The Wheel of Time

by Robert Jordan

  The Green rounded on her as soon as she came close. Erian was quite beautiful usually, her face a pale exquisite oval, but now crimson suffused her cheeks, as it had almost constantly since the night before, and her lovely dark eyes were red-rimmed. “He did try to break through the shield again, Galina.” Wrath mingled with contempt for the man’s foolishness, making her voice thick and harsh. “He must be punished again. I do want to be the one to punish him.”

  Galina hesitated. Much better would be to punish Min; that would quell al’Thor. He had certainly raged enough seeing her punished for her outburst last night, which had in turn come from seeing him punished. The entire incident had begun because al’Thor discovered Min was in the camp, after one of the Warders carelessly allowed her to walk in the darkness instead of keeping her closely confined in her tent. Who would have thought that al’Thor, shielded and surrounded, would have gone mad that way? Not just trying to break through the shield, but killing a Warder with his bare hands and severely wounding another with the dead man’s sword, to such an extent that the second died in the Healing. All that in the moments required for the sisters to overcome their shock and bind him with the Power.

  For herself, Galina would have gathered the other Red sisters and gentled al’Thor days ago. Since that was prohibited, she would just as soon have delivered him to the Tower unmarked, so long as he was reasonably polite. Even now efficiency was what she cared for, and what would be efficient would be to bring Min out here and let him hear her wail and weep again, let him know that he was the cause of her pain. But by chance both the dead Warders belonged to Erian. Most of the sisters would feel she had the right. And Galina herself wanted the doll-like Illianer Green to rid herself of her rage as soon as possible. Much better to travel the rest of the way able to admire that porcelain face unruffled.

  Galina nodded.

  Rand blinked when light suddenly flooded into the chest. He could not help flinching too; he knew what was coming. Lews Therin fell silent, and still. Rand held the Void by a fingernail, yet he was all too aware of cramped muscles groaning as he was pulled upright. He clamped his teeth shut and tried not to squint against what seemed the brightness of noon. The air seemed wonderfully fresh; his sodden shirt clung to him, dripping with sweat. No cords held him, but he could not have moved a step for his life. If not held up with the Power, he would have fallen over. Until he saw how low the sun sat, he had no idea how long he had been in there with his head between his knees, in a puddle of his own sweat.

  The sun got only a notice, though. Involuntarily his eyes went to Erian even before she placed herself squarely in front of him. The short slender woman peered up at him, dark eyes full of fury, and he almost flinched again. Unlike last night, she said nothing, only began.

  The first unseen blow struck him across the shoulders, the second the chest, third the backs of his thighs. The Void shattered. Air. Only Air. It sounded softer, that way. Each blow felt a whip, though, wielded by an arm stronger than any man’s. Before she began, bruised welts crisscrossed him from shoulders to knees. He had been aware of them, not so dimly as he could have wished; even inside the Void he had wanted to weep. After the Void went, he wanted to howl.

  Instead he clenched his jaws. Sometimes a grunt escaped through his teeth, and when one did, Erian’s efforts redoubled as if she wanted more. He refused to give it. He could not stop a shudder at each stroke of that invisible lash, but no more than that would he give her. He fixed his eyes on hers, refused to look away, to blink.

  I killed my Ilyena, Lews Therin moaned every time a blow landed.

  Rand had his own litany. Pain flailing his chest. This comes of trusting Aes Sedai. Fire striping his back. Never again; not an inch; not a hair. Like a razor’s slash. This comes of trusting Aes Sedai.

  They thought they could break him. They thought they could make him crawl to Elaida! He made himself do the hardest thing he had ever done in his life. He smiled. Certainly it touched nothing but his lips, yet he looked Erian in the eye, and he smiled. Her eyes widened, and she hissed. The scourges began to come from everywhere at once.

  The world was pain and fire. He could not see, only feel. Agony and inferno. For some reason he was aware of his hands trembling uncontrollably in their invisible bonds, but he concentrated on holding his teeth shut. This comes of—Won’t cry out! I will not cry ou—! Never again; not an in—! Not an inch; not a hair! Never agai—! I will not! Never a—! Never! Never! NEVER!

  First there was a perception of breathing. Air, gulped hungrily through his nostrils. He throbbed—he was a pulsing flame—but the beating had stopped. It almost came as a shock, realizing that. The end of something that part of him had been convinced would never end. He tasted blood, and realized that his jaws hurt almost as much as the rest of him. Good. He had not cried out. The muscles of his face were locked in a knotted cramp; it would take effort to open his mouth even if he wanted to.

  Sight was the last thing to return, and when it did, he wondered whether pain was making him hallucinate. Among the Aes Sedai stood a group of Wise Ones, shifting their shawls and staring at the Aes Sedai with all the arrogance they could muster. When he decided they were real—unless he was fantasizing Galina talking to one of his fancies—his first thought was rescue. Somehow the Wise Ones had . . . It was impossible, but somehow they would. . . . Then he recognized the woman speaking with Galina.

