Ferane selected a walnut. The other two Whites were sharing an unsettled look. “There is sense in what you say,” the Sitter finally admitted.
Egwene set aside the nutcracker. “Rand al’Thor is a good man, in his heart, but he needs guidance. These days are when we should have been at our most subtle. He should have been led to trust Aes Sedai above all others, to rely on our counsel. He should have been shown the wisdom in listening. Instead, he has been shown that we will treat him like an unruly child. If he is one, he cannot be allowed to think we regard him in such a way. Because of our bungling, he has taken some Aes Sedai captive, and has allowed still others to be bonded to those Asha’man of his.”
Ferane sat up stiffly. “Best not to mention that atrocity.”
“What is this?” Tesan said, shocked, hand raised to her breast. Some Whites never seemed to pay attention to the world around them. “Ferane? Did you know of this?”
Ferane didn’t respond.
“I’ve . . . heard this rumor,” said stout Miyasi. “If it is true, then something must be done.”
“Yes,” Egwene said. “Unfortunately, we cannot focus on al’Thor right now.”
“He is the greatest problem facing the world,” pinch-faced Tesan said, leaning forward. “We must deal with him first.”
“No,” Egwene said. “There are other issues.”
Miyasi frowned. “With the Last Battle impending, I can’t see any other issues of importance.”
Egwene shook her head. “In dealing with Rand now, we’d be like a farmer, looking at his wagon and worrying that there aren’t any goods in the bed for him to sell—but ignoring the fact that his axle is cracked. Fill the bed before it is time, and you’ll just break the wagon and be worse off than when you started.”
“And what, exactly, are you implying?” Tesan demanded.
Egwene looked back at Ferane.
“I see,” Ferane said. “You are referring to the division in the White Tower.”
“Can a cracked stone be a good foundation for a building?” Egwene asked. “Can a frayed rope hold a panicky horse? How can we, in our current state, hope to manage the Dragon Reborn himself?”
Ferane said, “Why, then, do you continue to enforce the division by insisting that you are the Amyrlin Seat? You defy your own logic.”
“And renouncing my claim on the Amyrlin Seat would mend the Tower?” Egwene asked.
“It would help.”
Egwene raised an eyebrow. “Let us assume, for a moment, that by renouncing my claim, I could persuade the rebel faction to rejoin the White Tower and accept Elaida’s leadership.” She raised the eyebrow further, indicating how likely she thought that was. “Would the divisions be healed?”
“You just said they would be,” Tesan said, frowning.
“Oh?” Egwene said. “Would sisters stop scurrying through the hallways, frightened to be alone? Would groups of women from different Ajahs stop regarding each other with hostility when they pass in the hallways? With all due respect, would we no longer feel the need to wear our shawls at all times to reinforce who we are and where our allegiance is?”
Ferane glanced down, briefly, at her white-fringed shawl.
Egwene leaned forward, continuing. “Surely you, of all women in the White Tower, can see the importance of the Ajahs working together. We need women with different skills and interests to gather into Ajahs. But does it make sense for us to refuse to work together?”
“The White has not caused this . . . regrettable tension,” Miyasi said with a little snort. “The others acting with such abundance of emotion have created it.”
“The present leadership has caused it,” Egwene said, “a leadership which teaches that it’s all right to still fellow sisters in secret, to execute Warders before their Aes Sedai are even brought to trial. That there’s nothing wrong with removing a sister’s shawl and reducing her to an Accepted, that there’s nothing wrong with disbanding an entire Ajah. And what of acting without the counsel of the Hall in something as dangerous as kidnapping and imprisoning the Dragon Reborn? Is it unexpected that the sisters would be so frightened and worried? Is it not all completely logical, what has happened to us?”
The three Whites were quiet.
“I will not submit,” Egwene said. “Not while doing so leaves us fractured. I will continue to assert that Elaida is not the Amyrlin. Her actions have proven it. You want to help battle the Dark One? Well, your first step is not to deal with the Dragon Reborn. Your first step should be to reach out to sisters of the other Ajahs.”
