Until Dawn

by Laura Taylor

  Standing beside the pyre, Nicholas finished saying a prayer over the body and he turned to face the crowd. Stick had been a favourite among the tribe; his youthful exuberance and boundless energy had somehow given them hope. And his perpetually cheerful disposition and endless willingness to help, no matter the task, had just made him so damn likable. His death was going to leave a gaping hole in the tribe.

  Though it might have sounded rather callous, Aidan was glad they had Mikey and Julia now to fill a bit of the gap Stick would be leaving – not a replacement for a man they had all loved, but a ray of hope for the future, to keep too many people from going under. He and Whisper had fought long and hard to stop some of these men succumbing to depression and suicide in the early years, and he’d learned the dramatic importance of hope, in giving them all the strength to keep going.

  “From dust we were created,” Nicholas addressed the tribe, “and to dust we will return. Stick joined us five years ago, as a child of only thirteen years old. From a tragic and difficult beginning, he grew into a talented, compassionate and diligent young man, and I can truly say it was an honour to have known him. He was slow to anger, quick to laugh, and always eager to lend a hand. Here lies a faithful warrior of the Tribe of the Clear River Valley. We will remember him.”

  “We will remember him,” the tribe repeated in unison.

  A small fire was burning in a brazier nearby, and Aidan stepped forward, taking an oil-soaked torch from a stand and lighting the end. Then he touched the torch to the bottom of the pyre. The flames took quickly, the dry wood burning hot and fast. The fire licked along the sides, then over the top. The straw caught, and the flames leapt skyward, a blazing farewell to a man Aidan would remember, vividly and vibrantly, for the rest of his life.

  Later, inside his lodge, Whisper stood silently, watching Mikey and Julia sleep. Outside, the wind was howling, Mother Nature hurling a blustery gale at them, lest they think she’d somehow forgotten them. Both children were sleeping soundly, and the quiet peacefulness of their slumber had awakened old ghosts which were now riding Whisper hard; watching his father come home drunk and smash empty bottles against the wall; seeing his best friend die from a drug overdose at the age of seventeen; yelling at the kids at school when they’d laughed at him because he didn’t have anything to bring for lunch; his maths teacher scolding him for failing to do his homework yet again, when instead, he’d spent the evening cleaning vomit out of the hallway carpet. He’d sworn that his own children would never have to endure the hellish nightmare that he’d lived through. But little Rose was dead, murdered at the hands of slavers, along with his wife. And he kept trying to pretend it was okay, playing with these new children, teaching them how to survive, making love to his new wife – a woman who was apparently as good at pretending as he was – and it was all just a borrowed family that he hadn’t earned and didn’t deserve.

  Today, he’d failed Stick as well. He’d fucking promised the boy that he’d protect him. When he’d come running down the road, thirteen years old, barefoot and bleeding, as skinny as a rake and as pale as a ghost, Whisper had tackled him and dragged him into a ditch, clamping a hand over the boy’s mouth to stop him from screaming. Then he’d whispered into his ear that he wasn’t going to hurt him, that he’d give his life to save the boy’s, but that they had to stay still and quiet while the band of thugs passed them by, or they were both dead. And Stick had relaxing into his unyielding grip and believed him.

  He’d fucking believed him, and now he was dead.

  The door to the cabin opened and Willow staggered through, the door nearly torn out of her grip by a gust of wind. She managed to close it again, throwing her weight against it as the wind tried to blast it open again. Without a word, she came to stand beside Whisper. For a moment, she simply watched the children sleep, then after a while, she slipped her hand through his arm.

  “You’re a brave man,” she murmured to him, conscious of not waking the children, and Whisper dreaded what she was about to say next. “I know you do your best to protect everyone, but you can’t -”

  He shook her off, stalking away across the cabin. She hastily reset the curtain around the children’s beds, then took a few steps after him. But she didn’t get too close, and he wondered whether it was because she understood his need for space, or because she just didn’t want to get yelled at. “Don’t tell me who I can or can’t protect,” he told her harshly.

