The wheel of time, p.1071
The Wheel of Time, page 1071
Nynaeve shivered, then sternly reprimanded herself. Spirits from the dead they might be, but they were no danger so far away. But try as she might, she could not banish the goose bumps from her arms.
The procession was too distant for her to make out many details. There were both men and women in the line, clad in glowing clothing that flowed and shimmered like the city’s banners. There was no color to the apparitions, just paleness, unlike most of the ghosts that had been appearing lately.
These were composed completely of a strange, otherworldly light. Several figures in the group—which was now about two hundred strong—were carrying a large object. Some kind of palanquin? Or . . . no. It was a coffin. Was this a funeral procession from long ago, then? What had happened to these people, and why had they been drawn back to the world of the living?
Rumors in the city said the procession had first appeared the night after Rand arrived in Bandar Eban. The wall’s guards, who were likely the most reliable, had confirmed that to her in uneasy voices.
“I do not see the reason for so much fuss,” Merise said with her Taraboner accent, folding her arms. “Ghosts, we are all accustomed to them by now, are we not? At least these aren’t causing people to melt or burst into flames.”
Reports in the city indicated that “incidents” were growing more and more frequent. Just in the last few days, Nynaeve had investigated three credible reports of people who had had insects burrow out of their skin, killing them. There had also been the man who had been found in his bed one morning, completely changed into burned charcoal. His linens hadn’t been singed. She had seen that body herself.
These incidents weren’t caused by the ghosts, but the people had begun to blame the apparitions. Better than them blaming Rand, she supposed.
“This waiting in the city, it is frustrating,” Merise continued.
“Our time in this city does seem to lack fruit,” Corele agreed. “We should be moving on. You’ve heard that he is proclaiming that the Last Battle will begin soon.”
Nynaeve felt a stab of worry for Lan, then anger toward Rand. He still thought that if he could stage his assault at the same time as Lan’s attack on Tarwin’s Gap, he could confuse his enemies. Lan’s attack could very well be the beginning of the Last Battle. Why, then, wouldn’t Rand commit troops to help?
“Yes,” Cadsuane said, musingly, “he is probably right.” Why did she keep that hood up? Rand obviously wasn’t around.
“Then we have all the greater reason to move on,” Merise said sternly. “Rand al’Thor, he is a fool! And Arad Doman, it is irrelevant. A king or no king? What does it matter?”
“The Seanchan are not irrelevant,” Nynaeve said, sniffing. “What of them? You would have us march to the Blight and leave our kingdoms open to invasion?”
Merise didn’t react. Corele smiled and shrugged, then looked toward Damer Flinn, who leaned against the wall behind them, his arms folded. The leathery old man’s casual posture suggested that he saw the procession of ghosts as nothing special. And these days, he might be right.
Nynaeve looked back out at the ghost procession, who were walking in an arc, rounding the city wall. The other Aes Sedai resumed their conversation, Merise and Corele taking further opportunity to voice their displeasure with Rand in their separate ways—one dour, the other congenial.
It made Nynaeve want to defend him. Though he had been difficult and erratic lately, there was important work for him to do in Arad Doman. The meeting with the Seanchan in Falme was only a short time away. Beyond that, Rand was right to worry about filling the Domani throne. And what if Graendal really was here, as he seemed to think? The others thought he must be mistaken about the Forsaken, but Rand had discovered Forsaken in nearly every other kingdom. Why not Arad Doman? A missing king, a land seething with confusion, famine and strife? These things sounded exactly like the kinds of trouble one would discover near one of the Forsaken.
The others continued to talk. Nynaeve started to leave, and as she did so she noticed that Cadsuane was watching her. Nynaeve hesitated, turning toward the cloaked woman. Cadsuane’s face was barely visible by torchlight, but Nynaeve caught a grimace in the shadows, as if Cadsuane were displeased with Merise’s and Corele’s complaints. Nynaeve and Cadsuane stared at each other for a moment; then Cadsuane nodded curtly. The aged Aes Sedai turned and began to walk away, right in the middle of one of Merise’s tirades about Rand.
