The Wheel of Time

by Robert Jordan

  “Now, you can’t be lying abed all day, Mother.”

  Egwene opened her eyes.

  Chesa had an expression of mock severity on her face and a twinkle in her eye. At least twice Egwene’s age, at their first meeting she had fallen straight into the blend of respect and familiarity that could be expected of an old retainer. “The Amyrlin Seat can’t be lying slugabed, not today of all days.”

  “The last thing in my mind.” Scrambling stiffly from the bed, Egwene stretched before pulling off her sweaty shift. She could not wait until she had worked long enough with the Power to stop sweating. “I’ll wear the blue silk with the white morning-stars along the neckline.” She noticed Chesa very carefully not looking as the woman handed her a fresh shift. The effects of meeting her toh had faded somewhat, but she still appeared faintly bruised. “I had an accident before I got here,” she said, hurriedly thrusting her head through the new shift.

  Chesa nodded in sudden understanding. “Horses are wicked, untrustworthy beasts. You’ll never get me on one, Mother. A good sturdy cart is ever so much safer. If I fell off a horse like that, I’d never let on to a soul. Nildra would say such things, and Kaylin. . . . Oh, you’d never believe the things some women can say the moment your back is turned. Of course, it’s different for the Amyrlin Seat, but that’s what I’d do.” Holding the wardrobe door open, she glanced sideways at Egwene to see whether she understood.

  Egwene smiled at her. “People are people, low or high,” she said gravely.

  Chesa beamed for an instant before bringing out the blue dress. Anaiya might have chosen her, but she was the Amyrlin Seat’s maid, and her loyalty was to the Amyrlin Seat. And she was right about today’s importance, too.

  Eating quickly—despite Chesa’s murmurs to herself about how gulping food always upset the stomach; the warm milk with honey and spices was sovereign for settling a nervous stomach—Egwene scrubbed her teeth and washed hurriedly, let Chesa take a few licks at her hair with the brush and dressed as fast as the woman could get the blue silk over her head. Settling the seven-striped stole on her shoulders, she paused to look in the stand-mirror. Stole or no stole, she did not look very much like the Amyrlin Seat. But I am. This is no dream.

  In the large room below, the tables stood as empty as they had in the night. Only the Sitters were there, wearing their shawls and clustered according to Ajah, and Sheriam standing alone. They quieted as Egwene descended the stair, curtsied when she reached the bottom. Romanda and Lelaine eyed her sharply, then turned away, very obviously not looking at Sheriam, and resumed their conversations. When Egwene remained silent, the others did the same. Occasionally one of them glanced at her. Even in whispers their voices sounded too loud. There was silence outside; utter stillness. Egwene plucked her handkerchief from her sleeve and patted her face. None of them sweated a drop.

  Sheriam came to stand beside her. “It will go well,” she said softly. “Just remember what you are to say.” That was another thing they had gone over in detail last night; Egwene had a speech to deliver this morning.

  Egwene nodded. It was strange. Her stomach should have been turning over, her knees shaking. They were not, and she could not understand.

  “There is no need to be anxious,” Sheriam said. She sounded as if she thought Egwene was, and meant to soothe her, but before she could open her mouth again, Romanda spoke loudly.

  “It is time.”

  In a rustle of skirts the Sitters lined up according to age, with Romanda in the lead this time, and marched outside. Egwene moved to just short of the door. Still no flutters. Maybe Chesa was right about the warm milk.

  Silence still, then Romanda’s voice, too loud for nature. “We have an Amyrlin Seat.”

  Egwene stepped outside into a heat she would not have expected until later in the day. As her foot left the stoop, it landed on a platform woven of Air. The lines of Sitters stretched out to either side of her, each Sitter glowing with the light of saidar.

  “Egwene al’Vere,” Romanda intoned, her voice carried by weaves of the Power, “the Watcher of the Seals, the Flame of Tar Valon, the Amyrlin Seat.”

  They lifted her high as Romanda spoke, raising the Amyrlin in truth, until she stood just below the thatched roof, standing on thin air it would seem to any but a woman who could channel.

