“Interesting thoughts you raise, apprentice,” Nakomi said, pouring the tea. “Our land here is called the Three-fold Land. Three-fold, for the three things it did to us. It punished us for sin. It tested our courage. It formed an anvil to shape us.”
“The Three-fold Land makes us strong. So, by leaving it, we become weak.”
“But if we had to come here to be forged into something of strength,” Nakomi said, “does that not suggest that the tests we were to face—in the wetlands—were as dangerous as the Three-fold-land itself? So dangerous and difficult that we had to come here to prepare for them?” She shook her head. “Ah, but I should not argue with a Wise One, not even an apprentice. I have toh.”
“There is never toh for speaking wise words,” Aviendha said. “Tell me, Nakomi, where is it you travel? Which sept is your own?”
“I am far from my roof,” the woman said, wistful, “yet not far at all. Perhaps it is far from me. I cannot answer your question, apprentice, for it is not my place to give this truth.”
Aviendha frowned. What kind of answer was that?
“It seems to me,” Nakomi said, “that by breaking our ancient oaths to do no violence, our people have gained great toh.”
“Yes,” Aviendha said. What did you do when your entire people had done something so awful? This realization was what had caused so many of the Aiel to be taken by the bleakness. They had thrown down their spears, or refused to remove the white of gai’shain, implying that their people had such great toh, it could never be met.
But they were wrong. The Aiel toh could be met—it had to be met. That was the purpose of serving the Car’a’carn, the representative of the ones to whom the Aiel had originally sworn their oaths.
“We will meet our toh,” Aviendha said. “By fighting in the Last Battle.”
The Aiel would therefore regain their honor. Once you paid toh, you forgot it. To remember a fault that had been repaid was arrogant. They would be finished. They could return and no longer feel shame for what had happened in the past. Aviendha nodded to herself.
“And so,” Nakomi said, handing over a cup of tea, “the Three-fold Land was our punishment. We came here to grow so that we could meet our toh.”
“Yes,” Aviendha said. It felt clear to her.
“So, once we have fought for the Car’a’carn, we will have met that toh. And therefore will have no reason to be punished further. If that is the case, why would we return to this land? Would that not be like seeking more punishment, once toh is met?”
Aviendha froze. But no, that was silly. She did not want to argue with Nakomi on the point, but the Aiel belonged in the Three-fold Land.
“People of the Dragon,” Nakomi said, sipping her tea. “That is what we are. Serving the Dragon was the point behind everything we did. Our customs, our raids on each other, our harsh training…our very way of life.”
“Yes,” Aviendha said.
“And so,” Nakomi said softly, “once Sightblinder is defeated, what is left for us? Perhaps this is why so many refused to follow the Car’a’carn. Because they worried at what it meant. Why continue the old ways? How do we find honor in raiding, in killing one another, if we are no longer preparing for such an important task? Why grow harder? For the sake of being hard itself?”
“I…”
“I’m sorry,” Nakomi said. “I’ve let myself ramble again. I am prone to it, I fear. Here, let us eat.”
Aviendha started. Surely the roots weren’t done yet. However, Nakomi pulled them out, and they smelled wonderful. She cut the shellback, fishing a pair of tin plates from her pack. She seasoned the meat and roots, then passed a plate to Aviendha.
She tasted hesitantly. The food was delicious. Wonderful, even. Better than many a feast she’d had in fine palaces back in the wetlands. She stared at the plate, amazed.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Nakomi said. “I need to see to nature.” She smiled, rising, then shuffled off into the darkness.
Aviendha ate quietly, disturbed by what had been said. Was not a wonderful meal like this, cooked over a fire and made from humble ingredients, proof that the luxury of the wetlands wasn’t needed?
But what was the purpose of the Aiel now? If they did not wait for the Car’a’carn, what did they do? Fight, yes. And then? Continue to kill one another on raids? To what end?
She finished her meal, then thought for a long time. Too long. Nakomi did not return. Worried, Aviendha went to search for her, but found no trace of the woman.
Upon returning to the fire, Aviendha saw that Nakomi’s pack and plate were gone. She waited up for a time, but the woman did not return.
Eventually, Aviendha went to sleep, feeling troubled.
Chapter 40
A Making
Perrin sat alone on a tree stump, eyes closed and face to the dark sky. The camp was situated, the gateway closed, and reports taken. Perrin finally had time to rest.
That was dangerous. Resting let him think. Thinking brought him memories. Memories brought pain.
He could smell the world on the wind. Layers of scents, swirling together. The camp around him: sweaty people, spices for cooking, soaps for cleaning, horse dung, emotions. The hills around them: dried pine needles, mud from a stream, the carcass of a dead animal. The world beyond: hints of dust from the distant road, a stand of lavender that somehow survived in the dying world.
There was no pollen. There were no wolves. Both seemed terrible signs to him.
He felt sick. Physically ill, as if his stomach were filled with muddy swamp water, rotting moss and bits of dead beetles. He wanted to scream. He wanted to find Slayer and kill him, pound fists on the man’s face until the blood engulfed it.
Footsteps approached. Faile. “Perrin? Do you want to talk?”
He opened his eyes. He should be crying, screaming. But he felt so cold. Cold and furious. Those two didn’t go together for him.
His tent had been set up nearby; its flaps fluttered in the wind. Nearby, Gaul reclined against a leatherleaf sapling. In the distance, one of the farriers worked late. Soft peals in the night.
“I failed, Faile,” Perrin whispered.
“You got the ter’angreal,” she said, kneeling beside him. “You saved the people.”
“And still Slayer beat us,” he said bitterly. “A pack of five of us together weren’t en
