Threading the Needle (37 page)

As he rounded the corner of the wagon, he turned and caught sight of Kara. He stopped dead in his tracks, whatever he'd been saying cut off midsentence.

“Kara?” He laughed, the sound choked off by disbelief as he ran a hand through his thick, brown-blond, mussed hair. He hesitated, the other White Cloaks staring at him in confusion. He didn't appear to notice. Instead, he reached for her, another laugh breaking out, and asked, “Is it really you?”

Through teeth clenched so tight her jaw ached, she spat, “Marcus.”

M
A
RCUS RECOILED FROM HER.
The enforcers surrounding them tensed, the man who'd killed Tim stepping forward until Iscivius halted him with a wave of a hand. Marcus appeared oblivious to all of it, his focus on her. After his initial retreat, he stilled, hands falling to his sides.

“Kara?” Hope still touched his voice, although it had become curiously flat.

None of it affected Kara's rage.

“It was you, wasn't it? You were the one causing the blackouts. You were the one manipulating the Nexus. All for the Kormanley? You destroyed Erenthrall. You destroyed everything!”

“I knew you wouldn't understand. That's why I never told you.” He noticed the tension in the guards, in his fellow White Cloaks, even the anger in the rest of those captured. He also noted the pool of blood soaking the earth where Tim had bled out, but his gaze returned to Kara. “You don't understand. But you will.”

He gestured toward the blood on the ground. “What happened?”

“They tried to escape. Two of them attacked our enforcers while the others tried to flee onto the plains. Our scouts stopped them.”

“Not all of us tried to run,” Carter grumbled. “I warned you. They might have escaped if not for me.”

Iscivius gave the young Wielder a condescending look. “Our scouts would have found them regardless.”

Marcus ignored the exchange. “So what happened? Was one of them killed during the attack?”

“No, we killed him afterward. He wasn't a Wielder. He fought too well for that.”

Marcus' hands closed into fists. “You couldn't have known that. Not all Wielders are like us. Some of them know how to handle weapons. Have you forgotten about Chekla? She had no idea she could manipulate the ley, because those in the Archipelago aren't tested. Yet Lecrucius said she had more latent talent than even you. We need every Wielder we can find.”

“He wasn't a Wielder.”

“We'll never know now, will we?” Marcus swept his gaze over Kara and the rest. “Were these the only ones found in Erenthrall? I thought there were more.”

Irmona stepped forward. “There were. The Underearthers brought twelve of them to the meeting place. Iscivius had one of their archers killed, but only wounded the second. We would have had them all if the damn Wolves hadn't attacked. The entire square erupted into chaos. We had to call up the ley in order to keep the Wolves at bay. But before that, they tore into our enforcers. Five of the ones the Underearthers brought us escaped with one of our wagons. We managed to subdue these and drive off the Wolves.”

Marcus scanned the rest of those with Kara. “Aside from her, which of the others are confirmed Wielders?”

“The man in the wagon, named Dylan, and the snitch, Carter.”

Carter focused on Marcus. “I want to join up with you. I want to become a White Cloak.”

Marcus moved closer, until he stood over him. “Why?”

“Because they don't listen to me. They don't let me do anything. It's all about her.” He jutted his chin out toward Kara. “I'm better than her, but they don't give anyone else a chance to do anything.”

Marcus' eyebrow rose. “Better than her? Are you certain?”

Carter dropped his gaze to the dirt. He steadied himself, then raised his head, eyes narrowed and hard. “I know I can
be
better than her. You just have to give me a chance.”

Kara didn't think they'd been ignoring him in the Hollow or on the excursion to Erenthrall, but obviously Carter had seen things differently. Resentment laced the pain in his eyes as he stared up at Marcus.

The tableau held for an uncomfortable moment, even the enforcers
fidgeting in place. Irmona and Okata traded glances. Iscivius stiffened in affront.

Finally, Marcus reached out. The young Wielder flinched back at first, as if he expected Marcus to strike him, but when Marcus simply held his palm flat, arm extended, Carter shifted back.

Marcus rested his hand on the Wielder's head. “The Father accepts this young man's words as truth through me, his Son. He will be judged by the Father on our return.” Then he dropped his hand and faced Iscivius. “Release him. He's one of us for the moment, until Father has had a chance to speak to him.”

