Shadar

Shadar is an Asha’man. He’s insane. Totally insane. No question there. What no one has quite figured out is how much of it is the taint, and how much comes naturally. He’s an expert actor, too, so you never know whether at any particular moment he’s mad or merely pretending to be so. Shadar believes that he would make a much better Dragon Reborn than Rand al’Thor, on the basis that the Dark One would take one look at him and plead to be re-imprisoned.

Shani

A Domani. Also an Aes Sedai of the Red Ajah, and thus a woman whose second favourite pastime is defying stereotypes. Her favourite is flirting. Preferably with men who can channel. She wears scandalously revealing outfits (in red) tames Trollocs, and is the only Red sister ever to walk into the Black Tower and safely out again - twice now. She can also lie six ways to Shayol Ghul, using a train of logic worthy of the White Ajah, dances a mean sa’sara and is a master of the game of darts.

Sycho

A fine, upstanding young Whitecloak - well, except for the company he keeps. He also has an unfortunate weakness for drink. When drunk, he sings “Ninety-nine bottles” in a voice like a stepped-on frog, makes bad puns, and is entrapped into games of Maiden’s Kiss. Drunk or sober, he’s the favourite butt of Shadar’s and Shani’s jokes.

Shaiel

No relation to anyone else of that name, Shaiel is a Maiden of the Spear temporarily hanging out with a band of insane wetlanders. Being brought up on ji’e’toh, she considers the Great Game child’s play in comparison. Like every Aiel, she enjoys taunting people (especially Sycho) and has a propensity for misunderstanding the question “Would you care to dance?”

Someone

That is, Someone, son of Someone Else, son of Some Other Ogier. As his name suggests, he’s a fairly generic Ogier character. He carries a notebook everywhere and constantly takes notes for the book he is writing, tentatively titled ‘Long Live Insanity.’ He is also an excellent cook, knowing 1643 recipes plus variations for cooking fish.

Snarg

A Trolloc. His role is to carry books, criticise art (he believes Elaida’s clock makes excellent firewood) and make comments on life, the universe, and everything, which usually contain the word ‘stupid’. Occasionally, as a result of listening to Someone too often, he slips into erudite language and discusses the ramifications of insanity on an unprepared world. He also enjoys fishing.

Before the Insanity: A Friendly Game Of Darts

The scene: the Black Tower. Six or seven bored Asha’man, away from the watchful eye of Mazrim Taim, are occupied in playing darts. The dartboard bears a life-size and remarkably realistic image of the Watcher of the Seals, the Flame of Tar Valon, the Amyrlin Seat, Elaida do Avriny a’Roihan. At least, it would be realistic if Elaida customarily had several darts stuck into various parts of her body. (The fact that a great majority of people would prefer that she did is irrelevant.)

Another dart hits.

The Asha’man whoops. “I got the stole! Double score!”

Another aims his dart and throws. It hits the red stripe of the stole. “Triple score.”

“Fluke,” the first one mutters.

“Ah, none of you are any good,” a third jeers. Picking up a dart, he throws and hits the Great Serpent ring. “Quadruple score. Looks like some of you need lessons.”

The scene rapidly degenerates into squabbling. The older Asha’man are standing back from the scene, looking amused, when...

“I think you all need lessons.”

The voice coming from the doorway is that of a woman, surprising in itself. But what makes all the black-coated figures gape is the fact that the speaker, now crossing the room, is stunningly beautiful, the possessor of ageless features, and wearing a shawl fringed in bright red.

“You’re aiming entirely wrong,” the Red sister tells them patiently. “If you’ll excuse me?” She plucks a dart from the fingers of one Asha’man. “This is where you try and hit.” The dart flies through the air.

It hits Elaida squarely between the eyes.

“Winning score, wouldn’t you say?” The slim woman bestows a dazzling smile on all of them. “Keep trying.” With the same graceful stride as entering, she walks out of the room, and her muttering is heard fading away in the distance. “I never liked that woman...”

It is more than five minutes before any of the Asha’man pick their jaws up off the floor and stop choking. All except one. The one whose dart was taken, a tall man with bright blue eyes, is leaning against the wall helpless with laughter.

“Amazing,” he manages to gasp out between fits of laughing. “I just met someone as crazy as me!”

The Insanity Begins: Under The Dome Of Truth

The scene: the Dome of Truth, of course. Where did you expect it to be? Several score Whitecloaks wander around, studying the paintings or just talking. There are two doors, carved and gilded, one on either side of the great room...

One of the doors swings open.

The person who enters is most definitely not a Whitecloak. Or male, for that matter. A stunningly beautiful woman all in red silk walks in and stands for a moment, looking around curiously. A shawl fringed in red is draped over her shoulders, and a Great Serpent ring gleams on her hand. The Dome is suddenly silent, except for the sound of countless jaws dropping to the floor.

The Aes Sedai glances at them, then starts walking around the room, studying the paintings one by one. Just as a couple of Whitecloaks have managed to overcome their shock, pick their jaws up and draw their swords, the other door swings open.

The person who enters is most definitely not a Whitecloak or an Aes Sedai. A tall, lean man in a black coat, with a silver sword pin on one side of his collar, a red and gold Dragon on the other, and the glint of madness in his blue eyes. Several Whitecloaks faint.

The Asha’man takes a few steps into the room, looking around. Those blue eyes fix, glittering, on one Whitecloak hiding in a corner. Another step forward, and said Whitecloak jumps up and runs, screaming. Several more follow his example.

The Red sister is standing in front of one of the paintings, frowning. With an irritated click of her tongue, she turns around. At the same time the Asha’man turns to look in her direction.

Blue eyes lock with dark. Someone in the room whispers what sounds like a prayer.

Still staring at each other, the two take a step closer. Slowly. Menacingly. Some more Whitecloaks run. The others are frozen still.

Another step. The remaining Whitecloaks abruptly find themselves unfrozen and run, as fast and far away as possible. Only a fool gets between a pair of hostile channelers, especially channelers of the opposite gender. And in this respect at least, Whitecloaks are not fools. The two continue to glare.

The Dome is empty. But for them.

And suddenly, the icy stares melt. Identical grins flash onto both faces.

“So someone had the same idea as me,” the Red sister laughs, extending a hand. “Good acting, by the way. I’m Shani.”

The Asha’man takes her hand, bowing. “Shadar.”

Shani tilts her head. “Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?”

“That would be at the Black Tower.”

“Ah - yes.” Shani snaps her fingers. “I remember you. Have you been practicing your dart throwing?”

“We’ve been working on it. It would be better with a more lifelike target, though. I don’t suppose you can spare Elaida?”

“‘Fraid not. Why not use Mazrim Taim? He must be at least as annoying as Elaida.”

“At least. Unfortunately, he’s off limits for the time being.”

“It’s always that way, isn’t it? So, Shadar, what are you doing here?”

“Well,” Shadar coughs, “there was a little incident at the Black Tower. A matter of a practical joke that wasn’t appreciated. Shall we say, I’m not exactly popular with Taim right now.”

“So you decided to come and have a look around Amador?”

“Something like that. And you?”

“Well,” Shani grins, “there was a little incident at the White Tower. A matter of a practical joke that definitely wasn’t appreciated. Shall we say I’m not exactly popular with Elaida right now?”

“Ah,” and Shadar’s answering grin matches hers, “a kindred spirit.”

“Right. So -”

“Hey, what’s all the fuss about?” A young Whitecloak is standing at the entrance to the Dome. “Where’s everyone gone - Ah.” There is a long pause before the young Whitecloak shrugs and walks across to them. “Welcome to the Dome of Truth. Is this an invasion or just a visit?”

“Somewhere in between,” Shadar replies. “And who are you?”

“Child Sycho Path. Call me Sycho.”

“Does your name fit your character?” Shani asks straight-faced.

“Pedron Niall thinks so.”

“Another kindred spirit,” and all three grin. “While we’re on the subject of spirits, is there anything decent to drink around here?”

“Sure. Niall keeps some wine in his study.” Sycho bows. “In the, ah, not so regrettable absence of my superiors, may I offer you the hospitality of the Fortress of the Light?”

“Why not?”

A few minutes later, in the study of the Lord Captain Commander...

“A toast.” Sycho raises his cup. “To confusion!”

“No,” Shani corrects him, filling and raising her own cup. “To chaos.”

Shadar pours a cup for himself, then lifts it. “To us.”

The other two look at each other, decide they can’t top that, and drink.

“Long live insanity!”

Long Live Insanity #1: The (Losing) Hand of the Dark

The curtain rises on - blackness. A dark fog hides the scene from human eyes. Voices can be heard, faintly, through the fog.

“Another hand?”

“You deal.” There is a sound of cards rustling.

The fog thins gradually to reveal a mountain ledge of black rock, with flames glowing in the distant depths of the mountain. On the ledge is set, rather incongruously, a card table...

“Raise one,” the black-clad man on one side of the table says lazily. He is tall, lean to the point of emaciation, and a sword and Dragon is pinned on his collar. The glint in his blue eyes suggest that the taint already has a foothold here.

“No,” he says as if hearing your thoughts, “it isn’t the taint.” He rearranges the cards in his hand, and you catch a glimpse of an ace. “I was born insane.”

“Talking to yourself again, Shadar?” A stunningly beautiful Domani woman looks up from her own cards. Her clinging red dress is just short of opaque. Well, to be perfectly honest, a very long way short of opaque. The shawl lying over the back of her chair has a bright red fringe to match. “We know you’re insane. That’s why we’re all here, isn’t it?”

The man opposite her shrugs, his gleaming white cloak shifting with the movement. “I can’t imagine why you’d say that, Shani. What’s insane about playing poker at Shayol Ghul?”

“We call him Sycho,” Shani says conversationally to no one in particular.

“Tell me again the point of this game.” The voice of the fourth player sounds like rotting snakeskin, or rather, since snakeskin rotting doesn’t make any sound at all, like someone imagined rotting snakeskin might sound like if it sounded like anything... “What is the purpose of picking up these cards?”

“Well -” Sycho the Whitecloak looks as if he has just been asked to explain the purpose of gravity making things fall - “picking up the cards is the purpose. Betting money. You know.”

“Losing money?”

“And winning it, but - well - it’s playing that counts. Shani, you explain.”

“Oh, thanks a lot.” The Red sister, Shani, sighs. “It’s probably a species thing.”

“No,” Shadar the blue-eyed Asha’man disagrees, “it’s a mentality thing.” There seem to be two aces in his hand now. “We’re insane. He’s just evil.”

“There is that.”

“Are we finished?” The rotting snakeskin voice again.

“Well, I suppose so.” Sycho lays his cards, face up, on the table. There are four aces.

Shani laughs. “Great minds...” There are four aces in the cards she puts down on the table. The Great Serpent ring on her hand appears to wink in the uncertain light.

Shadar and Shaidar Haran lay their cards down at the same time. Shaidar Haran has the lowest hand possible. Shadar, on the other hand, has five aces.

“Oops,” he murmurs mildly, and the fifth one disappears back up his sleeve.

The Myrddraal’s face looks as dismayed as someone without eyes can possibly look.

“You lose, Hand of the Dark,” Shani says with mocking sweetness. The fog is beginning to thicken around them.

“What did we decide about stakes?” Sycho asks innocently, and is answered by Shadar.

“Shayol Ghul, wasn’t it?”

As the scene fades into blackness, the maniacal laughter of three people is the last sound that can be heard...

The moral of the story: Evil will always be defeated by insanity. Or, if you prefer: when a Domani Red sister, an Asha’man, and a Whitecloak get together to play poker, anything can, and probably will, happen.

Long Live Insanity #2: Housebreaking Trollocs

Once again the curtain rises on darkness - but not the black rocks of Shayol Ghul. The sky is overcast, but a few stars manage to gleam through, faintly illuminating the shape of a looming manor house.

All around the house are open fields and the road running past. The nearest house is miles away down the road. In all directions, not a soul can be seen. Of course, a Soulless couldn’t be seen either, if one happened to be around, which it doesn’t. So all in all, no one is in sight.

Not far away, however, grunts and guttural half-words can be heard, interspersed with the clink of weapons. “Now?” “Yes.” “Why?” “Because.” The dialogue is not on a particularly high conversational level. The owners of the voices would seem to be of rather diminutive brain capacity. They don’t smell very good, either.

And now they are in sight, ten-foot, hulking shapes trooping up the road to the manor house. Trollocs, of course.

They break down the gate and stomp through the garden to the front door, squashing the flowers and generally turning the once stately garden into a mess. The leading Trolloc raises his axe.

“You!” A woman’s voice cuts through the air, making the Trollocs jump and stand up straight. “Wipe your feet before you come into my house!”

It is the voice of command, the voice that turns any male creature into a guilty little boy wondering whether he remembered to clean his nails or, as the case may be, horns, the voice of She Who Must Be Obeyed. Carefully, the leading Trolloc wipes his feet on the mat provided, then raises his axe again and smashes the door open.

“And be careful of the walls!” The woman disappears from the upstairs window, and quick footsteps are heard from within the house, hurrying down a staircase, as the Trollocs push through the doorway.

One Trolloc looks thoughtfully - or what passes for thought in a Trolloc mind - at the delicate carvings on the mantel, and lifts a mail-clad fist.

“Don’t you dare!” The woman with the commanding voice stands at the top of the stairs, hands on hips. She has copper-coloured skin, long dark hair, and is wearing a dress of near-transparent scarlet. A Great Serpent ring gleams on her finger. Yes, people - it’s Shani. The Trolloc puts his hands behind his back quickly.

The slim Domani shakes her head irritably. “Look what you’ve done to my garden! It’ll take weeks to fix now. And the door!” She sighs and strides down the stairs. The Trollocs automatically make way and then look sheepish at doing so.

“Snarg smart,” one growls. “Human not bluff Snarg. Snarg kill!”

“Go play somewhere else, Snarg. I’m busy.” Shani walks past the astonished Snarg to the kitchen. “At least you’ve broken nothing here - put down that pot, you!” The Trolloc addressed obeys immediately, looking as embarassed as the average Trolloc can manage. Shani takes a baking tin from the stove. “And you needn’t think you’re getting any cake! This is for my friends and I. You lot are cleaning up the mess you’ve made, and then you’re leaving.” Balancing the cake tin in one arm, she picks up a red-fringed shawl and pulls it across her shoulders. A gateway appears before her, and she steps through. “And don’t dare go until you’ve tidied up!” The gateway snaps shut behind Shani.

