“Obvious?” Egwene said. “The Forsaken?”
“Well, by comparison.” Verin smiled and warmed her hands on her cup of tea. “The Chosen are like a bunch of squabbling children, each trying to scream the loudest and attract their father’s attention. It’s easy to determine what they want: Power over the other children, proof that they are the most important. I’m convinced that it isn’t intelligence, craftiness, or skill that makes one Chosen—though of course, those things are important. No, I believe it is selfishness the Great Lord seeks in his greatest leaders.”
Egwene frowned. Were they really having a quiet chat about the Forsaken? “Why would he choose that quality?”
“It makes them predictable. A tool you can depend upon to act as expected is far more valuable than one you cannot understand. Or perhaps because when they struggle against one another, it makes only the strong ones survive. I don’t know, honestly. The Chosen are predictable, but the Great Lord is anything but. Even after decades of study, I can’t be certain exactly what he wants or why he wants it. I only know that this battle isn’t being fought the way that al’Thor assumes it will be.”
“And what does this have to do with me?” Egwene asked.
“Not much,” Verin said, tsking at herself. “I’m afraid I let myself get sidetracked. And with so little time, too. I really must pay attention.” She still seemed like the pleasant, scholarly Brown sister. Egwene had always expected that Black sisters would be . . . different.
“Anyway,” Verin continued. “We were talking about what you did here, in the Tower. I was afraid that I’d come and find you still dawdling with your friends outside. Imagine my amazement at finding that you’d not only infiltrated Elaida’s regime, but had apparently turned half of the Hall itself against her. You’ve certainly riled some of my associates, I can tell you that. They are none too pleased.” Verin shook her head, taking another sip of tea.
“Verin, I. . . .” Egwene paused. “What is—”
“No time, I’m afraid,” Verin said, leaning forward. Suddenly, something about her seemed to change. Though she was still the aged—and at times motherly—woman, her expression grew more determined. She caught Egwene’s eyes, and the intensity within that gaze shocked Egwene. Was this the same woman?
“Thank you for humoring a woman’s rambles,” Verin said, voice more soft. “It was so very nice to have a quiet chat over tea, at least once more. Now, there are some things you need to know. A number of years ago, I faced a decision. I found myself in a position where I could either take the oaths to the Dark One, or I could reveal that I had actually never wanted—or intended—to do so, whereupon I would have been executed.
“Perhaps another would have found a way around this situation. Many would have simply opted for death. I, however, saw this as an opportunity. You see, one rarely has such a chance as this, to study a beast from inside its heart, to see really what makes the blood flow. To discover where all of the little veins and vessels lead. Quite an extraordinary experience.”
“Wait,” Egwene said. “You joined the Black Ajah to study them?”
“I joined them to keep my skin intact,” Verin said, smiling. “I’m rather fond of it, though Tomas did go on about these white hairs. Anyway, after joining them, the chance to study them was my making the best of the situation.”
“Tomas. Does he know what you’ve done?”
“He was a Darkfriend himself, child,” Verin said. “Wanting a way out. Well, there really isn’t a way out, not once the Great Lord has his claws in you. But there was a way to fight, to make up for a little of what you’ve done. I offered that chance to Tomas, and I believe he was quite grateful to me for it.”
Egwene hesitated, trying to take all of this in. Verin was a Darkfriend . . . but not one at the same time. “You said he ‘was’ quite grateful to you?”
Verin didn’t answer immediately. She simply took another sip of her tea. “The oaths one makes to the Great Lord are quite specific,” she finally continued. “And, when they are placed upon one who can channel, they are quite binding. Impossible to break. You can double-cross other Darkfriends, you can turn against the Chosen if you can justify it. Selfishness must be preserved. But you can never betray him. You can never betray the order itself to outsiders. But the oaths are specific. Very specific.” She looked up, meeting Egwene’s eyes. “ ‘I swear not to betray the Great Lord, to keep my secrets until the hour of my death.’ That was what I promised. Do you see?”
