CHAPTER 26

A Crack in the Stone

Aviendha surveyed the manor grounds, swarming with people preparing to depart. Bashere’s men and women were well trained for wetlanders, and they worked efficiently to stow their tents and prepare their gear. However, compared to the Aiel, the other wetlanders—those who weren’t actual soldiers—were a mess. Camp women skittered this way and that, as if sure they would leave some task undone or some item unpacked. The messenger boys ran with their friends, trying to look busy so that they wouldn’t have to do anything. The civilians’ tents and equipment were only slowly being packed and stowed, and they would need horses, wagons and teams of drivers to get them all where they needed to go.

Aviendha shook her head. The Aiel brought only what they could carry, and their war band included only spears and Wise Ones. And when more than just spears were required for an extended campaign, all workers and craftspeople knew how to prepare themselves for departure with speed and efficiency. There was honor in that. Honor which demanded that each person be able to care for themselves and their own, not slowing the clan down.

She shook her head, turning back to her task. The only ones who truly lacked honor on a day like this were those who did not work. She dipped a finger into the pail of water on the ground in front of her, then raised her hand and let it hover over a second pail. A drop of water dripped free. She moved her hand and did it again.

It was the type of punishment in which no wetlander could have seen significance. They would have thought it easy work, sitting on the ground, leaning with her back against the wooden logs of the manor house. Moving her hand back and forth, emptying one pail and filling the other, one drop at a time. To them it would have been barely a punishment at all.

That was because wetlanders were often lazy. They would rather drip water into pails than carry rocks. Carrying rocks, however, involved activity—and activity was good for the mind and the body. Moving water was meaningless. Useless. It didn’t allow her to stretch her legs or work her muscles. And she did it while the rest of the camp gathered tents for the march. That made the punishment ten times as shameful! She earned toh for every moment she did not help, and there was not a thing she could do about it.

Except move water. Drip, by drip, by drip.

It made her angry. Then that anger made her ashamed. The Wise Ones never let their emotions dominate them in such a way. She had to remain patient and try to understand why she was being punished.

Even trying to approach the problem made her want to scream. How many times could she go over the same conclusions in her mind? Perhaps she was too dense to sort it out. Perhaps she didn’t deserve to be a Wise One.

She stuck her hand back in the bucket, then moved another drop of water. She didn’t like what these punishments were doing to her. She was a warrior, even if she no longer carried the spear. She did not fear punishment, nor did she fear pain. But, more and more, she did fear that she would lose heart and become as useless as one who sandstared.

She wanted to become a Wise One, wanted it desperately. She was surprised to find that, for she’d never thought that she could desire anything with as much passion as she’d long ago wanted the spears. Yet as she had studied the Wise Ones during these last months, and her respect for them had grown, she had accepted herself as their equal, to help shepherd the Aiel in this most dangerous of days.

The Last Battle would be a test unlike any her people had ever known. Amys and the others were working to protect the Aiel, and Aviendha sat and moved drops of water!

“Are you all right?” a voice asked.

Aviendha started, looking up, reaching for her knife so abruptly that she nearly spilled the pails of water. A woman with short, dark hair stood in the shade of the building a short distance away. Min Farshaw’s arms were folded and she wore a coat the color of cobalt with silver embroidery. She wore a scarf at her neck.

Aviendha settled back down, releasing her knife. Now she was letting wetlanders sneak up on her? “I am well,” she said, struggling to keep from blushing.

Her tone and actions should have indicated that she didn’t wish to be shamed by conversation, but Min didn’t seem to notice that. The woman turned and looked out over the camp. “Don’t . . . you have anything to be doing?”

Aviendha could not suppress the blush this time. “I am doing what I should.”

Min nodded, and Aviendha forced herself to still her breathing. She could not afford to grow angry at this woman. Her first-sister had asked her to be kind to Min. She decided not to take offense. Min didn’t know what she was saying.