The Trollocs look at each other, scratching their heads and wondering what just happened. Then they traipse out into the garden - wiping their feet on the mat - and start tidying up. The broken gate and door are carefully propped up, the ruined flowers piled neatly in a heap, and the sky beginning to grow light before they finally troop, still scratching their heads and looking sheepish, down the road.

“Trollocs,” Shani sighs, “are so hard to housetrain.” She cuts the cake and passes a slice over to Shadar. “Another piece for you, Sycho?”

“Mmmff!”

“I take it that means ‘yes’” Shani cuts another slice, and then one for herself. “I know that expression, Shadar. Penny for your thoughts?”

The lean Asha’man grins. “Just an idea I had.” He takes a bite of the cake. “This is good, by the way. Congratulations.”

“Thank you - and what idea?”

“If you really can housebreak Trollocs, I can think of a use for one...”

Long Live Insanity #3: In the Amyrlin's Study

The curtain opens on - oh, c’mon, it’s been described a dozen times already. Big room, carved writing desk and chair, two pictures, silly-looking clock on the wall, red roses in a vase in one corner. A long, striped stole is hanging over the back of the chair. The room is empty.

The door opens, just a crack. Shani puts her head through, looks around, then pushes the door open fully and comes in. “The way’s clear,” she calls back over her shoulder, “you can come in.”

Three people file in after her. Shadar in his black coat, Sycho in full Whitecloak regalia, and a ten-foot tall, wide-shouldered figure with a long snout, hairy ears and a notebook in one hand. Shani looks at him, raising a single eyebrow in approved Aes Sedai style.

“Oh,” Sycho says, “this is Someone. Someone, son of Someone Else, son of Some Other Ogier, that is. He sort of joined us. Someone, this is Shani.”

The Ogier bows. “An honour, Shani Sedai.” His voice is, also in approved style, a rumble sounding like a very large bumblebee. “I am very interested in you three, you see. In what you are doing. I may write a book about it.” He starts scribbling in his notebook.

(Note: This is the longest speech Someone ever makes. Most of the time he just stands around writing whenever one of the other three does something strange. Which is most of the time.)

“Well,” Shani says, “nice to meet you.”

In the meantime, Shadar has already made himself at home, sprawling on the only chair in the room with his feet up on Elaida’s desk. Sycho takes off his helmet and puts it on the desk, accidentally crushing a priceless ivory carving which happens to be one of Elaida’s favourites. “Oops.”

“Don’t worry. They’re old.” Shani wanders over to the vase of roses in the corner, and takes one. “Pretty.” She puts it in her hair, looks at it in the mirror, then changes her mind and pins it to her dress, dislodging an already precarious neckline. Shadar whistles. Shani blows him a kiss. Sycho rolls his eyes. Someone continues writing.

“That clock,” Sycho observes, “is a masterpiece of bad taste. Someone - sorry, not you, Ogier - had to be really trying to make something that silly-looking. Who ever designed it?” Shani shrugs. “Some old Amyrlin.” She is now occupied in trying on Elaida’s stole, turning this way and that in front of the mirror.

The door, closed behind Someone, rattles, and a grunting sound is heard outside.

“Oh, yes,” Shadar glances up, “let Snarg in, would you?”

Sycho crosses the room, opens the door with a flourish, and stands back. A large Trolloc pushes through the too-small doorway and stomps inside. He squints at the clock, massive brow furrowing.

The carved, painted figures on the clock abruptly stop their normal motion, and start dancing. Snarg frowns at the tiny carved Trollocs, who are now performing a jig.

“Shadar,” Shani chides.

The Asha’man grins. Shani studies her reflection in the mirror once more, then shakes her head and tosses the stole aside. It lands on Snarg, catching on his fur. Shani pats him on the shoulder and goes back to the roses.

“Oh yes,” Shadar applauds, “very nice. It suits him.” Snarg straightens up, looking in a puzzled way at the stole, then nods to himself and turns back to the clock. Someone continues writing.

“Clock stupid,” Snarg growls, displaying impeccable taste. “Snarg no like stupid clock.” With a sudden burst of power, Snarg picks the clock up, stomps to the open window - far above the ground - and throws it out.

There is a moment of silence, before Shadar saunters over to the window and looks down. He grins and turns back to the others.

“Clock fragmented.”

The Amyrlin’s study echoes with laughter.

The moral of the story: Even Trollocs have better taste than Elaida.

Long Live Insanity #4: Maiden's Kiss

“Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beer...”

“Sycho, shut up!” two voices shout. With reason. The singer sounds like a stepped-on frog. A snarling growl is also heard.

“Ninety-eight bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-eight bottles of beer...” The distinctly unmelodious singer can now be seen, staggering along through the countryside. A once-white cloak seems to have come unfastened from one shoulder and is constantly tangling with his legs, perhaps accounting for the staggering gait. Of course, the trail of empty bottles behind him might have something to do with that, too...

“Shadar - you let him carry the drinks?”

“Well, Snarg couldn’t carry everything.”

“If one green bottle, should accidentally fall...”

“He’ll never stop now.”

“Certainly he will.” The black-coated man striding along glances at the one in the white cloak. “About -”

“There’ll be ninety-seven bottles of beer on the - aargghh!” The singer starts coughing and choking around a gag of Air.

“- now.”

“Why, thank you. I hadn’t thought of that.” The Domani woman smiles and looks back behind her. “Snarg! Hurry up!”

“Snarg hurrying! Books heavy!”

“Be careful with those books!” another voice rumbles. “Those are priceless!”

“Stupid priceless books! Should burn!”

“If you even think about burning them, you great oaf of a Trolloc -”

“Books burn good!”

“- then I will get Shadar Asha’man or Shani Sedai to throw you through a gateway into Aridhol!”

Snarg shuts up abruptly, except for a few grumbles.

“stupid books... stupid Ogier...”

“Maybe we should camp here,” Shani suggests diplomatically. “It’s as good a place as any. Besides -” she glances at the lurching Whitecloak - “I doubt Sycho can make it much further.”

Shadar also glances at Sycho, who chooses that moment to trip over his own feet and collapse on the ground. “I do believe you’re right.”

They sit down, spreading rugs and cushions and in general taking their ease. Except for Sycho, who hasn’t quite managed to sit up yet. And Snarg who is kept busy obeying a constant stream of orders from the other three.

“Snarg! Be careful with those books!’

“...stupid books...”

“Snarg! Set up the tents!”

“...stupid tents...”

“Snarg! Bring the firewood!”

“...stupid clock...”

“Clock?” Shadar looks up, and grins. Snarg, with impeccable taste, has brought the remains of Elaida’s favourite clock along as fuel. “Seems Trollocs aren’t always dumb. All right, Snarg, just bring the stupid clock over here. Then go set up the tents while we light the fire.”

“Stupid clock burn great,” Snarg announces happily before shambling off to set the tents up.

Someone (son of Someone Else, son of Some Other Ogier) takes out a notebook and starts scribbling. “For my book,” he explains absent-mindedly. Meanwhile, Shani looks critically over at the still-prone Sycho. “How many bottles do you think he drank?”

“Most of the crate, I’d say.”

“About that, yes.” Shani takes Sycho’s head firmly in her hands, and channels.

Sycho bellows like a drunken bull (or rather a drunken Whitecloak) and thrashes, gasping for breath. “Wha...wha..what...”

“It’s called sobriety. You’ll get used to it.” Shani sits back down beside the newly-lit fire. “And it serves you right for taking all the drink.”

“I’m starting to believe Aes Sedai really are Darkfriends.” Looking somewhat the worse for wear, Sycho makes his unsteady way over to the fire. “That was evil.”

“Oh, I can think of worse -”

They are interrupted by a shout from beyond the tents. Shani, Shadar and Someone look around. So does Sycho, once the sound has made its way to his befuddled brain. Snarg is now lying flat on the ground, and a lithe, golden-haired figure is poised with a spear in her hand.

Someone blinks, and starts writing faster. Shani raises one eyebrow. Sycho groans. “Are you sure I’m sober?”

“Welcome to our fire,” Shadar calls. “Be careful with Snarg, would you? Otherwise we’ll have to carry our own baggage tomorrow.”

The Aiel girl spins around at his voice, looks at the four around the fire, shakes her head, rubs her eyes, and looks again. “White cloak, red shawl, black coat. And an Ogier, and a Trolloc to carry your baggage. Who’s insane? You or me?”

“Us, of course,” Shani replies.

“But you can be insane, too.” Sycho adds generously. “If you want to. It isn’t hard.”

“It comes naturally.” Shadar stands and bows. “I’m Shadar, this is Shani, that’s Sycho, the Ogier is Someone and the Trolloc is Snarg. We are all, without exception, completely mad. And you?”

“I’m Shaiel. And I’m sane -” she glances at the five and shakes her head again - “for now. Is the Trolloc safe?”

“Of course he’s safe.” Shani tosses her hair back. “He’s really very well behaved, you know - for a Trolloc, anyway. Aren’t you, Snarg?”

“Snarg very good!”

“And he’s an art critic, too,” Shadar adds.

“Snarg burn stupid clock!”

“See?”

“Whatever.” Shaiel lets Snarg up and comes to sit by the fire. “So you’re all mad. And not just mad, completely mad. Is this wetlander humour?”

“Something like that,” Sycho agrees. “You don’t happen to have anything to drink, do you?”

“Water?”

“Ah - no. I meant alcohol. Ale or something. Ale - Aiel! Hey, that’s a joke!” Sycho falls over backward laughing.

Shadar, Shani, Shaiel, Someone and Snarg groan simultaneously.

“It’s not wetlander humour,” Shani assures Shaiel. “We have better taste than that.”

“That’s a relief.”

Sycho, his joke unappreciated, is sulking. Someone continues to write, shaking his head over human oddities. Snarg, muttering “...stupid Whitecloak...” under his breath, continues setting up the tents.

Shani, bored, starts channeling, and little dancing figures appear in the flames. One of them has long dark hair and wears a red dress. Shadar joins in, and some more figures appear, one wearing a black coat. The Shadar and Shani figures bow and curtsy to each other and start dancing.

Sycho looks at them and rolls his eyes. Shaiel studies the dancers for a moment, then shrugs, deciding it’s either a wetlander thing or an insanity thing, and turns to Sycho. “Say, stranger. Have you ever heard of a game called Maiden’s Kiss?”

Shani and Shadar immediately look up, interested. So do the dancing figures. Someone blinks, stares, then decides he heard right and starts scribbling as fast as he can. Snarg drops a box of priceless books on his foot, and, for a wonder, Someone doesn’t even notice. Shaiel has the kind of wicked grin that only a Maiden can wear. Sycho, alone of all the group, looks completely blank.

Shadar and Shani glance at each other, still mirrored by the dancers, and smile in gleeful anticipation. “Ah,” they both think, “Aiel humour...”

The moral: If you make jokes about Aiel, THE JOKE’S ON YOU.

Long Live Insanity #5: Gone Fishing

The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes round again. In one Age, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind rises in Amadicia. North and south the wind blows, east and west, because there really isn’t very much interesting happening in Amadicia, until it comes across a small group gathered on the banks of a river.

And the wind bursts out laughing.

A deck chair has been set up on the bank, occupied by a tall figure in black, with a fishing rod in his hands and a broad-brimmed hat pulled down over his eyes. A large pile of fish is lying beside his chair. Farther downriver, two people are lying on opposite banks, dipping their hands in the water to snatch out fish. One, a woman in red, has an even larger pile beside her. The other, a man in white, has only a few small fish on the bank beside him and is looking suspiciously at hers.

“You’re cheating, Shani,” he accuses her.

“Why, Sycho! What a thing to say!” Shani reaches down and scoops another huge fish from the river.

“You’re using the Power to catch them.”

“Would I do something like that?”

“If you’re not channeling, why are none of the fish on your side moving?”

Shani shrugs, and tosses another onto her pile.

Still farther down, the river winds through a grove of trees, from which strange sounds can occasionally be heard. Not far from Sycho, two more people are roasting fish on sticks over a fire. One has short golden hair, and her brown coat and breeches blend in with the landscape. The other is ten feet tall, shaggy, and industriously writing in a notebook between fish.

“...Sycho accuses Shani of cheating.” The Ogier frowns and looks up. “Do you think she is, Shaiel?”

“Hmm?”

“Shani. Would an Aes Sedai cheat? The river does seem very still on her side.”

“What would I know about rivers?” Shaiel skewers another fish. “These taste good, though. The wetlands do have advantages. How many ways did you say you know to cook them, Someone?”

Someone, son of Someone Else, son of Some Other Ogier, flips through the pages of his notebook. “One thousand, six hundred and forty-three. That doesn’t include variations, of course.”

“Of course.” She glances up. “Look - we’ve got company.”

A portly figure in a white cloak has appeared farther up the river.

“Oh, no,” Sycho mutters. “Not him.”

“What is going on here?” the Whitecloak officer demands of the black-clad man in the deckchair, who happens to be closest. He receives absolutely no response. Not even so much as a glance.

“I said, what is going on here?” Raising his voice, the Whitecloak stamps over to the deckchair. The figure in black does not move.

“This is an outrage! You!” The portly man points at Sycho. “I insist that you help me arrest this person!”

“Sorry, sir. No can do. I’m trying to catch some fish.”

Shani and Shaiel start laughing. Someone is busy recording the conversation. Some more odd noises come from the grove downriver. The man in black continues fishing.

“I SAID -” Whatever the officer said is lost as a black-sleeved arm reaches out, hooks his ankle and pulls. Cloak and wearer tumble into the water.

“- splutter gasp splutter,” the Whitecloak officer finishes his sentence as he is carried downriver by the current, past another, insubordinate Whitecloak and a very amused Aes Sedai.

“I never liked him,” Sycho observes.

“Shadar,” Shani calls upriver, “do you have to throw your rubbish in the water? You’re scaring the fish away.”

The man in black raises his hat and, very deliberately, winks one blue eye before reeling his line in.

Sycho scowls across the river. “I can think of other reasons all the fish are gone.”

“That might be it, too," Shani agrees. "Do we have enough, do you think?”

