Robert Jordan - A Memory of Light

“They’re shocked,” Darlin replied.

No, Nynaeve thought, studying Min and Elayne. Those three know something I do not. I’ll have to beat it out of them.

“Excuse me,” Nynaeve said, walking away from Lan.

He followed.

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“You shall not be rid of me in the next few weeks, Nynaeve,” he said, love pulsing through his bond. “Even if you want it.”

“Stubborn ox,” she grumbled. “As I recall, you are the one who insisted on leaving me so that you could march alone toward your presumed destiny.”

“And you were right about that,” Lan said. “As you so often are.” He said it so calmly that it was hard to be mad at him.

Besides, it was the women she was mad at. She chose Aviendha first and stalked up to her, Lan by her side.

“. . . with Rhuarc dead,” Aviendha was saying to Sorilea and Bair, “I think that whatever I saw must be able to change. It has already.”

“I saw your vision, Aviendha,” Bair said. “Or something like it, through different eyes. I think it is a warning of something we must not let happen.”

The other two nodded, then glanced at Nynaeve and grew as still-faced as Aes Sedai. Aviendha was just as bad as the others, completely calm as she sat in her chair, her feet wrapped in bandages. She might walk again someday, but she would never fight.

“Nynaeve al’Meara,” Aviendha said.

“Did you hear me say that Rand is dead?” Nynaeve demanded. “He went silently.”

“He that was wounded has woken from the dream,” Aviendha said evenly. “It is as all must do. His death was accomplished in greatness, and he will be celebrated in greatness.”

Nynaeve leaned down. “All right,” she said menacingly, embracing the Source. “Out with it. I chose you because you can’t run away from me.”

Aviendha displayed a moment of what might have been fear. It was gone in a flash. “Let us prepare his pyre.”

Perrin ran in the wolf dream. Alone.

Other wolves howled their sorrow for his grief. After he passed them, they would return to their celebrations, but that did not make their empathy any less real.

He did not howl. He did not cry out. He became Young Bull, and he ran.

He did not want to be here. He wanted slumber, true slumber. There, he could not feel the pain. Here he could.

I shouldn’t have left her.

A thought of men. Why did it creep in!

But what could I do? I promised not to treat her like glass.

Run. Run fast. Run until exhaustion came!

I had to go to Rand. I had to. But in doing so, I failed her!

To the Two Rivers in a flash. Back out, along the river. The Waste, then back, a long run toward Falme.

How could I be expected to hold them both, then let one go?

To Tear. Then to the Two Rivers. A blur, growling, moving as quickly as he could. Here. Here he had wed her.

Here he howled.

Caemlyn, Cairhien, Dumai’s Wells.

Here he saved one of them.

Cairhien, Ghealdan, Malden.

Here he had saved another.

Two forces in his life. Each had pulled at him. Young Bull finally collapsed near some hills somewhere in Andor. A familiar place.

The place where I met Elyas.

He became Perrin again. His thoughts were not wolf thoughts, his troubles not wolf troubles. He stared up at the sky that was now, after Rand’s sacrifice, empty of clouds. He had wanted to be with his friend as he died.

This time, he would be with Faile where she had died.

He wanted to scream, but it would do no good. “I have to let go, don’t I?” he whispered toward that sky. “Light. I don’t want to. I learned. I learned from Malden. I didn’t do it again! I did what I was supposed to, this time.”

Somewhere nearby, a bird cried in the sky. Wolves howled. Hunting.

“I learned . . .”

A bird’s cry.

It sounded like a falcon.

Perrin threw himself to his feet, spinning. There. He vanished in an instant, appearing on an open field he did not recognize. No, he knew this field. He knew it! This was Merrilor, only without the blood, without the grass churned to mud, without the land blasted and broken.

Here he found a tiny falcon—as small as his hand—crying softly, with a broken leg pinned beneath a rock. Its heartbeat was faint.

Perrin roared as he woke, clawing his way out of the wolf dream. He stood up on the field of bodies, shouting into the night sky. Searchers nearby scattered in fear.

Where? In the darkness, could he find the same place? He ran, stumbling over corpses, through pits made by channelers or dragons. He stopped, looking one way, then another. Where. Where!

Flowery soap. A hint of perfume in the air. Perrin dashed toward it, throwing his weight against the corpse of an enormous Trolloc, lying almost chest-high atop other bodies. Beneath it, he found the carcass of a horse. Unable to truly consider what he was doing, or of the strength it should have required, Perrin pulled the horse aside.

Beneath, Faile lay bloodied in a small hollow in the ground, breathing shallowly. Perrin cried out and dropped to his knees, cradling her in his arms, breathing in her scent.

It took him only two heartbeats to shift into the wolf dream, carry Faile to Nynaeve far to the north and shift out. Seconds later, he felt her being Healed in his arms, unwilling to let go of her even for that.

Faile, his falcon, trembled and stirred. Then she opened her eyes and smiled at him.

The other heroes were gone. Birgitte remained as evening approached. Nearby, soldiers prepared Rand al’Thor’s pyre.

Birgitte could not stay much longer, but for now . . . yes, she could stay. A short time. The Pattern would allow it.

“Elayne?” Birgitte said. “Do you know something? About the Dragon?” Elayne shrugged in the waning light. The two stood at the back of the crowd gathering to watch the Dragon Reborn’s pyre be lit.

“I know what you’re planning,” Birgitte said to Elayne. “With the Horn.”

“And what am I planning?”

“To keep it,” Birgitte said, “and the boy. To have it as an Andoran treasure, perhaps a nation’s weapon.”

“Perhaps.”

Birgitte smiled. “It’s a good thing I sent him away, then.”

Elayne turned to her, ignoring those preparing Rand’s pyre. “ What?”

“I sent Olver away,” Birgitte said. “With guards I trust. I told Olver to find someplace nobody would look, a place he could forget, and toss the Horn into it. Preferably the ocean.”

Elayne exhaled softly, then turned back toward the pyre. “Insufferable woman.” She hesitated. “Thank you for saving me from having to make that decision.”

“I thought you’d feel that way.” Actually, Birgitte had assumed it would take a long time before Elayne understood. But Elayne had grown in the last few weeks. “Anyway, I must be far from insufferable, since you’ve done an excellent job of suffering me these last months.”

Elayne turned to her again. “That sounds like a farewell.”

Birgitte smiled. She could feel it, sometimes, when it was coming. “It is.” Elayne looked sorrowful. “Must it be?”

“I’m being reborn, Elayne,” Birgitte whispered. “Now. Somewhere, a woman is preparing to give birth, and I will go to that body. It’s happening. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Birgitte chuckled. “Well, perhaps we will meet again. For now, be happy for me, Elayne. This means the cycle continues. I get to be with him again. Gaidai . . . I’ll be only a few years younger than he.”

Elayne took her arm, eyes watering. “Love and peace, Birgitte. Thank you.”

Birgitte smiled, then closed her eyes, and let herself drift away.