The Fires of Heaven by Robert Jordan
“What are you doing?” She tossed aside the pieces and picked up another spear. “I said, what are you doing?” The white-haired Maiden’s face might have given even Lan pause, but Rand bent and seized the spear between her hands; her soft-booted foot came to rest against his knuckles. Not lightly.
“Will you put us in skirts, and make us marry and tend hearth? Or are we to lie beside your fire and lick your hand when you give us a scrap of meat?” Her muscles tensed, and the spear broke, scoring his palm with splinters.
He snatched his freed hand back with a curse, shaking off droplets of blood. “I don’t mean any such thing. I thought you understood.” She took up the last spear, set her foot, and he channeled, weaving Air to hold her as she was. She only stared at him wordlessly. “Burn me, you said nothing! So I kept the Maidens out of the battle with Couladin. Not everyone fought that day. And you never said a word.”
Sulin’s eyes widened in incredulity. “You kept us from the dance of spears? We kept you from the dance. You were like a girl newly wed to the spear, ready to rush out and kill Couladin with never a thought for the spear you might take from behind. You are the Car’a’carn. You have no right to risk yourself needlessly.” Her voice flattened. “Now you go to fight the Forsaken. The secret is well kept, but I have heard enough from those who lead the other societies.”
“And you want to keep me out of this fight as well?” he said quietly.
“Do not be a fool, Rand al’Thor. Any could have danced the spears with Couladin; for you to risk it was the thinking of a child. None among us can face the Shadowsouled, save you.”
“Then why . . . ?” He stopped; he already knew the answer. After that blood-soaked day against Couladin, he had convinced himself they would not mind. He had wanted to believe they would not.
“Those who go with you have been chosen.” The words came like hurled stones. “Men from every society. Men. There are no Maidens, Rand al’Thor. Far Dareis Mai carries your honor, and you take ours away.”
He drew a deep breath, fumbling for words. “I . . . do not like to see a woman die. I hate it, Sulin. It curdles me up inside. I could not kill a woman if my life hung on it.” The pages of Moiraine’s letter rustled in his hand. Dead because he could not kill Lanfear. Not always just his own life. “Sulin, I would rather go against Rahvin alone than see one of you die.”
“A foolish thing. Everyone needs another to watch her back. So it is Rahvin. Even Roidan of the Thunder Walkers and Turol of the Stone Dogs held that back.” She glanced at her upraised foot, held against the spear by the same flows that snared her arms. “Release me, and we will talk.”
After a moment’s hesitation, he unraveled the weave. He was tensed to seize her again if need be, but she only crossed her legs and sat bouncing the spear on her palms. “Sometimes I forget you were raised out of our blood, Rand al’Thor. Listen to me. I am what I am. This is what I am.” She hefted the spear.
“Sulin—”
“Listen, Rand al’Thor. I am the spear. When a lover came between me and the spear, I chose the spear. Some chose the other way. Some decide they have run with the spears long enough, that they want a husband, a child. I have never wanted anything else. No chief would hesitate to send me wherever the dance is hottest. If I died there, my first-sisters would mourn me, but not a fingernail more than when our first-brother fell. A treekiller who stabbed me to the heart in my sleep would do me more honor than you do. Do you understand now?”
“I understand, but . . .” He did understand. She did not want him to make her something other than what she was. All he had to do was be willing to watch her die. “What happens if you break the last spear?”
“If I have no honor in this life, perhaps in another.” She said it as if it was just another explanation. It took him a moment to comprehend. All he had to do was be willing to watch her die.
“You don’t leave me any choices, do you?” No more than Moiraine had.
“There are always choices, Rand al’Thor. You have a choice, and I have one. Ji’e’toh allows no other.”
He wanted to snarl at her, to curse ji’e’toh and everyone who followed it. “Choose out your Maidens, Sulin. I don’t know how many I can take, but Far Dareis Mai will have as many as any other society.”
