Dustfall, Book One - Shadows of a Lost Age

by J. Thorn

  “Answer me, Seren. Are you coming with us or not?”

  “I need to speak with Gaston,” she said, refusing to tip her hand to Roke. She wanted the opportunity to change her mind at the last minute, based on her observations of Gaston. Seren knew enough to realize what a risk they would take, following the stranger. Most of the clans’ glorious leaders abided by a book. Unfortunately, so did the madmen, and sometimes little differentiated the two.

  “I’ll take you to him,” Roke said.

  Seren followed him out of the camp and along the road. It was dark still, but the dawn was close and some light illuminated the streets. Eventually they came to a patch of barren ground, and she sensed, more than saw, figures moving about. She stopped and watched Roke walk into the camp, his back lit by the creeping dawn. She also felt the sunrise begin, slowly, and the rays warmed her skin while the wind whispered of the coming of winter.

  With the rise of the sun that morning, most of the men and women in Wytheville set about securing their belongings for the journey, and this small gathering was no different. Whether they were headed west with Gaston, or east with Jonah, this would be the final morning in the ruins, and for some, their last visit.

  Roke disappeared amongst the few carts at the back of the clearing, making his way past the small groups of people working on them. A minute later he reappeared, this time with Gaston on his right side. The man’s long coat billowed out behind him and the brim of his hat was pulled low. Seren noted that he appeared to be walking taller than he had the day before.

  When Gaston and Roke stopped in front of Seren, she opened the flap to the tent. Gaston waved her inside but held his palm up to Roke. “I need to speak with your sister. Alone.”

  Roke nodded and turned back to the camp, hoping to trade for a handful of dried meats or nuts to sustain him on the unknown journey.

  Gaston gestured to a tent nearby and followed Seren inside, pulling the flap shut.

  “It might keep out the wind but it won’t contain our voices.”

  “I understand,” said Gaston. “I will say nothing to you that I would not say to anyone else.”

  “Then why send Roke away?”

  “What is your decision?” Gaston asked, ignoring Seren’s question.

  “I don’t believe you,” she said. “I want you to know that.”

  “I don’t care,” said Gaston.

  “Cygoa. Your past. There is more there than you share with us.”

  “We all have our pasts buried. I’m not the only one.”

  “The book. Is it real?”

  Gaston reached into his coat and removed it, holding the tome in front of Seren’s face. “Here it is. How much more real could it be?”

  “That is not what I meant, and you know it. Did you write it? Do you know who did?”

  “You may stay and travel to Eliz with Jonah, or you may come with us to White Citadel. That is in your power to decide. You cannot demand answers and expect to get them, especially from me. I owe you none.”

  Seren folded her arms across her chest. Her right hand massaged the end of her bow.

  “The truth is, I need you. You have one of the best shots in this camp. I’ve heard the warriors speak with envy about your ability. I want you to come with us. Roke wants you to join us, as well. But you must decide, and no amount of interrogation is going to matter. You take me and the book on faith, just like you’ve done with Jonah. It really is that simple. Me or him.”

  Seren turned her eyes up to the supports meeting in the middle of the tent. She shook her head and felt an uncomfortable flutter in her stomach, like she had eaten an egg a few days past the hatch.

  “Please come with me, Seren.”

  Before she could reply, Roke pushed the tent flap aside and joined them. He looked to Gaston and then to his older sister. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I couldn’t help but hear.”

  Gaston shook his head. “No matter.” He turned to Seren once more. “Well?”

  “I will go with you,” Seren said, her eyes fixed on Roke and her body turned away from Gaston.

  “Splendid,” said Gaston. The skin around his eyes creased into dark lines as he smiled.

  “I go with you. For you,” Seren said to Roke. She stood and left the tent, her bow slapping against the flap as she went.

  Roke smiled at Gaston and the man put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I need to tell you something.”

  “What is it?” Roke asked, leaning forward and holding his breath.

  “You have it.”

  “What?”

  “The unknowable quality. Your sister doesn’t have it. Jonah doesn’t have it. You do.”

  Roke sat up straighter, pushing his chest out. “I do?”

  Gaston nodded. “You are a born leader, Roke. I need your sister. That is true. She possesses the skill with the bow. But your gift is much greater. You will lead men long after I’m gone. You will rule White Citadel.”

  “But everyone always pays attention to Seren. Even though she’s younger.”

  Gaston smiled and grasped Roke’s shoulders with both hands. “You are the one they will follow one day. The one portended in the book. Your blood will rule White Citadel. It is you, Roke. I’m thrilled Seren is joining us, but she is not fated the way you are. She will not understand. She will try to come between us, to deny you your rightful place in the clan. You cannot allow that to happen. Do you understand what is at stake? I’m only the messenger, delivering the messiah to the chosen land. You will be that king, and White Citadel will be your dominion. You will be ignored no more.”

  Chapter 63

  Jonah stretched as he stepped out of the tent. The day would be a hot one, he thought as he felt the sun hit his face. It was already light, and so early. The weather was changing already as they moved away from the mountains. He remembered the blistering heat of Eliz in the summer, but had only heard of how hot it could get off season. Few had stayed and lived throughout the entire year in the plains near the great water. But he always enjoyed the feel of the warm sun.

