by J. Thorn
“With every light comes a shadow.” - Dustfall
In a ravaged tribe on the edge of humanity, the suspicious death of a chief thrusts a man into a dark realm for which he is unprepared. When Jonah inherits leadership of the Elk Clan from his father, many in the old man’s inner circle question his son’s ability to lead the tribe to their winter shelter at the ruins of Eliz. A dark stranger, a journey over hundreds of miles of dangerous highway and clashes with feral gangs will push Jonah to the edge.
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 One - Shadows of a Lost Age
By J. Thorn and Glynn James
MAIN MENU
Start Reading
Acknowledgments
About the Authors
Copyright
Table of Contents
Dustfall, Book One - Shadows of a Lost Age
First Edition
Copyright © 2016 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
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Acknowledgments
About the Authors
Copyright
“With every light comes a shadow.”
Chapter 1
“The winds shift,” Judas said, as his son tossed another split log on the pile. The burning embers shifted under the weight, and sparks flared up into the air, briefly illuminating the darkened room.
Jonah looked at his father’s brilliant blue eyes as they followed the green leaves fluttering from the tops of the trees. Judas wore his denim high on his hips and the leather vest conformed to his chest as if the gods sewed it with golden thread. The older man almost doubled the size of his son, raw muscle rippling through arms as thick as heavy tree branches. Age had gifted Judas, rather than weakening him, and the toil of five decades could only be seen in the color of his hair and in his eyes, and only then if you were foolish enough to stare into them for too long.
“And the trees are beginning to turn,” replied the younger man. In smaller clans, Jonah, son of Judas, would likely be the leader already, his father retired, but Judas was as stubborn as he was tall. Death would be the only thing to part the man with his reign.
Judas nodded and smiled, placing a gnarled, callused hand on his son’s shoulder. “I don’t know how many more times I can make The Walk, son. It gets harder every year, and it always seems that we lose more people than the year before.”
Jonah turned his head sideways and chuckled, attempting to dispel his father’s concerns, as if time was not creeping up on him silently like a hungry wolf. He looked at the man’s silver hair and his taut arm muscles. Judas could still put in a day’s labor alongside the young men, and he would be chief for a long time, but Jonas wondered if his father had the will to continue leading the village. He suspected that stubbornness was stronger than will, in his father’s case, but it was unusual and unexpected to hear Judas speak in such a way. He would never have admitted any form of weakness in front of other clan members, except maybe Nera or Logan, who were older still.
“You’re the leader of our clan, Father. Until your time comes and we place you on the pyre and send you to Dustfall, you will make The Walk. And you will bring us home, as you have done my whole life, and as I expect you will still do for many turns of the sun.”
“That is what I thought when I was your age,” Judas said. “When a man is responsible for a young family, he believes he will always be around to provide for them. I know I did.” The older man chuckled deep and low.
“That’s right,” said Jonah. “You did, and you still are.”
There was silence for a moment, while Judas seemed to ponder his son’s words, and then, as though reaching no real conclusion, he shrugged. “Stack the logs and keep them beneath the eave.” He pointed up at the edge of the roof, as if to clarify where he wanted the firewood to be stored. “We’ll leave before it gets too cold, but there will be frigid nights before we depart.”
Jonah swung the axe, sweat rolling down his face and into his gruff stubble. He pushed a hand over a cleanly shaven head, where he could mark the retreat of his hairline in the reflection of the pond.
I will lead The Walk someday, he thought.
“I’ve stacked wood before,” Jonah said, raising his eyebrows, defiant.
“I know you have,” said Judas, glaring at the younger man in mock anger that quickly turned into a wide grin. “Insolent child.”
Jonah winked at his father as the late summer breeze dried the perspiration on his face. He could feel the winds shift too. The animals would begin their southerly migration and the clan would follow, as they had for generations.
“Where is Keana? Where is that beautiful granddaughter of mine?”
“Hunting,” Jonah said, as the axe head split another log. “The buck have rubbed the summer fuzz from their antlers. We would all benefit from a meal of venison to prepare us for the journey.”
“Ah, yes. The meat will fuel us on The Walk. Maybe even store. We have spare salt.”
