Dustfall, Book Two - The Parting of Ways

by J. Thorn

  And the wolf was following her.

  Chapter 22

  They descended upon the hidden valley, silent and unseen by human eyes. Dark shadows moving with stealth and intent between the trees, flowing around each other with ease. There was no hesitation in their movement. No pause for consideration. The smell of what lay ahead, in the clearing below, gave each member of the pack a surge of determination and a hunger that ignored potential danger.

  Apart from one.

  The Brother reached the edge of the clearing before any of the others, determined, as always, to be the first, to lead from the front. He could sense them, the other pack, and knew that they were near, but as he paused for the briefest of moments to look across the clearing, tearing his eyes from the treasure that lay scattered all around the flattened ground at the bottom of the valley, he looked to the shadows beyond.

  But there was no movement there, even though he sensed the eyes that watched.

  The Brother darted forward, sniffing the ground, ignoring the bodies of the dead Walking Ones littered everywhere, while the rest of his kin fell upon the bodies in blind hunger. He could wait, and he knew that was what made him different to the rest, and it was that that made him leader.

  He sniffed the ground, heading across the clearing to the far side, and sniffed the ground again. To senses other than his, or one of his kin, it would be almost impossible to notice the signs on the ground and in the air around him, but he saw and sensed them like they were illuminated by the bright sun.

  There were claw marks all across the far side of the clearing, and the dirt had been churned up in many places. Trampled grass and leaves torn from nearby bushes, the scent of dried blood on the ground where no body lay, and the paw marks of others of his kind narrated the story to him, adding more details with every step he took toward the far side of the valley.

  They have already been here and taken what they could. Their numbers are fewer, and they knew they could not fight us, but still, we must be cautious . I must be cautious. He looked around at his feasting brethren, knowing that few of them would even consider what may be watching them.

  Almost in answer to his fears, a growl erupted from the bushes ahead. It was not too close, but close enough that most of The Brother’s kin heard it. Warriors dropped into a crouch and growled in reply, leaving their feast to rush forward to The Brother’s side. They gathered around him, staring up into the darkness between the trees above them, and waited for him to react.

  The Brother stood his full height and stared into the trees, seeking the enemy.

  There can’t be many, he thought. I can’t smell many. But I can smell more than one, and they are fully grown. They are no weaklings.

  He peered at a movement in the bushes ahead and saw the back of a large male wolf, moving from one bush to the next.

  Their pack may be smaller, he thought, but they have stronger, older males than I do.

  And yet the other pack made no move to take the bodies of the dead that lay scattered around the clearing, and he knew that they would be as hungry as—if not hungrier than—his kin. They were a smaller pack, he had sensed, and although that meant fewer mouths to feed, it also meant fewer hunters.

  He watched for longer, waiting for his foes to show themselves, but he soon realized that they would not. Some of the other warriors lost patience and turned back to the feast, determined not to be the only ones without a full belly, and soon The Brother was left watching the forest alone.

  A rear guard, he thought. They have left this place, taken what they could and gone. They know we are larger and stronger than they.

  He turned, about to go back to the feast, but then he stopped.

  What if the ones that stayed behind now knew that they had stronger warriors? What if they returned soon with more?

  You are a fool, he thought. The Leader That Was would never have feared a smaller pack, and neither would The Faster or The Stronger. Not even SharpToothed, as sly and cowardly as he had been, would have shied away from a rival pack half our number. Why should you?

  Finally, he turned to the Walking One corpse nearby, briefly pondered why these dead were without their extra skins, and then hunger overcame his curiosity. He only vaguely sensed the figures in the forest moving away, and when they were a full sprint from the clearing, his mind moved on to other things.

  Chapter 23

  The sun peaked, and yet the warmth trickled down from the sky in weak waves. Jonah had taken a position toward the head of the convoy, placing Solomon, Gunney and Declan at strategic points along its length. He doubted the Cygoa would attack on the open road, or at midday, because they would lose the element of surprise. However, it would not be wise to underestimate the enemy, so Jonah kept one eye on the road and the other on the wilderness encroaching upon it.

