The Wheel of Time

by Robert Jordan

  He stared off into the distance. Min shivered. Light! He let the voice in his head wield the One Power? What did that mean? That he let the mad part of his brain take control?

  He shook his head. “Semirhage claims that this is just insanity, tricks of my mind, but Lews Therin knows things—things that I don’t. Things about history, about the One Power. You had a viewing of me that showed two people merging into one. That means that Lews Therin and I are distinct! Two people, Min. He’s real.”

  She walked over and sat next to him. “Rand, he’s you. Or you’re him. Spun out into the Pattern again. Those memories and things you can do, they’re remnants from who you were before.”

  “No,” Rand said. “Min, he’s insane and I’m not. Besides, he failed. I won’t. I won’t do it, Min. I won’t hurt those I love, as he did. And when I defeat the Dark One, I won’t leave him able to return a short time later and terrorize us again.”

  Three thousand years a “short time later”? She put her arms around him. “Does it matter?” she asked. “If there is another person, or if those are just memories from before, the information is useful.”

  “Yes,” Rand said, seeming distant again. “But I’m afraid to use the One Power. When I do, I risk letting him take control. He can’t be trusted. He didn’t mean to kill her, but that doesn’t change the fact that he did. Light . . . Ilyena. . . .”

  Was this how it happened to all of them? Each one assuming that they were really sane, and that it was the other person inside of them who did horrible things?

  “It’s done now, Rand,” she said, holding him close. “Whatever this voice is, it won’t grow any worse. Saidin is cleansed.”

  Rand didn’t respond, but he did relax. She closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of his warmth beside her, particularly since he’d left the window open.

  “Ishamael lives,” Rand said.

  She snapped her eyes open. “What?” Just when she was beginning to feel comfortable!

  “I visited him in the World of Dreams,” Rand said. “And before you ask, no. It wasn’t just a nightmare and it wasn’t madness. It was real, and I can’t explain how I know. You will just have to trust me.”

  “Ishamael,” she whispered. “You killed him!”

  “Yes,” Rand said. “In the Stone of Tear. He has returned, bearing a new face and a new name, but it is him. We should have realized it would happen; the Dark One won’t abandon such useful tools without a fight. He can reach beyond the grave.”

  “Then how can we win? If everyone we kill just comes back again. . . .”

  “Balefire,” Rand said. “It will kill them for good.”

  “Cadsuane said—”

  “I don’t care what Cadsuane said,” he snarled. “She is my advisor, and she gives advice. Only advice. I am the Dragon Reborn, and I will decide how we fight.” He stopped, taking a deep breath. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter if the Forsaken return, it doesn’t matter who or what the Dark One sends at us. In the end, I will destroy him, if possible. If not, then I will at least seal him away so tightly that the world can forget him.”

  He glanced down at her. “For that . . . I need the voice, Min. Lews Therin knows things. Or . . . or I know things. Whichever it is, the knowledge is there. In a way, the Dark One’s own taint will destroy him, for it is what gave me access to Lews Therin.”

  Min glanced at her books. Herid’s little slip of paper still peeked from the depths of Thoughts Among the Ruins. “Rand,” she said. “You have to destroy the seals to the Dark One’s prison.”

  He looked at her, frowning.

  “I’m sure of it,” she said. “I’ve been reading Herid’s books all this time, and I believe that’s what he meant by ‘clearing away the rubble.’ In order to rebuild the Dark One’s prison, you will first need to open it. Clear away the patch made on the Bore.”

  She had expected him to be incredulous. Shockingly, he just nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, that sounds right. I doubt that many will wish to hear it. If those seals are broken, there is no way to tell what will happen. If I fail to contain him . . .”

  The prophecies didn’t say Rand would win. Only that he would fight. Min shivered again—blasted window!—but met Rand’s gaze. “You’ll win. You’ll defeat him.”

  He sighed. “Faith in a madman, Min?”