But there is a sudden bellow from the grove. “Snarg catch fish!”

Shani and Sycho sit up. Even Shadar looks up curiously as a very large Trolloc emerges triumphantly from the grove, with a white cloak in his fist and the wearer of the cloak dangling below.

“Snarg catch BIG fish!”

Sycho whoops with laughter, slapping his thighs.

Someone blinks, then starts flipping through his notebook again. “Ah! A great white!”

Sycho laughs harder.

“That’s a good fish you caught, Snarg,” Shaiel calls. “Do you want to roast it?” She picks up one of her spears. “This should do as a skewer.”

The Whitecloak’s eyes bulge in terror, and he wriggles out of the cloak and falls to the ground. With surprising nimbleness for a stout man, he leaps up and runs, throwing panicked glances over his shoulder in case one of them is chasing him.

None are. They’re all too busy laughing.

Snarg looks crestfallen. “Big fish run away.”

“They do that sometimes.” Shani pats him on the shoulder. “Never mind, Snarg. We’re going to Amador next week. Maybe you can catch another one. There are lots of big fish in Amador.”

The moral: Don’t annoy insane people. Especially not when they’re fishing.

Long Live Insanity #6: The Darkfriend That Was

As the sun rises in Amador, the streets begin to fill up with people. A drunken man sitting outside a tavern watches them go by.

“Whitecloaks...boring people...more Whitecloaks...more boring people...” He takes a swig of ale and continues his litany. “More Whitecloaks...more boring people...’nother Whitecloak...Aes Sedai...huh?”

He blinks. “Yep, Aes Sedai...Asha’man...Ogier...Aiel...Trolloc...Pink elephant...” The drunk slowly keels over and starts snoring.

“Pink elephant?” Sycho looks behind him just in case. An Aes Sedai, an Asha’man, an Ogier, an Aiel and a Trolloc, but no pink elephants.

“No pink elephant,” Snarg growls.

“Drunk people see strange things sometimes,” Shani tells him.

“Drunk see us.”

“That’s what I said.”

The sober people around them see much the same thing, with the exception of the pink elephant. They simply tune it out. The good citizens of Amador are not prepared to believe in certain things, so certain things do not register on their brains. The sight of an Aes Sedai in a bright red shawl and an Asha’man in a black coat walking arm in arm and laughing, accompanied by an Aiel, a Trolloc, a Whitecloak and an Ogier, is one of those things.

“So this is what it’s like to be invisible,” Shadar remarks.

“What’s happening over there?” Someone, with a pen in one hand and a notebook in the other, nods toward the Fortress of the Light.

A dozen Whitecloaks, armor and cloaks gleaming in the sun, are marching down the street with a chained prisoner in their midst.

“They’re hanging a Darkfriend,” Sycho replies.

The two channelers in the group exchange a look which says Yeah, right.

“Should we try and help?” Shani asks.

“We’d better,” Shadar agrees as the Whitecloaks come closer. “Ready -”

He is interrupted by Snarg, who has been staring hard at the prisoner. “Hey, I know him! He Darkfriend!”

“He what?” Shani exclaims.

“Let me get this straight,” Shadar says. “He is a Darkfriend? A real, true, bona fide Darkfriend?”

“Yes! Darkfriend!”

“Well, of all strange things...” Shadar raises his voice. “Hey, you in the white cloak! Do you realize you’ve got a Darkfriend there?”

“Of course we do,” the officer in charge snaps. “We always have a Darkfriend.”

“No. I mean a real Darkfriend.”

“What!?” The officer’s face goes white to match his cloak. “He can’t be! We never catch a real Darkfriend!”

“Looks like you made a mistake, then. Our Trolloc here is absolutely sure that man’s a Darkfriend.”

“But we’re not authorized to deal with Darkfriends!”

The whispers are spreading out through the crowd. “They caught a Darkfriend... They caught a real Darkfriend...”

“Well, that’s just not on.” Shani puts her hands on her hips. “Next thing you’ll catch a real Aes Sedai, and then where will we be? You’d better let that Darkfriend go at once.”

“But we never let anyone go!”

“Paradigm shifting,” Someone whispers, an Ogier whisper anyway, to Shaiel as he takes notes. “It drives Whitecloaks insane. Soon he’ll be seeing pink elephants.”

“You can’t keep real Darkfriends?” Shani says patiently.

“Of course not! That’s not our job!”

“And you can’t let him go, either?”

“Of course not!”

“So what does that leave you?”

“Um - uh - um...” The Whitecloak’s eyes suddenly bulge in terror. “The pink elephants are coming! The pink elephants are coming!” He turns and runs, still screaming, through the crowd.

“Paradigms shifted,” Shani says smugly. “Incurably.”

“Beautifully done,” Shadar congratulates her.

“Thank you.”

“This is outrageous,” a man in the crowd declares. “We pay our taxes. We have a right to expect certain standards from the Children of the Light. We certainly do not expect them to go capturing real Darkfriends!”

“It’s outrageous...It’s scandalous...It shouldn’t be allowed...” The mutters from the crowd increase. Before long a brawl results between the crowd and the remaining Whitecloaks.

“Let’s get out of here,” Sycho suggests nervously. “I don’t want them to start thinking I go around catching Darkfriends.”

Shani laughs. “Can I interest you in a little paradigm shifting, Sycho?” she invites him with a wicked grin.

He shudders. “Not me, thanks. I’d pick Maiden’s Kiss any day.”

“Really?” Shaiel grins even more wickedly and links her arm in his. “We might want to talk about that...” Sycho has just been soundly outmaneuvered.

They make their way out of Amador. At the very edge of the city, they meet an old man with hair as white as his cloak. “Good morning,” he greets them all, blinking. “Tell me, young man, has anything of note taken place in the city recently?”

“Yes, sir,” Sycho replies. “They caught a Darkfriend, but he turned out to be a real Darkfriend, and the officer in charge lost a few paradigms and started seeing pink elephants. I think that just about covers it.”

“Ah.” The old Whitecloak places his hand on Sycho’s head in a benediction. “Walk in the Light, my son. Walk in the Light, my daughter,” he adds to Shaiel, not taking any notice of her spears, and turns to the others. “Walk in the Light, my son.” He stretches up to touch Someone’s head. “Walk in the Light, my daughter. Walk in the Light, my son.” The old man appears oblivious to the fact that he has just blessed an Aes Sedai and an Asha’man. He adds a final absent-minded “Walk in the Light, my son,” and a pat on Snarg’s shaggy head, before making his slow way into the city.

“What a nice old man,” Shani murmurs.

And all Amador breathes a sigh of relief as they leave. All except one man.

“Gotta stop drinking...hic...pink elephants all over the place...”

The moral: Darkfriends are dangerous. But paradigms shifting and pink elephants can be even worse.

Author’s Note: I thought about calling this one ‘Paradigms and Pink Elephants,’ but...

Long Live Insanity #7: Daes Dae'mar

The sun rises over Cairhien.

It begins with a pale glow in the east, then brightens as the sun lifts itself into the sky and over the hill. The first rays of light gleam down on the sleeping city.

“Isn’t it ugly?” Shani comments.

Sycho comes to look. “How can anyone build a city all straight lines?”

“It’s something in the Cairhienin character. They plan every little detail before doing anything.”

“How incredibly -” Sycho pauses, looking for a strong enough insult.

“Boring?”

“Something like that.”

“Stupid city,” a deep voice growls from behind them.

Shani pats the new arrival on the shaggy shoulder. “I always said you had good taste, Snarg. Did you keep watch like I said last night?”

“Keep watch.”

“And?”

“Shadar gone.”

“I thought he would.” Shani grins.

“Where did he go?” Shaiel comes across to join them.

“He went to the Black Tower,” Shani explains. “To visit his friends, and cause a little incidental chaos. He’ll catch us up later. C’mon, let’s go.”

“Someone’s still asleep,” Shaiel tells her.

“Wake him up, then.”

“He won’t wake up.” The gold-haired girl looks exasperated. “I shook him, shouted at him, I even dumped a bucket of water on him. He’s still snoring.”

“No one sleeps that hard,” Sycho scoffs.

“You try, then.”

“Wake up, Someone!” Sycho yells at the top of his voice. There is no interruption in Someone’s snoring.

“WAKE UP, STUPID OGIER!” Snarg’s voice shakes the leaves from a few nearby trees, but there is still no reaction from Someone.

“Someone,” Shani says very softly, “if you don’t wake up I’ll throw your books in the fire.”

The Ogier sits up suddenly, blinking and grabbing for his books. “What? What? What’s happening?”

“And that is how you wake up an Ogier,” Shani tells the other three, before turning back to Someone. “We’re heading into Cairhien. Coming?”

“Cairhien? The Royal Library?” Someone pushes blankets aside and starts packing his books. “Certainly I’m coming.”

“I thought so.”

A few minutes later, the five walk through the gates, ignored by the guards (even without an Asha’man in the party, there’s a limit what people’s minds are prepared to take in) and into Cairhien.

“All right,” Sycho says, “what now?”

“We find an inn. We get settled in. Then we play Daes Dae’mar.”

“Uh - what are the rules?”

Shani gives him an amused look. “You’ve never been in Cairhien, have you?”

“Well, no.”

“That’s what I thought. There are no rules.”

At the inn, the five sit around a table by the fire for a lesson in Daes Dae’mar. “The idea is to confuse,” Shani explains. “Whatever you do, a thousand people are going to put different interpretations on it. Even if you don’t do anything.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Sycho protests.

“Of course it doesn’t,” Shaiel says in an irritatingly superior tone. “It isn’t supposed to make sense.”

“But -”

“Just follow our lead,” Shani advises him.

He glares. “How do you know so much about this, anyway?”

“Because she’s Aes Sedai,” Shaiel tells him, rolling her eyes. “It’s the first thing novices learn. How to confuse people.”

“So how do you know?”

“Because she’s Aiel,” Shani tells him in exactly the same tone and rolling her eyes in the exact same way.

“So?”

“If you can understand ji’e’toh, Daes Dae’mar is child’s play.”

“Yes, but -”

Someone interrupts the argument. “Here comes Shadar.”

The lean Asha’man saunters across the common room and sprawls out in a chair. “What’s happening?”

“Talk Daes Dae’mar.”

“Ah. And what do you think of the Great Game, Snarg?”

“Sound fun!”

“You’ve corrupted him,” Sycho groans, sinking back into his chair and closing his eyes.

Shani and Shaiel grin at each other over his head. “So what happened at the Black Tower?” Shani enquires.

“Chaos.” Shadar’s expression is unbearably smug.

“Care to be more specific?”

“The number of insane Asha’man has approximately doubled. Beyond that, no. You can go and look for yourself if you’re really interested. Oh, and by the way,” Shadar pulls a folded parchment from his pocket, “you have an invitation. For tonight, it looks like.”

“Tonight?” And Shani smiles. “Let the Great Game begin...”

That night...

“Are you sure about this?” Sycho tugs at his cloak.

“Of course I’m sure.” Shani smooths down her dress, which is an evening version of her usual one. That is to say, even lower-cut and less opaque. “It’s a costume ball, isn’t it?”

“But we’re wearing the same clothes as always.”

“Exactly. Now be quiet and let me handle this.” Shani takes a deep breath, causing every male eye in the vicinity to focus on her, and glides up the stairs. “I am Shani Aes Sedai,” she announces regally. “These are my guests.”

The guards look at the party of one Aes Sedai, one man in a black coat, another in a white cloak, one woman in cadin’sor, an Ogier and an apparent Trolloc. “Of course, Aes Sedai, my Lords, my Lady.” One bows. “Follow me, if you please. Splendid costumes, if I may say so.”

“Why, thank you.” Shani smiles sweetly and leads the party in.

“An honour to meet you, Aes Sedai,” a wary-eyed Cairhienin lord says, bowing, glancing at Sycho and Shadar. “An honour. Your Warders, I presume?”

“My Warders,” Shani agrees serenely. “Very perceptive of you.”

“You lied!” Sycho hisses once they are out of earshot. “What happened to the First Oath?”

Shani shrugs, looking amused. “The First Oath stops me from speaking any word that is false, and every word in that sentence, taken individually, is true. Only the sentence itself was a lie, and the Oath doesn’t prevent that.”

“That’s sheer sophistry, Shani.”

“Oh, you noticed?”

“Worthy of the White Ajah,” Shadar compliments her. “Shall we dance?”

Shaiel, for her part, has just politely refused an invitation to dance by a young and rather pompous nobleman. Dancing with wetlanders is no fun. She never loses. “Ah, a shame. A fine costume, by the way. Very realistic. These Aiel savages, they are everywhere nowadays.” The man scowls.

“They are indeed,” Shaiel agrees, reconsidering her refusal to dance.

“I am writing a book,” Someone announces to a group of fascinated nobles. “All about - well, about -”

“The ramifications of insanity on an overly serious world,” another ten-foot tall figure supplies, joining the group, “and the potential methods for actuating such insanity. The research is quite fascinating.”

The nobles laugh and clap. Someone blinks. Shadar and Shani, pausing in their dance, look puzzled.

“Snarg,” Shadar murmurs, “do you realize you’re talking like a book?”

Snarg blinks, then mutters under his breath. “Too much listen stupid Ogier!”

“Keep going. You’re doing great.” Shani pats him on the shoulder as the two dance away.

“No,” Sycho tells a pair of insistent lords, “I am not playing the Great Game. I don’t even know the rules of the Great Game.”

The two lords nod and smile, and wonder just what he meant by that.

Shaiel is now the focus of attention of a small crowd of young Cairhienin men. “Are you sure you won’t dance?”

“You’re tempting me.” Shaiel’s hand strays to her belt knife.

Someone has started planning a new book. “Teaching Trollocs To Talk...”

“I said, I’m not playing Daes Dae’mar!” Sycho stalks away from a cluster of Cairhienin noblewomen. “And I don’t care where your husbands are!”

“Insanity, after all,” Snarg expounds to the group, “is known to be beneficial in small amounts. In large doses, of course, it can have undesirable consequences, but if care is taken...”

Someone busily takes notes.

“An odd costume to choose,” someone (not Someone) comments to Shadar. “I doubt Mazrim Taim would be pleased at seeing you.”

“Probably not,” Shadar agrees blandly, remembering the expression on Taim’s face when seeing him at the Black Tower earlier.

