The Wheel of Time

by Robert Jordan

  “You can go your own way if you want, Mat,” Rand told him. Moiraine’s calm face was a mask over fury, but he ignored the icy stare that tried to still his tongue. Even Lan looked disapproving, for all his hard face did not change very much; the Warder believed in duty before anything else. Rand would do his duty, but his friends . . . . He did not like making people do things; he would not do it to his friends. That much he could avoid, surely. “You’ve no reason to come to the Waste.”

  “Oh, yes I do. At least . . . . Oh, burn me! I’ve one life to give away, don’t I? Why not like this?” Mat laughed nervously, and a bit wildly. “Bloody Portal Stones! Light!”

  Rand frowned; he was the one they all said was supposed to go mad, but Mat was the one who seemed on the edge of it now.

  Egwene blinked at Mat worriedly, but it was Rand she leaned toward. “Rand, Verin Sedai told me a little about Portal Stones. She told me about the . . . journey you took. Do you really mean to do this?”

  “It’s what I have to do, Egwene.” He had to move quickly, and there was no quicker way than Portal Stones. Remnants of an Age older than the Age of Legends; even Aes Sedai of the Age of Legends had not understood them, it seemed. But there was no quicker way. If it worked the way he hoped.

  Moiraine had listened to the exchange patiently. Especially to Mat’s part of it, though Rand could not see why. Now she said, “Verin also told me of your journey using Portal Stones. That was only a few people and horses, not hundreds, and if you did not almost kill everyone as Mat says, it yet sounded an experience no one would wish to repeat. Nor did it turn out as you expected. It also required a great deal of the Power; almost enough to kill you at least, Verin said. Even if you leave most of the Aiel behind, do you dare risk the attempt?”

  “I have to,” he said, feeling at his belt pouch, at the small hard shape behind the letters, but she went right on as if he had not spoken.

  “Are you even certain there is a Portal Stone in the Waste? Verin certainly knows more of them than I, but I have never heard of one. If there is, will it place us any closer to Rhuidean than we are right now?”

  “Some six hundred or so years ago,” he told her, “a peddler tried to get a look at Rhuidean.” Another time it would have been a pleasure to be able to lecture her for a change. Not today. There was too much he did not know. “This fellow apparently didn’t see anything of it; he claimed to have seen a golden city up in the clouds, drifting over the mountains.”

  “There are no cities in the Waste,” Lan said, “in the clouds or on the ground. I’ve fought the Aiel. They have no cities.”

  Egwene nodded. “Aviendha told me she had never seen a city until she left the Waste.”

  “Maybe so,” Rand said. “But the peddler also saw something sticking out of the side of one of those mountains. A Portal Stone. He described it perfectly. There isn’t anything else like a Portal Stone. When I described one to the chief librarian in the Stone . . .” Without naming what he was after, he did not add. “ . . . he recognized it, even if he didn’t know what it was, enough to show me four on an old map of Tear—”

  “Four?” Moiraine sounded startled. “All in Tear? Portal Stones are not so common as that.”

  “Four,” Rand said definitely. The bony old librarian had been certain, even digging out a tattered yellowed manuscript telling of efforts to move the “unknown artifacts of an earlier Age” to the Great Holding. Every attempt had failed, and the Tairens had finally given up. That was confirmation to Rand; Portal Stones resisted being moved. “One lies not an hour’s ride from where we are,” he continued. “The Aiel allowed the peddler to leave, since he was a peddler. With one of his mules and as much water as he could carry on his back. Somehow he made it as far as a stedding in the Spine of the World, where he met a man named Soran Milo, who was writing a book called The Killers of the Black Veil. The librarian brought me a battered copy when I asked for books on the Aiel. Milo apparently based it all on Aiel who came to trade at the stedding, and he got almost everything wrong anyway, according to Rhuarc, but a Portal Stone can’t be anything but a Portal Stone.” He had examined other maps and manuscripts, dozens of them, supposedly studying Tear and its history, learning the land; no one could have had a clue what he intended before a few minutes ago.

  Moiraine sniffed, and her white mare, Aldieb, frisked a few steps, picking up her irritation. “A supposed story told by a supposed peddler who claimed to have seen a golden city floating in the clouds. Has Rhuarc seen this Portal Stone? He has actually been to Rhiudean. Even if this peddler did go into the Waste, and did see a Portal Stone, it could have been anywhere. A man telling a story usually tries to better what really happened. A city floating in the clouds?”

