Dustfall, Book One - Shadows of a Lost Age

by J. Thorn

  “No,” he said, looking at the palms of his hands as though examining them. “But I will. It is too great an opportunity for the village to not go there. A land mostly untouched, only left that way because people fear to go that far south, fear the Blight. But the Blight isn’t near White Citadel.”

  “And that book tells you that?” said Seren.

  “Yes,” replied Gaston. “Listen.” He fumbled in his pocket and took out the book, rifling through some of the pages, peering intently as he searched. Then he read.

  “The Blight has scoured most of the lands to the east and to the west, but, as I discovered on the fifth day of our trek back westward, and as my guide has confirmed, there was a distinctive path that appeared free of the Blight.

  “We then tentatively turned to the south and headed into what would have once been considered unfettered lands, unpassable. But we had no choice. The T’yun Horde was upon the hills behind us, and they waited for our return from what they considered to be Blighted lands. If we went back, we would be killed and eaten, and, we thought for a long while, if we went south we would die of Blight. But t’was not so. The road led southward and into the lands beyond, where green grass grew.”

  Gaston looked up and smiled as he saw that Seren looked disappointed he had stopped reading.

  Still a child, he thought. Still a young child, even if she carries the weapons of an adult. All children love stories.

  After a while, Seren asked, “How did you get the book?”

  Gaston coughed. “Well, that is a story even longer than the one I hold in my hands, really. Let us say it was mostly luck, and a little bit of foreknowledge. I found it in a place to the far north, near the Eternal Lake. There is—was—a remnant of the old world there. A hidden place, far under the ground.”

  Seren’s eyes opened wide as she listened. She loved tales of the old world.

  “I went there, following another clue I found long ago. But it took me a long time to make the journey. The roads north are much less frequented, and of course the land is Blighted in many places. Fewer bandits and road warriors, but more sickened land.

  “But I managed to find a group of salvagers that delved into the Ashlands in the very far north, and they let me travel with them to the area I needed to go to, and then I re-joined them when they passed back again.”

  “And you found the book then?”

  “Yes,” Gaston said, knowing that he would have to repeat most of this to Jonah, but that didn’t bother him. In fact, this telling made for good practice and a way to judge how the chieftain may react to him when they spoke.

  “What is the T’yun Horde?” Seren asked, frowning again.

  “The what?” Gaston puzzled.

  Seren nodded toward the book. “You read it,” she said. “The man who wrote it said something about the T’yun Horde. Were they people or creatures? It mentions them wanting to eat the person who wrote that book. They sound like wolves or something.”

  Gaston shook his head.

  “No they were not creatures,” he said. “Though their ways were much more brutal than most, and when they were hungry they had no qualms about eating men, so I guess they could be called creatures. They lived all across these lands not so long ago. I very much wish to find out more about them, and hoped to find something in the bunker where I found the book. The book tells me some things about them, but still too little. Maybe White Citadel has the answers.”

  “Sounds like something to be avoided,” Seren said. “If you ask me.”

  Gaston grinned. “Yes, indeed. They were a dangerous people when they still existed.”

  “You think they are all dead?” Seren smiled.

  “I think so,” said Gaston.

  “Did you kill Judas?” Seren asked. No lead up to the question, and not a hint of subtleness. She just came straight out with it, catching him off guard.

  Gaston blinked at her for a moment, stunned to silence. “Erm...” he muttered. “No,” he said. “No, I didn’t.”

  “Oh,” Seren said, but Gaston could see in her eyes that she wasn’t convinced. And this was not good, not good at all. If a child could suspect him, then Nera and Jonah most definitely would. He had to think, and was now grateful for the time before meeting with Jonah. He needed to think more clearly. They had no proof that he had killed Judas, but if enough of them suspected, then it wouldn’t matter. Proof would not be needed for one of them to kill him. For some people, they only needed an excuse.

