He smiled again. “I should have expected nothing less. Strange, but I feel that seeing her again will hurt, though that is one wound that has well and truly healed. I can still remember the pain of it, I suppose.”
Light, but this man was making a muddle of her expectations! The White Tower was a place that should have unnerved any man who could channel, Dragon Reborn or not. Yet he didn’t seem worried in the least.
She opened her mouth, but was cut off as an Aes Sedai pushed through the group. Tiana?
The woman pulled something out of her sleeve and proffered it to Rand. A small letter with a red seal. “This is for you,” she said. Her voice sounded tense, and her fingers trembled, though the tremble was so faint that most would have missed it. Siuan had learned to look for signs of emotion in Aes Sedai, however.
Al’Thor raised an eyebrow, then reached over and took it. “What is it?”
“I promised to deliver it,” Tiana said. “I would have said no, but I never thought you’d actually come to…I mean…” She cut herself off, closing her mouth. Then she withdrew into the crowd.
Al’Thor slipped the note into his pocket without reading it. “Do your best to calm Egwene when I am done,” he said to Siuan. Then he took a deep breath and strode forward, ignoring his guards. They hastened after him, the Warders looking sheepish, but nobody dared touch him as he strode between the doors and into the Hall of the Tower.
Hairs bristled on Egwene’s arms as Rand came into the room, unaccompanied. Aes Sedai outside crowded around the doorway, trying to look as if they were not gawking. Silviana glanced at Egwene. Should this meeting be Sealed to the Hall?
No, Egwene thought. They need to see me confront him. Light, but I don’t feel ready for this.
There was no helping it. She steeled herself, repeating in her head the same words she’d been going over all morning. This was not Rand al’Thor, friend of her childhood, the man she’d assumed that she’d one day marry. Rand al’Thor she could be lenient with, but leniency here could bring about the end of the world.
No. This man was the Dragon Reborn. The most dangerous man ever to draw breath. Tall, much more confident than she ever remembered him being. He wore simple clothing.
He walked directly into the center of the Hall, his Warder guards remaining outside. He stopped in the center of the Flame on the floor, surrounded by Sitters in their seats.
“Egwene,” Rand said, voice echoing in the chamber. He nodded to her, as if in respect. “You have done your part, I see. The Amyrlin’s stole fits you well.”
From what she had heard of Rand recently, she had not anticipated such calm in him. Perhaps it was the calm of the criminal who had finally given himself up.
Was that how she thought of him? As a criminal? He had done acts that certainly seemed criminal; he had destroyed, he had conquered. When she’d last spent any length of time with Rand, they had traveled through the Aiel Waste. He had become a hard man during those months, and she saw that hardness in him still. But there was something else, something deeper.
“What has happened to you?” she found herself asking as she leaned forward on the Amyrlin Seat.
“I was broken,” Rand said, hands behind his back. “And then, remarkably, I was reforged. I think he almost had me, Egwene. It was Cadsuane who set me to fixing it, though she did so by accident. Still, I shall have to lift her exile, I suspect.”
He spoke differently. There was a formality to his words that she didn’t recognize. In another man, she would have assumed a cultured, educated background. But Rand didn’t have that. Could tutors have trained him so quickly?
“Why have you come before the Amyrlin Seat?” she asked. “Have you come to make a petition, or have you come to surrender yourself to the White Tower’s guidance?”
He studied her, hands still behind his back. Just behind him, thirteen sisters quietly filed into the Hall, the glow of saidar around them as they maintained his shield.
Rand didn’t seem to care about that. He studied the room, looking at the various Sitters. His eyes lingered on the seats of Reds, two of which were empty. Pevara and Javindhra hadn’t yet returned from their unknown mission. Only Barasine—newly chosen to replace Duhara—was in attendance. To her credit, she met Rand’s eyes evenly.
“I’ve hated you before,” Rand said, turning back to Egwene. “I’ve felt a lot of emotions, in recent months. It seems that from the very moment Moiraine came to the Two Rivers, I’ve been struggling to avoid Aes Sedai strings of control. And yet, I allowed other strings—more dangerous strings—to wrap around me unseen.
