Dustfall, Book Three - The Baying of Wolves

by J. Thorn

  “With every light comes a shadow.” - Dustfall

  The saga continues...

  A new and unexpected environmental threat has emerged, unleashing hordes of the primitive tunnel dwellers known as the Valk. Jonah must find a way to keep the Elk safe from new enemies while trying to outrun the Cygoa in a land of dwindling resources and constant death.

  From bestselling authors J. Thorn and Glynn James comes Dustfall, a new post-apocalyptic series chronicling one man’s challenge and his epic quest to save what remains of humanity.

  Dustfall, Book Three - The Baying of Wolves

  By J. Thorn and Glynn James

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  Acknowledgments

  About the Authors

  Copyright

  Table of Contents

  Dustfall, Book Three - The Baying of Wolves

  First Edition

  Copyright © 2017 by J. Thorn and Glynn James

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, places, and dialogue are drawn from the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Edited by:

  Andrea Harding

  For more information:

  http://www.dustfall.uk

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Acknowledgments

  About the Authors

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  “That’s Cyril’s cart,” said the stranger.

  “Get the fuck away from me,” Gerth said.

  “Where’s Cyril, and why do you have his cart?”

  Gerth glanced at Shykar from beneath his low-hanging hood. This piece of shit was about to blow their cover.

  “I know it’s his cart because he carved his initials into the side of it,” the man said. “Right there.”

  Gerth stopped and stood up straight. The caravan of refugees carried torches, dotting the road out of Eliz like golden fireflies. The trail of broken humanity stretched to the horizon, from the east to the west. The chill of the night and need for heavy cloaks kept their faces hidden. But if this man became insistent, Gerth knew he would have to accept the confrontation and risk revealing themselves as outsiders.

  “You should calm down,” Shykar said to the man. “This ain’t that cart.”

  The broad-shouldered man stood over six feet tall. He kept his cloak cinched at the waist, and a polished axe hung from his belt. The man stroked his beard with a hand full of scarred knuckles.

  “What clan you from?” he asked Gerth, ignoring Shykar.

  “None. We’re heading out from Eliz on our own,” said Gerth.

  A family of refugees passed them on the side of the road. The father of the family looked up for a split second but kept walking, content not to become part of the impending violence. Many refugees died on the road, and the likelihood of death was greater if you stuck your nose into business that didn’t concern you.

  “I’m gonna ask you one more time. What happened to Cyril, and why do you have his cart?”

  Gerth caught movement from the corner of his eye. Shykar drew a dagger and took a step toward the man. As it had so many times before, time slowed as the melee began. Gerth took half a step back to give Shykar room to move past into striking distance of the man. The bearded giant reached for his axe, but Shykar was on him before he could take the weapon from his belt. The two men locked arms and spun, tripping over the wheel of Cyril’s cart and tumbling to the ground. There was a groan, and Gerth knew it was not made by Shykar.

  Shykar rolled on top of the man and attempted to stab him in the chest, but the man was too strong. He twisted his upper body and Shykar’s blade sliced into the man’s right shoulder. He reached up with his left hand and grabbed Shykar’s cloak, pulling him to the ground. Gerth took a step back to enjoy the fight.

  Shykar loves that knife, he thought. I hope we don’t have to leave it in this dead man’s body.

  The man rolled on top of Shykar and punched him in the face twice. The first blow glanced off Shykar’s left cheekbone, and the second shattered his nose. Blood flowed from Shykar’s face like black ink.

  Gerth used his right boot to kick the man in the ribs. He rolled off Shykar and into the dirt. Shykar jumped up and shook blood from his face. He leapt on the man, his knife coming down into the giant’s chest. Gerth heard tearing flesh, and the man’s body convulsed. Shykar withdrew the knife and plunged the blade into the man’s chest over and over again. By the time Gerth saw the second man, it was too late.

  A dark figure ran from the road. He swung a club through the air with a low-pitched whistle, and it slammed into the side of Shykar’s head. Gerth’s lieutenant toppled from the man who was now bleeding out beneath him in the dirt. Gerth looked at the new attacker.

  “Stop. They’re both dead. No need for more to die.”

  The man lowered his club but he did not drop it. Gerth looked down as the large man’s legs kicked twice before stopping completely. Shykar lay face down on the road, unmoving.

  The man with the club did not speak, but he took a step closer to Gerth.

  I’m gonna have to kill this man, and then there’ll be three dead bodies on the road. News like that will get back to the Elk.

  “You take one more step toward me and I will cut your fucking throat.”

  The man heard the real threat in Gerth’s voice. He stopped and stared back.

  “This cart belongs to me now. Cyril would have wanted me to have it, especially since I helped him scavenge those.”