  This one is not as naive as I suspected, he thought. I have to be very careful what I say to her from here on. I thought that Nera would be dangerous, but this girl is smarter than he.

  * * *

  “You can’t honestly believe that it is just coincidental that your father died yesterday and this man just happens to turn up the next day?” Nera snapped, as he paced the center of the room.

  Jonah was quiet for a moment. “Would you turn up the next day?” he asked. “I wouldn’t.”

  “No,” Nera said. “Too obvious, I’d say.”

  “Too obvious,” said Jonah. “And therefore the most unlikely thing to do if planning to come here after killing my father.”

  “You think he had nothing to do with it?” Nera asked.

  “I think we should at least give him a chance to prove otherwise,” Jonah said.

  “And what of his blasphemy?”

  “What blasphemy? Speaking of other places?”

  “Tis forbidden to do such,” said Nera.

  “By who?” Jonah asked. “You should hear yourself. Like one of those ranting fanatics in Eliz, preaching the end of times.”

  “I do not,” Nera said, his voice low.

  “No. Maybe not,” said Jonah. “But we’re not fanatics. We’ll hear him out and send him on his way. I’ll not murder a man for trying to persuade us to go somewhere else.”

  Nera didn’t reply, preferring to sit quietly.

  “I need to get ready for the ceremony,” Jonah said and turned, heading back into the contemplation room. It would be dark soon, and the next day they would place his father upon the funeral pyre the villagers had built during the day in the center of the town, as was traditional.

  And he would be required to speak the words that his father had always said when someone passed on.

  Chapter 15

  He couldn’t wait much longer. The stars clung to the night sky but the luminescent creep of dawn broke the horizon. Gaston had but an hour, possibly two, before daylight. And the deed would have to be done before the rooster’s crow.

  She’s but a child. But if she follows me, I’ll have to kill her, too.

  Gaston stuck his head out of the empty window frames, the cool air biting at his ears. He pulled the collar of his leather coat up, protecting his scar from the chill. It itched and burned, as if a constant reminder of the blade Judas had pulled across his throat. He waited. The insects fell silent, and thin, sheer clouds obscured the moon.

  The girl’s shack appeared dark, but Gaston would not be able to see her silhouette within the gloom, should she be standing guard or, worse yet, training an arrow on his heart. Oddly, she was the one he feared most. She was observant; keen eyed. The young warrior Jonah had sent to stand watch was snoring even as he leaned against the side of the hut. No worries of being noticed there. No. Seren was the one who would spot him if he was to be caught.

  I need to not be seen now, and then I must be seen later, he thought. This was foolish enough, so soon after his arrival. He needed confirmation that he had gone nowhere.

  He had to move now, before the sun clawed its way over the ancient, rolling hills.

  Gaston turned sideways and slid through the doorway, holding his breath to keep it hidden from Seren. He scurried around the side of the building and faced east, where the village lay in its slumber. He stood still while eyeing the path he would take through the forest and into the village.

  A branch snapped, and Gaston spun. His heart hammered in his chest and he smiled,
unsure why the fear gripped him this night.

  She’s but a child, he thought again. And yet, her questions and grip on the bow told him otherwise. She’s dangerous.

  Gaston stuck his head around the front of the building and stared at Seren’s shack.

  Nothing.

  He dashed down the left side of the road, making sure his heels dropped first to conceal the sound of his feet slapping the asphalt. Gaston jumped behind one tree, then another, before circling back around. He squatted and waited.

  Nothing apart from the distant sound of snoring from Gann.

  Gaston nodded, convinced Seren was not following him. He ran through the trees and followed the aroma of burning pine coming from the communal fire in the middle of the village. He could almost taste the venison left to burn on the spit and it made his stomach growl. Gaston stopped and cursed beneath his breath, hoping his bodily functions would not betray his stealthy approach.

  He passed the empty fire pit and stood behind an old oak fifteen feet from Jonah’s house. Gaston looked but saw no archers, no guards nearby. He could not believe Jonah would not have posted guards so close to their departure on The Walk, a time when vagabonds and transients would be most active.