  “Faith in you, sheepherder.” Suddenly viewings spun around his head. She ignored them most of the time, unless they were new, but now she picked them out. Fireflies consumed in darkness. Three women before a pyre. Flashes of light, darkness, shadow, signs of death, crowns, injuries, pain and hope. A tempest around Rand al’Thor, stronger than any physical storm.

  “We still don’t know what to do,” he said. “The seals are brittle enough that I could break them in my hands, but what then? How do I stop him? Does it say anything of that in your books?”

  “It’s hard to tell,” she admitted. “The clues—if that’s what they are—are vague. I will keep looking. I promise. I’ll find answers for you.”

  He nodded, and she was surprised to feel his trust through the bond. That was a frighteningly rare emotion from him recently, but he did seem softer than he had during previous days. Still stone, but perhaps with some few cracks, willing to let her inside. It was a beginning.

  She tightened her arms around him and closed her eyes again. A place to begin, but with so little time left. It would have to do.

  Carefully shielding her burning candle, Aviendha lit the pole-mounted lantern. It flickered alight, illuminating the green around her. Slumbering soldiers snored in rows of tents. The evening was cold, the air crisp, and branches rattled in the distance. A lonely owl hooted. And Aviendha was exhausted.

  She’d crossed the grounds fifty times, lighting the lantern, blowing it out, then jogging back across the green and lighting her candle at the manor before walking carefully—shielding the flame—to light the lantern again.

  Another month of these punishments and she’d probably go as mad as a wetlander. The Wise Ones would wake one morning and find her going for a swim, or carrying a half-full waterskin, or—even—riding a horse for pleasure! She sighed, too exhausted to think any further, and turned toward the Aiel section of camp to finally sleep.

  Someone was standing behind her.

  She started, hand going to her dagger, but relaxed as she recognized Amys. Of all the Wise Ones, only she—a former Maiden—could have sneaked up on Aviendha.

  The Wise One stood with hands clasped before her, brown shawl and skirt flapping slightly in the wind. Aviendha’s skin prickled at the particularly chilly gust. Amys’ silver hair seemed almost ghostly in the evening light; a pine needle passing on the breeze had gotten lodged in it. “You approach your punishments with such . . . dedication, child,” Amys said.

  Aviendha looked down. Pointing out her activities was to shame her. Was she running out of time? Had the Wise Ones finally decided to give up on her? “Please, Wise One. I only do as duty demands.”

  “Yes, you do,” Amys said. She reached up, running her hand through her hair, and found the pine needle, then let it drop to the dead grass. “And, also, you do not. Sometimes, Aviendha, we are so concerned with the things we have done that we do not stop to consider the things we have not.”

  Aviendha was glad for the darkness, which hid her shameful blush. In the distance, a soldier rang the evening bell to chime the hour, the soft metal ringing with eleven melancholy peals. How did she respond to Amys’ comments? There didn’t seem to be any proper response.

  Aviendha was saved by a flash of light just beyond the camp. It was faint, but in the darkness, the flicker was easy to notice.

  “What?” the Wise One asked, noticing Aviendha’s gaze and turning to follow it.

  “Light,” Aviendha said. “From the Traveling grounds.”

  Amys frowned, then the two of them moved toward the grounds. Soon they encountered Damer Flinn, Davram Bashere, a small guard of Saldaeans and Aiel walking into the camp. What did
one think of a creature such as Flinn? The taint had been cleansed, but this man—and many of the others—had come, asking to learn, before that had happened. Aviendha herself would have sooner embraced Sightblinder himself as done that, but they had proven to be powerful weapons.

  Amys and Aviendha moved to the side as the small party hurried toward the manor house, lit only by the distant flickering torches and the cloud-covered sky above. Though most of the force sent to meet the Seanchan had been made up of Bashere’s soldiers, there were several Maidens in the group. Amys locked eyes with one of them, an older woman named Corana. She hung back, and though it was difficult to tell in the darkness, she looked concerned. Perhaps angry.

  “What news?” Amys asked.

  “The invaders, these Seanchan,” Corana nearly spat the word, “they have agreed to another meeting with the Car’a’carn.”

  Amys nodded. Corana, however, sniffed audibly, short hair ruffling in the chill breeze.