Iscivius drew a breath as if to protest, but Irmona cleared her throat behind him and, after a slight hesitation, he motioned the enforcer who'd killed Tim forward. The guard stepped behind Carter and cut the ropes that bound him. “What of the others?”

Marcus looked directly at Kara. “Keep them bound. Load them into the back of the wagons and join up with our group. Keep a watch on them at all times.”

“Where are we headed?”

“Back to the Needle. The latest quakes to the north have rearranged the ley lines yet again. There are some new, stronger lines coming down from the north that we may be able to use to our advantage. We need to consult with Father.”

Iscivius pointed to the guard who'd killed Tim. “Riley, get them into the wagon. Then secure it. I want at least half a dozen enforcers around it at all times. As soon as you're ready—”

He stilled, eyes going wide, then spun toward the southeast, hands rising as if to ward off an attack. Everyone in the entire group halted where they stood, midmotion, the enforcers in bewilderment. Aaron gasped. Riley's hand flew toward his sword.

Then Kara felt it. Her skin crawled, as if covered in a thousand ants. Except these ants weren't prickling her flesh, they were seething underneath her skin. Her head snapped toward the southeast. At the same time, a spike of pain drove itself deep into her skull between her eyes. She groaned, mouth open as she bent forward. Someone near her—Okata she thought—cried out and collapsed to the ground. She could see him writhing in the dirt, shouting something in his own language, but a wash of jagged yellow light blinded her. Her forehead struck the
earth, but the pressure continued. Her ears popped, and one of the horses screamed, shrill and panicked.

“What's going on?” Riley—who stood right beside Kara—sounded as if he were a thousand yards away, muted and distant. “What's happening?”

Kara ground her forehead into the dirt, trying to end the pain. Grit gouged into her flesh, a stone cutting into her skin. That pain was a breath of cool air compared to the white-hot ice pick inside her skull. It dug deeper, then deeper still—

And then it halted, as abrupt as Riley's slicing of Tim's throat.

She collapsed to one side. Something warm trickled down her forehead. Something else etched itself down her cheek and dripped off the bridge of her nose. She knew it was blood—her own blood. Moans surrounded her. It took her a moment to realize some of them were her own. Her chest ached. Her skull felt hollow. But the sensation of ants crawling beneath her skin had abated, ending as swiftly as the ice pick. All of it echoed through her body with a dull sense of familiarity, as if she'd experienced something similar before: an escalating sensation that cut off abruptly.

Except what she'd experienced before hadn't been physical. It had been a sound.

She rolled back onto her forehead and knees, then lurched upright. All around her, the Wielders lay on the ground in various stages of pain or recovery—Okata apparently unconscious, Irmona on her back, staring up at the sky, Carter staggering to his feet, Iscivius on his knees, back ramrod straight. Only Marcus remained standing, staring off toward the southeast. The enforcers hadn't been affected. Riley had stepped protectively to Marcus' side.

Kara took all of this in with a swift glance, her attention riveted in the direction Marcus and Iscivius were staring.

Toward the piercing light that hovered above Tumbor.

That light had intensified to an eye-straining white that forced Kara to flinch away as soon as she looked at it directly. She blinked, the image of it burned into her vision.

Then, face still averted, she caught the flare. The ground around her was bathed with the pulse, everything eerily silent, just as it had been in Erenthrall when the distortion there quickened. Her skin tingled with remembered terror—the growls of the Wolves as they bore down
upon her and Allan, Artras and the rest, the helplessness of her own exhaustion, the fear of being trapped. All of it washed through her as the white flare bled the color from the world. But then it died and she snapped her attention back toward Tumbor.

The white light that had hovered over the city like a tiny, vibrant sun since the Shattering imploded down to nothing in utter silence, paused, then suddenly exploded in a sheath of vibrant color. Arms of gold, fiery red, and deep purple expanded outward, reaching for the heavens and the earth at the same time, a whirlpool of exquisite beauty. The distortion grew and grew, larger than the one that had engulfed Erenthrall. But of course it was larger. There was no one in Tumbor attempting to halt the quickening, no Wielders attempting to control it—to heal it—like Kara, Artras, Dylan, and Nathen had tried to do. This distortion was unfettered.

