Dustfall, Book One - Shadows of a Lost Age

by J. Thorn

  “Do you know how many times I’ve heard that?”

  “We have nothing,” Jonah said.

  “Then I guess we’ll just have to wait here for your people to arrive, and then I’ll send my boys to your camp to do what we call an appraisal. We’ll decide what you got, Chief. And the law of The Five Clans says I have to stop a group going any farther along this road, and turn them back, if they’re not friendly. No offering, no passage. I have a job to do, here.”

  Chapter 42

  They moved through the camp, Judas followed by Rav, the stranger seeming to not be bothered at all about having to enter the camp alone, leaving his half dozen men behind him at the entrance. Around them, the Elk Clan was busy setting up for the night.

  “Your clan is still strong,” said Rav as they arrived at the central campfire. “That is good.”

  “How so?” asked Jonah. He nodded at the two men seated by the central campfire and they stood and moved away, leaving Jonah and Rav alone.

  “When a clan passes onto a new leader, there’s usually turmoil,” Rav said, lowering himself to the ground with a groan. “Sometimes it splits a clan.”

  Jonah’s thoughts went immediately to Gaston. He hadn’t considered it in the last few days, as they travelled, but now he wondered if he had made a mistake letting the man walk with them. So far the man hadn’t tried to cause trouble, and merely preached about his nonsense book, but Jonah wondered if it was a possible threat he should take more seriously.

  “We’ve been through a little,” said Jonah, “but the clan is still true to itself.”

  “Good,” said Rav. “Too many times I see clans wither and die out, and it’s often because of in fighting. You know, a strong clan can withstand anything, even the bad times, if they hold true.”

  “I hear you,” said Jonah.

  Rav nodded. “I’ve held the summit here for twenty summers, and I see them all. I’ve seen clans grow and I’ve seen them dwindle, over the years.”

  “Why do you hold the summit? Why the elaborate gate?” asked Jonah.

  Rav was silent for a moment, casting a glance around at the other clansfolk nearby and the tents.

  “Because we always have,” he said. “We get paid in dues to hold the road and keep a track of who comes and goes into the south and into Wytheville. Not the smaller hunting clans, but the bigger ones that need the road. The kind of clans with numbers to cause trouble. The Five Clans have always wanted a watch on the roads to stop movements of large numbers of potential enemies. So we are here, my clan, and have been for a long time. We take a tithe from The Five Clans, we hunt and gather, we trade and fix carts and scrap metal, and all who pass through our gate pay us a small due or they do not go south.”

  “A ransom for passage?” asked Jonah.

  Rav laughed, his chest heaving and the sound deep and genuine. “An extortion even!” he said, his voice mocking.

  Then he shook his head.

  “Think on this. When you have passed through the gate, as I have no doubt you will, you will know that those that follow you into the lands of The Five Clans have been allowed through this gate. Only a small clan on foot could avoid our gate, and they are nothing to worry about. We watch for the same clans each year and see that they have arrived, then we close the gate at the first cold and follow them into Wytheville, and then to Eliz. If a clan does not arrive, then we send a fast scouting group back along the road to find out where they are and why they haven’t come. It has always been thus.”

  “You watch to make sure the clans make it here?”

  Rav nodded.

  Jonah was puzzled. He had no idea that there were others that watched the movements of the clans. The idea confounded him. Why would others have such interest?

  “I see,” said Rav. “You have not been given much by your father to help you take on leadership. Not unsurprising, and no insult intended. I was surprised he even let you live long enough to surpass him, bastard that he was.”

  “His death was sudden and unexpected,” said Jonah, frowning at the man’s last comment.

  Rav snorted. “Aren’t they all?” he reached into the fire and pulled a chunk of cooked meat from one of the spits that lay to the side of the flames. “Look. The council at Wytheville likes to know what clans there are to call on, should the time come. They like to know who their allies are and who their enemies are. When the time comes to go to Eliz, when all the clans come together across the lands to stay for the winter, there are many other clans, friends and enemies both. Your father guaranteed his clan would stand with The Five, as have many that live out in these forests. A dozen other clans are expected to pass south, and it’s my job to make sure they turn up each winter.”

