A Memory of Light

One thing they learned was how to slice out a dream for themselves, a haven within their own mind, more controlled than regular dreams. They learned how to enter a fragment like this while meditating, somehow giving the body rest as real as sleep.

Lews Therin had known these things, and more. How to reach into someone’s mind if they entered his dreamshard. How to tel if someone else had invaded his dreams. How to expose his dreams to others. Lews Therin had liked to know things, like a traveler who wanted to have one of everything useful in his rucksack.

Lews Therin had rarely used these tools. He’d left them stored on a back shelf in his mind, gathering dust. Would things have gone differently if he’d taken time, each night, to wander a peaceful valley such as this? Rand didn’t know. And, truth be told, this val ey was no longer safe. He passed a deep cavern to his left. He had not put it there. Another attempt by Moridin to draw him? Rand passed it by without looking.

The forest didn’t seem as alive as it had moments ago. Rand kept walking, trying to enforce his wil upon the land. He had not practiced that enough, however—so as he walked, the forest grayed, looking washed out.

The cavern came again. Rand stopped at its mouth. Cold, humid air blew out over him, chilling his skin, smelling of fungus. Rand cast aside his walking staff, then strode into the cavern. As he passed into darkness, he wove a globe of white-blue light and hung it beside his head. The glow reflected from the wet stone, shining on smooth knobs and clefts.

Panting echoed from deep within the cavern. It was fol owed by gasps. And . . . splashes.

Rand walked forward, though by now he had guessed what this was. He had begun to wonder if she would try again.

He came to a small chamber, perhaps ten paces wide, at the end of the tunnel, where the stone sank down into a clear pool of water, perfectly circular. The blue depths seemed to extend downward forever.

A woman in a white dress struggled to stay afloat in the center of it.

The fabric of her dress rippled in the water, forming a circle. Her face and hair were wet. As Rand watched, she gasped and sank, flailing in the crystalline water.

She came up a moment later, gasping.

“Hello, Mierin,” Rand said softly. His hand formed into a fist. He would not jump into that water to rescue her. This was a dreamshard. That pool could actually be water, but more likely it represented something else.

His arrival seemed to buoy her, and her vigorous thrashings became more effective. “Lews Therin,” she said, wiping her face with one hand, panting.

Light! Where was his peace? He felt like a child again, a boy who thought Baerlon the grandest city ever built. Yes, her face was different, but faces were no longer of much matter to him. She was still the same person.

Of al the Forsaken, only Lanfear had chosen her new name. She had always wanted one of those.

He remembered. He remembered. Walking into grand parties with her on his arm. Her laughter over the music. Their nights alone. He had not wanted to remember making love to another woman, particularly not to one of the Forsaken, but he could not pick and choose what was in his mind.

Those memories mixed with his own, when he had desired her as the Lady Selene. A foolish, youthful lust. He no longer felt these things, but the memories of them remained.

“You can free me, Lews Therin,” Lanfear said. “He has claimed me. Must I beg? He has claimed me!”

“You pledged yourself to the Shadow, Mierin,” Rand said. “This is your reward. You expect pity from me?”

A dark something reached up and wrapped around her legs, yanking her down into the abyss again. Despite his words, Rand found himself stepping forward, as if to leap into the pool.

He held himself back. He finally felt like a whole person again, after a long fight. That gave him strength, but in his peace was a weakness—the weakness he had always feared. The weakness that Moiraine had rightfully spotted in him. The weakness of compassion.

He needed it. Like a helmet needed a hole through which to see. Both could be exploited.

He admitted to himself that it was true.

Lanfear surfaced, sputtering, looking helpless. “Must I beg?” she said again.

“I don’t think you are capable of it.”

She lowered her eyes. “. . . Please?” she whispered.

Rand’s insides twisted. He had fought through darkness himself in seeking the Light. He had given himself a second chance; should he not give one to another?

Light! He wavered, remembering what it had felt like in that moment seizing the True Power.

That agony and that thrill, that power and that horror. Lanfear had given herself to the Dark One. But in a way, Rand had as well.

He looked into her eyes, searching them, knowing them. Finally, Rand shook his head.

“You’ve grown better at this kind of deception, Mierin. But not good enough.”

Her expression darkened. In a moment, the pool was gone, replaced by a stone floor.

Lanfear sat there, cross-legged, in her silver-white dress. Wearing her new face, but still the same.