  The convoy had traveled for the better part of three weeks without encountering another person, let alone an entire clan. The Elk had fallen into a routine, walking the road in two shifts per day, although the afternoon one became shorter as autumn faded to winter. The sun set earlier each day, and Jonah took some comfort in that natural, eternal limitation.

  “Something on the road.”

  The words shook Jonah from his thoughts and he retrained his eye on the blacktop stretching off to the east. He did the math in his head and determined they were approaching what was once known as Rocky Mount, the last major ruin before they would reach Eliz. Before Jonah could reply, Solomon and Gunney were at his side.

  “Left the boy on rear guard,” Gunney said, tipping the brim of his hat at Jonah.

  Solomon nodded with lines of worry creasing his face.

  “Bandits?” Jonah asked.

  “Doubtful,” said Solomon. “Too far from the Ruins of the Valley and too close to Eliz to be robbers.”

  Gunney put the spyglass to his face once more, and Jonah realized it was him who had raised the warning. Jonah would have to ask him why he was so close to the front of the convoy and not at his guard. But he would ask that later.

  “Seven or eight more are now on the road.”

  “How far out?” Jonah asked.

  “Half a mile.”

  Jonah held up his hand and whistled. His message filtered back through the clans of the convoy. People looked at the sun and then each other, shaking their heads and mumbling about the possible delay.

  “I want warriors to the front. Right now. Solomon—you go to the rear with Declan, just in case this is a distraction from the real problem.”

  The bearded giant nodded and took galloping strides along the side of the road toward the rear of the caravan.

  “Who is it?” Gunney asked.

  “An enemy, until they prove otherwise.”

  Jonah waited several minutes until the warriors he summoned appeared at his side. They stood, several dozen strong, with sharpened blades and fierce eyes. Jonah felt a surge of adrenaline pushing through the group. He smiled and tapped his own blade on his thigh.

  We’re stronger now. Bigger in number. Let them face us.

  He took the lead and walked down the middle of the road, kicking scraps of debris and rocks from it. Half way between the convoy and the possible threat on the outskirts of Rocky Mount sat a jumble of rusted carts.

  “Gunney’s warriors,” said Jonah. “To my right and eyes on the carts.”

  Several men broke from their moderate jog and formed a protective line on Jonah’s right side.

  As the warriors approached, Jonah gained a better view of the people gathering on the road. They did not appear to be warriors, but they were not family clans either. The men wore long, ragged capes and bands of black fabric across their foreheads. All had long hair and long beards, and Jonah thought Solomon would be at home with them. Several held blades but kept them lowered.

  Supplication or surprise? he wondered.

  Jonah brought his band of warriors within fifty yards of them before stopping. He felt a bead of sweat roll down his back and the handle of h
is axe slipped in his palm. A single crow cried out and then silence fell upon the road.

  “I am Jonah, Chief of the Elk. And you will let us through.”

  “Fuck you.”

  The response rocked Jonah onto his heels. He stifled a giggle and glanced at Gunney. Solomon now stood with them as well, apparently more interested in cracking skulls than guarding the rear of the convoy.

  “We are the Six Clans of Wytheville. Our numbers are strong. Unless you have the rest of your filth hidden in those carts, you’d best clear the road.”

  Some of the Elk warriors stood before the rusted heap but the carts were empty.

  “We’re the clan forbidden to carry a name.”

  Jonah looked at the man who had cursed him and who had now spoken again. He appeared to be Jonah’s age, except scars lined his face, making him look much older than he may have been. The man held a battle axe at his side. He spoke with violence but stood in fear.

  “Then how do you know who you are?” Jonah asked.

  The man whistled and the warriors facing Jonah’s brought their weapons up.