It engulfed the horizon, reaching toward them. Everyone stood silent. But when it didn't halt within a few breaths, some of the enforcers stepped back. One of them turned to Marcus and asked, “Will it stop? Should we run?”

“Where would you run to?”

But the distortion slowed and halted. A pulse of light coursed through the jagged threads of lightning that wove between the thick, colored bands of its arms, and then it set. A sphere ten times as wide as the one in Erenthrall. Kara shuddered to think of how much land it had captured, how many people. Everyone who had remained in Tumbor, for certain. It must have encompassed the city within moments. She couldn't imagine why anyone would have stayed after what they'd seen happen to Erenthrall, but she knew after the initial shock of the Shattering, after they'd survived the winter, they would have drifted back into the familiar streets and buildings, even with the threat of the pulsing white light overhead. They would have convinced themselves that the danger had passed, that the distortion would have quickened by now if it were going to quicken at all. And some would have been driven to the streets in desperation, regardless of the danger.

All of them were trapped inside the fractured shards of the distortion now. Caught, like insects in amber.

Kara climbed to her feet, wincing as pain lanced through her skull when she bent her head forward. The world reeled for a moment, but she steadied herself. The tackiness of blood mixed with grit from the
ground coated her forehead, but her hands were still bound behind her back, so she couldn't wipe it away.

When she could focus again, she found Riley between her and Marcus, a knife in one hand. “I can barely stand, and you think I'll attack someone?”

He began to respond, but Marcus put a restraining hand on his shoulder. “Do what Iscivius ordered before the quickening. I doubt any of the Wielders are in any shape to resist you now.”

The enforcers loaded Aaron and Adder into the cart where Dylan's body still slumped. They ignored Carter, except to force him to one side as three of them hefted Adder's limp form into the wagon. Two others dragged Dylan down from the headboard. When they let him fall so that his head cracked into one of the crates, Aaron cried out in indignation and leaped into the back of the wagon, hunching over the Wielder protectively.

“Are you all right?”

“You didn't seem to be affected by the quickening, Marcus. Why is that?”

“It felt like my entire body had seized up. My muscles were locked so tight I couldn't move. I was paralyzed. That's the only reason I didn't keel over or collapse like the rest of you. I didn't react that way when the distortion over Erenthrall quickened.”

Weakness washed through Kara. She didn't know if it was from the effects of the distortion or simply weariness with Marcus. “None of us did. But Tumbor's distortion was significantly larger.”

“That could be the reason.” He was staring off into the distance, at where the orange-red-purple sphere cut off a significant chunk of their view to the south.

“Look at it! It's ten times the size of the one in Erenthrall!”

“No need to get exasperated. I'm only thinking out loud.” He waved toward the distortion. “It's farther away than it looks. Distances on the plains are deceiving.”

“And you think that makes a difference? It swallowed all that remained of Tumbor. It must have swallowed up ten miles or more in every direction outside of the city. If this is what happened in Tumbor after the distortion waited six months to quicken, what will happen in Farrade? In the cities to the north?” She staggered, Marcus reaching out to steady her without thought. “Gods, Marcus. We can't even figure
out how to fix the distortion in Erenthrall. How are we going to repair the one in Tumbor?”

Marcus' face abruptly went blank. “Father will find a way.”

Kara stared at him, then pulled her arm from his grasp even though she was still feeling weak. She stepped back. “What happened to you, Marcus? You weren't this deluded back in Erenthrall.”

“Back before the Purge, you mean? Before the Baron killed Ischua and executed all of those supposed Kormanley insurgents in the marketplaces across the city?” Kara flinched at the mention of Ischua. Marcus saw it and visibly controlled himself. “I'm not the one who's deluded about what happened in Erenthrall. I haven't been deluded since the Purge.”

“Since Deirdre, you mean.”

“Since Deirdre, yes. Since she showed me what was really going on in Erenthrall with the Baron and the Prime Wielders, how they were controlling us with the ley.”

“I'm certain she showed you more than that.”

Marcus didn't answer. Instead, he spun around and stalked off. “Iscivius! Are we ready to depart yet?”

One of the enforcers came up to Kara's side and with a flick of his fingers motioned her toward the wagon where Aaron, Adder, and Dylan were already waiting, all but Aaron still unconscious. Kara allowed herself to be hefted up into the wagon beside Aaron, who now knelt next to Adder's body.