He stalked past her and her sudden smile. Not relief. Pleasure. Pleasure that she would have the chance to die. He should have left her wrapped up in saidin, left her to be dealt with somehow when he came back from Caemlyn. Slamming the door open, he strode out onto the quay—and stopped.
Enaila headed a line of Maidens, each with three spears in her hands, a line leading back from the dockmaster’s door, vanishing into the nearest of the gates to the city. Some of the Aielmen on the dockside eyed them curiously, but it was obviously something between Far Dareis Mai and the Car’a’carn, and no business of any other society. Amys and three or four other Wise Ones who had once been Maidens were watching more closely. Most of the non-Aiel had gone, except for a few men nervously righting overturned grain carts and trying to look elsewhere. Enaila stepped toward Rand, then halted and smiled as Sulin came out. Not relief. Pleasure. Smiles of pleasure running back down that long line of Maidens. Smiles on those Wise Ones, too, and a sharp nod for him from Amys as if he had put an end to some idiotic behavior.
“I thought maybe they were going to go in one at a time and kiss you out of your miseries,” Mat said.
Rand frowned at him, standing there leaning on his spear and grinning, wide-brimmed hat tipped back on his head. “How can you be so cheerful?” The smell of seared flesh still hung in the air, and the moans of burned men and women being cared for by Wise Ones.
“Because I’m alive,” Mat snarled. “What do you want me to do, cry?” He shrugged uncomfortably. “Amys says Egwene really will be all right in a few days.” He did look around then, but as though he did not want to see what he saw. “Burn me, if we’re going to do this thing, let’s do it. Dovie’andi se tovya sagain.”
“What?”
“I said, it’s time to roll the dice. Did Sulin stop up your ears?”
“Time to roll the dice,” Rand agreed. The flames had died inside the glassy chimney of Air, but the white smoke still rose as though flames yet consumed the ter’angreal. Moiraine. He should have . . . Done was done. The Maidens were crowding down around Sulin, as many as would fit onto the quay. Done was done, and he had to live with it. Death would be a release from what he had to live with. “Let’s do it.”
CHAPTER
54
To Caemlyn
Five hundred of the Maidens behind Sulin accompanied Rand back to the Royal Palace, where Bael waited in the great court inside the front gates with Thunder Walkers and Black Eyes and Water Seekers and men from every other society, their numbers filling the courtyard and crowding back into the palace through every door down to the smallest servants’ way. Some watched from lower windows, waiting their turn to come out. The surrounding stone balconies were empty. In the entire courtyard only one man waited who was not Aiel; Tairens and Cairhienin—especially Cairhienin—stayed clear when Aiel gathered. The exception stood above Bael on the wide gray steps leading into the place. Pevin, with the crimson banner hanging limply from its staff, and no more expression surrounded by Aiel than at any other time.
Aviendha, behind Rand’s saddle, clung tightly to him, breasts pressed against his back, until the very moment he dismounted. There had been an exchange between her and some of the Wise Ones back at the docks that he did not think he had been supposed to hear.
“Go with the Light,” Amys had said, touching Aviendha’s face. “And guard him closely. You know how much depends on him.”
“Much depends on you both,” Bair told Aviendha, almost at the same time that Melaine said irritably, “It would be easier if you had succeeded by now.”
Sorilea snorted. “Even Maidens knew how to handle men in my day.”
“She has been more successful than you know,” Amys told th
Asmodean and Mat came up behind him, leading their horses. “Do women learn that look in the cradle?” Mat muttered. “Do their mothers teach them? I’d say the mighty Car’a’carn will get his ears singed if he stays around here much longer.”
