The Gathering Storm Read online

“What talk is there in the Tower, Meidani?” Elaida asked, dipping her bread in the soup.

  “I . . . don’t have much time to listen. . . .”

  Elaida leaned forward. “Oh, surely you know something. You have ears, and even Grays must gossip. What are they saying about those rebels?”

  Meidani paled further. “I . . . I . . .”

  “Hmm,” Elaida said. “When we were novices, I don’t remember you being so slow of wit, Meidani. You haven’t impressed me these last few weeks; I begin to wonder why you were ever given the shawl. Perhaps it never belonged on your shoulders in the first place.”

  Meidani’s eyes opened wide.

  Elaida smiled at her. “Oh, I’m only teasing you, child. Back to your meal.”

  She joked! Joked about how she had stolen the shawl from a woman, humiliating her to such an extent that she fled the Tower. Light! What had happened to Elaida? Egwene had met this woman before, and Elaida had struck her as stern, but not tyrannical. Power changed people. It appeared that in Elaida’s case, holding the Amyrlin Seat had taken her sternness and solemnity and replaced them with a heady sense of entitlement and cruelty.

  Meidani looked up. “I . . . I have heard sisters express worry about the Seanchan.”

  Elaida waved an indifferent hand, sipping her soup. “Bah. They are too distant to be of danger to us. I wonder if they’re secretly working for the Dragon Reborn. Either way, I suspect that the rumors about them are largely exaggerated.” Elaida glanced at Egwene. “It’s a source of constant amusement to me that some will believe anything that they hear.”

  Egwene couldn’t speak. She could barely have sputtered. How would Elaida feel about these “exaggerated” rumors if the Seanchan slapped a cold a’dam around her idiot neck? Egwene could sometimes feel that band on her own skin, itching, impossible to move. Sometimes, it still made her faintly sick to move around freely, as if she felt that she should be locked away, chained to the post on the wall by a simple loop of metal.

  She knew what she had dreamed, and knew those dreams to be prophetic. The Seanchan would strike at the White Tower itself. Elaida, obviously, discounted her warnings.

  “No,” Elaida said, waving for Egwene to bring another ladle of soup. “These Seanchan are not the problem. The real danger is the complete lack of obedience shown by the Aes Sedai. What will I have to do to end those foolish talks at the bridges? How many sisters will have to do penance before they acknowledge my authority?” She sat, tapping her spoon against her soup cup. Egwene, at the serving table, picked up the tureen, retrieving the ladle from its silver holder.

  “Yes,” Elaida mused, “if the sisters had been obedient, then the Tower wouldn’t be divided. Those rebels would have obeyed rather than running off like a silly flock of startled birds. If the sisters were obedient, we would have the Dragon Reborn in our hands, and those horrid men training in their ‘Black Tower’ would have been dealt with long ago. What do you think, Meidani?”

  “I . . . obedience is certainly important, Elaida.”

  Elaida shook her head as Egwene ladled soup into her bowl. “Anyone would admit that, Meidani. I asked what should be done. Fortunately, I have an idea myself. Doesn’t it strike you as strange that the Three Oaths contain no mention of obedience to the White Tower? Sisters cannot lie, cannot make a weapon for men to kill other men, and cannot use the Power as a weapon against others except in defense. Those oaths have always seemed too lax to me. Why no oath to obey the Amyrlin? If that simple promise were part of all of us, how much pain and difficulty could we have avoided? Perhaps some revision is in order.”

  Egwene stood still. Once, she herself hadn’t understood the importance of the oaths. She suspected that many a novice and Accepted had questioned their usefulness. But she had learned, as every Aes Sedai must, their importance. The Three Oaths were what made the Aes Sedai. They were what kept the Aes Sedai doing what was best for the world, but more than that, they were a shelter from accusations.

  Changing them . . . well, it would be an unprecedented disaster. Elaida should know that. The false Amyrlin just turned back to her soup, smiling to herself, no doubt contemplating a fourth oath to demand obedience. Couldn’t she see how that would undermine the Tower itself? It would transform the Amyrlin from a leader to a despot!

  Egwene’s rage boiled within her, steaming like the soup in her hands. This woman, this . . . creature! She was the cause of the problems in the White Tower, she was the one who caused division between rebels and loyalists. She had taken Rand captive and beaten him. She was a disaster!

