The Gathering Storm twot-12 Page 28

  "We are all reborn," Moridin continued, "spun back into the Pattern time and time again. Death is no barrier to my master save for those who have known balefire. They are beyond his grasp. It is a wonder we can remember them."

  So some of the others really were dead. Balefire was the key. But how had Moridin gotten into Rand's dreams? Rand set wards each night. He glanced at Moridin, noticing something odd about the man's eyes. Small black specks floated about in the whites, crossing back and forth like bits of ash blown on a leisurely wind.

  "The Great Lord can grant you sanity, you know," Moridin said.

  "Your last gift of sanity brought me no comfort," Rand said, surprising himself with the words. That had been Lews Therin's memory, not his own. Yet Lews Therin was gone from his mind. Oddly, Rand felt more stable — somehow — here in this place where all else appeared fluid. The pieces of himself fit together better. Not perfectly, of course, but better than they had in recent memory.

  Moridin snorted softly, but said nothing. Rand turned back to the flames, watching them twist and flicker. They formed shapes, like the clouds, but these were headless bodies, skeletal, backs arching in pain, writhing for a moment in fire, spasming, before flashing into nothing.

  Rand watched that fire for a time, thinking. One might have thought that they were two old friends, enjoying the warmth of a winter hearth. Except that the flames gave no heat, and Rand would someday kill this man again. Or die at his hands.

  Moridin tapped his fingers on the chair. "Why have you come here?"

  Come here? Rand thought, with shock. Hadn't Moridin brought him?

  "I feel so tired," Moridin continued, closing his eyes. "Is that you, or is it me? I could throttle Semirhage for what she did."

  Rand frowned. Was Moridin mad? Ishamael had certainly seemed crazy, at the end.

  "It is not time for us to fight," Moridin said, waving a hand at Rand. "Go. Leave me in peace. I do not know what would happen to us if we killed one another. The Great Lord will have you soon enough. His victory is assured."

  "He has failed before and will fail again," Rand said. "I will defeat him."

  Moridin laughed again, the same heartless laugh as before. "Perhaps you will," he said. "But do you think that matters? Consider it. The Wheel turns, time and time again. Over and over the Ages turn, and men fight the Great Lord. But someday, he will win, and when he does, the Wheel will stop.

  "That is why his victory is assured. I think it will be this Age, but if not, then in another. When you are victorious, it only leads to another battle. When he is victorious, all things will end. Can you not see that there is no hope for you?"

  "Is that what made you turn to his side?" Rand asked. "You were always so full of thoughts, Elan. Your logic destroyed you, didn't it?"

  "There is no path to victory," Moridin said. "The only path is to follow the Great Lord and rule for a time before all things end. The others are fools. They look for grand rewards in the eternities, but there will be no eternities. Only the now, the last days."

  He laughed again, and this time there was joy in it. True pleasure.

  Rand stood. Moridin eyed him warily, but did not get up.

  "There is a way to win, Moridin," Rand said. "I mean to kill him. Slay the Dark One. Let the Wheel turn without his constant taint."

  Moridin gave no reaction. He was still staring at the flames. "We are connected," Moridin finally said. "That is how you came here, I suspect, though I do not understand our bond myself. I doubt you can understand the magnitude of the stupidity in your statement."

  Rand felt a flash of anger, but fought it down. He would not be goaded. "We shall see."

  He reached for the One Power. It was distant, far away. Rand seized it, and felt himself yanked away, as if on a line of saidin. The room vanished, and so did the One Power, as Rand entered a deep blackness.

  Rand finally stopped thrashing in his sleep, and Min held her breath, hoping that he wouldn't start again. She sat, legs tucked underneath her, wrapped in a blanket as she read in her chair at the corner of the room. A small lamp flickered and danced on the short table beside her, illuminating her stack of musty books. Falling Shale, Marks and Remarks, Monuments Past. Histories, most of them.

  Rand sighed softly, but did not move. Min released her breath and settled back into her chair, finger marking her place in a copy of Pelateos's Ponderings, With the shutters closed for the night, she could still hear the wind sough in the pines. The room smelled faintly of smoke from the strange fire. Aviendha's quick thinking had made a potential disaster into a mere inconvenience. Not that she was being rewarded for it. The Wise Ones continued to work her as hard as a merchant's last mule.

