The Eye of the World

by Robert Jordan

  Nynaeve’s face had gone white. “Can you do anything?” she whispered.

  “I hope so.” Moiraine sighed. “For the sake of the world, I hope I am not too late.” Her hand delved into the pouch at her belt and came out with the silk-shrouded angreal. “Leave me. Stay together, and find somewhere you will not be seen, but leave me. I will do what I can for him.”

  CHAPTER

  42

  Remembrance of Dreams

  It was a subdued group that Rand led back down the stairs. None of them wanted to talk to him now, or to one another. He did not feel much like talking, either.

  The sun was far enough across the sky to dim the back stairwell, but the lamps had not yet been lit. Sunlight and shadow striped the stairs. Perrin’s face was as closed as the others, but where worry creased everyone else’s brow, his was smooth. Rand thought the look Perrin wore was resignation. He wondered why, and wanted to ask, but whenever Perrin walked through a deeper patch of shadow, his eyes seemed to gather in what little light there was, glowing softly like polished amber.

  Rand shivered and tried to concentrate on his surroundings, on the walnut paneled walls and the oak stair railing, on sturdy, everyday things. He wiped his hands on his coat several times, but each time sweat sprang out on his palms anew. It’ll all be all right, now. We’re together again, and. . . . Light, Mat.

  He took them to the library by the back way that went by the kitchens, avoiding the common room. Not many travelers used the library; most of those who could read stayed at more elegant inns in the Inner City. Master Gill kept it more for his own enjoyment than for the handful of patrons who wanted a book now and then. Rand did not want to think why Moiraine wanted them to keep out of sight, but he kept remembering the Whitecloak under-officer saying he would be back, and Elaida’s eyes when she asked where he was staying. Those were reasons enough, Whatever Moiraine wanted.

  He took five steps into the library before he realized that everyone else had stopped, crowded together in the doorway, openmouthed and goggling. A brisk blaze crackled in the fireplace, and Loial was sprawled on the long couch, reading, a small black cat with white feet curled and half asleep on his stomach. When they entered he closed the book with a huge finger marking his place and gently set the cat on the floor, then stood to bow formally.

  Rand was so used to the Ogier that it took him a minute to realize that Loial was the object of the others’ stares. “These are the friends I was waiting for, Loial,” he said. “This is Nynaeve, the Wisdom of my village. And Perrin. And this is Egwene.”

  “Ah, yes,” Loial boomed, “Egwene. Rand has spoken of you a great deal. Yes. I am Loial.”

  “He’s an Ogier,” Rand explained, and watched their amazement change in kind. Even after Trollocs and Fades in the flesh, it was still astonishing to meet a legend walking and breathing. Remembering his own first reaction to Loial, he grinned ruefully. They were doing better than he had.

  Loial took their gaping in his stride. Rand supposed he hardly noticed it compared with a mob shouting “Trolloc.” “And the Aes Sedai, Rand?” Loial asked.

  “Upstairs with Mat.”

  The Ogier raised one bushy eyebrow thoughtfully. “Then he is ill. I suggest we all be seated. She will be joining us? Yes. Then there’s nothing to do but wait.”

  The act of sitting seemed to loosen some catch inside the Emond’s Field folk, as if being in a well-stuffed chair with a fire in the fireplace and a cat now curled up on the hearth made them feel at home. As soon as they were settled they excitedly began asking the Ogier questions. To Rand’s surprise, Perrin was the first to speak.

  “The stedding, Loial. Are they really havens, the way the stories say?” His voice was intent, as if he had a particular reason for asking.

  Loial was glad to tell about the stedding, and how he came to be at The Queen’s Blessing, and what he had seen in his travels. Rand soon leaned back, only partly listening. He had heard it all before, in detail. Loial liked to talk, and talk at length when he had the slightest chance, though he usually seemed to think a story needed two or three hundred years of background to make it understood. His sense of time was very strange; to him three hundred years seemed a reasonable length of time for a story or explanation to cover. He always talked about leaving the stedding as if it were just a few months before, but it had finally come out that he had been gone more than three years.

