Robert Jordan - The Eye of the World

One of the boys gasped in surprise. Egwene was too busy goggling to see who. She forgot even to pretend that she was offering water. The Dragon was the man who had destroyed everything!

She did not know much about the Breaking of the World-well, almost nothing, in truth-but everybody knew that much. Surely he had fought for the Shadow!

“Lews Therm gathered men around him, the Hundred Companions, and a small army. Small as they counted such things then. Ten thousand men. Not a small army now, would you say?” The words seemed an invitation to laugh, but there was no laughter in Master al’Thor’s quiet voice. He sounded almost as though he had been there. Egwene certainly did not laugh, and none of the boys did, either. She listened, and tried to remember to breathe. “With only a forlorn hope, Lews Therin attacked the valley of Thakan’dar, the heart of the Shadow itself. Trollocs in the hundreds of thousands fell on them, Trollocs and Myrddraal. Trollocs live to kill. A Trolloc can rip a man to pieces with its bare hands. Myrddraal are death. Aes Sedai fighting for the Shadow rained fire and lightning on Lews Therin and his men. The men following the Dragon did not die one by one, but ten at a time, or twenty, or fifty. Beneath a twisted sky, in a place where nothing grew or ever would again, they fought and died. But they did not retreat or give up. All the way to Shayol Ghul they fought, and if Thakan’dar is the heart of the Shadow, then Shayol Ghul is the heart of the heart. Every man in that army died, and most of the Hundred Companions, but at Shayol Ghul they sealed the Dark One back into the prison the Creator made for him, and the Forsaken with him. And the world was saved from the Dark One.”

Silence fell. The boys stared at Master al’Thor with wide eyes. Shining eyes, as if they could see it all, the Trollocs and the Myrddraal and Shayol Ghul. Egwene shivered again. The Dark One and all the Forsaken are bound at Shayol Ghul, bound away from the world of men, she recited to herself. She could not remember the rest, but it helped. Only, if the Dragon had saved the world, how had he destroyed it?

Cenn Buie spat. He spat! Just like some merchant’s smelly guard! She did not believe she would think of him as Master Buie again after today.

That broke the boys out of their reverie, of course. They tried to look anywhere but at the gnarled man.

Perrin scratched at his head. “Master al’Thor,” he said slowly, “what does ‘the Dragon’ mean? If somebody’s called the Lion, it means he’s supposed to be like a lion. But what’s a dragon?”

Egwene stared at him. She had never thought of that. Maybe Perrin was not as slow as he appeared.

“I don’t know,” Rand’s father answered simply. “I don’t think anyone does. Maybe not even the Aes Sedai.” He let the sheep go that he been shearing, and motioned for another to be brought. Egwene realized that he had been done with it for some, time. He must not have wanted to interrupt his story.

Master Cole opened his eyes and grinned. “The Dragon. It surely sounds fierce, though, now doesn’t it?“he said before letting his eyes drift shut again.

“I suppose it does at that,” her father said. “But it all happened long ago and far away, and it doesn’t have anything to do with us. Well, you’ve had your break and your story, lads. Back to work with you.“As the boys began standing up reluctantly, he added, “There are plenty of lads here from the farms I don’t think any of you know, yet. It’s always good to know your neighbors, so you should acquaint yourselves with them. I don’t want any of you working together today; you already know one another. Now, off with you.”

The boys exchanged startled glances. Had they really thought he would let them go back to whatever mischief they had been planning? Mat and Dav looked especially glum as they walked away exchanging glances. She thought about following, but they were already splitting up, and she would have to trail after Rand to learn anything more. She grimaced. If he noticed, he might think she was goosebrained like Cilia Cole. Besides, there were those far-off lands. She did intend to see them.

Abruptly she became aware of ravens, many more than there had been before, flapping out of the trees, flying away west, toward the Mountains of Mist. She shifted her shoulders. She felt as if someone were staring at her back. Someone, or …

She did not want to turn around, but she did, raising her eyes to the trees behind the men shearing. Midway up a tall pine, a solitary raven stood on a branch. Staring at her. Right at her! She felt cold right down to her middle. The only thing she wanted to do was run. Instead, she made herself stare back, trying to copy Nynaeve’s level look. After a moment the raven gave a harsh cry and threw itself off the branch, black wings carrying it west after the others.

Maybe I’m starting to get that look right, she thought, and then felt silly. She had to stop letting her imagination get the better of her. It was just a bird. And she had important things to do, like being the best water-carrier ever. The best water-carrier ever would not be frightened of birds or anything else. Squaring her shoulders, she set out through the crowd again, watching for Berowyn. But this time, it was so she could offer Berowyn the dipper. If she could face down a raven, she could face down her sister. She hoped.

Egwene had to carry water again the next year, which was a great disappointment to her, but once again she tried to be the best. If you were going to do a thing, you might as well do the best you could. It must have worked, because the year after that she was allowed to help with the food, a year early! She set herself a new goal, then: to be allowed to braid her hair younger than anybody ever. She did not really think the Women’s Circle would allow it, but a goal that was easy was no goal at all.

She stopped wanting to hear stories from the grownups, though she would have liked to hear a gleeman, but she still liked to read of distant lands with strange ways, and dreamed of seeing them. The boys stopped wanting stories, too. She did not think they even read very much. They all grew older, thinking their world would never change, and many of those stories faded to fond memories while others were forgotten, or half so. And if they learned that some of those stories really had been more than stories, well … The War of the Shadow? The Breaking of the World? Lews Therin Telamon? How could it matter now? And what had really happened back then, anyway?

The palace still shook occasionally as the earth rumbled in memory, groaned as if it would deny what had happened. Bars of sunlight cast through rents in the walls made motes of dust glitter where they yet hung in the air. Scorch-marks marred the walls, the floors, the ceilings. Broad black smears crossed the blistered paints and gilt of once-bright murals, soot overlaying crumbling friezes of men and animals, which seemed to have attempted to walk before the madness grew quiet. The dead lay everywhere, men and women and children, struck down in attempted flight by the lightings that had flashed down every corridor, or seized by the fires that had stalked them, or sunken into stone of the palace, the stones that had flowed and sought, almost alive, before stillness came again. In odd counterpoint, colorful tapestries and paintings, masterworks all, hung undisturbed except where bulging walls had pushed them awry. Finely carved furnishings, inlaid with ivory and gold, stood untouched except where rippling floors had toppled them. The mind twisting had struck at the core, ignoring peripheral things.

Lews Therin Telamon wandered the palace, deftly keeping his balance when the earth heaved. “Ilyena! My love, where are you?” The edge of his pale gray cloak trailed through blood as he stepped across the body of a woman, her golden-haired beauty marred by the horror of her last moments, her still-open eyes frozen in disbelief. “Where are you, my wife? Where is everyone hiding?”