Dustfall, Book One - Shadows of a Lost Age

by J. Thorn

  If they attack and some of the clan are killed, there will be upset and turmoil, and it will make the Elk less stable, more prone to suggestion.

  Gaston moved away from the markings in the dirt and headed back to his tent, pondering which option to take. He sat there, in the shelter of the small tent, contemplating the choice for more than an hour, but before he made up his mind, sleep took him.

  Chapter 27

  They arrived at the ruins of Summerville late into the afternoon of the third day. It was a view that always stirred something in Jonah’s stomach, and it wasn’t a thing that he understood. This place was the first ruined city of many on the journey to Eliz, and the sight of crumbling buildings would become something commonplace, an image in the background, as the days went by, but after three seasons in the forest, the visions of fallen buildings on such a scale were an eyesore and a stark change of reality to him. He supposed it must be the same for most, and he noticed others looking at the distant buildings with curiosity and fear.

  There were people in Summerville—traders and scavengers—and in his life he couldn’t remember there being any trouble with any of them here, but one could never be sure.

  The land flattened out as they approached the dead city, and the blacktop was much wider here, if not more worn and uneven, and the shells of buildings were still a good distance off. As they got closer to the center of the city, his nerves began to twitch. The area where the merchant clan lived was deserted, with no signs of people, which was disappointing. He thought it would have been helpful to trade in goods or knowledge, but it was not to be, so he ushered the clan onward, peering at the wide open gate, which had once marked the entrance to the settlement, and the rubbish scattered over the ground, blowing in the wind.

  It wasn’t until he had passed the entrance, and was walking across the road that ran alongside it, that he spotted the row of tall shafts. They ran along the outside of the southern wall, six of them in total, rising twenty feet from the ground, each topped with a clumsily added cross bar to which was nailed a desiccated corpse. They had been there for months, Jonah could see, and nature had had its way with them, both weather and animal.

  Thief, said the sign that hung from the first. The others bore no signs, and Jonah didn’t wish to look any closer. But he did wonder, as he moved on, if they were the remains of bandits, raiders, or the very merchants themselves. He guessed he would never know.

  Better to move on, he thought, hoping the younger members of his clan would not see them.

  Another settlement gone. Jonah hoped that they had moved on, rather than ceased to exist, and that the punished corpses were raiders and not the merchant family. There had been a few dozen of them the last time they had seen them, over a year ago on the last journey to the east.

  As the clan crested the top of a slope, he saw what he had been anticipating—the massive hulk of the building that they would camp in overnight. It was still a mile away and blessedly far enough from the merchant settlement that they would not see the corpses.

  The building was called The Mall by the clan, its name hanging outside on a broken sign that had somehow managed to weather the centuries. It was mostly roofless, but some small sections farther inside the massive hulk were sheltered. Most of the walls of the metal behemoth were brown with rust, and overgrown with creeping plants, but the clan weren’t the only travelers that used this place as a stop off, and Judas had spoken often of the place, claiming more than once that he had considered settling the clan there instead of the forest. Of course that had never happened. Hunting was scarcer near Summerville, and other tribes frequented the area.

  Jonah heard his father’s voice, almost as though he were alive and talking to him.

  “It used to be a market town,” his father had once said. “Even when I was a kid it still was. Hundreds of people lived in the building and around it, most of them traders or herders. We almost made a deal and joined with them, once.”

  Jonah remembered that day vividly. They had been down by the bank of the waters just east of the village, and his father had taken him fishing. They often went fishing, and Jonah would listen while his father taught him of the outside world.

  “The herders used the land around there because the taint wasn’t so bad, and they’d sell off spare meat at market in the Wythe before heading to Eliz in the winter. Back then there were a lot more people on the road, taking The Walk.”

  Jonah tried to remember if that had been true when he had been very young, and somehow he thought it had. Maybe not as many people as there had been in his father’s youth, but the road to Eliz had definitely been busier.

  Chapter 28

  Seren’s older brother, Roke, felt a wave of nerves hit him as he followed the warriors into the interior of the ruin, stepping through a gap big enough to move two carts in side by side. Lying on either side of the entrance were huge, rusted metal frames that, if stood up, would fill the gap, but he couldn’t imagine what their purpose had once been. Doors maybe? Not any kind of door he had ever seen.

  A vast open space greeted the warriors as they passed through the entrance, and Roke could see that the floor inside must once have been an elaborate pattern of brightly colored stones, but now weeds, bushes and trees had forced their way through, after centuries of pushing against the concrete foundations, and the tiles—he thought that was what they may be called—were broken and scattered across the ground. Some patches remained almost intact, barely touched except for the dirt that had built up, but in other places trees had forced their way through and now grew up high into the roof, holding up the failing ceiling with outstretched branches where the original masonry had crumbled and failed. Glass, rubbish and rocks littered the ground all around them, some fallen from the building itself, but most left behind by decades of visitors.

