Nynaeve checked her own garments and sighed. A blue silk ball gown, embroidered with golden flowers around the low neckline and in twined lines down the full skirt. She could feel velvet dancing slippers on her feet. What you wore in Tel’aran’rhiod did not really matter, but whatever had possessed her mind to choose this? “You realize this might not work,” she said, changing to good plain Two Rivers woolens and stout shoes. Elayne had no right to smile that way. A silver bow. Ha! “We’re supposed to have some idea at least of what we’re looking for, something about it.”
“It will have to do, Nynaeve. According to you, the Wise Ones said the stronger the need the better, and we surely need something, or the help we promised Rand is going to vanish except for whatever Elaida is willing to give. I won’t let that happen, Nynaeve. I will not.”
“Put your chin down. Neither will I, if there’s anything we can do about it. We might as well get on with this.” Linking hands with Elayne, Nynaeve closed her eyes. Need. She hoped some part of her had some notion what it was they needed. Maybe nothing would happen. Need. Suddenly everything seemed to slide around her; she felt Tel’aran’rhiod tilt and swoop.
Her eyes sprang open immediately. Each step using need was taken blind, of necessity, and while each took you closer to what you sought, any one could drop you down in a pit of vipers, or a lion disturbed at its kill could bite your leg off.
There were no lions, yet what there was was disturbing. It was bright midday, but that did not bother her; time flowed differently here. She and Elayne were holding hands in a cobblestone street, surrounded by buildings of brick and stone. Elaborate cornices and friezes decorated houses and shops alike. Ornate cupolas decorated tile rooftops, and bridges of stone or wood arched across the street, sometimes three or four stories up. Heaps of garbage, old clothes and broken furniture stood piled on street corners, and rats scurried about by the score, sometimes pausing to chitter fearless challenges at them. People dreaming themselves to the brink of Tel’aran’rhiod flickered in and out of existence. A man fell shrieking from one of the bridges and vanished before he hit the cobblestones. A howling woman in a torn dress ran a dozen paces toward them before she too winked out. Truncated screams and shouts echoed through the streets, and sometimes coarse laughter with a maniacal edge.
“I don’t like this,” Elayne said in a worried tone.
In the distance, a great bone-white shaft reared above the city, far overtopping other towers, many of them linked by bridges that made those where they were seem low. They were in Tar Valon, in the part where Nynaeve had caught a glimpse of Leane last time. Leane had not been very forthcoming about what she had been doing; increasing the awe and legend of the mysterious Aes Sedai, she had claimed with a smile.
“It doesn’t matter,” Nynaeve said stoutly. “Nobody in Tar Valon even knows about the World of Dreams. We won’t run into anybody.” Her stomach turned over as a bloody-faced man suddenly appeared, staggering toward them. He had no hands, only spurting stumps.
“That was not what I meant,” Elayne muttered.
“Let’s be on about it.” Nynaeve closed her eyes. Need.
Shift.
They were in the Tower, in one of the tapestry-hung curving hallways. A plump novice-clad girl popped into existence not three paces away, her big eyes going wider when she saw them. “Please,” she whimpered. “Please?” And was gone.
Suddenly Elayne gasped, “Egwene!”
Nynaeve whirled around, but the passage was empty.
“I saw her,” Elayne insisted. “I know I did.”
“I suppose she can touch Tel’aran’rhiod in an ordinary dream like anyone else,” Nynaeve told her. “Let’s just get on with what we’re here for.” She was beginning to feel more than uneasy. They linked hands again. Need.
Shift.
It was not an ordinary storeroom. Shelves lined the walls and made two short rows out in the floor, neatly lined with boxes of various sizes and shapes, some plain wood, some carved or lacquered, with things wrapped in cloth, with statuettes and figurines, and peculiar shapes seemingly of metal or glass, crystal or stone or glazed porcelain. Nynaeve needed no more to know they must be objects of the One Power, ter’angreal most likely, perhaps some angreal and sa’angreal. Such a disparate collection, stored away so tidily, could not be anything else in the Tower.
“I don’t think there is any point to going further here,” Elayne said dejectedly. “I don’t know how we could ever get anything out of here.”
Nynaeve gave her braid a short tug. If there really was something here they could use—there had to be, unless the Wise Ones had lied—then there had to be a way to reach it in the waking world. Angreal and the like were not heavily guarded; usually, when she had been in the Tower, only by a lock and a novice. The door here was made of heavy planks with a heavy black iron lock set in it. No doubt it was fastened, but she fixed it in her mind as undone and pushed.
The door swung open into a guardroom. Narrow beds stacked one atop another lined one wall, and racked halberds lined another. Beyond a heavy, battered table ringed by stools was another door, iron-strapped, with a small grille set in it.
As she turned back to Elayne she was suddenly aware that the door was shut again. “If we can’t get to what we need here, maybe we can somewhere else. I mean, maybe something else will do. At least we have a hint now. I think these are ter’angreal nobody has found how to use yet. That’s the only reason they would be guarded like this. It could be dangerous even to channel close to them.”
Elayne gave her a wry look. “But if we try again, won’t it just bring us right back here? Unless. . . . Unless the Wise Ones told you how to exclude a place from the search.”
They had not—they had not been eager to tell her anything at all—but in a place where you open a lock by thinking it was open, anything should be possible. “That’s exactly what we do. We fix it in our heads that what we want isn’t in Tar Valon.” Frowning at the shelves, she added, “And I’ll wager it is a ter’angreal nobody knows how to use.” Though how that would convince the Hall to support Rand, she could not imagine.
“We need a ter’angreal that isn’t in Tar Valon,” Elayne said as if convincing herself. “Very well. We go on.”
She held out her hands, and after a moment Nynaeve took them. Nynaeve was not sure how she had become the one to insist on continuing. She wanted to leave Salidar, not find a reason to stay. But if it assured that the Salidar Aes Sedai
