Her surroundings blurred, then snapped back straight. She stood in the middle of a small camp, fire smoldering in a firepit before her, a tiny tongue of smoke curling toward the sky. That was odd. Fire was usually too fleeting to reflect in Tel’aran’rhiod. There were no actual flames, despite the smoke and the orange glow warming the smooth riverstones that ringed the pit. She glanced upward, toward the too-dark, stormy sky. That silent storm was another irregularity for the World of Dreams, though it had become so common lately that she hardly noticed it anymore. Could anything be called regular for this place?
With shock, she noticed colorful wagons around her, green, red, orange and yellow. Had they been there a moment before? She was in a large clearing set inside a forest of phantom white aspen. The underbrush was thick, where spindly wild grass poked fingers out in jagged patches. An overgrown road meandered through the trees to her right; the colorful wagons sat in a ring around the fire. Bright paints colored the sides of the boxy vehicles, which had roofs and walls like tiny buildings. Oxen did not reflect in the World of Dreams, but plates, cups and spoons appeared, then vanished from places beside the firepit or on the seats of the wagons.
It was a camp of the Traveling People, the Tuatha’an. Why this place? Egwene walked idly around the firepit, looking at the wagons, the coats of paint kept fresh and free of cracks or stains. This caravan was much smaller than the one she and Perrin had visited so long ago, but it had much the same feel. She could almost hear the flutes and drums, could almost imagine those flickers from the firepit to be the shadows of dancing men and women. Did the Tuatha’an still dance, with that sky so full of gloom, the winds so full of ill news? What place was there for them in a world preparing for war? Trollocs cared nothing for the Way of the Leaf. Did this group of Tuatha’an seek to hide from the Last Battle?
Egwene settled herself on the side steps of a wagon, which was turned to face the nearby firepit. For a moment, she let her gown change to that of a simple, woolen Two Rivers dress of green, much like the one she’d worn during her time visiting the Traveling People. She stared into those nonexistent flames, remembering and pondering. What had become of Aram, Raen and Ila? Likely they were safe somewhere in a camp just like this one, waiting to see what Tarmon Gai’don would do to the world. Egwene smiled, thinking of those days when she’d flirted and danced with Aram beneath Perrin’s scowling disapproval. That had been a simpler time; though the Tinkers always seemed able to make a simpler time for themselves.
Yes, this group would still dance. They would dance right up until the day when the Pattern burned away, whether or not they found their song, whether or not Trollocs ravaged the world or the Dragon Reborn destroyed it.
Had she let herself lose sight of those things which were most precious? Why did she fight so hard to secure the White Tower? For power? For pride? Or because she felt it really was best for the world?
Was she going to suck herself dry as she fought this battle? She had chosen—or, would have chosen—the Green and not the Blue. The difference wasn’t just that she liked the way the Greens stood up and fought; she thought that the Blues were too focused. Life was more complicated than a single cause. Life was about living. About dreaming, laughing and dancing.
Gawyn was in the Aes Sedai camp. She said that she’d chosen the Green for its aggressive determination—it was the Battle Ajah. But a more secret, more honest, part of herself admitted that Gawyn was a motivation for her decision as well. Among the Green Ajah, marrying one’s Warder was common. Egwene would have Gawyn for her Warder. And her husband.
She loved him. She would bond him. Those desires of her heart were less important than the fate of the world, true, but they were still important.
Egwene rose from the steps as her dress transformed back into the white and silver gown of the Amyrlin. She took a step forward and let the world shift.
She stood before the White Tower. She turned her eyes high, running them along the length of the delicate—yet still powerful—white spire. Though the sky bubbled in black turmoil, something cast a shadow from the Tower, and it fell directly on Egwene. Was this a vision of some sort? The Tower dwarfed her, and she felt its weight, as if she were holding it up herself. Pushing on those walls, keeping them from cracking and tumbling.
She stood for a long while there, sky boiling, the Tower’s perfect spire throwing its shadow down on Egwene. She stared up at its peak, trying to decide if it was time to just let it fall.
No, she thought again. No, not quite yet. A few more days.
