“It occurred to me,” Reanne said brightly, “that you must want to question Ispan Sedai quite urgently. Who can say what else she was up to in the city besides trying to find the storeroom?” She pretended to just be making conversation, but from time to time she darted quick looks at Elayne to see how she was taking it. “I’m sure we’ll take over an hour to reach the farm, the way we’re going, perhaps two, and you certainly don’t want to waste two hours. The herbs Nynaeve Sedai gave her make her quite talkative, and I’m sure she would sit up for sisters.”
The bright smile faded when Elayne said that questioning Ispan could wait and would. Light, did they really expect anyone to ask questions riding through forests on paths that barely deserved the name? Reanne rode back to the other Kinswomen, muttering to herself.
“Forgiveness, Elayne Sedai,” Chilares murmured a short time later, the traces of Murandy clinging to her accent. Her green straw hat matched some of her layered petticoats exactly. “Your forgiveness, if I intrude.” She did not wear the red belt of a Wise Woman; most of the Knitting Circle did not. Famelle was a goldsmith, and Eldase supplied lacquerware to the merchants for export; Chilares was a rug seller, while Reanne herself arranged shipping for small traders. Some worked at simple tasks — Kirstian ran a tiny weaver’s shop, and Dimana was a seamstress, though a prosperous one — but then, in the course of their lives, they had all followed many crafts. And used many names. “Ispan Sedai appears to be unwell,” Chilares said, shifting uneasily in her saddle. “Perhaps the herbs are affecting her more than Nynaeve Sedai thought. It would be terrible if anything happened to her. Before she can be questioned, I mean. Perhaps the sisters would look at her? Healing, you know . . . ” She trailed off, blinking those big brown eyes nervously. As well she might, with Sumeko among her companions.
A glance back showed the stout woman standing in her stirrups to peer past the Windfinders, until she saw Elayne looking and sat back down hurriedly. Sumeko, who knew more of Healing than any sister except Nynaeve. Perhaps more than Nynaeve. Elayne simply pointed to the rear until Chilares colored and reined her mount around.
Merilille joined Elayne only moments after Reanne left, and the Gray sister made a much better pretense at simple chat than the Kinswoman had. In her manner of speaking, at least, she was poise itself. What she had to say was another matter. “I wonder how trustworthy those women are, Elayne.” Her lips pursed in distaste as she brushed dust from her divided blue skirts with a gloved hand. “They say they do not take in wilders, but Reanne herself may well be a wilder, whatever she claims about failing her test for Accepted. Sumeko, as well, and certainly Kirstian.” A slight frown for Kirstian, a dismissive shake of her head. “You must have noticed how she leaps at any mention of the Tower. She knows no more than she might have picked up in conversation with someone who really was put out.” Merilille sighed, regretting what she had to say; she really was very good. “Have you considered that they may be lying about other things? They could be Darkfriends, for all we know, or dupes of Darkfriends. Perhaps not, but they are hardly to be trusted very far. I believe there is a farm, whether they really use it for a retreat or not, or I would not have agreed to this, but I will not be surprised to find a few ramshackle buildings and a dozen or so wilders. Well, not ramshackle — they do seem to have coin — but the principle is the same. No, they are simply not trustworthy.”
Elayne began a slow burn as soon as she realized the direction Merilille was taking, and it grew hotter. As this slipping around, all this “may” and “could” so the woman could insinuate things she herself did not believe. Darkfriends? The Knitting Circle had fought Darkfriends. Two had died. And without Sumeko and Ieine, Nynaeve might be dead instead of Ispan a prisoner. No, the reason they were not to be trusted was not because Merilille feared they were sworn to the Shadow, or she would have said so. They were not to be trusted because if they were not trusted, then they could not be allowed to hold Ispan.
