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Sandy dunes. Dust everywhere. Sharp Aiel eyes, always watching.
“They were only treekillers.”
The word was thrown around casually, as if her late uncle was not the chief treekiller. As if Moiraine’s presence did not chafe. As if people whose bodies lined the pass, her people, were not people at all.
“We had taken the Fifth, Aes Sedai,” the Wise One had said. An acknowledgement of tribute taken, a debt paid. An ancient Aiel custom, a fifth of all wealth and all things living, carried away, never to be seen again. Practical, and in their norms, fair.
At least she could focus on Rand’s training without watching her back. For a time. Some debts were not so easily discharged. So little time. She felt it slipping away keenly, as if sandstorms were stripping flesh off her bones already, lost in the flicker of days.
She lifted her chin into the wind, squaring her shoulders.
“You have not forgiven yourself,” Lan murmured beside her, loud enough for her ears only.
She turned her head, and their eyes met.
“For what?”
They’d had this conversation before. Their first trip to Fal Dara together had stirred memories Lan had attempted to keep buried. She did not know how the residents had recognized him as Dai Shan, Lord of the Seven Towers. But recognize him they did. There was something in their eyes, as they dipped their heads respectfully. Hope. The dry, dusty air shimmered with it. Maybe this time. Maybe now, the Golden Crane would fly again.
The bond had gone rigid, she remembered. Her solid, stoic Warder kept to his place just behind her shoulder. Focused, as ever on her mission. It had not become theirs yet.
As they stood on a balcony of the keep that night, the Blight invisible but ever-present, she had given him those words. They were both so young.
Lan furrowed his brows, and his voice dipped lower. “For living.”
He remembered.
Another blast of wind hit them, bringing her back to the present. It had been so difficult to concentrate of late, to ignore the trials that awaited her. She glanced behind them, at the long caravan.
The illusion of choice. Faith in the long string of days, in endless possibilities that could be undone. The Aiel, at least, understood reality, just how little choice there was. Their fate had long been bound with the Dragon’s. And for better, or more likely worse, so was hers.
“Moiraine?” Lan’s voice pulled her back.
“Mmm?” The wind was picking up, making it harder to speak.
“You are not him.” Not Laman, he meant. “It is not your guilt to carry.”
“No?” Their eyes met again.
“Forgive yourself,” he said.
She took a deep breath before shaking her head slightly. He sighed and faced forward, reining Mandarb to fall in behind her. There was no need to say anything, though her Oaths would have let her.
I will when you deem your Oaths fulfilled.