Shaking his head, Rand reached up as Aviendha swung a leg over to slide down, and lifted her from the dapple’s back. For a moment he held her by the waist, looking down into her clear blue-green eyes. She did not look away, and her expression never changed, but her hands tightened slowly on his forearms. What success was she supposed to have? He had thought she was set to spy on him for the Wise Ones, but if she ever asked a question about things he held back from the Wise Ones, it was in open anger at him for keeping secrets from them. Never slyly, never trying to ferret something out. Bludgeon, maybe, but never ferret. He had considered the possibility that she was like one of Colavaere’s young women, but only for the brief moment it took to think of the notion. Aviendha would never let herself be used in that way. Besides, even if she had, giving him one taste of herself then denying him so much as a kiss afterward, not to mention making him chase her halfway around the world, was no way to go about it. If she was more than casual about being naked in front of him, Aiel customs were different. If his distress at it satisfied her, likely it was because she thought it was a great joke to play on him. So what was she supposed to be successful at? Plots all around him. Was everyone scheming? He could see his face in her eyes. Who had given her that silver necklace?
“I like canoodling as much as the next man,” Mat said, “but don’t you think there are a few too many people watching?”
Rand released Aviendha’s waist and stepped back, but no more quickly than she. She bent her head, fussing with her skirt, muttering about how riding had disarrayed it, but not before he saw her cheeks redden. Well, he had not meant to embarrass her.
Scowling around the courtyard, he said, “I told you I don’t know how many I can take, Bael.” With the Maidens spilling back through the gates onto the ramp, there was barely room to move in the courtyard. Five hundred from each society meant six thousand Aiel; the hallways inside must be packed.
The towering Aiel chief shrugged. Like every other Aiel there, he had his shoufa wrapped around his head, ready to veil. No crimson headband, though it seemed at least half the others wore the black-and-white disc on their foreheads. “Every spear that can follow you, will. Will the two Aes Sedai come soon?”
“No.” It was good that Aviendha kept her promise not to let him touch her again. Lanfear had tried to kill her and Egwene because she did not know which was Aviendha. How had Kadere found out to tell her? No matter. Lan was right. Women found pain—or death—when they came too close to him. “They will not be coming.”
“There are stories of . . . trouble . . . by the river.”
“A great victory, Bael,” Rand said wearily. “And much honor earned.” But not by me. Pevin came down past Bael to stand behind Rand’s shoulder with the banner, his narrow, scarred face absolutely blank. “Does the whole palace know about this, then?” Rand asked.
“I heard,” Pevin said. His jaw worked, chewing for more words. Rand had found him a replacement for his patched country coat, good red wool, and the man had had Dragons embroidered on it, one climbing either side of his chest. “That you were going. Somewhere.” That seemed to exhaust his store.
Rand nodded. Rumors grew in the palace like mushrooms in the shade. But as long as Rahvin did not find out. He scanned the tile roofs and towertops. No ravens. He had not seen a raven in some time, though he heard of other men killing them. Perhaps they avoided him now. “Stand ready.” He seized saidin, floated in emptiness, emotionless.
The gateway appeared at the foot of the steps, first a bright line that seemed to turn, opening into a square hole into blackness four paces wide. Not a murmur came from the Aiel. Those beyond would be able to see him as through a smoked glass, a dusky shimmering in the air, but they could as well try walking through one of the palace walls. From the side, the gateway would be invisible except to the few close enough to see what might seem a long, fine hair drawn tight.
Four paces was as large as Rand could make it. There were limits for one man by himself, Asmodean claimed; it seemed there were always limits. The amount of saidin you drew did not matter. The One Power had little to do with gateways, really; only the making. Beyond, was something else. A dream of a dream, Asmodean called it.
He stepped through onto what appeared to be a paving stone lifted from the courtyard, but here the gray square hung in the midst of utter darkness, with a sense that in every direction there was nothing. Nothing, forever. It was not like night. He could see himself and the stone perfectly. But everything else, everywhere else, was blackness.