She swatted a big green fly that had settled on Lioness’s neck, punctuating Merilille’s last word with a loud crack, and the Gray sister jerked in surprise. “How dare you?” Elayne breathed. “They faced Ispan and Falion in the Rahad, and the gholam, not to mention two dozen or more toughs with swords. You weren’t there.” That was hardly fair. Merilille and the rest had been left behind because Aes Sedai in the Rahad, obvious Aes Sedai, might as well be trumpets and drums for the attention they attracted. She did not care. Her anger grew by the moment, and her voice rose by the word. “You will never suggest such a thing to me again. Never! Not without hard evidence! Not without proof! If you do, I’ll set you a penance that will make your eyes pop!” No matter how high she stood above the other woman, she had no authority to set her any penance at all, but she did not care about that, either. I’ll make you walk the rest of the way to Tar Valon! Eating nothing but bread and water the entire way! I’ll put you in their charge, and tell them to slap you down if you say boo to a goose!”
It dawned on her that she was shouting. Some sort of gray-and-white birds went flittering past overhead in a broad band, and she was drowning out their cries. Drawing a deep breath, she tried to calm herself. She did not have a voice for shouting; it always came out as a shriek. Everyone was looking at her, most in astonishment. Aviendha nodded approvingly. Of course, she have done the same had Elayne plunged a knife into Merilille’s heart. Aviendha stood beside her friends no matter what. Merilille’s Cairhienin paleness had become dead white.
“I mean what I say,” Elayne told her, in a much cooler tone. It seemed to make even more blood leave Merilille’s face. She did mean every word; they could not afford that sort of rumor floating among them. One way or another she would see it done, though the Knitting Circle very likely would faint.
She hoped that was the end of it. It should have been. But when Chilares left, Sareitha replaced her, and she too had a reason the Kinswomen were not to be trusted. Their ages. Even Kirstian claimed to be older than any living Aes Sedai, while Reanne was over a hundred years more than that and not even the oldest of the Kin. Her title of Eldest went to the oldest of them in Ebou Dar, and the rigid schedule they followed to avoid notice had a number of still older women off in other places. It was obviously impossible, Sareitha maintained.
Elayne did not shout; she very carefully did not shout. “We will learn the truth eventually,” she told Sareitha. She did not doubt the Kinswomen’s word, but there had to be a reason why the Kinswomen looked neither ageless nor anything near the ages they claimed. If she could only puzzle it out. Something told her it was obvious, but nothing leaped up said what. “Eventually,” she added firmly when the Brown opened her mouth again. “That will be enough, Sareitha.” Sareitha nodded uncertainly and fell back. Not ten minutes later, Sibella replaced her.
Every time one of the Kinswomen came to make her roundabout plea to be relieved of Ispan, one of the sisters came soon after to offer the same plea. All save Merilille, who still blinked whenever Elayne looked at her. Perhaps shouting did have its uses. Certainly no one else tried to be so straightforward in attacking the Kin.
For instance, Vandene began with discussing the Sea Folk and how to counter the effects of the bargain made with them, why it was necessary to counter them as much as possible. She was quite matter-of-fact, with never a word or gesture to lay any blame. Not that she needed any; the subject did that, however delicately handled. The White Tower, she said, maintained its influence in the world not by force of arms, or persuasion, or even by plotting or manipulation, though those two she brushed past lightly. Rather the White Tower controlled or influenced events to whatever extent they did because everyone saw the Tower as standing apart and above, as more even than kings or queens. That in turn depended on every Aes Sedai being seen that way, as mysterious and apart, different from everyone else. A different flesh. Historically, Aes Sedai who could not manage that — and there were a few — were kept out of public view as much as possible.
It took Elayne a littl
e while to realize that the thrust of the conversation had shifted away from the Sea Folk, and to see where it was headed. A different flesh, mysterious and apart, could not have a sack thrust over its head and be tied across a saddle. Not where anyone who was not Aes Sedai could see, anyway. In truth, the sisters would be rougher on Ispan than the Knitting Circle could possibly make themselves be, just not in public. The argument might have borne more weight had it come first, but as it was, Elayne sent Vandene packing as quickly as she did anyone else. And saw her replaced by Adeleas, right after Sibella was told that if none of the Knitting Circle could understand what Ispan was mumbling, then none of the sisters was likely to either. Mumbling! Light! The Aes Sedai took their repeated turns, and even knowing what they were up to, sometimes it was hard to see the connection at first. By the time Careane began by telling her that those boulders really had been toes once, supposedly on a statue of some warrior queen nearly two hundred feet high . . .
