Dustfall, Book One - Shadows of a Lost Age

by J. Thorn

  Keana looked down at Gideon and nodded. The boy ran inside, leaving the two girls under the eave.

  “You look as though you’ve spotted the spirits of the elders,” Keana said.

  “I have.”

  “Who is it?”

  “I can’t,” said Seren. “I must tell your father or mother first.”

  Gideon returned, pulling Sasha by the arm.

  “Hello, Seren. Gideon said you must speak to Jonah. I’m sure you know that—”

  “He’s returned.”

  “Who?”

  Gideon and Keana stared at Seren, holding their breath.

  “The stranger with the long coat. The one who talked a lot.”

  “What is his name?” Sasha asked, her voice rising with each word.

  “Gaston. He’s back.”

  Chapter 12

  Jonah stood facing the cracked and dirty mirror that hung over the crumbling brick hearth and took a deep breath.

  “She must be mistaken,” he said, glancing toward Sasha, who now loitered near the entrance to the large room—once Jonah’s father’s contemplation room.

  Sasha shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said. “But she is convinced that it’s the same man, says he even walks the same and he’s wearing that same long coat.”

  Jonah placed his hand over the fireplace and leaned heavily, staring at his own reflection in the mirror. It was the only intact mirror in the town, found in one of the lodges a good distance out from the village a few years before, and Judas had paid a good price in animal skins to have it up on his wall. Jonah had always wondered why. His father had never been a vain man; nor was he a particularly handsome one. And the thing couldn’t travel with them, so it was left there each year, open to being stolen. Of course, it was half as heavy as a man, so few would have bothered to even attempt taking it.

  “The man that wanted us to go to this White Citadel place, wherever the hell that is, would likely be dead. Judas refused him The Walk and sent him away. Everyone knows that. Judas said so himself. They talked and the man left, he said.”

  Sasha shrugged again. “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe he somehow managed to survive the winter?”

  Jonah turned sharply, frowning. “How? The winter would have killed him, and it would be unlikely that he would have made The Walk alone. You’ve seen the gangs of thieves on the road, waiting. You know what it’s like. It can’t be done alone.”

  “True,” said Sasha.

  “Hmm,” Jonah muttered. “Well I guess we better go and find out.”

  He reached over the fire, to the axe that hung there, and pulled it down. It had been Judas’s weapon, and the metal head was sharp and wicked looking, even if the thing was probably hundreds of years old. It had dated back to the Before Times, to the era before The Event, and its like were the rarest of things, usually held by chieftains or warriors of renown. People killed each other for possession of such weapons, and now this one had been handed down to him.

  He balanced it in his hands for a few moments, judging the weight of it, then gripped the handle. It was much lighter than he had imagined. All the years he saw his father carrying the thing he had thought it must be heavy, and a lot of cruder weapons of that size were, but they were iron, aluminum or bronze wrought, made from melted down scraps taken from the ruins. They were often roughly made and unbalanced, but this axe was completely different. It was said that it had been made in a time when machines—things also made of metal that moved, cut, burned and forged—could build such things.

  Jonah stomped out of the room and into the main hall of the chief’s hut. Seren stood near the door, next to Gideon and Keana, and shifted nervously as Jonah entered.

  “Where is he?” Jonah asked.

  Seren gripped the shaft of her bow with both hands, her fingers clasping. “Last I saw, he would just be passing the ruin of the old mill, about a half mile. I ran down here as fast as I could, and he was still walking. I guess he could be half that distance by now. Maybe halfway between here and where the old cabins were?”

  She spoke of the cabins where she, her brother, and her father had lived, before Judas had torn them down, declaring they were a stink; before he had killed Brok in the middle of the road. Roke had gone to live in the town after that, choosing one of the empty houses on the other side of the town, but Seren had gone farther out into the woods, to the lodge by the main road. It made for a good lookout along the road heading into town, and she had become the un-appointed watcher of the way.

  Jonah nodded and hefted the axe, testing its weight once more, and then started to leave.

  “Are you going to face him down?” Sasha asked, the fear evident in her voice.

  Jonah nodded. “Of course. I have to,” he said and went out of the main door into the street.

  Inside, Sash turned quickly to Seren. “Fetch Nera, and quickly, and then go get Halston and Sterm.”

  Seren nodded and turned to leave.

  “Be fast, Seren,” Sasha urged, as the girl jogged out the front door. Jonah stood in the middle of the main street, staring up the long stretch of blacktop as it wound its way into the forest and turned out of view, but Seren turned left after exiting and ran along the sidewalk toward the station building.

  The road leading off the crossroads, where the chief’s hut stood, was thin and crumbling, far more damaged and weathered than the main street, but Seren was used to the territory and ran across the broken surface easily, heading in the direction of the old station. Two minutes later, Seren hopped over the broken fence and ran down onto the flat section of concrete that was the front of where Nera lived.

  The old building was set back quite a way from the road, wooden planks covering where huge panes of glass would once have given an open view into the interior. A massive canopy loomed overhead, held up on thick metal columns. It was broken and cracked in places, and thin slits of sunlight cut through the shaded area under the canopy, one of which seemed to point directly at the old worn, wooden sign that spelled the word GAS.

