Author: J. Thorn; Glynn James
Date: 2022-12-28 05:00:00+00:00
Description: “With every light comes a shadow.” - Dustfall The saga continues...A new and unexpected environmental threat has emerged, unleashing hordes of the primitive tunnel dwellers known as the Valk. Jonah must find a way to keep the Elk safe from new enemies while trying to outrun the Cygoa in a land of dwindling resources and constant death. From bestselling authors J. Thorn and Glynn James comes Dustfall, a new post-apocalyptic series chronicling one man’s challenge and his epic quest to save what remains of humanity.
Publisher: Element 12 Ltd

“With every light comes a shadow.” - Dustfall

The saga continues...

A new and unexpected environmental threat has emerged, unleashing hordes of the primitive tunnel dwellers known as the Valk. Jonah must find a way to keep the Elk safe from new enemies while trying to outrun the Cygoa in a land of dwindling resources and constant death.

From bestselling authors J. Thorn and Glynn James comes Dustfall, a new post-apocalyptic series chronicling one man’s challenge and his epic quest to save what remains of humanity.

Dustfall, Book Three - The Baying of Wolves
By J. Thorn and Glynn James

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Dustfall, Book Three - The Baying of Wolves
First Edition

Copyright © 2017 by J. Thorn and Glynn James

All rights reserved.  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, places, and dialogue are drawn from the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Edited by:
Andrea Harding

For more information:

http://www.dustfall.uk

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Acknowledgments

About the Authors

Copyright

Chapter 1

“That’s Cyril’s cart,” said the stranger.

“Get the fuck away from me,” Gerth said.

“Where’s Cyril, and why do you have his cart?”

Gerth glanced at Shykar from beneath his low-hanging hood. This piece of shit was about to blow their cover.

“I know it’s his cart because he carved his initials into the side of it,” the man said. “Right there.”

Gerth stopped and stood up straight. The caravan of refugees carried torches, dotting the road out of Eliz like golden fireflies. The trail of broken humanity stretched to the horizon, from the east to the west. The chill of the night and need for heavy cloaks kept their faces hidden. But if this man became insistent, Gerth knew he would have to accept the confrontation and risk revealing themselves as outsiders.

“You should calm down,” Shykar said to the man. “This ain’t that cart.”

The broad-shouldered man stood over six feet tall. He kept his cloak cinched at the waist, and a polished axe hung from his belt. The man stroked his beard with a hand full of scarred knuckles.

“What clan you from?” he asked Gerth, ignoring Shykar.

“None. We’re heading out from Eliz on our own,” said Gerth.

A family of refugees passed them on the side of the road. The father of the family looked up for a split second but kept walking, content not to become part of the impending violence. Many refugees died on the road, and the likelihood of death was greater if you stuck your nose into business that didn’t concern you.

“I’m gonna ask you one more time. What happened to Cyril, and why do you have his cart?”

Gerth caught movement from the corner of his eye. Shykar drew a dagger and took a step toward the man. As it had so many times before, time slowed as the melee began. Gerth took half a step back to give Shykar room to move past into striking distance of the man. The bearded giant reached for his axe, but Shykar was on him before he could take the weapon from his belt. The two men locked arms and spun, tripping over the wheel of Cyril’s cart and tumbling to the ground. There was a groan, and Gerth knew it was not made by Shykar.

Shykar rolled on top of the man and attempted to stab him in the chest, but the man was too strong. He twisted his upper body and Shykar’s blade sliced into the man’s right shoulder. He reached up with his left hand and grabbed Shykar’s cloak, pulling him to the ground. Gerth took a step back to enjoy the fight.

Shykar loves that knife, he thought. I hope we don’t have to leave it in this dead man’s body.

The man rolled on top of Shykar and punched him in the face twice. The first blow glanced off Shykar’s left cheekbone, and the second shattered his nose. Blood flowed from Shykar’s face like black ink.

Gerth used his right boot to kick the man in the ribs. He rolled off Shykar and into the dirt. Shykar jumped up and shook blood from his face. He leapt on the man, his knife coming down into the giant’s chest. Gerth heard tearing flesh, and the man’s body convulsed. Shykar withdrew the knife and plunged the blade into the man’s chest over and over again. By the time Gerth saw the second man, it was too late.

A dark figure ran from the road. He swung a club through the air with a low-pitched whistle, and it slammed into the side of Shykar’s head. Gerth’s lieutenant toppled from the man who was now bleeding out beneath him in the dirt. Gerth looked at the new attacker.

“Stop. They’re both dead. No need for more to die.”

The man lowered his club but he did not drop it. Gerth looked down as the large man’s legs kicked twice before stopping completely. Shykar lay face down on the road, unmoving.

The man with the club did not speak, but he took a step closer to Gerth.

I’m gonna have to kill this man, and then there’ll be three dead bodies on the road. News like that will get back to the Elk.

“You take one more step toward me and I will cut your fucking throat.”

The man heard the real threat in Gerth’s voice. He stopped and stared back.

“This cart belongs to me now. Cyril would have wanted me to have it, especially since I helped him scavenge those.”

Gerth looked at the battered, filthy pots hanging from string tied to the top of the cart.

Maybe this piece of shit ain’t worth the fight.

“Go on then,” said Gerth. “Take it and get the fuck away from me.”

The man’s face twisted. He looked at the cart and the two dead men on the road. As he was about to answer, a noise grabbed his attention. Gerth turned as well.

A hissing sound came from the trees, twenty yards off the road. The man turned and ran, leaving the cart abandoned, but Gerth remained, his eyes staring into the black abyss of the forest. He felt a chill more intense than the cold night air. Gerth turned and saw that some of the refuges behind him had stopped. They too were staring into the forest. Others seemed to know something he didn’t and were moving away quickly, some of them stumbling to escape the unknown threat.

A sliver of the moon emerged from behind the clouds and a thin ray of light illuminated the pale face of the man walking through the trees. Gerth’s breath caught in his throat, and he cursed himself for not believing all the old tales of Eliz. They were real and coming for him.

The Valk.

Gerth took a step backward.

Other shapes emerged, shirtless men with bald heads. Gerth saw his own breath in the cold night but it was the sight of the Valk that made him shiver. Several smiled as they approached, and he noticed their teeth had been filed to points. Some had black tattoos covering their faces, a permanent mask that accentuated their eyes. They appeared to float through the trees, and when Gerth turned to look back at the road, he noticed that many of the refugees had abandoned their carts and fled in any available direction, some even toward the crumbling city of Eliz.

The man with the club was nowhere to be seen, leaving Gerth with the two bodies on the road and the creatures slithering toward it. He felt the warm sting of urine on his leg as one of the Valk stood before him.

“Those belong to us now.”

The Valk’s voice was human, and yet the very sound of it forced more piss from Gerth’s bladder, his leg now wet and cold. The tone shimmied in the air as if the creature had spoken from beneath water. Gerth followed the Valk’s gaze to the bodies on the road.

Neither has moved. Shykar is dead. Those are corpses, he thought. I’m alone, now.

“I have no use for dead flesh,” said Gerth, his wits returning to him. He had no escape route. The Valk were all around him, and his thoughts centered on that. If he resisted the Valk, he would probably die here. Maybe—just maybe—if he just let them take what they wanted, they might leave him alone.

The Valk stood on the edge of the road, ten to twenty of them several paces behind their leader.

“We do,” said the tall man.

Gerth stood fixed to the road as the Valk dragged the bodies of Shykar and his assailant off the road and back into the woods. The bizarre people from beneath Eliz returned to the night in a black tide of silence, leaving him not only completely alone but with his pick of any of the dozen abandoned carts they had left untouched. Why would they want only the bodies? There were supplies on the carts. Food, water, metal tools. He could see that at just a glance.

And yet the Valk had taken only the bodies.

Gerth quickly moved toward the cart that he and Shykar had stolen and heaved it into motion, pushing it hard so he could catch up with the long line of refugees in the distance, but then stopped, looked down at the trash piled on the cart, and walked away, leaving it abandoned not far from all the others. He needed to move faster, needed to be among the line of refugees once more, be anonymous. As he started to catch up with the crowd, he couldn’t help but glance back at the spot where he had seen his lieutenant die. The man had been an asshole, sure, but he had been with him for a long time, and as Gerth left the ruins of Eliz behind he tried to push the thought of Shykar’s fate out of his mind, swearing never to return to this city of the hopeless.

Chapter 2

By the time the sun rose on the eastern horizon, Rav had been awake for hours. He had trouble sleeping, despite the warm fire built by Briar and Loner. Rav had watched the two men work together and saw a strong and deep partnership—probably born from years of habit—in the construction of their fire pit. They did not speak and yet the fire roared to life quickly and helped to chase the chill away.

Loner kept the fire burning all night, and Rav stayed close to it, but the thought of the Cygoa kept him turning to the dark forest, one eye always scanning for a sign of that looming nemesis.

Declan appeared on his right and handed Rav a mugful of steaming ginger root mixed with forest mushrooms. He sipped the bitter brew and felt the warmth spread into his chest. Winter was relenting, and spring would be coming soon, and yet he did not feel the cyclic euphoria as he had in days past. Rav was no longer safe atop his mangled wall of metal, manning the pass in exchange for the best apples and cheese from the north. He winced at the memory, for some reason convinced he would never see his lands again.

“Too hot?” Declan asked, seeing Rav’s face contort.

“No, it's fine,” he said. “Thanks for bringing it.” Rav took another sip and winked at Declan.

“I need your help today,” said the younger man. “We need to inspect the bridge and report to Jonah. But I don’t know of these warriors, the Cygoa. Can you keep us from them?”

Rav chuckled and spittle flew from his lips. The other hunters stirred but Ghafir and the rest of the scouting party sent by Jonah remained asleep in their bed rolls. “What makes you think I know how to do that?”

Declan leaned back and snapped a twig in his right hand. He tossed both pieces into the fire but did not respond.

“I can get us close enough to the bridge to see if it’ll hold,” said Rav. “But I can’t make no guarantees that I can hide us from the Cygoa. Holy shit, Dec. Ain’t no way of doing that.”

“Fair enough. Let’s roast some squirrel and get going.”

Rav took another sip of his morning brew, but it was already cold.

***

“Rav and I will lead along the breach. Briar and Loner right behind us. Keep an equal distance on the path and keep your eyes open.”

The men looked at each other with Cygoa on their minds but not on their lips. Rav gripped his axe while Briar slid the bow from his shoulder. Declan nodded at Rav. He turned and walked along the edge of the ravine. Rav looked down into the breach caused by the grumbles and saw nothing but an empty blackness. He wondered what was down there, and for a split second, Rav considered leaping from the edge and letting the gods take his body. He shook the thought away, wondering how the threat of such a drop into the unknown could inspire such a strange idea.

Maybe it goes on forever, he thought.

The breach cut through the forest and crept its way toward the bridge, the top of which clawed into the sky like the uppermost branches of the bare trees. Rav could see the road below them but the violent eruption of earth had cast rocks and soil upon it, making the old blacktop almost unrecognizable. The condition of the road didn’t matter to Rav. Any group foolish enough to walk it deserved to be captured by the Cygoa.

They walked in silence for about an hour until Rav saw the first signs of the Cygoa camps at the foot of the bridge. The morning fires burned low and the warriors scuttled about in their full garb. The sight sent a chill up his spine, and when he looked at Briar, Rav saw the same fear embedded in his eyes.

“Now what?” Declan asked Rav in a whisper.

“There’s your damn bridge,” he said, pointing at it. “Take a gander and remember whatever it is you want to tell Jonah about it.”

Declan growled and shoved past Rav to get a better look. Whatever paint had been used when the bridge was erected had peeled long ago, leaving the rusted iron the color of cinnamon. Some cables remained taut, and connected at both ends, while others dangled over the chasm like dead serpents.

“I can see the warriors moving on it. It looks solid. I think we should tell Jonah to bring the clans.”

“I agree,” said Rav.

Declan turned his head sideways and his eyebrows peaked. “Huh?”

“The bridge. It seems fine. Solid. I agree.”

“Okay,” Declan said, his eyes looking to Briar and Loner for an explanation. “Then let’s go back.”

“No,” Rav said. “That’s not the only piece of information Jonah needs. Here.”

He took a spyglass from beneath his cloak and handed it to Declan.

“Look at them.”

Declan snatched it from Rav’s hand. He put the spyglass to his eye, his mouth hanging open. He scanned the bridge and then handed it to Briar, who also looked at the warriors without speaking.

“Are those—” Declan began to ask.

“Human skulls hanging from those poles? Yes. You bet your fucking ass they are. Now what?”

“We can get in there and take out that camp, maybe prevent the rest of the Cygoa from coming down to the bridge.”

Declan looked at Rav and laughed, no longer caring if his voice carried from the breach to the bridge.

“Yeah, that’ll work. You, me and the buck hunters we picked up on the road.”

Briar bristled at the sarcasm but did not respond.

“Let me tell you a little bit about the Cygoa. They kill. Everything. They show off their kills. The people of the north, they don’t ever fuck with Cygoa. If they’re here it’s not because they want to trade pelts or share sunflower seeds. They’re here to take the land. And heads. You’ve already seen that.”

“So, we just go back like scared little puppies?” Declan asked.

“No. Puppies make too much noise. We crawl back on our stomachs like frightened snakes and we tell Jonah what we saw. Let it be his call. The Elk is his clan. You are not the chief.”

“We just want to get back to our forest,” said Briar. “Alive.”

The ground shivered so quickly that Rav stumbled into Declan and both men fell into a nearby tree. The grumble rippled through the breach with a low, dying moan. Rocks and uprooted trees fell into the chasm. Declan, Rav, Briar and Loner—along with their respective warriors—looked at the bridge as the shaking subsided.

A cable snapped, and with it went a section of the bridge attached to their side of the breach. The hunk of welded iron tumbled down, pulling eight or nine Cygoa warriors with it. The entire structure swayed back and forth, and for a moment, Rav thought it would slide into the abyss below.

“Yeah, the bridge is solid,” said Rav. “No worries there.”

Chapter 3

The Brother sniffed at the air and then the ground. The scent was there, clawing at his senses.

Many Walking Ones have passed this way, so many that they are like the grass on the open fields.

He turned to his pack, who gathered behind him in the low brush. They were more silent than the still air as they crouched low to avoid any eyes that may be nearby, watching.

It was morning, and the pack should still have been sleeping after such a large meal. The dead Walking Ones and the almost dead one had filled their bellies and would keep them going for a few days. Now most of them wanted to find somewhere quiet to hide—sleep. But The Brother had awoken them all and made them move until they reached the black and hard surface the Walking Ones used to travel.

Too many of them, The Brother thought. Many more than the pack, even if all the lost ancestors still walked among us. Too many.

And he could sense something else. These travelling ones had been running, moving swiftly toward the great break in the land. They had blood in their sights. A battle was coming; he could sense it.

Should he and his kin stay? There would be easy pickings after the Walking Ones had fought each other. Much easier than hunting down the prey themselves.

Movement to his right caused him to turn. There, the big male with the broken eye, a deep scar running across it, was standing just a few feet away from him. This one was brave, he thought, and not frightened at all of him. Well, maybe he was a little afraid, but he showed no signs of it and held himself with a pride that was almost an insult, just shy of a challenge. Soon he would show himself, The Brother thought. Yes, this was his next challenger.

The large wolf looked at him then looked down at the ground, seeming to detect his scrutiny, his curiosity, and it also seemed that this brave male was not yet confident enough to face him.

Not today, then, thought The Brother. But you must watch this one.

The Brother growled low, a noise inaudible to humans but which would be heard clearly by his pack. He trotted across the blacktop to the trees on the other side. The rest of the pack followed quickly.

Another scent on the wind caught his nose. There were more Walking Ones not far away, over the other side of the great hole in the ground. He wondered if the first group even knew the others were there. Probably not.

The trees to the south, and the low hills empty of man, beckoned him.

Stay or go, he pondered. The battle will be soon, but if you keep the pack here and it doesn’t happen, then the Walking Ones may decide to hunt you, or one of the younger warriors of the pack may grow impatient and attack anyway. That would be disastrous.

Go south, he thought. They could head into the deep forest. The migrations would be heading home soon, and the pack could rule the forest until the next cold came.

The wolves passed quietly from the road, vanishing into the forest.

***

“Well?” Andmar asked as the scout jogged through the trees and stopped, heaving for breath. The tall, slim chief of the Cygoa band rubbed impatiently at his bearded chin.

“Still held, from what I can see,” said the scout, “but there is another group on the other side of the ruins, one that is not of our kin. It’s too far away for me to tell if it’s T’yun or someone else.”

Andmar started walking again, and the rest of the warband followed, increasing the pace to keep up with their chief. “How far are we from this breach? How far to the bridge?”

“Three, maybe four days. All downhill, though,” said the scout. “Three days if we push it, but once we pass the rise ahead you can see all the way down into the valley and the plains, and you can make out the bridge in the distance. It’s a lot further than it looks, though. We will need to push it if you want to get there within three nights.”

Andmar nodded. “Then we will push it.”

Chapter 4

“What is going on?”

“A scout,” said Sasha. “One of the boys who went with Declan.”

Jonah drew a deep breath and rocked back on his heels. He glanced to his left, where Keana and Neave wound their way through the bustling camp in search of rope to tie down the carts. Gideon had spent the morning with the Elk warriors, sharpening blades.

“Excellent,” said Jonah.

He put an arm around his wife as they watched the boy jog down the middle of the old roadway. His battle axe hung from his belt, secured around his thigh, and his hands were free, signs he had not felt threatened while traveling alone back to the plains on the outskirts of Eliz. Jonah pulled Sasha tightly to him and waited.

The rest of the Elk hustled about, preparing for the inevitable departure that would be initiated on Jonah’s command. The stream of refugees had thickened over the last twelve hours, and Jonah pretended not to hear whispers of the Valk. He had enough humans to manage without being concerned about sub-humans.

“Hey, boy,” Jonah said as the young man came to a stop before them.

His hair dangled in his face, flushed from the run but with the rosy glow of youth. The boy smelled of sweat and venison, and Jonah noticed a tiny flickering in his right eye. He did not know the boy but trusted Declan to take only those capable.

“Sir,” the boy said while bowing to Sasha.

“She is not a queen and I am not a king. We are all Elk.”

The boy stood still, unsure of how to respond.

“Declan sent you back with word?” Jonah asked.

The boy nodded.

“And?”

“There are things.”

“You need to speak clearly, son. I don’t know what that means.”

He looked at the ground and then at Jonah. The boy bit his bottom lip and then huffed. “The bridge. It ain’t right.”

Jonah waited. He felt Sasha’s shoulders tighten beneath his one-armed embrace.

“What’s not right about it?” he asked.

“Parts of it are rotten. And the bottom is a long way down.”

Jonah shook his head. “So? That pretty much explains the condition of this entire world. Say what you mean.”

“We stood and watched as an entire section broke loose and fell.”

Jonah waited for more but the boy did not continue.

The fact that I must pull the words from him is troubling, he thought.

“Is the bridge passable?” Jonah asked.

“Declan believes it to be.”

“But you don’t.”

“It’s not that,” the boy said. “There’s also…”

“For fuck’s sake, tell me.”

“Cygoa.”

Sasha stepped away from Jonah, turned, and walked in the direction Keana and Neave had gone earlier. Jonah watched her depart, his mouth crawling into a snarl.

“Are they trying to cross the bridge too?”

“No.”

“Then what are they doing there?”

“Building an encampment,” said the boy. “They’re taking control of the bridge.”

Jonah felt the blood rush from his face. He brought his hands up to his beard and turned his head to hide the fear in his eyes from the boy.

“Declan. The rest?”

“They are all safe. Hidden. They sent me to ask for your presence. They say the bridge will be impossible to pass until the Cygoa are cleared out.”

Jonah felt Sasha’s presence behind him. She had stomped off but remained within earshot.

“Send for Solomon and Gunney.”

The boy ran off into the camp as Sasha stalked up to Jonah and jabbed a finger into his chest.

“You cannot leave your clan here. Not now. You can’t.”

“Is it the clan you’re concerned about?” he asked.

“Listen,” Sasha said, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Those creatures—monsters—are coming out of Eliz. Some say they’re cannibals. They eat human flesh.”

“I know what a cannibal is.”

“Stop being so damn stubborn and listen to me,” Sasha said. “There has to be another way to the other side.”

“Declan would have sent word if there was. I don’t want to leave you—or the kids. But we can’t stay here, and we can’t get back to Wytheville with the Cygoa entrenched at the bridge. What do you expect me to do?”

“You called for Solomon.”

“Yes,” he said.

“Leave him here. In charge.”

Jonah thought about it, and although he had not considered leaving Solomon, Sasha’s idea made sense. He could take a war party, along with Gunney, and combined with Declan’s crew, they could have a go at the Cygoa on the bridge.

“Okay,” he said.

Sasha took a gulp of air, prepared to blast her husband with a verbal tirade. She stopped and turned her head sideways. Jonah continued before she could speak.

“I will put him in charge of the camp. He will lead the Elk in my absence.”

Gideon approached from the left. He looked at Jonah’s face and then Sasha’s, having not heard any of their conversation.

“I’ll leave you with your father,” Sasha said to Gideon. She turned and walked toward the center of the camp.

“Come. Sit,” Jonah said, motioning for Gideon to join him on a rocky, raised outcrop beyond the earshot of the people passing by.

“What’s up with Mom?” Gideon asked.

“She’s worried.”

“Are you?”

“No,” said Jonah. Then, “Yes.”

“Are we leaving soon, crossing the bridge?”

Jonah put his hands in his lap and stared through the camp to where the trampled grass met the road. He shook his head and sighed.

“I have to go. Declan needs help. If I don’t go, the Elk won’t be able to cross.”

Gideon nodded, catching Jonah by surprise. He expected a fight from his son. He wanted resistance.

“What do you need me to do, Dad?”

“I need you here. Our people need you here. Solomon will take charge of the clans in my absence, but as my son, you have a voice that the council cannot argue with while I am gone. I need you to back Solomon in any way he needs, if the time comes.”

Jonah smiled at Gideon and ruffled the boy’s shaggy hair.

“In two days, I need Solomon to order the camp to pack up and follow the road until you catch up with us. Tell the council that is what I have commanded. If the other elders dispute it, you will take the Elk and leave...”

“But what if—”

“No,” Jonah said with a forceful interruption. “No what ifs. That is what we’re doing. That is what will happen. I need to take that bridge back from the Cygoa, and I can’t guarantee I’ll be back within a few days. It’s quite a distance there and back, so I may need you to meet us there. Don’t worry, son. I’ll tell Solomon exactly what I’ve told you, and I’ll also tell the council. Just make sure you back Solomon up if he makes a decision and needs the support.”

Gideon leaned over and put his arms around his father. Jonah squeezed his son into his chest.

“Okay, Dad.”

Jonah watched Gideon leap up and walk down the trail, kicking at the branches and skipping along. Like a boy should.

I only wish that I can keep him from most of this for as long as possible, thought Jonah. Let him be a boy for a while longer.

Chapter 5

Jonah couldn’t shake the worry from his head. He tried not to show it to Sasha, and he would never expose the raw nerve to his men, but there was something off about the time, the grumbles, all of it. Jonah had made the Walk before. Dozens of times. Despite the inherent danger and unknown threats, which could take the Elk at any moment, there was always a sense of normalcy. Judas took the clan south. They survived the winter in relative comfort. They returned north. Jonah had expected his journey to be the same, and yet, here he was, walking the road toward the bridge surrounded by Cygoa while leaving another in charge of the clan. The ground had continued to shake, the refugees kept coming, and now they brought with them the talk of the Valk.

Quiet, he thought. How crazy that all I want is silence within a world that is almost dead?

A crow cawed and drew Jonah’s attention back to the road. The sun dropped below the tree line and the temperature fell with it. Winter’s grip had not entirely relented, forcing Jonah to pull his cloak tight around his neck. He reached down with his right hand and caressed the worn leather wrapped around the handle of his axe.

The bird senses something.

He stopped walking and the burn in his calves intensified, his thighs pounding with a sharp, satisfying ache. Jonah had walked most of the day, lost in thought, and now his muscles would bring him back to reality. He wasn’t sure how much further he’d have to walk to arrive at the bridge. Both the road and the chasm caused by the grumbles seemed to stretch out forever.

“Camp,” he said aloud, the first words he had spoken in hours. “We need to camp the night.”

Gunney nodded and signaled to the men that followed. An entire third of the warriors from the Elk were with them, and each man moved off the side of the trail to set up for the night.

Jonah kept one eye on the tree line and another on his rucksack as he unfolded his tent. He secured the edges with pegs, keeping two trees behind the tent to avoid an unseen attack. The cloth fluttered in the wind and snapped at the split where the tent opened. Jonah took a hunk of dried meat from his pouch and began to chew it, no longer able to tell what animal he was eating. The massive amounts of salt were needed to preserve it but burned the taste from his tongue.

Warriors gathered wood for a fire but decided not to build one. There was something wrong. The crow knew it, and so did Jonah. He sat still, sipping a cold tea as his eyes scanned the road. Several times, Jonah blinked at shadows floating silently over the chasm and part of him thought they could have been spirits departing their world.

They may be gone, but they’re free, he thought.

***

The snapping branch on Jonah’s left jolted him from his reflection and could not be mistaken for a shadow, real or otherwise.

“I’m armed,” Jonah said. He stood and pushed his cloak off his hip, removing the axe from its holster and repeatedly slamming the bottom of the handle into the palm of his left hand, making a loud slapping noise.

Another bird fluttered and shot through the trees and into the night sky. Jonah could not tell if it was a crow or a pheasant.

“Come on, coward. I’ve got nothing of value in my pack but you’re welcome to challenge me for it.”

No reply. The wind blew through the camp, pushing the flap of Jonah’s tent open.

He stood and waited. Minutes turned to hours, and Jonah could no longer stand lone guard. His eyelids slammed down and he realized he would have to sleep. He turned around and saw no shadows, no birds and he no longer felt the sensation of being watched. Whomever—or whatever—had been spying on him, was gone.

“So be it. If you smash my head while I sleep, then at least I will no longer be tortured by this world.”

Jonah saw flashes of Sasha, Gideon and Keana in his mind. He scrunched up his face and wished he could retract those words, if only for their sake, and then he awoke.

A dream of being alone, he thought, but he glanced over at the fire and listened to the sounds of snoring warriors. The night remained cold, unchanging and silent.

Certainly not alone, he thought, but then he considered the decisions he had made and the ones he would have to make in the future. In some ways, he was alone even when surrounded by his entire clan.

Jonah lay down and closed his eyes. The next time he opened them, the first gray gauze of dawn had crept up from beneath the trees.

***

“How many?” he asked.

“Three dozen we can see,” said Declan.

“But how many we can’t?” asked Rav.

Declan shrugged in reply.

Jonah smiled at the old warrior and winked. “You two have been on the road together for too long.”

“Make him keep his boots on,” said Declan. “For the love of all that’s holy, make him keep that stink to himself.”

The hunters stood back several yards, hidden behind Ice Age boulders and old oaks. Declan had told Jonah their names and he had shaken their hands, but the introduction had been too short to be meaningful. He would get their story in due time. For now, they would remain at a respectable distance while he, the Elk chief, assessed the situation.

“Have they tried repairing it?” he asked.

“Nah,” said Rav. “They just keep sending more men to where it’s still connected to the road.”

Jonah put his hand over his forehead and watched as the Cygoa warriors crawled over the road leading up to the bridge, reminding him of a swarm of black ants.

“I should call for a palaver.”

“No fucking way,” said Rav. “We’re not letting you go out there to talk to them. They’ll kill you on sight.”

“I’d approach with my arms wide, weapons holstered.”

Declan pushed out a low whistle while Rav remained standing, facing Jonah with his mouth agape.

“You can’t be serious, Jonah. These are Cygoa.”

He looked at the old man’s eyes and Jonah felt the fear in them. He turned to Declan.

“You think it’s a bad move.” he said. “Point taken.”

“I wanted to rush them as soon as we figured out what was going on, but Rav persuaded us to wait for you. Now I’m regretting not attacking when I had the chance.”

“You were vastly outnumbered,” said Jonah. “That would have been foolish. Now we have the numbers we need.”

Before Rav or Declan could say another word, Jonah leapt from behind the rock and trotted out onto the road. “Just me,” he called back. “Then they won’t know the numbers we have.” Behind him, he heard Rav cursing, but carried on.

He walked at a good clip, and within a few minutes he was less than five hundred yards from the bridge. Jonah studied the Cygoa as he approached. Several had clustered at the foot of the bridge while others stood on the rim of the chasm. Teams of three or four men moved back and forth across the section of the bridge closest to his side. Two men broke ranks and began walking in Jonah’s direction.

He kept moving and so did they, closing the gap between them. When only a hundred yards separated them, Jonah held his arms up and out and then spun around completely one time.

“Can I pass?”

The Cygoa warriors stood shoulder to shoulder, their faces painted in dark ochre streaks with rings of charcoal around their eyes. Both had a bow in hand and a quiver strapped to their backs.

Jonah waited for a reply that did not come. He turned to look back at the trees, checking that Rav and the others were still out of sight, when a puff of air tousled the hair on the right side of his head. Jonah felt a slight burn on the top of his right ear followed by the warm ooze of blood trickling off his lobe. Another burst of air blew past his left ear as he turned to face the Cygoa warriors. Both had notched another arrow and were drawing the string back again, but Jonah was already retreating to the tree line.

“Won’t say I didn’t warn you,” said Rav as Jonah jumped over the ridge where the rest lay in wait. “But good try.”

Jonah leaned against a nearby rock, trying to catch his breath. “I had to try,” he said. “They may have been open to negotiation. At least we now know that they aren’t, and they still don’t know I wasn’t alone.”

Chapter 6

Seren watched the third patrol of warriors go by just an hour after the second. Even though the window glass was missing, the second floor of the crumbling shop still provided enough debris for her and Sorcha to remain hidden. She was surprised at how intelligent the wolf was, somehow knowing that they had to stay still, stay quiet, and she wondered where that had come from. Maybe most of the wolf’s early years had been spent hiding?

The patrols were always four or five warriors, all armed and watchful, but they didn’t look up to her hiding place when they passed. From behind the old desk, a crumbling thing that had been propped up against the front wall, with part of the ceiling collapsed down upon it, Seren could see clearly in all directions apart from behind her, where a thick wall with no windows or doors loomed upwards to where the remains of the roof clung on by a few warp and cracked joists.

This was as far into the city as she could go, she realized, glancing at Sorcha, who was now lying on the bare tiles at the back of the room underneath a table, grooming herself. They were still two miles from the main center of Wytheville, she thought. Two miles and the patrols were regular enough to make it too risky to go any further. Though, with about an hour in between them, she thought anyone who was watchful could sneak in without a problem.

But most wouldn’t be expecting the patrols in the first place, and that was the problem. No one should be there, apart from maybe a few stragglers that had not travelled all the way to Eliz, like herself. The city should be nearly empty of people, but there were many strangers walking the streets. And if the patrols were there, what lay ahead in the heart of the city?

She stared at the back of the patrol as it slowly progressed down the roadway before turning at the end, where the towering ruin of a higher building loomed over the road, threatening to fall at any moment.

When the Elk and the other clans arrived back from Eliz, they would not be expecting these new people to be there. And if she was guessing correctly, there could be a lot of them. From the window where she hid, she could see across the town for at least another half a mile, and even in that area, not even close to the walled section that the Five Clans had occupied and called home, she could see signs of inhabitants—not the ones that would normally be there. Few people lived in the buildings further from the center for fear of raiders, but these people didn’t seem to fear them at all.

And I can see why, she thought. Not only were there no raiders at this time of year, but the patrols were heavily armed and armored. Bows, spears and other weapons were carried or hung from belts, and the garb they wore was heavier than that normally worn by the forest clans or the folks at Wytheville.

It was as though an entire army of raiders had descended upon the town.

And the Elk didn’t even know. A few weeks from now they will head into here, she thought, and they won’t be expecting these people.

It was also as far as she could follow Gaston and the remainder of the expedition that she had left before the winter had settled. She had followed and watched them being pushed along the road, their hands tied, until the patrols made it too risky for her to go further.

She waited for the patrol to disappear out of sight, around the corner of the building at the far end of the road, then stood, clicked her tongue at Sorcha, and started toward the stairs at the back of the room. Once outside, they didn’t follow the patrol further into the ruins, instead heading back out of the city and toward the woods, avoiding the roads that she had followed the patrols along and sticking to alleyways and through crumbling ruins that had once been houses. Finally, after an hour or so, the edge of the forest, and the main road that she had seen from a distance, loomed before them. A place to hide. They quickly crossed the road and began to follow the woodland trail leading away from ancient civilization and into the wilds.

I’ll follow the road around Wytheville, she thought, until it joins the one that heads east. She thought she would be able to remember the way, having travelled it a number of times with the Elk. But I’ll have to stay off the road, stick to the tree line so we’re not spotted.

“Stop,” shouted a voice, and Seren paused, spun round, and noticed the shadows moving through the trees behind them. Sorcha growled and crouched low.

Three men approached from across the road, peering at her through the bushes as they stepped out onto the blacktop. The man in front was moving faster than the others, and he started to lift his bow and aim it in her direction.

Strangers, dressed the same as the patrols. Raiders or whatever these people were. Seren’s heart felt like it had leapt out of her chest, and she took off at a run, rushing forward and further along the path, away from the men. There was a shout from behind her, but she ignored it. She heard them burst into the trees after her, chasing her. Seren glanced behind as she ran, dodging through the trees at the edge of the path, and saw that Sorcha followed right behind her.

Onward, deeper into the forest, she ran, but the Cygoa hunters followed her relentlessly, and as the hours stretched on into night, she kept moving. A few times she slowed, thinking that maybe they had stopped trailing her, but a noise further back in the woods would alert her to their constant presence, or Sorcha would offer a low growl of warning and pull at her clothing with her teeth.

They had followed her for miles into the woods now, much further than she had expected them to, and as she crept along a ridge of rock, between the tall slopes of the mountains on either side, she realized that she was very far from the road. How long had she been moving? Ten hours? Twenty? Surely, they must turn back?

Finally, when the light of the new day crept up to the horizon, the noises in the forest behind her seemed to cease. She found a place to hide away, inside the hollow of a massive oak trunk, and slumped to the floor. Her body was weary beyond anything she had felt before, and within seconds she had leaned against the inside of the trunk and fallen asleep.

A sharp pain woke her, and the chase of the night before took barely a second to spring back into her mind, but the picture was only partial. Her brain struggled against the cloud of sleep and tried to catch up, to put all the pieces of the previous day back together, but not quickly enough. The pain returned, this time accompanied by a low growl. She glanced down at her leg and found Sorcha trying to pull her away from where she lay. The bottom of her leggings and the rough material of the hand-sewn deerskin chaffs that she wore were torn, as though Sorcha had tried pulling on them first.

A noise from outside brought her fully awake, and she grabbed her bow from where it lay on the ground nearby—dropped there the night before—and scrambled up into a crouch. Noises came from around her, some to the west—yes, two of them were there, maybe fifty feet through the trees—but another was north and much closer, closing in.

They had caught up with her while she slept.

Seren crouched low and readied herself to spring out of her hiding place. There was no way she could hope to stay there; it was too open and not a good place to hide. It had seemed better in the darkness the night before. It had been more concealed, but now the sunlight shone through the trees straight down into the hollow of the tree.

They would find her within seconds.

She sprang forward, her bearings pointing her south, away from both threats. She kept low but moved fast, treading the ground lightly as she ran, dodging bushes and broken branches that may cause a noise and attract attention.

And for a second day she ran on into the forest, pursued by those that she had no doubt meant her no good.

Chapter 7

They’re eating dead human flesh.

Gerth let the thought roll around in his head, never once pausing to remember his lieutenant’s service. It didn’t matter now. He was far too removed from the territory he knew. He moved his feet across cracked, foreign pavement, wishing he could be in front of a crackling fire in the safety of his camp. It was time to take what he had come for and abandon this god-forsaken place once and for all. Leave the clans and the flesh-eaters to their fates. He would take the woman and flee back into the wilderness.

He slid behind a massive boulder and took a quick inventory as the refugees walked past, westbound away from Eliz, darting between the continuing shakes of an angry earth. An axe, a knife and his fists. That would be all he would need.

Gerth looked across the highway at the smoke spiraling into the evening sky. The Elk women had begun preparing the late meal. He would need to get close, find a way inside the camp, and yet remain invisible until night fell. The men would know where all the women would be, first to fill their bellies and then to satisfy their carnal urges. Gerth would wait, and he would be rewarded for his patience.

A family of refugees passed and a fragile boy looked up at Gerth, who had kept his head beneath a hood. The boy blinked tears from his bloodshot eyes and turned back to the pavement, no longer curious about the mysterious man at the side of the road. Gerth didn’t want to waste energy killing if it didn’t serve his objective. He had to conserve his energy and keep his mind sharp if he were to steal her. Sasha, the wife of Jonah the Elk chief, would not come easily.

He darted between straggling refugees and climbed over the rusted guardrail, sliding down the embankment toward the perimeter of the Elk camp. Gerth watched as women and teenage boys moved the carts back toward the center of camp to prepare them for departure. They tossed canvas tarps over the carts and tied them down to the sides, keeping the carts side by side to preserve a wall at the edge of the camp.

It will not keep me out, he thought.

Gerth listened to several men in the camp shouting orders. He sat still behind a tree, watching but not seeing the Elk chief. Gerth smiled and leaned his head back against the tree trunk, deciding a few hours of sleep would prepare him for the abduction—and the depravity that would follow.