Shani laughs and joins Sycho. “How are you enjoying yourself?”

“It’s crazy!” Sycho flings up his hands. “I’ve told everyone that I’m not playing the Great Game, but they still think I’m up to something!”

“You told them you’re not playing?” Shani stares at him. “That’s the first rule of Daes Dae’mar! Don’t ever say you’re not in it!”

“You said there weren’t any rules!”

“So when was the Game ever consistent?” Shani sighs. “Shadar! Get over here. We’re leaving.”

“Leaving? Why?”

“Sycho just told everyone he’s not playing Daes Dae’mar.” Shani disappears in search of the others.

Shadar shakes his head. “Bad move. You can get away with almost everything in Cairhien, but not that. I’d say trouble’s brewing.”

“What could possibly happen?” Sycho demands as the rest of the party join them.

“Last person who tried caused a civil war.”

“Really?” Shaiel looks back. “Maybe I should dance, then.”

“Enough’s enough.” Shadar offers Shani his arm, and the pair lead the way out of the palace. “Chaos in Cairhien. Mission accomplished. Now we leave. There are places to go, people to see...”

“And drive insane...”

“That too. Let’s go!”

And all Cairhien breathes a sigh of relief as they leave. All except one man.

“Not again!” the drunk outside groans in an Amadician accent, and tips his ale out onto the ground. “No more drinking for me! I’m sick and tired of seeing pink elephants!”

Long Live Insanity #8: Shadar Aman

“To confusion!”

Six cups are lifted and drunk down.

“To chaos!”

The action is repeated. The unsteadiness of several hands suggests that quite a bit of toasting has already occurred.

“To us!”

The cups are drained a third time, and a flagon rises, gleaming in the firelight, and floats around the circle to fill them again.

Around the fire lounge six people in various states of drunkenness, ranging from a completely unconscious Trolloc to a completely unaffected Maiden of the Spear (Aiel don’t get drunk on oosquai, they only laugh at wetlanders who do). The more conscious members of the group are talking.

“The Car’a’carn visited the Black Tower yesterday,” Shaiel comments with a glance toward Shadar.

“Really?” Shani also glances toward the Asha’man. “Would that be before or after your surprise visit, Shadar?”

“After, probably.” Shadar downs a cup of oosquai and pours another. “I doubt they passed inspection. Al’Thor would not have been happy.”

“Doesn’t he have enough stress to cope with without you joining in? Give me that flagon, you drunken madman.” Shani snatches it from him on flows of Air and refills her own cup.

“He doesn’t cope with stress very well,” Shadar replies, ignoring the second part of Shani’s words. “I could do much better.”

“Oh?” Shani laughs. “You think you’d make a better Dragon than the Dragon?”

“Much better,” Shadar agrees, taking the flagon back and refilling his cup. “I wouldn’t have to worry about going mad. I already am.”

“Indubitably.” Abruptly Shani looks behind Shadar to where a white-cloaked form is stirring. “And you’d better demonstrate your control of saidin right now, because -”

“Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beer...”

“ - Sycho’s about to sing.”

“If one green bottle should accidentally fall -”

“No, you don’t!” Shadar weaves a gag of Air in record time.

“Maybe you could be the Car’a’carn,” Shaiel says dryly. “Leafblighter can’t be any worse than that.”

“All right, this promises amusement.” Shani raises her voice. “Someone! Stop drinking, we need you to record this. Shadar’s going to explain why he should be the Dragon Reborn instead of al’Thor.”

It would be nice to say that four attentive faces (Snarg being still unconscious) focus immediately on Shadar. In reality, however, the four wear expressions more skeptical than attentive, and Sycho is still attempting to sing through his gag. None of these, however, faze Shadar.

“If I were the Dragon Reborn,” the Asha’man expounds, “the main worry of all those surrounding me would be alleviated. No one would need to wonder when and how I was about to go mad, knowing that I could not possibly get any madder than I already am. All that energy spent worrying could therefore be turned to useful purposes.”

“Such as..?” Shani prompts him.

“Why, driving more people mad, of course. What else?” Shadar refills his cup. “Instead of teaching my Asha’man to kill, I would teach them to turn somersaults, laugh maniacally and frighten Darkfriends away by the sheer force of their insanity. Trollocs would not dare venture near me, afraid of having their tiny brains - sorry, Snarg - totally overloaded. Myrddraal, unable to laugh, would scream with frustration instead. No Shadowspawn would be taken seriously, and the Dark One’s forces would be completely crippled.”

“And the Shadowsouled?” Shaiel, despite herself, is getting interested. Someone is writing busily, albeit with a rather unsteady hand.

“The Forsaken?” Shadar dismisses the cast of nightmares with an airy wave of his hand. “They couldn’t exist in the same reality with me. They’d go running back to Shayol Ghul and hide.”

“And the Dark One?”

“Would take one look at me and beg to be re-imprisoned for another Age.” Shadar drains his cup and looks around with a rather smug expression. “Did I leave anything out? Would I make a great Dragon, or what?”

“I refrain from comment.” Shani finishes her own drink. “If you’re going to be the Dragon, can I be the Amyrlin?”

“What on earth for?”

“So I can break all the rules, of course!”

“I thought you did that already,” Shadar points out. “Didn’t Elaida put a price on your head?”

“Yes. Didn’t Taim put one on yours?”

“Yes.” The two channelers grin at each other.

“Back to the point...” Shaiel reminds them. “How are you going to break the rules any more than you do already? There are only so many, you know.”

“Not at all. An Amyrlin can make rules.” Shani smiles enigmatically. “And then proceed to break them. Aside from that, though, as Amyrlin I could break rules much more publicly. An Aes Sedai ignoring all Tower convention is one thing, but an Amyrlin doing so...”

“Ah. I see your point.”

“Exactly. Chaos. Besides, I think I’d like to be the first successful Red Amyrlin ever.”

Shadar laughs at that. “Successful - by what standard?”

“Who’d want to argue with me?”

“Arrghaghh!”

“What was that?”

“Gharrghahggh!”

“Oh - sorry, Sycho.” Shadar removes the gag. His apology doesn’t sound particularly sincere, and Sycho scowls. He doesn’t, however, sing.

“What were you saying, Sycho?” Shani passes him the flagon. “Do you want to be the Lord Captain Commander?”

“I’m not as insane as you two.”

“Don’t worry,” she assures him. “We’ll back you up.”

“So kind.”

“I know.”

“That’s settled, then,” Shadar announces. “I’ll be the Dragon. Shani can be the Amyrlin and Sycho can be the Lord Captain Commander. Someone can be the official historian and chronicler for the Dragon Reborn, and Snarg can be...”

“Official carrier of books for the official historian?” Shaiel suggests.

“Perfect. What do you want to be?”

“Nothing. I’ll stick to laughing at you five.”

“Chief spectator,” Shani agrees. “Are we agreed, then? In the event of the Dragon Reborn, the Amyrlin Seat and the Lord Captain Commander being simultaneously missing, dead or otherwise incapacitated, we take over?”

“That doesn’t seem likely to happen very soon,” Sycho points out.

“I suppose it doesn’t, at that.” Shani reaches for the flagon again. “We’ll just have to find something else to do in the meantime, won’t we?”

Long Live Insanity #9: There’s No Business Like Show Business...

The curtain rises.

The author apologises for using the ‘the curtain rises’ opening again, but this time she has an excuse. The curtain rises on another curtain, which in turn rises on...

“Welcome to the Circus of Chaos!” Shadar, in a black silk cape and top hat, strides out from amidst a collection of brightly painted wagons, bowing flamboyantly to the audience, which consists of people from most parts of the continent, and even a few Whitecloaks standing at the back. “Welcome! I am Shadar, showmaster supreme, magician without compare! Allow me to present my circus of madmen!”

“Ahem.” A feminine voice breaks in. “Shadar -”

“Oh, yes. And madwomen.”

“Ahem!” A slightly louder voice this time, like the rumbling of a giant bumblebee.

“And mad Ogier...”

“AHEM!” A very loud voice.

“And mad Trollocs, yes. Ladies and gentlemen - oh, and Whitecloaks - as a prelude to later entertainments, let me dazzle and astound you with a demonstration of my skills at magic and sleight of hand. If my assistant will join me...”

Shani strolls out from the wagons, wearing a costume that would make Leane and Berelain blush, assuming they only saw it in dim light. The effect on the audience in broad daylight is best left to the imagination.

“...then I shall proceed.” Shadar then proceeds to pull half a dozen coloured balls from various places in his clothing (and from Shani’s, which is somewhat more of a challenge) and starts juggling them. One by one, they turn to balls of fire and dissipate in puffs of smoke. The audience laugh and clap. Shadar then calls various members of the audience up on stage and pulls coins and jewels from their apparently empty pockets, making him even more popular.

“I shall now pull a rabbit out of my hat!” Shadar removes his hat and places it on a table (don’t ask how the table got there, this is a magic act after all). He reaches in and pulls. First comes a golden plume, then a polished metal helmet, then a head...

“Hey, that’s no rabbit! Go away, Whitecloak!” Shadar pushes the head back down. The audience is quite amused, with the exception of a small group in white cloaks. “Sorry about that, people. You never know where they’ll turn up nowadays.” On the second attempt Shadar produces a rabbit. It still has a tiny helmet and white cloak, though. “Hmm. Oh well, better than nothing. That’s it, for now. Time for my colleagues to take a turn.” Shadar puts the rabbit back in the hat, followed by the table (and now you know), places the hat back on his head, bows again, and walks off.

After a suitable dramatic pause, Sycho comes out, carrying a rope and followed by Shaiel, wearing a sequined outfit with somewhat more material to it than Shani’s (okay, that isn’t really saying much). They quickly set up the rope, tied to two long poles. Shaiel climbs one of the poles, does a spectacular back-flip, and lands on the rope. Sycho attempts to do the same, slips, and ends up hanging from the rope by one hand. With an exaggerated sigh, Shaiel reaches down and hauls him up. They do several more flips, cartwheels and somersaults before suddenly freezing. Shani, standing below, tosses up a sword (glittering with fake gems) to Sycho, and a spear (likewise) to Shaiel. Both catch them, and, still balanced on the rope, start fencing.

Sycho attacks. Shaiel parries his blow, and counters with one of her own. Sycho ducks, falls backward, and barely catches himself with one foot hooked around the rope. Shaiel waits for him to pull himself back up, then does another flip over his head and attacks from behind. Sycho falls again.

After a few more minutes of this, Sycho falls yet again, tries to pull himself up, slips, and tumbles. The audience gasps. Shani and Shadar race up with a blanket (not just an ordinary blanket, of course, but a red velvet one covered in gems, the kind you could probably find on a Tairen lord’s bed. Shadar pulled it out of his hat.) and hold it up beneath the falling Sycho. He lands, bounces, and this time falls straight through the blanket. Shani and Shadar hold it up to reveal a large Sycho-shaped hole.

Shaiel slides down the pole, does a cartwheel over to where they are standing with the blanket, and bows. Shani bows. Shadar bows, flourishing his cape and hat. Sycho staggers to his feet, bows, and falls flat on his face again. The audience cheers.

Shadar and Sycho retire into the wagons. Shani and Shaiel walk around the audience carrying big hats (they pulled them out of Shadar’s, of course) and hand out coins instead of collecting them. After this unexpected generosity, they too retire to the wagons and close the doors. Another dramatic pause occurs.

Someone emerges, dressed in an oversized gleeman’s cloak. “Good day, good people!” he booms, then lowers his voice. Slightly. The audience clap and cheer at the appearance of an Ogier. “I have a story to tell you.” He flips through a notebook. “Hmm. Where was I? Ah yes, here it is. This is the story, ladies and gentlemen, of a most remarkable band of adventurers and their travels through the world. Most remarkable, indeed. There was an Asha’man, you see, and a Red sister, and...” He notices the laughter of the audience and looks at them reprovingly. “And it’s all absolutely true!”

Striking a pose, he begins. “The curtain rises on blackness...”

To be continued.

Long Live Insanity #10: The Show Must Go On

A brief summary of events; yesterday’s show closed on Someone’s recitation of his story ‘Long Live Insanity.’ He got to the third ‘the curtain rises’ before finally becoming hoarse and having to retire to the disappointment of the audience. Today, the sun rises, and right on time the curtain also rises...

“Welcome! Welcome to the second performance of the Circus of Chaos!” Shadar, in hat and cape, sweeps a dramatic bow to the gathering audience. There are already more people than there were yesterday; apparently word has spread. “Today we will once again dazzle, amaze, astound and bewilder you with our phenomenal skills. This afternoon will bring another demonstration of my magical talents. But now, allow me to present to you the sensational, the spectacular, in fact the sensationally spectacular Shani, Tamer of Trollocs!”

Shani, in an even scantier outfit than last time and with a (sequined) whip in her hand, saunters into the arena to the thunderous applause of the audience. Especially its male members.

“And allow me also to present - Snarg!”

Right on cue, a loud bellow comes from the wagons, and Snarg lumbers out. The audience gasp and shriek, and playing to the crowd, Snarg bares huge teeth and roars again.

“Down!” Shani orders, cracking her whip. The giant Trolloc whines and cowers. Murmurs of astonishment come from the crowd. Shani smiles and bows, before turning back to put Snarg through his paces.

The Trolloc walks. He runs. He sits up and begs. He fetches a stick. He juggles coloured balls and flaming torches. He manages a few dance steps. He even attempts a somersault, before crashing over and landing on the ground. At Shani’s signal, he bows courteously and blows kisses to the audience, who are all laughing fit to burst.

“Thank you! Thank you!” Shadar announces as they all bow. “Ladies, gentlemen, Whitecloaks, let me assure you this is no trick. Snarg here is a genuine Trolloc. As you can see, it’s amazing what Trollocs can learn. When we’ve perfected Snarg’s training, we intend to drop in to the Blight and pick up a few more for Shani to work on. What would you think of an entire dance troupe of Trollocs?”

Due to the audience being too busy laughing, there is no response.

“Yes,” Shani agrees, “and it’s amazing how useful a Trolloc or two can be, too. Snarg here carries our baggage for us when we don’t have wagons. Don’t you, Snarg?”

“Snarg carry baggage!”

“And as you can see, he talks in the time-honoured Trolloc style. But with very little training, he can easily switch to cultivated language...”

