“Is this the discipline Maidens learn now?” Amys said sharply. “If it is, you will find we teach a harder. If there is some reason you cannot stay near to Rand al'Thor, speak it.” Aviendha's defiance wilted a trifle, and she mumbled inaudibly. Amys's voice took on a knife edge. “I said, speak it!”
“I do not like him!” Aviendha burst out. “I hate him! Hate him!” Had Egwene not known better, she would have thought her close to tears. The words shocked her, though; surely Aviendha could not mean it.
“We are not asking you to love him, or take him to your bed,” Seana said acidly. “We are telling you to listen to the man, and you will obey!”
“Childishness!” Amys snorted. “What kind of young women is the world producing now? Do none of you grow up?”
Bair and Melaine were even sharper, with the older woman threatening to tie Aviendha on Rand's horse in place of his saddle — she sounded as if she meant it precisely — and Melaine suggesting that instead of sleep Aviendha should perhaps spend the night digging holes and filling them in to clear her head. The threats were not intended to coerce her, Egwene realized; these women expected and intended to be obeyed. Any useless labor Aviendha earned herself would be for being stubborn. That stubbornness seemed to be shrinking, with four sets of Wise Ones' eyes boring at her — she settled into more of a defensive crouch, on her knees — but she was holding on.
Egwene leaned over to put a hand on Aviendha's shoulder. “You've told me we are nearsisters, and I think we are. Will you do it for me? Think of it as looking after him for Elayne. You like her, too, I know. You can tell him she says she meant what she said in her letters. He will like hearing that.”
Aviendha's face spasmed. “I will do it,” she said, slumping. “I will watch him for Elayne. For Elayne.”
Amys shook herself. “Foolishness. You will watch him because we told you to, girt. If you think you have another reason, you will find you are painfully mistaken. More water. The steam is fading.”
Aviendha hurled another handful onto the rocks as though hurling a spear. Egwene was glad to see her spirit returning, but she thought she would caution her when they were alone. Spirit was all very well, but there were some women — these four Wise Ones, for example, and Siuan Sanche — with whom it was common sense to keep a check on your spirit. You could shout at the Women's Circle all day, and you still ended up doing what they wanted anyway, wishing you had kept your mouth shut.
“Now that that is settled,” Bair said, “let us enjoy the steam in silence while we can. There is much for some of us yet to do tonight, and for nights to come, if we are to bring a gathering to Alcair Dal for Rand al'Thor.”
“Men always find ways to make work for women,” Amys said. “Why should Rand al'Thor be different?”
Quiet settled over the tent except for the hiss when Aviendha tossed more water on the hot rocks. The Wise Ones sat with hands on knees, breathing deeply. It was really quite pleasant, even relaxing, the damp heat, the slick, cleansing feel of sweat on the skin. Egwene thought it was worth missing a little sleep.
Moiraine did not look relaxed, though. She stared at the steaming kettle as if seeing something else, far off.
“Was it bad?” Egwene said softly so as not to disturb the Wise Ones. “Rhuidean, I mean?” Aviendha looked up quickly, but said nothing.
“The memories fade,” Moiraine said, just as quietly. She did not look away from her distant vision, and her voice was almost chill enough to take away the heat in the air. “Most are already gone. Some, I knew already. Others... The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills, and we are only the thread of the Pattern. I have given my life to finding the Dragon Reborn, finding Rand, and seeing him ready to face the Last Battle. I will see that done, whatever it requires. Nothing and no one can be more important than that.”
Shivering despite her sweat, Egwene closed her eyes. The Aes Sedai did not want comforting. She was a lump of ice, not a woman. Egwene settled herself to trying to recapture that pleasant feeling. She suspected such would be few and far between in the days to come.
Chapter 36
(Crescent Moon and Stars)
Misdirections
The Aiel broke camp early and were away from Rhuidean while the notyetrisen sun still sharply silhouetted the far mountains. In three parties they wound around Chaendaer, down onto rough flats broken by hills and tall stone spires and flattopped buttes, gray and brown and every hue between, some streaked with long swirls in shades of red and ocher. Occasionally a great natural arch loomed as they moved north and west, or strange, huge slabs of rock balanced improbably, forever on the brink of falling. Every way Rand looked, jagged mountains reared in the distance. All the wreckage of the Breaking of the World seemed gathered here in the place called the Aiel Waste. Where the hard ground was not cracked clay, yellow or brown or something between, it was stony and stark, and everywhere split by dry gulleys and hollows. The scattered vegetation was sparse and low, thorny bushes and leafless things with spines; the few blossoms, white or red or, yellow, were startling in their isolation. Occasionally stretches of tough grass covered the ground, and rarely, there was a stunted tree also likely to have thorns or spines. Compared to Chaendaer and the valley of Rhuidean, it almost looked lush. The air was so clear, the land so barren, it seemed Rand could see for miles and miles.