  Min hadn't been able to get close enough to her to have a conversation, despite the fact that they'd been in the camp together for some time now. She didn't know how to think of the other woman. They had become a little more comfortable with one another that evening, sharing oosquai. But one day did not friends make, and she was definitely uncomfortable about sharing.

  Min glanced again at Rand, lying on his back, eyes closed, breath coming evenly now. His left arm lay across his blankets, the stump exposed. She didn't know how he managed to sleep, with those wounds in his side. As soon as she thought of them, she could feel the pain — it was all part of the rolled-up ball of Rand's emotions in the back of her mind. She had learned to ignore the pain. She'd had to. For him, it would be much, much stronger. How he could stand it, she didn't know.

  She wasn't Aes Sedai — thank the Light — but somehow she had bonded him. It was amazing; she could tell where he was, tell if he was distraught. She could mostly keep his emotions from overwhelming her except when they were passionate. But what woman didn't want to be overwhelmed during those moments? It was a particularly . . . exhilarating experience with the bond, which let her feel both her own desire and the raging tempest of fire that was Rand's desire for her.

  The thought made her blush, and she pulled open Ponderings to distract herself. Rand needed his sleep, and she was going to let him have it. Besides, she needed to study, although she was confronted by conclusions that she didn't like.

  These books had belonged to Herid Fel, the kindly old scholar who had joined Rand's school in Cairhien. Min smiled, remembering Fel's distracted way of talking and his confused — yet somehow brilliant — discoveries.

  Herid Fel was dead now, murdered, torn apart by Shadowspawn. He'd discovered something in these books, something he'd intended to tell Rand. Something about the Last Battle and the seals on the Dark One's prison. Fel had been killed just before he could pass on the information. Perhaps it was coincidence; perhaps the books had nothing to do with his death. But perhaps they did. Min was determined to find the answers. For Rand, and for Herid himself.

  She put down Ponderings and picked up Thoughts Among the Ruins, a work from over a thousand years ago. She'd marked a place with a small slip of paper, the very same now-worn note that Herid had sent to Rand shortly before the murder. Min turned it over in her fingers, reading it again.

  Belief and order give strength. Have to clear rubble before you can build. Will explain when see you next. Do not bring girl. Too pretty.

  She figured — from reading among his books — that she could trace his thoughts. Rand had wanted information on how to seal the Dark One's prison. Could Fel have discovered what she thought she had?

  She shook her head. What was she doing trying to solve a scholarly mystery? But who else was there? One of the Brown Ajah might be better suited, but could they be trusted? Even those who had made their oaths to him might decide that it was in Rand's best interests to keep secrets from him. Rand himself was far too busy, and he was too impatient for books lately anyway. That left Min. She was beginning to piece together some of what he would have to do, but there was more — so much more — that was still unknown. She felt she was getting close, but it worried her to reveal what she'd discovered to Rand. How would he respond?

  She sig
hed, scanning the book. She'd never thought that she, of all people, would become a fool for some man. Yet here she was, following him wherever he went, putting his needs before her own. That didn't mean she was his pet, regardless what some of the people in camp said. She followed Rand because she loved him, and she could feel — literally — that he returned her love. Despite the harshness that was invading him bit by bit, despite the anger and the bleakness of his life, he loved her. And so she did what she could to help him.

  If she could help solve this one puzzle, the puzzle of sealing the Dark One's prison, she could achieve something not just for Rand, but for the world itself. What did it matter if soldiers in the camp didn't know what her value was? It was probably better if everyone assumed her to be dis-missible. Any assassin who came to kill Rand should think that he could ignore Min. The would-be killer would soon discover the knives hidden in Min's sleeves. She wasn't as good with them as Thom Merrilin was, but she knew more than enough to kill.

  Rand turned in his sleep, but settled down again. She loved him. She hadn't chosen to do so, but her heart — or the Pattern, or the Creator, or whatever was in charge of these things — had made the decision for her. And now she wouldn't change her feelings if she could. If it meant danger, if it meant suffering the looks of men in the camp, if it meant . . . sharing him with others.

