The Gathering Storm

by Robert Jordan

  Eyes bugged out, and a few women choked in shock. “Elaida—” one began.

  “Elaida was a madwoman, and you all know it!” Egwene said sternly, standing tall, staring them down. “You knew it these last few months as she worked unwittingly to destroy us. Light, many of you probably knew it when you raised her in the first place!

  “There have been foolish Amyrlins before, but none have come as close to tearing down the entire Tower! You are a check upon the Amyrlin. You are to keep her from doing things like this! You allowed her to disband an entire Ajah? What were you thinking? How is it that you allowed the Tower to fall so far? And when the Dragon Reborn himself walks the land, no less!

  “You should have removed Elaida the moment you heard of her disastrous attempt to confine Rand al’Thor. You should have removed her when you saw how her bickering and pettiness was turning Ajahs against one another. And you should certainly have removed her when she refused to do what was needed to bring the Tower together again, whole as one!”

  Egwene looked down the lines of sisters, staring at each one in turn, meeting each set of eyes until they looked away. None dared hold her gaze for long. Finally, she saw shame begin to peek through their masks. As well it should!

  “None of you would stand up to her,” Egwene spat. “You dare call yourself the Hall of the Tower? You who were cowed? You who were too frightened to do what was needed? You who were too caught up in your own squabbles and politicking to see what was needed?”

  Egwene looked down at Silviana. “Only one woman in this room was willing to stand up for what she knew to be right. Only one woman dared defy Elaida, and she accepted the price of doing so. And you think I brought this woman here to exact vengeance on her? Are you really so blinded that you think I’d punish the only person in the entire Tower who did anything of decency these last few months?”

  They were all looking down, now. Even Saerin wouldn’t meet her eyes.

  Silviana looked up at her.

  “You did your duty, Silviana,” Egwene said. “And you did it well. Rise.”

  The woman stood. She looked haggard, eyes puffy from lack of sleep, and Egwene suspected she was having trouble standing. Had anyone seen to bringing her food or water during the chaos of the last few days?

  “Silviana,” Egwene said, “a new Amyrlin has been raised. And, it shames me to say, it was done with subterfuge similar to Elaida’s raising. Of the seven Ajahs, only five were represented. The Blue I know would support me, were they here. But the Red were not even given a chance to voice their dissent or approval.”

  “There are good reasons for that, Mother,” Silviana said.

  “That may be true,” Egwene said, “but it all but ensures that my reign will be marked with tension between myself and the Red. They will perceive ill will where there is none, and I will lose the strength of hundreds of women. Women that will be sorely needed.”

  “I . . . don’t see any way around that, Mother,” Silviana said, honestly.

  “I do,” Egwene said. “Silviana Brehon, I would have you as my Keeper of the Chronicles. Let it not be said that I spurned the Red.”

  Silviana blinked in surprise. There were a few gasps from the Sitters, though Egwene did not mark whose they were.

  She stared Silviana in the eyes. Just a short time ago, this woman had had Egwene over the side of the desk, paddling her at Elaida’s command. But Silviana now knelt; she had done so without needing an order. She accepted the Hall’s authority to raise Egwene. Did she accept Egwene herself?

  Egwene’s offer would place her on a difficult and dangerous road. The Reds might see it as a betrayal. What would Silviana’s response be? Egwene blessed the trick that kept her from sweating, otherwise she knew that drops would have been trickling down the sides of her face.

  “I would be honored, Mother,” Silviana said, kneeling again. “Truly honored.”

  Egwene let out a breath. Her task of reuniting the fractured Ajahs would be difficult—but if the Reds saw her as an enemy, it would be nearly impossible. With Silviana on her side, she would have an envoy to the Reds who would not be rejected. Hopefully.

  “This will be a difficult time for the Red Ajah, daughter,” Egwene said. “Their nature has always been to capture men who can channel, but reports claim that saidin is cleansed.”

  “There will still be rogue channelers, Mother,” Silviana said. “And men are not to be trusted.”

