The Wheel of Time

by Robert Jordan

  Egwene sat on a three-legged stool in the corner of the room, the front part of a cobbler’s shop. She’d chosen the location at random, just in case, eschewing a location in the White Tower itself. The Forsaken knew that Egwene and the others walked the World of Dreams.

  With Siuan, Egwene could be more relaxed, more her real self. The two of them both understood that Egwene was now the Amyrlin and Siuan her lesser, but at the same time, they shared a bond. A camaraderie due to the station they both had filled. That bond, strangely, had turned into something akin to friendship.

  At the moment, Egwene was nearly ready to strangle her friend. “We’ve been over this,” she said firmly. “I cannot flee. Each day I spend imprisoned—but do not break—is another blow to Elaida’s rule. If I disappear before her trial, it will undermine everything we’ve worked for!”

  “The trial will be a sham, Mother,” Siuan said. “And if it isn’t, the punishment will be light. From what you’ve told me, she didn’t break any bones when she beat you—why, she didn’t break the skin.”

  That was true. Egwene’s bleeding had been from broken glass, not Elaida’s stripes.

  “Even a formal censure from the Hall will undermine her,” Egwene said. “My resistance, my refusal to break my imprisonment, means something. The Sitters themselves come to visit me! If I were to flee, it would look as though I’d given in to Elaida.”

  “Didn’t she declare you a Darkfriend?” Siuan asked pointedly.

  Egwene hesitated. Yes, Elaida had done that. But she didn’t have proof for it.

  Tower law was intricate, and sorting out the proper punishments and interpretations could be complicated. The Three Oaths would have prevented Elaida from using the One Power as a weapon, and so Elaida must have thought that what she was doing wasn’t a violation. Either she had gone farther than she’d planned, or she saw Egwene as a Darkfriend. She could argue for either position to defend herself; the latter would relieve her of the most guilt, but the former would be much easier to prove.

  “She could succeed at having you convicted,” Siuan said, apparently thinking along the same lines. “You would be slated for execution. What then?”

  “She won’t succeed. She hasn’t any proof that I am a Darkfriend, and so the Hall will never allow it.”

  “And if you’re wrong?”

  Egwene hesitated. “Very well. If the Hall decides that I am to be executed, I will let you get me out. But not until then, Siuan. Not until then.”

  Siuan snorted. “You might not have an opportunity, Mother. If Elaida cows them, she will act quickly. The woman’s punishments can be swift as a stormwind, take you unaware. I know that for certain.”

  “If that happens,” Egwene said pointedly, “my death would be a victory. Elaida would be the one who gave up, not I.”

  Siuan shook her head, muttering, “Stubborn as a mooring post.”

  “We are finished with that discussion, Siuan,” Egwene said sternly.

  Siuan sighed, but said nothing further. She seemed to have too much nervous energy to sit, and ignored the stool on the other side of the room, instead going to stand by the shop window to Egwene’s right.

  The cobbler’s salesroom showed signs of great traffic. A stout counter divided the room in half, the wall behind pocketed with dozens of shoe-sized nooks. At times, most of these were stuffed with sturdy work shoes of leather or canvas, laces hanging down the front or buckles gleaming in the phantom light of Tel’aran’rhiod. Yet each time Egwene glanced at the wall, the shoes had shifted, some vanishing, others appearing. They must not stay long in their cubbyholes in the real world, for they left only vague images behind in the world of dreams.

  The front half of the shop was crowded with stools for customers to use. The shoes on the back wall were of different designs and patterns, along with test shoes for sizing. A person came into the shop, tried on the sizing shoes, then picked a style. The cobbler—or, likely, his assistants—would then craft a pair for later pickup. The wide glass windows at the front proclaimed the name of the cobbler in white painted letters to be Naorman Mashinta, and a smaller number “three” had been painted beside the name. This was the third generation of Mashintas to run the shop. Not uncommon at all among townsfolk. In fact, the part of Egwene that was still influenced by the Two Rivers found it odd that anyone would consider leaving their parent’s trade for another, unless they were a third or fourth child.

  “Now that we’ve dealt with the obvious,” Egwene said, “what news is there?”