  This was the old gas station, where Nera spent his days working on the carts the clan would pull on the long journey ahead of them. Carts that even now lined the courtyard in front of his house, protected from any harsh weather by the huge canopy.

  Nera was sitting on the step out the front of the house, running a long, wicked looking knife along the curve of a newly built cart wheel. There were many repairs that would need to be made to the rickshaw-like carts that the clan used to carry their possessions on the road. The toll of the long journey there and back often wrecked some of the carts, and Nera was the man who made them work again.

  “Well, you look flustered,” he called as Seren approached. “What has you running like the wind in a storm on such a bright and sunny day?”

  Seren came to a halt just a few feet away and bent over, catching her breath.

  “Stranger...White...Citadel...Man...Back,” she said, struggling against her breath. It was something that she had never been able to explain, the sudden panic that came on sometimes. It was from the times her father had been alive. Sometimes she just couldn’t breathe when she was frightened.

  Nera’s eyes went wide, and he pushed the cart wheel aside, shoving the knife into his belt and standing. “What man?”

  Seren took a deep breath this time and was able to speak more clearly. “The man from White Citadel, the dark man that was banished. Wears a long coat.”

  “Where?” Nera asked, opening the door to his house, reaching in and grabbing a long shafted weapon with a triple spear-tip. A trident, he’d called it once, but she thought it was for digging the ground rather than fighting.

  “He’s on the road, just past the old lodge, heading toward the town. Jonah is going out to meet him.”

  Then Nera was moving, jogging along the street.

  Chapter 13

  There were twenty of them waiting for him when he turned the final corner that would lead the road down into the village. They stood in a l
ine across the street, with their new leader, Judas’s son, in the middle, his father’s axe in hand.

  Interesting, Gaston thought, as he continued on toward them. He wouldn’t slow down; no, that would show fear, and maybe also the wrong intentions. If he were to carry on forward, they may not be aggressive.

  As he walked down the road he noticed others nearby. The young girl, Seren, her bow already notched but pointed to the ground, stood up on the deck of a house a few yards behind the main body of defenders, and two others, younger boys, knives in their hands, waited beside her.

  The next generation of warriors for this village, he thought and smiled.

  Others stood farther away, bows also notched and ready.

  This will be over quickly if they do not want me here, he thought.

  He raised his hands as he approached, opening his palms out and spreading his fingers in a gesture of peace. Jonah waited, his eyes squinting against the bright light of the sun as it bore down upon them, one of the last days of bright sunlight before the winter would come. And there is the other man, thought Gaston. Judas’s right hand, Nera, with his huge beard almost to his barrel chest. They would never trust him.

  “I don’t want any trouble,” Gaston said, smiling. “And I don't mean any harm.”

  “Claims every stranger approaching a well-armed clan. And that we are,” said Nera.

  Gaston looked at Nera and then at Jonah. “He speaks for the chief?” Gaston asked.

  “I can speak for myself,” said Jonah. His fingers curled around the shaft of the axe, his eyes cast down to the road.

  “And so you are the chief, now?” Gaston asked, frowning, trying to keep his knowledge of the truth hidden. “Where is Judas?”

  “Passed on, yesterday,” Jonah said, taking a step toward Gaston.

  “Jonah is our leader now,” said Nera.

  Gaston stopped several feet from the group. He scanned their faces. Some, like Seren’s, he remembered from his previous time spent in the village. Others he had forgotten or they had joined after his departure.

  “So that would be the reason I heard drums on the wind as I camped last night? Well, my name is Gaston. I was here last season but decided it was best not to make The Walk with you that time.”

  Jonah raised his eyebrows and titled his head at an angle.

  “You decided not to join us?” he asked.

  “Well, your father suggested I make other plans for the winter. And so I did, and now I’ve returned to ask your permission to make the trek this year. I had second thoughts, decided I had chosen wrongly. I hoped Judas would be more amiable if I left it a year before asking to join once more.”

  Easy, Gaston thought. I must placate and appear submissive.

  “My father banished you. I believe ‘suggestion’ is not the word you meant to use, stranger.”

  Gaston shrugged, his smile remaining subtle but firm. “As you say, Chief. I do not remember such words when we parted last, but I will not argue with you. Especially not given the circumstances of the day. I offer my sorrow at your loss.”

  The wind came through the valley and tossed handfuls of dried leaves in the air. They landed on the road, skittering across and hissing like angry spiders. The sun remained above the horizon but steadily declined, the night coming fast on the shadows.

  “I come alone. Your scout,” Gaston said, pointing at Seren, “can verify that. My hands are out and my eyes true.”

  Jonah looked at Nera, and the old man shook his head. Jonah turned and waved a hand at Seren and the others. They turned and walked down the road toward the village in silence. Nera and three other men with knives remained.

  “You looked like him. Even more so now,” said Gaston.

  Jonah remained silent as Gaston drew a thin bottle from beneath his coat. He tore the corked top off with his teeth and tilted the top at Jonah.

  “What do you want?” he asked, ignoring Gaston’s offering.