  Someday, we will have to move beyond that last sentiment, Egwene thought. But for now, it is true enough to let stand. “I didn’t say that your purpose would vanish, only that it would change. I see great things for the Red Ajah in the future—an expanding of vision, a renewal of duty. I am pleased to have you at my side to help guide them.”

  Egwene looked up at the Sitters, who were watching in stunned silence. “I’d order you all to do penance,” Egwene said, “save for the fact that I know some of you, at least, were working behind the scenes to stop the crumbling of the White Tower. You didn’t do enough, but you did something. Beyond that, I think that the penance we often demand of ourselves is ridiculous. What is physical pain to Aes Sedai?”

  Egwene took a deep breath. “And I am not guiltless either. I share some of your shame, for it was during my tenure that these disasters occurred. I sided with the rebels, allowed myself to be raised by them because it was the only choice. But that choice still gives me culpability.

  “Bear your shame, Sitters, but bear it with determination. Do not let it break you. The time for healing has begun, and there is no longer any use in pointing fingers. You failed. But you are all that we have. We are all that the world has.”

  The women began to look up.

  “Come,” Egwene said, striding through the room, Silviana smoothly falling into step beside her. “Let us greet the rebels.”

  They passed through the hallways of the Tower, which still smelled of smoke and were strewn with rubble in places. Egwene tried not to look at the bloodstains. The Sitters followed behind, clustering in Ajah groups, despite Egwene’s recent chastisement. There would still be a lot of work to heal them.

  “Mother,” Silviana said quietly as they walked, “I can only assume that you had a Keeper already, among the rebels. Do you intend to maintain two of us?” Her tense voice revealed what she thought of such an unconventional arrangement.

  “No,” Egwene said. “My previous Keeper was executed for being of the Black Ajah.”

  Silviana paled. “I see.”

  “We can’t dance around these things, Silviana,” Egwene said. “I received a very important visitor just before my . . . rescue. She was of the Black, and betrayed to me the names of other Black sisters. I have confirmed each of those who were among the rebel Aes Sedai through use of the Oath Rod.”

  “The Oath Rod?” Silviana exclaimed.

  “Yes,” Egwene said as they entered a stairwell. “I was given it last night by an ally in the Tower. Though, it occurs to me that we’ll have to move the room with the ter’angreal. And keep the location secret and constantly warded. It won’t be long before every sister with sufficient power knows the weave for Traveling, and I wouldn’t put it past many of them—including those I trust—to ‘borrow’ angreal now and again.”

  “Yes, Mother,” Silviana said. Then, in a quieter voice. “I’m going to have to get used to a lot of things changing, I suspect.”

  “I’m afraid so,” Egwene said. “Not the least of which will be the need to choose a proper Mistress of Novices, one who can deal with hundreds of new initiates—many of whom are not of the standard age. I’ve already begun the process of accepting for training any woman, no matter how old, who shows some measure of ability with channeling. I suspect that before long, the White Tower will be bursting at the seams with novices.”

  “I shall consider suggestions for a replacement quickly then, Mother,” Silviana said.

  Egwene nodded in approval. Romanda and Lelaine would undoubtedly be livid when they discovered what E
gwene had done in choosing Silviana, but the more she considered it, the more satisfied Egwene was. Not just because Silviana was Red, but because she was so capable. Saerin would have been a fair choice, but many would have seen her as being Egwene’s guide, and perhaps the real power behind the Seat. Picking a Blue would have been too divisive for the current state of the Tower. And besides, with an Amyrlin who was one of the rebels—nobody would soon forget that, no matter what Egwene said or did—it would go a long way toward healing relations to have a Keeper who had been a loyalist.

  Before long, they reached the Tower’s Great Square, on the east side of the building. The square was filled—as per her orders—by women in ranks by Ajah. Egwene had chosen this position because of the tall steps leading up to the Tower, topped by a spacious landing. She stood there, back to the majestically carved doors. It was a perfect location from which to address a crowd.

  It was also situated between the wings, which had taken the worst damage during the attack the previous night. The east wing still smoldered; the dome had collapsed; one of the walls had fallen in. However, from this vantage, the Tower itself was relatively free of scars, and neither of the gaping holes was directly visible.

