A/N- A few people have asked me...'What happened to the hammer?' Well, I had a very original and interesting plot device worked out for it, one that would have you shocked and surprised, especially when Rand used it against Slayer in the fight...but I trashed the idea. It was a little too complicated, even for me. He still has it though, you'll see in this chapter.

Tobang- One word to say to you regarding 1)- Oops? I've fixed it though...thanks for the warning.

Note: The chest containing the Horn of Valere, another Seal and the banner wasn't found...

Children ran through the deserted grasslands of Caralain Grass, near the river Arinelle. Wagons painted with a multitude of bright colours strolled slowly through the knee-deep grass, pulled by healthy mares. Laughter and giggling could be heard as a group of children scrambled from each other, diving into the grass. Large dogs panted happily as they scampered around with the children, excited yelps and howls bursting from their throats. As one group of children laughed and ran from another, a small boy with dark hair suddenly stumbled over a root. For a moment he wavered on the edge of a small hill, before he toppled over and splashed into the dark water of the river.

"Jarem!" One of the other children laughed wildly. "Is the water fine?"

Jarem scowled as he stood up, the water barely reaching his waist. He shook his head and droplets of water flew from his head. As he raked a hand through wet sopping hair, his eyes picked up something hidden in a large tuft of grass.

"Aram, there's something here!" He called out, wading through the water as he gestured to where he could see something on the ground, something big.

An older child stopped laughing and a caution filled his eyes as he slowly made his way over towards the patch of grass where Jarem was had just stepped into from out of the river.

Suddenly Jarem screamed loudly and Aram quickly leapt forward, pushing past bushes and trees as he approached the shaking form of Jarem. From beyond the grass, wagons stopped and dogs started barking as the adults hurried closer to investigate.

Aram burst into the clearing and stopped next to the shaking and whitened form of the young child.

"What is it?" He asked Jarem quietly.

Jarem pointed with a shaking and, and Aram turned around and grimaced at the sight. A boy about the age of seventeen lay on the ground. His shirt was torn, his pants ripped. Blood smeared his chest, two large gashes ripping into his skin that were half healed. In one hand, he held a sword that was clasped firmly between bloodied fingers the other hand held a small disc shaped item. A tall white pillar lay toppled on the ground as the boy took gasping and guttural breaths, straining to hold onto life.

"Come quickly!" Aram shouted as he led Jarem away from the boy, eying the sword with fear and disapproval. The bushes rustled as a wiry man, grey haired and short, burst from them with two dogs on his heels. He was wearing a high collared red coat and baggy, bright green trousers that were tucked into his boots.

"I see him Aram," Raen said calmly as he approached the boy. He knelt down, running his hands over the boy as he checked for wounds. He avoided touching the sword at all as he examined the boy. "Help me lift him and we shall take him to Ila,"

"Raen, he has a tool of violence," Aram said hesitantly.

"Should we leave him here to die? We would be murdering him ourselves," Raen said disapprovingly and Aram flushed as he crouched to take the boys legs as Raen gripped his shoulders. The sword stayed firmly gripped in his hand, dragging along the ground as the disc shaped object dropped to the ground, clinking against the rocks.

As the two heaved the boy from the grass, Jarem tip-toed in cautiously, his eyes on the disc shaped object. Glancing around, he hesitantly picked up and turned it over. It looked as frail as china, but when Jarem glanced down he noticed that the rock was chipped. A large circle with a line dividing it was painted on one side of the disc, and black was coloured in at one side. Jarem pocketed it carefully as his eyes roved around the pillar. Several other objects lay half hidden in the grass, including a white hammer, several glowing crystals and a small travelling pack that looked to be full to the brim. Dirt and rocks also lay on the ground, and a small pool of dark liquid…blood, Jarem realised with disgust, stained the grass. Quickly and carefully, he picked up the hammer and the pack, using his scarf to touch the crystals with reverence and awe. He had never seen anything like them before as he gazed upon them, but his shivered as he warmth perpetrated into him, foreign and unwelcome, and he shoved them hastily in the bag. Whistling a small tune, Jarem strode away from the pillar.

