Ashak Nabi
Pronounced: ( Ash-ak Nab-ee )
Rank: Soldier
Profile:
Ashak is a Saldaean boy of mediocre height, dark hair the distinctive almond shaped eyes synonymous with his nationality. The only thing that would stand him out amongst the Saldaean’s is his slightly broad yet athletic upper torso, clearly formed from juvenile practice with the Arafellin Twin Swords.
He was raised in Arafel by his parents who whilst poor when Ashak was born, rose to good fortune when an Uncle died with no family and his parents inherited his inn in the busy town of Chalu. This is clear by his appearance showing no real signs of neglect.
Biography:
Ashak frowned staring at the wall opposite; the construction of this place did not seem logical to him. The stonework had seemed intricate, almost matching the work he’d seen in Tar Valon, but had an air of newness about it like the very curves where formed from an art long since forgotten. They seemed to swirl in and out of spirals that he couldn’t ever seem to find the centre of and into patterns that he was sure held some deeper meaning. At one point he was almost certain that the pattern was actually moving down the wall as if like a slow trickling stream.
He blinked every time his eyes couldn’t focus on what was in front of him and eventually turned his mind back to home and the start of the journey that had brought him to this strange place.
He had only just turned sixteen when a rough unshaven man had stopped at The Chime of Swords, his parents inn on the southern boarder of Arafel, He’d slumped in from a sudden down pour of rain cursing and muttering oaths under his breath. “Does it always flamin’ rain like this up here?” he’d asked demandingly as Ashak’s father had approached him.
No one had answered him though and the man who had defied the normal courtesies of providing a name, just grunted. The man had then leaned over to whisper in Ashak’s father’s ear and within moments one of his brothers was darting out of inn to fetch a horse for stabling and another was scurrying for bath water.
Ashak also had found himself dropping his normal chores immediately to escort the stranger the front bedroom, carrying his saddlebags, and had nearly blinked as soon as his father had said the instructions. The front room was normally kept clean and tidy, reserved for the frequent passing trade of some high lord or lady, and the occasional merchant wealthy enough to be able to afford the rate. He remembered wondering, how could this dirty man afford such an extravagance; his clothes all but looked as if they would fall from him.
Ashak though was wise enough to fear his fathers strap and had choosen not to question the decision and lead the man up the two flights of stairs to the large front bedroom. On reaching the room he had entered and held the door open for him and as he had done so he near dropped the saddlebags with surprise. In the short time he had been carrying the bags they had grown warm; hot even.
The man hurriedly caught the bags almost before they hit the ground, “That should not have done that” he had muttered, under his breathe not thinking that Ashak would hear. “Unless…” he trailed off.
He had looked thoughtful for a moment before saying, “Come over here lad.” He had gestured pointing to one of the writing chairs up against the wall. “Sit now and I’ll see what I can find for you.” He turned his back to Ashak and had appeared to rummage for a while in his saddlebag.
Ashak had noticed he’d put his gloves back on, before turning holding a clear disk that Ashak thought should have been to big to fit in the slender saddle bags. The man had spoken then “I suppose I do not have the talent for travelling but I can make things. Special things like this. Hold it for me.” He hadn’t asked; simply given the instruction was obeyed without question
Ashak had taken the disk and to his amazement the disk had changed colour on his taking it, to a pale shade of blue and then it had turned to what could only be described as lemon before changing to a washed out earth brown before shimmering as a pale silver colour. Then the cycle had repeated.
“Interesting,” was all he muttered before saying “forget my foolish fancies.”
Before Ashak had realised it he had already been half way back down to the common room, ready to continue his chores and remembered little more than someone was staying at the inn.
…………
“Interesting,” the scruffy man sighed after Ashak had gone. “The wheel does not choose for this lad yet the choice is not yet made. He may not choose. Well perhaps he can yet be guided down the path,” the disk could be wrong he thought, “and if not guided…” his voice trailed off not wanting to finish what he had been saying. “First of all I must get him to leave here, I suppose, there is little point using a lump of iron when a sword can be wrought.”
His gloves removed he had all the while pawed at the ter’angreal disc and every time his skin brushed it, it shone brilliantly with the colour of his Ajah…
…………
The following morning Ashak had come down to the common room to finish the cleaning from the night before and wash down the tables ready for breakfast. He had stopped still though when he had found his father ashen faced sat on a rough stool opposite the fire, and Ashak’s mother standing over him in tears.
They had seemed to be peering over something and then eventually Ashak’s father stood and flung it into the fire. “Ashak!” he had shouted as if to rouse the boy from bed before turning to already find him standing at the bottom of the stairs.
“Well lad,” his father had said, “duty is heavy and you need to be getting on about yours.” Ashak had thought that perhaps he had forgotten to do a chore or something but when his father with no more than a curt “follow me”, lead him out to the stables.
It seemed an eternity saddling the patched white and brown horse that had belonged to his father but there was an unsteady eagerness about his father that seemed to upset Ashak. Eventually he had been pushed up into the saddle and told to ride south to Tar Valon, and from there to take the Caemlyn Road . After Caemlyn his father had said, he should head west through Whitebridge and on to Baerlon before seeking a Carpenter called Jonas.
His mother had fled then and his father had simply turned given him an indigo seal letter and told him to leave before following her, calling for him not to tally on his journey.
Ashak had been sad for days on his ride south. Departing his family in such a strange way without more time for proper goodbyes and remembered that he had cried almost all of that day on his journey south. And this was only quelled again by the sight of Tar Valon in the distance.
…………
So it was that he followed his father’s instructions finding a patch skinned carpenter called Jonas in the northern part of Baerlon and present him with a letter that had been carefully packed in the saddlebags. Jonas no more than took one look at a the letter and almost shied away from touching it.
Jonas had carted him off to a man call Thomar near the south gate, Thomar had taken him west to a rough looking inn called “The Queens Fancy” and had sat him at a table.
Ashak hadn’t even had time to order a drink when burly merchant called Ballak sat opposite him. Ashak was about to say something when Ballak had said, “No lad, I know why you do be here. You be come to go to Elman’s Creek don’t you yes? By the look of you that is.” Ballak had eyed him up and down, “Well yes it does just be that I have room in me caravan for one such as you. Come along.” With which Ballak had risen and left and Ashak had found himself following with no more than a word.
It had taken the caravan days to get into the mountain and then more days to reach Elman’s Creek. Ballak looked at him as they pulled into the village and frowned. “No you be best getting off lad, and taking that their parchment off to the Master of Soldiers you hear.” He had said, “over yonder ways.” Pointing up hill towards an ominous tower that seemed in it’s very essence shimmer and fade.
When Ashak had reach the grey stone tower he had asked for directions from a pretty lass, all dressed in white. She’d almost chocked at the name but had given him a curt look all the same. Sighing she had then grabbed him by his wrist and all but dragging him along behind. Dumping him in the corridor in which he now sat.
…………
Little was Ashak to know of what was to come. He could channel of course, the spark had been born in him. There was no escaping channelling so before Ashak was to leave the Master of Soldiers offices he was to find himself enrolled as a Soldier in the Grey Tower .
Works by Ashak Nabi
~