  There were plenty to see her outlined by the rising sun; a second weave made the light into a shimmering weave around her. Men and women packed the street. The crowd disappeared around corners. Every doorway was filled, every window, every rooftop except that of the Little Tower itself. A roar erupted that very nearly drowned out Romanda, waves of cheering that rolled across the village. Egwene scanned the crowd searching for Nynaeve and Elayne, but she could not find them in that sea of upturned faces. An age seemed to pass before there was quiet enough for her to speak. The weave that had carried Romanda’s voice shifted to her.

  They had prepared her speech, Sheriam and the others, a weighty exhortation she might have been able to deliver without blushing if she was twice her age, or better yet three times. She had made a few changes on her own. “We are gathered together in a quest for truth and justice that will not end until the false Amyrlin Elaida is removed from the place she usurped.” The only change in that was “will not” for “cannot,” but she thought it stronger and better. “As Amyrlin, I will lead you in that quest, and I will not falter, as I know you will not.” And that was quite enough exhortation; in any case, she had no intention of remaining up here long enough to repeat everything they wanted said. It all amounted to what she already had said anyway. “As my Keeper of the Chronicles, I name Sheriam Bayanar.”

  That produced a much smaller cheer; a Keeper was not an Amyrlin, after all. Egwene glanced down, waiting until she saw Sheriam hurry outside, still draping her shoulders with the stole of the Keeper, blue to show she had been raised from the Blue Ajah. It had been decided not to make a copy of the Amyrlin’s staff, topped with a golden flame, that the Keeper carried; until the true staff was recovered from the White Tower, they would have to do without. Sheriam had been expecting a much longer wait, and she looked at Egwene with open exasperation. In the lines of Sitters, Romanda and Lelaine wore no expression at all; each had had her own very strong suggestion for Keeper, and needless to say, neither had been Sheriam.

  Egwene drew breath and turned back to the waiting crowd. “In honor of this day, I hereby decree that all Accepted and novices are absolved of penances and punishments.” That was customary, and produced shouts of glee only from white-clad girls and a few Accepted who forgot themselves. “In honor of this day, I hereby decree that Theodrin Dabei, Faolain Orande, Nynaeve al’Meara and Elayne Trakand are from this moment raised to the shawl, full sisters and Aes Sedai.” A sort of questioning silence greeted that, with here and there a murmur. It was not according to custom at all; far from it. But it was said, and a good thing Morvrin had happened to mention Theodrin and Faolain. Time to return to what they had written out for her. “I hereby decree this a day of feasting and celebration. Let no work be done but what is necessary for enjoyment. May the Light shine on you all, and the Creator’s hand shelter you.” That last was swallowed by a tumultuous roar that overwhelmed the weave carrying her words. Some people began dancing in the street right there and then, though there was hardly room for them to move.

  The platform of Air descended perhaps a trifle more quickly than it had risen. The Sitters were staring at her when she stepped off, and the glow of saidar began winking out among them almost before she touched ground.

  Sheriam darted up to take Egwene’s arm, smiling at the stone-faced Sitters. “I must show the Amyrlin her study. Forgive me.” Egwene would not exactly have said Sheriam hustled her inside, but then again, she would not exactly have said she did not. She did not think Sheriam would actually try to drag her, but it seemed best to gather her skirts with her free hand and take longer strides so as not to find out.

  Her study, at the back of the waiting room,
turned out to be somewhat smaller than her bedroom, with two windows, a writing table, a straight-backed chair behind it and two more in front. Nothing else. The beetle-riddled wall panels had been waxed to a dull shine, but the tabletop was quite bare. There was a piece of flowered carpet on the floor.

  “Forgive me if I was abrupt, Mother,” Sheriam said, releasing her arm, “but I thought we should speak privately before you spoke to any of the Sitters. They all had a hand in writing your speech, and—”

  “I know I made a few changes,” Egwene said with a bright smile, “but I felt such a mudgin standing up there with all that to say.” All of them had a hand? No wonder it had sounded like a pompous old woman who could not stop talking. She almost laughed. “Anyway, I said what had to be said, the heart of it. Elaida must be removed, and I will lead them to do it.”

