The Gathering Storm полностью

Lacile turned away, sniffling softly. Faile knelt, taking a small flask of oil from the bundle Chiad had left. She took the leather strap and pulled off the stone, then set the strap in the center of the cloth bundle. She poured the oil on it, then used a tinder stick, lit at the lantern, to set the strap afire.

She watched it burn, tiny little flames of blue and green, topped by orange. The scent of burning leather was shockingly similar to that of burning human flesh. The night was still, no wind to shake the flames, and so they danced freely.

Alliandre doused the belt and put it on to the miniature fire. Arrela did the same with the veil. Finally, Lacile added the handkerchief. She was still crying.

This was all they could do. There hadn’t been a way to see to the bodies in the chaos of leaving Maiden. Chiad had said there was no dishonor in leaving them, but Faile had needed to do something. Some small way of honoring Rolan and the others.

“Dead by our hand,” Faile said, “or simply dead from battle, these four showed us honor. As the Aiel would say, we have great toh to them. I don’t think it can be repaid. But we can remember them. The Brotherless and one Maiden showed us kindness when they didn’t need to. They kept their honor when others had abandoned it. If there is a redemption to be found for them, and for us, this will be it.”

“There’s a Brotherless in Perrin’s camp,” Lacile said, eyes reflecting the flames of their pyre. “Niagen is his name; he is gai’shain to Sulin, the Maiden. I went to tell him of what the others did for us. He is a kind man.”

Faile closed her eyes. Lacile probably meant that she had gone to the bed of this Niagen. That wasn’t forbidden of gai’shain. “You can’t replace Jhoradin like that,” she said, opening her eyes. “Or undo what you did.”

“I know,” Lacile said defensively. “But they were so full of humor, despite the terrible situation. There was something about them. Jhoradin wanted to take me back to the Three-fold Land, make me his wife.”

And you’d never have done it, Faile thought. I know you wouldn’t have. But now that he’s dead, you realize the opportunity you lost.

Well, who was she to chastise? Let Lacile do as she wished. If this Niagen was half the man that Rolan or the others had been, then perhaps Lacile would do well with him.

“Kinhuin had only just started looking out for me,” Alliandre said. “I know what he wished for, but he never demanded it. I think he was planning to leave the Shaido, and would have helped us escape. Even if I turned him down, he would have helped us.”

“Marthea hated what the other Shaido did,” Arrela said. “But she stayed with them for her clan. She died for that loyalty. There are worse things to die for.”

Faile watched the last embers of the miniature pyre flicker out. “I think Rolan actually loved me,” she said. And that was all.

The four rose and returned to the camp. The past was a field of embers and ash, an old Saldaean proverb said, the remnants of the fire that was the present. Those embers blew away behind her. But she kept Rolan’s turquoise stone. Not for regret, but for remembrance.

Perrin lay awake in the still night, smelling the canvas of his tent and the unique scent of Faile. She wasn’t there, though she had been recently. He’d dozed off, and now she was gone. Perhaps to the privy.

He stared up in the darkness, trying to make sense of Hopper and the wolf dream. The more he thought about it, the more determined he grew. He would march to the Last Battle—and when he did, he wanted to be able to control the wolf inside of him. He wanted either to be free of all of these people who followed him, or to learn how to accept their loyalty.

He had some decisions to make. They wouldn’t be easy, but he’d make them. A man had to do hard things. That was the way of life. That was what had gone wrong with the way he’d handled Faile’s capture. Instead of making decisions, he’d avoided them. Master Luhhan would have been disappointed in him.

And that led Perrin to another decision, the hardest of all. He was going to have to let Faile ride into danger, perhaps risk her again. Was that a decision? Could he make such a decision? The mere thought of her in danger made him want to sick up. But he would have to do something.

Three problems. He would face them and he would decide. But he would consider them first, because that was what he did. A man was a fool to make decisions without thinking first.

But the decision to face his problems brought him a measure of peace, and he rolled over and drifted back to sleep.