  Sevanna strolled toward him, a smile on that plump greedy mouth. Those pale green eyes peered up at him from that beautiful face framed by hair like spun gold. Rand would as soon have looked into the face of a rabid wolf. There was something odd in the way she stood, leaning forward slightly, shoulders back. She was watching his eyes. Abruptly, as much as he hurt, he wanted to laugh; he would have, if he could have been sure what sound would emerge if he opened his mouth. Here he was, a prisoner, beaten within an inch of his life, welts burning, sweat stinging, and a woman who hated him, he was sure, who probably blamed him for the death of her lover, was trying to see whether he would look down the front of her blouse!

  Slowly she ran a fingernail across his throat—in fact, as far around his neck as she could reach—as though imagining cutting off his head. Fitting, considering Couladin’s fate. “I have seen him,” she said with a satisfied sigh and a small shiver of pleasure. “You have kept your part of the bargain, and I have kept mine.”

  The Aes Sedai doubled him again then, shoved him back down into the chest with his head between his knees, crouching in that thin puddle of sweat. The lid closed, and darkness enclosed him.

  Only then did he work his jaws until his mouth could open and let out a long shuddering breath. He had not been sure whether he might not whimper even now. Light, but he was on fire!

  What was Sevanna doing there? What bargain? No. All very well to know there was some bargain between the Tower and the Shaido, but worrying about it was for later. Now was for Min. He had to get free. They had hurt her. That thought was so grim it almost dulled the pain. Almost.

  Assuming the Void again was a labor of wading through a swamp of agony, but at last he was surrounded by emptiness, reaching out toward saidin. . . . Only to find Lews Therin there as soon as he was, like two sets of hands fumbling to grasp something only one could hold.

  Burn you! Rand growled in his head. Burn you! If you’d only work with me just once instead of against me!

  You work with me! Lews Therin snapped back.

  Rand nearly lost the Void in shock. There could be no mistake this time; Lews Therin had heard him and answered. We could work together, Lews Therin. He did not want to work with the man; he wanted him out of his head. But there was Min. And how many days yet to Tar Valon. Somehow he was sure if they got him that far, there would be no more chances. Ever.

  An uncertain, apprehensive laugh answered him. Then, Together? Another laugh, and this mad as a loon. Together. Whoever you are. And voice and presence vanished.

  Rand shivered. Kneeling there, adding more sweat to the p
uddle his head rested in, he shivered.

  Slowly he reached for saidin again. . . . And came against the shield, of course. The thing he had been seeking in any case. Slowly, ever so gently, he felt his way along it, to where a hard plane suddenly turned to six soft points.

  Soft, Lews Therin said, panting. Because they are there. Sustaining the buffer. Hard when they knot. Nothing to be done when they are soft, but I can unravel the web if they knot it. With time. He paused so long Rand thought he was gone again, then he whispered, Are you real? And then he really was gone.

  Gingerly Rand felt along the shield to the soft points. To six Aes Sedai. With time? If they tied it, which they had not so far in. . . . What was it? Six days? Seven? Eight? No matter. He could not afford to wait too long. Every day was one closer to Tar Valon. Tomorrow, he would try to break through the barrier again; it had been like beating his hands against stone, but he had beaten with all his strength. Tomorrow when Erian flogged him—he was sure it would be her—he would smile at her again, and when the pain built, he would let the screams come. The next day he would not more than brush the shield, maybe hard enough to let them feel it, but only that, and not again after whether they punished him or not. Maybe he would beg for water. They had given him some at dawn, but he was thirsty again; even if they let him drink more than once a day, begging would fit. If he was still in the box then, he might plead to be let out, too. He thought he would be; small chance of them allowing him out for long until they were sure he had learned his lesson. Cramped muscles twitched at the thought of two or three more days stuffed in here. There was no room to move anything, but his body tried. Two or three days, and they would be sure he was broken. He would look fearful and avoid meeting anyone’s gaze. A wretch they could safely let out of the chest. More importantly, a wretch they did not need to guard so closely. And then, perhaps, they would decide they did not need six to hold the shield, or that they could tie it off, or . . . or something. He needed some crack. Something!

  It was a desperate thought, but he realized that he was laughing, and he could not stop. He could not stop feeling at the barrier, either, a blind man sliding his fingers desperately across a piece of smooth glass.

  Galina frowned after the departing Aielwomen until they topped a rise and vanished down the other side. Every one of those women except Sevanna herself had been able to channel, several quite strongly. No doubt Sevanna had thought herself safer, surrounded by a dozen or so wilders. Amusing thought. These savages were an untrusting lot. In a few days she would make use of them again, in the second part of Sevanna’s “bargain.” The regrettable death of Gawyn Trakand, and the better part of his Younglings.

  Returning to the heart of the camp, she found Erian still standing over the chest containing al’Thor.

  “He do be weeping, Galina,” she said fiercely. “Can you hear him? He do be—” Suddenly tears were sliding down Erian’s face; she simply stood there sobbing quietly, her hands fists clutching her skirts.

  “Come to my tent,” Galina said soothingly. “I have some nice blueberry tea, and I will put a cool, damp cloth on your brow.”

