Penny

WoT: The Dark One's Own Luck.

It was nearly midday and the town of Tarren’s Ferry was a bustling hive of activity. Farmers and craftsmen were haggling and exchanging goods and promises. During the festival of Beltane deals would be struck and plans would be made and now the time had come to start delivering on them. Mave began to understand why Evelyn was so upset about Ali, this would be the time of year for betrothals to be properly announced and missing the day likely meant another year would pass. Evelyn was younger than Ali but she was a woman in the reckoning of the Two Rivers, she needed to marry and start a family of her own.

Mave tried to ignore the looks she got from the villagers as she went about her business. As with her previous dealings she tried not to engage in conversation, answering politely but not engaging in anything more than superficialities. She was glad she had taken the time to conceal the short sword beneath her skirts, though it slapped unpleasantly against her thigh, she didn’t want to make more of a ruckus than she already was.

As she shopped she pondered the problem of Ali. What interest could the minions of the Dark One possibly have in a farm boy from the middle of nowhere? Certainly he had strange eyes, but that alone seemed hardly enough to justify the interest. Was it possible that Ali could channel? She hadn’t probed the question too deeply but it seemed unlikely that a man of his age could be quietly concealing such a thing, or that he would be so calm in proximity to an Aes Sedai if he was. That left what? The Shadow had its own prophecies and like its own fortellings, was Ali important to them in that way? Although it was pure speculation this seemed to be the most likely answer. If that was so then the safest thing to do was to bring him to Tar Valon but that wasn’t an option right now. Not until she reached Illian and recovered whatever it was Velma Sedai had discovered there. Or he could be a Ta’veren. Even thinking the word made her vaguely uncomfortable. Was it possible that Ali was one of those rare individuals that warped the weave of the pattern? Would she even know if he were?

Thrusting aside such uncomfortable speculations she went about her business. Within an hour she had purchased a pair of horses, with saddles and saddlebags. A peddler who had been traveling through had suffered a fit of apoplexy the previous day. With no family to collect the horses it had been put up for sale by the village Mayor. Mave secured the two horses as well as some assorted pots, pans, blankets and other essentials by the simple accident of being on the spot with coined money, which could, in theory be given to any heir that showed up. They mayor seemed delighted that a solution to the problem had occurred and thanked her profusely. When he asked her where she was headed she responded that the was considering returning to Camelyn and asked about the route to Baerlon and Whitebridge. It wasn’t much of a false trail but she figured it was better than nothing.

Ali’s advice for where to shop proved to be excellent and by the time the sun was beginning to sink she rode out of the village leading a spare horse and a mule laden with food and supplies. Even with the rarity of coin the purchases all but exhausted the supply of copper she had to hand but she was comfortable that she could pass some of her Tar Valon marks if they could reach Jehannah, though that city lay many days travel south through the gap in Garren’s Wall. Mave was riding north along the road, to meet Ali and then circle the village through the woods before beginning the trek south when a voice from the woods startled her.

“Mistress Mave what an unexpected pleasure!”

Mave wheeled to find the Gleeman she had met in the village step out from behind a tree, his colorful cloak whirling in an exaggerated bow. She ground her teeth in irritation.

“Master Simon,” she said with outwards pleasantness. His horse was tethered back behind a stand of trees and he had a small campfire half built.

“A strange place to make camp,” she observed, “Tarren’s ferry is not an hours ride south, and they will have paying customers in the inn.”

The Voyager

@converge how would you prefer boarding to work? Direct docking or via smaller shuttle craft?

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

For once Rene’s sleep was untroubled by dreams. He slept in the unrelieved darkness of complete exhaustion oblivious to the universe. Genetic enhancements and brutal physical and mental conditioning could only take one so far and the exertions of the past days had pushed Rene closer to the limit than he would have admitted. Even so, he had been on Panopontus long enough that his body dutifully woke him an hour or so before dawn for stand-to. Rising, he stretched his muscles working the tight cords out of his back. Solae lay in the bed in a deep sleep, somehow as beautiful in her repose as in every other aspect of her life. For a few moments he simply watched her, drinking in the sight before finally turning and heading out of the bedroom and into the main house.

