by J. Thorn
“What is that?” he finally asked, once his breathing had steadied.
“Do you feel better?” She hadn’t thought to ask the doctor how long the strange tablets took to help, or even how they would help. “The tablet should help, I think. I was told it would help.”
“I didn’t mean the...medicine,” Declan said. He lifted a weak arm and pointed at the gun that was tucked safely back in its holster on Seren’s belt.
“Oh this,” she said, patting the holster. “It’s called a gun. It’s...well… It’s a weapon. I’ll have to show you some time, but not now. I don’t have a lot of shots, and I can’t make them like I can arrows. Please don’t tell anyone about it. I’m supposed to keep it a secret. I should have covered it better.”
Declan nodded but still looked puzzled. “They think you’re all dead, you know. The Elk. Jonah. They think all those of you who left to go with Gaston are all dead.”
Seren nodded and looked down at the floor for a few moments, silent. She didn’t know what to say other than the truth, or what she suspected was true. “I think other than me, most of them are.”
Declan didn’t answer.
“It was stupid of me to go, I know that now. But my brother was going. I had to stay with him. But it didn’t work out. I realized I’d made a mistake, and I turned back, but I got stranded by the snow.”
Declan shook his head. “He’ll forgive you, you know.”
Seren looked up, her eyes hopeful.
“Jonah will,” Declan continued. “He probably wouldn’t forgive any of the others, but he’d forgive you. And if he didn’t, he’d cave when Sasha and Keana got to work on him.”
Seren smiled, remembering her friends. “I hope so.”
“You’ll be fine. Plus, I guess I owe you my life, if that tablet thing does what you say it does—or what this doctor that gave you it says it does.”
Seren nodded. “The doctor said it may take a day or two, but I can redress your wound, clean it. I’ll make you a crutch so you can walk. Then we need to find Jonah and the clans. I have to warn them before they go too far east.”
“They were heading to Rocky Mount, last I knew. I sent back a scout to tell them of the problem out here. They will be setting up at Rocky Mount for a long stay, I think. I was sent to scout out east, or at least the land ahead, find out how much of a problem the Cygoa are.”
“Cygoa?”
“The ones who have moved into our lands while we were at Eliz. They are an old enemy of the T’yun, come far from the north.”
“Oh, is that what they are called? Well you don’t need to go any further. I can tell you that there are lots of them, and they have taken over the city. They have patrols everywhere. I was heading east, hoping to meet the clans before they went too far west, to warn them.”
“Shit,” said Declan. “It’s worse then. We really have nowhere to go. Back in Eliz the land is collapsing.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean just that. Big holes opening up in the ground, swallowing buildings. The earth shakes and is breaking. Everyone from Eliz is heading this way to escape it. There’s also some underground…things, these human but—well, not human—things. They are attacking people. Everyone thinks no one will ever be able to go back to Eliz. And the Cygoa have our lands. There’s nowhere.”
Seren paused, thinking of the people of the enclave and the offer they made. “That’s not entirely true.”
“What?” asked Declan, before he starred coughing again.
“I know somewhere they can go,” said Seren.
Chapter 64
The wind had shifted. Jonah could feel the relentless grip of winter slowly fading as the first thunderstorms drenched the land. He knew that spring came early in the south, that the Elk homelands to the north could still be smothered by a heavy blanket of the season’s snow. Here, the rain broke winter’s back but the cold, dark chill of early spring did not make the camp any less miserable than the northern freeze.
Declan had not yet returned but the scout relayed his message—the Cygoa leader known as Carlossa was marching on Rocky Mount, bringing two full warbands with him. Jonah wasn’t exactly sure how many men that amounted to, but it was clearly enough of a threat that Declan found it important to quantify. He didn’t have time to worry about the boy, but Jonah hoped to see Declan again.
Jonah had left men at the waystation in order to get advance notice of any Cygoa threat on Rocky Mount. He was not willing to risk the lives of the clans or his family for that place, although the other leaders had suggested as much. Word from Eliz had not been positive. The grumbles continued, creating a flow of refugees from the old city. And then there was the Valk.
“First segment of the caravan is almost there.”
He looked at Solomon and nodded. “And?”
Solomon shrugged and said nothing more.
Jonah went from a walk to a jog, moving closer to the front where Gideon and Keana were pulling their cart. The skies had darkened quickly as they approached dusk, storm clouds casting deep shadows across the land. He moved past a few families, members of the Elk who had initially followed him south all those months ago. They smiled and waved as he ran past.