  “How do you know it doesn’t?” he said. Rhuarc had been willing to laugh at all the wrong things Milo had written about Aiel, but he had not been very forthcoming about Rhuidean. No, more than that; or less, rather. The Aielman had refused even to comment on the parts of the book supposedly about Rhuidean. Rhuidean, in the lands of the Jenn Aiel, the clan which is not; that was almost the extent of what Rhuarc would say about it. Rhuidean was not to be spoken of.

  The Aes Sedai was not best pleased with his flippant remark, but he did not care. She had kept too many secrets herself, made him follow her on blind trust too often. Let it be her turn. She had to learn that he was not a puppet. I’ll take her advice when I think it’s right, but I won’t dance on Tar Valon’s strings again. He would die on his own terms.

  Egwene moved her gray horse closer, riding almost knee-to-knee with him. “Rand, do you really mean to risk our lives on a . . . a chance? Rhuarc did not tell you anything, did he? When I ask Aviendha about Rhuidean, she shuts up tight as a hickory nut.” Mat looked sick.

  Rand kept his face still, not letting his flash of shame show. He had not meant to frighten his friends. “There is a Portal Stone there,” he maintained. He rubbed the hard shape in his pouch again. This had to work.

  The librarian’s maps had been old, but in a way that was a help. The grasslands they rode now had been forest when those maps were drawn, but few trees remained, far-scattered scraggly copses of white oak and pine and maidenhair, tall solitary trees he did not recognize, with gnarled spindly trunks. He could make out the shape of the land easily, hills shrouded mainly in high grass now.

  On the maps two tall bent ridges, one close behind the other, had pointed to the cluster of round hills where the Portal Stone was. If the maps had been well made. If the librarian really had recognized his description, and the green diamond mark actually meant ancient ruins as he claimed. Why would he lie? I’m getting too suspicious. No, I have to be suspicious. As trusting as a viper, and as cold. He did not like it, though.

  To the north he could just make out hills with no trees at all, speckled with moving shapes that must be horses. The High Lords’ herds, grazing across the site of the old Ogier grove. He hoped Perrin and Loial had gotten away safely. Help them, Perrin, he thought. Help them somehow, because I can’t.

  The Ogier grove meant the folded ridges must be close, and soon he spotted them a little to the south, like two arrows one inside the other, a few trees along the top making a thin line against the sky. Beyond, low round hills like grass-covered bubbles ran into one another. More hills than on the old map. Too many, for all the patch encompassed less than a square mile. If they did not correspond to the map, which one held the Portal Stone on its side?

  “The Aiel have numbers,” Lan said quietly, “and sharp eyes.”

  With a nod of gratitude, Rand reined Jeade’en in, falling back to put the problem before Rhuarc. He only described the Portal Stone, not saying what it was; there would be time enough for that when it was found. He was good at keeping secrets now. Rhuarc probably had no idea what a Portal Stone was, anyway. Few did except for Aes Sedai. He had not known until someone told him.

  Striding along beside the dapple stallion, the Aielman frowned slightly—as much as a worried grimace fr
om most other men—then nodded. “We can find this thing.” He raised his voice. “Aethan Dor! Far Alda-zar Din! Duadhe Mahdi’in! Far Dareis Mai! Seia Doon! Sha’mad Conde!”

  As he called out, members of the named warrior societies trotted forward, until a good quarter of the Aiel clustered around him and Rand. Red Shields. Brothers of the Eagle. Water Seekers. Maidens of the Spear. Black Eyes. Thunder Walkers.

  Rand picked out Egwene’s friend, Aviendha, a tall, pretty woman with a haughty unsmiling stare. Maidens had guarded his door, but he did not think he had seen her before the Aiel gathered to leave the Stone. She looked back at him, proud as a green-eyed hawk, then tossed her head and turned her attention to the clan chief.

  Well, I wanted to be ordinary again, he thought, a touch ruefully. The Aiel certainly gave him that. They offered even the clan chief only a respectful hearing, without any of the elaborate deference a lord would exact, and obedience that seemed between equals. He could hardly expect more for himself.

