Page 126 of The Gathering Storm (The Wheel of Time 12)

“You will attend the trial?” Egwene asked.

“Of course,” Seaine said, even-tempered, as Egwene had come to expect from the White. Some Whites were all coolness and logic. Seaine was much warmer than that, but was still very reserved. “I am a Sitter, Egwene.”

“I assume that you’re still seeing the effects of the Dark One’s stirring?” Egwene shivered and glanced at her cell floor, remembering what had happened to Leane. Her own cell was far more austere than Leane’s, perhaps because of the accusations of her being a Darkfriend.

“Yes.” Seaine’s voice grew softer. “They seem to be getting worse. Servants dying. Food spoiling. Entire sections of the Tower rearranging at random. The second kitchen moved to the sixth level last night, moving an entire section of the Yellow Ajah quarters into the basement. It’s like what happened with the Browns earlier, and that one still hasn’t been worked out.”

Egwene nodded. With the way the rooms had shifted, those few novices whose rooms hadn’t moved suddenly now had assigned accommodations on the twenty-first and twenty-second levels, where Brown Ajah quarters had been. The Browns were, reluctantly, all moving down to the wing. Would it be a permanent change? Always before, the sisters had lived in the Tower proper, the novices and Accepted living in the wing.

“You have to bring these things up, Seaine,” Egwene said softly. “Keep reminding the sisters that the Dark One stirs and that the Last Battle approaches. Keep their attention on working together, not dividing.”

Behind Seaine, one of the Red sisters checked the candle on the table. The time allotted for Egwene to receive visitors was ending. She’d soon be locked away again; she could smell the dusty, unchanged straw behind her.

“You must work hard, Seaine,” Egwene said, rising as the Reds approached. “Do what I cannot. Ask the others to do so as well.”

“I will try,” Seaine said. She stood and watched as the Reds took Egwene’s stool, then gestured her back into the cell. The ceiling was too low for her to stand without stooping.

Egwene moved reluctantly, bending down. “The Last Battle comes, Seaine. Remember.”

The White nodded, and the door shut, locking Egwene into darkness. Egwene sat down. She felt so blind! What would happen at the trial? Even if Elaida was punished, what would be done with Egwene?

Elaida would try to have her executed. And she still had grounds, as Egwene had—by the White Tower’s definition—impersonated the Amyrlin Seat.

I must stay firm, Egwene told herself in the darkness. I warmed this pot myself, and now I must boil in it, if that is what will protect the Tower. They knew she continued to resist. That was all she could give them.

CHAPTER 26

A Crack in the Stone

Aviendha surveyed the manor grounds, swarming with people preparing to depart. Bashere’s men and women were well trained for wetlanders, and they worked efficiently to stow their tents and prepare their gear. However, compared to the Aiel, the other wetlanders—those who weren’t actual soldiers—were a mess. Camp women skittered this way and that, as if sure they would leave some task undone or some item unpacked. The messenger boys ran with their friends, trying to look busy so that they wouldn’t have to do anything. The civilians’ tents and equipment were only slowly being packed and stowed, and they would need horses, wagons and teams of drivers to get them all where they needed to go.

Aviendha shook her head. The Aiel brought only what they could carry, and their war band included only spears and Wise Ones. And when more than just spears were required for an extended campaign, all workers and craftspeople knew how to prepare themselves for departure with speed and efficiency. There was honor in that. Honor which demanded that each person be able to care for themselves and their own, not slowing the clan down.

She shook her head, turning back to her task. The only ones who truly lacked honor on a day like this were those who did not work. She dipped a finger into the pail of water on the ground in front of her, then raised her hand and let it hover over a second pail. A drop of water dripped free. She moved her hand and did it again.

It was the type of punishment in which no wetlander could have seen significance. They would have thought it easy work, sitting on the ground, leaning with her back against the wooden logs of the manor house. Moving her hand back and forth, emptying on

e pail and filling the other, one drop at a time. To them it would have been barely a punishment at all.

That was because wetlanders were often lazy. They would rather drip water into pails than carry rocks. Carrying rocks, however, involved activity—and activity was good for the mind and the body. Moving water was meaningless. Useless. It didn’t allow her to stretch her legs or work her muscles. And she did it while the rest of the camp gathered tents for the march. That made the punishment ten times as shameful! She earned toh for every moment she did not help, and there was not a thing she could do about it.

Except move water. Drip, by drip, by drip.

It made her angry. Then that anger made her ashamed. The Wise Ones never let their emotions dominate them in such a way. She had to remain patient and try to understand why she was being punished.

Even trying to approach the problem made her want to scream. How many times could she go over the same conclusions in her mind? Perhaps she was too dense to sort it out. Perhaps she didn’t deserve to be a Wise One.

She stuck her hand back in the bucket, then moved another drop of water. She didn’t like what these punishments were doing to her. She was a warrior, even if she no longer carried the spear. She did not fear punishment, nor did she fear pain. But, more and more, she did fear that she would lose heart and become as useless as one who sandstared.

She wanted to become a Wise One, wanted it desperately. She was surprised to find that, for she’d never thought that she could desire anything with as much passion as she’d long ago wanted the spears. Yet as she had studied the Wise Ones during these last months, and her respect for them had grown, she had accepted herself as their equal, to help shepherd the Aiel in this most dangerous of days.

The Last Battle would be a test unlike any her people had ever known. Amys and the others were working to protect the Aiel, and Aviendha sat and moved drops of water!

“Are you all right?” a voice asked.

Aviendha started, looking up, reaching for her knife so abruptly that she nearly spilled the pails of water. A woman with short, dark hair stood in the shade of the building a short distance away. Min Farshaw’s arms were folded and she wore a coat the color of cobalt with silver embroidery. She wore a scarf at her neck.

Aviendha settled back down, releasing her knife. Now she was letting wetlanders sneak up on her? “I am well,” she said, struggling to keep from blushing.