  Rand stirred again. This time, he groaned and opened his eyes, sitting up. He raised his hand to his head, somehow managing to look more weary now than he had when he'd gone to sleep. He wore only his smallclothes, and his chest was bare. He sat like that for a long moment, then stood up, walking to the shuttered window.

  Min pushed her book closed. "And what do you think you're doing, sheepherder? You barely slept for a couple of hours!"

  He opened the shutters and the window, exposing the dark night beyond. A stray curl of wind made her lamp flame shiver.

  "Rand?" Min asked.

  She could barely hear his voice when he replied. "He's inside my head. He was gone during the dream. But he's back now."

  She resisted sinking down in her chair. Light, but she hated hearing about Rand's madness. She'd hoped that when he healed saidin, he would be free of the taint's insanities. "He?" she asked, forcing her voice to be steady. "The voice of... Lews Therin?"

  He turned, clouded night sky outside the window framing his face, the lamp's uneven illumination leaving his features mostly in shadows.

  "Rand," she said, setting her book aside and joining him beside the window. "You have to talk to someone. You can't keep it all inside."

  "I have to be strong."

  She tugged on his arm, turning him toward her. "Keeping me away means you're strong?"

  "I'm not — "

  "Yes you are. There are things going on in there, behind those Aiel eyes of yours. Rand, do you think I will stop loving you because of what you hear?"

  "You'll be frightened."

  "Oh," she said, folding her arms. "So I'm a fragile flower, am I?"

  He opened his mouth, struggling for words, in the way he once had. Back when he'd been nothing more than a sheepherder on an adventure. "Min, I know you're strong. You know I do."

  "Then trust me to be strong enough to bear what is inside you," she said. "We can't just pretend nothing has happened." She forced herself onward. "The taint left marks on you. I know it did. But if you can't share it with me, who can you share it with?"

  He ran his hand through his hair, then turned away, beginning to pace. "Burn it all, Min! If my enemies discover my weaknesses, they will exploit them. I feel blind. I'm running in the dark on an unfamiliar path. I don't know if there are breaks in the road, or if the whole cursed thing ends in a cliff!"

  She laid a hand on his arm as he passed, stopping him. "Tell me."

  "You'll think I'm mad."

  She snorted. "I already think you're a wool-headed fool. Can it be much worse than that?"

  He regarded her, and some of the tension left his face. He sat down on the edge of the bed, sighing softly. But it was progress.

  "Semirhage was right," Rand said. "I hear . . . things. A voice. The voice of Lews Therin, the Dragon. He speaks to me and responds to the world around me. Sometimes, he tries to seize saidin from me. And . . . and sometimes he succeeds. He's wild, Min. Insane. But the things he can do with the One Power are amazing."

  He stared off into the distance. Min shivered. Light! He let the voice in his head wield the One Power? What did that mean? That he let the mad part of his brain take control?

  He shook his head. "Semirhage claims that this is just insanity, tricks of my mind, but Lews Therin knows things — things that I don't. Things about history, about the One Power. You had a viewing of me that showed two people merging into one. That means that Lews Therin and I are distinct! Two people, Min. He's real."

  She walked over and sat next to him. "Rand, he's you. Or you're him. Spun out into the Pattern again. Those memories and things you can do, they're remnants from who you were before."

  "No," Rand said. "Min, he's insane and I'm not. Besides, he failed. I won't. I won't do it, Min. I won't hurt those I love, as he did. And when I defeat the Dark One, I won't leave him able to return a short time later and terrorize us again."

  Three thousand years a "short time later"? She put her arms around him. "Does it matter?" she asked. "If there is another person, or if those are just memories from before, the information is useful."

  "Yes," Rand said, seeming distant again. "But I'm afraid to use the One Power. When I do, I risk letting him take control. He can't be trusted. He didn't mean to kill her, but that doesn't change the fact that he did. Light . . . Hyena. ..."

  Was this how it happened to all of them? Each one assuming that they were really sane, and that it was the other person inside of them who did horrible things?