Rand was half conscious, his skull splitting open at the lightest sound. Vague voices could be heard on the horizon, as his eyes were squeezed shut against the bright light. He was lying on something soft, and smooth hands washed his stomach and shoulder. His entire body was racked with pain, his limbs so heavy that he could not even make them twitch.

He moaned out in pain as the ands touched some tender place on his shoulder, and suddenly his back arched as agony swept through him. Dark pain filtered from some kind of gash, and his screamed out loudly.

"Hold him down…herbs…unnatural wound, nothing seemed to work so I…drained of pus, some kind of black oil…would have killed him…"

Words flicked in his mind as the pain faded, leaving a dull throb, and Rand fell back into unconsciousness as the soothing hands stroked his hair tenderly.

The next time he awakened, it was almost dark. The sun had set and only a few streaks of light filled the sky. Rand was able to lift his head for a moment, despite the waves of dizziness and pain that shot through it. He was in a small caravan of some sort, with bright interior designs. Yellow, green, pink, light blue, all of the bright colours almost made Rand feel nauseous. Next to him, a portly woman with grey hair and a kind face mixed together some herbs in a small bowl, grounding them in together with a small rod.

"W-Where…" Rand started with a whisper. The woman looked up and a careful smile appeared on her face.

"You're safe now, young man," She comforted. "You are in Mahdi Raen's wagon, and I am Ila."

"Mahdi…a Seeker? Tinkers?" Rand managed to get out as he coughed loudly, his throat burning as he covered his mouth with a heavy limb that moved and felt as if it were filled with solid lead. When he removed his hand, blood stained the fingers and he stared at them with dull surprise.

"Ow!" He muttered as he fell back down again, his chest convulsing as his mouth started leaking dark crimson liquid.

Ila jumped to her feet, ground herbs behind dropped into a glass of water. "Drink!" She commanded, and Rand felt smooth and cold glass at his lips. Opening his mouth, a trickle of blood fell into the water and it swirled and hung there, staining the pure liquid. But Rand managed to gulp it down and a tangy taste filled his mouth. His eyes suddenly became droopy and bleary and he lay back down as he fell back to sleep.

"How long have I been here?" Rand asked Ila the next time he as awake. He felt much better, but still he could not move properly and was stuck on the bed as Ila checked his health.

"We found you nearly two months ago," Ila told him. "Near the river Arinelle. We took you in and tried to heal you as best we could, but it was difficult. You had two wounds your chest, infected and filled with dirtied pus."

"Dirtied pus?"

Ila nodded, her mouth twisting at the memory of it. "It was black and oily, squirming and moving as if it were alive. We removed all of it and made sure not to touch it. Later, we buried it deep in the ground. The next morning, the grass surrounding that area was dead and wasted."

Rand took a trembling hand and made to touch his chest.

"You are healed now. After we removed the liquid, the wounds started healing. But you would not awaken, and we had to feed and drink you when you were asleep. There were no other wounds, so I assumed you had some kind of infection." Ila told him as she bustled around the wagon.

'My legs…my arms…I can't…I can't move them properly." Rand said hoarsely, his mouth dry.

"Of course you can't, you have been bedridden for two months. The muscle has been eaten away. It will take you many months for you to recover." Ila said absently.

Rand nodded slowly. "You're a Tinker, aren't you? One of the travelling folk, the Tuatha'an?"

Tuatha'an were a wandering folk, also known as Tinkers and as the Travelling People. They lived in brightly painted wagons and followed a totally pacifist philosophy called the Way of the Leaf, where they were not allowed to commit violence even in the defence of their own lives. They travel seeking a song that was lost in the Age of Legends. Broken objects mended by the Tinkers were often better than knew, but they had a bad reputation and were shunned by many villages by the stories of how they stole and tried to convert young people to their beliefs.

Ila nodded happily, a bright smile on her face as she held up a small bowl, eyeing it closely. Seemingly satisfied with what she saw, she placed it down and turned to Rand. She drew water from a pitcher and poured it into a glass cup, handing it to Rand.

"Thankyou." Rand said gratefully as he took the cup with unsteady hands. Water trickled down the sides as Rand tired to stop his shaking hands, before Ila clamped down her hand and helped him drink it. It was cool and refreshing on his throat and as he finished it, he lay back down.

