Robert Jordan - Ravens

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[Version 1.0 - scanned 3/18/02 by sliph]

[Version 2.0]

[Formatted and corrected by braven]

Robert Jordan

Ravens

This is a new prologue written for the Wheel of Time series.

It was first published in "From the Two Rivers," a new

paperback published in late 2001 that is actually just the first

half of "The Eye of The World."

This far below Emond's Field, halfway to the Waterwood,

trees lined the banks of the Winespring Water. Mostly willows,

their leafy branches made a shady canopy over the water near

the bank. Summer was not far off, and the sun was climbing

toward midday, yet here in the shadows a soft breeze made

Egwene's sweat feel cool on her skin. Tying the skirts of her

brown wool dress up above her knees, she waded a little way into

the river to fill her wooden bucket. The boys just waded in, not

caring whether their snug breeches got wet. Some of the girls and

boys filling buckets laughed and used their wooden dippers to

fling water at one another, but Egwene settled for enjoying the

stir of the current on her bare legs, and her toes wriggling on the

sandy bottom as she climbed back out. She was not here to play.

At nine, she was carrying water for the first time, but she was

going to be the best water-carrier ever.

Pausing on the bank, she set down her bucket to unfasten

her skirts and let them fall to her ankles. And to retie the dark

green kerchief that gathered her hair at the nape of her neck. She

wished she could cut it at her shoulders, or even shorter, like the

boys. She would not need to have long hair for years yet, after

all. Why did you have to keep doing something just because it

had always been done that way? But she knew her mother, and

she knew her hair was going to stay long.

Close to a hundred paces further down the river, men stood

knee-deep in the water, washing the black-faced sheep that

would later be sheared. They took great care getting the bleating

animals into the river and back out safely. The Winespring Water

did not flow as swiftly here as it did in Emond's Field, yet it was

not slow. A sheep that got swept away might drown before it

could struggle ashore.

A large raven flew across the river to perch high in the

branches of a whitewood near where the men were washing

sheep. Almost immediately a redcrest began diving at the raven, a

flash of scarlet that chattered noisily.

The redcrest must have a nest nearby. Instead of taking

flight and maybe attacking the smaller bird, though, the raven just

shuffled sideways on the limb to where a few smaller branches

sheltered it a little. It peered down toward the working men.

Ravens sometimes bothered the sheep, but ignoring the

redcrest's attempts to frighten it away was more than unusual.

More than that, she had the strange feeling that the black bird

was watching the men, not the sheep. Which was silly, except . . .

. She had heard people say that ravens and crows were the Dark

One's eyes. That thought made goosebumps break out all down

her arms and even on her back. It was a silly idea. What would

the Dark One want to see in the Two Rivers? Nothing ever

happened in the Two Rivers.

"What are you up to, Egwene?" Kenley Ahan demanded,

stopping beside her. "You can't play with the children today."

Two years older than she, he carried himself very straight,

stretching to seem taller than he was. This was his last year

carrying water at the shearing, and he behaved as if that cloaked

him with some sort of authority.

She gave him a level look, but it did not work as well as she

hoped.

His square face twisted up in a frown. "If you're turning

sick, go see the Wisdom. If not . . . well . . . get on about your

work." With a quick nod, as if he, had solved a problem, he

hurried off making a great show of holding his bucket with one

hand, well away from his side. He won't keep that up long once

he's out of my sight, she thought sourly. She was going to have to

work on that look. She had seen it work for older girls.

The dipper's handle slid on the rim of her bucket as she

picked it up with both hands. It was heavy, and she was not big

for her age, but she followed Kenley as quickly as she could. Not

because of anything he had said, certainly. She did have work to

do, and she was going to be the best water-carrier ever. Her face

set with determination. The mulch of last year's leaves rustled

under her feet as she walked through the river's shadowy fringe

of trees, out into the sunlight. The heat was not too bad, but a few

small white clouds high in the sky seemed to emphasize the

brightness of the morning.

Widow Aynal's Meadow - it had been called that as long as

anyone could remember, though no one knew which Aynal

widow it had been named after - the tree-ringed meadow stood

empty most of the year, but now people and sheep crowded the

whole long length of it, a good many more sheep than people.

Large stones stuck out of the ground here and there, a few almost

as tall as a man, but they did not interfere with the activity in the

meadow.

Farmers came from all around Emond's Field for this, and

village folk came out to help relatives. Everyone in the village

had kith or kin of some sort on the farms. Shearing would be

going on all across the Two Rivers, down at Deven Ride and up

to Watch Hill. Not at Taren Ferry, of course. Many of the women

wore shawls draped loosely over their arms and flowers in their

hair, for the formality and so did some of the older girls, though

their hair was not in the long braid the women had. A few even

wore dresses with embroidery around the neck, as if this really

were a feastday. In contrast, most of the men and boys went

coatless, and some even had their shirts unlaced.

Egwene did not understand why they were allowed to do

that. The women's work was no cooler than the men's.

Big, wooden-railed pens at the far end of the meadow held

sheep already sheared, and others held those waiting to be

washed, all watched by boys of twelve and up. The sheepdogs

sprawled around the pens were no good for this work. Groups of

those older boys were using wooden staffs to herd sheep to the

river for washing, then to keep them from lying down and getting

dirty again until they were dry for the men at this end of the

meadow who were doing the shearing. Once the sheep were

shorn, the boys herded them back to the pens while men carried

the fleece to the slatted tables where women sorted the wool and

folded it for baling. They kept a tally, and had to be careful that

no one's wool was mixed with anyone else's. Along the trees to

Egwene's left, other women were beginning to set out food for

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Robert Jordan - Ravens

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