#sul'dam

"Balling her fist tightly, Egwene hit the woman as hard as she could, right in her eye—and staggered and fell to her knees herself, head ringing. It felt as if a large man had struck her in the face."

-

“The very first thing you must learn,” Renna said, “is to do exactly as you are told, and without delay.” Egwene gasped. Suddenly her skin burned and prickled as if she had rolled in stinging nettles, from the soles of her feet to her scalp. She tossed her head as the burning sensation increased. “Many sul’dam,” Renna went on in that almost friendly tone, “do not believe damane should be allowed names, or at least only names they are given. But I am the one who took you, so I will be in charge of your training, and I will allow you to keep your own name. If you do not displease me too far. I am mildly upset with you now. Do you really wish to keep on until I am angry?” Quivering, Egwene gritted her teeth. Her nails dug into her palms with the effort of not scratching wildly. Idiot! It’s only your name. “Egwene,” she managed to get out. “I am Egwene al’Vere.” Instantly the burning itch was gone. She let out a long, unsteady breath. “Egwene,” Renna said. “That is a good name.” And to Egwene’s horror, Renna patted her on the head as she would a dog.

-

“No!” Egwene shouted. She heard Renna curse softly, and suddenly the burning itch covered her skin again, worse than before, but she did not stop. “Please! High Lady, please! She is my friend!” Pain such as she had never known wracked her through the burning. Every muscle knotted and cramped; she pitched on her face in the dirt, mewling, but she could still see Elbar’s heavy, curved blade come free of its sheath, see him raise it with both hands. “Please! Oh, Min!” Abruptly, the pain was gone as if it had never been; only the memory remained.

-

Egwene cried out as a switch seemed to lash across her back, then another across her leg, her arm. From every direction they seemed to come; she knew there was nothing to block, but she could not help throwing her arms about as if to stop the blows. She bit her lip to stifle her moans, but tears still rolled down her cheeks. Bela whinnied and danced, but Renna’s grip on the silver leash kept her from carrying Egwene away. None of the soldiers even looked back. “What are you doing to her?” Min shouted. “Egwene? Stop it!” “You live on sufferance . . . Min, is it?” Renna said mildly. “Let this be a lesson for you as well. So long as you try to interfere, it will not stop.” Min raised a fist, then let it fall. “I won’t interfere. Only, please, stop it. Egwene, I’m sorry.” The unseen blows went on for a few moments more, as if to show Min her intervention had done nothing, then ceased, but Egwene could not stop shuddering. The pain did not go away this time. She pushed back the sleeve of her dress, thinking to see weals; her skin was unmarked, but the feel of them was still there.

-

Suddenly the invisible switches were back, striking at her everywhere. Yelling, she tried to hit Renna, but the sul’dam casually knocked her fist away, and Egwene felt as if Renna had hit her arm with a stick. She dug her heels into Bela’s flanks, but the sul’dam’s grip on the leash nearly pulled her out of her saddle. Frantically she reached for saidar, meaning to hurt Renna enough to make her stop, just the kind of hurt she herself had been given. The sul’dam shook her head wryly; Egwene howled as her own skin was suddenly scalded. Not until she fled from saidar completely did the burn begin to fade, and the unseen blows never ceased or slowed. She tried to shout that she would try, if only Renna would stop, but all she could manage was to scream and writhe. Dimly, she was aware of Min shouting angrily and trying to ride to her side, of Alwhin tearing Min’s reins from her hands, of another sul’dam speaking sharply to her damane, who looked at Min. And then Min was yelling, too, arms flapping as if trying to ward off blows or beat away stinging insects. In her own pain, Min’s seemed distant. Their cries together were enough to make some of the soldiers twist in their saddles. After one look, they laughed and turned back. How sul’dam dealt with damane was no affair of theirs. To Egwene it seemed to go on forever, but at last there was an end. She lay sprawled weakly across the cantle of her saddle, cheeks wet with tears, sobbing into Bela’s mane. The mare whickered uneasily. “It is good that you have spirit,” Renna said calmly. “The best damane are those who have spirit to be shaped and molded.” Egwene squeezed her eyes shut. She wished she could close her ears, too, to shut out Renna’s voice. I have to get away. I have to, but how? Nynaeve, help me. Light, somebody help me. “You will be one of the best,” Renna said in tones of satisfaction. Her hand stroked Egwene’s hair, a mistress soothing her dog.