***

The shouting came from the distance but it was enough to startle Gerth from a deep sleep. He awoke with cotton mouth, an erection and a vague memory of creatures crawling from the forest to feast on the corpse of his lieutenant.

“Fuck.”

He attributed the hard on to Sasha and promised himself he’d release that pressure soon enough. Gerth looked around and let his eyes adjust. Several trees stood between him and the cart wall, which had been left unattended by the Elk guards. He had slept for hours and inadvertently tricked them into thinking this part of the forest was uninhabited. Gerth reached down and grabbed a flask, tossing it back to let the fire water wake him up and moisten his mouth at the same time. He choked down a cough, fearful of drawing undue attention to his most fortunate location.

He scanned past the trees to where a fire burned low. Gerth turned up to the sky and, based on the position of the moon, he guessed the night to be approximately half over. There would be several more hours of darkness, but he would only need a few minutes.

There was movement in the woods behind him, and he recognized the face of one of his men in the shadows. Other shadows moved behind him, and Gerth counted four in total. They followed me, he thought. Spotted me and followed me. Good. Well at least if we all go in I will not be the focus of the raid.

“Split up,” he said. “We go in from different ways. Take whatever you want.” The nearest man nodded and moved away into the darkness, leaving Gerth to ponder his own plan.

Jonah’s tent sat several yards from the fire where a few bodies curled around the coals, wrapped in bed rolls and the waning heat of the flame. Gerth could not tell who they were, but he doubted Sasha was amongst them. The chief’s wife would be naked in the tent between the finest, most delicate furs the clan had skinned. Or so Gerth believed. He felt his erection return.

Something moved in the brush to his right and Gerth froze. He held his mouth open in a round O and did not inhale. Judging on the volume created by the thrashing of dead leaves, Gerth thought it had to be a large squirrel or a small groundhog—neither of which interested him tonight.

He crept through the trees with one hand on his crotch and the other on his axe. The branches reached for his clothing, and he pushed the bony fingers away. Soft snores came from the people by the fire. He looked left and right; seeing no sign of anyone standing guard along the makeshift cart wall, he turned toward the tent. If Jonah was inside, Gerth would kill him first.

Bash his fucking head right in.

If only Sasha was in the tent, Gerth would gag her and drag her out. If he had to kill the people around the fire, so be it.

He pushed the flap of the tent aside. One person lay sleeping on the ground in a bed roll.

One. Sasha.

Gerth pushed his hood back. He saw the white skin of her bare foot extending beyond the roll. He stared at her long, delicate toes.

I will cut them off slowly, he thought. One at a time.

She moaned from within the bed roll, and Gerth felt his erection pressing hard against his belt. He leaned closer, and he could smell the rich, sweet scent of woman. A smile creased his face as he extended both arms to pull the bed roll back.

The blade came up and across his abdomen so fast that at first Gerth thought he had ejaculated. The warm, wet blood oozed into his crotch from where he had been slashed. The woman scurried to the back of the tent with the knife held up and her mouth closed, her eyes on fire.

Gerth fell to his knees and put both hands to his gut in the hopes he could keep his intestines from flopping into the filthy dirt floor of Jonah’s tent.

Chapter 8

Gutted like a pig, she thought.

Sasha watched as the man’s blood oozed into the dirt, the smell of copper masking his body odor. They would not be able to sleep on this spot now that he had soiled it, but Sasha doubted she would spend another night at this place. There was too much chaos, too much instability, and she would not risk her family for it while the clan packed its possessions.

“Is he dead?”

The question knocked Sasha into the side of the tent. She brought the knife up to her face and scanned the darkness. She saw a girl huddled behind the flap. The top half of her body was inside but the bottom half was not. Sasha guessed her to be about ten years old, with a shaggy head of brown hair common to the Elk clan of the north.

“Yes,” Sasha said.

The girl remained on the threshold of the tent, unable or unwilling to step fully into the aftermath of the murder.

“He was going to hurt me, and I defended myself. You understand, right?”

The girl nodded her head in agreement.

“Are you Elk?”

“No.”

Sasha lowered the knife. She turned her head sideways and raised her eyebrows. “Then what clan are you?” she asked.

The girl began to cry, and Sasha remembered Keana telling her something about a clan fleeing Eliz, one that was full of children and yet without men. “You’re one of Nieve’s children?”

“Yes,” the girl said between tight sobs.

Sasha heard shouts coming from the camp. She stepped over Gerth’s corpse and pushed the flap of the tent aside to see a handful of people gathering at the fire pit. Gideon and Keana looked up at their mother while Solomon stood waving his arms—his battle axe in one hand. Leta and Nieve stood off to the side as more children came from the darkness and into the emerging light of the morning.

“What is going on, Sasha?” Solomon’s booming voice shook the delicate dawn and roused those who had managed to remain asleep through the trouble. “Nieve’s children came to us. They said they felt stalkers in the camp.”

“One of the feral men. The rogues from the south. He got into my tent.”

Solomon stepped toward her and shook his head. He kept a tight grip on his axe while using his other hand to stroke his long beard.

“Impossible. We secured the perimeter, kept guard on—”

Sasha thrust the blade of her knife into the air a mere inch from Solomon’s face. She could smell her attacker’s blood, and she knew Solomon could as well.

“Possible. His body is in my tent.”

“The children spotted the rest,” said Nieve, keeping her distance from Solomon and Sasha. “Four more were following the one who attacked Sasha. They’re still near the camp.”

“Get them,” Solomon said.

A dozen warriors ran through the camp, past the fire and into the woods where the children led them toward the rest of Gerth’s men, who had remained hidden near the cart wall.

Sasha collapsed to the ground, dropping the knife and leaning against the trunk of a tree. Keana and Gideon rushed to her side while Solomon stood motionless. Shouts and screams came from the trees near the road, and within fifteen minutes, Solomon’s warriors marched the remnants of Gerth’s men back to the middle of the camp, their hands bound at the wrists.

Sasha stared at them. They wore long capes and used masks and paint to hide their faces. Solomon’s men pushed them to the edge of the fire pit.

“We had to kill one.”

Solomon nodded at his warrior and then turned to Sasha. “What of them?” he asked.

She stared at each man and then looked over her shoulder at the tent.

“Why did you not pillage with your chief?” she asked.

Gerth’s men remained still. Silent.

“You hid on the edge of our camp. Why?”

Solomon stepped toward the three captives and bent down to stare into the first man’s face.

“Cowards,” said Solomon.

“They’ll be coming for Gerth. They’ll want his body,” said one of the men.

Sasha looked at the captive who was the only one of the three to speak. “Who?”

“The fucking demons, bitch. The ones that live under the city—or did. They’re not scared of the day anymore, it seems. And they’re coming,” the man said. “We saw what they did to Shykar, and we weren’t about to follow Gerth. But what the hell were we gonna do? Can’t go back to Eliz. Got no road now that the earth been swallowing it. So, we followed him here. We didn’t have nothing to do with it, but we were gonna wait til he finished his business. We were gonna leave when the pissy little kids called us out.”

Solomon brushed past the captives and whispered into Sasha’s ear. “What should we do?”

Sasha closed her eyes and thought of Jonah. She wasn’t sure why Solomon was deferring to her or why the men had confessed to following Gerth to their camp. More children gathered at Nieve’s feet. She saw Leta and Keana there as well. Gideon had moved closer to the fire, his eyes fixed on his mother.

I am not chief, she thought. But I am strong. I can make this decision.

“Nieve,” Sasha said, taking a step away from Solomon. “Your children alerted us to the attackers. They have saved lives.”

Sasha bowed, and Nieve did the same in return.

Sasha turned back to Solomon. The captives did not move, and the man who had spoken no longer appeared compelled to talk. His chin stuck to his chest and his eyes were closed.

“We will wait for Jonah,” said Solomon.

“No,” Sasha said. “I can make this call in his absence. The man was coming for me, Solomon.”

Solomon nodded at Sasha and took a step back. He winked at her from beneath his wild, frizzy hair, barely contained by a soiled bandana, a simple gesture that said do it.

“Execute them,” said Sasha. “If we do not, they will continue to rape and murder other innocents, even if they had nothing to do with this tonight. I know their sort.”

“So says the chief’s wife,” Solomon said, spinning so everyone crowded around the fire pit could hear the proclamation. “Death to the invaders.”

Sasha turned to face the sound of rattling leaves coming from the north side of the encampment, the area bordering the vast, wild plains of Eliz. The late-winter wind blew through the camp, but that alone was not responsible for the chill in her bones. Sasha clenched her teeth instinctively and reached for her children as the white demons slowly pushed through the trees and toward the fire pit.

Chapter 9

“Oh, my god.”

Sasha watched as the Valk appeared to emerge from the trunks of the trees. Their white skin seemed to glow and pulse in the first light of day. She felt Solomon grab her arm and Sasha heard his breathing, a rattle coming from deep within his chest.

“The Valk,” he said.

One of the demons walked up to Sasha, a sardonic grin creasing his hairless face. Black charcoal covered his eyes with thick lines extending from the corners of them to the corners of his mouth. His lips split to speak and Sasha stepped back. The odor that spilled forth was like that of a wet, decomposing rodent. Solomon stepped between them before the man could get any closer, his axe gripped tightly, a warning that was not lost on the Valk.

“We only come for them,” said the Valk, nodding toward Gerth’s men. His voice was a low hiss that sent shivers down Sasha’s back.

Solomon looked at Sasha and then at Gerth’s men who, until this point, had been standing with their backs straight and their eyes focused on the horizon. But now, they collapsed to their knees, and Sasha swore she could hear them sobbing.

“They must face their sentence. Hanging,” said Solomon.

“Yes,” the Valk leader said, waving a single finger back and forth in front of his face. “We come for the bodies of the vanquished foe. Though these are not yet vanquished and must be so.”

Solomon turned his head sideways and Sasha squeezed his arm back.

They want the bodies, she thought.

“And will we start by taking the one that has already passed into the darkness.”

Sasha looked at her tent and noticed Nieve had been staring at her with silent tears running down her face.

“Take it,” Sasha said before Solomon could respond. “Get him out of my tent.”

The Valk leader turned to one of his men. He used his eyes to point to Sasha’s tent. The creature walked past the fire pit and into Sasha’s tent, returning a moment later. He dragged Gerth’s body back to the Valk leader by its heels.

“We will. And we want them, too.”

Solomon nodded, and Sasha thought that the lumbering giant now understood what these vile monsters wanted.

“You want the flesh of warriors,” he said.

The Valk leader smiled again, this time wide enough to display the three rotten teeth left in his mouth. “It is so.”

“If we give them to you, you must promise not to follow the Elk clan on the road. You have no right to our warriors.”

Sasha saw a fleeting image in her mind’s eye, the Valk gathered around Jonah’s body, devouring him like animals. She shivered.

“So be it,” said the Valk leader. “We can always seek others.”

“Then go, and let us tend to our justice. We will deliver their bodies to the edge of the road at high noon.”

One of Gerth’s men coughed but they remained still and did not speak.

The Valk leader smiled at Solomon one last time before turning his gaze to Sasha. He stared and she could not look away. Sasha felt herself being pulled into those eyes, like they were the light at the end of a dark tunnel. The Valk leader turned and walked back toward the trees, breaking the spell.

“I can deal with this. You do not have to watch,” said Solomon. “I think you should do something that your husband would approve of.”

Sasha shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. She put her hand on Solomon’s forearm as the people who had gathered for the spectacle began to turn their attention back to their own carts and worries for the road. Leta and Nieve had not moved; Gideon and Keana stood near them.

“The children. Nieve’s kids,” said Solomon. “They may have saved us from much more bloodshed. Saved some of us from the invaders. They have no men, and we are leaving the plains of Eliz.”

“You think I should bring them with us,” said Sasha.

“Yes. Let Jonah bring them into the Elk formally—as the chief should. But you can invite them to come with us.”

Sasha turned from Solomon and looked at Nieve. The woman’s face cracked and she could not help but smile at Sasha.

“He brought Leta into the Elk.”

“I know,” Sasha said. “I don’t need to be convinced. I agree with you that it is the right move. I will tell her personally.”

“And them?” Solomon asked with a whisper. “I think I should take care of them and honor our deal with the Valk.”

“Yes, yes,” she said. “Do whatever must be done to keep them as far away from us as possible.”

“Very well, Sasha. I will do my duty as right hand to the chief of the Elk. May I give the call to pack up and get us on the road? I don’t think we can wait for Jonah to return from the crossing. I think we need to get on the road. Now.”

“Agreed,” she said. “Please take Gideon with you. He needs to understand what it means to be a leader of men.”

Solomon smiled at Sasha’s light compliment, but his expression changed as soon as he turned to face Gerth’s men.

“It is time for you to hang. Take them to the trees,” Solomon said.

Several Elk warriors grabbed the men by their elbows and dragged them away.

“What do we do on the road?” Sasha asked. “I trust you like a brother, Solomon. But how are we to lead the clans away from Eliz and toward safety without Jonah?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I guess we follow the path that Jonah said we should, even if we are days early. We have little choice. We cannot stay here.” He turned and left Sasha’s side while Leta and Nieve remained near the fire pit, staring at her.

Chapter 10

“We can take them,” said Jonah. Declan, Rav, Gunney and Briar were hunkered down next to him, still hidden among the trees that overlooked the bridge. So far, they had remained undetected, and Jonah hoped that they could launch a surprise attack. He had risked that somewhat, by stepping out of the forest alone, but the Cygoa weren’t to know he wasn’t a lone stray.

“I don’t see any other option,” Gunney said. “Though it could be nasty if they have a shitload of arrows.”

“Yes,” Jonah said. “That could be an issue if we don’t close the gap fast enough.”

Rav and Declan nodded in agreement.

“We have to go full on,” said Rav. “Down the slope and hit them before they have the chance to muster and get their bows on us.”

Jonah turned to Briar. “What of you and your men? Can you help?”

Briar nodded. “Yes, we can help.”

“You’re hunters. Not warriors,” said Rav.

“Then we’ll hunt,” said Briar, grinning. He notched an arrow and his hunters did the same.

“Okay,” said Jonah. “Give us cover until we get close enough to go hand-to-hand. If you stay in the tree line they won’t be able to hit you unless they get very lucky, and by the time they are firing, hopefully we’ll be on them. Then, when we take this side of the bridge, you can join us and provide cover fire when we go for the crossing.” He looked at the other men huddled close, “Sound like a plan?”

Briar nodded with the others. “Sounds like a plan.” He made a gesture with one hand. His hunters followed him back up to the road, across it, and into the woods on the elevated side.

Jonah returned to the edge of the trees with Gunney, Declan and Rav at his side, as the rest of the Elk warriors gathered behind them.

“We move swiftly,” Jonah said, keeping his voice low. “The road is the flattest ground, easiest to run on, so we go out that way and as fast as we can down the hill. It’s a hundred yards at full sprint. We keep it quiet until we get close.”

The Cygoa didn’t notice Jonah and his men until they were already half way down the road and thundering toward them.

Jonah was at the front, and he felt, more than saw, the other warriors just inches behind him. He would be the one to hit the defenses first, but he knew that if he slowed, his men would sweep past him. Did he have to be at the front of the charge? No, if he was in the middle, or even following behind, not a single man would speak against it, but he remembered the charge into the Cygoa months before, when they had chased the warband down to rescue some children the enemy had taken, and he remembered the feel of leading from the front. More than that was the memory of his father; Judas would have said a good leader always leads from the front.

He picked up the pace even more, breaking from a fast jog into a run. The other warriors followed. Jonah heard their feet pounding the asphalt, accelerating with the heartbeat inside his chest. Ahead of him, the first Cygoa spotted the charge and called out, but as the Cygoa scrambled to retrieve their bows, Jonah saw the flash of arrows descending upon them. Several of the Cygoa fell under the shower, and a few others took to cover. And then the line of bags and debris that was the Cygoa defense call was thundering closer.

The Elk swarmed upon the Cygoa, following Jonah over the short barricade, outnumbering them three to one. Jonah swung his axe left and right, felling two of the enemy before they could even raise their weapons in defense. He turned to face a third defender. The man raised his club to strike, but Jonah ducked the first swing and came up again, catching the Cygoa warrior underneath the chin with his axe.

He didn’t wait to see the body fall. Instead, he spun and buried his axe into another defender’s shoulder, severing the man’s arm with one clear strike. The warrior stood for a moment, almost motionless with shock, looking at his missing arm before passing out and falling backwards.

Screams of war and death came from all directions, sounds like dying crows fighting over a bloated carcass. Jonah could smell the blood in the air, the copper tang now on his tongue as well. He turned in a full circle, taking a quick count of who was on their feet and who was not. He saw Declan and Rav standing over still bodies while several Elk warriors chased Cygoa running back to the bridge in a hasty retreat.

“Fuckers,” Rav said to Jonah, a smile creasing his bloodstained face.

“Those on the other side are going to come next,” said Jonah. “Grab as many shields as you can and set up a line, and quickly. We still have the element of surprise. They will not be ready to fight back.”

Gunney nodded and immediately bent down to pick up a Cygoa shield. Several other Elk warriors did the same.

Jonah looked back, expecting to see Briar and his hunters approaching on the road. Instead, he saw their quivers as they retreated into the forest, away from the battle. Jonah didn’t have time to ponder Briar’s move.

“Look.”

Jonah followed Gunney’s eyes as the man held out one arm and pointed to the slopes on the other of the bridge.

More fucking Cygoa.

“Two more warbands coming,” Gunney said, continuing to point at the Cygoa. “We have twenty, maybe thirty minutes before there are too many on the other side for us to take it. If we can take out the other side right now, we may be able to hold it. If we can steal their defenses.”

Jonah raised his axe and screamed to the sky.

Chapter 11

Seren stumbled through the tree line and into the clearing, reaching for a nearby tree to steady herself as she took deep, heaving breaths. How many miles had she run from her pursuers? Thirty? Maybe forty? She glanced about, looking for signs of a road or path but finding none. Endless brush, weeds and trees extended in all directions, and to make it worse, the ground was uneven and sloping upwards, away from her, making every step forward all the more difficult.

She pushed herself away from the tree, frowned, and started forward again, not running this time. She could still hear the distant noises made by her hunters as they followed her, stupid animal calls they seemed to think were secretive but were a dead giveaway to someone who had never heard them before. No creature in these lands made such noises. Though maybe they might here, she thought. She was deep into the forest now, miles from the roads and the ruins, probably far enough that few, if any, people had roamed this ground for years.

And where is that damned wolf? she thought as she rounded a large rock and started up the slope between two large trees.

Then she stopped, staring at the gap between the trees. Her stomach ached, and she couldn’t place why. She had eaten while on the move, and not long ago, and she had drunk when she could, so it wasn’t that. This was something different, some instinct that made the hairs on her arms prickle.

There was something wrong with this place, she thought. It was there, niggling, in her mind. Something wrong even though she couldn’t sense what it was.

This path hasn’t been trodden for decades, maybe longer, but there is something wrong here, isn’t there? she thought. But what is it?

The weird animal noises chirped across the forest behind her once more, reminding her that even now, a second day into her pursuit, she was not away from them. They still somehow managed to keep on her trail, even though she had tried many times to disguise her passage through the forest. None of it tricked them. She started forward once more, fearful. One of them was close, moving quickly toward her, louder and louder as he came.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, she cursed under her breath, rushing forward. These hunters were much faster than she had given them credit, and several times they had honed in on some sign she had left behind, closing in on her, only for her to slip away before they caught her.

But if you’re stupid, and careless, they will catch you and then what? Assault? Death? Slavery? Probably all of those. They were tracking her to capture her, that was for certain, and they wouldn’t have followed her all these miles if they weren’t determined or didn’t have good reason to do so. A young woman, alone, easy prey to them, she thought, and maybe she’d fetch a good price if that was what they wanted after they had finished with her. Seren was not so naive that she was unaware of the things men could do to women if they were brutal enough.

She had to lose them, break the trail, somehow. She couldn’t outdistance them. That much had become obvious in the last hour as she trailed through the forest with them on her tail, always just a few hundred yards behind. They had spread out again, like they had after that first initial race, when she first burst into the forest and was out of their view. She spotted them occasionally, alone in the trees, at a distance, and heard those calls. They had cast a wider and wider net to catch her, then closed in when some sign was found.

She moved quickly forward, heading for the side of the two tall trees that gave her the chills, but then stopped. Something was strange about the trees, the clearing, the untrodden ground. If it had been years before, maybe she’d see what the overgrown bushes and weeds hid from her, but something unusual and dangerous was concealed there.

Yes, there it is, she thought, spotting it. What instinct had told her it was there? She hadn’t known what it was she was looking for. But she had still sensed it, and now she approached, carefully, having no choice but to go on. Time was running out.

Between the two trees ran a thin line of thread, barely visible, attached at about knee height. It was lightly colored, and only the shadow cast by the overgrown bush at the base of the tree on the right gave her the contrast of light to spot the sheen of wet string against a dark background.

Some form of trap, she thought. Set long ago, by the looks of it, and by someone who had not been this way for a while. The plants had grown around it, hiding most of its length, but it was still visible in the correct light. Maybe the person who laid it wasn’t even alive anymore. An animal trap of some sort? she wondered, laid to catch prey—or maybe a human—unawares. But a trap that did what? What contraption did the line trigger?

Aware that the noise was getting louder in the forest behind her, she quickly crouched and traced the line to the bottom of the tree, but couldn't see where it went after that. The ground was too overgrown for her to see if there was a pit concealed there. There was no rope, or net above her. The canopy of the trees had thinned out enough in the autumn and the long cold for her to see that nothing lurked above, waiting to fall. And no log traps or other form of built mechanism. And yet, there it was, the line across the gap between the trees.

I must get moving, she thought, but then another thought entered her head, a dangerous one, and though she considered it may be foolish, she knew that she couldn’t keep up this constant chase for long. Another day of this and her energy reserves would be exhausted, along with her food and water. She’d had no time to hunt or refill her water skins, even though she had crossed numerous streams and rivers.

Seren walked toward the thin line, made a scuffle with her feet to make the passage that way more obvious, then carefully stepped over the line onto to the hard earth on the other side. Then she carried on, slowly moving away from the two taller trees and out of the clearing, toward what looked like a larger clearing, maybe fifty yards through the bushes and trees.

Another weird animal call behind her, even closer, made her speed up. The hunter was maybe only a hundred yards behind her now, and a sense of panic filled her chest, urging her on even though her exhaustion was overpowering and her muscles screamed at her to stop. She pushed onwards, speeding up to a jog, but then stopped dead between two more trees. She felt it before she stepped too far, a slight resistance on her ankle, a pull that was barely there, alerting her to something else that was wrong.

Her heart thudded in her chest as she glanced down and saw that she had snagged yet another long line of thin wire that ran between the trees, this one also attached to something hidden.

Seren slowly, carefully, stepped backwards. If she moved too quickly, she thought she would trigger whatever nasty trap was attached to the wire anyway. But she held her breath and pulled her leg away from the wire. She breathed a sigh of relief.

A shrill, piercing call made her jump, and she glanced back toward the two taller trees, now thirty yards behind her in the woods, and there, heading swiftly toward her, his bow drawn and an arrow already notched, was one of her hunters. He started toward her, speeding up from the slow, casual jog that they had followed her with, gradually beat her energy down with, and rushed through the trees...straight between the two taller trees where the other wire lay. She wanted to back away. He would release the arrow quicker than she could draw her own, and if she did step back she would trigger this second trap.

The hunter ran between the trees, and Seren watched as he passed through the string, pulling it tight. She thought, just for the slightest of moments, that there was a look of recognition, a knowing moment where the hunter realized all was not good, but then it was over.

One moment the forest was quiet, the only noise the rush of the hunter as he approached her, and the distant noises of the other hunters as they closed in toward their comrade, breaking the tree line a second or two before the trap went off. The next moment there was the loudest booming noise that Seren had heard in her life. The hunter ran forward between the trees, straight through the hidden wire, and carried on, but then, as the loud noise erupted, sending a shock through the forest, his head and neck vanished completely in a spray of gunk and blood. The body stumbled forward for a few paces and then fell to the ground.

Seren stood helpless, dumbstruck at what had happened, unable to move as the two hunters slowed their progress and stopped a few steps behind their fallen comrade. She should run, she knew that, but she couldn’t. But she managed to carefully step over the second tripwire and back just a couple of feet away.

What could possibly do that to a person? Take off their head and neck with a loud bang. Nothing that she knew of. Nothing.

One of the hunters looked up and pointed at her.

“You,” he shouted, still pointing. “What did you do? How?” The man was furious, and frightened—as shocked as she, maybe, though he hadn’t seen his friend’s death. The same hunter strode forward through the trees toward her, and Seren stumbled further backwards, nearly tripping over a bush. The other two hunters stood, puzzled, looking down at their headless friend, leaving just the one—maybe their leader?—to pace angrily toward her.

He walked straight into the second tripwire, the one Seren had barely avoided herself.

Another loud boom erupted from the bushes, this one much closer, just a few yards to the right of the approaching hunter, and this time it wasn’t his head, but a large chunk of his chest that vanished in a spray of blood. The man staggered forward, dropping both his bow and the notched arrow, reaching for the hole in his chest that was big enough for Seren to see the other two hunters through. The hunters’ leader looked up at her, shocked beyond comprehension, words forming on his lips but no noise coming out, and then fell to the ground.

Seren stumbled back, stifling a cry, but didn’t fall. She looked up at the other two hunters, waiting for them to rush her. But they had seen their leader fall, the second of their number to go down in such a violent manner within a minute, and looked at the mysterious figure through the trees—Seren, the one who had done this terrible damage to their comrades—before taking off through the trees as fast as their legs would go. It seemed that they only wished to be away from the woman who had torn their fellow hunters apart, killing them without raising a hand.

Seren watched them go. She felt numb with shock at the events that had unfolded in front of her in the last few moments, without her doing a thing. She took another step back, turning, reaching, hoping for something to lean again, to gather herself and get her breath back, when the ground underneath her gave way to darkness, into which Seren fell, feet first.

Chapter 12

“How many fell?” Andmar asked, his breathing strained, as he kept the pace at the front of the warband that jogged down the long slope toward the open plains below them. He could see the great breach in the land more clearly as it cut an open wound across the grassland. He could also see the bridge in the distance and guessed that they were maybe three miles away.

He had seen the events unfold in the valley.

“Maybe two dozen,” replied the scout, his breathing also heavy as he tried to keep up with the much larger man.

Andmar, the leader of the warband, and third to Morlan himself after Carlossa, had been sent to deal with the bridge before Carlossa came to take control of the west, and he was tiring, as were the men that followed him, and he wondered if they would even be fit for battle at such short notice.

“Fools,” said Andmar. “They should have pulled back across the bridge and held from this side.” He spat into the dirt and continued his slow jog downhill. The scout chose not to question his judgement, but Andmar did it for him. “They didn’t see them. Had to be that. They moved fast, a good tactic. These are not a stupid enemy.”

It’d been twenty minutes since Andmar had noticed the approach of the warrior band from the east, along the very same road that they now paced, but on the other side of the breach, across the bridge. He’d known that although he could see their approach, it would be unlikely those guarding the bridge would, and he’d made a mental note to place a lookout, with signals, higher up here on the hill, overlooking the valley beyond, once this stupid business was dealt with.

If you even manage to keep control of the bridge, he thought. The band approached more rapidly than he had expected, and their first assault had turned into a complete success, a slaughter more rapid than he’d expected. The strangers, probably from the eastern ruins, he thought, had come there with war as their intent. They had come to seize the bridge rather than ask for passage.

Wise, he thought. For they would have been given none. But what a foolish thing to fall for? Not eyes to see further than the tree line. It had been too easy. He’d thought the Cygoa warriors who had held the other side of the bridge shouldn’t have been on that side in the first place.

Deaths that were well deserved.

Now he watched as the strangers swarmed over the barricade, grabbing weapons and shields left on the ground, and formed yet another offense. One he knew he would not be there to meet, even as he quickened his pace.

They will charge the bridge, he thought, and they will do it rapidly, if their leader has any sense. They can see us from where they are and they know they won’t take the bridge if they wait for us to get there. This is their one chance to take the best defense point before we are even there to offer a threat.

Andmar raised his hand, gesturing for the warband to stop, then bent over, gasping for breath. He leaned against a tree stump at the side of the road.

The warriors with him took the halt as a signal to rest, some collapsing on the ground and others standing still, catching their breath.

“Two minutes,” he called, “and then prepare yourselves.” He looked further down the road and shook his head as the strangers launched their charge across the bridge, barricaded behind shields taken from his own warriors.

No, he thought. No point rushing in now. Best to let the men rest for a few minutes so that they can take the bridge back. We wouldn’t get there in time anyway. We would not be there to defend this assault.

The bridge would be lost by the time he arrived. All that remained would be the task of taking it back, and if his men were rested for a few minutes, and ready, angry at seeing their fellow Cygoa slaughtered, then they would have the upper hand, and these newcomers would be already spent after two fights.

He turned to the scout. “I hope you’re ready to fight,” he said, “because we won’t be defending the bridge. We will be attacking it by the time we get down there, and they will be ready for us.”

The scout looked to the distance and Andmar could sense his nervousness. Further down the hill, the enemy gathered quickly, preparing to move across the bridge, and on the other side the Cygoa gathered against the makeshift barricade, weapons ready even though they were outnumbered. He wished that there was a way to distract them, to get them to retreat up the hill toward his warband, but they were not looking his way and he did not carry a horn with which to signal.

“We have no other archers but me,” said the scout.

Andmar shook his head. “No,” he said. “But if we are lucky, they will have used their arrows by the time we get there.”

Chapter 13

Jonah heard boots thudding against the hard surface, and sweat poured down his face. Every muscle in his body screamed with exertion but the fire had been ignited in his veins and he noticed little of the pain. Jonah felt, more than heard, the adrenaline-fueled breaths of those around him as they charged across the bridge. Everything seemed to slow down for him in that moment, just as it had when he’d fought Tikal, the Bluestone leader, in a battle that had happened only a few weeks ago. It seemed like it had been in another time entirely. And this was no mere stand-off between two opponents; he didn’t have just one man to kill but many.

Just as it had done back then, Jonah’s mind swept him away, and even as he felt a rush of air move near his cheek, an arrow zipping past just inches from his face, he could feel the presence of his dead father, as though the old man had come to witness his son’s initiation first hand. He felt the eyes boring into him even though he could not tell from which direction they came. Judas had been a devil in war, feared by all, and it was not a reputation that Jonah had reached—at least not yet.

Jonah gritted his teeth, mentally nodded to the man watching him from wherever the dead went, and squinted through the sweat that blurred his vision. This would be a day that would be spoken of for a long time in the histories of the Elk and the other clans of the Wytheville valley, and his name would be the one they spoke. Tales told beside the fire would not reach back further than his life, no longer into the days of the T’yun. The Elk would be the name to eclipse them all.

Another arrow hit the ground close to his right foot, but he barely noticed it. He wasn’t on the bridge, leading the Elk’s charge toward a heavily guarded barrier behind which a mass of Cygoa warriors waited, equal almost in number to those that followed him. Instead, his mind was miles away, years in the past, hiding in the trees up on the ridge behind the place where he had been raised. Many times, he’d done this when he was little, secretly sneaking away when he thought his father had not known, following the huge warrior as he headed up into the clearing near the reservoir in the hills above the town.

The boy that Jonah had once been would follow Judas, keeping his distance, hiding behind trees and bushes until he reached a spot that overlooked the clearing next to the water. This would be the same place he would visit years later, to learn to fish and to swim and to build fires, but now this was where he watched, unseen, as his legendary father trained with weapons.

No one was meant to be watching, and the boy Jonah knew this much. Judas had forbidden it to all, not just his son, but Jonah could not resist and went anyway. His father would train with knives that he would throw against a tall tree stump in the north of the clearing, launching blade after blade, as he slowly moved further and further away, rarely missing. The man would train with a spear, a weapon that few used other than for hunting.

And he would train with the axe—the ancient steel axe that was their family heirloom and the symbol of Elk clan leadership.

Sometimes his father would train with a shield, and Jonah would watch, puzzled as the huge man stood before the tree stump swaying side to side, hopping back, leaping forward. The axe would always come to bear, eventually, but it would come last. Sometimes a boot would lash out, and occasionally his father would lead with a push from the shield, slamming it into the ancient bark, following with a down stroke from the axe that would take a chunk off the stump each time. It would never be the same tree stump. Each time his father would utterly decimate the remains of a tree that he had cut down recently, and the next time he visited it would be a new tree.

Once, on a day that he’d known he probably shouldn’t have risked following his father, because Judas had been angry at something he wasn’t party to, Jonah sat, hidden, in his usual place and watched as Judas not only hit the stump with the axe but also the shield. Both slammed countless times into the wooden stump, and then finally Judas bellowed with rage and finished off with one last maneuver that had stayed in Jonah’s mind all these years. His father faced the wooden stump and...

The roar of the Elk brought his mind back to the present. The line of Cygoa defense rushed up to meet Jonah as he held the recovered Cygoa shield in front of him. He sensed those either side of him, and behind, rushing forward, battle raging upon them. Ahead of him was a defensive wall of tires as high as his waist, and behind that two dozen Cygoa warriors with their shields held firm.

The shield wall was thirty feet away and closing fast.

Now, rushing up toward him—

…Judas charged the tree stump and leapt, throwing the shield ahead of him as he went. The shield smashed into the wooden stump and fell away, just as the axe came down...

—Jonah felt the wind rush past him as the shield flew from his grip. He bellowed as he leapt forward. The shield smashed sideways into the three central Cygoa defenders, and he saw fearful expressions upon their faces as the shield their own kin had used to defend themselves came flying toward them, followed by the screaming warrior.

And then the Elk hit the shield wall.

Jonah crashed straight through the first two lines of warriors, knocking them to each side and bowling over those in front of him. The axe came down into the shoulder of a Cygoa warrior three rows back. Screams and yells of fury came from behind him as Jonah continued to charge forward, breaking through the third line of warriors and finding himself upon open grass, behind the enemy line.

Some of the Cygoa turned, confused, while others fell to the side, pushed, bowled over by the impact, and that was when the rest of the Elk, urged on by the ferocity of their leader’s assault, leapt over the short barricade and rushed into the gap that Jonah had created. It had only taken him a two second head start to hammer a massive hole into the enemy defense, and it was all his men needed to crush them.

Jonah turned and charged the rear of the shield wall, attacking the left flank, where the Cygoa defenders hadn’t even noticed him coming. He saw Rav, Declan and Gunney fighting furiously in the center, pushing wider the gap that he had made. Three swings of his axe and three Cygoa fell. A fourth broke and ran, tripping over his brothers to escape the demon that raged before him. Then more of the Cygoa were breaking, running in any direction they could to escape the onslaught, and the Elk rolled over the remaining defenders until few stood.

Just sixty seconds after Jonah had broken through the wall, barely half a dozen Cygoa were still on their feet, and they were running for the hills. Some of the Elk started to follow them, but Jonah raised his fist. “Leave them be,” he called. “They are broken and won’t be coming back anytime soon. Not after such a loss. And we have a bigger problem.”

The pursuing Elk warriors stopped and turned back, breathing heavily, exhausted. Jonah pointed up the hill to the road, where the approaching Cygoa warband now marched toward them.

“How many of them are there, do you think?” Declan asked between breaths.

Jonah noticed the young warrior had blood on his face and stepped forward to examine the side of his head. There was a cut there, but it wasn’t deep and would heal quickly if it was kept clean.

“You’ll get a nice scar from that,” Jonah said.

Declan laughed.

Good, Jonah thought. It was good to see the boy laughing in such a grim situation. He has spirit.

“Five dozen of them, I reckon,” came the voice of Rav from behind them.

He was near the foot of the bridge, and stopped to look down at the carnage around him. Some of the Elk warriors had already begun collecting shields from the defeated Cygoa.

Jonah turned and looked up the hill.

“We have maybe twenty minutes,” Rav said. “Before they reach us.”

Jonah nodded and sighed. “Then we better move quickly and rebuild this defensive line.”

Chapter 14

Jonah stood behind the rebuilt shield wall and looked toward the trees, disappointed as he saw the backs of Briar and the other hunters running into the woods.

This was never their battle, he thought. They had only lent their bows to the fight because they wished to be on this side of the breach and on their way home.

But we need to hold this bridge, he thought. Watching the approaching Cygoa force heading toward them, he wondered if that was going to be possible.

We must hold. We have to hold it at all costs, so that the clans and countless refugees that will now follow can travel to the west as the weather turns once more .

He would have to fight and destroy this approaching warband. The numbers, he guessed as he turned his gaze away from the rapidly disappearing hunters to the Cygoa, were not equal. They were more in the Cygoa’s favor but not by much.

And you have the defensive position at the foot of the bridge. But how many did I already lose in that charge? He had no time to count.

Sixty Cygoa was what he estimated, and fifty defenders.

Not so good.

The enemy leader was the tall man at the front, Jonah guessed. The man was flanked by a hunchbacked scout. He took a deep breath and fixed his gaze on the leader as the enemy approached. That was his target.

Take the leader down and maybe their resolve will break.

“Be ready,” Jonah called, but he knew the men around him were already waiting, ready to fight once more.

He didn’t need to warn them but felt that some words may encourage. He paced behind the double line of defenders, holding a shield in his off hand, the axe that had been his father’s swinging gently in his right. He glanced around, wanting to know who was where.

Ghafir was behind them, upon the bridge, readying the only bow they still had with them. Declan stood a few feet away on the other flank. The boy nodded. Jonah could see fear in those eyes, but he was brave and took rank alongside the others that now faced the charge. Gunney was next to him, and Rav also. The three of them huddled behind the first row of shields, their weapons ready.

