The Shadow Rising (The Wheel of Time, #4)

by Robert Jordan

There’s no time for winking at the men when you’re busy bailing the boat.”

The Prophecies are meant to announce to the world who he is, to prepare him for what is coming, to prepare the world for it.

You catch no fish if they see the net.

The very first thing Elaida had ever Foretold, while still an Accepted—and had known enough even then to keep to herself—was that the Royal line of Andor would be the key to defeating the Dark One in the Last Battle.

Elaida had only seen him once, supposedly a shepherd from the Two Rivers, in Andor, but looking every inch the Aielman. The Foretelling had come to her at the sight of him. He was ta’veren, one of those rare individuals who, instead of being woven into the Pattern as the Wheel of Time chose, forced the Pattern to shape itself around them, for a time at least.

Bornhald could almost hear his father’s voice. Let them think there is a chance, and some fool will try to take it. Then there’s killing to do, and another fool will try to avenge the first, so there’s more killing. Put the fear of the Light into them from the first, let them know no one will be harmed if they do as they’re told, and you’ll have no trouble.

The stories said evil could not cross your threshold unless you invited it in. That was what the stories said. But out in the darkness … .

Faile was the only woman Perrin wanted, but sometimes he felt like a fish trying to understand a bird.

It wanted him dead the way a starving man wanted food.

Perrin was not sure which of the two men was more deadly, but he thought a mouse could starve on the difference.

“He is only trying to find his way,” Lan said suddenly. “No man likes to run forward blindly when he knows there is a cliff somewhere ahead.”

it was like having two words for falling down the stairs, depending on whether you tripped or were pushed.

The Pattern moves and flows; only the dead are still. He must act, or he will die.

A plan revealed is a plan doomed to fail.

My mother says men are different from us. She says we want to be in love, but only with the one we want; a man needs to be in love, but he will love the first woman to tie a string to his heart.”

Elayne looked from one to the other of them. “In truth, I feared you might tell me I was foolish, fretting over a thing like this when we have the Black Ajah to worry about.” A slight flicker of Egwene’s eyes said the thought had occurred to her, but Nynaeve said, “Rand is not the only one who might die next year, or next month. We might, too. Times are not what they were, and we cannot be, either. If you sit and wish for what you want, you may not see it this side of the grave.”

Just remember that some women see a man with their hearts, while others see no more than a bauble to wear, no different than a necklace or a bracelet. Remember that I will come back, and I am one who sees with her heart.”

Four days she had before Joiya and Amico were put on that ship, four days at most to twine herself so firmly into Rand’s thoughts that he had no room for Berelain. Or if not that, firmly enough that she stayed inside his head until she had the chance to do more. She had never thought she might do a thing like this, stalk a man like a huntress stalking a wild boar.

Why was it women could go to pieces or fly into a rage at the smallest thing, yet never flicker an eyelash at what left you gaping?

He listened to her, and often took her advice. She thought she could have loved him for those two things alone.

“A wise ruler takes advice,” she told him, smiling, “but should never be seen to take it. Let them think you know more than you do. It will not harm them, and it will help you.”

“I cannot trust you fully, Lews Therin. Not yet.” She came closer, and he considered simply seizing her. He was bigger and stronger by far—and blocked as he was, she could wrap him up with the Power like a kitten tangled in a ball of string. “Not with that, certainly,” she added, grimacing at Callandor. “There are only two more powerful that a man can use. One at least, I know, still exists. No, Lews Therin. I will not trust you yet with that.”

Some of the others fear you too much to wait. Sammael, Rahvin, Moghedien. Others, perhaps, but those of a certainty.

The Great Lord knows more than you would suspect. It is possible to talk with him. Go to Shayol Ghul, into the Pit of Doom, and you can … hear him. You can … bathe in his presence.”

Asmodean will teach you to wield the Power without it killing you, teach what you can do with it.

“Two great sa’angreal were made just before the end, one that you can use, one that I can. Far greater than that sword. Their power is beyond imagining. With those, we could challenge even … the Great Lord himself. Even the Creator!”

Prophecy is no more than the sign of what people hope for. Fulfilling the Prophecies will only bind you to a path leading to Tarmon Gai’don and your death. Moghedien or Sammael can destroy your body. The Great Lord of the Dark can destroy your soul. An end utter and complete. You will never be born again no matter how long the Wheel of Time turns!”

“Whatever you can do, Lews Therin, I can do. And better.”

“Death cannot be Healed, Rand. You are not the Creator.”

She leaned over to mark the candle with a thumbnail. “Wake me when it burns down to there. Light, but I wish we had a clock.” Elayne laughed at her, a lighthearted trill, and it very nearly sounded unforced. “A clock in a bedchamber? My mother has a dozen clocks, but I never heard of a clock in a bedchamber.”

