The Gathering Storm

"Just try it," Rand said. "I can't tell you how it is done specifically, not for a woman, but you are clever. I'm certain you can manage."

His unintentionally patronizing tone sent her back into a rage. Being as tired as she was didn't help. She gritted her teeth, turning toward Kerb, and wove all five Powers. His eyes darted back and forth, though he couldn't see the weaves.

Nynaeve laid a very light Healing across him, causing him to stiffen. She wove a separate line of Spirit, Delving into his head as delicately as she could, prodding at the weaves that clumped across his mind. Yes, she could see it now, a complex web made from lines of Spirit, Air and Water. It was horrible, looking at it with her mind's eye, crisscrossing the youth's brain. Bits of the weave touched here and there, like tiny hooks, jutting deep into the brain itself.

Reverse the weave, Rand had said. That was far from easy. She'd have to pull the web of Compulsion off layer by layer, and if she made a mistake, she could very easily kill him. She almost backed away.

But who else was there? Compulsion was a forbidden weave, and she doubted that Corele or the others had any experience with it. If Nynaeve stopped now, Rand would just send for the others and ask them to do it. They'd obey him, laughing behind their hands at Nynaeve, the Accepted who thought herself a full Aes Sedai.

Well, she had discovered new ways of Healing! She had helped cleanse the taint from the One Power itself! She had Healed stilling and gentling!

She could do this.

She worked quickly, weaving a mirror image of the first layer of Compulsion. Each use of the Power was exact, but reversed from the pattern already woven in the boy's mind. Nynaeve laid her weave down carefully, hesitantly, and as Rand had said, both puffed away and vanished.

How had he known? She shivered, thinking of what Semirhage had said about him. Memories from another life, memories he had no right to. There was a reason the Creator allowed them to forget their past lives. No man should have to remember the failures of Lews Therin Telamon.

She continued, layer after layer, stripping away the Compulsion's weaves like a hedge-doctor removing bandages from a wounded leg. It was exhausting work, but fulfilling. Each weave fixed a wrong, healed the youth a little more, made something just a hair more right in the world.

It took the better part of an hour, and was a grueling experience. But she did it. As the last layer of Compulsion vanished, she let out an exhausted sigh and released the One Power, convinced that she couldn't channel a single thread more if it were to save her life. She wobbled over to a chair and slumped down. Min, she noticed, had curled up on the bench seat beside Rand and had fallen asleep.

But he did not sleep. The Dragon Reborn watched, as if seeing things Nynaeve could not. He stood up and walked to Kerb. In her dizzied state, Nynaeve hadn't noticed the young chandler's face. It was oddly blank, like that of a person dazed from a strong blow to the head.

Rand lowered himself to one knee, cradling the youth's chin in his hand, staring into his eyes. "Where?" he asked softly. "Where is she?"

The youth opened his mouth, and a line of drool leaked out the side of it.

"Where is she?" Rand repeated.

Kerb moaned, eyes still blank, tongue parting his lips just slightly.

"Rand!" Nynaeve said. "Stop it! What are you doing to him?"

"I have done nothing," Rand said quietly, not looking toward her. "This is what you did, Nynaeve, in unraveling those weaves. Graendal's Compulsions are powerful—but crude, in some ways. She fills a mind with Compulsion to such an extent as to erase personality and intellect, leaving behind a puppet who works only according to her direct commands."

"But he was able to interact just moments ago!"

Rand shook his head. "If you ask the men at the jail, they'll tell you this one was slow of thought and rarely spoke to them. There was no real person in this head, only layered weaves of Compulsion. Instructions cleverly designed to wipe whatever personality this poor wretch had and replace it with a creature who would act exactly as Graendal wished. I've seen it dozens of times."

;He bolted out of the door, Aes Sedai," one of the workers said, "as if the Dark One himself was chasing him. Your soldier ran over to see if you were in danger, but we figured it'd be best to snatch this lad before he could get away. Just in case."

Nynaeve let out a breath to calm herself. "You did well," she said. The youth struggled, weakly. "You did well indeed."

CHAPTER 33

A Conversation with the Dragon

This," Rand declared, "had better be important." Nynaeve turned to find the Dragon Reborn standing in the doorway to the sitting room. He wore a dark red robe with black dragons embroidered up the arms. His stump was hidden in the folds of the left sleeve. Though his hair was tousled from sleep, his eyes were alert.

He strode into the sitting room, ever the king—even now, long after midnight and just awakened, he walked as if he were absolutely certain of himself. Some servants had brought a pot of hot tea, and he filled a cup as Min followed him into the room. She also wore a sleeping robe; the robes were one of the fashions of the Domani, and hers was of yellow silk, the weave far thinner than Rand's. Aiel maidens took up positions by the door, lounging in their strangely dangerous way.

Rand took a gulp from his cup. It was getting harder and harder to see in him the boy Nynaeve had known in the Two Rivers. Had his jaw always been set with those lines of determination? When had his step grown so sure, his posture so demanding? This man almost seemed an ... interpretation of the Rand she'd once known. Like a statue, carved from rock to look like him, but exaggerated in heroic lines.

"Well?" Rand demanded. "Who is this?"

The young apprentice, Kerb, sat tied in Air upon one of the room's cushioned benches. Nynaeve glanced at him, then Embraced the Source and wove a ward against eavesdropping. Rand looked at her sharply. "You channeled?" he asked. He could sense when she did so without taking precautions; he felt goose bumps on the flesh, according to Egwene and Elayne's investigations.

"A ward," she said, refusing to be cowed. "Last I checked, I didn't need your permission to channel. You've grown high and mighty, Rand al'Thor, but don't forget that I paddled your backside when you were barely as tall as a man's shins."