And so, they watched the Cygoa approach, waiting for them to speed up, to burst into a charge, but at a hundred yards the force stopped. Their leader, the tall man, walked forward alone, one hand raised. A parlay to speak to their leader.

“I’m not sure I would go out there,” said Ghafir. “They may be treacherous.”

Jonah shook his head. “The man calls a parlay. I must give him at least a chance.” Jonah pushed his way through the shield wall and began to walk toward the Cygoa leader.

The leader of the Cygoa approached slowly, his hand still raised, and when they got within twenty feet of each other, both stopped.

For a minute the two eyed each other, not speaking, just checking the other leader, weighing up what they both faced. There was barely two feet of distance between them but miles of cultural difference. Jonah remembered that these people had been persecuted by his ancestors, as recently as his own father, just one generation back. These were the Cygoa, and they hated him.

Here they were again, many miles from the north, from where they fled to escape his people. Were they back to take what they perceived was theirs, or had they been forced to come here by other conditions? Either way, they were obviously intent on stopping him and his people from returning home.

“Go,” said Andmar. Just a single word was all he said at first, pointing back the way Jonah had come. When Jonah didn’t answer, the man spoke again. “Take your men and leave, and there need be no more bloodshed here today. We will leave what has already been done as done. No more.”

“I can’t do that,” Jonah said. “I need this bridge so that my people can return home.”

“Is that so?” Andmar said, grinning. It was not a friendly smile. “And where would your home be?”

“Wytheville and the surrounding forests,” said Jonah. He noticed a smirk appear upon the Cygoa leader’s face as the man shook his head.

“Oh, I don’t think you’ll be returning to those lands.”

Jonah frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Those lands are no longer yours. They belong to the Cygoa, now.”

“They belong to the Six Clans,” Jonah demanded.

Andmar nodded. “Maybe they did, but no longer. You will need to find other hunting grounds. Now, I suggest you turn and cross that bridge and stay on that side of the breach.” He gestured toward the mountains in the north, where Briar and the other hunters fled. “They will be found and dealt with.”

Jonah stood staring at the man, knowing now that no matter what he said, this was only going to end one way. They would have to fight, but he had to try one last attempt to stop that from happening.

“And what if we refuse to leave? What if we hold this bridge?”

Andmar smiled again, then lifted his other hand to indicate the wall and those behind him. “Then we will take the bridge by force and do what is necessary to hold it. These are our lands, now. Taken back from the T’yun in the name of the Cygoa. And we must defend them.”

“So be it,” Jonah said, and he turned to walk away.

“It doesn’t have to go this way,” Andmar said.

Jonah stopped and turned his head to one side, listening. “What would you mean by that?”

Andmar didn't move as Jonah turned, and stood still on the spot, confidently not reaching for his weapons. “You return over the bridge and don’t come back. Then you send an emissary to my leader, Morlan, who now resides in Wytheville. You ask to become a Vassal. He may permit your people lands to hunt and settle. I cannot promise this, though.”

Jonah coughed and turned back to face the man. He felt a burning in his cheeks. Anger. He took a deep breath, vowing not to lose his cool during this meeting. “Give us our own lands? They are not yours to give. They were our lands and remain so. Not only will I not let this bridge go, I will also take back every yard of land that was ours, even if that means spilling Cygoa blood every step of the way.” He spat on the ground and turned and paced away, leaving Andmar standing there.

***

Andmar watched the leader of the Elk walk back to his warriors on the bridge and smiled. The man had balls. He had to give him that. He remembered the tales of the T’yun from when he was a child, when he had been told that they would face the remnants of the Cygoa’s hated enemy, but he had wondered if any of the spirit that the T’yun had held would still exist.

As he watched Jonah reach the line of shields and push his way through, he stopped smiling.

It would seem so, Andmar thought. He turned and headed back to his men. As he approached, the scout came to meet him, fidgeting with an arrow in the sheath that hung at his waist.

“Well?” the man asked at last. “Will they leave?”

“No,” said Andmar, and raised his voice. “They will not leave. Prepare to charge.” He reached to his waist and pulled out the long blade that hung there, scanning the line of defenders down at the foot of the bridge, giving his men a few seconds to prepare themselves.

But then his patience was gone.

“Now,” he snapped, starting forward, not charging quite yet, but waiting, judging the line of his men as they fell in beside him, speeding up as they began to jog down the hill toward the barrier. At twenty paces, they would speed up, finishing the charge at full sprint.

Now we will see who has spirit, thought Andmar.

Chapter 15

“Steady! Hold the line!” Jonah bellowed, as he stood, feet apart, his axe held behind him and the small shield captured from the dead Cygoa raised in front of him. Two lines of his men held shields behind the makeshift barricade and watched as the Cygoa thundered down the road toward them. Only one warrior on his side of the barricade was moving. Just feet away from Jonah, Ghafir was frantically notching arrow after arrow and launching them into the approaching Cygoa. Three of the enemies’ number had already fallen to that bow, the last taking two others down with him as he collapsed beneath their feet.

Jonah squinted over the top of the shield, eyeing the front line of the enemy as they rapidly approached. They had the advantage of speed in the charge, he thought. But at the bottom of the slope there was a steep upward rise of maybe twenty feet before they would reach the bridge, and he knew that would give his men the advantage of height when the two forces clashed.

Spears, he thought. If only they’d had spears. Hand axes and clubs would have to do. At least the enemy were not bowmen. Briar and his hunters could have helped a great deal in this battle. Now he was limited to one, albeit very skilled, bowman: Ghafir.

The leader, whose name Jonah did not know, had begun the charge ahead of his men, but as they had raced down the hill, Jonah saw the tall man swallowed by the surge of warriors. One Cygoa to his left fell to an arrow from Ghafir, and it was enough to slow the leader into caution. Ghafir, it seemed, had the same idea as Jonah.

Seconds later, the mass of Cygoa smashed through the debris barricade and leapt onto the wall of shields. The tall man was no longer visible to Jonah. He knew that was the man he must kill if he hoped to end the battle, quickly. He’d hoped that their leader would charge ahead of his men, as Jonah would have, but the man must be wise to this—and somewhat cowardly—to hide behind rows of his own men. But then, Jonah thought, is that not what you’re doing right now? Hiding behind your own shield wall?

The Cygoa hit the defenses at full running speed, seemingly not slowed by the slope that led up to the bridge. Some of them stumbled over the makeshift barricade and fell, but most on the front line leapt over the pile of wood and tires and collided with the shields, using the weight of their bodies to smash the defenses, just as Jonah had done.

We should have had more bows, he thought as an arrow flew past him and thudded into the wall that lined the bridge. Jonah couldn’t see where the arrows were coming from but was grateful that it was not a deluge. The scout, he thought. The scout is somewhere out there, among the mass, firing up onto the bridge.

Aiming at him.

It seemed that a quick end to the battle was what the Cygoa also wanted, and he was the target.

When the Cygoa began their charge, Jonah noticed that Ghafir had been ready, arrow already notched and waiting for them when they were in range. Then the hunter began his assault, one arrow after the next. By the time the Cygoa hit the shield wall, half a dozen had already fallen to his bow, and Jonah counted only one miss. Now, Ghafir increased the pace of his arrows, firing over the heads of the Elk defenders in abandon, not really aiming for specific targets. There was no longer a mass of bodies in one charge to aim at, but a mass in combat with his own allies.

One of the Cygoa burst through the shield wall, rolling forward and coming back up onto his feet yards from Jonah, but the man was not quick enough to take advantage of the space he’d gained. Jonah leapt toward him and swung his axe just as the man turned to face him. The weapon slammed into the warrior’s neck, almost beheading him.

The pain of the impact shot up Jonah’s arm. Metal armor, he thought. It was something he’d not expected the Cygoa to be wearing underneath all the thick leather and furs. Jonah pulled on the axe, wrenching it from the man’s body and sending a shower of blood into the air. He rushed forward to join the fray, only to be met by yet another Cygoa breaking through the line of defense.

A few feet away, Ghafir targeted a Cygoa for the briefest of moments, and then fired the arrow. It hit home in the center of the man’s chest as he was about to swing a sword down onto the shield of one of the Elk defenders. Chaos had erupted at the bottom of the bridge, with a mass of Cygoa pushing the shield wall back, collapsing it in places. Jonah saw Declan, Rav and Gunney rush forward to close a gap in the shield wall, Rav wildly swinging a thick wooden club at the three enemy warriors who now pushed into the opening.

Jonah tried to close the gap, push the Cygoa back. He killed two of the enemy in quick succession when they tried to rush him as he made his way into the main mass of combatants. Two more Cygoa tried to overpower Rav, but both fell back, the heavy club smacking into both heads in one wide swing.

***

Chaos was what Ghafir saw, but then he saw something else.

Another arrow whizzed past Jonah, just a foot away, and the leader had not noticed it.

The scout, thought Ghafir. He is targeting Jonah. Just as he had tried to target the Cygoa leader whom he still couldn’t locate in the mess in front of him, even with the advantage of height. He scanned the battle. There were too many bodies crammed together now. Any arrows that he launched would be as likely to hit an ally as they would an enemy.

He scanned further back, thinking to attack those at the rear, briefly spotting the Cygoa leader but then losing him as he tried to gain a bead with his arrow.

Then he saw him. The scout. He had been watching the battle, searching among the ranks of the Cygoa for his nemesis, and had not thought to look wide. On the very edge of his vision, Ghafir noticed movement way out along the edge of the breach, nowhere near the fighting. The scout was thirty, maybe forty, feet out, crouched down low by the split and broken remains of a tree that had almost fallen into the darkness of the breach. The hunchback’s bow was drawn, aiming into the battle, and a moment later another arrow flew and hit one of the Elk in the side of the head, downing the man instantly.

Then the scout aimed once more, and Ghafir could see precisely where he was going. The Elk warrior the scout had taken out was the only man directly in the way of a clear shot at Jonah, who still held a position higher on the ground, trying to get further into the battle.

Ghafir spun to face the scout, drew hard on the bow, and fired just before the scout could let loose his arrow. The hunchback was just about to let fly when Ghafir’s arrow took him in the shoulder, sending him crumpling to the floor, his own arrow flying wide.

***

Yards away, not knowing how close he had come to taking an arrow, Jonah watched as his shield wall collapsed. At least a quarter of his men had fallen in the initial charge, some trampled as the Cygoa broke through the shield wall. Then Rav was at his side.

“We can’t hold here,” Rav shouted. “There’s too many.”

Jonah stared at the carnage below, unable to think clearly.

Rav grabbed Jonah across the chest and shook him.

“We have to back up,” Rav shouted, shaking Jonah once more. This seemed to bring Jonah round.

Jonah cursed. He’d managed to take down four of the Cygoa himself, but he hadn’t managed to get down into the battle, and now he saw that Rav was right.

If you don’t retreat now, the Cygoa will roll over your entire warband, he thought. And it will all be over.

As if mirroring his thoughts, Rav shouted once more. “We need to hold on the bridge, not down there!”

Jonah nodded. And, cursing a second time, he took a step back and bellowed the word retreat at the top of his voice. And he cursed himself once more. His father, Judas, would never have retreated. Judas would have stood his ground and fallen.

But you are not your father, Jonah thought. And your people must live.

Chapter 16

Jonah backed along the bridge slowly, holding the shield out in front of him. Chaos unfolded before him as Elk warriors broke away from the Cygoa, some falling before they could make it very far but most breaking contact and getting out of weapon range before the Cygoa could take them down.

And there was Ghafir, now at Jonah’s shoulder, hammering the Cygoa line with a well-aimed arrow every few seconds. Of course, Jonah could see that the man would soon run out of the deadly missiles and the retreating Elk would lose the one thing that was keeping the Cygoa from an all-out chase. Jonah could almost see the thoughts on the faces of the Cygoa warriors at the front. None of them wanted to be the next target, and that was what was keeping them in their own line, forcing them to leave the Elk warriors to escape across the bridge.

As the retreating Elk warriors rushed past him, he spotted Declan and was relieved that the boy still lived. The young warrior raced to Jonah’s side, with half a dozen other Elk warriors close behind, and then turned to hold the retreating line with him as Jonah backed across the bridge. Three of the other Elk took the line with him, but others ran on, panic in their eyes, their only thoughts to escape the chaos and horror of the battle behind them.

Warriors rushed across the bridge, some passing the defense line, some stopping and joining the retreating shield wall. Nearly all were wounded already. Blood in their eyes. Blood on their weapons. Jonah watched helplessly as one of the older warriors, already wounded in multiple places, stumbled toward them, trying to join the rest of the Elk, but fell forward with an axe sticking from his back, thrown from the approaching Cygoa line.

The Cygoa were not stopping. The brief pause in battle, and the fear of Ghafir’s bow, had slowed their pursuit, but now that the Elk were retreating they pushed up onto the bridge to follow, locking shields and lowering to a crouch to hide from the arrows.

How many of his men had escaped the carnage? Jonah didn’t know, but as he backed across the bridge, eventually reaching the midpoint, he estimated that a third at least—maybe as many as half—had fallen at the foot of the bridge, but an equal number of Cygoa lay dead on the ground.

There was a roar ahead of them, among the Cygoa, and for a few seconds the pursuit halted and chaos erupted among the Cygoa ranks. Then several warriors fell onto the bridge, knocked down by the charge of a raging figure that broke through the ranks.

It was Rav. His hair was wild and there was a glare of insanity in his eyes as he raged through the Cygoa, swinging his club left to right, smashing down any that approached. Then several other warriors pushed from behind him, and Gunney appeared at the rear. The group burst from the Cygoa ranks and began to run the distance between the opposing forces.

Before Jonah could even mention it, Ghafir was firing, loosing arrows at any Cygoa that tried to stop the group.

“Hold here,” Jonah shouted, determined to give Rav, Gunney and the others a chance to reach them. He would not leave his friends, and he was about to charge forward but saw that Rav and Gunny had cleared the Cygoa line, along with the other Elk warriors. They were well away from the reach of the Cygoa weapons now and running toward them.

The Cygoa front line had collapsed into disarray, and Jonah took advantage of this. He needed to give them distance, let his men regroup and form their own line. What he had was a ragged line made up of less than half of his remaining men. He glanced back toward the end of the bridge, and saw that none of the warriors who continued running had fled. Many of them had slowed near the end of the bridge, and were turning, looking back, undecided.

“Back up,” he shouted. “Keep backing up.” He glanced behind, seeing the end of the bridge only a few yards away.

Do I hold the bridge? Jonah wondered, or run off it? If we hold the bridge we can keep the Cygoa where they are, but if we let them get off here we may be overrun. He saw the edge of the great ravine pass. He was over solid ground now. “Halt!” he shouted. “Hold here!”

The line stopped dead and held, facing the Cygoa ahead of them. Rav, Gunney and the other warriors reached the defense line and pushed through. “They’re weakening!” shouted Rav. “They’re less of them than it looks. Lots of bodies left back there.”

Then the arrow thudded into Jonah’s shield, the force knocking him backwards, behind the line. Rav stepped into the gap, heaving a shield from the ground and blocking the hole. Ghafir frowned as Jonah got to his feet and held up the shield. The arrow had pierced it, the head sticking three inches out of the other side, barely inches from his wrist.

Ghafir looked confused, and Jonah could almost hear the thought process going through the man’s mind. Ghafir had already killed the only enemy archer. Hadn’t he? The tall man scanned the bridge as Jonah climbed to his feet, and was looking to where the slumped body of the hunchback scout should have been. Jonah glanced that way, and saw that the scout wasn’t there. Instead the man was up on his feet again, now ten yards closer to the bridge, and taking aim once more.

There was a shout from the Cygoa line as Ghafir took aim with his last arrow. He’d burned through forty of them in less than twenty minutes and now Jonah could see that he had none left in the quiver at his side. This was the last one.

The leader of the Cygoa appeared at the front of the Cygoa line, and Ghafir swung his bow to meet the man, just as another arrow thudded into an Elk warrior a few feet away. The man fell with a cry, the arrow jutting from his shoulder. Ghafir swung back to the scout, cursing. The arrow would have been enough to take out the leader, but the scout was more urgent.

Ghafir aimed, as his opponent did likewise. Their arrows flew at the same moment, but unlike the scout, who now stood on the edge of the great breach and couldn’t risk moving, Ghafir sidestepped and Jonah saw that the arrow that had been aimed at Ghafir, not himself, as it whistled past. Jonah turned back to the scout in time to see him stagger as Ghafir’s arrow struck him in the neck. The man thrashed at the protruding shaft for a moment before falling forward into the massive ravine.

“Charge!” Andmar’s voice boomed, and the Cygoa rushed forward. But as Andmar moved to lead the charge, there was a flutter of movement coming in fast from the north. Jonah watched as an arrow appeared, thudding into the side of the tall man’s head and bursting through the opposite side of his skull. Blood and flesh sprayed the two Cygoa warriors nearest to their leader. Both stopped dead, shocked expressions on their faces, and the rest of the arrows fell upon them. A half dozen Cygoa dropped, one tumbling off the bridge to fall into the ravine below.

“What the—” Jonah had no words, but he looked to the north, along the edge of the breach, and saw them just as Declan spoke.

“Briar and the hunters. They came back!”

Jonah felt his heart lift as he spotted the dozen fur clad hunters, and their leader, hunched together a dozen feet from the breach, thirty yards along the edge.

We have chance, he thought. With their help, we can win this. We just must hold them off until they are weakened. Let the hunters take them down. “Hold here!” Jonah shouted, but even as he spoke, panic broke out among the Cygoa and they broke, some running back across the bridge, others running toward the waiting Elk.

Then the ground underneath them shifted, nearly knocking Jonah over. Then it shifted again, this time violently enough to cause the line of panicking Cygoa to fall forward. Those immediately behind tripped and fell over the ones in front, dropping shields and weapons as they fumbled to right themselves.

But it was already too late. The bridge moved, and Jonah saw the other side plummet downwards maybe ten feet, the rocks and dirt wrenched away as the weight of the massive metal structure crushed the far wall of the ravine to rubble.

“Get off the bridge,” came a voice from behind. Most of the Elk holding the line broke off and ran, as did Jonah, but then, as he reached the edge, he stopped and turned back. Gunney was down on the bridge, and Rav was next to him, one arm around the warrior and the other still holding his club. There was a massive wrenching noise as the other side of the bridge collapsed further, and the ground under Jonah’s feet lurched to a steeper angle, throwing him off the edge of the bridge and onto the hard ground.

A huge plume of dust blew up yards away from him, followed by a grinding noise. Jonah hurried to his feet and leapt forward, dropping his axe and reaching for Gunney and Rav as the bridge finally fell away. His hands flailed in the air as he tried to grasp those of his friends, but it was too late. Gunney and Rav fell into the breach, following the massive bulk of the bridge.

Jonah tottered on the edge of the ravine for a moment before collapsing back onto the dirt, where he sat helplessly, watching as the figures of his friends disappeared into the darkness below. Beyond them, the entire force of Cygoa plummeted into the depths of the ravine.

A shadow fell over him, and Jonah turned to see the shocked face of Declan.

“They fell,” said the boy. “Rav. Gunney. They…”

“Yes,” said Jonah. “They’re gone.”

Chapter 17

A sharp spasm of pain tore Seren from unconsciousness. She sat up quickly, grimacing as a shock ran up her leg from her ankle. She opened her eyes and felt a surge of panic building as nothing changed. All she saw was darkness. Then, as she tried to calm herself, telling herself that it was ok—she wasn’t blind, she couldn’t be—she noticed a faint glimmer of light coming from above. She took a deep breath, relieved, still looking upwards, and her mind raced to remember where she was.

She had been fleeing from the strangers, yes, for two days, or maybe three? They had followed her to this place, and she had found... What had she found? Something strange in the woods? Sorcha was nowhere to be found. What was it? Traps! She had found the traps in the woods, and the hunters had set them off. They had died, huge holes blown out of them by whatever the traps had triggered. The other men had fled. Had they thought it was she who caused the deaths? Some form of witchery, maybe?

But it hadn’t been, had it. She was no witch. Something had made a very loud noise, something new, or even something very old.

Moonlight, that’s what she was seeing. It shone down from a gap in the ceiling high above her, maybe twenty feet up, where a layer of bushes, fallen leaves, and branches had built up over the years, hiding the hole she had fallen into.

She tried to move her leg and grimaced once more, nearly crying out as the pain swept from her ankle to her knee in sharp throbs. Broken, she thought. Must be broken. Maybe. Must be broken.

Fighting the pain and trying to stay quiet, so as not to alert anyone that may be nearby to her presence, she tried to wriggle her toes and found that not only could she feel them fine but she could move them as well.

Maybe only a bad sprain, then, she thought, hoping that her ankle wasn’t broken. She was alone in the forest, a place where her pursuers could potentially come back to find her again, maybe bringing more strangers with them. She had to be quiet.

After a few minutes of sitting there, her eyes began to adjust to the limited light. It wasn’t much but the moonlight was bright enough that once she had gotten used to it she could see that she was sitting on a stairwell that led down into darkness. A dozen steps led down to a flat square of concrete, and then more steps followed, bringing the stairs back on themselves.

A stairwell of some sort, and old, built from the man-made rock that Logan called concrete. The walls were cracked, and inside the gaping holes she could see the mesh of rusted metal that seemed to always form the heart of the rock. She had always thought it strange and wonderful how the people from ancient times had managed to bury metal inside of rock.

But what was this place all the way out here? In the middle of the old forest, and in the middle of nowhere. Stairs. Leading where?

The stairs had to lead down to something, and in the other direction they would lead up and out of the hole, surely? At least she wouldn’t have to climb out of the hole, she thought. The stairs would lead her to the surface. She only had to figure out how to get through the layer of debris that blocked the way at the top.

Her mind wandered as she sat there. The place had to be ancient. She looked around, waiting for the throbbing in her leg to ease, and it was as she sat there, waiting for the pain to abate, that she spotted her rucksack at the bottom of the first set of stairs. It must have rolled down there when she hit the ground. It had fallen off her back during the fall and tumbled into the darkness, coming to a stop in the corner, barely visible among the debris that had built up against the opposite wall. Seren shuffled down the stairs, not attempting to walk yet, deciding that she shouldn’t irritate her ankle more than necessary. It was easier to sit and shuffle her way down, one step at a time, trying to keep her ankle raised to avoid bumping it.

Eventually, she got to the flat corner section of the stairs and reached out, grabbing the rucksack and rummaging inside. She pulled out a small, thick-cut piece of wood with a rag attached to the top—one of the torches she had made for emergencies. She found her flint and lit the torch, cursing as it took minutes rather than the usual seconds, and it was then that she realized she was shivering and cold.

How long had she been lying there? It was dark outside. It must have been at least six or seven hours that she’d lain there, she thought, getting colder and colder, and now her limbs were numb. Her fingers fought to respond, rebelling against every movement, but eventually the torch flared and lit, and the heat from the flame made her sigh with relief. She held one hand up, near to the bright flame, and wriggled her fingers, trying to wrestle some movement from them.

Out in the middle of nowhere. Probably lost, now, if I can’t find my own trail back. And to top that, stuck down a hole.

And where was Sorcha? She’d lost track of the wolf when she fled the strangers. She’ll find me, Seren thought. She’ll track me down, I’m sure.

Seren picked up a stone that lay at her feet and threw it into the darkness, cursing her bad luck and ignoring that it may have been carelessness. And it was then that she noticed, as the stone skipped away down the steps, a line of thread running across the top step of the stairs leading downwards. It was a few feet from where she sat. The trigger line of another trap.

Her eyes went wide, and her heart started to thump in her chest as she realized what must be just a few feet into the darkness. Another of whatever it was that had killed the strangers that had chased her, whatever deadly device that could make such a loud bang and do such catastrophic damage.

It could be pointing right at you, she thought, the thing that could take off a man’s head and neck in one loud boom.

And then her mind raced. Imagine, she thought, if you could hold such a thing. She had not seen what it was that had killed the men, but she had seen the strings that triggered the traps. If it was some demon, the cord lines would not have been needed. If some evil spirit had killed them, it would have done so to her. As crazy as it seemed, Seren decided that she had to get past the trap and discover what lay beyond.

And she knew she was nuts to even try it.

You should go, she thought, escape from this hole and leave the thing behind. But what if this was her fate? She had never really believed in much, but even the old fool Logan had said she was destined for important things. Destined.

Had she been destined to run from those hunters in this direction? To find this hidden place that no one had disturbed since...forever? How long had it been since anyone walked down these stairs? It must’ve lain there, hidden, untouched by man or woman, for centuries, gradually being covered over by fallen leaves and branches until the existence of the traps was completely hidden from anyone until they walked into it. But no one had passed this way.

Until I came here, she thought.

How far was this place from Wytheville? Maybe forty miles? All those miles into the wilderness was much further than most hunters would normally travel. She had only come this way because she had been pursued. Normally, while hunting, she would go maybe a mile at most into the thicker forest. Never this far. It was possible, she thought, that this place had never been discovered. The trap—whatever it was that had been set off by the hunters breaking the strings—would have gone off if anyone else had walked through them.

Anything could be up there, waiting for her, and that made her think at least on the stairwell she was relatively safe for the night. She could defend this spot if something came down—or up from the darkness below.

Deciding that she had to find out what the trap was, Seren shone the torch around her, double checking the path up the stairs. There were no wires, no strings crossing the walkway up there. She sighed. She’d been lucky that she’d even spotted the wire, but the knowledge that she hadn’t missed another one was a relief.

So, downwards it is, then, she thought.

She shuffled forward, leaning against the wall to support her leg, and carefully stepped over the wire that crossed the stairs. She cringed as she lifted her painful leg, her ankle protesting as it was raised and then placed on the stairs below the cord line. The torch lit up the stairwell now, and as she lifted her other leg over the wire and took two more steps down, she traced the string from one side of the stairway to the other. It led directly upward after that, ending its journey attached to something that looked like a broken tool handle.

Seren frowned but still stepped past it and looked up, holding the torch up, but not too close, her mind racing to figure out what the device was.

The line across the stairwell was held in place on one side by a pin that was stuck into a crack in the concrete. On the opposite wall, another pin, this one circular at the top like the eye of a needle, allowed the string to pass through, and then the string trailed upward to the back of the device.

The thing was attached by string tied to two large nails that were embedded in the wall, and Seren could clearly make out a single word etched into the strange object. Remington.

It meant nothing to her, but the fact that the trap was an object that she could touch, and not some fire demon from old legends, sent her mind racing. The object was long and black with two long pipes pointing down toward the stairs and at the back, a thicker section. She couldn’t tell what it was made of.

It looks like it could be held, she thought. She looked down at the string. If somebody passed through there the string would pull, and the part attached to the device would suddenly be tightened. Whatever it was, she thought that hook-shaped bit in the middle was the key to it. She reached down, keeping well away from where the strange object pointed, and held the torch to the string. After a few seconds, the string caught fire, snapped, and just fell. There was no loud bang. Nothing.

Quickly she took out a knife and cut the remainder of the string away, and then stood looking up at the strange trap, wondering how on earth she would take it down.

She wanted this thing in her hands.

If it could kill a man while attached to a trap, what could it do if you were holding it?

Two minutes later and she was sitting on the stairs, the strange device in her lap, feeling it’s weight, and she was just thinking there were at least two others out in the forest that she could go and fetch if she dared negotiate the undergrowth and avoid any other traps, when she heard a shuffling sound in the bushes above her. Instinctively, she pointed the device at the hole above, but then she recognized the sniffing sounds and the whine that followed.

Sorcha had found her.

Chapter 18

The great gates loomed ahead of Gaston as he all but staggered toward them. No longer were the struggling remnant of the expedition to the south pushed physically by their Cygoa captors. The warriors from the far north had given up being forceful and, he thought, had realized that the survivors wished to reach the end of the path far more than the scouts did. Gaston was among them on that thought.

Let it end here, he thought. Let them take me before the damn council of idiots, declare me a traitor, and then finish it for good.

I’m done.

Above him, familiar masked faces stared down from the walls. This place had been the heart of the Five Clans, not many months before, and now, his own kin, the Cygoa, were masters.

And they will fight for this place, he thought. They will fight and probably win. The Five Clans—at least those that he had met—were strong and resourceful people, but they couldn’t beat the Cygoa for sheer bloody stubbornness. It was a trait born of the harsh north and the Eerie lake. Upon those shores the remnants of the clans slaughtered and tormented for generations by the T’yun had gathered, taking refuge along the darkened waters of the poisonous lake, in that place where no one else would bother to attempt life.

But we prevailed, Gaston thought. Survived the harsh weather and grew strong. And now the lands of the south, where the game will be plentiful come the summer, belong to the Cygoa once more. And damn the T’yun descendants to hell. You’ll die here today, but your people, even if ruled by a mob of stupid druids who know no better and are of closed minds, will live on.

But when he looked up, Gaston saw the one he had hoped not to face staring from the opening between the gates.

Morlan, chieftain of the warbands.

And so, my end comes, Gaston thought, and he wondered if he was ready for this end. Have you done enough? No, but maybe. You have gone where they foretold, even though it was a fool's errand. Gone on ahead of all your kin in the hope you could prove they were wrong. Maybe you have done enough. They may, when they see the sickly state of the foolish Elk that followed you, have second thoughts.

Morlan disappeared from the battlement for a few seconds and then he was on the ground, walking through the open gate toward Gaston.

“A face I didn’t expect ever to see again stands before me,” he called. The man was easily half a foot taller than Gaston, a warrior true bred and placed well as leader of the warriors of the Cygoa. There were none more deadly, none more decisive, and none more capable of bringing a sharp blade to a problem.

Gaston nodded.

“Though, I notice, not looking better for the time that has passed,” said Morlan. The tall warrior glanced at the bedraggled Elk that waited behind the scout group before looking back to Gaston, his head tilted in question. “Who are these sickly folk? Strays you found in a bog somewhere?”

Gaston shook his head, leaned forward on his knees and took a deep breath. The sickness that was killing the Elk was not completely unknown to his system. His hair would not fall out, and his teeth would not crack, but his stomach and his veins still warned him constantly of the danger, even as his blood battled the invasion of the taint.

“They are the remnant of some of the Elk, a clan of this valley and the forest beyond, that I managed to divide. Some came with me, some followed their tradition and headed east. No doubt you will meet the others when they return home, looking for their walled town and their forest, which the Cygoa now seem to have borrowed.”

Morlan smiled, cheerful but egotistical as always. The man had a constant air of confidence about him. “Oh, there is no borrowing here. This is our land, now.”

Gaston didn’t need to look round to see the reaction of the few surviving Elk members behind him. He heard their weak protests and saw the satisfied expression on Morlan’s face. The bastard was enjoying tormenting them.

“If you say so,” said Gaston. “But I assure you they will come back for it. They will not just lie down and die.”

“They will when I’m done,” said Morlan. The man looked past Gaston, toward the sick survivors. “But not these. I’m not completely heartless. What illness befalls them, Gaston? Is it catching?”

Gaston shook his head. “It’s the sickness of the blight in the south,” he said. Again, hearing curses behind him, and knowing that the Elk that followed him, at least these few remaining, now knew that they had been played. “As I always maintained, before I was so rudely cast out for speaking against the Coven, the land to the south is no green meadow, no refuge in a barren world. It is more sick and lethal than anywhere I have known. The White Citadel that the Coven prophecies speak of is just death for our people. Death. But you will know that, soon enough, when you all travel there. I’m sure I’ll be long gone.”

Morlan’s smile vanished and was replaced by scrutiny. “What do you mean?”

Gaston sighed. “I need repeat it all? I am weak.”

Morlan moved closer, his voice now almost a whisper. “You’ve been there? Seen the Citadel?”

Gaston nodded. “Yes.”

“Speak, man,” Morlan demanded, though still keeping his voice low. “What do you mean it is blighted?”

“Just as with the north-eastern ruins, The Burg, The Wash, and Chicago. Taint is rife,” said Gaston. “But to the south it is thicker, more deadly. There is no place more devoid of life that I have visited.”

Morlan frowned. “You’re lying to me.”

Gaston shook his head. “I wish I was. I wish I had been proven wrong, but look at them,” he said, pointing at the zombie-like Elk survivors. “That is what awaits our people. And this is but a small remnant of what followed me. We lost five times that number, buried or left at the side of the road because none of us were strong enough to bury them properly.”

Morlan’s frown deepened, but then he looked to the scouts. “Take them in. Feed them. See if the Apoth can cure them. Keep them alive, if you can. I would like to at least speak with one of them, if possible.”

The scouts obeyed immediately, forcefully guiding the few Elk survivors in through the gates. Gaston started to follow, but Morlan reached out and placed a large, insistent hand upon his shoulder.

“Oh, no,” Morlan said. “You can come with me.”

Gaston sighed again. “And there was me hoping I’d escaped execution. Let’s be done with it.”

“Not, at all,” said Morlan. “Come to my quarters. I have food there and will call for my personal Apoth. I want you to tell me everything. I think that we can help each other, Gaston. But first you must give me what I need.”

“And what might that be?”

Morlan grinned. “Proof that the Coven is false.”

Chapter 19

Jonah sat on the ground and stared at the empty space where the bridge had been minutes before. Around him, warriors hurried to their brothers, aiding the wounded where they could. Most, like him, were still in shock from the sudden violent collapse of the bridge.

There was movement next to him, and he turned to find Ghafir standing a few feet away, also looking down into the gap. “We lost good men today,” he said. “Brothers that will not be forgotten.”

Jonah nodded. He had no words. He knew he should stand, should start organizing his men and try to figure out another way for the clans to cross, but his strength had left him for the moment, and all he could do was stare into the darkness below.

“They will have left Eliz by now,” Ghafir said, as if reading his thoughts. “So, five days before they arrive, maybe.”

Jonah nodded again. The clans would arrive in great numbers, and they would be halted here, at the edge of the breach, with no way to reach the forests and their homes. But then so would the migrating herds. The birds could fly across, but when the forest creatures headed back west, they too would be stuck this side of the great breach.

He pondered it and thought that at least some of the game they would need to survive would stop at the ravine, and they could hunt them, but what of the future?

“The herds that lived in the forests won’t ever make it back to them,” he said.

At this, Ghafir frowned. Then, after a few moments of thought, his eyes went wide, realizing just what Jonah was suggesting.

Jonah stood, the new problem giving his curious mind the strength to face a task. He had a problem to solve.

“The herds travel east, to these plains, every year, and then, when the heat becomes too much and the water dries up, they head back west into the forest. The snows have melted by then, and the lakes are full. Then the cycle begins once more. The freeze comes, and they migrate east to follow the warmer weather.”

“But, from now on, if this breach is as big as we think it is,” said Ghafir, “then only the birds will be able to cross it.”

Jonah looked down into the breach, and the river that ran alongside the road, and that now, instead of flowing along the riverbed into the plains, plunged into the breach. He pointed at the waterfall. “And the lands this side of the breach will dry up.”

“What of the people living on the plains, like Ghafir’s people?” asked Declan. Jonah turned. He had been so occupied with his thoughts on the dilemma that he hadn’t noticed the boy join them.

“We also will have to leave,” Ghafir said, staring out across the green grass flatlands.

“Everything this side will dry up,” said Jonah. “Give it two years and you could be looking at a desert. We can last another year in this area, I think. Make camp not far from the breach and live off the game that can’t cross, but we will have to build a new bridge and scout north and south along the breach, try to find out where, and if, it ends.”

Jonah thought silently for a moment. “We will also have to build many bridges if we are to hope that the migration will begin again. Bridges that animals can cross.”

“But won’t the breach eventually fill up anyway?” asked Declan. The boy pointed at the waterfall where the river’s flow had been sliced in two. “There must be other rivers flowing down from the mountains, and they must all now be flowing into the breach.”

Jonah’s heart jumped at this thought. Of course, depending on how deep the breach was, and what was at the bottom, the water would eventually fill it up.

“The boy is right,” said Ghafir. “All this land here is flat, and the lowest until you reach the sea. And if the breach goes all the way to the ocean it will fill much faster.”

“If it doesn't then it could take years to fill,” said Jonah. “But well spotted and true. Until then, we need to make our way across, somehow. We have to wait for the clans to arrive and build our camp here, then hold council.”

“What will you tell them?” asked Ghafir.

Jonah looked west, to the forest. “I’ll tell them that our oldest enemy has returned and claimed our lands, and that we need to build our own bridge or we have to search for a new home.”

Chapter 20

Leta watched as Keana busied herself with the menial task of tying down the carts. Her mother had told her that they would be getting back on the road soon, that they would catch up with Jonah. Keana obeyed, and yet Leta sensed a rebellious streak in the girl.

Strength.

And that was why the girl’s question made the old woman pause.

“Will they come for us?”

“Oh, you poor girl. Come. Sit next to me.”

Leta dropped down onto one of the logs near the fire pit and shifted to one side to make room for Keana. The girl gripped the twine in her hand as if she needed to prove to Sasha that she was still attending to the carts despite the momentary rest.

“The Cygoa are out there. That is what your father be attending to now.”

“No.” Keana shook her head and glanced to the tree line behind the camp. “I didn’t mean the Cygoa. I meant...” she paused for a moment, unwilling to mention the name.

“The Valk,” said Leta, following the girl’s gaze. “The foul body eaters of the tunnels. You want to know if they’ll come for us.”

Keana nodded, dropping her chin to her chest while her fingers continued to weave knots in the twine.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Keana smiled and opened her mouth to speak, but Leta continued.