  “This death is on you,” Jonah said. He raised his weapon, and his warriors did the same. Jonah stared into the man’s eyes and yet felt nothing behind them. “Put down your blades and let us pass.”

  The man shook his head back and forth like an insolent child. Tears flowed from his eyes and down the scars etched in his face.

  “So say you,” Jonah said, raising his axe and taking a step toward the man.

  “Y’all gonna use that to slice up my apples?”

  The question came from the pile of rusted carts and when the man stepped onto the road, Jonah grinned.

  “I should have known you’d crawl out of that pile of metal like the rat you are.” Jonah dropped his axe to his side and extended his hand to Rav. The man walked through the gesture and hugged Jonah. A collective sigh wove through Jonah’s warriors and the odd band of men opposite them.

  “What the hell is this?” Jonah asked.

  Rav took a trinket from beneath his coat and handed it to the warrior who had been about to attack Jonah. Rav’s teeth glowed within a dirty face framed by black, sooty metal. His long dark hair and beard seemed to match his new companions’, but Rav’s wet blue eyes did not. Jonah saw life in Rav’s eyes and nothing but death in the others.

  “Smoke this. Leave us.”

  Without a word, the man followed Rav’s command. He disappeared into the forest bordering the road, and his warriors followed.

  Jonah turned and waved his men back to the convoy. Solomon and Gunney remained. “I should have smelled you from a mile away.”

  Rav laughed and clapped a hand on Jonah’s shoulder. “I see you brought your left and right ball.”

  Gunney chuckled and Solomon groaned.

  “What are you doing here?” Jonah asked. He thought of a thousand questions he wanted to ask Rav, and he figured this was a good place to begin.

  “Tithes been drying up. Not much action coming through the pass anymore. You got my apples?”

  Jonah took the cue, realizing Rav was not ready or able to discuss why he had abandoned the route into the south and into Wytheville. The Five Clans had demanded a watch on the roads to stop movements of large numbers of potential enemies. And yet, here stood its guardian and protector, hundreds of miles southwest of where he was supposed to be.

  “We might have a bag or two to spare,” said Gunney.

  Jonah turned to his men. “Bring the convoy along.” Jonah turned his face up and measured the sun’s distance from the horizon. “Probably only an hour of daylight left. Let’s make camp. Ask Declan to find Leta—”

  “We got it, chief,” said Solomon.

  Jonah smiled and nodded, watching his men walk back to the caravan.

  “We have much to discuss, my friend.”

  “If you have more smoke,” said Jonah, “I’m sure I can find more apples.”

  Chapter 24

  “Twenty-some odd winters. You’d think a man would tire of that. But no.”

  Jonah waited for Rav to take a bite out of his apple. The camp bustled with activity. Children ran around fires and men tipped bottles back. He could sense the mood of the clan shifting, the closer they got to Eliz. The Walk would be concluding soon, and Jonah wanted nothing more than to rest.

  “These are good,” Rav said, waving the core at Jonah. “Another? I guess I misjudged you before. You gave me the shitty ones and kept the good ones for yourself.”

  Jonah sighed and tossed Rav another apple from his bag. He watched the smoke from the fire change direction and turn toward the north.

  “So?” Jonah asked.

  “The pass. Yeah. You wanna know what happened there, and then about them…” Rav waved his arm toward the space where the mysterious clan sat. They remained silent and did not light a fire.

  “Who are they?”

  “I’m getting there, Jonah. So I closed the gate after the first cold, just like always. The migrations came through, like your clan did, but they didn’t come like they used to. The numbers dwindled and we collected less from those clans than we had in any year prior. Your apples were the prize of the patch, even though they were bitter.”

  Jonah took the cue and tossed Rav yet another apple.

  “When they came,” Rav said, nodding toward the isolated clan, “I knew they was different. Seen much weird shit over the years. Believe me. But they was weirder than weird. Had a really sad aura about them, if you know what I mean.”

