“Father, you are the one who —”
“Listen. Listen! Take them — south. Take — the Aiel — to safety. Keep — the Covenant. Guard — what the Aes Sedai — gave us — until they — come for it. The Way — of the Leaf. You must —” He had tried. Solinda Sedai must understand that. He had tried. Alnora.
Alnora. The name faded, the pain in Rand's chest loosened. No sense. It made no sense. How could these people be Aiel?
The columns flashed in blinding pulses. The air stirred, swirling.
Beside him, Muradin's mouth stretched wide in an effort to scream. The Aiel clawed at his veil, clawed at his face, leaving deep bloody scratches.
Forward.
Jonai hurried down the empty streets, trying not to look at shattered buildings and dead chora trees. All dead. At least the last of the long abandoned jocars had been hauled away. Aftershocks still troubled the ground beneath his feet. He wore his work clothes, his cadin'sor, of course, though the work he had been given was nothing he had been trained for. He was sixtythree, in the prime of life, not yet old enough for gray hairs, but he felt a tired old man.
No one questioned his entering the Hall of the Servants; there was no one at the great columned entrance to question anyone, or give greeting. Plenty of people darted about inside, arms filled with papers or boxes, eyes anxious, but none so much as looked at him. There was a feel of panic about them, and it grew by increments every time the ground shook. Distressed, he crossed the anteroom and trotted up the broad stairs. Mud stained the silvery white elstone. No one could spare time. Perhaps no one cared.
There was no need to knock at the door he sought. Not one of the great gilded doors to an ingathering hall, but a door plain and unobtrusive. He slipped in quietly, though, and was glad he had. Half a dozen Aes Sedai stood around the long table, arguing, apparently not noticing when the building trembled. They were all women.
He shivered, wondering if men would ever stand in a meeting such as this again. When he saw what was on the table, the shiver became a shudder. A crystal sword — perhaps an object of the Power, perhaps only an ornament; he had no way of telling — held down the Dragon banner of Lews Therin Kinslayer, spread out like a tablecloth and spilling onto the floor. His heart clenched. What was that doing here? Why had it not been destroyed, and memory of the cursed man as well?“What good is your Foretelling,” Oselle was almost shouting, “if you cannot tell us when?” Her long black hair swayed as she shook with anger. “The world rests on this! The future! The Wheel itself!”
Dark eyed Deindre faced her with a more usual calm. “I am not the Creator. I can only tell you what I Foretell.”
“Peace, sisters.” Solinda was the calmest of them all, her oldfashioned streith gown only a pale blue mist. The sunred hair falling to her waist was nearly the color of his own. His greatfather had served her as a young man, but she looked younger than he; she was Aes Sedai. “The time for contention among ourselves is past. Jaric and Haindar will both be here by tomorrow.”
“Which means we cannot afford mistakes, Solinda.”
“We must know...”
“Is there any chance of... ?”
Jonai stopped listening. They would see him when they were ready. He was not the only one in the room besides the Aes Sedai. Someshta sat against the wall near the door, a great shape seemingly woven of vines and leaves, his head a little above Jonai's even so. A fissure of withered brown and charred black ran up the Nym's face and furrowed the green grass of his hair, and when he looked at Jonai, his hazelnut eyes seemed troubled.
When Jonai nodded to him, he fingered the rift and frowned. “Do I know you?” he said softly.
“I am your friend,” Jonai replied sadly. He had not seen Someshta in years, but he had heard of this. Most of the Nym were dead, he had heard. “You rode me on your shoulders when I was a child. Do you remember nothing of it?”
“Singing,” Someshta said. “Was there singing? So much is gone. The Aes Sedai say some will return. You are a Child of the Dragon, are you not?”
Jonai winced. That name had caused trouble, no less for not being true. But how many citizens now believed the Da'shain Aiel had once served the Dragon and no other Aes Sedai?
“Jonai?”
He turned at the sound of Solinda's voice, went to one knee as she approached. The others were still arguing, but more quietly.
“All is in readiness, Jonai?” she said.
“All, Aes Sedai. Solinda Sedai...” He hesitated, took a deep breath. “Solinda Sedai, some of us wish to remain. We can serve, still.”
“Do you know what happened to the Aiel at Tzora?” He nodded, and she sighed, reaching out to smooth his short hair as if he were a child. “Of course you do. You Da'shain have more courage than... Ten thousand Aiel linking arms and singing, trying to remind a madman of who they were and who he had been, trying to turn him with their bodies and a song. Jaric Mondoran killed them. He stood there, staring as though at a puzzle, killing them, and they kept closing their lines and singing. I am told he listened to the last Aiel for almost an hour before destroying him. And then Tzora burned, one huge flame consuming stone and metal and flesh. There is a sheet of glass where the second greatest city in the world once stood.”
“Many people had time to flee, Aes Sedai. The Da'shain earned them time to flee. We are not afraid.”
Her hand tightened painfully in his hair. “The citizens have already fled Paaren Disen, Jonai. Besides, the Da'shain yet have a part yet to play, if Deindre could only see far enough to say what. In any case, I mean to save something here, and that something is you.”
“As you say,” he said reluctantly. “We will care for what you have given into our charge until you want them again.”
“Of course. The things we gave you.” She smiled at him and loosened her grip, smoothing his hair once more before folding her hands. “You will carry the... things... to safety, Jonai. Keep moving, always moving, until you find a place of safety, where no one can harm you.”
“As you say, Aes Sedai.”