Dustfall, Book Two - The Parting of Ways

by J. Thorn

  Unless they feared traveling too far south , she thought.

  She made her way to a wide stairwell she had spotted at the far south-eastern corner of the building, which ran both up and down from the bottom floor, and then she glanced down. The stairs were well trodden; worn away metal plating spoke of its heavy use over years and years. The studded surface was worn down in the middle and she could barely see the outline of the studs. This had once been a busy place, but now the steps were covered in a thick layer of dirt and rotten leaves.

  She looked into the darkness below and decided against going down there, at least without some form of light, and instead looked up the stairs. It was dark outside, but moonlight still cast enough light upon the land that some of it seeped through windows or gaps, and she could clearly see the outline of the stairs leading up several floors. She glanced back the way she had come, noted several figures in the dark trying to set up some form of covered shelter and another group trying to light a fire, and decided she wasn’t needed.

  The stairs creaked as she trod them, even though she was being as careful as she could, taking each step lightly, testing its ability to hold her weight. She eventually ignored the noise and headed up to the next floor. It was lighter up there, and Seren could see why. A large hole, roughly in the center of the building, dominated the view and exposed the upper floor to the sky and the elements. It was easily twenty feet across, with sharp protrusions of metal poking out from the concrete roof, and when Seren stepped out under it she looked up and saw the stars.

  A collapse, she thought, though it puzzled her that there was little evidence of the rubble where she now stood. All four floors above her had the same hole in the middle.

  Maybe it didn’t collapse, she pondered. Maybe it was built this way? But why anyone would build such a place with a big hole in the middle was beyond her.

  She made her way across to the far end of the building and looked out into the night.

  There was forest to the south, but the trees appeared to be sick or dead, and leafless. Lifeless. But other than the dozen or so buildings surrounding the factory, the land outside was changing from the hilly forest that was so familiar to her, to a flat and barren plain.

  She leaned against the ledge of a broken window, and gazed out into the trees, and heard the clink of something metal as she shifted her feet in the rubble. She looked down, spotting a metal can at her feet. She was about to kick it away when she spotted something unusual about it. There were millions of empty and rusted cans to be found everywhere she had ever visited. They seemed to be a lasting gift from a long-gone civilization, but she had never seen one that still had its label, and this one did. Seren reached down and picked it up, trying to make out the words on the can, bright white words scrawled over a red background, but they had faded and worn too much for her to read them.

  She dropped the can and looked back out into the night. There was something about the land to the south, which she could now see more clearly from the height of the second floor, that bothered her. She had seen little during the last few days as they had travelled south, since most of it was covered with trees that seemed to be sicklier the farther they travelled away from Wytheville. The flatness was the problem. No trees, and even in the moonlight she could see that the plains stretching away after the next valley were barren of other foliage.

  The land is sick , she thought. It’s wrong. You should never have come.

  She cursed silently at making the decision to go south.

  Chapter 14

  “She’s insane. You should keep your distance from that woman.”

  Jonah looked around the camp where other families cooked the evening meal. He kept his voice down but did not whisper. “No. I’ve seen crazy. There’s something more there, something untapped.”

  Jonah handed Sasha a knife, and she began to slice the squash into thin strips. The faded green color of its skin told Jonah all he needed to know about how it would taste. Sasha would season and roast the squash but it would still be meaty and bland. The farther they traveled on The Walk, the worse the crops tasted. He could not remember if that had always been the case or if he noticed it more now.

  “His eye?” Sasha asked, twirling the knife in the air before she continued cutting the vegetables. “She used a knife to pop out his eye?”

  Jonah nodded and couldn’t help but feel a smile begin to crawl from the corners of his mouth.

  “That’s not funny.”

  “You’re right,” he said. “It’s very serious.”

  He felt a childish giggle blooming in his stomach and he had to turn away from his wife to quell it.

  What has become of me? Am I a barbarian?

  “Jonah,” said Sasha. “The Cygoa…”

  “They’re coming. For all of us.”

  He watched her dark eyes flitter as her hand holding the knife moved faster. “But you’ll stop them. You’ll protect us.”

  No. Nothing can do that.

  “Yes, of course. We are hundreds of warriors strong, now that we’ve incorporated the other clans into the Elk. We’ll stand against any threat.”

  “We’ll be safe at Eliz. We’ve always been safe there.”

  Jonah nodded. “That’s why we’re going.”

  “Jonah,” another voice cut in.

  He turned away from Sasha at the sound of his name. Declan ran toward him and then slowed into a trot as he approached the tent.

  “Declan,” he said. “What is it?”

  “Nothing. I didn’t mean to alarm you.”

  Sasha kept her head down and her ears open.

  “We’re preparing dinner,” Jonah said. “Have you eaten?”

  “I have. Thank you.”

  Jonah watched Declan’s feet as they shifted back and forth in the dirt. He suspected the boy was being as polite as he could but there had to be an urgent message to deliver.

  “So what it is it?”

  “Solomon and Gunney,” Declan said. “And me. We think you need to address the Council right now.”

