Dustfall, Book Three - The Baying of Wolves

by J. Thorn

  But her attention was drawn back to the concrete building. Ivy had grown up the sides of the structure, covering most of its fascia. The only gap in the foliage was the large, already open, double doors that faced set of stairs leading to a raised platform.

  Three people waited there. A woman and two men, dressed similarly to the old man who brought her there. All of them wore gray one piece clothing, zipped at the front, and a brown jacket over the top. The colors of their clothing seemed to match their graying hair.

  Seren had observed the old man as they walked to what he called the base, and she was surprised that despite how old he looked, he wasn’t frail. He walked with some vigor, as though this was a regular thing for him. Maybe it was; maybe he spent a lot of his time walking.

  Sorcha was excited, sometimes trotting ahead of them and wandering down side-streets, sometimes lagging behind and then hurrying to catch up. She constantly sniffed the ground and scratched at the dirt. Her path zig-zagged across theirs, but she always kept within calling distance of Seren.

  They stopped at the top of the stairs, ten feet from where the trio stood waiting. The woman stepped forward and held out her hand to Seren. Seren frowned, unsure of this strange behavior, but still held out her own hand, somehow sensing that was what she was supposed to do. The woman took her hand and shook it gently.

  “Very pleased to meet you,” she said. “My name is Katrina, and I am the commanding officer on this base.”

  “Katrina,” Seren said, nodding. “I’m Seren. Nice to meet you.” She glanced at the two men who stood, motionless, like they were waiting for something. “This is a strange place,” she said, not knowing what else to say.

  Katrina smiled at this and looked around. “I would imagine it does appear strange to someone such as yourself.” The woman looked cautiously toward Sorcha, who was sitting at the bottom of the stairs.

  Seren noticed the gesture. “She won’t hurt you. She’s friendly.”

  “Yes,” said Katrina, still smiling, though Seren could tell the woman was uncomfortable. “So Artemus has said. It’s a little unusual.”

  Seren turned to the old man that she had followed to the base. “Artemus?”

  The man nodded. Seren held out her hand, trying to imitate the gesture Katrina had used, hoping that she was doing it right. Artemus shook her hand and smiled.

  “Well, let’s not keep you waiting out here,” said Katrina. “I’m sure you’re very curious about our home, maybe as curious as we are to hear if you have much knowledge of what goes on beyond our city. Come inside. We have food prepared if you are hungry, and Dr. Henson here—” Katrina gestured toward the tallest of the two men, “is keen to take a look at that ankle of yours. He is concerned.”

  Seren smiled, and although in the back of her mind she was reluctant to enter the building—a wariness told her this could still be some form of trap—she couldn’t help but think these people seemed friendly; genuine, even. And besides, her curiosity as to what may be hidden in this place was overwhelming.

  Chapter 49

  Declan had been surprised at how quickly they had arrived at the outskirts of Rocky Mount. One of the older men in their scouting party had walked the old highway before and saved them an entire afternoon of pushing through thick overgrowth in hopes of stumbling across the rusted guard rail. They had moved parallel with the roadway, heading west-northwest and toward Rocky Mount. When the man with the spying glass saw movement in the ruins of the old city, Declan ordered the party back and over the nearest hillside to camp for the night.

  “Hey, Dec.”

  He turned away from the fire to see the thin, tall frame of his new friend, Jac. Jac had shaggy brown hair and deep blue eyes. He wore clothing much like the Elk’s, although he had not been part of their clan. Although Declan didn’t ask, he assumed Jac came from another region with harsh winters.

  “Another few months and you’ll be able to tie your hair back like mine. You’ll have warrior’s locks.”

  Jac smiled as he sat down next to Declan, rubbing his hands together over the fire.

  “What’s up?” Declan asked.

  “Tomorrow. Will we go into Rocky Mount?”

  “Yes. I mean, not all the way in, but we need to find out who’s there and what they’re doing. If Jonah is going to bring all the clans here, we have to make sure it’s safe before we can split up and head our own ways.”

  Jac nodded. “Fair enough.”

  A pause. A hoot from an owl in a nearby tree.

  “Jonah said to not get too close to the Cygoa, right?”

  Declan could almost taste his friend’s fear. For those who had not fought for their lives, dying seemed more frightening than death itself.

  “Is anyone else up?”

  Jac looked at Declan and wrinkled his nose. “A few. Probably.”

  “Get them and grab your weapons.”

  Jac did as Declan commanded. Declan stood and took a deep breath. He tasted the burning pine of the campfire as well as something else lingering in the air.

  Jac returned with two other men. Boys. Their weapons dangled from their hands and they looked at Declan through droopy eyes.

  “I’ve seen a group of three down there. They’ve been preparing to leave, it looks like. Probably waiting for night so nobody—like us—will see them.”

  “What are we gonna do, Dec?”

  “Jump their asses, that’s what.”

  The other boys stood up straight, their eyes now wide open and their weapons raised.

  “Jonah put me in charge. I know what I’m doing. You follow my lead.”

