Dustfall, Book One - Shadows of a Lost Age

by J. Thorn

  Gaston’s eyes tightened and he returned the smile before replying. “And you’ll save mine, one day, I believe.”

  Chapter 48

  Cortesse stood on the bridge at the junction of Road Sixty-Four and Old Harper’s Road and stared across the valley below. It had been a few years since he had travelled this far north, maybe even a decade, and he wished to be there no longer than he had to be. The lands around Wytheville, and the relative safety of the walled town, were where he was comfortable, and he never looked forward to the journey to Eliz or the time spent there. Too many others, that was his view. And where too many clans came together, even to trade or tell each other news, trouble would soon follow.

  And it was possible that trouble had brought him here.

  The council of five, the heads of the clans that ruled the Wytheville valley and hills, had called upon him just a few days before and shown him the note that had arrived from their eyes in The Elk Clan’s village, and he had stood reading those few words over and over, wondering what would come of this sudden change. And what had happened anyway?

  Judas and Nera fallen

  Jonah Judas son now rules the Elk

  We leave two weeks early for Eliz

  L

  Such a short message, with such terrible possibilities, worried Cortesse. Had a coup taken place or had illness surged through the Elk? For the largest clan outside of the Wytheville five to change hands, even if it was away from the brutal Judas, was a dangerous thing. Change was always dangerous.

  And the questions the council had worried over for a day before sending him, their emissary, rolled over in his mind. What if Jonah does not wish to remain allied to Wytheville? Did he murder his own father and his father’s right hand? Had he fallen into company with the Cygoa of the North? Will he bring war to the south? All were possible, Cortesse knew, and now, as he watched over the valley and up the long blacktop road that led into the forested hills, he saw the first dots on the horizon, appearing like a trickle of ants along the dark scar that the road cut through the drying forest wilderness.

  They were coming, The Elk. They were here.

  Cortesse looked to the two men nearby, both armored in metal plate and bearing halberds fashioned from old metal poles and cut up sheet metal from ancient carts. These warriors were formidable indeed, and they looked imposing. He was glad they were there to protect him, but against the force of the Elk? The clan, at last count and from what he could remember, numbered nearly a hundred warriors strong, much larger than any individual clan in the Wytheville area, and certainly stronger than any single one of the allied clans. What good were two warriors going to be if the new leader, the young Jonah, was of a mind to kill?

  He waited there, still. He had little choice.

  An hour passed and the dots became the visible forms of the clan as they made their way down the road toward him, and soon he saw the group at the front, the head of the caravan, a full dozen warriors with their new leader at the fore. Such was the strength of the Elk that they could afford so many at the front of the caravan. They had enough warriors to still guard the entire long stream of carts?

  The warriors at the front of the procession broke off a few hundred yards from the bridge, splitting into three groups, four remaining with the caravan and four each heading up the slopes to either side of the bridge. Jonah, or who Cortesse presumed was Jonah, went left, and approached them across the bridge.

  And he felt his heart thumping in his chest as the men approached, and in the corner of his vision he saw many other warriors rushing to the front of the caravan, weapons ready.

  You will either die now, or you won’t, Cortesse thought and tried to calm himself as the new leader of the Elk approached.

  * * *

  Jonah stepped slowly but boldly across the wide expanse of bridge toward the three men now facing him. One man, the man in the center, was shorter than the other two but was still armed. The other two, he could see, were warriors, heavily armored, and used to battle. One glance at the metal plating they wore, most of it scavenged from street signs and car body paneling, told him that even his axe may not pierce their shells.

  As he approached, the man in the center held both hands in front of him, a call for parlay as Jonah knew it, and Jonah was somewhat relieved. He had wondered at the stupidity of the idea of just three men standing on a bridge with the intent of attacking the clan, but now he saw that they were here to meet them.

  “My name is Cortesse,” said the man. Then he coughed, clearing his throat, and Jonah thought he sensed nervousness, maybe even fear in his tone. “I am an emissary of Wytheville and of The Five Clans. Am I speaking to Jonah, Chief of the Elk?”

