Snow: The Prologue to Winter's Heart

  Elayne stared at her fiend. Aviendha thought she was brave? Light, she was no coward, but brave? Strangely, Aviendha was staring at her in disbelief.

  "Courage is a well," Viendre said at Elayne's ear, "deep in some, shallow in others. Deep or shallow, wells go dry eventually, even if they fill again later. You will face what you cannot face. Your spine will turn to jelly, and your vaunted courage will leave you weeping in the dust, The day will come." She sounded as though she wanted to be there to see it come, Elaine gave a curt nod. She knew all about her spine turning to jelly; she fought it every day, it seemed.

  Tamela was speaking to Aviendha, in a voice almost as satisfied as Viendre's, "Ji'e'toh binds you like bands of steel, For ji, you make yourself exactly what is expected of you, to the last hair. For toh, if necessary you will abase yourself and crawl on your belly. Because you care to your bones what everyone thinks of you,"

  Elayne nearly gasped, That was harsh, and unfair. She knew something of ji'e'toh, but Aviendha was not like that, Yet Aviendha was nodding, much as she herself had. An impatient acceptance of what she already knew.

  "Fine traits to love in a first-sister," Monaelle said, liking her shawl down to her elbows, "but what do you And worst in her?"

  Elayne shifted on her chilling knees, licked her lips before speaking. She had dreaded this. It was not just Monaelle's warning. Aviendha had said they must speak the truth, Must, or what was sisterhood worth? Again the weaves held their words captive until they were done.

  "Aviendha...," Elayne's voice said suddenly, hesitantly. "She... she thinks violence is always the answer. At times, she won't think beyond her belt knife. At times, she's like a boy who won't grow up!"

  "Elayne knows that..." Aviendha's voice began, then gulped and went on in a rush. "She knows she is beautiful, knows the power it gives her over men, She exposes half her bosom sometimes, in the open air, and she smiles to make men do what she wants."

  Elayne gaped. Aviendha thought that of her? It made her sound a lightskirt! Aviendha frowned back and half-opened her mouth, but Tamela pressed her shoulders again and began to speak.

  'You think men do not stare at your face in approval."

  There was an edge in the Wise One's voice; strong was the best anyone would ever say of her face, "Do they not look at your breasts in the sweat tent? Admire your hips? You are beautiful, and you know it. Deny it, and deny yourself! You have taken pleasure in men's looks, and smiled at them. Will you never smile at a man to give your arguments more weight, or touch his arm to distract him from the weakness of your arguments.'You will, and you will be no less for it."

  Red flooded Aviendha's cheeks, but Elayne was having to listen to Viendre, And fight blushes of her own. "There is violence in you. Deny it, and deny yourself. Have you never raged and struck out? Have you never drawn blood? Have you never wished to? Without considering another way? Without any thought at all,' While you breathe, that will be part of you." Elayne thought of Taim, and other times, and her face felt like a furnace,

  This time, there was more than one response.

  'Your arms will grow weak," Tamela was telling Aviendha. 'Your legs will lose their swiftness, A youth will be able to take the knife from your hand. How will skill or ferocity avail you then', Heart and mind are the true weapons, But did you learn to use the spear in a day, when you were a Maiden? If you do nor hone mind and heart now, you will grow old and children will befuddle your wits. Clan chiefs will sit you in a corner to play cat's cradle, and when you speak, all will hear only the wind. Take heed while you can."

  "Beauty flees," Viendre went on, to Elayne. "Years will make your breasts sag, your flesh grow slack, your skin grow leathery. Men who smiled to see your face will speak to you as if you were just another man. Your husband may see you always as the first time his eyes caught you, but no other man will dream of you. Will you no longer be you? Your body is only clothing. Your flesh will wither, but you are your heart and mind, and they do not change except to grow stronger,

  Elayne shook her head. Not in denial. Not really. She had never thought on aging, though, Especially not since going to the Tower. The years lay lightly even on very old Aes Sedai. But what if she lived as long as the Kinswomen? That would mean giving up being Aes Sedai, of course, but what if she did? The Kin took a very long time to grow wrinkles, but grow them they did. Whar was Aviendha thinking? She knelt there looking... sullen.

  "Whar is the most childish thing you know of the woman you want for a first-sister?" Monaelle said.

