A Town Called Dust: The Territory 1

by Justin Woolley

  “A swordsman must always watch their feet,” he said with a smile, “but a master swordsman will always watch his opponent’s feet too.”

  Lynn felt the wood of her father’s sword move against her neck as she breathed.

  “Do you yield?” her father said.

  “I yield,” Lynn said.

  As Colonel Hermannsburg pulled the sword away from his daughter’s throat, smiling at her, Lynn leaped into action. Just as she felt the wood leave her flesh she moved her sword upward in a smooth arc, stepping back as she did. Her wooden blade connected with her father’s fingers, a little harder than she had intended. She heard a meaty crack and her father dropped his sword.

  Lynn felt her insides cool and her breath stick as she saw Colonel Hermannsburg’s playful expression dissolve. He rubbed his fingers and then curled them in and out experimentally. He reached out with his other hand and grabbed the blade of Lynn’s wooden sword, tearing it from her grip. Lynn felt the hilt of the sword pull from her palm. In that moment she realized just how easy her father had been on her in their mock duel. He surely had enough strength to snap her wooden toy across his knee.

  Lynn looked up at her father. His face was not typically angry—most would have said he looked emotionless—but Lynn had seen the softness around his eyes vanish. When he spoke he did not yell, but Lynn considered his quiet tone to be much worse.

  “When you yield,” her father said, “the battle is done. A Digger must have honor.”

  Lynn wanted to clasp her hands over her eyes. Maybe she could physically push back the tears that threatened to come. But it was no good. She couldn’t hold them. Her lip quivered. Her father’s rigid stare made Ms Apple’s shouts and lectures taste like sugar pie. As Lynn spoke she felt ashamed, both of the way her words came in stuttered spurts and of what she had done to her father.

  “I’m…sorry…Father,” she said, reaching out for his hand. “Is your hand okay?”

  “It’s fine,” he said. “Come, we need to go to the oath-taking. Are you ready?”

  Lynn wasn’t ready but she said, “Yes.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Steven Square was used for most ceremonial occasions within the city of Alice, and today it was filling with a crowd. The square was just outside the walls of Government House, the lavish residence of the Administrator, his wife and, Lynn thought with a mixture of envy and disgust, Bren. On the other side of the square, its steeple looming over them like an all-seeing watchtower, was the Cathedral of the Church of Glorious God the Redeemer, seat of the High Priestess of the Sisters. Lynn always hated being in the square; she felt trapped between the Administrator on one side and the Sisters on the other. She sat in the front row of chairs before the makeshift stage where her father and foster brother waited along with a number of other young men who were about to be inducted as Diggers.

  Lynn looked up at Melbourne. At eighteen, he wouldn’t have looked out of place carved from white marble. He was a golden boy: strong, fast, intelligent and disgustingly handsome. Lynn watched his angular face survey the gathering crowd. He smiled, showing his unnaturally white teeth, and waved. Lynn rolled her eyes and looked away.

  Melbourne had spent the best part of the last four years at the Academy, training to be a Digger, a protector of the Territory, doing precisely what Lynn had wanted to do all her life. She had dreamed of being a Digger since she had first ridden around on the back of her father’s dog, swinging a rattle as though she were battling a horde of ghouls. Melbourne had only been back for a week and already the sight of him was grating on Lynn’s nerves, especially the way he wore his hair in that pretentious ponytail, the fashion with all recent Academy graduates. Grudgingly, though, Lynn had to admit that Melbourne had earned his place among the Diggers. During his time at the Academy he had been the youngest ever winner of the Academy’s running, swimming, shooting, wrestling, fencing, horse riding and—embarrassingly enough—sewing competitions. He had graduated top of his class.