  Jonah stopped, frowning. How did the man know that he was leader? No word could surely have passed ahead of them at such a speed? If he was indeed from Wytheville, that was at least two, maybe as many as four days to the south.

  “I am Jonah, Chief of the Elk Clan,” he said.

  The Emissary nodded, “I am here to bid you welcome to your new leadership and, on behalf of The Five Clans, offer you welcome to the alliance. May I ask your intentions?”

  Jonah stood silently, staring at the three men for a moment, suspicion whirling around his head. Someone must have sent word; maybe even someone from his own clan. But who? Had Gaston some means to send messages? Because Jonah could think of no one in the clan who would act as an informant, but then did he really know everyone in the clan so well that he could claim such?

  “What do you mean, my intentions?”

  The emissary nodded again and the two warriors with him shifted uncomfortably. “The council of five wishes to know if you will remain allied to them, considering your...change of leadership. They wish to meet with you and discuss this, if you will.”

  “I see,” said Jonah.

  “They are...concerned that now your father and Nera have passed on, and you are now chief, that you will chose a different alliance. They wish to avoid this,” said Cortesse.

  Jonah thought about the words that Rav had spoken before they left the summit. They will pay well if you push them, but not too far.

  I have to appear to be as dangerous as my father was, Jonah thought.

  Jonah grinned at the man. It was uncomfortable to do so, and he was unused to making people feel uneasy, but he saw the reaction instantly. The emissary turned pale, and Jonah could tell that if it weren't for the two men standing on either side of him, he would have turned and bolted.

  “You can tell them I will come to Wytheville, and I will meet with them,” he said.

  The Emissary bowed his head in thanks, still looking nervous but not quite ready to run anymore. “This...is good news,” he said.

  “But I make no promises. Go back and tell them I’ll meet with them, and we can discuss the terms for my clan to remain their ally,” Jonah said.

  The Emissary nodded once more, then turned and left, heading across to the other side of the bridge and down the slope.

  And so it begins, thought Jonah. He sighed, and wished for the days when he was younger. When things were so much more simple.

  Chapter 49

  Jonah felt Sasha’s toes on his calf at the same time her hands caressed his stomach, moving down. He smiled, half asleep and yet fully aroused. She slid a leg over and straddled him, lowering herself onto him.

  “Careful, now,” he said, but allowing her to do so.

  “Tonight is safe,” Sasha said. “I bleed tomorrow.”

  Jonah sighed as his wife rocked back and forth. She bit her lip as she moaned, trying to keep the sounds of their passion from the ears of the other tents nearby. Jonah closed his eyes, grabbed his wife’s hips and pushed up in rhythm with her. Her hair danced about his face and he moved his hands up to her breasts.

  “Don’t stop,” she said, breathing the words like a whispering wind.

  He felt the warm pressure and imminent release. Jonah reached back to her hips and held them still as he pushed upward. Sasha
felt him surge and she leaned forward, kissing her husband on the lips with him still inside of her.

  “It is not as easy to hide from Keana and Gideon on the road.”

  Sasha giggled and rolled off of Jonah. “They are coming of age. They are learning the ways of the world, of men and women,” she said.

  Jonah laughed and pulled Sasha’s head to his chest. He sighed as his heartbeat slowed back to normal. “We’ll arrive at Camp Creek tomorrow.”

  Sasha used her finger to draw circles on Jonah’s chest. “The Bluestone, the Clan of the Valley, the Harpeth. They’re all friends of ours. Of your father’s. These clans all come from the forest, like us,” she said.

  Jonah nodded, although he realized Sasha couldn’t see him do so. “Yes. They will most likely accept us as they always have. That is not my concern.”

  She waited, knowing her husband better than she knew herself.

  “I feel trapped,” Jonah said. “We’re on The Walk. We’ve lost people. Good people. We can’t go back, and yet I don’t want to keep going. I wish we could find a quiet place and…”

  “It is your clan now, Jonah. You can no longer make solitary decisions.”

