Awakening Part 1

Adar 27, 998 New Era (May 9th)

I became aware of the sun first, moving across a cloudless sky, filling my unblinking eyes. It seemed to go by fits and starts, standing still for days, then darting ahead in a streak of light, jerking toward the far horizon, day falling with it. Light. That should mean something. Thought was a new thing. I can think. I means me. Who am I? Pain came next, the heat of raging fever, the bruises where shaking chills had thrown me around like a rag doll. And a stink. A greasy, burned smell filled my nostrils, making my stomach heave. My head throbbed with pain above my right eye, slowly fading. What happened to me?

With aching, trembling muscles, I heaved myself over, pushed up to hands and knees. Beneath me oily ashes smeared into a horrific snow angel where I had lain, scattered and smudged over the stone. Bits of dark green cloth lay mixed in the char, edge-blackened scraps that had escaped the flame. Did I kill someone? How am I still alive? I should be burnt! What happened to me?

My stomach twisted as I tried to brush the black streaks of ash from my clothes before considering it a lost cause. I cannot believe I just woke up in someone's ashes! I threw up a watery bile and feebly moved down the hill away from it and the remains of a dead body before I collapsed onto clean stone. Laying there I rested my muscles, and let the pain ebb and my stomach settle for a quarter of an hour, no thoughts in my head. When I stood, my legs trembled but held my weight and I slowly finished picking my way down the hill, using tree trunks for help. Each step I grew steadier, and more worried as I met and heard no one. Where is everyone? I had this feeling that someone important was waiting for me that urged me on.

I entered a clearing, half-filled by a great oak, and on the other side there was a white stone arch marked with teardrops of black and white, and a blackened, gaping pit. Maybe what happened to me, happened here too? Why can I not remember?

Beneath the great green and brown boughs of the oak tree were three women. The first, a pretty girl looked up with big eyes from where she knelt beneath the spreading branches, flowers in her hair, and brown oak leaves. She was slender and young and frightened. Something in my mind whispered she was the important one. There were two other women with her, one with haunted eyes and a long braid, still decorated with a few white morning-stars. The other lay outstretched, her head pillowed on folded cloaks, her own sky-blue cloak not quite hiding her tattered dress. Charred spots and tears in the rich cloth showed, and her face was pale, but her eyes were open, dark pools that drew me in. She was beautiful even in her obvious distress, unfamiliar looking even compared to the other two women.

All three women looked at me, unblinking and intent, before the important one asked, careful and worried, "Rand, are you okay? You're covered in ash?"

It was like lightning struck me at that moment. "Oh. Right. That's my name," I realized, before pain erupted in my head and a pressure built. I cried out and fell to my knees, clutching my head as the pressure ascended to a fevered pitch before I mercifully lost consciousness.

When I came to awareness, I was floating in a dim gray void unable to move from where I was. Memories of what must be my life played before me, misty and faded. The smiling face of a red-haired woman who may be my mother, seen only briefly, then dead and buried. Why can I not remember her name? Working with my father Tam al'Thor on our farm, tending the sheep, keeping the tabac plants healthy and growing in the heat of summer, curing the tabac in the fall and preparing wood for the cold winters that come out of the Mountains of Mist. My father taught me how to sling a stone before I began tending the sheep and started me a year earlier than other village boys with a bow. He taught me how to be almost as good as he was with the Flame and the Void, a meditation technique he learned from his years outside the Two Rivers. Hunting birds and rabbits and squirrels, in the summer and fall, picking roots and mushrooms for stews, forest okra for pickling. Reading old books and histories in the depths of winter, Tam's rough singing voice lulled me to sleep. Riding the cart into town when I was younger, walking beside it when I was older, as our farm was far from the village of Emond's Field. Why so much about my father, yet nothing of my mother?

Before me I saw 'Mat' Matrim Cauthon, who grew up to be a lanky teenager, all limbs and grinning eyes, though not nearly as tall as Perrin or I. Vague memories of him played before me like a moving painting, the background muddled and the voices like a thousand snakes hissing. Mat was the one that always got me and Perrin in trouble for helping with his pranks and jokes played on Emond's Fielders, yet he always seemed to get away mostly clean with pranks he did himself. He was a trickster and storyteller, and could not keep a secret for too long. I feel like I barely know him.

Then the paintings showed Perrin Aybara, curly-haired and quiet boy who grew up to be a broad-shouldered and muscled blacksmith's apprentice taller than Mat, but not to my height, thoughtful but powerful when roused into anger. A kind big brother, a good listener, careful in word and deed. Quiet moments between us, long talks as we grew up, sharing punishments that Mat seemed to dodge. I see more than I saw with Mat, but the memory painting was still quick to finish. Light burn me, I cannot even remember my friends very well! Am I cursed…?