  The man is weak and inexperienced, he thought. All the more reason Nera must die tonight.

  Something flapped the air over his head and Gaston dropped to the ground. He hated bats and had to assume they would be the only creatures hunting in the night sky. Gaston stood and walked through the trees, following the road out of the village until he reached the collapsing building that he knew Nera called home. He could hear the snoring before he even reached the building.

  Gaston walked around to the back and the snores intensified, coming through an open window with only one pane of glass remaining. He pushed a rock beneath the window, stood on it and reached up to grab the sill. He peered through the window, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.

  Nera lay atop an old mattress with a single, stained sheet over his potbelly. The man’s beard spread out over the sheet. His head was tilted back and his mouth remained open as he snored and gasped while sleeping.

  Gaston looked around and saw an old barrel in the weeds. He pulled it from the pile of dead leaves and slid it beneath the window. He pushed himself up until he squatted on top of the barrel and could slide through the window and into Nera’s room.

  The smell of onions and flatulence filled the air, enough to make Gaston gag. He took a breath through his mouth and walked to the edge of the bed where Nera slept. He looked down into the old man’s face and smiled. “Would not be a challenge if he could not look into the face of death.”

  Gaston used the toe of his boot to kick the mattress. Nera flinched, coughed and farted, but he did not wake up.

  Gaston sighed. He grabbed a pillow from the floor before straddling Nera’s body. Gaston threw his feet out and dropped all of his weight on Nera’s stomach. The air whistled from Nera’s lungs and his eyes shot open. Gaston slapped a hand over his mouth and hushed him before speaking.

  “Did you know?”

  Nera’s eyes bulged, pupils huge and dilated.

  Gaston realized the man could not speak with a hand over his mouth so he spoke again.

  “I will slide my blade into your rotten gut and it will take days for you to die. So when I remove my hand, you remember that.”

  He lifted his hand and Nera sucked the air into his lungs. Tears began to dribble from the corners of his eyes and his face blossomed, even in the darkened room.

  “Answer me, old man. Did you know what he was going to do to me?”

  “Of course,” Nera said, his hoarse whisper coming with more gulps of air. “I am the chief’s right hand.”

  “That is what I thought. So when you saw me return, you couldn’t understand how. I saw it in your face.”

  Nera nodded.

  “Why didn’t Judas trust me?”

  “Didn’t you ask him yourself before you poisoned him?”

  “You couldn’t have known that was me,” said Gaston.

  “I do now.”

  Gaston chuckled, pushing his body down harder on Nera’s groin. The old man winced, his hands grasping the sheet and balling it into fists.

  “You think you’re clever, don’t you? If you were, you wouldn’t be in this situation now—me sitting and crushing what’s left of your shriveled balls. You know what else, old man?”

  Nera wrinkled his eyebrows, turned his head and spat.

  “I think I’m going to have to kill the girl as well.”

  Gaston felt the old man shake the bed but not enough to throw him off.

  “She is your kin?”

  “Go fuck yourself.”

  “That’s a yes,” said Gaston. “I guess you’re smarter than I thought you were. You already know you won’t be waking up with the sun.”

  Nera closed his eyes and stropped struggling.

  “Did you like Judas?”

  Nera ignored the question, and Gaston pushed down harder. “Did you?” he asked again.

  “He was chief and I was his right hand.”

  Gaston laughed and nodded. “He was ruthless and you knew it. You let him murder many people, over the years, didn’t you? You stood by while he killed innocent people in the name of securing the village. You’re nothing but shit, a coward like him. He never gave me a chance, never let me explain White Citadel was something worth pursuing. Judas will never see it. And neither will you.”

  “You’re a heretic and a criminal. They’ll never follow you.”

  “Jonah is not Judas. He’s weak and you know it.”