-

That was one of the properties of the a’dam; if a damane tried to channel without a sul’dam wearing her bracelet, she felt sick, and the more of the Power she channeled, the sicker she became. Lighting a candle beyond the reach of her arm would have made Egwene vomit. Once Renna had ordered her to juggle her tiny balls of light with the bracelet lying on the table. Remembering still made her shudder. Now, the silver leash snaked across the bare floor and up the unpainted wooden wall to where the bracelet hung on a peg. The sight of it hanging there made her jaws clench with fury. A dog leashed so carelessly could have run away. If a damane moved her bracelet as much as a foot from where it had last been touched by a sul’dam. . . . Renna had made her do that, too—had made her carry her own bracelet across the room. Or try to. She was sure it had only been minutes before the sul’dam snapped the bracelet firmly on her own wrist, but to Egwene the screaming and the cramps that had had her writhing on the floor had seemed to go on for hours.

-

“They can’t even help themselves, Min. I only talked to one—her name is Ryma; the sul’dam don’t call her that, but that’s her name; she wanted to make sure I knew it—and she told me there is another. She told me in between bouts of tears. She’s Aes Sedai, and she was crying, Min! She has a collar on her neck, they make her answer to Pura, and she can’t do anything more about it than I can. They captured her when Falme fell. She was crying because she’s beginning to stop fighting against it, because she cannot take being punished anymore. She was crying because she wants to take her own life, and she cannot even do that without permission. Light, I know how she feels!”

-

Egwene took a deep breath and reached for the hilt. A soft quiver ran through the muscles of her arm. As her hand came within a foot of the knife, a cramp suddenly contorted her fingers. Eyes fixed, she tried to force her hand closer. The cramp seized her whole arm, knotting muscles to her shoulder. With a groan, she sank back, rubbing her arm and concentrating her thoughts on not touching the knife. Slowly, the pain began to lessen.

-

Egwene went on dully, as if the other woman had not spoken. “They are training me, Min. The sul’dam and the a’dam are training me. I cannot touch anything I even think of as a weapon. A few weeks ago I considered hitting Renna over the head with that pitcher, and I could not pour wash water for three days. Once I’d thought of it that way, I not only had to stop thinking about hitting her with it, I had to convince myself I would never, under any circumstances, hit her with it before I could touch it again. She knew what had happened, told me what I had to do, and would not let me wash anywhere except with that pitcher and bowl. You are lucky it happened between your visiting days. Renna made sure I spent those days sweating from the time I woke to the time I fell asleep, exhausted. I am trying to fight them, but they are training me as surely as they’re training Pura.” She clapped a hand to her mouth, moaning through her teeth. “Her name is Ryma. I have to remember her name, not the name they’ve put on her. She is Ryma, and she’s Yellow Ajah, and she has fought them as long and as hard as she could. It is no fault of hers that she hasn’t the strength left to fight any longer. I wish I knew who the other sister is that Ryma mentioned. I wish I knew her name. Remember both of us, Min. Ryma, of the Yellow Ajah, and Egwene al’Vere. Not Egwene the damane; Egwene al’Vere of Emond’s Field. Will you do that?”

-

“You have been channeling.” Renna’s voice was deceptively mild; there was a spark of anger in her eyes. “You know that is forbidden except when we are complete.” Egwene wet her lips. “Perhaps I have been too lenient with you. Perhaps you believe that because you are valuable now, you will be allowed license. I think I made a mistake letting you keep your old name. I had a kitten called Tuli when I was a child. From now on, your name is Tuli. You will go now, Min. Your visiting day with Tuli is ended.” Min hesitated only long enough for one anguished look at Egwene before leaving. Nothing Min could say or do would do anything except make matters worse, but Egwene could not help looking longingly at the door as it closed behind her friend. Renna took the chair, frowning at Egwene. “I must punish you severely for this. We will both be called to the Court of the Nine Moons—you for what you can do; I as your sul’dam and trainer—and I will not allow you to disgrace me in the eyes of the Empress. I will stop when you tell me how much you love being damane and how obedient you will be after this. And, Tuli. Make me believe every word.”

