A Memory of Light

entire line of people froze in place, horrified. Above, the tree actually pulled the dead man into itself through a split in the bark. Ingesting him. Maybe that sap was blood.
    Olver looked on, horrified.
    “Steady,” Lady Faile said, a slight tremor in her voice. “I’ve told you, don’t draw close to plants! Don’t touch anything.”
    They moved on, a solemn bunch. Sandip, riding nearby, muttered to himself. “That’s the fifteenth one. Fifteen men, dead in a few days. Light! We’re never going to survive this!”
    If only it were Trollocs! Olver couldn’t fight trees and insects. Who could? But Trollocs, those he’d be able to fight. Olver had his knife, and he’d learned a few things about using it from Harnan and Silvic. Olver wasn’t that tall, but he figured that would make Trollocs underestimate him. He could lunge low and go for their vitals before they knew what was happening.
    He told himself this to keep his hands from shaking as he kicked Bela, hoping to move up by Lady Faile. In the distance, he heard a screeching sound, like something dying in a horrible way. Olver shivered. He’d heard that same sound earlier in the day. Did it sound closer now?
    Setalle gave him a worried glance as he neared the front. The others tried everything they could to keep him from danger. He steeled himself, ignoring that horrid screeching off in the distance. Everyone thought Olver was fragile, but he wasn’t. They hadn’t seen what he had, growing up. In truth, he didn’t like thinking about those times. It seemed as if he’d lived three lives. One before his parents died, one when he’d been alone and now this one.
    Anyway, he was used to fighting people bigger than he was. It was the Last Battle. They kept saying everyone would be needed. Well, why not him? When the Trollocs came, the first thing he’d do was climb down off this slow mount. He could stroll faster than this animal could gallop! Well, the Aiel didn’t need horses. Olver hadn’t gone to train with them yet, but he would. He had it planned out. He hated all Aiel, but mostly the Shaido, and he would need to learn their secrets if he was going to kill them.
    He’d go among them and demand to be trained. They’d take him in, and would treat him poorly, but eventually they’d respect him and let him train with their warriors. There were stories about that. It was how things happened.
    After he knew their secrets, he’d go to the Snakes and Foxes and receive answers on how to locate the Shaido who had murdered his father. From there, tracking and killing them would be a quest worthy of its own story.
    I’ll take Noal, he thought. He’s been everywhere. He can be my guide. He .. .
    Noal was dead.
    Sweat crawled down the side of Olver’s face as he stared at the rocky path ahead. They passed more of those terrible trees, and now everyone gave them a wide berth. Beside the path, though, one of the men pointed out a large patch of that killing mud. It looked brown and thick, and Olver spotted several bones peeking out.
    This place was horrible!
    He wished Noal were here. Noal had gone everywhere, seen everything. He’d know how to get them out of this place. But Noal was gone. Olver had only heard the news recently, filtered through things that the Lady Moiraine had shared about what happened at the Tower of Ghenjei.
    Everyone’s dying, Olver thought, eyes still forward. Everyone . . .
    Mat had run off to the Seanchan, Talmanes to fight alongside Queen Elayne. One by one, everyone in this group was being eaten by trees, mud or monsters.
    Why did they all leave Olver alone?
    He rubbed at his bracelet. Noal had given it to him, shortly before leaving. Woven of rough fibers, it was of a type warriors wore in a faraway land, so Noal had told him. It was the mark of a man who had seen battle and lived.
    Noal . . . dead. Would Mat die, too?
    Olver felt hot, tired and very frightened. He nudged Bela forward, and fortunately she obeyed, trotting a little faster up the slope so Olver moved up the line. They’d abandoned the wagons, then left for some place called the Blasted Lands, which required them to climb some foothills. In the morning, they’d entered a pass between the mountains. Though he felt warm, the air was getting cooler as they climbed. He didn’t mind that at all. It still smelled awful, though. Like rotting corpses.
    Their group had started with fifty soldiers and almost half as many wagon drivers and workers. There were also