“I thought that I could talk to you,” Min said, still looking out at the camp. “I’m not sure who else I could approach. I don’t trust the Aes Sedai, and neither does he. I’m not sure he trusts anyone, now. Maybe not even me.”

Aviendha glanced to the side, and saw that Min was watching Rand al’Thor as he moved through the camp, wearing a coat of black, gold-red hair ablaze in the afternoon light. He seemed to tower over the Saldaeans who attended him.

Aviendha had heard about the events the night before, when he had been attacked by Semirhage. One of the Shadowsouled themselves; Aviendha wished she had seen the creature before she was killed. She shuddered.

Rand al’Thor had fought and won. Though he acted the fool much of the time, he was a skilled—and lucky—warrior. Who else alive could claim to have personally defeated as many of the Shadowsouled as he had? There was much honor in him.

His fight had left him scarred in ways she did not yet understand. She could feel his pain. She’d felt it during Semirhage’s attack, too, though at first she’d mistakenly thought it to be a nightmare. She’d quickly realized that she was wrong. No nightmare could be that terrible. She could still feel echoes of that incredible pain, those waves of agony, the frenzy inside of him.

Aviendha had raised the alarm, but not quickly enough. She had toh to him for her mistake; she would deal with that once she was finished with her punishments. If she ever did finish.

“Rand al’Thor will deal with his problems,” she said, dripping more water.

“How can you say that?” Min asked, glancing at her. “Can’t you feel his pain?”

“I feel each and every moment of it,” Aviendha said through gritted teeth. “But he must face his own trials, just as I face mine. Perhaps there will be a day when he and I can face ours together, but that time is not now.”

I must be his equal, first, she added in her head. I will not stand beside him as his inferior.

Min studied her, and Aviendha felt a chill, wondering what visions the woman saw. Her predictions of the future were said always to come true.

“You are not what I expected,” Min finally said.

“I have deceived you?” Aviendha said, frowning.

“No, not that,” Min said with a small laugh. “I mean, I was wrong about you, I guess. I wasn’t certain what to think, after that night in Caemlyn when . . . well, that night when we bonded Rand together. I feel close to you, yet distant from you at the same time.” She shrugged. “I guess I expected you to come looking for me the moment you got into camp. We had things to discuss. When you didn’t, I worried. I thought perhaps I had offended you.”

“You have no toh to me,” Aviendha said.

“Good,” Min said. “I still worry sometimes that we’ll . . . come to a confrontation.”

“And what good would a confrontation serve?”

“I don’t know,” Min said with a shrug. “I figured it would be the Aiel way. Challenge me to a fight of honor. For him.”

Aviendha snorted. “Fight over a man? Who would do such a thing? If you had toh toward me, perhaps I could demand that we dance the spears—but only if you were a Maiden. And only if I were still one too. I suppose that we could fight with knives, but it would hardly be a fair fight. What honor would there to be gained in fighting one with no skill?”

Min flushed, as if Aviendha had offered her an insult. What a curious reaction. “I don’t know about that,” Min said, flipping a knife from her sleeve and spinning it across her knuckles. “I’m hardly defenseless.” She made the knife vanish up her other sleeve. Why was it that the wetlanders always showed off such flourishes with their knives? Thom Merrilin had been prone to that as well. Didn’t Min understand that Aviendha could have slit the woman’s throat thrice over during the time it took to flash that knife like a street performer? Aviendha said nothing, however. Min was obviously proud of the skill, and there was no need to embarrass the woman.

“It is unimportant,” Aviendha said, continuing her work. “I would not fight with you unless you gave me grave insult. My first-sister considers you a friend, and I would like to do so as well.”

“All right,” Min said, folding her arms and looking back at Rand. “Well, I guess that’s a good thing. I have to admit, I don’t much like the idea of sharing.”

Aviendha hesitated, then dipped her finger into the pail. “Neither do I.” At least, she didn’t like the idea of sharing with a woman she didn’t know very well.

“Then what do we do?”

“We continue as we have,” Aviendha said. “You have what you wish, and I am occupied by other matters. When it becomes a different time, I will inform you.”