  Egwene could see faces lining the lower windows. Aes Sedai and novices alike watched her. It seemed that in addition to the rebels, Egwene had an opportunity to address the majority of the remaining occupants of the Tower. She made a weave to enhance her voice. Not to booming levels, but enough to let her be heard both from behind and below.

  “Sisters,” she said, “daughters. I have been raised properly to the Amyrlin Seat. Both sides of this conflict have chosen me. Both followed the prescribed methods, and both now accept me as their Amyrlin. It is time to join together again.

  “I will not pretend that our division did not take place. We of the White Tower are sometimes too eager to forget those facts we don’t want to acknowledge. This one cannot be hidden, not from us who lived it. We were divided. We nearly came to war with one another. We have disgraced ourselves.

  “You rebels before me have done something terrible. You have shattered the Tower and raised up a rival Amyrlin. For the first time, troops have been marshaled by Aes Sedai against Aes Sedai. I led those troops. I know of this shame.

  “Necessary or not, it is a shame. And so it is that I require your admission of guilt. You must take responsibility for your crimes, even those performed in the name of the greater good.”

  She looked down at the Aes Sedai below. If her action of forcing them into ranks—then making them wait upon her will—hadn’t made them aware of her attitude, then perhaps her words would.

  “You did not come here in glory,” Egwene said to them. “You did not come here victorious. For there is no victory, and could have been no victory, when sister fought sister and Warder died to Warder.” She noted Siuan standing near the front of the ranks and met her eyes across the distance. Leane was there, too, looking disheveled from her long imprisonment, but standing erect.

  “Mistakes have been made on both sides,” Egwene said. “And we will all have to work hard to repair what we have done. It is said by blacksmiths that a sword can never be whole again once it has been shattered. It must be completely reforged, the metal melted down to slag, then reworked and re-formed.

  “These next few months will be our re-forming. We have been broken, then torn down nearly to roots. The Last Battle approaches, and before it arrives, I mean to see that we are once again a sword forged with strength, whole and unbroken! I will make demands of you. They will be harsh. They will stretch you to the limits of what you think you can bear. I will take these burned holes and fill them! Accommodations will have to be made, for between us there are far too many Sitters for the Hall, not to mention five too many Ajah heads. Some of you will have to step down and bow yourselves in humility before those you dislike.

  “These days will test you! I will force you to work with those you saw as enemies just hours ago. You will march alongside those who spurned you, or hurt you, or hated you.

  “But we are stronger than our weaknesses. The White Tower stands, and we shall stand with it! We will become one again. We will be an assembly that tales will tell of! When I am finished with you, it will not be written that the White Tower was weak. Our divisions will be forgotten in the face of our victories. We will be remembered not as the White Tower who turned against itself, but as the White Tower who stood strong in the face of the Shadow. These days will be legendary!”

  Cheers burst out, mostly from novices and soldiers, as the Aes Sedai were too reserved for that sort of behavior. Generally. Some younger ones did call out, caught up in the moment. Thankfully, those cheers came from both sides. Egwene let them roar for a moment, then raised her arms, quieting them.

  “Let it go forth across the land!” she shouted. “Let it be spoken of, let it be relied upon, and let it be remembered. The White Tower is whole and complete. And no one—man, woman or creation of the Shadow—will see us divided again!”

  The cheers were nearly deafening this time, and surprisingly, more Aes Sedai joined in. Egwene lowered her hands.

  She hoped they would still cheer her in the months to come. There was a great deal of work to be done.

  CHAPTER 47

  The One He Lost

  Rand did not return to his rooms immediately. The failed meeting with the Borderlanders had left him feeling unhinged. Not because of their tricky attempt to pull him into Far Madding—that was frustrating, but it was not unexpected. People always tried to control and manipulate him. The Borderlanders were no different.

  No, it was something else that had unsettled him, something he couldn’t quite define. And so he stalked through the Stone of Tear, two Aiel Maidens trailing behind him, his presence startling servants and unnerving Defenders.

