And the Warders would be ringing the courtyard against the possibility that someone might try to free the man to be gentled. The remnants of Guaire Amalasan’s armies had attempted it, at the end of what some called the War of the Second Dragon, just before Artur Hawkwing’s rise had given Tar Valon other things to worry it, and so had Raolin Darksbane’s followers, long years earlier. Whether Rand had any followers or not, she could not remember, but Warders remembered such things, and guarded against them.
If Elaida, or another, truly did wear the stole of the Amyrlin, the Warders might well not admit her to the Traitor’s Court. She knew she could force a way in. It would need to be done quickly; there was no point if Rand was gentled while she was still wrapping Warders in Air. Even Warders would break if she loosed the lightnings on them, and balefire, and broke the ground under their feet. Balefire? she wondered. But it would also do no good if she broke Tar Valon’s power to save Rand. She had to save both.
Well short of the ways that led to the Traitor’s Court, she turned aside and climbed, up stairs and ramps that grew narrower and tighter the higher she went, until she thrust open a trapdoor and climbed out onto a sloping tower top, a roof of nearly white tiles. From there, she could see across other roofs, past other towers, into the broad open well of the Traitor’s Court.
The court was crowded except for a cleared space in the middle. People filled the windows overlooking it, crowded the balconies and even the rooftops, but she could make out the lone man, small at that distance, swaying in his chains in the center of the cleared space. Rand. Twelve Aes Sedai surrounded him, and another—who Egwene knew had to be wearing a seven-striped stole, even though she could not distinguish it—stood before Rand. Elaida. The words she must be saying crept into Egwene’s head.
This man, abandoned of the Light, has touched saidin, the male half of the True Source. Thus do we hold him. Most abominably has this man channeled the One Power, knowing that saidin is tainted by the Dark One, tainted for men’s pride, tainted for men’s sin. Thus do we chain him.
Forcefully, Egwene pushed the rest of it out of her thoughts. Thirteen Aes Sedai. Twelve sisters and the Amyrlin, the traditional number for gentling. The same number as for. . . . She rid herself of that, too. She had no time for anything but what she was there to do. If she could only manage to reason out how.
At that distance, she thought she could manage to lift him with Air. Pick him right out of the circle of Aes Sedai and float him straight to her. Maybe. Even if she could find the strength, even if she did not drop him to his death halfway, it would be a slow process, with him a helpless target for archers, and the glow of saidar pointing out her own position for any Aes Sedai who looked. Any Myrddraal, for that matter.
“Light,” she muttered, “there’s no other way short of starting a war inside the White Tower. And I may do that anyway.” She gathered the Power, separated skeins, directed flows.
The way back will come but once. Be steadfast.
It had been so long since she last heard those words that she gave a start, slipped on the smooth tiles, barely caught herself short of the edge. The ground lay a hundred paces down. She looked over her shoulder.
There on the tower top, tilted to sit flat against the sloping tiles, was a silver arch filled with a glowing light. The arch flickered and wavered; streaks of angry red and yellow darted through the white light.
The way back will come but once. Be steadfast.
The archway thinned to transparency, grew solid again.
Frantic, Egwene gazed toward the Traitor’s Court. There had to be time. There had to be. All she needed was a few minutes, perhaps ten, and luck.
Voices bored into her head, not the disembodied, unknowable voice that warned her to be steadfast, but women’s voices she almost believed she knew.
—can’t hold much longer. If she does not come out now—
Hold! Hold, burn you, or I’ll gut you all like sturgeons!
—going wild, Mother! We can’t—
The voices faded to a drone, the drone to silence, but the unknowable spoke again.
The way back will come but once. Be steadfast.
There is a price to be Aes Sedai.
The Black Ajah waits.
With a scream of rage, of loss, Egwene threw herself at the arch as it shimmered like a heat haze. She almost wished she would miss and plunge to her death.
Light plucked her apart fiber by fiber, sliced the fibers to hairs, split the hairs to wisps of nothing. All drifted apart on the light. Forever.
CHAPTER
23
Sealed
Light pulled her apart fiber by fiber, sliced the fibers to hairs that drifted apart, burning. Drifting and burning, forever. Forever.
