Aela Darkwood's Arc

Chapter 10 of 13

Aela hung above the ring of pines. The red light poured through her from ribs to jaw. Below her, Lyra kept reading. Kalen stood with his cut hand still open, watching her feet leave the grass behind. Something inside her cracked. Her spine stretched. Her jaw pushed forward. She felt the wolf coming up through her chest like a second heartbeat. Fur pushed at the skin of her arms, over the old scars, covering them. Her fingers shortened. A paw tried to form. Then it stopped. A fist closed inside her ribs. Not the knot Lyra had opened. Something older. Her own hand, ten years back, pulling her sleeve down. Her mother's voice. Don't let anyone see. The wolf shape shivered and began to slip. "She's stalling," Lyra said. She looked up from the book. Her scarred eye caught the moon. "Kalen. She won't take it." Kalen stepped under her. Blood dripped from his palm onto the grass. "Aela." His voice was flat and hard. "Look down." She could barely turn her head. The half-formed muzzle dragged at her mouth. "Remember the hunt," he said. "Before the curse. You ran the ridge above the river. You smelled the deer two valleys off. Wind in your teeth." Her chest shook. The fur on her arms flickered. "Blood on your tongue," Kalen said. "Your paws in the dirt. Ground gone under you. You told me once it felt like flying." She had never told him. He had guessed. He had been looking for her three years and he had guessed right. "Take it," he said. "It's yours. It was always yours." Aela closed her eyes. She stopped pulling her sleeves down. She stopped hiding the arm the boy had opened at the pool. She let the wolf have the scars too. The fist in her chest let go. The red light flared white. It punched out through her ribs and lit every pine in the circle at once. Lyra threw an arm across her face. Kalen staggered back. The book slammed shut on its own. Aela dropped. She hit the grass on her side. Human shape. Ears still pointed. Tail still there. The cross on her ribs was closed to a pale line. Her eyes rolled back and stayed shut. Lyra reached her first. Two fingers to the throat. "Alive." Kalen knelt by her head. He turned her wrist over. The scars were still there. So was something new: a faint silver mark curling from her elbow to her palm, matching his and Lyra's. "It took," he said. "Part of it." Lyra looked at the sky. The moon had moved a hand's width. "One night left. Maybe." Somewhere in the trees beyond the grove, a branch snapped. Then another. Something heavy moved toward them through the dark. Kalen picked up the knife. The runes were still bright.