Dustfall, Book One - Shadows of a Lost Age

by J. Thorn

  The wolves were still in the area.

  Chapter 46

  Jonah stood looking down the slope toward the destroyed camp, scanning the area around where the fire pit had been. The area was littered with valuable gear, just as Roke had said.

  They would have been waiting for us to pass, and would have attacked us, he thought. Raiders. That’s what these remains were. There were no smaller bodies, no children, no women. These were grown men, killed by a roving pack of wolves.

  He thought back to the night in Summerville, when the pack of wolves had attacked their perimeter and been driven off.

  They were hungry, these wolves. Hungry enough to attack a full clan on the move and certainly enough to take out a band of raiders on the road.

  But they would have full bellies now, after this, he thought. If it were the same pack, reduced by three, then they had followed the path of the road, searching for more prey, after the failure and found this bunch lying in wait.

  And he felt no remorse for the dead as he watched the men of his clan kick the remains into the ditch and begin to search through the camp to collect anything of value.

  Wolves had no need for rucksacks and supplies, no use for the weapons and tools that were even now being carried up to the carts.

  He turned to find Roke standing nearby and thought that the boy looked pleased. Rightly so; he’d done a good job; he had gone out to scout as commanded and he’d taken little time to do it. And it seemed he’d been sent out into more danger than Jonah had realized.

  “Pass the word,” said Jonah. “No one leaves the caravan alone and unarmed, not day or night, not even to piss in the bushes.”

  Roke nodded and turned to leave.

  “And Roke,” Jonah said, as the boy—man—turned to leave with the message. “You did well.”

  Roke nodded and moved off to tell others their chieftain’s instructions.

  * * *

  “Is it the same pack that attacked us before?” Sasha asked, as Jonah took his place in the caravan once more, signaling the leading carts to take to the road and move again.

  “More than likely,” Jonah replied. “Yes, I think so.” He saw the concern on Sasha’s face and placed his arm over her shoulders. “Don’t worry,” he said. “We move quickly through this area anyway, with long days, until we reach Camp Creek, and tonight we’ll be at Fayette.”

  Sasha nodded, but Jonah could tell she wasn’t comforted by his confidence.

  “Plenty of buildings in Fayette for us to hole up in tonight,” he said. “Buildings with doors still intact, if I remember. Much easier to block up and secure. And I’ll make sure we push to getting there before dark.”

  But for the rest of the day, as they moved along the blacktop road, he watched the bushes and trees at the edge of the road more carefully than he had done on previous days, as did many of the other warriors. Jonah doubled the guard, even though it forced people who weren’t used to a long day on a cart to work harder. He was sure there would be mumbling among his people, but they would have to make do, and he knew they would be grateful when they were safely inside the ruins.

  It was necessary, he thought, as they slowly made their way down the road into the valley beyond. He didn’t like the slope leading down onto the road along this stretch, and had never had to consider it before. There were too many places for raiders, or indeed wolves, to hide. Too many spots where a swift attack could be deadly and too easy to escape from. His mind drifted back as they headed down into the valley, back to when his father was the one watching over the clan on its journey. When he was younger, Jonah had never had to concern himself with the safety of the clan. His father had been everywhere at once.

  But the day went smoothly, and Jonah was relieved when they finally made it to the wider blacktop, farther down in the valley, and the view of the surrounding lands opened up. When the clan finally crossed the river and saw the outlying buildings of Fayette, Jonah glanced to his wife and saw her evident relief.

  He reached over once more and hugged her. “You see?” he said. “I said we would make it here just fine.”

  And almost as if on cue, just as his nervous tension began to ease, and as daylight began its slow change to twilight, he heard, as did most of the Clan, the distant sound of howling coming down from the hills behind them.

  Jonah turned to two warriors nearby and called them over.

  “Take three others and go on ahead into the town. Find the nearest large building that that will fit us all in. And be fast.”

