Chapter Text
Present Day
Nynaeve laid a hand on Mat’s forehead gently and then jumped as he recoiled from her touch. He twisted on the bed away from her as if even that much was a threat. His shoulders were hunched with tension and he was shaking. His face was buried in the pillow. It was almost as if he was trying to hide something from her, something terrible he didn’t want her to see.
“What are you hiding, Mat? Why won’t you tell me?”
She doubted he could. The only thing she really knew was that she would protect him any way she could.
Six Years Ago
Nynaeve didn’t mean to fall asleep, but the hour had grown so late while she waited up for Mistress Barran that her eyes slid shut of their own accord. The cry of a rooster awakened her just as the door to the Wisdom’s home was opening and Doral Barran came in. She settled down on the edge of her bed and rested her head wearily in her hands.
It was the first time Nynaeve had ever thought of the Wisdom as old.
Weariness had settled itself about her like a cloak, and the flicker of the oil lamp Nynaeve had left out for her set dancing shadows in her white hair. She sleepily got to her feet and stooped to help remove the Wisdom’s shoes.
Licking her lips nervously, she finally asked the question that hung between them. “Do you think she did it?” she said quietly.
Wisdom Barran closed her eyes. “I…I cannot be sure. But…yes. Natti saw something. There are signs…I’ve been seeing them across the last six months, at least. Maybe even longer. There was a man in Watch Tower about twenty years back…it was similar.” She sighed deeply. “But Jeyne denies it. And there is nothing I can prove. Nothing I can show the Women’s Circle or the Mayor and the Village Council. They aren’t going to take the word of Natti Cauthon.”
Nynaeve set the shoes aside, feeling a lump sticking in her throat, making it hard for the words to come out. “Did you talk to Mat?”
The Wisdom’s shoulders hunched. “I spoke with Mat, yes. But…he won’t say anything. He thinks he did something wrong, that he is in trouble. And he’s knows what it would cost his sisters if he weren’t 'helping' Jeyne Daughtry.”
“What about Abell?”
“Standing by his wife, but afraid. They don’t have much they can afford to lose.”
Nynaeve felt confused for a moment, but then realized what would happen to Abell’s little business if the townsfolk turned against them further. “Oh, Light,”
“The Light has very little to do with it at this point.”
Anger and confusion warred in Nynaeve’s heart. Anger for Mat, about what had happened, but mostly anger at being so helpless. “What are you going to do?”
Doral Barran rubbed her tired eyes. “Right now, I need to sleep. Just remember, keeping the community together, that’s the most important. More important than me, or you, or any member of it. We have to make sure that the community stays alive, or we will find it all gone, blown away like snowflakes in a storm.” She laid a hand on Nynaeve’s head. “Be patient. I’ll take care of this, Nynaeve. But it’s going to take time. In the meantime, I need you to protect Mat and the girls. They’re going to need it.
Nynave tucked the old Wisdom into her bed gently and blew out the oil lamp. Once again, she was struck by her age, the silver in her hair, the fine veins and weathered skin on the backs of her hands. And for the first time, she thought about becoming the wisdom to follow Doral Barran, and felt afraid.
After all, it was the word of Natti Cauthon against Jeyne Daughtry, member of the Women’s Circle, respected widow and one of the wealthiest people in town. The Cauthons didn’t have a chance.
Present Day
“Bode” The word startled Nynaeve; she hadn’t heard Mat speak for many hours. She leaned closer to hear. “Bode…I can’t find Bode….El…They’re coming after us….I made them… We’re dead. They’re coming” Mat’s eyes darted about with terror. His body tensed as if to bolt. Or fight.
“Shush. It’s all right, Mat. Everyone is fine. Bode and Eldrin are fine. No one is coming to get you.”
“Could be…” he mumbled. “They’ll set a fire…Burn us out. Then they’ll find us. We’re helpless….They’re going to try. Need to get Bode and Eld…”
Paranoia. Fear. The words had madness written in them. The inn was safe; the walls were stone, and no one was trying to burn the Two Rivers folks out, not even the Aes Sedai, whom Nynaeve would not trust even for a heartbeat.
“No one is setting a fire, Mat. No one. Please. The girls are safe. You need to calm down. You’re safe here. I’m going to keep you safe.”