“We’re not warriors. At least not in the way things have been. From what I’ve managed to glean, from those fleeing the city, the Valk only eat the flesh of fighters. But given the way this world is winding down, I wouldn’t be surprised if us ladies eventually have to pick up the axe. And when that happens, yes, the Valk will come for us, too.” Leta put her hand on the girl’s trembling shoulder. “You wouldn’t want me to lie to you, right?”

“Of course not,” said Keana. “I’m not a little girl, and I don’t need protecting.”

Yes. Strength.

“I was not suggesting you were a little girl. Or protected. None of us are safe, no matter how many warriors we gather around us, or however many more clans your father incorporates. He knows this, and that is why we must deal with the Cygoa. But you’re not nearly afraid of them, even though they wear the same black face paint as the creatures from beneath the earth.”

“They eat people. Dead people.”

“Yes, it’s disturbing, isn’t it? Did I ever tell you ‘bout the first time I saw one of the flesh eaters?” Leta asked, shifting her position on the log. Too long sitting in the same position and the aches would come. The bane of the old.

Keana shook her head.

“I don’t know. Thirty, maybe forty, years ago? Getting hard to remember much, these days. I’ve had my face in so many piles of rubble, looking for things to scavenge. Haven’t paid much attention to the world ‘til your father made me Elk. But when I was a younger woman, I was stubborn. I was tough. Just like you.”

Keana flashed Leta a grin. The girl’s hands momentarily rested in her lap. Leta also smiled. The girl was strong but needed to be reminded, sometimes. Being the daughter of one of the greatest of tribal chiefs meant that folk would look at the girl with a kind of reverence, expecting to see in her the same traits they saw in her father and her mother, but that didn’t mean that Keana was aware of any of it. To her, it was just more scrutiny.

“But those foul beasts will put a streak of fear into the hearts of even the strongest warriors. Like I was sayin’, it must have been decades ago, and I was in a place I can’t quite remember with a name I totally forget. It was a lot like Eliz. One of those cities that musta been quite a sight, back before the world died. Ruins as far as you could see, stretching way into the sky and as far across the land as could be.

“You don’t care much about that, though. The Valk. Yeah, not sure if that’s what we called ’em, back then, but they was the same ones. No doubt. Different place, different time, same creatures. They still crawled out of the foulest places back then. But only at night. Back then, they hadn’t gone so white, and some still had hair, although they wore it long and tied back but shaved on the sides. They spoke more like ‘normal’ folks, and they just seemed a little more strange than everyone else. I think the way they talk and behave has just become more emphasized as the decades and years have passed. I remember them picking up dead animals off the roads. Maybe there ain’t enough dead animals around no more, so they eventually went to eating dead people.”

Leta stared at the ground, deep in her memories. “I once watched them waiting in the shadows outside an encampment I was in. Few dozen people, all crowded together, mostly stragglers and solos travellin’ the road to Eliz in numbers, for safety and all. We were heading from the north. No, not the north you know. I mean north this side of the mountains.

“Anyways, they waited until we had finished with what we were cookin’ and one of the men threw the carcass out of the camp into the bushes. Then they took it. Quiet as anything, just crept up and dragged the remains away. Couldn’t have been much left on the thing. They were like scavenging animals, looking for easy prey.”

“We’re animals, too.”

“Yes, Keana. That we are.” Leta looked around. She hadn’t noticed that so many of Nieve’s children had circled around her and Keana. They stood in the same, eerie silence they had many times since they joined the Elk camp. Leta hadn’t been the one they signaled when Gerth and his men had infiltrated their tents, but she figured that they must have spoken to someone last night.

Sasha approached from the east side of the camp where the carts were now being assembled into a caravan. The sun had crept high enough to warrant a stop for the midday feast, even though they had little food left to qualify as a meal. Leta watched the woman’s eyes move from the children to Keana. Sasha opened her mouth to speak, but Leta interrupted her.

“Just breaking for a breath. Deciding which tarp to use on that there cart.” Leta had been around long enough to know what a scolding looked like flying off a mother’s lips.

“I was thinking of telling Solomon that maybe we should wait for Jonah to return instead of heading out on the road without him,” said Sasha.

“Your daughter’s been spooked by the Valk, and now you are, too,” said Leta, then she winced, regretting her words, remembering that Sasha had been nearly raped and killed by an intruder. His men still swung from the trees on the other side of the field. Leta hadn’t considered that Sasha’s fear was focused on that experience and not the Valk.

“One would be a fool not to fear those who eat the flesh of others.”

Leta nodded, allowing Sasha to be right and avoiding an unnecessary conflict with the chief’s wife.

“If the dead men have eaten, we should go.”

Leta turned in the other direction where Solomon now stood. Nieve’s kids had disappeared almost as quickly as the Valk.

“You are my husband’s right hand, and you decide in his absence.”

The old woman smiled at how deftly Sasha had spoken the truth. Jonah was a brave man but Leta wondered if Keana’s inner strength was a gift from her mother.

“Aye.”

Keana stood to follow her mother while Solomon remained. Leta playfully slapped the girl on the backside as she walked away.

“I got more stories of the old days. Maybe at next camp on the road I can tell you some. If you wanna hear.”

“Yes, Leta. I’d like that very much.”

Keana skipped ahead to catch up to Sasha, who was now approaching another family and their cart. Solomon walked over and stood in front of Leta. She turned her eyes up, bunches of gray, straggly hair covering her face.

“Sometimes I think you’re a witch. You know things others don’t.”

“Yep.”

Solomon chuckled.

“I find treasures in the ruins. T’was what I said to Jonah when we first met.”

“I know what you do, old woman. That is what worries me.”

“I’ll walk next to your cart. I ain’t seen the breach yet. Might get some feelings you can then share with Jonah.”

Solomon nodded and walked away. “We will leave very soon. Get away from those wretched things before they come back looking for more corpses.”

***

The journey to the breach passed much quicker than Leta had imagined it would, and she thought that maybe folks were moving quicker because of whom or what they were leaving behind. It amazed her how such an unnerving thing could motivate even the most exhausted of folks.

“How long?” she asked Solomon as she trudged up the broken road. It was an unnecessary question—she knew it was not far—but a bit of conversation to break the monotony of travel was always a good thing. It would not be long at all now. She could see they were reaching the edge of the plains and heading uphill toward the lands where the trees thickened into forest.

“Until we reach Jonah or the breach?”

“The breach.”

Solomon looked up at the sky and then out to the horizon before turning back to Leta, who was walking with him but one pace behind.

“Right over that crest, the scouts say.”

Leta kept her eyes on the buckled pavement, knowing that if she stumbled and broke a hip that the Elk would have to put her on a cart and carry her—or leave her. She didn’t think they would abandon one of their own, even one so new, but the idea made her cautious and she kept her head down as she put one foot in front of the other.

She heard a whistle from the cart leading the caravan. Solomon followed it with a yell, sending the message down the line that they would be stopping for a break. The sun had dropped beneath the tree line, and Leta thought that the break would most likely turn into the night’s camp.

A wide, black ribbon cut a jagged line along the road. Leta turned away from the breach and looked across the plains. She shivered. Solomon had been staring at her.

“What is it?” he asked.

Sasha and Keana had walked from the rear of the caravan and now stood on each side of Leta. Solomon towered over them all.

“If we don’t cross the breach soon, there will be trouble.”

Leta’s eyes met Sasha’s.

But there’s danger over there. You can feel it in your bones.

Chapter 21

Briar rolled the body of the dead Cygoa warrior over the edge of the breach, took a deep breath, and leaned over to watch it fall. Below him, the breach seemed to end in shadow after a few hundred feet, and it unnerved him that he couldn’t see the bottom, even in broad daylight. The hole didn’t have vertical sides, and further down into the massive crack in the earth the two sides seemed to come together.

He wondered if maybe five hundred, or even a thousand feet below, the two halves of the ground met, and down there, wedged between them would be the massive bulk of the fallen bridge and the dozens of bodies that had either fallen during the collapse or been thrown down afterward.

He hadn’t liked throwing the dead Cygoa down there, but there was little else they could do, with the wolves prowling in a large pack on their side of the breach. Briar’s hunters knew that if the dead were left where they were, the wolves would soon be back, attracted to the smell of death. And he didn’t much like the small group’s chances against the pack of wolves he had spotted while they had been readying to fight the Cygoa. Except now they were no longer on the other side; they had crossed the bridge and were on the same side of the breach as the wolves and any other Cygoa.

He turned and looked at the gaping hole where the bridge had once been, and then next to it, where there was a large pile of weapons, armor, shields and other equipment that they had gathered from the Cygoa.

Spoils of war, he thought.

Smoke wafted toward him. Not far from where the bridge had been, a large pyre was burning. Jonah, the leader of the Elk, would not have approved of throwing his own clan’s dead into the breach. Even after the protests from his own men, Briar had insisted they follow whatever the Elk were doing with their dead, and the resulting burial fire was now raging, consuming the bodies of the Elk that had fallen.

The group huddled near the fire in silence. He had said no words when they lay the bodies out. He had no idea what to say, anyway. They weren’t his kin. He knew none of them, and nothing of their ways, and the tradition of burning the dead wasn’t something his own people practiced. Hunters were buried in shallow graves for nature to claim, covered only by a small layer of rubble that would hide them for a while, allowing the other hunters to move on before the creatures of the forest took from the dead hunter what he or she had taken from them. The hunters stood quietly as the flames consumed the dead.

Briar blinked, noticing movement at the edge of his vision. Loner appeared from the tree line, his slight limp giving him away even before Briar could focus on him. The man’s wound was healing at a fast pace, and Briar was relieved. It meant that they wouldn’t be as slow as they had been while fleeing the Cygoa before. They could move faster if the wolves showed up again and they had to get the hell out of the area, and Briar believed that the wolves returning was inevitable. The smell of the dead still lingered, even if the bodies were burned or thrown over the edge. It didn’t get rid of the blood soaked into the ground. The wolves would be back.

Loner reached him and stood taking long slow breaths. “They moved south at speed,” he said. “I tracked them at least a mile, but the trail started to go cold on me. Don’t think they’ll be back soon, but they may, if they catch a whiff of the stink.”

Briar laughed. “You should have let someone else do the tracking, you numb head.”

Loner shrugged off the comment. “But maybe there’s more of those Cygoa out there. That could be a problem.”

“Possibly,” Briar said. “I don’t like our odds if either turns up.”

Loner nodded.

“Tell the others that we need to build another fire tonight, not to keep the funeral pyre stoked. That would weird me out. It must be a different one, maybe a few hundred yards south from here in that clearing. Out in the open, so we can watch the tree line, see ’em coming.”

“Sure,” said loner. “Sounds like a plan.”

“And build it big,” said Briar. “Until that lot—” He nodded at the Elk over the other side of the breach. “—manage to sort out their plan, for building a new bridge, we need to be on guard.”

“Aye,” said Loner. “I reckon they’re not gonna be able to build another bridge here. Too wide.”

“Hmm,” Briar agreed.

“You know, we could just take off,” Loner said after a moment of silence. “Nothing stopping us from leaving.”

“True, said Briar. “And we will, if we have to, if it gets too busy here, but with the news of so many Cygoa in the area, are you happy with the idea of us heading out on our own?”

Loner shook his head. “Nah, course not. Not west or south, at least. But there’s plenty of other places we can go. We don’t have to go that way. North, maybe? Into the mountains?”

Briar looked down at the breach and then over again at the Elk on the other side of the gap. The gathering of Elk warriors was busy building a makeshift camp. “I think heading out on our own now would be a mistake,” he said. “No game to be caught, yet. We’re stuck here for now. Safety in numbers and all that.”

Chapter 22

Jonah stood facing the pyre, watching the ashes dance in the firelight. He inhaled the fragrant pine and turned to Declan, who nodded.

“They were fine men. They deserve better than a ceremonial Dustfall.”

“I know, Declan. Sometimes we must do what we can and be satisfied with it.”

Declan kicked at a tree branch near his feet and turned away. He walked back to the camp Jonah’s men had set up. There had been conversations about the fire, worries that the Cygoa would come. But Jonah knew they knew where he was. If the Cygoa wanted to cross the breach and ambush him, they would do it regardless of a bonfire burning through the night.

He thought of the nightmare of war and the many times Gunney had stood by his side, facing down death to protect the Elk. Jonah remembered the first time he met Rav, the old sarcastic son of a bitch, and his insatiable desire for northern apples. Jonah smiled as the smoke swirled up and into the night sky.

I must be satisfied with this, he thought. This is how I will say goodbye.

The men began to settle, uneasily tucked in their bedrolls while gripping their axes. The night chill came quickly as the funeral fire smoldered low, a slow burn seeping from the glowing orange embers at the bottom. Jonah sat on a rock overlooking the breach. What remained of the ancient structure sat in stark relief of the moonless sky, as solid and black as onyx. He could not see Briar and his hunters in the darkness, but Jonah had to assume they were still there.

A branch snapped in the near distance. Jonah brought his axe up and peered into the trees on the opposite side of their camp. He held his breath, his heartbeat now thrumming in both ears. Another crunch followed, the unmistakable sound of someone trying to mask footfalls in the forest.

“Jonah.”

The harsh whisper cut through the silence. Jonah sighed and let his shoulders drop.

“Aye.”

The branches parted and a young Elk scout stepped forth. Beads of sweat ran down his face despite the dropping temperatures. Black ash streaked the boy’s face and his clothes had been soiled to match the tone of midnight.

“Come and sit. There isn’t much of a flame left on our ceremonial Dustfall but the warmth is better than nothing.”

The Elk scout smiled at Jonah, and the two sat on the ground at the base of the fire. Jonah didn’t recognize the boy but he was clearly Elk, that he knew from the charms hanging around the kid’s neck. The young girls of the clan had spent most of their summer learning how to scavenge from Leta. They kept the trinkets that would not benefit the clan’s survival and fashioned jewelry from them. This boy had at least one admirer.

“You bring me news?”

“Yes, Jonah. All is good. Your family is safe.”

Jonah straightened up and leaned over. “What happened? Why did you choose those words to share first?”

“There was an ambush. Your wife. She was attacked. But she is strong, and she fought him off. Solomon rounded up the rest and they’ve been dealt with.”

Jonah sighed and tossed another twig onto the fire as the scout stumbled through his words. Jonah hissed and realized the boy had been more nervous about sharing this news with him than he had been of running into Cygoa.

“Who?”

“Some bandits. One wore a mask.”

Jonah thought on the information and yet he could not place the clan based on the boy’s description of the attackers.

“Sasha. She says you should not worry. Keana, Gideon. They are all safe. Unharmed.”

“What did they do?”

The boy squirmed at the question, rubbing his hands together while holding them above the hot coals.

“The masked man. He came into Sasha’s tent. She killed him.”

Jonah waited but the boy did not give him any more details.

“No injuries to any Elk?”

“No, sir.”

He slapped the boy on the knee and winked. “You did good. Getting here quickly and delivering the news to me. I appreciate that.”

The scout smiled, his teeth a brilliant white light set against the dark night.

“How long did it take you to get here?”

“Two days.”

Jonah looked through the smoke and into the sky. His mouth moved silently as he did mental calculations.

“Four. Solomon said to tell you it would take them four to six days, depending on the condition of the roads—especially near the breach.”

“And what did you see? Were they in good shape?”

“I don’t know, Chief. I was running as hard as I could and trying to avoid any Cygoa who might be on this side of the breach. And any other rogue clans…”

He let the comment hang as Jonah made the connection between the boy’s fear and the attack on his wife.

“That isn’t much time.”

Jonah turned his head to see Declan standing behind them, the orange glow from the fire lighting his face. Declan sat down next to Jonah, opposite the scout.

“Get yourself a drink and grab a spot near the hot coals,” Jonah said to the scout. “The morning will come fast. You’ve been running for days, and I need to speak to Declan.”

The boy stood and began to bow, but Jonah stopped him. He put his hand out toward the boy, who hesitated before gripping it. Jonah gave his hand a firm shake.

“You’ve done well. Thank you. Now, get some sleep.”

Jonah and Declan watched the boy walk by, stepping over the sleeping bodies and looking for a place to rest his weary head.

“We have to find a way across, Chief.”

“I know. The Elk and all the other clans. It’s a lot of people. And the Cygoa.” Jonah shook his head and put his hands on his hips.

“You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

Declan looked once more at the fire. He removed a flask from his jacket and splashed a drink on the hot coals. “For Rav and Gunney.”

Jonah smiled and waved at Declan as the man returned to his bed roll. Jonah looked again toward the breach and where the bridge once stood. Six days at best, maybe only four, and he had to find a good spot and build a new bridge, otherwise this side of the breach was going to get very crowded very quickly.

Chapter 23

The forest was quiet when The Brother woke. He rose and stretched, gradually and unhurriedly, easing every muscle to life. He then moved from his spot in the center of the huddle of fur that was the pack, his kin, and slowly made his way to the top of the ridge. They had sheltered there early after their good fortune of an easy feast on the already dying Walking One the day before, and none of them had seemed keen to travel far.

It was as he reached the top of the rise that he noticed the change. The chill no longer ran through his fur and bit at his eyes, and the sun was brighter than normal at this phase of the day.

The Brother sniffed the air, enjoying the warmer feel of the scent that drifted from miles around to inform him of the world’s movement.

The scent of blood hit him with a sharpness that made him squint. He scratched at the ground and sneezed to clear his dulled senses, thinking that he was not fully awake from sleep yet, and this was some repeat of the blood-raged dream that had left him unsettled for most of the night, but when he sniffed again the scent was even stronger.

It was the smell of a Walking One battle, something he had rarely experienced even in his long years. Fights between large groups of Walking Ones happened sometimes, just as they did between the packs of his own kind, but it was not common.

Great strife between the Walking Ones. That was what was happening, he thought. It had to be, for this to happen again, after not even two full passings of the goddess in the sky.

Others among the pack were stirring from their slumber now, rising from the huddle and making their way up to meet him on the ridge. First came his two mates, the two with the keenest senses, their bellies already beginning to show the signs of the cubs that would come, his offspring. The hunger of those two was greater than all the others.

We must wake and move swiftly, he thought. Or the other pack, now far to the north if his senses were correct, could pick up on the signs and move in before he could make the claim.

He uttered a guttural growl, short and to the point, and the reaction was no disappointment to him. He had barely breathed a dozen times and the pack were moving down the slope toward the thinner trees and the open ground.

It’s coming from near the great hole, he thought. The thunder hole.

The Brother wasn’t pleased with this. There was something nasty, smelly and unnatural about the big hole in the ground. It had not always been there and had come after the mountain had protested with great noise. The smell that came from the hole was unlike anything he had smelled before.

The earth wounding itself in its own anger, he thought. And now the Walking Ones must have caught that anger and are warring against each other. That would mean much death, and death among the Walking Ones could mean food for his kin.

Chapter 24

“Took you long enough,” Seren called up.

The wolf peered down at her, sniffed the air, and looked around the stairwell. She gave a quiet woof, as if to say, sure.

Seren closed her eyes for a moment and then opened them again, checking that Sorcha was really there. She had missed the wolf. Nearly three days of running through the forest, alone, pursued by the strangers, had reminded her of how truly alone she had been before Sorcha had befriended her. She looked at the trailing vines hanging down into the stairwell. There was at least a twenty-foot drop, she guessed, and for a second time she considered and then gave up the idea of trying to climb them. None of the roots and vines creeping across the walls looked strong enough to hold her weight, and she was nervous about climbing with the exploding stick in her hands. Also, if she landed on her injured ankle, she may make it worse.

I need to test this, she thought, looking down at the object of destruction. Find out how it works. She had, in the last five minutes, already figured out how such a thing could be held. A finger was needed around the circular catch that the wire had been attached to, and her hands fell comfortably around that part of the weapon, but she had no idea how the thing was triggered. At least you know what end the dangerous bit comes out of, she thought, making sure to point it away from her. The circular catch was probably what set it off, but she was nervous to even try it.

She considered, for a moment, throwing the stick up and out of the stairwell, but the thought of it going off, angered by a sudden jolt, worried her. Plus, Sorcha probably wouldn’t know to get out of the way.

“Too dangerous,” she said aloud. “I’m going to have to go further down,” she said, and she smiled as Sorcha gave her another woof. Seren thought that the young wolf almost understood her. “I’ll try to find some way back out down here.”

The reply this time was a long whine, followed by a rumbling, babbling noise that Seren thought was a new thing. Was Sorcha complaining? The thought made her smile.

Seren pushed herself up onto her feet, took a tentative step down the stairwell, and waited for the jolt of pain to come. It didn’t. Her ankle still throbbed but she could stand on it now, if she was careful. Ten minutes ago, she had sworn it may be broken, but now she stood there, testing it and finding it only pained her if she put too much weight on it.

That much is a relief, she thought. Just sprained, not broken. But tomorrow it’s going to ache like hell.

After another few steps, she found the pain more bearable. She shone her torch down into the darkness, her other hand holding the strange new weapon.

If something comes at you from down here in the dark, you’re helpless, she thought. Just a torch to poke in their faces. It would have to do. She couldn’t depend on the exploding stick, and she daren’t strap it to her back or her rucksack in case it went off. With that thought, and the image of the man falling to the ground with his head missing, she shuddered and held the torch higher, staring into the darkness below.

The stairwell ended after another turn. The bottom of the stairs was partially filled with rubble, and a rusted, broken metal door hung from its hinges. Beyond that, she could make out a large open space, and even some light further in, but the torch didn’t provide enough illumination to see beyond the doorway.

There was a slight breeze coming from somewhere beyond the door, and the flame of her torch brightened slightly as the flames licked backward, almost as though the fire wanted to escape back up the stairwell behind her.

You and me both, she thought. But there was no point in going back. Between her ankle and carrying the exploding stick, she wasn’t getting out of the stairwell.

As she stepped through the door, pointing her torch ahead of her, she felt a change in the air. Her eyes gradually adjusted to the lack of light, and she could make out the shadows of large objects across the open space in front of her and piles of smaller objects along the walls. She walked forward, slowly, waiting for the torchlight to reveal whatever bulky object blocked the thin line of daylight up ahead. Yellow flames crept up the side of a large metallic object that Seren thought could be as big as a shack, maybe bigger, but this thing had wheels. Big wheels. These weren’t the sort of wheels on carts, or on the rusted carcasses of ancient vehicles that lay in ruins at many roadsides, and not even the size of the larger vehicles that had huge containers behind them. No, these were bigger than even that—at least as tall as she was and covered with thick lines cut deep into the rubber tracks. The vehicle was built like it could charge into a wall and still come out better off. Layers of thick metal plating hid behind centuries of dust and grime.

Seren stepped around it, walking through the darkness and jumping at every slight sound around her. Things moved in the darkness, but not large things like people or wolves. Seren recognized the skittering of rats and other rodents.

There was another of the huge vehicles parked beyond the first, and then another, until finally Seren reached the other side of the large room and crouched down to peer at the thin line of daylight that stretched across that side of the room.

Not enough of a gap to crawl under, she thought, peering at the daylight under the gap. It was no more than three or four inches high and ran at least thirty feet along the wall. Then there was a gap of darkness about three feet wide and then another similar line of daylight. She reached out and tapped the wall, expecting solid stone, but felt the cold touch of metal under her knuckles.

Some sort of big door, maybe, she thought. But still not a way out if I can’t lift it.

There was a sniffing noise nearby, and she turned, lifting the torch.

Sorcha stood a dozen yards away. The wolf sniffed again and let out a huge sneeze that shook her whole body.

“How did you get in here?” Seren asked.

The she-wolf looked behind her and though the darkness, marked only by the dim light coming from the gap along the wall. Seren saw a doorway next to a large solid glass panel. Beyond that, another door was slightly ajar, letting in daylight.

“Good girl!” Seren said and grinned.

Then she heard a cough from the darkness behind her, far across the huge cavernous room.

Sorcha stooped low and growled. Seren froze, her mind hesitating between dropping the exploding stick and the torch and grabbing for her bow, or just trying to run for it.

Footsteps hurried away, heading further into darkness until the sound was gone.

Chapter 25

“They’re supposed to be here, already,” Hallis whispered as the three scouts crouched in bushes at the top of the rise. This was as close to the breach as they could safely go. The ground beyond the line of trees sloped down toward the breach, and the grass was not long enough to hide in beyond a dozen yards from the spot where they hid.

The trio wore mostly furs mixed with bracken and other dried grass. None of them were geared up for a fight apart from the knives and bows they carried. But combat was not what they were there for, not unless absolutely necessary. These were the eyes of the Cygoa, not the fists.

Hallis watched through the gap in the bush, picking out the distant figures of the foreign clan as they built their camp on the other side of the breach. That it was a foreign clan, and not three warbands of Cygoa warriors, had been a shock to the scouts. This bridge was supposed to have been held, and it had been reinforced with enough warriors to keep it that way. Instead they had found another clan. They had come to cross the bridge and scout the lands and movements of the people beyond the breach, not hide and watch them from the wrong side of the massive ravine.

“I’m more concerned about where the fucking bridge went to,” said Dernat, and Hallis nodded. “Are we in the wrong place?”

“Nope,” said Hallis. “This is it. Road leads right to it, ‘cept, no bridge. No warbands. No Andmar. Go figure.”

The road ambled down the hill fifty yards from their hiding spot, gradually sloping toward the open plains between the two woodland areas on either side of the valley, but when it reached the breach, a spot that also crisscrossed with a river, the bridge was no longer there. All reports Hallis had heard stated the bridge over the river also crossed the breach, making it possibly the only way currently across the massive fissure in the earth for a hundred miles in each direction.

Somehow that bridge was gone, and so were the hundred or more warriors that were supposed to be guarding it.

“There’s too many in the group on this side for us to take,” Dernat said, also peering through the bushes. “A dozen, I reckon. Hunters too, bowmen. They’ll sniff us out as quick as we’d sniff them out.”

“True.”

“We could probably take ’em if they weren’t hunters… We ain't got the distance on these guys,” continued Dernat. “And what’s that burning in a pile anyway? Bodies?”

“Yes,” said Hallis. “Bodies, but not ours. The clothing’s different.” Though Hallis wasn’t entirely sure. Not much of the clothing was left.

Then, as a gust of wind blew across the valley, he spotted the pile of shields and weapons, previous hidden from view by the trail of smoke from the fire. The shields were unmistakable.

“Shit,” he said. “Check those shields. Those are Cygoa.”

Dernat frowned. “Damn.”

“How many you reckon are in that pile?” Gus, the third scout asked. “Thirty? Fifty?”

“More’n that, I think,” said Dernat. “And there’s more on the ground beyond, see?” He pointed past the pile, to where some more of the shields had been laid across the sodden ground.

Gus sighed. “Well maybe that accounts for one of the warbands, maybe two. But Andmar and his boys as well? If these guys took them all out, then we’d best keep the hell away.”

There was a crack of twigs a few yards away, and the trio turned, none of them startled to see a fourth scout creeping toward them on all fours. This was Kella, the last member of their group and the only woman. She crept forward until she was in line with the three men and then spoke quietly.

“Two warbands came down this slope two days ago, straight toward where the bridge is supposed to be,” Kella said, pointing a dirty finger toward the breach and the clan gathered there. “From further up the hill, you can see right down into that camp, and you can see the ground is red. Bloody. Must have been a hell of a fight. But you can also see where the ground has broken up and collapsed down into that bloody great hole. Bridge went down there, I reckon. Collapsed.”

Hallis nodded. “Right then,” he said. “We got what we came for. We camp up tonight, back in the forest a good ways so those boys down there don’t find us, and then head back tomorrow at full pace. I reckon Morlan will wanna hear about this fast, especially if Andmar is lost. Boy, will he be pissed.”

Chapter 26

The trees crowded the edge of the road, leaning over and moaning with each gust of wind. Gideon felt the chill on his back and the sweat running down it. The man leading their party demanded silence once the night fell to protect them from predators, human and otherwise.

He had overheard his mother talking to Solomon. She had been worried about him and his sister, even though the Valk appeared to be much more interested in the flesh of warriors than that of women and children. Still, she did what mothers do—she protected her children the best way she could. Sasha sent Gideon with a second scouting party who would arrive sometime between the first scouts and the rest of the clan.

An owl hooted and Gideon turned around but did not stop walking. He was the third man from the end of the line and the other two kept their hoods up. The men appeared to Gideon as spirits, floating through the dark forest, and that brought another shiver to his bones. Up ahead, he heard a man cough, followed by a whispered curse, and then the party fell silent again.

Gideon wasn’t worried when the forest creatures stirred. It was the silence that frightened him to the core. He kept walking, following the lead of those in front of him, as the road turned to the east. Debris blanketed by ivy and fallen branches littered the side of the road turning it into more of a footpath. He imagined his father walking through here, just days before, his chest out and his head up. One day, Gideon hoped to have the courage of his father and his grandfather, but he still did not have the build or the confidence. He would, though. He could be a warrior, too.

They climbed through several brambles. The old asphalt crunched beneath his feet and Gideon was forced to walk around trees that had sprung up through the cracks and now split the blacktop like an overripe melon. He concentrated, listening for the owl, but it kept quiet. The stillness began to seep into his bones. Gideon sniffled, doing whatever he could to break the silence but not incur the wrath of the scout party leader.

The men stopped, and Gideon almost ran into the man in front of him. He waited for a command. The two men behind him stepped up, one on each side of him. Without a word, the party continued walking and they fell back into their single file formation.

A glimmer of something caught Gideon’s eye. He looked to the west and through the massive tree trunks fifty yards off the road. Had his mind conjured a phantom light?

Gideon continued walking, glancing into the forest. He looked down with one step and then out there with the other. Back and forth.

And he saw it again.

The boy swallowed hard and bit down into his bottom lip. Could it be…them? His mother had said they ate warrior flesh. Was he not now a warrior?

Gideon quickened his pace and tried to push the Valk from his mind. He attempted to ignore the image forming in his head—the white skin with black eye masks, the shaved heads, the sound of tearing flesh. Were they monsters or the worst evolution of men? It didn’t matter what they were. Gideon decided that he would not succumb to those beasts. He would fall on his own axe before he let the monsters take him.

The glimmer turned into a flash of light. Gideon quickened his pace until he could smell the body odor of the man in front of him. The others seemed not to notice or they didn’t care. They walked toward the light, as if it were luring them to their deaths. As the party walked past the nearest trees, Gideon saw movement. Shadows flickered.

“You were pretty damn close to pulling an arrowhead out of your ass.”

The words came from Gideon’s left and he immediately recognized his father’s voice. The leader of the party chuckled and walked into Jonah’s wide embrace.

“We weren’t sure how far from the breach you were, so we followed it as best we could.”

Jonah nodded and turned to look at the rest of the party. When his eyes fell upon Gideon, they flickered with pure love.

“Gideon, my son. What are you doing here?”

“Mom wanted me to. Solomon agreed.”

The rest of the camp began to stir as the scouting party passed Jonah, each man patting his shoulder as they passed. Within moments, the men had squirrels roasting over the previous night’s coals.

“What about her? And Keana? I thought you would protect them in my absence?”

Gideon rolled his eyes and then regretted it. Had they been at their home, he would have expected a harsh scolding from his father—or worse. “They will travel with Solomon and the rest of the Elk.”

“The scouting party arrived a few days back. I was not expecting anyone else until all the clans got here. You should have lit torches. Had I had an archer on watch with me, you may have been shot.”

Gideon thought about the words his father used and yet he would have welcomed an arrow instead of the sinister feeling in his stomach as they passed through miles of darkened forest. He’d rather bleed than come face to face with the Valk.

“I’m sorry, Father. It was careless, but with the rain as it has been, all our torches got wet.”

Jonah chuckled and then put an arm around his son. “It’s not a problem, son, I’m sure the scout leader did as he could, and making some noise on your approach was enough to alert us. Why don’t you go and get yourself some squirrel before the rest of the men wake up? There will be daylight soon.”

“Not soon enough.”

“What do you mean?”

Gideon paused, unsure of how much he wanted to worry his father. The Elk and the rest of the clans would be on their way, vulnerable to whatever stalked the forest. His mother. His sister.

“The forest, here. I do not like it. It’s not like the forest back home.”

“Nobody does,” Jonah said, his head shaking as he offered his son a wide smile. “Tis the home of bandits and thieves. We’re spoiled, with our village and forests around them, enough to forget that not all places offer such freedom.”

Gideon opened his mouth and then shut it. There was no need to worry his father any more than was necessary. Jonah had many responsibilities, the most pressing being the murderous Cygoa on the other side of the breach. The clans would be here in a few days and his father would have to somehow provide a safe crossing without a metal bridge to span the gap. The Valk were real, and Gideon had no doubt that they would appear again. But, for now, he decided it would be best to allow his father to focus on the most pressing threat first.

“Yes, Father. Bandits and thieves.”

Chapter 27

Seren hurried toward the open door and stumbled as the pain in her ankle erupted once more. She cried out but gritted her teeth. Whoever was back there could locate her if she made too much noise. She couldn’t move fast enough, and every yard seemed to take forever, even with Sorcha urging her onward. The young wolf had scampered across the distance in just a few seconds. She stopped at the entrance, looking back, almost as though she was wondering what was taking Seren so long.

But Seren was struggling. The pain in her ankle increased with every step, and it felt as though all her energy was leaving her. But then there was another sound from far across the huge, dark interior, and fear drove her onward. It wasn’t a loud noise—probably just a piece of junk falling over after being disturbed by whoever had fled—but Seren’s mind turned it into something else. They had fled, or so she thought, but now they were back, with many others, and they were coming for her.

The darkness all around left her with her own imagination as to what was hiding there. Images of demons, of crazed raiders with painted faces, monsters from the tales told to her as a small child to scare her into staying close to the village or camp, and other things that lived in the dark, underground places of the old world.

It was that fear that made her forget the pain and discover a hidden well of energy that had not been there a few moments before. It drove her forward. Her nerves prickled so much that she could feel her control slipping. Panic was creeping in, and she didn’t know if she would be able to hold on.

Still, she pushed forward until she was roughly halfway across the gap, then some unguided instinct kicked in and she spun around, turning back, unable to leave the darkness behind. She swung the torch in a wide arc and peered into the blackness. In the other hand, she held the Remington, the exploding stick. It was heavy, but somehow, she managed to lift it up and point the barrel into the void, and she stood there, panting.

Nothing moved. No noise. No demons came rushing out of the shadows to devour her.

She began to slowly back toward the entrance, convinced that if she rushed to escape she could be attacked from behind at any time. At least if she edged away and faced the fear that chased her, she may be able to make it out.

But still there was no noise or movement. Nothing stirred in the shadows, and if dark creatures crawled between the huge metal vehicles, she couldn’t see them. After what seemed an age, she bumped her shoulder on the doorframe, glanced behind her and quickly stepped through.

The space beyond the last dark hall was a much smaller room, no bigger than her hut back at the village. Old, broken furniture was strewn across the floor and boxes were stacked in one corner. There was a row of metal cabinets lining one wall, all the drawers pulled out, the contents scattered across the floor—more rotten paper, destroyed gradually over many years by damp and mold—damaged enough that she couldn’t tell what had been kept in them.

There was a desk in the middle of the room, behind which a skeleton sat in a high-backed chair. The ancient, dead thing was so thickly covered in cobwebs that the bones could barely be seen.

Sorcha barked from across the room and Seren jumped, unused to the she-wolf being so loud; the noise was amplified by the dead quiet. Seren glanced once more at the hall, checking that she wasn’t being followed, and then turned toward the open doorway in the opposite wall. Bright sunlight shone in from outside, painting the long dead figure in the chair with a disconcerting ethereal glow. She hurried to follow Sorcha as the wolf padded out the door to escape the darkness and whatever lived in there.

Chapter 28

The woods beckoned. Gideon couldn’t rationalize why he was both drawn to and repulsed by the empty wilderness that lay beyond the camp. He stared into the early morning light, his eyes watery and burning from lack of sleep. His father and the other warriors spoke loudly, and it would have been almost impossible for Gideon to fall asleep anyway. So, when the sun finally broke through the morning sky, he decided to take a walk.

“I’m going to hunt,” he told Jonah.

His father initially protested, and suggested a warrior go as well, but Gideon convinced him that the Cygoa were not active on this side of the breach. With so much to do and figure out before the rest of the clans arrived, Jonah nodded and told Gideon to be back by sundown. He expressly forbade his son from going anywhere near the breach, but what Gideon’s father did not see could not anger him—or so Gideon thought.

He decided to head south. It was just as good as heading north. Gideon knew what was east and west and therefore had no desire to go in either of those directions. The sun bit into a cool blue sky, and the golden light pushed thoughts of the Valk into the realm of nightmares, an unreal yet certain memory of creatures that rarely ventured into the daylight to claim victims.

And yet, why am I so curious about them?

Gideon walked past the waste piles and makeshift latrines of the camp and continued deeper into the forest. The boy had found a discarded shirt just outside the camp and had stuffed it into his pack. Now, he sat on a rock and removed it. The cloth was old, probably made by someone who was long since dead. Gideon held it up and tore one inch strips from the shirt. When he was finished, he had a dozen or so cloth strips about sixteen inches long. Although the color had faded over the years, Gideon would easily see the red-tinted strips of fabric against the dark brown bark of the trees. He stood up and turned around, tying a strip to the closest sapling.

“There,” he said, smiling and placing his hands on his hips.

A bird flew overhead and Gideon watched it. It appeared to be a red-tailed hawk, and it coasted in a huge circle one hundred feet in the air. Gideon thought about what it would be like to see the ground from that height. He had always gone as high as he could into the ruins, whenever the clan encountered them, but even the tallest structures sat far below the heights to which the birds could soar. Some of the Elk elders claimed that people used to be able to fly through the air, though Gideon thought that was a ridiculous thing to believe. When he was a small child, he’d tried using hides to make wings, but he had never been able to get airborne.