“That’s . . . straightforward of you,” Min said, looking confused. “You have other matters to occupy you? Like dipping your finger in buckets of water?”

Aviendha blushed again. “Yes,” she snapped. “Just like that. You will excuse me.” She stood and strode away, leaving the buckets. She knew that she should not have lost her temper, but she could not help it. Min, repeatedly pointing out her punishment. Her inability to decipher what the Wise Ones wished of her. Rand al’Thor, constantly putting himself into danger, and Aviendha unable to lift a finger to help him.

She could stand it no longer. She crossed the brown thatch of the manor green, clenching and unclenching her fists, keeping her distance from Rand. The way this day was going, he’d notice her wrinkled finger and ask why she had been soaking it! If he discovered that the Wise Ones had been punishing her, he would probably do something rash and make a fool of himself. Men were like that, Rand al’Thor most of all.

She stalked across the springy ground, the brown thatch patterned with square impressions where tents had stood, threading her way through wetlanders scurrying this way and that. She passed a line of soldiers tossing sacks of grain to the next and loading them in a wagon hitched to two thick-hoofed draft horses.

She kept moving, trying to keep herself from exploding. The truth was, she felt just as likely to do something “rash” as Rand al’Thor would be. Why? Why couldn’t she decipher what she was doing wrong? The other Aiel in the camp seemed as ignorant as she, though of course they had not spoken to her of the punishments. She remembered well seeing similar punishments when she’d been a Maiden, and had always known to stay out of Wise Ones’ business.

She rounded the wagon, and found herself heading toward Rand al’Thor again. He was talking with three of Davram Bashere’s quartermasters, taller than each of them by a head. One of them, a man with a long black mustache, pointed toward the horselines and said something. Rand caught sight of Aviendha and raised his hand toward her, but she turned away quickly, moving toward the Aiel campsite at the north side of the green.

She ground her teeth, trying—unsuccessfully—to tame her anger. Did she not have a right to anger, if only at herself? The world was close to ending and she spent her days being punished! Ahead, she spotted a small cluster of Wise Ones—Amys, Bair and Melaine—standing beside a pile of brown tent packs. The tight, oblong bundles had straps for ease of carrying over the shoulder.

Aviendha should have returned to her pails and redoubled her efforts. But she did not. Like a child with a stick charging a narshcat, she stalked up to the Wise Ones, fuming.

“Aviendha?” Bair asked. “Have you finished your punishment already?”

“No I have not,” Aviendha said, stopping in front of them, hands fists at her sides. Wind tugged at her shirt, but she let it flap. Hurrying camp workers—both Aiel and Saldaean—gave the group a wide berth.

“Well?” Bair asked.

“You are not learning quickly enough,” Amys added, shaking her white-haired head.

“Not learning quickly enough?” Aviendha demanded. “I have learned everything you have asked of me! I have memorized every lesson, repeated every fact, performed every duty. I have answered all your questions and have seen you nod in approval at each answer!”

She stared them down before continuing. “I can channel better than any Aiel woman alive,” she said. “I have left behind the spears, and I welcome my place among you. I have done my duty and sought honor on each occasion. Yet you continue to give me punishments! I will have no more of it. Either tell me what it is you wish of me or send me away.”

She expected anger from them. She expected disappointment. She expected them to explain that a mere apprentice was not to question full Wise Ones. She expected, at least, to be given greater punishment for her temerity.

Amys glanced at Melaine and Bair. “It is not we who punish you, child,” she said, seeming to choose her words with care. “These punishments come by your own hand.”

“Whatever I have done,” Aviendha said, “I cannot see that it would have you make me da’tsang. You shame yourselves by treating me so.”

“Child,” Amys said, meeting her eyes. “Are you rejecting our punishments?”

“Yes,” she said, heart thumping. “I am.”

“You think your stakes as strong as ours, do you?” Bair asked, shading her aged face with her hand. “You presume to be our equal?”

