“No, I’ve always needed it. That and more.”
Nynaeve hesitated. That wasn’t something she’d ever expected him to admit. Why hadn’t he gotten rid of that old cloak? It was faded and dull.
“This is my fault,” Rand said, nodding toward the hole in the city.
“Rand, don’t be a fool.”
“I don’t know if anyone can avoid being a fool at times,” he said. “I blame myself because of my delays. We’ve been putting off the confrontation with him for too long. What happened here today? The buildings turned to dust?”
“Yes,” Nynaeve said. “Their substance was removed. Everything crumbled the moment we touched it.”
“He would do this to the entire world,” Rand said, his voice growing soft. “He stirs. The longer we wait—holding on by our fingernails—the more he destroys what remains. We can delay no longer.”
Nynaeve frowned. “But Rand, if you let him free, won’t that make it even worse?”
“Perhaps for a short burst,” Rand said. “Opening the Bore will not free him immediately, though it will give him more strength. It must be done regardless. Think of our task as climbing a tall stone wall. Unfortunately, we are delaying, running laps before attempting the climb. Each step tires us for the fight to come. We must face him while still strong. That is why I must break the seals.”
“I…” Nynaeve said. “I think I actually believe you.” She was surprised to realize it.
“Do you, Nynaeve?” he asked, sounding oddly relieved. “Do you really?”
“I do.”
“Then try to convince Egwene. She will stop me, if she can.”
“Rand…she has called me back to the Tower. I’ll need to go today.”
Rand looked saddened. “Well, I suspected that she might do that eventually.” He took Nynaeve by the shoulder in an odd gesture. “Don’t let them ruin you, Nynaeve. They’ll try.”
“Ruin me?”
“Your passion is part of you,” Rand said. “I tried to be like them, though I wouldn’t have admitted it. Cold. Always in control. It nearly destroyed me. That is strength to some, but it is not the only type of strength. Perhaps you could learn to control yourself a little more, but I like you as you are. It makes you genuine. I would not see you become another ‘perfect’ Aes Sedai with a painted mask of a face and no care for the feelings and emotions of others.”
“To be Aes Sedai is to be calm,” Nynaeve replied.
“To be Aes Sedai is to be what you decide it is,” Rand said, his stump still held behind his back. “Moiraine cared. You could see it in her, even when she was calm. The best Aes Sedai I’ve known are the ones who others complain aren’t what an Aes Sedai should be.”
Nynaeve found herself nodding, then was annoyed at herself. She was taking advice from Rand al’Thor?
There was something different about Rand now. Quiet intensity and careful words. He was a man you could take advice from without feeling he was speaking down to you. Like his father, actually. Not that she’d ever admit that to either one of them.
“Go to Egwene,” Rand said, releasing her shoulder. “But when you can, I would like it very much if you returned to me. I will need your counsel again. At the very least, I would like you by my side as I go to Shayol Ghul. I cannot defeat him with saidin alone, and if we are going to use Callandor, I will need two women I trust in the circle with me. I have not decided upon the other. Aviendha or Elayne, perhaps. But you for certain.”
“I will be there, Rand.” She felt oddly proud. “Hold still for a moment. I won’t hurt you. I promise.”
He raised an eyebrow, but did nothing as she Delved him. She was so tired, but if she was going to leave him, she needed to take this opportunity to Heal his madness. It seemed, suddenly, the most important thing she could do for him. And for the world.
She Delved, staying away from the wounds at his side, which were pits of darkness that seemed to try to suck in her energy. She kept her attention on his mind. Where was the—
She stiffened. The darkness was enormous, covering the entirety of his mind. Thousands upon thousands of the tiny black thorns pricked into his brain, but beneath them was a brilliant white lacing of something. A white radiance, like liquid Power. Light given form and life. She gasped. It coated each of the dark tines, driving into his mind alongside them. What did it mean?
She didn’t have any idea how to begin working on this. There were so many barbs. How could he even think with that much darkness pressing against his brain? And what had created the whiteness? She’d Healed Rand before, and hadn’t noticed it then. Of course, she’d never seen the darkness until recently. Her practice with Delving was likely the reason.
She reluctantly withdrew. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t Heal you.”
“Many have tried on those wounds—you yourself included. They are simply unhealable. I don’t think on them much, these days.”
“Not the wounds in your side,” Nynaeve said. “The madness. I…”
“You can Heal madness?”
“I think I did so in Naeff.”
Rand grinned widely. “You never cease to…Nynaeve, do you realize that the most Talented of Healers during the Age of Legends had difficulty with diseases of the mind? Many believed it was not possible to Heal madness with the One Power.”
“I’ll Heal the others,” she said. “Narishma, Flinn at the least, before I go. All of the Asha’man probably have at least a hint of this taint upon their minds. I don’t know if I’ll be able to get to the Black Tower.” Or if I want to go there.