Jonah was silent for a long while, long enough for Judas to notic
e, and he only spoke as his father looked up from the fire, frowning. “Father,” Jonah said, another swing of the axe crushing a dried log. “I always wondered...” Jonah paused again, unsure if he should ask or not.
Judas looked at his son and paused at such a formal expression. “When did it begin? We come back round to this again? I wonder when you will let this go. You have heard it enough, surely? All of the stories around the campfire, for all of those years—”
“Yes, I listened,” Jonah interrupted. “The Event. The destruction and decimation of civilization. Yes, I’ve heard all the stories told to the children under the evening stars. That is not what I mean. It’s just—”
“Careful what you question,” Judas warned, his voice low. “The traditions of our fathers speak to us through the years. We make The Walk and we return. That is how we survive. It is how it has always been, at least for as long as the clans have walked the land. It is what it is and has to be.”
“I understand the seasonal patterns, and I know what happens when winter moves into the valley,” Jonah said.
“No, I don’t think you do. You have not been there when the cold comes, and I don’t mean the winter breeze that warns us, I mean the biting freeze that stills the entire forest. It can freeze a man’s blood in his veins. Cripple him so numb he cannot even sense his limbs, let alone feel them. You forget that I have survived such, even if it was not in this forest.” Judas hunched over, put his hands on his knees, and leaned in closer to his son as he pitched his voice lower. “Whether or not our fathers call for The Walk, we shall walk. It is impossible to live here and see the green shoots in the spring.”
“Have you—”
“No, but others have, son. We’ve found them twisted and frozen, like a deer carcass trapped in the ice of the creek. Legs sheared off as though snapped like a twig, not cut off. No. To deny The Walk is to turn your back on your responsibility. The elders of this clan know it. I know it. I will lead us, and someday, you shall as well. And someday, Gideon will, too, if the gods allow.”
“He is but a child. Your grandson is still more interested in throwing rocks in ponds. He doesn’t even have an interest in his sister’s bow. It will be many years before he even considers such. The Walk is a holiday to him.”
Judas stood up and arched his back, his mouth open to allow a low moan to escape. “And that is how I thought of you when my father led us. And yet, here we are. The cycle comes back on itself. Times will change, but things will always repeat themselves. Time moves on.”
“And we are at no place different than we were last season,” Jonah said. “You are the leader of the clan. You will lead us on The Walk, before winter arrives, and you will bring us back once it thaws.”
Judas smiled and turned to check on the traps at the perimeter of the village. Jonah took a deep breath before bringing the axe down again. The wood split with a dry crack as he tried to pound the doubt from his brain.
We will walk, he thought. We always have.
Chapter 2
Seren found the locket on the path.
It had been there for a long time; she could tell. Most of it was buried deep in the dirt, only the very top of the clasp visible, and even that was crusted over with grime.
How it had been missed was a puzzle to her. The path was well used, even if for only half of the year. She had woven her way through the trees and foliage on this stretch for at least five years, since her father had first brought her and her brother up into the woods, and she knew that he and many others had used the meandering walkway for a lot longer than that.
For time before time, she thought.
It was the main path up past the reservoir and into the Elkland, the best hunting and foraging spot the clan had ever found, except for maybe the plains out over near Eliz during the migration season.
As she walked up the path that day, heading out to the black bush clearing, just as she did at least once every week, the sun was shining through the trees above and the forest was peaceful and quiet. She hadn’t been hurrying and had seen the flash of reflected light as she crested the hill. She stopped, knelt down, and peered at the ground for at least a minute before she spotted it.
Thinking that it may be a tool of some kind, long dropped and forgotten—hoping even—she took out her knife and dug, churning up the dirt carefully. Her bone knife was a strong one, but it could still break if she wasn’t careful. It wasn’t like those metal ones that some people had, like her father’s, that her brother now owned since her father had passed on.
The locket popped out of the soil, still attached to the chain, and Seren frowned as she pulled the thing slowly out of the shallow hole. It was tarnished from the rain and from being stuck in the mud for so long, but she smiled as she examined it, popping open the clam-shell to reveal a tiny, still clear picture of a woman.
Not a pretty woman, Seren noted.