Their equal? Aviendha thought, panic setting in. I’m not their equal! I have years left to study. What am I doing?

Could she back down now? Beg forgiveness, meet her toh somehow? She should hurry back to her punishment and move the waters. Yes! That is what she needed to do. She had to go and—

“I see no more reason to study,” she found herself saying instead. “If these punishments are all you have left to teach me, then I must assume that I have learned all that I must. I am ready to join you.”

She gritted her teeth, waiting for an explosion of furious incredulity. What was she thinking? She shouldn’t have let Min’s foolish talk rile her so.

And then Bair started to laugh.

It was a full-bellied sound, incongruous coming from the small woman. Melaine joined her, the sun-haired Wise One holding her stomach, slightly bulging from her pregnancy. “She took even longer than you, Amys!” Melaine exclaimed. “As stubborn a girl as I’ve ever seen.”

Amys’ expression was uncharacteristically soft. “Welcome, sister,” she said to Aviendha.

Aviendha blinked. “What?”

“You are one of us now, girl!” Bair said. “Or soon will be.”

“But I defied you!”

“A Wise One cannot allow others to step upon her,” Amys said. “If she comes into the shade of our sisterhood thinking like an apprentice, then she will never see herself as one of us.”

Bair glanced at Rand al’Thor, who stood in the distance talking to Sarene. “I never realized how important our ways were until I studied these Aes Sedai. Those at the bottom simper and beg like hounds, and are ignored by those who consider themselves their betters. It is a wonder they achieve anything!”

“But there is rank among Wise Ones,” Aviendha said. “Is there not?”

“Rank?” Amys looked puzzled. “Some of us have more honor than others, earned by wisdom, actions and experience.”

Melaine held up a finger. “But it is important—vital, even—that each Wise One be willing to defend her own well. If she believes that she is right, she cannot let herself be shoved aside, even by other Wise Ones, no matter how aged or wise.”

“No woman is ready to join us until she has declared herself ready,” Amys continued. “She must present herself as our equal.”

“A punishment is not a true punishment unless you accept it, Aviendha,” Bair said, still smiling. “We thought you ready weeks ago, but you stubbornly continued to obey.”

“Almost, I began to think you prideful, girl,” Melaine added with a fond smile.

“Girl no longer,” Amys said.

“Oh, she’s still a girl,” Bair said. “Until one more thing is done.”

Aviendha felt dazed. They’d said she wasn’t learning quickly enough. Learning to stand up for herself! Aviendha had never allowed others to push her around, but these weren’t “others”—they were Wise Ones, and she the apprentice. What would have happened if Min hadn’t riled her? She would have to thank the woman, although Min didn’t realize what she’d done.

Until one more thing is done . . . “What must I still do?” Aviendha asked.

“Rhuidean,” Bair said.

Of course. A Wise One visited that most sacred city twice in her life. Once when she became an apprentice, once when she became a full Wise One.

“Things will be different, now,” Melaine said. “Rhuidean is no longer what it once was.”

“That is no reason to abandon the old ways,” Bair replied. “The city may be open, but nobody will be foolish enough to walk through the pillars. Aviendha, you must—”

“Bair,” Amys cut in, “if it is well with you, I would prefer to tell her.”

Bair hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, of course. It is only right. We turn our backs on you now, Aviendha. We will not see you again until you return to us as a sister returning from a long journey.”

“A sister we had forgotten that we knew,” Melaine said, smiling. The two turned from her, then Amys began to walk toward the Traveling ground. Aviendha hurried to catch up.

“You may wear your clothing this time,” Amys said, “as it is the mark of your station. Normally, I would suggest that you travel to the city by foot, even though we know of Traveling now, but I think that custom is best bent in this case. Still, you should not Travel directly to the city. I suggest Traveling to Cold Rocks Hold and walk from there. You must spend time in the Three-fold Land to contemplate your journey.”

Aviendha nodded. “I will need a waterskin and supplies there.”