  Egwene felt herself shaking. In another moment, she’d burst and let Elaida hear truth. It was boiling free from her, and she could barely contain it.

  No! she thought. If I do that, my battle ends. I lose my war.

  So Egwene did the only thing she could think of to stop herself. She dumped the soup on the floor.

  Brownish liquid sprayed across the delicate rug of red, yellow and green birds aflight. Elaida cursed, jumping up from her seat and backing away from the spill. None of the liquid had gotten on her dress, which was a shame. Egwene calmly snatched a serving towel off of the table and began to mop up the spill.

  “You clumsy idiot!” Elaida snapped.

  “I’m sorry,” Egwene said, “I wish that hadn’t happened.” And she did. She wished none of this evening had occurred. She wished Elaida weren’t in control; she wished the Tower had never been broken. She wished she hadn’t been forced to spill the soup on the floor. But she had. And so she dealt with it, kneeling and scrubbing.

  Elaida sputtered, pointing. “That rug is worth more than your entire village, wilder! Meidani, help her!”

  The Gray didn’t offer a single objection. She scurried over and grabbed a bucket of chilled water, which had been cooling some wine, and hurried back to help Egwene. Elaida moved over to a door on the far side of the room to call for servants.

  “Send for me,” Egwene whispered as Meidani knelt down to help clean.

  “What?”

  “Send for me to give me instruction,” Egwene said quietly, glancing at Elaida, whose back was turned. “We need to speak.”

  Egwene had originally intended to avoid the Salidar spies, letting Beonin act as her messenger. But she had too many questions. Why hadn’t Meidani fled the Tower? What were the spies planning? Had any of the others been adopted by Elaida and beaten down as soundly as Meidani?

  Meidani glanced at Elaida, then back at Egwene. “I may not seem it sometimes, but I’m still Aes Sedai, girl. You cannot order me.”

  “I am your Amyrlin, Meidani,” Egwene said calmly, wringing a towelful of soup into a pitcher. “And you would do best to remember it. Unless you want the Three Oaths replaced with vows to serve Elaida for eternity.”

  Meidani glanced at her, then cringed at Elaida’s shrill calls for servants. The poor woman had obviously seen a hard time lately.

  Egwene laid a hand on her shoulder. “Elaida can be unseated, Meidani. The Tower will be reunited. I will see it happen, but we must keep courage. Send for me.”

  Meidani looked up, studying Egwene. “How . . . how do you do it? They say you are punished three and four times a day, that you need Healing between so that they can beat you further. How can you take it?”

  “I take it because I must,” Egwene said, lowering her hand. “Just as we all do what we must. Your service here watching Elaida is difficult, I can see, but know that your work is noticed and appreciated.”

  Egwene didn’t know if Meidani really had been sent to spy on Elaida, but it was always better for a woman to think that her suffering was for a good purpose. It seemed to have been the right thing to say, for Meidani straightened, taking heart and nodding. “Thank you.”

  Elaida was returning, behind her three servants.

  “Send for me,” Egwene ordered Meidani again, voice a whisper. “I am one of the few in this Tower who has a good excuse to move between the various Ajah quarters. I can help heal what has been broke
n, but I will need your help.”

  Meidani hesitated, then nodded. “Very well.”

  “You!” Elaida snapped, stepping up to Egwene. “Out! I want you to tell Silviana to strap you as she’s never strapped a woman before! I want her to punish you, then Heal you on the spot, then beat you again! Go!”

  Egwene stood, handing her towel to one of the servants. Then she walked to the exit.

  “And don’t think that your clumsiness has allowed you to escape your duties,” Elaida continued from behind. “You will return and serve me again on another date. And if you so much as spill another drop, I will have you locked away in a cell with no windows or lights for a week. Do you understand?”

  Egwene left the room. Had this woman ever been a true Aes Sedai, in control of her emotions?

  Yet Egwene herself had lost control of her emotions. She should never have let herself get to a point where she’d been forced to drop the soup. She had underestimated how infuriating Elaida could be, but that would not happen again. She calmed herself as she walked, breathing in and out. Rage did her no good. You didn’t get mad at the weasel who was sneaking into your yard and eating your hens. You simply laid a trap and disposed of the animal. Anger was pointless.