She closed her eyes, then opened them to blackness. Her body suddenly exploded with pain, her backside pounded raw from the strap, her arms and legs cramped from being forced to lie curled in the small room. It smelled of old straw and mold, and she knew that if her nose hadn’t been used to it, she would have smelled the stench of her own unwashed body as well. She stifled a groan—there were women outside, guarding her and maintaining her shield. She wouldn’t let them hear her offer complaint, not even in the form of a groan.
She sat up, wearing the same novice dress that she’d worn to Elaida’s dinner party. The sleeves of the dress were stiff with dried blood, and this cracked as she moved, scraping against her skin. She was parched; they never gave her enough water. But she did not complain. No yells, no cries, no begging. She forced herself to sit up despite the pain, smiling to herself at how it felt. She crossed her legs, then leaned back and—one by one—stretched the muscles in her arms. Then she stood and stooped over, stretching her back and shoulders. Finally, she lay down on her back and stretched her legs up into the air, cringing as they complained. She needed to remain limber. Pain was nothing. Nothing at all compared with the danger the White Tower was in.
She sat back down, cross-legged, and took deep breaths, repeating to herself that she wanted to be locked in this room. She could escape if she wished, but she remained. By remaining she undermined Elaida. By remaining she proved that some would not bow and quietly accept the fall of the White Tower. This imprisonment meant something.
The words, repeated in her head, helped stave off the panic at considering yet another day within this cell. What would she have done without the nightly dreams to keep her sane? Again, she thought of poor Rand, locked away. She and he shared something now. A kinship beyond a common childhood in the Two Rivers. They had both suffered Elaida’s punishments. And it hadn’t broken either of them.
There was nothing to do but wait. Around noon, they would open the doors and drag her out to be beaten. It wouldn’t be Silviana who did the punishing. Giving the beatings was seen as a reward, compensation to the Red sisters for having to spend all day sitting in the dungeons guarding her.
After the beating, Egwene would go back in the cell and be given a bowl of tasteless gruel. Day after day it was the same. But she would not break, particularly not while she could spend the nights in Tel’aran’rhiod. In fact, in many ways, those were her days—spent free and active—while these were her nights, in inactive darkness. She told herself that.
The morning passed slowly. Eventually, iron keys clanked as one turned in the ancient lock. The door opened, and a pair of slender Red sisters stood outside, barely silhouettes, the light so unfamiliar to Egwene that she couldn’t make out their features. The Reds grabbed her roughly by the arms, though she never resisted. They pulled her out and threw her to the ground. She heard the strap as one slapped it against her hand in anticipation, and Egwene steeled herself for the blows. They would hear her laugh, just as they had every day before.
“Wait,” a voice said.
The arms holding Egwene down grew stiff. Egwene frowned, cheek pressed against the cold tile floor. That voice . . . it had been Katerine’s.
Slowly, the sisters holding Egwene relaxed their grips, pulling her to her feet. She blinked against the blazing light of the lamps to find Katerine standing in the hallway a short distance away, her arms folded. “She is to be released,” the Red said, sounding strangely smug.
> “What?” asked one of Egwene’s captors. As her eyes adjusted, Egwene could see that it was lanky Barasine.
“The Amyrlin has realized that she is punishing the wrong person,” Katerine said. “The failure lies not completely on the head of this . . . insect of a novice, but on the one who was to be manipulating her.”
Egwene eyed Katerine. And then it clicked into place. “Silviana,” she said.
“Indeed,” Katerine said. “If the novices are out of control, then should not the blame fall on the one who was to train them?”
So Elaida had realized that she could not prove Egwene was a Darkfriend. Deflecting attention to Silviana was a clever move; if Elaida was punished for using the Power to beat Egwene, but Silviana was punished far more for letting Egwene get out of control, it would save face for the Amyrlin.
“I think the Amyrlin made a wise choice,” Katerine said. “Egwene, you are to be . . . instructed from now on only by the Mistress of Novices.”
“But Silviana is the one you said has failed,” Egwene said, confused.
