Lord of Chaos (The Wheel of Time 6)

“Nothing to worry you there,” Sheriam said soothingly. She stood over Egwene, who sat in the padded armchair, with the others in an arc around her. “The Hall will argue whether to gentle him again until old age relieves us of the problem.”

Egwene tried to stifle another yawn — it was getting late — and Anaiya said, “We need to let her sleep. Tomorrow is almost as important as tonight was, child.” Abruptly she laughed to herself softly. “Mother. Tomorrow is important too, Mother. We will send Chesa to help you get ready for bed.”

Even after they left, going to bed was not easy. While Chesa was still undoing Egwene’s dress, Romanda appeared with a number of suggestions for the Amyrlin, delivered in a firm no-nonsense voice, and no sooner did she go than Lelaine came, as if the Blue Sitter had been waiting for the Yellow’s departure. Lelaine had her own helpful counsel, given with Egwene sitting up in bed after Chesa was gently but firmly put out of the room. It was not a bit like Romanda’s advice — neither was much like Sheriam’s — and came with a warm, even affectionate, smile, but with just as much certainty that Egwene would need a little guidance in her first months. Neither woman exactly said that she could guide Egwene to what was best for the Tower better than Sheriam, or that Sheriam and her little circle might try to tug in too many directions, or that they might give bad advice, but the strong implications were there. Romanda and Lelaine also each hinted that the other might have her own agenda, one that undoubtedly would cause untold misery.

By the time Egwene channeled the last lamp out, she expected a sleep full of nightmares. In fact there were only two that she remembered the next morning. If one she was Amyrlin — Aes Sedai, but without taking the oaths — and everything she did led to disaster. That wakened her bolt upright, just to get away, yet she was sure it was not a dream with meaning. It was much the same as one of her experiences inside the ter’angreal where she had been tested for Accepted; as far as anyone knew, those had no connection to reality. Not to this reality. The other was the sort of foolishness she expected; she knew enough about her own dreams now to know that, even if she had to wake herself finally to escape that one as well. Sheriam had snatched the stole from her shoulders, and then everyone was laughing at her and pointing at the fool who really believed a girl of barely eighteen years could be Amyrlin. Not just the Aes Sedai, but all the Wise Ones, and Rand and Perrin and Mat, Nynaeve and Elayne, almost everyone she had ever met, while she stood there naked, desperately trying to put on an Accepted’s dress that might have fit a ten-year-old child.

“Now, you can’t be lying abed all day, Mother.”

Egwene opened her eyes.

Chesa had an expression of mock severity on her face and a twinkle in her eye. At least twice Egwene’s age, at their first meeting she had fallen straight into the blend of respect and familiarity that could be expected of an old retainer. “The Amyrlin Seat can’t be lying slugabed, not today of all days.”

“The last thing in my mind.” Scrambling stiffly from the bed, Egwene stretched befo

re pulling off her sweaty shift. She could not wait until she had worked long enough with the Power to stop sweating. “I’ll wear the blue silk with the white morningstars along the neckline.” She noticed Chesa very carefully not looking as the woman handed her a fresh shift. The effects of meeting her toh had faded somewhat, but she still appeared faintly bruised. “I had an accident before I got here,” she said, hurriedly thrusting her head through the new shift.

Chesa nodded in sudden understanding. “Horses are wicked, untrustworthy beasts. You’ll never get me on one, Mother. A good sturdy cart is ever so much safer. If I fell off a horse like that, I’d never let on to a soul. Nildra would say such things, and Kaylin . . . Oh, you’d never believe the things some women can say the moment your back is turned. Of course, it’s different for the Amyrlin Seat, but that’s what I’d do.” Holding the wardrobe door open, she glanced sideways at Egwene to see whether she understood.

Egwene smiled at her. “People are people, low or high,” she said gravely.

Chesa beamed for an instant before bringing out the blue dress. Sheriam might have chosen her, but she was the Amyrlin Seat’s maid, and her loyalty was to the Amyrlin Seat. And she was right about today’s importance, too.

Eating quickly — despite Chesa’s murmurs to herself about how gulping food always upset the stomach; the warm milk with honey and spices was sovereign for settling a nervous stomach — Egwene scrubbed her teeth and washed hurriedly, let Chesa take a few licks at her hair with the brush and dressed as fast as the woman could get the blue silk over her head. Settling the seven-striped stole on her shoulders, she paused to look in the stand-mirror. Stole or no stole, she did not look very much like the Amyrlin Seat. But I am. This is no dream.

In the large room below, the tables stood as empty as they had in the night. Only the Sitters were there, wearing their shawls and clustered according to Ajah, and Sheriam standing alone. They quieted as Egwene descended the stair, curtsied when she reached the bottom. Romanda and Lelaine eyed her sharply, then turned away, very obviously not looking at Sheriam, and resumed their conversations. When Egwene remained silent, the others did the same. Occasionally one of them glanced at her. Even in whispers their voices sounded too loud. There was silence outside; utter stillness. Egwene plucked her handkerchief from her sleeve and patted her face. None of them sweated a drop.