Snarg bows again. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Ah yes, and Whitecloaks. It is truly an honour to be here today.”

“...or even to Ogier dialect.”

“Hmm?” Snarg blinks. “Ah, yes. Hmm. Where was I?” He produces a notebook and starts flipping through it.

“What’s more,” Shadar adds, “he can act! In fact, all of us can. So watch closely, and we shall delight and enchant you with our theatrical art. Today’s performance is another episode from that story the Ogier was telling you yesterday...”

Shaiel, Sycho and Someone run out and join them in the arena. With props speedily produced from Shadar’s hat, the six perform a pantomime of the events in “Maiden’s Kiss.”

“Thank you! Thank you!” They bow and retire. Someone and Snarg walk around with hats handing out more coins.

“It’s not that we think we have to pay you to watch,” Shadar explains. “We know we’re good.” The audience cheers him on. “We just don’t like doing what everyone else does. Besides, what would we do with money? I can pull everything we need out of my hat.” He demonstrates, removing a number of silk scarves, some more coins which he throws into the crowd, a couple of Sword and Dragon collar pins, a Great Serpent ring, and a flock of doves which, oddly enough, are wearing conical metal helmets. “Wonder what happened there? Oh, well. As I was saying, we know we’re good. So let me present to you another display of my magical and sleight of hand skills. Shani! Snarg! Come on out!”

Shani comes out from her wagon. Snarg drops his hat of money and bounds out from the audience.

“Go get the box, Snarg!” Shani orders with another whipcrack. Snarg lumbers off, and returns carrying a wooden box the height of a person.

“Good!” Shadar flourishes his cape. “All right, people, pay attention now. As you can see, this box is clearly empty.” Snarg opens the box to display that yes, it is indeed empty. Then he sets it down and holds the door open for Shani to step in. “Now it’s not. But in a few minutes, it will be empty again as I make Shani here disappear!”

He closes the box and intones a few grand-sounding words (although, in the unlikely event that anyone in the audience happened to speak the Old Tongue fluently, they would have heard a rather rude joke about people in white cloaks). Snarg lifts the box up again and parades around with it on his shoulders for a minute or two.

“Now - open the box, will you, Snarg? - you will see quite clearly that Shani is not in it!”

The box is opened. Shani is, indeed, not in it. Instead, Sycho staggers out dressed in full Whitecloak regalia.

“Not you again!” Shadar curses, shoving him back in. The Whitecloaks in the audience are not amused, but the rest more than make up for it. “Sorry, people. Must be Whitecloak season or something. They keep popping up like flies. Let me try that one again.” He closes the box, repeats the Old Tongue words (with a few embellishments for the benefit of his fellow performers) while Snarg lifts it again. In mid-air, the door opens and Shani jumps out, landing lithely on the ground.

“There, that’s better. I don’t know where all these Whitecloaks are coming from. Well, ladies, gentlemen - Whitecloaks - I’m sorry to say that the Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills, that all good things come to an end, and that right now -” Shadar squints up at the sun - “the show’s over.”

There are cries of disappointment from the audience.

“But I’ve always said that when you go out, go out in style!” Shadar flourishes his cape again and gestures dramatically. “Maestro!”

A band starts playing from somewhere unseen - could it be from inside Shadar’s hat? The wagons start moving with apparently no means of doing so. Shani dances across the arena, jumps up onto the roof of a moving wagon, and changes her dance to what several shocked observers recognise as the sa’sara. Sycho and Shaiel jump onto the wagon behind hers and start fencing with their jewelled weapons. Someone, still scribbling in his notebook, vaults onto the third wagon, and Snarg takes the fourth. A flash of light, and a gateway rotates open in the middle of the arena.

“There’s no business, like show business...” they sing (doing their best to drown Sycho out) as the wagons turn and drive themselves through the open gateway, the audience gaping. Shadar leaps onto the roof of the last wagon, his hat spilling out silk scarves, gold coins, jewels, flocks of doves and the occasional rabbit.

“Next performance,” he announces as the gateway closes behind them, “Shayol Ghul!”

Long Live Insanity #11: The Ambush

A narrow, little-trodden path winds its way through the dark forest, far from any outpost of civilisation. There are rumours of bandits in these woods. Not many people pass this way any more.

But what’s that sound? Footsteps in the distance, and voices coming closer, talking and laughing with no thought of danger. Figures appear around a bend, vague in the pale moonlight.

The men crouched in the branches smile contemptuously. Two women, they count, and an Ogier, and a big fellow with a sword and an odd horned helmet who must be their guard. Fools, coming this way at night with only one armed man. Looks like a quick profit ahead.

As the four pass beneath the tree where they hide, two of the bandits leap from the branches, tackling the hulking bodyguard. The results are not quite as they expect.

“Go get ‘em, Snarg!” Shani and Shaiel cheer as the bandits are picked up by the big - what in Shayol Ghul is that creature? - and slammed against the tree a few times, growling “Stupid bandits!” Meanwhile, Someone busily writes in his notebook.

The third bandit appraises the situation and does what appears to be the smart thing. Which proves him rather lacking in brains, since the smart thing in this situation is clearly to run. Instead, he jumps down, grabs Shaiel and holds a knife to her throat. “Okay,” he snarls, proving himself to be also a lousy actor, “tell your friend there to let my mates go, or the girl gets it!”

There is a scornful laugh from somewhere in the shadows. And, somewhat disconcertingly, from Shaiel. Snarg takes no notice of the threat and continues slamming the bandit pair.

“Don’t hurt anyone!” Shani sounds alarmed, to the bandit’s relief. At least someone here is showing a normal reaction. “You do what you’re told, pretty, and -” He is cut off by a withering look from Shani.

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

“It’s all right,” Shaiel says, “I won’t.” She pauses, considering. “Not permanently, anyway.”

“I said let them go!” The bandit brandishes his knife, frothing at the mouth in fury.

“Oh, very well,” the voice from the shadows sighs. “Snarg?”

The Trolloc slams the pair against the tree once or twice more, then, with a disappointed look, lets them go. Emphatically. The two bandits go flying back into the woods. “Stupid bandits.”

“Well done,” the shadowy voice applauds. “Now let me explain a few things about ambushes. What you don’t do is attack Trollocs. They can get quite annoyed about that. Then, it’s not really a good idea to...”

The third bandit is looking frantically around, trying to find the source of the mocking voice. And unaware that his hair is slowly beginning to smoulder.

“...pick a hostage who could tie you in knots without breathing hard,” the voice continues, “and if it comes to that, deciding to ambush...”

The bandit’s hair, being rather greasy, is catching fire quite nicely.

“...a group containing an -”

“Aaargghh!” The bandit dances around, trying to beat out the fire on his head without letting go of Shaiel. He manages, but only because Shaiel is laughing too hard to do anything about it. “Aes Sedai!”

“ - ranks fairly high on the list of stupid things to do,” the voice concludes. “Actually, though, you were wrong. The correct word to fill in was Asha’man.” Shadar, his black coat merging with the night, moves out of the shadows.

“Stupid bandit!” (Guess who that was)

“That’s right,” Shani agrees blithely. “Fire does tend to be a male strength. If you want Aes Sedai work, on the other hand...” A large quantity of ice-cold water is abruptly dumped on the bandit’s head, quenching the remaining flames. “Does that help?”

The bandit’s jaw hits the ground. His eyes roll up in his head.

“Hey, what’s going on?” A white-cloaked figure appears at the bend of the path. “It’s raining bandits back here! Snarg, was that -” He sees the group. “All right, let’s not have anyone hurt.”

“I already said that,” Shani tells him.

“Spoilsport. What’s happening?”

“Thank the Light!” the bandit gasps out. “Aes Sedai! Asha’man!”

“And...?”

“Help me!”

“What in the Light for?” Sycho takes off his helmet and leans back against a tree to enjoy the show.

The bandit collapses. Not due to shock, although that would probably have happened had there been time for it, but due to Shaiel deciding to do something about the knife at her throat. An elbow to the ribs, a fist to the jaw and several kicks to various vulnerable parts of the body lay the bandit out cold on the ground.

(The author has just realised that she hasn’t mentioned Someone for a while. Please assume that all through this, he is standing to one side, taking notes for his book. Thank you.)

The group applaud. Sycho relieves the unconscious man of his purse and adds it to the two he collected from the earlier pair.

“How much?” Shani asks him.

“Enough for a few cups of wine. What say we head for the nearest tavern?”

“Why not?” Shadar shrugs. They stroll off down the path. “Think we’ll run into any more bandits?”

“Not if they have any sense,” Shani laughs.

But do the bandits have any sense? No...and now you know how Shadar can afford all those things he pulls out of his hat, too.

Long Live Insanity #12: Tower Tours, Inc

“Welcome to Tower Tours, Inc.” A gateway appears and Shani steps through, followed by the other five, who are looking around curiously. “We are currently located in the upper section of the White Tower, which houses the quarters of each Ajah. Unfortunately the Blue quarters are currently empty, but we will visit each of the others in turn.” She gestures toward a white-painted door at the end of the corridor. “First stop is the White Ajah.”

Aes Sedai, Asha’man, Aiel, Whitecloak, Ogier and Trolloc file through the door. The reaction is surprising, in that it is mainly nonexistent. Most of the White sisters in the large room continue with what they are doing, paying no attention to the group that has just entered.

One near the door glances up. She studies them briefly. “The odds against six such people being associated with each other are astronomically high,” she informs them coolly. “Therefore, you cannot possibly exist.” She returns to her work. “Kindly close the door on your way out.”

“That’s Whites for you.” Shani shrugs. “Let’s try the Browns.”

Their entrance to the Brown quarters is marked by much blinking and scribbling in notebooks. A few are too engrossed in their study to take any notice, but the majority immediately start questioning, theorising and recording. Someone has to be dragged away from the Brown bookshelves before they leave.

“Stupid Ogier,” Snarg mutters.

“He’s just following his instinct,” Shaiel says. “Who’s next, Shani?”

“How about Green?”

“Want to be a Warder, handsome?” a pretty Green calls as Shadar strolls through the door. She grins. “I rather like men in black.”

“No you don’t!” Shani retorts. “He’s mine.”

“Ah well.” She turns to Sycho. “Want to be a Warder, handsome? I rather like men in white, too.”

“He’s mine,” Shaiel says firmly.

“I’m just following my instinct,” the Green sister laughs. “Are you sure you can’t spare him? I mean, the Ogier and the Trolloc aren’t exactly bonding material, and I’ve been looking for a new Warder for a while.”

“How many do you have already?”

“Five.”

“Hello, Shani!” another Green greets her. “You do know Elaida’s banned you from the Tower, don’t you?”

“Of course! Why do you think I’m back?”

“Just checking.”

Shadar looks at Shani. “Why in the Light did you pick Red instead of Green?”

Shani looks surprised. “Because everyone expected me to pick Green, of course.” She smooths down her dress. “Besides, red’s always been my best colour.”

On their way out of the Green quarters, this time it’s Sycho and Shaiel who have to be dragged away (Sycho from a group of Green sisters looking for a sixth or seventh Warder, and Shaiel from another group of Greens listening, fascinated, to her explanation of the rules of Maiden’s Kiss. A fair number of Gaidin are in for a new experience). They head for a door painted yellow.

The Yellow sisters immediately surround the group, arguing over whether insanity can be cured. Then one recognises Shani. “Forget it - we’ve been trying to cure her for years.”

They go on to the Gray quarters.

The Gray reaction is - interesting. “It’s not fair!” one Gray sister screams. “You’ve taken away our entire purpose for existing!”

Sycho looks confused. “Uh - run that one by me again?”

“Do you know how many sisters it would take to conclude a peace treaty with the Whitecloaks? Let alone bringing Asha’man into it too!” She glares at Shadar. “And all the rest of you! And now look what you’ve done - you’re getting on perfectly well without any of us intervening!” The Gray breaks down into hysterical sobs.

“Don’t worry.” Shani pats the inconsolable Gray on the shoulder. “You’ll have a war to adjudicate before long.”

“What?” another Gray demands.

Shani smiles sweetly. “I’m going to introduce my friends to the rest of the Red Ajah.”

There is a hushed silence, broken only by such sound effects as gasps, hysterical giggles, and probably the theme tune from Jaws, as the six walk slowly toward a large door painted in deep red.

The door swings open. Sisters inside look up in surprise at the entrance of an Aiel and an Ogier, which turns to shock as a Whitecloak and Trolloc walk in, which rapidly turns to panic as they are followed by an Asha’man. Then they see Shani...

The oldest Red sister sighs and casts her eyes skyward. “I should have known.”

The rest are a little less calm. Actually - a lot less calm. “How dare you show your face in here again?” one shrieks. “You were BANNED from the Tower!” About half the Reds in the room appear to share her sentiment. Most of the other half have fainted. A few are laughing uncontrollably. None are taking the least notice of Sycho, Shaiel, Someone, Snarg or even Shadar.

“Shani would appear to have a certain reputation here,” Someone observes as he continues to take notes.

“You’re not joking.” Shaiel looks around in amazement. “That’s some reputation, to make this lot ignore an Asha’man in their quarters.”

“What did she do to get banned?” Sycho demands.

“At a guess,” Shadar grins, “I’d say the same sort of thing that got me banned from the Black Tower.”

“Stupid rules!”

“That’s about it, yes.”

Shani, meanwhile, is standing in the middle of the room, an amused smile flickering on her lips. It doesn’t take a genius or a great observer to guess that she’s delighted with the sensation she’s caused. And continues to cause, as the shouting rages on...

“I don’t know how you have the gall to come back here, after all the trouble you’ve caused!”

“We should have known better than to let you into the Ajah!”

“You should have been thrown out before you ever reached the shawl!”

“You little tart! All you care about is getting attention!”

The smile turns into a wry grin at that last one. “Guilty as charged,” Shani agrees blandly. “So?”

“You must be insane!”

“Perceptive, aren’t they?” Shadar murmurs under his breath.

“I warn you, this will not be tolerated!”

“Go back to wherever you’ve been!”

“Can you give me some tips?” Glares meet that one, but the questioner shrugs unabashed. “Hey, it looks like fun.”

