Dustfall, Book One - Shadows of a Lost Age

by J. Thorn

  He moved away from Sasha and sat down on the edge of the table near the middle of the room.

  “It’s not natural to me.”

  “You’ll be fine,” said Sasha. “You are at least as strong a man as your father was. And, in many ways, a better one.”

  “You’re biased,” he said, smiling.

  “It’s still true.”

  “And if I was to say that I think we should leave early, maybe even with the next couple of days, do you think others would think I was a good leader, or would they think it a bad choice?”

  Sasha was quiet for a moment. “Is that what you are thinking, then? You wish us to leave weeks before the cold comes?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “My instinct tells me that something has changed, this year. Something more than just the leadership of the clan. And not the arrival of Gaston.”

  His mind wavered over the doubts he was having, but he didn’t speak of them any further. It was an instinct, he told himself. The air was colder earlier and the bird flights were already leaving, even though it should be another two weeks before they migrated. Of course, the carts wouldn’t be ready.

  “I think they would do what their leader said,” said Sasha, “and there are always those who grumble, right or wrong.”

  Jonah smiled again. “True.”

  * * *

  Three hours later, Jonah stepped out of the building and into the sunlight, glad that the night had passed and that the bad dreams had gone.

  No one else was up, although he knew that some would be stirring already. He would have to speak to Nera before announcing anything to anyone, and he knew the old man would argue against it, but this was another problem that he had to deal with. Nera was still second to his father in his mind, Jonah believed, and the man was going to take some winning over before he would stand by Jonah truly.

  He’d felt that the day before, when they stood on the road and faced just one man. Before, when Judas had led, there may have often been turmoil in the clan, but when it came to facing an outside threat there was always unity. Yesterday, he had raised his voice and made his leadership clear, but he knew that it wasn’t Gaston, the stranger, that had needed to be told, but Nera and the others.

  He left the shade of the chief’s hut and headed along the road, stepping over cracks in the ground along the stretch of blacktop, until he reached the front of Nera’s place.

  That was unusual, he thought. Nera was always the first to rise, and if Jonah had come here any other day, the man would already be outside, working on the carts, or at the far end of the courtyard bellowing the brick forge.

  But he was nowhere to be seen.

  Jonah walked to the front door and banged on it. “Nera?” he called.

  No answer.

  He waited a moment, and lifted his hand, banging harder on the door. “Ner...” but he stopped as the door swung slowly open.

  The man must be out on an errand, Jonah thought, stepping into the the room.

  The room smelt foul, and Jonah wrinkled his nose at the pungent waft that hit him. He made a note to remind Nera to wash more often. The man was old, and had not smelt particularly good for as long as Jonah could remember, but this—this was even worse than normal. This smell was like a dead animal.

  He moved to the door that separated the main room from Nera’s bedroom and saw the source of the bad smell lying on the bed. Nera’s face had bloated, and his skin was pale and grey.

  Chapter 18

  “No. Don’t you leave me alone, damn you!” Jonah pushed Nera’s shoulder, but the man didn’t move. “Get up, please.”

  Nera’s mouth remained open but neither words nor breath escaped.

  Jonah glanced at the table next to the bed and saw the scattered remains of a strange plant he didn’t recognize. He stepped closer, leaning over the table. A root of some kind, heavily chewed, and the package looked as though it had held more.

  He pulled the sheet over the old man’s head and left the room. The pungent stench of death followed him through the dark hallways until he stood on the porch. Jonah gulped the cool morning air and let the sun warm his face. He would now have to deal with another crisis, and without an experienced mentor at his side. Jonah sighed and heard the village stirring; the first sounds of women stoking the morning fire.

  He rubbed the hair on his face and decided to pass on a final shave before The Walk. Kerin would use a sharpened buck knife on the men, along with an aloe soap, and Jonah loved the way his skin felt when she scraped the stubble away. There wouldn’t be time, given his decision to leave early, his father’s passing…and now this.

  “Jonah.”

  The sound of his name shook him from his thoughts. Jonah spun and saw Seren standing fifteen feet away, her bow in hand.

  She probably sleeps with that thing, he thought.

  “Good morning, Seren.”

  She smiled at Jonah but it did little to convince him she was anything but troubled.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Nothing. Everything. Why do you ask?”

  “Where’s Nera?”

  Jonah shuffled his feet and put both hands on his hips. He looked over his shoulder at the house and then up at the sky, hoping to find an adequate answer somewhere. “Inside. He is…not well.”

  “Is he dead?”

  Blood rushed to Jonah’s face. He balled his hands into fists and walked toward Seren. “Why would you say such a thing?”

  “Is he?”

  She remained standing, bow in hand and her voice calm and flat. Jonah inhaled and ground his teeth together.

  She’s just a child, he thought.

  “Yes.” The truth stumbled from his mouth before he had time to decide upon a lie. “Nera is dead.”

  For the first time since she called his name, Seren looked around. More of the villagers emerged from their shelters, preparing the morning meal while others tinkered with their carts.

  “You’re scared,” Jonah said.

  Seren looked down and then nodded.