To Rene’s surprise Tychon was in the kitchen, stirring a packet of instant caffine into a mug of hot water. The other man looked up at Rene in some surprise. The Panoponti was wearing another set of heavy duty coveralls, though they were knotted around his waist revealing a white cotton undershirt.

“You’re up early,” Tychon observed, pouring a second cup of caffine without asking Rene if he wanted one.

“Habit is a powerful thing,” Rene said, accepting the lukewarm cup of liquid thankfully and taking a sip. To his surprise it appeared to be based on a protein broth rather than on water. The subversion of expectations was a little unpleasant but he supposed it made sense to combine breakfast with the stimulant drink.

“That it is,” Tychon agreed casting a companionable glance at the soldier.

“I’m up this time every morning, to check the weather normally, can't harvest coral in a storm or if it is too rough.” A light but persistent rain was falling outside, pattering off the corrugated iron roofing. Out in the yard Rene could see that the sealed path was flowing with a shallow stream of water, though judging by his hosts lack of alarm, this was nothing unusual. Large green plants with heart shaped leaves, low enough to the ground and with sufficient protection to have survived the hurricane, writhed under the rain as they shed the water.

“I’m guessing that you aren’t up to check the weather,” Tychon went on, sipping at his breakfast and arching an eyebrow.

“Not exactly,” Rene agreed but didn’t amplify the statement. Telling Tychon that he was checking the perimeter would seem paranoid at best and confirm any suspicions that they had something to hide. That probably wasn’t much of a stretch considering how they had arrived and the fact that a pair of obvious nobles were here at all.

“You aren’t going out today I take it?” Rene asked. The air was redolent with the scent of the ocean and the earthy smell of rain falling on loose soil. The alien plant life tinged the whole mixture with something vaguely resinous, different from the plant life of other world Rene had visited. It was cooler than new Concordia had been, though Rene doubted it ever got as cold as the slightly alpine region of Cappela where his family kept its estate.

“No most of the fleet is beached, driven ashore by the storm,” Tychon said. There was a tightness to his face and Rene realised the hardship that represented for people living hand to mouth. It might be months before San Roayo was able to resume its normal business. Rene wondered if his father's agents ever took that into account when they made their demands for rents and dues. He doubted it and the revelation made him feel embarrassed, an expression he covered by taking a draught of the caffeinated soup.

“You are getting ready to go out though,” Rene observed gesturing to Tychon in his obvious work attire. A pair of muddy boots stood by the door along with a webbing belt of tools. Rene didn’t recall Tychon wearing it last night but then there had been rather alot going on. The other man nodded and set his now empty cup down.

“Aye, there are still collapsed houses we are searching, though honestly….” Tychon didn’t finish the sentence, but Rene understood that by this time, days after the storm had hit, it was obvious that few survivors were expected.

“Don’t worry ill be back to take you to the fluorine warehouse in a few hours,” Tychon assured him. Rene shook his head in dismissal.

“Do you need a hand?” he asked before he had time to think it through. His head turned unconsciously towards the bedroom where Solae slumbered. Tychon smiled as though he could read Rene like a book.

“Don’t worry she will be safe here,” Tychon assured him, then he gestured towards an open closet where two outfits more or less identical to the one he wore, hung on wooden hangers. Rene hesitated a moment in indecision. He didn’t want to leave Solae alone but if she were awake he knew what she would tell him to do. After a moment he crossed and grabbed one of the sets of coveralls and changed into them drawing the zipper up over his own tan cotton shirt. Tychon wasn’t quite the same size as Rene but the garments were designed with versatility in mind. Stepping back into the guest room he transferred his pistol from his combat pants to one of the pockets on the borrowed garment and then scribbled a quick note to Solae, explaining that he was going with Tychon and would be back in a few hours. He left one of the small communicators atop the note, preset to the frequency they were using. Crossing to the sleeping marquessa he kissed her lightly on the forehead and then slipped out to join in the rescue effort.

The scale of the destruction was greater than Rene had realised. The darkness and rain of the night before had done alot to conceal the reality of the storm ravaged settlement. In the cold light of day Rene could see that few structures had escaped the destruction completely. Many roofs had been torn off by the howling winds and most houses had smashed windows or cracked masonry where they had been struck by flying debris. The streets were littered with a mixed detritus of building material and shattered trees. Here and there a wheeled vehicle was parked, mostly small trucks or other transports but few people on San Roayo seemed to own personal vehicles.

