Towers of midnight wot-13

by Robert Jordan

"Maybe we should try," Noal said.

  Mat nodded to him. He did not like being separated, but they did need to know if this was a way back or not. Noal looked determined and stepped through. He vanished.

  Mat held his breath for a long moment, but the aged man did not return. Was it a trick? Had this doorway been placed here to— Noal stumbled back into the room through the opening. Thom set his torch on the floor and dashed over to help. Noal recovered more quickly this time, blinking away the blindness. "It sealed me out," he explained. "I had to draw another triangle to get back in."

  "At least we know we've got a means of escape," Thom said.

  Assuming those bloody Aelfinn or Eelfinn don't move it, Mat thought, remembering his previous visit, the one that had ended with him being hanged. That time, the rooms and corridors had shifted mysteriously, in total defiance of what was right.

  "Will you look at that?" Thom said.

  Mat lowered his spear and Noal had an iron shortsword in his hand in a moment. Thom was pointing at his torch, which burned fitfully where he had set it on the floor beside one of the glowing steam vents.

  The white steam pushed away from the flames, like it was being blown by a breeze. Only, no breeze ever made steam move so unnaturally. It curved around the fire in a loop. Thom stepped over and picked up the torch. He moved it toward the column of steam, and it bowed out of the way. Thom rammed the torch directly into the steam's path, and the steam split, going around the flame and melding together into a single stream again above.

  Thom glanced at the others.

  "Don't ask me," Mat said, scowling. "I said this place doesn't make sense. If that's the oddest thing we see here, I'll be a Murandian's mustache. Come on."

  Mat picked one of the hallways and began to walk down it. The other two hurried to catch up. The steam glowed on the ceiling, bathing the black hallway with its milky light. The floor was made of interlocking triangular tiles that, once again, looked discomfortingly like scales. The corridor was wide and long, the other end distant and dark.

  "To think," Noal said, holding up his lantern, "all of this hidden in that single tower."

  "I doubt we're in the tower anymore," Mat said. Up ahead, he could see a slice out of the side of the wall, a kind of window. It was set up a little too high up to feel natural.

  "Then where…" Noal trailed off as they reached the window, which was an off-center square. Through it, they could look out at an unnatural landscape. They were up several floors in some kind of spire, but that certainly was not Andor outside.

  The window looked out over a canopy of dense vegetation that was too yellow. Mat recognized the wispy trees with a drooping umbrella of branches at the top, though before he had seen them from below. The fernlike trees with their spreading fans of leaves were familiar as well, though those had deep black fruits hanging from them now. The large fruits caused the leaves to droop.

  "Mercy of the Winnower," Noal whispered, a phrase Mat had never heard before.

  Noal had reason to be astonished; Mat remembered looking out at that forest for the first time, realizing that the twisted doorway had not brought him to another place, but another world entirely.

  Mat looked to the side. Could he see the three spires he had noted on his first visit? They did not seem to be about, though in this place, the very next window they passed could show a different scene. They could…

  He paused, then glanced sharply through the window. He could make out a spire to the left. And then he knew. He was in one of the spires he had seen in the distance during his first visit.

  He stifled a shiver and turned away. At least he knew for certain he was in the same place. Did that mean that the worlds of the Aelfinn and the Eelfinn were the same? He hoped so. Moiraine had fallen through the second of the twisted red doorways, which meant she had most likely been taken by the Eelfinn, the foxes.

  They were the ones who had hanged Mat; the snakes, at least, had only tossed him out of their realm without any useful answers. He bore them a grudge, but the foxes… they had refused to answer his questions, and had given him these bloody memories instead!

  Mat and the others continued down the hallway, their footsteps echoing against the flooring. Soon, Mat began to get the sense that he was being watched. He had felt it before, on his other visits. He turned to the side, and caught a glimpse of faint motion far behind.

  He spun, preparing to toss his torch aside and fight with his ashandarei, but saw nothing. The other two froze, looking about, anxious. Mat continued on sheepishly, though he felt less so after Thom did the same thing a short time later. Thom went so far as to throw a knife at a darkened patch of the wall.

