Elayne peered into Aviendha's unreadable face, She was jealous of her over Rand? When the man avoided EIayne Trakand as if she had scabies', She had no time for more thought.
"Strike her as hard as you can with your open hand," Tamela told Aviendha, removing her own hands from Aviendha's shoulders.
Viendre squeezed Elayne's lightly, "Do nor defend yourself." They had not been told anything of this! Surely, Aviendha would not -
Blinking, Elayne pushed herself up from the icy floor tiles, Gingerly she felt her cheek, and winced. She was going to wear a palm print the rest of the day. The woman did not have to hit her that hard.
Everyone waited until she was kneeling again, and then Viendre leaned closer, "Strike her as hard as you can with your open hand."
Well, she was not going to knock Aviendha on her ear. She was not going m - Her full-armed slap sent Aviendha sprawling, sliding on her chest across the tiles almost to Monaelle. Elayne's palm stung almost as much as her cheek.
Aviendha half pushed herself up, gave her head a shake, then scrambled back to her position. And Tamela said, "Strike her with the other hand."
This time, Elayne slid all the way to Amys' knees on the frozen tiles, her head ringing, both cheeks burning. And when she regained her own knees in front of Aviendha, when Viendre told her to strike, she put her whole body into the slap, so much that she nearly fell over atop Aviendha as the other woman went down.
'You may go now," Monaelle said,
Elayne's eyes jerked toward the Wise One. Aviendha, halfway back to her knees, went stiff as stone.
"If you w
ish to," Monaelle continued. "Men usually do, at this point if not sooner. Many women do, too. But if you still love one another enough to go on, then embrace."
Elayne flung herself at Aviendha, and was met with a rush that nearly knocked her over backwards, They clung together, Elayne felt tears trickling from her eyes, and realized Aviendha was crying as well. "I'm sorry," EIayne whispered fervently, "I'm sorry, Aviendha."
"Forgive me," Aviendha whispered back "Forgive me."
Monaelle was standing over them, now. "You will know anger at one another again, you will speak harsh words, but you will always remember that you have already struck her. And for no better reason than you were told to. Let those blows pass for all you might wish to give, You have toh toward one another, toh you cannot repay and will not try to, for every woman is always in her first-sister's debt. You will be born again,"
The feel of saidar in the room was changing, but Elayne had no chance to see how even had she thought of it. The light dwindled as if the lamps were being put out, The feel of Aviendha's hug dwindled. Sound dwindled. The last thing she heard was Monaelle's voice. 'You will be born again." Everything faded. She faded. She ceased to exist.
Awareness, of a sort. She did not think of herself as she, she did not think at all, but she was aware. Of sound. A liquid swishing all around. Muted gurgles and rumbles, And a rhythmic thudding. That above all. Thu-thud. Thu-thud. She did not know contentment, but she was content. The-thuh.
Time. She did not know time, yet Ages passed. There was a sound within her, a sound that was her. Thu-thuh. The same sound, the same rhythm as the other. Thu-thud, And from another place, nearer. Thu-thud. Another. Thu-thud. The same sound, the same beat, as her own. Not another. They were the same; they were one, Thu-thud.
Forever went by to that pulse, all the time that had ever been. She touched the other that was herself. She could feel, Thu-thud. She moved, she and the other that was herself, writhing against one another, limbs entangling, rolling away but always coming back to each other. Thu-thud. There was light sometimes, in the darkness; dim beyond seeing, but bright m one who had never known anything but darkness. Thu-thud. She opened her eyes, stared into the eyes of the other that was herself, and closed hers again, content. Thu-thud.
Change, sudden, shocking to one who had never known any change. Pressure, Thu-thud-thu-thud. That comforting beat was faster. Convulsive pressure. Again. Again, Getting stronger. Thu-thud-thu-thud! Thu-thud-thu-thud!
Suddenly, the other that was herself - was gone. She was alone, She did not know fear, but she was afraid, and alone, Thu-thud-thu-thud! Pressure! Greater than anything before! Squeezing her, crushing her. If she had known how to scream, if she had known what a scream was, she would have shrieked.