  Gerth looked at the battered, filthy pots hanging from string tied to the top of the cart.

  Maybe this piece of
shit ain’t worth the fight.

  “Go on then,” said Gerth. “Take it and get the fuck away from me.”

  The man’s face twisted. He looked at the cart and the two dead men on the road. As he was about to answer, a noise grabbed his attention. Gerth turned as well.

  A hissing sound came from the trees, twenty yards off the road. The man turned and ran, leaving the cart abandoned, but Gerth remained, his eyes staring into the black abyss of the forest. He felt a chill more intense than the cold night air. Gerth turned and saw that some of the refuges behind him had stopped. They too were staring into the forest. Others seemed to know something he didn’t and were moving away quickly, some of them stumbling to escape the unknown threat.

  A sliver of the moon emerged from behind the clouds and a thin ray of light illuminated the pale face of the man walking through the trees. Gerth’s breath caught in his throat, and he cursed himself for not believing all the old tales of Eliz. They were real and coming for him.

  The Valk.

  Gerth took a step backward.

  Other shapes emerged, shirtless men with bald heads. Gerth saw his own breath in the cold night but it was the sight of the Valk that made him shiver. Several smiled as they approached, and he noticed their teeth had been filed to points. Some had black tattoos covering their faces, a permanent mask that accentuated their eyes. They appeared to float through the trees, and when Gerth turned to look back at the road, he noticed that many of the refugees had abandoned their carts and fled in any available direction, some even toward the crumbling city of Eliz.

  The man with the club was nowhere to be seen, leaving Gerth with the two bodies on the road and the creatures slithering toward it. He felt the warm sting of urine on his leg as one of the Valk stood before him.

  “Those belong to us now.”

  The Valk’s voice was human, and yet the very sound of it forced more piss from Gerth’s bladder, his leg now wet and cold. The tone shimmied in the air as if the creature had spoken from beneath water. Gerth followed the Valk’s gaze to the bodies on the road.

  Neither has moved. Shykar is dead. Those are corpses, he thought. I’m alone, now.

  “I have no use for dead flesh,” said Gerth, his wits returning to him. He had no escape route. The Valk were all around him, and his thoughts centered on that. If he resisted the Valk, he would probably die here. Maybe—just maybe—if he just let them take what they wanted, they might leave him alone.

  The Valk stood on the edge of the road, ten to twenty of them several paces behind their leader.

  “We do,” said the tall man.

  Gerth stood fixed to the road as the Valk dragged the bodies of Shykar and his assailant off the road and back into the woods. The bizarre people from beneath Eliz returned to the night in a black tide of silence, leaving him not only completely alone but with his pick of any of the dozen abandoned carts they had left untouched. Why would they want only the bodies? There were supplies on the carts. Food, water, metal tools. He could see that at just a glance.

  And yet the Valk had taken only the bodies.

  Gerth quickly moved toward the cart that he and Shykar had stolen and heaved it into motion, pushing it hard so he could catch up with the long line of refugees in the distance, but then stopped, looked down at the trash piled on the cart, and walked away, leaving it abandoned not far from all the others. He needed to move faster, needed to be among the line of refugees once more, be anonymous. As he started to catch up with the crowd, he couldn’t help but glance back at the spot where he had seen his lieutenant die. The man had been an asshole, sure, but he had been with him for a long time, and as Gerth left the ruins of Eliz behind he tried to push the thought of Shykar’s fate out of his mind, swearing never to return to this city of the hopeless.

  Chapter 2

  By the time the sun rose on the eastern horizon, Rav had been awake for hours. He had trouble sleeping, despite the warm fire built by Briar and Loner. Rav had watched the two men work together and saw a strong and deep partnership—probably born from years of habit—in the construction of their fire pit. They did not speak and yet the fire roared to life quickly and helped to chase the chill away.

  Loner kept the fire burning all night, and Rav stayed close to it, but the thought of the Cygoa kept him turning to the dark forest, one eye always scanning for a sign of that looming nemesis.

  Declan appeared on his right and handed Rav a mugful of steaming ginger root mixed with forest mushrooms. He sipped the bitter brew and felt the warmth spread into his chest. Winter was relenting, and spring would be coming soon, and yet he did not feel the cyclic euphoria as he had in days past. Rav was no longer safe atop his mangled wall of metal, manning the pass in exchange for the best apples and cheese from the north. He winced at the memory, for some reason convinced he would never see his lands again.

  “Too hot?” Declan asked, seeing Rav’s face contort.

  “No, it's fine,” he said. “Thanks for bringing it.” Rav took another sip and winked at Declan.

  “I need your help today,” said the younger man. “We need to inspect the bridge and report to Jonah. But I don’t know of these warriors, the Cygoa. Can you keep us from them?”