  Rhuarc gave instructions in few words, and the listening Aiel fanned out ahead into the patch of hills, running easily, some veiling themselves just in case. The rest waited, standing or squatting beside the loaded pack mules.

  They represented almost every clan—except the Jenn Aiel, of course; Rand could not get it straight whether the Jenn really existed or not, since the way the Aiel mentioned them, which they seldom did, it could be either way—including some clans that had blood feuds, and others that often fought each other. He had learned that much about them. Not for the first time, he wondered what had held them together so far. Was it just their prophecies of the Stone falling, and the search for He Who Comes With the Dawn?

  “More than that,” Rhuarc said, and Rand realized he had spoken his thoughts aloud. “Prophecy brought us over the Dragonwall, and the name that is not spoken drew us to the Stone of Tear.” The name he meant was “People of the Dragon,” a secret name for the Aiel; only clan chiefs and Wise Ones knew or used it, apparently seldom and only with each other. “For the rest? No one may shed the blood of another of the same society, of course, yet mixing Shaarad with Goshien, Taardad and Nakai with Shaido . . . . Even I might have danced the spears with the Shaido, if the Wise Ones had not made everyone who crossed the Dragonwall swear water oath to treat any Aiel as of the same society on this side of the mountains. Even sneaking Shaido . . . .” He shrugged slightly. “You see? It is not easy, even for me.”

  “These Shaido are enemies of yours?” Rand fumbled the name; in the Stone, the Aiel had gone by societies, not clans.

  “We have avoided blood feud,” Rhuarc said, “but Taardad and Shaido have never been friendly; the septs sometimes raid each other, steal goats or cattle. But the oaths have held with us all against three blood feuds and a dozen old hatreds between clans or septs. It helps now that we journey toward Rhuidean, even if some will leave us before. None may shed the blood of one traveling to or from Rhuidean.” The Aielman looked up at Rand, face completely expressionless. “It may be that soon no one of us will shed another’s blood.” It was impossible to say whether he found the prospect pleasing.

  An ululating cry came from one of the Maidens, standing atop a hill and waving her arms over her head.

  “They have found your stone column, it seems,” Rhuarc said.

  Gathering her reins, Moiraine gave Rand a level look as he rode past her, eagerly heeling Jeade’en to a gallop. Egwene reined her mare near to Mat, leaning from her saddle with a hand on the high pommel of his to engage him in close conversation. She seemed to be trying to make him tell her something, or admit something, and from the vehemence of Mat’s gestures, he was either innocent as a babe or lying in his teeth.

  Flinging himself out of the saddle, Rand hurriedly climbed up the gentle slope to examine what the Maiden—it was Aviendha—had found half-buried in the ground and obscured by long grass. A weathered gray stone column, at least three spans long and a pace thick. Strange symbols covered every exposed inch, each surrounded by a narrow line of markings he thought were writing. Even if he could have read the language—if it was one—the script—if that was what it was—had long since worn to illegibility. The symbols he could make out a little better. Some of them; many might as well have been the marks of rain and wind.

  Pulling grass by the handful so he could see better, he glanced at Aviendha. She had dropped her shoufa around her shoulders, baring short reddish hair, and was watching him with a flat, hard expression. “You don’t like me,” he said. “Why?” There was one symbol he had to find, the only one he knew.

  “Like you?” she said. “You may be He Who Comes With the Dawn, a man of destiny. Who can like or dislike such? Besides, you walk free, a wetlander despite your face, yet going to Rhuidean for honor, while I . . . .”

  “While you what?” he asked when she stopped. He searched his way slowly upslope. Where was it? Two parallel wavy lines crossed at an angle by an odd squiggle. Light, if it’s buried, it’ll take us hours to turn this over. Abruptly he laughed. Not hours. He could channel and lift the thing out of the ground, or Moiraine could, or Egwene. A Portal Stone might resist being moved, but surely they could move it that much. Channeling would not help him find the wavy lines, though. Only feeling his way along the stone would do that.

  Instead of answering, the Aiel woman squatted easily with her short spears across her knees. “You have treated Elayne badly. I would not care, but Elayne is near sister to Egwene, who is my friend. Yet Egwene likes you still, so for her sake I will try.”

  Still searching the thick column, he shook his head. Elayne again. Sometimes he thought women all belonged to a guild, the way craftsmen in cities did. Put a foot wrong with one, and the next ten you met knew of it, and disapproved.