  “Well,” Siuan said, leaning on the window and staring out at the eerily empty Tar Valon street. “An old acquaintance of yours recently arrived in camp.”

  “Really?” Egwene asked absently. “Who?”

  “Gawyn Trakand.”

  Egwene started. That was impossible! Gawyn had sided with Elaida’s faction during the rebellion. He wouldn’t have come over to the rebel side. Had he been captured? But that wasn’t how Siuan had phrased it.

  For a moment, Egwene was a trembling girl, caught in the power of his whispered promises. She managed to keep her form locked into that of the Amyrlin, however, and forced her thoughts back to the moment, driving herself to be casual as she responded. “Gawyn?” she asked. “How odd. I wouldn’t have thought to find him there.”

  Siuan smiled. “That was nicely handled,” she said. “Though you paused too long, and when you did ask for him, you were overly uninterested. That made you easy to read.”

  “Light blind you,” Egwene said. “Another test? Is he really there?”

  “I hold to the oaths, thank you,” Siuan said, affronted. Egwene was one of the few who knew that, as a result of her stilling and Healing, Siuan had been released from the Three Oaths. But, like Egwene, she chose not to lie anyway.

  “Either way,” Egwene said, “I should think that the time for testing me has passed.”

  “Everyone you meet will always be testing you, Mother,” Siuan said. “You must be prepared for surprises; at any moment someone could throw one at you just to see how you respond.”

  “Thank you,” Egwene said coldly. “But I really don’t need the reminder.”

  “Don’t you?” Siuan said. “Sounds a little like something Elaida would say.”

  “That’s unfair!”

  “Prove it,” Siuan said smugly.

  Egwene forced herself to be calm. Siuan was right. Better to take the advice, particularly when it was good advice, than to complain. “You are right, of course,” Egwene said, smoothing out her dress across her knees as she also smoothed the frustration from her face. “Tell me more of Gawyn’s arrival.”

  “I don’t know much more,” Siuan confessed. “I really should have mentioned it yesterday, but our meeting was cut short.” They were meeting more often now—each night of Egwene’s imprisonment—but yesterday something had awakened Siuan before they had finished talking. A bubble of evil in the rebel camp, she had reported, involving tents coming alive and trying to strangle people. Three had died, one of them Aes Sedai.

  “Anyway,” Siuan continued, “Gawyn hasn’t said much that I could hear. I think he’s here because he heard that you were captured. He arrived with a spectacular flurry, but now he stays in Bryne’s command post, visiting the Aes Sedai regularly. He’s mulling over something; keeps going to speak to Romanda and Lelaine.”

  “That’s troubling.”

  “Well, they are the obvious power in camp,” Siuan said. “Save when Sheriam and the others can wrench some authority away. Things haven’t gone well without you; the camp needs leadership. Actually, we crave it, as a starving fisherman craves a catch. Aes Sedai are a people of order, I suppose. It—”

  She stopped herself. Likely, she had been about to bully Egwene again to accept rescue. She glanced at Egwene, then continued. “Well, it will be good for us when you return, Mother. The longer you stay away, the stronger the factions become. You can almost see the lines down the middle of the camp now. Romanda on one side, Lelaine on the
other, with a shrinking slice that doesn’t want to take sides.”

  “We cannot afford another division,” Egwene said. “Not among ourselves; we have to prove stronger than Elaida.”

  “At least our splits aren’t along the lines of Ajah,” Siuan said defensively.

  “Factions and breaks,” Egwene said, getting up. “Infighting and squabbling. We are better than this, Siuan. Tell the Hall that I wish to meet with them. Perhaps in two days. Tomorrow, you and I should meet again.”

  Siuan nodded hesitantly. “Very well.”

  Egwene eyed her. “You think it unwise?”

  “No,” Siuan said. “I worry about how hard you’re pushing yourself. The Amyrlin needs to learn to ration her strength; some in your place have failed not because they lacked the capacity for greatness, but because they stretched that capacity too thin, sprinting when they should have walked.”

  Egwene refrained from pointing out that Siuan herself had spent much of her tenure as Amyrlin sprinting at a breakneck speed. But it could very well be argued that Siuan had stretched herself too thin, and had fallen as a result. Who better to speak on the dangers of such activities than one who had been burned by them so deeply?