“Ispan stays where she is,” she told Careane coolly without waiting for more. “Now, unless you really want to tell me why the Shiotans thought of putting up a statue like that . . . ” The Green said ancient records claimed it had worn little more than armor, and not a great deal of that! A queen! “No? Then, if you don’t mind, I’d like to talk with Aviendha alone. Thank you so much.” Even being curt did not stop them, of course. She was surprised they did not send Merilille’s maid to take a turn.
None of this would have happened had Nynaeve been where she was meant to be. At least, Elayne was sure that Nynaeve could have quelled the Knitting Circle and the sisters both, in short order. She was a great one for quelling. The problem was that Nynaeve had glued herself tight to Lan’s side before they left the first clearing. The Warders scouted ahead and to both sides of their path, and sometimes to the rear, only riding back to the column long enough to report what they had seen or give directions on how to avoid a farm or a shepherd. Birgitte ranged far, never spending more than moments with Elayne. Lan ranged farther. And where Lan went, Nynaeve went.
“No one’s making any trouble, are they?” she demanded with a dark stare for the Sea Folk, the first time she followed Lan back. “Well, that’s all right, then,” she said before Elayne had a chance to open her mouth. Spinning her round-bellied mare like a racer, she nicked the reins and galloped after Lan holding her hat on with one hand, catching up to him just as he vanished around the flank of the hill ahead. Of course, then there really was nothing to complain about. Reanne had made her visit, and Merilille hers, and everything seemed settled.
By the next time Nynaeve appeared, Elayne had suffered through a number of disguised attempts to have Ispan turned over to the sisters, Aviendha had spoken to Kurin, and the Windfinders were on a slow boil, but when Elayne explained, Nynaeve simply looked around, frowning. Of course, right at that moment everyone had to be where they belonged. The Atha’an Miere wore glares, true, but the Knitting Circle were all behind them, and as for the other sisters, no group of novices could have appeared more well-behaved and innocent. Elayne wanted to shriek!
“I’m sure you can handle everything, Elayne,” Nynaeve said. “You have had all that training to be a queen. This can’t be anywhere near so — Drat the man! He’s going again! You can handle it.” And off she went, galloping that poor mare as though it were a warhorse.
That was when Aviendha chose to discuss how Rand seemed to like kissing the sides of her neck. And incidentally how much she had liked it. Elayne had liked that when he did it to her, too, but however used to discussing this sort of thing she had become — uncomfortably used to it — she did not want to talk about it right then. She was angry with Rand. It was unfair, but if not for him, she could have told Nynaeve to stop treating Lan like a child who might trip over his own feet and attend to her own duties. She almost wanted to blame him for the way the Knitting Circle was behaving, too, and the other sisters, and the Windfinders. It’s one of the things men are for, taking the blame, she remembered Lini saying once, and laughing while she did. They usually deserve it, even if you don’t know exactly how. Not fair, yet she wished he were there long enough for her to box his ears, just once. Long enough to kiss him, to have him kiss the sides of her neck softly. Long enough to . . .
“He will listen to advice, even when he doesn’t like hearing it,” she said abruptly, her face reddening. Light, for all her talk about shame, in some areas Aviendha had none. And it seemed that she herself no longer had any, either! “But if I tried to push him, he dug in his heels even when it was plain that I was right. Was he that way with you?”
Aviendha glanced at her and appeared to understand. Elayne was not sure whether she liked that or not. At least there was no more talk of Rand and kissing. For a while, anyway. Aviendha had some knowledge of men — she had traveled with them as a Maiden of the Spear, fought beside them — but she had never wanted to be anything but Far Dareis Mai, and there were . . . gaps. Even with her dolls as a child she had always played at the spears and raiding. She had never flirted, did not understand it, and she did not understand why she felt the way she did when Rand’s eyes fell on her, or a hundred other things Elayne had begun learning the first time she noticed a boy looking at her differently than he did at the other boys. She expected Elayne to teach her all of it, and Elayne tried. She really could talk to Aviendha about anything. If only Rand had not been the example used quite so often. If he had been there, she would have boxed his ears. And kissed him. Then boxed his ears again.