“Not Silviana,” Katerine said; her smugness seemed to grow even further. “The new Mistress of Novices.”
Egwene locked gazes with the woman. “Ah,” she said. “And you believe that you will succeed where Silviana failed?”
“You will see.” Katerine turned away and headed down the tiled hallway. “Take her to her quarters.”
Egwene shook her head. Elaida was more competent than Egwene had assumed. She’d seen that the imprisonment wasn’t working and had found a scapegoat to punish instead. But Silviana, removed from her position as Mistress of Novices? That would be a blow to the morale of the Tower itself, for many sisters considered Silviana an exemplary Mistress of Novices.
The Reds reluctantly began to walk Egwene toward the novices’ quarters, now in their new location on the twenty-second level. They seemed annoyed to have missed out on the opportunity to beat her.
She ignored them. After spending so long locked up, it felt wonderful simply to be able to walk. It wasn’t freedom, not with a pair of guards, but it certainly did feel like it! Light! She wasn’t certain how many more days in that dank hole of a cell she’d have been able to stand!
But she’d won. The realization was just beginning to dawn on her. She’d won! She’d resisted the worst punishment Elaida could contrive, and had come out victorious! The Amyrlin would be punished by the Hall, and Egwene would go free.
Each familiar hallway seemed to shine with a congratulatory light, and each step she took seemed like the victory march of a thousand men across the battlefield. She had won! The war was not over, but this battle went to Egwene. They climbed some stairs, then entered the more populated sections of the Tower. Soon, she saw a group of novices passing; they whispered to one another as they saw Egwene, then scattered away.
Within minutes, Egwene’s little procession of three began to pass more and more people in the hallways. Sisters of all Ajahs, looking busy—yet their steps slowed as they watched Egwene pass. Accepted in their banded dresses were far less covert; they stood at intersections, gawking as Egwene was led past. In all of their eyes there was surprise. Why was she free? They seemed tense. Had something happened that Egwene wasn’t aware of?
“Ah, Egwene,” a voice said as they passed a hallway. “Excellent, you are already free. I would speak with you.”
Egwene turned with shock to see Saerin, the purposeful Brown Sitter. The scar on the woman’s cheek always made her seem far more . . . daunting than most other Aes Sedai, an air enhanced by the white locks of hair, indicating her great age. Few members of the Brown could be described as intimidating, but Saerin was certainly one of that select group.
“We are taking her to her rooms,” Barasine said.
“Well, I will speak to her as you do,” Saerin said calmly.
“She is not to—”
“You deny me, Red? A Sitter?” Saerin asked.
Barasine blushed. “The Amyrlin will not be pleased to hear of this.”
“Then run along and tell her,” Saerin said. “While I discuss some items of import with young al’Vere.” She eyed the Reds. “Give us some room, if you please.”
The two Reds failed to stare her down, then backed away. Egwene watched with curiosity. It appeared that the authority of the Amyrlin—indeed, that of her entire Ajah—was somewhat dimmed. Saerin turned to Egwene and gestured, and the two of them began to walk together through the hallway, the Red sisters following behind.
“You take a risk being seen speaking to me like this,” Egwene said.
Saerin sniffed. “Leaving one’s quarters is taking a risk, these days. I’m growing too frustrated with events to bother with niceties anymore.” She paused, then glanced at Egwene. “Besides. Being seen in your company can be rather worth that risk, these days. I wanted to determine something.”
“What?” Egwene asked, curious.
“Well, I actually wanted to see if they could be pushed around. Most of the members of the Red are not taking your release well. They see it as a major failing on Elaida’s part.”
“She should have killed me,” Egwene said with a nod. “Days ago.”
“That would have been seen as a failure.”
“As much a failure as being forced to remove Silviana?” Egwene asked. “Of suddenly deciding that your Mistress of Novices is to blame, a week after the fact?”
“Is that what they told you?” Saerin asked, smiling as they walked, her eyes forward. “That Elaida ‘suddenly’ came to this decision, all on her own?”
Egwene raised an eyebrow.