  “I didn’t ask for it,” he said. “I didn’t want my father to die and leave me this responsibility. I’m not ready.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you asked for. All that matters is what you’ve got. And right now, the clan is counting on you. We live or die based on your decisions. You’re right, you can’t go back. At least not until the spring, and even then it’s questionable.”

  Jonah thought of the bridge over the New River. In his mind, he heard the cries of the clan and he could see the warrior falling to his death.

  “The bridge will hold when we return. We’ll need to stick to the middle where the concrete has not rotted.”

  Sasha sighed, and Jonah knew that wasn’t what she meant.

  “I’ve had that thought, too, Sasha. When we left, I felt as though I would never see our home again.”

  She lifted her head, and even in the night, Jonah could see the sparkle in his wife’s eyes. “The world changed long ago. We take our home with us, wherever we go.”

  He smiled and ran a hand up her thigh. Sasha nibbled on his ear lobe as she straddled him again.

  * * *

  The low clouds held the sun captive, permitting a gray, muted light to break the day. Most of the carts remained packed from the night before, many families deciding not to set up a full camp for a single night on the road with the promise of arrival at Camp Creek the next day. Jonah checked the straps on his cart, while Sasha helped the children signal their departure to the clan. He looked at the horizon and the rusted sign on the side of the road. The original words had long since faded away and two new words had been painted over the rust.

  Camp Creek.

  An arrow beneath the words pointed up, as if the direction of the settlement was in question.

  If one was coming south on the road, Camp Creek could only be in one direction.

  Jonah saw Gaston, Logan, Seren and Roke all huddled near a cart. Gaston’s mouth moved but he was too far away for Jonah to hear what the man said. But he was able to see that Logan, Seren and Roke remained silent, their eyes focused on Gaston.

  What are you up to, stranger?

  Sasha asked Jonah to check one of the cart’s wheels, and when he was done, Gaston was standing in the middle of the road.

  “Are we ready, chief?”

  “Yes,” Jonah said. “We should arrive at Camp Creek by midday.”

  Gaston smiled and it caused a pit to form in Jonah’s stomach. “Very well. I hear the Valley people and the Harpeth Clan are quite the generous traders.”

  Jonah looked at Gaston, the man without a cart or rucksack. “They are. We trade with them each season. Well, my father orchestrated the bartering…”

  “Bartering?” Gaston asked. “Is that what Judas called it?”

  Jonah turned his head sideways and took a step toward Gaston. “Say what you mean.”

  “Your father’s reputation is well known amongst the clans. I’m sure his strength factored into the trade negotiations.”

  Jonah thought about what Gaston said, realizing how much of his father’s leadership style he took for granted. To Jonah, Judas was his father. To other clans, he was an iron-fisted ruler.

  “I am not my father.”

  “They will not care,” said Gaston. “You are his heir, and they will treat you as him until you decide otherwise.”

  “What were you saying to Logan, Seren and Roke?”

  Gaston huffed and looked into the gray sky. “Huh?”

  “A few minutes ago. Tell me of the conversation.”

  Gaston took a step toward Jonah, and now the men stood nose to nose in the middle of the road. “I saved your life,” Gaston said.

  “Aye. You speak the truth. But that’s got nothing to do with now. I want to know what you’re spreading through my clan.”

  “I do speak the truth,” said Gaston. “And I’m simply sharing that with others.”

  Gaston took a step backward and bowed at the waist. “Lead us to Camp Creek, my chief. It is your path we follow.”

  Jonah turned and gave the signal to the clan. The men passed the signal down the caravan and soon they were all in motion. Jonah felt the pit in his stomach swell as he walked past Gaston, the man grinning at him through his tangled, greasy hair.

  Chapter 50

  “We welcome the Elk with open arms.”

  The two men bowed before Jonah, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his eyes darting back and forth between Logan and Sasha. His wife smiled but the old man stood with the same look on his face, as if he had just stepped in a pile of manure. Jonah halted the caravan at the entrance to Camp Creek. Although the sun had passed the apex, and was descending in the afternoon sky, they had arrived with plenty of time for the clan to unstrap the carts and pitch tents.