  “The advice is appreciated, daughter,” Egwene said. “But really, there is little to worry about. My days are spent in solitude, with the occasional beating to provide spice. These meetings at night help me survive.” She shivered, glancing away from Siuan, out the window toward the dirty, vacant street.

  “Is it difficult to endure?” Siuan asked softly.

  “The cell is narrow enough for me to touch opposite walls at once,” Egwene said. “And isn’t very long, either. When I lie down, I have to bend my knees to fit. I can’t stand, since the ceiling is so low it makes me stoop, and I can’t sit without pain, for they no longer Heal me between beatings. The straw is old and itches. The door is thick and the cracks don’t allow in much light. I wasn’t aware that the Tower had cells such as this one.” She glanced back at Siuan. “Once I am upheld fully as Amyrlin, this room and any like it will be removed, the doors ripped out and the cells themselves filled with bricks and mortar.”

  Siuan nodded. “We’ll make certain of it.”

  Egwene turned away again, and noticed with shame that she’d let her gown shift to the cadin’sor of an Aiel Maiden, complete with spears and bow at her back. She forced the clothing back, taking a deep breath. “No person should be kept in such a manner,” she said, “not even. . . .”

  Siuan frowned as Egwene trailed off. “What was that?”

  Egwene shook her head. “It just occurred to me. This is what it must have been like for Rand. No, worse. The stories say he was locked in a box smaller than my cell. At least I can spend part of the evenings chatting with you. He had nobody. He was without the belief that his beatings meant something.” Light send that she didn’t have to endure as long as he had. Her imprisonment had only been a few days so far.

  Siuan fell silent.

  “Regardless,” Egwene said, “I have Tel’aran’rhiod. During the days, my body is captive, but my soul is free at night. And each day I endure is another proof that Elaida’s will is not law. She cannot break me. Her support from the others is eroding. Trust me.”

  Siuan nodded. “Very well,” she said, rising. “You are Amyrlin.”

  “Of course I am,” Egwene said absently.

  “No, Egwene,” Siuan said. “I meant that from the heart.”

  Egwene turned, surprised. “But you’ve always believed in me!”

  Siuan raised an eyebrow.

  “At least,” Egwene said, “from fairly near the beginning.”

  “I always believed you had potential,” Siuan corrected. “Well, you’ve fulfilled it. Some of it at least. Enough of it. However this storm blows through, you’ve proven one thing. You deserved the place you hold. Light, girl, you may end up being the best Amyrlin this world has known this side of Artur Hawkwing’s reign!” She hesitated. “And that’s not an easy thing for me to admit, mind you.”

  Egwene took Siuan’s arms, smiling. Why, Siuan almost looked teary-eyed with pride! “All I did was get myself locked in a cell.”

  “And you did it like an Amyrlin, Egwene,” Siuan said. “But I should be getting back. Some of us can’t spend our days relaxing the way you can. We need real sleep, otherwise we’re likely to fall unconscious in our washwater.” She grimaced, releasing herself from Egwene’s hands.

  “You could just tell him to—”

  “Now, I’ll have none of that,” Siuan said, wagging a finger at Egwene. Had she forgotten that she’d just been complimenting Egwene’s stature as an Amyrlin? “I gave my word, and I’ll be fish guts before I’ll break it.”

  Egwene blinked. “I wouldn’t dream of making you,” she said, covering a smile as she noticed that Siuan’s shadowy form now had a bright red ribbon in its hair. “Off with you, then.”

  Siuan nodded sharply, then sat down and closed her eyes. She faded slowly from Tel’aran’rhiod.

  Egwene hesitated, watching the area where Siuan had been. It was probably time to return to normal dreaming, letting her mind restore itself. But returning to her normal dreams would be a step toward waking, and when she woke she would find only that cramped dungeon and its stuffy darkness. She longed to stay in the World of Dreams just a little longer. She thought of visiting Elayne’s dreams to ask for a meeting . . . but no, that would take too much time, assuming Elayne could make her dream ter’angreal work. She rarely could, these days.

  She found herself stepping away from Tar Valon, the cobbler’s shop vanishing around her.