If I can.
Five Years Ago
An angry, muttering winter had turned to a spring of short tempers and harsh words, and impatience clawed at Nynaeve’s throat so often that it felt like she would choke on it.
Tam Al’Thor had been willing to take Mat and the girls for a few weeks, but they had to go home eventually. If she’d managed to get him into a good apprenticeship, he’d learn a proper craft. He could know he could help support his family without doing…those things. Or gambling. Maybe then he would feel safe enough to tell. At least it would protect him from anyone else doing the same. But her efforts to find him one proved fruitless -- too many of the village craftspeople remembered all too well the boy who couldn’t stay focused on a single task for more than a few minutes. At least Master Luhan agreed to accept Perrin Aybara as an apprentice; the strong young man had all the patience and focus needed for working iron, and he would be a good friend to Mat in town.
Abell and Natti fought as fiercely as ever. Abell was talking of leaving the Two Rivers, taking Natti and their children up into the Mountains of Mist. Perhaps they’d find gems, or gold, in the hills with just a little luck. But Natti said the girls were too young, it was too dangerous, and they didn’t have the money to make a home for them where the winter was even colder. Three times, Nynaeve had had to go mediate between them, but it all came to nothing.
And Jeyne Daughtry mostly stayed in her fine house on the edge of town and didn’t come to the Winespring any more. But those who went to visit returned with only stories of her kindness and generosity “Isn’t it a pity that that Cauthon woman was so prone to jealous rages?” And hopes that it would all blow over soon.
Neither Wisdom Barran nor Nynaeve’s best efforts seemed to end the gossip and speculation that had gripped the Two Rivers, turning it into a slowly boiling cauldron of infighting and recrimination, worse than Nynaeve had ever seen before.
“Dragging a good woman’s name through the mud,” Cenn Buie muttered into his pipe as Nynaeve checked and re-wrapped his ankle. “After all she’d done to help them.”
“Do you think there’s any truth to the rumors?”
“Who’s taking advantage of who, anyway?”
“Anyone who’d do that should be run out of town.”
“Anyone who’d say that…we don’t want them here.”
And always more questions, questions that Nynaeve took to Mistress Barran, who only could give her the same answers. “The Wisdom is looking into it. It’s all under control. Stop gossiping. Leave the families alone.”
But words can strike sparks, and the tinder was dry.
The day after Beltine, the bell on the village square started sounding loudly well in the late evening, its loud clang summoning all the villagers from their homes.
By the time Nynaeve reached the village square the night sky was licked with tongues of brilliant orange flame coming from the Cauthon house. The Mayor, Bran al’Vere, had already begun shouting orders to organize a fireline. Natti and Abell clung to each other, silhouetted by the flames of their burning home, Abell’s hand resting on the head of a screaming Eldrin. Haral Luhan, from the forge, was running towards the dark front entrance, and others standing nearby, including Perrin, Egwene, and Laila, had tears in their eyes. The sound of fire cracked and snapped, and the panicked cries of cows screamed in the night.
She couldn’t see Mat or Bode. Nynaeve pushed forward into the smoke, unwilling to believe there was nothing she could do. Fortunately, before she could take more than a couple of steps, Mat emerged from the darkness of the doorway, coughing and carrying Bodewhin in his arms. Mistress Barran bustled up beside her, and the pair of them led the two away to check on their injuries. Haral Luhan, muscles bulging, was able to rip open the locked door to the cattle stalls and free the pair of cows. The mayor’s fireline, made up most of the members of the village -- even Padain Fain, the peddler who always came for Beltine -- all of them passed bucket after bucket to pour onto the flames.
Maybe it was a freak accident…maybe the wind had blown down a Beltine lantern. Maybe someone in the house had been careless and left a candle burning. Maybe Natti had drunk too much again. Or maybe it was a warning. No one knew.
The sun was rising, but Nynaeve could not sleep. With the fire, it seemed like a line had been crossed. The heart of the community of the Two Rivers was bleeding, a wound she did not know how to heal. She and Wisdom Barran had tried everything to stop the gossip; she had bitten her tongue so many times at the injustice of it, and still it hadn’t helped. She could not blame Natti Cauthon for refusing to apologize and back down, not after what Jeyne Daughtry had done. And she couldn’t blame Mat for not wanting to come forward -- he had reason not to think he would be believed, no matter what he said. And Jeyne…well, Jeyne she could blame, but she would never confess. And the community was hurting for it. It was burning for it.