Egwene stepped out of the silver arch cold and stiff with anger. She wanted the iciness of anger to counter the searing of memory. Her body remembered burning, but other memories scored and scorched more deeply. Anger cold as death.
“Is that all there is for me?” she demanded. “To abandon him again and again. To betray him, fail him, again and again? Is that what there is for me?”
Suddenly she realized that all was not as it should be. The Amyrlin was there now, as Egwene had been taught she would be, and a shawled sister from each Ajah, but they all stared at her worriedly. Two Aes Sedai now sat at each place around the ter’angreal, sweat running down their faces. The ter’angreal hummed, almost vibrated, and violent streaks of color tore the white light inside the arches.
The glow of saidar briefly enveloped Sheriam as she put a hand on Egwene’s head, sending a new chill through her. “She is well.” The Mistress of Novices sounded relieved. “She is unharmed.” As if she had not expected it.
Tension seemed to go out of the other Aes Sedai facing Egwene. Elaida let out a long breath, then hurried away for the last chalice. Only the Aes Sedai around the ter’angreal did not relax. The hum had lessened, and the light began the flickering that signaled the ter’angreal was settling toward quiescence, but those Aes Sedai looked as if they were fighting it every inch of the way.
“What . . . ? What happened?” Egwene asked.
“Be silent,” Sheriam said, but gently. “For now, be silent. You are well—that is the main thing—and we must complete the ceremony.” Elaida came, close to running, and handed the final silver chalice to the Amyrlin.
Egwene hesitated only a moment before kneeling. What happened?
The Amyrlin emptied the chalice slowly over Egwene’s head. “You are washed clean of Egwene al’Vere from Emond’s Field. You are washed clean of all ties that bind you to the world. You come to us washed clean, in heart and soul. You are Egwene al’Vere, Accepted of the White Tower.” The last drop splashed onto Egwene’s hair. “You are sealed to us, now.”
The last words seemed to have a special meaning, just between Egwene and the Amyrlin. The Amyrlin thrust the chalice at one of the other Aes Sedai and produced a gold ring in the shape of a serpent biting its own tail. Despite herself, Egwene trembled as she raised her left hand, trembled again as the Amyrlin slipped the Great Serpent ring onto the third finger. When she became Aes Sedai, she could wear the ring on the finger she chose, or not at all if it was necessary to hide who she was, but the Accepted wore it there.
Unsmiling, the Amyrlin pulled her to her feet. “Welcome, Daughter,” she said, kissing her cheek. Egwene was surprised to feel a thrill. Not child, but daughter. Always before she had been child. The Amyrlin kissed her other cheek. “Welcome.”
Stepping back, the Amyrlin regarded her critically, but spoke to Sheriam. “Get her dry and into some clothes, then be certain she is well. Certain, you understand.”
“I am certain, Mother.” Sheriam sounded surprised. “You saw me delve her.”
The Amyrlin grunted, and her eyes shifted to the ter’angreal. “I mean to know what went wrong tonight.” She strode away in the direction of her glare, skirts swaying purposefully. Most of the other Aes Sedai joined her around the
ter’angreal, now only a silver structure of arches on a ring.
“The Mother is worried about you,” Sheriam said as she drew Egwene to one side, to where there was a thick towel for her hair, and another for the rest of her.
“How much reason did she have?” Egwene asked. The Amyrlin wants nothing to happen to her hound till the deer is pulled down.
Sheriam did not answer. She merely frowned slightly, then waited until Egwene was dry before handing her a white dress banded at the bottom with seven rings.
She slipped into that dress with a flash of disappointment. She was one of the Accepted, with the ring on her finger and the bands on her dress. Why don’t I feel any different?
Elaida came over, her arms filled with Egwene’s novice dress and shoes, her belt and pouch. And the papers Verin had given her. In Elaida’s hands.