“It occurs to me that I’ve been trying too hard. I worried that if I listened to you, you’d control me. It wasn’t a desire for independence that drove me, but a fear of irrelevance. A fear that the acts I accomplished would be yours, and not my own.” He hesitated. “I should have wished for such a convenient set of backs upon which to heap the blame for my crimes.”
Egwene frowned. The Dragon Reborn had come to the White Tower to engage in idle philosophy? Perhaps he had gone mad. “Rand,” Egwene said, softening her tone. “I’m going to have some sisters talk to you to decide if there is anything…wrong with you. Please try to understand.”
Once they knew more about his state, they could decide what to do with him. The Dragon Reborn did need freedom to do as the prophecies said he would, but could they simply let him roam away, now that they had him?
Rand smiled. “Oh, I do understand, Egwene. And I am sorry to deny you, but I have too much to do. People starve because of me, others live in terror of what I have done. A friend rides to his death without allies. There is so little time to do what I must.”
“Rand,” Egwene said, “we have to make sure.”
He nodded, as if in understanding. “This is the part I regret. I did not wish to come into your center of power, which you have achieved so well, and defy you. But it cannot be helped. You must know what my plans are so that you can prepare.
“The last time I tried to seal the Bore, I was forced to do it without the help of the women. That was part of what led to disaster, though they may have been wise to deny me their strength. Well, blame must be spread evenly, but I will not make the same mistakes a second time. I believe that saidin and saidar must both be used. I don’t have the answers yet.”
Egwene leaned forward, studying him. There didn’t seem to be madness in his eyes. She knew those eyes. She knew Rand.
Light, she thought. I’m wrong. I can’t think of him only as the Dragon Reborn. I’m here for a reason. He’s here for a reason. To me, he must be Rand. Because Rand can be trusted, while the Dragon Reborn must be feared.
“Which are you?” she whispered unconsciously.
He heard. “I am both, Egwene. I remember him. Lews Therin. I can see his entire life, every desperate moment. I see it like a dream, but a clear dream. My own dream. It’s part of me.”
The words were those of a madman, but they were spoken evenly. She looked at him, and remembered the youth that he had been. The earnest young man. Not solemn like Perrin, but not wild like Mat. Solid, straightforward. The type of man you could trust with anything.
Even the fate of the world.
“In one month’s time,” Rand said, “I’m going to travel to Shayol Ghul and break the last remaining seals on the Dark One’s prison. I want your help.”
Break the seals? She saw the image from her dream, Rand hacking at the ropes that bound the crystalline globe. “Rand, no,” she said.
“I’m going to need you, all of you,” he continued. “I hope to the Light that this time, you will give me your support. I want you to meet with me on the day before I go to Shayol Ghul. And then…well, then we will discuss my terms.”
“Your terms?” Egwene demanded.
“You will see,” he said, turning as if to leave.
“Rand al’Thor!” she said, rising. “You will not turn your back on the Amyrlin Seat!”
He froze, then turned back toward h
er.
“You can’t break the seals,” Egwene said. “That would risk letting the Dark One free.”
“A risk we must take. Clear away the rubble. The Bore must be opened fully again before it can be sealed.”
“We must talk about this,” she said. “Plan.”
“That is why I came to you. To let you plan.”
He seemed amused. Light! She sat back down, angry. That bullheadedness of his was just like that of his father. “There are things we must speak of, Rand. Not just this, but other things—the sisters your men have bonded not the least among them.”
“We can speak of that when we next meet.”
She frowned at him.
“And so here we come to it,” Rand said. He bowed to her—a shallow bow, almost more a tip of the head. “Egwene al’Vere, Watcher of the Seals, Flame of Tar Valon, may I have your permission to withdraw?”
He asked it so politely. She couldn’t tell if he was mocking her or not. She met his eyes. Don’t make me do anything I would regret, his expression seemed to say.
Could she really confine him here? After what she’d said to Elaida about him needing to be free?