Doral Barran sat up in bed, her blanket pulled about her. “You stayed up all night,” she said by way of greeting. It was not a question.
Nynaeve shook her head angrily. “You’ve said over and over that you are going to take care of this problem. And now look at what happened! Where we are! What if someone strikes back on behalf of the Cauthons? What if somebody dies, Mistress Barran? And we are doing nothing! It isn’t right, what is happening. People are going to get hurt. They already are.”
The old Wisdom nodded. “Yes. I had hoped, with time. We don’t have time any more.” She looked up. “I said I will take care of it. I will. Today. I’ve been ready for a while now. But I need you to do something for me.”
“What?” Nynaeve felt pessimistic. How can this be fixed in a day? How can it be fixed ever?
“I need you to take Abell and Natti…and Mat…into the Winespring common room. And I need you to keep them there all day. I will fetch you in the evening.”
“What will you do?”
“You’ll see”
Nynaeve got dressed slowly, frustration roiling in her head as she pulled on her coat and opened the door to leave. In contrast, Wisdom Barran seemed placid as she sat down at her worktable and pulled out the black crucible.
It was a quiet, and very long day in the Winespring inn. People came and left. Bran Al’Vere spoke with Abell about letting them using the tack house for a home -- there was little need for a separate tack house given how few horses stabled at the Winespring. Perrin and Rand came to visit with Mat and ask about the fire. He cracked a few dry jokes. “Just a bit of bad luck. I’ll trade it in for better one of these days, eh?” It sounded brittle to Nynaeve’s ears. Egwene and Laila played with the twins for a bit.
And the whole time, Nynaeve guarded the door, armed with a stout stick, and waited for Mistress Barran to return.
When she returned, late in the afternoon, Doral Barran ignored Nynaeve and the Cauthons, instead going straight to the mayor.
“Bran,” she said, “I need you and a group of yours to come with me to the Daughtry place.”
Bran Al’Vere stripped off his apron before even asking, “What is it then, Wisdom?”
“Outside.”
The two went outside of the inn, but Nynaeve followed, Doral Barran’s words, of course, caught every ear in the Winespring, and seeing the Wisdom and the Mayor outside caught more than a few curious eyes who tried as scrupulously as Nynaeve did to listen in without listening.
“I went to check on Jeyne after the fire,” the Wisdom told the Mayor. “She complained about a sore shoulder, so I went home to prepare a poultice for it. When I got back, the pain was worse. She was clutching her chest, and I tried to help her, but…I’m afraid she’s dead, Bran.”
Bran Al’Vere’s lips drew into a thin line as he looked at the Wisdom. “That’s a terrible pity,” he finally said. “You’re sure you were the only one who had been there today?”
“I don't know if she had visitors while I was fetching the poultice. She could have mentioned the pain to them, but it seemed quite quick.”
Bran nodded. “I’ll make sure to let the village know. We’ll prepare a ceremony for tomorrow.”
Nynaeve could hear the whispers already starting. She ushered the Cauthons to a private room to tell them. She could guess that their feelings would be just as inappropriate to the moment as her own.
The funeral for Jeyne Daughtry was as proper as any ever held in the Two Rivers. The sun shone. The members of the Village Council carried her white-wrapped body out to a pretty spot near the quarry, under the dogwood blossoms where her husband was buried. The Mayor spoke of her generosity to the town, how she had paid for the repairs to the stone bridge over the White River four winters back, and paid for the gleeman to come to Beltine ten years before. Others offered memories of her good humor and grace. Flowers were placed on the grave. Lanterns were floated on the Winespring. No one spoke of the winter’s gossip. No one seemed to notice that the Cauthons weren’t there.
Seven days had passed since the funeral of Jeyne Daughtry, and peace was slowly returning to the Two Rivers.
The sun was setting when Nynaeve checked in on the Cauthons as she walked through town. The tack house was a narrow thing, hardly room for five, she noted. Mat greeted her at the door with a sardonic smile that did not at all reach his eyes. “No, it’s cozy, The girls will be fine. It’s plenty. You can go now.” He would not let her inside.
