A Memory of Light

am honest.” The woman smiled, taking a bite of one to prove it. As she did, a grubby hand appeared from under the fruit stand—an urchin hid underneath, a young boy that Rand had not noticed earlier.
    The little boy snatched a red fruit of a type Rand did not recognize, then dashed off. He was so thin that Rand could see his ribs pressing against the skin of his too-small form, and he ran on legs so slender that it was a wonder the boy could walk.
    The woman continued smiling at Rand as she reached to her side, took out a small rod with a lever at the side for her finger. She pulled the lever, and the rod cracked.
    The urchin died in a spray of blood. He fell, sprawling, to the ground. People moved around him in the flow of traffic, though somebody—a man with many guards—did scoop up the piece of fruit. He wiped the blood off of it and took a bite, continuing on his way. A few moments later, a steam-wagon rolled over the corpse, pressing it into the muddy roadway.
    Rand, aghast, looked back at the woman. She tucked away her weapon, a smile still on her face. “Were you looking for any type of fruit in particular?” she asked him.
    “You just killed that child!”
    The woman frowned in confusion. “Yes. Did it belong to you, good sir?”
    “No, but . . ” Light! The woman didn’t show a hint of remorse or concern. Rand turned, and nobody else seemed to care in the slightest about what had happened.
    “Sir?” the woman asked. “I feel as if I should know you. That is fine clothing, if a little out of style. To which faction do you belong?”
    “Faction?” Rand asked, looking back.
    “And where are your guards?” the woman asked. “A man as rich as you has them, of course.”
    Rand met her eyes, then ran to the side as the woman reached for her weapon again. He ducked around a corner. The look in her eyes . . . utter lack of any kind of human sympathy or concern. She’d have killed him in a moment without a second thought. He knew it.
    Others on the street saw him. They nudged companions, gesturing toward him. One man he passed called out, “Speak your faction!” Others gave chase.
    Rand ducked around another corner. The One Power. Dared he use it? He didn’t know what was going on in this world. As before, he had trouble separating himself from the vision. He knew that it wasn’t completely real, but he couldn’t help believing himself part of it.
    He didn’t risk the One Power, and trusted his own feet for now. He did not know Caemlyn terribly well, but he did remember this area. If he reached the end of this street and turned . . . yes, there! Ahead, he saw a familiar building, with a sign out front showing a man kneeling before a woman with red-gold hair. The Queen’s Blessing.
    Rand reached the front doors as those chasing him piled around the corner behind. They stopped as Rand scrambled up to the door, passing a brutish fellow standing to the side. A new door guard? Rand did not know him. Did Basel Gill still own the inn, or had it changed hands?
    Rand burst into the large common room, heart thumping. Several men nursing pitchers of afternoon ale looked up at him. Rand was in luck; Basel Gill himself stood behind the counter, rubbing a cup with a cloth.
    “Master Gill!” Rand said.
    The stout man turned, frowning. “Do I know you?” He looked Rand up and down. “My Lord?”
    “It’s me, Rand!”
    Gill cocked his head, then grinned. “Oh, you! I’d forgotten you. Your friend isn’t with you, is he? The one with the dark look to his eyes?”
    So people did not recognize Rand as the Dragon Reborn in this place. What had the Dark One done to them?
    “I need to speak with you, Master Gill,” Rand said, striding toward a private dining chamber.
    “What is it, lad?” Gill asked, following after. “Are you in trouble of some sort? Again?”
    Rand shut the door after Master Gill. “What Age are we in?”
    “The Fourth Age, of course.”
    “So the Last Battle happened?”
    “Yes, and we won!” Gill said. He looked at Rand closely, narrowing his eyes. “Are you all right, son? How could you not know . . .”
    “I spent my time in the woods these last years,” Rand said. “Frightened of what was happening.”
    “Ah, then. You don’t know about the factions?”
    “No”
    “Light, son! You’re in some meaty trouble. Here, I’ll get you a faction symbol. You’ll need one in a hurry!” Gill pulled open the door and bustled out.
    Rand folded his arms, noticing with