  Except, as he stood outside the tent and look across the area that The Elk had camped upon, he noticed something that took much of that joy away.

  Empty spaces.

  They were dotted across much of the ground. Flat areas that had held tents the night before, where people had made their pitch for the few nights they would be in Wytheville, before moving on once more in a larger convoy with The Five Clans.

  He had expected some to go, but not many. He had been confident that most of the clan was still loyal, and would follow the book and the way that they had always survived, but as he looked around, moving forward to the central campfire to better judge his losses, he felt his nerve begin to falter and a grumbling in his stomach creep in. There were lots of empty spots where tents had been.

  How many? he thought. How many have we lost?

  He started to count, glancing around the perimeter, but some areas were completely empty and he couldn’t remember how many tents had been there the night before.

  “Thirty-three,” said a voice from behind him, and Jonah turned, irritated, to see Declan standing not far away, hands by his side and his expression resigned.

  “What?” asked Jonah.

  “We lost thirty-three people during the night,” said Declan.

  Jonah felt the statement as though he had been punched in the face. Thirty-three? There were over two hundred in the Elk clan, two hundred and twenty or more, once the Bluestone had joined them, but now they had lost thirty-three?

  His clan had lost nearly a sixth of its original members overnight?

  This is impossible, he thought. It can’t be so many.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” said Declan. “I was too worried someone from what was once Bluestone would leave, so I stayed up all night until an hour ago. None left, but a lot of the Elk from the forest did.”

  Jonah slumped down onto a log that had been placed next to the campfire, unable to believe what he was hear
ing. But the spaces between tents suggested it was true.

  “Even that girl with the bow went,” said Declan. “Went to join her brother.”

  Jonah felt his heart sink. Seren? Seren had gone to join Gaston? That was ridiculous. She didn’t trust the man, and even though she had urged him to speak to Gaston many times, she had made it clear she didn’t trust him. Why would she leave?

  Jonah felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Sasha standing behind him.

  “It would be because of Roke that she went,” Sasha said. “No other reason.”

  You are fool, Jonah thought to himself. A fool to have believed that many would stay.

  “But we still have many,” said Sasha.

  “But not enough,” said Jonah. “We are much weaker now, and I have to face the Council of Five Clans today. They will already know, I think. Such a loss will make us look weaker.”

  “It will be enough to survive,” said Sasha. “We will make it enough.”

  “Those who were once Bluestone will be with you,” said Declan. “We will remain loyal.”

  Jonah nodded. “And I’m thankful for that, Declan.”

  A noise from the other side of the camp drew the three from the campfire, and Jonah saw Solomon and Gunney heading into the camp from the road. They looked somber but approached the campfire quickly.

  “Jonah,” Gunney said with a nod.

  “We heard what happened,” said Solomon.

  Jonah nodded. “Yes, I thought you might. It seems that today the Elk are weaker than they have been for a long time.”

  “Will you take them down?” asked Gunney.

  Jonah looked up, frowning.

  “I mean will you wipe out the deserters?”

  “No,” said Jonah. “They may take their journey to this White Citadel, and they will likely perish. It is not my concern anymore, as they are no longer Elk. But that doesn’t mean I need to make an enemy of them.”

  The two other clan leaders glanced at each other, and Jonah thought there was an exchange in those glances, but he wasn’t able to gauge what it meant.

  “You still going to deal with the Five?” asked Solomon. “Or will you just move on now?”

  Jonah knew what the man was really asking. Would he take his clan and leave, turn away from The Five Clans, or would he still go to them even if he was in a weaker bargaining position?

  “I will go today,” said Jonah. “There is no need for this to change that plan. It just means we may not come out of it as well as we expected.”

  Another glance between Gunney and Solomon.

  “Well, that’s really what we came to speak to you about,” said Gunney.

  Jonah looked up, curious to know what the two were plotting, what secret was in those glances.

  “The Valley number thirty-five,” said Solomon, “and Gunney’s folks here, the Harpeth, number nearly as many. If you can take the Bluestone in, then can you take other clans? Your father never would, but you’ve changed that.”

  “You want to join the Elk?” Jonah asked. “Even after we were just weakened?”

  “You’re still far stronger than most other clans, and if you were to add the Harpeth and the Valley, we would come out as the largest clan in the region, bigger by far than any of the Five or any that meet in Eliz. You’d be close to fielding a hundred and fifty warriors in the Elk warband alone. That’s unknown in the west. Only some of the eastern clans have those kind of numbers.”

  “But why would you want that?”

  Solomon sighed. “I’m getting old, Jonah. And I worry that my clan will one day all perish if I’m not here to watch over it. My boys are good lads, but none of them are as strong as some of the Elk. And instead of growing in size, we’ve gradually shrunk over the last thirty years. If you can take in the Bluestone, then you have changed something, done a thing that has not been done before. And if we all band together, become one, not only do I secure better chances for my own kin, but we become stronger as a whole. Strong enough that very few will face us without pissing in their pants.”