  There was a cleared walkway straight through all of the debris, and Roke remembered passing this way before, but his memory was far from vivid. Most days on The Walk had been a flood of strange memories, and it was only now that he had a weapon in his hands, and the reality that he was a warrior and come of age, that his senses were keen, taking in everything around him. Before he had been in the aloof world of childhood.

  Walkways broke away from the main path at intervals, each of them leading into dark, covered rooms that he was afraid to look into. Anything could be inside those rooms. But his fear was not to be acknowledged by the other warriors, as he was passed a lit torch and told to follow the two men in front of him.

  They turned at the next walkway and headed into the darkened chamber beyond another metal-framed entrance. This room was clearer than the main hall, and he could see old wooden furniture scattered randomly around the area. He was surprised at how big the room was, easily large enough to park the carts of most of the clan inside.

  The two warriors searched the perimeter of the room, checking inside any gaps as he stood at the entrance, waiting until they returned.

  “Droppings,” said one of the men to the other, and the second man nodded. “a week or so old, maybe.”

  “Come on,” said the tallest of the two.

  Chapter 29

  Jonah stood in the middle of the vast atrium, a place that had once been the very center of a shopping mall. He knew this from Judas, who had told him some things of the past that most people would find difficult to understand. The entire ruin had been a kind of market, in the ancient times, and had been used as that many times in the centuries that followed. But the market had died, as the clans no longer returned, and now the complex served as one of the planned stops in their journey. It had done for as long as Jonah could remember.

  Droppings, he thought, considering the news from the first scouting parties to return. Large ones.

  “What kind?” he asked, eyeing the man in front of him, but also noting Seren’s older brother behind the man. Has he really grown so fast? Jonah thought. Already a warrior. I’m not the only one with new responsibilities. He looked back to the o
lder man, a warrior maybe in his fiftieth year, a grand age for a clansman. “Mongrels?”

  The man shrugged. “Possibly that, or foxes, or wolves.”

  Hmm. Wild dogs, no doubt, thought Jonah. Wolves don’t usually travel this far south.

  “How old?”

  “At least a week, maybe longer,” said the man. “It’s hard to tell in the darkness.”

  Well, better wild dogs than enemy clans, Jonah thought. Dogs they could handle. “Spread out and start securing the area near the entrance and farther in. We’ll take the west wing, this year. It seems to be the most habitable, and I’d say the most defensible. Spread the word for gaps to be closed up and reinforced. We need this sealed up tight within the hour.”

  There was a murmur of approval from the warriors before they each set out into the dim light, torches held high.

  Jonah looked up, to the canopy above, and marveled at the way the great trees had grown to hold up the roof. There were sections where it had collapsed, but the west wing seemed the least dilapidated. At least, he hoped.

  Chapter 30

  Seren watched as the group of warriors—two dozen in all, led by Jonah—headed across the huge patch of broken blacktop toward the great building. She remembered Judas making this trip into the ruin the year before, but couldn’t remember prior to that.

  Of course they had, she thought. They’d have to check the place out before we all go in there. In case there are dangers, and they would do it each and every time. There was never time to be complacent.

  But she was uncomfortable this time. Last year she had stood next to her brother, Roke, as the troop went inside the ruins and came out a short while later. But this time Roke was with them, no longer a boy, it would seem. Now part of the forward group. Now going into danger first. She hated it. There she was, standing on top of one of the carts, keeping watch, her bow already notched but not drawn, and her brother, who was far less adept with a bow, was going into the ruins. It made no sense to her.

  She scanned the horizon and noticed that Gaston was watching her from the other side of the camp. The man was making her more nervous each day.

  Why does Jonah tolerate him?

  * * *

  She heard the first howls around midnight. The sound startled her enough that she sat up and grabbed at her bow. It was still there on the ground next to her, as was the sheath of new arrows.

  Seren listened intently, but there was silence for a few minutes, and she was just about to lie down again when the howls returned. They were distant, many miles away, but they were in the direction that the road led, and that meant possible trouble.

  If it had been just dogs, then the clan would not worry too much. Wild dogs could be nasty, but they were unlikely to attack even a single person, let alone a whole caravan. They had learned the hard way not to mess with humans.

  But what she heard in the distance wasn’t the baying of wild dogs. This was howling of wolves. Many of them.

  Chapter 31

  The Leader watched the flickering lights of the campfires from far off, his nose twitching at the scent drifting across the ancient ruins. Nearby, his two sons, The Stronger and The Faster, scratched irritably at the ground and shifted around each other. The Stronger snapped at The Faster’s legs, but as usual The Faster moved away before The Stronger could bite him.

  They hated each other, The Leader knew. They were older now, and impatient to be the one in charge of the pack, and soon one of them would make a move. But which would it be? He had seen both of them watching him, but they were usually too busy bickering with each other to really apply themselves to taking over leadership.

  And this new intrusion into their new territory was making them even more twitchy.