Next was Egwene al'Vere, my childhood best friend and the girl my father and her mother decided I would take as a wife. Short and slender, with large brown eyes that can glow with affection, pierce through lies, or burn you with anger, depending on how foolish she thinks you are being, long brown hair and dusky skin, a bright white smile. She is the important one. The Rand of my memories took a long time to realize her beauty. I watched Rand, me, foolishly withdraw from her, finding myself embarrassed that I could not stop staring, being unable to speak with her as my tongue would lie fat and heavy in mouth. I some silly resentment about my future wife decided when I was a child simply because we were close, even though I cared for her! I was truly foolish. When I see her after this somber void, I will fix whatever distance has grown, I swear.

And finally, the memory painting showed me the Wisdom Nynaeve al'Meara, older than all of us by half a decade, young and beautiful for a village Wisdom. No one was foolish enough to say that to her face, however, after she whipped a couple older men, including a member of the Village Council, with her switch. Slender, with long dark hair braided, dusky skin and dark brown eyes like some Emond's Fielders, regardless of her beauty she had a stern, no nonsense attitude that almost demanded respect which the village gave as she was a wildly successful Wisdom, her healing nearly always worked and she correctly predicted the seasons for years, until this spring. She's not even close to me, she's closer with Egwene… why would this gray void show me her?

The next parts of my memories come in snapshots of vivid reality, accompanied by general information.

A horrific beastman splintered the front door with a wicked looking sword. Shadowspawn attacked the farm. They looked like men made into beasts, disturbingly human hands or eyes, with awful hateful faces of eagles and dogs and boars and only the Dark One knows how many other animals.

My father, on a hastily made travois, claimed he found me next to an Aiel woman on the Dragonmount and took me home. Tam is my father. It was just the fever.

The Aes Sedai Moiraine that saved the village was the only one who could heal Tam, so I made a desperate bargain and agreed to come with her. Aes Sedai, women who can channel, who can use the One Power that broke the world. Whatever was she doing in Emond's Field? She must be the distressed woman beneath the oak.

The shadowspawn came for me, Mat and Perrin. A desperate midnight horse ride as a terrifying bat winged man flew right overhead and scattered our horses. We had to leave with the Aes Sedai. There was no other choice. Farm boys cannot fight the servants of the Dark One.

Anger boiled as Moiraine Sedai taught Egwene about the One Power around the campfire at night. I could feel her leaving me behind and felt jealous, angry that she was giving up our home, when I had no choice.

Learning the basics of swordplay from Lan with my father's sword. He and Thom trained us that week, each evening at camp. I don't know why my father had a heron-marked blade, the sword of a blademaster, but it is mine now. I must live up to it.

Ba'alzamon, a handsome man with eyes of fire, and the rat. A horribly real dream that I wish to never think of again. He was the Dark One, and he had much to tell me, to show me The things he said…. They were lies. He is the Father of Lies. I shall not believe him, never. Moiraine protected us, she does not seek to use us.

A boyish-looking woman yelled that I cannot escape her. She claimed Egwene and I were not fated to be. That is wrong. She must be wrong.

We fled hundreds of Trolloc beast-men into the cursed city of Shadar Logoth, and the desperate retreat through the killing fog. A night as horrible as Winternight, if not worse. That fog…. That was as unnatural as Ba'alzamon, but with unthinking hunger instead of powerful madness, I am just glad it found Trollocs good eating.

After we survived Shadar Logoth we found a boat and spent the trip learning the flute and gleeman tricks. But a Halfman had been looking for us, and Thom gave his life for Mat and me. He was a good man, paranoid of Moiraine, but a good man. I wish I remembered more of him.

Sleeping rough, playing at gleeman with Mat for food. The Darkfriends that found us on the road kept us fearful and moving. Mat is getting worse each memory, more closed off and sickly.

Caemlyn and Loial the Ogier, a human-like being ten feet tall, with long bushy eyebrows and a clean face, a fellow lover of books and more well-read than I by far. I found him a fast friend in our days together. I needed one with how sick Mat was, and the stress of the journey. Loial sure is a big fellow though.

In the Royal Gardens of Andor with the beautiful Daughter-Heir Elayne Trakand. Light but she is beautiful as well. What is with these beautiful women appearing near me?

The beauty of Queen Morgase, the stern Red Aes Sedai in the Andor Court who predicted "Pain and division come to the whole world" and that I stand at the very heart of it. I dread what will happen next, this desperate journey seems to be nothing but danger, not adventure.

