The Wheel of Time

by Robert Jordan

  “Whispering with your friend, eh?” the curly-haired Accepted said with surprising warmth. “Well, it grows lonely, waiting by yourself. Did you have a nice chat?”

  Egwene opened her mouth, then closed it again hastily. She could answer Aes Sedai, Sheriam had said. No one else. She regarded the Accepted with a level expression and waited.

  The false sympathy slid off Faolain’s face like water running off a roof. “On your feet. The Amyrlin’s not to be kept waiting by the likes of you. You are lucky I did not come in in time to hear you. Move!”

  Novices were supposed to obey the Accepted almost as quickly as they obeyed Aes Sedai, but Egwene got to her feet slowly, and took as much time as she dared in smoothing her dress. She gave Faolain a small curtsy and a tiny smile. The scowl that rolled across the Accepted’s face made Egwene’s smile grow before she remembered to rein it in; there was no point in pushing Faolain too far. Holding herself straight, pretending her knees were not shaking, she preceded the Accepted out of the room.

  Elayne was already waiting outside with the apple-cheeked Accepted, looking fiercely determined to be brave. Somehow, she managed to give the impression that the Accepted was a handmaid carrying her gloves. Egwene hoped that she herself was doing half so well.

  The railed galleries of the novices’ quarters rose tier on tier above, in a hollow column, and fell as many below, to the Novices’ Court. There were no other women in sight. Even if every novice in the Tower had been there, though, less than a quarter of the rooms would have been filled. The four of them walked ’round the empty galleries and down the spiraling ramps in silence; none could bear to have the sounds of voices emphasize the emptiness.

  Egwene had never before been into the part of the Tower where the Amyrlin had her rooms. The corridors there were wide enough for a wagon to pass down easily, and taller than they were wide. Colorful tapestries hung on the walls, tapestries in a dozen styles, of floral designs and forest scenes, of heroic deeds and intricate patterns, some so old they looked as if they might break if handled. Their shoes made loud clicks on diamond-shaped floor tiles that repeated the colors of the seven Ajahs.

  There were few other women in evidence—an Aes Sedai now and then, sweeping majestically along with no time to notice Accepted or novices; five or six Accepted hurrying self-importantly about their tasks or studies; a sprinkling of serving women with trays, or mops, or armfuls of sheets or towels; a few novices moving on errands even more quickly than the servants.

  Nynaeve and her slim-necked escort, Theodrin, joined them. Neither spoke. Nynaeve wore an Accepted’s dress, now, white with the seven colored bands at the hem, but her belt and pouch were her own. She gave Egwene and Elayne each a reassuring smile and a hug—Egwene was so relieved to see another friendly face that she returned the hug with barely a thought that Nynaeve was behaving as if she were comforting children—but as they walked on, Nynaeve gave her thick braid a sharp tug from time to time, too.

  Very few men came into that part of the Tower, and Egwene saw only two: Warders walking side by side in conversation, one with his sword on his hip, the other with his on his back. One was short and slender, even slight, the other almost as wide as he was tall, yet both moved with a dangerous grace. The color-shifting Warder cloaks made them queasy-making to watch for long, parts of them sometimes seeming to fade into the walls beyond. She saw Nynaeve looking at them, and shook her head. She has to do something about Lan. If any of us can do anything about anyone after today.

  The antechamber of the Amyrlin Seat’s study was grand enough for any palace, though the chairs scattered about for those who might wait were plain, but Egwene had eyes only for Leane Sedai. The Keeper wore her narrow stole of office, blue to show she had been raised from the Blue Ajah, and her face could have been carved from smooth, brownish stone. There was no one else there.

  “Did they give any trouble?” The Keeper’s clipped way of talking gave no hint now of either anger or sympathy.

  “No, Aes Sedai,” Theodrin and the apple-cheeked Accepted said together.

  “This one had to be pulled by the scruff of her neck, Aes Sedai,” Faolain said, indicating Egwene. The Accepted sounded indignant. “She balks as if she has forgotten what the discipline of the White Tower is.”