  Two dozen other males stood nearby, mostly keeping away from the main three, watching from the darkness among the trees and sniffing, smelling the same waft he was. The smell of food cooking was most prevalent, and a smell that they hadn’t encountered in many moons, since the other Walking Ones had left their home in the ruins.

  He had known then that they would not withstand the harassment for long. There were many in his pack, the strongest in all the lands around as far as he knew, and his three mates had a dozen young, including his two eldest. And the other pairs had young and old, warriors and pups. It was a lot of mouths to keep fed.

  He did not like the lower lands and much preferred the place that they had come from, the higher lands and the lakes, but he had conceded in the end when some of the pack died from lack of food. The higher lands were becoming barren, as had the lands they moved from many moons before. Everywhere was becoming barren and sickly.

  But not these new lands.

  With that had come the danger. There were too many Walking Ones in these new lands. The occasional loner on the road was an easy meal for his kin, but the Walking Ones in these lands stayed together in their own packs—large packs. They were troublesome.

  The ones who lived in the high walled den had moved on, now. He had expected it, of course. They had killed two of the ones in the high walled den, and in turn they had lost one of their own.

  He scratched at the drying wound on his side. It was healing well, but he saw how The Stronger and The Faster looked at the wound.

  Damn them if they don’t want me to die, he thought.

  But he wouldn’t die soon. He was still fast and strong, still the greatest king in these lands, and still able to stand his own ground if needed.

  He moved over the crumbling ruin of the old Walking One dwelling, another den left behind to fall to ruin after many years, and they followed him, pouring through the dark ruins like a tide of fur.

  Eventually he came to a stop at the edge of the hard black ground that the Walking Ones used to travel on, and he watched.

  He saw three of them standing by a burning pile, making their noises.

  If only I could understand their talk, he thought, then I could understand their thoughts better and know their weaknesses, their fears.

  The food they cooked would be enough, he thought, if we could just get some of it, a lot of it maybe, but these three would be even better.

  But there were more in the darkness beyond the bright burning pile, he knew. Many more. He could smell their scent. The attack would have to be swift and the retreat even faster.

  Something stirred in the back of his mind; a memory maybe? Was it of his own father, the great Brown Hunter of the tall forest?

  He remembered now. Brown Hunter had told them of the Great Walking Pack that travelled the black ground. He had seen them long ago, when even he had been young.

  They were dangerous, and they also were numerous.

  Brown Hunter had caught one of the larger ones himself, it had been said, but Brown Hunter never claimed such.

  Just those three, thought The Leader, then the little ones would get some too, and my wives would stop snapping at me.

  He took a step out onto the great black ground and watched. He was still far from the sight of the Walking Ones. They were blinder than any creature he had known, and their smell and hearing was also bad. How could such creatures survive? Even the deer of the forest were sharper and faster than these.

  But the deer didn’t have the long claws like the Walking Ones, he thought.

  These three, huddled around their burning pile, didn’t seem to be carrying the long claws. He didn’t know what their bite would be like, but if they didn’t have the long claws, surely they were weak ones.

  He sniffed, loud enough for those around him to hear. To a man, this would have sounded just like it was, a sniff, but to the warriors of The Leader’s pack, this was a command to approach, to attack.

  Twenty or more dark shapes surged forward across the blacktop, heading directly toward the three men standing around the fire pit. As they crossed the ground, they picked up speed, moving swiftly and silently toward their prey.

  Chapter 32

  They traveled the road twice a year.

&nb
sp; He had practically lived on it.

  The problem now wasn’t a lack of people on The Walk. Gaston knew they had too many. The size of the caravan and the number of warriors, in proportion to the women and children, would draw bandits from the woods. He would need a way to sift out the weak, the elderly and any of the other clansfolk that might slow them down. They made decent progress on the first leg of the journey, when spirits held high and the wind blew at their backs. But as the days wore on, the pace would slacken and then they would become targets.

  Howling.

  Gaston smiled when he first heard the wolves baying, and he could not believe his luck. The pack would go for the smallest and the weakest among them, thinning out the caravan for him.

  He made his way through the tangled labyrinth of The Mall, stepping over debris and avoiding families clustered beneath what little cover the atrium provided. Gaston maneuvered through the darkness until he came to the pit, where the old women had gutted the skinny rabbits they found in the brush. Gaston could still feel the heat coming off the gut piles, the slimy intestines wet on his fingers. He shoved them into a sack and ran toward the main opening, where the night held thick.

  The wolves would have detected the scent anyway, but Gaston wanted to make sure he drew them to the right spots. He ducked beneath heavy branches and crumbling walls, dropping gut piles outside the tents occupied by children and the elderly.

  He avoided the men standing guard at the main fire pit, although he guessed the burning herb would have dulled their senses. The warriors shared a pipe, the aroma reaching deep into the recesses of The Mall.

  Gaston slid behind a wall of waist-high cinder blocks. He ducked and shook his head, concerned the wolves might approach the fire directly and not take his bait.