The Wheel of Time

by Robert Jordan

  “I assume that you’re still seeing the effects of the Dark One’s stirring?” Egwene shivered and glanced at her cell floor, remembering what had happened to Leane. Her own cell was far more austere than Leane’s, perhaps because of the accusations of her being a Darkfriend.

  “Yes.” Seaine’s voice grew softer. “They seem to be getting worse. Servants dying. Food spoiling. Entire sections of the Tower rearranging at random. The second kitchen moved to the sixth level last night, moving an entire section of the Yellow Ajah quarters into the basement. It’s like what happened with the Browns earlier, and that one still hasn’t been worked out.”

  Egwene nodded. With the way the rooms had shifted, those few novices whose rooms hadn’t moved suddenly now had assigned accommodations on the twenty-first and twenty-second levels, where Brown Ajah quarters had been. The Browns were, reluctantly, all moving down to the wing. Would it be a permanent change? Always before, the sisters had lived in the Tower proper, the novices and Accepted living in the wing.

  “You have to bring these things up, Seaine,” Egwene said softly. “Keep reminding the sisters that the Dark One stirs and that the Last Battle approaches. Keep their attention on working together, not dividing.”

  Behind Seaine, one of the Red sisters checked the candle on the table. The time allotted for Egwene to receive visitors was ending. She’d soon be locked away again; she could smell the dusty, unchanged straw behind her.

  “You must work hard, Seaine,” Egwene said, rising as the Reds approached. “Do what I cannot. Ask the others to do so as well.”

  “I will try,” Seaine said. She stood and watched as the Reds took Egwene’s stool, then gestured her back into the cell. The ceiling was too low for her to stand without stooping.

  Egwene moved reluctantly, bending down. “The Last Battle comes, Seaine. Remember.”

  The White nodded, and the door shut, locking Egwene into darkness. Egwene sat down. She felt so blind! What would happen at the trial? Even if Elaida was punished, what would be done with Egwene?

  Elaida would try to have her executed. And she still had grounds, as Egwene had—by the White Tower’s definition—impersonated the Amyrlin Seat.

  I must stay firm, Egwene told herself in the darkness. I warmed this pot myself, and now I must boil in it, if that is what will protect the Tower. They knew she continued to resist. That was all she could give them.

  CHAPTER 26

  A Crack in the Stone

  Aviendha surveyed the manor grounds, swarming with people preparing to depart. Bashere’s men and women were well trained for wetlanders, and they worked efficiently to stow their tents and prepare their gear. However, compared to the Aiel, the other wetlanders—those who weren’t actual soldiers—were a mess. Camp women skittered this way and that, as if sure they would leave some task undone or some item unpacked. The messenger boys ran with their friends, trying to look busy so that they wouldn’t have to do anything. The civilians’ tents and equipment were only slowly being packed and stowed, and they would need horses, wagons and teams of drivers to get them all where they needed to go.

  Aviendha shook her head. The Aiel brought only what they could carry, and their war band included only spears and Wise Ones. And when more than just spears were required for an extended campaign, all workers and craftspeople knew how to prepare themselves for departure with speed and efficiency. There was honor in that. Honor which demanded that each person be able to care for themselves and their own, not slowing the clan down.

  She shook her head, turning back to her task. The only ones who truly lacked honor on a day like this were those who did not work. She dipped a finger into the pail of water on the ground in front of her, then raised her hand and let it hover over a second pail. A drop of water dripped free. She moved her hand and did it again.

  It was the type of punishment in which no wetlander could have seen significance. They would have thought it easy work, sitting on the ground, leaning with her back against the wooden logs of the manor house. Moving her hand back and forth, emptying one pail and filling the other, one drop at a time. To them it would have been barely a punishment at all.

  That was because wetlanders were often lazy. They would rather drip water into pails than carry rocks. Carrying rocks, however, involved activity—and activity was good for the mind and the body. Moving water was meaningless. Useless. It didn’t allow her to stretch her legs or work her muscles. And she did it while the rest of the camp gathered tents for the march. That made the punishment ten times as shameful! She earned toh for every moment she did not help, and there was not a thing she could do about it.