Closer to the strand the damage was worse. The buildings here were almost universally in ruins, smashed piles of synthetic sheeting and structural beams. The roads themselves, composed of crushed coral, sand and plasticized stabilizing agent were torn into chunks where water had been forced beneath them by the wind. Here and there a water main leaked with a slow gurgle, the pumps that would have made them geysers having been shut off or lost power. Tychon had spoken of the coral gathering fleets being ‘driven ashore’ earlier. Rene had assumed that he meant beached but barges more or less like the one in which they had crossed the straight lay scattered about in yards and on the street, carried up over the beach by the storm surge. Seaweed, sand, fishing nets and other refuse from the ocean marked where the waters had reached and anything much beyond that line was a hopeless ruin.

Gangs of men and women hand obviously been at work throughout the night. They formed lines beginning at the worst struck houses, carrying away rubble and debris and tossing it into large piles. Chemical lights on long poles had been thrust into the ground to provide illumination through the night and from the haggard and exhausted looks many had been at it for long hours. Here and there sat official looking vehicles, with ‘Gendarmerie’ stenciled on the sides. They were air cushioned jeeps rather than wheeled transports and Rene assumed they were what San Roayo had for police. The vehicles were universally unoccupied with the officers evidently having joined the rescue parties.

Tychon led him to where a group of men were working to clear debris from a smaller house. Several cutting bars shrieked as their diamond teeth sliced through structural beams to allow them to be carried away. The burning plastic of the cuts gave the whole thing an acrid chemical reek. Rene had been concerned with how Tychon would introduce him but he merely grunted that Rene was a friend of his from off the island and no one paid it any more attention.

“Do you think there are people still inside?” he asked Tychon as he helped shift a large slab of synthetic stone. The other man looked sombre.

“Doubtful, Madrig, that's the blond fellow over there, his wife was in the house when the storm hit, came back for some medication for her mother,” Tychon explained. Rene looked up and down the street at the devastation. Some houses were being left as they were, others were being worked on.

“We all worked crews together, those of us who have everyone accounted for…” Tychon made a sign with his hand that Rene presumed was a thanks to the universe, “we are working for those who are missing.” Rene nodded his understanding. There was nothing like an organized governmental response as yet, just neighbours helping neighbours. Even if it wasn’t actively involved in the rebellion, the government on Panopontus must have dozens of islands like San Royao to consider.

“Have you scanned for life?” Rene asked as he took a structural timber from another man. Tychon frowned as though Rene were speaking an alien language.

“How do you mean?” he asked in evident confusion. Rene reached into his satchel and drew forth a pair of the multi-function goggles he had taken from the Bonaventure and clipped them over his eyes. Judging from Tychon’s shocked look this was high technology on San Roayo. The googles were able to amplify vision in a number of spectrum but Rene clicked the dial to infrared. The world became a mass of shifting blues and greens. The rain drops slanted across the view as cool cyan streaks where as the cutting bar blades glowed white. Rene hadn’t expected to find anything, but too his shock he saw the faint outline of a warm body shaped object in one of the corners of the house, slightly below the ground level in what must have once been a basement or a crawl space.

“There!” he pointed and pulling the googles free moved over to the excavated corner. Tychon followed him wordlessly and took the goggles from his hand as Rene took the cutting bar from one of the exhausted workers. The man looked angry but was too tired to offer much in the way of protest.

“Brace these beams,” Rene ordered and made a series of triangular cuts, lifting away flooring and collapsed wall. The man Tychon had identified as Madrig rushed over, his face a mask of anger and grief, but Thycon merely held out a hand to prevent him from interfering. In a few minutes Rene had cut away enough of the flooring to reveal a middle aged woman. She was unconscious and blood was congealed on her face where she had been struck by something but her chest still rose and fell in shallow breaths.

“She is alive!” Madrig shouted and jumped into the space with another man to lift the woman free, passing her muddy form up to the men who gathered around the hole. She would need medical attention but Rene thought she would live. Tychon pressed the goggles to his face and swore.

“By the seas! These things can actually see through the rubble?!” he demanded. Madrig enfolded Rene in a hug before he could respond, tears of relief ran down his face as he thanked him effusively. Rene bore it awkwardly, his aristocratic upbringing didn’t give him much comfort with such physicality.