Egwene looked down at the steaming cup in Verin’s hands. “Poison?”
“It takes a very special tea to make asping rot go down sweetly,” Verin said, taking another sip. “As I said, please thank Laras for me.”
Egwene closed her eyes. Nynaeve had mentioned asping rot to her; a drop could kill. It was a quick death, peaceful, and often came . . . within an hour of ingestion.
“A curious hole in the oaths,” Verin said softly. “To allow one to effect a betrayal in the final hour of one’s life. I cannot help wondering if the Great Lord knows of it. Why wouldn’t he close that hole?”
“Perhaps he doesn’t see it as threatening,” Egwene said, opening her eyes. “After all, what kind of Darkfriend would kill themselves in order to advance the greater good? It doesn’t seem the kind of thing his followers would consider.”
“You may be right at that,” Verin said, setting the cup of tea aside. “It would be wise to make certain that is disposed of with care, child.”
“So that is it?” Egwene asked, chilled. “What of Tomas?”
“We made our farewells. He is spending his last hour with family.”
Egwene shook her head. It seemed such a tragedy. “You come to me to confess, killing yourself in a final quest for redemption?”
Verin laughed. “Redemption? I should think that wouldn’t be so easily earned. Light knows I’ve done enough to require a very special kind of redemption. But it was worth the cost. Worth it indeed. Or perhaps that is simply what I must tell myself.” She reached to her side, pulling a leather scrip from beneath the folded blanket at the foot of Egwene’s bed. Verin carefully undid the straps, then produced two items: two books, both bound in leather. One was larger, like a reference book, though it had no title on its red binding. The other was a thin blue book. The covers of both were a little worn from use.
Verin handed them to Egwene. Hesitantly she took them, the larger volume heavy in her right hand, the blue book light in her left hand. She ran a finger over the smooth leather, frowning. She looked up at Verin.
“Every woman in the Brown,” Verin said, “seeks to produce something lasting. Research or study that will be meaningful. Others often accuse us of ignoring the world around us. They think we only look backward. Well, that is inaccurate. If we are distracted, it is because we look forward, toward those who will come. And the information, the knowledge we gather . . . we leave it for them. The other Ajahs worry about making today better; we yearn to make tomorrow better.”
Egwene set the blue book aside, looking into the red one first. The words were written in a small, efficient, but cramped hand she recognized as Verin’s. None of the sentences made sense. They were gibberish.
“The small book is a key, Egwene,” Verin explained. “It contains the cipher I used to write this tome. That tome is the . . . work. My work. The work of my life.”
“What is it?” Egwene asked softly, suspecting she might know the answer.
“Names, locations, explanations,” Verin said. “Everything I learned about them. About the leaders among the Darkfriends, about the Black Ajah. The prophecies they believe, the goals and motivations of the separate factions. Along with a list, at the back, of every Black Ajah sister I could identify.”
Egwene started. “Every one?”
“I doubt I caught them all,” Verin said, smiling. “But I think I got the large majority of them. I promise you, Egwene. I can be quite thorough.”
Egwene looked down at the books with awe. Incred
ible! Light, but this was a treasure greater than any king’s hoard. A treasure as great as the Horn of Valere itself. She looked up, tears in her eyes, imagining a life spent among the Black, always watching, recording, and working for the good of all.
“Oh, don’t go doing that,” Verin said. Her face was beginning to look pale. “They have many agents among us, like worms eating the fruit out from the core. Well, I thought it time that we had at least one of us among them. This is worth one woman’s life. Few people have had a chance to create something as useful, and as wonderful, as that book you hold. We all seek to change the future, Egwene. I think I might just have a chance at doing so.”
Verin took a deep breath, then raised a hand to her head. “My. That does work quickly. There is one more thing I must tell you. Open the red book, please.”
Egwene did so, and found a thin leather strap with steel weights on the ends, the type used for marking one’s place in a book, though it was longer than others she had seen.