  “This wasn’t your fault,” she tried to tell him, but he wouldn’t have it.

  “Then whose fault is it?” he demanded.

  “Stick was killed by slavers. You’re a strong warrior, but you’re still only one man. And there’s a camp of two hundred of them -”

  “We weren’t attacked by two hundred slavers. There were eight of them, maybe ten -”

  “And they were armed with bows.”

  He said nothing, turning his back on her.

  “Half a year,” she said softly, “and you’re still shutting me out. You’re the one who named me Willow. Lean on me, for God’s sake. I won’t break!” He didn’t reply, but she wasn’t giving up either. “For crying out loud, Whisper, you can’t carry the entire world on your shoulders!”

  Whisper turned to her, his voice soft – ever mindful of the children – but the venom in his words was unmistakable. “You have no idea of the weight of responsibility that I carry around here. This tribe wouldn’t exist if I hadn’t dragged half these men, kicking and screaming, into this brutal and unforgiving world. I taught them everything they know! I taught them to hunt. I taught them to fight. I taught them how to store food, and fish, and sew their own damn clothing! I taught them to survive in a world where a lot of them would have preferred to die. So don’t tell me they’re not my responsibility!”

  He went to move around her, but she moved with him, blocking his path. “Get out of my way,” he snarled at her.

  “Not until you listen to me,” she bit right back, a look of cold determination on her face.

  At a dead end, Whisper simply reached out and took her by the shoulders, then tossed her aside, his strength considerably greater than hers. Then he strode over to the door, wrenched it open and disappeared out into the night.

  Aidan buried his face in Dusk’s shoulder, letting the rough rhythm of his hips block out the chaos in his mind. Outside, the wind was howling, the door rattling as the storm sought entrance to the sheltered cabin. But Aidan heard none of it. One hand gripped Dusk’s hip, the other was awkwardly stroking her hair. The feeling in his groin couldn’t really be called pleasure. It was more of a jagged intensity that drove out all other sensations, and he embraced it fervently. He felt Dusk run her hands over his shoulders, his neck, and he groaned as a shaft of pleasure shot through him. He hoisted her leg higher around his waist, then muttered a brief “Oh, God,” as his orgasm rose up and smacked him in the back of the head.

  He collapsed on top of her, still avoiding looking in her eyes, but she didn’t object, didn’t try to kiss him or even ask if he was okay. She simply let him lie there, warm beneath the blankets, his insides icy cold as the raw agony of losing one of their own crept back into his mind.

  But then she did move. She wrapped her arms more tightly about his shoulders and pressed a kiss to his hair. “Thank you,” she said, so softly he could barely hear her. “For bringing me here. For letting me be your wife. There’s nowhere else in the world I could imagine being.”

  He rose up on his elbows, tears glimmering in his eyes, and kissed her, hard and desperate. His hips rolled against her, and he was surprised to feel a renewed spark of pleasure. He drew back and looked at her for the first time since he’d stumbled back into the cabin some half an hour ago. There were tears glittering in her dark eyes, but also a worldly wisdom; sorrow, but also hope. His rock, in a wild and vicious storm. “You’re so beautiful,” he told her, feeling his erection begin to return. “How did I ever do this without you?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

&n
bsp; The village at dawn was a mess. Branches had come down from dozens of trees, a huge one having fallen right on top of the fire circle. Anything not nailed down had been scattered by the wind; clothes, chairs and tools all littering the pathways and caught in nooks and crannies against the lodges. Aidan walked past one of the bachelor lodges, where Nicholas and Mario were debating the best way to remove a large branch that had come down and was now leaning precariously against the roof. Thankfully it wasn’t big enough to have done any damage, but it was still going to be a challenge to move it. Down on the lower path, he saw two confused and agitated sheep trotting along, and then heard a curse as Jamal came rushing up the path behind them. He was about to go and help when Mist, Sky and Tom appeared further up the path and set about herding the animals back towards Jamal.