  Hands still smelling faintly of pepper and spices, she made her way down to the lowest level of the Tower, to the novices’ dining hall beside the main kitchens. Egwene had worked in those kitchens herself frequently during the last nine days; every novice was required to work chores. The smells of the place—charcoal and smoke, simmering soups and sharp, unscented soaps—were very familiar to her. The smells weren’t that different, actually, from the kitchen of her father’s inn back in the Two Rivers.

  The white-walled room was empty, the tables sitting unattended, though there was a small tray on one of them, covered with a pot lid to keep it warm. Her cushion was there as well, left by the novices to soften the hard bench. Egwene approached, but ignored the cushion as she always did, though she was grateful for the gesture. She sat and removed the lid from the meal. Unfortunately, all she found was a bowl of the same brownish soup. There was no hint of the roast, gravy or long, thin buttered beans that had made up the rest of Elaida’s meal.

  Still, it was food, and Egwene’s stomach was grateful for it. Elaida hadn’t ordered that she immediately go for punishment, and so Silviana’s order that she eat first took precedence. Or, at least, there was enough of an argument there to protect her.

  She ate quietly, alone. The soup was indeed spicy, and it tasted as much of pepper as it had smelled, but she didn’t mind. Other than that, it was actually quite good. She’d also been left a few slices of bread, though she’d gotten the ends of the loaf. All in all, not a bad meal for someone who had thought she might get nothing.

  Egwene ate contemplatively, listening to Laras and the scullions bang pots at washing up in the other room, surprised at how calm she felt. She had changed; something was different about her. Watching Elaida, finally confronting the woman who had been her rival all of these months, forced her to look at what she was doing in a new light.

  She had imagined herself undermining Elaida and seizing control of the White Tower from within. Now she realized that she didn’t need to undermine Elaida. The woman was fully capable of doing that herself. Why, Egwene could picture the reaction of the Sitters and Ajah heads when Elaida announced her intention to change the Three Oaths!

  Elaida would topple eventually, with or without Egwene’s help. Egwene’s duty, as Amyrlin, wasn’t to speed that fall—but to do whatever she could to hold the Tower and its occupants together. They couldn’t afford to fracture further. Her duty was to hold back the chaos and destruction that threatened them all, to reforge the Tower. As she finished off her soup, using the last piece of bread to wipe the remnants from the bowl, she realized she had to do whatever she could to be a strength to the sisters in the Tower. Time was growing very short. What was Rand doing to the world without guidance? When would the Seanchan attack to the north? They’d have to cut through Andor to get to Tar Valon, and what destruction would that cause? Surely she had some time to reforge the Tower before the attack came, but no moments to waste.

  Egwene took her dish into the kitchen proper and washed it herself, earning a nod of approval from the hefty Mistress of the Kitchens. After that, Egwene made her way up to Silviana’s study. She needed to get her punishment done quickly; she still intended to visit Leane tonight, as was her custom. Egwene knocked, then entered, finding Silviana at her desk, leafing through a thick tome by the light of two silver lamps. When Egwene entered, Silviana marked the page with a small length of red cloth, then shut it. The worn cover read Meditations on the Kindling Flame, a history of the rise of various Amyrlins. Curious.

  Egwene sat down on a stool before the desk—not flinching at the immediate sharp pain of her backside—and spoke calmly about the evening, omitting the fact that she’d dropped the bowl of soup on purpose. She did, however, say that she’d dropped it after Elaida had talked of revoking and changing the Three Oaths.

  Silviana looked very thoughtful at that.

  “Well,” the woman said, standing up and fetching her lash, “the Amyrlin has spoken.”

  “Yes, I have,” Egwene said, standing up and positioning herself on the table, skirts and shift up for the beating.

  Silviana hesitated, and then the strapping began. Oddly, Egwene felt no desire to cry out. It hurt, of course, but she just couldn’t scream. How ridiculous the punishment was!

  She remembered her pain at seeing the sisters pass in the hallways, regarding one another with fear, suspicion and distrust. She remembered the agony of serving Elaida while holding her tongue. And she remembered the sheer horror at the idea of everyone in the Tower being bound by oath to obey such a tyrant.

  Egwene remembered her pity for poor Meidani. No sister should be treated in such a way. Imprisonment was one thing. But beating a woman down, toying with her, hinting at the torture to come? It was insufferable.

