The Gathering Storm

by Robert Jordan

  “Thank you,” Egwene said coldly. “But I really don’t need the reminder.”

  “Don’t you?” Siuan said. “Sounds a little like something Elaida would say.”

  “That’s unfair!”

  “Prove it,” Siuan said smugly.

  Egwene forced herself to be calm. Siuan was right. Better to take the advice, particularly when it was good advice, than to complain. “You are right, of course,” Egwene said, smoothing out her dress across her knees as she also smoothed the frustration from her face. “Tell me more of Gawyn’s arrival.”

  “I don’t know much more,” Siuan confessed. “I really should have mentioned it yesterday, but our meeting was cut short.” They were meeting more often now—each night of Egwene’s imprisonment—but yesterday something had awakened Siuan before they had finished talking. A bubble of evil in the rebel camp, she had reported, involving tents coming alive and trying to strangle people. Three had died, one of them Aes Sedai.

  “Anyway,” Siuan continued, “Gawyn hasn’t said much that I could hear. I think he’s here because he heard that you were captured. He arrived with a spectacular flurry, but now he stays in Bryne’s command post, visiting the Aes Sedai regularly. He’s mulling over something; keeps going to speak to Romanda and Lelaine.”

  “That’s troubling.”

  “Well, they are the obvious power in camp,” Siuan said. “Save when Sheriam and the others can wrench some authority away. Things haven’t gone well without you; the camp needs leadership. Actually, we crave it, as a starving fisherman craves a catch. Aes Sedai are a people of order, I suppose. It—”

  She stopped herself. Likely, she had been about to bully Egwene again to accept rescue. She glanced at Egwene, then continued. “Well, it will be good for us when you return, Mother. The longer you stay away, the stronger the factions become. You can almost see the lines down the middle of the camp now. Romanda on one side, Lelaine on the other, with a shrinking slice that doesn’t want to take sides.”

  “We cannot afford another division,” Egwene said. “Not among ourselves; we have to prove stronger than Elaida.”

  “At least our splits aren’t along the lines of Ajah,” Siuan said defensively.

  “Factions and breaks,” Egwene said, getting up. “Infighting and squabbling. We are better than this, Siuan. Tell the Hall that I wish to meet with them. Perhaps in two days. Tomorrow, you and I should meet again.”

  Siuan nodded hesitantly. “Very well.”

  Egwene eyed her. “You think it unwise?”

  “No,” Siuan said. “I worry about how hard you’re pushing yourself. The Amyrlin needs to learn to ration her strength; some in your place have failed not because they lacked the capacity for greatness, but because they stretched that capacity too thin, sprinting when they should have walked.”

  Egwene refrained from pointing out that Siuan herself had spent much of her tenure as Amyrlin sprinting at a breakneck speed. But it could very well be argued that Siuan had stretched herself too thin, and had fallen as a result. Who better to speak on the dangers of such activities than one who had been burned by them so deeply?

  “The advice is appreciated, daughter,” Egwene said. “But really, there is little to worry about. My days are spent in solitude, with the occasional beating to provide spice. These meetings at night help me survive.” She shivered, glancing away from Siuan, out the window toward the dirty, vacant street.

  “Is it difficult to endure?” Siuan asked softly.

  “The cell is narrow enough for me to touch opposite walls at once,” Egwene said. “And isn’t very long, either. When I lie down, I have to bend my knees to fit. I can’t stand, since the ceiling is so low it makes me stoop, and I can’t sit without pain, for they no longer Heal me between beatings. The straw is old and itches. The door is thick and the cracks don’t allow in much light. I wasn’t aware that the Tower had cells such as this one.” She glanced back at Siuan. “Once I am upheld fully as Amyrlin, this room and any like it will be removed, the doors ripped out and the cells themselves filled with bricks and mortar.”

  Siuan nodded. “We’ll make certain of it.”

  Egwene turned away again, and noticed with shame that she’d let her gown shift to the cadin’sor of an Aiel Maiden, complete with spears and bow at her back. She forced the clothing back, taking a deep breath. “No person should be kept in such a manner,” she said, “not even. . . .”

  Siuan frowned as Egwene trailed off. “What was that?”