But this is a find, she thought. Even if it isn't a metal tool. It could still be bartered at Eliz, if she kept it safe and didn’t tell anyone about it; she could do that. When her father had been alive she might not have been able to keep secrets, but since he had gone, only Jonah made her tell the truth all the time, and he rarely bothered her. The old man, Logan, never questioned her.
Seren stomped the ground until it was flat once more and headed off up to the black bushes, dangling the chain in front of her face and grinning as she walked. Had it been dropped a long time ago or more recently? It looked old, but there was no rust. Maybe it was made of some valuable metal that didn’t taint? That would make for a good find.
Twenty minutes later, she reached the top of the hill. The trees had long ago been cut down on this stretch of land, mainly to be used for building repairs and fuel down in the village, and even firewood for the foraging crews back when they had thought it a good idea to camp out high up in the forest at night instead of cutting their day short and heading back down to the village. A quarter square mile was empty of the wide, tall trees that covered the rest of the hillside.
This was where the black bushes had spread, and where the berries could be harvested in their thousands when ripe. But now, as Seren stood on the top of Black Rock, a large boulder that sat almost in the middle of the vast bush covered clearing, she realized that the pickings were becoming very scant. Every one of the foragers would come up here once a week to collect berries, and gradually, over the weeks and months before The Walk, the masses of green berries would ripen to black and disappear as people took them.
From up on top of the rock, Seren could see that there wasn’t a lot of black in the mass of tangled foliage, but dutifully she hopped down into the grass and started weaving through the tangled, spiky branches, determined to fill at least one bag.
A squirrel. That was the best that she had managed today, and she thought she’d been lucky even with that one. She had two bags filled with nuts and some roots, but it wasn’t a haul that would fill many stomachs. It certainly wouldn’t earn her any praise.
The hours ticked by as she searched, gradually filling up one bag but not even getting half-way with the other. The sun was heading toward the horizon, and it was much lower than she had expected, and the light was starting to fade when Seren finally climbed back up onto the rock. She cursed. She’d let too much time go by, and it would soon be dark.
Hurrying now, realizing that if she didn’t pick up speed and make the time back, she would probably have to make the last of her return journey along the reservoir track in the dark. She started to jog. The path back through the forest was far too uneven and treacherous to run, but she could go at slow jog, she thought, and that way she may manage to reduce the amount of time spent traveling in the dark.
It was only because jogging with her bow on her back was uncomfortable that she was even close to being prepared to use it when she turned the corner in the path. She would normally travel with it slung, but as she trudged quickly along the dirt path, the bow would swing back and forth, hitting her thigh. She
had pulled it from her back and grabbed her sheath of arrows in the other hand so she could move faster. And so it was when she turned the corner and nearly ran head on into the creature.
The beast reared, kicked out once in panic, and then bolted, heading in the opposite direction.
Seren nearly fell, but steadied herself, her heart thumping in her chest. The deer bounded along the path and not into the trees. It was panicked and running in any direction it could. She had seconds, she knew, before it changed direction and bolted into the trees, an opportunity that would be missed if she reacted too slowly.
She grasped the feathered flight of one of the arrows and let the sheath drop. She swung the bow up, leveled, and sent the arrow zipping away, even as she’d barely notched the thing. It was a feeble shot, and hurried, but there was no time for aiming, just one split-second chance for the kill. Seren’s heart thudded as a second or two of silence followed, but then there was a shrill cry in darkness along the path, a thud, and then silence.
Seren reached the village an hour into the sunset, and much later than she had wanted to, but the deer was heavy; a young buck but still strong, with plenty of meat on it. She hadn’t been expecting to be hauling a deer back to camp, and she had needed a large branch and several feet of her twine to attach the catch, just so she could drag the thing along.
It had been as she tied the deer’s back legs to the branch that she had seen the first flight of birds overhead. There were a hundred of them, at least, she thought. They took off from the trees not far from where she was struggling with her catch, flying up high, laboring to lift themselves up onto easier air streams and making a lot of noise.
Seren watched as the flight headed out across the hilltop, easterly, and disappeared into the setting sun, the first sign of the migration to come.
Chapter 3
She could hear the noise from the village before she got within half a mile. There would be a town meeting tonight, had to be. If she had spotted the bird-flight, others would have too, and reports would be coming in from all the hunters that had been out that day.