It was time to see how large he could make a platform. With the thought, more stones appeared all at once, duplicating the courtyard to an inch. He imagined it larger still. That quickly, gray stone stretched as far as he could see. With a start, he realized that his boots were beginning to sink into the stone under his feet; it looked no different, yet it yielded slowly like mud, oozing up around his boots. Hastily, he brought everything back to a square the size of what was outside—that much stayed solid—then began increasing it by one outer row of stones at a time. It did not take long to realize he could not make the platform much larger than his first attempt. The stone still looked all right, it did not sink beneath his feet, but the second added row felt . . . insubstantial, like a thin shell that might crack at a wrong step. Was that because this was as large as the thing could be made? Or because he had not thought of it larger at first? We all make our limits. The thought slid up surprisingly from somewhere. And we set them further out than we have any right.
Rand felt himself shiver. In the Void, it seemed like feeling someone else shiver. It was well to be reminded that Lews Therin was still inside him. He had to be careful not to fall into a battle for self while confronting Rahvin. If not for that, he might have . . . No. What had happened on the quay was done; he would not make a hash of it for breakfast.
Reducing the platform by one outer ring of square stones, he turned. Bael was waiting out there in what seemed a huge square doorway into daylight with the steps beyond. At his side, Pevin looked no more perturbed by what he saw than the Aiel chief, which was to say not at all. Pevin would carry that banner wherever Rand went, even the Pit of Doom, and never blink. Mat shoved back his hat to scratch his head, then jerked it low again, muttering something about dice in his head.
“Impressive,” Asmodean said quietly. “Quite impressive.”
“Flatter him some other time, harper,” Aviendha said.
She was the first to step through, watching Rand, not where she put her feet. She walked all the way to him without once so much as glancing at anything except his face. When she reached him, though, it was to swing away abruptly, settle her shawl over her elbows, and study the darkness. Sometimes women were stranger than anything else the Creator could possibly have made.
Bael and Pevin came right behind her; then Asmodean, one hand clutching the strap of his harpcase across his chest, the other white-knuckled on his sword hilt; and Mat, swaggering, but a trifle reluctant and grumbling as if arguing with himself. In the Old Tongue. Sulin claimed the honor to be first else, but soon a wide stream followed, not just Maidens of the Spear, but Tain Shari, True Bloods, and Far Aldazar Din, Brothers of the Eagle; Red Shields and Dawn Runners, Stone
As the numbers increased, Rand moved to the far side of the platform from the gateway. There was no need to see where he was going, really, but he wanted to. In truth, he could have remained at the other end, or gone to one side; direction here was mutable; whatever way he chose to move would take him to Caemlyn if done properly. And to the endless black of nowhere if done wrong.
Except for Bael and Sulin—and Aviendha, of course—the Aiel left a little space around him and Mat, Asmodean and Pevin. “Stay away from the edge,” Rand said. The Aiel nearest him moved back all of a foot. He could not see over the forest of shoufa-shrouded heads. “Is it full?” he called. The thing might hold half those who wanted to go, but not many more. “Is it full?”
“Yes,” a woman’s voice called back finally, reluctantly—he thought it sounded like Lamelle—but there was still a milling in the gateway, Aiel sure there must be room for one more.
“Enough!” Rand shouted. “No more! Clear the gateway! Everyone stand well clear!” He did not want what had happened to the Seanchan spear to happen here to living flesh.
A pause, and then, “It is clear.” It was Lamelle. He would have bet his last copper that Enaila and Somara were back there somewhere, too.
The gateway seemed to turn sideways, thinning until it vanished with one final flash of light.
“Blood and ashes!” Mat muttered, leaning disgustedly on his spear. “This is worse than the flaming Ways!” Which earned him a startled look from Asmodean, and a considering one from Bael. Mat did not notice; he was too busy glaring at the blackness.
There was no sense of motion, no breeze to stir the banner Pevin held. They could have been standing still. But Rand knew better; he could almost feel the place they were approaching draw nearer.
“If you come out too close to him, he will sense it.” Asmodean licked his lips and avoided looking at anyone. “At least, that is what I have heard.”