  His fingers stopped, returned to the bit he had just examined. It was weathered almost beyond making out, but he was sure it was the wavy lines. They represented a Portal Stone on Toman Head, not in the Waste, but they located what had been the base of the thing when it stood upright. Symbols at the top represented worlds; those at the bottom, Portal Stones. With a symbol from the top and one from the bottom, he could supposedly travel to a given Portal Stone in a given world. With just one from the bottom, he knew he could reach a Portal Stone in this world. The Portal Stone near Rhuidean, for instance. If he knew the symbol for it. Now was when he needed luck, needed that ta’veren tugging at chance to favor him.

  A hand reached over his shoulder, and Rhuarc said in a reluctant voice, “These two are used for Rhuidean in old writings. Long ago, even the name was not written.” He traced two triangles, each surrounding what appeared to be forked lightnings, one pointing left, one right.

  “Do you know what this is?” Rand asked. The Aielman looked away. “Burn me, Rhuarc, I have to know. I know you don’t want to talk of it, but you have to tell me. Tell me, Rhuarc. Have you ever seen its like before?”

  The other man took a deep breath before answering. “I have seen its like.” Each word came as if dragged. “When a man goes to Rhuidean, Wise Ones and clansmen wait on the slopes of Chaendaer near a stone like this.” Aviendha stood up and walked away stiffly; Rhuarc glanced after her, frowning. “I know no more of it, Rand al’Thor. May I never know shade if I do.”

  Rand traced the unreadable script surrounding the triangles. Which one? Only one would take him where he wanted to go. The second might land him on the other side of the world, or the bottom of the ocean.

  The rest of the Aiel had gathered at the foot of the hill with their pack mules. Moiraine and the others dismounted and climbed the easy slope, leading their horses. Mat had Jeade’en as well as his own brown gelding, keeping the stallion well away from Lan’s Mandarb. The two stallions eyed one another fiercely now that they had no riders.

  “You truly don’t know what you are doing, do you?” Egwene protested. “Moiraine, stop him. We can ride to Rhuidean. Why are you letting him go on with this? Why don’t you say something?”

  “What would you sugg
est I do?” the Aes Sedai said dryly. “I can hardly drag him away by his ear. We may be about to see how useful Dreaming really is.”

  “Dreaming?” Egwene said sharply. “What does Dreaming have to do with this?”

  “Will you two be quiet?” Rand made himself sound patient. “I am trying to decide.” Egwene stared at him indignantly; Moiraine showed no emotion at all, but she watched intently.

  “Do we have to do it this way?” Mat said. “What do you have against riding?” Rand only looked at him, and he shrugged uncomfortably. “Oh, burn me. If you’re trying to decide . . . .” Taking both horses’ reins in one hand, he dug a coin from his pocket, a gold Tar Valon mark, and sighed. “It would be the same coin, wouldn’t it.” He rolled the coin across the backs of his fingers. “I’m . . . lucky sometimes, Rand. Let my luck choose. Head, the one that points to your right; flame, the other. What do you say?”

  “This is the most ridiculous,” Egwene began, but Moiraine silenced her with a touch on the arm.

  Rand nodded. “Why not?” Egwene muttered something; all he caught were “men” and “boys,” but it did not sound a compliment.

  The coin spun into the air off Mat’s thumb, gleaming dully in the sun. At its peak, Mat snatched it back and slapped it down on the back of his other hand, then hesitated. “It’s a bloody thing to be trusting to the toss of a coin, Rand.”

  Rand laid his palm on one of the symbols without looking. “This one,” he said. “You chose this one.”

  Mat peeked at the coin and blinked. “You’re right. How did you know?”

  “It has to work for me sooner or later.” None of them understood—he could see that—but it did not matter. Lifting his hand, he looked at what he and Mat had picked. The triangle pointed left. The sun had slid down from its apex. He had to do this right. A mistake, and they could lose time, not gain it. That had to be the worst outcome. It had to be.

  Standing, he dug into his pouch and pulled out the small hard object, a carving of shiny dark green stone that fit easily into his hand, a round-faced round-bodied man sitting cross-legged with a sword across his knees. He rubbed a thumb over the figure’s bald head. “Gather everyone close. Everyone. Rhuarc, have them bring those pack animals up here. Everyone has to be as close to me as possible.”