Threading the Needle (29 page)

“D
AMN, DAMN, DAMN,”
Artras muttered, frantically ripping another band of cloth from the bottom of her shirt and wrapping it around Cutter's upper arm. She'd already yanked the end of the arrow out, but the wound was deep and continued to bleed.

She wound the makeshift bandage tight, then tied it off as the wagon jounced over more debris. She knew Allan couldn't slow, not until they were safely away from the White Cloaks and Wolves in the square, even with night falling. She didn't think the Tunnelers were an issue any longer.

Something hard worked its way up from her chest into her throat and she paused to glance out the back of the wagon, down the street to where the distortion rose above the buildings, all of it receding. Glenn held on at the back of the wagon on the right, his mangled arm tucked close to his chest, Gaven beside him, allowing Artras and Cutter the more protected space at the front nearest Allan. The body of the Wolf still filled the left side. They hadn't had a chance to dispose of it yet.

But her thoughts were of Kara and the others, caught by the White Cloaks. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes as she thought of Jack, his body left behind. She wondered if any of the others had been killed. Jack's death had been merciless. She doubted the White Cloaks would treat the others any differently.

She shook herself and focused on Cutter, examining the bandage. Her shoulders relaxed when she realized it hadn't been soaked through with blood yet.

“How bad is it?”

“It's hard to tell. I haven't had a chance to really look, but the bleeding appears to have slowed.”

Cutter had barely flinched when she'd jerked the arrow free, and had suffered stoically as she'd cinched the bandages as tight as possible. “It's not good. I can feel it. I can barely move my arm. The muscle is damaged enough I don't think I'll be drawing a bow any time soon.”

Artras placed a hand on his shoulder, forced him to meet her eyes. “It's too soon to tell.”

He held her gaze a long moment, lips pressed thin, but nodded.

“Is anyone following us?” Allan couldn't even spare a glance over his shoulder. “I need to slow down. There's too much stone and debris in the road.”

The wagon jolted again, throwing Artras back against the wagon's side, then began to judder, as if it were rolling over a washboard. Gaven steadied her.

“I think we're safe for now.”

A moment later, the breakneck pace of the wagon slowed, the clattering of the wheels eased. The ride was still rough, but manageable. Artras pulled herself upright and glanced around.

The style of the surrounding buildings had changed. This district had suffered worse than the Temerite-inspired one surrounding the square. Many of the larger buildings had collapsed inward on themselves and were now nothing more than heaps of rubble, glass, and wooden supports. The cobbles in the road had been shaken loose by the quakes. Sections of walls had fallen out into the street, partially blocking their path, but not all of the buildings had been destroyed. Every now and then one rose from the debris, sometimes with only a wall or small section fallen in, the interior rooms exposed, sometimes standing untouched and forlorn, with only broken windows or a few cracks in the facade. Most had been built with mudbrick, not forged by the Wielders and mentors of the University.

“Gaven, keep watch.” Glenn switched places with the Hollower, then worked his way up to the front of the wagon.

“Someone needs to see to your arm.” Artras pointed to where blood matted his forearm, the shirtsleeve shredded and stuck to the wound.

“Later. We don't have time now.”

She'd known that's what he'd say. Artras shifted out of his way, ending up next to the Wolf's head. Its tongue lolled out of the muzzle, wet
and glistening, and black blood matted its fur near the wounds in its shoulders and side. The wagon bed was stained with it, a stream running down its slope, dripping from the back.

Artras' brows drew together in consternation. A moment later, she shifted forward and placed her hands on the Wolf's side.

“We need to find a place to hide,” Glenn said to Allan. “We can't outrun those White Cloaks or the Wolves if they decide to come after us.”

“We can't hide from the Wolves at all. Not for long. They'll find us because they're hunters. They'll sniff us out.”

“So we just keep running? Leave Kara and the others to the White Cloaks?”

“Of course not!”

“We have to stop,” Artras shouted over both of them.

They both turned toward her.