“Silviana demanded to be heard by the full Hall while it was sitting,” Saerin explained. “She stood before the lot of us, before Elaida herself, and insisted that your treatment was unlawful. Which, likely, it was. Even if you aren’t an Aes Sedai, you shouldn’t have been placed in such terrible conditions.” Saerin glanced at Egwene. “Silviana demanded your release. She seemed to respect you a great deal, I should say. She spoke with pride in her voice of how you’d received your punishments, as if you were a student who had learned her lesson well. She denounced Elaida, calling for her to be removed as Amyrlin. It was . . . quite extraordinary.”
“By the Light . . .” Egwene breathed. “What did Elaida do to her?”
“Ordered her to take up the dress of a novice,” Saerin said. “Just about caused an uproar in the Hall itself.” Saerin paused. “Silviana refused, of course. Elaida has declared that she is to be stilled and executed. The Hall doesn’t know what to do.”
Egwene felt a stab of panic. “Light! She mustn’t be punished! We must prevent this.”
“Prevent it?” Saerin asked. “Child, the Red Ajah is crumbling! Its members are turning against one another, wolves attacking their own pack. If Elaida is allowed to go through with killing one of her own Ajah, whatever support she had from within the ranks will evaporate. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised, when the dust settles, to see that the Ajah has undermined itself to the point that you could simply disband it and be done with them.”
“I don’t want to disband them,” Egwene said. “Saerin, that’s one of the problems with Elaida’s way of thinking in the first place! The White Tower needs all of the Ajahs, even the Red, to face what is coming. We certainly can’t afford to lose a woman like Silviana just to make a point. Rally what support you can. We have to move quickly to stop this travesty.”
Saerin blinked. “Do you really think you’re in control here, child?”
Egwene met her eyes. “Do you want to be?”
“Light, no!”
“Well, then stop standing in my way and get to work! Elaida must be removed, but we can’t let the entire Tower collapse around us while it happens. Go to the Hall and see what you can do to stop this!”
Saerin actually nodded in respect before withdrawing down a side corridor. Egwene glanced back at her two Red attendants. “Did you hear much of that?”
They glanced at each other. Of course t
hey’d been listening. “You’ll want to go determine for yourselves what has happened,” Egwene said. “Why haven’t you?”
The two glanced at her with annoyance. “The shield,” Barasine said. “We’ve been instructed to always have at least two to maintain it.”
“Oh, for the. . . .” Egwene took a deep breath. “If I vow not to embrace the Power until I am properly back in the custody of another Red sister, will that be enough for you?”
The two regarded her with suspicion.
“I suspected as much,” Egwene said. She turned to a group of novices who were standing in a side corridor, pretending to scrub the tiles on the side wall while they gawked at Egwene.
“You,” Egwene said, pointing to one of them. “Marsial, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Mother,” the girl squeaked.
“Go and fetch us some forkroot tea. Katerine should have some at the study of the Mistress of Novices. It’s not far. Tell her that Barasine requested it for use on me; bring it to my quarters.”
The novice scrambled off to do as asked.
“I’ll dose myself with that, and then at least one of you can go,” Egwene said. “Your Ajah is collapsing. They’re going to need all of the clear minds they can get; maybe you can convince your sisters that it is unwise to let Elaida execute Silviana.”
The two Reds glanced at each other uncertainly. Then the spindly one whose name Egwene didn’t know cursed softly and hurried away with a flurry of rustling skirts. Barasine called after her, but the woman didn’t return.
Barasine glanced at Egwene, muttered something under her breath, but remained in place. “We’re waiting for that forkroot,” she said, staring Egwene in the eyes. “Keep moving on to your quarters.”
“Fine,” Egwene said. “But each minute you delay could cost you deeply.”
They climbed the stairs to the new novices’ quarters, which were scrunched up alongside the remainder of the Brown section of the Tower. They stopped by Egwene’s door to wait for the forkroot. As they stood there, novices began to crowd around. In the distant corridors, sisters and their Warders ran through hallways with a sense of urgency. Hopefully, the Hall would be able to do something to contain Elaida. If she really went so far as to execute sisters for simply disagreeing with her. . . .
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