  “To lead,” Leane said, “is neither to push nor to pull. Go to Marris Sedai, Faolain, and ask her to allow you to contemplate on this while raking the paths in the Spring Garden.” She dismissed Faolain and the other two Accepted, and they dropped deep curtsies. From the depth of hers, Faolain shot a furious look at Egwene.

  The Keeper paid no attention to the Accepted’s leaving. Instead, she studied the remaining women, tapping a forefinger against her lips, till Egwene had the feeling they had all been measured to the inch and weighed to the ounce. Nynaeve’s eyes took on a dangerous sparkle, and she had a tight grip on her braid.

  Finally Leane raised a hand toward the doors to the Amyrlin’s study. The Great Serpent bit its own tail, a pace across, on the dark wood of each. “Enter,” she said.

  Nynaeve stepped forward promptly and opened one of the doors. That was enough to get Egwene moving. Elayne held her hand tightly, and she gripped Elayne’s just as hard. Leane followed them in and took a place to one side, halfway between the three of them and the table in the center of the room.

  The Amyrlin Seat sat behind the table, examining papers. She did not look up. Once Nynaeve opened her mouth, but closed it again, at a sharp look from the Keeper. The three of them stood in a line in front of the Amyrlin’s table and waited. Egwene tried not to fidget. Long minutes went by—it seemed like hours—before the Amyrlin raised her head, but when those blue eyes fixed them each in turn, Egwene decided she could have waited longer. The Amyrlin’s gaze was like two icicles boring into her heart. The room was cool, but a trickle of sweat began to run down her back.

  “So!” the Amyrlin said finally. “Our runaways return.”

  “We did not run away, Mother.” Nynaeve was obviously straining for calm, but her voice shook with emotion. Anger, Egwene knew. That strong will was all too often accompanied by anger. “Liandrin told us we were to go with her, and—” The loud crack of the Amyrlin’s hand slapping the table cut her off.

  “Do not invoke Liandrin’s name here, child!” the Amyrlin snapped. Leane watched them with a stern serenity.

  “Mother, Liandrin is Black Ajah,” Elayne burst out.

  “That is known, child. Suspected, at least, and as good as known. Liandrin left the Tower some months ago, and twelve other—women—went with her. None has been seen since. Before they left, they tried to break into the storeroom where the angreal and sa’angreal are kept, and did manage to enter that where the smaller ter’angreal are stored. They stole a number of those, including several we do not know the use of.”

  Nynaeve stared at the Amyrlin in horror, and Elayne suddenly rubbed her arms as if she were cold. Egwene knew she was shivering, too. Many times she had imagined returning to confront Liandrin and accuse her, to see her condemned to some punishment—except that she had never managed to imagine any punishment strong enough to suit that doll-faced Aes Sedai’s crimes. She had even pictured returning to find Liandrin already fled—in terror of her return, it was usually. But she had never imagined anything like this. If Liandrin and the others—she had not really wanted to believe there were others—had stolen those remnants of the Age of Legends, there was no telling what they could do with them. Thank the Light they did not get any sa’angreal, she thought. The other was bad enough.

  Sa’angreal were like angreal, allowing an Aes Sedai to channel more of the Power than she safely could unaided, but far more powerful than angreal, and rare. Ter’angreal were something different. Existing in greater numbers than either angreal or sa’angreal, though still not common, they used the One Power rather than helping to channel it, and no one truly understood them. Many would work only for someone who could channel, needing the actual channeling of the Power, while othe
rs did what they did for anyone. Where all the angreal and sa’angreal Egwene had ever heard of were small, ter’angreal could seemingly be any size. Each had apparently been made for a specific purpose by those Aes Sedai of three thousand years ago, to do a certain thing, and Aes Sedai since had died trying to learn what; died, or had the ability to channel burned out of them. There were sisters of the Brown Ajah who had made ter’angreal their life’s study.

  Some were in use, if likely not for the purposes they had been made. The stout white rod that the Accepted held while taking the Three Oaths on being raised to Aes Sedai was a ter’angreal, binding them to the oaths as surely as if they had been bred in the bone. Another ter’angreal was the site of the final test before a novice was raised to the Accepted. There were others, including many no one could make work at all, and many others that seemed to have no practical use.