  “I don’t,” said Jonah.

  “Fair enough. I seen them—how can I say this—move stuff.”

  Jonah waited. He sighed and looked at the fire light dancing in Rav’s eyes. The man enjoyed telling stories.

  “Move stuff?”

  “Yeah. Like squirrels.”

  Jonah waited, tiring of Rav’s verbal bait.

  “When they came to the pass, I asked them for a tithe. Like I did you. They didn’t have nothing. Well, I wasn’t about to let them through for free. I mean, what kind of guardian would I be if I did that?”

  Rav continued without waiting for Jonah to reply.

  “They asked if squirrel pelts carried any value around here. I told them they was as good as anything else. The chief, he pulls this thing from his sack. Long, holes on top. He puts it to his mouth and I think he’s about to blow dart me. Instead, sounds come out. Music.”

  “Real music? A song?”

  Jonah remembered hearing the elders of the clan discussing the days before the end. People used to create music, pay for it even. They constructed elaborate pieces that could be listened to anywhere, anytime. Jonah could not understand how that would be possible, unless these people traveled with their own private bard. Nonetheless, they somehow harnessed the power of song. Some of the Elk would sing, and yet Jonah knew what Rav described was something else.

  “Oh, that ain’t the half of it. He starts to play and I can feel tears coming, because it’s real. Not some old crone wailing or some random noise. Nope. This is a real song. I felt my men crawling out from the carts and standing next to me. They was just as struck as I was.

  “There we all are, standing there with our jaws hanging open while this man blows into a pipe with a song coming out the other side. I shook my head and that broke whatever trance I was under. I looked around and that’s when shit got really fucked up.”

  Jonah leaned in closer to the fire and stared at Rav through the flames. Rav dropped the volume of his voice so only Jonah would hear what he had to say next.

  “The squirrels. They came out of the forest. Dozens and dozens. This crazy fuck played them out of the woods. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I mean, I like your apples and all, but we’re talking pounds of fresh meat and hides for the winter. Sure, ain’t much of neither on a wood rat but the man summoned dozens.”

  “What happened next?” Jonah asked.

  “He stopped. He told us to take out our blades and gather as many squi
rrels as we wanted. He put the pipe—no, flute, he said it was a flute—he put the flute to his mouth and played as we took off the heads of those wild animals like they was nothing but corn in the field. One after another, until we had ’em dangling from our belts. When the man put the flute away, the squirrels we didn’t bag went running back into the woods.”

  “Are you saying he controlled them with this flute, his song?”

  “I’m saying those creatures sat there and let us chop their heads off. It was madness.”

  Jonah leaned back from the fire and rubbed his forehead. He glanced in the direction of the outcast clan.

  “My father banned them, didn’t he? They’re one of the gray clans that Judas forbade to settle on pain of death.”

  “Aye.”

  “Maybe he knew what they could do.”

  “Ain’t no maybe about it. He knew.”

  “What do I do with them?” Jonah asked.

  “Why you asking me, chief? I’m just your crazy old buddy, Rav, and when I met them, and I thought of what happened with your other boys here, I figured maybe these folks might prove useful to you if you were that way inclined. How about one more apple, eh? Last one, I promise.”

  “You’re gonna plug yourself up if you keep eating all those apples.”

  “Nah,” Rav said. He winked. “Got me an elixir guaranteed to move it all through. Just stay far away from my site in the morning.”

  Jonah laughed and looked again in the direction of the strange clan.

  “They got a name?” he asked.

  “Not that I know of. But you may want to call the chief over anyways and have a sit down. Maybe give ’em an apple.”

  “My father banished them. Why would I want to talk to their leader? He hasn’t exactly been welcoming so far.”

  “You know why,” Rav said. “Give them a chance. It took me quite a bit of persuading to get them to even be here.”

  The man stood, and his rags brushed the edges of the fire, sending sparks into the night sky. His eyes looked orange in the reflection of the flames.