  “Speak,” Amys said.

  “The Car’a’carn sues too hard for peace,” Corana replied. “These Seanchan have given him reason to declare a blood feud, but he simpers and panders to them. I feel like a trained dog, sent to lick the feet of a stranger.”

  Amys glanced at Aviendha. “What do you say to this, Aviendha?”

  “My heart agrees with her words, Wise One. But, while the Car’a’carn is a fool in some things, he is not being one now. My mind agrees with him, and in this case, it is the mind I would follow.”

  “How can you say that?” Corana snapped. She emphasized the you, as if to imply that Aviendha—recently a Maiden—should understand.

  “Which is more important, Corana?” Aviendha replied raising her chin. “The argument you have with another Maiden, or the feud your clan has with its enemy?”

  “The clan comes first, of course. But what does that matter?”

  “The Seanchan deserve to be fought,” Aviendha said, “and you are right that it pains to ask them for peace. But you forget that we have a greater enemy. Sightblinder himself has a feud with all men, and our duty is larger than feuds between nations.”

  Amys nodded. “There will be time enough to show the Seanchan the weight of our spears at another date.”

  Corana shook her head. “Wise One, you sound like a wetlander. What care have we for their prophecies and stories? Rand al’Thor’s duty as Car’a’carn is much greater than his duty to the wetlanders. He must lead us to glory.”

  Amys stared harshly at the blond Maiden. “You speak like a Shaido.”

  Corana locked her stare for a moment, then wilted, turning away. “Pardon, Wise One,” she finally said. “I have toh. But you should know that the Seanchan had Aiel in their camp.”

  “What?” Aviendha asked.

  “They were leashed,” Corana said, “like their tame Aes Sedai. They were being shown off like prizes for our arrival, I suspect. I recognized many Shaido among them.”

  Amys hissed softly. Shaido or not, Aiel being held as damane was a grave insult. And the Seanchan were flaunting their captives. She gripped her dagger.

  “What do you say now?” Amys glanced at Aviendha.

  Aviendha gritted her teeth. “The same, Wise One, though I’d almost rather cut out my tongue than admit it.”

  Amys nodded, looking back at Corana. “Do not think that we will ignore this insult, Corana. Vengeance will come. Once this war is done, the Seanchan will feel the storm of our arrows and the tips of our spears. But not until after. Go tell the two clan chiefs what you have told me.”

  Corana nodded—she would meet her toh later, in private, with Amys—and left. Damer Flinn and the others had already reached the manor house; would they wake Rand? He was sleeping now, though Aviendha had been forced to mute her bond in the middle of her night’s punishment, lest she endure sensations that she’d rather have avoided. At least, she’d rather have avoided them secondhand.

  “There will be dangerous words of this among the spears,” Amys said thoughtfully. “There will be calls to attack, demands that the Car’a’carn give up his attempts to make peace.”

  “Will they stay with him when he refuses?” Aviendha asked.

  “Of course they will,” Amys said. “They’re Aiel.” She glanced at Aviendha. “We haven’t much time, child. Perhaps it is time to stop coddling you. I will think up better punishments for you starting tomorrow.”

  Coddling me? Aviendha watched Amys stalk away. They couldn’t possibly come up with anything more useless or demeaning!

  But she’d learned long ago not to underestimate Amys. With a sigh, Aviendha broke into a trot, heading back toward her tent.

  CHAPTER 16

  In the White Tower

  “I’m curious to hear the novice speak. Tell me, Egwene al’Vere, how would you have handled the situation?”

  Egwene looked up from the bowl of shells, two-legged steel nutcracker in one hand, a bulbous walnut in the other. It was the first time any of the Aes Sedai present had addressed her. She had begun to think that attending the three Whites would turn out to be another waste of time.

  The afternoon’s location was a small inset balcony on the third level of the White Tower. Sitters could demand rooms with not only full windows, but balconies as well, something that was uncommon—though not unheard-of—for regular sisters. This one was shaped like a small turret, with a sturdy stone wall running around the rim in a curve, a similar stone hanging from the outcropping above. There was generous space between the two and the view was quite beautiful, eastward across the rising hills that eventually climbed to Kinslayer’s Dagger. The Dagger itself might have been distantly visible on a clear day.