  Why did they take things no one knows how to use? Egwene wondered. Or maybe the Black Ajah does know. That possibility made her stomach churn. That might be as bad as sa’angreal in Darkfriend hands.

  “Theft,” the Amyrlin went on in tones as cold as her eyes, “was the least of what they did. Three sisters died that night, as well as two Warders, seven guards, and nine of the servants. Murder, done to hide their thieving and their flight. It may not be proof that they were—Black Ajah”—the words grated from her mouth—“but I cannot believe otherwise. When there are fish heads and blood in the water, you don’t need to see the silverpike to know they are there.”

  “Then why are we being treated as criminals?” Nynaeve demanded. “We were tricked by a woman of the—of the Black Ajah. That should be enough to clear us of any wrongdoing.”

  The Amyrlin barked a mirthless laugh. “You think so, do you, child? It may be your salvation that no one in the Tower but Verin, Leane, and I even suspects you had anything to do with Liandrin. If that were known, much less the little demonstration you put on for the Whitecloaks—no need to look so surprised; Verin told me everything—if it were known you had gone off with Liandrin, the Hall might very well vote for stilling the three of you before you could take a breath.”

  “That is not fair!” Nynaeve said. Leane stirred, but Nynaeve went on. “It is not right! It—!”

  The Amyrlin stood up. That was all, but it cut Nynaeve short.

  Egwene thought she was wise to keep quiet. She had always believed Nynaeve was as strong, as strong-willed, as anyone could be. Until she met the woman wearing the striped stole. Please keep your temper, Nynaeve. We might as well be children—babes—facing our mother, and this Mother can do far worse than beat us.

  It seemed to her a way out was being offered in what the Amyrlin had said, but she was not sure what way. “Mother, forgive me for speaking, but what do you intend to do to us?”

  “Do to you, child? I intend to punish you and Elayne for leaving the Tower without permission, and Nynaeve for leaving the city without permission. First, you will each be called to Sheriam Sedai’s study, where I’ve told her to switch you till you wish you had a cushion to sit on for the next week. I have already had this announced to the novices and the Accepted.”

  Egwene blinked in surprise. Elayne gave an audible grunt, stiffened her back, and muttered something under her breath. Nynaeve was the only one who seemed to take it without shock. Punishment, whether extra labors or something else, was always between the Mistress of Novices and whoever was called to her. Those were usually novices, but included the Accepted who stepped far enough beyond the bounds. Sheriam always keeps it between you and her, Egwene thought bleakly. She can’t have told everyone. But better than being imprisoned. Better than being stilled.

  “The announcement is part of the punishment, of course,” the Amyrlin went on, as if she had read Egwene’s mind. “I have also had it announced that you are all three assigned to the kitchens, to work with the scullions, until further notice. And I have let it be whispered about that ‘further notice’ might just mean the rest of your natural lives. Do I hear objections to any of this?”

  “No, Mother,” Egwene said quickly. Nynaeve would hate scrubbing pots even more than the other. It could be worse, Nynaeve. Light, it could be so much worse. Nynaeve’s nostrils had flared, but she gave her head a tight shake.

  “And you, Elayne?” the Amyrlin said. “The Daughter-Heir of Andor is used to gentler treatment.”

  “I want to be Aes Sedai, Mother,” Elayne said in a firm voice.

  The Amyrlin fingered a paper in front of her on the table and seemed to study it for a moment. When she raised her head, her smile was not at all pleasant. “If any of you had been silly enough to answer otherwise, I had something to add to your tally that would have had you cursing your mother for ever letting your father steal that first kiss. Letting yourselves be winkled out of the Tower like thoughtless children. Even an infant would never have fallen into that trap. I will teach you to think before you act, or else I’ll use you to chink cracks in the water gates!”

  Egwene found herself offering silent thanks. A prickle ran over her skin as the Amyrlin continued.

  “Now, as to what else I intend to do with you. It seems you have all increased your ability to channel remarkably since you left the Tower. You have learned much. Including some things,” she added sharply, “that I intend to see you unlearn!”

  Nynaeve surprised Egwene by saying, “I know we have done . . . things . . . we should not have, Mother. I assure you, we will do our best to live as if we had taken the Three Oaths.”