Gideon walked south. The land gently sloped in that direction, making the walk favorable, although the opposite would be true on the way back to camp. As Gideon reached what he had visually marked as the horizon, he tied another piece of fabric to a tree.

“Breadcrumbs.”

He had no idea what “bread” was, but Leta had used that term once. She said when she was scavenging she always left breadcrumbs to find her way out. It didn’t matter how silly it sounded, Gideon knew Leta was a tough, wise old woman, and he trusted her methods.

He continued his exploration for the better part of the morning, until the sun had reached its zenith. Gideon had become lost in his thoughts about flying humans and Leta’s scavenging. He took a deep breath and opened his left hand. One thin strip of fabric remained, but Gideon could not remember tying the last few rags to trees. The last one could have been tied into a knot ten minutes ago or three hours prior.

Gideon spun, his eyes scanning the trees in the distance. He searched for a glimpse of red fabric, but bare tree trunks stretched as far as he could see. None of them had been marked with red cloth.

“Shit.”

The profanity sounded good in his ears; forceful, as if he could command the deteriorating situation with harsh words. But as he looked up at the sun, Gideon began to spin the situation in his head. He couldn’t remember when he had last tied a marker on a tree, and therefore he wasn’t sure from which direction he had come. Even the topography appeared to shift, the land funneling him down into a valley but with other peaks on the horizon.

Gideon started to run, knocking brush out of the way as he hustled by. Tears formed in his eyes and he felt the sting of prickly bushes ripping at the skin on his arms. He stopped and put his hands on his knees, hunched over, and gulped in air. His father would crucify him. That would be if he was lucky. Most likely, he’d never find his way back to the camp and he’d be eaten alive by an animal, or…

No. I can’t let my thoughts go there.

Gideon stood and raised his hands to the sky, stretching and filling his lungs with oxygen. He closed his eyes and tried to calm the wicked thoughts racing through his mind.

Chapter 29

The second fire made no sense. Hallis stared at it through the trees, ducking beneath branches and peering around the darkened trunks, as if a better view would explain it. He turned to Kella and huffed.

“It’s smaller. Controlled. The other, it’s burning wild.”

“That’s what fires do. Are you expecting it to spout water?”

“Fuck you.”

Kella sat down on the rock and scratched her grubby skin. She hadn’t washed in days.

Hallis took one more look at the distant fires and leaned against the pine tree. They had found the copse fifty paces from the camp in the direction of the breach and their enemies. The heavy branches hung low with a sweet aroma while also hiding them from other scouting parties. Hallis stomped on the soft needles covering the ground. His boot made a light thump.

“It’s comfortable, Hallis. Lie down. You’ll see.”

“This is guard duty, bitch.”

“Fuck you.”

Hallis bent and slapped Kella across the face. She dropped her head, her hair hanging in long, twisted strands, now touching the pine needles. The woman pulled her knees up to her chest but did not lift her head. He couldn’t tell whether she was laughing or crying, her body silently shaking beneath her mangy hair.

He laughed, sitting down next to her. Kella’s elbow came up so quickly that Hallis heard it hit his jaw before he felt it. He dropped back, the pines swirling over his head like giant monsters. He blinked. Hallis licked blood from the split lip dealt by Kella’s blow.

“You gonna regret that, girl.”

“Promise?” Kella said with a grin.

A twig snapped to his right. He turned his head toward the sound and whispered. “Did you hear that?”

Kella had already reached for the knife on her belt.

Nearly caught with my pants down, Hallis thought.

“Your shift is up.”

Kella was on her feet by the time Darnat and Gus ducked beneath the branches and into the copse of pines. The air stank of heated bodies. Darnat spoke again.

“How long has it been since you washed in the lake, girl? Starting to smell like a drowned muskrat.”

Gus laughed, but Hallis grimaced. Kella had already snuck off into the darkness to leave the men to their conversation.

Darnat turned to Hallis. “How many years now you been hitting that thing?”

“Shut up. You see both fires?” Hallis asked, ignoring Darnat’s question.

“Could be the Elk,” said Gus. “Or maybe the dead spirits breathing fire from the breach.”

Darnat took one last look in the direction that Kella had taken. “I wish Carlossa would show up, already. I’m not comfortable scouting these woods with the Elk nearby. They’re bizarre folk. They worry me.”

“Not enough to keep yer pecker down.”

Gus slapped Darnat on the shoulder, the two having one last laugh at Hallis’ expense. Kella returned, knife in hand. The men stopped laughing.

“Let’s take them out. Judging by the size of the fire, there can’t be that many.”

“No. Our orders were to scout and report. If we go and—”

Gus and Darnat hit the ground. Hallis hadn’t been listening carefully while he was talking and therefore was the last to take cover. The noise came from the opposite direction of the fire, where a small party moved through the woods. They were headed toward the fires…or possibly toward them.

The four scouts remained perfectly still. The strong aroma of the pine needles made Hallis’ nose itch, and for a moment, he feared a sneeze. The urge passed, as did whoever else was moving through the darkened forest. They all waited several moments to make sure the threat was gone.

Kella reappeared as if she had materialized from the fire’s smoke. “The archers.”

“Who?” asked Hallis.

“Archers. The hunters. They’re with the Elk. But not Elk.”

Gus and Darnat looked at Hallis. Hallis shook his head, and Darnat shrugged.

“Well, you always had the best eyes,” said Hallis. “Are you sure they was who you say they was?”

Kella brushed a lock of hair from her face. Pine needles and pieces of leaves fell to her shoulder. She nodded.

“Then we wait. Carlossa will know what to do.”

“We’re going back to camp,” Darnat said. “Leave you two to finish what ya started.”

Chapter 30

Clouds formed overhead and blocked the sun. Gideon thought it was probably mid-afternoon but the dark storm mimicked twilight. He had finally stopped running, and he turned to face the direction in which the tree fell. There were no humans around and no good reason for the tree to come crashing down of its own accord.

No, humans, he thought.

Gideon grabbed at his side, where the stabbing of a cramp made him wince with each breath. His belly ached with hunger and he had finished the water in his flask hours ago. The boy sat down and put his head in his hands while silent tears rolled off his fingers and into the dirt.

He had done something foolish. This was exactly the reason his father had forbidden him to go out exploring. Gideon had rolled his eyes, thinking Jonah was being a typical parent who didn’t want his child to grow up too fast. Whatever happened to him now would be his own fault, and yet his parents would pay the price with their own grief. They would be left wondering what happened to their son, forced to assume that his disappearance meant death. Gideon sobbed, now picturing his mother running through the trees and calling his name. The forest would swallow her cries. The trees were so dense that she could pass within twenty feet of him and they’d never see each other.

A rumble of thunder shook him from his own misery. He stood up and flicked the tears from his face as the first droplets of rain found their way through the canopy and to the forest floor. Gideon turned and saw a faint trail heading into what he thought was the east. The deer would not have been active during the long winter, but even a young, inexperienced hunter could see the trail the animals had used for generations. He took a step toward it and the sky opened and the rain came in waves of icy, cold daggers.

Gideon stumbled forward while the storm unleashed its fury upon him. Rivulets of water formed at his feet, and within minutes he was soaked to the core. Up ahead, he spotted what looked like the mouth of a cave. Images of the Valk passed through his head and so he turned and walked away from the cave and further down the deer trail. It took him around a copse of oak trees and down a hill. Gideon ran, not knowing where he was going or why he had to get there so quickly. His feet slapped off the thick layer of wet leaves. Gideon pushed harder, his thighs burning and his hair now plastered to his face. The trail turned and that was when he felt his right foot slide out. His field of vision turned from the trunks up to the canopy a split second before the back of his head slammed off the ground. He saw bright flashes and then nothing but darkness.

He opened his eyes to a searing pain at the back of his head. The rain was still coming down hard and the storm clouds held fast in the gray sky. Gideon realized that he had fallen and been knocked unconsciousness, but not for long. He felt for the sore spot on his head and pulled away a hand smeared with blood. Not enough to panic over, but Gideon was bleeding, nonetheless. The water ran down the trail and over his legs depositing mud and rocks in his boots. He sat up and felt the earth sway beneath his feet. Gideon waited and the vertigo passed. When he turned to his left, he saw it.

The breach.

His father had warned him to stay away from it. And with good reason. Although he couldn’t say for sure, Gideon believed the loose soil on the ridge of the breach had given way, and that was what had brought the massive tree to the ground. The earth was unstable, and anything could be pulled into the breach at any moment.

Gideon stood, brushing the mud from his legs and wincing at the open wound on the back of his head. Head wounds bled profusely but they eventually stopped. He took a step to the right and was able to gain a better vantage point above the breach.

It stretched out before him, and the chasm took on the shape of an old hourglass. He could see how the ends flared out, but there was a narrow middle passage where the space from one side of the breach to the other was less than ten feet.

He pushed through a few saplings bordering the deer trail. The rain subsided and the sun began to burn through the relenting storm clouds. Gideon estimated about four hours of daylight left. He had no idea where he was, or how long it would take to find shelter, but simply knowing the amount of daylight remaining alleviated some of his worry.

Gideon stood on the edge of the breach and smiled. “Here. This is where we can cross. A few felled trees would even let us take the carts over.”

He leaned over and stared into the dark abyss below. Gideon began to second-guess his assessment. If the earth was as unstable as he believed it to be, there was no guarantee that the edges wouldn’t crumble and pull people down into that black hole.

“But it’s something. The bridge is out, and even if it wasn’t, the Cygoa are there. If Dad could bring the clans this way…”

Gideon wiped the dirt from his face with his shirt sleeve. He turned all the way around, searching for some identifiable marker that would lead him back to camp, some tree or feature that would jog his memory. The empty, silent forest stared back at him.

“The buck went this way. Follow me.”

Gideon dropped to his stomach without hesitation at the sound of the voice. He crawled beneath a fallen tree trunk where he waited to see who would come down the trail.

Chapter 31

“That damn hole in the ground has changed their patterns. I’m telling you they ain’t runnin’ this way no more. They’re staying on one side of the gap or the other.”

Gideon held his breath as long as he could before exhaling slowly through his nose. He felt an itch on the bottom of his foot, and something was crawling over his knee. He peered over the log and watched as the men came into view. Two appeared, each carrying a long blowpipe adorned with exotic feathers.

“Lookie here.”

One hunter bent down and used his fingertips to caress a tiny pile of leaves on the side of the trail.

“What is it?”

“Ain’t no buck. Somethin’ bigger than that came through here.”

They both loaded darts into their blowpipes and turned to face the forest on their side of the breach.

Gideon closed his eyes as the light touch of the insect moved from his knee to his thigh. He listened but the hunters had stopped talking.

“Come on out.”

He opened his eyes but stayed motionless and hidden. Gideon knew they were talking to him, but he wasn’t about to give up his position.

“We knows you there. Come out now, ‘fore we start shooting darts.”

Gideon stood and turned to face the men, who now stood ten feet away. He glared into one man’s eyes and then the other. They wore skins over their shoulders and their hair appeared in straggled clumps, like the nests of giant hawks, with feathers woven throughout. One hunter wore a pair of old boots while the other was barefoot. They both smiled at him, black gaps where teeth should have been.

“My father is chief of the Elk.”

“We ain’t hunting Elk. We’re buck hunting.”

Gideon paused, unsure if the men even knew about the last of the great clans.

“You a boy, and we ain’t out for no boys.”

The man on the left lowered his blowpipe and the other did the same. They stood there, waiting for Gideon’s response.

“I’m lost.”

“That’s a weird name. I’m Ferk, and this here’s Ranky. We live over yonder.”

Ferk was the hunter on Gideon’s left. He pointed past Ranky and into the forest. Ranky did not speak.

“My name is Gideon. I belong to the—”

“The Elk,” said Ranky. “Yeah, we heard you the first time. Why you so far from the bridge? That’s where they all is.”

Gideon sighed. They’re not as dumb as you think they are. “I’ve been scouting the breach.”

“The what? What did he call that, Ranky? You mean this here hole?”

“Yes. From the grumble.”

Ranky nodded and spat and shrugged his shoulders at Ferk.

“Whatever,” said Ferk. “Long as you don’t pinch our buck runs, we got no gripe with you, your father, or your clan. Y’all just stay near the bridge.”

“We don’t want to stay here. We’re trying to find a way across that doesn’t involve fighting the Cygoa.”

“Da who? Damn, boy. Life ain’t that complicated. If you spend all your time fighting, you got nothing left for the hunting, the eating…and time with the girls, if you know what I mean.”

Ranky guffawed at Ferk’s insinuation.

“You think the breach can be crossed over there?”

Ferk and Ranky looked at the section of the breach shaped like an hourglass.

“As long as she don’t shake again, I reckon you could build a plank walk to get you and your clan across. You agree, Ranky?”

Ranky shook his head.

“Your clan. Would you wage war on the Elk if we came through here to cross the breach? To get home?”

“Clan? Ain’t been no big clan for us for a long time, kid. Me and Ranky got a few chitlins running around the fire and those of us left are Greyrook.”

“So yeah, we’ll help. But it’ll cost ya,” said Ranky.

Gideon smiled. His heartbeat had returned to normal, and the longer he talked to the two hunters, the better he felt about his chances of getting out of there alive. And if they knew the forest, they could help the Elk.

“How much?”

Ferk held his hand out to quiet his friend. He turned to face Gideon. “Five bucks. At least four with eight points or more.”

Gideon’s face twisted and he shifted his weight to one foot.

“He don’t know what you’re sayin’.”

Ferk glared at Ranky and continued. “Five deer. Male. With eight antler points or more.” Ferk added a head tilt and eyebrow raise to the end of his comment.

“Yeah, okay. I know my father would approve of that deal.”

“Helluva deal,” Ranky said, hopping from one leg to the next. “You did good, Ferk.”

The two hunters nodded and turned to leave. Gideon took a step toward them. “Wait.”

“Lemme guess. You want us to hold your hand back to the camp.”

Ranky giggled again, and Gideon gave him an icy snarl.

“I’m kinda lost.”

“’Kinda’?” Ferk asked. “I’d say you’re more than ‘kinda’ lost. You been hiding behind that trunk and your flask be empty.”

“How did you…”

As Gideon’s question trailed off, Ranky thrust a hand into his hide poncho. He pulled out a thin strip of worn red fabric and tied it around his forehead. He giggled again, showing off his new headband to Ferk and Gideon.

“Finders keepers, losers weepers.”

This time it was Ferk who bust out with a deep, guttural laugh. Gideon felt the blood rush to his face.

“You took my breadcrumbs?”

“Don’t know what they are. But we did take the headbands once you passed us a few hours ago. Why would you leave perfectly good stuff tied to trees? We’ll never understand you western folk.”

Gideon smiled. “I thought I was losing my mind.”

“Just yerself. In our forest,” said Ferk.

“We’ll git you back. Me and Ferk’ll help you find your way to the camp.”

“But it’s gonna cost you five bucks. Don’t forget it,” said Ferk.

“That seems like a lot, but you’ve got a deal.”

Gideon reached out and shook the hands of both hunters.

“Then let’s go. We can get you back before sundown if we hurry.”

Gideon’s mind flashed back to the Valk, the beasts that came for the bodies of dead warriors.

“Please. Let’s go right now.”

Chapter 32

“Bring him to me.”

The Cygoa warrior bowed before Morlan and scurried down the steps.

Morlan sighed before taking a sip from his cup. The hot tea burned his tongue but left a sweet aftertaste in his mouth. He would have to make sure the old crone who had mixed it was still alive. Wytheville had always been a place of exotic treats, so Morlan had heard. It would be a true shame if he had to burn it to the ground.

The soldier returned. “My lord.”

Morlan spun away from the window. The man with the black cape stood before him, the scar on his neck almost glistening in the rays of the setting sun.

“Come here.”

The soldier nudged Gaston with the butt end of his spear before turning and disappearing down the stairs again. Gaston took two steps toward Morlan and stopped.

“I’m not going to push you out of the goddamn window. Get over here.”

Gaston smiled at him and tipped his head down. He walked over and stood next to Morlan, peering out of the open window and into the streets of Wytheville.

“You don’t fear me.”

“Of course I do. You are the leader of the Cygoa. All the northern clans fear you. I am merely practiced at keeping my emotions under control.”

Morlan chuckled and took another sip from his cup. He sighed with satisfaction and licked the sugary residue from his lips. “Tell me about White Citadel.”

It was Gaston’s turn to chuckle. He folded his arms beneath his cape. “What do you want to know?”

“If I snap my fingers, you will be dead before your head bounces off the concrete floor. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Then stop mind fucking me. Quit pretending I called you up here because I want to have tea with you. Tell me about White Citadel, Gaston. Tell me right now.”

Gaston nodded. He stared out over the city, where the sun’s rays illuminated the ruins in brilliant shades of pink and purple. Merchants meandered through the town square while people pushed carts around their tables.

“Anyone who goes there dies.”

Morlan waited.

“I took a split of the Elk. We walked. Miles and miles. People dropped on the way because the blight is powerful. Far reaching. By the time we stood beneath the two towers, most of my people had been tainted.”

“And yet here you stand?”

Gaston paused, ignoring Morlan’s question. “The book. It is the book that has been my salvation. It will continue to be so.”

“Blah.” Morlan spat on the ground. “Now you sound like the Coven, spouting their fucking superstitious bullshit. Your book is worthless. The words inside are nothing but the fading thoughts of dying men.”

“As you say.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“My lord.” The soldier who had escorted Gaston to Morlan’s chamber came through the doorway, huffing and winded from running up the steps.

“What is it?”

“The two men. The Elk we captured. The old women gave them medicine, tended to their needs. But they both passed. They’re dead.”

Morlan waved his hand and the soldier left him alone with Gaston again.

“They’ll all die. Maybe even your men who apprehended us on the road. They were far enough south.”

“The blight. It’s contagious?”

Gaston shook his head. He reached over and took the cup of tea from Morlan’s hand. Gaston put his lips on the cup and drew a sip before handing the cup back.

“Go on, my lord. See for yourself. The taint isn’t passed from the lips of one man to another. It comes from the blighted lands and afflicts those who traverse them.”

Morlan looked down and his eyes flashed back to Gaston. The hardened nomad appeared harmless, but Morlan knew it would be dangerous to underestimate the man’s powers of persuasion. If he did not sip, Morlan would show fear and a lack of faith in Gaston. And if he wanted control of the Coven, he would need this man. But if he did sip the tea, was it not possible that Gaston had assassinated him in his private chamber, with just his words?

“Take your time, my lord. Tis not an easy decision. That I know.”

Morlan grimaced, his eyes flittering from Gaston’s face to the city below. Maybe he should just toss this man off the top of the tower and let his brains paint the road. Morlan could deal with the Coven in his own manner. He didn’t need this lying devil.

“My throat is a bit scratchy. I think I’d like the rest of that tea, should you like to share it with me.”

Gaston put his hand on the cup. The men stared at each other, each with a hand on the cup of tea. Morlan looked into Gaston’s eyes. The man did not blink.

“Yes, my lord. I believe I need the rest of this.”

Morlan released his grip on the cup and watched as Gaston drank the rest of the tea. He wiped his mouth on his cape and tossed the cup into the corner of the chamber, where it shattered into a dozen pieces.

“Ah, yes. Now my throat feels…”

A rancid and hacking cough cut off Gaston’s words. Morlan took a step back as the man doubled over, coughing and spitting wads of phlegm onto the floor. But as Gaston continued coughing, his barks became bouts of laughter. By the time he stood back up, Gaston had both hands on his belly—tears running from his eyes. “I am not sick. Look at me, my lord. I’m immune. The blight can’t hurt me.”

“But you are sick. You were coughing. Your men— “

“Yes. My men are dead, but I’ve got nothing but a small touch of the woodland flu. I’m sure your tea will help cure my cough.”

Morlan shook his head. He opened his mouth, to call in the guard, then shut it. Did he really want them to hear the rest of this conversation?

“I want to know how. I want your power.”

Gaston stopped laughing. He wiped a few tears from his eyes before walking to the edge of the window and peering out over Wytheville, his back to Morlan. “Why?”

“Why do I want to know?”

“No, my lord. Why have you not pushed me out of this window to my death?”

Morlan inhaled sharply and turned his eyes to the ceiling, where the hanging bats would soon be awake. The Coven. He wanted the Coven.

“Because I trust you more than I trust the Coven.”

“Yes,” Gaston said, turning to face Morlan. “And now I believe that. You did not when I gave you back your tea. But now you do. You understand my power. Whether you believe it comes from the book, or a charm, or some mystery of the universe—that doesn’t matter. What matters is that you believe. You have faith. Do you have faith, Morlan?”

Morlan’s face twisted into a snarl at the sound of Gaston calling him by his name rather than his title. Morlan’s sharp fingernails cut into the flesh of his palms as he turned his hands into balled fists. And then he took another deep breath and responded to Gaston.

“I do.”

“Good. Then we shall be able to work together. If you choose that path.”

Chapter 33

The area outside the underground hall was thickly overgrown with ivy and bushes. Decades of unchecked growth had led to nature spreading its tendrils and covering everything in its path. Broken walls could barely be seen through the thick mat of leaves and vines, and the ground was almost entirely covered with a dense carpet.

Seren made her way cautiously across the large open space, treading between the gaps and sometimes scrambling over the mounds of green foliage that almost completely hid what was underneath. But she could see in places that there was broken concrete under her feet and even some of the black rock that the ancient’s roads had been constructed with, but it would ever see the sun again.

She looked back at the building she had hurriedly left behind and saw that the puzzling, thin gap that had lined the bottom of the one wall—allowing the only a dim strip of light into the interior—was the bottom of a row of huge, metal doors. There were a dozen of them in a line, and each massive door was thirty feet across and of equal height. Rust covered the dull surface, and entire sections had fallen away, but the metal seemed to be thick enough that not many holes had developed. The entrances were separated by cracked and crumbling concrete pillars. Rebar jutted out where some of the pillars had started to collapse.

In the center of the huge clearing between the buildings, another of the large metal vehicles stood, but this one was in a much worse condition than those hidden away in the darkness, protected from the elements. It sat there, abandoned and forgotten, just outside one of the great doors, facing toward the building as though it was still waiting to be let in, after all these years.

Seren hadn’t been able to see the true size and shape of the vehicles while she was inside the building; it had been too dark. Now she could clearly make out the shape, though it wasn’t like any type of rusted cart she had ever seen. She carefully picked her way through the undergrowth, making her way over to it, and found that it was on unobstructed ground. She walked around it, then walked around it again, puzzled at its shape.

The large, metal monstrosity had many wheels, it seemed. Dozens of them lined both sides and yet none of them touched the ground. Both rows of wheels were wrapped in a metal cover that was constructed of many interlocking pieces, although quite a number had fallen away. A large dome rose from the flat top of the vehicle’s body, out of which poked a barrel of metal not unlike the ones on the Remington that she carried, except this one was vast in comparison. Twenty feet or more of metal pipe jutted out from the head of the vehicle, pointing toward the main building but angled toward the sky.

Some sort of massive weapon, Seren thought, trying not to think what damage such a thing could do if a handheld one could take a man’s head off.

Surrounding the clearing were other buildings all facing in toward the flat expanse of ground. Some were single story, but others rose toward the sky, several floors high. In the distance, behind a row of cylindrical towers, stood the crumbling shapes of even taller buildings, like those she had seen in the ruins of large towns, except these were even bigger.

A lost city, she thought, hidden here, among the mountains and forest, all forgotten.

Sorcha returned from investigating the clearing and stopped beside her, growling quietly.

“Yeah,” said Seren. “We should probably leave.” But curiosity was easily beating her fear of whatever she had fled from in the darkness of the hall. Whatever that had been had also fled, after all.

Maybe it was an animal, more frightened of me than I was of it. She thought it had been footsteps heading away, but had it been? She wasn’t so sure, now. But if it was human, or something worse, then it could come back. The daylight was fading, and within an hour or two, she knew it would get dark. She didn’t want to risk being out there if it came back, even more so if it wasn’t alone.

She took a few steps forward, heading further toward the center of the massive clearing.

But I can’t travel too far, she thought. Her ankle was already reminding her of that. Even if it was only sprained, it could still mean that she would be unable to cover much distance for a few days. She had twisted her ankle once, maybe five years before, when jogging one morning during a hunt, and it had taken nearly eight hours—most of the remainder of the day—to get back to the village. Her ankle had swollen back then, and she remembered needing to spend nearly a week with her leg in a bandage, constantly being told by the older villagers not to go anywhere, to rest, to let it heal. She didn’t have that luxury now. She would run out of supplies soon, maybe in a couple of days, and then she would need to find food.

Seren looked down at Sorcha. “I think we need to find somewhere to hole up for a day or so.” She looked back at the row of huge doors. “But not back in that place.”

She looked around, scanning the horizon, and saw the tops of all the buildings around her. “Maybe out there. We can go for a while and see if we can find somewhere that we can hide away.”

Sorcha sniffed and trotted forward, looking back, waiting patiently with a look Seren thought said, let’s get out of here.

Chapter 34

Jonah tried to busy himself. He set about the camp, moving from one group of warriors to another, discussing the arrival of the clans and inevitable situation at the breach. Most of the men wanted to talk about the Cygoa, and Jonah indulged them. And yet, his mind kept pulling at one thing the entire day.

Gideon.

The boy was old enough to take care of himself but not old enough to know how. Jonah couldn’t stop him from exploring the forest any more than he could slow the sun’s steady descent into twilight. He remembered being that age—the willful stubbornness without good reason.

Gideon had been told to make it back to camp before sundown. He understood that Jonah would have to send a search party if he did not.

The boy is mule-headed, Jonah thought. But he is not stupid.

A few warriors grabbed their axes and quietly hustled away from the fire toward the edge of camp, where someone or something had spooked the sentry. Jonah watched as they moved through the trees like spirits, gliding with a deadly purpose. Two of the older warriors appeared at his side and nodded at Jonah. He nodded back.

Shouts broke the uneasy calm. Jonah peered into the darkness creeping into the camp in the direction of the noises.

“Where is my father?”

The men next to Jonah lowered their weapons and turned back toward camp where a fire and some rye whiskey would warm their bodies.

The others stepped aside as Gideon walked into camp with two hunters in tow. They each wore hides over their shoulders, but it was not the skins that caught Jonah’s attention. Long, bright feathers were woven through their natty hair. The hunters did not carry bows, axes or knives. Instead, they each held a blowpipe almost as tall as a fully-grown man. They stopped several feet behind Gideon and waited for the boy to approach his father.

“Where were you?”

“Please don’t be mad, Father. I was lost, and these guys helped me find the breach and get back here.”

Jonah looked up and over Gideon’s head at the two hunters.

“We mean no disrespect,” one of them said.

He held his hand up, palm out, to the hunter on the left who spoke. Jonah wrinkled his nose at the strangers and then glared at Gideon. “I told you not to go near the breach. You went into a foreign forest, a place with dangers you can’t possibly imagine.”

“Father, please. Let me explain.”

Jonah put both hands on his hips and waited for Gideon to speak again.

“I used breadcrumbs, but then I couldn’t remember where I tied the last few. But the breach is an hourglass, and these men live there.”

“Slow down. You are talking nonsense.”

Gideon took a deep breath and spoke again. “I was lost, and I’m not sure if would have ever found my way back to camp. If these hunters had not come back with me, I’d still be out there.”

Jonah felt the muscles in his face loosen. The other warriors in the camp went about their evening tasks, but Jonah knew they’d have one ear trained on this conversation.

“You were lost. The hunters escorted you back here. Fine. I’m appreciative.” Jonah attempted a bow of a gratitude but it was just a slight nod of his head toward the hunters. “You and I will discuss that later. What about the breach?”

“There might be a way across. For all of the Elk.”

“Go on.”

“There is a place where the breach narrows. It's small, and it’s a few miles into the forest. But with a few felled trees, I think we could move the caravan across. Like I said, it’s like an hourglass there, with a gap that is much less wide.”

“How far is it from the road?” Jonah watched Gideon’s face as the boy did the mental estimates.

“Only three miles or so, and these men say there is a large clearing a short distance away on the other side of the breach, a big flat area they used to use for their meetings, when they could get to it.”

“And we can get all our carts through those three miles of dense, ancient forest?”

“We can help,” said the hunter. “We can guide you along the buck runs. The deer trails will need to be widened, in places, but a crew with axes could make ya do just fine.”

“What is your name?”

“Iowa of the Greyrook. We are a hunter clan that live over yonder. Got the brightest and best feathers this side of the Northern Plain.”

Jonah nodded but did not extend his hand or offer a formal greeting.

“I’m sorry, my lord. We know how this looks, and we meant no disrespect. Gittin’ yer boy back here. We was hoping that would show our good nature.”

“Thank you,” Jonah said, now extending his hand to Iowa. “My boy’s a bit stubborn.”

“Ain’t they all at that age.”

Jonah smiled.

“Just so you know, we’re trying to cross that breach, too. Our best tree stands are on the opposite side of the hole, and like your boy says, we were planning to cross, but we’re small of numbers, so it would take us some time. But you have the numbers to do the job faster.”

“I know we can get across there, Dad.”

Jonah turned to look at the Elk warriors drinking around the fire. He felt the pressure of time on his shoulders. The Elk were on the way. His wife and daughter. He had to have a way across the breach that wouldn’t end with a Cygoa slaughter on the other side.

“Take a crew and head out with Iowa. Clear the deer trail from the road to the breach. I’ll need a second crew to go with Gideon, to the spot he speaks of, to begin to fell trees.”

Gideon inhaled, stuck out his chest, and smiled at the men who had gathered and were now listening to his father’s commands.

“Get some initial trunks down and over the breach so at least a man can get across. That’s first.”

“Then we build the bridge?”

Jonah put a hand on Gideon’s shoulder and shook his head in response to the boy’s question. “Then you wait for me. We can go across and find out who or what is on the other side of that breach. There’s no point in crossing into danger. We could do that here if the trees were tall enough, but they aren’t.”

Gideon’s shoulders dropped, and he nodded. “Right. Yes, Father.”

“One more thing. Someone needs to figure out a way to get Briar’s attention. No matter what, we’re going to need his bows to cover us while we’re building a new bridge across the breach. That is if he is even still over there and hasn’t left, which I wouldn’t blame him for. He will not know we plan to bridge the gap miles from here.”

Chapter 35

They were moving swiftly now, flowing through the dense foliage and around trees as though they were a river. The scent was getting stronger, and The Brother could feel the tense emotions of the pack. Whatever they discovered near the great hole in the ground, they would set upon it without pause.

They are beyond my control, he thought.

The smell of death in the air, and the sweet scent of prey, had driven them throughout the night, as they made their way back. It was unusual for the pack to retrace their steps, and The Brother preferred to be moving onward, moving ever forward, rather than returning to a place where they had already hunted. But the smell on the air told him things had changed much in the short time since they had taken the lone Walking One in the clearing near the great hole.

How long had it been now? Two turns of the bright sky, or maybe three? He could not remember. They had barely rested since that kill and were now growing hungry once more. This time the weather had ceased its freezing bite, and the bright, cold crust that covered everything when the coldness came was turning to water once more. Now the color of the forest was returning, and so should the prey. But the great hole had done something to change even that. How, The Brother was not sure; he had never paid attention to where the great migrations went during the cold time. The pack would not follow them all the way on their journey, waiting the winter for them to return. But the great hole in the ground now seemed to have stopped the migration.

But surely the hole could not reach to the very ends of the world, The Brother wondered.

They would normally travel to meet the returning herds and wild game, and it was not unusual for them to go without food for many turns of the bright sky. They were used to it. During the cold time, they would slow their pace, sleeping for longer periods. They huddled in a pack, in the best shelter they could find, to hide from the harsh wind, but now their stomachs were rumbling, and the youngest was whining in pain.

As they reached a rise in the land The Brother slowed and sniffed the air. He peered through the thick line of bushes.

There, he thought. I can sense them. They are hiding in the bushes, thinking themselves unseen. And maybe to other Walking Ones they were, but not to his kin.

Without his command, the pack launched itself forward, rushing toward the hidden group, and The Brother could do little but make sure he was at the front.

Chapter 36

Loner hated the woods at night. It wasn’t a sentiment expected from a hunter, from a man who had spent his entire life rubbing his back against bark and wiping his ass with leaves. But it was true—a secret phobia Loner wouldn’t share with anyone. Not even Briar.

Most hunts began at night. The best archers would claim a tree or platform, nestled between branches, ten feet in the air. The deer spooked easily, which meant getting in position and settling well before daybreak was a necessity. The young hunters trained by pushing—walking through the trails and nudging the deer from their beds and toward the hunters, waiting with full quivers. Loner remembered those days fondly; entering the forest under a cold but brilliant sun and without the expectation of making a kill.

A twig snapped and drew his attention to the east. He sat on the precipice of the breach and continued to rub the muscles in his leg. A limp in hunting might cost a set of antlers, but in war, it could mean the difference between life and death. Briar had trusted him to stand guard, although from whom? Loner hadn’t convinced himself that the Elk were much more noble than the Cygoa. Just two bloodthirsty clans bent on destroying each other.

Loner turned back to his leg and then picked up his bow to inspect it for cracks or frays. The sound had most likely been an animal and was not worth his attention. The bow looked strong. He counted three hides in his sack, along with about a half pound of jerked squirrel.

It’d last me several days. And if I got a buck on my way out, I’d be set for weeks.

He set the bow down and pulled the quiver into his lap. His leg ached, demanding another massage, but Loner pushed the dull pain from his mind. He glanced at the funeral pyre in the distance and then over to the camp fire they had lit earlier. Briar was not more than twenty yards away and yet Loner felt isolated. Distant.

Nine arrows.

Not exactly enough to get out of a skirmish alive. Maybe not even enough to bag a hare or slow-moving groundhog. But enough.

“They call you Loner.” He spoke the words but the darkened forest did not answer.

He couldn’t remember who had first given him that name but it was not randomly chosen. Loner spent hours alone in the forest—but in daylight, of course. A cold, narrow creek ran through the village where he lived as a child and the sound of the water had provided a beautiful blanket over the sounds made by the other humans.

“Okay. I’ll go.”

He stood and the pain seized his leg. He stumbled forward and grabbed the quiver, throwing it over his shoulder. Loner clutched his bow in one hand and took a step toward the west when the first cry tore the night open. Men screamed, and beneath it all, Loner heard howling and growls. He put his hands to his ears, wishing the creek near his village was there to drown out the sounds of death. Three, possibly four distinct voices rang out and within only a few minutes, they all fell silent.

Loner started running. He couldn’t remember where the screaming originated from, and once he had gotten thirty yards into the forest, he could no longer remember where the breach sat. He could smell the smoke from the fires but the flames had been hidden by the trees. He ran faster, ducking and stumbling over fallen trunks, ignoring the new pain blossoming in his leg.

What about the breach?

One misstep would put him at the bottom, along with the cold bodies of dead warriors. Loner dodged to his left and ran right into Briar. Both men dropped their bows and the impact knocked the breath from Loner’s chest. His face hit the ground and he gasped into the dry leaves sticking to his lips. He rolled to one side and saw Briar on one knee, a thin dark line of blood now trickling from his right nostril.

“What the fuck?”

“Sorry, Briar.” Loner coughed, trying to get air into his lungs at the same time as apologizing to the hunter. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Briar used his sleeve to wipe the blood from his nose, smearing a thick red swath across his cheek.

“Did you hear that? Holy shit. I was trying to get back to you and the others at camp. I musta gotten turned around.”

Briar waited for Loner to stand. He peered into Loner’s eyes.

“Yeah. I guess so. Crazy how you ended up running in the complete opposite direction to the camp.”

“I know, right? The sounds. I heard men screaming and…”

“We heard it too, Loner. We were right over there. It was a bunch of wolves. That’s all.”

“If it was just that, what happened to the men? I gotta assume the pack attacked Cygoa. Those are some bad-ass sons of bitches. You really think some normal, mangy pack could take out Cygoa?”

Briar put his hands on his hips. His tongue flicked out to lick at the drop of blood on his top lip as the flow from his nose slowed. “No, I guess not. You’d think they’d be better with their weapons.”

Loner straightened up and nodded. A cough turned into a high-pitched giggle. “I don’t like it here. We should be a long way from here by now.”

“I know. Everything is off. The earth splitting, the Cygoa. All of it. I don’t have a good feeling about it. But we can’t go anywhere if they are all over the lands. We need the clans over the breach to give the damn Cygoa someone else to worry about, so they won’t even notice us.”

Loner nodded but did not speak. Leaving the area and escaping into the vast wilderness couldn’t be his idea. Briar would have to come to that on his own. However, Loner wasn’t above nudging him in that direction.

“They’re not ordinary wolves. That pack is running with demons. You heard those sounds, same as me. It ain't no normal sized pack.”

“Come back with me and the rest of the hunters. Dawn is only a few hours away, and I expect to hear from Jonah soon.”

Loner reached out and gripped Briar’s shoulder. “Of course. Whatever you decide, I’m with you. But honestly, I’d rather face Cygoa straight on than deal with this shit. I mean, maybe there’s even Valk— “

“No. Don’t even speak of it. We have enough to worry about now without bringing those demonic heathens into the mix.”

Loner turned and took one last look to the west, where the land stretched into eternity. He winced at the pain in his leg, which had returned now that his adrenaline had faded. “Right on. I’ll follow you back.”

Briar nodded but held eye contact with Loner. He looked away, unable to hold Briar’s gaze.