  “The old biscuit factory,” said one of the warriors, an older man who Jonah thought would probably be just pulling one of the carts in a few summers’ time.

  “Where’s that?” asked Jonah.

  The man shook his head. “It’s not far. I think maybe another mile. Judas didn’t like the smell of the building, so we never used it. But it was more than big enough, and proper solid, easily defended.”

  Jonah frowned. “My father didn’t like the place?”

  The man’s cheeks flushed, and he began to stammer an apology. Jonah realized the old warrior thought he was speaking out of place. “I apologize for suggesting it,” he said.

  “No,” Jonah snapped. “Your suggestion is a good one. Worry not. I am not my father, and the stink of an old building won’t put me off if it provides the walls that we need.”

  The warrior looked relieved.

  “Go on ahead and check the place out,” Jonah commanded. “If it’s unoccupied, and as sturdy as you say, then head back. Do not split up or get sidetracked.”

  He watched the men jog off and hoped that the factory turned out to be a good choice, and then he cursed himself for not remembering where his father camped on this leg of the journey. But then he could fix that now, couldn’t he? Where was that old fart Logan?

  Chapter 47

  “They used to call it the New River even though it’s ancient. The water runs from south to north.”

  Seren felt the sunshine warm her face while the breeze dried the sweat on her skin, the sights and smells of the wolf attack now fading.

  “How do you know these things?” she asked Jonah.

  “I’ve made The Walk many more times than you have. And my father told me these things along the way. I’m not as strong as he was, but I remember things.”

  “Why are you not passing this along to your children? Won’t Gideon have to lead the clan someday?”

  “Yes,” Jonah said, his eyes shifting to the horizon, where the road appeared to end. “But my children are too young right now.”

  Seren smiled and matched Jonah’s stride. They had walked twenty yards ahead of the first cart since discovering what the raiders had planned for them. The wolves spoiled that attack, but there would be more now. Jonah knew it, and it was his responsibility to confront the raiders first in the event of an ambush.

  The road weaved through the dense forest on the other side of Fayette, and the luxury of the wide blacktop leading to the town was lost upon leaving the outskirts on the southern side.

  Jonah had heard the river’s roar for miles. Crossing the New River was never something they took for granted. Each year, the bridge rusted a bit more, and there would be a time when it would tumble into the gorge and the clan would have to find another crossing. Jonah shook his head.

  But that day is not today.

  “Other clans have crossed in other places, but this bridge is the only one known to us.”

  Seren nodded, not seeing the bridge but hearing the rush of water becoming sharper, more distinct.

  “Is it safe?” she asked.

  Jonah sighed and kept walking.

  The road turned and the trees opened to a full view of the gorge. The primordial waters cut through the rock millions of years ago, before the glaciers of the last Ice Age gouged the surface of the Earth. The cliffs on each side of the river dropped in a sharp V to the river’s surface. Birds circled above, their caws muffled by the sound of white water crashing on the ro
cks. The gorge squeezed the New River tight, the width of it only a few hundred feet at this point. But the river sat eight hundred feet below the bridge—instant death for any who tumbled from it.

  Jonah looked around as he and Seren approached the entrance to the bridge. The first cart, along with Sasha and Jonah’s family, came around the corner and then halted. Jonah winked at Sasha and then turned to Seren.

  “Have your bow ready.”

  She notched the arrow before he had finished the sentence.

  He stood still, his eyes scanning the road and sheer drop off of each side. Jonah knew his clan would be vulnerable. There was no way to cross such a massive chasm without being so.

  “Wait here.”

  Jonah walked alone to where the crumbling asphalt met the first of the steel beams of the bridge. The edges of the road fell away over the years, leaving gaping holes where one could fall and be swallowed by the angry river below. Judas had led them straight down the middle each time they made The Walk. Seven summers ago, two of the old timers slipped and fell through, and Jonah could still hear their final cries as he stood on the edge of the bridge. He didn’t believe raiders would attack them before or after they crossed the New River Gorge. If there were to be an ambush, it would happen in transit.