The other Aes Sedai bustled to catch up. What had that look been for? Cadsuane had a habit of treating other Aes Sedai as if they were less worthy of respect than a common mule. It was as if all the rest of them were mere children in her eyes.
But, well, considering the way many Aes Sedai had been acting lately. . . .
Frowning to herself, Nynaeve left in the other direction, nodding to the wall guards. That nod of Cadsuane’s couldn’t possibly have been given out of respect. Cadsuane was far too self-righteous and arrogant for that.
What to do about Rand, then? He didn’t want Nynaeve’s help—or anyone’s help—but that was nothing new. He’d been just as stubborn as a sheepherder back in the Two Rivers, and his father had been nearly as bad. That had never stopped Nynaeve the Wisdom, so it certainly wouldn’t stop Nynaeve the Aes Sedai. She’d wrangled Coplins and Congars; she could do the same for trumped-up Rand al’Thor. She had half a mind to stride to his new “palace” and give him an earful.
Except . . . Rand al’Thor wasn’t just any Coplin or Congar. Stubborn folks back in the Two Rivers hadn’t had Rand’s strangely menacing aura.
She’d dealt with dangerous men before. Her own Lan was as dangerous as a wolf on the prowl, and could be as prickly, too, even if he was good at hiding it from most people. But as threatening and as intimidating as Lan could be, he’d sooner chop off his own hand than raise it to harm her.
Rand was different. Nynaeve reached the steps leading off the wall into the city and headed down them, waving away a guard’s suggestion that she take one of them in escort. It was night and there were a lot of refugees about, but she was hardly helpless. She did accept a lantern from another guard, however. Using the One Power to craft light would make the passersby uncomfortable.
Rand. Once, she’d thought him as gentle as Lan. His devotion to protecting women had been almost laughable in its innocence. That Rand was gone. Nynaeve saw again the moment when he had exiled Cadsuane. She’d believed that he would kill Cadsuane if he saw her face again, and thinking of the moment still gave her shivers. Surely it had been her imagination, but the room had seemed to darken distinctly at that moment, as if a cloud had passed over the sun.
Rand al’Thor had grown unpredictable. His explosion of temper at Nynaeve herself a few days ago was just another example. Of course, he would never exile or threaten her, despite what he had said. He wasn’t that hard. Was he?
She reached the bottom of the stone steps, walking out onto a boardwalk stained with the mud of evening traffic. She pulled her shawl close. Huddled people clustered on the other side of the street. The shop entrances and alleyways there offered protection from the wind.
She heard a child cough among a distant group. She froze, then heard the cough again. It was not an easy sound. Muttering, she crossed the street, then forced her way through the refugees, holding up her lantern to illuminate one group of drowsy people after another. Many had the coppery skin of the Domani, but there were a fair number of Taraboners as well. And . . . were those Saldaeans? That was unexpected.
Most of the refugees lay in ragged blankets next to their meager possessions. A pot here, a quilt there. One young girl had a small cloth doll that might have once been fine, but had now lost one of its arms. Rand certainly was effective at subduing countries, but his kingdoms needed more than just handouts of grain. They needed stability, and they needed something—someone—they could believe in. Rand was getting increasingly bad at offering either one.
Where was the source of that cough? Few of the refugees spoke to her, and they were hesitant to answer her questions. When she finally found the boy, she was more than a little annoyed. His parents had made their beds in a hollow between two wooden shops, and as Nynaeve approached, the father stood up to confront her. He was a scruffy Domani with a dark, ragged beard and a thick mustache that might have once been trimmed to Domani fashion. He wore no coat, and his shirt was nearly in tatters.
Nynaeve stared him down with a look she had learned long before her days as an Aes Sedai. Honestly, men could be so foolish! His son was likely dying, and yet he confronted one of the few people in the city who could help. The wife had more sense, which was usually the case. She laid a hand on her husband’s leg, causing him to glance down. He finally turned away with a quiet mutter.
The wife’s features were difficult to see through the grime on her face. The dirt was streaked with tear lines on her cheeks; she had obviously had a difficult couple of nights.
