Threading the Needle (61 page)

“I have to stay.”

Everyone in the room stilled—Artras, Hernande, Cory, Allan, Grant, and Marcus. They'd explained to her what Commander Ty proposed. She'd listened in silence, and when they were finished and that silence had stretched, they'd begun quietly arguing with each other about what should be done—all except Grant. The pack leader stood in one corner and watched them, muscles in his face occasionally twitching, nostrils flaring as he scented the air. Cory wanted to pack up all of the Hollowers and head back to the Hollow immediately. Now that he knew Kara was safe, he was concerned about how the quakes might have affected the caverns where the Hollowers had taken refuge. They could travel slowly. The Needle could provide them with wagons, supplies—they owed them that much. Or at least owed Kara. Artras agreed. Marcus, of course, argued that Kara should stay. If she didn't, if they didn't put a stop to Dalton now, his power and influence would continue to grow. He'd become more erratic, his search for surviving Wielders more desperate. Who knows what he'd do, what threat he'd pose the Hollow in the future, especially knowing there were powerful Wielders hiding there. Allan watched her as they argued, but she could tell that he agreed with Marcus. This Dalton—this Father—was a threat, and would remain a threat, no matter whether Ty thought he could control him. It would be better to have a presence here.

Hernande argued both sides, chewing on his beard the entire time.

But now they'd stilled, focused their attention on her. She didn't look toward them but stared up at the ceiling over her cot, her torso wrapped in an ice pack. Her entire body felt bruised. Her shoulder and
arm throbbed where it had been dislocated, and if she breathed in too deep, a sharp pain cut into her chest. The healer had said one of her ribs was cracked and had given her some horribly bitter medicine to help deal with the pain, but it hadn't taken effect yet. She could still taste it on her tongue and in the back of her throat, even though she'd drunk at least three glasses of water to wash it away.

“I have to stay. The quakes may have stopped, but the ley system is far from stable. The damage in Erenthrall is extensive. Nodes will have to be repaired, and the reservoir of ley that overflowed and caused the most recent quakes will need to be dealt with. Then there's the distortion engulfing Tumbor. It will need to be healed. Along with the ones we can see hanging over all of the other major cities that haven't quickened yet. The only way to do any of that is to work with the Nexus Marcus and Lecrucius built here.”

She rolled her head so that she could see their reactions. Cory looked angry, Marcus satisfied. Allan had bowed his head, and Hernande nodded in agreement. Artras' lips were pursed.

“Besides, didn't you say the Hollow had been burned to the ground?”

“Yes. Yes, it was.”

“We were worried about feeding everyone for another winter even before that. Can everyone survive there now without shelter? Food? They must have lost most of the crops.”

“They have the caves for protection. That is, if the quakes didn't collapse them.” Cory caught Kara's gaze. “We can survive the winter there.”

“And the food?” Kara shifted on her cot, wincing at the pain. “We went to Erenthrall looking for supplies because we were already short. We brought back nothing, Cory. With the raid on the Hollow, I'm certain Sophia and Paul and the others have even less than they anticipated.”

“We have plenty here at the Needle,” Marcus threw in. “Enough to feed everyone at the Hollow. Bring them all here.”

“They wouldn't come. Sophia and Paul and the rest of the true Hollowers—not the refugees that they took in, but those that have lived there their entire lives—they won't abandon it. Not even when all that remains now are the charred husks of buildings. They've probably already started rebuilding.”

“We can't abandon the node there now anyway. It's too important.
All of the nodes are important, old and new. We'll have to have Wielders there to watch over it, and others to protect them.” Kara reached for Cory, and when he stepped forward hesitantly, she took his hand. He knelt down beside her cot so she wouldn't have to stretch. “It wasn't working in the Hollow. The refugees and the Hollowers—we didn't mix. Those from Erenthrall were restless. They never fit in, and while the Hollowers wanted to help us, they're too used to being isolated. We barely tolerated each other. But here . . . this is what I wanted for Erenthrall, what I hoped to build after healing the distortion. A place of safety people could flock to, one that could be protected, one that we could use as a base to repair the ley. We have all of that here.”

He took her hand in both of his, twined their fingers together. “The Hollow changed after you left, after the first attack by the raiders. It's different now. You're right, though. We wouldn't all survive the winter.” He raised his head, squeezed her hand. “We'll stay here.”

“Then it's settled.” Marcus turned to Allan. “I'll inform Commander Ty and the White Cloaks that Kara will stay, that he has his alliance.” At Allan's uncertain nod, he left.

Artras stepped forward. “I think we should let everyone from the Hollow decide on their own what they'd like to do, but I intend to stay here with you.”

“Those of us from the University will stay as well. I can't see Sovaan remaining in the Hollow, and Jerrain would be better off here. The students will come with us, of course.” Hernande drew in a breath. “We've realized that the ley and the Tapestry may be more connected than we first thought. Recall that in Erenthrall, the Primes and mentors worked together to build their towers and junctions, to keep the ley system working properly. I think, if you want to stabilize the ley, that you'll need us. Besides, you may need our protection while you're here. This will not be an easy alliance.”

Kara shifted herself into a seated position, setting the soggy towel wrapped around the remaining ice to one side. It didn't hurt as much as she expected—the pain medicine must have been kicking in—but she still thought she could hear bone grating against bone as she moved. “Will you stay here, Allan?”

He glanced toward the door, the floor, then back to her. “It will depend on Morrell. She's only known the Hollow. She may not want to leave.”