  “Yes,” Sheriam said slowly, “but there might be a few questions about some of the other . . . changes. Theodrin and Faolain will certainly be raised Aes Sedai as soon as we have the Tower and the Oath Rod back, and very likely Elayne, but Nynaeve still can’t light a candle unless she yanks her braid at people first.”

  “That was exactly the point I wished to raise,” Romanda said, coming in without knocking. “Mother,” she added after a distinct pause. Lelaine shut the door behind them, nearly in the faces of several other Sitters.

  “It seemed necessary,” Egwene said, widening her eyes. “I thought of it last night. I’ve been raised Aes Sedai without being tested or taking the Three Oaths, and if I was the only one, it would just point me out. With four others, I won’t seem quite so odd anymore. Not to people here, at least. Elaida might try to make something of it when she hears, but most folk know so little about Aes Sedai, they won’t know what to believe anyway. It is the people here who matter most. They must have confidence in me.”

  Anyone but Aes Sedai would have gaped at her. As it was, Romanda very nearly spluttered.

  “That may be so,” Lelaine began sharply, giving her blue-fringed shawl a jerk, then stopped. It was so. More, the Amyrlin Seat had publicly decreed those women Aes Sedai. The Hall might be able to keep them Accepted—or whatever Theodrin and Faolain were, in their cases—but the Hall could not erase memories, and it would not stop everyone knowing they had gone against the Amyrlin on her first day. A great deal that would do for confidence.

  “I hope, Mother,” Romanda said in a tight voice, “that you will consult the Hall first the next time. Going against custom can have unexpected consequences.”

  “Going against law can have unfortunate ones,” Lelaine said bluntly, tacking on a belated, “Mother.” That was nonsense, or close to it. The conditions for being raised Aes Sedai were set in law, true, but the Amyrlin could decree almost anything she wished. Still, a wise Amyrlin did not jump into fights with the Hall when they could be avoided.

  “Oh, I will consult in the future,” Egwene told them earnestly. “But it did seem the right thing to do. Please, would you excuse me now? I really do need to speak with the Keeper.”

  They practically quivered. Their curtsies were slight, their parting words perfectly correct so far as the words went, but muttered in Romanda’s case, and in Lelaine’s, sharp enough to cut.

  “You handled that very well,” Sheriam said when they were gone. She sounded surprised. “But you must remember the Hall can make problems for any Amyrlin. One reason I am your Keeper is so that I can advise you, and keep you away from that sort of problem. You should ask me about any decrees you want to make. And if I’m not at hand, Myrelle and Morvrin and the others. We are here to help you, Mother.”

  “I understand, Sheriam. I promise to listen carefully to whatever you say. I’d like to see Nynaeve and Elayne, if that is possible.”

  “It should be,” Sheriam said, smiling, “though I may have to pull Nynaeve away from a Yellow physically. Siuan is coming to teach you about the etiquette of being Amyrlin—there is a great deal of it to learn—but I’ll tell her to come a little later.”

  Egwene stared at the door after Sheriam had gone. Then she turned and stared at the table. Absolutely bare. Not a report to be read, no records to study. Not so much as pen and ink to write a note, much less a decree. And Siuan coming to teach her etiquette.

  When a timid tap came at the door, she was still standing there. “Come,” she said, wondering whether it was Siuan, or perhaps a servant with a snack of honeycakes, already cut into suitably small pieces.

  Nynaeve poked her head in hesitantly, then was pushed into the room by Elayne. Side by side, they made perfect deep curtsies, spreading white, banded skirts wide and murmuring, “Mother.”

  “Please don’t do that,” Egwene said. Actually, it was more of a wail. “You’re the only two friends I have, and if you start. . . .” Light, she was almost ready to cry!

  Elayne reached her first by a hair, throwing her arms around her. Nynaeve was silent, fiddling nervously with a slim silver bracelet, but not Elayne. “We’re still your friends, Egwene, but you are the Amyrlin Seat. Light, remember I told you one day you’d be the Amyrlin when I was. . . .” Elayne grimaced faintly. “Well, in any case, you are. We can’t just walk up to the Amyrlin and say, ‘Egwene, does this dress make me look fat?’ It would not be proper.”