"Ila, I had some items with me. Did…" Rand started hesitantly.

Ila sniffed loudly, her face going decidedly bland. "A pack was found, as well as several other objects around you. Your…sword…was put in a safe place where no child will harm himself on it. We do not tolerate any violence in the camps."

Rand nodded slowly. "You have healed me and saved my life. I will honour your beliefs." He said, yawning loudly. Tiredness ached his bones as his struggled to keep his eyes open.

"What is your name?" Ila asked.

"Rand," Rand told her, just before he fell asleep.

Two Month Later

Rand breathed heavily, sweat pouring off his face as he took another wavering step, his hand gripping the side of the wagon. His legs felt as if they were on fire, but he grinned with success as he presented himself to Ila and Raen.

"You are healing well then," Raen said, smiling gently at Rand..

Rand nodded as he staggered back into a chair that had been placed outside. Fourteen wagons were set up near a large campfire and men and women, all dressed in brightly coloured clothes, did their daily business in tending their children, looking after the dogs, making repairs on their wagons or cutting their vegetables for dinner.

"He is, but he is not ready. His body has suffered greatly from his ordeal," Ila broke in sharply. None of the Tinkers had ever tried to find out what had left Rand broken and bloody, going out of their way for the knowledge. In mention of fighting or violence made most Tinkers turn away.

Rand smiled wryly as Raen placed his hands up, grinning ruefully.

"Actually, I was wondering if I could see to my belongings." Rand asked carefully.

Ila's smile froze and Raen looked wary, throwing a quick glance at his wife.

"Of course you can," Raen answered slowly.

"Thankyou," Rand said gratefully as he tried to stand, grimacing as his legs protested violently, pain spiking through them. He grunted in pain and slowly eased himself back onto the sleep.

"I will get them for you," Raen offered as he stood, and disappeared within the brightly coloured wagons. Ila looked at Rand disapprovingly as she stirred her large pot, the smell of steamed vegetables arising from it.

There was a hush in the camp and men, women and children stopped what they were doing as Raen returned, one hand carrying a small travelling pack filled to the brim, the catch straining to close shut properly. A leather scabbard was strapped to the back of it. His other hand carried a long sword, curved slighly towards the end and a heron-mark imprinted on the handle. He held it away from him, the blade facing downwards and towards Raen himself, as if he would sooner stab himself before harming anybody else.

"Here," Raen said as he dropped the sword to the ground by Rand's feet, and passed the pack towards Rand.

"Thankyou Raen," Rand said, his voice loud in the silent campfire. Ila went back to her vegetables as Raen joined her but a good many Tinkers stared at Rand and the pack. Some of the younger ones looked very interested and came closer, but still keeping their distance.

Rand took his pack and the first thing he pulled off was the black scabbard. He bent down, wheezing slightly and his hand hesitated near the sword. Something smelt, familiar and tangy. His sword was covered in the smell and Rand could feel the hairs on his head rise as his hand hovered inches above it. Saidin covered the blade; Rand could feel it emanating its distinctive aura. Then again, the blade had been dipped in the Eye of the World, like himself.

Rand had a few theories about what had happened at the Eye of the World. He didn't know for sure what happened once he had fallen in, or how long he had been in there for. In the Tinker camp, there was rarely any news from the outside world. And inside the Eye of the World…Rand still shivered as he remembered his mind snapping under the strain of Saidin. His memories, his consciousness, they had all been gone. He had floated in the light for who knows how long, his body sinking into it. An avalanche of power had collapsed on him and had washed over him, blasting his mind from his body.

He didn't know how he had survived, but he had a faint suspicion that what Slayer had said about ta'veren was true, Rand had manipulated the Wheel of Time and forced the pattern to weave him back into the world. Some time after Rand had fallen in, faint links to his mind had been built. Rand didn't know that if he had done it to himself, trying to regain what he had lost, or if the Wheel of Time refused to let him die yet. He had remembered enough of himself to notice that something lay at the bottom of the Eye of the World, a smooth pillar with runes he had 'seen'. He had used the Saidin and pushed it into one of the runes instinctively, and then he had ended up in the Caralain Grass. Raen told him that he had been found near a toppled stone pillar, so it fit into his theory that he had transported himself away from the danger.