Tel’aran’rhiod. The Unseen World. The World of Dreams.

“Go!” the man shouted. “You have had your answers. You must go before it is too late!” Abruptly a dozen of the yellow-clad men were around Mat, seeming to appear out of the air, trying to pull him toward the door. He fought with fists, elbows, knees. “What fate? Burn your hearts, what fate?” It was the room itself that pealed, the walls and floor quivering, nearly taking Mat and his attackers off their feet. “What fate?” The three were on their feet atop the pedestals, and he could not tell which shrieked which answer. “To marry the Daughter of the Nine Moons!” “To die and live again, and live once more a part of what was!” “To give up half the light of the world to save the world!” Together they howled like steam escaping under pressure. “Go to Rhuidean, son of battles! Go to Rhuidean, trickster! Go, gambler! Go!”

You have made a place in my heart where I thought there was no room for anything else. You have made flowers grow where I cultivated dust and stones. Remember this, on this journey you insist on making. If you die, I will not survive you long.”

Poke the meekest dog too often,’” Elayne quoted, “‘and he will bite.’

“There’s a saying in the Maule, child,” the Amyrlin went on. “‘Do not trouble trouble till trouble troubles you.’ Mark it well, child.”

The Defenders took one look and scattered, some still on hands and knees; it was their duty to keep people out of the Stone, and they had no orders to keep these in. Not that they would necessarily have been able to think straight enough to do so if they had had orders, not with the tremors just subsiding and the Stone still groaning above them.

She had found that a kind word and a little praise were usually received as well as silver was, if not better.

There are different ways among different peoples.” The Light send not too many more as different as that! Light, what if they don’t wear any clothes at all once they get out to sea? Light! “Only a fool takes offense at customs different from her own.”

Coine turned. “Not the Prophecies of the Dragon, Aes Sedai. The Jendai Prophecy, the prophecy of the Coramoor. Not the one you wait for and dread; the one we seek, herald of a new Age. At the Breaking of the World our ancestors fled to the safety of the sea while the land heaved and broke as storm waves do. It is said they knew nothing of the ships they took to flee, but the Light was with them, and they survived. They did not see the land again until it was still once more, and by then, much had changed. All—everything—the world—drifted on the water and the wind. It was in the years after that the Jendai Prophecy was first spoken. We must wander the waters until the Coramoor returns, and serve him at his coming:

‘Smooth words make smooth companions.’”

‘Borrow trouble, and you repay tenfold.’”

“The wave that has passed cannot be called back.”

“Jorin, why do the Atha’an Miere call ships ‘he’? Everyone else I’ve ever met calls them ‘she.’ I don’t suppose it makes any difference, but why?” “The men will give you a different answer,” the Windfinder said, smiling, “speaking of strength and grandness and the like as men will, but this is the truth. A ship is alive, and he is like a man, with a true man’s heart.” She rubbed the rail fondly, as if stroking something alive, something that could feel her caress. “Treat him well and care for him properly, and he will fight for you against the worst sea. He will fight to keep you alive even after the sea has long since given him his own deathstroke. Neglect him, though, ignore the small warnings he gives of danger, and he will drown you in a flat sea beneath a cloudless sky.”

He has learned the first art of kings, it seems. Making people wait.”

Rhuarc said greed had killed more men than steel.

Just because a people’s ways are different doesn’t mean they are wrong, Rand.

“That’s a fine horse,” she said. “What have you named him?” “Jeade’en,” he said cautiously, losing some of his good spirits. He was a little ashamed of the name, of his reasons for choosing it. One of his favorite books had always been The Travels of Jain Farstrider, and that great traveler had named his horse Jeade’en—True Finder, in the Old Tongue—because the animal had always been able to find the way home. It would have been nice to think Jeade’en might carry him home one day. Nice, but not likely, and he did not want anyone suspecting the cause for the name. Boyish fancies had no place in his life now. There was not much room for anything but what he had to do.

“Why do you call him that?” Moiraine asked when he was out of earshot. “One Man. Do you know him?” “We know of him, Aes Sedai.” Amys made the title sound an address between equals. “The last of the Malkieri. The man who will not give up his war against the Shadow though his nation is long destroyed by it. There is much honor in him. I knew from the dream that if you came, it was almost certain Aan’allein would as well, but I did not know he obeyed you.” “He is my Warder,” Moiraine said simply.

After one sip of water, the Aiel women named themselves formally. Bair, of the Haido sept of the Shaarad Aiel. Amys, of the Nine Valleys sept of the Taardad Aiel. Melaine, of the Jhirad sept of the Goshien Aiel. Seana, of the Black Cliff sept of the Nakai Aiel.

“There is no one set path to the future. The Pattern makes the finest lace look like coarse woven sacking, or tangled string. In Tel’aran’rhiod it is possible to see some ways the future may be woven. No more than that.”