That air was no less dry, though, the heat no less relentless, with the sun a lump of molten gold high in a cloudless sky. Rand had wrapped a shoufa around his head in an effort to keep the sun off, and drank from the waterbag on Jeade'en's saddle frequently. Oddly, wearing his coat seemed to help; he did not sweat any less, but his shirt stayed damp beneath the red wool, cooling him somewhat. Mat used a strip of cloth to tie a large white kerchief atop his head, like some odd cap that hung down the back of his neck, and he kept shading his eyes against the glare. He carried the ravenmarked swordspear like a lance, the butt tucked into his stirrup.
Four hundred or so Jindo comprised their party; Rand and Mat rode at the front alongside Rhuarc and Heirn. The Aiel walked, of course, their tents and some of the booty from Tear on pack mules and horses. A number of the Jindo Maidens fanned ahead as scouts, and Stone Dogs trailed behind as a rear guard, with the main column hedged by watchful eyes, ready spears, and bows with arrows nocked. Supposedly the Peace of Rhuidean extended until those who had gone to Chaendaer returned to their own holds, but as Rhuarc explained to Rand, mistakes had been known to happen, and apologies and bloodprice did not bring the dead out of their graves. Rhuarc seemed to think a mistake especially likely this time, certainly in part because of the Shaido party.
The lands of the Shaido clan lay beyond those of the Jindo's Taardad, in the same direction from Chaendaer, and they paralleled the Jindo some quarter of a mile distant. According to Rhuarc, Couladin should have waited another day for his brother to return. That Rand had seen Muradin after he had plucked out his own eyes made no difference; ten days was the time allotted. To leave sooner was to abandon whoever had entered Rhuidean. Yet Couladin had set the Shaido to folding their tents as soon as he saw the Jindo pack animals being loaded. The Shaido moved along now with their own scouts and rear guard, seemingly ignoring the Jindo, but the space between never widened much beyond three hundred paces. It was usual to have witnesses from perhaps half a dozen of the larger septs when a man sought the marking of a clan chief. Couladin's people outnumbered the Jindo by at least two to one. Rand suspected that the third party, halfway between Shaido and Taardad, was the reason the interval did not narrow suddenly and violently.
The Wise Ones walked just like all the other Aiel, including those strange, whiterobed men and women Rhuarc called gai'shain, who led their packhorses. Not servants, exactly, but Rand was unsure he really understood Rhuarc's explanation about honor and obligation and captives; Heirn had been even more confusing, as though making an effort to explain why water was wet. Moiraine, Egwene and Lan rode with the Wise Ones, or at least the two women did. The Warder had his warhorse a little off on the side of the Shaido, watching them as closely as he did the rugged landscape. Sometimes Moiraine or Egwene or both got down to walk awhile, talking with the Wise Ones. Rand would have given his last penny to hear what they said. They looked in his direction often, quick glances that he was doubtless not supposed to notice. For some reason, Egwene was wearing her hair in two braids, plaited with lengths of red ribbon, like a bride's. He did not know why. He had commented on them before leaving Chaendaer — just mentioned them — and she nearly took his head off.
“Elayne is the woman for you.”
He looked down at Aviendha in confusion. The challenging look was back in her bluegreen eyes, but still layered atop stark dislike. She had been waiting outside the tent when he awoke that morning, and had not strayed more than three paces from him since. Clearly the Wise Ones had set her to spy, and clearly he was not supposed to realize it. She was pretty, and he was assumed to be fool enough not to see beyond that. No doubt that was the real reason she wore skirts now, and carried no weapon beyond a small beltknife. Women seemed to think men were simpleminded. Come to think of it, none of the other Aiel had commented at her change of clothing, but even Rhuarc avoided looking at her for too long. Probably they knew why she was there, or had some inkling of the Wise Ones' plan, and did not want to speak of it.
Rhuidean. He still did not know why she had gone; Rhuarc muttered about “women's business,” plainly reluctant to discuss it around her. Considering the way she clung to Rand's side, that meant not discussing it at all. The clan chief was certainly listening now, and Heirn, and every Jindo in earshot. It was hard to tell with Aiel, sometimes, but he thought they looked amused. Mat was whistling softly, ostentatiously looking at anything but the two of them. Even so, this was the first time all day she had spoken to him.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
Her bulky skirts did not hinder her, walking along beside Jeade'en. No, not walking. Stalking. If she were a cat, she would be lashing her tail. “Elayne is a wetlander, your own kind.” She tossed her head arrogantly. The short tail that Aiel warriors wore at the nape of the neck was missing. The folded scarf around her temples nearly enveloped her hair. “Exactly the woman for you. Is she not beautiful? Her back is straight, her limbs supple and strong, her lips like plump loveapples. Her hair is spun gold, her eyes blue sapphires. Her skin is smoother than the finest silk, her bosom fine and wellrounded. Her hips are —”
He cut her off frantically, his cheeks heating. “I know she's pretty. What are you doing?”
“I am describing her.” Aviendha frowned up him. “Have you seen her in her bath? There is no need for me to describe her if you have seen —”
“I have not seen!” He wished he did not sound strangled. Rhuarc and the others were listening, faces too blank for anything but amusement. Mat rolled his eyes w