But before the transformation was complete, the auroral light began to dim, fading, as if it were seeping into the Wolf’s body. Morrell’s hands slipped from the man-beast’s torso and she began to list.
Allan shoved through the crowd and caught her before she could fall, pulling her back as those behind broke into excited babble. Allan could barely speak as he twisted Morrell so he could see her. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, Da.” He hugged her close until she began to struggle. “You’re crushing me.”
He kissed her on the forehead. “What happened? Couldn’t you change him back completely?”
They both looked toward the Wolf. Except he wasn’t a Wolf any longer. Most of him had been returned to its human form, but there were patches of fur here and there and his fingers still ended in pointed claws instead of fingernails. His tail was gone. His face retained the most wolf-like features, with a stunted muzzle and pointed, furry ears, all but a patch on his throat still covered in black-brown fur.
But when he stirred and opened his eyes, they were human, no longer feral.
“I ran out of strength. I can finish it tomorrow, after I rest. Help me back to my pallet.”
They turned, to find everyone watching them, most in awe, many with tears in their eyes. Morrell blushed and ducked her head as someone started to clap, joined by many others, and real conversations broke out.
Before it grew out of control, someone forced their way through the throng at the front, stepping between Cory and Sophia, and everyone quieted again. Paul reached out to stop Devitt as he moved forward, but Artras held the elder back.
Devitt approached Morrell slowly. He halted two paces away, then presented his deformed right arm. Allan remembered how Devitt’s body had been twisted by the auroral lights in Erenthrall immediately after the Shattering. The clothes he wore now hid most of the damage, but not the odd turn of his arm.
“I didn’t dare hope when I heard what you were going to attempt with the Wolf.” He glanced toward the figure behind them, still tied up, then back. “Do you think you can fix this?”
Morrell stepped away from Allan and gripped Devitt’s twisted forearm. “Not right now—I’m too tired—but I think I can.”
Devitt broke into tears and his wife emerged from the crowd, running to his side. She nodded to Morrell and Allan in gratitude, then led Devitt away.
Paul came forward, trailed by a few of the others. Most of those behind began to disperse, returning to their work or to the caverns below.
“Damned fine work, young woman.” Paul gestured toward the Wolf. “What do we do with him now?”
“Untie him. Bring him some clothes. See if he can talk, if he’s hungry. I don’t think he’ll hurt anyone, although I’d be careful nonetheless. He still has some vicious-looking teeth.”
“And those claws,” Artras said. “I’ll deal with him. He knows me from the trip from Erenthrall.” She called to two others and stepped past them, already talking to the Wolf.
Allan touched Morrell’s shoulder. “I’m taking her back to our tent so she can rest.”
“We still have a ton of work to get done before you can depart for the Needle.”
“I know, but it can wait until tomorrow.”
The following day, Allan never stopped moving. Cutter reported that Aurek and his men from Haven were staying east of the village, as promised, so Bryce took nearly all of those who intended to travel to the Needle outside to work on their fighting skills. Quinn worked with the archers, since Cutter still couldn’t draw. Allan walked among the men and women—more women than he’d expected, certainly more than had been training when he’d left for Erenthrall—adjusting form or giving advice or encouragement where necessary, but then left the training up to Bryce, Claye, Braddon, and Glenn.
Inside the caverns, he checked in with Paul, who was overseeing the wagons. Two had been loaded and moved outside, two more were being stocked under Paul’s careful watch. His helpers were mostly children and the elderly, with a scattering of others from the Hollow and a few refugees who’d elected to stay behind. Allan didn’t begrudge those that wanted to remain behind; they couldn’t strip the Hollow of all of its youngest and heartiest workers.
He caught movement coming from the Wolf’s enclosure and headed over there, waving to Paul in acknowledgment. He didn’t need to speak to him; the elder had everything well in hand.
At the enclosure, he found Morrell and Sophia kneeling before the Wolf. He lay curled up in a heavy blanket, shivering. The creature with claws and snout that had remained after his transformation yesterday was gone, replaced by a dark-haired young man, maybe thirty, with a sharp nose, narrow face, and green eyes. His ears were still slightly pointed, hinting of the Wolf he had been. His skin was pale and grayish looking, his eyes bruised, but aside from patches of hair on his arms and chest, the dark fur had faded.
The man started as Allan came up behind the two women, his nostrils flaring. Allan wondered if, like his ears, there were any other traits of the Wolf that still remained, like scent.
Morrell looked up at him. “His name is Drayden. Drayden Orilson. He’s twenty-seven, and before the Shattering he lived in Erenthrall with his wife and two sons.” Her tone turned somber. “They survived the Shattering, but he doesn’t know where they are. He was caught in one of the auroral lights before they could escape the city.”
Allan knelt down and met Drayden’s gaze. “How are you feeling?”
“C-c-cold.” A deep, throaty voice, with hints of the Wolf’s growl in it.
“He’s in shock,” Sophia said, “and he’s weak. The transformation is as rough on the patient as it is on the healer. It will take a few days for him to recover, maybe longer.”
“I want to go—with you. To kill—the White Cloaks.”
