Kari al'Thor
A similar entry appears in the Wheel of Time Companion confirming the information available in the main story arc.
Author: Kyria d'Oreyn
General
Kari al'Thor was a Caemlyner and Tam al'Thor's wife. Together with him she raised Rand as if he were her own child (TGH, Ch. 8).
Rand is said to have inherited her red hair and gray eyes (TEotW, Ch. 1).
She disapproved of Tam's sword (TEotW, Ch. 5).
Tam thought of her when he found Rand on the slopes of Dragonmount, because she had always wanted children, but they apparently had none of their own. She gave Rand his name (TEotW, Ch. 6).
She died when Rand was five years old (LoC, Ch. 3).
All that Rand can remember is that he had a smiling face and gentle hands (TEotW, Ch. 1; TSR, Ch. 34). He puts flowers on her grave every year at Bel Tine and every Sunday (TEotW, Ch. 1).
In one of Rand's dreams, Shadowspawn with the faces of his loved ones tried to kill him. Among them was the face of his mother (TDR, Ch. 32).
Quotes
"I can just remember when he came back to Emond's Field, a grown man with a red-haired, outlander wife and a babe in swaddling clothes. I remember Kari al'Thor cradling that child in her arms with as much love given and delight taken as I have ever seen from any woman with a babe." (Nynaeve; The Eye of the World, Chapter 16)
Kari al'Thor still stood there, her eyes big with fear.
"She, at least," Ba'alzamon said, "is mine to do with as I will." Rand shook his head. "I deny you." He had to force the words out. "She is dead, and safe from you in the Light."
His mother's lips trembled. Tears trickled down her cheeks; each one burned him like acid. "The Lord of the Grave is stronger than he once was, my son," she said. "His reach is longer. The Father of Lies has a honeyed tongue for unwary souls. My son. My only, darling son. I would spare you if I could, but he is my master, now, his whim, the law of my existence. I can but obey him, and grovel for his favor. Only you can free me. Please, my son. Please help me. Help me. Help me! PLEASE!"
The wail ripped out of her as barefaced Fades, pale and eyeless, closed round. Her clothes ripped away in their bloodless hands, hands that wielded pincers and clamps and things that stung and burned and whipped against her naked flesh. Her scream would not end. Rand's scream echoed hers. The void boiled in his mind. His sword was in his hand. Not the heron-mark blade, but a blade of light, a blade of the Light. Even as he raised it, a fiery white bolt shot from the point, as if the blade itself had reached out. It touched the nearest Fade, and blinding candescence filled the chamber, shining through the Halfmen like a candle through paper, burning through them, blinding his eyes to the scene.
From the midst of the brilliance, he heard a whisper. "Thank you, my son. The Light. The blessed Light."
