Words Cannot Espresso

[Johar Salenas]

They’d asked for a soldier to take notes, but Johar hadn’t paid much attention to which soldier. He hadn’t spent much time teaching individual soldiers since his return from Tai’Seanchan and promotion to his new position. No, most of his time had been spent readjusting to life in the Black Tower, sorting things out, and figuring out what to do next.

He did know the soldier here to take notes was also Tai’Seanchan, though. Johar wasn’t entirely out of touch. He trusted fellow men of the Spirit Legion to make note of whoever seemed most interested in joining them, but he did like to keep vague tabs on the channelers in the Tower.

Johar sat back in his chair, his boots resting on the edge of the table, studying the paper Ilya had handed him.

“I can see where we could come up with some Healing ter’angreal,” Johar said, “But we’d really need men from the Water Legion to work with us on it. I mean, I could tinker with a few things, but I don’t know what we’re even looking for. Fevers, infections, I don’t know, maybe a rod you could pass over—augh! Blegh! What is this?!”

He spat, staring suspiciously into his cup. The liquid was dark, and tasted of kaf, but he’d never had kaf so horrifically gritty. Urgh! Someone had just tipped a heap of ground kaf beans into this as though brewing a cup of tea, hadn’t they?

“Did you just dump the grounds in this? Who made this?” Johar demanded, staring between Ilya and the soldier (Sorin? Sarin?) waiting to take notes. Sorin was Tai’Seanchan, wasn’t he? He’d know better than this!


Ilya Masalkar Sorin Shirega

[Ilya Masalkar]

Ilya did not think he was the first to have the idea for developing ter’angreal for Healing. Little had been done as yet, however, and anything that could benefit the work his men did was invaluable. He listened intently as Johan looked over the proposal he’d brought him, thinking. His elbows rested on the table, hands clasped under his chin. That was the crux of the problem: finding men accomplished in Healing and in crafting ter’angreal was impossible. Two men together might work, but they would both need to be strong in Spirit and Water. Besides himself and Johar, he had a few ideas for—

He was pulled from his thoughts by Johar’s indignant cry. Ilya frowned. He’d only bothered making the kaf knowing that Jo preferred it, though why anyone would enjoy such a foul, bitter-tasting thing was beyond him. His own mug of kaf sat largely untouched next to him.

“It’s kaf, obviously,” Ilya said indignantly. “And I channeled to make it for you, so you’re welcome.” Ilya was not a proud man, but if the flaming Captain-General of the Water Legion heated your water for you, you didn’t bloody complain about it! He should’ve just gotten Sorin to do it. The skittish lad been the first soldier available to take notes for them. Ilya cast him a kindly look.

He leaned back in his chair and took a sip from his mug without thinking. Ilya grimaced.

“I followed your instructions exactly. It tastes like normal kaf to me.” So bitter it was impossible to drink, that meant, unless you were willing to dump a whole jar of honey into it. “As I’ve always said, it’s no match for a well-brewed Tremalking black.”

Which they could have had! Ilya had half a mind to send another soldier to bring a pot of tea up.

“Here, Sorin, you try some and tell me if it doesn’t taste like kaf,” he said instead as he poured a third mug for the soldier, sliding it across the table to him. He felt vaguely bad about inflicting such a beverage on the poor boy, but this was a matter of honour.

Johar Salenas  Sorin Shirega

[Sorin Shirega]

Sitting at the table with the two Asha'men, a mostly blank sheet of parchment in front of him, Sorin was pretty sure he was being punished for something. He didn't know what that something could possibly be, but why else would he have been assigned to take notes for not one, but two, of the Captain-Generals? The Soldier kept his head down, eyes averted from them both, studying the few notes he'd managed to take, slowly, in his neatest writing. The words meant almost nothing to Sorin, who could hardly follow the conversation. That was part of the reason he'd written so little down, but the other part was that they'd quickly switched from talking about channeling to arguing about kaf.

He snatched the sheet off the table as one of the Asha'men pushed a cup towards him and told him to try it. Setting the page back on the table, far away from the liquid, Sorin eyed the cup nervously. Outside of Tai'Seanchan, few people had any idea how to make decent kaf, and after hearing the first Asha'man's complaints, Sorin doubted that whatever was in the cup would be any good. Neither man said anything to him, but the Soldier was sure he could feel them staring at him, waiting for him to do as he'd been told. He reached for the cup, took a drink, and promptly spit his mouthful back out, mostly in the cup, but a few drops had landed on the table as well. Whatever he'd just tried to drink had tasted vaguely like kaf, but there had been specks of something in it too, something Sorin couldn't identify but that definitely didn't belong in a cup of kaf. He wrinkled his nose, wishing he could get the taste of it out of his mouth.

He was hardly an expert at making kaf, but Sorin had still done it himself enough to know that the second Asha'man, who claimed to have made it, had gone very wrong somewhere in the process. He wasn't about to say so, as he had no desire to die today.The Soldier blinked, wondering what they wanted him to say. He couldn't criticize an Asha'man, but lying that the supposed kaf was just fine seemed an equally poor idea. No matter what he did, Sorin guessed that one of the two was about to end up very angry with him. He shrank back in his chair, trying to get as far from both of them as he possibly could, and slowly shook his head, still looking down. This is most definitely some sort of punishment, Sorin thought miserably. He only wished he at least knew what he'd done to deserve it.