“I will not let you break the seals,” she said. “That is madness.”
“Then meet with me at the place known as the Field of Merrilor, just to the north. We will talk before I go to Shayol Ghul. For now, I do not want to defy you, Egwene. But I must go.”
Neither of them looked away. The others in the room seemed not to breathe. The chamber was still enough for Egwene to hear the faint breeze making the rose window groan in its lead.
“Very well,” Egwene said. “But this is not ended, Rand.”
“There are no endings, Egwene,” he replied, then nodded to her and turned to walk from the Hall. Light! He was missing his left hand! How had that happened?
The sisters and Warders reluctantly parted for him. Egwene raised a hand to her head, feeling dizzy.
“Light!” Silviana said. “How could you think during that, Mother?”
“What?” Egwene looked about the Hall. Many of the Sitters were slumping visibly in their seats.
“Something gripped my heart,” Barasine said, raising a hand to her breast, “squeezing it tight. I didn’t dare speak.”
“I tried to speak,” Yukiri said. “My mouth wouldn’t move.”
“Ta’veren,” Saerin said. “But an effect as strong as that…I felt that it would crush me from the inside.”
“How did you resist it, Mother?” Silviana asked.
Egwene frowned. She hadn’t felt that way. Perhaps because she thought of him as Rand. “We need to discuss his words. The Hall of the Tower will reconvene in one hour’s time for discussion.” That conversation would be Sealed to the Hall. “And someone follow to make sure he really leaves.”
“Gareth Bryne is doing so,” Chubain said from outside.
The Sitters pulled themselves to their feet, shaken. Silviana leaned down. “You’re right, Mother. He can’t be allowed to break the seals. But what are we to do? If you won’t hold him captive…”
“I doubt we could have held him,” Egwene said. “There’s something about him. I…I had the sense he could have broken that shield without a struggle.”
“Then how? How do we stop him?”
“We need allies,” Egwene said. She took a deep breath. “He might be persuaded by people that he trusts.” Or he might be forced to change his mind if confronted by a large enough group united to stop him.
It was now more vital that she speak with Elayne and Nynaeve.
Chapter 4
The Pattern Groans
“What is it?” Perrin asked, trying to ignore the sharp scent of rotting meat. He couldn’t see any corpses, but by his nose, the ground should be littered with them.
He stood with an advance group at the side of the Jehannah Road, looking northward across a rolling plain with few trees. The grass was brown and yellow, as in other places, but it grew darker farther away from the road, as if infected with some disease.
“I’ve seen this before,” Seonid said. The diminutive, pale-skinned Aes Sedai stooped at the edge of the road, turning the leaf of a small weed over in her fingers. She wore green wool, fine but unornamented, her only jewelry her Great Serpent ring.
Thunder rumbled softly above. Six Wise Ones stood behind Seonid, arms folded, faces unreadable. Perrin hadn’t considered telling the Wise Ones—or their two Aes Sedai apprentices—to stay behind. He was probably lucky they let him accompany them.
“Yes,” Nevarin said, bracelets clattering as she knelt and took the leaf from Seonid. “I visited the Blight once as a girl; my father felt it important for me to see. This looks like what I saw there.”
Perrin had been to the Blight only once, but the look of those dark specks was indeed distinctive. A redjay fluttered down to one of the distant trees and began picking at branches and leaves, but found nothing of interest and took wing again.
The disturbing thing was, the plants here seemed better than many they’d passed along the way. Covered with spots, but alive, even thriving.
Light, Perrin thought, taking the leaf as Nevarin handed it to him. It smelled of decay. What kind of world is it where the Blight is the good alternative?
“Mori circled the entire patch,” Nevarin said, nodding to a Maiden standing nearby. “It grows darker near the center. She could not see what was there.”
Perrin nudged Stayer down off the road. Faile followed; she didn’t smell the least bit afraid, though Perrin’s Two Rivers armsmen hesitated.
“Lord Perrin?” Wil called.