She didn’t push to ask more.
She passed the Winespring, where a few of the older men and women were enjoying an evening ale. There was still some gossip of course, but half-hearted, and a jovial word from Bran or a sterner one from Marin was enough to encourage the patrons to let the past stay past. Without a cause to champion, for either side, people were content to let it rest. The Two Rivers is never as dangerous as when it is defending its own, Nynaeve thought. Even if the one they’re defending doesn’t deserve it.
There was the sound of a pair of hammers ringing on the anvil -- Perrin, training with Haral Luhan -- and sheep coming in from the pasture. It was a peaceful music, like the Two Rivers should be.
When she reached the home she shared with Wisdom Barran, she found the old woman seated in her chair in front of the house, watching the sun set across the the mountains to the west. Nynaeve put her bag down and settled in the chair opposite her. The red light shone against her gray hair. Her worn hands held her favorite mug, and she took a sip before speaking.
“Did you check on the Cauthon boy?”
Nynaeve answered, “Yes. They were…well enough. He’s changed. He’s guarded. He won’t talk to me now. Not really.”
Doral Barran nodded. “It’s to be expected. He’s going to need more time. Keep an eye on him, but don’t grip too tightly. He’s…” She weighed her words carefully. “He’ll test you a thousand times, and come near breaking. But Mat Cauthon is resilient. He’ll change. Adapt. Survive. And grow, maybe, once he gets a world big enough to force him to. Help him. Protect him.”
“All right.” Something told her Mat Cauthon would need a good deal more protecting still, but she knew she would do it, whether he let her or not.
The old Wisdom took another sip. “Protect all of them. Especially the young people. You all have so much life ahead of you. I don’t want any of you to waste a day of it.”
An itchy feeling began to form between Nynaeve’s shoulder blades. “Of course, Mistress. But what do you…”
Mistress Barran cut her off. “I’ve asked Sara Al’ten from Watch Hill to come down for the next month, to help you get started.” She paused. “You’ll be a good Wisdom, Nynaeve. Your heart, it’s full of compassion, girl. But you are strong enough to do what must be done….and to pay the price for it.”
Nynaeve leaned forward, reaching out…”What are you saying?” Worry raised the pitch of her voice as she put a hand on the old Wisdom’s wrist.
The mug Doral was holding fell to the ground, cracking in two. Her voice was slurred, ever so slightly, when she answered. “... is always a price to pay. Only a coward refuses to pay the price. You’re not a coward…”
Nynaeve stood, reaching and holding the old woman by the shoulders, tipping her head back so she could see her pupils, dilated, and not contracting despite the light of the setting sun.
“No….” she breathed.
As she held her she glanced at the worktable behind her inside the house. And on the bench, the black mortar and pestle.
Crimsonthorn root.
"Why?” Nynaeve wept, taking the Wisdom into her arms.
“Because…It’s justice. For her…and for me. Gossip. Retribution. This sickness can end. Let it end with me. If anyone learns what happened...they can know it’s over now…Healed.” Her words grew softer, more sleepy, as she spoke.
Nynaeve clutched her mentor tightly to her and sobbed.
Present Day
Mat thrashed under her hands, then reached up and grabbed Nynaeve by the shirt, drawing her close to his face. Dark circles traced their marks under his red-rimmed hazel eyes, but he seemed lucid.
“Nynaeve,” he gasped.
“Yes, Mat.” She laid a hand on his forehead. So wrong.
“Don’t…don’t let me hurt anyone else. Please….” he begged.
“Mat…” she could feel the tears springing to her eyes. “Mat…You didn’t….”
“Please. No more…”
Nynaeve’s jaw tightened. “You didn’t do it, Mat.”
“But….” A fresh tear trickled down his own cheek.
“You don’t need to be afraid.” She pushed his hands down from her shirt and held them tightly. “I will protect you.” She swallowed. “And if I can’t…I will protect them from you. And then it can end. With me. I promise.”
He sagged, closing his eyes.
Nynaeve folded his hands across his chest and pulled his blanket up about him.
She would have to go into the city -- there were more medicinal herbs she might need. Addertail. Spiderwort. Goat’s tongue.
And crimsonthorn.