  Except move water. Drip, by drip, by drip.

  It made her angry. Then that anger made her ashamed. The Wise Ones never let their emotions dominate them in such a way. She had to remain patient and try to understand why she was being punished.

  Even trying to approach the problem made her want to scream. How many times could she go over the same conclusions in her mind? Perhaps she was too dense to sort it out. Perhaps she didn’t deserve to be a Wise One.

  She stuck her hand back in the bucket, then moved another drop of water. She didn’t like what these punishments were doing to her. She was a warrior, even if she no longer carried the spear. She did not fear punishment, nor did she fear pain. But, more and more, she did fear that she would lose heart and become as useless as one who sandstared.

  She wanted to become a Wise One, wanted it desperately. She was surprised to find that, for she’d never thought that she could desire anything with as much passion as she’d long ago wanted the spears. Yet as she had studied the Wise Ones during these last months, and her respect for them had grown, she had accepted herself as their equal, to help shepherd the Aiel in this most dangerous of days.

  The Last Battle would be a test unlike any her people had ever known. Amys and the others were working to protect the Aiel, and Aviendha sat and moved drops of water!

  “Are you all right?” a voice asked.

  Aviendha started, looking up, reaching for her knife so abruptly that she nearly spilled the pails of water. A woman with short, dark hair stood in the shade of the building a short distance away. Min Farshaw’s arms were folded and she wore a coat the color of cobalt with silver embroidery. She wore a scarf at her neck.

  Aviendha settled back down, releasing her knife. Now she was letting wetlanders sneak up on her? “I am well,” she said, struggling to keep from blushing.

  Her tone and actions should have indicated that she didn’t wish to be shamed by conversation, but Min didn’t seem to notice that. The woman turned and looked out over the camp. “Don’t . . . you have anything to be doing?”

  Aviendha could not suppress the blush this time. “I am doing what I should.”

  Min nodded, and Aviendha forced herself to still her breathing. She could not afford to grow angry at this woman. Her first-sister had asked her to be kind to Min. She decided not to take offense. Min didn’t know what she was saying.

  “I thought that I could talk to you,” Min said, still looking out at the camp. “I’m not sure who else I could approach. I don’t trust the Aes Sedai, and neither does he. I’m not sure he trusts anyone, now. Maybe not even me.”

  Aviendha glanced to the side, and saw that Min was watching Rand al’Thor as he moved through the camp, wearing a coat of black, gold-red hair ablaze in the afternoon light. He seemed to tower over the Saldaeans who attended him.

  Aviendha had heard about the events the night before, when he had been attacked by Semirhage. One of the Shadowsouled themselves; Aviendha wished she had seen the creature before she was killed. She shuddered.

  Rand al’Thor had fought and won. Though he acted the fool much of the time, he was a skilled—and lucky—warrior. Who else alive could claim to have personally defeated as many of the Shadowsouled as he had? There was much honor in him.

  His fight had left him scarred in ways she did not yet understand. She could feel his pain. She�
��d felt it during Semirhage’s attack, too, though at first she’d mistakenly thought it to be a nightmare. She’d quickly realized that she was wrong. No nightmare could be that terrible. She could still feel echoes of that incredible pain, those waves of agony, the frenzy inside of him.

  Aviendha had raised the alarm, but not quickly enough. She had toh to him for her mistake; she would deal with that once she was finished with her punishments. If she ever did finish.

  “Rand al’Thor will deal with his problems,” she said, dripping more water.

  “How can you say that?” Min asked, glancing at her. “Can’t you feel his pain?”

  “I feel each and every moment of it,” Aviendha said through gritted teeth. “But he must face his own trials, just as I face mine. Perhaps there will be a day when he and I can face ours together, but that time is not now.”

  I must be his equal, first, she added in her head. I will not stand beside him as his inferior.

  Min studied her, and Aviendha felt a chill, wondering what visions the woman saw. Her predictions of the future were said always to come true.