  “If you know something, you need to tell me. I am the chief now. It is my job to protect us, to lead us on The Walk.”

  “How will you do that?” she asked.

  “I will follow the scripture and the path our people have walked for generations.”

  “No,” she said, her eyes frozen, blue crystals. “How will you protect us?”

  Jonah gasped, the question stealing his breath like a punch to the stomach. He relaxed his fists and dropped down to one knee in front of Seren so his face was level with hers.

  “Keana and Gideon. My children.”

  Seren stared into Jonah’s eyes.

  “I have protected them. And my wife. I will protect this village, too. I will do whatever I must to keep us safe.”

  Seren looked over Jonah’s shoulder at the house holding Nera’s cold body in its embrace. Jonah followed her gaze and rubbed at his eyes.

  “He was old.”

  “And your father?”

  “If you know something, Seren, you must tell me. Now.”

  “The stranger. You invited him back.”

  Jonah felt the accusation trembling beneath her simple words.

  “Your father banished him.”

  “Yes, it seems that he did,” said Jonah. “And the man returned with his hands in the air, armed with nothing but a book. You were on the road with the others. You heard the talk. We will talk to him today and find out what happened, since he left us a year ago, and why he wants to join us on The Walk.”

  “He doesn’t,” she said. “He has no interest in reaching Eliz.”

  Jonah turned his head sideways and wrinkled his eyebrows. “Then why is he here?”

  “He will ask us to join him at White Citadel. It says so in his book. The thing you do not fear.”

  “Did he tell you what happened to my father?”

  “No.”

  “Do you believe he had something to do with my father’s death?”
<
br />   Seren nodded, tears filling her eyes.

  “And Nera’s?”

  She nodded again.

  Jonah stood and took a step back. He spun around, knowing people would be looking for Nera soon, and he would have to take action first.

  “Go to my house. Tell Sasha I sent you. Ask her to call Logan and wait there for me, and do not leave, for any reason. Those are my commands as chief. Do you understand?”

  Seren nodded.

  “Then go. Run. We shall talk again before the sun sets on this day.”

  The girl ran toward the village, the bow still gripped tightly in her left hand.

  Chapter 19

  “T’was Gye Root,” said Logan.

  Jonah stood in the doorway of the chief’s hut, Sasha by his side. They had sent the children to the center of the village, accompanied by Seren. Jonah needed them out of the way if he was forced to deal with the stranger.

  “Are you sure?” Jonah asked.

  “Yes,” said Logan. “And he must have stuffed himself full of a lot of it, by the crumbs around the bed and the way he’s bloated.”

  Jonah sighed, partly relieved.

  “Would never have thought it of him,” said Logan. “But maybe, with your father gone, he lost his purpose.”

  “He was still my right hand,” said Jonah. “He had a purpose.”

  Logan shook his head. “Not for long, and you know it. He was old, and you would need a younger right hand before long. And if I can be honest and true, he had no liking for you taking over from your father.”

  Jonah looked shocked.

  “Ah, don’t blame me,” said Logan. “I’m only saying it as I see it. Old Nera was of the same breed as your father, and from a different time. You are different, and if I’m also honest I think in a good way. But still, I wouldn’t have expected him to take his own life.”

  Jonah nodded. “So we have no reason to suspect the newcomer?”

  “Gaston?” asked Logan. “No. I remember him from the last time he came. I don’t like the man’s slippery tongue, and he may be persistent with his chatter about that book of his, but he never lifted a hand to anyone that I ever saw. I know you suspect he has something to do with your father’s death, and no doubt his timing is so bad most will suspect him of Nera’s death too, but Nera topped his damn self.”

  Logan held up the remains of the root. “For this to kill you, you’d need to eat a lot, like two meals worth. No one stuffed this into his mouth. He chose to go.”

  Chapter 20

  Jonah took a deep breath and looked around the clearing. Most of the clan had gathered within the hour after the call went out, and even some of the hunters trailed back from their routes to find out why the drums were summoning everyone.

  “Last night, Nera passed peacefully in his sleep.”

  Sasha stood on her husband’s left and one step back from the front of the platform. Jonah looked to his right where Seren stood, beneath the eave of his house, in between Keana and Gideon.

  “I found him this morning and have decided to honor him alongside my father. He will be loyal in death as he was in life.”

  The villagers stood silently until one man coughed. Jonah looked out at their blank faces, stopping when his eyes fell on the stranger.

  Gaston.

  Jonah stared at him, and the stranger held his gaze. Jonah looked away and continued. “Before anyone casts blame, I will have you know that Nera took his own life. We found Root in his house, and Logan has said that he must have eaten a lot of it, enough that when he slept he would never awaken. Why? I do not know. Nera was close to my father, and maybe his passing was too much for him to bear.”

  He waited for the shock to pass around the clan.

  “Regardless of your views on Nera’s choice, we must remember him for who he was and send him on his way by the side of my father, where he always wished to be.”

  There was a murmuring of agreement from the gathered crowd. No one raised their voice to argue with Jonah and he was relieved. Too much, too soon. The last thing he needed was an argument.