  The iron weapon clanked against the surface. The dull ring echoed for far too long in the hallway.

  "Sorry," Thom said.

  "It's all right," Mat said.

  "They're watching us, aren't they?" Noal asked. His voice was soft faintly nervous. Light! Mat felt as if he was going to jump out of his skin and run away, leaving it behind. Compared to that, Noal seemed steady.

  "I suspect they are, at that," Mat said.

  Within a few moments, they reached the end of the too-long hallway Here, they entered a chamber that was identical to the first, save it had no doorway in the center. It split off in four directions, each corridor disappearing into the distant darkness.

  They picked another direction, memorizing the path they were taking, unseen eyes scratching at their backs. His footsteps grew more hurried as they traversed the length of the hallway and entered another chamber. It was exactly like the previous one.

  "Easy to be disoriented in a place like this," Noal said. He opened his pack and got out a sheet of paper and a charcoal pencil. He made three dots on his paper, then connected them by lines, representing the corridors and rooms they'd gone through. "It's all a matter of keeping a good map. A good map can mean life or death; you can trust me on that."

  Mat turned around, looking back the way they had come. Part of him wanted to keep going, not look backward, but he had to know. "Come on," he said, going back the way they had come.

  Thom and Noal shared looks, but once again hurried to catch up. It took them a good half-hour to retrace their steps back to the first chamber, the one that should contain the doorway. They found it empty. Those columns of steam rose from the corners. They had in the other two rooms, too.

  "Impossible!" Noal said. "We retraced our steps perfectly! The way out should be here."

  In the distance—faint and almost inaudible—Mat heard laughter. A hissing, dangerous laughter. Malicious.

  Mat's skin grew icy. "Thom," he said, "you ever hear a story about Birgitte Silverbow and her visit to the Tower of Ghenjei?"

  "Birgitte?" Thom asked, looking up from his inspection—with Noal—of the floor. They seemed convinced that the doorway must have been pulled down into some hidden trapdoor. "No, can't say that I have.

  "What about a story of a woman trapped for two months in a maze of corridors inside a fortress?"

  "Two months?" Thom said. "Well, no. But there's the tale of Elmiara and the Shadoweyes. She spent a hundred days wandering in a maze, looking for the infamous healing spring of Sund to save her lover's life."

  That was probably it. The story had survived; it had changed forms, the way so many of them did. "She didn't get out, did she?"

  "No. She died at the end, only two steps away from the fountain, but separated from it by a wall. She could hear it bubbling; it was the last sound she heard before dying from thirst." He glanced about uncomfortably, as if uncertain he wanted to be sharing such a story in this place.

  Mat shook his head, worried. Burn him, but he hated these foxes. There had to be a way to—

  "You have broken the bargain," a soft voice said.

  Mat spun and the other two cursed, standing up, hands on weapons. A figure stood in the hallway behind them. It was one of the creatures Mat remembered, perhaps the exact same one who had met him last time. Short, bright red hair
sprouted from the creature's pale scalp. A pair of ears clung to the head, slightly pointed at the tips. The figure was willowy and tall, the shoulders disproportionately wide for the waist, and it wore pale leather straps crossed the chest—Mat still did not want to think about what those might have been made of—and a long black kilt below.

  It was the face that was most distinctive. Large, unnatural eyes, pale with a shade of iris in the center. A narrow jaw and angular features. Like a fox. One of the Eelfinn, masters of this realm.

  It had come to play with the mice.

  "There is no bargain this way," Mat said, trying to keep the nervousness from his voice. "We can bloody bring what we want."

  "Having no bargain is dangerous," the Eelfinn said in a smooth voice. "For you. Fortunately, I can take you where you desire."

  "Well, then," Mat said. "Do it."

  "Leave your iron," the Eelfinn said. "Your implements of music. Your fire."

  "Never," Mat said.

  The Eelfinn blinked large eyes. Slowly, deliberately. It stepped forward, footsteps soft. Mat raised his ashandarei, but the Eelfinn made no directly threatening moves. It glided around the three of them, speaking softly.