“You were banned from the Tower! How dare you -”

“You’re repeating yourself now,” Shani interrupts. “Now you’ve got all that out of your system - you have, haven’t you? - I was going to ask if Elaida -”

The door slams open, and the voice of the Amyrlin in question can be heard all over the island. Everyone stops in their tracks as the enraged words, breaking the sound laws in every part of the world, boom out:

“WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO MY CLOCK?”

Long Live Insanity #13: Right Between The Eyes

“Yes he is.”

“No he isn’t.”

“Yes, he is.”

“No, he isn’t.”

Shani and Shadar are strolling down the snow-covered Cairhien road, engaged in a heated debate. “Look,” Shani sets hands on hips and glares at him, “he is. Taim is Demandred. It’s perfectly clear.”

“No it’s not.” Shadar glares right back. “It’s a ridiculous idea. He’s a complete idiot, but he isn’t a Forsaken.”

“Is so!”

“Is not!”

“Is so!”

“Oh, all right then, if you insist... Is so!”

“Is not!”

And the debate continues.

“How much further?” Shani asks after a few more minutes, absent-mindedly adding “Is not!” to the end of her sentence.

“Is so! Not far, it’s just over this hill.”

“Good. I’m looking forward to visiting again - besides, I heard some of my friends are here now. Is not, by the way.”

“Is so. Here we are.”

The pair stand atop the hill, looking down at what appears to be a farm. A few black-coated men are moving about outside, but the majority are clearly inside the large, untidy-looking farmhouse.

“The Black Tower,” Shani says sardonically.

“Home sweet home,” Shadar says equally sardonically.

Arm-in-arm, they saunter down the snowy hill and into the house. The first few rooms they look into are empty. Opening the door to another, Shani ducks as a dart goes flying past her.

“You again?” the young Dedicated who threw the dart exclaims.

Shadar snatches the dart from mid-air and tosses it back. “That’s no way to welcome a guest. Haven’t you learned any manners since last time I saw you?”

“You again?” This time about half the room joins in.

“Indeed. I, Shadar the Mad, alive, well and completely insane.” Shadar bows mockingly. “And my dear, dear friend and companion in madness, Shani of the Red Ajah.” Shani bestows a dazzling smile on the crowd. “Before anyone asks, yes, I am quite aware of the fact that I have been banned from the Black Tower, and before anyone asks, yes, that is why I am back. And how is our respected M’Hael?”

“Worse,” another Asha’man replies succinctly. The rest of the men in the room variously sigh, roll their eyes and grumble agreement.

“Is not!” Shani whispers, too low for anyone but Shadar to hear.

“Is so!” Shadar raises his voice again. “And how -”

A voice interrupts them. “Now who in the Light are you two?” The pair turn around to see yet another black-coated man standing in the doorway, looking at once surprised and highly amused.

“Well -” Shani begins.

“Move aside, you lug of a False Dragon!” A second Domani woman in a red shawl pushes past into the room. “Shani! I thought it was you! What have you been up to?”

“Hello, Toveine! How have you been?” Shani pulls Toveine aside and the two start whispering, darting glances at Logain and Shadar that leave absolutely no doubt about who their topic of conversation happens to be.

(You didn’t know Toveine was Domani, did you? I thought not. Read her description a bit more closely.)

Shadar looks at Logain. Logain looks at Shadar. Both shrug at approximately the same time, and in the same manner, one which conveys the general message that whether they happen to be sane or insane, men will never understand women. Meanwhile, of course, Shani and Toveine have identical amused little smiles on their lips, which as every well brought-up girl, whatever her level of sanity, in the world of the Wheel is taught from childhood is the very best way to seriously aggravate men by creating the impression that women do understand men, and very well too, which is pure fiction because if one gender in the Wheel of Time ever fully understood the other the world would probably end...

But I digress. While I was describing those shrugs and smiles and their intended effects, Logain and Shadar introduced themselves to each other and Toveine and Shani finished their conversation and have now rejoined the men, leaving them, and you, in eternal curiosity concerning just what was said. Now back to the action.

Shadar looks at the dartboard hanging on the door, and blinks. “What happened to Elaida?”

The new dartboard bears a life-size image of a hook-nosed man in a black coat, with blue and gold Dragons twining up the sleeves.

“The old one wore out,” Logain replies with a shrug. “Elaida’s even less popular than Taim in some quarters -”

Nods and mutters of agreement from the rest of the room - not least from Toveine.

“- and the girls got overenthusiastic.” Logain grins. “There’s a hole right through the door from Toveine’s first throw.”

“Oh, not right through. There’s at least a hair’s-width of wood left.” Toveine turns to Shani. “I hear you made a name for yourself here a while back.”

Shani drops her eyes modestly, or would at any rate if modesty wasn’t quite such an unnatural emotion for her. “Well...”

“How about a second demonstration?”

Forgetting the attempt at modesty, Shani flashes a brilliant grin. “Just hand me a dart.”

The dart duly supplied, she steps back, grins again at her audience and tilts her head to study the target. “Hmm...”

“Don’t think you can do it?”

“Don’t be insulting.” With that, Shani hurls the dart toward the door...

...which swings open...

...revealing another life-size image of a hook-nosed man in a black coat, with blue and gold Dragons twining up the sleeves. Wait... that doesn’t look like a picture...

The dart hits Mazrim Taim. Right between the eyes.

There is a brief but profound silence as the M’Hael of the Black Tower stands in the doorway, with a look of fury on his face and a dart sticking out from his forehead. Only four sentences are spoken before pandemonium erupts.

“Is not!” Shani.

“Is too!” Shadar.

“Here comes trouble...” Logain.

“I think,” Toveine, “that it would be a good idea for you two to leave right now...”

Pandemonium erupts. Shadar and Shani take the opportunity and Toveine’s advice, and slip quietly out the back door.

Back on the snow-covered Cairhien road, Shani whirls to face Shadar. “See! What did I tell you! He is Demandred!”

“Is not!”

“Is too!”

And the debate continues.

Long Live Insanity #14: Where The Shadow Flees, or, The Boat People

The city - dark and deserted save for the small party standing in the middle of the main street. Ruined buildings loom all around them. The sun has set.

A thin tendril of mist drifts from one of the buildings.

A slim woman standing slightly apart from the others holds out her hand, palm up. “Come on, then,” she calls softly. A faint smile crosses her face. “Come to Shani.”

The tendril pauses, detecting something strange in its surroundings.

“Come on now.” Shani beckons to it. “We’re here. We’re helpless. We’re food for the taking...”

Somebody snickers. Somebody else hushes him. The tendril drifts gradually closer to her upraised hand.

“Good,” the Aes Sedai croons. “Good little Mashadar. Come and feed...”

The tendril of mist touches her hand. A sudden, unhuman shriek of pain echoes from all around them. The mist pulls back from her and flees. Scattered applause comes from the rest of the party.

“We’re just too mad for it,” Shadar says smugly.

“Stupid mist,” Snarg says equally smugly.

“I wonder if a similar principle might apply to Machin Shin,” Someone muses. The Ogier’s voice, as always, resembles nothing more than the buzzing of an immense bumblebee. “It would be very useful if there was a safe way through the Ways. Um. I wonder if...” He starts scribbling in the inevitable notebook.

“It very likely does.” Shani smiles brightly at them all. “We’ll remember to try that. Right now, though, we have something else to do.”

“What?” Sycho frowns. “I don’t remember you saying anything about this earlier.”

“That,” Shani explains patiently, “is because I didn’t. Run!”

“What?” It isn’t just Sycho this time.

“I said, run! Hurry!” Shani darts off down the street, followed by Shadar and, after a confused moment, everyone else.

“Why are we running?” Sycho pants out.

“Because I told you to.”

“Yes, but why -”

“No time for that! Hurry up!”

Five minutes later they stop by the river, breathless and gasping for air. Well, except for Shaiel, since everyone knows how fast Maidens can run. And not Someone, because all Ogier have plenty of stamina, or Snarg, for much the same reason. And not Shadar or Shani, of course, because they’re insane and don’t see the need to follow the normal rules anyway, which leaves...

“Why,” Sycho demands, breathless and gasping for air, “did we have to run?”

“I saw no danger,” Shaiel asserts.

“Hmm?” Shani glances back at them. “Oh, no, no danger. Nothing like that. I just didn’t want to miss our boat.”

“What boat?”

“That one right there - ” She points. A boat is, indeed, sailing rapidly toward them, with a man standing on deck shouting. “- and that -”

“Fortune prick me if that do be not a Trolloc! I do not be giving passage to people who do be being chased by Trollocs! Everyone do be knowing that bad things do be coming of it!”

“- must be our captain.”

Someone blinks. “For some strange reason...” He produces a book and starts flipping through it. “I have this odd feeling of déja vu...”

“Shh, don’t tell anyone. Your turn, Shadar.”

“It’s all right, Captain,” Shadar calls to the shouting Illianer, “we’re not being chased by Trollocs. This one’s with us. Actually, we’re being chased by Tairens.”

“But you said -” Sycho begins, before catching a look from Shani. “Sorry.”

“You know what Tairens are like.” Shadar sighs theatrically. “They see a group like ours and they’re suspicious right away. They refuse to believe we’re just minding our own business and not causing anyone any trouble.”

Sycho snickers.

“Why, those Tairen pigs!” The captain’s beard bristles. “Always prying into other people’s business! Never letting a Light-fearing Trolloc live his life in peace! Come right aboard, friends! No Tairen contaminates my decks!”

The boat stops, and a plank is laid from deck to bank for them. With a grin, Shadar offers his arm to Shani and the pair of them cross to the deck. The other four look at each other, shrug, and follow them.

“Captain Dayle Bomon at your service,” the Illianer announces, bowing. “I do be glad to meet you all. How does it be that you do all be together, then?”

“Well -” Shadar begins, and as the boat carries them downriver, launches into a long, involved, fantastic tale of adventures strange and exotic and utterly implausible...

...and completely true. Who needs gleemen?

Long Live Insanity #15: Early In The Morning

“Do I look like an Aes Sedai?” Shani demands, spreading her arms wide dramatically.

The dark face of a Sea Folk officer on the deck above takes on a distinctly amused expression. “Well - I suppose I could accept the ring and the shawl as some sort of fashion statement, but the ageless face...?”

“Oh - damn. I forgot about that.” Shani shrugs. “All right. I am Aes Sedai. Don’t I get any points for trying, though?”

The Atha’an Miere woman considers. “What do you know about Windfinders?”

“You mean that they can channel? Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell anyone. Elaida won’t let me back in the Tower long enough to anyway.”

“All right then, come aboard.”

A rope is dropped from the side of the raker. Shani, however, ignores it and gravity in favour of walking up to the deck on thin air. (No, I don’t mean channeling a bridge of Air either. The force of insanity is much stronger than that of gravity. Didn’t you ever learn that in school?)

“Show-off,” Shadar mutters.

Shani arches an eyebrow and turns back to bargaining with the Sea Folk. Meanwhile Someone’s books are being hauled up, supervised by the anxious Ogier (books of course being much more important, in an Ogier’s view, than other people, who can just wait to get up until his precious books are safe, thank you very much).

Shadar thinks for a moment. Abruptly lightning flashes down from a clear blue sky. It hits the spot where he is standing, causing him to be explosively propelled into the air and land upright on the raker’s deck. He didn’t channel, either.

“And you call me a show-off!” is Shani’s response.

Shadar smirks. Shani sulks. Shadar walks over to the side of the ship, where Sycho is now being pulled up. “Hey, be careful you don’t -”

A metaphorical lightbulb flashes above Shani’s head as she takes in several important facts. Due to Shadar’s height, more than half of his body is above the railing he’s now leaning on in a very precarious way. And there’s that lovely crate of books so conveniently to hand...

“- fall!” Shadar finishes his sentence with a yell as a heavy book (Volume One of Long Live Insanity, in case anyone was wondering) hits his head and sends him tumbling. Of course, he grabs the railing with one hand, hits the side of the raker and flips back up, narrowly missing kicking Sycho in the head...

“Hey! Watch it, Shani!”

...and lands back on the deck. The book, meanwhile, sails out over the side and is caught by Someone, who, hugging his rescued masterwork to him, immediately starts berating Shani for treating books in such a fashion. Not to mention Shadar for being so careless as to hit it with his head.

Shani smirks. Shadar sulks. The Sea Folk just look on in disbelief.

The rest of the party make it on board without any incidents, and the ship sets sail. Someone sits down in an out-of-the-way corner with his books, pens and paper, and continues writing. Shaiel very carefully just happens to look anywhere but at the immense amount of water all around her. Snarg sprawls out on the deck and goes to sleep in the sun, and Sycho borrows a bottle of oosquai from Shaiel and proceeds to get happily drunk. Shadar and Shani continue to sulk, ostentatiously looking away from each other.

But of course, what always happens in those circumstances happens, and after downing the third cup of oosquai, Sycho begins to sing;

“Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the, hic, wall, hic, ninety-nine bottles of, uh, can’t remember what came next...”

Everyone aboard visibly winces.

“Beer, that’s it, ninety-hic bottles of hic on the beer, uh, wall, um...”

Shadar begins to whistle softly, to the tune of ‘What shall we do with a drunken sailor...’. Shani flicks a glance at him, and the pair start singing, drowning out Sycho’s ‘music’.

“What shall we do with a drunken Whitecloak,
What shall we do with a drunken Whitecloak,
What shall we do with a drunken Whitecloak,
Early in the morning?”

Shani and Shadar grin at each other. And it seems Snarg isn’t asleep after all, because he yawns, stretches his muscles, gets up and ambles in Sycho’s general direction...

“What shall we do with a drunken Whitecloak,
What shall we -”

SPLASH!

There is a brief moment of shocked silence, before the demonic duo burst into song again.

“Thrown overboard by a ten-foot Trolloc,
Thrown overboard by a ten-foot Trolloc,
Thrown overboard by a ten-foot Trolloc,
Early in the morning!”

“Well done, Snarg!” Shadar applauds. “Couldn’t have thought of better myself.”

“All right, all right,” Shaiel sets hands on hips, “wetlander humour is one thing and this is the place for it, but one of you two is going to get him out again, I trust?” She taps her belt knife suggestively.

Shani pouts. “Oh - all right.” Sycho floats up out of the water and back on deck. Not singing this time. Yelling. They still manage to drown him out.