  Rav chuckled and spittle flew from his lips. The other hunters stirred but Ghafir and the rest of the scouting party sent by Jonah remained asleep in their bed rolls. “What makes you think I know how to do that?”

  Declan leaned back and snapped a twig in his right hand. He tossed both pieces into the fire but did not respond.

  “I can get us close enough to the bridge to see if it’ll hold,” said Rav. “But I can’t make no guarantees that I can hide us from the Cygoa. Holy shit, Dec. Ain’t no way of doing that.”

  “Fair enough. Let’s roast some squirrel and get going.”

  Rav took another sip of his morning brew, but it was already cold.

  ***

  “Rav and I will lead along the breach. Briar and Loner right behind us. Keep an equal distance on the path and keep your eyes open.”

  The men looked at each other with Cygoa on their minds but not on their lips. Rav gripped his axe while Briar slid the bow from his shoulder. Declan nodded at Rav. He turned and walked along the edge of the ravine. Rav looked down into the breach caused by the grumbles and saw nothing but an empty blackness. He wondered what was down there, and for a split second, Rav considered leaping from the edge and letting the gods take his body. He shook the thought away, wondering how the threat of such a drop into the unknown could inspire such a strange idea.

  Maybe it goes on forever, he thought.

  The breach cut through the forest and crept its way toward the bridge, the top of which clawed into the sky like the uppermost branches of the bare trees. Rav could see the road below them but the violent eruption of earth had cast rocks and soil upon it, making the old blacktop almost unrecognizable. The condition of the road didn’t matter to Rav. Any group foolish enough to walk it deserved to be captured by the Cygoa.

  They walked in silence for about an hour until Rav saw the first signs of the Cygoa camps at the foot of the bridge. The morning fires burned low and the warriors scuttled about in their full garb. The sight sent a chill up his spine, and when he looked at Briar, Rav saw the same fear embedded in his eyes.

  “Now what?” Declan asked Rav in a whisper.

  “There’s your damn bridge,” he said, pointing at it. “Take a gander and remember whatever it is you want to tell Jonah about it.”

  Declan growled and shoved past Rav to get a better look. Whatever paint had been used when the bridge was erected had peeled long ago, leaving the rusted iron the color of cinnamon. Some cables remained taut, and connected at both ends, while others dangled over the chasm like dead serpents.

  “I can see the warriors moving on it. It looks solid. I think we should tell Jonah to bring the clans.”

  “I agree,” said Rav.

  Declan turned his head sideways and his eyebrows peaked. “Huh?”
<
br />   “The bridge. It seems fine. Solid. I agree.”

  “Okay,” Declan said, his eyes looking to Briar and Loner for an explanation. “Then let’s go back.”

  “No,” Rav said. “That’s not the only piece of information Jonah needs. Here.”

  He took a spyglass from beneath his cloak and handed it to Declan.

  “Look at them.”

  Declan snatched it from Rav’s hand. He put the spyglass to his eye, his mouth hanging open. He scanned the bridge and then handed it to Briar, who also looked at the warriors without speaking.

  “Are those—” Declan began to ask.

  “Human skulls hanging from those poles? Yes. You bet your fucking ass they are. Now what?”

  “We can get in there and take out that camp, maybe prevent the rest of the Cygoa from coming down to the bridge.”

  Declan looked at Rav and laughed, no longer caring if his voice carried from the breach to the bridge.

  “Yeah, that’ll work. You, me and the buck hunters we picked up on the road.”

  Briar bristled at the sarcasm but did not respond.

  “Let me tell you a little bit about the Cygoa. They kill. Everything. They show off their kills. The people of the north, they don’t ever fuck with Cygoa. If they’re here it’s not because they want to trade pelts or share sunflower seeds. They’re here to take the land. And heads. You’ve already seen that.”

  “So, we just go back like scared little puppies?” Declan asked.

  “No. Puppies make too much noise. We crawl back on our stomachs like frightened snakes and we tell Jonah what we saw. Let it be his call. The Elk is his clan. You are not the chief.”

  “We just want to get back to our forest,” said Briar. “Alive.”

  The ground shivered so quickly that Rav stumbled into Declan and both men fell into a nearby tree. The grumble rippled through the breach with a low, dying moan. Rocks and uprooted trees fell into the chasm. Declan, Rav, Briar and Loner—along with their respective warriors—looked at the bridge as the shaking subsided.

  A cable snapped, and with it went a section of the bridge attached to their side of the breach. The hunk of welded iron tumbled down, pulling eight or nine Cygoa warriors with it. The entire structure swayed back and forth, and for a moment, Rav thought it would slide into the abyss below.