“Thank you,” Rand said, looking northward. “But no, you shouldn’t go to the Black Tower. I will need to send someone there, but it will be handled carefully. Something’s happening with them. But I have so much to do…”
He shook his head, then looked to her. “That is one pit I cannot cross at the moment. Speak well of me to Egwene. I need her to be an ally.”
Nynaeve nodded, then—feeling foolish—gave him a hug before hurrying off to seek out Narishma and Flinn. A hug. For the Dragon Reborn. She was turning as silly as Elayne. She shook her head, thinking that perhaps some time in the White Tower would help her regain her levelheadedness.
The clouds had returned.
Egwene stood at the very apex of the White Tower, on the flat, circular roof, holding to the waist-high wall. Like a creeping fungus—like insects in a swarm—the clouds had closed up above Tar Valon. The sunlight’s visit had been welcome, but brief.
The tea was back to tasting stale again. The grain stores they’d discovered were running out, and the next sacks to come in had been filled with weevils. The Land is One with the Dragon.
She breathed in, smelling the new air, looking out over Tar Valon. Her Tar Valon.
Saerin, Yukiri and Seaine—three of the sisters who had been the original hunters for the Black Ajah in the Tower—waited patiently behind her. They were among her most ardent supporters now, and her most useful. Everyone expected Egwene to favor the women who had been among those who split from Elaida, so being seen spending time with Aes Sedai who had stayed in the White Tower was helpful.
“What have you discovered?” Egwene asked.
Saerin shook her head, joining Egwene at the wall. The scar on her cheek and the white at her temples made the olive-skinned and blunt-faced Brown look like an aging general. “Some of the information you requested was uncertain even three thousand years ago, Mother.”
“Whatever you can give me will help, daughter,” Egwene said. “So long as we do not depend on the facts entirely, incomplete knowledge is better than complete ignorance.”
Saerin snorted softly, but obviously recognized the quote from Yasicca Cellaech, an ancient Brown scholar.
“And you two?” Egwene asked Yukiri and Seaine.
“We’re looking,” Yukiri said. “Seaine has a list of possibilities. Some are actually reasonable.”
Egwene raised an eyebrow. Asking a White for theories was always interesting, but not always useful. They had a tendency to ignore what was plausible, focusing on remote possibilities.
“Let us begin there, then,” Egwene said. “Seaine?”
“Well,” Seaine said, “I will begin by saying that one of the Forsaken undoubtedly has knowledge that we can’t guess at. So there may be no way to ascertain how she defeated the Oath Rod. For instance, there might be a way to disable it for a short time, or perhaps there are special words that can be used to evade its effects. The rod is a thing of the Age of Legends, and though we’ve used it for millennia, we don’t really understand it. No more than we do most ter’angreal.”
“Very well,” Egwene said.
“But,” Seaine said, getting out a sheet of paper, “that taken into account, I have three theories on how one might defeat swearing on the rod. First, it is possible that the woman has another Oath Rod. Others were once said to exist, and it’s plausible that one rod could release you from the oaths of another. Mesaana could have been holding one secretly. She could have taken the Three Oaths while holding our rod, then somehow used the other to negate those oaths before swearing that she was not a Darkfriend.”
“Tenuous,” Egwene said. “How would she have released herself without us knowing? It requires channeling Spirit.”
“I considered that,” Seaine said.
“Not surprising,” Yukiri said.
Seaine eyed her, then continued. “This is the reason Mesaana would have needed a second Oath Rod. She could have channeled Spirit into it, then inverted the weave, leaving her linked to it.”
“It seems improbable,” Egwene said.
“Improbable?” Saerin replied. “It seems ridiculous. I thought you said some of these were plausible, Yukiri.”
“This one is the least likely of the three,” Seaine said. “The second method would be easier. Mesaana could have sent a look-alike wearing the Mirror of Mists. Some unfortunate sister—or novice, or even some untrained woman who could channel—under heavy Compulsion. This woman could have been forced to take the oaths in Mesaana’s place. Then, since this person wouldn’t be a Darkfriend, she could speak truthfully that she wasn’t.”
Egwene nodded thoughtfully. “That would have taken a lot of preparation.”
“From what I’ve been able to learn about her,” Saerin said, “Mesaana was good at preparation. She excelled at it.”
Saerin’s task had been to discover whatever she could about Mesaana’s true nature. They had all heard the stories—who didn’t know the names of each of the Forsaken, and their most terrible deeds, by heart? But Egwene put little faith in stories; she wanted something more hardfast, if she could get it.
“You said there was a third possibility?” Egwene asked.
“Yes,” Seaine said. “We know that some weaves play with sound. Variations on vocal weaves are used to enhance a voice to project to a crowd, and in the ward against eavesdropping—indeed, they’re used in the various tricks used to listen in on what is being said nearby. Complex uses of the Mirror of Mists can change a person’s voice. With some practice, Doesine and I were able to fabricate a variation on a weave that would alter the words we spoke. In effect, we said one thing, but the other person heard another thing entirely.”