. . . give the Blood to spill, blood to take! Blood . . .
. . . up axes . . .
. . . the marrow to suck, to drink, to hold, to spread, to grind, to . . .
. . . Aybara, Aybara, Aybara, promised! Aybara to rend . . .
. . . shore the hold . . .
. . . take it and drink it, give it to all . . .
Perrin stopped.
Up axes?
“Gaul, no!” he yelled, grabbing the man, holding him back from leaping into the blackness with spear out. Perrin strained, listening with all he had, trying to separate the madness and the wind from what he thought he’d heard.
A low sound, a rumbling bass, in tune with itself and such a contrast from the screeching disharmony of the wind. Perrin seized onto this thread of sound, which rolled out through the blackness. A humming, thrumming sound that—despite being softer than the cacophony—somehow overwhelmed the mad voices. Consumed them. Like a flood of water from a broken barrel, pouring over a burning wood floor.
He could hear it. He could just barely hear it!
“Up axes, shore the hold.
Where walls can’t stand,
We must be bold.
Up axes, strength unfold.
To serve the plough,
Some roots must break.
When we must swing,
The branches bow.
Up axes, shore the hold.
Where walls can’t stand,
We must be bold.
Up axes, strength unfold.”
Machin Shin shuddered. The blackness thinned on one side of the Island, and Perrin peered through. Yes, light approached across one of the bridges. Light, and an increasing thunder of boots falling in step. Creatures on thick, sturdy legs, with arms the size of tree trunks. Their ears swept back and wearing fearsome expressions, the Ogier marched—men and women—with axes on their shoulders and mouths open, singing a beautiful song of deep bass and fluttering harmony.
Their song flooded the Island, and the people around Perrin began to pick it out. They turned, like plants seeking the sunlight, as the Ogier reached the Island and increased their song tenfold.
“The night may fall,
Some logs must burn!
Of strength we’ll sing,
And smoke we’ll call!
Up axes, shore the hold.
Where walls can’t stand,
We must be bold.
Up axes, strength unfold.”
Machin Shin started to pulse and howl, as if the words wounded it. Perrin felt a weight to the Ogier song, and nearby the lanterns carried by his men actually seemed to shine more brightly.
“Do you feel that, Jur?” Neald asked.
“I think I can reach it!” Grady shouted back. “It’s so pure . . .”
Their channeling cut off, and Perrin—trying to brace himself against the wind with an arm thrown forward—turned to watch as the two Asha’man raised their hands and released twin jets of bright flame that were distinctly more pure than the ones they’d released earlier. Bright lights, not balefire, but a type of weave that cut through the darkness. It shone here in the Ways like light should. Light that cast shadows, that drove back darkness instead of being swallowed by it.
The Black Wind howled, hating and screaming, and its chanting began to fracture. Words became fragments of words. Saerin stepped up beside the Asha’man and joined her fires to theirs, and the light they created reminded Perrin of something warm and familiar. The sun. Odd, how after only two days in here, he should regard sunlight as something he’d almost forgotten.
The wind howled again, cries distorting before the light and the song. Then, gloriously, it started to retreat. They weren’t destroying it, but neither could it persist in this place of song and fire reinforcing one another.
Seonid and Edarra joined in, and together the five channelers advanced as the Ogier stepped off the bridge onto the Island. The two groups merged as the Ogier, axes still to shoulders, continued to sing.
Finally—reaching a crescendo of madness against steady, passionate song—Machin Shin shrieked a thousand screams upon one another, then withdrew into the darkness in a rush. It was gone in seconds, the troops’ cloaks and clothing falling still, the Ways returning to their eerie silence.
Never had Perrin been so happy to hear nothing.
The Ogier lowered their axes.
