She walked over and sat next to him. "Rand, he's you. Or you're him. Spun out into the Pattern again. Those memories and things you can do, they're remnants from who you were before."
"No," Rand said. "Min, he's insane and I'm not. Besides, he failed. I won't. I won't do it, Min. I won't hurt those I love, as he did. And when I defeat the Dark One, I won't leave him able to return a short time later and terrorize us again."
Three thousand years a "short time later"? She put her arms around him. "Does it matter?" she asked. "If there is another person, or if those are just memories from before, the information is useful."
"Yes," Rand said, seeming distant again. "But I'm afraid to use the One Power. When I do, I risk letting him take control. He can't be trusted. He didn't mean to kill her, but that doesn't change the fact that he did. Light . . . Hyena. ..."
Was this how it happened to all of them? Each one assuming that they were really sane, and that it was the other person inside of them who did horrible things?
"It's done now, Rand," she said, holding him close. "Whatever this voice is, it won't grow any worse. Saidin is cleansed."
Rand didn't respond, but he did relax. She closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of his warmth beside her, particularly since he'd left the window open.
"Ishamael lives," Rand said.
She snapped her eyes open. "What?" Just when she was beginning to feel comfortable!
"I visited him in the World of Dreams," Rand said. "And before you ask, no. It wasn't just a nightmare and it wasn't madness. It was real, and I can't explain how I know. You will just have to trust me."
"Ishamael," she whispered. "You killed him!"
"Yes," Rand said. "In the Stone of Tear. He has returned, bearing a new face and a new name, but it is him. We should have realized it would happen; the Dark One won't abandon such useful tools without a fight. He can reach beyond the grave."
"Then how can we win? If everyone we kill just comes back again. . . ."
"Balefire," Rand said. "It will kill them for good."
"Cadsuane said—"
"I don't care what Cadsuane said," he snarled. "She is my advisor, and she gives advice. Only advice. I am the Dragon Reborn, and / will decide how we fight." He stopped, taking a deep breath. "Anyway, it doesn't matter if the Forsaken return, it doesn't matter who or what the Dark One sends at us. In the end, I will destroy him, if possible. If not, then I will at least seal him away so tightly that the world can forget him."
He glanced down at her. "For that ... I need the voice, Min. Lews Therin knows things. Or ... or I know things. Whichever it is, the knowledge is there. In a way, the Dark One's own taint will destroy him, for it is what gave me access to Lews Therin."
Min glanced at her books. Herid's little slip of paper still peeked from the depths of Thoughts Among the Ruins. "Rand," she said. "You have to destroy the seals to the Dark One's prison."
He looked at her, frowning.
"I'm sure of it," she said. "I've been reading Herid's books all this time, and I believe that's what he meant by 'clearing away the rubble.' In order to rebuild the Dark One's prison, you will first need to open it. Clear away the patch made on the Bore."
She had expected him to be incredulous. Shockingly, he just nodded. "Yes," he said. "Yes, that sounds right. I doubt that many will wish to hear it. If those seals are broken, there is no way to tell what will happen. If I fail to contain him ..."
The prophecies didn't say Rand would win. Only that he would fight. Min shivered again—blasted window!—but met Rand's gaze. "You'll win. You'll defeat him."
He sighed. "Faith in a madman, Min?"
"Faith in you, sheepherder." Suddenly viewings spun around his head. She ignored them most of the time, unless they were new, but now she picked them out. Fireflies consumed in darkness. Three women before a pyre. Flashes of light, darkness, shadow, signs of death, crowns, injuries, pain and hope. A tempest around Rand al'Thor, stronger than any physical storm.
"We still don't know what to do," he said. "The seals are brittle enough that I could break them in my hands, but what then? Mow do I stop him? Does it say anything of that in your books?"
"It's hard to tell," she admitted. "The clues—if that's what they are—are vague. I will keep looking. I promise. I'll find answers for you.'
He nodded, and she was surprised to feel his trust through the bond. That was a frighteningly rare emotion from him recently, but he did seem softer than he had during previous days. Still stone, but perhaps with some few cracks, willing to let her inside. It was a beginning.
She tightened her arms around him and closed her eyes again. A place to begin, but with so little time left. It would have to do.
Carefully shielding her burning candle, Aviendha lit the pole-mounted lantern. It flickered alight, illuminating the green around her. Slumbering soldiers snored in rows of tents. The evening was cold, the air crisp, and branches rattled in the distance. A lonely owl hooted. And Aviendha was exhausted.
She'd crossed the grounds fifty times, lighting the lantern, blowing it out, then jogging back across the green and lighting her candle at the manor before walking carefully—shielding the flame—to light the lantern again.