Entering yet another cursed location to escape the servants of the Dark One, this time into the Ways: a series of pitted and worn roads through a dark void that connects different Waygates, haunted by a vile entity known as the Machin Shin, The Black Wind. It was dark, and cold, and when it stopped being quiet, that was when the Black Wind came. The screams, what the Wind spoke of… I wish I did not remember it

We rode through empty farmland in Shienar, and through the packed streets of Fal Dara, refugees and soldiers everywhere. I had never seen so many people in one place, all packed tight inside the walls. Abandoned farms everywhere, fleeing the oncoming invasion.

The peddler shifted from sniveling madman to an oily arrogance. He disturbed me greatly. Something is truly wrong with him.

I eavesdropped on Lord Agelmar telling Egwene and Nynaeve about Lan's royal history. Strange to think a lost king of a nation fallen to the Blight, that rotten fetid, foul land tainted by the Shadow, taught me the sword.

Fear and shock as we learned that Ba'alzamon ordered Fain three years ago to find Mat, Perrin and me. To think that the Peddler had hunted us, changed by Ba'alzamon. I should not wish death on anyone, but he deserves it, for sending me on this cursed journey that ended with my memories scattered and ruined! I will kill him if he is not already dead. This I promise.

The memories were rapid flashes of feelings and images now, of the sweltering heat of the Blight and the horrible twisted plants that lived inside it, of the shrill hunting cries of the dread Worms, of a desperate ride through violent trees, my father's sword cutting through the writhing limbs like a knife through butter. Flashes of green leaves and white flowers and a walnut eye. Ba'alzamon with an umbilical cord of Darkness stretching out into a deep endless Shadow. A great cord of Light attached itself to me, and with it I made a sword to cut down Ba'alzamon. And then I was alone in the gray void. Did I kill the Dark One? That seems unlikely, as something connected to him, something more than him. As much as it burns me to think the thought, maybe Ba'alzamon is a Forsaken or some kind of body for the Dark One to walk the earth? I shivered at that thought and whispered, "Hand of the Creator shelter me, I walk in the Light."

I fought a Forsaken, one of the Thirteen Aes Sedai who turned to the Shadow in the Age of Legends and fought in the War of Power that ended the Age. Light illumine me how I bloody won? I hung for some time, wondering how I got from the Blight to the woods I had found myself in, wondering what was happening to me, how did I still live, or do I float even now waiting for the Creator to reach consensus on my new role in the Wheel. The memories I had watched lay within me now, but felt distant, off. That made me worry I was no longer the Rand I used to be. Would my friends still care for me? Would they distrust me? Maybe they should, I thought bitterly; I think I channeled, to make that sword of light… In the space between one moment to the next, a great flame two stories tall, the size of a pleasant village inn, appeared before me. It was of a strange, mercurial color, a shifting rainbow of flame that quickly enveloped me. Though I cried out I did not burn, feeling only pleasant warmth and a sense of bone-deep comfort rush over me. Feels like warm winter nights by the fire, reading with Tam or drinking cold cider from the Winespring Inn's cellar with Egwene as children in the summer.

"Rand al'Thor, I come in peace," the flame spoke into my mind, in a language of spark and ash and crackling wood that I somehow understood. "I am the Iridescent Flame, a Dragon Spirit of the Creator, who Spoke the Word, who Sung the Song that was Sundered, who Built the Wheel that Turns the Universe. I come wreathed in the Flame Imperishable. Be not afraid."

I began to panic. Dragon Spirit? Like the Dragon Lew Therin Kinslayer, who Broke the World? The Light save me from cursed spirits. I assumed this thing must have trapped me here. And Sung the Song? When did the Creator sing a song? What is this nonsense? "Why are you here?" I could not help shouting this 'spirit', "And why can I not remember everything? What happened to me? What did you do to me?"

The spirit sounded somehow disappointed in their crackling flamespeak. "What did I do to you? Nothing at all. When you battled the Forsaken Ba'alzamon in the dreamshard you pulled on too much of the One Power, and almost burned yourself out when you dealt the final blow."I wanted to deny the spirit and claim I never channeled, that I was not cursed to die from madness.

The Iridescent Flame grew excited then, a bright and roaring fire."You wounded him heavily and he will take some time to heal. His connection echoed the blow in the Dark One himself, and in his corrupted works." The spirit then sounded inordinately pleased with themself."In this moment of brief respite from the Shadow, the Creator sent ME to deliver His Chosen One gifts and boons. He wishes the Dragon Reborn to survive the Last Battle and usher in an Age of Light. And Dragon Spirit to Dragon Reborn, I wish to impart a gift to you as well,"I wanted to deny that I was the Dragon Reborn but I could not make myself say the words, sputtering impotently. Blood and ashes, why can I not speak the words?

