Threading the Needle (48 page)

“She's not here already?”

“No, I haven't seen her since this morning. She's probably up staring at that Wolf again.”

Allan stopped breathing. “What did you say?”

“That damned Wolf! She's been hovering around its pen ever since you brought it in here!”

But Allan wasn't listening any more. He was already halfway across the room. He knocked over a woman emerging from her tent, shot back an apology at her outcry, but didn't slow.

From behind, Logan shouted, “Tell her to get her ass down here and help, if she wants to be a healer!”

Then Allan was in the tunnel, charging up toward the outer caves. He passed Paul on his way, the village elder startled.

Allan burst into the storage area, the men still working on loading the wagons. He sprinted toward the small enclosure where they'd placed the Wolf. Morrell stood at its entrance, staring inside, her eyes intent, her mouth set in a stubborn expression that reminded him so much of her mother that it brought him up short.

Morrell turned to look at him. “I can heal him.”

He was close enough to the enclosure now that he could see the Wolf inside, pacing back and forth at the end of his lead, as close to Morrell as it allowed. Its chest rumbled with a dangerous growl, its eyes feral, lips curled back. Patches of its fur were matted with dried blood from the meat it had been fed. None of the humanity Artras had forced him to see in it showed through now; it was only animal.

He reached for Morrell. “What do you mean?”

“There's a man caught inside the Wolf. I can see him. I can heal him.”

She shifted toward the Wolf, but Allan jerked her back as it lunged, choking as its lead snapped it back, ropes creaking with the strain. It huffed in exasperation and resumed its pacing.

“You can't, poppet. It's too dangerous.”

“I'm not a poppet. And I'm not a child anymore.”

Allan choked, as if he were on his own lead. He lowered his hands to his knees. “I know, Morrell. But—” He halted. He couldn't simply forbid it. She was too old for that. He needed to reason with her, like an adult.

“How do you know you can heal him? How do you know it will work?”

“I know I can. I healed Claye. And then Harper and Cory, and Cory's foot was crushed. I shouldn't have been able to fix that. But I did. And the Wolf—the man inside the Wolf—he hurts. I can help him.”

Allan held her gaze for a long moment, thinking of Morrell's mother, Moria, of everything Artras had said as they argued over killing the Wolf, of the sparks of humanity he'd caught in the Wolf's eyes as they traveled here before the animal took over again.

Finally he lifted his eyes to the rock ceiling overhead. “Forgive me, Moria.”

Then he grabbed Morrell's shoulder. “We'll let you try. But we'll have to secure him so that he can't hurt you.”

It took the rest of the day and the cursing of three additional men to get the Wolf tied and muzzled in the enclosure. Allan stood two paces away, arms and back scratched, blood staining his shirt where it was torn, but the wounds weren't deep. He stank of sweat, his skin gritty and slick. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, redistributing the dirt, then turned from the panting Wolf to look behind.

A crowd had gathered, Morrell in the front, waiting patiently. She'd watched as they attempted to snag the Wolf to secure him, calling out orders not to hurt him, even after he'd latched onto one of the men's arms with his teeth before he could snatch it away. She'd healed that while the rest continued their work with the Wolf.

Behind Morrell, Paul, Sophia, Artras, Cory, Hernande, and what felt like half of the village watched, mostly in silence, only a few muttered conversations here and there. They sat or stood on the wagons. A few had climbed the stacks of crates and barrels against the far wall in order to see. All of them were watching Allan.

He eyed Morrell. “I'm still not comfortable with this, but if you want to try—”

“I do.”

Allan stepped to one side to let her by, but didn't back off. He wanted to be ready to snatch her away if the Wolf so much as twitched. The Wolf began to growl as she approached, its eyes narrowed in hate. It struggled against the muzzle, teeth gnashing, lips curled back. Allan jerked forward when it tried to lash out with its claws. But the ropes held.

The growl deepened as Morrell knelt down at its side. It thrashed as much as it could. His daughter looked so fragile beside it, its strange size emphasized by her smaller frame. But then she reached forward with both hands and laid them gently against its heaving side and it yelped, the growl cut off, replaced by a heart-wrenching whine. Its thrashing ceased and it stilled, panting heavily.

Morrell glanced once toward Allan, as if seeking encouragement, then turned back to the Wolf and closed her eyes.

After a long moment of tense silence with nothing happening, Morrell's brow furrowed. Then it relaxed and she opened her eyes without removing her hands from the Wolf's fur. She looked over her shoulder. “Something's blocking me.”

“It's the Wolf. Maybe he doesn't want to be healed. Maybe—”

“No, Da.” Morrell met his gaze. “It's you.”

Allan's mouth hung open in a moment of incomprehension, then snapped shut. Like the ley, he must somehow disrupt his own daughter's healing. That would explain why it hadn't manifested until now. He and Morrell had always been together, from the moment she'd been born. The only time they'd been apart for a significant amount of time had been during his runs into Erenthrall, both before and after the Shattering, and she'd only recently begun working with Logan. Had he held her back these last few years, simply by being with her?

The pang of guilt burrowed deep into his gut as he reluctantly backed off, those gathered parting to let him through, until he stood
over thirty feet away. Bryce took his place without hesitation. Janis shifted back to stand by him, gripping his hand in hers without a word.

Morrell returned her attention to the Wolf. She closed her eyes again, tilted her head upward.

Everyone gasped when the auroral light began to flicker around her hands, purple-red, flecked with gold. The Wolf broke into another whine that increased in pitch until it became a low, mournful howl. The auroral light spread outward, followed by sickening pops and cracks, like bone snapping and splintering. The howl broke into snarls and the Wolf began to struggle again as the nauseating sounds continued. The people around Allan gagged, one or two shouting in horror. A woman screamed and fainted.

Then the snarls morphed from animalistic agony into human moans of pain. Beneath the aurora, the Wolf's fur shortened and receded, flesh appearing in patches. The forelegs shrank with a gruesome crunch and the paws elongated into fingers and hands. The chest cavity remained mostly the same, but the lower torso twisted and cracked, Allan thankful that Morrell's body and those standing between them blocked his sight of most of what happened there. The Wolf's muzzle shortened, along with the neck.

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.