Dustfall, Book Five - What Lies Beneath

by J. Thorn

  “Your heart’s blood,” the woman said, stepping closer and placing a hand on his shoulder. “It will tell me everything I need to know.”

  Chapter 45

  Seren hurried along the alleyway, crouched low, the handgun pointed ahead of her. Sorcha sniffed the ground a few yards in front, seemingly agitated. The wolf stopped at a crossroads in the alleyway. All directions led further into the warren of passageways nestled behind the buildings.

  “Which way?” Seren asked.

  Behind her, others searched, both Cygoa and clan warriors alike, spreading out through the alleyways and hidden places between the buildings and streets. It was strange to see them working alongside each other even if they weren’t exactly working together. Seren had a sense that it was more a race to find the assassin first. To stake a claim on a possible reward, if Jonah and Morlan survived.

  But she had Sorcha to guide her. For a moment her thoughts went to the pups, and she felt a pang of concern. They were being kept in a pen on the base, and although she knew it meant they were safe, she also knew it meant they would be frightened. The wolves were not at home being locked up.

  Sorcha sniffed the ground once more, and then took off along another alleyway in a direction that Seren had not expected, almost doubling back toward the filthy canal that ran through the center of the city. But Sorcha’s senses were far greater than hers, and so far, they were still ahead of the mass of hunters.

  They hurried between a pile of metal bins and broken boxes, where Seren finally saw footprints in the dirt, and not just a single set. There were some larger boot prints, and running alongside them a set of smaller prints that made her think the owner had been barefoot.

  Had there been two of them? This made her slow for a moment. The assassin may not be alone. She pushed aside a fleeting thought of waiting for the others to catch up and saw that Sorcha was hurrying ahead, sniffing at the ground and the walls. The wolf slowed and glanced back, growling.

  No, thought Seren, and hurried forward. They could escape if we wait too long. There was no end to the hidden places in the city, places where someone could lose themselves and hide. If they waited too long, the trail might be lost.

  They took another right at the next junction and hurried along a central alleyway that was wider than the others, then Sorcha slowed and backed up, looking confused. Seren hurried back past her and stopped at the top of some steps that led down to seemingly nowhere, just a dark alcove under the building.

  “Here?” Seren whispered, and started to make her way down the steps, taking each one as silently as she could, imagining every step as an alert to whomever she trailed.

  Sorcha crept behind her, muttering low growls as she went.

  Seren reached what she had thought was an alcove and saw that it wasn’t. The dark archway led into an underground chamber, maybe a cellar. She raised her gun and took slow steps forward. The narrow steps opened into an underground passageway that led beneath the building, and Seren regretted that she did not bring her travel pack with her. The torch would have been handy now, but she been in too much of a hurry. She knew she had left it back at the base, still stashed with everything else left there.

  There was no time to go back. She reached another set of steps, cautiously moving past darkened alcoves. Some of the way was lit by sunlight creeping in from small windows high on the walls, but it was dark enough that anyone could hide just feet away. She could feel her heart thumping in her chest as the adrenaline surged through her veins.

  At the bottom of the steps was an opening that was darker still, and half blocked by a door that hung from its hinges, leaving a gap of maybe two feet. Sorcha growled as Seren stepped into the doorway and scanned the room beyond. She waited, expecting movement, giving her eyes time to adjust to the low light. Then she took a deep breath and stepped into the room, gun raised and ready to fire at anything that moved.

  There was something on the ground nearby. A stick. No, it was a pipe. A blowpipe. Darts were scattered across the floor around it.

  She was in the right place.

  The remains of a bedroll that had been disturbed lay a few feet away, and there was a rucksack laid aside, torn open, its contents spilled out onto the ground.

  Then the smell hit her. An acrid, metal scent, and something worse. She saw the body in the middle of the room, and beyond that another, smaller alcove. Splinters of wood lay on the ground around it. Seren guessed that the hole had once been boarded up but had recently been re-opened. But where did it lead? Her foot touched something, and she lurched back, her nerves on fire, but she saw that it was a makeshift torch, unlit, just lying on the ground.

  Light, she thought, and crouched down, the gun still raised. She reached into a pouch at her belt and took out the lighter, another ancient tech item that Abernathy had given her before she left the base in search of the clans. She reached down, still keeping the gun raised, but now pointing it at the newly opened passageway. A quick flick and the flame caught the dry cloth wrapped around the torch and the room was filled with light.

  The warm glow was not bright, but in the darkness of the subterranean chamber it seemed brighter than the sun, and now Seren could clearly see the body, or at least what was left of it. She stepped toward it, then took a step to the side. A pool of blood was still spreading across the floor.

  Whoever this was had been killed just moments ago, and Seren felt a wave of dizziness as she looked down on the corpse.

  Then the body twitched once, and an arm came up, reaching for her. She jumped back, aiming the gun at the barely moving figure. A single, croaked word came from his lips.

  “Sorry.”