“Ready and waiting for you at the hold,” Amys said. “We’ve been expecting you to leap this chasm soon. You should have leapt it days ago, considering all the hints we gave you.” She eyed Aviendha, who glanced down at the ground.

“You have no reason for shame,” Amys said. “That burden is upon us. Despite Bair’s joking, you did well. Some women spend months and months being punished before deciding that they have had enough. We had to be hard on you, child—harder than I’ve ever seen a ready apprentice treated. There is just so little time!”

“I understand,” Aviendha said. “And . . . thank you.”

Amys snorted. “You forced us to be very creative. Remember this time you spent and the shame you felt, for it is the shame any da’tsang will know, should you consign them to their fate. And they cannot escape it simply by demanding release.”

“What do you do if an apprentice declares herself ready to be a Wise One during her first few months of training?”

“Strap her a few times and set her digging holes, I suspect,” Amys said. “I don’t know of that ever happening. The closest was Sevanna.”

Aviendha had wondered why the Wise Ones had accepted the Shaido woman without complaint. Her declaration had been enough: and so Amys and the others had been forced to accept her.

Amys pulled her shawl close. “There is a bundle for you with the Maidens guarding the Traveling ground. Once you reach Rhuidean, travel to the center of the city. You will find the pillars of glass. Pass through the center of them, then return here. Spend well your days running to the city. We pushed you hard so that you would have this time for contemplation. It is likely the last you will have for some while.”

Aviendha nodded. “The battle comes.”

“Yes. Return quickly once you pass through the pillars. We will need to discuss how to best handle the Car’a’carn. He has . . . changed since last night.”

“I understand,” Aviendha said, taking a deep breath.

“Go,” Amys said, “and return.” She put emphasis on the final word. Some women did not survive Rhuidean.

Aviendha met Amys’ eyes, and nodded. Amys had been a second mother to her in many ways. She was rewarded by a rare smile. Then Amys turned her back to Aviendha, just as the other two had.

Aviendha took another deep breath, glancing back across the trampled grass before the manor house to where Rand spoke with the quartermasters, his expression stern, the arm missing a hand held folded behind his back, the other arm gesturing animatedly. She smiled at him, though he wasn’t looking in her direction.

I will be back for you, she thought.

Then she trotted to the Traveling ground, collected the pack and wove a gateway that would deposit her a safe distance from Cold Rocks Hold, beside a rock formation known as the Maiden’s Spear, from which she could run to the hold and prepare herself. The gateway opened to the familiar, dry air of the Waste.

She ducked through the gateway, exulting—finally—in what had just happened.

Her honor had returned.

“I came out through a small watergate, Aes Sedai,” Shemerin said, bowing her head before the others in the tent. “In truth, it wasn’t so difficult, once I left the Tower and got into the city. I didn’t dare leave by one of the bridges. I couldn’t let the Amyrlin know what I was doing.”

Romanda watched, arms folded. Her tent was lit by two brass lamps, flames dancing at the tips. Six women listened to the runaway’s story. Lelaine was there, for all that Romanda had tried to keep her from hearing about the meeting. Romanda had hoped that the slender Blue would be too busy basking in her status in camp to bother with such a seemingly trivial event.

Beside her was Siuan. The former Amyrlin had latched herself on to Lelaine with the strength of a barnacle. Romanda was well enough pleased with the newfound ability to Heal a stilling—she was Yellow after all—but a part of her wished it hadn’t happened to Siuan. As if Lelaine weren’t bad enough to deal with. Romanda had not forgotten Siuan’s crafty nature, even if so many others in camp seemed to have done so. Lesser strength in the Power did not mean decreased capacity for scheming.

Sheriam was there, of course. The red-haired Keeper sat beside Lelaine. Sheriam had been withdrawn lately, and barely maintained the dignity of an Aes Sedai. Foolish woman. She needed to be removed from her place; everyone could see that. If Egwene ever returned—and Romanda prayed that she did, if only because it would upset Lelaine’s plans—then there would be an opportunity. A new Keeper.