  “I see,” said Jonah.

  “As to your payment for passing the gate,” said Rav. “A basket of those apples that you have covered up in your cart store will do just fine.”

  Jonah frowned. How could the man know what they had in their stores?

  Rav laughed again, sensing Jonah’s surprise.

  “Son, every year your father brought apples. He also brought skins, dried meat and herbs. Your clan has been trading the same stuff since time out of time. Anyway,” he continued. “I will leave you, after you offer me and my men some food, and I’ll leave with a warning that may help you as you travel into the south and into Wytheville. The Five Clans had your father’s axe sworn to them, and now they will want to find out your position. A new deal must be struck for your clan.”

  Jonah nodded. “I see.”

  “I hope you do,” said Rav. “Because your clan is the strongest forest clan, and they will want to hear that you still stand with them. Your father was a renowned champion, and they will sorely miss him now that he has passed, even if he was a dick. Better to have such a man on your side than worry if he will face off against you. They will look to you to be what he was. You have some clout there, son. Take my advice and don’t waste it. You will only have this one time to make an impression, and they will pay well if you push them, but not too far.”

  “I appreciate you telling me this,” Jonah said, wondering why this man was even helping him.

  “Excellent,” said Rav. “You’re not a dick like your father; that’s good. Stay that way, but stay strong.” He held out his hand. “If you’ll give my clan a small cut of whatever The Five Clans pay you to stand with them, then I’ll forget the gate toll and offer you friendship with my clan, Jonah son of Judas. I never had that with your father, we just had an agreement, but you seem a better man than he.”

  Jonah peered at the hand extended toward him, then reached forward and shook it.

  “But next year,” said Rav with a grin. “Bring me more than apples, if you want me watching your back at Eliz.”

  Chapter 43

  “There is more to the book than prophecy, although that alone would make it extremely valuable,” Gaston insisted.

  Seren shrugged, sticking the end of a branch into the hot coals at the bottom of the fire. She avoided eye contact with Gaston but did not interrupt him. He looked into the camp, where Jonah and the other men drank with the guardian of the summit, the man they called Rav.

  The Five Clans are nothing but dogs, he thought.

  “Do you want to hear about your history?”

  “No,” Seren said, but she dropped the stick and looked into Gaston’s eyes.

  “Then I’ll be on my way to—”

  “It’ll be fine for a few minutes,” Seren interrupted.

  Gaston smiled and set the worn, leather tome on his lap. He opened it with a delicate hand, careful not to let the stiff wind grab the pages and throttle them into torn pieces. Leaves danced about the camp as the western wind drifted over the mountains, introducing winter to the clan.

  “Should I tell you what I have learned of T’yun Horde?”

  Seren dropped her eyes and nodded.

  “The Event scoured memories from us all, and time has eaten away at what remains. That is why I ca
rry the book in a pocket over my heart. It tells me much of the past, and the traveler who wrote most of the book seems to have had contact with the T’yun on a few occasions.”

  “Where did they come from?” Seren asked.

  “Mostly survivors of what was left behind, but many generations later. They were the largest clan to have existed in the time since. The largest by far. The impression I get from these pages is that they were more numerous than all of the still living clans combined and ruled over most of the east and the forests.”

  He turned a few pages and used his finger to smooth the edge. Gaston looked at the first few lines and closed his eyes, knowing he could read them even if he were blind. He inhaled and the scent of roasted fowl from the warrior’s fire made his mouth water.

  The girl’s mental nourishment is more important than my physical body, right now. Especially when you seem to finally have her willing attention.

  “I can read a few passages to you, so long as Jonah does not summon you.”

  “No, no,” she said. “Read them. It’s unlikely I’ll be needed.”

