in the Hall.”

Oblivion beckoned — Light, he was so tired — but he didn’t want to give in, not while there were things to figure out. He hovered on the edge of unconsciousness when a touch on his hand jolted him back to awareness. Kosari. The man in red looked back at him and Mael was startled to find… compassion in that look. He didn’t know what he’d expected, either from the man from his Dreams or the infamous deserter, but kindness was not on the list.

The man’s offer was another surprise, and one that required some thought. He must have come here for a reason; he must have been led here for a reason. What else was there left for him? If he went rogue, he might end up hunted by both the Grey and the Black Tower, if he was even allowed to leave. Besides, it would be a poor way to repay them for saving his life.

But… He remembered Alastair’s words about children who’d rather hide and play at being male Aes Sedai. He could recognise that Alastair had never bothered to learn much about the Grey Tower — gathering the kind of intelligence that Alastair had dealt with wasn’t the same thing — but that also meant he had very little idea what it meant to be an Asha’man of the Grey Tower.

Kosari said he was of the Red Ajah; the Red Ajah Mael was familiar with had dedicated itself to exterminating the very thing he and Kosari both represented, not too many centuries ago. And Marle… had a Warder. Like an Aes Sedai. Did Asha’man of the Grey Tower require the protection of a non-channeller? The idea went against everything Mael had been taught, everything he was.

But what choice did he have… if he wanted to survive.

“Thank you,” he said at length. He managed a faint smile. “You’re… not what I expected, Jaryd Kosari. Your offer… I will need to think about it.” He wanted to say more, to properly communicate that he did appreciate the offer and recognise its significance, but the words refused to form, his thoughts felt scattered and uncooperative.

“Of course,” Marle said. “You’ll think about it once you’ve rested.” His voice was calm and soothing yet at the same time it clearly accepted no arguments; a Healer in charge of his patient, indeed. “In the meanwhile…” and there he glanced at Kosari, as though seeking confirmation, “…you’re safe here.”

And, absurdly enough, the assurance seemed to work; either that or Mael was simply too exhausted to feel anxiety. He was out like a light almost before Marle finished speaking.

Once he was sure the patient — Mael — was asleep, Jaren turned to Jaryd again. The Red looked thoughtful, and that was a sentiment Jaren shared in full. He moved closer and took Jaryd’s hand in his, squeezing gently. Mindful of the fact that they weren’t alone or exactly in private — any of the other Yellows could technically walk in at any time — that was all he did.

“What are you thinking, my love?” he asked. “About… this.” He nodded towards the bed and its occupant. “I should have recognised him… But I wasn’t exactly expecting him to turn up for real.” And there had been more pressing matters on his mind, like making sure the man lived.

The Asha’man’s eyes rolled up a moment before his head fell to the side in a messy cloud of dark hair. Jaren tended to the stranger’s comfort with confident ease as Jaryd watched in silent thought.

Mael’s story created more questions than it had answered. Had he and Alastair been the only casualties, or had there been a full on rebellion? Why would Alastair do such a thing now, when he had shown every sign of favoring caution according to Jaryd’s reports? If there had been a clash of factions and not simply a targeted attack against those two specifically, it would be most interesting to learn which side of the conflict had earned support from Estius and Londane.

The Altaran felt fingers on his own and looked down in confusion. At the sight of the pale hand that rested against his, he looked up at Jaren with a bemused smile. He did not release the Andoran’s grip as he considered what to say.

“We need more information, but getting it will be a challenge. What was difficult before will be nigh-impossible now that Asha’man are killing each other.” That was the understatement of the century. In fact, the only way Jaryd could think to get the information he needed involved doing something so dangerous that even he questioned its merit.

“For Mael himself...there may be hope for him if he decides to stay. I only wish we had found him first … him and Trenvael. Perhaps there would be one less death to mourn.” The regret in his tone was unmistakable.

“What of you?” He asked, searching Jaren’s eyes. “It’s no coincidence that he appeared in your test and then in your infirmary. What’s on your mind?”

—now that Asha’man are killing each other. For such a simple statement, the words were loaded with a sense of impending doom. Jaren didn’t know much about the Black Tower — only what everyone in Andor knew and what was taught in classes at the Grey Tower — but for all the differences in philosophy and teaching methods, they were also Asha’man, like Jaryd said, and any such violent infighting within an organisation that stood against the Shadow would only help the Shadow.

And now people were dead or exiled, among them someone Jaryd knew and clearly respected… And some day Jaren was going to have to ask him about that, about the Black Tower — if the Red wanted to talk about it — but this was not the time.

Jaren smiled faintly at the question. “Hope…” he repeated softly. Mael; what a name for an Asha’man of the Black Tower. But perhaps… perhaps more thematically fitting for an Asha’man of the Red Ajah. If he chose to stay. “I don’t know what to think,” he went on. “Well, I know I want to help him if I can, but that goes without saying.” He could see just how surprised Jaryd wasn’t, and that made his smile widen. “And perhaps that’s all I need to know right now. Anything else can come later, when the picture is clearer.”

