Threading the Needle (59 page)

And the distortion quivered.

“No.”

She was already reaching forward to seize control again. But it was too late.

The quiver intensified, and then the entire distortion began to collapse.

“No, no, no!” Those at the Needle were screaming as more of the pit fell apart around them, but back in Erenthrall, the distortion began chewing up the streets and buildings caught in the shards that were suddenly snapping closed around them. Images of the seamstress' hand being torn to shreds in front of her, blood splattering her cheek—and the distortion that had killed her dog Max's original owner—jolted through her. Except those had been minor distortions compared to this one.

This distortion would reduce the center of Erenthrall—Grass, Stone, Confluence, and her home in the Eld District—to rubble.

And the collapse was accelerating.

She wasted precious moments stretching out with the power of the ley in the hopes of surrounding the distortion and stabilizing it that way. But that had never worked before. The collapse was drawing inward, toward the center. She was on the outside. There was no place to grip the distortion, to counteract the inertia pulling it into itself. All of her efforts only aided the collapse.

Frantic, she raced around the distortion once, twice, seeking a crack, a fissure, anything that she could pry open to get at the inside, as the distortion continued to shrink. But there was nothing.

“No!” White-hot agony seared through her chest again.

Everything in Erenthrall inside the distortion was going to be destroyed. Everything she had feared from the moment she'd escaped its clutches was playing out before her eyes.

She couldn't let it happen. She needed to halt the destruction. She needed to get
inside
, needed to heal it from inside out, not the outside in.

Steeling herself, she gathered up as much of the ley as could, focused it into a single blade. No. A needle, narrow and thin. A path. She needed a path of least resistance. A conduit.

The well of the original Nexus.

Diving deep beneath the distortion, down to the reservoir of ley, she seized the needle of power she'd created—

And then she drove it up through the ley line that connected the original Nexus to the lake of ley far below. The wall of the collapsing distortion fractured as she pierced it, the shards shattering as she shoved the needle deeper and deeper, until it exploded into the heart of the distortion, into the shards surrounding the cracked crystal dome of the building that had contained the Nexus. She hovered over the jagged openness of that dome, the sheared-off towers of Grass—including the Amber Tower—like spikes beneath her. If she'd looked, she would have seen the bodies of Hagger and the Wolves below on the steps, but she didn't take the time. With the ley funneling through her, she sent it out into the distortion in an explosion of power. Here at the heart, she had access to all of the structural arms, the jagged edges, the facets and faces. Everything connected to this one place, and so she sent the ley through those arms, sent it screaming out toward the destruction drawing steadily toward her from all directions.

The entire distortion lit from within with a fiery incandescence, like a white sun. It sizzled through her mind, scorched through her body, and seared into her bones.

And then everything went black.

In Erenthrall, the distortion trembled, a motion barely discernible from the heaving of the earth that surrounded it. Then it shuddered and began to shrink, slowly drawing in upon itself, leaving churned up buildings, bridges, streets, and parks in its wake. The implosion accelerated, the swirling arms that had swallowed the center of Erenthrall whirling back in upon themselves. The splintering of stone overwhelmed even the tortured grinding of the quakes around it.

Then a white-hot fire bloomed in its center. The light expanded outward in a sudden flash, flaring brighter than the sun. It swallowed the distortion whole and blazed beyond, visible across the plains, from the small town in Haven to the Hollow to the scattered groups huddled
around the new distortion in Tumbor. Commander Ty and his enforcers on the walls at the Needle looked up from their battle with the Gorrani below, then shaded their eyes before being forced to turn away, the light too bright. Caravans of Temerite refugees to the far east cowered beside their wagons at the second sun on the western horizon. To the north, beneath the blazing white eyes of the Three Sisters, the light seared through the gray-black clouds and sheets of auroral lights that drifted through the mountains and gave the tortured souls there a fleeting burst of hope. And in the west, the people of the Demesnes paused in their prayers at the basilicas or halted their marching armies as the eastern clouds burned in a stunning wash of white that hurt the eyes.

In Erenthrall, those that had survived the quakes quailed and fell to their knees, or screamed at the heavens, or bowed their heads and wept, all of them—Rats, Tunnelers, Temerites, Gorrani—convinced it was a second Shattering.