[Johar Salenas]

Johar scowled. It most definitely did not taste like proper kaf! Proper kaf was smooth, the taste bitter but refined. It was made with some care, too. You weren’t generally choking on gritty kaf grounds as you drank it.

The Soldier’s obvious shyness was a touch perplexing, a touch awkward, but Johar didn’t dwell on it. The lad would get over it soon enough, ha. Or else he wouldn’t, and what did it matter? Johar had seen enough Soldiers and Dedicated float in and out of the Tower in his time that they mostly seemed an anonymous tide.

“Look, Sarin’s on my side,” Jo said, taking the way the Soldier had spat out the kaf for agreement (and getting the younger man’s name wrong). “Right, Sarin? He can’t even choke it down. You’ve killed him. You’re not supposed to dump the grounds in the cup, Ilya. You boil it all together and then strain it out before you put it in the cup, alright? This is like mud! Take notes on this, Sarin, this is important.”

Not really pertinent to what they’d been talking about, maybe, but important nonetheless.

Ilya Masalkar Sorin Shirega

[Ilya Masalkar]

Unfortunately for the point he’d been trying to make, the boy spat out the kaf. He bloody spat it out! Ilya’s frown was directed towards Johar, though, and not the Soldier. Was his name Sarin? Had he gotten it wrong? That was possible.

“He’s still breathing, as far as I can tell,” Ilya said, crossing his arms across his chest. He had boiled it all together like Jo said! Maybe he hadn’t filtered it. So what? “And why would I filter it? I’ve never heard of anyone filtering tea. Don’t listen to him, Sarin, you’ll just be wasting ink.”

With grim determination, he took another sip of his own kaf. It was a bit gritty, he supposed. Not that he noticed much beyond the sheer bitterness. Trust the Seanchan to come up with some absurd drink that needed filtering.

Johar Salenas Sorin Shirega

[Sorin Shirega]

While the Asha'men argued, Sorin busied himself rearranging the items on the table. He moved the cup as far away as he could get it, then placed the sheet of parchment back in front of him so he could continue with the notes he was supposed to be taking. When the first Asha'man told him to keep writing, the Soldier reached for the pen. He couldn't see why the man would want notes about the argument he was having, but he always tried his best to follow orders and wasn't going to change that now. Pen in hand, he was just about to start writing when the second Asha'man issued directions that left the Soldier very, very confused.

Don’t listen to him, Sarin, you’ll just be wasting ink.”

At first, Sorin wasn't sure he understood the words, which directly contradicted the orders the other Asha'man had just given. Blinking, he slowly put the pen back in the inkwell, having no clue what he was supposed to do. Which of them do I obey? Does it matter? He wasn't sure it did, since it was impossible to both write and not write. The Tai'Seanchan man had never been the disobedient sort, but he couldn't see a way to avoid it. He dropped his head, eyes darting back and forth from one to the other, though by now Sorin was looking under the table, unable to see more than legs and feet.

I don't know what to do...Light, what will they do to me? He didn't think any of these Asha'man would take well to a Soldier who didn't follow orders, regardless of the reason. Trembling with fear, Sorin put his hands in his lap and squeezed them together, miserably waiting for a blow....or worse.

[Johar Salenas]

Though Johar was, of course, quite familiar with Tai’Seanchan customs and beliefs, it’d been a bloody long time since he’d been stuck in them himself. Even as a lad he’d considered himself Ebou Dari first and Tai’Seanchan second—and not a close second, at that—and discovering that he might be able to channel hadn’t changed that much.

Jo was proud. He’d always been proud. Discovering that he could channel had been a blow, yes, but sinking into Seanchan self-loathing and turning himself in? That was far beyond him. Unnatural. With four decades between himself and the immediacy of those confused feelings, Johar had forgotten how very conflicted a man like Sarin (Sorin) must feel.

Even if he’d been conscious of it, he would’ve thought Sarin needed to bloody well get over it already. The man was a member of the Black Tower now. There was freedom in that.

“No, you don’t need to filter tea, I suppose,” Jo said, waspishly. “No one here minds having a drink with a lump of wet swamp leaves in the bottom of their cup, do they. Kaf is a civilized drink. A filtered drink for civilized people. Sarin’s just too polite to say so. He’s sparing your feelings.”

Ilya Masalkar Sorin Shirega

[Ilya Masalkar]

Ilya resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It was getting rather difficult, though.

“The leaves add flavour,” Ilya insisted coolly. “And it’s sort of fun to see what shape they make when you’re done drinking. With kaf, you just throw away the grounds. It’s wasteful.”

A stupid defence, but it was true! There were some who claimed to be able to see your future by studying the shapes of the leaves, which was most likely nonsense. On the other hand, perhaps a wilder with the Talent…No, Ilya, stay focused.

It was then he noticed the young Soldier was practically shaking in his boots. He cast Jo a confused glance before directing his attention to the boy.

