The wind howled for her bones. It thirsted for her marrow. Such black pain it would bring her that she would sing for a thousand years before she died. Mave tore furiously at the leaf patterned mosaic, fingers closing uselessly over empty air. The great black wind rolled towards her like a fog bank, bloating out the Ogier wrought stonework like a sheet of sentient darkness. The storm lantern flickered and gutted before the on rushing wind regardless of the fact that thick Ayamar glass made such a thing impossible. Not for the first time she wished she had used more reliable illumination, but she supposed if she were getting wishes that wouldn’t be where she would start.

The insidious song of the wind pounded in her temples and it was all she could do to keep plucking at leaves that didn’t exist. Black tendrils reached hungrily for her, coiling and twirling through the archaic air like streamers from an illuminators firework. Her fingers closed on something and a leaf, at one heartbeat merely a rendering on ancient stone, came away in her hand as fresh and life like as any she had seen on the spring ivy. The air in front of her shimmered a curious blue gray but she didn’t wait to investigate. Releasing the leaf she hurled herself through the oddly translucent disc a heart beat before it closed behind her, sealing away the horrible song of the wind. Machin Shin would be denied a meal today.

The cold hit her first. It hadn’t been this cold when she left Caemlyn this morning but that might be thousands of miles from here. She wasn’t certain where here was. When she left Caemlyn she had tried to keep the old map of the Ways clear in her mind but the crumbling arches and collapsed islands had made it impossible to follow any plan. Once she had heard the wind she had simply ran, unconcerned with where she might end up, as even Caemlyn was preferable to being devoured by the ancient evil that haunted the crumbling wonder of the Age of Legend.

Desperation had driven her to attempt the journey. Each time she had attempted to leave Caemlyn she had found men waiting for her. Rumors were being spread that she was a bandit who used her looks to ensnare men and kill them in their sleep for the copper they carried. Wanted posters with crude drawings of her had began to appear and she knew that if she loitered even another day in that city she would be taken. What would happen to her she didn’t know, but death was probably the kindest fate she could look forward to.

Mave pulled her wollen riding dress around her slender frame. She had pawned the silver candlestick she had stolen when she fled Tar Valon and used the hand full of copper she had been given, at a no doubt ruinous discount, the pawn broker had suggested that he might be willing to give her a better deal in exchange for her favors, but she wasn’t that desperate. Not yet. The dress was a vast improvement over the plain white novice dress she had been wearing when she stowed away on the river queen. Merely putting the thing on had taken an effort of will that nearly undid her. The banded dress of an Accepted, that which she was entitled to wear, was just too obvious but it had still taken all her will to put herself back in the hated white dress. Mave didn’t want to think about what would happen if she were dragged back to the Tower, there as well the best she could hope for was death.

Mave was a tall girl in her early twenties, with the willow grace and coppery skin of her native Arad Doman. Her eyes were a dark and almond shaped and, despite her present predicament, glittered with intelligence. Untill a few weeks ago she had ben an Accepted of the White Tower, her future as stayed and sure as anyone in this age could wish. Now she was a vagabond, on the run from not only her teachers, who were terrifying enough, but also, she was certain from agents of the Shadow itself.

It seemed like a lifetime ago that Velma Sedai had asked Mave to assist her in her research. Aspiring to the Brown herself Mave had leaped at the chance, Velma valued her fluency in the Old Tongue but Mave sensed that she was sounding her out, making the final decision as to whether she was ready to begin preparation for the Shawl. It had been fun at first, tracking down lost manuscripts and sifting through pieces of dusty lore which centered around the days before the Trolloc wars. Velma had never quite told her what she was looking for, but asked for references Londharon Cor, the capital of the ancient kingdom of Eharon. As time went on though Velma began to grow more and more paranoid, she would talk to no one, even the other Browns until she trusted Mave alone. One night Velma had appeared as Mave was making her way to her room and hurriedly thrust a roll of parchment into her hands.

Confused, Mave had returned to her room intending to return it to Velma Sedai in the morning but, when morning had come Velma was dead. The Yellows said that she had died in her sleep but Mave knew differently. When Cora, an Aes Sedai of the Grey Ajah, with whom Mave had never spoken, showed up and demanded to know what Velma had been working on, she had grown concerned. Back in her room she unrolled the parchment and discovered a map, carefully drawn in charcoal, which showed a location somewhere near Londharon Cor. The words ‘buried for all these years’ were printed in Velma’s neat handwriting. When a summons had come from Cora requesting Mave join her in an isolated courtyard Mave had made her decision. It was clear to her that her mentor had been murdered to prevent whatever she has been researching from coming to light. Sneaking up to Velma’s chambers she had witnessed a pair of cloaked Sisters tearing through the dead Aes Sedais possessions. 

All her years in the Tower Mave had been told that the Black Ajah didn’t exist. But peering through the keyhole that night she had seen Velma’s ancient warder laying face down in a pool of blood and she had known better. Not knowing whom to trust and fearing that Cora planned a similar fate for her, she had fled without so much as returning to her own rooms. The parchment was tucked into her traveling bag now, as mysterious and ominous as ever. 

Looking around Mave found herself in an ancient ruin, the wall beside her was marked with the familiar leaf pattern, though she had no desire to attempt to open the Waygate given what lurked on the other side. Coming slowly to her feet she found she was atop a small rise on a much larger mountain. The land sloped gradually downwards to the west, where a broad silver ribbon marked the passage of a river. Heavy forest blanketed the hillside, though currently she was above the canopy. To the east it rose into an impressive peak, thrusting into the sky like a dagger. Other peaks stretched off to the north and south, though low cloud obscured them after a time.  Snow lay all around, though that was a function of altitude as much as the season. On the plains the snow would be melted or almost melted. Though she wracked her mind, no geographical fact emerged to help her place herself. The walking staff she had stolen in Caemlyn had been lost in her mad scramble through the ways. Sighig she picked herself off and began the long trudge down the side of the mountain, looking for some sign of human life.