  If she was honest, Lynn wasn’t really surprised that her father had taken Melbourne under his wing. Alfred Hermannsburg was a famous Digger. He had worked his way up the ranks as a member of the Fence Guard and then as a lieutenant in the Reactionary Regiment, and then he had been made a captain in command of a unit of Rangers, those Diggers who braved long patrols out beyond the ghoul-proof fence. He was now a colonel, and sat on the Council of the Central Territory as Chief Military Advisor. Now, as the crowd chattered excitedly, he stood and moved forward, positioning himself behind a cone-shaped microphone and nodding to a young servant, who moved briskly across the platform. He knelt beside the whirler box at the base of the microphone and began feverishly turning the crank handle. Snaps, pops and hisses began to feed out from large speakers at either side of the stage. Colonel Hermannsburg held up his hands and a hush spread over the crowd in front of him like ripples across a pond.

  “People of Alice,” Colonel Hermannsburg boomed. He was using his military voice, Lynn thought. She always found it a little intimidating, but at the same time she wondered whether the awestruck people around her knew he called her “kitten” and let her ride around on his back. “I thank you all for coming today,” he continued, his voice amplified across the square, “and extend a special welcome to the friends and families of these young men as we celebrate their taking of the oath to join the Diggers, the great defenders of the Territory.”

  Clapping and cheering rose from the crowd. Lynn could feel how contagious the excitement was—she almost caught it—but it drained away when she realized she would never be allowed to take that oath.

  “These brave young men have answered the call to serve and protect the Central Territory,” Colonel Hermannsburg said. “They may see battle with our great enemy the ghoul, but all of us see battle in our time, and not every battle is fought with a sword. As the Administrator has said, we must all remain vigilant about the danger we face in this world, and as the Sisters remind us, we must do this with great faith in God the Redeemer. Praise be to the Pure.”

  “Praise be to the Pure,” the crowd intoned as one.

  “I would like to invite General Connor onto the stage to take the oaths.”

  A new silence fell across the onlookers, something that felt like more than just the absence of sound, as if the crowd had drawn a collective breath and was holding it. A man began walking up the steps to the platform. Despite the heat of the day he was dressed in full armor that shone a deep jade green. A long green cape emblazoned with a golden rising sun, the symbol of the Diggers, flowed off his shoulders. He wore a crimson beret angled on his shaved head. A scar ran across his face, from the top of his forehead over his right eye and down until it was lost in the beard at the edge of his mouth. He took the stairs two at a time. A scabbard hung from his waist, and in the silence that had fallen over the yard the light click of it tapping against his armored legs could be heard with every step.

  As General Connor approached, Lynn’s father snapped up a salute which the general returned before the two men grabbed each other’s forearms. They spoke in low voices, away from the microphone so the crowd could not hear, but Lynn was close enough to make out what was being said.

  “It’s good to see you, Alfred.”

  “And you, Wentworth. Thank you for doing this, I know you don’t make a habit of taking new oaths yourself.”

  The general looked at Melbourne. “Not at all, Al,” he said. “The Training Master tells me Melbourne is the finest graduate we’ve had in many years. Better than you, they say, maybe even better than me.”

  Lynn looked at Melbourne. She saw the smile on his face. She didn’t believe it. Melbourne wasn’t better than her father at anything.

  “I’m afraid we will need to be quick, though,” the general said. “We must ride out.”

  “You’re not going to stay for the evening?”

  “There’s no time. I’m leaving on a patrol out to the fence.”

  “You always did like to do things yours
elf, didn’t you?” Colonel Hermannsburg said, smiling.

  “You know me,” the general said, “I don’t care for staying behind a desk.”

  Lynn had been looking at Melbourne, watching his expression change from a smile to flat-faced worry. She realized he was nervous. For all his gallant exterior, Melbourne was actually nervous.

  “Come, then,” General Connor said, turning to face the crowd and raising his voice so that all could hear him. It was clear he didn’t need to stand near the microphone for the speakers to throw his voice across the yard. “Let’s do this. Take a knee, boys.”

