Page 74 of The Gathering Storm (The Wheel of Time 12)

Rand stood. Moridin eyed him warily, but did not get up.

“There is a way to win, Moridin,” Rand said. “I mean to kill him. Slay the Dark One. Let the Wheel turn without his constant taint.”

Moridin gave no reaction. He was still staring at the flames. “We are connected,” Moridin finally said. “That is how you came here, I suspect, though I do not understand our bond myself. I doubt you can understand the magnitude of the stupidity in your statement.”

Rand felt a flash of anger, but fought it down. He would not be goaded. “We shall see.”

He reached for the One Power. It was distant, far away. Rand seized it, and felt himself yanked away, as if on a line of saidin. The room vanished, and so did the One Power, as Rand entered a deep blackness.

Rand finally stopped thrashing in his sleep, and Min held her breath, hoping that he wouldn’t start again. She sat, legs tucked underneath her, wrapped in a blanket as she read in her chair at the corner of the room. A small lamp flickered and danced on the short table beside her, illuminating her stack of musty books. Falling Shale, Marks and Remarks, Monuments Past. Histories, most of them.

Rand sighed softly, but did not move. Min released her breath and settled back into her chair, finger marking her place in a copy of Pelateos’s Ponderings. With the shutters closed for the night, she could still hear the wind sough in the pines. The room smelled faintly of smoke from the strange fire. Aviendha’s quick thinking had made a potential disaster into a mere inconvenience. Not that she was being rewarded for it. The Wise Ones continued to work her as hard as a merchant’s last mule.

Min hadn’t been able to get close enough to her to have a conversation, despite the fact that they’d been in the camp together for some time now. She didn’t know how to think of the other woman. They had become a little more comfortable with one another that evening, sharing oosquai. But one day did not friends make, and she was definitely uncomfortable about sharing.

Min glanced again at Rand, lying on his back, eyes closed, breath coming evenly now. His left arm lay across his blankets, the stump exposed. She didn’t know how he managed to sleep, with those wounds in his side. As soon as she thought of them, she could feel the pain—it was all part of the rolled-up ball of Rand’s emotions in the back of her mind. She had learned to ignore the pain. She’d had to. For him, it would be much, much stronger. How he could stand it, she didn’t know.

She wasn’t Aes Sedai—thank the Light—but somehow she had bonded him. It was amazing; she could tell where he was, tell if he was distraught. She could mostly keep his emotions from overwhelming her except when they were passionate. But what woman didn’t want to be overwhelmed during those moments? It was a particularly . . . exhilarating experience with the bond, which let her feel both her own desire and the raging tempest of fire that was Rand’s desire for her.

The thought made her blush, and she pulled open Ponderings to distract herself. Rand needed his sleep, and she was going to let him have it. Besides, she needed to study, although she was confronted by conclusions that she didn’t like.

These books had belonged to Herid Fel, the kindly old scholar who had joined Rand’s school in Cairhien. Min smiled, remembering Fel’s distracted way of talking and his confused—yet somehow brilliant—discoveries.

Herid Fel was dead now, murdered, torn apart by Shadowspawn. He’d discovered something in these books, something he’d intended to tell Rand. Something about the Last Battle and the seals on the Dark One’s prison. Fel had been killed just before he could pass on the information. Perhaps it was coincidence; perhaps the books had nothing to do with his death. But perhaps they did. Min was determined to find the answers. For Rand, and for Herid himself.

She put down Ponderings and picked up Thoughts Among the Ruins, a work from over a thousand years ago. She’d marked a place with a small slip of paper, the very same now-worn note that Herid had sent to Rand shortly before the murder. Min turned it over in her fingers, reading it again.

Belief and order give strength. Have to clear rubble before you can build. Will explain when see you next. Do not bring girl. Too pretty.

She figured—from reading among his books—that she could trace his thoughts. Rand had wanted information on how to seal the Dark One’s prison. Could Fel have discovered what she thought she had?

She shook her head. What was she doing trying to solve a scholarly mystery? But who else was there? One of the Brown Ajah might be better suited, but could they be trusted? Even those who had made their oaths to him might decide that it was in Rand’s best interests to keep secrets from him. Rand himself was far too busy, and he was too impatient for books lately anyway. That left Min. She was beginning to piece together some of what he would have to do, but there was more—so much more—that was still unknown. She felt she was getting close, but it worried her to reveal what she’d discovered to Rand. How would he respond?

She sighed, scanning the book. She’d never thought that she, of all people, would become a fool for some man. Yet here she was, following him wherever he went, putting his needs before her own. That didn’t mean she was his pet, regardless what some of the people in camp said. She followed Rand because she loved him, and she could feel—literally—that he returned her love. Despite the harshness that was invading him bit by bit, despite the anger and the bleakness of h

is life, he loved her. And so she did what she could to help him.

If she could help solve this one puzzle, the puzzle of sealing the Dark One’s prison, she could achieve something not just for Rand, but for the world itself. What did it matter if soldiers in the camp didn’t know what her value was? It was probably better if everyone assumed her to be dismissible. Any assassin who came to kill Rand should think that he could ignore Min. The would-be killer would soon discover the knives hidden in Min’s sleeves. She wasn’t as good with them as Thom Merrilin was, but she knew more than enough to kill.

Rand turned in his sleep, but settled down again. She loved him. She hadn’t chosen to do so, but her heart—or the Pattern, or the Creator, or whatever was in charge of these things—had made the decision for her. And now she wouldn’t change her feelings if she could. If it meant danger, if it meant suffering the looks of men in the camp, if it meant . . . sharing him with others.

Rand stirred again. This time, he groaned and opened his eyes, sitting up. He raised his hand to his head, somehow managing to look more weary now than he had when he’d gone to sleep. He wore only his smallclothes, and his chest was bare. He sat like that for a long moment, then stood up, walking to the shuttered window.

Min pushed her book closed. “And what do you think you’re doing, sheepherder? You barely slept for a couple of hours!”

He opened the shutters and the window, exposing the dark night beyond. A stray curl of wind made her lamp flame shiver.

“Rand?” Min asked.

She could barely hear his voice when he replied. “He’s inside my head. He was gone during the dream. But he’s back now.”

She resisted sinking down in her chair. Light, but she hated hearing about Rand’s madness. She’d hoped that when he healed saidin, he would be free of the taint’s insanities. “He?” she asked, forcing her voice to be steady. “The voice of . . . Lews Therin?”

He turned, clouded night sky outside the window framing his face, the lamp’s uneven illumination leaving his features mostly in shadows.

“Rand,” she said, setting her book aside and joining him beside the window. “You have to talk to someone. You can’t keep it all inside.”

“I have to be strong.”