  Rand’s thoughts drifted to Mat. A dagger. A bloody knife, and it might kill him just from carrying it. Light, I don’t want any more adventure. If she can heal him, we should all go . . . not home. Can’t go home. Somewhere. We’ll all go somewhere they’ve never heard of Aes Sedai or the Dark One. Somewhere.

  The door opened, and for a moment Rand thought he was still imagining. Mat stood there, blinking, with his coat buttoned up and the dark scarf wrapped low around his forehead. Then Rand saw Moiraine, with her hand on Mat’s shoulder, and Lan behind them. The Aes Sedai was watching Mat carefully, as one watches someone only lately out of a sickbed. As always, Lan was watching everything while appearing to watch nothing.

  Mat looked as if he had never been sick a day. His first, hesitant smile included everyone, though it slipped into an openmouthed stare at the sight of Loial, as if he were seeing the Ogier for the first time. With a shrug and a shake, he turned his attention back to his friends. “I . . . ah . . . that is. . . .” He took a deep breath. “It . . . ah . . . it seems I’ve been acting . . . ah . . . sort of oddly. I don’t remember much of it, really.” He gave Moiraine an uneasy look. She smiled back confidently, and he went on. “Everything is hazy after Whitebridge. Thom, and the. . . .” He shivered and hurried on. “The further from Whitebridge, the hazier it gets. I don’t really remember arriving in Caemlyn at all.” He eyed Loial askance. “Not really. Moiraine Sedai says I . . . upstairs, I . . . ah. . . .” He grinned, and suddenly he truly was the old Mat. “You can’t hold a man to blame for what he does when he’s crazy, can you?”

  “You always were crazy,” Perrin said, and for a moment he, too, sounded as of old.

  “No,” Nynaeve said. Tears made her eyes bright, but she was smiling. “None of us blames you.”

  Rand and Egwene began talking at once then, telling Mat how happy they were to see him well and how well he looked, with a few laughing comments thrown in about hoping that he was done with tricks now that one so ugly had been played on him. Mat met banter with banter as he found a chair with all of his old swagger. As he sat down, still grinning, he absentmindedly touched his coat as if to make sure that something tucked behind his belt was still there, and Rand’s breath caught.

  “Yes,” Moiraine said quietly, “he still has the dagger.” The laughter and talk was still going on among the rest of the Emond’s Field folk, but she had noticed his sudden intake of breath and had seen what had caused it. She moved closer to his chair, where she did not have to raise her voice for him to hear clearly. “I cannot take it away from him without killing him. The binding has lasted too long, and grown too strong. That must be unknotted in Tar Valon; it is beyond me, or any lone Aes Sedai, even with an angreal.”

  “But he doesn’t look sick anymore.” He had a thought and looked up at her. “As long as he has the dagger, the Fades will know where we are. Darkfriends, too, some of them. You said so.”

  “I have contained that, after a fashion. If they come close enough to sense it now, they will be on top of us anyway. I cleansed the taint from him, Rand, and did what I could to slow its return, but return it will, in time, unless he receives help in Tar Valon.”

  “A good thing that’s where we’re going, isn’t it?” He thought maybe it was the resignation in his voice, and the hope for something else, that made her give him a sharp look before turning away.

  Loial was on his feet, bowing to her. “I am Loial, son of Arent son of Halan, Aes Sedai. The stedding offers sanctuary to the Servants of the Light.”

  “Thank you, Loial, son of Arent,” Moiraine answered dryly, �
�but I would not be too free with that greeting if I were you. There are perhaps twenty Aes Sedai in Caemlyn at this moment, and every one but I of the Red Ajah.” Loial nodded sagely, as if he understood. Rand could only shake his head in confusion; he would be Lightblinded if he knew what she meant. “It is strange to find you here,” the Aes Sedai went on. “Few Ogier leave the stedding in recent years.”

  “The old stories caught me, Aes Sedai. The old books filled my unworthy head with pictures. I want to see the groves. And the cities we built, too. There do not seem to be many of either still standing, but if buildings are a poor substitute for trees, they are still worth seeing. The Elders think I’m odd, wanting to travel. I always have, and they always have. None of them believe there is anything worth seeing outside the stedding. Perhaps when I return and tell them what I’ve seen, they will change their minds. I hope so. In time.”