But the intense light merely blazed over them. Those that stared at it were blinded, some for a few days, others weeks, some permanently.

Then it died, imploding down to a pinprick, a scintillant star.

And then it winked out.

In its wake, the ground continued to shudder, but the distortion had vanished. The center of the city—surrounded by a ring of chewed earth—remained intact, the buildings that had survived the Shattering freed from the distortion. The quakes began to subside.

The uneasy silence held for nearly an hour before a hideous rumbling crack rocked the entire city, the shockwave of sound heard hundreds of miles away. With a slow, shuddering grind, the entire city of Erenthrall sank over a thousand feet down into the plains, the grassland around it fracturing, riddled with hundreds of fissures. Buildings and towers that had withstood the Shattering, the quakes, and the distortion fell inward, columns of dust rising in plumes. Fires broke out. Geysers of ley shot upward.

But the earth settled and the quakes stopped.

And after a day of quiet—no tremors, no aftershocks—the survivors began to stir.

“T
HIS TEMPLE IS A GODS-DAMNED MAZE!”

Bryce's voice echoed in the odd corridor far ahead of Cory. The entire building shook with the quakes that were now one continuous roar of grinding stone and teeth-rattling tremors. He staggered against the side wall, reaching forward unconsciously to steady Hernande as they followed Allan, Bryce, the Wolf leader and two of his pack, and a half dozen of Bryce's Dogs deeper into the building. They hadn't had any problems finding a door—most of the guardsmen appeared to be at the walls, defending against what remained of the Gorrani, or stationed near the plaza where most of the citizens of the Needle were gathered.

Another lurch of the ground beneath them caused someone behind to shriek, but Cory didn't pause to find out who. They were spread out along the corridor, Cory with Hernande and Jerrain, a few more Hollowers immediately behind them, then the Wielders and the rest of the Hollowers, the Wolves interspersed here and there. Whenever they reached a corridor or side room, the Wolves would scent the air, one of them occasionally breaking away to lope into the flickering ley-lit halls to investigate before returning. The main group didn't pause as they made their way straight toward the center and the black tower, passing darkened rooms with barely a glance. Dust drifted down from the ceiling as the ground shook, and once or twice a pebble struck Cory's head or shoulder.

He barely noticed, his focus ahead on the black tower, on Kara. He needed to find her, needed to see her, hold her, smell her. He needed to know she was alive. It pushed him forward even when some of the
others quailed. It had driven him since they'd left the charred remains of the Hollow behind, since Allan had appeared at the top of the stairs in the caverns with Artras, Cutter, Gaven, and Glenn, since he'd told them all of their capture by the Tunnelers and the betrayal of Kara and the rest to the White Cloaks.

Those ahead suddenly stopped, Jerrain and Hernande crowding up behind them.

“What is it? Why have you stopped?”

“The Wolves may have something. A scent.”

“Yes.” The pack leader's voice was the low rumble of a wolf's growl. “Your Wielder has passed through this cross-corridor before. I can smell her.”

“How long ago?”

“A day at most.”

Weakness buckled Cory's knees and he caught himself against the angled wall, Hernande now reaching back to steady him. “She's still alive.”

“I can't tell which direction will lead us toward her, though. We'll have to split the group.”

Allan cleared his throat. “Bryce, take Grant and four others and follow the left corridor. The rest of us will take the right.”

They split without words, Bryce angling down a corridor to the left that looked identical to the one leading to the right. Cory could see farther ahead of them now, with half of the men up front gone. Allan was trotting, a Wolf at his side, two Hollowers behind, then Jerrain, Hernande, and Cory. Doorways and halls intersected the new corridor, like the one they'd just left, but this corridor curved subtly.

And these rooms were in use.

Allan noted the sudden appearance of cots and chairs and habitation an instant before Cory did, slowing, but not quickly enough to avoid plowing into a woman emerging from one of the rooms with a handful of wadded laundry.

She screamed as they both fell to the ground, clothes flying, the Wolf erupting into a low, menacing growl Cory could hear over the constant thunder of the quaking. The woman continued shrieking as she and Allan thrashed about, the two Hollowers standing over them, swords readied, but then the woman's cry cut off.