  “Is the Cygoa leader dead?” Jonah asked.

  Sasha winced but did not look up.

  “Yes,” said Declan and turning his gaze down to the ground. “After Leta, er, after her…”

  “Go on,” Jonah said.

  “After that, Solomon did it. Made it quick. Honorable. Probably more than the man deserved.”

  “That was my call.”

  “Yes, yes. I was not questioning it. That was the right call.”

  Jonah nodded in agreement but he couldn’t help but feel it wasn’t. In slaughtering the entire camp, had he provoked the Cygoa further, or were they bound to destroy the Elk anyway?

  “Edge of the road. Sundown. Get the message to the Council, and tell Solomon and Gunney to show up. Sober.”

  Declan smiled and Jonah did as well, feeling the tension lessen from the joke.

  “Get going. I’m hungry.”

  Declan ran off without another word and when Jonah turned, Sasha was tending to the squash on the spit, along with a few mushrooms the children scavenged from the forest. Jonah’s stomach grumbled. He wanted nothing more than a slice of roasted venison, but now was not the time for hunting and their stock of salted meat was already gone. Besides, they had more important tasks to complete.

  Sasha served the meal and they all chattered about Eliz and how wonderful it would be when they arrived. Jonah participated but neither heard the words spoken or tasted the food cooked by his wife. His head was already in the meeting with the Council.

  He finished, told the kids to listen to their mother, and then kissed Sasha on the forehead. “I’m patrolling the perimeter on first watch tonight. I won’t be back until half way through the night.”

  “Be careful.”

  Jonah turned and walked through the camp toward the road. Fires used to cook the evening meal remained alive, casting long shadows in the cooling dusk. He pulled his collar up and put a hand on the axe handle hanging from his bel
t.

  “Chief.”

  Jonah turned to his right and saw the twin hulks of Solomon and Gunney emerge from the trees, each with a mug in hand. Declan came from the left, and they all stood in a circle fifty yards from the road.

  “What are you going to tell them?” Solomon asked.

  “What they need to know. Tonight, I need all three of you to supervise the camp. Nobody goes in or out of the cart circle.”

  Without waiting for a reply, Jonah walked to the edge of the road. The Council elders had already arrived and were passing around a smoke. Logan stood on the opposite side of the road, near enough to hear the conversation but not close enough to partake in the burning of the leaf.

  “We recovered the children, killed our enemies and returned with war spoils.” He decided to dispense with whatever customs the Council expected. He was in charge now and they would capitulate to him. “But this is not the end. In fact, we’ve learned the entire Cygoa clan is heading south. For us. All of us.”

  The Elders remained seated on the rusted remnants of the guard rail. They continued to smoke and kept silent.

  “You all know why.”

  Solomon, Gunney and Declan stepped up and stood next to Jonah.

  “My Right Hands will be in charge of the camp perimeter. Every stop from here to Eliz will be handled the same way. Circle the carts, pull them tight and keep guard.”

  “Some complain that the close quarters will encourage thievery. How say you?” Corrun asked.

  “I say that those who complain need to make a choice, Corrun. What do they value more? Their scavenged trinkets or their children? Besides, we will have warriors patrolling the outside, throughout the night. There won’t be a time when any part of the camp isn’t being watched.”

  Corrun’s shoulders dropped and he nodded. Jonah looked at the other Council elders, anticipating more questions but hearing none.

  “We’re also going to rig traps a short distance away. We may even catch the odd curious forest creature stupid enough to come close.”

  The elders remained silent, but a few nodded.

  “I’ve given some thought,” Jonah continued, “to the Cygoa, and why they may be here. And some of it doesn’t make sense. If they truly wanted to hunt us for revenge, then choosing a time that we were leaving our homes to head east seems to be a very badly planned way to do it. Why chase us across half the lands when they could have come earlier and killed us in our villages?”

  Silence.

  “I have no answers to this thought,” Jonah said. “But I figured you may, if given time to consider it.”

  “It is odd,” Halforth said, frowning. “Odd indeed.”

  “Anyway,” said Jonah. “That is really all I have to say unless you have questions. If not, take the message back to your people and maybe even the question. Maybe someone among us can give insight as to why the Cygoa come when they do.”

  Jonah waited for the old men to hobble back toward the camp, their weary legs weakened by the power of the leaf they smoked.

  They are pathetic shells of men , he thought.

  “It’s almost dark. Check on the carts and stand guard. We will be doing half shifts tonight. Spread the word for the warriors to organize a change of guard during the night.”

  Declan followed Solomon and Gunney into the woods. Only Jonah and Logan remained at the edge of the road.

  “Come on, old man. Tell me how I’m nothing, how I’m going to ruin the Elk. I know you want to.”

  Logan crossed the road, shaking his head. Tears streamed down his face. He stopped in front of Jonah. The man reeked of onions, his rags falling off his body. “You,” he said to Jonah, wagging a finger in the man’s face. “You are nothing.”

  Logan bent over. He coughed and hacked leaving Jonah standing there with a few seconds to absorb the imminent insult.