  “Perhaps they will,” Moiraine said smoothly. “Now, Loial, you must forgive me for being abrupt. It is a failing of humankind, I know. My companions and I have urgent need to plan our journey. If you could excuse us?”

  It was Loial’s turn to look confused. Rand came to his rescue. “He’s coming with us. I promised him he could.”

  Moiraine stood looking at the Ogier as if she had not heard, but finally she nodded. “The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills,” she murmured. “Lan, see that we are not taken unaware.” The Warder vanished from the room, silently but for the click of the door shutting behind him.

  Lan’s disappearance acted like a signal; all talk was cut off. Moiraine moved to the fireplace, and when she turned back to the room every eye was on her. Slight of build as she was, her presence dominated. “We cannot remain long in Caemlyn, nor are we safe here in The Queen’s Blessing. The Dark One’s eyes are already in the city. They have not found what they are searching for, or they would not still be looking. That we have to our advantage. I have set wards to keep them away, and by the time the Dark One realizes that there is a part of the city the rats no longer enter, we will be gone. Any ward that will turn a man aside, though, would be as good as a beacon fire for the Myrddraal, and there are Children of the Light in Caemlyn, also, looking for Perrin and Egwene.” Rand made a sound, and Moiraine raised an eyebrow at him.

  “I thought they were looking for Mat and me,” he said.

  The explanation made both the Aes Sedai’s eyebrows lift. “Why would you think the Whitecloaks were looking for you?”

  “I heard one say they were looking for someone from the Two Rivers. Darkfriends, he said. What else was I supposed to think? With everything that’s been happening, I’m lucky I can think at all.”

  “It has been confusing, I know, Rand,” Loial put in, “but you can think more clearly than that. The Children hate Aes Sedai. Elaida would not—”

  “Elaida?” Moiraine cut in sharply. “What has Elaida Sedai to do with this?”

  She was looking at Rand so hard that he wanted to lean back. “She wanted to throw me in prison,” he said slowly. “All I wanted was a look at Logain, but she wouldn’t believe I was in the Palace gardens with Elayne and Gawyn just by chance.” They were all staring at him as if he had suddenly sprouted a third eye, all except Loial. “Queen Morgase let me go. She said there was no proof I meant any harm and she was going to uphold the law no matter what Elaida suspected.” He shook his head, the memory of Morgase in all her radiance making him forget for a minute that anyone was looking at him. “Can you imagine me meeting a Queen? She’s beautiful, like the queens in stories. So is Elayne. And Gawyn . . . you’d like Gawyn, Perrin. Perrin? Mat?” They were still staring. “Blood and ashes, I just climbed up on the wall for a look at the false Dragon. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “That’s what I always say,” Mat said blandly, though he was suddenly grinning hard, and Egwene asked in a decidedly neutral voice, “Who’s Elayne?”

  Moiraine muttered something crossly.

  “A Queen,” Perrin said, shaking his head. “You really have had adventures. All we met were Tinkers and some Whitecloaks.” He avoided looking at Moiraine so obviously that Rand saw the avoidance plain. Perrin touched the bruises on his face. “On the whole, singing with the Tinkers was more fun than the Whitecloaks.”

  “The Traveling People live for their songs,” Loial said. “For all songs, for that matter. For the search for them, at least. I met some Tuatha’an a few years back, and they wanted to learn the songs we sing to trees. Actually, the trees won’t listen to very many anymore, and so not many Ogier learn the songs. I have a scrap of that Talent, so Elder Arent insisted I learn. I taught the Tuatha’an what they could learn, but the trees never listen to humans. For the Traveling People they were only songs, and just as well received for that, since none was the song they seek. That’s what they call the leader of each band, the Seeker. They come to Stedding Shangtai, sometimes. Few humans do.”

  “If you please, Loial,” Moiraine said, but he cleared his throat suddenly and went on in a quick rumble as if afraid she might stop him.

  “I’ve just remembered something, Aes Sedai, something I have always wanted to ask an Aes Sedai if ever I met one, since you know many things and have great libraries in Tar Valon, and now I have, of course, and . . . may I?”

  “If you make it brief,” she said curtly.