  A cool breeze blew across the balcony, and this high up it was fresh and unsullied by the stink of the city below. A sinuous pair of sticklesharps—with their three-pronged leaves and clinging vines—grew on each side of the balcony, their creeping tendrils covering the inside of the stonework and making it look almost like a deep forest ruin. The plants were more ornamentation than Egwene would have expected in the quarters of a White, but Ferane was reported to be a shade on the vain side. She probably liked it that her balcony was so distinctive, even if protocol required her to keep the vines pruned as to not mar the gleaming profile of the Tower itself.

  The three Whites sat in wicker chairs at a low table. Egwene sat before them on a wicker stool, back to the open air, denied the view as she cracked nuts for the others. Any number of servants or kitchen workers could have done the work. But this was the sort of thing that sisters found to fill the time of novices whom they thought might be lounging about too much.

  Egwene had thought that cracking the walnuts was just a pretense. After being ignored for the better part of an hour, she had begun to wonder, but all three were looking at her now. She shouldn’t have doubted her instincts.

  Ferane had the coppery skin of a Domani, and a temperament to match, odd for a White. She was short, with an apple-shaped face and dark, lustrous hair. Her auburn dress was filmy but decent with a wide white sash at the waist to match her shawl, which she was currently wearing. The dress didn’t lack for embroidery, and the fabric did seem an indication, perhaps intentional, of her Domani heritage.

  The other two, Miyasi and Tesan, both wore white, as if they feared that dresses of any other colors were a betrayal of their Ajah. That notion was becoming more and more common among all of the Aes Sedai. Tesan was a Taraboner, with her dark hair in beaded braids. The beads were white and gold, and they framed a narrow face that looked as if it had been pinched at top and bottom and pulled. She always looked worried about something. Though perhaps that was just the times. Light knew they all had a great deal to worry over.

  Miyasi was more calm, her head topped by iron-gray hair in a bun. Her Aes Sedai face betrayed none of the many years that she must have seen for her hair to silver so fully. She was tall and plump, and she preferred her walnuts shelled very particularly. No fragments or broken pieces of nut for her, only full halves. Egw
ene carefully pried one from the shell she had cracked, then handed it over; the small brown lump was wrinkled and ridged, like the brain of a tiny animal.

  “What was it you asked, Ferane?” Egwene asked, cracking another walnut and discarding the shell in a pail at her feet.

  The White barely frowned at Egwene’s improper response. They were all growing accustomed to the fact that this “novice” seldom acted her presumed station. “I asked,” Ferane said coolly, “what you would have done in the Amyrlin’s place. Consider this part of your instruction. You know that the Dragon has been reborn and you know that the Tower must control him in order for the Last Battle to proceed. How would you handle him?”

  A curious question. It didn’t sound much like “instruction.” But Ferane’s tone didn’t make it sound like an offer to complain about Elaida either. There was too much contempt for Egwene in that voice.

  The other two Whites remained quiet. Ferane was a Sitter, and they deferred to her.

  She’s heard how often I mention Elaida’s failure with Rand, Egwene thought, looking into Ferane’s steely black eyes. So. A test, is it? This would have to be handled very carefully.

  Egwene reached for another walnut. “First, I would send a group of sisters to his home village.”

  Ferane raised an eyebrow. “To intimidate his family?”

  “Of course not,” Egwene said. “To interrogate them. Who is this Dragon Reborn? Is he a man of temper, a man of passions? Or is he a calm man, careful and cautious? Was he the type to spend time alone in the fields, or did he make quick friends of the other youths? Would you be more likely to find him in a tavern or a workshop?”

  “But you already know him,” Tesan piped in.

  “I do,” Egwene said, cracking the walnut. “But we were speaking of a hypothetical situation.” Best you remember that in the real world, I know the Dragon Reborn personally. As nobody else in this Tower does.