  This was easier, not so fraught. Elayne even smiled as she spoke. Aviendha grinned back, sullenness gone. Again the weaves took their words and released them together, voices with laughter in them.

  "Aviendha won't let me teach her to swim. I've tried, She isn't afraid of anything, except getting into more water than a bathtub."

  "Elayne gobbles sweets with both hands like a child who's escaped her mother's eye. If she keeps on, she will be fat as a pig before she grows old."

  Elayne jerked. Gobbles? Gobbles? A taste, now and then, was all she took Just now and then, Fat? Why was Aviendha glaring at her.' Refusing to step into water more than knee-deep was childish.

  Monaelle covered a slight cough with one hand, but Elayne thought she was hiding a smile. Some of the standing Wise Ones laughed outright. At Aviendha's silliness? Or her... gobbling?

  Monaelle resumed dignity, adjusting her skirts spread out of the floor, but there was still a touch of mirth in her voice. "What is your greatest jealousy of the woman you want for a first-sister',"

  Perhaps Elayne would have hedged her answer despite the requirement for truth. Truth had jumped up as soon as she was told to think on this, but she had found something smaller, less embarrassing for them both, that would have passed muster. Perhaps. But there was that about her smiling at men and exposing her bosom. Maybe she did smile, but Aviendha walked in front of red-faced serving-men without a stitch on and seemed not even to see them! So she gobbled candy, did she? She was going to get fat? She spoke the bitter truth while the weaves took her words and Aviendha's mouth moved in grim silence, until at last, what they had said was loosed.

  "Aviendha has lain in the arms of the man I love. I never have; I may never, and I could weep over it!"

  "Elayne has the love of Rand al'Th... of Rand. My heart is dust for wanting him to love me, but I do not know if he ever will."

  Elayne peered into Aviendha's unreadable face, She was jealous of her over Rand? When the man avoided EIayne Trakand as if she had scabies', She had no time for more thought.

  "Strike her as hard as you can with your open hand," Tamela told Aviendha, removing her own hands from Aviendha's shoulders.

  Viendre squeezed Elayne's lightly, "Do nor defend yourself." They had not been told anything of this! Surely, Aviendha would not -

  Blinking, Elayne pushed herself up from the icy floor tiles, Gingerly she felt her cheek, and winced. She was going to wear a palm print the rest of the day. The woman did not have to hit her that hard.

  Everyone waited until she was kneeling again, and then Viendre leaned closer, "Strike her as hard as you can with your open hand."

  Well, she was not going to knock Aviendha on her ear. She was not going m - Her full-armed slap sent Aviendha sprawling, sliding on her chest across the tiles almost to Monaelle. Elayne's palm stung almost as much as her cheek.

  Aviendha half pushed herself up, gave her head a shake, then scrambled back to her position. And Tamela said, "Strike her with the other hand."

  This time, Elayne slid all the way to Amys' knees on the frozen tiles, her head ringing, both cheeks burning. And when she regained her own knees in front of Aviendha, when Viendre told her to strike, she put her whole body into the slap, so much that she nearly fell over atop Aviendha as the other woman went down.

  'You may go now," Monaelle said,

  Elayne's eyes jerked toward the Wise One. Aviendha, halfway back to her knees, went stiff as stone.

  "If you w
ish to," Monaelle continued. "Men usually do, at this point if not sooner. Many women do, too. But if you still love one another enough to go on, then embrace."

  Elayne flung herself at Aviendha, and was met with a rush that nearly knocked her over backwards, They clung together, Elayne felt tears trickling from her eyes, and realized Aviendha was crying as well. "I'm sorry," EIayne whispered fervently, "I'm sorry, Aviendha."

  "Forgive me," Aviendha whispered back "Forgive me."

  Monaelle was standing over them, now. "You will know anger at one another again, you will speak harsh words, but you will always remember that you have already struck her. And for no better reason than you were told to. Let those blows pass for all you might wish to give, You have toh toward one another, toh you cannot repay and will not try to, for every woman is always in her first-sister's debt. You will be born again,"

  The feel of saidar in the room was changing, but Elayne had no chance to see how even had she thought of it. The light dwindled as if the lamps were being put out, The feel of Aviendha's hug dwindled. Sound dwindled. The last thing she heard was Monaelle's voice. 'You will be born again." Everything faded. She faded. She ceased to exist.

