by Glynn James
“Dead,” said Loner.
“Where is his body?”
“His body or his head?” Frantic asked through a coughing fit. “One is there and one ain’t.”
“What is he talking about?”
Loner turned his head and then put his hands on his hips. Two Cygoa warriors ran past them, neither looking at Gaston or the coven.
“Carlossa doesn’t have a head anymore. The girl…exploded it.”
Gaston shook his head. “I don’t understand. What do you mean, exploded it? What girl?”
“One second, Carlossa was standing there. The next, his head was gone.”
“Severed. Decapitated with a blade?”
“No. Gone. Smashed like a fruit by a rock.”
Gaston frowned. This was intriguing. Exploding heads. Something or someone in this battle had unleashed a lethal force, and Gaston wanted to know what it was. He couldn’t give two shits whether or not Carlossa was alive. This dying world held many secrets, some of those had been buried in the dirt—relics of the old world. It was possible that Elk had found something and used it against Carlossa. But what?
“Did it make the sounds we heard?”
“Hell yeah,” Frantic said, nodding at Loner. “Nearly shook the piss from me bladder. Loud as fuck, with flame out the end and smoke. Ain’t never seen nothing like it.”
Gaston rubbed his chin. He had heard stories, fables from far-flung lands where the conflicts of the ancient peoples had not destroyed everything. Maybe someone had been there and found a weapon from those times?
“It doesn’t matter what they did. Carlossa is dead. The Cygoa are running, and all is lost. We’re getting out of this god-forsaken camp, and you and your priests should do the same.”
“Does Jonah still live?”
“Don’t know,” said Loner. “Yes, I think so. Don’t fucking care.”
Gaston had seen the situation dozens of times. He had heard some call it the “fog of war” and he understood why. Men of sound mind and strong body often broke down at the violence of battle. They lost their confidence and ability to rationally implement strategy. In the “fog,” warriors often resorted to an animalistic self-preservation that could last days, sometimes weeks. He certainly didn’t consider these two hooligans “warriors,” but Gaston had seen enough fierce Cygoa fleeing to know that something catastrophic and unexpected had taken place on this battlefield.
“Help me assess the situation. My priests shall—”
“Nope,” Frantic said, taking deep breaths but now standing on the balls of his feet, his eyes darting around the camp. “Fuck that and fuck you. We’re gone.”
Without another word, Loner sprinted past Gaston and toward the causeway with Frantic’s shorter legs pumping to keep up. Gaston watched as they jumped over the ruins of the camp. The pair ran around a burning tent and into a thicket of trees until he could no longer see them.
The priests had gathered around Gaston, waiting for his next command.
“Search the nearby dead for anything of value, Elk and Cygoa alike. Although I doubt the warriors on either side are carrying anything of interest to us.”
“And then what?”
Gaston looked at the priest and shrugged. “We flee.”
Chapter 54
The smoke from the funeral pyre twisted into the sky with bony, gray fingers. The stench of cooked flesh and ash filled Jonah’s nostrils. The burning bodies and the smoldering tents would most likely burn through the night and provide the clan with some meager light to tend to their wounds and scavenge what they could from the camp.
He had been able to save his family, and for that Jonah was eternally grateful. But many other lives had been lost, including several who had protected the Elk for months. It was difficult for Jonah to determine just how many people the Cygoa killed. Ten percent? Twenty percent? The number of bodies in the camp was a sign that the Cygoa attack had not been as deadly as he had feared, and many members of the clan had fled into the forest. It was quite possible they were now lying in hiding. He didn’t have the men or the resources to search for those who had escaped the attack, and he could only hope that they would return to the camp. He would take them in and help them with whatever medical supplies and hot tea was still available.
Jonah felt something brush against his arm, and he turned to see Seren standing there, her hands clutching her bow.
“That thing…”
“Gunpowder,” she said. “It is the substance inside that explodes and kills men.”
Jonah wasn’t sure if that was the question he had wanted to ask her, but she provided an answer nonetheless.
“Carlossa would have killed us all. And if you hadn’t done what you did, the Cygoa would be burning Elk bodies right now.”
The girl looked down and then away, unable to hold Jonah’s gaze. He continued.
“Many are injured, and some more will die before daybreak. And yet, I don’t think we can stay here. Without having more of those weapons, Morlan will realize that if he brings numbers next time, he can defeat us.”
“How do you know that he will come for us after this loss?”
“He will,” said Jonah without further explanation. “I just know he will.”