  The man to Jonah’s left stood and spoke again. “We just heard about Judas. Sorry to hear of your father. He was a great man.” He extended a hand to Jonah. “I am Solomon, Chief of the Clan of the Valley.”

  Jonah nodded. His eyes moved up from Solomon’s black boots to a knitted poncho. The man’s bulbous head stuck out of the neck hole, his face buried beneath a wispy gray mane of hair and wiry beard. Solomon wore a pair of spectacles that distorted his brilliant blue eyes into marble orbs. The man’s cracked, raspy voice made him sound like a chief, a rugged leader.

  “Thank you,” Jonah said.

  The other man waited for Jonah to look at him before he extended his hand. “Condolences.”

  “Thank you…”

  “Gunney. Chief of the Harpeth Clan.”

  Gunney’s beard looked painted on, compared to Solomon’s. The man kept it trimmed and tight upon his face. He wore a studded cowboy hat and was easily ten years younger than the leader of the Clan of the Valley. Jonah felt too young to be chief of the Elk Clan, but seeing Gunney made him feel better about it.

  “Jonah. Son of Judas, and Chief of the Elk Clan. My people are tired and have come with items to trade.”

  Solomon nodded at the customary greeting and signaled back to the people hiding amongst the huts at Camp Creek, giving them the “all clear” signal. Women and children came forth with blankets, beads and hunks of metal, scavenged from the old highways, while the men remained clustered in tight groups, clutching their knives and swords.

  “Of course. Send them along,” said Gunney, waving at the gathered warriors. “Oh, don’t mind them,” he said, seeing Jonah’s cautious expression. “They were just worried how this meeting would go, considering your father’s passing and all.”

  Jonah turned, and before he could signal the caravan, Gaston was upon the dirt road into Camp Creek, shaking hands and grinning from ear to ear. Logan shook his head and shuffled past Jonah, heading to the shed where the old timers cooked the shine.

  “Rav let us through at the pas
s. And I’ve spoken with an emissary.”

  Solomon and Gunney nodded while Jonah looked around.

  “The Bluestone Chief. Telan?”

  “Tikal. His name is Tikal,” said Solomon. “He’s on a hunt. Let’s help you unpack your carts now. There’ll be time to meet him later.”

  Jonah smiled and nodded at Sasha. She followed some of the other women into Camp Creek. Jonah cut the ties on his cart while Solomon and Gunney stood nearby.

  “Your father, we—”

  “I’m not my father,” Jonah said. “You are free of whatever bondage he had you under. I am not interested in a tithe or tribute. I need to get my clan to Eliz. We have already lost men along the way, and I fear time is against us.”

  “Why?” asked Gunney.

  “Wolves. Bandits. And the crossing of the New River Gorge could fall at any moment. But, as for your concerns, I have no intention of breaking old bonds and creating new wounds,” said Jonah.

  Solomon and Gunney nodded, but neither spoke.

  “Tikal,” said Solomon, his voice low and muffled beneath his beard. “He does not trust the other forest clans.”

  “Are we not all forest clans?” Jonah asked.

  “We see your numbers are down. Probably were even before the tragedy over the New River Gorge. Ours are down as well. Seems as though the Blight is on the move, and the women don’t bear the way they used to.”

  “Things are winding down,” Gunney added. “Scarcity creates fear in men.”

  “Are you saying Tikal fears me?” Jonah asked.

  “We’re saying that of all the scarcity present in the lands, fear is plentiful. Tis but a warning to you, Jonah. Nothing more.”

  Jonah saw Gunney’s missing teeth, and even the billowing poncho couldn’t hide the holes in Solomon’s clothing.

  We must get to Eliz. There is no chance for us anywhere else.

  “Appreciate the words, gentlemen. Now, I’ll need to get my tent up before the wife returns or I’ll be hearing about it.”

  Solomon and Gunney laughed until they heard the shouts coming from the center of Camp Creek.