The spirit's tone turned somber, the fire dying til it seemed nearly to coals. "Alas, the damage you did to your soul was extensive enough that the first gift is part of a soul waiting for another Age, what they could spare stitched into a lattice supporting your wounded soul." Another soul, stitched into me? Am I even still Rand al'Thor? I shuddered with fear, and forced the thought away. This is simply another cursed part of this journey. I can get through this just like I got through Winternight and Shadar Logoth and the Ways and Ba'alzamon. Suddenly, the Iridescent Flame sounded bored with me."You are still Rand al'Thor, otherwise I would not be here delivering gifts to the Dragon Reborn. You may experience altered habits, moods, and emotions as your soul repairs itself."The joyful crackling of logs on a winter fire sounded once more. "Thankfully, the damage was mostly not permanent! It was quite silly of you to push yourself that far. You only needed to wound Ba'alzamon. If you had even trained a little, you would have done much better. You're supposed to be a dragon, you know? The most powerful existence in the World, majestic and terrible and mighty, like me! It would not do you well to disappoint this Ancestor, little drake."

I was disturbed, disturbed and confused and worried. This was supposed to be a spirit of the Creator? A strange being who berates me for actions I do not even remember taking, jumping from one emotion to the next like some bizarre child, but must be older than I can even imagine? It is just another step, I told myself, Just another step on your journey. I still could not speak, but the spirit seemed to read my thoughts. What happened to the person whose soul I took? Is that why I woke up in ashes? What was I even supposed to train? Why would the Creator want me to be terrible? And what is this nonsense about ancestors?

The Iridescent Flame spoke authoritatively with some heat, sounding like logs thrown onto a roaring fire. "We only took most of the soul. We left behind the minority to regrow. And that is NOT why you woke up in ashes. Those ashes are the Forsaken Aginor, whom you burnt to a crisp with the saidin in the Eye of the World. Well done killing one of those despicable traitors to the Creator, to the Light, to Life! And channeling is what you were supposed to train. You're the Dragon Reborn, the most powerful male channeler of this Age, Rand al'Thor. If you had trained we would not be in this position." They paused, seeming to think for a moment. "But you rarely train before about a year of adventure. It is good that the Wheel wove this way. You should have a much easier time than previous Rands."

Previous Rands? I rarely train? …. No. No, I do not wish to know such secrets of the Wheel. I pushed those thoughts down deep and hoped they would not fester. So I am the Dragon Reborn, and if I had learned that instead of running and scorning Moiraine Sedai and channeling, maybe things would be better. But I did not. I simply had to accept what the Iridescent Flame said. I could feel the truth in their words radiating like a beacon. I did not wish to believe I had been chosen, but a spirit of the Creator told me, so even as strange and scary as they were, I had to believe them. Otherwise I'm already mad. I am not mad. What do I need to do? And what are the other gifts you have for me? I thought, more than a little worried. I'm not mad. Not yet.

The Iridescent Flame had the jolly feeling of a Sunday Bonfire as they spoke their answer. "The memories were a gift as well, what we could save. I am imbued with the Creator's Sacred Fire, the Flame Imperishable. Bask in His Light, for it will dwell in you, and with it I will refine your body and soul, like an alchemist turning lead into gold. You will be stronger, faster and better at everything needed for a Dragon Reborn; learning, adapting, training, all sorts of things I will enhance with this sacred fire. I've even left some gifts for you to figure out! Now, I've been told this is unpleasant for mortals, but that is the price of changing a person at their core, you know! You must become majestic and terrible and mighty, Rand al'Thor."

So they are going to burn me alive to make me better and turn me into a man who can Break the World. I truly hope this is not a trick of Ba'alzamon. No, that comforting Light cannot be a trick. I have to believe. I am not mad. I sighed, not really having a choice. Do it. The flame sank through my skin, into my body and bones, into my head, and my soul, changing and purifying something inside me. I could feel it worming its way through everything, every piece of skin, every hair, into my ears and eyes and mouth, through organs I had never realized I even had, and every single little bone, I could feel all of it. Every moment I burned inside with an almost painful heat and a growing pressure. I could only float helplessly, waiting for the gift to end, as hours seemed to pass. By the time the Iridescent Flame finished their work, their flames had gone from a size comparable to the Winespring Inn to a size just larger than myself. When they stopped, the heat dissipated instantly, but the painful pressure remained and I felt like I was about to burst.