“We leave tomorrow. I don’t think you’ll have recovered yet.”
He snarled, teeth bared, then broke into a fit of coughing.
Sophia reached for a cloth soaking in warm water and patted his forehead with it. “We’ll feed him some good soup stock. That should help. But I don’t think he’ll have enough strength to travel by tomorrow.”
Drayden bared his teeth again, but didn’t argue.
“The Wolves. You have a pack in Erenthrall?”
“Yes.”
“And who is your alpha?”
Drayden paused, wary. “Grant.”
“He isn’t entirely Wolf, is he? I saw him. He hunted me through the streets, but I escaped.”
“Through the distortion. He hasn’t stopped hunting you. He ordered us to find you, after you fled into the distortion. He sent us out searching for your scent. We knew when you returned, but he wouldn’t let us attack you or those in your group.” The words were twisted with disdain, but he caught himself, a look of shock crossing his face as he realized what he’d said and what it meant. The Wolf wasn’t completely gone. “We followed you, staying hidden, watching.”
“Why?”
“To see what you would do. You could enter the distortion. There are things in the distortion Grant wants. People.”
“Like what? Who?”
Drayden fought off violent tremors. “He didn’t tell the pack. Then he realized you had White Cloaks. They kill Wolves on sight, offer the other groups in Erenthrall food and supplies for our pelts, so they hunt us as well. And yet they weren’t White Cloaks. They didn’t smell right. So we waited, and followed, and then you were taken by the Rabbits and the Rats.”
“Rabbits? You mean the Tunnelers. They took us to the White Cloaks, were trading us for supplies. Grant must have thought we were with the White Cloaks after all and had the Wolves attack us all at the trade-off. Or he wanted to make certain we didn’t join with them.”
“Yes.”
“But we aren’t with the White Cloaks. We never were. We were being traded like ric
e or fish.”
“I know that now. I don’t know about our alpha.”
Allan thought of the Wolf he thought he’d seen in the woods two days before. “I think he does. I think he’s been following us since Erenthrall. Would he do that?”
“Perhaps. For one of the pack.”
Allan wondered what Grant would do once Allan left the Hollow with two hundred and fifty men, armed for a fight, headed toward the Needle.
Drayden’s nostrils flared again and he half lifted his torso from the rough straw pallet he lay on. “She comes.”
A moment later, Artras appeared, carrying a bowl of soup, its aroma filling the enclosure as she handed it over to Sophia and acknowledged Allan with a nod. “Straight from the pot.”
Allan stood as she and Morrell helped Drayden into a seated position and began to feed him. He already appeared stronger, although he winced with nearly every movement.
In the two main caverns, families were preparing kits for those who intended to go. Bedrolls, clothes, a tin cup, a spare plate—anything that they thought their wife or husband or child would need or want. A few shed tears, quietly but grimly. Allan saw a few kissing wooden or clay figures of the gods before stuffing them into a satchel or backpack. Others had similar tokens of luck or protection—a lock of hair, a stone, a kerchief.
In the infirmary, Logan dealt with those more seriously wounded from the quake the day before while packing a similar kit full of medical supplies. He raised a hand in forewarning when he caught sight of Allan.
“Don’t even try to argue with me. Paul has already had it out with me and Sophia has been glaring at me since this morning.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m going with you. You’ll need a healer.”
“Who will take care of the Hollowers?”
“Morrell is quite capable, and I’ve been working with Sara since her husband was killed. Trust me, the Hollow will be fine. You’ll need me more.”
“I expect we will.” He didn’t want to argue. They likely would need a healer by the time they were done.
He checked on Bryce again, worked with the fighters for a couple of hours—he hadn’t practiced much since they entered Erenthrall—then checked in again with Paul and Sophia. The wagons were ready. While he was sitting with Morrell and the Wolf—Drayden, he reminded himself—Cutter appeared with a report from the scouts. Another group of raiders had appeared, merging with those already camped out near the remains of the Hollow. That brought their number up to nearly three hundred.
“He must have had a secondary base camp somewhere east of here for the group to have arrived so quickly. Probably the camp they made when they were searching for the Hollow. He called in those reserves.” Allan frowned down at the ground for a long moment, thinking, then looked back up at Cutter. “Warn Quinn. He should send someone out to make certain there aren’t any others in the area. I don’t want to leave here with Aurek only to have a secondary group of raiders from Haven attack once we’re gone. I’ll warn Paul and the others.”
Cutter nodded and disappeared as everyone who’d been training outside flooded the cavern, sweaty and tired but in high spirits, joking with each other and clapping each other on the back as they filed down to the two rooms below. Glenn waved and Bryce nodded in acknowledgment as they passed.
When they’d cleared out, Allan turned to Morrell. “There will be a feast tonight, according to Sophia, since we’re leaving tomorrow morning. Should we head down?”
She glanced toward Drayden, the man now clothed in donated garments, but with a blanket still clutched around his shoulders where he sat. He hadn’t said much, listening to Allan and Morrell talk. Mostly Allan, recounting what had happened in Erenthrall again, since Morrell had fallen asleep the first time. She’d broken in with questions occasionally. At one point, she gave a halting account of the first attack by the raiders on the Hollow, waiting with the others, everyone huddled in their cottages, most of their guard up on the ridges in the rain. She’d been with Logan in his cottage, in case there were casualties.