Chapter 37

Seren awoke to near silence. Other than the distant howling of the wind, as it flowed through the ruins, there was no other noise. She wondered, as she sat there rubbing the dust from her eyes, if the wildlife that migrated back to the forest ever came here. She had noticed birds but little else. Would this remote and hidden city always be as quiet and desolate? Or in a month’s time would it be filled with the cacophony of the forest that she often heard in the mornings before heading out to hunt?

The thought of the village, her summer home, her shack up on the road just far enough away from the other buildings to give her the solitude she loved and yet not so far that she was completely isolated, gave her a pang of regret. She missed the village and knew that when she returned—if that ever happened, now that strangers had invaded Wytheville—it would never be the same. Roke was gone, possibly forever, as were many others.

I may never see my brother again, she thought.

She glanced to her feet, where Sorcha lay curled up on the deer skins, still fast asleep. She carefully pulled back the furs and shivered at the cold. It was still not yet spring, and even though most of the snow had thawed, the land was still cold at night and first thing in the morning. The skins from the deer were so good at blocking the cold that it was easy to forget until she wasn’t wrapped in them.

Seren shifted and eased her way around Sorcha, leaving the skins where they were and hoping that the wolf would stay where she was. The room had been littered with junk when they found it, but she had kicked most of it out of the way, pushing it to the edges of the room, and now a clear space led to the doorway and to the window next to it. She walked to the window and peered out.

They had found the place the night before, when darkness was almost upon them. She hadn’t liked the openness of most of the spaces she had seen before that, but she had been almost ready to stop anywhere. A lot of the buildings had too many open holes, too many entrances that would let in the cold, wind and any predators that wanted to sneak in. But finally, as she was ready to give in, they came across what looked like an old shop on the corner of a street, a dozen blocks from the huge clearing covered with ivy. Surprisingly, the windows along the front of the shop had still been intact, as was the door. Although the latter was barely hanging from its hinges, it hadn’t fallen off yet and was easy to wedge shut. Inside was as much a mess as any other place. Broken furniture, fallen tiles, dirt, rubble and dust littered the floor and was piled up in the corners and against the walls, most of it covered with cobwebs.

But then she found the stairs leading down to what appeared to be a sub-level storage room. It was quite dark down there, but some light came through a panel window in the ceiling that she hadn’t noticed from the outside of the building. It was small—no bigger than one of the rooms in her shack back home in the village—but that was good. It meant it would easily warm up and there was enough ventilation through holes in the upper floor that she would be able to light a small fire in one corner, near the stairs, and not worry about drawing too much attention should anyone or anything pass by.

They had both slept all through the night, the two of them completely exhausted.

Standing at the small window, peering out onto the street, Seren wondered if it was early morning. She had no idea of the time, and with all the buildings blocking the view of the sky, she couldn’t see the sun. She heard a sound behind her and turned to see Sorcha sitting up. The young she-wolf shook herself, looked at Seren, and made a whining noise.

“Morning,” said Seren. “I know it’s cozy here, but we need to move on, get going.”

Sorcha sniffed and then lay back down.

Seren turned back to the window. “I may have one last look around, in the buildings along this street. You never know what might be hidden in this place. Doesn’t look as though people have visited here in a long time.”

Sorcha sniffed again.

“I saw a really tall building, south of here, that looks in good condition,” she said, ignoring the wolf’s obvious lack of enthusiasm. “Looks intact, and I may see how high I can go, maybe get a good view of the land up there, even see over the forest, get some idea of where we are.”

Seren packed up her gear and they made their way out onto the street. For a few minutes, she stood there in the doorway, watching, listening for any movement. The shop front faced a crossroads, and buildings stood in different states of disrepair in all four directions along the street, although many of the shells of the buildings were still standing. Some of the buildings even had roofs that were only moderately damaged. She had seen a lot of ruins while hunting, or during The Walk every year. Hundreds of them. Most were in far worse condition than this city. It was almost as though the world had let this place be and just left it behind by a century or two.

She started down the street toward the building she had spotted the night before. It was six floors to the top, and the metal stairwell barely showed signs of wear. There were no leaks running down the steps, gradually eroding them. Instead, this building had been partially consumed by nature. Reeds and vines grew up from cracks in the floor, and even on the fourth floor the ivy wound its way up through gaps in the brickwork.

But Sorcha didn’t seem to like the place, or so Seren thought. The she-wolf had stopped at the top of the first flight of stairs and peered warily upward.

Just me, then, Seren thought, and continued higher, leaving the wolf alone and starting up the stairs. She made her way up to the top floor. She would have liked to have gone on to the roof, but the stairs didn’t go all the way up and she didn’t like the look of the ladder that went up to a hatch in one corner of the ceiling. Her ankle was starting to throb again, after the haul up the stairs, and she didn’t think the risk of falling from a dodgy ladder was worth the effort. She pushed her way through a partially open door, shifting the debris that was blocking the entrance, and headed into the room.

Sunlight shone through the windows, lighting the whole room with a dim glow and leaving no areas of darkness for someone or something to hide, but Seren cautiously edged through the scattered furniture, listening for any movement around her. Dust had accumulated on the ground and covered every inch of debris. Seren doubted anyone had been there in decades.

The windows were likewise coated in dust, except it had formed a thin layer of grime that obscured much of the sunlight. She rubbed a hand over the window, smearing away years of gathered dirt, and peered outside. Surprisingly, even though the building was tall, there were still areas of the forest nearby that were taller.

No wonder people never found this place, she thought. The forest has swallowed it up.

But across the forest, in the distance, she could make out the first slopes of the mountains, peaks that she recognized. Scanning the horizon, she also made out distant plumes of smoke, maybe thirty miles away to the north-west.

Wytheville, she thought. Where the strangers are.

But the distance seemed too far. Surely she hadn’t gone that far from Wytheville? She wasn’t convinced. The men that had followed her, trailing her through the woods, trying to catch her, had seemed to be following her forever. It had been at least two days. Probably more than two, she thought; it was likely that she had put that much distance between herself and the city ruins. If she wanted to meet up with the Elk and the other clans coming home, she would have to travel northeast, through the forest and over the hills, for more than a day.

The road will be twenty, maybe thirty miles north of here, she thought, and then however many miles east before she met the clans heading back the other way.

I must go that way, she thought. I must warn them about what waits for them at Wytheville.

A bark from down the hall startled her, and she went out into the corridor. Sorcha had braved some more of the stairs, following her all the way up to the top, and now sat there, waiting, her head tilted to one side.

“Itching to leave, already?” Seren asked, and Sorcha huffed in reply. The wolf didn’t look panicked or nervous. “Yeah, I understand. Place gives me the creeps, too.”

Chapter 38

Loner kept ten paces behind Briar. He knew. Briar had dealt with disloyalty before, and his solution had always been vicious but clean. Last spring, a hunter in their clan had taken down a wounded deer. The laws were simple—the first arrow claimed the kill. This hunter had removed the first arrow lodged in the buck’s neck and claimed his arrow brought it down. Briar immediately recognized the original wound. He took the deer, beat the man and cast him from the clan. Loner would not be so bold, so blatant. Briar led their clan—and for good reason.

“Up here.”

The man’s voice broke Loner from his thoughts. He hobbled into the camp, where a low fire licked at the pine bark the men tossed on the flames. Briar motioned for Loner to sit and the others straightened up. Even in the dark of the night Loner could see their bloodshot eyes, but their flasks had been kept inside their vests. The wolves were out there. They had all heard them.

“Me and Loner heard it. Up close. I’m guessing y’all did too.”

The men nodded but none spoke.

“I’m gonna head to the breach in the morning and hope to spot Jonah. I know it’s risky, but we need to find out what’s going on, over there. I’d hoped to see more of them over there before we show ourselves, but I guess they are avoiding open sight to avoid being spotted by Cygoa. They aren’t to know the Cygoa aren’t here in numbers. Dawn’s only a few hours from now.”

Loner looked up into the sky but saw no evidence of daybreak.

“We need everyone on this. There’s Cygoa, wolves, and God only knows what else. Let’s set up a tight perimeter with two-man units. That should keep us from getting ambushed. When Jonah shows his face again, we’ll know what to do.”

Popo looked at Loner and gave him a wide, toothy grin. He slid a hand beneath his vest and pulled it out slowly, revealing the top of a deck of cards.

“Me and Popo. We’ll take the northeast corner.”

“Alright. The rest of you. Pair up and don’t go far.”

Loner and Popo waited, watching Briar and the rest of the clan trudge off in different directions, staying in pairs and with their weapons to hand. Loner grabbed his bow and stood.

“You still owe me five pieces, Popo.”

“Bah! I’ll win it back from you in the first hand. There’s an old rock over there with a flat top. Will make a good table. Unless, of course, you be fraidy cat of the big bad wolves?”

“Fuck you, old man. I’m going to be collecting your stinky, rotten teeth before sun up.”

Popo laughed, the sound morphing into a wet, wheezy cough. He motioned with one hand for Loner to follow. They walked a hundred yards into the forest, stopping at the huge boulder Popo had talked about.

“Here.”

Loner turned around and raised his eyebrows. “I can’t even see the fire. Briar ain’t gonna be happy if he don’t know where we are. Or worst yet, we miss something coming through.”

“Ain’t nothing coming through. Wolves is long gone, now they had their fill of those others. They don’t like the breach, I reckon, and have left. Sit down and git your pieces out.”

Loner reached into his satchel and threw a handful of dried deer hide chunks down on the rock. The pieces had been too small for anything useful and became a currency between the hunters. But mostly the hides served as poker chips.

“Five card stud. That’s your game, right?”

Popo nodded. He dealt the first hand and held the cards up to his face, squinting to see them in the darkness. Loner left his cards on the rock, face down where Popo had dropped them.

“I’m betting blind. One piece. Your bet.”

“I’m telling Briar ‘bout you.”

Loner held his breath and shook his head. “What did you say?”

“I said I’m telling Briar what you gonna do.”

Loner felt a bead of sweat break on his forehead. He chuckled and put his palms down on the rock, leaning in close enough to smell the onions on Popo’s breath. “And that would be what?”

“Run. Best case. But I reckon you’d kill ’em, if ya had to.”

Loner folded his arms. The old man had completely lost his mind. Or…

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t be coy. I been around a long time. Most hunters think me an old, blind drunk. That I am. But I also see more than y’all realize. I seen the way you look at Briar. I feel the hatred in you, son. You either want this clan or you want to leave it. Either way, Briar gotta know. He’s the leader.”

“Are you going to bet or not?”

“I think you’re just like your name. Don’t think it’d come to killin’ but it could. This is a small clan, Loner. We can’t have no bows going rogue.”

Loner slid his right hand down to his hip until he could feel the handle of his axe. He flicked the rawhide tie to the side and felt the full weight of the weapon tightening the muscles on his arm. Popo stared at him over the top of his cards.

“There’s nothing in the clan that binds us. Any of us are free to go whenever we want.”

“Is that what you keep telling yourself? You think Briar will just let you walk? We only got a handful of bows. We can’t make it if men decide to up and leave whenever the hell they want.”

“What do you want from me?” Loner leaned in closer, his fingers now gripping the axe handle like a poisonous snake. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Our word. Our loyalty. Tis all that matters in this world, anymore. Nothing else left to bond one to another ‘cept parent to child. And seein’ that we ain’t had many ladies in this clan, our word is it. Our promises to each other are our children, and we gotta raise them right. Teach ’em to do good.”

“You’re a senile, old man. Nobody in this clan would miss you. Not even Briar.”

Popo smiled and shook his head. He turned his cards over on the rock. “I fold.”

The axe came up so fast that Popo did not even have time to blink. Loner followed through, knocking the old man to the ground. The blunt edge of the blade had skimmed off Popo’s skull instead of breaking it, leaving him writhing on the ground but conscious. Loner took a step and stood over him.

“You couldn’t shut up and play cards, could you? You had to go threatening me. What did you think I was going to do?”

Popo moaned. His left leg was still but his right kicked through the dirt and leaves. Loner leaned in and saw a bulging lump on the man’s right temple.

“Good. I was afraid I’d hit you too hard and then I’d be left explaining blood.”

Loner took three steps into the forest. He stood with a hand over his eyes, letting them adjust to the finer shades of blackness beneath the trees. “There it is. I knew we weren’t far from the breach.”

He set his axe on the rock and reached down to grab Popo by the ankles. A stench of urine and dried feces infiltrated his nostrils as the man’s cape flipped up.

“Don’t.”

Loner ignored the plea, dragging Popo through the leaves and over small twigs. He looked around, hoping Briar or the others wouldn’t assume it was the wolves—or the Cygoa. Loner paused and listened. He heard nothing and so continued pulling Popo toward the breach. Loner came to the edge and spun the man around so that his head hung over the precipice.

“I don’t know how far it goes. Hopefully it’s a good ways down so you die when you hit the bottom.”

“I won’t tell.” Popo’s words came over his sobs but the consonants slurred like melted wax. The bump on his head had grown, and even in the dim light Loner could see the blood pooling beneath the skin.

“Nope. You definitely won’t.”

Loner pushed Popo’s shoulders, sending him over the edge. He heard a whimper, followed by the sounds of the old man’s body crashing through limbs, and then the silence returned. He peered over the edge but saw nothing but the open black maw staring back at him.

He gathered the playing cards in one hand, walked to the breach, and tossed them in as well.

“I’m done playing games.”

Loner walked back toward camp and now he could see the dawn’s light breaking on the horizon. Two other pairs had already arrived and they nodded at him. Briar came out from behind a tree, hitching up his pants and walking toward Loner.

“Where’s Popo?”

“Taking a shit. He said he’ll be back soon.”

“I hope so. I expect Jonah at any time.”

Loner nodded, shoving a handful of dried deer hide pieces into his pack.

Chapter 39

Seren made her way back down the stairs and out onto the street. Sorcha seemed keen to get back out into the air again, and Seren guessed there was something about the high-rise building that made the wolf uneasy. It was unusual to see such a tall building still standing, she had to admit, but she hadn’t sensed anything odd about the place. But it still gave her the shudders.

They followed the road heading north, making their way around the rusted remains of old vehicles, passing apartment buildings and burned-out shops. Sometimes she stopped and searched the fronts of old shops that looked promising, but she found nothing of interest, let alone any food or tools, and in the end Seren gave up checking.

Even though all evidence around her suggested the place had not been visited in many years, it had clearly been looted bare. Another quarter of a mile along the street and the buildings ended abruptly, leaving the road to wind its way downslope into the forest. She stood on the corner of the last building for a minute, looking back at the ruined city and wondering what secrets were hidden away within it, undiscovered, and pondered whether she really wanted to leave quite so soon. But then she thought of the Elk, of Sasha, Keana, Gideon and Jonah, and the rest of the clan. If she didn’t leave soon she may miss them on the road. She couldn’t let them walk to Wytheville without warning.

Urged onward by the overwhelming need to be with the Elk and her friends once more, she started forward, down the hill toward the tree line.

“Let’s go, then.”

Sorcha trotted by her side, always looking for something new to investigate. The wolf was a copy of her in a furry body.

“You’re leaving so soon?” a voice said from behind her.

It startled them both, and they spun round, Sorcha dropping into a low crouch and scanning the buildings ahead, Seren drawing her bow and notching an arrow quicker than she had ever done before, ready to fire.

But the arrow didn’t leave the bow. There was no one there.

Seren lowered the weapon, frowning. Sorcha growled but also looked puzzled.

There was no movement. No sounds. Nothing. There were no open doorways nearby, no smashed windows with darkness behind them for someone to hide in, and the trees were fifty yards behind her down the hill. The sound hadn’t come from that direction, she was sure. It came from the ruins.

“Don’t worry,” said the voice as Seren was beginning to wonder if she had imagined it. “I’m not really where you are.” The voice was not that of a young man, Seren thought. It had a harsh edge to it that spoke of years. An old man’s voice.

“I apologize for startling you. And, I see, confusing you also. You have no need to worry, we won’t hurt you.”

We, thought Seren. Did that that mean a few or many? Was this the voice attached to the footsteps she had heard in the darkness, in the building where she had fallen and hurt her ankle?

“We don’t get many visitors out here.” The voice stopped. “You need to look up at the side of the building. A gray box with wires attached to it and a speaker…a circular cone.”

Sarah followed the instructions, her gaze wandering up the side of the building to the second floor, and the window. Nothing. What was she looking for? A box? There! She spotted it. A strange, gray device was attached to the side of the building, and a black line of cable poked out of the back and wound its way along the wall, tracing a line back up the street all the way to the first junction. One part of the device had a conical shape that pointed outward, and the other half was elongated, a box pointing down onto the street, the front covered with a tiny face of dark glass or plastic. It was difficult to tell.

“Yes, that’s it,” said the voice. “It’s a loudspeaker you’re hearing.”

Sarah frowned and then realized that the sound was coming from the gadget.

What on Earth was this? Was there somebody in the building behind it? But no, she could see through the window. The room was empty.

“This must be confusing for you, but there’s really no need to be afraid of us. I am streets away from your location. The device you are looking at allows me to see and speak far away. Almost anywhere in the city, really.”

“Can you hear me?” Seren asked, feeling foolish at speaking to an object rather than a person.

“Ah, I can see you’re trying to answer me. It doesn’t really work that way, but if you’re facing the camera I can lip-read to some extent, but we can’t hear.”

Camera, thought Seren. A strange word that she had never heard. She looked up at the conical device and then moved round to face the front of the box next to it. She could see the faded letters MAINLINE CCTV printed on the side in large letters. It meant nothing to her. Reading had never been her greatest skill, with not many in the clan able to teach about the written word.

“Like this?” she called, still feeling a little foolish.

“Yes, that’s it. I can see your lips move. Now, like I said, we don’t get many visitors. Some that have passed through here, over the years, but we have left them alone. They could have been a threat to us. You are the first to come this way in over five years, and, well, we have spoken among ourselves as we watched your progress through our city, and we wondered if you’d like to meet us? We’d certainly love to meet you. It’s been a long time since we spoke to someone new.”

Chapter 40

The massive trunk of the felled tree wavered for a moment, straining on the ropes that held it in place. Jonah watched from a safe distance as the men moved away along the edge of the breach. His heart thumped in his chest, just as it had done with all three logs that had been dropped into place so far.

The noise was tremendous each time, and this was no different. As the fourth log hit the ground there was a loud bang that echoed through the deep canyon below. Dust spewed into the air, causing a cloud that obscured all vision over the breach for a hundred yards in either direction, though this time, no birds flew from the trees, panicking to escape whatever otherworldly disaster they thought had fallen upon them. They had all left after the first trunk was put in place.

Jonah was relieved when the dust settled and he could see all the logs were still there, and the ground had not collapsed and swallowed them. Although they were quite a distance apart, they lay neatly across the breach. He turned to Ghafir, who stood just a few feet away, peering down into the darkness. “That should be enough for us to build a basic footbridge,” he said.

“Yes,” Ghafir replied, nodding. The man glanced over the other side of the breach, scratched his chin, and pointed at the trees on the other side. “Of course, because our hunter friends are nowhere to be seen, we now need one of us to go across, so that we can roll the logs together.”

Jonah peered at the darkness below. “I guess that will be me,” he said. “I’m not forcing anyone risk to falling into that in my stead.”

Ghafir laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Jonah looked up to the man and frowned. “Why not?”

“Jonah,” Ghafir said, placing his hand on Jonah’s shoulder. “You are my friend, and I like you, but sometimes you say foolish things. You are leader of the Elk, and for all intents, leader of the Six Clans. Hell, add the other ten that now follow the clans as well, and even more that one day will follow you. If you were to fall into that damn hole, and break your neck, where would that leave us? Who would they blame? Me, for being here with you. Oh no, that must not be. You have to let someone else do this.”

Jonah smiled. Ghafir was right, but it didn’t make giving the command for another to risk his life any easier.

“I am, of course, the best choice for this particular job,” said Ghafir.

“Oh, I see,” said Jonah, his smile widening. “I must not go, but you must.”

“Yes,” said Ghafir. “My kind are not as clumsy as you forest people. We are more agile, and less likely to lumber over there and fall to our deaths, and I am the most agile of my kind. It is obvious.”

“You’re as stubborn as I am,” said Jonah.

“Yes, but I have the freedom to take such risk, where you do not. Come, help tie a rope to me so that if there is an accident, you heavy lumps can stop me from falling.” He walked a few steps toward the largest of the fallen trunks. “Of course, it will not be needed, but I’m sure it will satisfy all of your concerns.”

After Jonah tied the rope to Ghafir’s waist, checking and double checking it before handing it off to half a dozen of the stronger Elk warriors who were waiting nearby, he stood next to Ghafir at the foot of the thickest fallen tree. He had gained an admiration for this man over the months since they had first met on the way to Eliz. The man had once, not long ago, been the leader of the clan that his father had cursed as gray—banished, never to be named, and never to set roots in one place. Now, Ghafir was comfortable enough in Jonah’s presence to even argue and hurl smart remarks at him. Others may frown upon such behavior, as an insult to a leader such as Jonah, but it was one of the things he liked about the man.

Ghafir knelt and peered across the breach, following the line of the tree, checking that it was level. It had taken a day, and many men, to find and cut down the largest trees in the forest and then haul them to the breach with ropes before standing them on end and letting them fall. It was a feat that Jonah had not thought possible, and it had seemed like chaos at the time, but when each log fell as planned, he had been surprised.

Jonah looked across the breach to the forest, toward where they had heard screaming the night before. Whoever went across first was risking much. They would not only have to help roll the logs into place but watch their own back at the same time.

“Maybe more than one of us needs to go across,” Jonah said.

“No, it’s fine,” said Ghafir. “So long as your men keep the trunks still at this end, it will not take long for me to roll the other end into place. Then both ends can be lashed and we will have a walkway.” He stepped up onto the log, held his arms out, and tested his balance. He was about to cross when Jonah noticed movement on the other side, among the trees.

“Wait,” said Jonah.

Ghafir looked up and dropped down to the ground next to the tree, reaching for the bow slung over his shoulder. The man had an arrow notched in less than two seconds.

Half a dozen shadows moved out from the cover of the trees and swiftly ran toward where the logs had fallen.

Cygoa, Jonah thought. They are going to ruin our plan. But then he recognized Briar’s grinning face and relaxed as the man waved to him.

Chapter 41

A heavy stench hung on the air inside the chamber. The darkened room reeked of rotting animal flesh and burnt hair. Morlan passed through the open doorway, gagging as he tasted the acidic burn of vomit in his mouth. His eyes watered. Morlan spat and turned to the dais where Genris sat upon his high throne.

“You missed our ceremony.”

“Not all of it.” Morlan waved at the lingering smoke. “Seems like you were kind enough to keep the vapors inside.”

“Why are you here, Morlan?”

“Because I can be wherever I choose. You may lead the Coven, but I lead the Cygoa.”

Genris nodded his head once. He stood and walked down the three steps until he stood before Morlan. “I can have the torches refilled, should you prefer more light in the chamber.”

“Don’t bother. I won’t be here long. Did you hear what happened?”

Genris shook his head left to right but his eyes never left Morlan’s. The witch doctor wore a smile that appeared as cold as the icy waters of the north.

“Andmar is dead.”

Genris shrugged.

“And the bridge over the breach? It’s gone,” Morlan continued. “One of my fastest scouts returned this morning with the news.”

Two servants appeared from the dark recesses of the room. One put a red robe around Genris’ shoulders, the fabric stained with long, dark streaks. The other servant handed him a pipe with an orange glow at the tip.

“Smoke?”

“Did you hear me? Andmar is dead, and the bridge is gone. You said we had to go south.”

He waited as Genris took a drag from the pipe, held the smoke in his lungs and then pushed it out into Morlan’s face. Although the leaf smelled rank, it was an improvement from whatever foul ceremony had polluted the air.

“And we will. We shall. The signs point to it.”

“Fuck you and your signs.”

A gasp came from the corners of the chamber, and the sound of running feet slapped the cold stone.

“We don’t need to resort to such barbaric language, now, do we?”

“I’m done with your omens and rituals. Your superstitious bullshit isn’t any more valid than the tales of the dark stranger.”

“Gaston.” Genris spoke the man’s name as if doing so caused him as much pain as a rotten tooth. “The man with the book.’”

“I’m not here to play politics with you. And I’m not submitting to him, either. It’s time we do it my way. The warrior’s path.”

Although the words came out as a forceful bark, Morlan felt something shift inside his head. He swayed and blinked, the image of the witch doctor wavering before him as though standing behind a waterfall. The sound of his own heart filled his ears, and Morlan stumbled one step backward. A servant put out his hands to keep Morlan from falling to the ground.

“I really think you should have a smoke.”

Morlan screamed at the man, tossing vile profanities at Genris. But his mouth had not opened, and so the words pounded the inside of his skull before settling into a dull throb at the back of his neck.

“Okay.”

Genris’ smile crept further up his face. He motioned at the servants and they took several steps back—out of sight but close enough to be near the witch doctor should anything unexpected occur.

Morlan watched as his hand, without command from his brain, reached for the pipe. He brought the tip to his lips and inhaled. At first, the herb burned. The smoke seared his tongue and would ruin his love of venison for days. But the vapors moved down his windpipe and filled his lungs with a warm, relaxing feeling, much like burning pine on a cold winter’s morning. He held the smoke in, counted to three, and then exhaled.

“Now. You were saying that Gaston needs to be punished for his transgressions against the Coven?”

“Yes.” Morlan laughed as the word came out. His brain screamed “no,” and yet he had affirmed Genris’ ludicrous proposition. “Gaston must pay.”

Genris raised his hands and the servants came back to remove his ceremonial robe. They floated into the darkness while Genris climbed back up onto the dais and took his seat on the throne. The animal bones and hide continued to burn in the brass urn at his feet. Genris leaned over the smoke and brushed it into his face, his mouth open and his eyes closed.

“Should he die, Morlan? I think it is an inevitability. The signs have shown it.”

That word. The man and his fucking signs.

“The signs,” said Morlan. “Yes.”

“I am so glad you and I had this lovely chat over a pipe. It’s amazing how much progress can be made when one has faith in the wisdom of the Coven’s ways.”

“Yes.” Morlan felt a lump in his throat, something that the smoke could not push down. “Yes.”

Genris turned his head to the side, his eyebrows lifting. “You have more you’d like to say but your mouth seems to be…stuck?”

“Yes,” Morlan said again. Tears filled his eyes and the veins on his neck stood out. “No. Fucking no.”

Genris sat back and the smile dropped from his face. The flames at his feet flashed and the dried bone rattled in the fire like a poisonous snake. “What did you say?”

“I said fucking no. Fucking no, you evil son of a bitch.” Morlan felt a tingling in his lips and the warm, safe sensation in his lungs disappeared. Every breath felt like daggers of ice puncturing his chest. His tongue swelled and stuck to the side of his mouth.

“I’m so disappointed in you.”

Morlan abandoned his attempt at a verbal joust and instead reached for his sword. He unsheathed the long dagger and leapt up onto the dais in one motion. Before the servants could rush to Genris’ side, Morlan had a sharp, cold blade at the witch doctor’s neck.

“You no longer have power over me or my people. The Coven’s influence is gone. I will expose you and your man-servants for the fake, corrupt bastards you are.”

“Trading one enemy for another. I’m sure you believe Gaston won’t betray you. He’ll lead you to the promised land.”

“My dealings with Gaston are not of your concern.” Morlan felt his head clear. Although his vision sharpened, and he could now form words to be spoken, a headache blossomed behind his forehead that he was sure would become a wretched monster by sundown.

“Will you remove this blade from my neck? You’re frightening the priests, and I don’t see how you think this will benefit our people.”

“Our people? I lead the Cygoa. Not you. They are not our people.”

Genris tried to smile, but it appeared weak, a trembling dark line on his face about to spill sadness into the room.

“And yes, dear Genris. I know you love to hear that word. Yes, I will remove the blade from your neck. Whether it bruises your neck or empties your life blood will be up to you.”

Chapter 42

Jonah was the first across the makeshift bridge. The initial few steps were nerve-wracking, and Jonah could feel his stomach turning as he tried to avoid looking down into the void below, expecting the logs to break at any moment. But nothing happened and, after only a few steps, he was out into the middle of the bridge, the rope firmly attached to his waist.

The bridge barely moved under his weight.

He took a side step to check the outmost log, and found it to be just as sturdy.

We build entire buildings out of logs like these, he thought, and you’re nearly pissing in your pants.

Ghafir stood on the other side of the bridge, waiting patiently. Jonah could tell the man was concerned, even though he was hiding it.

Can’t have that, now, can we? he thought, and even though it felt immature, Jonah stopped in the middle and bounced, grinning at his friend, whose eyes went wide. Then Jonah paced the remaining distance and hopped off the other side, untying the rope and waving back at the gathering of Elk warriors at the other side.

“It’ll be more than strong enough,” said Jonah. “Well, once we have another dozen or so more logs next to those and they are all lashed together securely.”

“Yes,” Ghafir said, his relief evident. “Though the carts are quite a bit heavier than one man.”

Jonah frowned and looked at the logs. “You think we should double them up? Another layer?”

Ghafir nodded. “Many more logs,” he said, and then turned to head up the hill.

Jonah looked toward the tree line as they walked side by side. The hunters, he noticed, had gone.

“Where are Briar and his cronies?” Jonah asked.

Ghafir pointed ahead. “In the clearing, up there. Just as the Greyrook clan promised, it flattens out into an open area. They’re marking out the area for us to build our camp upon, big enough for for all the clans, I think.”

“We need to concern ourselves with defense,” said Jonah, “and I’m not sure camping this close to the breach is a good idea.”

“You’ll see. It’s a huge clearing, and flat. It will take the numbers, and if we want to build a camp on flat ground it’s another two miles up the hill before it starts to level off.”

“Hmm,” Jonah mumbled. “Way too far to keep control of the bridge, at least while we’re still camped here. We’ll move on soon enough, but I want control of the bridge while we are still here.”

“Yes. Those were my thoughts, too.”

“Good call, my friend. This clearing will have to be it. We will make it work. Hopefully it’ll only be temporary anyway, just to gather everyone this side of the breach before we move west.”

“Ah, yes. I have some news for you on that matter,” said Ghafir.

Jonah’s eyebrows rose at this. “Something good, I hope?”

“Depends on your view. I spoke to my kin before I left them to come here, and we have considered all that is happening in Eliz. Even though some would prefer to stay, they all agree that now the area is in too much turmoil. For now, and if your offer still stands, we would choose to travel with you and your clans. To the west.”

Jonah stopped as the ground leveled off, and he gazed through the trees at the clearing that Ghafir had spoken of. The area was, as Ghafir had noted, more than big enough for their needs, and Jonah was surprised that such a plateau could be hidden among the trees on the slope. “Well, that’s the best news I’ve had all day. I would be honored if your clan would travel with us.”

The two men stood silently for a few minutes. Jonah didn’t know what was on Ghafir’s mind, but he was busy calculating their next move.

“We will need to send scout groups out before we can move on from here, so we can expect to be here for a few days. How far is the Ninety-Five road, do you think?”

Ghafir seemed to ponder this for a few seconds. “We rarely travelled this way, after the clan travelled to the east many years ago, but if my memory serves me, maybe twenty miles. So maybe a long day’s travel for the cart pushers.”

Jonah nodded. “Then we need to finish that bridge today, set up here for a couple of days, get everyone over that bridge, and send scouts out to the Ninety-Five, then south. The most defensible area I can think of around here is Rocky Mount.”

“Good view from there.”

“Then I need to talk to the council. Try to figure out what our plan should be. We want to go back west, but only as far as we can without running into too many Cygoa. And I want to know how much of the west they have claimed before we can start taking it back and return to Wytheville.”

“That’s weeks away,” said Ghafir. “We will need another place between here and there, I think; another ruin to call home for a while.”

“How many of them could there be? If it’s an invasion, we could be looking at hundreds. Multiple warbands. If they can send this many, this far out to the east, to block us, then I can only imagine. If they’ve moved into the valley in huge numbers, maybe more than what we have… Hell, I’m not sure what we do with that.”

“And we have other concerns, I feel,” said Ghafir.

“Such as?”

“The other Eliz clans. I was listening to some of them, before we left to come here, and there is much talk among them that Eliz may not be safe to return to after the grumbles. One of the other hunters from another clan was speaking of how even the Nikkt may not return. I fear that the west may be a destination not just for us but for many.”

“Meaning?”

Ghafir turned to Jonah. “Meaning it isn’t just the Cygoa that may head for the valleys.”

“Then they will have to fight alongside us to take it back,” said Jonah.

Chapter 43

Seren approached the building cautiously, still wondering if it was even a good idea to be there in the first place. Following some disembodied voice speaking from a box on the wall seemed about the worst plan to stay alive, but she was compelled, nonetheless. Maybe it was something in the man’s voice, or the fact that he—or they—had left her alone all this time, while she wandered the city, instead of showing themselves? She didn’t know. And it didn’t matter. She was already there, standing at the crossroads, walking slowly across the road.

Seren could tell that Sorcha didn’t share her curiosity; she seemed uneasy. The wolf had been lowering her head as they passed each building or junction, sniffing the ground and jumping each time the voice spoke from the devices attached to the buildings.

That was a puzzling one, Seren thought. The boxes were everywhere. They were on every street corner, it seemed, and sometimes halfway down a street if it was particularly long. They were high up on the roof, or low down, or attached to one of the ancient metal poles that lined the street. Seren had seen the tall metal poles before, though there were few left standing. She marveled at the explanation Logan had given her once, long ago.

“They say the things used to light up at night,” he had said. “Bright as anything, and bright enough that you could see the whole road. I seen pictures of it in one of them magazines too, so I reckon it was true.”

Seren wondered if Logan was still alive. Then it occurred to her why she wasn’t scared of the voice. It sounded just like Logan. Not in the way it spoke, or even the tone. No, this was something deeper. It was the thoughtfulness behind the voice, like every word was carefully chosen and meant to express exactly what was said.

She and Sorcha had travelled a winding path through the ruins, following the voice, passing at least thirty of the boxes already. And now she stood, opposite the building the voice had described, in the middle of the road. She looked left and then right, and then walked until she stood in front of a particularly large building.

Double doors faced the crossing, and the windows were still intact, as were the curtains behind them—heavy drapes colored a dark red that reminded her of blood, the hem lined with bright, shiny gold patterns. It was a strange building, she thought. Many of the others had signs above them, but this one had a massive, stained, white billboard displaying the words MATINEE SHOW 3PM in large, black lettering. The main doors were also still intact—huge, sturdy wooden things with ornate carvings depicting something she couldn’t comprehend, that looked, in some way, like the wall devices the voice spoke through, except larger.

She stopped at the front of the building and reached out, carefully pushing the left side of the double doors a little. The door swung open slowly, seeming weightless, to reveal a large room fitted with rotten water-stained blue carpet and dark mahogany walls. Dust floated through the air, as though recently disturbed but gradually returning to its slumber.

Seren stepped into the interior room, ignoring a soft whine from Sorcha.

This is the building, she thought. The voice had guided her to this place.

Directly across the room from the entrance was a surprisingly well-preserved large wooden counter. It stretched thirty feet from one end to the other, it’s surface cracked but unbroken, though it was caked with the grime of centuries. Behind the counter, broken things stood on shelves that had also been mostly undisturbed, but the shelves themselves hadn’t bore the weight. Some sections had collapsed completely, and now lay on the floor among other debris, but some still hung from the back wall. One section that was still intact held up a strange cylindrical object that sat atop a box that had several levers sticking out of the front. Seren couldn’t make out what was inside the plastic cylinder, but whatever it had been, it had rotted and dried up a long time ago.

She turned to Sorcha, who was still standing near the entrance, not quite committing herself to entering the building. The wolf glanced backward at the street and then peered into the gloom of the interior.

“What you think?” Seren asked.

Sorcha huffed in reply and moved away from the doorway, taking a few steps into the building, sniffing the ground as she went. Seren sniffed the air, more out of instinct than any expectation that she would smell whatever Sorcha could detect.

Beyond the open area inside the entrance, past the counter, was the foot of a set of stairs that were so wide that Seren thought six people could walk up them in a line. Why they needed to be that big she didn’t know, and she frowned. The place seemed grand just for the sake of it, the interior decoration overdone.

“We should get out of here,” Seren said. “This was stupid.” She shook her head and started toward the entrance. “What was I thinking, really? Anyone could be in here.”

Sorcha perked up at this and turned to follow.

“Let’s get the hell away—”

“You are not in danger,” called a voice from the top of the stairs.

Seren spun around to face the voice, one hand snatching her bow from her shoulder and the other pulling an arrow from the quiver at her waist. Two seconds was all it took for the arrow to be notched and pulled back, fully drawn and aiming into the darkness at the top of the stairs.

“I mean it,” said the voice. “You have no need to worry here. You’re not in danger.”

Seren recognized the voice, though it sounded a little different. It had been given a metallic edge to it when speaking from the loudspeakers out in the city, but she was sure it was the same man.

Almost as if his moment had been timed, the man stepped out from the shadows. As Seren had suspected, he was not a young man. He was old—maybe even as old as Logan or older. He looked frail and his skin had a pale tone to it.

“We wanted to meet you. We get so few visitors here, and those that do come here tend to pass through without stopping for long. We ignore most. Especially if they look like trouble, which is most of the time.”

Seren glanced at the open door behind her, and was about to take another step in that direction, but she paused. The old man appeared unarmed. She could handle him if needed, and he certainly couldn’t chase her if she decided to run. Both she and Sorcha were fast on their feet. He wouldn’t be able to keep up with them.

And then there was Sorcha, a wolf. No. The old man was no threat.

“Then why me?” she asked. “Why contact me, if you ignore most people?”