In front of me the Flame changed forms, turning into a strange rainbow-colored snake-lion with pointy deer-like antlers, a large mane of white fur, a scaled hide and four legs ending in five sharp claws that looked as clear as good glass. I felt a sense of awe, of pure violence and power from this creature and I tried to back away, flailing helplessly in the gray nothing I floated in. The Flame ignored me and spoke clearly, like ringing glass, into my mind. "One last gift, one from myself, for the Dragon from a Dragon.

This I Foretell.

'The Flame of All Colors shall Gift the Dragon Reborn a heart.

And the Dragon Reborn will bind six women to His heart,

Three lovers, two teachers, one enemy.

And with them bound, He shall shake the world with His Might,

for the nations of the world will submit or be brought to heel by His Majesty

And with His Power, He shall bring forth an Age of Light'.

This I have Foretold." A Foretelling, a prophecy made with the One Power that a Spirit spoke into existence just for me. I was flabbergasted and my thoughts raced. Why six women? Six women bound to my heart? Does that mean we are married? I began to breathe anxiously. Light, I cannot marry six women, even if a Spirit foretells it. Six! Do dragons mate like that? Or do they marry? And I have to fight all the nations of the world? And start a new Age? I'm just a sheepherder with half my memories missing, I know nothing but that I cannot be mad because I would never think of this.

The spirit continued, ignoring my thoughts,"When you ignite your heart through binding once, you will become chinnar'veren, a Shapechanger. You will takethe features of a dragon as a human at your choosing, called the so'shan: the Lord Form." An image appeared in my mind, of a Rand with short gold antlers at his temples, a dusting of red and gold scales around his eyes and cheeks, ears long and pointed. His face is beautiful, more beautiful than my memories of mirrors. His hair is now bright red with golden streaks, a curly mane halfway down his back, and his scaled fingers tipped with golden dragon claws instead of fingernails, his fingers tipped in scarlet and gold scales. His smile reveals sharp teeth and a rainbow flame held in his mouth. The antlers are strange, as is the dusting of scales, but I look quite striking, like a handsome villain in a tale the heroine almost falls for before he reveals his true nature. I doubt Egwene would like it. I look dangerous and strange.

"When you ignite your heart through bonding thrice, you will change your form into that of a Mandragon, the so'gaighael; the Battlemonster Form."A scarlet and gold dragon in the shape of a man, nearly ten feet tall. His scales were red and gold and covered his entire body. The only clothing he wore was a black steel armored skirt with two great swords belted to it. He has a red and gold mane of hair cascading down his back, and from his reptilian snout leaks tongues of rainbow flame. Before him lay a hundred dead Trollocs cleaved in half and hundreds more fled. Now that is deadly! So many dead Trollocs, Winternight would have never happened if I was such a beast. I look like a dragon Trolloc without the disturbingly human features mixed in. A dangerous form and seems useful to fight shadowspawn with. But is it worth three wives? Saving, not damning, the world has to be worth it.

"And when you ignite it a sixth time, you will become a true dragon and no chain will ever bind you that you do not choose, as the so'unbunto; the Great Beast Form." The dragon in my mind was a near identical copy of the shape the Iridescent Flame had taken but in scarlet and gold with gold claws and an aura of power and menace, spewing torrents of rainbow flame from the sky while floating lazily with no wings. It was hard to tell from the image, but it looked large, maybe sixty or seventy feet long. There was an encampment of strange looking soldiers in beetle-like armor, some melted like wax while many others drop their weapons and flee untouched by the flame. Lighting strikes the enormous beast three times in quick succession, followed by fireballs and blades of air that leave nary a scratch. The dragon casually waving a hand and a crack in the earth swiftly opened up, swallowing another part of the camp in seconds. I felt awe. I felt sick. That's what you want me to become? That's what the Creator wants? To be a mighty beast that uses the One Power to cause mass death? I do not know if I can become this… Light illumine me, is that what you require of me?

There was no amusement in the voice now, only contempt. "If you are to survive the Last Battle and usher in a new Age of Light, it is what you must become, Dragon Reborn. Go to Toman Head, after your little girl playing at Aes Sedai drags you to Illian. Go to Toman Head to meet your destiny, or suffer in the tides of cruel fate, foolish little drake." I shivered. To be named the Dragon Reborn, by a spirit of the Creator. To be cursed by a spirit of the Creator with a destiny. I wanted to weep, or scream, to or cry, or laugh, but the Iridescent Flame did not give me the chance, as they drove straight into my heart and into my soul, the sense of pressure popping with a bright searing pain that forced a scream out of my mouth that echoed into the real world.