“Jonah.”
He almost ran right past Sasha, his mind racing in a hundred directions as the caravan came within sight of Rocky Mount. Jonah leaned over and gave his wife a long kiss.
“Lead carts say we’re close. You should get up there to check it out.”
Jonah smiled at Sasha before weaving through another handful of carts. He moved past the first one in the caravan, which had stopped when the man pulling it had spotted him. Jonah turned and gave the signal for the rest of the caravan to pause. The sky had started to rumble, and he knew his people would feel better with a sheltered camp instead of the road, but he was not about to rush them into an unknown ruin, especially given the information Declan had sent back with the scout.
“Wait here,” he said to the man pulling the first cart, although he had already locked the wheels and begun to dig through his pack for a smoke.
Two Elk warriors accompanied Jonah as he followed the winding off ramp which gently spun the road off Ninety-Five and onto a narrow roadway that ran perpendicular to it. The ruins stood against the darkening sky and they seemed close enough to touch, but Jonah knew how massive structures at a distance could fool the eye.
“Ten minutes?”
“About that, Chief. If we’re running.”
“Then let’s run.”
Jonah took off and the warriors followed. A crack of thunder split the sky and the cold rain fell in droplets the size of river rock. He wiped the water from his face and felt the sting of the sludgy mud oozing into his boots.
He kept his focus ten feet ahead, careful not to twist an ankle on a hole in the asphalt or trip over a tree root protruding through the road. Jonah ran and the rain came harder. He looked over one shoulder and saw nothing but a blurry, gray haze where the Ninety-Five ramp sat above the road to Rocky Mount.
“If Cygoa are there, we won’t see campfire smoke. We could be running right into them.”
Jonah heard the warrior shouting over the rain. He didn’t think the Cygoa was at Rocky Mount. Not yet. “We’re about to find out.”
They ran through an intersection where the crippled bones of old world structures sat off to the side, rusted to a deep red brown. Carts had been harvested long ago, as had any of the signs or metal rope that used to hang over the thoroughfares. This Jonah expected. What he did not see was merchant stalls or animal posts. Had Rocky Mount been occupied anytime in the past twenty years, the clans would have left these things as evidence. He looked to his right, where a field stretched into the distance. There was no shed, no yoke or metal buckets left by farmers who had tilled the soil.
Thunder and lightning rattled the land so hard that Jonah and his men ducked into one of the old ruins, unable to scream above the storm. They stood in a single-room structure where water po
ured through a gaping hole in the ceiling toward the back. The walls had been stripped down to the old wooden studs, and several of those had been yanked like rotten teeth and used as firewood. Their temporary shelter provided about as much cover as a massive oak tree.
“It looks dead. I hope it’s not blight.”
“Shut your mouth,” said Jonah. “You don’t say that. Ever.”
The other warrior looked at Jonah, deciding to say nothing.
“We can establish a temporary base here. Maybe even plant some peas or spinach, good and hardy cold-weather crops.”
The men exchanged a quick glance which made Jonah turn his head sideways. “What?”
“Did you see the field, Chief?”
Rather than listening to what the warrior was about to say, Jonah jumped up and ran back out into the rain. The thunder and lightning had relented but the rain came hard and heavy, pounding the pavement with a relentless flow. Jonah took three steps off the road and stared out across the field. He had been so focused on evidence of the Cygoa that he had not looked closely at his surroundings.
The entire field, as far as he could see, was blackened. A two-rung fence ran down the south side from the road, and it too had been burned to standing charcoal. He gasped and spun, seeing Rocky Mount for what it really was, as if the veil had been lifted and he was now seeing it for the first time—as it was and not as he had hoped it would be. Every standing structure on each side of the roadway had been set on fire. The absence of smoke, especially in the rain, made Jonah think that the settlement had been destroyed weeks, possibly months earlier.
The men had followed Jonah out and now stood on each side of him. “Cygoa? Did they do this?”
“I don’t know,” he said to the one warrior. “Does it matter?”
The men walked back to the building while Jonah stood, the water running off his nose and down his chin. It trickled down his back and touched his bare skin with an icy finger. He spun in a circle, hoping that somehow what he was seeing could be undone, unwound and returned to a state in which Rocky Mount could protect his clan.
A figure came running through the rain, from where the caravan had halted on Ninety-Five. Jonah could tell it was a man, another Elk, but without a weapon.