Allan had a hand clamped over her mouth, his other arm around her
waist, but her frightened eyes were glued to the two swords leveled inches from her face. They flicked toward the Wolf and widened even further. She struggled again for a moment, then subsided, her chest heaving. Cory noted her darker Demesne skin and nudged Hernande.

“The Wolf won't hurt you,” Allan said. “None of us will hurt you. We're here for our Wielders and those who were with them. Where are they?”

Allan removed his hand from her mouth. “I'll tell you nothing.”

Hernande stepped forward, crouching down in front of her. He pulled back the sleeve of his left arm, revealing a scattered array of tattoos across his bicep that looked like a constellation of small stars. Cory had never seen them before; they'd always been concealed by Hernande's clothes.

The woman's eyes flared with fear. “Oransai! But Prince Valladolid slaughtered all of the oransai and their families at Barakaldo.”

“Not all. A few escaped.”

The floor heaved, a curtain of dust cascading down on them all as they staggered. Cory glanced up, noted a crack running down the length of the ceiling, then resolutely dropped his gaze back to Hernande.

“Tell us where the Wielders are.”

The woman stiffened, defiant, but then her eyes dropped to the tattoo. “My parents always said Valladolid was wrong in what he did, that the oransai deserved better.” She met Hernande's eyes. “The Wielders are at the node. Prime Lecrucius had them taken there.”

“Prime?” Artras had come up behind Cory, the other Wielders behind her.

The Demesnes woman sniffed. “Yes. Prime.”

“Where is the node? How do we get there?”

“I'll take you.”

Allan released her and they followed her through the corridors, Cory slowly realizing that these were the servants' quarters. They passed a kitchen, men and women bustling over steaming cauldrons and roasting pits, no one noticing as they ran past. A few ducked out of their way, startled, the Demesnes woman shouting something at them, and then they reached a much wider cross-corridor that led to a door, which the woman flung open.

The sunlight was shocking, everyone drawn up short as they raised a hand to shade their eyes. Cory stepped forward, wiping away tears, as
the woman pointed toward the base of the black tower across a field of stone and stellae. “There!”

As soon as Cory saw the opening in the tower, he charged forward.

Behind him, Hernande and Allan both shouted, “Wait!”

He ignored them, rushing through the entrance, pausing in the darkness beyond, eyes adjusting yet again to the pulsing ley light that ran through the walls of the tower. He spun around in desperation, caught sight of the stairs to the left, and bolted for them. He heard the skittering of claws on slick stone and knew the Wolf was right behind him, then the sound of cursing and the tread of boots.

He emerged into the pit's massive chamber as the earth heaved violently. Below, white-cloaked figures were arrayed around the fountaining ley in the center of the pit. They screamed, half of them thrown to the ground, a few of them no longer moving. Another group cowered on the floor near the pit's wall. Cory's gaze latched onto Kara, leaning crookedly against the wall, Dylan half holding her upright, another figure crouched before her, back to him, others scattered around them.

“Kara!” He clutched at the stairs as the ground heaved again—

And then the wall next to Kara and the others cracked and exploded outward. Chunks of stone spilled down to the ledge of the pit, some the size of a man's torso, dropping into a section that had already crumbled away. Kara was tossed to the floor, her body strangely limp. She struck the stone floor hard with her shoulder, rolled onto her back, and then cascading stone buried her, a sheet of dust blocking her from view.

“Kara!” Cory scrambled down the stairs, leaping a gap without thought, nearly tripping over the side.

He sprinted across the ledge, shoved someone out of his way as he fell to his knees, and began scrabbling at the stone that had buried most of Kara's body. Only her head, shoulder, and part of an arm and leg were visible. He tossed rocks aside, digging through the loose rubble beneath, aware that others were helping him, that some were digging nearby for more buried in the debris.

Then Kara coughed, a horrible wet choking sound. Cory paused, a stone half lifted from her still mostly buried body.

Kara drew in a ragged breath, then exhaled slowly, her head sagging.

Cory threw the stone aside, then leaned over Kara's head and shoulders. Tears fell onto her face, dark splotches in the dust that had settled
there. His hands hovered over her cheeks, trembling. He was afraid to touch her, afraid he'd break her, even though she was already broken. He couldn't even tell if she was breathing anymore.