  “The shine might loosen you up a bit. Help you to be more comfortable in your duties.”

  “I’m going to ask you again, and if you don’t answer me directly, we will slay you where you stand.”

  “Of course you can, Jonah. There are several of you, armed. And there is but one of me, holding nothing but my last few ounces of shine. That of which I’ve offered and you’ve refused, I think. You know it gets harder to scavenge parts for the stills these days, right? A man should accept gifts, especially ones given to the leader of the clan.”

  Gaston took a swig from the bottle. He closed his eyes and shivered despite the warm, late summer sun on his back.

  “My father has died. We have yet to deal with the passing and all of the traditions that accompany it. We have not the time for standing in the road and talking. I’m sure you’ve seen the angle of the sun and felt the days grow short.”

  “Aye,” Gaston said. “I know you’re preparing for The Walk. I saw your carts on my way in. Should make the journey easier.”

  “Judas banished you,” Nera said, speaking out of turn and without Jonah’s permission, knowing the man was too new of a chief to even understand the insubordination. “We never see the banished again.”

  “Well here I am, sir. I stand before you on this road, in the flesh.”

  “Search him,” Jonah said.

  The boys with knives and several men, including Nera, approached Gaston. The stranger held his hands out, his long coat open for their inspection. They took the tobacco sack and a bottle from the inside pockets but found no weapons.

  “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you I mean no harm.”

  Jonah looked at Nera and then nodded at Gaston. “Go on,” he said. “Tell us what you want or be on your way. We’re already at maximum capacity for the southern trek. Last time you came to preach, to try and subvert people to follow you to a different place, and your words fell on deaf ears. We have our path and we will follow it. Unless you come to trade? We may be able to accommodate that.”

  “Understood,” Gaston said. “May I ask for one night’s shelter and a half a day with you, tomorrow? If what I bring is of no interest, I shall leave and never return.”

  “No,” Nera said to Jonah. “Your father banished him for a reason. We should just send him on his way.”

  “The chief is his own man. I believe he can make that decision for himself.”

  Nera grumbled and shook his head.

  The old man will have to go, thought Gaston.

  “We have many preparations to make for The Walk. I am not sure I can spare an entire morning listening to your fables.”

  “They’re all fables now,” Gaston said. “Whether it be the journal in my pocket or the one in yours, there isn’t enough memory left to dispute the world before The Event. There’s no harm in sitting with me over a smoke and hearing what I have to say.”

  “Your father would not—”

  “My father is dead, Nera.”

  Gaston bit his lip to keep from grinning.

  “I am chief now, and you are my right hand, not my mouthpiece.”

  Nera dropped his head, his beard swaying in the wind.

  “You may take one of the old shacks on the eastern edge of the village. Gann can show you where.” Jonah indicated a young man standing a few feet away. “Be at my door at first light and I will spend one smoke with you. That is all I can promise.”

  “I would ask nothing more,” Gaston said, bowing before Jonah.

  Gaston turned to Gann, and the young warrior stepped forward. Behind him, Seren reappeared, as if arriving on the wind. Her arrow remained notched and her eyes held on his.

  “You would and you will,” said Jonah. “I am no fool.”

  Nera mumbled and this time turned to walk back to the village.

  Jonah began to walk away, but he stopped and turned. “Where is it that your book proposes we go?” he asked.

  “On the water’s edge, or around the coals if the morning is cool.”

  “No,” said Jonah. “
Not for our talk tomorrow. Where do you think we should go instead of on The Walk to Eliz?”

  “White Citadel.”

  “You spoke of it last season. Why come to us with the proposal again?”

  “Because I’ve learned more of it. We would not have to return from there, or migrate like animals. White Citadel can be a new village. A permanent one, if you will listen.”

  Gaston spun and walked away from Jonah, toward the village outskirts where he would attempt to sleep.

  Chapter 14

  “You don’t believe me either, do you?” Gaston asked. He sat on the arm of the crumbling sofa in the middle of an otherwise empty room. The house overlooked the rest of the village from higher up the side of the hill, and he’d chosen it just for that purpose. He wanted to see what was going on down there, and also who was on their way up to him.

  “About what?” Seren asked from her spot next to the door. Gann, the young warrior sent to show Gaston where he should stay, had moved to one of the other buildings to set up a watch for the night. The windows of the hut were smashed through, and had been missing for decades, and the weather had crept into most of the house, along with the weeds, but enough of the building was intact for it to be usable. But Seren preferred to be out on the porch.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t like the man. From what she remembered, of the last time he had been here, he had been generous and friendly to everyone he spoke to. But it seemed he had been banished by Judas all the same, and that meant she couldn’t help but not trust him. At least not entirely.

  “The Citadel,” said Gaston. “It’s real, you know.”

  Seren peered at him and then wished that Nera had sent more than one watchman to stay with Gaston, rather than leave her feeling as though she needed to be there. She didn’t suppose there would be many volunteers, with the ceremony due to start. No one would want to miss it.

  “You haven’t been there, though?” Seren asked, deciding that conversation was better than trying to ignore the man. He hadn’t behaved badly so far, and she wasn’t in the habit of being unduly rude.