“Cutter's wounded. We have to stop long enough for me to properly dress the wound or Cutter's going to die. Not to mention Glenn's arm. It needs to be seen to. I've noticed how you're holding it.” Artras hesitated, then straightened. “And we have another problem. The Wolf isn't dead.”

Both of them started, then shifted their attention to the Wolf. Artras' hand was still resting on its chest, which rose and fell in long, labored breaths. The fur was warm beneath her touch.

Glenn pushed away from the headboard and reached into the side of his boot, pulling out a long knife. “That's easy enough to fix.” He sank to his knees beside Artras, reaching for the Wolf's throat, but Artras caught his forearm.

Glenn tensed. “Let go.”

“No. It's one thing to kill them when they're attacking, another when they're unconscious and defenseless.”

“They're animals. It would kill us in an instant if it woke up!”

“You forget. They weren't always animals. It used to be human. Maybe it—maybe
he
still is, somewhere inside, beneath the pelt and teeth.”

Glenn hesitated, then hardened, twisting toward Allan.

The ex-Dog shrugged.

Glenn jerked out of Artras' grip. “If it so much as twitches before we get a chance to tie it up, it's dead.”

Artras' eyes narrowed.

Allan slowed the wagon to a halt. “Glenn, Gaven, see if you can find a place for us to hole up.”

Both of them hopped out of the wagon and split, each heading to a different side of the street to search the buildings. Artras watched Glenn, concerned about his arm, but she didn't see any other option. Cutter couldn't help, not in his condition, and Artras knew nothing about scouting.

“How much time do you think we have?” She turned to frown down at the Wolf.

“The White Cloaks won't wait long once they break away from the Wolves.”

“Maybe the Wolves will take them down.”

“The White Cloaks were already regaining control when we careened out of there. The ley had the Wolves pinned down and their guards were rallying.”

Artras reached up and caught his arm in hope. “Then maybe Kara and the others are alive.”

Allan squeezed her hand in reassurance. “The last I saw of Kara, she was still fighting.”

“We need her, Allan. She's the strongest among us Wielders. If we have any hope of repairing the damage that's been done to Erenthrall, starting anew, she's the one that will do it.”

“Then we're in trouble.”

“Why? You just said the White Cloaks would survive the fight with the Wolves, and they're the ones that have Kara.”

“Did you notice the symbol they had stitched onto their cloaks? The two black lines? I've seen it before. It stands for convergence, or a return to the natural order. It was used by the Kormanley before the Shattering.”

“The Kormanley? But how?”

Allan released her hand and climbed down from the seat into the back of the wagon. “We survived the Shattering, why not them?”

He moved to check on Cutter, inspecting the bandages on the tracker's arm, then shifting his attention to the Wolf, wincing at the raw, open wounds and the trail of blood running down the back of the wagon. “Glenn's right. We should kill it.”

“It's still human.
He's
still human. Look at their pack leader. The auroral lights changed them, but they still follow a mostly human alpha.
And don't forget Devitt, back in the Hollow. The lights caught and changed him, and he's still human.”

“Devitt was barely touched by the aurora. And you shouldn't forget Hagger. He was one of their pack leaders at one point.”

“From what you told us, Hagger was always a monster.”

“True. But I still don't understand why you stopped Glenn.” He motioned to the Wolf. “It will kill us all the moment it comes to.”

Artras reached out and ran her hands over the Wolf's back, where the fur wasn't soaked with blood. “Can't you see it? There's humanity still in him. Here along the lines of the torso, and especially in the legs. Even in the creature's face. It was a man once. It
is
a man now, trapped in an animal's body.”

“Are you certain? At what point do those lights change the person completely? What if those are simply vestiges of his humanity, and there's nothing but animal left inside? Can we take that risk?”

Artras crossed her arms over her chest, stubborn but troubled.

“Maybe we can use him somehow,” Cutter said, his words strained, edged with pain.

“How?”

Cutter shifted position so his injured arm rested more comfortably against his side. “I don't know. We both know the Wolves have been following us, but they haven't attacked until now. Why?”

