The wounds in his side pulsed in agony. For a time, he’d been able to forget them. But the deaths he had caused rubbed his soul raw. That list starting with Moiraine. Everything had begun to go wrong at her death. Before that, he’d still had hope.
Before that, he’d never been put in a box.
He understood what would be required of him, and he’d changed in the ways he thought he needed. Those changes were to keep him from being overwhelmed. Die to protect people he didn’t know? Chosen to save mankind? Chosen to force the kingdoms of the world to unite behind him, destroying those who refused to listen? Chosen to cause the deaths of thousands who fought in his name, to hold those souls upon his shoulders, a weight that must be borne? What man could do these things and remain sane? The only way he had seen had been to cut off his emotions, to make himself
But he had failed. He hadn’t been able to stamp his feelings out. The voice inside had been so small, but it had pricked at him, like a needle making the smallest of holes in his heart. Even the smallest of holes would let the blood leak free.
Those holes would bleed him dry.
The quiet voice was gone now. It had vanished when he’d thrown Tarn to the floor and nearly killed him. Without that voice, did Rand dare continue? If it was the last remnant of the old Rand—the Rand who had believed that he knew what was right and what was wrong—then what did its silence mean?
Rand picked up the access key and stood up, boots scraping stone. It was midday, though the sun still lay hidden behind the clouds. Below, he could see hills and forests, lakes and villages.
“And what if I don’t
“We live the same lives!” he yelled at them. “Over and over and over. We make the same mistakes. Kingdoms do the same
Winds buffeted him, whipping at his brown cloak and his fine Tairen trousers. But his words carried, echoing across the broken rocks of Dragonmount. It was cold and crisp, the air new. His weave kept him warm enough to survive, but it did not stop the chill. He hadn’t wanted it to.
“What if I think it’s all meaningless?” he demanded with the loud voice of a king. “What if I don’t
The access key began to glow in his hands. The clouds above seemed to grow darker.
Rand’s anger beat in rhythm with his heart, demanding to be set free.
“What if
Power flooded into Rand like surging waves filling a new ocean. He came to life, glorying in
“NONE OF THIS MATTERS!”
He closed his eyes, drawing in more and more power, feeling as he had only twice before. Once when he had cleansed
Then he drew in more.
He knew that much power would destroy him. He had stopped caring. Fury that had been building in him for years finally boiled free, unleashed at long last. He spread his arms out wide, access key in his hand. Lews Therin had been right to kill himself and create Dragonmount. Only he hadn’t gone far enough.
Rand could remember that day. The smoke, the rumbling, the sharp pains of a Healing bringing him back to lucidity as he lay in a broken palace. But those pains had paled compared with the agony of realization. Agony from seeing the beautiful walls scarred and broken. From seeing the piles of familiar corpses, tossed to the floor like discarded rags.
From seeing Hyena a short distance away, her golden hair spread out on the ground around her.
He could
He could smell the air thick with blood and soot and death
The winds began to whip at him, spinning, enormous clouds above twisting upon themselves, like ancient leviathans passing in the profoud black deep.