  Erian smiled through her tears. “Thank you, Galina, but I cannot. Rashan and Bartol will be waiting for me. They do suffer worse than I, I fear. They do not only feel my suffering, but do suffer because they know I do. I must comfort them.” One grateful squeeze of Galina’s hand, and she glided away.

  Galina frowned at the chest. Al’Thor did seem to be weeping; either that or he was laughing, and she very much doubted that. She looked after Erian, just disappearing into her Warders’ tent. Al’Thor would weep. They had at least two weeks more to Tar Valon and Elaida’s planned triumphal entry; yes, at least twenty days more. From now on, whether Erian wished to do it or not, he was to be punished each day at dawn and at sunset. When she brought him into the White Tower, he would kiss Elaida’s ring, speak when spoken to and kneel in the corner when he was not wanted. Eyes tight, she went to drink her blueberry tea by herself.

  As they entered the largish stand of trees, Sevanna turned to the others, thinking how remarkable it was that she should think of the trees so casually. Before crossing the Dragonwall, she had never seen so many trees. “Did you all see the means they used to hold him?” she asked, making it sound as if she had said “also” instead of “all.”

  Therava looked at the others, who nodded. “We can weave all they have done,” Therava said.

  Nodding, Sevanna fingered the small stone cube, with its intricate carvings, in her pouch. The strange wetlander who had given it to her had said she should use it now, when al’Thor was captive. Until she had actually looked on him, she had intended to; now she decided to throw the cube away. She was the widow of a chief who had been to Rhuidean and of a man who had been called chief without making that visit. Now she was going to be the wife of the Car’a’carn himself. Every spear of the Aiel would be grounded to her. Her finger still retained the feel of al’Thor’s neck, where she had traced the line of the collar she would put on him.

  “It is time, Desaine,” she said.

  Of course, Desaine blinked in surprise, and then she had time only to scream before the others began their work. Desaine had contented herself with grumbling about Sevanna’s position. Sevanna had put her time to better use. Except for Desaine, every woman here was solidly behind her, and more beside.

  Sevanna watched very closely what the other Wise Ones did; the One Power fascinated her, all those things done so miraculously, so effortlessly, and it was very important that it would be seen that what was done to Desaine could only have been done with the Power. She thought it quite astounding that a human body could be taken apart with so little blood.

  CHAPTER

  54

  The Sending

  With the sun just a thin glowing slice on the horizon, the second day of the Feast of Lights saw the streets of Cairhien already filled with revelers. Indeed, they had never really emptied through the night. There was a frenzied air to the celebration, and few gave more than a glance to the curly-bearded man with the grim face and the axe on his hip, riding a tall bay down the arrow-straight streets toward the river. Some did look at his companions; an Aiel man was a common enough sight now, though they had abandoned the streets when the celebrations began, but it was not every day that you saw an Ogier, taller than the man on horseback, especially one carrying an axe propped across one shoulder, with a haft nearly as long as he was tall. The Ogier made the bearded man look jolly.

  The ships on the Alguenya had all their lanterns lit, including the Sea Folk ship that occasioned so much rumor, for being in Cairhien at all, for remaining at anchor so long with barely any contact with the shore. By the rumors Perrin had heard, the Sea Folk disapproved of the carrying on in the city even more than the Aiel did, and he had thought Gaul would die from shock at all the men and women kissing. Whether or not the woman wore a blouse did not appear to bother Gaul nearly as much as the fact that they were kissing where they could be seen. That was indecent.

  Long stone piers thrust out into the river between tall flanking walls, and boats of all sizes and types were tied along them, including ferries that could take one horse or fifty, but Perrin did not see more than one man on any of them. He reined in the bay as he came to a broad, mastless craft some six or seven spans long lashed to stone posts. Its ramp to the dock was in place. A stout, gray-haired man with no shirt was sitting on an up-ended cask on the deck, a gray-haired woman with half a dozen bright slashes across the bosom of her dark dress on his knees.

  “We want to cross,” Perrin said loudly, trying to look only enough to see whether the pair took their arms from around each other. They did not. Perrin tossed an Andoran crown down onto the ferry, and the sound of the fat gold coin bouncing on the deck brought the fellow’s head around. “We want to cross,” Perrin said, hefting a second gold crown on his palm. After a moment, he added another.

  The ferryman licked his lips. “I will have to find oarsmen,” he
muttered, staring at Perrin’s hand.

  Sighing, Perrin pulled two more from his purse; he could remember when his eyes would have fallen out at having one of those coins.

  The ferryman leaped up, dropping the noblewoman onto her bottom with a thump, and scrambled up the ramp panting that he would be only moments, my Lord, only moments. The woman gave Perrin a very reproachful look, and glided away down the dock with a dignity somewhat spoiled by rubbing herself; before she had gone very far, though, she gathered her skirts and ran to join a group of dancers capering along the waterfront. Perrin could hear her laughing.

  It took more than moments, but apparently the promise of gold was enough, for in not too long a time the ferryman had enough fellows gathered to man most of the long sweeps. Perrin stood stroking the bay’s nose as the vessel swung out into the river. He had not decided on a name, yet; the animal came from the Sun Palace stable. Well-shod, with white forefeet, the horse looked a stayer, though not a patch on Stepper.