  Jac started to say something but closed his mouth instead. The others stared at Declan, waiting for the next command.

  “Look there.” Declan pointed to a position about a half-mile from the center of Rocky Mount. The tiny flames nestled in the burgeoning darkness had disappeared. “They’re putting out the fire and getting ready to leave. They have the entire night ahead of them. We’re gonna cut them off. Ask the fuckers some questions.”

  He strutted past the fire and toward the trail that would lead them down to where the Cygoa scouts were preparing to leave. Jac and the others followed, pushing through thorny bushes and stepping over fallen trees.

  Declan heard voices but he couldn’t tell what they were saying. He used hand signals to send Jac and the others out and around this small scouting party. When they maneuvered out of sight, Declan stood up and walked right toward the Cygoa. Whistling.

  “Who are you?”

  Declan held up both hands and laughed. “Just a hunter in the woods. What are you guys doing here? Checking out the old city of Rocky Mount?”

  The Cygoa warriors looked at each other, and the one who had questioned Declan raised a bow with a notched arrow.

  “One more step and I’ll stick this in your chest. I’m going to kill you anyway. If you listen to me, I’ll have some mercy on you.”

  Declan whistled again, this time a long slow inflection instead of a melody. “You hear that, Jac? They’ll have mercy on us.”

  The rest of Declan’s party came out of the darkness from behind the Cygoa. The scouts looked at the number of men around them, and soon lost their aggressiveness. Jac went to each Cygoa warrior, taking the weapons from their hands.

  “Sit down,” said Declan. “Let’s have us a chat.”

  Chapter 50

  The Brother sniffed at the air, stopped moving, and sniffed again.

  The Walking Ones are on the move again, he thought. A dangerous time. They move in different groups as well now, not just the single mass.

  The pack had followed the great trail of Walking Ones coming across the broken ground, from the place where the earth was split, and the smells of old things rose to assault his senses. His kin were hungry once more but were unwilling to attempt an attack on such a large group of Walking Ones.

  But this change in movement, this was interesting, this could make things different.

  For two passes
of the bright sky they had trekked across the wilderness, always aware of the movements of things around them—the lack of game to hunt, the return of the birds they would never be able to catch, and, of course, the strange turmoil of the Walking Ones.

  Now his senses told him of a change, that there were at least four groups of Walking Ones moving through the forest, and some were far from the main pack. Overnight, he thought, these small groups had broken off from the host, and they were moving swiftly, hiding at times in places that The Brother could not find. Maybe they were using the trees. He didn’t know, but his senses now brightened as one trail became stronger than the others. The smaller groups were moving in different directions to the main host now, and one was moving nearby.

  The Brother thought these new groups had travelled close together for the first two days, four packs of two or three, but now had broken apart and were heading in different directions.

  He stopped at the top of a rise and stared into the distance, looking through the trees for some sign, but all that came in reply was sent of those who had already passed. His belly rumbled, almost matching the grumbling and whining of the young in his pack.

  The group of Walking Ones that they had tracked down and hunted near the great hole in the ground had not sensed them coming, and they had been an easy prey. The pack had feasted well, but that was days ago, and no easy prey had shown itself since.

  Maybe it was something to do with the new broken ground. The migration of the birds had started, but not the return of the animals to the forest.

  They cannot find their way back, he thought. They are stuck on the other side of the great hole. And surely it must go on forever, to the ends of the Earth, or the animals would have found a way back. The only prey that remained were the Walking Ones.

  Soon, he thought. Surely, soon the forest creatures will return and we can leave the dangerous paths of the Walking Ones behind again. But, for now, we must follow one of these smaller groups.

  He sniffed ground, picked up the strongest sense, and began moving swiftly once more, following the trail.

  The pack followed him.

  Chapter 51

  Seren scooped spoonful after spoonful of the soup into her mouth, devouring most of the bowl quickly, before tearing off a chunk of bread and gnawing on it like she hadn’t eaten in days.

  “Slow down, child,” Artemus said from across the table. “You’ll give yourself indigestion.”

  Seren nodded but continued to eat quickly. Even after a week of staying in the base, she still couldn’t get enough of the food. There was no meat involved in the diets of the people living on the base, and all the produce was all home grown, and yes, she missed the satisfaction of tucking into a freshly cooked kill, but the tall, gangly man, Vernon, who was the cook for the base, had a way of preparing food that tasted like nothing she had ever had. He used recipe books, she had learned, and the man had been more than keen to show her the shelf stacked with books.

  Books. They had hundreds of them at the base, held in collections in different places, everywhere. Real books, not just tatty remains and scraps found in ruins. They were carefully preserved in plastic coverings and had weathered centuries in that way.

  Before she knew it, the bowl was empty, and she found herself staring down at it, disappointed.

  “There is plenty more,” said Artemus, as though the man were reading her mind. “You know, I think Vern has been cooking extra at every meal since you came to stay with us, enough to feed an entire family.” He laughed.

  “Sorry,” said Seren, feeling guilty and greedy at the same time.