The old man chuckled at this. “Well, for starters, you are the only young person we have seen a while, and I’ve never seen anyone capable of befriending a wolf. Even one so young.”

Seren glanced at Sorcha, who tilted her head to one side, almost as though she understood the conversation.

“Why would that be of interest to you? She isn’t for trade.”

The man at the top of the stairs laughed louder at this. “Oh no, no. We have no intentions of trying to buy your wolf from you, my dear. Gods, whatever would we do with it, if we had it? It would be chaos.” He took a step forward and leaned on the banister rail that lined the stairs. “No, my dear, we found the idea of a human able to befriend one most intriguing. Also, we are all old—well, nearly all of us. It is refreshing and says something of your nature. If an animal naturally wild can trust you, and be taught to obey and to interact, then surely we can trust you, too. They are such beautiful creatures, don’t you think? Wild as nature itself. They always were, even in the old days. To become friends with one is quite remarkable.”

“She’s not a pet,” said Seren.

“No, I believe she probably isn’t,” said the man with a smile. “That is maybe why it’s fascinating. She’s become your friend.”

The man took a few steps forward until he was at the top of the stairs. “We watched you both from a distance as you travelled around our city, and it is obvious that you travel together as equals. Though, I would put money on it that she would obey your command if you were to issue one?”

Seren frowned again and looked back at Sorcha, realizing that the man did have a point. Yes, Sorcha constantly reacted to her words.

“I suppose. But not like an attack dog.”

“No? Are you sure? If you commanded her to attack me now, would she not?”

Seren knew the man was right. “Yes, I guess she would. Don’t worry, I won’t set her on you.”

Sorcha sniffed.

“Well, that’s a relief. Come, let me show you something of the old world.” He indicated that she should join him. “This place is fascinating, and you will find few places in this world today that have left so many ghosts of the past left behind.”

Chapter 44

Sasha stood by as Keana tied and wrapped their belongings. Several times, she had wanted to jump in and correct the girl and show her the right way to do it. But Sasha knew her daughter would never learn if she didn’t make her own mistakes. The basket of grain would tumble and spill once they were back on the road. Sasha was sure of it. And they’d be hungry for days because of Keana’s poor packing. Learning from natural consequences was the only education left in this world.

“You have that bundled up properly?”

“Yes, Mother.”

Sasha bit her lip and nodded. Keana stacked several bags, which were sure to topple as soon as they hit the old, rutted pavement, on the cart.

“I’m not crazy about you crossing the bridge.”

“We all have to. The whole clan. What do you mean?”

She looked into Keana’s eyes; her husband’s strength reflected back. “It’s dangerous. There hasn’t been enough time to make sure it’s secure for an entire clan to cross, let alone several.”

“I don’t understand,” Keana said, pulling her hair back into a ponytail. “We can’t stay on this side of the breach. We can’t not cross the bridge.”

Sasha paused, trying to decide how to bring up the old woman. “Who is walking with you and our cart?”

“Leta.”

“You keep your eye on that old hag.”

“Mother, please.” Keana rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not a little girl, anymore. I can handle myself.”

“That’s not what worries me.”

You’re lying to her. That is exactly what worries you.

“She’s a thief. And proud of it. People don’t change. Especially people that old.”

“She scavenges.”

“She steals.”

Sasha watched Keana blow a puff of air over her bottom lip to push a lock of hair from her face. The girl took a step back and shook her head. “Anything else?”

“No. Nothing else. Please be careful, and make sure you let Solomon know where you are once you get to the other side. I have some other things to attend to here. I will not cross the bridge with you and the old woman.”

“Leta.”

Sasha leaned forward and gave Keana a kiss on the forehead. The girl wrapped her arms around her mother and squeezed her quickly before stepping back again. Sasha decided it was best to let the girl go. She would speak to Jonah about Leta later. She could still see the look of pure delight on the old hag’s face when she had carved up the Cygoa.

***

“The wheels.”

Leta looked down at the cart, to the bridge, and back to Keana.

“It’s a cart, dear. What would you expect to be on the bottom?”

“They’ll get stuck. The bridge isn’t one from the old world. They had to make it. The wheels of the cart will get stuck in the space between the logs. It’s not going to work.”

The girl was right. None of the men, not even Jonah, had thought much about the movement of an entire clan across the bridge. Getting men across on their feet was one thing, but wheeling a cart loaded with goods or metal plates was something else entirely.

“So, what do we do, smarty-pants? How do we wheel the carts across?”

Leta watched as Keana stared at the lashed together logs that spanned the breach. The girl walked around the cart and mumbled, as if having a conversation with someone else inside of her head.

“We have to wheel them. They are too heavy, and there are too many, to do much else.”

A few Elk warriors walked past. They nodded at Leta but smiled at Keana. It would not be long before Jonah would be fighting a different battle, one that all fathers of daughters fought.

“Jonah instructed Ghafir and his men to put more logs on top. It’ll hold.”

“It probably will. But my father is not a master of the cart. He does not see what we see. Trying to push the carts across the bridge will be slow. We’ll be targets.”

Leta smiled and winked at the girl. “So, what do you want to do?”

“Untie four of the metal panels and I’ll help you lay them on the ground.”

Leta wrinkled her nose and turned her head sideways. “You mean the ones we use for defense?”

“Yes, silly. What other panels do we have?”

The old woman ignored the soft insult and grabbed a knot with her right hand. Her knuckles had become gnarled years ago, but the Ritis was getting worse. Most folks she knew hadn’t lived long enough to deal with joint stiffening, so she wasn’t sure if hers was a curse or a badge of honor.

“Let me help.”

Keana’s hands flashed as she undid the knots holding the panels on the carts. She used both hands to grab one end of a panel and began sliding it toward the front of their cart, which sat at the edge of the bridge. Leta ran around and grabbed the other side. They side stepped and grunted, the weight of the panel causing a fiery flare of pain in Leta’s shoulder. Keana dropped her end and Leta did the same.

“That’s for one side. I’ll get the other.”

Leta didn’t protest. She used her right fist to massage her left shoulder while Keana dragged a second panel forward. Now, both panels lay before the cart, one in front of each wheel, with two-thirds of the panel lying on top of the bridge. Keana grabbed the reins of the cart and yanked hard until the front wheels popped up onto the panel. Once they were on, she leaned back with her weight and the cart rolled smoothly across the panels until the wheels rolled off them on the other side.

“Wow. Not bad, kid. One problem, though. We don’t have enough panels to run the length of the bridge. So…”

“I’m not done,” Keana said.

The girl ran behind the cart and dragged each panel back to the front of the cart. She repeated the process and pulled the cart forward another ten feet.

“Each cart puller can be responsible for their own. They can cross at their own pace, with their own panels.”

“I’ll be a witch’s tit.”

Keana giggled and smiled at the old woman.

“Let the Elk know. Show them, if you must. I need to wait here and rub me shoulder. Old ladies shouldn’t be carrying panels.”

Leta waited for Keana to run off and explain her solution to the rest of the clan. When the girl was out of sight, Leta turned her attention to the woods across the breach. Something there felt wrong. Off. She squinted, using her hand to shield her eyes from the sun.

The leaves on the ground on the west side of the breach had been disturbed. Normal folk wouldn’t have even noticed. Probably not even a hunter. But Leta saw the tracks as clear as clouds in a summer sky. Their mark was unmistakable.

Wolves.

Chapter 45

Donast, clan leader of the Nikkt, stood upon the crest of the mound north of his clan’s new encampment and watched the horizon. Behind him, the clan was a buzzing hive as his people hurried to secure the remainder of the roughly built defenses left behind by the Elk, a job, he knew, that required more hands than he had. Even with over a hundred warriors in his clan, they would probably not have a secure perimeter by nightfall.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead and spat into the dirt, cursing. Their camp in the city had walls nearly all the way around, and he had been pleased when they claimed it, thinking it almost impenetrable. For once, they would have an advantage over the other clans instead of making do. But it was not meant to be. The damn grumbles, and the collapse of buildings across the city, had sent all the clans scrambling for the wilderness.

Still, he thought, you have fared better than others. Many smaller clans had vanished during the last few days, collapsing during the exodus, their warriors lost, and he could see this among the many that now followed the Elk and the other Wytheville clans toward the rumored new bridge to the west. Endless stragglers and newly clanless folk hoped to hide among the great mass of people.

And where was that damn scout group? He squinted into the sun, grateful for the warmth that increased daily but cursing how its brightness hurt his eyes.

There, he saw them. At last. The small group headed toward them from the west, against the dwindling throng, pushing their way back through the line of refugees. Ten minutes and they would be there, but it was too slow for Donast. He strode down the mound and paced along the side of the crowd, unwilling to be slowed down by their amble.

The scouts looked tired and battered.

“What goes?” he asked the first as they stumbled toward him. “What happened?”

“Nothing to worry about,” said the scout. “We had a scuffle with some scavengers is all. No one damaged beyond repair.”

Donast nodded and patted the man on his shoulder. “Come, get back to camp. Drink, eat.”

They made their way against the crowd, though many of the weary wanderers on the road moved aside when they realized who was walking their way. Donast was a half a foot taller than most men, with bright red hair and a multitude of scars across his face, a man whom one did not forget easily.

Back at the camp, the scouts slumped next to the campfire. Donast stood as patiently as he could and waited.

“Nearly all have crossed the new bridge,” said the young man. “The Elk at least, and the other clans with them, but there are so many more heading that way, moving out of the plains and into the forest. And not ones who come from there, either. We saw the Cold Ones’ clan among them, and some of the Nitari, and they have lost numbers greatly.”

Donast frowned at this. Both names were well known to him. Large clans, maybe half the size of the Nikkt, with many warriors before, and not always friendly toward them. “Nitari and Cold Ones have broken?”

The young scout looked to the other, elder scouts, who nodded for him to continue. “Yes, Lord. At least, as far as we can see, they are in disarray, and maybe no longer. Maybe broken.”

“And what of the hunter clans? Those usually on the plains? They are still there?”

The scout shook his head. “We saw none on the plains, only empty camps, all abandoned. Folks are fleeing for the west to escape the collapse and the Va—” The young man stopped half way through the word.

“Don’t be coy, boy,” said Donast. “Speaking the name of the Valk doesn’t curse you.”

“Sorry, my lord. Well there are rumors of attacks on smaller camps, and that’s why many think the hunter clans have fled, or have already been attacked by the Valk…”

Donast paced the ground, many thoughts whirling through his mind. They had this secure camp, the best spot for miles, but without other clans they could be in trouble. The Valk didn’t come this far out, usually, but if smaller camps had been attacked further west, then the Valk were already a problem.

But maybe they will hold to their truce, he thought. Maybe they will pick smaller, easier targets. That must be the way of it. They had agreed this and made promises. But would they keep them now? That the Valk were even above ground during the day, and launching assaults on clans, was something new.

He turned and looked to the sky. The sun was high but edging far from its summit. Four hours and it would start to lose its light for the day. There was not enough time to pack down the camp and get very far.

Strom, Nikkt’s lieutenant, stood nearby, and Donast could tell he was also deep in thought, probably considering the same news.

“What do you think?” Donast asked.

Strom nodded. “Too late to move today, I’d say. It’s a few days’ march to this new bridge, so we would have to make camp several times between, if, as I suspect, you are considering our options and whether we should follow the rest.”

“I hate following,” Donast said, his voice low.

“I know that,” Strom said with a shrug. “Maybe the wrong choice of words.”

Donast shook his head. “No, the right choice. But regardless, we will hold here, tonight. We’ll double the watches and tell everyone not to pack down their goods for a long stay, just what’s needed.”

“And then?” asked Strom.

“Then we consider our situation in the morning.”

Chapter 46

“What was this place?” Seren asked as she walked down the aisle. They’d followed him up the stairs onto a large landing space that led to two more huge double doors, ones that dwarfed the front entrance. Age and nature had worn away at the thick wood, but even after all the years they had stood there, they still hung on hinges that refused to break. Beyond the doors was an indoor space unlike any she had ever seen. Seren marveled at how such a vast area could remain under a roof and be unknown to the world outside.

The doors opened onto a slope that gradually made its way down past aisle upon aisle of seating, until it ended hundreds of feet away at the foot of a massive raised area. Little light shone into the auditorium, but half a dozen small, dirty windows lined each side of the hall, high up, almost near the ceiling, and they let in enough of the sun to allow her to see.

She stopped halfway down the slope and glanced around at the sea of chairs. Most of the seating hadn’t weathered as well as the doors, the wood crumbling into splinters and dust, leaving a thin and rusted metal frame, but enough of the seats were still intact to give her an idea of what it must have looked like back before the end of civilization.

There were thousands of seats, she thought, enough to seat everyone still alive, everyone she had ever met. They could all fit in this one room.

“It was called a theatre,” said the man. He had moved down and was making his way up a small set of steps that led onto the platform. “That much I have learned from reading what was left behind.”

A theatre. The thought echoed in Seren’s mind.

The man paused at the top of the stairs. “In the old times, many people would come here, sit in the chairs and be entertained.”

“Entertained? What do you mean?”

“Well, of that I’m not entirely sure, but what I have found suggests that this stage, or so it was called back then, would be filled with other people, most of them often wearing costumes or outfits, and they would pretend to be other people in order to retell some story. I think they would sing as well. Old songs that are now forgotten. They called it a play or a show.”

Seren considered this for a moment. “You mean like the street players?”

The man regarded her curiously. “I’ve not heard that term.”

Seren coughed. Every step inside this ancient chamber seemed to disturb some pocket of debris, sending a cloud of dust into the air. “They perform on the roadside, mainly in Eliz, but I’ve sometimes seen them in Wytheville. Beggars and clanless people, all dressed up in bright clothing, singing and telling stories for donations. People mostly ignore them, but some give them stuff, you know—food, water, or some junk they don’t need. We had a group come to the village once, heading north to who knows where. They stayed a couple of nights and then carried on. They did shows, with singing and music on these drums they had. Judas, who was clan chief back then, let them stay and gave them food and stuff.”

“Ah,” said the man. “Yes, I see. Well I suppose this hall was once a place for a much grander version of that. Fascinating, don’t you think? How people of long ago had so much that they could throw away the resources to make such a huge place just to have somewhere to sit and watch storytellers. And they built it so well it’s withstood everything nature has thrown at it over hundreds of years, where many more practical buildings have fallen.”

Seren heard a low whine behind her and looked back. Sorcha had only come as far as the top of the slope, and was eyeing the huge hall with suspicion. “Is this where you live now? This place?”

The man shook his head. “No. I just love to visit here, sometimes. Well, it also happens to be one of the places where we have an observation room outside of our home that allows us to see through the cameras and speak through the loudspeakers across the city.”

“Then where do you live?”

“A hidden place, though it’s not that far from here. I hope you don’t mind but we’ve grown very suspicious and untrusting over the years, and the others, my friends, wanted to send someone to meet you, and get to know you a little, before we allowed you any further knowledge.”

“And they sent you.”

“Yes. We flipped a coin for it, and I was chosen.”

Flipped and coin were two terms unknown to Seren, but she didn’t ask. Too many questions might annoy him, she thought.

“The others are not as open as I, and some were against even contacting you, but I can be persuasive, and they have changed their minds...”

Seren squinted, peering around the hall. They had been watching her, she realized. He had brought her into this place where there were many of the CCTV things dotted around, she could see them now. His friends had been watching her all along.

“We had to be careful, of course. There was always the possibility that we had made a bad judgement and that you were not alone and may bring trouble. But that doesn’t appear to be the case, and now the others are quite keen to meet you and hear about what is going on in the wide world beyond our borders.”

Chapter 47

The triumphant crossing of the makeshift bridge gave way to the mundane. Shouting, hollering and good cheer turned into the usual mumblings over who was going to hunt and who was going to build the fires. Night came quickly, and its arrival surprised Jonah. He had been directing each of the clans as they crossed the breach, guiding the traffic to different areas of the new camp. It would be temporary, for sure, but that did not stop the leaders from squabbling with each other over the lot with the most space or level ground. He mediated a couple of arguments that took longer than he anticipated. He promised himself he would reward Keana for her ingenious idea of using the metal plates to get the carts over the bridge.

Declan appeared next to Jonah at the great bonfire in the middle of the camp. The other leaders would not arrive until they had settled their clans in, and he thought that by then the sun would have completely set, which gave Jonah some time to eat the roasted venison Declan brought. The steaming meat was skewered on the end of a sharpened stick and had been seasoned and browned to perfection.

“Sasha had to practically rip this from Gideon’s hands. The boy eats like wolf.” Declan had been given the meat by Sasha to deliver to him.

Jonah smiled, accepting the venison from Declan. He took a bite. Although the moisture had been cooked out of the meat, the salty seasoning made Jonah’s eyes water. He savored the cut of deer and used a swig of shine to tenderize it.

“Practically no fat. Tough to keep it from drying out.”

Declan shrugged. “If there were wild boar running around here, don’t think for a second we wouldn’t be eating it now.”

Jonah nodded as he continued chewing. “This is fantastic. It warms my belly. Thank you for bringing it.”

Declan dipped into an exaggerated bow before turning and observing the people moving about the camp. Some families had kept their carts tied down, while others had set up as they would a stop on the road.

“I miss them,” Declan said.

“I know. I do as well. I didn’t know Rav for as long as I’ve known Gunney, but…”

“The Dustfall. It was nice. I know that without the bodies, you didn’t have to order a ceremonial one.”

“Declan.” Jonah tore the last hunk of flesh from the stick and tossed it into the weeds. “Those men earned it. A Dustfall was never in question.”

The other leaders filtered into the area around the great bonfire. Some carried flasks, while others held their weapons. Jonah considered each face, trying his best to determine what each clan would want to do. In the end, he was the leader of the Elk and they had all chosen to follow him. They would do what he wanted to do.

“They come.” Declan’s words interrupted Jonah’s thoughts. “I will stand to the side, should you need anything.”

“We must be able to return to Eliz.”

The demand came almost as soon Declan stepped into the shadows and the leaders gathered around the fire. There would be no formalities, no pleasant or traditional transitions into the looming question. And now one had already declared an answer.

“Ghafir has spoken to clan leaders in and around the lands of Eliz.”

The men settled down as Jonah began to speak, even the leader demanding an immediate return to the old city.

“They say that the grumbles continue, that structures in Eliz are crumbling.”

“They’ve been crumbling for decades. Centuries, even.”

Jonah nodded, acknowledging the comment, before continuing. “Yes. But even for that place, there is a lack of confidence in the ancient structures. Families who have inhabited it for generations are leaving. It is not safe.”

“Then what do we do, Jonah?” The question came from the other side of the fire, the tone genuine and concerned.

“We go west.”

A murmur went around the fire, and Jonah gave his words time to settle in. He counted to five before speaking again.

“We need to find out where the Cygoa are and what is happening further west.”

“But the taint is on the land too far to the west. We’ve known that for a long time.”

“Tis true. But I cannot in good conscience lead the Elk back to Eliz. And therefore, I would not lead your people, either. We can make camp here, temporarily. While we do that, I will send a scouting party to the west. They will report back on the Cygoa, the taint and anything else we need to know before moving our clans that way.”

“What if we are not sure we want to take our clans with you?”

“You are under no obligation to do so. Please take a few minutes to talk amongst yourselves, consider what I have said. When we reconvene, I will explain my plan.”

Jonah felt a bead of sweat on his forehead, and he had to turn from the meeting and step into the cool night air. He took a deep breath and put his hands on his knees. Jonah didn’t know if the stress and physical demand of the past few months had begun to take a toll, or if maybe the venison had been bad. He stood up quickly, which sent his stomach tumbling over itself.

“Jonah.”

He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned around to see Declan. He recognized the face even in the darkness.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, Declan. Thanks for checking on me.”

“Sure.” The boy spoke again. “I have an idea.”

Jonah twirled his pointer finger in the air, doing his best to keep his dinner where it belonged.

“Send multiple scouting parties. I will lead one.”

“Multiple?”

“Yes. Not one directly west but several on tangents.”

Jonah thought about it, and although it seemed logical, from the boy’s inexperienced point of view, Jonah knew that meant three times the resources. Three times the risk.

“I cannot afford that many men.”

“Then make the parties smaller. Sacrifice strength for speed, agility.”

He looked at Declan and the boy held his gaze.

“A week. Tis all I’m willing to send you out for, all I’m willing to risk of you and the other parties.”

“Plenty. With smaller parties, we can travel further. Faster. Lighter.”

A roar came from the fire, where two of the leaders had gotten into a drunken wrestling match. Declan looked to the fire and then back to Jonah.

“C’mon. I can do this. I want to do this. For Rav. For Gunney.”

“Okay, Declan. Okay. But we will be heading out in two days, aiming for the Ninety-Five and Rocky Mount. We can’t stay here. You’ll have to head out and head back to there. A week, no more.”

Declan grinned and slapped Jonah on the shoulder before running back to the bonfire. Jonah felt the earth steady beneath his feet, and although he belched, the venison seemed to be staying where it belonged. He walked over and into the firelight. The men stopped talking.

“I will send three scouting parties. All to the west in slightly different directions. Declan will coordinate the parties and lead one. In two days, we leave this camp and head slowly westward. The scouts will meet us along the road, and we can make further plans based on what the scouts report back about the Cygoa and other threats. If none return, we head for Ninety-Five and Rocky Mount.”

The men cheered and left the fire for their families, none staying to question Jonah’s decision. He stood at the fire for a moment before Declan stepped out of the shadows.

“I will not let you down, Jonah.”

“Go now, before I change my mind. Find two other dependable warriors and put them in charge of scouting parties. Set them off in their directions, and make sure they know to meet us at Rocky Mount. Then get going.”

“Right away, my lord.” Declan turned and took a step when Jonah called him back.

“Declan. Do not go too far west, and for the love of all that is sacred, do not engage the Cygoa. They are lethal, even in small groups.”

“I will not.”

“I mean it. If you do, you not only risk your life but you risk the life of all the Elk. Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“Good. Then go before I change my mind.”

Chapter 48

The man led Seren to a place surrounded by wire fence. It was nearer than she had expected, only a short walk away, maybe half a mile from the theatre. Most of the surrounding fence was rusting and had collapsed in many places, and beyond the wire mesh the grass had grown almost as tall as her shoulders through the cracks in the concrete.

The gates themselves were open, the access bar lying to one side where it had probably been abandoned centuries ago. The buildings in the distance looked derelict. A façade, she thought. If the place looks long abandoned, then anyone wandering by may believe there is nothing of use there.

She began to wonder if this was even where the man lived. Maybe this wasn’t the place. They may just travel across the open space and find some fortified defense beyond it.

“This isn’t as undefended as it first appears,” the man said, almost as though he had read her thoughts. “We prefer to keep things hidden, but that does not mean they aren’t there.”

She left the comment unanswered, not wishing to pry any further. The man seemed willing enough to tell her details of what surrounded her anyway, so if there was something he wished to tell her, he would. Best, she thought, at least for the time being, to take whatever is offered. And keep your hand on your bow, just in case.

Once they were through the gates, she followed him along a roadway that led through the grass. It was cracked and overgrown with weeds but clear enough that she didn’t worry about what might be slithering or crawling around in the grass. The road led perfectly straight for hundreds of yards across the barren flat land, heading toward some more distant buildings, those beyond the collapsed husks she had seen from outside the fence.

The real buildings, she thought. Far enough out of sight that no one would spot them from outside the fence.

As they approached, she began to make out more buildings behind the dome-topped structures. There were rows of large box shaped buildings with a single window and door on one side lined up along the side of the road, and behind them some type of glass structure, though she couldn’t make out the detail this far away.

And then, behind the row of domed buildings stood a massive concrete structure. It was not tall, having just one floor, as far as she could see, but the area it swallowed up would be half of the village, back in the forest.

Behind the concrete monstrosity were another row of strange shaped buildings that were also massive. Seren suspected that they may be made of metal, though how such structures could be still standing was beyond her. They reminded her of overturned barrels, half submerged in the ground, a hundred feet tall, with massive gates on the front that stood half open. It was too dark inside to see what was in there.

But her attention was drawn back to the concrete building. Ivy had grown up the sides of the structure, covering most of its fascia. The only gap in the foliage was the large, already open, double doors that faced set of stairs leading to a raised platform.

Three people waited there. A woman and two men, dressed similarly to the old man who brought her there. All of them wore gray one piece clothing, zipped at the front, and a brown jacket over the top. The colors of their clothing seemed to match their graying hair.

Seren had observed the old man as they walked to what he called the base, and she was surprised that despite how old he looked, he wasn’t frail. He walked with some vigor, as though this was a regular thing for him. Maybe it was; maybe he spent a lot of his time walking.

Sorcha was excited, sometimes trotting ahead of them and wandering down side-streets, sometimes lagging behind and then hurrying to catch up. She constantly sniffed the ground and scratched at the dirt. Her path zig-zagged across theirs, but she always kept within calling distance of Seren.

They stopped at the top of the stairs, ten feet from where the trio stood waiting. The woman stepped forward and held out her hand to Seren. Seren frowned, unsure of this strange behavior, but still held out her own hand, somehow sensing that was what she was supposed to do. The woman took her hand and shook it gently.

“Very pleased to meet you,” she said. “My name is Katrina, and I am the commanding officer on this base.”

“Katrina,” Seren said, nodding. “I’m Seren. Nice to meet you.” She glanced at the two men who stood, motionless, like they were waiting for something. “This is a strange place,” she said, not knowing what else to say.

Katrina smiled at this and looked around. “I would imagine it does appear strange to someone such as yourself.” The woman looked cautiously toward Sorcha, who was sitting at the bottom of the stairs.

Seren noticed the gesture. “She won’t hurt you. She’s friendly.”

“Yes,” said Katrina, still smiling, though Seren could tell the woman was uncomfortable. “So Artemus has said. It’s a little unusual.”

Seren turned to the old man that she had followed to the base. “Artemus?”

The man nodded. Seren held out her hand, trying to imitate the gesture Katrina had used, hoping that she was doing it right. Artemus shook her hand and smiled.

“Well, let’s not keep you waiting out here,” said Katrina. “I’m sure you’re very curious about our home, maybe as curious as we are to hear if you have much knowledge of what goes on beyond our city. Come inside. We have food prepared if you are hungry, and Dr. Henson here—” Katrina gestured toward the tallest of the two men, “is keen to take a look at that ankle of yours. He is concerned.”

Seren smiled, and although in the back of her mind she was reluctant to enter the building—a wariness told her this could still be some form of trap—she couldn’t help but think these people seemed friendly; genuine, even. And besides, her curiosity as to what may be hidden in this place was overwhelming.

Chapter 49

Declan had been surprised at how quickly they had arrived at the outskirts of Rocky Mount. One of the older men in their scouting party had walked the old highway before and saved them an entire afternoon of pushing through thick overgrowth in hopes of stumbling across the rusted guard rail. They had moved parallel with the roadway, heading west-northwest and toward Rocky Mount. When the man with the spying glass saw movement in the ruins of the old city, Declan ordered the party back and over the nearest hillside to camp for the night.

“Hey, Dec.”

He turned away from the fire to see the thin, tall frame of his new friend, Jac. Jac had shaggy brown hair and deep blue eyes. He wore clothing much like the Elk’s, although he had not been part of their clan. Although Declan didn’t ask, he assumed Jac came from another region with harsh winters.

“Another few months and you’ll be able to tie your hair back like mine. You’ll have warrior’s locks.”

Jac smiled as he sat down next to Declan, rubbing his hands together over the fire.

“What’s up?” Declan asked.

“Tomorrow. Will we go into Rocky Mount?”

“Yes. I mean, not all the way in, but we need to find out who’s there and what they’re doing. If Jonah is going to bring all the clans here, we have to make sure it’s safe before we can split up and head our own ways.”

Jac nodded. “Fair enough.”

A pause. A hoot from an owl in a nearby tree.

“Jonah said to not get too close to the Cygoa, right?”

Declan could almost taste his friend’s fear. For those who had not fought for their lives, dying seemed more frightening than death itself.

“Is anyone else up?”

Jac looked at Declan and wrinkled his nose. “A few. Probably.”

“Get them and grab your weapons.”

Jac did as Declan commanded. Declan stood and took a deep breath. He tasted the burning pine of the campfire as well as something else lingering in the air.

Jac returned with two other men. Boys. Their weapons dangled from their hands and they looked at Declan through droopy eyes.

“I’ve seen a group of three down there. They’ve been preparing to leave, it looks like. Probably waiting for night so nobody—like us—will see them.”

“What are we gonna do, Dec?”

“Jump their asses, that’s what.”

The other boys stood up straight, their eyes now wide open and their weapons raised.

“Jonah put me in charge. I know what I’m doing. You follow my lead.”

Jac started to say something but closed his mouth instead. The others stared at Declan, waiting for the next command.

“Look there.” Declan pointed to a position about a half-mile from the center of Rocky Mount. The tiny flames nestled in the burgeoning darkness had disappeared. “They’re putting out the fire and getting ready to leave. They have the entire night ahead of them. We’re gonna cut them off. Ask the fuckers some questions.”

He strutted past the fire and toward the trail that would lead them down to where the Cygoa scouts were preparing to leave. Jac and the others followed, pushing through thorny bushes and stepping over fallen trees.

Declan heard voices but he couldn’t tell what they were saying. He used hand signals to send Jac and the others out and around this small scouting party. When they maneuvered out of sight, Declan stood up and walked right toward the Cygoa. Whistling.

“Who are you?”

Declan held up both hands and laughed. “Just a hunter in the woods. What are you guys doing here? Checking out the old city of Rocky Mount?”

The Cygoa warriors looked at each other, and the one who had questioned Declan raised a bow with a notched arrow.

“One more step and I’ll stick this in your chest. I’m going to kill you anyway. If you listen to me, I’ll have some mercy on you.”

Declan whistled again, this time a long slow inflection instead of a melody. “You hear that, Jac? They’ll have mercy on us.”

The rest of Declan’s party came out of the darkness from behind the Cygoa. The scouts looked at the number of men around them, and soon lost their aggressiveness. Jac went to each Cygoa warrior, taking the weapons from their hands.

“Sit down,” said Declan. “Let’s have us a chat.”

Chapter 50

The Brother sniffed at the air, stopped moving, and sniffed again.

The Walking Ones are on the move again, he thought. A dangerous time. They move in different groups as well now, not just the single mass.

The pack had followed the great trail of Walking Ones coming across the broken ground, from the place where the earth was split, and the smells of old things rose to assault his senses. His kin were hungry once more but were unwilling to attempt an attack on such a large group of Walking Ones.

But this change in movement, this was interesting, this could make things different.

For two passes of the bright sky they had trekked across the wilderness, always aware of the movements of things around them—the lack of game to hunt, the return of the birds they would never be able to catch, and, of course, the strange turmoil of the Walking Ones.

Now his senses told him of a change, that there were at least four groups of Walking Ones moving through the forest, and some were far from the main pack. Overnight, he thought, these small groups had broken off from the host, and they were moving swiftly, hiding at times in places that The Brother could not find. Maybe they were using the trees. He didn’t know, but his senses now brightened as one trail became stronger than the others. The smaller groups were moving in different directions to the main host now, and one was moving nearby.

The Brother thought these new groups had travelled close together for the first two days, four packs of two or three, but now had broken apart and were heading in different directions.

He stopped at the top of a rise and stared into the distance, looking through the trees for some sign, but all that came in reply was sent of those who had already passed. His belly rumbled, almost matching the grumbling and whining of the young in his pack.

The group of Walking Ones that they had tracked down and hunted near the great hole in the ground had not sensed them coming, and they had been an easy prey. The pack had feasted well, but that was days ago, and no easy prey had shown itself since.

Maybe it was something to do with the new broken ground. The migration of the birds had started, but not the return of the animals to the forest.

They cannot find their way back, he thought. They are stuck on the other side of the great hole. And surely it must go on forever, to the ends of the Earth, or the animals would have found a way back. The only prey that remained were the Walking Ones.

Soon, he thought. Surely, soon the forest creatures will return and we can leave the dangerous paths of the Walking Ones behind again. But, for now, we must follow one of these smaller groups.

He sniffed ground, picked up the strongest sense, and began moving swiftly once more, following the trail.

The pack followed him.

Chapter 51

Seren scooped spoonful after spoonful of the soup into her mouth, devouring most of the bowl quickly, before tearing off a chunk of bread and gnawing on it like she hadn’t eaten in days.

“Slow down, child,” Artemus said from across the table. “You’ll give yourself indigestion.”

Seren nodded but continued to eat quickly. Even after a week of staying in the base, she still couldn’t get enough of the food. There was no meat involved in the diets of the people living on the base, and all the produce was all home grown, and yes, she missed the satisfaction of tucking into a freshly cooked kill, but the tall, gangly man, Vernon, who was the cook for the base, had a way of preparing food that tasted like nothing she had ever had. He used recipe books, she had learned, and the man had been more than keen to show her the shelf stacked with books.

Books. They had hundreds of them at the base, held in collections in different places, everywhere. Real books, not just tatty remains and scraps found in ruins. They were carefully preserved in plastic coverings and had weathered centuries in that way.

Before she knew it, the bowl was empty, and she found herself staring down at it, disappointed.

“There is plenty more,” said Artemus, as though the man were reading her mind. “You know, I think Vern has been cooking extra at every meal since you came to stay with us, enough to feed an entire family.” He laughed.

“Sorry,” said Seren, feeling guilty and greedy at the same time.

“Not at all,” said Artemus. “You need feeding up. You’re far too thin.”

Seren looked around the room. Most of the base inhabitants were there, nearly sixty people, seated around the dozens of tables that filled the huge eating room, and yet the room seemed empty. She had learned from Artemus that thousands had lived on the base back in ancient times, and this mess hall had catered to them, providing meals for all. Now the remaining inhabitants had made it a tradition that everyone who could would meet at dinner time to talk of the day. The hall echoed with the sounds of conversation and laughter, and Seren wondered what it would have sounded like with hundreds of people in it.

“Gorston says you are learning very quickly, by the way,” said Artemus. “As do some of the others. Quite the little student, you are, it would seem.”

“There’s so much to learn,” said Seren. “So much that I never knew about. There’s no one out there who knows all the things you do here. No one. Farming, guns, water purification, numbers, plants—it’s all new to me, mostly. I mean, I know some of it that gets passed down from people in the clans, and things I figured out myself, but there’s so much here.”

Artemus nodded.

“You know, I know you don’t like to get involved with the outside, but I still say that you could change the world out there. If folks knew what you people knew...” her voice trailed off and she went back to eating the bread.

Seren knew she shouldn’t push the subject too much. The people at the base were old and had much to risk even letting her in. To interfere with the outside world could be dangerous for them.

But Artemus seemed to ponder it. ”You know my view. I would welcome it. And I’ve voiced such in the council. And I think I am gradually swaying them.”

Seren looked up, hopeful. “You think?”

“Not really. I think you are probably what is swaying them. “

“Me?” Seren said, frowning.

“You are a reminder of what this place is missing. A reminder of what we all lost when we decided not to birth a new generation to take over from us. For centuries, this place has existed by its new generations, and we voted long ago to end that, to let this place dwindle. I even voted for that, back then. But now I know we were wrong.”

Seren shrugged. “It’s a pretty harsh place out there. Not really a lot of hope. There were even more people when I was little, and now the population is getting smaller every year, or so I’m told. The taint gets worse, too.”

“Yes,” said Artemus. “This taint, as you call it, is a problem.”

They were silent for a time, and Seren listened to some of the other conversations around her, but her thoughts drifted back to the Elk, as they always did. Some of the things that she had learned in the short time she had been at the base could already make a difference to her clan. And there was still the problem of the strangers that had taken over Wytheville.

“I’m going to have to leave here soon,” she said. There, it was out. She sighed heavily.

Artemus nodded. “I know. We did hope you would stay, but I realize you have to warn your people.”

“Will Katrina let me leave?”

Artemus didn’t answer straight away, and seemed to be considering the question. “She is concerned that a horde of barbarians will come marching over here. She’s always concerned with that. And to the council, there is a risk if you leave. But they let you in here, and I will argue with them until I am blue in the face that we can’t keep you here if you don’t want to stay. “

“I do want to stay. I love it here. But I can’t let my people head west without telling them what waits for them. I must tell them. I let them down with a bad decision once already. I can’t do it again.”

“Yes,” said Artemus. “And my hope is that you will come back, someday. I will talk to them. Convince them. And in the meantime, you keep learning. I have high hopes that even if we are unwilling to change the world, you will.”

Chapter 52

Lord, wake up.

Donast was still deeply asleep and barely noticed the call. His body refused to answer.

My lord.

He stirred this time, the call more insistent, and as much as he wanted to fight it, to stay in his slumber, he felt himself being wrenched back into the living world.

It had been a good dream whilst it had lasted—a dream of great halls filled with food and women, something he had not seen since he was young and his father ruled, back when the Nikkt had much more land and power. Somewhere in the dream was someone familiar, a young woman he had liked when he was young, and even though somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that she was twenty years in her grave, taken by the disease that weakened the clan and took his father from him, she was still alive in the dream. He vaguely saw her again, an image washing over the world to which he was awakening, her long hair and bright eyes enticing. She had been serving him food, though it was something she had never done.

He remembered, but knew that it was false, a desired memory only found in this dream. She had, in life, turned aside all of his advances, but in the dream, it was different. It could be different. She was there with him, smiling, willing.

Donast awoke and found his lieutenant, Strom, leaning over him.

“Lord? Ah, good,” the large man said. “You’re awake. I was worried illness might have taken hold of you.”

Donast stretched and sat up. “What is it? What do you want that you must wake me?” he asked, irritated.