-

Outside in the low-ceilinged hallway, Min dug her nails into her palms at the first piercing cry from the room. She took a step toward the door before she could stop herself, and when she did stop, tears sprang up in her eyes. Light help me, all I can do is make it worse. Egwene, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Feeling worse than useless, she picked up her skirts and ran, and Egwene’s screams pursued her. She could not make herself stay, and leaving made her feel a coward. Half blind with weeping, she found herself in the street before she knew it. She had intended to go back to her room, but now she could not do it. She could not stand the thought that Egwene was being hurt while she sat warm and safe under the next roof. Scrubbing the tears from her eyes, she swept her cloak around her shoulders and started down the street. Every time she cleared her eyes, new tears began trickling along her cheeks. She was not accustomed to weeping openly, but then she was not accustomed to feeling so helpless, so useless. She did not know where she was going, only that it had to be as far as she could reach from Egwene’s cries.

-

[Egwene] gave an abrupt squeak. “That’s Seta. How . . . ?” Her voice hardened so that Nynaeve barely recognized it. “I’d like to put her in a pot of boiling water.” Seta had her eyes squeezed shut, and her hands clutched her skirts; she was trembling. “What have they done to you?” Elayne exclaimed. “What could they do to make you want something like that?” Egwene never took her eyes off the Seanchan woman. “I’d like to make her feel it. That’s what she did to me, made me feel like I was neck deep in. . . .” She shuddered. “You do not know what it is like wearing one of these, Elayne. You don’t know what they can do to you. I can never decide whether Seta is worse than Renna, but they’re all hateful.”

-

The people were helpless, but they were broke and so you and Geralt were sent to collect taxes or souls. It broke your heart to set an innocent village on fire. Tears even silently built in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. You watched the desperate people run for safety or water, but no retardant would work on the fire you conjured on your master's command. He turned and brandished his sword, battling one-handedly. He had his bound wrist behind his back to keep the rebel from severing the chain. He sent faint suggestions to you to help him, but he was distracted enough that you could do nothing. 

Something pulled at your sleeve. Turning, you looked down to find a small child coated in soot, but unaffected and uninjured. She looked up at you with wide, childish eyes, but there was something distinctly adult, more mature in those orbs. "My muma said damane can't help what they do. You do what you're told."

You slowly sunk to squat by the child, focus entirely off Geralt. "Yes," you admitted, but you said nothing else. Your hand rose to fiddle with the collar you'd never adjusted to, but you dropped it before you could inflict harm on yourself. You didn't dare mention to the girl that this could become of anyone. 

Small hands reached up for your head and you assumed the sweet girl wanted a hug. Instead, the metal fell away from your throat and you looked down in awe. Your One Power automatically reached out to fix what you'd been regretting since you'd done it. The fires went out and Geralt suddenly flew straight up into the air. You kept his momentum for a moment then let go. You urged the pair back into their homes. No one would want to be around when he met the ground again. 

*

You were something of an expert in your craft once free and it was all too easy to be invisible and stow away. The boat docked in the Westlands and you took off for freedom. 

This land was very different from your own, you soon came to realize. The plants, temperature, climate, people! While they were suspicious of anyone they didn't know, you had somehow gained their respect. Perhaps you gave off power or they knew you hailed from Seanchan. But you were never anywhere long enough to be found out. 

