“I am... trying to decide what to do.” He looked embarrassed; he had a right to, in her opinion.
“I hope you are not thinking of trying to leave. You know how important you are. You cannot run away from it, Mat.”
“You think I don't know that? I don't think I could leave if Moiraine told me I could. Believe me, Egwene, I am not going anywhere. I just want to know what's going to happen.” He gave a rough shake of his head, and his voice grew tighter. “What comes next? What's in these holes in my memory? There are chunks of my life that aren't even there; they don't exist, as if they never happened! Why do I find myself spouting gibberish? People say it's the Old Tongue, but it's goose gabble to me. I want to know, Egwene. I have to know, before I go as crazy as Rand.”
“Rand is not crazy,” she said automatically. So Mat was not trying to run away. That was a pleasant surprise; he had not seemed to believe in responsibility. But there was pain and worry in his voice. Mat never worried, or never let anyone see it if he did. “I do not know the answers, Mat,” she said gently. “Perhaps Moiraine —”
“No!” He was on his feet in a bound. “No Aes Sedai! I mean... You're different. I know you, and you aren't... Didn't they teach you anything in the Tower, some trick or other, something that would serve?”
“Oh, Mat, I am sorry. I am so sorry.”
His laugh reminded her of their childhood. Just so he had always laughed when his grandest expectations went astray. “Ah, well, I guess it does not matter. It'd still be the Tower, if at second hand. No offense to you.” Just so he had moaned over a splinter in his finger and treated a broken leg as if it were nothing at all.
“There might be a way,” she said slowly. “If Moiraine says it is all right. She might.”
“Moiraine! Haven't you heard a word I said? The last thing I want is Moiraine meddling. What way?”
Mat had always been rash. But he wanted no more than she did, to know. If only he showed a little sense and caution for once. A passing Tairen noblewoman with dark braids coiled about her head, shoulders bare above yellow linen, bent her knee slightly, looking at them with no expression; she walked on quickly, with a stiff back. Egwene watched her until she was well beyond earshot, and they were alone. Unless the gardeners, thirty feet below, counted. Mat was staring at her expectantly.
In the end, she told him of the ter'angreal, the twisted doorway that held answers on its other side. It was the dangers she emphasized, the consequences of foolish questions, or those touching the Shadow, the dangers even Aes Sedai might not know. She was more than flattered that he had come to her, but he had to show a little sense. “You must remember this, Mat. Frivolous questions can get you killed, so if you do use it, you will have to be serious for a change. And you mustn't ask any questions that touch the Shadow.”
He had listened with greater and greater incredulity. When she was done, he exclaimed, “Three questions? You go in like Bili, I suppose, spend a night and come out ten years later with a purse that's always full of gold and a —”
“For once in your life, Matrim Cauthon,” she snapped, “do not talk like a fool. You know very well ter'angreal are not stories. It's the dangers you have to be aware of. Maybe the answers you seek are inside this one, but you must not try it before Moiraine says you can. You must promise me that, or I promise you I will take you to her like a trout on a string. You know I can.”
He gave a loud snort. “I'd be a fool if I did try it, no matter what Moiraine says. Walk into a bloody ter'angreal! It's less I want to do with the bloody Power, not more. You can blot it right out of your mind.”
“It is the only chance I know, Mat.”
“Not for me, it isn't,” he said firmly. “No chance at all is better than that.”
Despite his tone, she wanted to put an arm around him. Only he would likely make some joke at her expense, and try to goose her. He had been incorrigible from the day he was born. But he had come to her for help. “I'm sorry, Mat. What will you do?”
“Oh, play cards, I suppose. If anyone will play with me. Play stones with Thom. Dice in the taverns. I can still go as far as the city, at least.” His gaze strayed toward a passing maidservant, a slender, darkeyed girl, near his own age. “I'll find something to take up time.”
Her hand itched to slap him, but instead she said cautiously, “Mat, you really aren't thinking of leaving, are you?”
“Would you tell Moiraine, if I was?” He put up his hands to forestall her. “Well, there's no need. I told you I wouldn't. I'll not pretend I'd not like to, but I won't. Is that good enough for you?” A pensive frown crept onto his face. “Egwene, do you ever wish you were back home? That none of this had ever happened?”
It was a startling question, coming from him, but she knew her answer. “No. Even with everything, no. Do you?”
“I would be a fool then, wouldn't I?” he laughed. “It's cities I like, and this one will do for now. This one will do. Egwene, you won't tell Moiraine about this, will you? About me asking for advice and all?”
“Why shouldn't I?” she asked suspiciously. He was Mat, after all.
He gave an embarrassed hitch of his shoulders. “I've been keeping wider of her than I have of... Anyway, I've been staying clear, especially when she wants to root around in my head. She might think I'm weakening. You won't tell her, will you?”
“I won't,” she said, “if you promise me you will not go near that ter'angreal without asking her permission. I shouldn't even have told you about it.”
“I promise.” He grinned. “I won't go near that thing unless my life depends on it. I swear.” He finished with mock solemnity.
Egwene shook her head. However much everything else changed, Mat just never would.
Chapter 9
(Crescent Moon and Stars)
Decisions