With a deft weaving of Air Siuan stretched a blanket underneath the contents of her desk. She barely paid attention as the many papers and trappings of her station were directed to rest in a corner of her study, rifling through her many maps until she found one portraying the Westlands and as much as was known about the Blight and the Aiel Waste – though it came with a grimace as she looked at the date, the parchment itself being nearly thirty years old; she made a mental note to dispatch a contingent of Brown sisters to verify the boundaries and correct lingering mistakes; Kandor and Arafel had both been pushed farther back, and Shienar was shown as still extending to the bones of old Malkier – and weighed it down on the newly cleared space with paperweights from one of her drawers. Shaking her head to clear away the fog of tiredness she procured a series of markers, bending her head over the flat surface to match what had come back to her.
The reports coming back from the Blue network were in all sorts of shambles. She had hoped to drum up support from the Hall of the Tower by selectively reading from her reports, but by any account what her informants had heard was disconcerting at best and chilling at worst. Trolloc raids had become fewer and farther between, and those that had been carried out spoke to animalistic butchery not seen even in their wildest rages. Whole villages wiped off the map, mostly trading posts rich in raw materials, their people slaughtered or taken away. What few scouting parties returned confirmed the tidings, reporting mass movements by Fists that had not been seen working together since the Trolloc Wars. There were a few Kandori accounts that told of whispers from the one landscar stretching into their lands, but she dismissed that as paranoia born from worry; no other country had seen anything strange from their own landscars, save the dreadful night they had appeared on the world.
She stepped back to survey her handiwork, and grimaced at the sight before her. Even if the reports were only half-true, the scene would still be fuel for nightmares. More Trollocs gathered along the Borderlands than had been seen in generations, poised to smash into them with the barest of warnings. The only country that stood with relatively weak forces arrayed against it was Saldaea, and even then her agents warned that there was growing unrest in the south. Of more concern to her was the situation in Ghealdan; the last reports she had received from there had spoken of the rampages dealt by the False Dragon Logain Ablar, and she had not heard a single word from anyone in the months since. She wondered how the Children of the Light were handling the news, sardonically hoping they would take care of the problem for her.
Surveying the map once more Siuan crossed her arms. Silverpike at the bay, and the Light knew how many lionfish by the boats. Her mind kept cycling through possibilities, and in spite of the other distractions in the Westlands it always came back to the front on the Borderlands. Whose support could they count on? Which rulers would they have to persuade? What would have to be done to prepare for the hammer that would eventually fall? From whose coffers would the cost of transport be taken the most? In which areas of the Borderlands would the garrisons affect the land most negatively? Where would her she need to move the Aes Sedai to best defend the crucial points of the Borderlands? How many sisters would she need to spare to take care of the problems in Saldaea? How many more to Ghealdan? She massaged her tired eyes with a sigh, ignoring the urge to sit and rest while she sought answers.
A knock at the entrance to her study made her look back in irritation. Reflexively she covered her desk in a weave of Air, obscuring its contents from view. "Enter Leane," she called out, turning to face her door.
Her Keeper stepped through with a graceful bow. "There are two sisters that request an audience with you before your meeting with the Hall, Mother. The first is Elaida, who insists that she see you at the earliest possible convenience."
Siuan bristled at the affront. That woman was a constant tear in her sails at the worst moments! "Did she give a reason for her haste?"
Leane shook her head. "She only asserted that it was a matter of the utmost importance."
"Then until such time as she feels ready to share with us what is so dreadfully important, she may continue to wait until such time as I have completed my other obligations," she gave icily. An audience with the Amyrlin Seat may be requested of any woman, and Aes Sedai did normally have more opportunity to speak with her, but that did not mean they would be given out like sweets at a Sunday celebration. "Who is the second sister?"
"Moiraine."
If she had felt cold before her blood threatened to boil now. Moiraine dared to show her face after her absence, in the heart of the White Tower? Siuan didn't know whether to laugh or screech in frustration from the turn of the day's events. "Send her in immediately," she ordered.
She returned to her desk, dispelling her weave. The note that had been delivered to her on the day she had disappeared was cryptic at best; it had only hinted at broad interpretations glossing over finer points of the Karaethon Cycle, that she had left to discuss her theories with those who knew the Cycle better than her. It had been maddeningly unclear when she had first read it, and the second time, and the tenth, and she certainly hoped that Moiraine had more to offer than platitudes to explain herself.