Egwene made herself wait for the Aes Sedai to hand the bundle to her rather than snatch them away. “Thank you, Aes Sedai.” She tried to eye the papers surreptitiously; she could not tell if they had been disturbed. The string was still tied. How would I know if she’s read all of them? Squeezing her pouch under cover of the novice dress, she felt the peculiar ring, the ter’angreal, inside. At least that’s still here. Light, she could have taken that, and I don’t know that I would have minded. Yes, I would. I think I would.
Elaida’s face was as cold as her voice. “I did not want you to be brought forward tonight. Not because I feared what happened; no one could foresee that. But because of what you are. A wilder.” Egwene tried to protest, but Elaida kept on, as implacable as a mountain glacier. “Oh, I know you learned to channel under Aes Sedai teaching, but you are still a wilder. A wilder in spirit, a wilder in ways. You have vast potential, else you would never have survived in there tonight, but potential changes nothing. I do not believe you will ever be part of the White Tower, not in the way the rest of us are, no matter on which finger you wear your ring. It would have been better for you had you settled for learning enough to stay alive, and gone back to your sleepy village. Far better.” Turning on her heel, she stalked away, out of the chamber.
If she isn’t Black Ajah, Egwene thought sourly, she’s the next thing to it. Aloud, she muttered to Sheriam, “You could have said something. You could have helped me.”
“I would have helped a novice, child,” Sheriam replied calmly, and Egwene winced. She was back to “child” again. “I try to protect novices where they need it, since they cannot protect themselves. You are Accepted, now. It is time for you to learn to protect yourself.”
Egwene studied Sheriam’s eyes, wondering if she had imagined an emphasis on that last sentence. Sheriam had had as much opportunity as Elaida to read the list of names, to decide that Egwene was mixed in with the Black Ajah. Light, you’re becoming suspicious of everybody. Better that than dead, or captured by thirteen of them and. . . . Hastily, she stopped that line of thought; she did not want it in her head. “Sheriam, what did happen tonight?” she asked. “And don’t put me off.” Sheriam’s eyebrows rose almost to her scalp, it seemed, and she hastily amended her question. “Sheriam Sedai, I mean. Forgive me, Sheriam Sedai.”
“Remember you aren’t Aes Sedai yet, child.” Despite the steel in her voice, a smile touched Sheriam’s lips, yet it vanished as she went on. “I do not know what happened. Except that I very much fear you almost died.”
“Who knows what happens to those who do not come out of a ter’angreal?” Alanna said as she joined them. The Green sister was known for her temper and her sense of humor, and some said she could flash from one to the other and back again before you could blink, but the look she gave Egwene was almost diffident. “Child, I should have stopped this when I had the chance, when I first noticed that—reverberation. It came back. That is what happened. It came back a thousandfold. Ten thousand. The ter’angreal almost seemed to be trying to shut off the flow from saidar—or melt itself through the floor. You have my apologies, though words are not enough. Not for what almost happened to you. I say this, and by the First Oath you know it is true. To show my feelings, I will ask the Mother to let me share your time in the kitchens. And, yes, your visit to Sheriam, too. Had I done as I should, you would not have been in danger of your life, and I will atone for it.”
Sheriam’s laugh was scandalized. “She will never allow that, Alanna. A sister in the kitchens, much less. . . . It is unheard of. It’s impossible! You did what you believed right. There is no fault to you.”
“It was not your fault, Alanna Sedai,” Egwene said. Why is Alanna doing this? Unless maybe to convince me she didn’t have anything to do with whatever went wrong. And maybe so she can keep an eye on me all the time. It was that image, a proud Aes Sedai up to her elbows in greasy pots three times a day just to watch someone, that convinced her she was letting her imagination run away with her. But it was also unthinkable that Alanna should do as she said she would. In any case, the Green sister certainly had had no chance to see the list of names while tending the ter’angreal. But if Nynaeve is right, she wouldn’t need to see those names to want to kill me if she is Black Ajah. Stop that! “Really, it wasn’t.”
“Had I done as I should,” Alanna maintained, “it would never have happened. The only time I have ever seen anything like it was once years ago when we tried to use a ter’angreal in the same room with another that may have been in some way related to it. It is extremely rare to find two such as that. The pair of them melted, and every sister within a hundred paces had such a headache for a week that she couldn’t channel a spark. What’s the matter, child?”