“Why us?” Tesan said. “The actions of others are not our responsibility.”
“And you are not to blame at all?” Egwene asked, letting a little of her anger seep through. Would none of her sisters accept a modicum of responsibility? “You, of the White, should have seen where this road would lead. Yes, Siuan and the Blue were not without their flaws—but you should have seen the flaw in pulling her down, then allowing Elaida to disband the Blue. Besides, I believe that several members of your own Ajah were integral to the act of setting up Elaida as Amyrlin.”
Miyasi recoiled slightly. The Whites did not like to be reminded of Alviarin and her failure as Elaida’s Keeper. Instead of turning against Elaida for ousting the White, they seemed to have turned against their own member for the shame she had caused them.
“I still think that this is work for the Grays,” Tesan said, but she sounded less convinced than she had just moments before. “You should speak with them.”
“I have,” Egwene said. Her patience was beginning to fray. “Some will not speak with me and continue to send me to penance. Others say these rifts are not their fault, but with some coaxing have agreed to do what they can. The Yellows have been very reasonable, and I think they’re beginning to see the problems in the Tower as a wound to be healed. I’m still working with several Brown sisters—they seem more fascinated by the problems than worried about them. I’ve sent several of them looking through the histories for examples of division, hoping they’ll run across the story of Renala Merlon. The connection should be easy to make, and perhaps they will begin to see that our problems here can be solved.
“The Greens have, ironically, been the most stubborn. They can be very like Reds in many ways, which is infuriating as they really should be willing to accept me as one who would have been among them. That only leaves the Blue, who have been banished, and the Red. I doubt that sisters of that last Ajah are going to be very receptive to my suggestions.”
Ferane sat back, thoughtful, and Tesan sat with three forgotten walnuts in her hand, staring at Egwene. Miyasi scratched at her iron-gray hair, eyes wide with surprise.
Had Egwene given away too much? Aes Sedai were remarkably like Rand al’Thor; they did not like to know when they were being maneuvered.
“You are shocked,” she said. “What, do you think I should simply sit—like most—and do nothing while the Tower crumbles? This white dress has been forced upon me, and I do not accept what it represents, but I will use it. A woman in novice white is one of the few who can pass from one Ajah quarter to another these days. Someone has to work to mend the Tower, and I am the best choice. Besides, it is my duty.”
“How very . . . reasonable of you,” Ferane said, her ageless brow furrowed.
“Thank you,” Egwene said. Were they worried that she’d overstepped her bounds? Angered that she’d been manipulating Aes Sedai? Coldly determined to see her punished yet again?
Ferane leaned forward. “Let us say that we wished to work toward mending the Tower. What path would you recommend?”
Egwene felt a surge of excitement. She’d had nothing but setbacks during the last few days. Idiot Greens! They would feel foolish indeed once she was accepted as Amyrlin.
“Suana, of the Yellow Ajah, will soon be inviting you three to share a meal with her,” Egwene said. At least, Suana would make the offer, once Egwene prodded her. “Accept and take your meal in a public place, perhaps one of the Tow
er gardens. Be seen enjoying one another’s company. I will try to get a Brown sister to invite you next. Let yourself be seen by the other sisters mixing among the Ajahs.”
“Simple enough,” Miyasi said. “Very little effort required, but excellent potential for gain.”
“We shall see,” Ferane said. “You may withdraw, Egwene.”
She didn’t like being dismissed so, but there was no helping it. Still, the woman had shown Egwene respect by using her name. Egwene stood up, and then—very carefully—nodded her head to Ferane. Though Tesan and Miyasi gave no strong reactions, both pairs of eyes widened slightly. By now, it was well known in the Tower that Egwene never curtsied. And, shockingly, Ferane bowed her head, just a degree, returning the gesture.
“Should you decide to choose the White, Egwene al’Vere,” the woman said, “know that you will find a welcome here. Your logic this day was remarkable for one so young.”