A commotion in the anteroom beyond drew her attention away once more, and she had just tied the obscuring weave off around her desk once more before the door to her study burst open. Elaida do Avriny a'Roihan strode through with confidence befitting a blademaster surrounded by farmers and just enough deference required for the office of the Amyrlin Seat. She bowed with a great flourish. "Mother. I must speak with you on a matter of some urgency."
Siuan built herself up to stand as tall as she could, every inch filling the weight of the stole of office and every hair bristling with the One Power. "No you must not, daughter. What you must do is listen to my Keeper when she gives you instruction. I believe my thoughts on the matter were made quite clear."
Elaida bowed even lower, a touch of genuine humility in the gesture. "Mother, please. If I could just have a moment to explain, you will see why I had to—"
A thick stopper of Air held her words in. Elaida tried to work around the gag, but nothing she could do would clear her mouth. Siuan put a touch of Power behind her words, her irritation barely contained. "Listen well, child, for you forget to whom you speak. If I tell you to sit, you shall wait until I call for you. If I tell you to be silent, you will do so obediently and without question. If I tell you to count every single grain of sand in the Aiel Waste, I expect you to bring back a detailed analysis on the size, weight, color, and consistency of what you find. What you shall never do again is override my authority merely because you feel your cause to be of import. I will not repeat myself, for unless you are a fool as well as a child I needn't spell out anything I say twice. Now you will remove yourself from my study and await me in the Hall of the Tower, and if I should choose to receive you afterward we will speak then."
She could see the conflict in Elaida's eyes: frustration, disbelief, determination, a hint of aggravation bordering on hatred. Siuan met her measure for measure, giving no ground; Elaida's was not the most stubborn will she had come across, though it may yet be the most insolent, and in her experience it was always best to stay the course until that course was free of flotsam in its way. Eventually, though the silence lengthened, Elaida gave in, stalking out of the Amyrlin's Study irritated. The two women left in her wake remained silent, Leane in a stunned hush, Moiraine a collected calm. Siuan let out an exasperated huff, pointing to the second woman. "Do not for an instant believe I have let your own transgressions go unnoticed, Moiraine," she barked, voice still enhanced by saidar. "Enter, and explain yourself."
Moiraine rose slowly, curtsying elegantly. "Good day to you, Mother."
"Spare me the indignation! My patience for your antics grows thin, and I tire of not knowing what you do in the name of the White Tower."
Her friend stepped forward into the study, closing the door behind her. "I bring news that could change our understanding of the coming months, if I could have but a minute to explain myself."
Siuan shot her a glare, looming over her desk. "Take care, daughter. You sound entirely too much like Elaida, and that curries no good will with me at the moment."
"It is possible that the Dragon may yet be Reborn within this cycle."
If there were jumping minnows surrounding her she would have a school of them in her mouth. She did not know whether to feel elated or terrified, so conflicted were her emotions on the news. The shock startled her out of the embrace of the One Power, and she dropped to her chair. "That can't be," she murmured.
Moiraine came to stand at her desk, hands held together. "Normally, yes – though there are no records of an Age where the Dragon at the height of his power was taken or slain by the Shadow, most philosophers are of the conviction that there would be some world-changing event leading to a new Age; I realize that this is a topic where we must rely on conjecture and theory, but theory has a strange history of being based on some small grain of truth – but what if the Dragon had not had time to become what he should be? We know that he is reborn what the Pattern demands a Dragon, and that the Dragon then meets the needs of the Pattern. What we have seen in the past months was an example where only part of that cycle was completed. The Pattern called for him, and before his thread was fully woven back into the fabric it was cut. Not a single part of the Karaethon Cycle was fulfilled, nor was there any sign of his ta'veren nature at work; and yet, the Pattern still demands a Dragon. Therefore by that logic, if we still remain at the cusp of change in this Age and Tarmon Gai'don has not yet scoured the earth—"
"Then the Dragon may yet ride again on the winds of time," she finished. She leaned back into her chair, steepling her fingers. The theory was sound enough, but was it too neat? Was it too much what she wanted to hear, in disregard of evidence to the contrary? Restraining herself she looked up to Moiraine. "How did you come by this theory of yours?"
"The seeds were sown by Master Merrilin on the day after the Yellows released me from their care. I hastened to look into the matter with two other sisters, Vandene and Adeleas – both long since removed from the world, and both more than kind enough to share everything they knew on the Karaethon Cycle. Through the accounts and interpretations they had gathered over the years, I sifted until I found a few passages dating from as close to the Breaking as one could find outside the Tower."