  Melbourne and the twelve or so other young men on stage did as they were told, kneeling before the general and the crowd that watched them.

  “Repeat after me,” the general said, and then cleared his throat gruffly. “Before the sight of the people of Alice and under the eyes of God the Redeemer, by the will of the Ancestors, I, say your name, do solemnly declare that I will give myself to the service of the Territory and protect her from all enemies, both foreign and domestic, and shall live within the will of the Administrator and the code of the Church until such time as I am released from duty by the spilling of my blood.”

  Melbourne raised his head. The speakers hissed and gave a loud pop. He joined the others as each of them repeated the oath loudly, clearly and without fault, inserting their own name as they pledged to serve.

  Wentworth Connor smiled as he drew his sword from the scabbard at his waist. “Then, as Commander of the Army of the Central Territory, having the authority under the rule of the Administrator and the blessing of the High Priestess, I accept your oaths and grant you the rank of Trooper. Welcome to the Diggers.”

  The yard exploded with cheers. The servant beneath the microphone stopped winding the crank handle and collapsed into an exhausted heap on the platform. Colonel Hermannsburg smiled and placed his hand on Melbourne’s shoulder. Lynn listened carefully to try to make out what he was saying over the noise.

  “You will learn quickly enough that there are no long goodbyes for a Digger,” he said. “You must go now and protect the Territory.”

  “Thank you,” Melbourne said, “for everything. I wish my mother could have been here.”

  Colonel Hermannsburg smiled. “I’m sure she is looking down on you with the Ancestors.”

  “Come,” said General Wentworth Connor. “You will ride with me.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Melbourne said.

  Melbourne made his way down the stairs. Lynn realized the crowd was still clapping. Melbourne approached her. He looked bigger now that he was a real Digger. He bent and kissed her gently on the forehead.

  “I know you don’t love me, Lynn,” he whispered, “but I will try to make you proud.”

  She didn’t reply as he turned and walked to join the general. The spot on her forehead still tingled from his kiss. She felt her eyes growing warm, like she was going to cry, which was ridiculous. She didn’t want Melbourne around anyway.

  Lynn looked up as she felt her father’s hand on her back.

  “Just us now, kitten,” he said.

  Lynn sniffed. “Good,” she said, but she knew it didn’t sound convincing.

  CHAPTER 6

  The journey into Dust took just over two hours, but that was with Uncle pushing the horses harder than Squid thought was necessary. Uncle always pushed the horses too hard. It had taken Squid an hour to raise the courage to say something.

  “Maybe we should give the horses a rest.”

  “No,” Uncle snapped back, “or by the time we get there the best spots’ll be gone.”

  Squid and his uncle went to market once a month and never before had the location of their cart ever made any difference to their sales.

  Uncle continued, “If you had sorted the fields out proper this season we would’ve left last night.”

  Normally Squid wouldn’t have said any more but his unusual treatment that morning had given him the confidence to speak his mind. “We should’ve plowed paddocks two and three earlier and double-treated what we got from one, but you told me to leave it and fix the chair in the kitchen, and cut the firewood, and mend the fence, and—”

  A stinging backhand caught Squid across the face.

  “Shut your mouth. Your aunt was the one what thought we should baby you for your birthday. Sixteen is the coming of age, she said, we better be extra nice to him. Well, she ain’t here now!”

  Squid sat the rest of the journey in silence, bumping along on the wooden seat with every divot and hole in the cracked red road. The side of his face stung and his eyes had grown hot, but he wouldn’t rub his face and he wouldn’t cry. He set his mind to counting the low green shrubs along the side of the road to distract himself.

  The buildings of Dust eventually appeared, coming into view in order of importance. The water tower was first, of course, standing high in the center of town like a beacon. Its large corrugated tank supported on metallic stilt legs. The flag of the Central Territory, a yellow image of the Rock on a red background, flapped gently above the tower in the breeze. The flag was old, its once lustrous red long faded to a salmon pink, and the end fluttered in tatters. It was a faint reminder of the Territory this town supposedly belonged to. Dust was among the towns furthest from Alice, and apart from ragged flags and the occasional Digger patrol they had little contact with the rest of the Territory.