  Each of these things was a pain inside of Egwene, a knife to the chest, piercing the heart. As the beating continued, she realized that nothing they could do to her body would ever compare to the pain of soul she felt at seeing the White Tower suffer beneath Elaida’s hand. Compared with those internal agonies, the beating was ridiculous.

  And so she began to laugh.

  It wasn’t a forced laugh. It wasn’t a defiant laugh. It was the laughter of disbelief. Of incredulity. How could they think that beating her would solve anything? It was ludicrous!

  The lashing stopped. Egwene turned. Surely that wasn’t all of it!

  Silviana was regarding her with a concerned expression. “Child?” she asked. “Are you all right?”

  “I am quite well.”

  “You . . . are certain? How are your thoughts?”

  She thinks I’ve broken under the strain, Egwene realized. She beats me and I laugh from it.

  “My thoughts are well,” Egwene said. “I don’t laugh because I’ve been broken, Silviana. I laugh because it is absurd to beat me.”

  The woman’s expression darkened.

  “Can’t you see it?” Egwene asked. “Don’t you feel the pain? The agony of watching the Tower crumble around you? Could any beating compare to that?”

  Silviana did not respond.

  I understand, Egwene thought. I didn’t realize what the Aiel did. I assumed that I just had to be harder, and that was what would teach me to laugh at pain. But it’s not hardness at all. It’s not strength that makes me laugh. It’s understanding.

  To let the Tower fall, to let the Aes Sedai fail—the pain of that would destroy her. She had to stop it, for she was the Amyrlin Seat.

  “I cannot refuse to punish you,” Silviana said. “You realize that.”

  “Of course,” Egwene said. “But please remind me of something. What was it you said about Shemerin? Why was it Elaida got away with taking the shawl from her?”

  “It was because Shemerin acc
epted it,” Silviana replied. “She treated herself as if she really had lost the shawl. She didn’t fight back.”

  “I will not make the same mistake, Silviana. Elaida can say whatever she wants. But that doesn’t change who I am, or who any of us are. Even if she tries to change the Three Oaths, there will be those who resist, who hold to what is correct. And so, when you beat me, you beat the Amyrlin Seat. And that should be amusing enough to make us both laugh.”

  The punishment continued, and Egwene embraced the pain, took it into herself, and judged it insignificant, impatient for the punishment to cease.

  She had a lot of work to do.

  CHAPTER 3

  The Ways of Honor

  Aviendha crouched with her spear-sisters and some True Blood scouts atop the low, grassy hill, looking down at the refugees. They were a sorry lot, these Domani wetlanders, with dirtied faces that had not seen a sweat tent in months, their emaciated children too hungry to cry. One sad mule pulled a single cart among the hundred struggling people; what they hadn’t piled in the vehicle they carried. There wasn’t much of either. They plodded northeast along a pathway that couldn’t quite be called a road. Perhaps there was a village in that direction. Perhaps they were just fleeing the uncertainty of the coastal lands.

  The hilly landscape was open save for the occasional stand of trees. The refugees hadn’t seen Aviendha and her companions, despite the fact that they were less than a hundred paces away. She’d never understood how wetlanders could be so blind. Didn’t they watch, noting any oddities on the horizon? Couldn’t they see that traveling so near to a hilltop practically invited scouts to spy on them? They should have secured the hill with their own scouts before coming anywhere near.

  Didn’t they care? Aviendha shivered. How could you not care about eyes watching you, eyes that might belong to a man or Maiden holding a spear? Were they so eager to wake from the dream? Aviendha did not fear death, but there was a very big difference between embracing death and wishing for it.

  Cities, she thought, they’re the problem. Cities were stinking, festering places, like sores that never healed. Some were better than others—Elayne did an admirable job with Caemlyn—but the best of them gathered too many people and taught them to grow comfortable staying in one place. If those refugees had been accustomed to travel and had learned to use their own feet, rather than relying on horses as wetlanders so often did, then it would not be so difficult for them to leave their towns. Among the Aiel, the craftsmen were trained to defend themselves, the children could live off the land for days, and even blacksmiths could travel great distances quickly. An entire sept could be on the move within an hour, carrying everything they needed on their backs.