Sheriam came to stand beside her. “It will go well,” she said softly. “Just remember what you are to say.” That was another thing they had gone over in detail last night; Egwene had a speech to deliver this morning.

Egwene nodded. It was strange. Her stomach should have been turning over, her knees shaking. They were not, and she could not understand.

“There is no need to be anxious,” Sheriam said. She sounded as if she thought Egwene was, and meant to soothe her, but before she could open her mouth again, Romanda spoke loudly.

“It is time.”

In a rustle of skirts the Sitters lined up according to age, with Romanda in the lead this time, and marched outside. Egwene moved to just short of the door. Still no flutters. Maybe Chesa was right about the warm milk.

Silence still, then Romanda’s voice, too loud for nature. “We have an Amyrlin Seat.”

Egwene stepped outside into a heat she would not have expected until later in the day. As her foot left the stoop, it landed on a platform woven of Air. The lines of Sitters stretched out to either side of her, each Sitter glowing with the light of saidar.

“Egwene al’Vere,” Romanda intoned, her voice carried by weaves of the Power, “the Watcher of the Seals, the Flame of Tar Valon, the Amyrlin Seat.”

They lifted her high as Romanda spoke, raising the Amyrlin in truth, until she stood just below the thatched roof, standing on thin air it would seem to any but a woman who could channel.

There were plenty to see her outlined by the rising sun; a second weave made the light into a shimmering weave around her. Men and women packed the street. The crowd disappeared around corners. Every doorway was filled, every window, every rooftop except that of the Little Tower itself. A roar erupted that very nearly drowned out Romanda, waves of cheering that rolled across the village. Egwene scanned the crowd searching for Nynaeve and Elayne, but she could not find them in that sea of upturned faces. An age seemed to pass before there was quiet enough for her to speak. The weave that had carried Romanda’s voice shifted to her.

They had prepared her speech, Sheriam and the others, a weighty exhortation she might have been able to deliver without blushing if she was twice her age, or better yet three times. She had made a few changes on her own. “We are gathered together in a quest for truth and justice that will not end until the false Amyrlin Elaida is removed from the place she usurped.” The only change in that was “will not” for “cannot,” but she thought it stronger and better. “As Amyrlin, I will lead you in that quest, and I will not falter, as I know you will not.” And that was quite enough exhortation; in any case, she had no intention of remaining up here long enough to repeat everything they wanted said. It all amounted to what she already had said anyway. “As my Keeper of the Chronicles, I name Sheriam Bayanar.”

That produced a much smaller cheer; a Keeper was not an Amyrlin, after all. Egwene glanced down, waiting until she saw Sheriam hurry outside, still draping her shoulders with the stole of the Keeper, blue to show she had been raised from the Blue Ajah. It had been decided not to make a copy of the Amyrlin’s staff, topped with a golden flame, that the Keeper carried; until the true staff was recovered from the White Tower, they would have to do without. Sheriam had been expecting a much longer wait, and she looked at Egwene with open exasperation. In the lines of Sitters, Romanda and Lelaine wore no expression at all; each had had her own very strong suggestion for Keeper, and needless to say, neither had been Sheriam.

Egwene drew breath and turned back to the waiting crowd. “In honor of this day, I hereby decree that all Accepted and novices are absolved of penances and punishments.” That was customary, and produced shouts of glee only from white-clad girls and a few Accepted who forgot themselves. “In honor of this day, I hereby decree that Theodrin Dabei, Faolain Orande, Nynaeve al’Meara and Elayne Trakand are from this moment raised to the shawl, full sisters and Aes Sedai.” A sort of questioning silence greeted that, with here and there a murmur. It was not according to custom at all; far from it. But it was said, and a good thing Morvrin had happened to mention Theodrin and Faolain. Time to return to what they had written out for her. “I hereby decree this a day of feasting and celebration. Let no work be done but what is necessary for enjoyment. May the Light shine on you all, and the Creator’s hand shelter you.” That last was swallowed by a tumultuous roar that overwhelmed the weave carrying her words. Some people began dancing in the street right there and then, though there was hardly room for them to move.

The platform of Air descended perhaps a trifle more quickly than it had risen. The Sitters were staring at her when she stepped off, and the glow of saidar began winking out among them almost before she touched ground.

Sheriam darted up to take Egwene’s arm, smiling at the stone-faced Sitters. “I must show the Amyrlin her study. Forgive me.” Egwene would not exactly have said Sheriam hustled her inside, but then again, she would not exactly have said she did not. She did not think Sheriam would actually try to drag her, but it seemed best to gather her skirts with her free hand and take longer strides so as not to find out.

Her study, at the back of the waiting room, turned out to be somewhat smaller than her bedroom, with two windows, a writing table, a straight-backed chair behind it and two more in front. Nothing else. The beetle-riddled wall panels had been waxed to a dull shine, but the tabletop was quite bare. There was a piece of flowered carpet on the floor.