“Wrap it around the book,” Verin said, “place it marking any page, then twist the loose ends around the top.”
Egwene did so, curious, tucking the strap into a random page and closing the book. She put the smaller book on top of the larger one, then took the long ends of the bookmark that dangled down and twisted them about one another. The weights, she noticed, fit together. She locked them into place.
And the books vanished.
Egwene stared. She could still feel them in her hands, but the books themselves were invisible.
“Only works on books, I’m afraid,” Verin said, yawning. “Someone from the Age of Legends, it appears, was very worried about hiding his or her journal from others.” She smiled slightly, but was growing very pale.
“Thank you, Verin,” Egwene said, unclasping and unwrapping the bookmark. The volumes appeared again. “I wish there were some other way . . .”
“I will admit that the poison was a backup plan,” Verin said. “I am not eager for death; there are still things I need to do. Fortunately, I have set several of them in motion to be . . . seen to, in case I do not return. Regardless, my first plan was to find the Oath Rod, then see if I could use it to remove the Great Lord’s oaths. The Oath Rod appears to have gone missing, unfortunately.”
Saerin, Egwene thought, and the others. They must have taken it again. “I’m sorry, Verin,” she said.
“It might not have worked anyway,” Verin said, settling back on the bed, arranging the pillow behind her streaked brown hair. “The process of making those oaths to the Great Lord was . . . distinctive. I do wish I’d been able to discover one more tidbit for you. One of the Chosen is in the Tower, child. It’s Mesaana, I’m certain of it. I had hoped to be able to bring you the name she was hiding under, but the two times I met with her, she was shrouded to the point that I couldn’t tell. What I did see is recorded in the red book.
“Be careful where you tread. Be careful how you strike. I will leave it to you to decide if you want to try to get all of them at once, or if you want to take the most important ones separately in secret. Perhaps you will decide to watch and see if you can counter their plots. A good interrogation might yield light upon some of the questions I was not able to answer. So many decisions you must make, for one so young.” She yawned, then grimaced as a pain stabbed her.
Egwene rose, walking to Verin’s side. “Thank you, Verin. Thank you for choosing me to carry this burden.”
Verin smiled faintly. “You did very well with the previous tidbits I gave you. That was quite the interesting situation. The Amyrlin commanded that I give you information to hunt the Black sisters who fled the Tower, so I had to comply, even though the leadership of the Black was frustrated by the order. I wasn’t supposed to give you the dreaming ter’angreal, you know. But I’ve always had a feeling about you.”
“I’m not certain I deserve such trust.” Egwene looked down at the book. “Trust such as you’ve shown.”
“Nonsense, child,” Verin said, yawning again, eyes closing. “You will be Amyrlin. I’m confident of it. And an Amyrlin should be well armed with knowledge. That, among all things, is the most sacred duty of the Brown—to arm the world with knowledge. I’m still one of them. Please see that they know, although the word Black may brand my name forever, my soul is Brown. Tell them. . . .”
“I will, Verin,” Egwene promised. “But your soul is not Brown. I can see it.”
Her eyes fluttered open, meeting Egwene’s, a frown creasing her forehead.
“Your soul is of a pure white, Verin,” Egwene said softly. “Like the Light itself.”
Verin smiled, and her eyes closed. The actual death was a few more minutes in coming, but unconsciousness came first and swiftly. Egwene sat, holding the woman’s hand. Elaida and the Hall could see to themselves; Egwene had prepared her seeds well. Showing up now and making demands would be to overextend her authority.
After Verin’s pulse faded, Egwene took the cup of poisoned tea and set it aside, then raised the saucer up in front of Verin’s nose. The shiny surface reflected no fog. It felt callous to double-check, but there were some poisons which could make one appear to be dead and breathe only very shallowly, and if Verin had wanted to trick Egwene and point a finger at the wrong sisters, this would have been a wonderful method. Callous indeed to double-check, and it made Egwene feel sick, but she was Amyrlin. She did that which was difficult and considered all possibilities.