Nynaeve knelt—ignoring the looming father—then pulled back the blanket from the face of the child in the woman’s arms. Sure enough, he was gaunt and pale, and his eyes fluttered open in some delusion.
“How long has he been coughing?” Nynaeve said, pulling a few packets of herbs out of the pouch at her side. She didn’t have much, but they would have to do.
“A week now, Lady,” the woman replied.
Nynaeve tsked in annoyance, pointing toward a nearby tin cup. “Fill that,” she snapped at the father. “You are lucky the boy has survived this long with the white shakes; he likely wouldn’t live the night without intervention.”
Despite his earlier reluctance, the father hastened to obey, filling the cup from a nearby barrel. At least there wasn’t a lack of water here, with the frequent rains.
Nynaeve took the cup and mixed the acem and feverbane in it, then wove a thread of Fire and heated the water. It started steaming faintly, and the father muttered some more. Nynaeve shook her head; she’d always heard that the Domani were pragmatic people when it came to use of the One Power. The unrest in the city must really be getting to them.
“Drink,” she said to the boy, kneeling down and using all five Powers in a complex weave of Healing that she used instinctively. Her ability had awed some of the other Aes Sedai, but had earned her scorn from others. Either way, her method worked, even if she couldn’t explain how she did what she did. That was one of the blessings and the curses of being a wilder; she could do things by instinct that other Aes Sedai struggled to learn. However, it was difficult for Nynaeve to unlearn some of the bad habits she’d learned.
The boy, though dazed, responded to the cup pressed to his lips. Her Healing weave lay across him as he drank, and he stiffened, inhaling sharply. The herbs weren’t needed, but they would help give him strength following the rigorous Healing. She’d gotten over her habit of always using herbs when Healing, but she still felt they had their place and usefulness.
The father knelt down threateningly, but Nynaeve pressed the tips of her fingers to his chest and forced him back. “Give the child air.”
The boy blinked, and Nynaeve could see sense flood back into his eyes. He shivered weakly. Nynaeve Delved him to determine how well the Healing had worked. “The fever has broken,” she said with a nod, standing and releasing the One Power. “He will need to eat well over the next few days; I will give your descriptions to the dockmasters, and you will receive extra rations. Do not sell the food, or I will find out, and I will be angry. Do you understand?”
The woman looked down, ashamed. “We would never. . . .”
“I don’t take anything for granted anymore,” Nynaeve said. “Anyway, he should live, if you do as I say. Feed him the rest of that draught tonight, by sips if you have to. If the fever starts again, bring him to me at the Dragon’s palace.”
“Yes, my Lady,” the woman said as the husband knelt, taking the boy and smiling.
Nynaeve picked up her lantern and rose.
“Lady,” the woman said. “Thank you.”
Nynaeve turned back. “You should have brought him to me days ago. I don’t care what foolish superstitions people are spreading, the Aes Sedai are not your enemies. If you know any who are sick, encourage them to visit us.”
The woman nodded, and the husband seemed cowed. Nynaeve stalked out of the alleyway and back onto the dark street, passing folk who watched her with a mixture of awe and horror. Foolish people! Would they let their own children die rather than get them Healed?
Back on the street, Nynaeve calmed herself. The diversion really hadn’t taken much of her time, and—tonight at least—time was one of the things she had plenty of. She wasn’t having much luck dealing with Rand. Her only consolation was that Cadsuane had done worse as his advisor.
How did one handle a creature like the Dragon Reborn? Nynaeve knew that the old Rand was there, within him somewhere. He had simply been beaten and kicked so many times that he’d gone into hiding, letting this harsher version rule. As much as it galled her to admit it, bullying him was just not going to work. But how was she to get him to do what he should, since he was too bullheaded to respond to ordinary prodding?
Nynaeve halted, lantern light illuminating an empty street before her. There was one person who had managed to work with Rand while at the same time teaching and training him. It hadn’t been Cadsuane, nor had it been any of the Aes Sedai who tried to capture him, trick him or bully him.