“It won't help if someone is already dead or if they are buried too deep….” but Tychon wasn’t listening instead he thrust the goggles back to Rene.

“Come with me, we will scan the other houses,” he declared and set off down the street towards the next gang.

“Where did you get such a device?” One of the other men asked in wonder. Rene realised too late that he might have made a mistake in revealing what to him was fairly simple technology but was obviously far ahead of what the locals had to hand. He cursed himself for having exposed Solae to additional risk, but what could he do?

“I was a crewman on a starship,” Rene said, thinking quickly, “just sort of ended up in my kit I guess.”

The Voyager

No problems 😊

The Voyager

“XO we are receiving a distress call,” the communications officer, a swarthy Gaean named Vanderbeak, reported, straightening in his chair at the sudden excitement. Slade blinked his eyes as a text crawl of the message began to scroll across his enhanced field of vision. The Cartagena shifted slightly as Slade became aware of the situation, his neural impulses tied into the ships sensors and control surfaces vial neural linkages implanted in his brachial and coracoid plexi. Lidar and microwave sensors swung onto the target in moments, the computer figuring a reciprocal to the transmission in less time than it too Vanderbreak to report it.

It had been eight months since Beckett Slade had been banished to obscurity aboard the T.R.O.Y frigate TAS Cartagena. It was not a pleasant assignment, and the fact that he had to look forward to it for the rest of his career did little to improve his enthusiasm. While he had been exonerated by the inquest into his actions on Benson, if he ever left military service he would be liable to civil prosecution on individual worlds which would effectively be a death sentence. At first he had tried to look on the posting as a chance to bring something of the Fleet’s discipline to the T.R.O.Y vessel but hs presence here was unwanted and the captain resented being saddled with him, a fact he made abundantly clear to the crew.

The sensor screen lit up with the lidar returns and the computer through up a simulation of the Voyager a compact frigate with the curving nacelle mountings common in this region of space. While such traders commonly went armed they were rarely a match for the more war like frigates that T.R.O.Y used. They must have been hit right after they came out of jumpspace, a common enough occurrence as jump points were stable and predictable and thus obvious targets for pirates.

“Should we alter course XO?” Vanderbeak asked. The ship ran on a Terran clock and this was deep into the night cycle. The only other officer on the bridge was Nakamura who was a gunner’s mate and was seated at the weapons console. Nakamura had his visor down, but Slade would have been surprised if he were viewing anything more useful than pornography on the system.

“Why aren’t they broadcasting on one of the system wide bands?” Slade asked Vanderbeak, the antennae that was transmitting to them was being manually aimed. That was an odd choice for people in distress who needed aid. Vanderbeak shrugged his shoulders.

“Pirates might have smashed up the commo, stop em’ calling for help. It's pretty standard, they probably weren’t smart enough to bust the manual systems,” the veteran said. Vanderbeak, like Slade, was on the captain’s shit list and had been banished to the night shift. He was a tall man in late middle age with blue eyes and thinning blonde hair. Slade liked him better than most of the other crew members and had trusted his experience. The registry files listed the Voyager as Frigate 02121 but held little beyond a commissioning date and an original owner. Slade had run enough checks to know that the information would be hopelessly out of date. In theory captains were required to update the registry information every time the made planet fall on a civilized world, but in practice few people really bothered.

“Mr Slade!” a voice snarled from the access hatch. Vanderbeak flinched but Slade merely turned to see the Captain, Markus Ridge, standing in the door his face twisted with anger. Ridge was a portly man in his mid forties, he might have been handsome once but age and dissipation had taken their toll. Ridge resented being saddled with Slade who he viewed as a direct insult to his own authority. It was bad luck that Ridge was up at this time, in the normal course of things the captain would be informed before altering course, though in practice Slade probably wouldn’t have bothered.

“Alter course at once,” Ridge snapped stamping across the deck to take his place at the command console.

“Sir,” Slade said in a neutral voice, “we haven’t had a chance to scan for…”

“The Stars burn you Slade, you will alter course or I will toss you in the brig. Do all you navy types fuck around coveringing your asses while people are running out of oxygen, or are you just a particular coward?” the captain snarled maliciously. Obviously he wasn’t best pleased to be out of bed at this late hour and the opportunity to snap at Slade was a balm. Slade didn’t rise to the bait even though Nakamura sniggered.