“Oh, Perrin!” a voice said. Loial broke out of the line and ran forward, his eyebrows twitching. “Did you see that, Perrin? We sang the Black Wind away! I did not know if it was possible, and I do not think it unfitting of me to tell you how frightened I was. Everything I have studied told me this was foolish and hasty, yet I argued we must do it. Can you believe that? When we heard the sound in the distance, I told Elder Haman. He’s back, you know. Right over there. I told him that Machin Shin might react to our song, if there were enough of us. The Ogier created this place, you know, with the help of the old Aes Sedai. There were songs of growth here, and I thought that perhaps songs would again make it—”
Loial cut off as Perrin grabbed him in an embrace. “Loial, how? How did you come here?”
“Oh, it is not so surprising a thing, Perrin,” Loial said, laughing. As Perrin released him, the Ogier reached into his pocket with sausagelike fingers and withdrew a small piece of paper, which he held delicately. The words had been penned by a human hand.
Loial, son of Arent son of Halan, it read. I have set another to this task, but sometimes he can be unreliable. I leave it to you, then, to buttress his work. The Waygate in Caemlyn must be closed tightly, as the Shadow plans to strike there. In the past, you have seen fit to fulfill my requests. If you have ever listened to me before, do so now. This is vital.
It was signed, Verin.
“I showed it to Elder Haman,” Loial said, “and he agreed that we should at least check on the gate as we made our way to the Last Battle. Oh! You missed that part. I spoke, and I thought they were going to open the Book of Translation and leave. But they listened to me! And everyone agreed that we must fight. The long hafts are surely on our axes now, no turning around. I spoke to them, Perrin, and they listened to me. Even my mother, Perrin. She’s here. You see her over there? She never does look pleased with me, you know, but she came with us to fight.
“Ah, but I must be brief. If ever there were a time for brevity, now is it. Briefly, yes. Well, we came to see, and we heard the wind. We saw those lights in the darkness, and we knew that we had to try the song. Otherwise, it would take us. It was the only way. Do you know where the others are gathering? We must join the Last Battle. We were going to walk all the way to the Waygate in Shienar. You know the one we left open before, Perrin? You remember, don’t you?”
“I remember, Loial,” Perrin said. He laughed. “Yes, I remember.” He nodded to Elder Haman and Loial’s mother as they approached. “Greetings to you, Elders. Your arrival was quite timely.”
Elder Haman’s ears twitched. His white beard reached his chest, below the white mustaches that drooped on either side of his face. “Thank the young one. His encouragement brought us. This is all very sudden.” He seemed a little dazed. Loial’s mother shouldered her axe, looking around with stern eyes. Knowing them, they’d probably debated for weeks before entering the Ways, and had still considered it hasty.
“Ta’veren,” Loial said softly.
“What, you?” Perrin asked, turning to him.
“No, no, of course not. You, Perrin! You needed us. Perhaps that was why I was able to convince the others to come join the Last Battle. At the very least, you drew us to you in here. I’m certain of that.”
Perrin shook his head. “For once, I disagree with you, my friend. This wasn’t about me being ta’veren. This was about courage. Yours, Loial. And yours, Elder Haman, and yours, Covril daughter of Ella daughter of Soong. Thank you. From the depths of all that I am, thank you.”
For a wonder, Covril smiled. “There were some who would have abandoned you, and the world, to the Shadow’s fa
te. I am not one of them, human. Trees will not grow if the Dark One claims this land.”
Loial looked surprised. “But—”
“An argument must have opposition if it is to prove itself, Loial,” she said. “One who argues truly learns the depth of his commitment through adversity. Did you not learn that trees grow roots most deep when winds blow most strongly?” She shook her head, though she did seem fond. “That is not to say you should have left the stedding when you did. Not alone. Fortunately, that’s been taken care of.”
“Taken care of?” Perrin asked.
Loial blushed. “Well, you see, I am married now. To Erith, you see. She’s just over there. Did you hear her singing? Isn’t her song beautiful? She was right at the front, with me. Being married is not so bad, Perrin. Why didn’t you tell me it was not so bad? I think I am rather fond of it.”
Perrin laughed, slapping his friend on the arm. “I’m certain it suits you well, Loial. But come, I have a mission to fulfill, if you are willing to join me.”
