All Forgiven
written by Lucan din Nicander Riven Sail

He woke from the cold, finding himself naked and tied with his hands above his head in a dark room without windows. He sucked the stagnant, humid air into his lungs and coughed.

Where am I? Futile question without hope of answer. His pale grey eyes searched the darkness, a fear he chose not to admit spreading through his bruised body. His wrists were tied at a level which forced him to stand on his toes. They were cold iron chains which had chafed his wrists raw. He blinked away dark strands of hair from his grey eyes and reached for saidin. It was to no avail, he was Shielded; at the mercy of his captors – whoever they were.

He had a vague recollection of what happened before he found himself in this room. He had been walking back to his quarters when someone had called his name. He had turned around, and then everything fell into oblivion.

As if cued by his awakening, a heavy iron door opened before him – materialising itself from the blackness in a solid frame of light.

Two unknown men and one woman entered, their silhouettes as stark as the shadows in the room – their faces hidden by the light directly behind them. They wore common clothes, the woman in a dress as black as their forms, the men in tunics and breeches.

"The Great Lord will exact His justice for your betrayal," said the woman in an undefined accent.

Lucan wetted his lips and spoke in a hoarse whisper, yet defiant as the sea. "About time." The Black Ajah had pursued him and Drelle for greater extent of time, both of them forced to defend their lives on numerous occasions. The only advantage of having served the dark was that they had been proficient in hiding the bodies without notice. Thinking of Drelle made his resolve falter, so he concentrated upon the dire situation that faced him. "Your assassins did a poor job, so I gather you chose a direct confrontation. Well, you have me. Get on with it, for I find redemption in having my blood spilt. For what I've done in your service, I deserve your worst."

"Oh," said the woman, "then you will find our ...benediction most gratifying."

One of the men had a whip in his hand, and before Lucan could steel himself for the first lash, the flagellation commenced. The rest was agony without face or form – a black demon alive in the room. Then came the knives, followed by the pliers and saidin. Beyond time and regret, Lucan screamed.

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When the abuse and the questions stopped, Lucan did not notice. His darkly tanned body was criss-crossed by red, bleeding bites from the whip. Strips of skin hung in ribbons from his chest. His genital area was worse. His whole nerve-system screamed to the point that the brain was about to shut down. Blood was pooling underneath his toes, and he could not see because of the swellings in his battered face.

"We will return, but not with mercy. Never that. We can keep you alive for as long as we want, and we are tireless. Remember this, you traitorous, Light-blinded fool." He could not say if it was one of the men or the woman who had spoken, all he could tell was that the door finally shut, and they were gone.

Drelle, he thought feebly in a mind encompassed by agony, Please. Escape while you can... Flee before they get you too. His swollen lips made out the words, mouthing them silently in prayer, over and over again... Sanity was an elusive thing in his state, and he lost all sense of time once more.

With a jerk, he heard the iron door open again. No, please, not so soon. Was it a mind-game they played, trying to make him relax and think that he was safe for the moment, only to return immediately? Yes, to make his resolve falter. Panicked, he choked on an attempt of desperate laughter.

His mind raged, clutching for the One Power – futile grasping with a madman's grasp. This is it. I deserve it. This is it. Drelle, this is it, I will die now. No, I won't, I will live until madness frees me. They won't let me die, but I'm dead anyway. Run Drelle! His thought were a river he could not stem, like water coursing between his fingers. Nenjano, you blithering fool, forgive me, please forgive me. I will join you now. No they will still keep me alive, but my mind will die. Madness. So much blood. No more blood. Run, Drelle, Run! Kisane, failed you… Forgive me.

He tried to gather his wits about him, but when the steps of high-heel boots rang inside the walls, his mind gave away – unable to suffer more. But before his head fell forward, he thought he heard his name spoken.

...You are a fool to have stayed. Yet the more fool am I, who takes pity...

...But for you, I believe I do not hold as much pity as I hold you dear...

...The two of us, aye, that was a time. But we cannot relive those days...

...Hush, be silent. We are not in the open yet...

...The Shadow cannot exist without some Light...

...Be careful with him, imbecile, or I will make you regret it with your life...

...Remember for what it was, not what was done...