  Soon Squid could make out the Church of Glorious God the Redeemer. Aside from the farm and the marketplace, that was the only other place he visited. Even though he wasn’t allowed to go to school anymore, he still traveled to town with Aunt and Uncle to attend church every two weeks, probably the bare minimum they could get away with without the Sisters asking questions about their faith.

  The main street of Dust became a hive of activity on market day—at least, it was the busiest place Squid ever got to see, which was to say that people started getting in the way of the tumbleweed. A number of small shops lined the street, wooden buildings that were packed so closely together they seemed to bulge at the top as though someone had been certain they could fit just one more in if they pushed hard enough. It seemed odd that the few buildings of Dust were built so close together when there was such a vast expanse of open landscape around them, but Squid understood the point. The town huddled together for protection; it was a place alone and afraid at the far reaches of civilization. The sounds of animals and people rolled down the street. Occasionally someone ran across the road in front of the wagon, only to be met by a spray of vulgarity from Uncle. As their wagon bounced further down the rutted road they passed the wooden schoolhouse. Squid tried hard not to look at it; he knew it would only upset him.

  Around the market square was a snaking semicircle of traders. Some were selling goods straight off their wagons while others had erected small stalls. The smells of earthy vegetables and sizzling meat filled Squid’s nose. As with every trip to Dust, Squid realized he didn’t mind the peace and quiet of the farm after all. All these busy people talking and yelling; Squid couldn’t understand any of it. He didn’t understand people.

  “Roo meat here! Get your barbequed roo meat! Gas fired!”

  “Fully organic potatoes grown with dirt completely fertilizer free!”

  “Fruit, all kinds of fruit, shipped all the way from the Northern Ranges by the fastest dirigible!”

  Squid didn’t know much about the world—who would really want to?—but he knew the Northern Ranges were a long way away and it showed. He could smell the pungent aroma of overripe fruit as Uncle pulled the wagon to a stop. He looked at Squid. “Go get the horses stabled.”

  Bluey watched Squid absently as he was unhitched from the wagon. Dealing with The Horse wasn’t nearly as traumatic as Squid was expecting. Perhaps he was so exhausted from the trip that he didn’t have the energy to be a torment, but whatever the reason, Squid wasn’t going to complain. He led the two horses behind the other stalls and down the little laneway that led to the temporary market stables
. Stableboys were tending horses, leading them in and out, washing them down, wiping them, saddling them and unsaddling them. As Squid brought Bluey and The Horse into the stables he stepped in a giant pile of fresh wet horse manure.

  Looking down, Squid sighed when he saw that his entire foot was lost in the deep brown pile. There was a long sucking sound as he tried to extract it. While he stood on one leg considering his current predicament, Squid was only vaguely aware of the commotion up ahead, or rather the sudden lack of commotion. After deciding it was best to just wipe his foot on the back of his other leg, Squid finally looked up. In front of him, mounted on warhorses that made The Horse look like a stuffed pony, were three men in green uniforms dirty with dust, each with a golden rising sun emblazoned across the front. Diggers. One of the men rode slightly in front of the others.

  “Move aside,” called one of the men.

  “Relax, Sergeant,” said the lead Digger. Turning his attention to Squid he said, “That’s some nasty stuff to step in.”

  Squid looked up at the Digger before him. His face was dirty, the lines around his mouth dark with dust, and he had a ring of bruised-plum purple around one eye. His blond hair was greasy and matted as if it hadn’t been washed in some time. Squid nodded as he reached instinctively for his key. His heart stopped. His breath felt stuck in his body. The key was gone. His frenzied hands moved around his neck, hunting for the scratchy string that should have been hanging there.