Egwene hid a smile. Just four days back, Bennae Nalsad had all but offered Egwene a place in the Brown, and Egwene was still surprised at how vigilantly Suana recommended the Yellow to her. Almost they made her change her mind—but that was mostly her frustration with the Green at the moment. “Thank you,” she said. “But you must remember that the Amyrlin must represent all Ajahs. Our discussion was enjoyable, however. I hope that you will allow me to join you again in the future.”
With that, Egwene withdrew, letting herself smile broadly as she nodded to Ferane’s sturdy, bowlegged Warder standing guard just inside the balcony. Her smile lasted right up until she left the White sector of the Tower and found Katerine waiting in the hallway. The Red was not one of the two assigned to Egwene earlier in the day, and talk about the Tower said that Elaida was relying on Katerine more and more now that her Keeper had vanished on a mysterious mission.
Katerine’s sharp face bore a smile of its own. That was not a good sign. “Here,” the woman said, offering a wooden cup holding a clear liquid. It was time for Egwene’s afternoon dose of forkroot.
Egwene grimaced, but took the cup and drank the contents. She wiped her mouth with her handkerchief, then began to walk down the hallway.
“And where are you going?” Katerine asked.
The smugness in her tone made Egwene hesitate. Egwene turned, frowning. “My next lesson—”
“You will have no further lessons,” Katerine said. “At least, not of the kind you have been receiving. All agree that your skill with weaves is impressive, for a novice.”
Egwene frowned. Were they going to raise her to Accepted again? She doubted that Elaida would allow her any more freedom, and she rarely spent any time in her quarters, so the extra space would be unimportant.
“No,” Katerine said, toying idly with the fringe on her shawl. “What you need to learn, it has been decided, is humility. The Amyrlin has heard of your foolish refusal to curtsy to sisters. In her opinion, it’s the last symbol of your defiant nature, and so you are to receive a new form of instruction.”
Egwene felt a moment of fear. “What kind of instruction?” she said, keeping her voice even.
“Chores and work,” Katerine said.
“I already do chores, just like the novices.”
“You mistake me,” Katerine said. “From now on, all you will do is chores. You are to report to the kitchens immediately—you will spend every afternoon working there. In the evenings, you will scrub floors. In the mornings you will report to the groundsmaster and work the gardens. This will be your life, those same three activities every day—five hours at each one—until you give up your foolish pride and learn to curtsy to your betters.”
It was an end to Egwene’s freedom, what little she had. There was glee in Katerine’s eyes.
“Ah, so you understand,” Katerine said. “No more visiting sisters in their quarters, wasting their time as you practice weaves that you have already mastered. No more laziness; now you will work instead. What think you of that?”
It wasn’t the difficulty of the work that worried Egwene—she didn’t mind the chores she did each day. It was the lack of contact with other sisters that would ruin her. How would she mend the White Tower? Light! It was a disaster.
She gritted her teeth and forced down her emotion. She met Katerine’s eyes, saying, “Very well. Let us go.”
Katerine blinked. She’d obviously expected a tantrum, or at least a fight. But this was not the time. Egwene turned her step toward the kitchens, leaving the quarters of the Whites behind. She couldn’t let them know how effective this punishment was.
She forced down her panic as she walked, the cavernous hallways of the inner Tower lined with bracketed lamps, long and sinuous, like the heads of serpents spouting tiny flames up toward the stone ceiling. She could deal with this. She would deal with this. They would not break her.
Perhaps she should work for a few days, then pretend that she had been humbled. Should she give the curtsy Elaida demanded? It was a simple thing, really. One curtsy, and she could go back to her more important duties.
No, she thought. No, that would not be the end of it. I’d lose the moment I gave that first curtsy. Giving in would prove to Elaida that Egwene could be broken. Curtsying would begin a descent into destruction. Soon, Elaida would decide that Egwene needed to start using honorifics for the Aes Sedai. The false Amyrlin would send Egwene back to work detail, knowing it had been effective before. Would Egwene bend there too? How long before any credibility she had ended up forgotten, trampled into the tiles of the Tower hallways?
She could not bend. The beatings had not changed her behavior; work detail must not change her either.