  "Come now," it said. "Can we not speak with civility? You have come to our realm seeking. We have power to grant what you wish, what you need. Why not show good faith? Leave behind your implements of fire. Those only, and I promise to lead you for a time."

  Its voice was hypnotic, soothing. It did make sense. What need had they of fire? It was light enough with that mist. It…

  "Thom," Mat said. "Music."

  "What?" Thom said, shaking a little bit.

  "Play anything. It doesn't matter what."

  Thom took out his flute, and the Eelfinn narrowed its eyes. Thom began playing. It was a familiar song, "The Wind That Shakes the Willows" Mat had intended to soothe the Eelfinn, maybe put it off guard. But the familiar tune seemed to help dispel the cloud on Mat's mind.

  "This isn't needed," the Eelfinn said, glaring at Thom.

  "Yes it is," Mat said. "And we're not bloody leaving our fire. Not unless you promise to take us all the way to the central chamber and give us back Moiraine."

  "I cannot make that bargain," the creature said, continuing to walk around them. Mat turned to follow it, never letting his back to the thing. "I have not the authority."

  "Bring someone who can."

  "Impossible," the Eelfinn said. "Listen to me. Fire isn't needed. I will lead you half of the way to the central chamber, the Chamber of Bonds, should you leave behind that terrible fire. It offends us. We wish only to meet your desires."

  The creature was obviously trying to lull them again, but its cadence was off, at odds with Thom's playing. Mat watched it, then began to sing along with the flute playing. He did not have the best voice among those he knew, but he was not terrible either. The Eelfinn yawned, then settled down beside the wall and closed its eyes. In moments, it was sleeping.

  Thom lowered the flute form his lips, looking impressed.

  "Nicely done," Noal whispered. "I had no idea you were so fluent in the Old Tongue."

  Mat hesitated. He had not even realized they had been speaking in it.

  "My Old Tongue is rusty," Noal said, rubbing his chin, "but I caught a lot of that. Problem is, we still don't know the way through this place. How will we make our way without one of them to guide us?"

  He was right. Birgitte had wandered for months, never knowing if her goal was merely a few steps away. The chamber where Mat had met the Eelfinn leaders… she had said that once you were there, they had to bargain with you. That must be the Chamber of Bonds the Eelfinn had mentioned.

  Poor Moiraine. She had come through one of the red doorways; she should have been protected by whatever treaty the Eelfinn had with the ancient Aes Sedai. But that doorway had been destroyed. No way back.

  When Mat had come originally, they had praised him as wise for thinking to ask for a leave-taking. Though he grumbled, still, about the Eelfinn not answering his questions, he could see that was not what they did. The Aelfinn were for questions; the Eelfinn granted requests. But they twisted those requests, and took whatever price they wanted. Mat had unwittingly asked for his memory filled, for a way to be free of the Aes Sedai, and a way out of the Tower.

  If Moiraine had not known this, and had not asked for passage out as he had done… or if she had asked for passage back to the doorway, not knowing it had been destroyed…

  Mat had asked for a way out. They had given it to him, but he could not remember what it was. Everything had gone black, and he had awakened hanging from the ashandarei.

  Mat pulled something from his pocket, holding it tightly in his fist. "The Aelfinn and the Eelfinn get around in here somehow," his whispered. "There has to be a correct pathway."

  "One way," Noal said. "Four choices, followed by four choices, followed by four choices… The odds against us are incredible!"

  "Odds," Mat said, holding out his hand. He opened it, revealing a pair of dice. "What do I care for odds?"

  The two looked at his ivory dice, then looked back up at his face. Mat could feel his luck surge. "Twelve pips. Three for each doorway. If I roll a one, a two, or a three, we go straight. Four, five, or six, we take the right path, and so on."

  "But Mat," Noal whispered, glancing at the sleeping Eelfinn. "The rolls won't be equal. You can't roll a one, for example, and a seven is far more likely to—"

  "You don't understand, Noal," Mat said, tossing the dice to the floor. They rattled against the scale-like tiles, clacking like teeth. "It doesn't matter what is likely. Not when I'm around."

