A Memory of Light

his head the list of those who had died in his service. Even if he saved others, he had failed to protect these.
    It was an attack of a different kind from the one that had tried to destroy his essence. Rand felt it, the Dark One forcing his tendrils into Rand, infecting his mind with worry, doubt, fear.
    Dannil led him to the walls of the village where a pair of Myrddraal in unmoving cloaks guarded the gates. They slid forward. “You were sent to gather wood,” one whispered with too-white lips.
    “I ... I brought this one!” Dannil said, stumbling away. “A gift for our master! He can channel. I found him for you!”
    Rand growled, then plunged toward the One Power again, swimming in filth. He reached the trickle of saidin , seizing it.
    It was immediately knocked from his grasp. A shield slid between him and the Source.
    “It isn’t real,” he whispered as he turned to see who had channeled.
    Nynaeve strode through the city gates, dressed in black. “A wilder?” she asked. “Undiscovered? How did he survive this long? You have done well, Dannil. I give you back your life. Do not fail again.”
    Dannil wept for joy, then scrambled past Nynaeve into the city.
    “It isn’t real,” Rand said as Nynaeve tied him in weaves of Air, then dragged him into the Dark One's version of Emond's Field, the two Myrddraal rushing in ahead of her. It was a large city now. The houses had the feel of mice clustered together before a cat, each one of the same, uniform dullness. People scuttled through alleyways, eyes down.
    People scattered before Nynaeve, sometimes calling her “mistress.” Others named her Chosen. The two Myrddraal sped through the city, like shadows. When Rand and Nynaeve reached the fortress, a small group had gathered in the courtyard. Twelve people—Rand could sense that the four men in the group held saidin , though he only recognized Damer Flinn from among them. A couple of the women were girls he had known in the Two Rivers.
    Thirteen of them. And thirteen Myrddraal, gathering beneath that clouded sky. For the first time since the start of the vision, Rand felt fear. Not this. Anything but this.
    What if they Turned him? This wasn’t real, but it was a version of reality. A mirror world, created by the Dark One. What would it do to Rand if they Turned him here? Had he been trapped that easily?
    He began to struggle, panicked, against the bonds of Air. It was useless, of course.
    “You are an interesting one,” Nynaeve said, turning to him. She didn’t look a day older than when he had left her in the cavern, but there were other differences. She wore her hair in a braid again, but her face was leaner, more . . . harsh. And those eyes.
    The eyes were all wrong.
    “How did you survive out there?” she asked him. “How did you go undiscovered so long?”
    “I come from a place where the Dark One does not rule.”
    Nynaeve laughed. “Ridiculous. A tale for children. The Great Lord has always ruled.”
    Rand could see it. His connection to the Pattern, the glimmering of halftruths and shadowed ways. This possibility ... it could happen. It was one path the world could take. The Dark One, here, had won the Last Battle and broken the Wheel of Time.
    That had allowed him to remake it, to spin the pattern in a new way. Everyone alive had forgotten the past, and now knew only what the Dark One had inserted in their minds. Rand could read the truth, the history of this place, in the threads of the Pattern he had touched earlier.
    Nynaeve, Egwene, Logain and Cadsuane were now members of the Forsaken, Turned to the Shadow against their will. Moiraine had been executed for being too weak.
    Elayne, Min, Aviendha . . . they had been given over to torture, endlessly, at Shayol Ghul.
    The world was a living nightmare. Each member of the Forsaken ruled as a despot over their own little section of the world. An endless autumn played out as they threw armies, Dreadlords, and factions against one another. An eternal battle.
    The Blight had extended to every ocean. Seanchan was no more, ruined and scorched until not even rats and crows could survive there. Anyone who could channel was discovered as a youth and Turned. The Dark One did not like the risk that someone would bring hope back to the world.
    And nobody ever would.
    Rand screamed as the thirteen began to channel.
    “This is your worst?” Rand yelled.
    They pressed their wills against his own. He felt them, like nails being pounded into his skull,