  The Amyrlin grunted. “See that you do,” she said dryly. “If I could, I’d put the Oath Rod in your hands tonight, but as that is reserved for being raised to Aes Sedai, I must trust to your good sense—if you have any—to keep you whole. As it is, you, Egwene, and you, Elayne, are to be raised to the Accepted.”

  Elayne gasped, and Egwene stammered a shocked, “Thank you, Mother.” Leane shifted where she stood. Egwene did not think the Keeper looked best pleased. Not surprised—she had obviously known it was coming—but not pleased, either.

  “Do not thank me. Your abilities have gone too far for you to remain novices. Some will think you should not have the ring, not after what you’ve done, but the sight of you up to your elbows in greasy pots should mute the criticism. And lest you start thinking it’s some sort of reward, remember that the first few weeks as one of the Accepted are used to pick the rotting fish out of the basket of good ones. Your worst day as a novice will seem a fond dream compared to the least of your studies over the next weeks. I suspect that some of the sisters who teach you will make your trials even worse than they strictly must be, but I don’t believe you will complain. Will you?”

  I can learn, Egwene thought. Choose my own studies. I can learn about the dreams, learn now to . . .

  The Amyrlin’s smile cut off her train of thought. That smile said nothing the sisters could do to them would be worse than it needed to be, if it left them alive. Nynaeve’s face was a mixture of deep sympathy and horrified remembrance of her own first weeks as one of the Accepted. The combination was enough to make Egwene swallow hard. “No, Mother,” she said faintly. Elayne’s reply was a hoarse whisper.

  “Then that’s done. Your mother was not at all pleased by your disappearance, Elayne.”

  “She knows?” Elayne squeaked.

  Leane sniffed, and the Amyrlin arched an eyebrow, saying, “I could hardly keep it from her. You missed her by less than a month, which may be as well for you. You might not have survived that meeting. She was mad enough to chew through an oar, at you, at me, at the White Tower.”

  “I can imagine, Mother,” Elayne said faintly.

  “I don’t think you can, child. You may have ended a tradition that began before there was an Andor. A custom stronger than most laws. Morgase refused to take Elaida back with her. For the first time ever, the Queen of Andor does not have an Aes Sedai advisor. She demanded your immediate return to Caemlyn as soon as you were found. I convinced her it would be safer for you to train here
a little longer. She was ready to remove your two brothers from their training with the Warders, too. They talked their way out of that themselves. I still do not know how.”

  Elayne seemed to be looking inward, perhaps seeing Morgase in all her anger. She shivered. “Gawyn is my brother,” she said absently. “Galad is not.”

  “Do not be childish,” the Amyrlin told her. “Sharing the same father makes Galad your brother, too, whether or not you like him. I will not allow childishness out of you, girl. A measure of stupidity can be tolerated in a novice; it is not allowed in one of the Accepted.”

  “Yes, Mother,” Elayne said glumly.

  “The Queen left a letter for you with Sheriam. Aside from giving you the rough side of her tongue, I believe she states her intention of bringing you home as soon as it is safe for you. She is sure that in a few more months at most you will be able to channel without risking killing yourself.”

  “But I want to learn, Mother.” The iron had returned to Elayne’s voice. “I want to be Aes Sedai.”

  The Amyrlin’s smile was even grimmer than her last. “As well that you do, child, because I have no intention of letting Morgase have you. You have the potential to be stronger than any Aes Sedai in a thousand years, and I will not let you go until you achieve the shawl as well as the ring. Not if I have to grind you into sausage to do it. I will not let you go. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, Mother.” Elayne sounded uneasy, and Egwene did not blame her. Caught between Morgase and the White Tower like a towel between two dogs, caught between the Queen of Andor and the Amyrlin Seat. If Egwene had ever envied Elayne her wealth and the throne she would one day occupy, at that moment she surely did not.

  The Amyrlin said briskly, “Leane, take Elayne down to Sheriam’s study. I have a few words yet to say to these other two. Words I do not think they will enjoy hearing.”

  Egwene exchanged startled looks with Nynaeve; for a moment, worry dissolved the tension between them. What does she have to say to us and not to Elayne? she wondered. I do not care, so long as she does not try to stop me learning. But why not Elayne, too?