  “We will pay respects to these two men today, and then we shall begin The Walk tomorrow.”

  A low rumble spread through the villagers, followed by whispers. A man with a red beard and sharp green eyes lifted his chin and spoke to Jonah. “Tis early. No need to start as such.”

  “You’re right,” Jonah said. “But this is my decision as your chief. The birds have begun to leave early, as many of you have noticed, and we should follow them.” Jonah continued with the unspoken objections in order to dismiss them immediately. “I know the carts are not ready and that we will take time today for the ceremony. I have factored this into my decision.”

  The villagers waited. A baby cried in the distance.

  “Are we all going?” asked the man with the red beard.

  Jonah looked at Gaston and then shot a glance at Seren. “Yes. We are all going on The Walk. We will all arrive in Eliz as the book commands.”

  Seren put an arm around each of Jonah’s children, pulling them tight against her side.

  “There is another way.”

  Sasha placed a hand over her mouth as Jonah’s head spun to face Gaston. The chief’s departure declaration had never been met with a response. Never. But then again, Jonah could not recall a time in the history of the clan since The Event that a chief and his right hand died on the eve of The Walk.

  “Anything but The Walk is heresy,” Jonah said, and the villagers turned to glare at Gaston while they nodded in agreement with their new chief.

  Gaston pushed through the villagers until he stood in front of Jonah. “You have your book,” Gaston said. “And I have brought another.”

  “Judas banished you for your sins,” said a voice from the back of the crowd.

  “Devil tongue,” said another.

  Jonah held up his palm to the crowd. They fell silent. “I allowed Gaston to approach on the road, and I said he could speak, even if this is not the appropriate time,” Jonah said. “But since the clan is gathered, it will do. So, go on, then. Let us have what you have to say and be done. Speak.”

  Gaston removed the book from his coat and held it above his head, as if to prove the words existed. “If you are sure?” he asked.

  Jonah nodded.

  Gaston lifted the book. “In the lands of the Eternal Lake, near the ruins of Cygoa, I found this book. The clans of the north wrote of a place, a haven after The Event. It is in these pages,” Gaston said, allowing the paper to flutter in the breeze, “where the deer remain and the white death does not descend.”

  Jonah squinted, allowing Gaston to speak far longer than he should have. Let his own words be his downfall, he thought. Let the people hear his crazy ramblings. Even if most of what is written in even our own book is fable—fairy tales—his will be no different.

  “Jonah,” Sasha said, her soft words concealed behind her hand. “This is blasphemy.”

  “Judas would not hear of it and sent me away, as he rightly should have. I hold no ill will toward your chief. I mean, your former chief.”

  Gaston smiled at Jonah, and it raised the hairs on the back of Jonah’s neck.

  “I have spent the last year traveling the wastelands, speaking to the clans and searching for those who have heard of this place. Some have gone there and not returned, no doubt reluctant to make The Walk and live on the road with rapists and murderers. Imagine Eliz as it could be, through all seasons.”

  “You have heard the stranger’s words, his suggestion at entering the forbidden lands. You know why my father sent him away,” said Jonah.

  “And praise to you, my lord. For you have not,” said Gaston. “You are a man of intellect, and you realize the value in listening to others.”

  “Do not patronize me, Gaston. And do not mistake my tolerance for weakness. Nobody here will follow you to…” Jonah stumbled, unable to remember what Gaston had called this magical place.

  “White Citadel,” Gaston
said.

  Chapter 21

  Seren had seen burials before, but thankfully not too many of them. When they were on the road, during The Walk, burials were a simply dug grave with a marker for future generations to remember. The road taken was always the same, so the piles of stones that lay alongside the road would be there for whoever passed, even years later, but one at the village was rarer, and one for a chieftain was something she had never witnessed.

  From where she stood, far back in the shadows underneath the overhang of the front of the building, she could barely hear the words Jonah spoke. And that was what she wanted. Many of the other clansfolk were farther forward, gathered in a large circle around the tall funeral pyre. As it was lit, many stepped back, away from the fire as it spread rapidly through the dry kindling packed underneath the logs upon which Judas lay.

  They had placed Nera on the same pyre as Judas, though his position was nearer to the ground, and, as he had been in life, on the right hand side of the chieftain.

  Seren watched as the flames caught and spread across the wood, enveloping the two covered bodies, and she wondered who else would be buried over the coming weeks.

  There were well over two hundred people in the clan, and they would leave the next day, heading south along the road they had always taken. But as every year, Seren knew that there would be less of them when they arrived at Eliz. Somehow, even with all the precautions they took, they always lost someone on the journey to either sickness or injury.

  She wondered at the tales she had heard of people losing their minds during The Walk, falling to the pressure of over a month on the road, constantly on the lookout for wild animals and bandits. She had walked it herself, a number of times now—was it twelve times on her own feet? Or eleven? She couldn’t remember, but she remembered almost enjoying the journey each time, and she had barely noticed the fear others had.

  But now it was creeping in. After the deaths of the chief and Nera, her own mortality was more apparent than ever before.