The other person in the tent was Magla. Romanda and Lelaine had argued—with control, of course—over who would be first to interrogate Shemerin. They’d decided that the only fair way was to do it together. Because Shemerin was Yellow, Romanda had been able to call the meeting in her own tent. It had been a shock when Lelaine had shown up with not just Siuan but Sheriam in tow. But they’d never said how many attendants they could bring. And so Romanda was left with only Magla. The thick-shouldered woman sat beside Romanda, listening quietly to the confession. Should Romanda have sent for someone else? It would have looked very obvious, delaying the meeting for that.

It wasn’t really an interrogation, however. Shemerin spoke freely, without resisting questions. She sat on a small stool before them. She’d refused a cushion for it. Romanda had rarely seen a woman as determined to punish herself as this poor child.

Not a child, Romanda thought. A full Aes Sedai, whatever she says. Burn you, Elaida, for turning one of us into this!

Shemerin had been Yellow. Burn it, she was Yellow. She’d been talking to them for the better part of an hour now, answering questions about the status of the White Tower. Siuan had been the first to ask how the woman had come to escape.

“Please forgive me for seeking work in the camp without coming to you, Aes Sedai,” Shemerin said, head bowed. “But I have fled the Tower against the law. As an Accepted leaving without permission, I am a runaway. I knew I would be punished if discovered.

“I have stayed in this area because it is so familiar, and I cannot let it go. When your army came, I saw a chance for work, and I took it. But please, do not force me to go back. I will not be a danger. I will seek a life as a normal woman, careful not to use my abilities.”

“You are Aes Sedai,” Romanda said, trying to keep the edge out of her voice. This woman’s attitude lent much credence to the things Egwene said about Elaida’s power-hungry reign in the Tower. “No matter what Elaida says.”

“I. . . .” Shemerin just shook her head. Light! She never had been the most poised of Aes Sedai, but it was shocking to see her fallen so far.

“Tell me about this watergate,” Siuan said, leaning forward in her chair. “Where could we find it?”

“On the southwestern side of the city, Aes Sedai,” Shemerin said. “About five minutes’ walk eastward from where the ancient statues of Eleyan al’Landerin and her Warders stand.” She hesitated, suddenly seeming anxious. “But it is a small gate. You couldn’t take an army through it. I only know of it because I had the duty of caring for the beggars who live there.”

“I want a map anyway,” Siuan said, then she glanced at Lelaine. “At least, I think we should have one.”

“It is a wise idea,” Lelaine said in a nauseatingly magnanimous tone.

“I do want to know more of your . . . situation,” Magla said. “How is it Elaida could think that demoting a sister was wise? Egwene did speak of this event, and I did find it incredible then, too. What was Elaida’s thought?”

“I . . . cannot speak for the Amyrlin’s thought,” Shemerin said. She cringed as the women in the room gave her a set of not-so-subtle glares at calling Elaida the Amyrlin. Romanda didn’t join in. Something small was creeping beneath the canvas floor of the tent, moving from one corner toward the center of the room. Light! Was that a mouse? No, it was too small. Perhaps a cricket. She shifted uncomfortably.

“But surely you did do something to earn her ire,” Magla said. “Something worthy of such treatment?”

“I. . . .” Shemerin said. She kept glancing at Siuan for some reason.

Fool woman. Romanda almost thought Elaida had made the right move. Shemerin should never have been given the shawl. Of course, demoting her to Accepted was no way to handle the situation either. The Amyrlin couldn’t be given that much power.

Yes, that was definitely something under the canvas, determinedly pushing its way to the center of the tent, a tiny lump moving in jerks and starts.

“I was weak before her,” Shemerin finally said. “We were speaking of . . . events in the world. I could not stomach them. I did not show poise befitting an Aes Sedai.”

“That’s it?” Lelaine asked. “You didn’t plot against her? You didn’t contradict her?”

Shemerin shook her head. “I was loyal.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Lelaine said.

“I believe her,” Siuan said dryly. “Shemerin showed well enough she was in Elaida’s pocket on several occasions.”