  Egwene shook her head. “It just occurred to me. This is what it must have been like for Rand. No, worse. The stories say he was locked in a box smaller than my cell. At least I can spend part of the evenings chatting with you. He had nobody. He was without the belief that his beatings meant something.” Light send that she didn’t have to endure as long as he had. Her imprisonment had only been a few days so far.

  Siuan fell silent.

  “Regardless,” Egwene said, “I have Tel’aran’rhiod. During the days, my body is captive, but my soul is free at night. And each day I endure is another proof that Elaida’s will is not law. She cannot break me. Her support from the others is eroding. Trust me.”

  Siuan nodded. “Very well,” she said, rising. “You are Amyrlin.”

  “Of course I am,” Egwene said absently.

  “No, Egwene,” Siuan said. “I meant that from the heart.”

  Egwene turned, surprised. “But you’ve always believed in me!”

  Siuan raised an eyebrow.

  “At least,” Egwene said, “from fairly near the beginning.”

  “I always believed you had potential,” Siuan corrected. “Well, you’ve fulfilled it. Some of it at least. Enough of it. However this storm blows through, you’ve proven one thing. You deserved the place you hold. Light, girl, you may end up being the best Amyrlin this world has known this side of Artur Hawkwing’s reign!” She hesitated. “And that’s not an easy thing for me to admit, mind you.”

  Egwene took Siuan’s arms, smiling. Why, Siuan almost looked teary-eyed with pride! “All I did was get myself locked in a cell.”

  “And you did it like an Amyrlin, Egwene,” Siuan said. “But I should be getting back. Some of us can’t spend our days relaxing the way you can. We need real sleep, otherwise we’re likely to fall unconscious in our washwater.” She grimaced, releasing herself from Egwene’s hands.

  “You could just tell him to—”

  “Now, I’ll have none of that,” Siuan said, wagging a finger at Egwene. Had she forgotten that she’d just been complimenting Egwene’s stature as an Amyrlin? “I gave my word, and I’ll be fish guts before I’ll break it.”

  Egwene blinked. “I wouldn’t dream of making you,” she said, covering a smile as she noticed that Siuan’s shadowy form now had a bright red ribbon in its hair. “Off with you, then.”

  Siuan nodded sharply, then sat down and closed her eyes. She faded slowly from Tel’aran’rhiod.

  Egwene hesitated, watching the area where Siuan had been. It was probably time to return to normal dreaming, letting her mind restore itself. But returning to her normal dreams would be a step toward waking, and when she woke she would find only that cramped dungeon and its stuffy darkness. She longed to stay in the World of Dreams just a little longer. She thought of visiting Elayne’s dreams to ask for a meeting . . . but no, that would take too much time, assuming Elayne could make her dream ter’angreal work. She rarely could, these days.

  She found herself stepping away from Tar Valon, the cobbler’s shop vanishing around her.

  She appeared in the rebel Aes Sedai camp. A foolish place to visit, perhaps. If there were Darkfriends or Forsaken in the World of Dreams, they could very well be studying this camp and looking for information, much as Egwene sometimes visited the Amyrlin’s study in Tel’aran’rhiod to search for clues on Elaida’s plans. But Egwene needed to come here. She didn’t question why; she simply felt that it was true.

  The streets of the camp were muddy, wor
n in ruts from passing wagons. Once just a field, the area had been appropriated by the Aes Sedai and turned into . . . something. Part a place of war, with Bryne’s soldiers camped in a ring about them. Part town, though no town had ever boasted such a complement of Aes Sedai, novices and Accepted. Part monument to the weakness of the White Tower.

  Egwene walked the camp’s main thoroughfare, where weeds had been trampled to mud, then mud worn into a road. Walkways lined it, and tents covered the flat land beyond. There were no people, only the occasional fleeting glimpse of a sleeper who had stumbled into Tel’aran’rhiod. Here, a brief flash of a woman in a fine green gown. A dreaming Aes Sedai, perhaps, though it was just as likely to be a serving maid imagining herself to be a queen. There, a woman in white—a woman with stringy blond hair who was far too old to be a novice. That no longer mattered. The novice book should have long ago been opened to all. The White Tower was too weak to turn down any source of strength.

