“She must see them as trash,” Seana said. “When she returns — if she returns — she will burn them and scatter the ashes. The metal she will give to a smith to make simple things. Not weapons. Not even a carving knife. Buckles, or pots, or puzzles for children. Things she will give away with her own hands when they are made.”
“The Threefold Land is not soft, Aes Sedai,” Bair said. “”Soft things die, here."
“The cadin'sor, Aviendha.” Amys gestured to the discarded weapons. “Your new clothes will await your return.”
Mechanically, Aviendha stripped, tossing coat and breeches, soft boots, everything onto the pile. Naked, she stood without wriggling a toe, though Egwene thought her own feet would blister through her shoes. She remembered watching as the clothes she had worn to the White Tower were burned, a severing of ties to an earlier life, but it had not been like this. Not this stark.
When Aviendha started to add the sack and the wall hangings to the pile, Seana took them from her. “These you can have back. If you return. If not, they will go to your family, for remembrance.”
Aviendha nodded. She did not seem afraid. Reluctant, angry, even sullen, but not afraid.
“In Rhuidean,” Amys said, “you will find three rings, arranged so.” She drew three lines in the air, joining together in the middle. “Step through any one. You will see your future laid before you, again and again, in variation. They will not guide you wholly, as is best, for they will fade together as do stories heard long ago, yet you will remember enough to know some things that must be, for you, despised as they may be, and some that must not, cherished hopes that they are. This is the beginning of being called wise. Some women never return from the rings; perhaps they could not face the future. Some who survive the rings do not survive their second trip to Rhuidean, to the heart. You are not giving up a hard and dangerous life for a softer, but for a harder and more dangerous.”
A ter'angreal. Amys was describing a ter'angreal. What kind of place was this Rhuidean? Egwene found herself wanting to go down there herself, to find out. That was foolish. She was not here to take unnecessary risks with ter'angreal she knew nothing about.
Melaine cupped Aviendha's chin and turned the younger woman's face to her. “You have the strength,” she said with quiet conviction. “A strong mind and a strong heart are your weapons now, but you hold them as surely as you ever held a spear. Remember them, use them, and they will see you through anything.”
Egwene was surprised. Of the four, she would have picked the sunhaired woman last to show compassion.
Aviendha nodded, and even managed a smile. “I will beat those men to Rhuidean. They cannot run.”
Each Wise One in turn kissed her lightly on each cheek, murmuring, “Come back to us.”
Catching Aviendha's hand, Egwene squeezed it and got a squeeze in return. Then the Aiel woman was running down the mountainside in leaps. It seemed she might well catch up to Rand and Mat. Egwene watched her go worriedly. This was something like being raised to Accepted, it seemed, but without any novice training first, without anyone to give small comfort afterward. What would it have been like to be raised Accepted on her first day in the Tower? She thought she might have gone mad. Nynaeve had been raised so, because of her strength; she thought at least some of Nynaeve's distaste for Aes Sedai came from what she had experienced then. Come back to us, she thought. Be steadfast.
When Aviendha passed out of sight, Egwene sighed and turned back to the Wise Ones. She had her own purpose here, and holding back from it would help no one. “Amys, in Tel'aran'rhiod you told me I should come to you to learn. I have.”
“Haste,” the white haired woman said. “We have been hasty, because Aviendha struggled so long against her toh, because we feared the Shaido might don veils, even here, if we did not send Rand al'Thor into Rhuidean before they could think.”
“You believe they'd have tried to kill him?” Egwene said. “But he's the one you sent people over the Dragonwall to find. He Who Comes With the Dawn.”
Bair shifted her shawl. “Perhaps he is. We shall see. If he lives.”
“He has his mother's eyes,” Amys said, “and much of her in his face as well as something of his father, but Couladin could see only his clothes, and his horse. The other Shaido would have as well, and perhaps the Taardad, too. Outlanders are not allowed on this ground, and now there are five of you. No, four; Rand al'Thor is no outlander, wherever he was raised. But we have already allowed one to enter Rhuidean, which is also forbidden. Change comes like an avalanche whether we want it or not.”
“It must come,” Bair said, not sounding happy. “The Pattern plants us where it will.”
“You knew Rand's parents?” Egwene asked cautiously. Whatever they said, she still thought of Tam and Kari al'Thor as Rand's parents.
“That is his story,” Amys said, “if he wants to hear it.” By the firmness of her mouth, she would not say another word on the subject.
“Come,” Bair said. “There is no need for haste, now. Come. We offer you water and shade.”
Egwene's knees nearly buckled at the mention of shade. The oncesopping kerchief around her forehead was almost dry; the top of her head felt baked, and the rest of her scarcely less. Moiraine seemed just as grateful to follow the Wise Ones up to one of the small clusters of low, opensided tents.
A tall man in sandals and hooded white robes took their horses' reins. His Aiel face looked odd in the deep soft cowl, with downcast eyes.
