The Shadow Rising (The Wheel of Time 4)

She considered trying to envision Liandrin—she knew that doll’s face all too well, with its multitude of blond braids, its self-satisfied brown eyes, and its smirking rosebud mouth—picture her in the hopes she might be drawn to where the Black sister was. But if it worked, she might find Liandrin in Tel’aran’rhiod, too, and maybe others of them. She was not ready for that.

It suddenly occurred to her that if any of the Black Ajah were in Tanchico, in the Tanchico of Tel’aran’rhiod, she was flaunting herself for them. Any eye looking at the sky would notice a woman flying, one who did not vanish after a few moments. Her smooth flight staggered, and she swooped down below roof level, floating along the streets more slowly than before but still faster than a horse could run. She might be rushing toward them, but she could not make herself stop and wait for them.

Fool! she called herself furiously. Fool! They could know I’m here now. They could be laying a trap already. She considered stepping out of the dream, back to her bed in Tear, but she had found nothing. If there was anything to find.

A tall woman was suddenly standing in the street ahead of her, slim in a bulky brown skirt and loose white blouse, with a brown shawl around her shoulders and a folded scarf around her forehead to hold white hair that spilled to her waist. Despite her plain clothes she wore a great many necklaces and bracelets of gold or ivory or both. Fists planted on her hips, she stared straight at Egwene, frowning.

Another fool woman who’s dreamed herself where she has no right to be and doesn’t believe what she’s seeing, Egwene thought. She had the description of every woman who had gone with Liandrin, and this woman certainly matched none of them. But the woman did not vanish again; she stood there as Egwene approached swiftly. Why doesn’t she go? Why … ? Oh, Light! She’s really … ! She snatched for the flows to weave lightning, to tangle the woman in Air, fumbling in startled haste.

“Put your feet on the ground, girl,” the woman barked. “I had enough trouble finding you again without you flying off like some bird when I do.”

Abruptly Egwene stopped flying. Her feet thumped hard on the pavement, and she staggered. It was the Aiel woman’s voice, but this was an older woman. Not as old as Egwene had thought at first—in fact, she looked much younger than her white hair suggested—but with the voice, and those sharp blue eyes, she was sure it was the same woman. “You’re … different,” she said.

“You can be what you wish to be, here.” The woman sounded embarrassed, but only a little. “At times I like to remember … . That is not important. You are from the White Tower? It has been long since they had a dreamwalker. Very long. I am Amys, of the Nine Valleys sept of the Taardad Aiel.”

“You are a Wise One? You are! And you know dreams, you know Tel’aran’rhiod! You can … . My name is Egwene. Egwene al’Vere. I … .” She took a deep breath; Amys did not look a woman to lie to. “I am Aes Sedai. Of the Green Ajah.”

Amys’s expression did not change, really. A slight crinkling of her eyes, perhaps in skepticism. Egwene hardly looked old enough to be full Aes Sedai. What she said, though, was “I meant to leave you standing in your skin until you asked for some proper clothes. Putting on cadin’sor that way, as though you were … . You surprised me, pulling free as you did, turning my own spear on me. But you are still untaught, are you not, however strong. Else you would not have popped into the middle of my hunt that way, where you obviously did not wish to be. And this flying about? Did you come to Tel’aran’rhiod—Tel’aran’rhiod!—to stare at this city, wherever it is?”

“It’s Tanchico,” Egwene said faintly. She didn’t know. But then how had Amys followed her, or found her? It was obvious she knew more of the World of Dreams than Egwene did, by far. “You can help me. I am trying to find women of the Black Ajah, Darkfriends. I think they are here, and I have to find them if they are.”

“It truly exists, then.” Amys almost whispered it. “An Ajah of Shadowrunners in the White Tower.” She shook her head. “You are like a girl just wedded to the spear who thinks now she can wrestle men and leap mountains. For her it means a few bruises and a valuable lesson in humility. For you, here, it could mean death.” Amys eyed the white buildings around them and grimaced. “Tanchico? In … Tarabon? This city is dying, eating itself. There is a darkness here, an evil. Worse than men can make. Or women.” She looked at Egwene pointedly. “You cannot see it, or feel it, can you? And you want to hunt Shadowrunners in Tel’aran’rhiod.”

“Evil?” Egwene said quickly. “That could be them. Are you sure? If I told you what they look like, could you be certain it was them? I can describe them. I can describe one to her last braid.”

“A child,” Amys muttered, “demanding a silver bracelet from her father this minute when she knows nothing of trading or the making of bracelets. You have much to learn. Far more than I can begin to teach you, now. Come to the Three-fold Land. I will have the word spread through the clans that an Aes Sedai called Egwene al’Vere is to be brought to me at Cold Rocks Hold. Give your name and show your Great Serpent ring, and you will have safe running. I am not there now, but I will return from Rhuidean before you can arrive.”

“Please, you must help me. I need to know if they are here. I have to know.”

“But I cannot tell you. I do not know them, or this place, this Tanchico. You must come to me. What you do is dangerous, far more dangerous tha

n you know. You must—Where are you going? Stay!”

Something seemed to snatch at Egwene, pulling her into darkness.

Amys’s voice followed her, hollow and dwindling. “You must come to me and learn. You must … .

CHAPTER 12

Tanchico or the Tower

Elayne drew a ragged, relieved breath as Egwene finally stirred and opened her eyes. At the foot of the bed, Aviendha’s features lost their tinge of frustration and anxiety, and she flashed a quick smile that Egwene returned. The candle had burned past the mark minutes ago; it seemed an hour.

“You would not wake up,” Elayne said unsteadily. “I shook you and shook you, but you would not wake.” She gave a small laugh. “Oh, Egwene, you even frightened Aviendha.”

Egwene put a hand on her arm and squeezed reassuringly. “I am back, now.” She sounded tired, and she had sweated her shift through. “I suppose I had reason to stay a little longer than we planned. I will be more careful next time. I promise.”

Nynaeve returned the pitcher of water to the washstand vigorously, sloshing some out. She had been on the point of throwing it in Egwene’s sleeping face. Her features were composed, but the pitcher rattled the washbowl, and she let the spilled water drip to the carpet. “Was it something you found? Or was it … ? Egwene, if the World of Dreams can hold on to you in some way, maybe it is too dangerous until you learn more. Maybe the more often you go, the harder it is to come back. Maybe … . I don’t know. But I do know we cannot risk letting you become lost.” She crossed her arms under her breasts, ready for an argument.

“I know,” Egwene said, very close to meekly. Elayne’s eyebrows shot up; Egwene was never meek with Nynaeve. Anything but.

Egwene struggled off the bed, refusing Elayne’s help, and made her way to the washstand to bathe her face and arms in the relatively cool water. Elayne found a dry shift in the wardrobe while Egwene pulled off her sodden one.

“I met a Wise One, a woman named Amys.” Egwene’s voice was muffled until her head popped out of the top of the new shift. “She said I should come to her, to learn about Tel’aran’rhiod. At some place in the Waste called Cold Rocks Hold.”

Elayne had caught a flicker of Aviendha’s eye at the mention of the Wise One’s name. “Do you know her? Amys?”

The Aiel woman’s nod could only be described as reluctant. “A Wise One. A dreamwalker. Amys was Far Dareis Mai until she gave up the spear to go to Rhuidean.”