Seren shivered, and despite the chill in the air, she did not step closer to the funeral pyre. “We’ve lost Logan and Donast. So many dead.”
“I know. It won’t be easy, but I do know that we can’t stay here. I don’t think as many are dead as I first thought, but their nerve will be broken. I don’t even know if the clan alliance will hold.”
Sasha emerged from the darkness, and Jonah wondered how long she had been listening to their conversation. Not that it mattered, because Sasha already knew the decisions that Jonah held inside of his heart. She would have known his intention even before sharing it with the girl.
“You’re right. We cannot stay here,” said Sasha.
Jonah held out his hands and turned toward the camp where the survivors continued to tend to the dead and fallen. “I know this. The Cygoa have retreated for now, but they will return. And when they do, they will spare no one, nothing.”
Sasha wiped a trickle of drying blood from her husband’s ear. “The breach… We don’t know how far it stretches or where it goes.”
“No, we don’t,” said Jonah. “I cannot simply lead the Elk into the woods or even along one of the old highways. The breach has rendered the ground unstable and the old structures that had sat for centuries will be even less stable. However, how long will it be before the Valk arrive?”
Sasha gasped, and Jonah could feel the surge of fear coming from his wife.
“I may have another option for the Elk,” said Seren.
Jonah’s mind raced. He saw Morlan’s face, which then transformed into Gaston’s.
“Speak, please. I don’t have the will or the energy to figure out cryptic words.”
“There is the place to the south that I told you about,” Seren said. “I found it, and I think it could be a refuge for our people. It might even become our new home.”
Both Jonah and Sasha turned to face Seren. Jonah crossed his arms over his chest and raised his eyebrows.
“What was it called again?” Jonah asked.
“Galax. They have recovered some of the old world technology. They have figured out a way to send words to each other across long distances. But they have more than just a dusty stash of steel and plastic. They are growing food, and they are rebuilding civilization. I believe they would take us in.”
Sasha looked at Jonah, and he rubbed his chin with his right hand.
“We are still large in number, even though we’ve suffered greatly from the attack. How big is this place? What might they do if I march the clans to their borders?”
He didn’t want to consider another fight—not even a minor scuffle. Too much blood had soaked the ground, and even his most hearty warriors had had enough.
“It’s a city,” replied Seren. “It’s hug
e. Streets and streets of buildings, almost intact, and hidden far into the woods, maybe four days walk from the main route east to west,” said Seren. “Though after about two or three miles there is an old road that makes the journey there easier, if you can find the start of it, which I can do. I can go ahead, talk to them before you bring the clans to the city, and they already suggested that it was an option. It’s to the south but also far west, not really too many miles from the Wytheville area as the crow flies, but a mountain range lies between them. The Cygoa don’t know the city is even there. I don’t think anyone does, apart from the people who live there. I’d guess there is no better place in the world to hide hundreds of people.”
Jonah glanced to Sasha, whose eyes were wide with hope. She nodded her agreement.
“Then that is where we will go,” he said. “Before the damn Valk arrive and finish the job the Cygoa started.”
Chapter 55
They crawled out of the lake and through the trees beneath the black velvet blanket of a moonless sky, more silent than the smallest of creatures that walked the woods. Even the birds sat silent in the trees, waiting for the time when the night ones would pass them by. But they would be here a while, for many lay dead. They dragged the carcasses off the piles and into the dark recesses of the forest, stripping away the unwanted clothing and possessions and casting them aside. They were of little value to the Valk. The sound of teeth on bone cut through the sigh of the night wind, a rotten stench filling the air. They had to swat the crows away from the more bloated bodies, but the flesh that had not burned could be harvested, and even some of the blackened bone could be put to good use.
She stood on what was left of the southern causeway, where the blood-stained lake waters brushed against the embankment fifteen feet below. She tightened the band holding her hair back and then ran her fingers across the stubble on the sides of her head, then smiled, her sharpened teeth protruding over black lips. Skull fragments dangling from human ligaments hung around her neck and clicked together as she shifted her weight from one hip to the other.
“We feast,” said one of the Valk warriors as he approached his leader. “The greatest feast ever known among our peoples.” She did not answer, but he still stayed at a distance, not daring to take a step closer. “I have saved you the most desirable pieces, should you wish them.”
The woman clucked her tongue and waved at the ruins of the camp. “The Elk leader. The one they call Jonah. Have you found him? Did he fall?”
The Valk warrior shook his head, keeping his eyes down. “We found the remains of the one who led their enemy. The spirit chasers say he was called Carlossa. He was a great warrior from the very far north, some say.”
