The Path of Daggers (The Wheel of Time 8)

Zerah’s shadowed face remained utterly calm, but she swallowed audibly. “About what, Sitters?” There was the faintest tremor in the younger woman’s voice, as well. It could be simply the mood of the Tower, though.

“The Black Ajah,” Pevara replied curtly. “We want to know whether you’re a Darkfriend.”

Amazement and outrage shattered Zerah’s calm. Most would have taken that for sufficient denial without her snapped “I don’t have to take that from you! You Reds have been setting up false Dragons for years! If you ask me, there’s no need to look further than the Red quarters to find Black sisters!”

Pevara’s face darkened with fury. Her loyalty to her Ajah was strong, which went without saying, but worse, she had lost her entire family to Darkfriends. Seaine decided to step in before Pevara resorted to brute force. They had no proof. Not yet.

“Sit, Zerah,” she said with as much warmth as she could muster. “Sit down, sister.”

Zerah turned toward the door as though she might disobey an order from a Sitter — and of her own Ajah! — but at last she settled onto one of the benches, stiffly, sitting right at the edge.

Before Seaine had finished taking a seat that placed Zerah between them, Pevara laid the ivory-white Oath Rod on the battered tabletop. Seaine sighed. They were Sitters, with a perfect right to use any ter’angreal they wished, but she had been the one to filch it — she could not help thinking of it as filching when she had observed none of the proper procedures — and the whole time, in the back of her head, she had been sure she would turn to find long-dead Sereille Bagand standing here, ready to haul her off to the Mistress of Novices’ study by her ear. Irrational, but no less real.

“We want to make sure you tell the truth,” Pevara said, still sounding like an angry bear, “so you will swear an oath on this, and then I’ll ask again.”

“I should not be subjected to this,” Zerah said with an accusing look at Seaine, “but I will re-swear all of the Oaths, if that’s what it needs to satisfy you. And I will demand an apology from you both, afterward.” She hardly sounded like a women shielded and asked such a question. Almost contemptuously, she reached for the slim, foot-long rod. It shone in the dim light of the lantern.

“You’ll swear to obey the two of us absolutely,” Pevara told her, and that hand

snatched back as if from a coiled viper. Pevara went right on, even sliding the Rod closer to the woman with two fingers. “That way, we can tell you to answer truthfully and know you will, and if you give the wrong answer, we can know you’ll be obedient and helpful in helping us hunt down your Black sisters. The Rod can be used to free you of the oath, if you give the right answer.”

“To free —?” Zerah exclaimed. “I’ve never heard of anyone being loosed from an oath on the Oath Rod.”

“That is why we are taking all these precautions,” Seaine told her. “Logically, a Black sister must be able to lie, which means she must have freed of at least that Oath and likely all three. Pevara and I tested, and found the procedure much the same as taking an oath.” She did not mention how painful it had been, though, leaving the pair of them weeping. She also did not mention that Zerah would not be freed of her oath whatever her answer, not until the search for the Black Ajah came to a conclusion. For one thing, she could not be allowed to run off and complain about this questioning, which she most certainly would, with every right, if she was not of the Black. If.

Light, but Seaine wished they had found a sister from another Ajah who fit the criteria they had set. A Green or a Yellow would have done quite nicely. That lot were overweening at the best of times, and of late . . .! No. She was not going to fall prey to the sickness spreading through the Tower. Yet she could not help the names that flashed through her head, a dozen Greens, twice as many Yellows, and every one long past due taking down a few rungs. Sniff at a Sitter?

“You freed yourselves from one of the Oaths?” Zerah sounded startled, disgusted, uneasy, all at the same time. Perfectly reasonable responses.

“And took it again,” Pevara muttered impatiently. Snatching up the slim rod, she channeled a little Spirit into one end while maintaining Zerah’s shield. “Under the Light, I vow to speak no word that is not true. Under the Light, I vow to make no weapon for one man to kill another. Under the Light, I vow not to use the One Power as a weapon except against Shadowspawn, or in the last defense of my life, the life of my Warder, or that of another sister.” She did not grimace over the part about Warders; new sisters bound for the Red often did. “I am not a Darkfriend. I hope that satisfies you.” She showed Zerah her teeth, but whether in smile or snarl was hard to say.