...I will give you what you have wanted all along...

...Farewell Lucan, and remember...

...Be well, and...

Opening his eyes, the sun glared at him.

A dream? his sluggish mind reeled as he sat up and raised his hands towards his face. But he did not get that far, because the sight of where he was stalled him. He blinked.

The polished deck of a sandlapper ship reflected the glaring sun, and the kiss of winds tugged at his long dark hair. The mainmast held sails that billowed to and fro with the caress of the air and sailors carried on their activities without taking notice of his awakening. He was sitting in the stern of the ship, in a seat made from unused ropes.

He looked down and saw that he was wearing his wide-ankled oily breeches and his unknotted red sash. His white, torn coat covered his arms and back. In sudden alarm, his tattooed hand raised to his chest, yet found the skin intact – without a mark. His body was whole, as if nothing had happened.

What happen? His memories were more like dreams. After the torture, he could only gasp images of a mountain road and the shifts of night to day and dusk till dawn once more. Time was impossible to guess, nor could he remember the person who had released him from his prison of agony. He glimpsed a flash of white teeth in a light smile. The presence of a body keeping him warm during nights.

He shook his head, and found himself with a dreadful headache. His stomach growled like a beast, and the hunger had spread to his temples. In understanding that he was far away from the Tower, he stumbled to his feet and looked across the railing for land.

There was none in sight.

He knew the sea, and this was the Aryth Ocean – it seemed the only thing he could say for certain. Drelle, he thought, realising that she was far, far away; without his aid should the Black Ajah find her too.

"You awake?"

Lucan rounded on the speaker, steadying himself with a hand upon the railing. "Where am I?" he asked without really taking notice of the captain standing before him.

"On The Maiden Defiant," came the answer, followed with spit landing on the deck, "sailing for Cantorin Island for trade with your people, yet I must say you are the queerest Sea Folk man I ever saw. With your skin, you must be the palest arse on your ship."

His mind taking in what he was hearing, Lucan did not reflect upon the captain's last comment. He fell silent, staring upon the deck. Cantorin Island. How many years has it been? When the captain made to move away, he asked his second question. "Who took me aboard your ship?"

The captain stopped and turned the side of his face to Lucan. "I do not know and I do not care. Gold was the only thing I needed to know in order to allow you passage. A lot of gold. It was told you would be hungry when you came to, so you should know that our chef's stew can be found below deck. Try to stay out of my crew's way, and find yourself some spot to sleep in. We are not due to Cantorin Island for another fortnight."

Hunger, yes. That's it. He had been Healed by his rescuer, and even though he had been granted sustenance as much as possible though numb lips, he needed solid food to make up for his body's sapped energy. His knees shook with weakness, so he leaned hard upon the railing and looked out across the waves. Who could it have been? It was not Drelle, because she would not send me away in this manner. Moreover, she could not have known where I was being held.

He was too weak to linger with such thoughts. But one thought stayed with him. He was on his way back. And Sanael awaited him there. Kisane. Sanael and vengeance. His browridge lowered gradually over his slate stone eyes.

Words drifted back through the winds of his mind. ...I will give you what you have wanted all along...

When docking at Cantorin Island , Lucan began a life of searching.

The Atha'an Miere were his people, even though they shunned him for his skin. He had a hard time getting the information he needed. Everyone turned their backs to his inquiries. The Innkeepers even charged him like he was one of the sandlappers. They had the nerve! Before he vent into exile to the mainland, he had been on the ships, not some Ayamar that spent their lives grovelling for the merchants by producing pottery and attractive Sea Folk wares.

With his skills in Illusion, he was – however – able to circumvent the problem. With the weave named Disguise, he got the answers he needed.

He learned that Sanael had been released from his prison only months before, and even though he was banned from ever putting his feet upon a deck again – he had vanished into the streets, never to be seen again. It was just as Lucan had anticipated back before he was exiled to the mainland. Sanael had a hidden agenda, and a contact among the Seanchan – one to whom he had betrayed their route the night when the Galepreserver was attacked.

Thus informed, he set out to find Sanael, and that journey proved to be far from what he had anticipated it would be.

