Moiraine poked her head into the room.— You're already awake. Good. Get dressed and come downstairs. We must leave before dawn.— Now? — Mat groaned. — We've only slept for an hour.— One hour? — Moiraine corrected him. — You've slept for four. Now hurry. Time is against us.
Rand exchanged a confused look with Mat. He remembered every second of the dream clearly. It had seemed to last only minutes, but... four hours? Moiraine must have noticed something in their exchanged glance, because she stepped fully into the room, her eyes piercing.
— What happened? Dreams?— He knows who I am, Mat said grimly. The Dark One saw my face.
Rand raised his hand without speaking. Even in the dim candlelight, the blood on his palm was visible. Moiraine stepped forward and took his hand, running her thumb across the wound, covering it. A sharp chill pierced Rand to the bone; his fingers clenched involuntarily, and he had to force them to stay open. When she withdrew her hand, the cold vanished.
Dazed, Rand rubbed at the bloodstain until it disappeared. The wound was gone. Slowly, he looked up at Moiraine.
— Quickly, she said softly. — Time is running out.
And he knew she wasn't only speaking about their departure.
Outside, the night was still dark as pitch. To Rand, everything seemed just thick shadows. A small creature appeared beside him and handed him a note. Upon reading it, he smiled slightly.— Thank you, Lily. Take care of Helena. I'll return soon to look after her.
He then turned to the others.— Follow me. The Elves have found the entrance to the Ways here in Caymily.
Moiraine was right behind Loial, who led his horse forward with heavy steps. Rand guided his horse through the tunnels, followed by Mat. Nynaeve and Egwene rode in the center of the formation, with Perrin behind them and Lan closing the rear. The hidden door shut silently as Mandarb passed through.
— What we seek lies beneath this shop, Rand said, pointing to the location.— Beneath? — Mat exclaimed, incredulous. — Light, how are we supposed to…?Moiraine raised her hand, silencing him, and led them to an alley beside the shop. The darkness there was even deeper, like night within night.— There must be a cellar entrance, Moiraine murmured. — Ah, yes.
A sphere of cool light appeared in her hand, hovering above her palm, illuminating horizontal cellar doors with an iron lock corroded by rust.— I could force the lock, Loial observed, — but that would wake the whole city.— No need. Step back, Rand murmured, Alohomora.
The lock snapped open with a dry click.— Let's go in.
The cellar was broad, supported by arches. Despite the space, Rand felt claustrophobic. Loial's head nearly touched the ceiling. The place had been abandoned for decades, covered in dust and debris. At the far end, one wall stood out—unlike the others made of ordinary brick, this one was carved stone, spiraling with leaf and vine designs. The craftsmanship felt almost alive, even under the dust.
— Avendesora, Moiraine murmured, placing her hand on a three-pointed leaf carved into the wall.
Rand examined the carvings. That was the only leaf of its kind.— The Leaf of the Tree of Life is the key, she said, removing it from the wall.
A crack appeared in the carving, and the halves of the wall slowly rotated inward, revealing a surface as reflective as liquid glass.— We can't wait any longer, said Moiraine.
Lan passed through the portal with Mandarb. For a moment, he and his reflection fused, then disappeared. One by one, the others followed. At last, Moiraine crossed with Aldieb, and the gates closed behind them, sealing the way.
Inside the Ways, Moiraine and Lan mounted their saddles. The Aes Sedai rested her arms on the carved staff across her pommel.— We must move, Loial.— Yes, yes, Aes Sedai, he replied, pointing to a white line on the ground. — This line will lead us to the first Guide.
They advanced in silence, following the pale trail under oppressive darkness. When something finally changed, it was only a tall stone slab covered in winding, metallic designs—the Guide.
— Ogier script, Moiraine said, frowning. — But it's so damaged I can barely read it.— Me too, Loial replied. — But I understand enough to know we go this way.
They moved from Guide to Guide, ever deeper into the Ways. With each new junction, Rand noticed everyone's reluctant glances. Leaving behind any chance of escape weighed silently on them.