Egwene’s hand had tightened around her pouch till the twisted stone ring impressed itself on her palm through the thick cloth. Was it warm? Light, I did it myself. “Nothing, Alanna Sedai. Aes Sedai, you did nothing wrong. You have no reason to share my punishments. None at all. None!”
“A bit vehement,” Sheriam observed, “but true.” Alanna only shook her head.
“Aes Sedai,” Egwene said slowly, “what does it mean to be Green Ajah?” Sheriam’s eyes opened wider with amusement, and Alanna grinned openly.
“Just with the ring on your finger,” the Green sister said, “and already trying to decide which Ajah to choose? First, you must love men. I don’t mean be in love with them, but love them. Not like a Blue, who merely likes men, so long as they share her causes and do not get in her way. And certainly not like a Red, who despises them as if every one of them were responsible for the Breaking.” Alviarin, the White sister who had come with the Amyrlin, gave them a cool look and moved on. “And not like a White,” Alanna said with a laugh, “who has no room in her life for any passions at all.”
“That was not what I meant, Alanna Sedai. I want to know what it means to be a Green sister.” She was not sure Alanna would understand, because she was not certain she herself understood what she wanted to know, but Alanna nodded slowly as if she did.
“Browns seek knowledge, Blues meddle in causes, and Whites consider the questions of truth with implacable logic. We all do some of it all, of course. But to be a Green means to stand ready.” A note of pride entered Alanna’s voice. “In the Trolloc Wars, we were often called the Battle Ajah. All Aes Sedai helped where and when they could, but the Green Ajah alone was always with the armies, in almost every battle. We were the counter to the Dreadlords. The Battle Ajah. And now we stand ready, for the Trollocs to come south again, for Tarmon Gai’don, the Last Battle. We will be there. That is what it means to be a Green.”
“Thank you, Aes Sedai,” Egwene said. That is what I was? Or what I will be? Light, I wish I knew if it was real, if it had anything at all to do with here and now.
The Amyrlin joined them, and they swept deep curtsies to her. “Are you well, Daughter?” she asked Egwene. Her eyes flicked to the corner of the papers sticking out from under the novice dress in Egwene’s hands, then back to Egwene’s face immediately. “I will know the why of what occurred tonight before I am done.”
Egwene’s cheeks reddened.
“I am well, Mother.”
Alanna surprised her by asking the Amyrlin just what she had said she would.
“I never heard of such a thing,” the Amyrlin barked. “The owner doesn’t muck out with the bilge boys even if he has run the boat on a mudflat.” She glanced at Egwene, and worry tightened her eyes. And anger. “I share your concern, Alanna. Whatever this child has done, it did not deserve that. Very well. If it will assuage your feelings, you may visit Sheriam. But it is to be strictly between you two. I’ll not have Aes Sedai held up to ridicule, even inside the Tower.”
Egwene opened her mouth to confess all and let them take the ring—I don’t want the bloody thing, really—but Alanna forestalled her.
“And the other, Mother?”
“Do not be ridiculous, Daughter.” The Amyrlin was angry, and sounded more so by the word. “You’d be a laughingstock inside the day, except for those who decided you were mad. And don’t think it would not follow you. Tales like that have a way of traveling. You would find stories told of the scullion Aes Sedai from Tear to Maradon. And that would reflect on every sister. No. If you need to rid yourself of some feeling of guilt and cannot handle it as a grown woman would, very well. I have told you that you may visit Sheriam. Accompany her tonight when you leave here. That will give you the rest of the night to decide if it was of any help. And tomorrow you can start finding out what went wrong here tonight!”
“Yes, Mother.” Alanna’s voice was perfectly neutral.
The desire to confess had died in Egwene. Alanna had shown only one brief flash of disappointment, when she realized the Amyrlin would not allow her to join Egwene in the kitchens. She doesn’t want to be punished any more than any sensible person does. She did want an excuse to be in my company. Light, she couldn’t have deliberately caused the ter’angreal to go wild; I did that. Can she be Black Ajah?
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