“It’s probably not dangerous,” Perrin said. “Animals still move in and out of it.” The Blight was dangerous because of what lived there. And if those beasts had somehow come southward, they needed to know. The Aiel strode after him without a comment. And since Faile had joined him, Berelain had to as well, Annoura and Gallenne trailing her. Blessedly, Alliandre had agreed to remain behind, in charge of the camp and refugees while Perrin was away.
The horses were already skittish, and the surroundings didn’t help their moods any. Perrin breathed through his mouth to dampen the stench of rot and death. The ground was wet here too—if only those clouds would pass so they could get some good sunlight to dry the soil—and the horses’ footing was treacherous, so they took their time. Most of the meadow was covered in grass, clover and small weeds, and the farther they rode, the more pervasive the dark spots became. Within minutes, many of the plants were more brown than they were green or yellow.
Eventually they came to a small dale nestled amid three hillsides. Perrin pulled Stayer to a halt; the others bunched up around him. There was a strange village here. The buildings were huts built from an odd type of wood, like large reeds, and the roofs were thatch—but thatch built from enormous leaves, as wide as two man’s palms.
There were no plants here, only a very sandy soil. Perrin slid free of the saddle and stooped down to feel it, rubbing the gritty stuff between his fingers. He looked at the others. They smelled confused.
He cautiously led Stayer forward into the center of the village. The Blight was radiating from this point, but the village itself showed no touch of it. Maidens scattered forward, veils in place, Sulin at their head. They did a quick inspection of the huts, signing to one another with quick gestures, then returned.
“Nobody?” Faile asked.
“No,” Sulin said, cautiously lowering her veil. “This place is deserted.”
“Who would build a village like this,” Perrin asked, “in Ghealdan of all places?”
“It wasn’t built here,” Masuri said.
Perrin turned toward the slender Aes Sedai.
“This village is not native to this area,” Masuri said. “The wood is unlike anything I’ve seen before.”
“The Pattern groans,” Berelain said softly. “The dead walking, the odd deaths. In cities, rooms vanish and food spoils.”
Perrin scratched his chin, re
membering a day when his axe had tried to kill him. If entire villages were vanishing and appearing in other places, if the Blight was growing out of rifts where the Pattern was fraying…Light! How bad were things becoming?
“Burn the village,” he said, turning. “Use the One Power. Scour as many of the tainted plants as you can. Maybe we can keep it from spreading. We’ll move the army to that camp an hour away, and will stay there tomorrow if you need more time.”
For once, neither the Wise Ones nor the Aes Sedai voiced so much as a sniff of complaint at the direct order.
Hunt with us, brother.
Perrin found himself in the wolf dream. He vaguely remembered sitting drowsily by the dwindling light of an open lamp, a single flame shivering on its tip, waiting to hear a report from those dealing with the strange village. He had been reading a copy of The Travels of Jain Farstrider that Gaul had found among the salvage from Malden.
Now Perrin lay on his back in the middle of a large field with grass as tall as a man’s waist. He gazed up, grass brushing his cheeks and arms as it shivered in the wind. In the sky, that same storm brewed, here as in the waking world. More violent here.
Staring up at it—his vision framed by the stalks of brown and green grass and stems of wild millet—he could almost feel the storm growing closer. As if it was crawling down out of the sky to engulf him.
Young Bull! Come! Come hunt!
The voice was that of a wolf. Perrin by instinct knew that she was called Oak Dancer, named for the way she had scampered between saplings as a whelp. There were others, too. Whisperer. Morninglight. Sparks. Boundless. A good dozen wolves called to him, some living wolves who slept, others the spirits of wolves who had died.
They called to him with a mixture of scents and images and sounds. The smell of a spring buck, pocking the earth with its leaps. Fallen leaves crumbling beneath running wolves. The growls of victory, the thrill of a pack running together.
The invitations awakened something deep within him, the wolf he tried to keep locked away. But a wolf could not be locked up for long. It either escaped or it died; it would not stand captivity. He longed to leap to his feet and send his joyous acceptance, losing himself in the pack. He was Young Bull, and he was welcome here.
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