You always thought travelling a lot would keep you safe, but it was by going in the opposite direction of a wandering Aes Sedai that you were put in more danger than you had been in. Your heart was at risk the second you spotted the stoic and tall blue-clad woman atop her horse. Much of her was covered by clothes , but you saw nobility in the way she carried herself, you  knew from experience you could daydream about those hands for days, and an odd feeling washed over you as she caught you staring. You looked away quickly, abashed to have been seen. It hardly mattered; you would be taking the road they arrived via in a few short hours. You averted your gaze and picked up a device you'd never seen before. Putting it back with a grimace, you turned and went to escape into isolation. 

Instead, you bumped into a stoic blue-clad form. She didn't give, but rather caught your shoulder when you jumped and nearly lost your footing. "Are you okay?" she asked before you had the chance to apologize. 

Looking up, you discovered it was the woman now off her horse. You gulped, now recognizing the feelings. She could channel, just like you. "Yes," you answered too quickly. 

A single brunette eyebrow rose suspiciously. "I'm Moiraine," she barreled through. Now under a foot away from her, you could see every crevice of her face. You wouldn't guess she smiled very much, or at all in public, but she saw more without the blinding expression. Her eyes were a calm blue you could cling to in the midst of a crisis. "You're not from around here," she noticed, a genius.

Did you give away an accent with a single word? "No, I'm just passing through." 

Moiraine nodded, familiar with the sentiment. She looked you up and down. "Have you  a free place at your hearth?" she asked despite having just been told you didn't live in this town. 

You looked over at her shoulder. Her white horse and her companion's were bound by the inn. "I have been staying where your friend currently is, but I'm leaving tonight."

She smiled in a persuasive way, and also teasing. "Then, share our hearth. You could use the food," Moraine mused, picking at your silver dress, your damane attire which you'd cut. "We can talk," she offered, arm out. "Please." 

You got the feeling she was acting out of character, asking politely and all, so you took the extended hand. The strange feeling increased twenty-fold at the contact. Warmth flooded your insides and you followed Moiraine into the inn and found her male companion. 

He sat at a table with food and he didn't seem surprised that Moiraine had brought a stranger with her. She introduced you to him and Lan to you. "Where are you from?" was the first thing Lan said once you knew his name. 

You stared at him, waiting for him to realize you weren't going to answer. You also wanted him to know that wasn't a question you were comfortable with. "Where are you from?" you deflected, both of them staring you down. Was that their default?

"The Borderlands," he answered immediately. 

"Cairhien," Moiraine also replied, without hesitation. 

You stared at both of them, excuseless. "Seanchan."

Lan's jaw dropped, but Moiraine looked validated, like she'd already known. Her all-knowing lapis orbs fell to your neck, bared for all the world to see, and she raised her chin in second-hand pride. 

"You must've fought your way to freedom," Lan guessed. 

You wrinkled your nose, remembering all the harm you'd inflicted, entirely with your curse. It had all been without your consent and you knew you would never hurt anyone again if you didn't have to. 

The pair shared an impressive look. "Were you bound?" Moiraine asked. 

You stood very suddenly, a survivor not a spectacle. 

Once you attempted to leave,Moiraine quickly held your wrist. You flinched so she let go and stood. "You have our apologies. I knew you were special. We were only trying to decipher how. Now that I know, you can come to the White Tower to-"

"No." You didn't shout or give away any emotions, but you'd been bound to an organization with their own ideas of how and why you should channel long enough. You were done. 

Moiraine smiled again, but not like she knew your plan. More like she saw a bit of herself in you, but you expressed it more. "Very well." Lan rose and retreated to their shared room, after telling Moiraine - and inadvertently you - the location of the said lodging. 

You weren't sure you wanted to remain, but the blue-clad woman was drawing you in by not breaking eye contact. She was neither scared nor targeting you. But it was still odd. "You are an Aes Sedai?" you asked. It was hardly a question, as she'd given herself away by associating with the White Tower. You knew damane supposedly descended from them, or at least the Aes Sedai in Seanchan when they'd separated from the Westlands had set up the laws for their enslavement. The blue nodded. It was a tragedy, the way girls who could channel were treated worldwide. "But I rarely return to the Tower." She was almost coy in the way she looked up at you, through her eyelashes. She didn't want you to feel like she would make you - or could since you had full control - or that she was some sort of trap. She could only imagine how you were feeling. Paranoia, she assumed, would be the most prominent. 