“I spoke to Kara about it. Their pack leader saw me enter the distortion. Afterward, he seemed far too interested in me. Not as prey, as something else. When they started following us after we reached Erenthrall, I assumed it was because of me, so he could see what I could do.”

“That doesn't make sense. He may have been watching you, but he could have taken you alone numerous times—when you went in search of provisions, or while you were watching the Rats.”

“What are you saying?”

“The Wolves must be interested in more than just you.”

“The only other people they could be interested in are the Wielders, but I don't see why. Kara couldn't come up with a reason either.”

“That doesn't mean they don't have one.” Artras considered for a moment. “They may have wanted to see what you and the rest of us could do, but waited too long. Then the Rats and Tunnelers had us, a group too large for them to attack with any success.”

“There were as many White Cloaks, guards, and Tunnelers in the
square just now as there were when we attacked the Rats to save the others. And the Wolves were there then. I saw them as we fled.”

“Then there must be something else, some difference between that time and now.”

Allan and Cutter glanced at each other. “The White Cloaks.”

“They must not have wanted us handed over to the White Cloaks. But why?”

Artras stared down at the Wolf. “Maybe we can find out from him.”

“If we're going to keep him alive, we need to stanch his wounds or he'll bleed out. And even the White Cloaks can follow a trail of blood. He needs to be trussed up so if he does wake, he can't attack us.” Allan turned to Artras. “He's your problem for now.”

Artras noted Allan was now calling the Wolf “he” rather than “it.” She began tearing another strip from the bottom of her shirt, but Cutter reached out and stopped her. “Use mine. You won't have anything left but your undershirt shortly.”

She worked on binding the Wolf's wounds, moving carefully, drawing back any time the Wolf appeared to twitch or struggle. But he was out cold from blood loss, any movement more Artras' imagination than anything real. Her hands were sticky with blood by the time she was finished, her arms coated. She couldn't tell how much the creature had lost, but knew it was significant.

“Whether we keep him or kill him is probably moot. He'll likely be dead before dawn.”

Allan dropped a bundle of leather straps over the side of the wagon, startling her. “This was all I could find for rope. Make certain he can't get free. Gaven found a place in a building a block or so up the street. Let's get both of you settled in there and then we'll see if we can find out what happened to Kara and the others.”

Allan moved to the front of the wagon, and a moment later it lurched into motion, much slower than before. Artras reached for the straps and realized they were the reins from the horse's bridle. They'd be stronger than rope, and more durable.

She trussed the Wolf's front legs together, then the back, cinching them tight to restrict his movement. Then she bound his muzzle.

“Efficient. You've done that before.”

“Not on a Wolf. But I worked in the slaughterhouses of Butcher's Block before the Wielders found me.”

“So you didn't save him because you're averse to killing animals.”

“Not killing animals, no. Nor people. I can kill when necessary. I've done it before.”

Cutter's eyes widened at her blunt tone, which didn't invite further questions.

“Can you walk?” Allan had leaned over the wagon's side again.

Cutter looked up. “I can walk.”

“Then come on, both of you. Gaven's getting us set up in a room on the third floor.”

Artras hopped down out of the back of the wagon, then helped Cutter down. Allan had pulled the wagon as close to a half-collapsed building as he could. A quarter of the left facade had crumbled, revealing the shadowed room within, but the rest of it appeared intact, only the windows broken. Both buildings on either side had fallen down, the mudbrick on the left scorched, as if part of it had caught fire. Trails of soot blackened the side of their refuge, creating an eerie mural of char and ash.

As they began picking their way over the rubble covering the street and the front steps leading up to the door, Allan returned to the cart, crying out in triumph a moment later.

Both Artras and Cutter halted, turning back. “What?”

Allan held up a satchel, then slung it over a shoulder, reached into a compartment he'd found under the seat bench, and pulled out a small trunk. “I don't know what's in it, but let's hope that it contains some food and water.”