  “You are,” Logan began for a second time, “nothing like your father. You have a strength and a vision he did not. You may even yet keep the Elk alive, if you can think quickly enough to keep ahead of whatever the Cygoa plan.”

  With another gasp, and a cheeky grin, Logan slapped Jonah on the shoulder as he walked by, leaving the chief standing in the open road with his mouth open and his eyes wide.

  Chapter 15

  Jonah dropped the helmet back onto the pile and reached down to pluck another. Around him the camp was bustling with activity, and anyone within view of him seemed to be even busier. The circular camp was being erected as he demanded, and many of those from different clans now found themselves within the new walled camp next to people from other clans.

  They will find that strange for now, thought Jonah, but they will soon get used to it. And anyway, it’s necessary, now.

  He turned the second Cygoa helmet in his hands, marveling at how odd it was. He had not seen anything like it before. The main bulk of the helm seemed to be made of hardened leather, the skin of some beast. It was much thicker than the hides of deer, or other game that his kin hunted in the forests, so thick that he wondered what manner of beast it could have come from, but the leather skull cap wasn’t the most bizarre feature of the headgear. The entire front of the helmet was made from some form of synthetic cloth, in the middle of which was a circular grid that sat where the mouth of its wearer would be, and the eyes were protected by a figure eight shaped panel of glass or some other form of clear material. Hanging from the back of the helmet, punched through the hard leather, were what appeared to be leather braids. Half a dozen strings of cut leather wound together to form a strange mane of hair. He turned to look at the front of the helmet once more, and realized that it had been this face that he had seen coming at him the night before when the Cygoa first raided.

  Dozens of similar helmets, all taken from the dead Cygoa, were piled at his feet, and nearby was the equally-odd armor they wore. Long coats of rawhide with metal or synthetic plates attached to them.

  That the Cygoa wore this stuff all the time was a puzzle to him. How could they walk around the whole day so covered in thick clothing? Surely it must be very cold in the north.

  He glanced at the pile of blades collected from the dead. He was sure that many of the warriors of the Six Clans, at least the ones that had gone with him to destroy the Cygoa camp, now carried such a blade hidden among their gear, shared out as spoils of war, but at least two dozen had been thrown into the shared pool of equipment salvaged. He lifted two of the blades, frowned at the serrated edges, the circular holes cut within the metal of the blades, and how light the weapons were.

  If all the Cygoa are armed and armored in such a way then how the hell do we fight them? They are far better equipped than us.

  He looked up from the piles of spoils and glanced around the camp, watching as people maneuvered the carts that carried their goods in line to build the outer wall that would protect the camp—that he hoped would protect the camp—and spotted the old woman, Leta, among them, working on the other side of her cart, outside of the perimeter. She had leant something large against the outside of her cart, and Jonah frowned, curious.

  * * *

  Leta had found the rusted ruin of the wagon at the side of the road an hour before the convoy of clans had started building the circular wall, and when Jonah started speaking of a perimeter wall built from carts, she had worried about her goods being so close to the outside of the camp. She normally slept under her cart, in among the other travelers, with the side draped over with some old curtains that she had found years before, but this new outer defense would place her cart right near the outside of the camp, and she didn’t like the idea very much.

  “Why we gotta put our carts in the wall with them?” Bjorn cursed as he hauled his cart one into line with the others. Behind him, Myers and Rufus were struggling with their own larger cart, but unlike Bjorn the brothers weren’t complaining. “I don’t like it none. Like my stuff out the way so I can watch it.”

  “Stop complaining,” Rufus snapped. The large-bellied man huffed and puffed
as he helped Myers to move the cart so that it lined up and wasn’t sticking out more than any of the others.

  “You want all your gear right on the outside of camp so some damn thieves can come steal your stuff?” Bjorn asked, spitting on the ground at his feet.

  “No, course not,” said Rufus, “but we should just shut up and be glad we’re traveling with them in the first place. You want to be out on the road with just the four us, like it’s been in the past? You remember when there were twenty of us, ten of us?”

  Myers chuckled from the other side of the wagon. “‘Ain’t no one going to want to steal your shit anyway, s’all junk,” he said, laughing and wheezing at the same time.

  “What?” Bjorn retorted. “This is prime pickings,” he snapped, both hands waving at the junk piled up inside the cart.

  There has to be a better way to do this, Leta thought, trying to blank out the noise of the smelly old men arguing around her. Her mind went back to the days when Wytheville was being fortified, and the time the walls were being built. What would Marley have done? she wondered, thinking of her husband. She thought of the hastily made cross of sticks up on the hill behind Wytheville, which marked where she and the other men had buried her husband, and she wondered what he would have thought of this new circle of carts.

  He was much smarter than you ever were, Leta thought. And he would have found some way to make this even better, such was his mind.

  She thought about the rusted wagon in the ditch just a hundred yards away, its side panels damaged but still intact. Could that be used? She had almost called the old guys to have them pull it off the skeleton frame of the dead vehicle, but she figured that she would have to carry it on her own cart if she wanted it, and all that panel metal would be heavy and slide around.