The Gathering Storm - Robert Jordan

"Neither of you were there when Callandor failed me," he said into the night. "It happened twice. Once I tried to use it to raise the dead, but I got only a puppeted body. Once I tried to use it to destroy the Seanchan, but I caused as much death among my own armies as I caused among theirs.

"Cadsuane told me that the second failure came from a flaw in Callandor itself. It cannot be controlled by a lone man, you see. It only works if he's in a box. Callandor is a carefully enticing leash, intended to make me surrender willingly."

The access key's globe burst alight with a more brilliant color, seeming crystalline. The light within was scarlet, the core brilliant and bright. As if someone had dropped a glowing rock into a pool of blood.

"I see a different answer to my problems," Rand said, voice still almost a whisper. "Both times Callandor failed me, I was being reckless with my emotion. I allowed temper to drive me. I can't kill in anger, Min. I have to keep that anger inside; I must channel it as I channel the One Power. Each death must be deliberate. Intentional."

Min couldn't speak. Couldn't phrase her fears, couldn't find the words to make him stop. His eyes remained in the darkness, somehow, despite the liquid light he held before him. That light hurled shadows away from his figure, as if he was the point of a silent explosion. Min turned to Nynaeve; the Aes Sedai watched with wide eyes, mouth slightly open. She couldn't find words either.

Min turned back to Rand. When he'd been close to killing her with his own hand, she hadn't feared him. But then, she'd known that it wasn't Rand hurting her, but Semirhage.

But this Rand—hand aflame, eyes so intent yet so dispassionate— terrified her.

"I've done it before," he whispered. "I once said that I didn't kill women, but it was a lie. I murdered a woman long before I faced Semirhage. Her name was Liah. I killed her in Shadar Logoth. I struck her down, and I called it mercy."

He turned to the fortress palace below.

"Forgive me," he said, but it didn't seem directed at Min, "for calling this mercy as well."

Something impossibly bright formed in the air before him, and Min cried out, backing away. The air itself seemed to warp, as if pulling away from Rand in fear. Dust blew from the ground in a circle around him, and the trees groaned, lit by the brilliant white light, the pine needles rattling like a hundred thousand insects scrambling over one another. Min could no longer make out Rand, only a blazing, brilliant force of light. Pure power, gathered, making the hairs on her arms rise with the force of its nebulous energy. In that moment, she felt as if she could understand what the One Power was. It was there, before her, made incarnate in the man Rand al'Thor.

And then, with a sound like a sigh, he released it. A column of pure whiteness exploded from him and burned across the silent night sky, illuminating the trees below it in a wave. It moved as quick as a snap of the fingers, striking the wall of the distant fortress. The stones came alight, as if they were breathing in the force of the energy. The entire fortress glowed, transforming into living light, an amazing, spectacular palace of unadulterated energy. It was beautiful.

And then it was gone. Burned from the landscape—and the Pattern— as if it had never been there. The entire fortress, hundreds of feet of stone and everyone who had lived in it.

Something hit Min, something like a shocking wave in the air. It wasn't a physical blast, and it didn't make her stumble, but it twisted her insides about. The forest around them—still lit by the glowing access key in Rand's hands—seemed to warp and shake. It was as if the world itself were groaning in agony.

It snapped back, but Min could still feel that tension. In that instant, it seemed as if the very substance of world had been near to breaking.

"What have you done?" Nynaeve whispered.

Rand didn't reply. Min could see his face again, now that the enormous column of balefire had vanished, leaving behind only the glowing access key. He was in ecstasy, mouth agape, and he held the access key aloft before himself as if in victory. Or in reverence.

Then he gritted his teeth, eyes opening wide, lips parted as if he were under great pressure. The light flashed once, then immediately vanished. All became dark. Min blinked in the sudden darkness, trying to get her eyes to adjust. The powerful image of Rand seemed burned into her vision. Had he really done what she thought he had? Had he burned away an entire fortress with balefire?

All those people. Men returning from the hunt . . . women carrying water . . . soldiers on the walls . . . the grooms outside . . .

They were gone. Burned from the Pattern. Killed. Dead forever. The horror of it made Min stumble back, and she pressed her back against a tree to keep herself upright.

So many lives, ended in an instant. Dead. Destroyed. By Rand.

A light appeared from Nynaeve, and Min turned, seeing the Aes Sedai illuminated by the warm, soft glow of a globe above her hand. Her eyes seemed almost afire with a light of their own. "You are out of control, Rand al'Thor," she declared.

"I do what must be done," he said, speaking now from the shadows. He sounded exhausted. "Test him, Nynaeve."

"What?"

"The fool," Rand said. "Is her Compulsion still there? Is Graendal's touch gone?"

"I hate what you just did, Rand," Nynaeve snarled. "No. 'Hate' isn't strong enough. I loathe what you've done. What has happened to you?"

"Test him!" Rand whispered, voice dangerous. "Before condemning me, let us first determine if my sins have achieved anything beyond my own damnation."