Seaine retook the Oaths in turn, each producing a slight momentary pressure everywhere from her scalp to the soles of her feet. In truth, the pressure was difficult to detect at all, with her skin still feeling too tight from retaking the Oath against speaking a lie. Claiming that Pevara had a beard or that the streets of Tar Valon were paved with cheese had been strangely exhilarating for a time — even Pevara had giggled — but hardly worth the discomfort now. Testing had not really seemed necessary, to her. Logically, it must be so. Saying that she was not of the Black twisted her tongue — a vile thing to be forced to deny — but she handed Zerah the Oath Rod with a decisive nod.

Shifting on her bench, the slender woman turned the smooth white rod in her fingers, swallowing convulsively. The pale lantern light made her appear ill. She looked from one of them to the other, wide-eyed, then her hands tightened on the Rod, and she nodded.

“Exactly as I said,” Pevara growled, channeling Spirit to the Rod again, “or you’ll be swearing until you have it right.”

“I vow to obey the two of you absolutely,” Zerah said in a tight voice, then shuddered as the oath took hold. It was always tighter at the first. “Ask me about the Black Ajah,” she demanded. Her hands shook holding the Rod. “Ask me about the Black Ajah!” Her intensity told Seaine the answer even before Pevara released the flow of Spirit and asked the question, commanding utter truth. “No!” Zerah practically shouted. “No, I am not Black Ajah! Now take this oath from me! Free me!”

Seaine slumped dejectedly, resting her elbows on the table. She certainly had not wanted Zerah to answer yes, but she had been sure they had found the other woman out in a lie. One lie found, or so it had seemed, after weeks of searching. How many more weeks of searching lay ahead? And of looking over her shoulder from waking to sleeping? When she managed to sleep.

Pevara stabbed an accusing finger at the woman. “You told people that you came from the north.”

Zerah’s eyes went wide again. “I did,” she said slowly. “I rode down the bank of the Erinin to Jualdhe. Now free me of this oath!” She licked her lips.

Seaine frowned at her. “Goldenthorn seeds and a red cockle-burr were found on your saddlecloth, Zerah. Goldenthorn and red cockleburr can’t be found for a hundred miles south of Tar Valon.”

Zerah leaped to her feet, and Pevara snapped, “Sit down!”

The woman dropped onto the bench with a loud smack, but she did not even wince. She was trembling. No, shaking. Her mouth was clamped shut, otherwise Seaine was sure her teeth would have been chattering. Light, the question of north or south frightened her more than an accusation of being a Darkfriend.

“From where did you start out,” Seaine asked slowly, “and why —?” She meant to ask why the woman had gone roundabout — which plainly she had — just to hide which direction she came from, but answers burst from Zerah’s mouth.

“From Salidar,” she squealed. There was no other word for it. Still clutching the Oath Rod, she writhed on her bench. Tears spilled from her eyes, eyes as wide as they would go and fixed on Pevara. Words poured out, though her teeth truly did chatter now. “I c-came to m-make sure all the sisters here know about the R-Reds and Logain, so they’ll d-depose Elaida and the T-Tower can be whole again.” With a wail she collapsed into openmouthed bawling as she stared at the Red Sitter.

“Well,” Pevara said. Then again, more grimly, “Well!” Her face was all composure, but the glitter in her dark eyes was far from the mischief Seaine remembered as novice and Accepted. “So you are the source of that . . . rumor. You are going to stand before the Hall and reveal it for the lie it is! Admit the lie, girl!”

If Zerah’s eyes had been wide before, they bulged now. The Rod dropped from her hands to roll across the tabletop, and she clutched her throat. A choking sound came from her suddenly gaping mouth. Pevara stared at her in shock, but suddenly Seaine understood.