  The corridors twisted and turned. The walls—where unadorned by tapestry—were the color of wet sand, but they were far stronger than any rock Rand knew, alien and strange; each smooth span a reminder that this place was not natural.

  Rand felt the same way. He had the form of a human. Indeed, he had the mannerisms and history of one. But he was a thing that no human—not even he himself—could understand. A figure of legend, a creation of the One Power, as unnatural as a ter’angreal or a fragment of cuendillar. They dressed him up like a king, just as they dressed these corridors with tasseled gold and red rugs. Just as they hung the walls with those tapestries, each one depicting a famous Tairen general. Those decorations were intended for beauty, but they were also intended to obscure. The patches of naked wall highlighted how alien the place was. Rugs and tapestries made it all feel more . . . human. Just as giving Rand a crown and a fine coat allowed them to accept him. Kings were supposed to be a little different. Never mind his much more alien nature, hidden beneath the crown. Never mind his heart of a man long dead, his shoulders created to bear the weight of prophecy, his soul crushed by the needs, wants and hopes of a million people.

  Two hands. One to destroy, the other to save. Which had he lost?

  It was easy to go astray in the Stone. Long before the Pattern had begun to unravel, these twisting corridors of brown rock had been misleading. They were designed to befuddle attackers. Intersections came unexpectedly; there were few landmarks, and the inner corridors of the keep didn’t have windows. The Aiel said they had been impressed with how difficult it had been to seize the Stone. It hadn’t been the Defenders who had impressed them, but the sheer scope and layout of the monstrous building.

  Fortunately, Rand had no particular goal. He simply wanted to walk.

  He had accepted what he needed to be. Why was he so bothered by it, then? A voice deep down—one not in his head, but in his heart—had begun to disagree with what he did. It was not loud or violent like Lews Therin’s; it just whispered, like a forgotten itch. Something is wrong. Something is wrong. . . .

  No! he thought. I must be strong. I have finally become what I must be!

  He s
topped in the corridor, teeth gritted. In his deep coat pocket, he carried the access key. He fingered it, its contours cold and smooth. He didn’t dare leave it to the care of a servant, no matter how trusted.

  Hurin, he realized. That’s what is bothering me. Seeing Hurin.

  He resumed walking, straightening his back. He had to be strong—or at least appear strong—at all times.

  Hurin was a relic from an earlier life. Days when Mat had still mocked Rand’s coats, days when Rand had hoped that he’d marry Egwene and somehow return to the Two Rivers. He had traveled with Hurin and Loial, determined to stop Fain and get back Mat’s dagger, to prove that he was a friend. That had been a much simpler time, although Rand hadn’t known it. He’d have wondered if anything could grow more complicated than thinking his friends hated him.

  The colors shifted in his vision. Perrin walking through a dark camp, that stone sword looming in the air above him. The vision changed to Mat, who was still in that city. It was Caemlyn? Why could he be near Elayne, when Rand had to remain so far away? He could barely feel her emotions through the bond. He missed her so. Once they had stolen kisses from one another in the halls of this very fortress.

  No, he thought. I am strong. Longing was an emotion he mustn’t feel. Nostalgia got him nowhere. He tried to banish both, ducking into a stairwell and moving down the steps, working his body, trying to make his breath come in gasps.

  Do we run from the past, then? Lews Therin asked softly. Yes. That is well. Better to run than to face it.

  Rand’s time with Hurin had ended at Falme. Those days were indistinct in his mind. The changes that had come upon him then—realizing that he had to kill, that he could never return to the life he had loved—were things he could not dwell on. He’d headed out toward Tear, almost delirious, separated from his friends, seeing Ishamael in his dreams.

  That last one was happening again.

  Rand burst out onto one of the lower floors of the keep, breathing deeply. His Maidens followed him, not winded. He strode down the hallway and into a massive chamber with rows of pillars, stout and broad, wider than a man could wrap his arms around. The Heart of the Stone. Several Defenders came to attention and saluted as Rand passed them.