It had been Moiraine.
Nynaeve continued on her way. During the last months of her life, the Blue had all but fawned over Rand. In order to get him to take her as his advisor, she’d agreed to obey his commands and offer advice only when it was wanted. What good was advice when it was given only when it was wanted? People needed most to hear the advice they didn’t want!
But Moiraine had been successful. Through her, Rand had begun to overcome his aversion to Aes Sedai. Without Rand’s eventual acceptance for Moiraine, it was doubtful that Cadsuane would ever have made headway in becoming his counselor.
Well, Nynaeve wasn’t about to act the same way for Rand al’Thor, no matter how many fancy titles he had. However, she did have something to learn from Moiraine’s success. Perhaps Rand had listened to Moiraine because her subservience had flattered him, or maybe he had simply been tired of people pushing him around. Rand did have many people trying to control him. They must frustrate him, and they made Nynaeve’s own job a lot more difficult, since she was the one that he actually needed to listen to.
Did he, perhaps, see her simply as another of those irrelevant manipulators? She wouldn’t put it past him.
She needed to show him that they were working for the same goals. She didn’t want to tell him what to do; she just wanted him to stop acting like a fool. And, beyond that, she just wanted him to be safe. She’d also like him to be a leader that people respected, not one that people feared. He seemed incapable of seeing that the path he was on was that of a tyrant.
Being a king really wasn’t all that different from being mayor in the Two Rivers. The mayor needed to be respected and liked. The Wisdom and the Women’s Circle could do the difficult tasks, such as punishing those who overstepped their bounds. The mayor, however, needed to be loved. That led to a civil and a safe town.
But how to show that to Rand? She couldn’t force him; she needed to get him to listen to her in another way. A plan began to take root in her head. By the time she reached the mansion, she had an idea of what to do.
The gate to the mansion grounds was guarded by Saldaeans; the Aiel preferred to stay closer to Rand, watching the rooms and the hallways of the mansion itself. Haster Nalmat, the officer on duty, gave Nynaeve a bow as she approached; some people still knew how to treat Aes Sedai. The grounds beyond the gate were ornamental and cultivated. Nynaeve’s lantern cast strange shadows on the grass as its light shone through the trees trained and trimmed in the shapes of fanciful animals. The shadows moved in concert with her lantern, the phantom shapes lengthening and merging with the greater blackness of the night around her. Like rivers of shadow.
A larger group of Saldaean soldiers stood guard at the front of the mansion; far more than were necessary. Whenever men stood on guard, their friends tended to gather, no doubt to gossip. Nynaeve strode up to the group, causing several of them to stop leaning lazily against the mansion’s gallery of pillars.
“Who of you are not on duty right now?” she asked.
Sure enough, three of the nine soldiers raised their hands, looking somewhat sheepish.
“Excellent,” Nynaeve said, handing her lantern to one of them. “You three, come with me.” She strode into the mansion, the three soldiers scrambling in behind.
It was late—the ghost procession appeared only at midnight—and the mansion slumbered. The intricate chandelier in the entryway had been extinguished, and the hallways were dark. Testing her memory, she picked a direction and walked down it. The whitewashed walls were as immaculate here as they were in other sections of the mansion, but they were unornamented. Her instinct proved correct as she soon entered a small pantry, where servants would prepare platters of food before taking them to the dining room. The hallway she had chosen led out to the mansion sitting rooms; another hallway at the back led to the kitchens. The room was furnished with a big sturdy wooden table and some tall stools. Those were occupied by a group of men playing a game of dice, wearing green and white linen shirts—the livery of Milisair’s house—with thick work trousers.
They looked up with shock as Nynaeve strode into the room; one of the men actually leaped to his feet, his stool toppling to the floor behind him. He pulled off his hat—a lopsided brown thing that even Mat would have been embarrassed to wear—looking like a child caught poking his finger into the pie before dinner.
Nynaeve didn’t care what they were doing; she had found some servants of the mansion, and that was all that mattered. “I must see the dosun,” she said, using the local term for the head housekeeper. “Fetch her for me.”