“Cory!” Someone shook his arm. People were still digging around him. “Cory, she's still alive.”

His head shot up, but everything was blurry. He wiped at his face with his arms, focused—

“Marcus?” He couldn't think. It didn't make sense. Marcus was dead. He'd died in Erenthrall, after disturbing the Nexus and bringing about the Shattering.

“Marcus.” He vaulted to his feet. His arm snapped out, fingers like claws as he formed a knot in the center of Marcus' chest. The Wielder—no, the White Cloak—gasped, hand leaping to his heart as he staggered back—

But then another hand latched on to Cory's arm, grip tight, commanding. Hernande stood calmly beside him.

“Let it go.”

Cory released the knot, his hand cramping as it relaxed. Marcus sagged. He shot Cory a look of pure hatred.

But then, between them, kneeling at Kara's side, Artras said, “Her arm's dislocated, and I think she bruised the hell out of her ribs, but she'll live.”

Cory fell back to his knees. “I thought she was dead.”

“Unconscious.”

Marcus stayed a few paces away. He still clutched his chest, but his breathing had settled and his natural color was returning. “She healed the distortion over Erenthrall.” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “She nearly burned herself out, but she did it.”

Only then did Cory realize that the earthquakes had stopped.

Kara moaned, and Cory reached out and touched her forehead, pushing a lock of stray hair out of the way. She rocked her head side to side, then opened her eyes. “C-Cory? What are you doing here?”

“We came to save you, of course.”

Kara tried to sit up, but sucked in a sharp breath and lay back down, sweat sheening her skin. “My shoulder hurts.”

“It's dislocated,” Artras said. “We'll need to take care of that as soon as possible. It's going to hurt, especially with the bruising you got from the falling rock, but it needs to be done.”

“Then do it.”

“Hold her.”

Kara screamed, but she cut it off by biting her lip as they settled her back to the ground.

“You'll have to stay immobile for a few days, in case it isn't just bruising and you do have a fractured rib.”

“No one's going anywhere at the moment,” Allan said.

Cory started. He hadn't been paying attention to anything other than Kara and the immediate area. But as he looked up at Allan, standing at the top of the stairs, he realized that the White Cloaks were clustered to one side. Marcus stood back, eyeing Allan, while a few of the White Cloaks hovered over another who'd also been dug out from the rubble, a Gorrani man. Dylan sat propped up against some of the rock nearby, massaging his knee.

Aside from Hernande and two other Hollowers, none of the rest of the group who'd come with them were in the pit.

“Where are the others?”

“Bryce found Adder and Aaron. They're all at the entrance to the black tower, holding it. The commander of the Needle's guardsmen wants to speak to either Lecrucius or Marcus.”

Allan escorted Marcus out of the pit, the ley that lit the corridor dying out within twenty feet to both the front and back of Allan as they moved. He'd made certain he didn't actually enter the pit below, not knowing how he'd affect the node itself. He kept his hand on one of Marcus' shoulders as they pushed through the Hollowers crowded around the Needle's entrance, Adder and Aaron both hanging back. Grant stood in the corridor leading off from the entrance to the center, nostrils flared, a few of his Wolves beside and behind him. None of the men were close enough to the entrance they could be picked off through the doorway by archers, but all of them had their swords drawn. He didn't see Cutter among them and wondered briefly where the tracker had gone off to, but shifted his attention to Bryce, the Dog waiting where he'd left him.

He tugged Marcus to a halt. “Any change?”

“He's waiting about halfway between the doors to the temple and the tower. There are a couple of stellae to either side. It's difficult to tell if
he has any archers in the windows above, but he has men ready at the door. Cutter's taken a few of our own archers up into the higher levels of the tower to see if they can gain an advantage there. We haven't found any other entrances to the tower besides this one.”

“There aren't any,” Marcus said. “This is the only way in or out, except for the tunnels currently filled with ley. However, there are three other entrances into the stone garden, one each at the four compass points. He could be sneaking in soldiers through those doors, although if he were doing that, I assume you'd have heard about it by now from this Cutter.”