Slowly, Rand gripped the hilt of his blade and suddenly he was aware. He had not sought the void, but his blade was a part of him, every particle burning a pathway into his mind. It was his third arm, his sixth finger. The sword was now a part of him, an extra limb. Saidin touched Rand but he was not channelling. It was as if the sword was greeting Rand, welcoming him back as a dog did its master.

"What…?" Rand whispered softly. He could feel every scratch on the blade, there were only a few and they did not hurt, but it unsettling. He carefully sheathed the sword back into his scabbard and laid it gently on the ground next to the chair he was sitting in.

There seemed to be a collective sigh of relief throughout the camp as most of the adults went back to their work. Still, some watched curiously as Rand turned to his pack, opening it out. Right on the top, the Heartstone hammer lay there. Rand braced himself and touched it but no feelings washed over him and he pulled it out of his pack, inspecting it carefully. Placing it aside, he then stiffened as he pulled out six crystals. They were long and thin, no larger than the space between his wrist and elbow. They glowed with an inner light that seemed to be natural yet it made Rand's skin crawl.

"Did somebody touch my pack?" Rand asked Raen loudly.

Raen nodded. "Jarem did. There were…items scattered around you and Jarem placed them all in your pack. It was foolish of him, especially with those…things…. you're holding."

Rand nodded absently as he placed the crystals down, setting them aside. From his pack came the mouldy remains of some bread and spoiled remains of salted meat. Wrinkling his nose, he glanced at Raen and gestured towards the dogs. Raen nodded and Rand hefted the spoiled food towards them. One of the dogs sniffed the bread curiously, but most dove for the meat.

Next from his pack came the broken and dull remains of a crystal, and two books. One was an old copy of Legends of the Blight, The Fall of Manetheren. He remembered buying this book a long time ago, back when he had just left Two Rivers when he was…how old had he been? It seemed like a lifetime ago. He had been thirteen…that's right, thirteen, and he had just defeated Tam with the sword.

"How long has it been since then?" Rand muttered outloud, gazing at the battered copy of the book. He had read it long ago, the origins of his people, who were the descendents of the legendary nation of Manetheren, the 'Thorn in the Dark Ones foot'. But they weren't his people, were they?

Your mother was Shaiel, of the Maidens of the Spear. She was not born Aiel, but wandered into the Waste…………I am your mothers brother…Tigraine was always stubborn………Your Father was the Iron Mountain Taardad clan chief. His name was Janduin…

Rand shook his head irritably. He was not going to dwell on that now. He placed the book aside and came to a smaller, sleeker black book. Rand had bough this at the same time as the other one, but he had never been able to open it. There was a clasp on the front of it and despite his best efforts, which included paying a Blacksmith to open it, he had never been able to pry open the front cover.

Right now though, a few tiny shards of crystal littered on the cover. Silvery Saidin, a glowing substance that was both liquid and not, pooled in the tiny cracks of the lock and it glowed slightly, almost barely noticeable as Rand moved the book. There was a small clicking noise and suddenly the lock sprang open. Rand stared at the book for a second, before he moved a careful hand to turn the front cover. The first page he flipped to, he was greeted to large and foreign letters that he couldn't read. The book was old; he could smell the mustiness from the pages, yet it looked to be in perfect condition.

"Why would somebody use Saidin to lock a book?" Rand muttered to himself. Raen looked up expectantly but Rand just shook his head and turned the next page. The reason became clear as he stared at smaller foreign writing and a picture in the middle of the page. Five coloured lines stared at him, red, blue, yellow, black, and white. If he titled his head, he could almost see them glowing. He knew what they were...he had used them before. Granted, they had been much more complex and woven before, but the five flows of Saidin beckoned him, fire for red, water for blue, white for air, black for earth and yellow for spirit.

With trembling hands, he turned the next page and saw a set of illustrations. The illustrations showed a weave, fire, earth and spirit tangled into something. Foreign writing was written bellow, probably explaining what the flow did. Rand flipped the pages, his mind whirring with excitement and possibilities as gradually, the illustrations became more and more complicated. As he stared at one in the later pages of the book, he suddenly recognised it. A jumble of water, air and spirit with just a touch of fire and earth was drawn, and Rand knew that it created a defensive spinning shield. Another weave Rand recognised as one that would let the channeler fire a bolt of lightning from their hands, another would crack and destroy the earth, creating a chasm, another would heal minor wounds.