Using his Disguise to create a new identity, he named himself Erzal din Zimrath Sable Tempest. Thus named and looking like a more ordinary Atha'an Miere, he found service upon a Skimmer named the Light's Harbinger. His plans had already set in motion as they departed for the Land of Madmen – about to deliver a large group of Shielded male channelers upon its shores. The Windfinders aboard could not tell Lucan was in fact a channeler too.

The voyage was long and treacherous, Lucan was almost thrown overboard once he dropped his Disguise and claimed he had stolen passage among the supplies below deck. There was no evidence that he had impersonated the man named Erzal, and no one suspected it since Lucan had made it so that his fake identity had seemingly fallen overboard – again by the use of his skills in Illusion. Furthermore, he had made sure that none of the crew was of Clan Somera, and would know of his exile to the mainland.

Despite his skin, Lucan was granted to work the sails – filling the spot his fake identity had previously occupied. The crew would not speak much with him, but he made it his mission to gain ears and hearts among their cargo – the Shielded Sea Folk channelers. They were shackled below deck, treated more or less like animals. The Windfinders had rendered them harmless, so Lucan had no greater trouble approaching them undetected.

He spent hours below deck, speaking with them all about his aim to have the male channelers among the Sea Folk recognised as equals among the Windfinders. He was met with distrust at first, again, because of his appearance – but gradually, they began to listen. If anything else, because they had no choice, or other hope of survival.

Once they reached the shores of the Land of Madmen , and the cargo of male channelers was freed from their bonds, Lucan acted. He severed the Shields that had been put upon the captives, and a mutiny like no other ensued.

In the end, the mutiny succeeded, with much blood spilled and a power-struggle among the new crew of channelers ensuing. In the end, Lucan was the only one with proper training with saidin, and he was named Sailmaster – despite Atha'an Miere customs of having a woman in charge on the ship. There were no women, because they rested on the bottom of the sea, all because they had refused servitude under the male crew and fought back to their dying breaths – fierce Atha'an Miere as they had been.

The nightmares of this mutiny, one he had orchestrated, followed Lucan for many years.

With this new crew of Atha'an Miere channelers, Lucan returned to the Sea Folk Isles. He became a factor of politics where he tried to convey the truth that saidin was cleansed, and that the male channelers would not go mad. Without realising it, the model of having a Sailmaster instead of a Sailmistress was a factor that his crew urged him to convey too. Years passed as an outlawed pirate among the Sea Folk, with a growing crew and eventually the addition of a second ship. They did not use the One Power to conquest, merely to intimidate with their actual presence in the Atha'an Miere society. Yet in the end, Lucan was only interested in his new role of influence for the sake of power.

Power, which he would use to fulfil his oath to Kisane's memory.

Ultimately, beyond all notions of politics and reforms, his goal was still vengeance, and he sought to carry it out once his network of spies grew large enough to give hint of Sanael's whereabouts. Compared to his political agenda to create safe haven for the male channelers, his ambition could be deemed petty – but it was not so for Lucan. He had been obsessed with the idea of revenge for far too many years to forget.

In the end, this madness would be his downfall. The story of the reform-pirate lasted for over a decade, yet ended abrubtly when he found what he sought. Ultimately, the shadow of vengeance fell over his cause, and the Riven Sail, frayed and famed, finally split.

Running a hand down the length of his shaggy beard, Lucan made it disappear with the use of saidin. He stepped into the silent stone building looking like a completely different man. His frame was more sinewy, wiry and his face gaunt like a starved man's. He had the same skin as his kinsmen, and wore common clothes instead of his captain's garments.

Can it really be true? he asked himself, not able to help a mad smile from flickering across his pursed lips, Have I found him, at long last?

At first, he did not see anyone, until a younger man stepped into the white-walled room. "Who are you?" he demanded at once, holding an ivory-hilted dagger in his hand. He was in his early twenties, with a scowl as dark as the curls that hung down to his neck.

Lucan's heart sank when he saw that it was not Sanael that he had found, and when the frustration turned into a building storm of ire, it was hard to keep his voice free from vitriol. He had a role to play, and if he wanted good information, he had to keep his composure. "Hello, um.." he had to remember that he was a foolish ingrate with a message, "pardon me from entering unannounced. I mean to find your liege.. um. Sanael. I was told..."

