The Gathering Storm - By Robert Jordan & Brandon Sanderson Page 0,245

seem dull and unfulfilling.

Still, it was difficult not to feel wistful, particularly when watching the night fogs.

“There,” Merise said, voice edged with tension. She, along with Cadsuane and Corele, stood looking in the other direction—not southwest over the city and ocean, but east. Nynaeve had almost decided against accompanying the group, as she had little doubt that Cadsuane partly blamed Nynaeve for her exile. However, the prospect of seeing the apparitions had been too enticing.

Nynaeve turned from the city and crossed the top of the wall, joining the others. Corele glanced at her, but Merise and Cadsuane ignored her. That suited Nynaeve. Though it did continue to irk her that Corele—of the Yellow Ajah—was so guarded in her acceptance of Nynaeve. Corele was pleasant, consoling, yet sternly unwilling to admit that Nynaeve was also a member of the Yellow. Well, the woman would have to change ruts eventually, once Egwene secured the White Tower.

Nynaeve peered through the crenellations atop the wall, scanning the dark landscape outside the city. She could faintly make out the remnants of the shanties that had crowded up against the walls until recently. The dangers—some real, others exaggerated—in the countryside had caused most of the refugees to crowd into the city’s streets. Dealing with them, and the disease and hunger they brought with them, still demanded a lot of Rand’s time.

Out beyond that trampled-down shantytown there were only shrubs, stunted trees, a shadowed bit of broken timber that might have been a wagon wheel. The nearby fields were barren. Plowed, seeded, yet still barren. Light! Why didn’t crops grow anymore? Where would they find food this winter?

Anyway, that wasn’t what she was looking for at the moment. What was it Merise had seen? Where—

Then Nynaeve saw it. Like a wisp of the ocean fog, a tiny patch of glowing light was blowing across the ground. It grew, bulging like a tiny storm cloud, glowing with a pearly light not unlike that of the clouds above. It resolved into the shape of a man, walking. Then that luminescent fog sprouted more figures. Within moments, an entire glowing procession strode across the dark ground, moving at a mournful pace.

Nynaeve shivered, then sternly reprimanded herself. Spirits from the dead they might be, but they were no danger so far away. But try as she might, she could not banish the goose bumps from her arms.

The procession was too distant for her to make out many details. There were both men and women in the line, clad in glowing clothing that flowed and shimmered like the city’s banners. There was no color to the apparitions, just paleness, unlike most of the ghosts that had been appearing lately.

These were composed completely of a strange, otherworldly light. Several figures in the group—which was now about two hundred strong—were carrying a large object. Some kind of palanquin? Or . . . no. It was a coffin. Was this a funeral procession from long ago, then? What had happened to these people, and why had they been drawn back to the world of the living?

Rumors in the city said the procession had first appeared the night after Rand arrived in Bandar Eban. The wall’s guards, who were likely the most reliable, had confirmed that to her in uneasy voices.

“I do not see the reason for so much fuss,” Merise said with her Taraboner accent, folding her arms. “Ghosts, we are all accustomed to them by now, are we not? At least these aren’t causing people to melt or burst into flames.”

Reports in the city indicated that “incidents” were growing more and more frequent. Just in the last few days, Nynaeve had investigated three credible reports of people who had had insects burrow out of their skin, killing them. There had also been the man who had been found in his bed one morning, completely changed into burned charcoal. His linens hadn’t been singed. She had seen that body herself.

These incidents weren’t caused by the ghosts, but the people had begun to blame the apparitions. Better than them blaming Rand, she supposed.

“This waiting in the city, it is frustrating,” Merise continued.

“Our time in this city does seem to lack fruit,” Corele agreed. “We should be moving on. You’ve heard that he is proclaiming that the Last Battle will begin soon.”

Nynaeve felt a stab of worry for Lan, then anger toward Rand. He still thought that if he could stage his assault at the same time as Lan’s attack on Tarwin’s Gap, he could confuse his