“Are you alright there, Sarin?” Ilya said gently, brows furrowed with concern. “I didn’t really poison you, did I?”

He sought Jo’s eyes again. Ilya was doubtful the boy could be suffering any ill effects from his brew, given he hadn’t actually downed a drop. He was fairly certain Johar would’ve warned him if improperly made kaf was dangerous. But with the previous M’Hael having been assassinated, and Sorin acting decidedly odd, Ilya wasn’t willing to take any chances.

“Will you accept Healing?” Ilya asked. He reached for saidin anyways, already preparing a Delving weave.

Johar Salenas Sorin Shirega

[Sorin Shirega]

Sorin closed his eyes and continued to wait, but nothing happened. No punishment, no scolding....he didn't understand. He opened his eyes again, but didn't look up as one of the Asha'men kept going on about the kaf. The Soldier lifted his head, studying the page of notes that was in front of him, but none of what he heard sounded like anything that the two of them would want written down. He stared down at the table, not sure what else to do with himself except to sit there and hope the two Asha'men would get back to whatever it was they wanted him to take notes on.

The Soldier sat there, hardly daring to move, until one of them spoke to him. Sorin turned his head towards the one who had addressed him. The question made him blink and feel even more confused. Why should he care? He knew he was nothing to these men; he didn't think they even knew his name, which was just fine with Sorin. The last thing in the world he wanted was to draw either man's attention.

He nodded slowly in response to the first question, then shook his head at the second, still not sure why the Asha'man was asking. Bad kaf was just bad kaf...it wouldn't make anyone ill, and definitely wasn't poisonous. He looked away from the Asha'man, thinking the man's questions ended. The worst seemed to be over until Sorin heard the same voice ask yet another question.

“Will you accept Healing?”

To Sorin, the words were accompanied by a sense of threatening power rolling through the room. By now, he knew what it was. One of the two men was now holding saidin. Being able to identify that did nothing to lessen the Tai'Seanchan man's fear. His head swung towards the Asha'man again, green eyes wide and frightened in a pale face. Even afraid, however, the Tai'Seanchan man was careful not to meet the other man's eyes. Why would he think I need Healing? Sorin glanced down at his coat sleeves, worried that the man had somehow noticed the gashes on his arms, but none of them were visible. He tugged at the fabric anyways, hardly daring to breathe. I can't have Healing! he objected to himself, thinking of the cuts and scratches his sleeves hid. If they're Healed...I don't know if I can force myself to start over.

Panicked, Sorin eyed the door, wishing he could flee. "Please, don't!" he whispered, barely able to get the words out. "I'm not ill!" He had no expectation that the Asha'man would listen, and he huddled against the back of his chair, head down and shivering even more than he had been earlier.

[Johar Salenas]

Though he disapproved of Ilya’s attempt at kaf on general principles, Johar didn’t actually think it’d poisoned their note-taker. What was the worst it could do, honestly? Get stuck in one’s throat, maybe. Stain the paper Sarin was currently not taking notes on, honestly. It was impossible to get good help.

There certainly did appear to be something wrong with the lad, though. Jo could understand the Soldier being a touch subdued around him and Ilya, if not exactly empathize with it—he himself had been in trouble with the Black Tower’s upper echelon more often than not in training, as he recalled—but the jittery panic struck him as bizarre.

There was no reason for it, was there? Jo frowned, glancing between Sarin and Ilya, wondering what Ilya thought. Could the Soldier be afraid of saidin being used on him?

Ridiculous. If he was, he’d best get over that reluctance quickly.

“Maybe he’s hiding a hangover,” Johar said, raising an eyebrow at Ilya. That would explain most of Sarin’s quirks, actually. Ha! It was just the sort of thing Jo would have done (had done, actually) during his own training.

Ilya Masalkar Sorin Shirega

[Ilya Masalkar]

Ilya was baffled, frankly. The lad really didn’t look well. Was he hiding something? Had he poisoned the mug, intending either Jo or Ilya to drink it, only to end up downing it himself? It would explain a number of things. He did roll his eyes at Johar, then. Hungover! It wasn’t impossible—just a different sort of poison—but really! Ilya couldn’t remember shaking in his boots because he’d shown up to a lesson hungover.

Ilya Delved Sorin in spite of his protests, but to his surprise (and relief), he saw no traces of poison. Blood and ashes, he was getting awfully paranoid. Still, there was something off—cuts and scratches. Many of them, and rather fresh.

He almost shivered before releasing the weave. Ilya had seen many injuries far worse than this in his lifetime, but it was not the wounds themselves that bothered him as much as the why of it. How had the Soldier gotten those? And why didn’t Sorin want them Healed? As he let go of the One Power, a deep frown was etched into his face. He would respect the boy’s wishes as it wasn’t immediately life-threatening, but he did not enjoy it.

“You may leave us,” Ilya said, pulling the pen and paper towards himself. He nodded to Johar. His face would appear oddly blank to most—but those who knew him, as Jo did—would know he only looked that way when he was worried and trying to hide it.

Johar Salenas Sorin Shirega