CHAPTER 10
Rest in the Light
The Ogier sang a low, thrumming song. It vibrated through Perrin, making the very deepest part of his soul feel warm.
By that sound, the channelers lit the air. It wasn’t enough to see by completely, as the Ways were vast. But within that illumination, Perrin could finally see this place. The Waygates sat on vast fields of stone, like hilltops, and connected to them were floating Islands of rock shaped like small discs. Bridges and ramps sprouted from these like vines.
In the light, there was an organic feel to it all. It seemed an entirely different place. Walking through it in the blackness, he had felt as if it had extended so much farther, and been far more twisted than these elegant structures. For a moment, he could imagine it as it must once have been, green and bright—grown, not built.
Perhaps they could find a way to bring it back. For now, however, their work was that of a farmer clearing a field—and ripping out tree stumps that needed to be carried away so new growth could thrive. With the hesitant blessing of the Ogier, Grady and Neald excised each and every bridge or ramp leading to the “hilltop” that held the Caemlyn Waygate.
There were nearly a dozen of them. The expanses of stone, when broken from their mountings on either side, tumbled down and fell into an expansive darkness that—even with their channeled light—seemed to extend into infinity.
The final bridge churned in the dark as it fell. Perrin held his lantern high and listened carefully, but he could not hear the sound of anything hitting down below.
“This is a day of sadness,” Elder Haman said, standing near Perrin, his long-handled axe resting on his shoulder. “A day in which we see the demise of something grand, destroyed by our own hands in the name of preservation. Almost, I think the price too high.”
“The Waygate itself remains,” Perrin said. “This might be one step further than locking it closed, as you did—but it is not permanent. Bridges can be rebuilt, Elder Haman.”
Elder Haman grunted.
“It had to be done, Elder,” Loial said. “Verin Sedai asked it of us, and one doesn’t refuse an Aes Sedai. That is the path of wisdom.”
Elder Haman shook his head with a deep, rumbling sigh. “Well, it was good that you were here, Wolfbrother,” he said to Perrin. “We could not have plugged this hole on our own. Our axes could not have felled those bridges as the One Power did, and we would never have been able to hold the Waygate against repeated Trolloc attacks. Still, it is a pity to see this. A pity indeed . . .”
Elder Haman joined the bulk of the Ogier, who continued to hum their thrumming song. Perrin followed, Loial and Erith beside him. Behind, the channelers walked in a tired group—breaking down those bridges had taken a great deal of strength, particularly considering the frantic battle before it. But, tired or not, they continued to provide light by channeling glowing spheres. So long as the Ogier sang, that light reached into the Ways as it should, though regular lanterns still seemed frail and weak before the darkness.
Erith kept peeking over at Perrin, her eyes the size of saucers. She seemed to find his own eyes fascinating, and Perrin bore it without complaint. “So it is true?” Loial’s wife finally asked him. It was odd, how easily he took to thinking of Loial as married. It did suit him. “The male half of the One Power has been cleansed? Loial spoke to me regarding it, and I did so want to speak with these men of yours. How mad are they? Is that too forward to ask?”
“They are humans, Erith,” Elder Haman said, looking over his shoulder. “It is all right. They do not think many things are forward.”
Loial’s ears went back and forth at that, which Perrin found amusing. Despite often complaining that humans were hasty, Loial knew a great deal about them.
“The Source is cleansed,” Perrin said. “And no, Grady and Neald aren’t mad. They as are solid and dependable as any men I know.”
“I would very much like to speak with them,” Erith said. “Were either of them there when the Dragon accomplished this task? I would like to speak with witnesses.”
“Erith is going to write a book about it,” Loial said proudly. “It can be a companion volume to my story about Rand. Isn’t that a good idea, Perrin? Erith knows a great deal about the One Power.”
She was looking at his eyes again. Perrin cleared his throat. “That’s wonderful, Erith.”