“Altering course now,” Slade declared and the impulses from his nervous system translated into a slow rotation as the maneuvering jets began to fire with an impact like waves hitting the side of a rowboat. The six thrusters at the rear of the vessel modulated their output such that the sliding greasy feeling of the gravity change stabilized almost before it could be felt. Such delicate manoeuvring was a naval standard but were far beyond most pilots. Characteristically Ridge ignored the good performance of his subordinate.

“Time to intercept?” Ridge asked wearily.

“21 minutes captain, unless you want us to burn harder,” Slade said in his neutral professional voice. It seemed to irritate Ridge more than screaming or cursing would have done and the Captain shot him a scowl. Increasing the burn beyond the 1.5Gs they were currently pulling would require that general quarters be sounded and the crew strap in.

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Ridge said with another derisive sneer. A moment ago he had been scolding Slade for wanting to take his time and scan the ship, now he was rejecting a course which would get them there faster because it involved a little personal discomfort. If Ridge noticed the contradiction he didn’t comment.

“This is Captain Ridge of the TAS Cartagena,” Ridge declared over the commuications link.

“We are maneuvering to provide you assistance, stand by to receive boarders, ETA two one minutes. The pompous ass sound magnanimous, the very picture of a T.R.O.Y officer eager and willing to do his duty. Kissing ass took you places it turned out.

“Get a boarding party together once you unplug from that damned chair.” It was a pointless and petty gesture, Slade’s implants made him the best pilot for the Cartagena, neural interface being far superior to manual flight control but plugging in and out was unpleasant. It was true that he was the best qualified to lead a boarding party, but then he was best qualified to do most things on the slipshod vessel.

“Yes sir,” he said, doing his best to keep the irritation out of his voice. Well a few minutes off this tub was something to look forward to at least.

WoT: The Dark One's Own Luck.

Mave watched Ali for long seconds, her gaze unreadable. She liked Ali and had to admit that he was a handsome man, still the fact that agents of the Shadow were seeking him for unknown reasons should have been reason enough to hold her tongue but almost in spite of herself she found herself speaking.

“I am on my way to Illian,” she said, feeling an odd sense of relief steal over her. Since Velma’s murder she hadn’t spoken to a soul about what she was going on.

“A Sister of mine,” she explained, again speaking the technical truth, “was murdered because of something she uncovered in the Tower archive. Murdered by darkfriends.” Even to Ali, she didn’t go so far as to say the Black Ajah, it was too monstrous a thing to give life to by speaking of it.

“I don’t even know what it is, but she left me a rough map, pieced together from clues she had found. Other people might be looking for it but so far as I know my sister only made one copy of the map, I hope that will be enough.”

She blew out a breath, surprised and a little chagrined at how much she had just shared. Realising her admission opened up another question she addressed it quickly.

“I come from Arad Doman originally but I didn’t walk over the Mountain’s of Mist as I implied. Darkfriends had me cornered in Caemlyn and so I used an ancient waygate to escape. I didn’t even know I was in the Two Rivers until I spoke to you.”

“As for fancying me,” she smiled wrly, “don’t they teach you proverbs about getting messed up in the affairs of Aes Sedai?”

WoT: The Dark One's Own Luck.

Mave munched her cheese thoughfully. Very glad to have a local guide who could point her to a barn that was safe to sleep in. In the morning they would see about horses. Steal horses most likely although she was reluctant to do so. The peddlers who had come for Beltane in this village probably had horses and they had fleeced the villagers badly enough that Mave didn't feel too bad about taking their mounts with a silver mark or two as compensation after the fact.

"You saved me if you remember," she told Ali with a smile, though in truth she could have killed the three men easily enough, but she wasn't comfortable enough with killing nor brazen enough when it came to the oaths to risk it if she didn't need too. She adjusted herself against a hay bale considering the man she had become entangled with. What wild rumors were flying around his village she didn't want to know. Absconded with some foregin trollop most likely. Evelyn would be furiors and she would be surprised if Valerie didn't raise a party to pursue them, although with luck the obvious road was north. According to the map she had purchased from the peddlers there was nothing south except a village named Emond's Field and that she planned to skirt to keep closer to the river.