Kara had grown used to having Allan around since the Shattering. If he stayed in the Hollow—

She shook herself mentally. Allan had to do what was best for himself and his daughter.

“So you're staying?” Nearly everyone started at Grant's voice; they'd forgotten he was there.

“Yes. Yes, I'm staying.”

Grant stepped forward, the motion somehow menacing. Kara drew back slightly, her hand clenching tightly onto Cory's.

“We came to slaughter the White Cloaks, for hunting us down in Erenthrall, for ordering our deaths, even though
they
caused the Shattering,
they
brought forth the auroras that changed us into Wolves. When we attacked your people in Erenthrall, we thought you were with them, or that you would soon join them. Now we know otherwise.” He lifted his head slightly, shoulder tensing. “What do you intend to do to us now?”

“If you can control your pack, then nothing. The hunting will stop. I'll make certain Commander Ty—and Marcus—understand that.”

He snorted, lip curling, body bristling, but then he backed down. “We will stay. To protect you, and to watch you. But there are brethren in Erenthrall, trapped in the distortion. And others.”

“If they survived the partial collapse, then they're free now.”

“But they do not know of this agreement. They are feral. I would like to find them, bring them here, if they are willing to be part of my pack. And I would like to search for my wife.”

“Of course.”

Artras cleared her throat, then frowned at Allan. “Tell him. He deserves to know.”

“Tell me what?”

Allan glared at Artras before shifting his attention to Grant. “Is one of your pack named Drayden?”

“Drayden attacked you in Erenthrall and was wounded. We followed his blood scent to your Hollow, to your caves. Does he live?”

Allan crossed his arms over his chest. “He survived, thanks to Artras.” Grant shot a look at the elderly Wielder. “But he's no longer a Wolf.”

Grant stilled. “What do you mean?”

“My daughter healed him. She transformed him back into a man.” His brow creased. “Mostly.”

Grant uttered a few short muffled snorts and snarls of disbelief. “You lie.” The words rumbled with a dangerous undertone.

“You can return to the Hollow with me and see for yourself. Perhaps she can return you and the rest of your pack back into human form.”

Grant huffed a few times, uncertain, but then said carefully, “I would like that. But some of my pack may be too far gone. There is little human left in them.”

Kara sagged to one side, unable to hold herself up any longer. Cory caught her and gently lowered her back to the cot. A fog was settling over her, brought on by the medicine. She had barely followed Grant and Allan's conversation, especially at the end. But still she protested. “I'm fine, Cory. Sit me back up.”

“No, you're not. You're hurt and still recovering. Lie back down and get some sleep.”

“But there's so much to do.”

“Let us deal with it.”

She fought to sit back up again, heard the others talking behind Cory as he leaned over and adjusted the pillow, pulling a blanket up over her. But her strength was gone. She merely fumbled with the blanket, and as soon as her head settled back—a twinge coming from her cracked rib—her eyes closed and she found herself drifting.

“Cory.” The name slurred. She reached out again, her arm waving, feeling oddly detached from her body, but she felt him take hold of it, felt his mouth press to the back of it in a kiss.

“What, Kara?”

“Stay with me. Stay . . . here.”

He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Of course.”

Dalton sat in a chair before the massive table in the outer room of the suite he'd taken for himself in the third tier of the tower. A tray of fruit and bread sat before him, along with a decanter of wine, a glass already poured but untouched. He'd poured it after being escorted by Commander Ty from his sermon. He'd stayed even after the quakes had ceased, expounding about the White Cloaks, how they'd saved everyone from the backlash caused by the misuse of the ley by Baron Arent and Prime Augustus, how activating the old nodes had succeeded, how this was proof that returning to the natural ley system would heal the
world. He hadn't known then that the distortion over Erenthrall had vanished. He could have used that.

When he'd finally brought the meeting to an end and sent the people of the Needle back to their tents, Commander Ty had been waiting.

He resisted the urge to lash out with a hand and fling the wine across the room. Ty hadn't forced the issue, but it was clear that he and the six other enforcers—none of them true believers, he'd noticed—intended him to accompany them. There hadn't been anything he could do. So he'd straightened his shoulders and allowed them to escort him to his own rooms.

Then they'd left. But before the door had closed behind them, Dalton had seen the guards settling into place to either side of the door.

He'd stood in the center of the outer room for at least ten minutes, before walking stiffly to the table and pouring the wine.

Then he sat down. To wait. To think. To plan.

And as expected, voices rose outside the door. Someone shouted—a command—and then the door flung open, Darius striding into the room.

“How could he?” He crossed the room, not even looking at Dalton. “I'll slit his throat for this. The temerity! Restricting you to your rooms! Placing guards on the door! You're the Father! Without you, we never would have survived the aftermath of the Shattering. We never would have fled Erenthrall before the distortion quickened. We'd all be dead!”

Dalton reached for the wine. “You exaggerate.” He took a sip. All of the anger he'd been stewing in since arriving at his rooms under guard had died, as if vented through Darius' ranting. He contemplated the wine.

Darius came to an abrupt halt before him. “You're taking this rather well.”

Dalton looked up, took in Darius' disheveled appearance, his wildly mussed hair, the sweat and grime that coated his face and armor. And soot. He could smell fire, and realized that Darius had come straight from the wall. Someone must have informed him of what Ty had done.

Which meant not all of the enforcers would side with Ty in the end. If it came to such an end.

“No.” He set his wine aside. “No, I'm not taking this well. But there's nothing that can be done at the moment. We must bide our time. There will be a reckoning for Commander Ty. And for Marcus.”

“Marcus. Dierdre will take care of Marcus.”