Before destroying the bridges, they’d recovered the bodies of those who had fallen on the Island. They’d lost fourteen, counting the poor Mayener who had died while they ran from the wind. And counting Bornhald, whose body they hadn’t found.
We didn’t divide the dead by group, Perrin thought. The men had laid the bodies in a line together, Whitecloak beside Two Rivers man, Mayener beside Ghealdanin. He was proud of that, despite the pain of loss.
Grady knelt next to the bodies, then raised a hand. “Any objections?” he asked of those watching.
No one spoke. Grady adopted a look of concentration, then burned the bodies in a great, Power-wrought fire that cast back the darkness of the Ways and shone as bright as a beacon fire.
Perrin stepped up, feeling the heat of the pyre on his skin. “They are our first losses in this war,” Perrin said. “They won’t be the last, but each death means something important. It means we won’t let the darkness take us. Rest in the Light, my friends.”
Galad nodded to him, and his rippling white cloak reminded Perrin of how Bornhald had looked, running into the darkness. The things he said . . . had he been involved in the deaths of Perrin’s family?
Light burn me, he thought, feeling old wounds open inside him. It had been satisfying to blame Trollocs for his losses. Trollocs were faceless monsters, and hating them was easy. But Bornhald’s words had implied that the blame lay not on the Trollocs at all, but on Padan Fain.
Perrin already hated Fain. Could he hate the man more? Would that do any good?
The funeral pyre burned low. The ferocity of it meant that only ash remained, mixed with bits of metal. Perrin was about to turn away when Elder Haman lumbered forward. The ancient Ogier stepped right up to the ashes, then knelt and placed something among them. “Loial, if you will,” he said.
Loial knelt beside the Elder, then began singing in a soft voice. He closed his eyes in concentration. Nearby, the other Ogier began humming. It was a wordless song, similar to—yet distinctly different from—the one they’d sung earlier.
In moments, the seed sprouted and a small tree rose in the ashes of the fallen. Loial opened his eyes. “I am sorry if it is not large,” he said. “I am not so experienced at this as I should be. I am much better at creating sung wood.”
“That will do, Loial,” Elder Haman said. “This place was once ours.” His deep voice had grown dangerous. “It was a gift to us from the Aes Sedai, the last grand work of the male ones. If what is said is true, then the male Aes Sedai have returned.”
“We don’t call ourselves that,” Grady said. “But we have returned.”
<
br /> “Then we will reclaim this place,” Elder Haman said. “It was a gift to us. We should have known that we would have power over it, for it is ours. Once this battle is fought, human, I would return here and see this place restored to how it once was. If you will join us.”
Grady smiled, and nearby, Neald nodded. “I think we’d like that, Elder Haman.”
“Then this tree will stand as a marker of our pact,” Elder Haman said. “If it wilts, we will sing it back to life.”
The other Ogier nodded. Looking at their dangerous expressions, one might never have guessed how reluctant they’d once been to enter this place. One would never have known how much trouble it had been to coax them. Some of these same individuals had thought Perrin mad for daring to enter.
Perhaps they had needed to be shown, in person, how much their gift had been corrupted.
“You wish to join the Last Battle?” Perrin said to them.
“We have decided that we must,” Loial’s mother said.
“Then let’s rest here,” Perrin said, “and allow my people time to recover from what they’ve been through. Tomorrow, we’ll make for Cairhien and cut off its Waygate as we did this one. After that, I’ll have you to the fighting in no time. I guarantee that every axe will be well appreciated.”
Postscript
One of my goals going into the final book (which became three books) of the Wheel of Time was to address the Ways. There wasn’t a lot in Mr. Jordan’s notes about how to accomplish this, but I felt that the text of earlier books had implied there would eventually be some resolution to the plot arc.
I found my opportunity in the need to stop the enemy from using the Ways. It made both tactical and logistical sense to try to cut off access to the Waygate in Caemlyn. From the original outline, it was always my plan for Perrin to take his team into the Ways—and in so doing, I could reveal some hints about how the Ways might eventually be cleansed.
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