“On the heights, all paths are paved with daggers.”
The title of the novel derives from this bit of ancient proverbial philosophy. The wisdom according to some unknown historical prophet or writer or something is not going to be found in any history book of lost civilizations, however, as the “Seanchan” which is referred here exists only within the universe of this book series. The title of this entry in The Wheel of Time saga is thus an example of the sort of self-referential element which partially defines the fantasy genre. Part of the problem of working within the imagined worlds scenario is that it takes away much of the power of allusion as a literary technique.
Of course, it is still possible to allude to an historical analogue without directing implicating it and thus taking the reader out this immersive world, but there seems to be an ingrained resistance to doing among fantasy writers and readers. What is lost also presents an opportunity for gain, of course. While making references to things which exist in our world may be compromised, the floodgates are wild open for the fantasy author to fashion his own allusive myths and legends and civilizations which have come and gone, leaving behind, perhaps, only the occasional philosophical advice.
The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind rose above the great mountainous island of Tremalking. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning.
This is the opening paragraph of Chapter One. It shows up in at least one edition of the book on page 37. Thirty-five of the previous thirty-six pages are consumed by narrative prose constituting the Prologue. A lot of information is provided in those pages to the extent that one, upon reading this paragraph, might wonder why that which has preceded it was not simply made the first official chapter of the book instead of a Prologue. The logic of determining the rationale behind that decision is certainly not helped by the content of what—according to one definition—comprises the official opening lines of the book. Do they not seem just the slightest bit rambling; almost having the character of an unbalanced mind simply spouting whatever pops into his head at the moment?
The storeroom where they found the Bowl of the Winds had been stuffed full, things that should have been on a refuse heap jumbled in with more objects of the Power than just the Bowl, some in beetle-riddled casks or chests, some carelessly stacked. For hundreds and hundreds of years the Kin had hidden away all things they found that were connected to the Power, fearful of using them and fearful of delivering them to Aes Sedai.
The centerpiece of the plot of this installment in the series is the Bowl of the Winds. It is identified as something known in this fantasy world as a ter’angreal. But this is not just any old ter’angreal, it is one which can control the weather. Lest one think that controlling the weather is either wildly original or ridiculously useless, consider the range across wildly well-known fictional properties which have used weather-controlling mechanisms to hugely popular effect. The Ice Princess turned General Hospital from hit soap opera into an early 80’s icon. Son of Gozilla’s plot turns on the failure of scientists being able to control their weather-control device during a mere test mission. The video for Kate Bush’s song “Cloudbusting” brings the subject inherent in the lyrics to life with no less than Donald Sutherland as the inventor of the machine who is tracked down and arrested by the government which is itself partially based upon the real life experiments of Wilhelm Reich. So, controlling the weather is neither wildly original nor too absurd for inclusion.