  “You are not what I expected,” Min finally said.

  “I have deceived you?” Aviendha said, frowning.

  “No, not that,” Min said with a small laugh. “I mean, I was wrong about you, I guess. I wasn’t certain what to think, after that night in Caemlyn when . . . well, that night when we bonded Rand together. I feel close to you, yet distant from you at the same time.” She shrugged. “I guess I expected you to come looking for me the moment you got into camp. We had things to discuss. When you didn’t, I worried. I thought perhaps I had offended you.”

  “You have no toh to me,” Aviendha said.

  “Good,” Min said. “I still worry sometimes that we’ll . . . come to a confrontation.”

  “And what good would a confrontation serve?”

  “I don’t know,” Min said with a shrug. “I figured it would be the Aiel way. Challenge me to a fight of honor. For him.”

  Aviendha snorted. “Fight over a man? Who would do such a thing? If you had toh toward me, perhaps I could demand that we dance the spears—but only if you were a Maiden. And only if I were still one too. I suppose that we could fight with knives, but it would hardly be a fair fight. What honor would there to be gained in fighting one with no skill?”

  Min flushed, as if Aviendha had offered her an insult. What a curious reaction. “I don’t know about that,” Min said, flipping a knife from her sleeve and spinning it across her knuckles. “I’m hardly defenseless.” She made the knife vanish up her other sleeve. Why was it that the wetlanders always showed off such flourishes with their knives? Thom Merrilin had been prone to that as well. Didn’t Min understand that Aviendha could have slit the woman’s throat thrice over during the time it took to flash that knife like a street performer? Aviendha said nothing, however. Min was obviously proud of the skill, and there was no need to embarrass the woman.

  “It is unimportant,” Aviendha said, continuing her work. “I would not fight with you unless you gave me grave insult. My first-sister considers you a friend, and I would like to do so as well.”

  “All right,” Min said, folding her arms and looking back at Rand. “Well, I guess that’s a good thing. I have to admit, I don’t much like the idea of sharing.”

  Aviendha hesitated, then dipped her finger into the pail. “Neither do I.” At least, she didn’t like the idea of sharing with a woman she didn’t know very well.

  “Then what do we do?”

  “We continue as we have,” Aviendha said. “You have what you wish, and I am occupied by other matters. When it becomes a different time, I will inform you.”

  “That’s . . . straightforward of you,” Min said, looking confused. “You have other matters to occupy you? Like dipping your finger in buckets of water?”

  Aviendha blushed again. “Yes,” she snapped. “Just like that. You will excuse me.” She stood and strode away, leaving the buckets. She knew that she should not have lost her temper, but she could not help it. Min, repeatedly pointing out her punishment. Her inability to decipher what the Wise Ones wished of her. Rand al’Thor, constantly putting himself into danger, and Aviendha unable to lift a finger to help him.

  She could stand it no longer. She crossed the brown thatch of the manor green, clenching and unclenching her fists, keeping her distance from Rand. The way this day was going, he’d notice her wrinkled finger and ask why she had been soaking it! If he discovered that the Wise Ones had been punishing her, he would probably do something rash and make a fool of himself. Men were like that, Rand al’Thor most of all.

  She stalked across the springy ground, the brown thatch patterned with square impressions where tents had stood, threading her way through wetlanders scurrying this way and that. She passed a line of soldiers tossing sacks of grain to the next and loading them in a wagon hitched to two thick-hoofed draft horses.

  She kept moving, trying to keep herself from exploding. The truth was, she felt just as likely to do something “rash” as Rand al’Thor would be. Why? Why couldn’t she decipher what she was doing wrong? The other Aiel in the camp seemed as ignorant as she, though of course they had not spoken to her of the punishments. She remembered well seeing similar punishments when she’d been a Maiden, and had always known to stay out of Wise Ones’ business.