  Awareness, of a sort. She did not think of herself as she, she did not think at all, but she was aware. Of sound. A liquid swishing all around. Muted gurgles and rumbles, And a rhythmic thudding. That above all. Thu-thud. Thu-thud. She did not know contentment, but she was content. The-thuh.

  Time. She did not know time, yet Ages passed. There was a sound within her, a sound that was her. Thu-thuh. The same sound, the same rhythm as the other. Thu-thud, And from another place, nearer. Thu-thud. Another. Thu-thud. The same sound, the same beat, as her own. Not another. They were the same; they were one, Thu-thud.

  Forever went by to that pulse, all the time that had ever been. She touched the other that was herself. She could feel, Thu-thud. She moved, she and the other that was herself, writhing against one another, limbs entangling, rolling away but always coming back to each other. Thu-thud. There was light sometimes, in the darkness; dim beyond seeing, but bright m one who had never known anything but darkness. Thu-thud. She opened her eyes, stared into the eyes of the other that was herself, and closed hers again, content. Thu-thud.

  Change, sudden, shocking to one who had never known any change. Pressure, Thu-thud-thu-thud. That comforting beat was faster. Convulsive pressure. Again. Again, Getting stronger. Thu-thud-thu-thud! Thu-thud-thu-thud!

  Suddenly, the other that was herself - was gone. She was alone, She did not know fear, but she was afraid, and alone, Thu-thud-thu-thud! Pressure! Greater than anything before! Squeezing her, crushing her. If she had known how to scream, if she had known what a scream was, she would have shrieked.

  And then light, blinding, full of swirling patterns, She had weight; she had never felt weight before. A cutting pain at her middle. Something tickled her foot. Something tickled her back. At first she did not realize that wailing sound was coming from her. She kicked feebly, waved limbs that did not know how to move. She was lifted, laid on something soft but firmer than anything she had felt before, except for recollections of the other that was herself, the other that was gone. Thu-thud, Thu-thud. The sound. The same sound, the same beat. Loneliness reigned, unrecognized, but there was contentment, too.

  Memory began to return, slowly. She lifted her head from a breast and looked up into Amys' face. Yes, Amys. Sweat-slick and weary-eyed, but smiling. And she was Elayne; yes, Elayne Trakand. But there was something more to her, now. Not like the Warder bond, but like it in a way. Fainter, but more magnificent. Slowly, on a neck that wobbled uncertainly, she turned her head to look at the other that was herself, lying on Amys' other breast. To look at Aviendha, her hair maned, her face and body shining with sweat. Smiling with joy. Laughing, weeping, they clutched each other and hung on as if they never intended to let go.

  "This is my daughter Aviendha," Amys said, "and this is my daughter Elayne, born on the same day, within the same hour. May they always guard one another, support one another, love one another." She laughed softly, tiredly, fondly, "And now will someone bring us garments before my new daughters and I all freeze to death?"

  Elayne did nor care at that moment if she did freeze to death, She clung to Aviendha in laughter and tears, She had found her sister. Light, she had found her sister!

  Toveine Gazal woke to the sounds of quiet bustle, other women moving about, some talking softly. Lying on her hard narrow cot, she sighed with regret. Her hands around Elaida's throat had been just a pleasant dream. This tiny canvas-walled room was reality. She had slept poorly, and she felt thinned, drained, She had overslept, too; there would be no time for breakfast. Reluctantly she tossed off her blankets, The building had been a small warehouse of some sort, with thick walls and heavy rafters low overhead, but there was no heat, Her breath misted, and the crisp morning air pricked through her shift before her feet reached the rough floorboards. Even if she could have considered lying abed in this place, she had her orders. Logain's filthy bond made disobedience impossible, no matter how often she wished it.

  She always tried to think of him as simply Ablar, or at worst Master Ablar, but it was always just Logain that came into her mind. The name he had made infamous.

  Logain, the False Dragon who had shattered the armies of his native Ghealdan. Logain, who had carved a path through the few Altarans and Murandians with nerve enough to try stopping him until he threatened Lugard itself. Logain, who had been gentled and somehow could channel again, who had dared to fix his cursed weave of saidin on Toveine Gazal. A pity for him he had not commanded her to stop thinking! She could fed the man, in the back of her head. He was always there.