Not a pleasant ride at all. A miserable ride.
Nynaeve made several more brief visits, before finally coming to announce that the Kin’s farm lay just ahead, out of sight around a low rounded hill that appeared ready to fall on its side. Reanne had been pessimistic in her estimate; the sun had not fallen nearly two hours’ worth.
“We’ll be there very quickly, now,” Nynaeve told Elayne, not seeming to notice the sullen stare Elayne gave in return. “Lan, fetch Reanne up here, please. Best if they see a familiar face right away.” He whirled his horse away, and Nynaeve turned in her saddle briefly to fix the sisters with a firm eye. “I don’t want you frightening them, now. You hold your tongues until we have a chance to explain what’s what. And hide your faces. Pull up the hoods of your cloaks.” Straightening without waiting for any reply, she gave a satisfied nod. “There. All settled, and all right. I vow, Elayne, I don’t know what you were moaning so about. Everyone’s doing exactly as they should, so far as I can see.”
Elayne ground her teeth. She wished they were in Caemlyn already. That was where they were heading once this was done. She had duties long overdue in Caemlyn. All she had to deal with there was convincing the stronger Houses that the Lion Throne was hers despite her long absence, that and handling a rival claimant or two. There might not have been any had she been there when her mother vanished, when she died, but the history of Andor said there would be by now. Somehow, it seemed ever so much easier than this.
Chapter 4
A Quiet Place
* * *
The Kin’s farm lay in a broad hollow surrounded by three low hills, a sprawling affair of more than a dozen large, white-plastered buildings with flat roofs, gleaming in the sun. Four great barns were built right into the slope of the highest hill, a flat-topped thing with one side that fell away in steep cliffs beyond the barns. A few tall trees that had not lost all of their leaves provided a modicum of shade in the farmyard. To the north and east, olive groves marched away and even up the sides of the hills. A sort of slow bustle enveloped the farm, with easily over a hundred people in evidence despite the afternoon heat, carrying on all the everyday tasks but none quickly.
It might almost have passed for a small village instead of a farm, except that there was not a man or a child to be seen. Elayne did not expect any. This was a waypoint for Kinswomen passing through Ebou Dar to elsewhere, so there would not be too many in the city itself at one time, but that was a secret matter, as secret as the Kin themselves. Publicly
this farm was known for two hundred miles or more as a retreat for women, a place for contemplation and escape from the cares of the world for a time, a few days, a week, sometimes longer. Elayne could almost feel serenity in the air. She might have regretted bringing the world into this quiet place, except that she also brought new hope.
The first appearance of the horses coming around the leaning hill produced far less stir than she expected. A number of the women stopped to watch, but no more than that. Their clothing varied widely — Elayne even saw a sheen of silk here and there — but some carried baskets and others buckets, or great white bundles of what had to be wash. One held a pair of bound ducks by the feet in either hand. Noblewoman and craftswoman, farmer and beggar, all were equally welcome here, but everyone did a share of the work during her stay. Aviendha touched Elayne’s arm, then pointed to the top of one of the hills, a thing like an inverted funnel skewed to one side. Elayne added a hand to the shade of her hat and after a moment saw movement. Small wonder no one was surprised. Lookouts up there could see anyone coming from a long way.
A middling woman walked out to meet them short of the farm buildings. Her dress was in the Ebou Dari style, with a deep narrow neckline, but her dark skirts and brightly colored petticoats were short enough that she did not need to hold them up out of the dust. She did not wear a marriage knife; the Kin’s rules prohibited marriage. The Kin had too many secrets to keep.
“That’s Alise,” Reanne murmured, reining in between Nynaeve and Elayne. “She runs the farm this turn. She’s very intelligent.” Almost like an afterthought, she added, even more quietly, “Alise does not suffer fools gladly.” As Alise approached, Reanne drew herself up in her saddle, squaring her shoulders as though for an ordeal.
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