“A fitting fate for such a bad singer,
A fitting fate for such a bad singer,
A fitting fate for such a bad singer,
Early in the -”

“We’re here,” the Sailmistress interrupts them.

Everyone looks around. Nothing but water and sky can be seen in any direction. “We’re where?” Shadar asks politely.

“Where you’re getting off,” and she scowls at them all, although giving the strong impression of trying to hide a laugh. “You didn’t ask for passage to any particular spot and you’ve made a nuisance of yourself the whole trip, so right here and now I say this is as far as you’re going on my ship!”

Shani and Shadar look at each other, shrug, and build a gateway. (Yes, the author is quite aware of the difficulties of Travelling to or from a moving ship, but Shadar and Shani aren’t, or don’t choose to be, so it doesn’t bother them.) The party makes their way through, as the Sea Folk start singing;

“What did we do to deserve these madmen,
What did we do to deserve these madmen,
What did we do to deserve these madmen -”

And everybody joins in as the gateway closes -

“- Early in the morning!”

Long Live Insanity #16: The Incredible Dancing Trollocs

“Where,” Shaiel demands, “in Shayol Ghul are we?”

“No, it’s not Shayol Ghul,” Shani says absently, looking around, “we’ve been there.”

“Kind of dark,” Shadar chimes in, “but not a bad spot for a hand or two of poker. You do need to take your own chairs, though, the rocks are pretty hard for sitting on.”

Shaiel counts to ten. “Where - are - we?”

“Oh, is that what you wanted to know? You should have been clearer.” Shani shrugs. “I haven’t the faintest idea. Have you, Shadar?”

“Nope.”

“You two built the gateway here!”

Shani and Shadar look at her blankly. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I give up.” Shaiel sits down, stretching her legs out. “Tell me when you’ve -”

“Ladies and gentlemen! LADIES and GENTLEMEN! Welcome, welcome, WELCOME to the Craziest Show On Earth!”

Shaiel jumps up and everyone spins around as the voice booms out.

“Welcome, welcome!” The speaker is a middle-aged man, dressed - ah - ‘colourfully’ would probably be the most complimentary term. ‘Gaudily’ ‘shockingly’ and ‘by a tailor with total colour blindness’ might also apply. Shaiel, Sycho, Someone and Snarg stare at him in disbelief.

“Stranger!” Shadar and Shani exclaim simultaneously.

A second later, both say simultaneously “You know him too?” then, shrugging, answer each other “‘Fraid so.”

“He’s called Stranger,” Shadar explains to the rest, “because he never met anyone stranger than him. At least -”

“ - not until I met you two!” Stranger crows gleefully. “The only people in the whole world madder than I am! I see you already know each other, and may I say, what a lovely couple you make!”

Shadar bows. Shani curtsies. Everyone else looks bewildered.

“So, what are you up to these days?” Shadar enquires.

“I am engaged,” and Stranger strikes an oratorical pose, “in the production of a masterpiece! For years now I have worked toward one goal, that of creating the strangest dance troupe ever to exist -” a dramatic pause -

“The Incredible Dancing Trollocs!”

“Dancing what?”

“Trollocs! You know what Trollocs are, surely? Yes, of course you must,” and Stranger blinks as he turns to look at the speaker, “you are one! Have you by any chance been taught dancing? We could do with another in the chorus line, you see...”

“Snarg no dance! Dancing stupid!”

“Snarg,” Shani chides him, “that’s not nice! And after all the trouble I went to teaching you manners!” She turns to Stranger. “I managed to teach him a few steps. He isn’t really very graceful. He talks quite well, though...”

“Teaching a Trolloc to talk,” Stranger says loftily, “is nothing compared to teaching one to dance. Which is what I have been working on. Of course he isn’t graceful. I’ve never seen a Trolloc that was. That’s the challenge of it.”

Shadar nods seriously. “And have you had any success…?”

“Judge for yourselves!” Stranger is immediately back to his pose. “I have the honour of presenting to you – The Incredible Dancing Trollocs! MAESTRO!”

Music starts playing from somewhere nearby. From behind a nearby copse of trees appear…

“Oh, my goodness,” Someone murmurs faintly, turning away.

“Trollocs in -” Sycho stares disbelievingly – “tutus?”

Shaiel swallows. “I knew I should have stayed in the Three-Fold Land…”

Eighteen ten-foot tall, horned, hooved or claw-footed creatures in gauzy, snow-white tutus glide and pirouette over the grass. Snarg watches avidly.

“’Trolloc Lake’?” Shadar manages in a somewhat strangled tone.

Shani’s lips move as she whispers to herself. “I am not going to laugh. I am not going to laugh. I am not going to -”

She catches Shadar’s eye, and bursts into laughter.

“You’re laughing,” Stranger says accusingly, and somewhat needlessly.

“So much for Aes Sedai infallibility,” Shadar says cheerfully. “Well, Stranger, I congratulate you on a truly unique dance troupe. That accomplishment may just have returned you to the status of strangest person in Randland.”

Stranger grins, triumphantly. The music switches to “We Are The Champions”.

“But don’t get complacent,” Shani warns him after recovering from her fit of laughter. “We’re right behind you! We’re mad, we’re bad and we’re dangerous to know – and anyone who can identify that quote wins -”

Someone perks up. “It was said by -”

“- absolutely nothing. Besides, I was talking to the readers.”

“Oh.” The Ogier looks disappointed, and mutters under his breath (i.e. loud enough to be heard clearly a mile away) “You got it wrong, anyway.”

“Did not. I adapted it to the situation.” Shani turns back to Stranger. “It was nice meeting you. But I’m afraid we really have to leave now.”

Shadar glances at her. “We do? Why?”

“I thought we should go -” She glances back at the others, who are listening (it’s always a good idea to pay attention to these two – you never know what they might take it into their minds to do with very little warning) and weaves an anti-eavesdropping ward around her and Shadar. What she says is inaudible to everyone else, but soon has Shadar laughing.

“Good idea!” he agrees as the ward dissolves. “All right, everybody, get ready! We’re going visiting!”

“Visiting who?” Sycho demands suspiciously.

“Now that would be telling, wouldn’t it? Wait and see. C’mon, Snarg!”

There is no answer.

“Snarg?”

“Snarg – not coming.”

“Not coming? What do you mean?” Shani follows the direction of his gaze. “Oh.”

The others look in the same direction. The object of Snarg’s intent regard is a female Trolloc.

(NOTE: Trolloc gender is a matter that most people prefer not to have precisely described to them. That being so, you may use your imaginations. For now, it suffices to note that said female Trolloc is somewhat smaller than Snarg, and that her fur is rather more neatly combed. Also, a pink ribbon is tied to one of her horns.)

“Oh, no,” Shadar groans, casting his eyes up to the sky. “Snarg’s in love.”

“Ah! Dear little Snargette. One of my best students.” Stranger looks critically at the dancer. “Yes, I suppose by Trolloc standards she would be quite attractive…”

“Let’s not get any further into this,” Someone breaks in hastily.

“I agree,” Sycho says firmly. “And I very much object to any idea of Snarg leaving. I know who that leaves as the butt of any jokes in this group!”

Shadar and Shani look at each other, and snicker. “Don’t worry, Sycho,” Shani pats him on the shoulder, “you’re going to be the butt for the whole next episode anyway…”

“What?”

The dance ends. “Well, let me introduce you to Snargette,” Stranger says briskly, leading Snarg off toward the dancers, and leaving the other five looking at each other.

“Who’s going to carry my books if he leaves?” Someone demands. “That’s what I want to know!”

“What do you mean, I’m the butt for the next episode?”

Shani answers Sycho. “Wait and see.”

Shadar answers Someone. “Well, if you can’t, I suppose we’ll have to.”

“What? With the Power?”

“No, of course not. With insanity. We’ll just get them to float along behind us. That’s completely against the laws of gravity and thermodynamics and the rest, so it should be easy enough…”

Shani shrugs. “Well, they seem to be getting on pretty well, so let’s go.” She glances at Shaiel. “You’ve been pretty quiet. No complaints?”

“Would they do any good?”

“Not one bit. Don’t worry, you’ll like this next episode. Ready, everyone? Then let’s go!”

A gateway rotates open, and Someone’s books start floating through. The group, minus one, follow them through it as Stranger, Snarg and Snargette wave goodbye.

Sycho turns to see where they are. “Oh, no…”

They are standing in the courtyard of a fairly large house, built in the Amadician style. Sycho takes a step back toward the gateway, which promptly snaps shut.

“Sycho! Sycho Path!” A middle-aged woman is striding toward them. “What are you doing back here without notice? I suppose you expect all your meals cooked and your laundry done too! You haven’t even written! And just who are all these people you’ve brought home without so much as a by-your-leave?”

“…Mother?”

He glares at Shani and Shadar, who are laughing fit to burst.

Long Live Insanity #17: Origins of Insanity - Sycho

Continued from episode #16, The Incredible Dancing Trollocs.

“Mother?”

Shaiel is trying to hide a smirk. Someone has his face buried in a book, but the occasional chuckle still emerges. Shadar and Shani are leaning against each other, laughing, making it quite clear that they find the situation very funny indeed.

Which is hardly surprising, since they set it up in the first place.

Sycho winces as his mother’s tirade continues.

“How could you? You disappear from the Fortress of the Light without a trace and now you turn up again with this red-shawled hussy -” the description sends Shani into a fresh fit of laughter – “and this black-coated lunatic -” that sets Shadar off again – “and this other pair who look like they just stepped out of a gleeman’s tale – what will the neighbours think?”

“It wasn’t my idea! I was going to stay away as long as possible – I mean -” Sycho glares at Shadar and Shani, who are being spectacularly unhelpful, then casts his eyes up to the sky. “How about some help from you, narrator?”

A voice whispers on the wind. (Yes, that wind.) “Sorry, Sycho. I make it a rule not to interfere in my characters’ business.”

“Some good you are!” Sycho takes a step and promptly trips over. “Hey! What do you call that if it’s not interfering?”

“Clumsiness?”

“Hah!” Sycho takes another step. And trips over again.

“Well, that’s what you get for believing in narrators,” Shadar observes, grinning at Shani. “Not to mention -”

“- forgetting to tie your shoelaces.”

Sycho looks down at his shoelaces, which are, of course, untied. Whether they were at the beginning of the scene no one is quite sure, except possibly Raina. But they definitely are now. He ties them sullenly. “DarkHound always interacted with his characters.”

“Well, I could make a poodle fall from the sky if you really want…”

“Oh, forget it!”

Shani, Shadar, Someone, Shaiel and Raina all laugh. Then they turn their attention back to the plot of the story. Such as it is.

“Good morning, Mistress Path,” Shani says briskly. “We’re just visiting. You see, it dawned on me that you probably hadn’t any idea what your son had been up to, so we decided to drop by and let you know.”

Mistress Path snorts. “Well, you could have done that with a letter. For that matter you could have saved yourself the trouble and kept him away.”

“Oh, it was no trouble at all!” Shadar protests.

“Not for us,” Shani murmurs, quite audibly. Sycho glares at both of them.

“I suppose you’d better come in. I certainly don’t want you hanging around here. What will I say if anyone sees you?” Sycho’s mother ushers – well, pushes – them all into the house. “Find yourself somewhere to sit. Just clear off a space.”

Shaiel looks curiously around the living room, which bears clear signs of occupancy by young children – toys everywhere, scribbles on the walls and small, muddy footprints on the floor. “I didn’t know you had siblings, Sycho.”

“Of course you didn’t! I don’t tell anyone about my family!” Sycho collapses into a chair, as his mother sits down and reaches for a sizeable pile of clothes in need of mending. “I don’t know how these two found out.”

“We have our sources,” Shani says sweetly.

“We asked the narrator,” Shadar translates.

 “Non-interference, she says.” Sycho scowls up at the sky. “Hah! Non-interference except when it makes the story interesting, more like.”

“Smart boy, isn’t he?” Raina observes. “Watch out. Your dear little brother and sister are on their way.”

Sycho barely has time to flinch before the door bursts open and two small whirlwinds blow into the room. The whirlwind wearing trousers launches himself at Sycho. The one in a dress grabs his cloak and starts swinging on it. “Mamma! Mamma! We heard Syky was back! Hi, Syky!”

“I wanna play with the helmet!”

“I wanna play with the sword!”

“I wanna piggyback! Gimme a piggyback, Syky!”

“Me too! Gimme gimme gimme!”

“Get OFF me!” Sycho attempts, unsuccessfully, to remove the pair clinging to him. “Ouch! Let go! I swear, you two must be the brattiest kids ever!”

Someone coughs. “Actually, Sycho, the record for obnoxious childhood is currently held by the young Nemene Damendar Boann, nowadays better known as Semirhage, whose preferred occupation as a girl was devising new ways to torture her siblings…”

“Torture?” In a second the two have let go of Sycho and turned their attention to Someone, looking bright-eyed and eager. “Tell us more!”

“Don’t you dare!” Sycho and his mother say (well, shout) in unison.

The Terrible Two pout. Then they look around and spot the other Terrible Two. “Who’re you?”

“I’m Shani.”

“I’m Shadar.”

“Are you crazy like Syky?”

“No. We went past crazy long ago. We’re completely insane. So who are you, other than the second-brattiest kids ever?”

“I’m Madcap,” the boy says gleefully.

“I’m Mayhem,” his sister says smugly.

“What pretty names,” Shaiel says politely (wondering all the while if this is wetlander humour). “What are you two planning to do when you grow up?”

“We’re going to be Darkfriends!” Mayhem announces.

Sycho groans and sinks lower in his chair, eyes closed. Mistress Path sniffs and goes on with her sewing. Someone starts writing in his notebook. Shani and Shadar look at each other and grin.

“I see,” Shaiel says with a perfectly straight face (it must be an Aiel Talent, as not even Shani and Shadar can manage it at this point). “You want to be Darkfriends because…?”

“Because then the Whitecloaks’ll never catch us,” Madcap explains. “They only ever caught a real Darkfriend once, and they had to let him go because people wouldn’t have put up with it. They told us that in school.”

Under his breath, Sycho mutters “Just as long as they didn’t mention pink elephants.”

“If you really want to be Darkfriends,” Shadar says, “we can arrange an introduction to the Dark One for you. He owes us – we won Shayol Ghul from him, you see, and he’d rather not lose it.”