“Give the animals water,” Bair said before ducking into the low, unwalled tent, and the man bowed to her back, touching his forehead.
Egwene hesitated over letting the man lead Mist away. He seemed confident, but what would an Aiel know of horses? Still, she did not think he would harm them, and it did look wonderfully darker inside the tent. It was, and delightfully cool compared to outside.
The roof of the tent rose to a peak around a hole, but even under that there was barely room to stand. As if to make up for the drab colors the Aiel wore, large gold tasseled red cushions lay scattered over brightly colored carpets layered thickly enough to pad the hard ground beneath. Egwene and Moiraine imitated the Wise Ones, sinking to the carpet and leaning on one elbow on a cushion. They were all in a circle, nearly close enough to touch the next woman.
Bair struck a small brass gong, and two young women entered with silver trays, bending gracefully, robed in white, with deep cowls and downturned eyes, like the man who had taken the horses. Kneeling in the middle of the tent, one filled a small silver cup with wine for each of the women reclining on a cushion, and the other poured larger cups of water. Without a word, they backed out bowing, leaving the gleaming trays and pitchers, beaded with condensation.
“Here is water and shade,” Bair said, lifting her water, “freely given. Let there be no constraints between us. All here are welcome, as firstsisters are welcome.”
“Let there be no constraints,” Amys and the other two murmured. After one sip of water, the Aiel women named themselves formally. Bair, of the Haido sept of the Shaarad Aiel. Amys, of the Nine Valleys sept of the Taardad Aiel. Melaine, of the Jhirad sept of the Goshien Aiel. Seana, of the Black Cliff sept of the Nakai Aiel.
Egwene and Moiraine followed the ritual, though Moiraine's mouth tightened when Egwene called herself an Aes Sedai of the Green Ajah.
As if the sharing of water and names had broken down a wall, the mood in the tent changed palpably. Smiles from the Aiel women, a subtle relaxation, and said formalities were done.
Egwene was more grateful for the water than for the wine. It might be cooler in the tent than outside, but just breathing still dried her throat. At Amys's gesture she eagerly poured a second cup.
The people in white had been a surprise. It was foolish, but she realized she had been thinking that except for the Wise Ones Aiel were all like Rhuarc and Aviendha, warriors. Of course they had blacksmiths and weavers and other craftsmen; they must. Why not servants? Only, Aviendha had been disdainful of the servants in the Stone, not letting them do anything for her that she could avoid. These people with their humble demeanor did not act like Aiel at all. She did not recall seeing any white in the two large camps. “Is it only Wise Ones who have servants?” she asked.
Melaine choked on her wine. “Servants?” she gasped. “They are gai'shain, not servants.” She sounded as if that should explain everything,
Moiraine frowned slightly over her winecup. “Gai'shain? How does that translate? 'Those sworn to peace in battle'?”
“They are simply gai'shain,” Amys said. She seemed to realize they did not understand. “Forgive me, but do you know of ji'e'toh?”
“Honor and obligation,” Moiraine replied promptly. “Or perhaps honor and duty.”
“Those are the words, yes. But the meaning. We live by ji'e'toh, Aes Sedai.”
“Do not try to tell them all, Amys,” Bair cautioned. “I once spent a month trying to explain ji'e'toh to a wetlander, and at the end she had more questions than at the beginning.”
Amys nodded. “I will stay to the core. If you wish it explained, Moiraine.”
Egwene would as soon have begun talk of Dreaming, and training, but to her irritation, the Aes Sedai said, “Yes, if you will.”
With a nod to Moiraine, Amys began. “I will follow the line of gai'shain simply. In the dance of spears, the most ji, honor, is earned by touching an armed enemy without killing, or harming in any way.”
“The most honor because it is so difficult,” Seana said, bluish gray eyes crinkling wryly, “and thus so seldom done.”
“The smallest honor comes from killing,” Amys continued. “A child or a fool can kill. In between is the taking of a captive. I pare it down, you see. There are many degrees. Gai'shain are captives taken so, though a warrior who has been touched may sometimes demand to be taken gai'shain to reduce his enemy's honor and his own loss.”
“Maidens of the Spear and Stone Dogs especially are known for this,” Seana put in, bringing a sharp look from Amys.
“Do I tell this, or do you? To continue. Some may not be taken gai'shain, of course. A Wise One, a blacksmith, a child, a woman with child or one who has a child under the age of ten. A gai'shain has toh to his or her captor. For gai'shain, this is to serve one year and a day, obeying humbly, touching no weapon, doing no violence.”
Egwene was interested in spite of herself. “Don't they try to escape? I certainly would.” I'll never let anyone make me a prisoner again!
The Wise Ones looked shocked. “It has happened,” Seana said stiffly, “but there is no honor in it. A gai'shain who ran away would be returned by his or her sept to begin the year and a day anew. The loss of honor is so great that a firstbrother or firstsister might go as gai'shain as well to discharge the sept's toh. More than one, if they feel the l