Three hours of working the kitchens did little to improve her mood. Laras, the hefty Mistress of Kitchens, had set Egwene at scrubbing out one of the ovenlike fireplaces. It was dirty, grimy work, not conducive to thinking. Not that there were many ways out of her situation.
Egwene knelt back on her heels, raising an arm and wiping her brow. The arm came away smeared with soot. Egwene sighed softly, her mouth and nose protected by a damp cloth to keep her from breathing too much ash. Her breath was hot and stuffy against her face, and her skin was sticky with sweat. The drops that fell from her face were stained with black soot; through the cloth she could smell the dull, crusty scent of ash that had been burned over and over and over again.
The fireplace was a large square construction of burned red bricks. It was open on both sides and more than large enough to crawl into—which was exactly what Egwene had to do. Dark crusts built up on the inside of the flue and chimney, and they needed to be scrubbed free lest they clog the chimney or break free and fall into the food. Outside in the dining room, Egwene could hear Katerine and Lirene chatting and laughing with each other. The Reds periodically poked heads in to check on her, but her real supervisor was Laras, who was scrubbing pots on the other side of the room.
Egwene had changed into a work dress for the duty. While it had once been white, it had been repeatedly used by novices cleaning the fireplaces, and the soot had been ground into the fibers. Patches of gray stained the cloth, like shadows.
She rubbed the small of her back, got back on her hands and knees, and crawled farther into the fireplace. Using a small wooden scrape, she worked clumps of ash free from seams between the bricks, then gathered it up and deposited it in brass buckets, the rims of which were powdered white and gray with ash. Her first task had been to dig out all of the loose soot and pile it into the buckets. Her hands were so blackened from the work she worried that the most furious scrubbing wouldn’t get them clean. Her knees ached, and they seemed a strange counterpart to her backside, which still stung from her regular morning beating.
She continued, scratching with her scrape at a blackened section of brick, dimly lit by the lantern she’d left burning in a corner inside the fireplace. She itched to use the One Power; but the Reds outside would sense her channeling, and she’d discovered that her afternoon dose of forkroot had been uncharacteristically strong, leaving her unable
to channel as much as a trickle. In fact, it had been strong enough to leave her drowsy, which made the work even harder.
Was this to be her life? Trapped inside a fireplace, scrubbing at bricks nobody saw, locked away from the world? She couldn’t stand up to Elaida if everyone forgot about her. She coughed quietly, the sound echoing against the inside of the fireplace.
She needed a plan. Her only recourse seemed to be to use the sisters who were trying to root out the Black Ajah. But how to visit them? Without being trained by sisters, she had no way to escape her Red handlers by entering the domains of other Ajahs. Could she sneak away somehow while doing labor? If her absence were discovered, she’d probably end up in an even worse situation.
But she couldn’t let her life be dominated by this menial labor! The Last Battle was approaching, the Dragon Reborn ran free, and the Amyrlin Seat was on her hands and knees cleaning fireplaces! She gritted her teeth, scrubbing furiously. The soot had been baked on for so long that it formed a glossy black patina on the stone. She’d never get it all off. She just needed to make sure it was clean enough that none would break free.
Reflected in that glossy patina, she saw a shadow move across the opening of the far side of the fireplace. Egwene immediately reached for the Source—but, of course, she found nothing. Not with forkroot clouding her mind. But there was definitely someone outside the fireplace, crouching down, moving quietly. . . .
Egwene gripped the scrape in one hand, slowly reaching down with the other to grab the brush she’d been using to scoop up ash. Then she spun.
Laras froze, peeking into the fireplace. The Mistress of Kitchens wore a large white apron, stained with a few soot marks itself. Her pudgy round face had seen its share of winters; her hair was starting to gray, and lines creased the sides of her eyes. Leaning over as she was, her jowls formed a second, third and fourth chin, and she gripped the side of the fireplace opening with a thick-fingered hand.
Egwene relaxed. Why had she been so certain that someone had been sneaking up on her? It was just Laras coming to check on her.
The Gathering Storm Page 31
