Robert Jordan - The Fires of Heaven

"I should be welted from the neck down," she said bitterly at last, touching a smooth, unmarked arm. Unmarked or not, she flinched. "I don't understand why I am not. I feel it, but I deserve the welts, for stupid, foolish pride. For being too afraid to do what I should. I deserved being hung up like a ham in a smokehouse. If there was any justice, I would still be dangling there, and Birgitte would not be lying on that bed, with us wondering whether she'll live or not. If only I knew more. If only I could have Moghedien's knowledge for five minutes, I could Heal her. I am sure of it."

"If you were still hanging," Elayne said practically, "in a very short while you would be waking up and shielding me. I don't doubt Moghedien would have seen to it that you were angry enough to channel — she knows us all too well, remember — and I do doubt very much that I would have suspected anything until you had done it. I do not fancy being carted off to Moghedien, and I cannot believe you do either." The other woman did not look at her. "It must have been a link, Nynaeve, like an a'dam. That is how she made you feel pain without marking you." Nynaeve still sat there in a glowering sulk. "Nynaeve, Birgitte is still alive. You did everything you could for her, and the Light willing, she will live. It was Moghedien who did this to her, not you. A soldier who takes blame for his comrades who fall in battle is a fool. You and I are soldiers in a battle, but you are not a fool, so stop behaving like one."

Nynaeve did look at her then, a scowl that lasted only a moment before she turned her face completely away. "You don't understand." Her voice sank almost to a whisper. "She… was… one of the heroes bound to the Wheel of Time, destined to be born again and again to make legends. She wasn't born this time, Elayne. She was ripped out of Tel'aran'rhiod as she stood. Is she still bound to the Wheel? Or has she been ripped away from that, too? Ripped away from what her own courage earned her, because I was so proud, so man-stubborn stupid, that I made her hunt for Moghedien?"

Elayne had hoped that those questions had not occurred to Nynaeve yet, would not until she had had a little time to recover first. "Do you know how badly Moghedien was hurt? Maybe she is dead."

"I hope not," the other woman almost snarled. "I want to make her pay…" She took a deep breath, but instead of invigorating her, it seemed to make her sag. "I would not count on her dying. Birgitte's shot missed her heart. A wonder she managed to hit the woman at all, staggering as she was. I could not have stood up if I were thrown that far, hard enough to bounce like that. I couldn't even stand up after what Moghedien did to me. No, she is alive, and we had best believe that she can have her wound Healed and be after us by morning."

"She would still need time to rest, Nynaeve. You know that. Can she even know where we are? From what you said, she had no time to do more than see that this is a menagerie."

"What if she did see more?" Nynaeve rubbed her temples as if it were difficult to think. "What if she knows exactly where we are? She could send Darkfriends after us. Or send word to Darkfriends in Samara."

"Luca is livid because eleven menageries are already around the city, and three more are waiting to cross the bridge. Nynaeve, it will take her days to regain strength after a wound like that, even if she does find some Black sister to Heal her, or one of the other Forsaken. And more days to search through fifteen menageries. That is if there are not more on the road behind us, or coming from Altara. If she does come after us or send Darkfriends, either one, we are forwarned, and we have days to find a boat that can carry us downriver." She paused a moment, thinking. "Do you have anything to dye your hair in that bag of herbs? I'll wager anything that you had your hair braided in Tel'aran'rhiod. Mine is always its natural color, there. If yours is loose, as it is now, and another color, it will make us that much harder to find."

"Whitecloaks everywhere," Nynaeve sighed. "Galad. The Prophet. No boats. It is as if everything is conspiring to hold us here for Moghedien. I am so tired, Elayne. Tired of being afraid of who might be around the next corner. Tired of being afraid of Moghedien. I cannot seem to think of what to do next. My hair? Nothing that would make it any color I'd have."

"You need to sleep," Elayne, said firmly. "Without the ring. Give it to me." The other woman hesitated, but Elayne merely waited with her hand outstretched until Nynaeve fished the flecked stone ring from the cord around her neck. Stuffing it into her pouch, Elayne went on. "Now you lie down here, and I will watch Birgitte."

Nynaeve stared at the woman stretched out on the other bed for a moment, then shook her head. "I can't sleep. I need to be alone. To walk." Getting to her feet as stiffly as if she really had been beaten, she took her dark cloak from its peg and swung it over her shift. At the door she paused. "If she wants to kill me," she said bleakly, "I do not know that I could make myself stop her." She went into the night barefoot and sad-faced.

Elayne hesitated, unsure which woman needed her more, before settling back where she sat. Nothing she said could make things better for Nynaeve, but she had faith in the woman's resilience. Time alone to work it all over in her mind, and she would see that blame lay at Moghedien's door, not hers. She had to.

For a long time Elayne sat there, watching Birgitte sleep. It did seem to be sleep. Once she stirred, muttering in a desperate voice, "Wait for me, Gaidal. Wait. I'm coming, Gaidal. Wait for…" Words trailed off into slow breath again. Was it stronger? The woman still looked deathly ill. Better than she had, but pale and drawn.

After perhaps an hour, Nynaeve returned, her feet dirty. Fresh tears shone on her cheeks. "I could not stay away," she said, hanging her cloak back on its peg. "You sleep. I will watch her. I have to watch her."

Elayne rose slowly, smoothing her skirts. Perhaps watching over Birgitte for a time would help Nynaeve work matters out. "I don't feel like sleeping yet, either." She was exhausted, but not sleepy any longer. "I think I will stroll outside myself." Nynaeve only nodded as she took Elayne's place on the bed, her dusty feet dangling over the side, her eyes fastened to Birgitte.

To Elayne's surprise, Thom and Juilin were not asleep either. They had built a small fire beside the wagon and sat on either side of it, cross-legged on the ground, smoking their long-stemmed pipes. Thom had tucked his shirt in, and Juilin had donned his coat, though no shirt, and turned the cuffs back. She took a look around before joining them. No one stirred in the camp, dark except for the light of this one fire and the glow of the lamps from their wagon's windows.

Neither man said anything while she settled her skirts; then Juilin looked at Thom, who nodded, and the thief-catcher took something from the ground and held it out to her. "I found it where she was lying," the dark man said. "As if it had dropped from her hand."

Elayne took the silver arrow slowly. Even the fletching feathers appeared to be silver.

"Distinctive," Thom said conversationally around his pipe. "And added to the braid… Every story mentions the braid for some reason. Though I've found some I think might be her under other names, without it. And some under other names with."

"I do not care about stories," Juilin put in. He sounded no more agitated than Thom. But then, it took a great deal to agitate either one of them. "Is it her? Bad enough if it isn't, a woman appearing naked out of nothing like that, but… What have you gotten us into, you and N… Nana?" He was troubled; Juilin did not make mistakes, and his tongue never slipped. Thom merely bubbled at his pipe, waiting.