Knife of Dreams (The Wheel of Time #11)

Knife of Dreams (The Wheel of Time #11) Page 112

Elayne would not let her stop, though. Ter’angreal after ter’angreal Aviendha touched or sometimes held for a moment, and every time she had an answer. Delivered hesitantly and with cautions that it was only a surmise, but always an answer. She thought a small hinged box, apparently ivory and covered with rippling red and green stripes, held music, hundreds of tunes, perhaps thousands. With a ter’angreal, that might be possible. After all, a fine music box might have cylinders for as many as a hundred tunes and some could play quite long pieces on one cylinder after another without changing them. A flatfish white bowl almost a pace across was for looking at things that were far away, she thought, and a tall vase worked with vines in green and blue— blue vines!—would gather water out of the air. That sounded useless, but Aviendha almost caressed it, and after consideration, Elayne realized it would be very useful indeed in the Waste. If it worked as Aviendha believed. And someone figured out how to make it work. A black-and-white figurine of a bird with long wings spread in flight was for talking to people a long way off, she said. So was a blue figure of a woman, small enough to fit in the palm of her hand, in an oddly cut skirt and coat. And five earrings, six finger-rings and three bracelets.

Elayne began to think that Aviendha was giving up, offering the same answer every time in hopes that she would stop asking, but then she realized that her sister’s voice was becoming more confident rather than less, that the protests that she was only guessing had dwindled. And her “guesses” were growing in detail. A bent, featureless rod of dull black, as wide as her wrist—it seemed metal, yet one end accommodated itself to any hand that gripped it—made her think of cutting, either metal or stone if they were not too thick. Nothing that could catch fire, though. The apparently glass figure of a man, a foot tall, with his hand raised as if to signal stop, would chase away vermin, which would certainly have been useful, given Caemlyn’s plague of rats and flies. A stone carving the size of her hand, all deep blue curves—it felt like stone, at least, though somehow it did not really look carved— was for growing something. Not plants. It made her think of holes, only they were not exactly holes. And she did not believe anyone had to channel to make it work. Only sing the right song! Some ter’angreal did not require channeling, but really! Singing?

Done with Aviendha’s dress, Sephanie had grown enthralled with the recitation, her eyes getting wider and wider. Essande listened with interest too, her head tilted to one side, murmuring small exclamations at each new revelation, but she was not bouncing on her toes the way Sephanie was.

“What about that one, my Lady?” the younger woman blurted when Aviendha paused. She pointed to the statuette of a stout, bearded man with a merry smile, holding a book. Two feet tall, it appeared to be age-darkened bronze and was certainly heavy enough to be. “Looking at him always makes me want to smile, too, my Lady.”

“Me as well, Sephanie Pelden,” Aviendha said, stroking the bronze man’s head. “He holds more than the book you see. He holds thousands and thousands of books.” Abruptly the light of saidar enveloped her, and she touched thin flows of Fire and Earth to the bronze figure.

Sephanie squeaked as two words in the Old Tongue appeared in the air above the statuette, as black as if printed with good ink. Some of the letters were shaped a little oddly, but the words were quite clear. Ansoen and Imsoen, floating on nothing. Aviendha looked nearly as startled as the maid.

“I think we have proof at last,” Elayne said more calmly than she felt. Her heart was in her throat, and pounding. Lies and Truth, the two words might be translated. Or in context, perhaps Fiction and Not Fiction would be better. It was proof enough for her. She marked where the flows touched the figure, for when she could return to her studies. “But you shouldn’t have done that. It isn’t safe.”

The glow around Aviendha vanished. “Oh, Light,” she exclaimed, flinging her arms around Elayne, “I never thought! I have great toh to you! I never meant to endanger you or your babes! Never!”

“My babes and I are safe.” Elayne laughed, hugging back. “Min’s viewing?” Her babes were safe, at least. Until they were born. So many babies died in their first year. Min had said nothing beyond them being born healthy. Min had said nothing about her not being burned out, either, but she had no intention of bringing that up with her sister already feeling guilty. “You have no toh to me. It was you I was thinking of. You could have died, or burned yourself out.”

Aviendha pulled back enough to look into Elayne’s eyes. What she saw there reassured her, for a small smile curved her lips. “I did make it work, though. Perhaps I can take over the study of them. With you to guide me, it should be perfectly safe. We have months before you can do it yourself.”

“You have no time at all, Aviendha,” a woman’s voice said from the doorway. “We are leaving. I hope you have not grown too used to wearing silk. I see you, Elayne.”

Aviendha leaped away from the embrace, flushing furiously, as two Aiel women entered the room, and not just any two Aiel. Pale-haired Nadere, as tall as most men and wide with it, was a Wise One of considerable authority among the Goshien, and Dorindha, her long red hair touched with white, was the wife of Bael, clan chief of the Goshien, though her true prominence came from being Roofmistress of Smoke Springs Hold, the clan’s largest hold. It was she who had spoken.

“I see you, Dorindha.” Elayne said. “I see you, Nadere. Why are you taking Aviendha away?”

“You said I could stay with Elayne, to help guard her back,” Aviendha protested.

“You did, Dorindha.” Elayne took her sister’s hand in a firm grip, and Aviendha squeezed back. “You and the Wise Ones, too.”

Gold and ivory bracelets clattered as Dorindha shifted her dark shawl. “How many do you need to guard your back, Elayne?” she asked dryly. “You have perhaps a hundred or more dedicated to nothing else, and as hard as Far Dareis Alai.” A smile deepened the creases at the corners of her eyes. “I think those women outside wanted us to give up our belt knives before letting us in.”

Nadere touched the horn hilt of her knife, her green eyes holding a fierce light, though it was unlikely the guards had shown any such desire. Even Birgitte, suspicious of everyone when it came to Elayne’s safety, could see no danger from the Aiel, and Elayne had accepted certain obligations when she and Aviendha adopted each other. Wise Ones who had taken part in that ceremony, as Nadere had, could go wherever they wished in the palace whenever they wished: that was one of the obligations. As for Dorindha, her presence was so commanding, if in a quiet way, that it seemed inconceivable anyone wou