  The hand dropped to the ground. Seren waited a moment and then stepped forward. The wounds inflicted upon this person were horrendous. The man’s chest had been cut open, the ribs pulled away, and his heart torn out. It took a moment for her to recognize the face of Gaston through the blood that covered his face.

  “Gaston?” she whispered.

  What was he doing here? Then her mind started to race, putting it all together. The blowpipe, the darts. Had Gaston tried to kill Jonah and Morlan? It made sense, she thought. Even now, after all this time, he had wished to take control of the clans. She shook her head sadly.

  But someone had killed him. Who? She looked over at the alcove — a small passage that led ahead. Sorcha was crouched there, sniffing, growling.

  “Has someone gone that way?”

  Sorcha whined and moved back.

  Seren crouched and began to move along the passageway. It was maybe twenty feet long, low and cramped. She saw the opening at the other end — another wall of darkness. There was the sound of running water, and a stale, moldy smell wafting in from the breeze that was coming from somewhere ahead. She reached the end of the small passage and felt Sorcha brush against her. The wolf wasn’t leaving her side.

  The end of the passageway opened out into a wide, arched tunnel. Maybe thirty feet across. There was a river running down the center of the tunnel, and raised pathways on either side. Darkness greeted her in both directions, and even with the torch she could barely see more than thirty feet.

  Sorcha took one step forward and sniffed at a bloody footprint on the damp floor.

  “Come no further, child of thunder,” said a woman’s voice from the darkness. “You have no place down here. You do not belong, and it will be your end.”

  Seren raised the gun.

  “Do not do that here,” said the same voice. “You may wield thunder, but there are many arrows pointed at you right now, far more than you can imagine.”

  “Did you kill him?” asked Seren. “Back there.”

  “I did. He stole from me.”

  Seren couldn’t see her in the darkness, but she could hear movement in both directions. If she stepped out any further into the corridor, she would be surrounded. How many were there?

  Sorcha growled.

  “Keep your wolf thing back,” said the voice. “My warrior
s may fear it, but that will not stop them from killing you both. It is best that you turn back. This day is done.”

  “But why did you kill him?” Seren was not satisfied with her first answer.

  “As I said, child. He stole from me. He took the warrior lord’s souls. Now my eternal glory will be less. What I have taken back by killing this killer will be enough for me to walk the halls of my ancestors, but not in the true glory that should have been mine.”

  “What do you mean? What have you taken back?” Seren asked the question even though every instinct in her body told her to run now, leave. The Valk. That was what filled this tunnel around her, and any sane person would have left already.

  ”Long ago, some of our kin were sent out into the world, to write, to take notes. They were to follow the movements and progress of the folk who live above ground — your people. These travelers were to take a reckoning, so that on the day we emerged, we would know where people were, where to look. Though most of these travelers returned, some fell by the way. One was dear to me, and he never returned. But now upon the body of he who stole the lives of the warrior leaders, I find this missing one’s journal. It is his book of words, long lost, but now recovered.”

  Gaston’s book, thought Seren.

  “The writing is unmistakable. It was the work of the one whom I lost. This shall be returned to our people, and we shall go west once more, back to the homeland. We are done here.”

  “You won’t kill anyone else?” asked Seren.

  “For now, we are done,” said the woman. “But one day the reckoning must come. Go back to your people, child, wielder of thunder, and tell them that we will return.”

  Seren felt a surge of panic as she heard a rush of footsteps. She thought a hundred warriors would come rushing out of the darkness at her, but the footsteps were fading away in both directions, heading further down the tunnel. She stood there, frozen, fearful that they might return. Eventually the sound dissipated, and she stood there in total silence.

  Sorcha whined.

  “Yes, girl. I agree. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Chapter 46

  The fire cast a dim light, causing flickering shadows to waver across the interior of the huge tent. A dozen seats, carved from freshly cut trees circled the outside of the large space, each placed in front of cases, boxes, and sacks whose contents were unknown. On each of the chairs sat the hunched figures of the Cygoa clan leaders, though one seat at the back was empty.

  The oldest of the Cygoa was the first to speak, looking up and staring from across a space that, to Seren, seemed cramped. There were Cygoa in front of her and behind. Many gathered around the main tent to hear what this stranger had to say.

  “You bring us news?” asked the old man, his voice haggard and his beard twisting like a scraggy animal reaching almost to his waist.

  His head was bald and a line of scars that looked like they could be caused by a wolf or another clawed animal, stretched from his brow to almost the back of his head. He gripped a short staff, though it wasn’t just a staff. Seren could see a sharp spike of metal protruding from the top end. A weapon also.

  “I do,” she said, looking around. Sorcha sat at her side, and she instinctively reached down to touch the wolf’s fur. She was alone in the tent, at least the only clan member present, though less than thirty feet away, half a dozen guards from the base stood watching, armed with the larger, devastating guns. The Cygoa outside kept their distance, and Seren had been assured that at any hint of threat towards her, they would reply with lethal force.

  The Cygoa had sensed this, she knew, and she doubted they would try anything stupid.