He was discharged from the infirmary two days later. He suspected the delay was in large part to give Kosari time to deal with the political ramifications of his presence; an Asha’man of the Black Tower was less trouble as long as he was a patient in the infirmary, not walking about unchecked.

Not that he was exactly ‘unchecked’ even now. He glanced at the young man walking by his side, courteously adjusting his pace to Mael’s. Marle’s Warder was not physically intimidating, was in fact shorter than Mael by a fair margin, and overall hardly looked like he belonged among the legendary brotherhood of warriors that Warders were reputed to be… But the way he carried himself, the way he moved, the way he appeared somehow both completely at ease and alert at all times — that all would have convinced Mael if he’d otherwise seen reason to doubt Marle’s word.

There were entirely too many stairs between the infirmary and the Master of Soldiers’ office, but Mael didn’t know the place well enough to risk Travelling, and so he was left to deal with the stairs. Even with the cane Marle had procured for him, it was far from pleasant, and it did occur to him about halfway through that though he’d felt perfectly rested, it had only been two days since Marle had brought him back from the brink of death.

However, he had to speak with Kosari.

And yes, it would have been entirely too simple to ask the Red to come to the infirmary instead.

Some day, his pride was going to not only get him in trouble — that was already happening — but make him look like a gigantic ass in the process. He glanced at the Gaidin on his right, distinctly aware of the way the man was keeping an eye on him in return, and not in a way that said the Gaidin considered him a threat. No, more like the Gaidin was expecting him to fall on his face at any time.

Mael grit his teeth, adjusted his grip on the cane and kept walking.


Finally they reached their destination, without any major incident. They had to wait for a few minutes for Kosari to finish a meeting with a student, but finally a Saldaean-looking Dedicated exited the office, looking rather chastised. Mael stared at the door for a moment longer before knocking, and when the call to enter came, he glanced at Johan. “Will you wait here? I would assure you it’s unnecessary, but I expect you have your orders.”

The Gaidin’s answering grin was wry. “I will wait here.”


The office could not have been more different from Artan Sandhill’s, back in the Black Tower, but then, Jaryd Kosari couldn’t have been more different from Sandhill himself. The decor bordered on opulence yet somehow managed to land on the side of tasteful, and the dominant colour was… red; what else, Mael thought with a slightly wry smile.

When Kosari told him to sit, he sank gratefully into the offered seat, trying not to show how glad he was to be off his feet but he suspected he wasn’t entirely successful. “You know, when I first Dreamt of a tower of glass, I thought it metaphorical,” he mused. Then he leaned forward slightly. “I would take your offer. I would stay and…” he floundered a little, but forged on without prompting, “…and find a purpose here, if you would have me.”

As Jaryd had expected, there was little information to be found about events at the Black Tower. One whispered rumor dared to suggest there had been a fire, but try though he might, the Asha’man could find nothing more. The evening following Mael’s precipitous appearance, the Red looked up to find Jaren watching him with an odd expression on his face. “You want to go look for yourself, don’t you?” the Yellow asked.

Jaryd scowled down at the reports in his lap. You couldn’t pay me enough money to work that farm, one scrawled note said. All I’ll get is a broken spade and a sore back. I recommend you invest elsewhere. Clear enough, that one. He shoved the whole stack aside with a sigh, using his newly-freed hands to scrub at his face before responding. “Yes,” he said, biting his tongue before he could expound on his desire.

“Do we need to talk?”

The calm response was not abnormal, yet still it caught the Altaran off guard. He turned to face the other man head-on, an unfeigned smile crossing his face. “I’m not going,” he said. “Not yet, anyway. This is Akashi’s battle; a time may come when I go to find my own contacts, but for now I won’t interfere unless asked.”

His smile grew warmer. "Besides...there's this person who would worry, you see."


---

Two days later a knock on the door of his study interrupted his perusal of soldier Fredrik’s progress report. He slid the paper into the side drawer of his desk and called for the visitor to enter. Mael looked a little bemused as he came through the door; Jaryd let the silence linger a moment before gesturing for the Kandori man to sit.

“You know, when I first Dreamt of a tower of glass, I thought it metaphorical,” Mael said. Jaryd’s lips twitched up. “I would take your offer. I would stay and…and find a purpose here, if you would have me.”

The Altaran’s eyebrows went up. “I am glad to hear it,” he said. “Nothing but death awaits you at the Black Tower, at any rate.” He rubbed at his chin, his mind rapidly going through all the information he would need to impart upon this unexpected addition. Then he grabbed a piece of paper and began to scrawl instructions in spidery script as he spoke. “You will need to speak to the Hall first; I will stand for you as sponsor, should they require one. You will either swear the Three Oaths, if that is your choice, or swear allegiance and good behavior to our Tower. You are likely used to being viewed with distrust, so either choice is as good as the other for you.” He chuckled.

“Once that is done, you must beg entry to an Ajah. I won’t pretend this will be easy; our Dedicated spend years building the relationships necessary to gain welcome to their chosen home, and you will need to do so in a much shorter time frame. Have you given thought to where you may go?” If he had any thoughts of his own on that topic, he kept them carefully veiled behind the cool calm of the Void.