  She appeared in the rebel Aes Sedai camp. A foolish place to visit, perhaps. If there were Darkfriends or Forsaken in the World of Dreams, they could very well be studying this camp and looking for information, much as Egwene sometimes visited the Amyrlin’s study in Tel’aran’rhiod to search for clues on Elaida’s plans. But Egwene needed to come here. She didn’t question why; she simply felt that it was true.

  The streets of the camp were muddy, worn in ruts from passing wagons. Once just a field, the area had been appropriated by the Aes Sedai and turned into . . . something. Part a place of war, with Bryne’s soldiers camped in a ring about them. Part town, though no town had ever boasted such a complement of Aes Sedai, novices and Accepted. Part monument to the weakness of the White Tower.

  Egwene walked the camp’s main thoroughfare, where weeds had been trampled to mud, then mud worn into a road. Walkways lined it, and tents covered the flat land beyond. There were no people, only the occasional fleeting glimpse of a sleeper who had stumbled into Tel’aran’rhiod. Here, a brief flash of a woman in a fine green gown. A dreaming Aes Sedai, perhaps, though it was just as likely to be a serving maid imagining herself to be a queen. There, a woman in white—a woman with stringy blond hair who was far too old to be a novice. That no longer mattered. The novice book should have long ago been opened to all. The White Tower was too weak to turn down any source of strength.

  Both women were gone almost as quickly as they appeared. Few dreamers stayed long in Tel’aran’rhiod; to remain longer, one needed either a particular skill like Egwene’s or a ter’angreal like the ring Siuan used. There was a third way. Getting caught up in a living nightmare. There were none of the latter about, thank the Light.

  The camp seemed strange to be so deserted. Egwene had long since stopped being unnerved by the eerie lack of people in Tel’aran’rhiod. But this camp was different somehow. It looked as a war camp might after all of the soldiers had been slaughtered on the battlefield. Deserted, yet still a banner to proclaim the lives of those who had occupied it. Egwene felt as if she could see the division that Siuan had talked about, tents clumped together like bunches of sprouting flowers.

  With individuals removed, she could see the patterns and the troubles they bespoke. Egwene might denounce Elaida for the rifts among the Ajahs in the White Tower, but Egwene’s own Aes Sedai were beginning to fracture as well. Well,
three Aes Sedai could hardly gather without two of them making an alliance. It was healthy to have the women planning and preparing; the trouble was when they began to regard others of their kind as enemies, rather than just rivals.

  Siuan was right, unfortunately. Egwene could not spend much more time setting her hopes on reconciliation. What if the White Tower didn’t unseat Elaida? What if, despite Egwene’s progress, the rifts between the Ajahs never healed? What then? Go to war?

  There was another option, one that none of them had brought up: that of giving up on reconciliation permanently. Setting up a second White Tower. It would mean leaving the Aes Sedai broken, perhaps forever. Egwene shuddered at the prospect, and her skin itched, rebelling against the thought.

  But what if she had no other choice? She had to consider the ramifications, and she found them daunting. How could they encourage the Kin or the Wise Ones to tie themselves to the Aes Sedai if the Aes Sedai themselves were not unified? The two White Towers would become opposed forces, confusing the leaders of men as rival Amyrlins tried to use nations for their own purposes. Allies and enemies alike would lose their awe of the Aes Sedai, and kings very well might start up their own centers for women talented in channeling.

  Egwene steeled herself, walking on the muddy road, the tents along the way changing, their flaps open, then closed, then open again in the strange ephemeral way of the World of Dreams. Egwene felt the Amyrlin’s stole appear around her neck, too heavy, as if woven with lead weights.

  She would bring the White Tower Aes Sedai to her side. Elaida would fall. But if not . . . then Egwene would do what was necessary in order to preserve the people, and the world, in the face of Tarmon Gai’don.

  She stepped away from the camp, the tents, ruts, and empty streets vanishing. Again, she wasn’t certain where her mind would take her. Traveling in the World of Dreams this way—letting need direct her—could be dangerous, but it could also be very illuminating. In this case, she looked not for an object, but for knowledge. What did she need to know, what did she need to see?