  “You are brave to come here, even though you are not alone.” The old man’s eyes flicked past her to the guards in the distance, “But still, you have come. For someone as young as yourself, that is indeed an act of bravery. To walk into your enemy’s camp, alone. Even if you are the one that they say carries the thunder. His eyes flicked to her belt, to where the gun was holstered.

  Every instinct then was to reach for it, touch it. Not to draw it but to reassure herself. She resisted, and kept her hands at her sides.

  “Will he live?” asked the old man.

  “He will live,” said Seren. “The doctors at the base have managed to give him an antidote to the poison, though he has been left very weak as the poison had already started to work on his body. He will remain weak for a while, but I don’t know for how long. That unfortunately, they do not know. It depends on how strong he is. And how quickly his body can recover. It will be a number of days, maybe even a week, before we know.” She took a breath. “I just thought that I should come and tell you so that you could stop your...” she glanced around at the others in the room.

  “Feuding over the leadership?” asked the old man with a chuckle. “The word has already spread to your camp, has it?” He gazed into the fire at the center of the tent. “Yes, we have had some issues among some of the more...how should I put it, turbulent clans? Some say that our leader has fallen and will not recover, and with that they feel the need to argue and challenge each other for the leadership, though they are not wise enough to understand that it was not their stupid bickering that will decide who leads. We are the elders of the clans. If it came to it, we would decide.”

  “If it came to it,” said Seren.

  “Yes. At the moment, we wait. We will not give up on Morlan.”

  “That is good to hear.” Seren smiled, remembering that even though Morlan had been their enemy, it had been he who had declared the war over.

  “And if he cannot lead,” continued the old man. “He has made it clear in his declaration that your Jonah is his heir.”

  Seren raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t expect you to honor that.”

  “Did you not?” asked the old man, smiling. “Then you must not know the ways of the Cygoa. Maybe it is new to you. Does not your clan chief pass his leadership down to his sons?”

  “Yes, but...”

  “But nothing, child,” he interrupted, his voice sharp. “Jonah, although you call him leader, is Cygoa. It has been spoken of and proven to be so. His mother was Cygoa. It matters not that his father was T’Yun. His bloodline through his mother is first and strongest. If there is no son to call heir then the responsibility passes to the nearest male of the bloodline. Jonah is heir to the position of high war leader of the Cygoa unless someone else can contest his claim, and none can. None.”

  Seren smiled at this, wondering if the Valk were the only ones who included females in their leadership. “What will you do now?”

  “We will wait.”

  “You intend to stay here, camped outside the city? The whole time?”

  “Until Morlan recovers, and not all of us will stay,” he said. “Many have already returned to their homes.”

  “To our home,” said Seren.

  The old man frowned at this. “We have taken back those lands and now it is up to Morlan and your Jonah to settle this, when they are able to meet and discuss what will happen next. Things must remain as they are for now. Can you imagine, child, if I was to concede any of the lands that Morlan has reconquered for the Cygoa? Can you contemplate his reaction toward me? Or any of us?” The old man indicated those gathered around. “No, I may be of the council, and we bring forth the views of the clans, but we bring them to our leader, and until he breathes his last breath, that is Morlan. It will be a difficult time. I understand. The war is over now. The negotiations must begin.”

  Seren nodded.

  “It is unusual,” continued the old warrior. “Normally in a war, to the victors go the spoils. In this case, the ending of this war is an oddity, since neither side may consider themselves the victor. Morlan declared the war over. He did not surrender. No one side has been vanquished. Let us hope that our leaders can come to an agreement that is acceptable to all of us.”

  “Hopefully,” said Seren.

  “But in the meantime, we will wait, and we will
uphold the end of the war that Morlan has declared. Worry not. If you hear of disputes among our kin, ignore it. Some will continue to vie for the leadership even though it is futile. We will not raise the banners against you.”

  “What If Morlan...passes,” said Seren. “And what if Jonah becomes your leader? Surely many of your clans won’t like that.”

  “Possibly, but they can’t deny his heritage. Morlan is high war leader, and no one but whom he declares can be given right to claim leadership. It is not something someone can aspire to. One is, or one isn’t. Unless you are willing to face that war leader in mortal combat, and even then, the war leader is the one who must issue the challenge. With Morlan weakened by poison, no one with any honor would dare challenge him. But there are always some who question every change of leadership, child. If Jonah becomes the Cygoa war leader, he will face the same challenges that any other has, though, he has stood against Morlan and not died within a few seconds, and that is something that has never happened. That will have been noted by every Cygoa warrior present, and marks him as worthy. Now, is there anything you would ask of us?”

  “Only one thing. When you came south you sought to destroy the T’Yun. Now many of the elders are gone, but there are some that still live. Has that feud ended? Has enough blood been spilled?”

  “I don’t know if that question will ever be answered,” said the old man. “I am one of the few adult survivors from the days before we had to flee, but there are others. I will honor the decisions of our leader. If an end to the war is what he has declared, so be it. But I cannot speak for everyone. There may be those who seek further reparations. I would suggest to those of your clans who are older, that they mind themselves and care where they go, until we leave.”