Rand was already yawning when Moiraine announced they would rest at one of the Islands of the Ways.— Aren't you going to set up some protection? — Nynaeve asked. — Something's wrong here. I can feel it.— You feel the taint, Moiraine replied, visibly disgusted. — The corruption of the Power that created the Ways. I will not use the One Power here unless absolutely necessary. Any attempt would be corrupted.
The rest was brief. Soon they were on horseback again, immersed in the same scenery: darkness and stone, silence and tension.
Lan rode in a spiral around the next Guide, alert as if expecting an ambush.— That explains a lot, Moiraine said quietly. — And it frightens me.— Explains what? — Nynaeve asked, just as Loial exclaimed:— What is that? Who would do such a thing?
Moiraine looked at them gravely.— Trollocs, she said, ignoring the fearful murmurs. — Or Fades. These marks are theirs. They've learned how to enter the Ways. That's how they reached the Two Rivers undetected—through the Portal at Manetheren. And there is at least one Waygate in the Blight.
— They do not use the Ways lightly, said Lan from a distance.
Moiraine led them to the site. Egwene wished her stomach were empty when she saw what the Guide had found.
At the base of one of the bridges lay frozen Trolloc corpses, caught in the desperate act of brandishing hooked axes and scythe-like swords. Gray and full of holes like the very stones of the Ways, their immense bodies were half-sunken into the swollen, bubbling surface. Some of the bubbles had burst, revealing snarling muzzles frozen in eternal terror.
This time, Moiraine didn't wait to investigate. She ordered everyone to gallop, the bridge trembling under hooves, lanterns swinging wildly above their heads. Loial barely glanced at the next Guide and turned his mount like a seasoned runner.
No one cared to look at the final Guide. As soon as the lantern light hit the white line extending from it, they all turned that way, still galloping. The Island vanished behind them, leaving only pitted gray stone beneath their hooves and the white line ahead.
In the darkness, the gates appeared—carved vines adorning them, standing alone in the void like a fragment of wall adrift in night. Moiraine leaned from her saddle, reaching for the carvings... then abruptly recoiled.— The Avendesora leaf is gone! she cried. — The key is missing!
Moiraine raised her staff, and flames burst from its tip. But it wasn't the pure white flame Rand remembered from Emond's Field or the battle in Shadar Logoth. A sickly yellow marred the fire, and there were also black flecks, like soot, drifting slowly. A thin, acrid smoke billowed out, making Loial cough and the horses skittish. Still, Moiraine struck the gates with the flame.— Ready, she said. — Almost ready.
A thin line snaked along the carved stone. Rand thought he saw light—faint, but light—through the crack. But despite the split, the two large stone panels remained, each forming half of the portal's arch.— All of you, out! Moiraine commanded. — Quick! Go!
Rand didn't hesitate. He pushed Bela toward the opening and slapped her flank firmly. Egwene had just enough time to cast him a terrified look before the mare carried her out of the Ways.
The wind screamed in agony; it howled in fury. A thousand whispers hidden in the gusts roared like thunder—half-heard voices laughing, howling promises that made Rand's stomach churn, as much from the pleasure in them as from what he almost understood of their words.
Then, like the pop of a bubble, the cold vanished—and Rand found himself outside.
The Waygate darkened. The trembling, misty mirror grew more opaque—from gray to coal to a black as deep as the heart of the Ways themselves.
The voices still whispered in Rand's ears, nearly intelligible:
"Flesh so good, so good to rip, tear the skin… skin to peel in strips, to braid… so good to braid the strips… so pretty, so red the falling drops… blood so red, so sweet… sweet screams, pretty screams, screams that sing… scream your song… sing your screams…"
— What was that? — Nynaeve demanded. — What was that?— Why, Machin Shin, of course. The Black Wind that devours souls, Moiraine replied.
— Something perhaps left from the Time of Madness, she continued, — or even from the War of the Shadow, the War of Power. A being so ancient and corrupted it's hidden in the Ways for so long it can no longer escape.