  “Brief,” he said as though wondering what it meant. “Yes. Well. Brief. There was a man came to Stedding Shangtai a little time back. This was not unusual in itself, at the time, since a great many refugees had come to the Spine of the World fleeing what you humans call the Aiel War.” Rand grinned. A little time back; twenty years, near enough. “He was at the point of death, though there was no wound or mark on him. The Elders thought it might be something Aes Sedai had done”—Loial gave Moiraine an apologetic look—“since as soon as he was within the stedding he quickly got well. A few months. One night he left without a word to anyone, simply sneaked away when the moon was down.” He looked at Moiraine’s face and cleared his throat again. “Yes. Brief. Before he left, he told a curious tale which he said he meant to carry to Tar Valon. He said the Dark One intended to blind the Eye of the World, and slay the Great Serpent, kill time itself. The Elders said he was as sound in his mind as in his body, but that was what he said. What I have wanted to ask is, can the Dark One do such a thing? Kill time itself? And the Eye of the World? Can he blind the eye of the Great Serpent? What does it mean?”

  Rand expected almost anything from Moiraine except what he saw. Instead of giving Loial an answer, or telling him she had no time for it now, she stood there staring right through the Ogier, frowning in thought.

  “That’s what the Tinkers told us,” Perrin said.

  “Yes,” Egwene said, “the Aiel story.”

  Moiraine turned her head slowly. No other part of her moved. “What story?”

  It was an expressionless look she gave them, but it made Perrin take a deep breath, though when he spoke he was as deliberate as ever. “Some Tinkers crossing the Waste—they said they could do that unharmed—found Aiel dying after a battle with Trollocs. Before the last Aiel died, she—they were all women, apparently—told the Tinkers what Loial just said. The Dark One—they called him Sightblinder—intends to blind the Eye of the World. This was only three years ago, not twenty. Does it mean something?”

  “Perhaps everything,” Moiraine said. Her face was still, but Rand had the feeling her mind raced behind those dark eyes.

  “Ba’alzamon,” Perrin said suddenly. The name cut off all sound in the room. No one appeared to breathe. Perrin looked at Rand, then at Mat, his eyes strangely calm and more yellow than ever. “At the time I wondered where I’d heard that name before . . . the Eye of the World. Now I remember. Don’t you?”

  “I don’t want to remember anything,” Mat said stiffly.

  “We have to tell her,” Perrin continued. “It’s important now. We can’t keep it secret any longer. You see it, don’t you, Rand?”

  “Tell me what?” Moira
ine’s voice was harsh, and she seemed to be bracing for a blow. Her gaze had settled on Rand.

  He did not want to answer. He did not want to remember any more than Mat, but he did remember—and he knew Perrin was right. “I’ve. . . .” He looked at his friends. Mat nodded reluctantly, Perrin decisively, but at least they had done it. He did not have to face her alone. “We have had . . . dreams.” He rubbed the spot on his finger where the thorn had stuck him once, remembering the blood when he woke. Queasily remembering the sunburned feel of his face another time. “Except maybe they weren’t dreams, exactly. Ba’alzamon was in them.” He knew why Perrin had used that name; it was easier than saying the Dark One had been in your dreams, inside your head. “He said . . . he said all sorts of things, but once he said the Eye of the World would never serve me.” For a minute his mouth was as dry as dust.

  “He told me the same thing,” Perrin said, and Mat sighed heavily, then nodded. Rand found he had spit in his mouth again. “You aren’t angry with us?” Perrin asked, sounding surprised, and Rand realized that Moiraine did not seem angry. She was studying them, but her eyes were clear and calm, if intent.

  “More with myself than you. But I did ask you to tell me if you had strange dreams. In the beginning, I asked.” Though her voice remained level, a flash of anger crossed her eyes, and was gone in an instant. “Had I known after the first such, I might have been able to. . . . There has not been a Dreamwalker in Tar Valon for nearly a thousand years, but I could have tried. Now it is too late. Each time the Dark One touches you, he makes the next touching easier for him. Perhaps my presence can still shield you somewhat, but even then. . . . Remember the stories of the Forsaken binding men to them? Strong men, men who had fought the Dark One from the start. Those stories are true, and none of the Forsaken had a tenth of the strength of their master, not Aginor or Lanfear, not Balthamel or Demandred, not even Ishamael, the Betrayer of Hope himself.”