  For a moment, she squeezed her eyes shut. Light! Mistress Doweel's farm had seemed the Pit of Doom, years of exile and penance with no way out except the unthinkable, to become a hunted renegade, Barely half a week since her capture, she knew better. This was the Pit of Doom. And there was no escape. Angrily, she shook her head, and scrubbed glistening dampness from her cheeks with her fingers. No! She would escape, somehow, if only for long enough to put her real hands on Elaida's throat, Somehow.

  Aside from the cot, there were only three pieces of furniture, yet they left little space for her to move. She cracked the ice in the yellow-striped pitcher on the washstand with her belt knife, filled the chipped white basin, and channeled to heat the water till tendrils of steam rose. It was allowed to channel for that, That and no more, By rote she washed and scrubbed her teeth with salt and soda, then took a fresh shift and stockings from the small wooden chest at the foot of the cot. Her ring she left in the chest, tucked under everything else in a small velvet pouch. Another order. All of her things were here, except for her lapdesk. Luckily, that had been lost when she was taken, Her dresses hung on a cloakstand, the last of the room's furnishings, Choosing one without really looking, she put it on mechanically and used comb and brush on her hair.

  The ivory-backed brush slowed as she really saw herself in the washstand's cheap, bubbled mirror, Breathing raggedly, she set the brush down beside the matching comb, The dress she had chosen was thick, finely woven wool of an unadorned red so dark it seemed nearly black. Black, like an Asha'man's coat. Her distorted image stared back at her, lips writhing. Changing would be a sort of surrender. Determinedly she snatched her marten-lined gray cloak from the stand.

  When she pushed aside the canvas doorflap, twenty or so sisters already occupied the long central hallway lined with canvas rooms. Here and there a few were speaking in murmurs, but the rest avoided each other's eyes, even when they belonged to the same Ajah. Fear had its presence, but it was shame that coated most faces, Akoure, a stout Gray, was staring at the hand where she normally wore her ring. Desandre, a willowy Yellow, was hiding her right hand in her armpit.

  The soft conversations trailed off when Toveine appeared. Several women glared at her openly. Including Jenare and Lemai, from her own Ajah! Desandre came to herself enough to
turn her back stiffly. In the space of two days, fifty-one Aes Sedai had fallen captive to the black-coated monsters, and fifty of them blamed Toveine Gazal as though Elaida a'Roihan had no hand in the disaster at all, Except for Logain's intervention, they would have had their revenge their first night here, She did not love him for putting a stop to it and making Carniele Heal the welts left by belts, the bruises left by fists and feet. She would rather they had beaten her to death than owe him,

  Putting her cloak on her shoulders, she walked proudly down the corridor, out into pale morning sunshine that suited her washed-out mood. Behind her, someone shouted acid words before the closing door cut them off. Her hands trembled as she pulled up her hood, nestling the dark fur around her face. No one got away with pushing down Toveine Goal. Even Mistress Doweel, who had crushed her into a semblance of submission over the years, learned that when her exile ended, She would show them, She would show them all!

  The dormitory she shared with the others lay on the very edge of a large village, if a very strange one, A village of Asha'man. Elsewhere, so she had been told, ground was marked off for structures they claimed would dwarf the White Tower, but this was where most of them lived now. Five large, blocky stone barracks, spaced along streets as wide as anything in Tar Valon, could each hold a hundred Asha'man Soldiers. They were not full yet, the Light be thanked, but snow-covered scaffolding awaited the arrival of workmen around the thick walls of two more that were almost ready for roofing in thatch. Nearly a dozen smaller stone structures were made to hold ten Dedicated each, and another of those was under construction, too. Scattered around them stood nearly two hundred houses that might have been seen in any village, where some of the married men lived, and the families of others not far enough along in training.

  Men who could channel did not frighten her. Once she had given in to panic for a moment, true, but that was beside the point. Five hundred men who could channel, however, were a scrap of bone wedged between two of her teeth where she could not free it, Five hundred! And they could Travel, some of them, A sharp scrap of bone. More, she had tramped the mile or more through the woods to the wall, That frightened her, what it signified.