“Although he’s contesting that now,” Shani adds, “on the grounds that he never saw a pack of cards before with thirteen aces.”

“A few spares always come in handy.” Shadar pats the pack of cards in his pocket. “So when you finish school, just let us know and we’ll drop by Shayol Ghul and talk to him. He’ll be imprisoned by then and looking for someone to let him loose again. Now it’s really time we got onto the next episode, so if you’ll excuse us, Mistress Path – give our regards to your husband, wherever he is…”

“He’s in the laundry,” Mayhem says with the kind of wicked grin that suggests she doesn’t really need much training in doing evil and Darkfriendly deeds.

“Cause we put red dye in the wash,” Madcap clarifies with an equally evil grin, “and he’s trying to get his cloaks from pink back to white.”

“I can see how being referred to as a Pinkcloak would be a liability,” Shadar agrees. “Well, goodbye. Sycho, Shaiel, Someone – c’mon, we’re going visiting again.”

Sycho opens an eye. “Where now?”

“Well, since Raina’s continuing the theme of ‘Origins of Insanity’ the next house we’re due to visit is -” Shadar glances at a list – “Shani’s.”

The gateway opens onto Arad Doman.

Long Live Insanity #18: Origins of Insanity - Shani

Continuing on their round of family visits, our insane heroes minus the absent Snarg arrive at the domicile of their dazzling Domani dart-thrower. That is, at Shani’s house. A very elegant manor, surrounded by gardens, in the heart of glamorous Bandar Eban.

From one side of the house, an attractive, coppery-skinned young woman in thin, clinging silk, followed by a rather forgettable young man, hurries out to greet them.

From the other side of the house, an attractive, coppery-skinned young woman in thin, clinging silk, followed by a rather forgettable young man, hurries out to greet them.

Shani laughs as her companions do double-takes.

“Shani!” they exclaim in unison and in identical voices. “Welcome home!” A triple hug occurs before the young women turn identically dazzling smiles to the rest of the group. “Hello! How lovely to see you all!”

“Likewise,” Sycho remarks appreciatively. “And you two are - ?”

“I’m Cara,” the one on the left says. “This is Dara.” They both pause, then whisper together for a moment. “I’m sorry, this is Cara, and I’m Dara. We always get confused around strangers.”

“Uh – yes, of course. Quite understandable,” Sycho says blankly. Cara and Dara are apparently not the only ones who get confused.

“These are my sisters,” Shani says blithely, “and in case you hadn’t noticed it yet, they’re identical twins. These are their husbands, whose names I forget and who are only plot devices anyway. And this is Shadar, Sycho, Shaiel and Someone. We thought we’d drop by for a visit.”

“How nice!” Cara, probably, says brightly.

“Mother will be so pleased to meet you!” Dara, probably.

“Do come on in!” The twins usher them into the manor. “Darling, do go tell Mother we have guests.” One of the forgettable husbands hurries away immediately.

Someone, frowning, is studying the twins with his pen poised over his notebook. “How does one tell them apart?” he inquires in an Ogier whisper, which means of course that everyone in the room hears it.

Shaiel is also frowning. “At a guess, I’d say – one doesn’t?”

“Doesn’t what?” An elegant, imperious-looking Domani woman sweeps into the room, trailing a cloud of perfume, the twin husband and an equally forgettable older man who is presumably Shani’s father.

“Tell the twins apart,” Shani replies. “Hello, Mother. You’re looking well.”

“Naturally.” The woman takes her seat, and lifts a finger. The cushions are immediately plumped up, a footstool brought and tea in a fine porcelain cup set conveniently near her hand by her clearly doting husband. “Do introduce your friends, Shani.”

“Mother, this is Shadar, a mad Asha’man, Sycho, a drunken Whitecloak, Shaiel, a Maiden of the Spear with a strange sense of humour, and Someone, an Ogier who’s writing a book about the rest of us. Everyone, this is my mother Prima, whose middle name, in case you were wondering, is Donna.”

“Ah,” Someone murmurs. “A matriarchy. Domani classic style, I see…” He starts scribbling.

“Charmed.” Prima sips her tea. “A little more honey, dear. Thank you. As for the twins, it’s easy. Cara parts her hair on the left and Dara parts it on the right.”

Everyone looks at the twins, both of whom have their hair parted in the middle.

Prima shrugs. “Sometimes they get confused.”

The twins pout prettily. “Oh, Mother,” Cara, or possibly Dara, says. “You make it sound as if we get mixed up every day.”

“You do, dear. But never mind now. Wherever are the children?”

“They must be out playing.” Dara, or possibly Cara, turns to her particular forgettable husband. “Darling, do bring the girls in to say hello.”

“Yes, dear.” After uttering the only words ever spoken by a male family member in this episode, the young man hurries away and returns after a moment with three identical little girls in tow.

“Hi, Auntie Shani!” the three exclaim in unison and in identical voices. Sycho is heard to groan.

“Say hello to your aunt’s guests too,” Prima reminds them.

The little girls immediately smile up at Shadar, Sycho, Shaiel and Someone, looking absolutely adorable and knowing it. “Hello, everyone!”

“Welcome to our home.”

“We’re so glad to see you.”

Someone nods and says again, “Domani classic style.”

“Yes, they’re coming along very nicely.” Shani smiles at the girls. “Well done.”

“Whose children are they?” Shaiel asks, realizing it hasn’t been made clear.

Prima and Shani look amused. Dara and Cara look slightly embarassed. “Well,” one of them says, “the thing is, we’re not absolutely sure. One of us had twins and the other one didn’t, and…”

“…we sort of lost track.”

Sycho groans again.

Shadar laughs. “Well, I’ve heard of questions of paternity, but…”

The Triplets That Aren’t are getting bored with the conversation. One of them tugs at Someone’s trouser leg (seeing as how she couldn’t reach any higher). “Tell us a story, please?” she begs sweetly. Another one smiles up at him beguilingly. The third contents herself with a big-eyed, pleading gaze.

Domani classic style being extremely effective, even practised by beginners on theoretically immune nonhumans, Someone immediately agrees.

“Tell us what Auntie Shani’s been up to!” one says, giggling. The other two, plus their mothers and grandmother, agree enthusiastically. Even the forgettable husbands look interested.

“Ah. Well…” Someone settles himself in a large chair, with the triple act happily curled up in his lap and the rest of the family listening in anticipation. “That’s a long story. I believe it all started when she walked into the Black Tower…”

Long Live Insanity #19: Origins of Insanity - Shadar

You will recall, gentle reader, and for that matter not-so-gentle reader, that at the conclusion of the last episode Someone was just settling down to recount Shani’s adventures to her family, consisting of three charming women, three adorable little girls, and three extremely forgettable men. Life’s like that in Arad Doman.

But you all know what Shani’s been up to. If you don’t, what are you doing reading this episode without having read the rest first? So we’ll skip over that scene, and the subsequent goodbyes, and get to what you all really want to know.

Sycho’s family is a dysfunctional mix of Whitecloaks, would-be Darkfriends and a long-suffering housewife…

Shani’s is a mad matriarchy with an absurd number of identity crises…

So what, in the name of the Light, is Shadar’s family like?

Well, to tell you the truth, they’re actually – 

“Hey! Don’t spoil the story!”

Sorry about that, Shadar. Over to you.

“Thank you. If you look over that way, everyone, you can see my parents’ house just up ahead.”

They all look in the direction indicated, where, on the side of a hill, is indeed a small cottage. Freshly painted, with a neat picket fence and flowers growing by the door, it could have come straight from a picture. But something seems – not quite right.

“Shadar?”

“Yes?”

“This is the Blight.”

“Yes, I know. They’re getting old, and they wanted to retire somewhere warm. But they didn’t feel like moving south, so they built farther north instead.”

“Uh – yes. Perfect sense.” Someone shrugs and reaches for his ever-present notebook. After being around Shadar and Shani so long, he’s gotten used to what they refer to as ‘logic.’

A path leads up the hill right to the front door of the cottage. But it seems something else has been there ahead of them.

“Oh, you have a dog!” Sycho says brightly, looking at the paw print in the path.

“Shadar?” Shaiel is looking around warily. “Is there something about your family we should know?”

“Hey, what’s the matter? It’s just a dog.” Sycho’s brow furrows as he looks at the print again. “Pretty big dog, though. What kind grows that size?”

“Sycho,” Shani says patiently, “only one kind of dog leaves prints in solid rock.”

There is, as is customary at moments such as these, a pause while everyone stares at the print. Sycho’s brain rapidly adds two and two.

“Really? What kind’s that?”

No one ever said Sycho could do sums.

The cottage door swings open, and they all look through to see – something – lying in front of the fireplace. Something very big, very black and staring at them with glowing red eyes.

“Oh -” Sycho swallows. “That kind.”

“Here, Shadow!” Shadar calls.

The Darkhound rises, shakes itself – causing a few people to jump back in alarm – and pads over to Shadar, who pats it on the head.

Shaiel looks at its immense jaws and teeth. “I do not want to know what kind of bones that thing chews…”

“Actually,” Shadar says, “he’s vegetarian.”

There is another pause while they all ponder this latest piece of unbelievability. The pause is broken by the woman who comes through the door.

“Shadar, dear! How lovely to see you home.”

Shadar’s mother looks – well, motherly. Plump, fairly short, starting to go grey, wrapped in a spotless white apron and with a warm smile for her guests. In other words, she looks normal.

Whatever the party were expecting, it wasn’t this.

“Don’t stand there on ceremony, come right in. Wipe your feet on the mat though,” she chides. “Come and sit down. I just baked cookies.”

“Cookies?” Someone says, blinking. “What kind?”

“Chocolate chip. Still nice and warm. Now come on in.” Shadar’s mother bustles them all through the door.

Someone lingers behind to whisper, “Raina, chocolate hasn’t been invented here yet!”

“It has now,” comes the response. “Now hurry in, there’s a plot development coming up.”

“I have a surprise for you,” Shadar’s mother is saying as Someone follows the others in. “A friend of yours is here already.”

They all look. 

“Snarg!”

The Trolloc is seated on the sofa, carefully holding a delicate porcelain cup of tea (except that in his hand, it looks like a thimble) and a chocolate-chip cookie. A plate of similar cookies is on the table in front of him.

“Hey there, Snarg,” Shadar says, grinning. “How’s life treating you? What happened to Snargette?”

To aid in conveying the nuances of his explanation, Snarg puts his tea and cookie down and delivers an eloquent speech, punctuated by impassioned gestures, about the obstacles on the path of true love and the sorrow of inevitable separation.

“Snarg go. Snargette stay.”

Well, that was what he meant it to be about, anyway. He would surely have phrased it that way had he been less of a beginner to the art of making eloquent speeches. But Trollocs have never really felt the need for linguistic skills in the past, and in moments of high emotion even a Trolloc genius like Snarg reverts to his normal speech pattern.

“Too bad,” Shadar sympathises.

Shaiel pats him on the shoulder. “Never mind. You’ll find a nice girl – uh, a nice Trolloc – someday and settle down.”

“I don’t believe I’m having this conversation,” Sycho mutters.

“You’re not,” Shani points out.

“Well, I don’t believe I’m listening to it, then.” Sycho suddenly gets a hopeful thought. “Now he’s back, you won’t need to use me as the butt of jokes all the time now, will you?”

“Don’t count on it.”

Sycho sighs.

“Cheer up. Have a cookie.”

Everyone else has already helped themselves to the cookies, with the exception of Snarg, who has already finished his and is looking wistfully at the plate.

“Go on, have another,” Shadar’s mother says with another pat on his shoulder, “growing boys like you need to eat.”

“Growing? Hasn’t he grown enough?” But Someone is also eyeing them. So, for that matter, is everyone else. These are, to use an old turn of phrase, darn fine cookies.

“You have another, too.” Everybody takes that to mean them, and promptly follows Snarg’s example. “But make sure to leave some for Pa. Wherever is he, I wonder?”

“Here I am.”

They look around, no doubt in hopes of seeing at least one seriously weird parent for Shadar, but with no such luck. Shadar’s father is a pleasant-looking, ordinary, grey-haired man in old clothes, with nothing at all strange about him. “Sorry I missed your arrival. I was bringing some more plants in for the garden. Hello, Shadar, how have you been?”

“Great,” Shadar replies. “Let me introduce my friends. This is Shani, this is Shaiel, that’s Sycho, the Ogier is Someone, and I guess you’ve already met Snarg.”

“So I have. Glad to meet the rest of you, though.” Shadar’s father sits down and lights a pipe.

“You have a garden?” Someone asks, interested. “What kind of plants can you get to grow here in the Blight?”

Shadar’s father considers that, blowing a smoke ring. “Well,” he says finally, “you do have to be careful when they get hungry.”

This remark conjures up a number of images that, to tell the truth, the visitors didn’t really want conjured up all that much. Someone, who was about to ask to see the garden, closes his mouth.

“Plants catch Myrddraal,” Snarg rumbles. “Stupid Myrddraal.”

“Now, Snarg,” Shadar’s mother scolds him, “it’s not nice to speak ill of the dead.”

“Yes, that was terrible,” Shadar’s father agrees. “A Myrddraal must have gotten into the shadow of one of the trees and well – not gotten out again. A terrible accident. We try to stay on good terms with our neighbours.”

“The Dark One included, of course,” Shadar adds.

“Of course.” His father nods. “We went to see him once, but the weather there is pretty bad, so we haven’t been again. I think he must think we’re getting deaf, though, he talks so loudly.”

“Oh, he does that all the time,” Shani comments. “That reminds me – Sycho’s little brother and sister are planning to be Darkfriends when they grow up. You might see them around.”

“Why, that would be very nice. Shadow’s been lonely without any children to play with.”

Sycho shakes his head.

“Now, will you be staying for dinner? No? Then let me give you some cookies to take with you.” Shadar’s mother bustles into the kitchen and returns with a large tin of assorted cookies. “Have a pleasant journey now. Wrap up warmly once you’re out of the Blight. Don’t forget to write, Shadar.”

“Yes, mother.”

Snarg carries the cookies carefully, with the other five watching suspiciously to make sure he doesn’t take any when their backs are turned. But when they’re out of earshot of Shadar’s parents – even out of earshot for a Trolloc voice – he whispers to them.

“No one like stupid Myrddraal.”

“What, the one that got