  Both women were gone almost as quickly as they appeared. Few dreamers stayed long in Tel’aran’rhiod; to remain longer, one needed either a particular skill like Egwene’s or a ter’angreal like the ring Siuan used. There was a third way. Getting caught up in a living nightmare. There were none of the latter about, thank the Light.

  The camp seemed strange to be so deserted. Egwene had long since stopped being unnerved by the eerie lack of people in Tel’aran’rhiod. But this camp was different somehow. It looked as a war camp might after all of the soldiers had been slaughtered on the battlefield. Deserted, yet still a banner to proclaim the lives of those who had occupied it. Egwene felt as if she could see the division that Siuan had talked about, tents clumped together like bunches of sprouting flowers.

  With individuals removed, she could see the patterns and the troubles they bespoke. Egwene might denounce Elaida for the rifts among the Ajahs in the White Tower, but Egwene’s own Aes Sedai were beginning to fracture as well. Well, three Aes Sedai could hardly gather without two of them making an alliance. It was healthy to have the women planning and preparing; the trouble was when they began to regard others of their kind as enemies, rather than just rivals.

  Siuan was right, unfortunately. Egwene could not spend much more time setting her hopes on reconciliation. What if the White Tower didn’t unseat Elaida? What if, despite Egwene’s progress, the rifts between the Ajahs never healed? What then? Go to war?

  There was another option, one that none of them had brought up: that of giving up on reconciliation permanently. Setting up a second White Tower. It would mean leaving the Aes Sedai broken, perhaps forever. Egwene shuddered at the prospect, and her skin itched, rebelling against the thought.

  But what if she had no other choice? She had to consider the ramifications, and she found them daunting. How could they encourage the Kin or the Wise Ones to tie themselves to the Aes Sedai if the Aes Sedai themselves were not unified? The two White Towers would become opposed forces, confusing the leaders of men as rival Amyrlins tried to use nations for their own purposes. Allies and enemies alike would lose their awe of the Aes Sedai, and kings very well might start up their own centers for women talented in channeling.

  Egwene steeled herself, walking on the muddy road, the tents along the way changing, their flaps open, then closed, then open again in the strange ephemeral way of the World of Dreams. Egwene felt the Amyrlin’s stole appear around her neck, too heavy, as if woven with lead weights.

  She would bring the White Tower Aes Sedai to her side. Elaida would fall. But if not . . . then Egwene would do what was necessary in order to preserve the people, and the world, in the face of Tarmon Gai’don.

  She stepped away from the camp, the tents, ruts, and empty streets vanishing. Again, she wasn’t certain where her mind would take her. Traveling in the World of Dreams this way—letting need direct her—could be dangerous, but it could also be very illuminating. In this case, she looked not for an object, but for knowledge. What did she need to know, what did she need to see?

  Her surroundings blurred, then snapped back straight. She stood in the middle of a small camp, fire smoldering in a firepit before her, a tiny tongue of smoke curling toward the sky. That was odd. Fire was usually too fleeting to reflect in Tel’aran’rhiod. There were no actual flames, despite the smoke and the orange glow warming the smooth riverstones that ringed the pit. She glanced upward, toward the too-dark, stormy sky. That silent storm was another irregularity for the World of Dreams, though it had become so common lately that she hardly noticed it anymore. Could anything be called regular for this place?

  With shock, she noticed colorful wagons around her, green, red, orange and yellow. Had they been there a moment before? She was in a large clearing set inside a forest of phantom white aspen. The underbrush was thick, where spindly wild grass poked fingers out in jagged patches. An overgrown road meandered through the trees to her right; the colorful wagons sat in a ring around the fire. Bright paints colored the sides of the boxy vehicles, which had roofs and walls like tiny buildings. Oxen did not reflect in the World of Dreams, but plates, cups and spoons appeared, then vanished from places beside the firepit or on the seats of the wagons.

