He looked at her, challenging. Ramshalan and the other attendants backed away quietly, not wanting to be caught between his gaze and Nynaeve.
She was silent, although her face took on a profound sadness. "Oh, Rand," she finally said. "You can't go on like this. This hardness within you, it will break you."
"I do what I must," he said, anger creeping into him. Would he never hear the end of complaints about his choices?
"This isn't what you must do, Rand," she said. "You're going to destroy yourself. You'll—"
Rand's anger surged. He spun, pointing at her. "Would you end up exiled like Cadsuane, Nynaeve?" he bellowed. "I will not be played with! I am done with that. Give advice when it is asked for, and the rest of the time do not patronize me\"
She recoiled, and Rand gritted his teeth, forcing the anger back down. His lowered his hand, but realized it had begun to reach reflex-ively for the access key in the pocket at his side. Nynaeve's eyes fixed on it, opening wide, and he slowly forced his hand away from the statuette.
The explosion surprised him. He had thought his temper controlled. He forced it down, and had a surprisingly difficult time of it. He turned and stalked from the room, throwing open the door, his Maidens following him. "I will have no more audiences today," he told the attendants who tried to follow him. "Go and do as I have told you! I need the other members of the merchant council. Go!"
They scattered. Only the Aiel remained, guarding him as he made his way to the rooms he had claimed in the mansion.
A short time longer. He only had to keep things balanced a short time longer. Then it could end. And he found that he was beginning to look forward to that end as much as Lews Therin did.
You promised we could die, Lews Therin said between distant sobs.
/ did, Rand said. And we will.
CHAPTER 32
Rivers of Shadow
Nynaeve stood on the broad wall around Bandar Eban, looking down over the darkened city. The wall was on the inland side of the city, but Bandar Eban was built on a slope, so she could see out over it, past the city, toward the ocean beyond. The night fog rolled in across the waters, hanging above a crisp black mirror sea. It seemed like a reflection of the clouds high above. Those clouds glowed with a phantom pearl light, cast by a moon she could not see.
The fog did not reach the city; it rarely did. It hung over the ocean, churning. Like the ghost of a forest fire, stopped by some unseen barrier.
She could still feel the storm to the north. It called on her to ride through the streets, shouting warning. Flee to the cellars! Store up food, for a disaster will strike! Unfortunately, packing earth or reinforcing walls would not help against this tempest. It was of a different sort entirely.
The ocean fog was often herald to winds, and this night was no exception. She pulled her shawl close, smelling brine on the air. It mixed with the inevitable scents of an overcrowded city. Refuse, packed bodies, soot and smoke from fires and stoves. She missed the Two Rivers. The winds there were cold in the winters, but they were always fresh. Bandar Eban's winds always felt slightly used.
There would never again be a place for her in the Two Rivers. She knew this, though it hurt her. She was Aes Sedai now; it had become who she was, more important to her now than being Wisdom had once been. With the One Power, she could Heal people in a way that still seemed a marvel. And with the authority of the White Tower behind her, she was one of the most powerful individuals in the world, matched only by other sisters and the occasional monarch.
And in regard to monarchs, she herself was married to a king. He might not have a kingdom, but Lan was a king. To her, if nobody else. Life in the Two Rivers would not suit him. And, truthfully, it wouldn't suit her either. That simple life—once all she had been able to imagine— would now seem dull and unfulfilling.
Still, it was difficult not to feel wistful, particularly when watching the night fogs.
"There," Merise said, voice edged with tension. She, along with Cadsuane and Corele, stood looking in the other direction—not southwest over the city and ocean, but east. Nynaeve had almost decided against accompanying the group, as she had little doubt that Cadsuane partly blamed Nynaeve for her exile. However, the prospect of seeing the apparitions had been too enticing.
Nynaeve turned from the city and crossed the top of the wall, joining the others. Corele glanced at her, but Merise and Cadsuane ignored her. That suited Nynaeve. Though it did continue to irk her that Corele—of the Yellow Ajah—was so guarded in her acceptance of Nynaeve. Corele was pleasant, consoling, yet sternly unwilling to admit that Nynaeve was also a member of the Yellow. Well, the woman would have to change ruts eventually, once Egwene secured the White Tower.
Nynaeve peered through the crenellations atop the wall, scanning the dark landscape outside the city. She could faintly make out the remnants of the shanties that had crowded up against the walls until recently. The dangers—some real, others exaggerated—in the countryside had caused most of the refugees to crowd into the city's streets. Dealing with them, and the disease and hunger they brought with them, still demanded a lot of Rand's time.
Out beyond that trampled-down shantytown there were only shrubs, stunted trees, a shadowed bit of broken timber that might have been a wagon wheel. The nearby fields were barren. Plowed, seeded, yet still barren. Light! Why didn't crops grow anymore? Where would they find food this winter?
Anyway, that wasn't what she was looking for at the moment. What was it Merise had seen? Where—
Then Nynaeve saw it. Like a wisp of the ocean fog, a tiny patch of glowing light was blowing across the ground. It grew, bulging like a tiny storm cloud, glowing with a pearly light not unlike that of the clouds above. It resolved into the shape of a man, walking. Then that luminescent fog sprouted more figures. Within moments, an entire glowing procession strode across the dark ground, moving at a mournful pace.
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 Darner 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 ba