  The dice came to a rest. One of them caught in a rut between two tiles and froze precariously, one of the corners to the air. The other came to rest with a single pip showing.

  "How about that, Noal," Thom said. "Looks like he can roll a one after all."

  "Now that's something," Noal said, rubbing his chin.

  Mat fetched his ashandarei, then picked up the dice and walked straight ahead. The others followed, leaving the sleeping Eelfinn behind.

  At the next intersection, Mat rolled again, and got a nine. "Back the way we came?" Thom asked, frowning. "That's—"

  "Just what we're going to do," Mat said, turning and going back. In the other room, the sleeping Eelfinn was gone.

  "They could have wakened him," Noal pointed out.

  "Or it could be a different room," Mat said, tossing the dice again. Another nine. He was facing the way he had come, so a nine meant going back again. "The Aelfinn and the Eelfinn have rules," Mat said, turning and running down the corridor, the other two chasing after him. "And this place has rules."

  "Rules have to make sense, Mat," Noal said.

  "They have to be consistent," Mat said. "But they don't have to follow our logic. Why should they?"

  It made sense to him. They ran for a time—this hallway seemed much longer than the others. He was starting to feel winded when he reached the next room. He tossed the dice again, but suspected what he would see Nine. Back to the first room again.

  "Look, this is foolish!" Noal said as they turned and ran back the other way. "We're never going to get anywhere this way!"

  Mat ignored him, continuing to run. Soon they approached the first room again.

  "Mat," Noal said, pleadingly. "Can we at least…"

  Noal trailed off as they burst into the first chamber. Only it was not the first chamber. This room had a white floor, and was enormous, with thick, black columns rising toward an unseen ceiling far above.

  The glowing white steam that pooled atop their corridor poured into the room and fell upward into that blackness, like a waterfall going in the wrong direction. Though the floor and the columns looked like glass, Mat knew they would feel porous, like stone. The room was lit by a series of glowing yellow stripes that ran up each column, marking places where the carved glass-stone was fluted to a point.

  Thom clapped him on the shoulder. "Mat, lad, th
at was insane. And effective. Somehow."

  "About what you should expect from me," Mat said, pulling down the brim of his hat. "I've been in this room before. We're on track. If Moiraine still lives, then she'll be somewhere past here."

  CHAPTER 54

  The Light of the World

  Thom held up his torch, inspecting the enormous star-shaped black columns and their glowing yellow lines. Those lines gave the entire room a sickly light, making Thom look wan and jaundiced.

  Mat remembered the stink of this place, that musty staleness. Now that he knew what to look for, he could smell something else, too. The musky stink of an animal's den. A predator's lair.

  There were five corridors leading out of the room, one at each inner point of the star shape. He remembered passing through one of those passageways, but had there not been only one way out before?

  "Wonder how high up the pillars go," Thom said, raising his torch higher and squinting.

  Mat held his ashandarei in a firmer grip, palms sweaty. They had entered the foxes' den. He felt at his medallion. The Eelfinn had not used the Power on him before, but they had to have some understanding of it, did they not? Of course, Ogier could not channel. Perhaps that meant Eelfinn could not either.

  Rustling sounds came from the edges of the room. Shadows shifted and moved. The Eelfinn were in there, in that darkness. "Thom," Mat said. "We should play some more music."

  Thom watched that darkness. He did not object; he raised his flute and began playing. The sound seemed lonely in the vast room.

  "Mat," Noal said, kneeling near the center of the room. "Look at this."

  "I know," Mat said. "It looks like glass but feels like stone."

  "No, not that," Noal said. "There's something here."

  Mat edged over to Noal. Thom joined them, watching and playing as Noal used his lantern to illuminate a melted lump of slag on the floor, perhaps the size of a small chest. It was black, but a deeper, less reflective black than the floor and the columns.

  "What do you make of it?" Noal asked. "Maybe one of the trapdoors?"

  "No," Mat said. "It's not that."