Not tired, was another. Moiraine vowed to stay awake until you left, if you decided to. Luckily, you didn't. Talking with Moiraine seemed to be enough encouragement and just like that, you were able to trust one woman, the first person you would ever trust. Perhaps the last. She didn't seem like the type to tell everyone everything. You almost believed you were the first to know half the stories she told you that night; she had said as much, after all. 

Words only went so far, though, and it felt like a breakthrough when Moiraine rested her hand on your arm. You didn't flinch, nor when she scooted to sit right beside you. You even leaned your head on her shoulder, feeling sleepy, too sleepy to travel. And the hand touching your hair, playing with it, wasn't helping. You looked over at Moiraine to find her already staring at you. She wasn't that tiny bit embarrassed that you were. In fact, your insecurity amused her. She cleared your face of any hair in front of it, hand resting on your neck. 

You shivered at the unexpected warmth where you'd only felt cold metal for so long. 

Of course, the Sedai noticed. She swept it all over your shoulder and pretended she'd missed a few strands, doing so again and again. You were hardly breathing, and you kept swallowing uselessly as your throat was already so dry. But you said not a word. You weren't sure what to say, not exactly minding, but this didn't seem public appropriate. 

They're fascists. Unambiguously. They enslave just about everyone and everything they meet. They expect complete strangers to know their intricate ways under pain of death. Anyone they can't kill for convenience they torture in their every waking moment. They conquer people, then let them walk around armed because of their brutal arrogance that lets them murder anyone not cowed into submission.

Damane are enslaved, treated like animals, have their hands and tongues cut off if there is a risk to their owner's secrets, and despite the apparent Seanchan cultural shame of having sex with one, treated akin to bestiality, I seriously doubt that there aren't members of the Blood that have raped Damane. When women are under institutional power to the degree that the Seanchan have placed women who can channel under, women who are already treated like animals, or as it's said in the text; "Like a piece of furniture or a tool", women are victimized. Some of these women have been enslaved for hundreds of years, some have been captured as teenagers, and the ones holding their literal chains are also women who can channel that simply didn't have the initial spark that doomed the other women in the first place. By all technicality, each and every Suldam, including the Seanchan Heir apparent are Marath'damane themselves. The only fucking reason that Tuon doesn't get collared herself is because the text needs her to commit her forces to the Last Battle. It would only take a little thinking and her entire court could supplant her.

I hate every single facet of their existence. Their empire is under constant rebellion, but not a single fucking one of the Seanchan characters thinks it's at all odd that people are constantly rising up in defiance of a totalitarian state as merciless and cruel as theirs. It's treated as a bad thing that darkfriends cause the collapse of the mainland Seanchan Empire, the death of the Empress, and the complete anarchy that follows.

My sole consolation is the knowledge that every empire falls, that my headcanon for the aftermath of Wheel of Time means that the Seanchan collapse entirely. Their mainland is embroiled in a total civil war, armed with rampaging, angry magical nukes, scouring everything of life. Their new empire is headed by a woman who can channel, and every enslaved and conquered person in their invader empire can theoretically flee into the free lands of the east, including any women who can channel. If anyone figures out that the A'dam would work on Tuon, she's fucked and so is Matt and the Seanchan settler empire. There is no way that the Seanchan can keep hunting Marath'damane with the entire rest of the world has organizations of channelers that they can flee to, and the Dragon's Peace to keep the nations from killing each-other.

The worst part about listening to the Seanchan chapters is having to pause every ten minutes or so and get angry about something new being so cartoonishly evil, while the Seanchan shrug off criticism as if it's somehow natural to murder and enslave everything you can see and people who don't just don't understand their ways, which are better than everyone else.

And we're supposed to accept that Tuon is somehow gentler with her Damane. As if that's a fucking high bar to clear. Hypocritical bitch. Fuck you.