  “Yes it would,” Egwene said stoutly. “Well, in private,” she allowed after a moment. “When we’re alone, I want you to tell me a dress makes me look fat, or . . . or whatever you want.” Smiling at Nynaeve, she tugged the woman’s thick braid gently. Nynaeve gave a start. “And I want you to pull that at me, if you feel like it. I need somebody who is Egwene’s friend and doesn’t see this . . . this bloody stole all the time, or I will go crazy. Speaking of dresses, why are you still in those? I thought sure you could be changed by now.”

  Nynaeve did pull at her braid then. “That Nisao told me it must be some sort of mistake and dragged me off. She said she wasn’t going to waste her turn just for a celebration.” The sounds of it were beginning to rise outside, a general hum just loud enough to penetrate the stone walls, and a faint thread of music.

  “Well, it was no mistake,” Egwene said. Nisao’s turn? Well, she was not going to ask now; Nynaeve was not happy about it, and Egwene wanted this to be as happy an occasion as it could. Dragging the chair from behind the table, she saw two plump patchwork cushions on the seat and smiled. Chesa. “We are going to sit here and talk, and then I will help you find the two best dresses in Salidar. Tell me about these discoveries of yours. Anaiya mentioned them, and Sheriam, but I could not make them hold still long enough to give me any details.”

  Almost as one, the pair paused in the act of sitting and exchanged glances. Unaccountably, they seemed reluctant to talk of anything but Nynaeve’s Healing Siuan and Leane—Nynaeve repeated three times rather anxiously that Healing Logain had been an accident—and Elayne’s work with ter’angreal. Those were remarkable feats, especially Nynaeve’s, but there was only so much they could say, and there were only so many times Egwene could tell them how marvelous what they had done was and how much she envied them. Trying to demonstrate did not last long; Egwene had no real feel for Healing, especially not this complicated tapestry Nynaeve wove without thought, and though she had an affinity for metals and very good strength in both Fire and Earth, Elayne lost her almost immediately. Of course they wanted to know what life was like among the Aiel. From the startled blinks and shocked laughs, abruptly cut off, she was not sure they believed everything she told them, and she certainly did not tell everything. The Aiel led naturally into Rand. Both women stared all through her rendition of his meeting with the Aes Sedai. They agreed that he was wading waters deeper than he knew and needed someone to guide him before he stepped into a hole. Elayne thought Min might help with that, once the embassy reached Caemlyn—this was the first Egwene knew Min was with him, or had been in Salidar—though in truth, Elayne seemed rather halfhearted. And she muttered something truly peculiar, as if it were a truth she did not like hearing.

  “
Min is a better woman than I am.” For some reason, that got a sympathetic look from Nynaeve. “I wish I were there,” Elayne went on in a stronger voice. “To guide him, I mean.” She looked from Egwene to Nynaeve, red touching her cheeks. “Well, that, too.” Nynaeve and Egwene began laughing so hard they nearly fell out of their chairs, and Elayne joined in almost immediately.

  “There’s one good thing to tell, Elayne,” Egwene said breathlessly, still trying to recover. Then she realized exactly what she was going to say, and why. Light, what a mire she had stepped into, and while laughing! “I’m sorry about your mother, Elayne. You don’t know how I wished I could offer my condolences before this.” Elayne looked confused, as well she might. “The point is, Rand means to give you the Lion Throne and the Sun Throne.” To her surprise, Elayne sat up very straight.

  “He does, does he?” she said in a cool flat voice. “He intends to give them to me.” Her chin rose slightly. “I have some claim to the Sun Throne, and if I choose to make it, I will do so in my own right. As for the Lion Throne, Rand al’Thor has no right—none!—to give me what is mine already.”

  “I’m sure he didn’t mean it that way,” Egwene protested. Did he? “He loves you, Elayne. I know he does.”

  “If only it were that simple,” Elayne muttered, whatever that was supposed to mean.

  Nynaeve sniffed. “Men always say they didn’t mean it that way. You would think they spoke a different language.”