Surely no truly Black sister would have been willing to die just to create such misdirection. Her heart trusted Verin, although her mind wanted to be certain. She glanced toward her simple desk, where she had set the books. At that moment, the door to her room opened without warning and a young Aes Sedai—new enough to the Shawl that her face didn’t show the ageless look yet—peeked in. Turese, one of the Red sisters. So someone had finally been assigned to watch over Egwene. Her period of freedom had come to an end. Well, there was no use crying over what could have been. The time had been well spent. She wished Verin had come to see her a week earlier, but what was done was done.
The Red sister frowned at seeing Verin, and Egwene quickly raised a finger to her lips and shot the young sister a harsh look.
Egwene hurried to the door. “She just got in, and wished to speak to me regarding a task she had set me upon long ago, back before the Tower split. They can be oddly single-minded at times, these Brown sisters.” True words, every one of them.
Turese nodded ruefully at the comment about Browns.
“I do wish she’d chosen her own bed to lie down in,” Egwene said. “I’m not sure what to do with her now.” All true again. Egwene really did need to get her hands on that Oath Rod. Lying started to seem far too convenient at times like this.
“She must be tired from her travels,” Turese said, voice soft but firm. “You let her do as she wishes; she is Aes Sedai, and you simply a novice. Do not disturb her.”
With that, the Red closed the door, and Egwene smiled to herself in satisfaction. Then she glanced at Verin’s corpse, and the smile faded. Eventually, she would have to reveal that Verin had died. How would she explain that? Well, she would think of something. If pressed, she might just tell the truth.
First, though, she needed to spend some time with that book. The chances of it being taken from her in the near future were great, even with the bookmark ter’angreal. She should probably store the cipher separate from the concealed book. Perhaps memorize and destroy the cipher. This would all be easier to plan for if she knew how events had gone in the Hall! Had Elaida been deposed? Was Silviana alive, or had she been executed?
There was little she could discover now, not while being guarded. She would simply have to wait. And read.
The code proved to be rather complex, requiring a good part of the smaller book to explain. That was both advantageous and frustrating. It would be very difficult to break the code without it, but the code would also be near impossible to memorize. She wouldn’t be able to manage it before morning
, by which time she would have to reveal Verin’s true state.
She glanced over at the woman. Verin really did look as if she were sleeping peacefully. Egwene had pulled out the blanket and covered her up to the neck, then taken off her shoes and set them beside the bed to enhance the illusion. Feeling a little disrespectful, she decided to roll Verin onto her side. The Red sister had already peeked in a couple of times, and seeing Verin in another position would look less suspicious.
That finished, Egwene glanced at her candle to judge the passage of time. There were no windows in the room, not in a novice’s quarters. She shoved aside the longing to embrace the Power and create a ball of light by which to read. She’d have to be satisfied with the single candle’s flame.
She dug into her first task: deciphering the names of the Black sisters listed at the back of the tome. That was more important, even, than memorizing the cipher. She had to know whom she could trust.
The next few hours were among the most disturbing and discomforting in her life. Some of the names were unknown to her, many barely familiar. Others were women she had worked with, respected, and even trusted. She cursed when she found Katerine’s name near the head of the list, then hissed in surprise when Alviarin’s name came up. She’d heard of Elza Penfell and Galina Casban, though she didn’t know some of the next few names.
She felt a sickening pit within her when she read Sheriam’s name. Egwene had once suspected the woman, true, but that had been during her days as a novice and an Accepted. During those days—the days when she’d first begun hunting the Black Ajah—Liandrin’s betrayal had still been fresh. Egwene had suspected everyone then.
During the exile in Salidar, Egwene had worked closely with Sheriam and had grown to like the woman. But she was Black. Egwene’s own Keeper was Black. Steel yourself, Egwene, she thought, continuing to read down the list. She worked through the feelings of betrayal, the bitterness and the regret. She would not let emotions get in the way of her duty.
The Gathering Storm Page 73