“That one is still not what I seek. Give your scraps to the rest. I will not eat unless the flesh comes from him, and he grows stronger with each war that he wins. But his time will come. Even the greatest fall, and he will taste...divine.”
A wolf howled somewhere deep in the forest. The warrior ran back to the camp, leaving her alone in the middle of the causeway. She lifted her head and sniffed at the air before turning completely around and studying the battlefield.
“You have taken your people south. We shall follow. Ever I will follow you.”
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Dustfall, Book Five and Six ---- COMING in 2018!
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Acknowledgements - J. Thorn
I would like to thank my wife and kids who vetted the concept over salad and breadsticks at a crowded Italian restaurant - anything sounds great on a carb high. As always, The Keepers continue to provide me with constant support and motivation. The ADH gang (you know who you are) have become my “secret” round table of advisors and I continue to learn from their collective wisdom and humor, even Zach. Speak of the devil, Zach Bohannon has become a great friend and partner in many ways. I'm grateful for his friendship and look forward to many more years of it. Finally, I'd like to thank Mr. Glynn James. He is a true professional and a writer I've admired for years. To collaborate with him has been an amazing experience and I'm sincerely appreciative of the opportunity - I'd go to a Dustfall with you, brother.
Acknowledgements - Glynn James
Thanks to all of the Jameses – Julia, for your patience and constant encouragement, and my kids, for just being you.
To my parents and my brother for not being too surprised that I write crazy fiction, and for telling me it’s cool.
To Bill, Sara, Billy, Jim & Jean for taking me seriously and never doubting that I could actually do this, and for demanding signed copies when I thought that whole idea was daft.
Many thanks to Andrea of Express Editing Solutions - http://www.expresseditingsolutions.co.uk
Any typos or errors in this book after this fantastic editor went through it - are entirely my fault.
Lastly, thanks to James Thorn for going along on this crazy journey with me. It took us a while to get this project going, but we got there in the end and I’m certainly glad we did!
James is a blast to work with and a kindred soul, quite often first guessing me on ideas before I even mentioned them, and coming up with ideas far better than mine. Here’s to us continuing to work together to bring life to stories that not only we, but other people will want to read.
About J. Thorn
Click here: http://jthorn.net/optin/df01.htm
Healed by the written word
Want a story that's rooted in a fundamental aspect of being human?
I believe reading dark fiction can be healing. My overriding mission is to connect with you through my art, and I hope to inspire you to do the same. I’m a word architect and driven visionary. I’m obsessed with heavy metal, horror films and technology. And I admire strong people who are not afraid to speak their mind.
I grew up in an Irish Catholic, working class family and was the first to go to college. I didn't have expensive toys, so I used my own imagination for entertainment. And then I abused alcohol for entertainment. I spent the first thirty years of my life convincing myself I wasn’t an addict and the last ten worrying about all the potential threats the substances hid from me.
Anxiety and depression are always hiding in the corner, waiting to jump me when I start to feel happiness.
I had to break through family programming and accept the role of the black sheep. In my 30s I started writing horror and formed a heavy metal band while my family rolled their eyes, sighed and waited for the “phase” to end.
I spent years paralyzing myself with self-loathing and criticism, keeping my creativity smothered and hidden from the rest of the world. I worked a job I hated because that’s what Irish Catholic fathers do. They don’t express themselves, they pay the damn mortgage. I may have left my guilt and faith behind long ago, but the scars remain.
My creativity is my release, my therapy and my place to work through it all. I haven't had a drink in a long time, but the anxiety and depression are always lurking. Writing novels and songs keeps it at bay. I scream over anxiety with my microphone and I turn my guitar up loud enough to drown out the whispers of self-doubt.
I hope to leave a legacy of art that will continue to entertain and enrich lives long after I'm gone. I want others to see that you don’t have to conform to the mainstream to be fulfilled.
Don’t be afraid of the dark. Embrace it.
About Glynn James
GLYNN JAMES, born in Wellingborough, England in 1972, is a bestselling author
of dark sci-fi novels. He has an obsession with anything to do with zombies, Cthulhu mythos, and post-apocalyptic and dystopian fiction and films, all of which began when he started reading HP Lovecraft and Richard Matheson’s I Am Legend back when he was eight years old. In addition to co-authoring the bestselling ARISEN books (over 250,000 copies sold), he is the author of the bestselling DIARY OF THE DISPLACED series and the THROWN AWAY series. More info on his writing and projects can be found at www.glynnjames.co.uk.