  Gaston smiled again at the reminder that Seren was still a child, and easily manipulated, despite her lethal aim and powers of observation. The young loved stories.

  “The Event brought bloody destruction to the Master Race. Fire and Blight scraped the gods of the past from our world, leaving smoldering ruins and hardy survivors. The clans of the South united into the T’yun Horde and set about to destroy their enemies. The chieftain, the one the Horde called Kunite, brought the people together. The first Kunite sent the survivors into the remains of the city, where they scavenged that not touched by fire. The people soon realized that these areas could not support the clans, and therefore they took what they could and spread outward.”

  “The T’yun Horde ruled from the Great Sea in the east to the Missip River in the west. The Kunite made use of the hardened roads left after The Event to move news and commands across this vast empire. Clans north of the Horde remained there, some separated by the Eternal Lake and its cousins on each side.”

  “Your clan?” Seren asked.

  Gaston looked up from the book and rubbed his chin with one hand.

  “Yes. I’m a descendant of the Cygoa People. We were not incorporated into the T’yun Horde and remain independent to this day.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know,” Gaston said, not sure if it was the truth or not. “We lived beyond the rule of the Kunite and therefore escaped the collapse of the Horde and the subsequent rise of The Many Clans.”

  Seren nodded and Gaston closed the book.

  “I believe that’s enough reading for one night.”

  “But I want to hear more. Tell me about the T’yun Horde and what happened to the Kunite.”

  Only tiny bites so she does not choke.

  “Another time,” said Gaston.

  Seren grabbed her bow and stomped past Gaston, whipping the flames of the campfire into a frenzy and sending sharp sparks into the air. Her right thigh slammed into his right shoulder as she marched past and he had to put his left hand on the ground to keep from tumbling over backward off the log.

  “Yes,” he said to the flames, chuckling. “Another time we will talk more of the Horde. That is for certain. And you are welcome.”

  * * *

  Rav considered stuffing six or seven apples into the folds of his rags, but why bother? He could take as much of the tithing as he wanted, so there would be no need to hide them. Still, it had been a long year since he had the crisp apples of the north, and he felt no compulsion to share them with his clan.

  He walked south on the road where the carts looked down with black, vacant eyes. He remembered his great grandfather speaking of the old time, before The Event, when people sat in the bigger carts and rode them instead of pulling smaller, makeshift versions of them down the road. The “eyes” of the carts, as they had become known, held powerful torches that would illuminate the road, even during the blackest of nights. Some of the elders spoke of carts that spoke with human voices, guiding the pilots to their destination as if holding magical powers of navigation known only to the gods. Rav never believed it. One might be able to harness flame, but animating carts and having them operate as thinking beings sounded like nothing but myth.

  The aroma drifting up from the basket of apples made Rav pause. He stopped, shifted the basket to his left hand and grabbed an apple with his right. He didn’t bother looking it over. Rav bit down into the hard, bitter fruit and immediately regretted the decision. The smell did not match the taste from his memory when the clans migrated frequently, bringing juicy fruits always in season. Those days were gone. Fewer and fewer caravans came through and always with dwindling numbers. Rav knew the days of the T’yun Horde were gone forever, but now it appeared as though The Five Clans stood on the same precipice of extinction.

  He spat the tasteless pulp to the ground.

  “No point in guarding a pass that is hollow and empty.”

  “Is he as strong as Judas?”

  Rav spun around. He squinted into the darkness and waited for his right hand to emerge.

  “No, Bira, he is not.”

  The man walked up to Rav, and even in the dark he knew Bira was gazing at the basket full of apples.

  “Take one,” Rav said.

  Bira sighed and stroked his long beard with one hand. He pulled a cricket and a bone fragment from the hair on his chin and gave Rav a toothless smile.

  “And bite into it with what?”

  Rav laughed and shoved the basket into Bira’s stomach. The man winced and waited for further instruction from his leader.

  “You laughed at me when I made the datun. You told me I was a fool for wrapping the chewstick with spearmint.”

  Bira remained silent.