"Ali, I know this is a strange question, but do you have any idea why the fade might have been interested in you? At first I thought it was following me, agents of the shadow did try to stop me in Caemlyn, but the more I think about it, the more I think it must have been after you. A single fade wouldn't have been a threat to me alone."

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Tychon led them into the small guest bedroom, packing his wife’s craft supplies away with a quick care that Rene found touching. Damaris practically clung to his leg and he didn’t object. Rene couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for the man. Judging by the dirt on his clothing he had been out there digging survivors out of the rubble, all the while feeling that his own child was dead. It must have seemed a miracle to have the girl back whole and healthy, Rene supposed that in a way it was. The whole Eastern Cross might be descending into civil war, but at least here, at this village, they had done something good. Of course that assumed that their presence didn’t bring ruin on their kindly benefactors.

“I’m sorry we weren’t expecting guests,” Tychon said, not for the first time, as he hastily cleared space on the bed for them. He gave Rene a measuring look when he thought the marine wasn’t watching. Tychon was no soldier, but he had the look of a man who had led a hard life, and recognised a dangerous man when he saw one. Rene didn’t think of himself as imposing but his genetic modification, aristocratic features, and the lean lithe grace that combat training imparted gave him a presence that marked him as someone to be wary of.

“So what kind of fuel do you need Sir Rene,” Tycon asked a trifle awkwardly as he finished stacking boxes into a corner. The bed wasn’t huge but still larger than the captains bunk that Rene and Solae shared on the Bonaventure. A handmade quilt covered it, green and blue with a pattern vaguely reminiscent of coral stitched into it with a slightly reflective thread. Carefully, Rene set his duffle bag in a corner, controlling his reluctance to set aside a weapon with some difficulty. You couldn’t be ‘on’ all the time, and trying to be was dangerous as well as pointless.

“Just Rene is fine,” the soldier objected, his current status in the Stellar Empire certainly didn’t grant him the right to the title, and even if it did, this wasn't a setting in which he would have insisted on formality.

“ And anything with an isotopic purity greater than .95 SD’s will be fine,” Rene went on. Starships reactors worked by combining any one of a half dozen different elements in a fusion reaction that was contained in a magnetic suspension rig. The actual material used for fuel didn’t matter so long as it was light and it was pure. Even advanced reactors couldn’t handle heterogeneous fuel sources because the uneven fluxes quickly magnified until the containment failed. Larger vessels had conditioning equipment which could homogenize the fuel but the space and cost of such systems made them impractical on small tramps like the Bonaventure. Tychon sucked in his lip.

“We keep liquid fluorine to stabilize the coral, it's probably pure enough for you, I know a guy who works there,” the man said with a nod of approval. The room was small and with three adults and a child present the air was close. Rene didn’t imagine that showers would be a priority any time soon, not without electricity to run the pumps.

“Will he sell it to us, we need quite a bit,” Rene asked. He had been prepared to steal fuel if they needed to but would have been just as happy not to run any unnecessary risks. Tychon’s grin grew broader.

“He will when I remind him that I pulled his nephew out of a collapsed warehouse. Don’t you folks worry, we won’t forget what you have done for us.” He bade them goodnight and headed for his own bedroom, half carrying half dragging his exhausted but excited daughter with him. Rene sank wearily into of of the chairs which had been cleared of the clutter of a decade, feeling the weariness and stress of the voyage settle into his bones. Solae smiled at him and crossed the room, she unbuttoned his salt crusted shirt and drew a moist towel from a dispenser in the first aid kit and began to wipe away the salt and sweat, the nearest approximation to a bath that was available in the present condition. Rene’s muscles twitched and quivered with tension and exhaustion. It had been a very long time since he slept for more than a snatch. He opened his mouth to speak, he wanted to talk about the communications station and about plans for getting the fuel to the ship but Solae silenced him with a kiss and continued to clean him up.

“I love you…” he mumbled, his eyelids suddenly very heavy. Solae put a finger up to his lips to stop him from speaking but his head lolled to the side as he slid into exhausted dreamless sleep.

WoT: The Dark One's Own Luck.

The travelled through the night, twisting down game trails and old half forgotten paths. It was nearly pitch black and although Ali had a lantern in his pack he never even considered lighting it. Mave had little fear that the Fade would return, at least not swiftly the tortured scream the thing had given when she bathed it in light wasn’t something that it would soon forget, but it was best to put as much distance as they could between themselves and the farm.