Suddenly Rand snapped the book shut, his mind racing as he sat there. The laughter of the Tinkers washed over his mind and he looked up. The sun had set and darkness was cast over the sky. How long had he been absorbed in that book? The light he read by was being generated from the crystals, which glowed in pulsing beats, shimmering beautifully. A gaggle of children lay on the ground metres away, eyes staring at the crystals with awe. Rand ignored them as he studied the book in front of him warily. He had never used the last two weaves before, so how could he have known what they would do? A thousand questions were in his mind but he buried them deeply as he stuffed the book back in his pack. He packed away all of his items, including the glowing crystals which elected groans of disappointment from those who were watching.

Picking up his sword, he grunted in pain as he staggered out of the chair. He limped towards the wagon he was staying in and opened the door. Light greeted him as he walked, candles burning brightly throughout the empty wagon. He placed his pack at the side of his bed and his sword next to it. He needed to rest.

The months passed as Rand slowly regained his abilities to move. He didn't know what had happened with Huin, Tallanvor, Alanna, Aviendha, Enaila and Jania, and he itched to find out more. But his weakness took time to overcome. Everyday he grew just a tiny bit stronger. At the start he hadn't been able to take more than a dozen steps before falling down in exhaustion. Those dozen steps soon became a hundred, then a walk to the campfire, then a walk around the wagons, then a walk to the river. The Wagons travelled very slowly down the River Arinelle, and every night Rand would seat with the peace-living Tinkers. There would be music and dance, sometimes Rand would forget himself and laugh himself hoarse as he tried to dance to a song, swaying uncontrollably on his feet as the poor laughing girl tried to stop him treading on her tows. Several times, the girls of the Travelling People, would dance sensually in front of him, their dark eyes mysterious and beckoning. Rand would swallow nervously and look away, and that would only seem to make them laugh and try again even harder next time. Some nights Rand would produce the flute he had found in his pack, given to him by a friend a long time ago, and the Tinkers would teach him their music.

In the days, Rand would help the Tinkers with their jobs, mending broken objects that never seemed to cease, or he would read into the small book of Saidin. He spent time memorising the weaves, sometimes drawing them in the ground to help him. Most of them were unknown, but in some of them Rand could look at them and tell himself what they would do. Some weaves that had been totally foreign and bewildering would somehow make themselves seem so obvious the next day, leaving Rand to cast serious doubt about himself.

But Rand had admitted to himself that he was having some of the best times of his life here. He had never felt so carefree or happy before in his life. But one day, Raen approached him during breakfast.

"You seemed to be popular with Nystelle last night," Raen said wryly and Rand choked on his porridge, barking in laughter.

"Light, they are going to drive me mad one day." Rand admitted to Raen.

"Women almost always do." Raen said as he sat down to Rand. His gaze was serious, belaying his light tone. "Rand, it has been almost eight months since you came to us."

"Eight months! Light!" Rand exclaimed. "It's been that long?"

"Time does not matter to the Tuatha'an. We have our songs and we move as fast as we want to move." Raen said gently. "Rand, you have been with us for some time. You have learnt and played our music, danced our dances…albeit, not very well,"

Rand chuckled at that as Raen continued.

"I was wondering, Ila was wondering...Rand, you have a sword in the Wagon. Will you throw it away and stay with us? You are healing well now and you are liked within the camps. We would enjoy having you," Raen finished.

Rand's smile vanished as he stared at Raen sombrely. "Light Raen, I would like nothing more than to stay here but…"

All of the wonderings about the fate of his friends, the longings to see Huin and Tallanvor and Elayne and, Light, even Alanna and Aviendha again, came to him at that moment. For a moment, Rand hesitated. One path would give him happiness and bliss for the end of his days. There would be no more horror or death in his life. The other would take him to those he cared for, but a promise of death went with it. Slayer was not dead, Rand knew that, and once he learned that Rand was still alive then he would do nothing to kill him.