"A search which could not be conducted within the Tower Library itself without drawing attention to the matter," Siuan mused. One day she hoped to see a White Tower where politics did not turn mundane tasks into dangerous ventures; this business of sailing about in an evening fog without knowing what shapes were real tired her. "I understand what you did, even if I can't condone it. Did you find enough to support this feeling of yours?"
Moiraine shook her head. "At most, I found hearsay. There have thankfully been no accounts of the Dragon being struck down before his appointed time."
Siuan let out a neutral grunt. It would have been so very nice to have concrete information for once. Why couldn't prophecies be straightforward in their information? She rested her hands on her desk, feeling the parchment underneath. That she would find an impending Trolloc invasion no more important than pilot fish would have had her laughing a mere hour ago. "It would be nice to have someone who was sensitive to the Pattern's changes to know if the Dragon was Reborn," she muttered. "There hasn't been a real Dreamer in centuries, and we haven't had anyone with a strong Foretelling talent outside of Elaida."
Her words hung in the air, the two of them staring at each other as realization dawned. She leapt to her feet, her mind whirling at top speed, and as one the pair of them sped for the door. "Leane! The Hall, now!" she yelled, desperately trying to calm her nerves. What was the great secret Elaida had been trying to share with her?
Leane scrambled to her feet, only just grabbing her shawl marking her as Keeper as she raced to stay in front of her; but as quick as her pace was, Siuan kept pushing her until they were at an almost undignified pace. She hoped, she prayed fervently that this was simply jumping at shadows, but she could not dispel the knot that had wormed its way into the pit of her stomach.
They arrived at the Hall in record time. Leane barely had time to clear her throat and begin with the first "She comes," before Siuan stood in the presence of her Sitters. She waited for a breath until the announcement was done before marching across the colored tiles to Elaida's chair, surrounded though she was by the other Red Sitters and some Gray Sitters. "Daughter, I would speak with you in private before we begin the meeting."
Elaida gave a knowing glance to her compatriots before rising, the hint of a smirk in her features. "Of course, Mother." Siuan wished she had the energy to spare berating the other Sitters, such grins they had on their face. But the safety of the White Tower and the world came first.
Siuan led her to the edge of the Hall, only just out of earshot of the nearest chairs, whereupon she whipped around to face her. "Tell me true what you came to speak with me about," she demanded. "Did you have a Foretelling today? Was there something you have Foreseen?"
Elaida blinked at the ferocity behind her words, shaking her dark hair back into place. "Yes, Mother, though it was early yesterday morn. It was of the False Dragon, spreading discord and strife in Saldaea and Tear and leading the lands to war upon war. I was hoping to ask your blessing to lead my sisters in gentling him."
Relief surged through her, and were it not for the presence of so many others she would have wept with joy. The narrows had been avoided, and she was just jumping at shapes in the fog. She turned to Moiraine, still waiting in the hallway, and motioned her away. The sister simply bowed in reply, yet Siuan could well imagine the liberation she felt. "We will speak of the False Dragon and what must be done with him later," she replied, mentally preparing herself for the meeting ahead. "For now, the Borderlands must hold our attention."
Elaida's face had gone blank, her eyes completely unfocused. Siuan was on the verge of taking her by the hand and escorting her back to her seat, when her back arched and her head shot upward. All thoughts of her reports and sparring with the Hall fled from her mind as she looked on in horror. As Elaida opened her mouth Siuan fought the urge to cry out, for buried memories twenty years dead had risen up to haunt the world once more.
"The Dragon walks again," she intoned, her voice hushing all other conversations. "The Dragon walks again and is Reborn, and the fires of Dragonmount burn bright this day! A voice of three storms shakes the earth, and the Light that now burns will overtake the world once more! The winds of Tarmon Gai'don roar at the power, and the mighty shall be made meek before deliverance from the Lord of the Dark is at hand! The Dragon is Reborn again, and shall cut down the Shadow's minions like grass, and shall hide in plain obscurity for all to see and know. This have I Foreseen!"
It was only by instinct that Siuan reached out to catch Elaida's body before it struck the tile – for though she knew it to be a corpse as Gitara had become after her Foretelling, though she had held numerous disagreements with Elaida over the course of their lives, it was still one of her sisters; she would not see it strike the tiles and lie in disgrace, no matter what her misgivings with the woman had been. With care she lowered her down as reverently as she could with her awkward hold. "Rest now, sister," she whispered, "and may the Light send you through these days as I hope it will deliver us." She brushed the hair from in front of her face, tucking it behind her ears, and smoothed her features so she looked to be at peace.
Then the screaming began.