By the time they reached the river at Tarren Ferry, the first glow of morning was beginning to lighten the sky to the east. The river ran sluggishly through the ferry crossing but there was no sign that any of the boatmen were yet at their posts, probably sleeping off the worst of the Beltane ale. Worse still as the climbed a small hillock they could see people waiting at the ferry, families returning south to their farms after the festival.

“We can’t cross there,” Ali said with a frown.

“People would recognise me.” Mave marveled that despite walking all night and carrying her half the way, he still seemed fresh and energetic. Nor, for that matter did he seem unduly distressed at having to leave his home. Mave wondered what the family would make of the handful of silver she had left under the pillow of her bed, each piece stamped with the shining flame of Tar Valon. It had been a risk, but she couldn’t simply snatch away the breadwinner of a family. Carefully husbanded the coins would keep the family well for several seasons. Of course it might lead them to believe that Aes Sedai had abducted Ali, but even if that were so she trusted that his father would be too sensible to blab it about.

“Is there another crossing?” she asked, peering into the lightening gloom. It was still very cold, cold enough to mist her breath before her lips as she spoke. Even with the jacket she would have been cold, though she had mastered the trick of ignoring mere physical discomforts.

“Not for miles, as far as I know,” Ali admitted, “we tried to find the headwaters when I was a child, walked all day without it getting much narrower.”

Mave nodded in acknowledgement.

“Lets go down to the water, around the bend,” she said pointing to where the river turned out of sight of the ferry station. THey made there way down to the waters edge, picking there way through the thick forest. Ali had an instinct for it and Mave followed as closely as she could until they stood on the muddy bank. The water looked to be deep and even at the narrowest point they could see it was nearly a hundred feet across.

“We could swim it, or make a raft, but the current will probably sweep us around the bend before we can make it,” Ali observed.

“I have a better idea,” Mave said with a cryptic smile and then, raising her hand, began to channel. Flows of air and water, invisible to Ali, spread out from her hands like gossamer, settling down over the river. Ice began to form rapidly, growing like a crystal from where they stood and spreading over the water. The river instantly began to overflow the ice damn, like a cataract, but it would still be passable if they were careful. Ali looked impressed.

“Well I wouldn’t want to try it at mid summer,” Mave admitted modestly.

WoT: The Dark One's Own Luck.

“You should write something to let your parents know what has happened,” she said, astonished at how quickly he prepared to depart. Ali nodded and fetched a quill pen and ink. Mave had no idea if he was unique in being able to write or it was a common skill. She suspected anywhere books were this highly prized people at least learned the basics.

“Don’t be… you know… too specific,” she counseled.

“Dear Mama,” he narrated, holding the paper infornt of him, “I have run off with an Aes Sedai to fight a fade.” Mave laughed in spite of herself when she realized it was a joke. Ali grinned, though there was a grim quality to it.

“Now do you have a plan to get rid of the F… fa… that thing?” he asked, pointing to the dark figure still raging at the unseen barrier before it. Mave nodded, having spent the past few minutes thinking on the problem.

“Close your eyes,” she instructed Ali. He gave her a suspicious look.

“Will the witchcraft not work if Im looking at it?” he asked. Mave shook her head.

“No it will just hurt your eyes,” she responded.

“Oh.” He closed his eyes. Mave opened herself up to the True Source letting the joy of Saidar flow into her like a damn opening up. They Fade, able to sense channeling, especially when close by, paused in its ranting and looked straight at her. Mave squeezed her own eyes shut and wove flows of fire and air and spirit. A beam of light so bright, that even through her tightly squeezed eyes, she could see the outline of the window and the creature beyond, erupted from her hands. Anyone watching it would have been instantly struck blind and to the fade, a creature of darkness it was far worse. It shriked as though its soul were being torn from its body then it turned its horse and leaped into the shadows beyond the wall. In a moment it was there and then it vanished, seeming to fold and slip into the darkness like a phantom. Mave released the source and lowered her shaking hands. She hadn’t been certain that it would work, though she had read of such things.

“It is done,” she said in as Aes Sedai a tone as she could muster while blinking in the dark. Her night vision was completely washed away by the weaving.