And then light, blinding, full of swirling patterns, She had weight; she had never felt weight before. A cutting pain at her middle. Something tickled her foot. Something tickled her back. At first she did not realize that wailing sound was coming from her. She kicked feebly, waved limbs that did not know how to move. She was lifted, laid on something soft but firmer than anything she had felt before, except for recollections of the other that was herself, the other that was gone. Thu-thud, Thu-thud. The sound. The same sound, the same beat. Loneliness reigned, unrecognized, but there was contentment, too.
Memory began to return, slowly. She lifted her head from a breast and looked up into Amys' face. Yes, Amys. Sweat-slick and weary-eyed, but smiling. And she was Elayne; yes, Elayne Trakand. But there was something more to her, now. Not like the Warder bond, but like it in a way. Fainter, but more magnificent. Slowly, on a neck that wobbled uncertainly, she turned her head to look at the other that was herself, lying on Amys' other breast. To look at Aviendha, her hair maned, her face and body shining with sweat. Smiling with joy. Laughing, weeping, they clutched each other and hung on as if they never intended to let go.
"This is my daughter Aviendha," Amys said, "and this is my daughter Elayne, born on the same day, within the same hour. May they always guard one another, support one another, love one another." She laughed softly, tiredly, fondly, "And now will someone bring us garments before my new daughters and I all freeze to death?"
Elayne did nor care at that moment if she did freeze to death, She clung to Aviendha in laughter and tears, She had found her sister. Light, she had found her sister!
Toveine Gazal woke to the sounds of quiet bustle, other women moving about, some talking softly. Lying on her hard narrow cot, she sighed with regret. Her hands around Elaida's throat had been just a pleasant dream. This tiny canvas-walled room was reality. She had slept poorly, and she felt thinned, drained, She had overslept, too; there would be no time for breakfast. Reluctantly she tossed off her blankets, The building had been a small warehouse of some sort, with thick walls and heavy rafters low overhead, but there was no heat, Her breath misted, and the crisp morning air pricked through her shift before her feet reached the rough floorboards. Even if she could have considered lying abed in this place, she had her orders. Logain's filthy bond made disobedience impossible, no matter how often she wished it.
She always tried to think of him as simply Ablar, or at worst Master Ablar, but it was always just Logain that came into her mind. The name he had made infamous.
Logain, the False Dragon who had shattered the armies of his native Ghealdan. Logain, who had carved a path through the few Altarans and Murandians with nerve enough to try stopping him until he threatened Lugard itself. Logain, who had been gentled and somehow could channel again, who had dared to fix his cursed weave of saidin on Toveine Gazal. A pity for him he had not commanded her to stop thinking! She could fed the man, in the back of her head. He was always there.
For a moment, she squeezed her eyes shut. Light! Mistress Doweel's farm had seemed the Pit of Doom, years of exile and penance with no way out except the unthinkable, to become a hunted renegade, Barely half a week since her capture, she knew better. This was the Pit of Doom. And there was no escape. Angrily, she shook her head, and scrubbed glistening dampness from her cheeks with her fingers. No! She would escape, somehow, if only for long enough to put her real hands on Elaida's throat, Somehow.
Aside from the cot, there were only three pieces of furniture, yet they left little space for her to move. She cracked the ice in the yellow-striped pitcher on the washstand with her belt knife, filled the chipped white basin, and channeled to heat the water till tendrils of steam rose. It was allowed to channel for that, That and no more, By rote she washed and scrubbed her teeth with salt and soda, then took a fresh shift and stockings from the small wooden chest at the foot of the cot. Her ring she left in the chest, tucked under everything else in a small velvet pouch. Another order. All of her things were here, except for her lapdesk. Luckily, that had been lost when she was taken, Her dresses hung on a cloakstand, the last of the room's furnishings, Choosing one without really looking, she put it on mechanically and used comb and brush on her hair.