Now, she asked Drayden, “Will you join us?”
The man pulled the blanket tighter about his shoulders. “I suppose I need to rejoin humanity at some point. It may as well be now.”
But he halted at the entrance to the node’s cave, nostrils flared. His lips peeled back from his teeth when Morrell returned and urged him over the threshold. “Too many people. Too many scents.” But he let her hold his arm and accompany him down the rough-hewn stairs. Allan followed behind. People backed off to let them through, keeping an eye on Drayden.
As soon as they reached their tent, Janis trotted off to get them something to eat. She returned with Cory and Hernande, each of them bearing an extra plate of chunked and shredded venison that had been caught that morning and had been roasting all day. Bread sopped up the juices, and someone had baked potatoes and corn in the coals of the fire, their skins and husks charred. Janis produced a small crock of soured cream and another of butter.
Everyone dug in except Drayden, whose nose wrinkled at the potatoes and corn. He attacked the meat instead, but after the first bite he nearly spat it out, chewing slowly, swallowing with effort. “I’m not used to cooked meat.”
They all shared a look, then Cory rooted through his portion, leaning over to shove part of it onto Drayden’s plate. “It’s the rawest meat I’ve got.”
The rest of them followed suit, exchanging most of what Drayden had for their bloodiest pieces. He didn’t thank them, but he did retreat to a corner of their fire and devoured what he could, body shielding his food, as if protecting it.
Morrell dove into her own food. She sat close to Allan, between him and Janis.
“How are the preparations going?” Hernande asked.
“Paul and Gaven report that everything is ready in terms of the wagons. I don’t know what Aurek will be bringing, but keeping his own people fed is his problem. What about the Wielders and your own mages?”
“I hate that name, but it appears to have taken root. The Wielders and mages who are accompanying you are prepared. I’m reluctant to leave Sovaan behind as the head of the remaining students, but see no other choice. Jerrain insists on coming, although he’ll likely have to ride in one of the wagons with its driver, and the others are too young to risk.”
“Then I believe everyone is ready.”
The group sat and listened to the raucous noise of the cavern, people laughing, at least two fiddles playing, a flute and drums twining through it all. The stomp of feet and whoops and hollers indicated someone was dancing. The energy was frenetic and tense, threaded through with worry and dread. Allan didn’t doubt every nook and cranny where someone could meet in private within the cavern was being used at the moment. He recalled the tokens being packed earlier.
Morrell inched closer, leaning into him when he shifted and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She grabbed onto his waist and nestled in tight.
A moment later, Hernande launched into a fable from the Demesnes, obviously attempting to lighten the suddenly somber mood. When he was done, Janis picked it up with a tale from her childhood. A line of dancers wove through their midst, led by one of the fiddlers. The flautist brought up the rear. She tried to get Cory to join them, but he simply shook his head.
Cory and Hernande excused themselves a few hours later, retreating to their own tent. Janis rose and busied herself inside theirs, after taking care of the cups and plates. Drayden had fallen asleep just outside their door, curled up like a dog.
Morrell started when Allan shifted, then drew back and wiped at her eyes. “Where did everyone go?”
“To bed. We have an early start tomorrow.”
Morrell stood and ducked into the tent without a word.
They prepared for sleep in silence, Janis rolling over in her pallet to make certain neither one of them
needed anything. Morrell threw herself onto her bed and turned her back to Allan. He and Janis shared a look. Allan fell onto his bedroll with a thump, exhaustion settling over his bones. He lay on his back, placed an arm over his eyes.
Morrell’s blankets rustled. “I know you have to, for Kara’s sake, but I don’t want you to go. I want you here, with me.”
“I know you do, poppet. But someone needs to help Kara, Dylan, and the others.”
Morrell remained silent. Then: “I want you to help Kara, too. And don’t call me poppet.”
Allan tried to sleep, but the darkness would not take him. Hours later, after both Janis and Morrell’s breathing had settled and the cavern’s celebrations had fallen mostly silent, he rose and stepped out of the tent, back cracking as he stretched.
Drayden stirred and peered up at him with one eye over a crooked arm. “Don’t worry, I will protect her while you’re gone.” Then his eye closed.
Allan was not entirely reassured.
An hour after dawn the next morning, Allan stood with Bryce, Gaven, Logan, Hernande, and Artras outside the cave entrance. Paul, Sophia, Raven, Sovaan, and Morrell faced them.
“Let Korma guide you.” Paul shook hands with Allan. “Or whatever gods you pray to. Bring them back safe.”
“As many as I can.”
The elder stepped back. Gaven shouted to the wagon drivers, and all four of them hied their horses into motion. The rest of the group fell into place around them as they headed toward the Hollow and their meet-up with Aurek.
Morrell suddenly dashed forward and hugged Allan tight. He crushed her to him, breathed in the fresh lavender scent of her hair, then released her.
Threading the Needle Page 43