  Further along the path he came to Flame and Hawk’s cabin. The door suddenly opened and a hen covered in flour was forcefully ejected from the room. “Get out!” Flame shouted at the poor thing, which squawked and shook itself, sending a fine shower of flour everywhere. “Stupid animal. A branch came through our window,” Flame told Aidan as she saw him coming. “We’ve boarded it up, but it’s going to need replacing sooner or later.”

  Aidan nodded. “I’ll be making a list. I just want to find out where the worst of the damage is first, before we start on fixing things. How are you feeling, by the way?” She looked a little pale.

  Flame scowled. “Just a bit of morning sickness. A bit of bread usually helps, but we don’t have much wheat left, and the chickens just knocked over the flour jar.”

  “Talk to Nicholas,” Aidan advised. “He might have something that’ll help.”

  Torrent’s cabin was in the lower part of the village, and when Aidan got there, Torrent was struggling to lift his butter churn back onto its feet. Aidan hurried over to help. “We’ve got fences down in two paddocks,” Torrent told him. “I’ve got the cattle in the bottom paddock near the river at the moment. Jamal’s still rounding up the sheep. We might have lost a couple.”

  “We’ll get a team down there to fix them today. What about the horses?”

  “With the cows at the moment. They’re all contained, so if there are more urgent things to fix they can wait until tomorrow.”

  “Hey,” a voice interrupted them, and Aidan looked up to see Stormbreaker coming down the path. “I found this beside our cabin,” he told Torrent, handing him a steel milking pail.

  “Where the hell were you last night?” Aidan asked him in a mock scolding. “Slacking off, not doing your bloody job?”

  Stormbreaker let out a snort. “Don’t look at me. My magic only works on rainstorms.”

  “What magic?” Dusk asked, arriving at Aidan’s elbow. She’d been asleep when he left, but he wasn’t surprised to see her up and about now. She usually woke up as soon as it was light.

  Stormbreaker grinned. “Four years ago, before we’d built most of the lodges, we had a rainstorm come through here. The hillside was more like a waterfall, the river flooded, there were mudslides. We seriously didn’t think we were going to make it through that one. Half of us were still sleeping in tents. Absolutely everything was soaking wet.”

  Aidan took over the story, slapping a hand down on Stormbreaker’s uninjured shoulder. “So this cocky young scrap of a boy decides he’s had enough of it. He goes outside, shakes a sword at the sky and demands the storm cease.” He looked sideways at Stormbreaker, a mystified admiration in his eyes even now. “Two minutes later, the rain stops. He’s been Stormbreaker ever since.”

  “Aidan!” Aidan turned around, seeing one of the scouts jogging along the path towards him, a young man called Jay. He’d been expecting a few bad reports to come in after the storm and braced himself for the news. “A tree’s come down across the east-west road. A big one. We’re going to need some serious muscle to move it, and even then, it’s going to be hard work.”

  “Think the horses could do it?” Torrent asked, and the young scout’s eyes opened wide.

  “Holy shit, you got the horses?”

  “Yesterday. You’ve been out…” Aidan mentally ran over the roster. “Three days?”

  “Yeah. I was due back in today anyway.” Then Jay paused, seeing the dark look on Aidan’s face. “What else happened?” he asked, needing further information. After living here for so long, they all knew that circumstances could change in the space of a couple of minutes, and the scouts had learned to expect all manner of news, both good and bad, upon returning to the village after a couple of days away.

  “We were attacked by a band of slavers on the path to the east road. Stick was killed.”

  “Fuck, no.” Jay turned away in disgust. “How did they… Shit, did we miss something?” None of the scouts would take kindly to knowing they’d missed spotting enemies in their own territory.

  But Aidan shook his head. “Raven hasn’t checked in yet. He was due back last night, but there was the storm. I’m thinking maybe…”

  “Maybe they got him?” Jay asked, then swore again. No one wanted to believe there would be a second member of their tribe to mourn.

  “We’ll wait until midday, then send out a couple of scouts to look for him.” It wasn’t the first time a scout had been late reporting in, and there was a slim but realistic possibility he’d just taken shelter to wait out the storm. “We had the funeral for Stick last night. There’s a new grave marker over in the cemetery, if you wanted to go over and see it.”