  “We should cross now.”

  Jonah spun to see Seren on his right. “I told you to wait.”

  “There are no raiders,” she said.

  Jonah looked at the other end of the bridge and then over his shoulder at the clan, waiting for his signal. He felt pressured to move, to get across the bridge as quickly as possible instead of dragging out the process.

  He gave the hand signal to the warriors standing next to the first cart and the caravan moved forward.

  “Go on,” he said to Seren. “Take position on the other side.”

  The girl ran to the bridge without hesitation. She stayed on the center strip of the old asphalt and within a minute, she stood at the other end with her bow levelled and ready to protect the crossing. He didn’t like asking the young girl to provide cover, but she was the best shot in the clan, and right now he needed sharp eyes, not brawn.

  Jonah saw Gaston walking ahead of the carts. He rolled his eyes as the man approached. “Not now. We need to cross.”

  “My book. It has a map. There is another crossing. If we back track a half day—”

  “We’re not losing a day,” Jonah interrupted. “We’ve crossed here before. We’ll do so again.”

  “But the bridge is slowly dying.”

  “Seren made it.”

  “Seren is a child. Our carts are heavy.”

  “Our carts?” Jonah asked.

  Gaston shook his head and ignored the question. “I’m not telling you what to do. It is your clan.”

  “It is,” said Jonah.

  He signaled two warriors to his side. Jonah and the two men started toward the bridge. The wheels of the carts rolled on, and Gaston stepped to the side.

  Jonah placed one foot in front of the other as if he were hunting deer. Although the surface of the bridge felt as solid as the road, he knew better than to expect the old steel and asphalt to last forever. He kept hearing the echoes of old men tumbling to their death. Jonah wanted to close his eyes but he couldn’t.

  If the girl can cross, so can I, he thought.

  The wind over the gorge ripped at Jonah’s rucksack and howled in his ears. He glanced to the right and saw the warrior’s pale face. They passed a spot where the road narrowed to the width of a cart, the sides of the road fallen away into the river. Jonah felt his stomach turn and a headache blossom behind his forehead. He wanted to stop and he wanted to run at the same time; yet he felt powerless to do either. He had to keep stride, keep walking to the other side. Jonah saw Sasha and his children in his mind and banished their faces. He was chief, and he would have to lead the clan across. He could not be selfish and worry about his own family.

  The scraping sound to his left interrupted Jonah’s thoughts. The warrior was there one moment, and then he was gone. The man had stepped on a hunk of rotten concrete, fallen through the road, and was now plummeting to his death in the river below. Jonah held his breath and closed his eyes, astonished that the man died silently. He felt the warrior to his right grab his arm.

  “Steady, Jonah.”

  Jonah stood, frozen in the middle of the bridge. The road crumbled on each side, leaving a strip in the center barely wide enough for a cart. With the bridge railing now suspended over thin air, the passing would need to be navigated like a child crossing a creek on a fallen tree. The caravan would have to come through, each person and cart coming single file. Jonah spun to face the caravan, a lone man in the middle of the bridge. Sasha and the others had gathered at the edge of the bridge. At the other side, Seren stood with her bow, waving them forward. Jonah blinked and it felt as though the bridge shifted beneath him. Blackness crept in from the edges of his vision and he swayed. He could see Sasha screaming at him but he heard nothing but the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears. Jonah tried to step toward his wife but his legs would not move. He tried to turn and run to Seren, and safety on the other side of the gorge, but his body would not turn. Jonah gulped air, never pulling enough into his lungs to satisfy his needs. He looked up and thought the birds looked closer.

  The vultures are coming for me, he thought.

  Jonah saw a man push through the crowd at the edge of the bridge, immediately recognizing the long coat and dark eyes of Gaston. The man jogged forward, his mouth open and yelling something Jonah could not hear. He ran, seemingly oblivious to the brittle roadway and the fatal waters hundreds of feet below.