  Jonah considered this thought. If both clans were to join the Elk, they would be even greater than they had been before, even with the exodus.

  “Consider it, would you?” said Solomon.

  “And imagine the surprise on the Council’s faces when you turn up later today,” Gunney said with a wicked grin.

  Chapter 64

  Gerth had the youngest slave girl stitch the wound in his calf. Shykar, the lieutenant who carried him back to their camp, handed him a flask of fire water.

  Shykar smiled at the tribal leader. “The grain will help deaden the pain of the needle.”

  Gerth took a swig and let the alcohol roll down his throat like molten lava. He grimaced as the girl poked the needle through his skin and drew the thread through, up one side of the torn flesh and then down the other, doubling the stitches. The drink would only dull the intensity of the pain; it would not mask it entirely. Having to rely on Shykar to remove the trap from his leg hurt more than the rusted teeth that bit into his flesh.

  “Get me another flask,” Gerth ordered, tossing the empty one back to Shykar.

  “I want the boy and you will give him to me. You gave me your word.”

  Gerth pulled the slave girl up by her hair. He took out his knife and cut the thread and then kicked at her with his good leg. She scampered out of the tent and into the night, leaving the two warriors alone.

  “I want to tell you a story,” said Gerth.

  Shykar sat down on the rock next to Gerth. He took two flasks from the ground, where they sat next to a crude basket filled with rotting bread. Shykar handed one to Gerth and took a swig from the other.

  “Do you know the origin of my mask?” Gerth asked.

  Shykar shook his head but did not reply.

  “I went through the initiation, completed the hunt and the ceremonial kill. I earned my mask and the right to lead this clan.”

  Shykar nodded, acknowledging the truth about the way Gerth had risen to power.

  “The clan had captured several stragglers from the road. Two of them died in the cage, but the third survived, and he was set out into the woods for the ceremony. I remember my father telling me that whomever was able to bring back the captive’s head would be the next leader of the clan. The victor would be given a mask made from the skin of his prey.”

  Gerth winced, the pain in his leg flaring up and reminding him to take another swig from the flask. Shykar waited for Gerth to continue.

  “There were five of us, that year. I was the youngest of them all, probably not far into my thirteenth year. I stabbed two in the back and pushed one off a cliff. The other disappeared into the woods and was never heard from again. Once I eliminated my competitors, I set out on the hunt. Only one of us would make it through the initiation and earn the mask, and that was going to be me. I had no doubt. But the prey they set loose in the woods, although weakened, was still very dangerous. Those who walk the road are often careless and stupid, but do not mistake that for weakness. Most come from the north, and those clans are hardened and strong.

  “The captive was also a young boy, probably about the same age I was. I picked up his trail a few miles into the forest and followed him for several days. I decided to give him a false sense of security in hopes he would slow down. I don’t know if it worked or not, but the boy did move slower as the days wore on. I stayed far enough back that he wouldn’t see me but close enough to know his location. He remained in one camp for three days, and I decided that I would make my move on the fourth. After the boy woke and squatted in the woods, I entered his camp. I had removed my tribal markings and covered myself in mud, hoping to fool him. It worked. I walked up to the young boy and he smiled. I can still see that face, and I often wonder why he smiled at me. I did not give him a chance to explain. I slid a knife from beneath my ragged clothes, shoved it into his gut and watched him bleed out at my feet.”

  Shykar sat motionless, his hands twis
ted around the flask.

  “Making the kill wasn’t enough. I had to prove myself to my father and to the clan. I decided that instead of bringing back the boy’s head, that I would strip the flesh and wear his face. The skin that would become this mask would sit upon my own, warm and bloody.”

  “My lord, I must—”

  “Shut up.”

  Shykar raised his hands in compliance and let Gerth continue.

  “I walked into the camp, wearing the skin of the captive, after having killed three of my own to lessen the competition. My father dropped to his knees before me and the shaman removed the skin and immediately began to fashion my mask. Since that day I have led this clan. I have organized the raids and plundered from the humans foolish enough to travel the road through our territory. I am the Bear King, and you are nothing but a pile of shit.”

  Gerth leaned in closer, the skin of his human mask cracked and blistered from years of exposure. Shykar slid back and tried to keep his distance from the man.

  “You struck a bargain with the devil, my friend. You tried using my life as a bargaining chip to get yourself a young boy. Do not think for a moment that I will not settle that debt with flesh. How dare you dangle my own life before me?”

  “I meant nothing of it. I—I…”

  “You’re a weak, pathetic fool, lieutenant. You’d best try to murder me in my sleep, because the minute you’re no longer of use to me, I will cut your fucking throat. Should you decide to serve me faithfully from this moment on, and forget about your carnal desires, I may only banish you instead. Or I may let you stay, if you prove more loyal than you have so far.”

  Shykar nodded and turned his eyes to the floor.

  “But I did not say you won’t get what you want, just that you will get it when I decide, and not before. Never demand again.”

  Shykar nodded once more, silent.

  “I want recon on the caped one, the man leading the split from the Elk. Find out where he is headed and when. And do not be seen. If you screw this up, you will be the next toy for the warriors of this clan. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, my lord. I do.”