"I...I can't." Rand answered slowly.

Raen nodded slowly, his face disappointed.

"Light, Raen, I would love to stay here. The time spent with you and your folk…Raen, I have never been more at peace. But…I have friends; family…I had been here so long that I had almost forgotten them. I think…No, I'm going home Raen. I'm going to see my father." Rand said with determination.

"There is a town to the south called Baerlon. We can camp here for some time, we will wait for you to regain all of your strength and then you may leave." Raen answered.

"How far away is it?" Rand asked.

"A days walk, at your pace." Raen answered.

Rand nodded, mostly to himself. "I have healed well, thanks to Ila and you Raen," He said thoughtfully. "If I could make it to Baerlon, I would be able to get a horse to Two Rivers," Rand mused.

"You are leaving now?" Raen asked, a shocked look on his face.

"Baerlon is only a days way. Raen, I missed my family, my home." Rand said. He felt guilty that he hadn't paid much thought to Two Rivers ever since he had left. Mat, Perrin…they would be older now. Light, they had passed the marriage age, they could even have wives. And Tam…he would like the help Rand could provide in the fields.

"I did not mean to..." Raen started.

"No, you didn't Raen." Rand quickly reassured the Tinker. "But it's time I left. I don't have any money to pay you for what you have done for me…"

"We do not want money," Raen said gently. "Just be safe. Maybe one day, you will return without a sword."

"Light, I wish for the day when I don't it." Rand said ruefully.

Rand made sure his travelling pack held all that owned. His books and tools, not including the Heartstone hammer, were safely packed. His sword was strapped to his waist, and Rand was aware of it, slid into the scabbard. He had polished it the other day when no Tinker had been looking and it was like washing himself in a running stream. The sword was a part of him now, sentient to a certain degree. The hammer was strapped to his back; no doubt it would come in useful if he ever got into a fight. He also had a few knives hidden among his clothing.

"You are leaving?" Said a melodious voice angrily.

"Hello Nystelle." Rand said as he turned around. A dark eyed girl with long brown hair stood there, her hands on her hips. She had been a frequent dancer and had made Rand blush and stutter once or twice or a few hundred times. She was a little older than he was but still was very beautiful.

"You are leaving without a feast?" She demanded.

"Nystelle, I am not a Tuatha'an." Rand said calmly. "Besides, I am wearing a sword. I might offend somebody."

"Put it away!" She muttered, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the very sight of it. "It is a tool of violence, having no other purpose other than to kill and murder."

"I know." Rand said, touching the hilt briefly and smiling oddly. The sword tingled and Rand felt it inside his mind, like if an arm had gotten an itch. "Its my sword though, and I have killed with it Nystelle. How do you feel about that?"

"Any man may walk from his former sins. Nobody is ever refused the Way of the Leaf if it is what they truly desire." Nystelle snapped angrily, her eyes flashing.

Rand shrugged and noticed a small figure lurking the doorway of the wagon. "Jarem, come in!" He called out.

"Is it true that you are leaving?" Jarem asked. At Rand's nod, he began to fidget and squirm. Scratching his head, the nine year old blushed heavily.

"When I found you…you were holding this. I took it because I didn't know you and though you were just another murderer…here it is, it's yours anyway…" Jarem mumbled. He threw a small disc at Rand, who caught it expertly and stared down at it as Jarem hurriedly left. It was the small disc that Slayer had boasted about at the Eye of the World, a Seal to the Dark Ones prison.

"What is it?" Nystelle asked curiously. Rand ignored her, dread welling up inside of him. Light! A Seal to the Dark Ones prison! Lews Therin Telamon, the Dragon himself, had once touched this. He had created it…if Rand broke this accidentally then he might free the Dark one!

"Oh that." Nystelle said as she caught sight of the disc. "Jarem has been playing with that for months. Says it won't break, even if you drop a rock on it. He tried it once and it was fine. I didn't know where he had gotten it from though."

Rand said nothing, but carefully placed the Seal into his tunic, making sure that it was secure. He didn't want to drop this. Light, what was he getting himself into already?

"Goodbye Nystelle," He said as he left the wagon. He waved to Raen and Ila, smiling lightly as he began his walk to Baerlon.