  That was when Jonah felt his left foot slide off the edge of the roadway and kick out over nothing but air. He tilted to one side and flailed his arms, fingers extended toward the edge of the roadway. Jonah’s knee smacked the steel girder beneath the asphalt, now exposed like a decaying bone. He swung his right hand up and latched on to a rusted bolt sticking out of the side of the steel girder. He looked down at the tops of his boots, floating high above the rapids of the New River.

  Jonah swung his other arm up to grip the bolt. His ears popped and the sounds of shouting and surging water filled his head.

  “Hang on!”

  He bit his lip and tasted the salty blood in his mouth. Jonah looked over his shoulder at the mountains, doing his best not to stare down into the gorge eight hundred feet below.

  “Don’t let go.”

  Jonah looked up and over his knuckles at the crystal blue sky above. He heard the voice and then saw a hand grasp his wrist. A split second later a man appeared.

  “Gaston,” Jonah said.

  “I’m going to pull you up. You’ll have to let go.”

  Jonah tried to swallow, but it felt as though he had a ball of cotton in his throat. A bead of sweat ran down his forehead and dripped off his nose. “I can’t.”

  “You must. I can’t pull you up if you don’t let go.”

  Seren’s face appeared behind Gaston’s. “Let go,” she said.

  Jonah looked down and kicked his legs, as if scrambling for purchase on an invisible staircase.

  “We’re holding Gaston. Trust us.” The words came from a warrior appearing on Gaston’s left. Jonah closed his eyes and felt the muscles in his forearms twitching. His fingers burned, and the harder he squeezed the bolt, the slicker it felt in his grasp.

  “I swear on my life that I will not let you fall. Look at me, Jonah. I swear it.”

  Jonah looked up and a sharp pain shot across his shoulders and stung his neck. He swung his body forward, rocking back and forth in the air.

  “I, I…”

  Seren smiled at Jonah as he stammered. “We need you to get the carts across. We need you to lead us to Eliz. Then you can die.”

  Jonah laughed and the fingers on his right hand slipped. He cried out, feeling his grip loosening. “Okay,” he said. “Don’t let me fall.”

  Jonah closed his e
yes and opened both hands. He felt gravity tug at his body, yanking it closer to the gorge below, but the tendons in his arms tightened as Gaston’s hands bit into his wrists. Jonah opened his eyes and saw Gaston grimacing, his fingers white.

  “Pull,” Gaston said.

  Gaston’s face retreated and Jonah felt the pull. His head came up over the surface of the bridge and he saw four others behind Gaston, each with a hold of the man. The edge of the asphalt scraped his neck and then his chest, but Jonah’s adrenaline masked the pain. With two more tugs, his entire body slid over the edge. Gaston let go and Jonah rolled over on to his back.

  “Get away from the edge.”

  Jonah nodded and crawled to the middle, where Seren and the others sat. Sasha and the children stood in a cluster at the bridge’s edge, with Logan and Roke on either side. Jonah began to laugh. “Eh. It’s only water. I would have been fine.”

  Gaston smiled, and Seren put a hand on Jonah’s shoulder. “I’ll go back over and scout for raiders.”

  She leapt up and turned to head back over the bridge.

  “Not alone,” Jonah said and nodded at two of the warriors that had helped him. They nodded back and followed Seren, keeping to the center of the bridge. The other warriors retreated back to the caravan, shouting orders on how to get across the narrow width.

  “Thank you,” Jonah said.

  “For what? I need you, if I’m to get to where I’m going.”

  “And where is that, stranger? Your White Citadel? Why won’t you be satisfied with Eliz?”

  “This is not the time or place. The caravan is waiting. But let’s you and I share a fire and a drink later tonight, and we can discuss it. Maybe you’ll be more inclined to listen to me, this time?”

  Jonah smiled. He stood up and Gaston did the same. Jonah clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder.

  “You saved my life,” he said.