  It was a camp of the Traveling People, the Tuatha’an. Why this place? Egwene walked idly around the firepit, looking at the wagons, the coats of paint kept fresh and free of cracks or stains. This caravan was much smaller than the one she and Perrin had visited so long ago, but it had much the same feel. She could almost hear the flutes and drums, could almost imagine those flickers from the firepit to be the shadows of dancing men and women. Did the Tuatha’an still dance, with that sky so full of gloom, the winds so full of ill news? What place was there for them in a world preparing for war? Trollocs cared nothing for the Way of the Leaf. Did this group of Tuatha’an seek to hide from the Last Battle?

  Egwene settled herself on the side steps of a wagon, which was turned to face the nearby firepit. For a moment, she let her gown change to that of a simple, woolen Two Rivers dress of green, much like the one she’d worn during her time visiting the Traveling People. She stared into those nonexistent flames, remembering and pondering. What had become of Aram, Raen and Ila? Likely they were safe somewhere in a camp just like this one, waiting to see what Tarmon Gai’don would do to the world. Egwene smiled, thinking of those days when she’d flirted and danced with Aram beneath Perrin’s scowling disapproval. That had been a simpler time; though the Tinkers always seemed able to make a simpler time for themselves.

  Yes, this group would still dance. They would dance right up until the day when the Pattern burned away, whether or not they found their song, whether or not Trollocs ravaged the world or the Dragon Reborn destroyed it.

  Had she let herself lose sight of those things which were most precious? Why did she fight so hard to secure the White Tower? For power? For pride? Or because she felt it really was best for the world?

  Was she going to suck herself dry as she fought this battle? She had chosen—or, would have chosen—the Green and not the Blue. The difference wasn’t just that she liked the way the Greens stood up and fought; she thought that the Blues were too focused. Life was more complicated than a single cause. Life was about living. About dreaming, laughing and dancing.

  Gawyn was in the Aes Sedai camp. She said that she’d chosen the Green for its aggressive determination—it was the Battle Ajah. But a more secret, more honest, part of herself admitted that Gawyn was a motivation for her decision as well. Among the Green Ajah, marrying one’s Warder was common. Egwene would have Gawyn for her Warder. And her husband.

  She loved him. She would bond him. Those desires of her heart were less important than the fate of the world, true, but they were still important.

  Egwene rose from the steps as her dress transformed back into the white and silver gown of the Amyrlin. She took a step forward and let the world shift.

  She stood before the White Tower. She turned her eyes high, running them along the length of the delicate—yet still powerful—white spir
e. Though the sky bubbled in black turmoil, something cast a shadow from the Tower, and it fell directly on Egwene. Was this a vision of some sort? The Tower dwarfed her, and she felt its weight, as if she were holding it up herself. Pushing on those walls, keeping them from cracking and tumbling.

  She stood for a long while there, sky boiling, the Tower’s perfect spire throwing its shadow down on Egwene. She stared up at its peak, trying to decide if it was time to just let it fall.

  No, she thought again. No, not quite yet. A few more days.

  She closed her eyes, then opened them to blackness. Her body suddenly exploded with pain, her backside pounded raw from the strap, her arms and legs cramped from being forced to lie curled in the small room. It smelled of old straw and mold, and she knew that if her nose hadn’t been used to it, she would have smelled the stench of her own unwashed body as well. She stifled a groan—there were women outside, guarding her and maintaining her shield. She wouldn’t let them hear her offer complaint, not even in the form of a groan.

  She sat up, wearing the same novice dress that she’d worn to Elaida’s dinner party. The sleeves of the dress were stiff with dried blood, and this cracked as she moved, scraping against her skin. She was parched; they never gave her enough water. But she did not complain. No yells, no cries, no begging. She forced herself to sit up despite the pain, smiling to herself at how it felt. She crossed her legs, then leaned back and—one by one—stretched the muscles in her arms. Then she stood and stooped over, stretching her back and shoulders. Finally, she lay down on her back and stretched her legs up into the air, cringing as they complained. She needed to remain limber. Pain was nothing. Nothing at all compared with the danger the White Tower was in.

  She sat back down, cross-legged, and took deep breaths, repeating to herself that she wanted to be locked in this room. She could escape if she wished, but she remained. By remaining she undermined Elaida. By remaining she proved that some would not bow and quietly accept the fall of the White Tower. This imprisonment meant something.