  “Not at all,” said Artemus. “You need feeding up. You’re far too thin.”

  Seren looked around the room. Most of the base inhabitants were there, nearly sixty people, seated around the dozens of tables that filled the huge eating room, and yet the room seemed empty. She had learned from Artemus that thousands had lived on the base back in ancient times, and this mess hall had catered to them, providing meals for all. Now the remaining inhabitants had made it a tradition that everyone who could would meet at dinner time to talk of the day. The hall echoed with the sounds of conversation and laughter, and Seren wondered what it would have sounded like with hundreds of people in it.

  “Gorston says you are learning very quickly, by the way,” said Artemus. “As do some of the others. Quite the little student, you are, it would seem.”

  “There’s so much to learn,” said Seren. “So much that I never knew about. There’s no one out there who knows all the things you do here. No one. Farming, guns, water purification, numbers, plants—it’s all new to me, mostly. I mean, I know some of it that gets passed down from people in the clans, and things I figured out myself, but there’s so much here.”

  Artemus nodded.

  “You know, I know you don’t like to get involved with the outside, but I still say that you could change the world out there. If folks knew what you people knew...” her voice trailed off and she went back to eating the bread.

  Seren knew she shouldn’t push the subject too much. The people at the base were old and had much to risk even letting her in. To interfere with the outside world could be dangerous for them.

  But Artemus seemed to ponder it. ”You know my view. I would welcome it. And I’ve voiced such in the council. And I think I am gradually swaying them.”

  Seren looked up, hopeful. “You think?”

  “Not really. I think you are probably what is swaying them. “

  “Me?” Seren said, frowning.

  “You are a reminder of what this place is missing. A reminder of what we all lost when we decided not to birth a new generation to take over from us. For centuries, this place has existed by its new generations, and we voted long ago to end that, to let this place dwindle. I even voted for that, back then. But now I know we were wrong.”

  Seren shrugged. “It’s a pretty harsh place out there. Not really a lot of hope. There were even more people when I was little, and now the population is getting smaller every year, or so I’m told. The taint gets worse, too.”

  “Yes,” said Artemus. “This taint, as you call it, is a problem.”

  They were silent for a time, and Seren listened to some of the other conversations around her, but her thoughts drifted back to the Elk, as they always did. Some of the things that she had learned in the short time she had been at the base could already make a difference to her clan. And there was still the problem of the strangers that had taken over Wytheville.

  “I’m going to have to leave here soon,” she said. There, it was out. She sighed heavily.

  Artemus nodded. “I know. We did hope you would stay, but I realize you have to warn your people.”

  “Will Katrina let me leave?”

  Artemus didn’t answer straight away, and seemed to be considering the question. “She is concerned that a horde of barbarians will come marching over here. She’s always concerned with that. And to the council, there is a risk if you leave. But they let you in here, and I will argue with them until I am blue in the face that we can’t keep you here if you don’t want to stay. “

  “I do want to stay. I love it here. But I can’t let my people head west without telling them what waits for them. I must tell them. I let them down with a bad decision once already. I can’t do it again.”

  “Yes,” said Artemus. “And my hope is that you will come back, someday. I will talk to them. Convince them. And in the meantime, you keep learning. I have high hopes that even if we are unwilling to change the world, you will.”

  Chapter 52

  Lord, wake up.

  Donast was still deeply asleep and barely noticed the call. His body refused to answer.

  My lord.

  He stirred this time, the call more insistent, and as much as he wanted to fight it, to stay in his slumber, he felt himself being wrenched back into the living world.

  It had been a good dream whilst it had lasted—a dream of great halls filled with food a
nd women, something he had not seen since he was young and his father ruled, back when the Nikkt had much more land and power. Somewhere in the dream was someone familiar, a young woman he had liked when he was young, and even though somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that she was twenty years in her grave, taken by the disease that weakened the clan and took his father from him, she was still alive in the dream. He vaguely saw her again, an image washing over the world to which he was awakening, her long hair and bright eyes enticing. She had been serving him food, though it was something she had never done.

  He remembered, but knew that it was false, a desired memory only found in this dream. She had, in life, turned aside all of his advances, but in the dream, it was different. It could be different. She was there with him, smiling, willing.

  Donast awoke and found his lieutenant, Strom, leaning over him.

  “Lord? Ah, good,” the large man said. “You’re awake. I was worried illness might have taken hold of you.”

  Donast stretched and sat up. “What is it? What do you want that you must wake me?” he asked, irritated.

  “There is movement down in the trees, Lord. Spotted by several of our guards.”

  “Movement?” Donast questioned as he arched his back. His spine cracked.

  “Yes, Lord. I posted more guards and ordered the rest of the warriors to be woken,” said Strom. “But I saw them myself, and thought I must wake you.”

  “Another clan?” asked Donast.

  Strom shook his head. “I don’t think so. Most of the other clans have moved on, and if it is a hunter clan then they are stupid to approach us. These ones are keeping to the dark areas of the woods and already fired arrows into the barricade.”