  She rounded the wagon, and found herself heading toward Rand al’Thor again. He was talking with three of Davram Bashere’s quartermasters, taller than each of them by a head. One of them, a man with a long black mustache, pointed toward the horselines and said something. Rand caught sight of Aviendha and raised his hand toward her, but she turned away quickly, moving toward the Aiel campsite at the north side of the green.

  She ground her teeth, trying—unsuccessfully—to tame her anger. Did she not have a right to anger, if only at herself? The world was close to ending and she spent her days being punished! Ahead, she spotted a small cluster of Wise Ones—Amys, Bair and Melaine—standing beside a pile of brown tent packs. The tight, oblong bundles had straps for ease of carrying over the shoulder.

  Aviendha should have returned to her pails and redoubled her efforts. But she did not. Like a child with a stick charging a narshcat, she stalked up to the Wise Ones, fuming.

  “Aviendha?” Bair asked. “Have you finished your punishment already?”

  “No I have not,” Aviendha said, stopping in front of them, hands fists at her sides. Wind tugged at her shirt, but she let it flap. Hurrying camp workers—both Aiel and Saldaean—gave the group a wide berth.

  “Well?” Bair asked.

  “You are not learning quickly enough,” Amys added, shaking her white-haired head.

  “Not learning quickly enough?” Aviendha demanded. “I have learned everything you have asked of me! I have memorized every lesson, repeated every fact, performed every duty. I have answered all your questions and have seen you nod in approval at each answer!”

  She stared them down before continuing. “I can channel better than any Aiel woman alive,” she said. “I have left behind the spears, and I welcome my place among you. I have done my duty and sought honor on each occasion. Yet you continue to give me punishments! I will have no more of it. Either tell me what it is you wish of me or send me away.”

  She expected anger from them. She expected disappointment. She expected them to explain that a mere apprentice was not to question full Wise Ones. She expected, at least, to be given greater punishment for her temerity.

  Amys glanced at Melaine and Bair. “It is not we who punish you, child,” she said, seeming to choose her words with care. “These punishments come by your own hand.”

  “Whatever I have done,” Aviendha said, “I cannot see that it would have you make me da’tsang. You shame yourselves by treating me so.”

  “Child,” Amys said, meeting her eyes. “Are you rejecting our punishments?”

  “Yes,” she said, heart thumping. “I am.”

  �
�You think your stakes as strong as ours, do you?” Bair asked, shading her aged face with her hand. “You presume to be our equal?”

  Their equal? Aviendha thought, panic setting in. I’m not their equal! I have years left to study. What am I doing?

  Could she back down now? Beg forgiveness, meet her toh somehow? She should hurry back to her punishment and move the waters. Yes! That is what she needed to do. She had to go and—

  “I see no more reason to study,” she found herself saying instead. “If these punishments are all you have left to teach me, then I must assume that I have learned all that I must. I am ready to join you.”

  She gritted her teeth, waiting for an explosion of furious incredulity. What was she thinking? She shouldn’t have let Min’s foolish talk rile her so.

  And then Bair started to laugh.

  It was a full-bellied sound, incongruous coming from the small woman. Melaine joined her, the sun-haired Wise One holding her stomach, slightly bulging from her pregnancy. “She took even longer than you, Amys!” Melaine exclaimed. “As stubborn a girl as I’ve ever seen.”

  Amys’ expression was uncharacteristically soft. “Welcome, sister,” she said to Aviendha.

  Aviendha blinked. “What?”

  “You are one of us now, girl!” Bair said. “Or soon will be.”

  “But I defied you!”

  “A Wise One cannot allow others to step upon her,” Amys said. “If she comes into the shade of our sisterhood thinking like an apprentice, then she will never see herself as one of us.”

  Bair glanced at Rand al’Thor, who stood in the distance talking to Sarene. “I never realized how important our ways were until I studied these Aes Sedai. Those at the bottom simper and beg like hounds, and are ignored by those who consider themselves their betters. It is a wonder they achieve anything!”

  “But there is rank among Wise Ones,” Aviendha said. “Is there not?”

  “Rank?” Amys looked puzzled. “Some of us have more honor than others, earned by wisdom, actions and experience.”