  But Jay shook his head. “We need to clear that road. The horses should be able to do it, once we cut the tree up a bit.”

  “There are too many slavers about. We can’t leave the village undefended at the moment,” Aidan told him.

  “We need to clear that road,” Whisper said suddenly from behind him, and Aidan spun around, not having heard him arrive. “It’s the only possible route out of here for the utes. If we need to go anywhere in a hurry, we’re sitting ducks without that road open.”

  Aidan looked him up and down. He was dishevelled, dark circles under his eyes, and Aidan wondered if he’d got any sleep at all. Had he been out all night? “What do the other scouts report?” he asked. There were two others due back today, and he wasn’t going anywhere without knowing what was going on in the area surrounding the village.

  “I saw Archer on the way in,” Jay replied. “He’ll be back in an hour or two. He said the forest to the north is clear.”

  “What about River?”

  “He was down south,” Whisper said, with a worrying air of carelessness. “No matter what he reports, our main problem is coming from the north.”

  To think so was to underestimate their enemies, and Aidan opened his mouth to say so -

  “We’ll have to move the tree sooner or later,” Stormbreaker pointed out, before Aidan could say anything. “And with the storm last night, the slavers probably have their hands full dealing with their own problems for a day or two. Now’s as good a time as ever.”

  As reluctant as he was to admit it, there was a certain logic in the argument. “Get a crew together,” he agreed finally, a sick feeling in his stomach as he wondered if he was making a terrible decision. “We’ll clear the tree as fast as we can. And while we’re away, make sure everyone in the village is armed. There have been too many bad surprises around here lately.”

  The tree was everything that Jay had said it was. It must have been at least a metre around, a good section of the trunk lying across the road, but fortunately, the top split into numerous branches. Sawing them all off took a bit of time, but once the crown was in pieces, it was relatively easy to move.

  The bulk of the trunk was a different story. On a different day, Aidan would have appreciated how much decent firewood would have come out of that tree. Today, though, he just wanted to drag the part blocking the way off the road and get back to the village. Since chainsaws ran on petrol, and there was no more of that around anywhere, they were reduced to using an old logging saw to cut through the trunk. They cut i
t into three pieces, taking shifts as the men got tired, and all the while the two mares looked on with patient bemusement.

  Finally, the tree was in pieces, and Aidan helped two other men lash a rope around the first section of the trunk. With both horses pregnant, he didn’t want to work them too hard, but aside from getting the utes out – which took time and generated a fair bit of noise – they had little other option. Thankfully, they only had to move each piece a couple of metres. In less than half an hour, they should be done.

  With a sword strapped to her hip, Dusk dumped the armful of sticks she’d gathered in one of the wood sheds. The dead wood that had fallen was being cut up and stacked for burning, but the fresh branches would have to dry out before they could be used for the fires. Behind her, Flame and Sky were both bringing their own loads of wood. Willow and Mei-Lien were rounding up the chickens to make sure none of them had been injured, while Mikey and Julia were playing with wooden figurines near Torrent’s cabin. Though Mikey had been eager to help, Willow had decided it would be better this once if he stayed out of the way, and even after knowing him for so long, Dusk had been surprised at the complete lack of fuss about the decision from Mikey. He was an inquisitive boy, eager to learn, eager to ask questions about what was going on and why, and yet, when Willow put her foot down, he was obedient, and more importantly, quiet, and Dusk supposed that the lessons he’d learned in his early years had left a permanent mark on him. Obedience meant survival.

  Around the village, the same scene was playing out everywhere, people gathering fallen wood or sweeping debris off the paths. The first job was to tidy everything up, so they could see what damage had been done and get access to it, and then there would be a list of repairs to do. Thankfully, neither the vegetable garden nor the orchard had been badly damaged, but one of the rabbit cages had been knocked over when a branch fell on it, leaving the rabbits bruised and terrified. They’d been moved into one of the cabins where it was dark and quiet to give them some time to calm down.