"How do you know him by that name?" asked the young man without the patience to hear Lucan's apparition out. Instead he walked closer. "No one may use that name! He will be found, and father do not take lightly upon mistakes like the one you just made."

His mouth parted, and Lucan could not remember afterwards how long he delayed with his reply. A son? he tried to seize down the small revelation to something his mind could handle. My enemy has a son. A son, whom it seems, is aware of his father. This devil-spawn before me must have been consummated before he was sent to prison, and I never learned about his existence.

When Lucan spoke, it was with hands clasped behind his back. "Pardon me, pardon me, my message is urgent. That is why I entered so brusquely, I can explain it to him later, but I need to find him. Perchance you know where he...?"

"No!" said the adolescent scion of his enemy, "You should know that he has already left for the shores. He will be governing his influence from the heart of the eastern nations. He left more than a week ago, and you should have been notified. He will never return to the salt again because of the work he must carry out for our Lord."

Now, Lucan could not find his reply. Lord? Lucan's eyes grew very still, his mind blank. When he opened his mouth to speak, it was a phrase that he never thought he would hear himself say again. "The Great Lord recognise us, the Great Lord's will be done; done through us."

At first, the young man did not say anything, and Lucan could positively hear his own heart beating in his ears – to fear that he had guessed wrong.

But then, the young man – confused at the timing of the prayer, probably not caring much for the strange messenger's devoted antiques, but thinking that he might have to answer in kind to be hear the message in his father's stead – spoke in a low voice. "The Great Lord," he said pressing a finger to his lips and then his heart, "speaks, we act, in hope for a life in His embrace."

Sanael is shadowsworn!

Lucan whipped out the dagger he had behind his back and stepped towards the son of his life-long rival. "Your father," he said, his voice its usual tone, "is the fish I have not gutted in time for the feast."

His shoulders filled out and his white coat flared into existence. His long dark hair and beard framed a face untouched by time – eyes grey as passionless stone. The young man started and backed away, eyes wide. He held his insignificant dagger between himself and the tall savage that had materialised in the room. "Who.. who..?"

"And now!" growled Lucan din Nicander Riven Sail, "his meat is too foul to be eaten. I wonder, is your flesh is just as rotten? I will have to taste it for myself..."

There was no hint to what happened next. The dagger was whipped away by a tentacle of Air. The young shadowsworn was struck across the face by the return-arc and landed on the other side of the room. Lucan walked after him, his fingers working around the hilt of the dagger. "Your father," he said next, his grey eyes growing more wild with each word, "killed Kisane! Kisane! Has he not told you? Does he feel no regret? Does he not realise what kind of death he as brought upon himself? One day I will make him repent for it, but this night, you will have to answer in his stead!."

The tentacles caught the young man's wrists, hoisted him up against the white wall. "My yore Windfinder told me once that 'an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind', but I say the only eye that I care to pluck is your Father's, and the world is better of without him. He killed Kisane, thus I wonder if he will cry if kill you?"

The boy screamed then, but Lucan was already upon him.

It turned out the young man's entrails smelled just as bad as Lucan had imagined. While he carved out his justice into the yielding flesh, he thought about how he would do the same thing to the real demon. He would abandon the rebellious life he led among the Sea Folk, and leave the salt for the second time in his life. He would return to the Grey Tower, gain enough influence there to find Sanael. And since the demon had sworn the same oath he had sworn in Cora Sedai's presence twenty years ago, Lucan knew he had to enter the Black Ajah again. He had to learn from where Sanael was operating, where the Great Lord extended his will from.

He would again use the Black Ajah as a means to an end, and he would make the world see that whatever he did in life would pale next to the masterpiece of Sanael's death. When the offspring stopped screaming, Lucan heard that he was laughing at the top of his lungs. He could make the mad noise stop, but it felt so good to laugh. Somewhere, he knew he was not sane, that the person that he had been before the sandlappers' Three Arches test had resurfaced. But if that part of his stained soul would never truly leave him, was it truly so wrong to act as the person he was meant to be?

All the sins he had to commit, all the sins he had made before, would be forgiven. As soon as I find Sanael...