“This do be a dangerous precedent,” Magla noted. “Burn my soul, but it do.”

“Yes,” Romanda agreed, watching the canvas-covered whatever-it-was inch along before her. “I suspect she used poor Shemerin as an example, acclimating the White Tower to the concept of demotion. That will let her use it on those who are actually her enemies.”

The conversation hit a lull. The Sitters who supported Egwene would likely head the list of those to be demoted, if Elaida retained her power and the Aes Sedai reconciled.

“Is that a mouse?” Siuan asked, looking down.

“It’s too small,” Romanda said. “And it’s not important.”

“Small?” Lelaine said, leaning down.

Romanda frowned, glancing at the spot again. It did seem to have grown larger. In fact—

The bump jerked suddenly, pushing upward. The canvas floor split, and a thick-bodied cockroach—as wide as a fig—scrambled through. Romanda pulled back in revulsion.

The roach skittered across the canvas, antennae twitching. Siuan took off her shoe to swat it. But the bottom of the tent bubbled up near the rip, and a second cockroach climbed through. Then a third. And then a wave of them, pouring through the split like too-hot tea sprayed from a mouth. A black and brown carpet of scrambling, scratching, scurrying creatures, pushing over one another in their hurry to get out.

The women screeched in revulsion, throwing back stools and chairs as they stood. Warders were in the room a moment later; broad-shouldered Rorik bonded to Magla, and that coppery-skinned stone of a man was Burin Shaeren, bonded to Lelaine. They had swords drawn at the screams, but the cockroaches seemed to stump them. They stood, staring at the stream of filthy insects.

Sheriam hopped up on her chair. Siuan channeled and began to squash the creatures closest to her. Romanda hated to use the One Power for death, even on such vile creatures, but she too found herself channeling Air and smashing the insects in swaths, but the creatures were pouring in too quickly. Soon the ground was swarming with them, and the Aes Sedai were forced to scramble out of the tent and into the quiet darkness of the camp. Rorik pulled the flaps shut, though that wouldn’t stop the insects from squeezing out.

Outside, Romanda couldn’t stop herself from running her fingers through her hair, just in case, to make certain none of the creatures had gotten into it. She shivered as she imagined the creatures scrambling over her body.

“Is there anything in the tent that is dear to you?” Lelaine asked, looking back at the tent. Through the lamplight, she could see the shadowy insects scurrying up the walls.

Romanda spared a thought for her journal, but knew that she’d never be able to touch those pages after her tent had been infested this way. “Nothing that I’d care to keep now,” she said, weaving Fire. “And nothing I can’t replace.”

The others joined her, and the tent burst into flames, Rorik jumping back as they channeled. Romanda thought she heard the insects popping and sizzling inside. The Aes Sedai moved back from the sudden heat. In moments, the entire tent was an inferno. Women rushed out of nearby tents to look.

“I do no think that was natural,” Magla said softly. “Those did be four-spine roaches. Sailors do see them on ships that visit Shara.”

“Well, it isn’t the worst we’ve seen from the Dark One,” Siuan said, folding her arms. “And we’ll see worse yet, mark my words.” She eyed Shemerin. “Come, I want that map from you.”

They left with Rorik and the others, who would alert the camp that the Dark One had touched it this night. Romanda stood watching the tent burn. Soon it was only smoldering coals.

Light, she thought. Egwene is right. It is coming. Fast. And the girl was imprisoned now; she’d met with the Hall the night before in the World of Dreams, informing them of her disastrous dinner with Elaida and the aftermath of insulting the false Amyrlin. And yet Egwene still refused rescue.

Torches were lit and Warders roused as a precaution against more evil. She smelled smoke. That was the remains of all she had owned in the world.

The Tower needed to be whole. Whatever it took. Would she be willing to bow before Elaida to make that happen? Would she put on an Accepted dress again if it would bring unity for the Last Battle?

She couldn’t decide. And that disturbed her nearly as much as those scuttling roaches had.