  Nera straightened his leg and Gaston felt the squirm.

  “Enough. I will not allow you to stand in the way of our salvation at White Citadel. I tried to explain that to Judas, and he left me for dead. And you condoned my execution, along with countless other travelers coming to this village.”

  “Jonah will stop you. He is stronger than you think.”

  “He will need to be, because he will not have a right hand as his father did.”

  Gaston placed the pillow over Nera’s face and used his arms to hold it down. The old man thrashed, and his foot thumped the side of the wall, but Gaston held the pillow firmly over his face.

  Nera’s muffled cries subsided and his arms and legs stopped moving. Gaston sat up and lifted his left leg, as if disembarking from the saddle. He looked down at Nera’s face, the old man’s mouth and eyes open in eternal death. Gaston reached down and closed his eyelids. He tossed the pillow against the wall, reached into his pocket, and drew out the small package before placing it, torn open, beside the bed. There was just one slither of Gye Root left in the bag; not enough to create a dose of poison, but enough to make it seem that Nera had used the rest.

  Gaston placed the single shredded piece where it could easily be seen and carefully shuffled the package to spread the few tiny remnants over the area.

  Will they mourn your suicide? Gaston wondered. Or will they suspect you killed your own chief before taking your own life? It will be interesting to find out.

  He walked to the window, slowly retracing he steps.

  It must be as if I was never here, he thought. No trace.

  Chapter 16

  Gann snapped awake at the sound of the wind, and sat up straight, rubbing his eyes.

  Damn idiot, he thought, falling asleep on the job. He should never have agreed to watch the stranger after hunting for most of the day. He stood up and headed over to the doorway and peered out toward the hut just up the path.

  I’ll have to check, just to make sure, he thought, and stepped out into the bitter cold night air. The village was quiet, as he had expected. Summer nights were the only time people would be out at this time.

  As he made his way up the path, moving quietly so as to not disturb anyone, he glanced up at the night sky. It was clear and the stars were out in full strength tonight, but on the horizon was a thin slit of light that hinted d
awn was close.

  Nearly morning, he thought, checking the position of the moon.

  He slowed as he got to the hut that the stranger was staying in—Gaston, wasn’t that his name? He peered inside, squinting to see clearly, and was relieved to see the stranger sleeping, just where he had been the last time Gann had checked.

  I don’t know what the fuss is all about, he thought, as he turned and headed back to the hut. The guy wasn’t going anywhere and was obviously exhausted. Traveling out there, on his own in the wilderness with no one to watch over him, meant he probably didn’t sleep much.

  Well, he’s certainly catching up now, thought Gann.

  But that was no excuse. He had fallen asleep on his watch, and that couldn’t happen again. Not tonight.

  Beating back the wash of drowsiness that swept over him once more as he sat there in the dark, watching the hut just fifty feet away, Gann watched the dawn approach and hoped his shift relief would come soon.

  Chapter 17

  Jonah stood before the mirror, staring at his own reflection. He’d seen his father do it many times and had often wondered why. Now he understood. Somehow, when only faced with himself, it was easier to think.

  There was a noise from the room beyond, and he turned to see Sasha appear in the gloom.

  “Can’t sleep?” she asked.

  He turned back to the mirror. “No,” he said. “Too much to think about.”

  Sasha moved quietly through the room until she stood at his side, placing her head on his shoulder and wrapping her arms around him. “Too many worries for one person, maybe?”

  Jonah smiled. “Maybe,” he said. “I don’t know. I suppose I never really thought about everything that my father had to deal with. I never had to think about it.”

  “And now?” Sasha asked.

  “Now I think I should have listened to him more, paid more attention. He used to tell me things all the time—lessons, I suppose—but I never thought seriously about them. Yesterday, when Gaston came back, I wasn’t ready. I almost just stood there, waiting for my father to deal with it. A few weeks ago, I would have been nearer to the back of such a group when facing trouble, and now I have to be at the front.”