  “He is inexperienced and somewhat naive. But he is not weak.”

  Bira nodded, feeling the frivolity slip away as Rav told him about the Elk Clan’s new chief.

  “He also thinks I’m a mad man and that I can’t possibly be a threat to him.”

  “He is right about one thing.”

  Rav smiled, flashing his teeth at Bira with an exaggerated grin.

  “The guardians of the pass must be sharp and unpredictable; otherwise, clans would forego their tithing.”

  “What did you tell him?” Bira asked.

  “The truth, of course. I told him he had one of the stronger clans and that the others will look to him to lead with same strength of his father. And that his father was a dick.”

  Bira giggled.

  “I told him he had clout and that he shouldn’t waste it.”

  “You offered him your hand. I saw it.”

  “Yes, Bira. You are observant. In exchange for a cut of what The Five Clans offer Jonah, we will become his ally and forego the gate toll.”

  “The apples?” Bira asked.

  “No, no,” Rav replied. “These are treats. Not the toll. You should know that by now.”

  “Do they have women?”

  “Many. Girls as well, that will be women soon. Nothing has changed with the Elk there. It must be the forest air or something in that reservoir they live near.”

  Bira nodded and Rav knew where the man was headed and so he spoke first.

  “And we will touch none that do not offer themselves to us. Do you hear me, Bira, son of Thon? The Elk may have lost Judas, but they still have enough numbers to turn us to dust if that young whelp so much as clicks his fingers. The Five Clans fear the Elk, and for a good reason.”

  Bira shook his head.

  “Besides, no lady would want your gummy chompers nibbling on her honey pot, now would she?”

  Rav put an arm around Bira as the two began walking again. They walked stride for stride toward the opening at the summit, where the two warriors remained on guard.

  “I sure hope they have ripe apples at Eliz,” Rav said, taking another tasteless bite from his bitter apple.

  Chapte
r 44

  He felt it coming—the slow, steady pull into the still waters of sleep. Gaston knew when his mind was entering that place versus his body collapsing from fatigue. It was as if the dream began before he fell asleep, nagging at him like an infected wound, reminding him of something he would never forget. He rolled over and bit his bottom lip until he felt the warm, bitter tang of blood on his tongue. The dream didn’t stop. It never did, no matter how much pain Gaston inflicted upon himself. The visions returned, as they had for over thirty years. He waited for sleep to pull him under and the nightmare to begin its eternal assault.

  Gaston ran. The trees stood in silent compliance as the marauders spilled blood at their roots. The cries shot from the dark corners of the forest and each one made him stop until the voice in his head pushed him on.

  “Run,” it said. “Don’t stop.”

  The pregnant moon hung on the horizon, casting a silver pallor on the killing fields. It watched and, like the trees, allowed it all to happen. He ran, past Ginwar’s house, where his friend’s mother often offered him tea and fresh-baked bread. Gaston blew past the front door, glancing down to see a single leg stuck in the doorway. Unmoving. Lifeless.

  Another cry came from his left, and Gaston dashed to the right and down the path toward the well. He pushed his legs faster, pumping hard to get to his house. And yet, he knew what he would find there. He should have been home, not hunting the forest after sundown. How many times had his father warned him of such dangerous behavior? His father told him of the Horde and the way they materialized like demons. And yet, Gaston disobeyed. And his father had been right.

  He heard voices, men barking and laughing amongst the cries of death. Women wailed and men screamed. Gaston’s foot slid from the path and a tree root grabbed his toe, throwing the ten-year-old boy to the ground. He winced and grabbed his foot with both hands. A torch ignited fifty feet to his left and he heard the shouting.

  “A boy. Over here.”

  Gaston scrambled to his feet and pushed off his uninjured leg before hobbling deeper into the woods, moving as far off the path as he could. On a normal, quiet night, he would be risking the wolves. But now that the T’yun Horde had begun their raid, he knew the pack would be hiding in their den. Even the wolves feared the Horde.