  "It's done now, Rand," she said, holding him close. "Whatever this voice is, it won't grow any worse. Saidin is cleansed."

  Rand didn't respond, but he did relax. She closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of his warmth beside her, particularly since he'd left the window open.

  "Ishamael lives," Rand said.

  She snapped her eyes open. "What?" Just when she was beginning to feel comfortable!

  "I visited him in the World of Dreams," Rand said. "And before you ask, no. It wasn't just a nightmare and it wasn't madness. It was real, and I can't explain how I know. You will just have to trust me."

  "Ishamael," she whispered. "You killed him!"

  "Yes," Rand said. "In the Stone of Tear. He has returned, bearing a new face and a new name, but it is him. We should have realized it would happen; the Dark One won't abandon such useful tools without a fight. He can reach beyond the grave."

  "Then how can we win? If everyone we kill just comes back again. . . ."

  "Balefire," Rand said. "It will kill them for good."

  "Cadsuane said — "

  "I don't care what Cadsuane said," he snarled. "She is my advisor, and she gives advice. Only advice. I am the Dragon Reborn, and / will decide how we fight." He stopped, taking a deep breath. "Anyway, it doesn't matter if the Forsaken return, it doesn't matter who or what the Dark One sends at us. In the end, I will destroy him, if possible. If not, then I will at least seal him away so tightly that the world can forget him."

  He glanced down at her. "For that ... I need the voice, Min. Lews Therin knows things. Or ... or I know things. Whichever it is, the knowledge is there. In a way, the Dark One's own taint will destroy him, for it is what gave me access to Lews Therin."

  Min glanced at her books. Herid's little slip of paper still peeked from the depths of Thoughts Among the Ruins. "Rand," she said. "You have to destroy the seals to the Dark One's prison."

  He looked at her, frowning.

  "I'm sure of it," she said. "I've been reading Herid's books all this time, and I believe that's what he meant by 'clearing away the rubble.' In order to rebuild the Dark One's prison, you will first need to open it. Clear away the
patch made on the Bore."

  She had expected him to be incredulous. Shockingly, he just nodded. "Yes," he said. "Yes, that sounds right. I doubt that many will wish to hear it. If those seals are broken, there is no way to tell what will happen. If I fail to contain him ..."

  The prophecies didn't say Rand would win. Only that he would fight. Min shivered again — blasted window! — but met Rand's gaze. "You'll win. You'll defeat him."

  He sighed. "Faith in a madman, Min?"

  "Faith in you, sheepherder." Suddenly viewings spun around his head. She ignored them most of the time, unless they were new, but now she picked them out. Fireflies consumed in darkness. Three women before a pyre. Flashes of light, darkness, shadow, signs of death, crowns, injuries, pain and hope. A tempest around Rand al'Thor, stronger than any physical storm.

  "We still don't know what to do," he said. "The seals are brittle enough that I could break them in my hands, but what then? Mow do I stop him? Does it say anything of that in your books?"

  "It's hard to tell," she admitted. "The clues — if that's what they are — are vague. I will keep looking. I promise. I'll find answers for you.'

  He nodded, and she was surprised to feel his trust through the bond. That was a frighteningly rare emotion from him recently, but he did seem softer than he had during previous days. Still stone, but perhaps with some few cracks, willing to let her inside. It was a beginning.

  She tightened her arms around him and closed her eyes again. A place to begin, but with so little time left. It would have to do.

  Carefully shielding her burning candle, Aviendha lit the pole-mounted lantern. It flickered alight, illuminating the green around her. Slumbering soldiers snored in rows of tents. The evening was cold, the air crisp, and branches rattled in the distance. A lonely owl hooted. And Aviendha was exhausted.

  She'd crossed the grounds fifty times, lighting the lantern, blowing it out, then jogging back across the green and lighting her candle at the manor before walking carefully — shielding the flame — to light the lantern again.

  Another month of these punishments and she'd probably go as mad as a wetlander. The Wise Ones would wake one morning and find her going for a swim, or carrying a half-full waterskin, or — even — riding a horse for pleasure! She sighed, too exhausted to think any further, and turned toward the Aiel section of camp to finally sleep.