Nynaeve breathed in deeply, then glanced at Ramshalan, who was still held in the grip of several Aiel Maidens. Nynaeve reached out and touched his forehead, concentrating. "It's gone," she said. "Erased."

"Then she is dead," Rand said from the darkness.

Light! Min thought, realizing what he'd done. He didn't use Ramshalan as a courier, or as bait. He used the man as a way of proving to himself that Graendal was dead. Balefire burned someone out of the Pattern completely, making it so that their most recent actions never occurred. Ramshalan would remember visiting Graendal, but her Compulsion no longer existed. In a way, she'd been killed before Ramshalan had visited her.

Min felt at her neck, where the bruises of Rand's hand on her neck hadn't yet faded.

"I don't understand," Ramshalan said, his voice nearly a squeak.

"How do you fight someone smarter than yourself?" Rand whispered. "The answer is simple. You make her think that you are sitting down across the table from her, ready to play her game. Then you punch her in the face as hard as you can. You have served me well, Ramshalan. I will forgive you for boasting to Lords Vivian and Callswell that you could manipulate me however you wished."

Ramshalan slumped in shock, and the Maidens let him fall to his knees. "My Lord!" he said. "I had too much wine that night, and—"

"Hush," Rand said. "As I said, you have served me well this day. I will not execute you. You will find a village two days' walk to the south."

With that, Rand turned; to Min's eyes, he was just a shadow rustling in the forest. He walked to the gateway and stepped through. Min hurried to follow him, and Nynaeve did likewise. The Maidens came last, leaving Ramshalan kneeling stupefied in the forest. When the last Maiden was through the gateway, the portal slid closed, cutting off the sounds of Ramshalan whimpering in the dark.

"What you have done is an abomination, Rand al'Thor," Nynaeve said as soon as the gateway was closed. "There looked to have been dozens, maybe hundreds, of people living in that palace!"

"Each one made into an idiot by Graendal's Compulsion," Rand replied. "She never lets anyone close to her without destroying their mind first. The boy she sent to work the jail barely knew a fraction of the torture most of her pets receive. She leaves them without ability to think or act—all they can do is kneel and adore her, perhaps run errands at her command. I did them a favor."

"A favor?" Nynaeve asked. "Rand, you used balefire! They were burned out of existence!."

"As I said," Rand replied softly. "A favor. Sometimes, I wish the same blessing for myself. Good night, Nynaeve. Sleep as well you can, for our time in Arad Doman is at an end."

Min watched him go, wishing to sprint after him, but holding herself back. Once he was gone from the room, Nynaeve slumped into one of the room's maroon chairs, sighing and leaning her head against her hand.

Min felt like doing the same. Until that moment, she hadn't realized just how drained she was. Being around Rand lately did that to her, even when he wasn't engaged in activities as terrible as the ones this night.

"I wish Moiraine were here," Nynaeve muttered softly, then froze, as if surprised to have heard herself say that.

"We have to do something, Nynaeve," Min said, looking at the Aes Sedai.

Nynaeve nodded absently. "Maybe."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well, what if he's right?" Nynaeve asked. "Wool-headed fool though he is, what if he really does have to be like this to win? The old Rand could never have destroyed an entire fortress full of people to kill one of the Forsaken."

"Of course he couldn't have," Min said. "He still cared about killing then! Nynaeve, all those lives ..."

"And how many people would still be alive now if he'd been this ruthless from the start?" Nynaeve asked, looking away. "If he'd been capable of sending his followers into danger as he did Ramshalan? If he'd been able to strike without worrying about whom he would have to kill? If he'd ordered his troops into Graendal's fortress, her followers would have resisted fanatically, and they would have ended up dead anyway. And she would have escaped.

"This might be what he has to be. The Last Battle is nearly upon us, Min. The Last Battle! Can we dare send a man to fight the Dark One who won't sacrifice for what needs to be done?"

Min shook her head. "Dare we send him as he is, with that look in his eyes? Nynaeve, he's stopped caring. Nothing matters to him anymore but defeating the Dark One."

"Isn't that what we want him to do?"

"I. . . ." She stopped. "Winning won't be winning at all if Rand becomes something as bad as the Forsaken . . . We—"

"I understand," Nynaeve said suddenly. "Light burn me, but I do, and you're right. I just don't like the answers those conclusions are giving me."

"What conclusions?"

Nynaeve sighed. "That Cadsuane was right," she said. Nearly under her breath, she added, "Insufferable woman." She stood up. "Come on. We need to find her and discover what her plans are."

Min stood, joining Nynaeve. "You're certain she has plans? Rand was harsh with her. Maybe she's just staying with us to watch him flounder and fail without her."

"She has plans," Nynaeve said. "If there's one thing we can count on with that woman, it's that she's scheming. We just have to convince her to let us in on it."

"And if she won't?" Min asked.

"She will," Nynaeve said, looking at the place where Rand's gateway had split the rug. "Once we tell her about tonight, she will. I dislike the woman, and I suspect she returns the emotion, but neither of us can handle Rand alone." She pursed her lips. "I worry we won't be able to handle him together. Let's go."