“Word from the rear of the caravan. From Solomon.”
Jonah closed his eyes and nodded. The man continued.
“The rear guard. They’ve seen movement on westbound Ninety-Five.”
“Who?” Jonah asked, his body shaking uncontrollably from the frigid rain. “Cygoa?”
“The Nikkt.”
###
Dustfall, Book Four ---- COMING SOON!
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Acknowledgements - J. Thorn
I would like to thank my wife and kids who vetted the concept over salad and breadsticks at a crowded Italian restaurant - anything sounds great on a carb high. As always, The Keepers continue to provide me with constant support and motivation. The ADH gang (you know who you are) have become my “secret” round table of advisors and I continue to learn from their collective wisdom and humor, even Zach. Speak of the devil, Zach Bohannon has become a great friend and partner in many ways. I'm grateful for his friendship and look forward to many more years of it. Finally, I'd like to thank Mr. Glynn James. He is a true professional and a writer I've admired for years. To collaborate with him has been an amazing experience and I'm sincerely appreciative of the opportunity - I'd go to a Dustfall with you, brother.
Acknowledgements - Glynn James
Thanks to all of the Jameses – Julia, for your patience and constant encouragement, and my kids, for just being you.
To my parents and my brother for not being too surprised that I write crazy fiction, and for telling me it’s cool.
To Bill, Sara, Billy, Jim & Jean for taking me seriously and never doubting that I could actually do this, and for demanding signed copies when I thought that whole idea was daft.
Many thanks to Andrea of Express Editing Solutions - http://www.expresseditingsolutions.co.uk
Any typos or errors in this book after this fantastic editor went through it - are entirely my fault.
Lastly, thanks to James Thorn for going along on this crazy journey with me. It took us a while to get this project going, but we got there in the end and I’m certainly glad we did!
James is a blast to work with and a kindred soul, quite often first guessing me on ideas before I even mentioned them, and coming up with ideas far better than mine. Here’s to us continuing to work together to bring life to stories that not only we, but other people will want to read.
About J. Thorn
Click here: http://jthorn.net/optin/df01.htm
Healed by the written word
Want a story that's rooted in a fundamental aspect of being human?
I believe reading dark fiction can be healing. My overriding mission is to connect with you through my art, and I hope to inspire you to do the same. I’m a word architect and driven visionary. I’m obsessed with heavy metal, horror films and technology. And I admire strong people who are not afraid to speak their mind.
I grew up in an Irish Catholic, working class family and was the first to go to college. I didn't have expensive toys, so I used my own imagination for entertainment. And then I abused alcohol for entertainment. I spent the first thirty years of my life convincing myself I wasn’t an addict and the last ten worrying about all the potential threats the substances hid from me.
Anxiety and depression are always hiding in the corner, waiting to jump me when I start to feel happiness.
I had to break through family programming and accept the role of the black sheep. In my 30s I started writing horror and formed a heavy metal band while my family rolled their eyes, sighed and waited for the “phase” to end.
I spent years paralyzing myself with self-loathing and criticism, keeping my creativity smothered and hidden from the rest of the world. I worked a job I hated because that’s what Irish Catholic fathers do. They don’t express themselves, they pay the damn mortgage. I may have left my guilt and faith behind long ago, but the scars remain.
My creativity is my release, my therapy and my place to work through it all. I haven't had a drink in a long time, but the anxiety and depression are always lurking. Writing novels and songs keeps it at bay. I scream over anxiety with my microphone and I turn my guitar up loud enough to drown out the whispers of self-doubt.
I hope to leave a legacy of art that will continue to entertain and enrich lives long after I'm gone. I want others to see that you don’t have to conform to the mainstream to be fulfilled.
Don’t be afraid of the dark. Embrace it.
About Glynn James
GLYNN JAMES, born in Wellingborough, England in 1972, is a bestselling author of dark sci-fi novels. He has an obsession with anything to do with zombies, Cthulhu mythos, and post-apocalyptic and dystopian fiction and films, all of which began when he started reading HP Lovecraft and Richard Matheson’s I Am Legend back when he was eight years old. In addition to co-authoring the bestselling ARISEN books (over 250,000 copies sold), he is the author of the bestselling DIARY OF THE DISPLACED series and the THROWN AWAY series. More info on his writing and projects can be found at www.glynnjames.co.uk.
Table of Contents
Beginning
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