“There is movement down in the trees, Lord. Spotted by several of our guards.”

“Movement?” Donast questioned as he arched his back. His spine cracked.

“Yes, Lord. I posted more guards and ordered the rest of the warriors to be woken,” said Strom. “But I saw them myself, and thought I must wake you.”

“Another clan?” asked Donast.

Strom shook his head. “I don’t think so. Most of the other clans have moved on, and if it is a hunter clan then they are stupid to approach us. These ones are keeping to the dark areas of the woods and already fired arrows into the barricade.”

Strom held up the long shaft of an arrow. It was thin, and the tip, made of metal, was light, not flint or iron. It’s dark black feathers were large and clumsy.

Unmistakable.

Valk arrows.

Donast cursed as he jumped from his bed and grabbed the club and axe that lay nearby. He was still dressed and hadn’t even removed his armor from the night before. He was up and halfway across the tent before the drowsiness left him and his mind began to clear itself of the dream.

A minute later they were standing at the barricade left behind by the Elk. It was tall, reaching almost to their shoulders, and mostly built from scrap wood and sheets of hammered metal salvaged from old vehicles. Donast had already spotted several other arrows sticking through the weaker parts of the barricade and wondered how many had already been fired.

“How many are there out there?” he asked, turning to a warrior nearby.

“We don’t know, Lord,” said the man, “but it’s more than one. We keep seeing the shadows move in different places through the trees. They’re staying well hidden, keeping their distance, and the damn sunlight makes it easy for them to see us.”

Even with this comment the Nikkt leader did not crouch as the others did. He would not be pushed to cowardice by some tunnel worms.

They stood there for what seemed like hours before the first movements returned. Donast watched, peering into the gloom between the trees, deeper into the woods, and at first it was a few shadows moving around, which his warriors eagerly pointed out, that he had spotted before they even noticed them, but then, as the sun crept higher and early morning dawned, the shadows gathered together into a long, thick line of darkness and began to move forward.

There were dozens of them, armed and armored in metal plates. They moved forward as one, their pale forms ghostlike as they moved through the dim light of the forest until they stepped out into the sunlight fifty yards from the barricade.

Donast shuddered. He had not seen the Valk like this before. They were always in small numbers, hidden in the shadows of the tunnels. Slight, waif-like figures that gave the impression of weakness. But here they were, in great numbers, armed as warriors, and ready to walk in the daylight.

“Warriors to me!” Donast bellowed, and his men came running from all directions. They lined up along the barricade, weapons ready, and prepared to face the inevitable onslaught to come.

Chapter 53

Declan used one of the Cygoa’s undershirts to wipe the blood from his face. Jac and the others did the same. Declan watched them closely. Their hands shook as they handed bloodied rags to one another. None spoke.

“War. We have to do things. All of us.”

Jac nodded, but Declan felt the judgment in his eyes; the way he looked at Declan for only a second before letting his eyes drift back to the mangled, mutilated Cygoa corpses at their feet.

“You two drag the bodies into the trees. Bury them or cover them but don’t spend a lot of time on it. The main scouting party at Rocky Mount thinks these men have already left. They won’t be looking for them. Jac, come with me back to our camp.”

Declan led Jac back through the forest to their camp on the other side of the summit. The fire had gone to sleep, save for a few coals that glowed orange at the bottom of the pit. The rest of Declan’s scouting party slept in their rolls, silent except for the occasional belch or snore.

“Are you okay?”

Jac nodded his head.

“Killing ain’t easy. It shouldn’t be.”

“I shot deer. Lots.”

“Not the same. I get it.”

“No,” said Jac. “I mean that I shot deer in a hunt. I never…tortured them.”

“Those bastards we killed—what do you think they’d have done to us if they caught us? Huh?”

“But we—”

“We protected our clan. That’s what we did, Jac. We got intel and we sent it back to Jonah. Rista should arrive by morning. Now Jonah will know that some Cygoa leader named Carlossa is heading this way. Jonah will arrive at Rocky Mount prepared. And that will save lives. Elk lives.”

Jac stood up and bowed. “You’re right. I should not have questioned your decision.”

“You should always question the decisions of your leaders. But you need to listen to their answers as well.” Declan looked to the sky and back to Jac. “Daylight in four or five hours. Go get yourself some sleep. I’ll take guard duty.”

Declan heard the other two men return from the disposal of the Cygoa bodies. Jac wished them both a good night before crawling into his bedroll. They then did the same.

Declan smiled and decided he had earned a smoke. He felt the blood on the leaf satchel he had taken from one of the Cygoa. It was still warm and sticky but the tobacco inside seemed preserved. Declan took a whiff before rolling his smoke, savoring the sweet, rich, earthy scent.

***

He woke up to a new odor. The air smelled of burning wood, but it also held the unmistakable stench of melted plastic. Declan hadn’t seen anyone burn plastic in years, but the odor never left his olfactory memory.

Dammit. You dozed off.

Declan looked around to see the rest of the scouting party still asleep in their rolls, including Jac. The stars had twisted through the night sky, but not enough for him to tell exactly how long he had been asleep. It was the soft, orange glow from the other side of the summit that caught his attention.

He stood and shook a cramp from his left calf muscle. Declan grabbed his axe and ran for the summit, toward the light and Rocky Mount on the other side. He pushed through thickets that tore at his face and a tree root grabbed his ankle, pulling him to the ground. Declan inhaled the scent of moldy leaves, his face planted in them. He jumped up and ran up the hill, realizing that he had no cover, no subterfuge. If his enemy had intended to lure him out, the plan was working.

Declan was within one hundred yards of the top of the hill when a flash of light lit the sky behind him, in the direction of his camp. Dry pines raged in flame and he heard shouting and screams in the near distance. He froze, looking at the summit and then back toward his camp. Back and forth.

Blurred figures moved through the darkness which gave way to higher and higher flames. Declan thought he saw Jac. Then he thought he saw Rav and Gunney. He rubbed his eyes as clanging metal and more cries coming from the direction of his camp.

Declan pushed on, his thighs now thrumming with a dull pain as he ran faster and faster up the steep incline. He looked over his shoulder twice, and each time he saw more movement through the trees. The flames cast Cygoa warriors in silhouette. He couldn’t tell whether it was the shadows that made them seem taller or if these were in fact a monstrous breed of humans.

He trudged onward, his pace slowing the closer he got to the summit. A thin band of darkness ran overhead, the light from his burning camp on one side and the glow from Rocky Mount on the other. Declan reached the peak and grabbed the trunk of a tree to keep from falling down the other side. When he raised his head, he had to squint and give his brain time to process the scene before him.

Three figures loomed ten feet in the air. It took Declan a moment to realize that the bodies were not moving. They had been put upon spikes and raised into the air. He knew before seeing their faces that these were the Cygoa they had tortured and killed hours before. Declan stumbled forward and grabbed the nearest pole, cold slick blood on his palms. The Cygoa had found the bodies.

He turned to the side and vomited.

Declan looked past the crucifixions in the direction of Rocky Mount. An orange halo surrounded the settlement as flames licked at the sides of the ruins. The entire Earth seemed to be on fire, even the wheat fields of Rocky Mount burned.

A handful of Cygoa warriors ran down the main street from Rocky Mount in the opposite direction, heading toward Wytheville. Declan’s feet felt like they had been tied to cinder blocks, and no matter how much he tried, he could not inhale as much air as he needed. His mouth went dry and his eyes hurt. The smoke clung to his clothes and destroyed any lingering scent of the sweet herb he had smoked a few hours prior.

Declan turned and saw fighting on the summit. Cygoa had engaged his men and were battling in the light of the burning settlement. The corpses hung above him and he could have sworn he heard them laughing, even in death.

“Hey!”

One of the Cygoa warriors spotted him and approached, taking long, even strides as if running wouldn’t be necessary. Declan took one last look at Rocky Mount, the entire settlement in flames. The ruins, the fields—everything was being consumed by the fire.

Declan saw an opening in the trees halfway down the hillside sloping into Rocky Mount. He looked at the Cygoa warrior, flipped him the middle finger, and then ran for the trees.

Chapter 54

Seren dropped the trowel into the dirt and shifted her position. Her calf muscles were beginning to ache. For a moment, she leaned on the low brick wall that surrounded the large plant bed she had been tending and looked down at her handiwork while she waited for the pain to ease. She shook her head. For all her efforts, the plant bed looked pretty much the same as when she had started.

She wiped the sweat from her brow and stood up. At least her ankle no longer hurt. She had no idea what was in the salve that Dr. Henson had given her to rub onto her skin, but it had healed within a few days.

The heat that came through the windows in the glasshouse was surprising. Even though the air outside was still quite brisk, inside what the people at the base called a greenhouse, the air temperature was surprisingly warm. She wondered what it would be like in the summer. Probably stifling. Behind her, near the entrance, Sorcha lay shaded from the sun underneath a metal shelf that held containers filled with some powder that they called fertilizer. There was a gap underneath, where the sun rarely reached until later in the day, and it was big enough for the young wolf to stretch out lazily and watch her friend work.

They called it a greenhouse, and yet it was much larger than any house that Seren had ever seen, easily a hundred feet long and fifty feet wide. The tall, arched ceiling was entirely made of metal and glass, just like the walls, and this was only one of a dozen such buildings that were scattered around the grounds. Farming, they called it.

Seren picked up the trowel once more and prodded the tilled soil with it. The tool was made of metal, a possession she now cherished. They had given it to her on the second day of her visit, when she showed an interest in how the crops grew so well in the glasshouses. The tool itself was almost like a small spade, made specifically for digging low to the ground with delicacy, rather than the brawn used with a shovel.

She had learned much in the days that she had stayed with the people at the base, mostly about farming. Something so simple in its concept made her wonder why it had not been tried elsewhere. Of course, her people couldn’t do it. They never stayed in the village long enough to see the entire process that she had learned. The times that they would have to be planting crops was spent traveling back to the village, or to Wytheville before moving on to Eliz, and by the time they got there, the best month for planting would have passed.

Artemis had said the crops would be small, and the fruits from the crops unappetizing, but Seren insisted on learning more, in the hope that someday she could make her own greenhouse, one that would withstand the cold of winter.

The door at the other end of the greenhouse opened quietly, and Artemis stepped inside with a small wave and smile. He crossed the length of the building and stood a few feet away.

“Good news, I hope?” Seren asked. Even tilling the soil in the plant beds hadn’t been enough of a distraction for her to forget what was being discussed while she waited.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes. We—well, the council—have pondered this almost constantly since you joined. We’ve talked about this much over the last week. That you wish to leave at all is disappointing to me—to us—but it is understood. We accept that you have family—your own people—and you wish to help them, and I can understand why you worry about what they must face when they reach this Wytheville place. Even though it is not that far from here, we are far enough off the main paths and roads that we’ve never had much contact with them.”

Artemus paused for a moment, seeming to be deep in thought. “This is also something we’ve contemplated. Your request to leave has been granted, of course. We could not force you to stay. But also, we think we have remained hidden for too long.” He sat down on the low wall and sighed. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but most of us are old, now. We chose long ago not to bring a new generation of children into this world, although now some of us regret that choice. But it is done, and few of us are younger than fifty years old. Whereas once there were several hundred of us, slowly we are getting old and passing on. Another ten or twenty years and there will be no one left here. If we’re lucky, even the youngest of us will probably be gone.”

Seren sat, listening patiently, and wondering where this was going.

“We wish contact with your people, maybe even trade. What we have discussed is, if things do not go well in Wytheville, although there will be many of your people, and even with our substantial resources we may struggle to aid them all, you are welcome to bring them here if they are in need. Our food supplies cannot sustain all your people, but this place is mostly an untouched city. The lands around it would be ideal for your clan if they need somewhere else to go and cannot return safely to their—your—home. So, consider that when you go, and, of course, you will always be welcome here. Please do return.”

Seren grinned. “Of course I will. I’ve only been here a short while but it seems much longer.” She shook her head. “This place already feels like home to me. I’m not sure I can even consider going back to living a nomadic life permanently. I think even if they must travel to Eliz every year and back, well, maybe when the roads come to the sign for this place, I will turn off and come here.”

“That would be wonderful. When will you leave?”

“Probably sunrise tomorrow.”

Artemis cringed at this. “So soon? I had hoped you would stay longer, but needs must.”

Seren nodded. “I need to go as soon as possible, before they’ve passed this place and got to Wytheville. I need to get to them before that. They need to know.”

“Yes. Well, we will provide you with supplies. I’ll have it sorted this evening for both of you. Enough to last you a few weeks. Plus, we have something you can take with you, something we have discussed at length. You’ll have to look after it, make sure it never leaves your side and is kept secret, but it’s better than trying to take one of our old shotguns from the traps with you, which I’m sure we would never have been able to stop your curious mind from doing.” The old man turned and began to cross the greenhouse once more.

“Thank you for everything,” said Seren.

Artemis stopped at the door and turned his head sideways. “You are always welcome.”

Chapter 55

Jonah trusted Declan as he did his own son. But the son of Tikal still reveled in his teenage years, still prone to moments of forgetfulness and pointless rebellion. Jonah had waited for a full two days. And then some. He had instructed Solomon to have the Elk triple-tie their carts in case of rough terrain. He had wanted to wait until Declan returned with news, but now it was obvious that the scouts had nothing to report back, at least not yet. Hoping that Declan would return early wouldn’t drive away the mounting problems of restless clans.

He couldn’t wait. The clans had become anxious, and the leaders could do little to calm their jitters. The grumbles kept people edgy, while the threat of the Cygoa frightened them. And he couldn’t even think about the Valk. The rumors coming into the camp about attacks on clans on the plains seemed to be increasing by the hour.

“How far?”

Solomon’s question shook Jonah from his thoughts. He turned to look over a shoulder and then further down the old road, as if calculating their arrival time.

“Three, maybe four, hours.”

The bear of a man pushed his headband up and straightened his glasses. Jonah thought he saw more gray streaks appearing at Solomon’s temple. He had been through a lot. They had all been through a lot.

Jonah spoke again, filling the silent void between the two men. “Ninety-Five is just over the next rise, from what I can remember.”

Old Highway Sixty-Four had long since been scraped clean of the old world. Carts had been harvested and signs turned into armor by countless warriors marching down the broken asphalt, decade after decade. The wild brush and fast-growing trees had encroached so far inward that Sixty-Four looked more like a deer trail than a roadway. In places, even the middle part of the road had been covered by years of blowing dirt and disuse.

Jonah and Solomon picked up their pace, passing families and carts in the convoy. They maneuvered around others until they walked next to several Bluestone warriors leading the march. The Bluestone nodded, and Jonah followed their gaze.

The intersection of Sixty-Four and Ninety-Five appeared about three hundred yards out, at the crest of the rise, as Jonah had guessed. The roadway remained elevated to the west. Intact. But the highway to the east had collapsed and sat in disarray as far as Jonah could see.

He waved at Solomon, and the burly man followed Jonah up a slight ramp. They stood on Ninety-Five and looked to the west, where the highway stretched out into a relatively straight line. Unlike Sixty-Four, Ninety-Five had been used recently by clans as an east-west passage. The blacktop survived; the trees took root in the old gravel of the shoulder but not in any of the four lanes. A concrete barrier ran down the middle. Various spears had been lodged in the crumbling concrete and some had been painted with vivid colors, words and symbols from a lost time.

“You think it’s safe?”

Jonah turned to look at the Bluestone, fifty yards behind, the rest of the caravan another fifty yards behind them.

“I don’t like the barrier. We can’t easily get the carts from one side to the other. If we get ambushed, we could be trapped.”

“Not what I meant, Chief. I meant the grumbles. You think it did that to the eastbound side?”

“No doubt. But we’re not heading east.”

“Right. We’re heading west.”

Jonah tilted his head sideways and opened his mouth to rebuke Solomon when a flash caught his eye, like the glint of sunshine off…a blade.

“Two hundred yards. Right side of the highway divide.”

Solomon turned and stared.

“I don’t see—”

“There.” Jonah lifted his right arm and pointed.

Almost a half mile in the distance stood a shack. It looked like one of the many traveler waystations people had used in ancient times, when their carts had been motorized. Jonah could tell the roof had slid forward but the structure remained upright. It was from there he saw the sun’s reflection off an object.

“Could be a trinket hanging on a window. We seen that kinda thing before.”

Solomon was right but Jonah’s stomach churned. A sour taste tainted his mouth and his palms began to sweat.

“Bring a dozen Bluestone warriors up here.”

Solomon ran back to the caravan without questioning Jonah’s command or intent. He returned with the men, each carrying a blade or weapon of war.

“Follow me.”

Jonah, Solomon and the Bluestone warriors moved down the right side of Ninety-Five, heading right for the waystation without concealment or subterfuge. They jogged but did not run. As they approached, Jonah saw a thin tendril of smoke crawling into the sky from the rear of the building. He glanced to the left, where an object rested against the rusted fuel dispenser.

A shield.

“Cygoa. Attack!”

The men raised their weapons, broke into a full run and screamed. Two Cygoa warriors emerged from the building. One stood bare-chested, smoking a pipe, while the other ran to the fuel dispenser to grab his shield.

Jonah and Solomon arrived first. Jonah buried his axe in the shoulder of the shirtless warrior while Solomon drove his war hammer into the other Cygoa’s skull. The Bluestone warriors fanned out around the building. Jonah heard a clash of metal, a few screams and then silence. He stood next to Solomon between the two dead Cygoa, waiting for the Bluestone to circle back around to the front.

“Two inside,” a Bluestone warrior said. “We killed them.”

“Not good news, my brother. Not good at all.”

Jonah took a deep breath and grimaced.

“Looks like a Cygoa forward base. Scouts or sentries. Whatever they were, the Cygoa either know we’re heading west or they’re doing so themselves.”

Jonah glared at Solomon. He held both hands up and took a step back. “Sorry, Chief.”

“Don’t be. You’re right. I don’t like seeing those fuckers this far west.”

“Do you think the Valk…”

“Damn it, Solomon. I don’t know. I don’t know much, anymore. It feels like the Earth Mother is giving us one last shake, doing her best to finally exterminate what’s left of us. But we can’t stop. We can’t lay down and die.”

One of the Bluestone warriors yelled and pointed to the horizon where a single figure appeared. Jonah stepped in front of Solomon and stared. As the man approached, Jonah recognized his shield. He could see that the man jogged—he was not injured or being chased. A good sign.

“Cygoa?”

“No.” Jonah shook his head and gave Solomon a slight grin. “I think it’s one of the scouts I sent out with Declan.”

The Bluestone warriors lost interest and began to go through the waystation, claiming whatever trinkets or pieces of food they could find. Solomon stood next to Jonah but he had hung his war hammer back on his belt.

The runner approached, now only fifty yards away. Jonah knew it wasn’t Declan but, from what he could remember, this scout had left with the kid. The man stopped before Jonah, putting his hands on his hips and gulping air.

“Chief. I have news.”

“You’d better. You’re late. And where is Declan? Where’re the rest of the scouts?”

“I don’t know, but he sent me with news you’re gonna want to hear.”

Chapter 56

Declan cursed the dawn of the new day. The Cygoa had chased him for most of the night. He’d stop and rest, attempting to hide, and they would pursue. He didn’t think there were many but they refused to stop. They would not give up.

A bird in the tree next to him chirped. He had been able to climb twenty feet into the branches but the trees had only spring buds and therefore he had no leaves to camouflage his location. And now this fucking bird was drawing attention.

“Shh.”

He reached into his pocket and felt for something small and hard, anything he could throw at the thing. His fingers wrapped around a copper coin.

He’d never find it again without sifting through the carpet of leaves on the forest floor unless he did so on his hands and knees. The coin wasn’t worth that much. Declan took aim and threw the penny at the bird. It rattled through the branches and after a squawk and a flap of wings, the bird flew off. He closed his eyes and sighed, relishing the new silence until a bark broke it.

They came from the east, tracking him. Hunting him. He could see two or three figures moving through the trees, the rays of the rising sun reflecting off their polished shields and sharpened blades. The men stood tall, and they walked with a terrestrial grounding, a confidence as if the natural world belonged to them. He held his breath and looked around. They might see him, sitting up in the tree, and they would definitely see him climbing out of it. Declan was about to drop all the way to the ground and start running again when the Cygoa began shouting. They barked words to each other that he didn’t recognize. Declan looked to the west and saw the source of their excitement.

Jac.

The boy’s shaggy hair was plastered to his face, stuck there with a combination of sweat and morning dew. His torn shirt flapped open and he had no weapon except for a thick branch clutched in his right hand. Even from a distance, Declan could see the whites of Jac’s eyes. The boy’s mouth had drawn into a grimace and his head turned left and right as the Cygoa warriors crept closer. The monsters had outflanked Jac and were now funneling him forward to the point of their imaginary triangle—Declan’s tree.

He counted five Cygoa chasing Jac. He could hear the boy now, gasping and whimpering as he ran. Declan wondered if the boy had followed him or if he had been running wild throughout the night, trying to stay ten feet ahead of the Cygoa. It didn’t matter now. The hunters had run their prey to the place where they would make the kill.

The boy bounced off one tree, sidestepped another while attempting to change direction. But a Cygoa warrior was there, forcing him back into his lane. Jac tripped and landed in a thicket at the base of Declan’s tree. He looked down as the five Cygoa warriors circled the boy.

“To whom do you report?”

Jac shook his head and a Cygoa warrior kicked the boy in the jaw, sending several teeth flying through the air.

“Answer me.”

Declan held his breath. His right hand began to twitch, his knuckles white from gripping the branch.

“Tell us and we’ll spare your life.”

“The Elk.” Jac never hesitated. He spat the words at them with a mouthful of blood.

Declan felt his throat tighten, and the muscles in his right hand began to twitch. He tried shifting his weight, and the movement made two branches rub together. The Cygoa stopped but did not look up.

“Where are they?”

“They are—”

Declan stepped down one branch at a time. The Cygoa took a step back from Jac and watched as the boy worked his way closer to the ground.

“Declan.”

He didn’t respond to Jac—didn’t even look at him. Declan would be on the ground and amongst the Cygoa in five seconds and yet he hadn’t decided what he would say.

“He doesn’t know. He’s a kid. Never even scouted before.” Declan dropped the final three feet, landing upright and next to Jac. “Let him go. He won’t be able to give you anything or answer your questions. Take me.”

The Cygoa warriors didn’t move. The one who had been questioning Jac took a step toward Declan. His breath smelled like garlic and tooth rot. The others smiled beneath mangy beards that mixed with wild brambles of hair. They had painted their faces the previous night but the streaks had smeared during the chase, leaving a mixture of red and black marks across their skin. War hammers hung from their belts and each man carried a shield and blade.

“We’ve been chasing both of you all fucking night. We’ll take whoever we want to take.”

“Wait.”

The word came from the warrior on the opposite side of Jac. He had dyed his hair black and his voice rattled from a throat full of gravel. Declan stood still as did the other Cygoa warriors. This man was obviously the leader.

“I think I’ll take that deal. We release him and then you tell us about the Elk and why a scouting party was sent to spy on us at Rocky Mount.”

Declan nodded, transfixed by the man’s voice. His tongue felt like dry sand and he made eye contact with Jac. The boy’s face twitched.

“Yes. Okay,” said Declan. “Release him and then we’ll talk.”

“You heard the boy. Release that little shit.”

The Cygoa warrior who had spoken first reached down and grabbed Jac by his shirt. He yanked the kid to his feet and pushed him back into a tree. Jac shivered, looking again to Declan.

“Dec. What is happ—”

The Cygoa warrior plunged his knife into Jac’s chest. He leaned over, his face an inch from Jac’s. The warrior held Jac up with his left hand while his right hand twisted the blade in the boy’s chest. Declan closed his eyes but he could hear a sound like tearing gristle followed by the thump of a body hitting the ground. How had he considered that they might be reasonable? Why even attempt to stop the inevitable? But he couldn’t have just watched and lived knowing that he tried nothing. The boy was already dead when they trapped him.

“Consider him released from this Earth. Done deal.”

The Cygoa warriors began to laugh, deep bellowing chuckles that made the hair on Declan’s neck stand up.

“Now you keep your end of the bargain, son.”

Declan turned and ran before his mind could second guess the decision. He gulped air, each foot slapping the leaf-covered ground. He dodged around trees, not daring to look over his shoulder.

“Whoever sticks their blade in the kid gets the kill. Go on. Let’er rip.”

Declan ducked as a knife whizzed past his left ear and embedded into a nearby tree. Another clanged as it landed on a pile of rocks. A third stuck in the dirt to his right.

Another knife ripped through his shirt and nicked the skin on his forearm. Declan kept running, waiting for that fifth knife.

“You had your chance,” said the deep-throated leader of the Cygoa party.

Declan felt a burn in his right calf muscle and his entire leg went numb, dropping him to the ground. He rolled on to his back and looked down to see the tip of a knife protruding through his shin, the blade buried to the hilt in his calf muscle. He gritted his teeth, waiting for the pain, as he heard the chuckling of the Cygoa as they approached.

Chapter 57

Gaston passed through the open double doors and rushed into the chamber beyond, but he had gone no more than a dozen steps into the Coven’s hall when he slowed and stopped before taking a step back.

He cringed as he lifted his foot from the sticky pool of blood.

As his eyes adjusted to the lack of light in the large room, he began to piece the scene together. It came one image at a time, quicker than his mind could process, each detail adding another element to the story of what had taken place.

The body lay on the dais in front of him, on the same spot where he himself had stood to be interrogated only hours before. He considered this as the images washed over him. It had been a short interview, ending early when Morlan stormed in and stopped the talk with the Coven. Had Morlan not arrived, he wondered if it would be his body lying there now. It lay sideways, sprawled across the two short steps leading up to the flat surface.

A head, separated from its body, lay several feet away…another body to his left, maybe ten feet away, throat cut, slumped against one of the six thick, metal columns that held up the arched ceiling.

Another body lay next to that, the face staring back at him in shocked submission...and another lying face down just feet away…and more.

They were dotted all around the room, each of them similarly dispatched, though most of them still clasped ceremonial daggers in their unmoving hands. This had happened quickly, Gaston thought, and by the urgency that he had been pulled from his locked room—his cell—it had happened only minutes before. Gaston had been dozing, still weary from the long journey and only just beginning to recover from the lack of sleep, when the door had jolted open and the Cygoa warrior had demanded he come immediately. Morlan had demanded his presence, and Morlan was not a man to tolerate waiting.

Behind him he heard shuffling and the clank of metal, and he saw that near the entrance to the room, a dozen Cygoa warriors, heavily armored, now stood waiting, but none dared to enter the room. It was forbidden to do so without invitation from the Coven, and they would obey that even though it was obvious that the Coven no longer lived. The feared warriors of the Cygoa have fears of their own, he thought. But they were justified fears.

At the far end of the massive room, Morlan stood with his back to Gaston, facing the back wall. Even in the dim light, he could see a gash across the man’s shoulder, slashed across a spot where he wore no armor. There was another similar cut on his left arm.

They tried to fight him, Gaston thought. The amusing idea that a bunch of old men had tried to stand up to the warchief, even in large numbers, brought a slight smile to his face. A ridiculous thought. But they had thought that they stood a chance, he mused. These dead Coven members, the witch doctors, feared by all the Cygoa lest they curse you with some disease or use you as a sacrifice. These cantankerous old men had tried to defend themselves, or maybe they had even tried to assassinate Morlan. But the evidence around him made it obvious they had failed, badly.

Gaston’s gaze jumped from one figure to the next, tracing the faces until finally he found the one he was looking for. There, lying at the top of the steps on the other side of the chamber, was Genris. The man was beaten bloody but still barely breathing, his expression one of desperate shock and disbelief. The man thought he was untouchable, Gaston thought. The mere idea of someone striking him, let alone killing him, was preposterous to Genris.

One of Genris’ legs lay at a strange angle. Broken, Gaston thought, and yet the leader of the Coven still lives. He watched for a moment as the man’s chest heaved with exertion. Morlan had let him live for a reason, Gaston guessed, and he suspected that he may have something to do with that. Maybe Morlan still needed some reassurance before dispatching the only remaining member of the Coven; maybe the warrior had superstitious fears of his own?

“Good of you to join us,” Morlan said, and as he turned, Gaston could see that he still held a sword in his hand, the blood still dripping from its blade to gather in small pools on the stone floor beneath.

There was another thing that Gaston noticed. A gash upon Morlan’s face. It was a deep cut, thin and straight, no more than a few inches long, under his left cheekbone. It looks deep, he thought. But it would heal. The leader of the Cygoa would bear a scar for the rest of his life. One of the Coven had been lucky with that strike, almost lucky enough to win the fight. But the cut had missed Morlan’s eye. Not quite enough luck.

“As you can see,” Morlan continued, “the Coven and I have had a…disagreement.” Morlan strode forward, stopping at Genris’ struggling form and nudging the man with a heavy boot. Genris groaned and rolled onto his side, coughing and spitting blood onto the floor. “A parlay that unfortunately turned sour.”

Gaston began to walk through the chamber, edging around the bodies of the dead Coven members until he stopped at the foot of the stairs that led up to the platform where the altar stood. That was close enough, he decided, in case Morlan still had a rage burning inside and lashed out. He did not wish to be one of the targets if that happened; best leave being the only one to Genris.

Morlan turned back to the center of the platform and touched the altar. “We did, in the end, come to an understanding,” he said. “They came to know that they will no longer feature in the ruling of the Cygoa. Their… influence was no longer healthy, their insistence on heading south to some promised land a foolish idea that I was never convinced of. That we came south was a good choice, I believe, but we have come as far as we need to.”

Gaston stood silent, waiting for Morlan to continue. He had not seen the more dangerous side of the Cygoa leader, and he was wary that the man’s bloodlust may continue.

But Morlan seemed to have no intention of harming him. “This leads me to a slight dilemma,” the man said.

Gaston nodded. “I understand, my lord.”

“Do you?” Morlan asked. “Hmm, yes, maybe you do. More than most, I would say. The Cygoa have always depended upon the spiritual leadership of the Coven, and they will miss that spiritual guidance.” Morlan waved his hand, indicating the bodies. “Now that they have disbanded and left their duties. How do you think this problem must be solved?”

Gaston took a deep breath. Now was not the time to show weakness. “They will need a new spiritual guide. One that is also beneficial to whomever leads the Cygoa. It is, as I have always believed, not appropriate that the Coven oppose the wishes of leadership.”

“Yes,” said Morlan. “Believe me, it has taken me some time to understand this. I have been foolish to allow them to continue. I have many people who depend upon me, and any decision I make affects them. Their lives are the outcome, and all the Coven has ever done is cause me trouble. You understand, they were there before I was born, before I took leadership, and they were a tradition, so to speak. But I never considered them to be a healthy tradition. Still, a dilemma nonetheless. I lead, and I make decisions with all the Cygoa in mind, and this turn of events will leave the people with something missing. Do you think that is possible there is another that could replace the Coven? One more…suitable?”

Gaston smiled as Morlan stepped away from the altar and walked slowly back toward Genris.

“Yes, my lord, I do believe I know exactly who can help guide the people spiritually.”

“Good. I had hoped you would.” The man looked down at the still-breathing form of Genris. The injured witch doctor slowly opened his eyes and looked up, realizing what was to come just before the blade slid home. His eyes went wide, and he coughed again, and then he fell silent and still. Morlan placed one heavy boot on Genris’ chest and pulled the sword free.

“I will leave it to you, then, Gaston.”

Chapter 58

“Wait for me, boy. You and I, we’re gonna do like lovers do.”

Declan reached for the knife sticking through his leg, and that was when the first wave hit him. He leaned back, his calf on fire and the world swirling overhead. Warm blood oozed from the wound, and no matter how little he moved, more flowed.

The Cygoa warrior strutted through the forest, stepping over fallen trees and pushing branches away from his face. The other four had stayed back about a hundred yards, picking through Jac’s clothing in the hopes of finding something valuable.

“I don’t know anything. I’m a kid. The chief sent me to scout Rocky Mount. That’s it.”

“Oh, we’re past the point of negotiating, my new friend. That option disappeared about four hours ago, when you started running. You, and your fucking buddy there, wasted our time chasing you when we should be halfway to Wytheville by now. And what you did to my three friends? Well, that’s something that can’t be forgiven. You owe us for that.”

The warrior had a battle axe on his hip but he had left his shield against the tree where they killed Jac. Declan used his left leg to push his body back and away from the warrior, but that only exacerbated the pain in his right leg. He reached down to grab the knife, and the warrior chuckled.

“Go on. Yank that fucker out. If you can do it without passing out, you can keep it.”

Declan curled his fingers around the hilt and even the slight pressure on the knife sent a shock of pain up his leg. The cool air made the wound itch, and yet the slightest touch made him want to vomit.

“I can get it for ya.”

The Cygoa warrior squatted and smiled at Declan before yanking the knife from his leg. Declan screamed and darkness closed in from the edges of his vision. The warrior’s voice wavered, as if he spoke from beneath the surface of a lake.

“Okay.” The word was all Declan could muster, his body trying to shut down and protect him from the pain. “What now?”

The warrior leaned in, and even through all the pain, Declan could smell the odor of his unwashed body and the man’s foul breath.

“First. You become my bitch.”

The man grabbed him by the neck, the grip so tight that Declan couldn’t breathe. But in the next moment, a whirring sound cut the air and the Cygoa warrior released him. Declan fell back, his head bouncing off the ground. The Cygoa moaned and he stood up, an arrow lodged in his left shoulder beneath the collarbone. Another whir and yet another. Declan pulled himself up and looked over his shoulder, but he saw nothing.

The other Cygoa warriors scattered, leaving Jac’s corpse sitting beneath the tree where Declan had been hiding. Footsteps and shouts came from everywhere, and the world started to shift to the right and turn fuzzy. Declan grabbed his injured leg and the shock jarred his senses. He came back to the present, the unbearable pain snapping him into the moment.

The Cygoa warrior turned and ran, the arrow bouncing in the air as he did so. He grabbed his shield and followed the others into the woods, back east toward Rocky Mount. The shouts subsided and Declan could feel the presence of several men standing behind him. He waited, deciding not to try turning around to see who it was.

“Go back. Do not go any further west. Tell your chief not to come west. There is nothing but death out here.”

He couldn’t see them. Not a single man. They had stayed behind him, even when firing arrows at the Cygoa warriors. Declan winced as the pain grew. The sharp, violent jolts continued and now the rest of his leg began to thrum with an ache that intensified with each passing moment.

“We will bandage your leg. Stop the bleeding. We’ll leave you with a hunk of dried venison. And then you will go back east and take your clans with you.”

Declan felt a hand on his head and another waved beneath his nose. He smelled sweet basil and jasmine and his eyelids became heavy. The pain and trauma of the previous night faded as Declan passed out.

Chapter 59

Donast slammed the head of his axe into the nearest tree and bellowed. The warriors around him took several steps back. There was already blood on the axe and more on the club that he had abandoned in the dirt fifty feet away, it’s shaft cracked beyond repair.

The Nikkt leader slumped forward, leaning heavily against the tree, his chest heaving with exertion as he reached up for the axe.

“Ten lost,” he said. “Ten. Ten more.” Then he sighed, pulled the axe from the tree, and began to pace back and forward across the clearing.

A short distance away, in the next clearing, his men were already picking over the bodies, taking whatever equipment they could carry, and not just those of his own dead fighters. Across the large clearing were the remains of at least thirty Valk warriors.

Donast turned from his pacing and stalked across the clearing, heading in the direction of his dead enemies. He walked past the scavenging crew and stood looking down upon the remains of the Valk warband. This wasn’t the battle.

Three days, he thought, staring at the nearest Valk corpse. This one had been speared through the throat, and the broken shaft of a spear still protruded from the wound. Three days since we left, and I have lost half of my warriors. Donast shook his head. How many attacks was that now? A dozen? No, maybe not that many. Ten at least, and every time they came with just as many warriors, sometimes more. Where were they coming from? How did the Valk have so many warriors? How could such large numbers remain hidden in the tunnels and lost places under the ruins for so long?

He studied the armor they wore. It was rough, crude, but it was made to fit them, not just thrown together. This was a force that had been building up over a long period of time. And they were well trained.

Where did they get so many weapons and so much armor? he wondered.

The city of Eliz was long stripped of the carcasses of old vehicles and road signs, but somehow the Valk seemed to have gathered hoards of the stuff, and they had shaped it into quite an arsenal. He looked around at his own men, many of whom now wore the armor of those they had slain. His own warriors were beginning to look like Valk, and even their complexion paled, but from lack of sleep and from battle-weariness. So many conflicts in such a short time. This is not the way battles went. If two clans faced off against each other, it was done in one conflict, one battle. The result was one winner and one loser. This constant barrage of warbands, one after the other, evening, night and sometimes when the sun was at its highest…it was too much.

Donast turned back and stared into the woods, his eyes glazing over as he spotted the distant dark line of the breach. It crossed the land like a deep scar. They were nearly there, finally; half a day’s walk that Donast would insist they made before nightfall. But at what cost? Now his clan was lesser by more than fifty warriors, maybe even seventy. He had not had time to count the survivors.

Fortunately, there had been no loss of the young ones and the women, or even the old. They had managed to keep those safely ahead of them as they fought a running battle each day to keep the Valk from the clan.

The bridge, he thought, his eyes focused on the wooden structure. We take it and then destroy it. It’s the only way. Once my people are across we must burn it down.

Then we keep going west until the land runs out.

He turned to look for his lieutenant, Strom, but the man was not there. He had fallen the day before, and Donast had yet to declare a new right hand. There didn’t seem time to even think of such things. He paced back across the clearing, leaving the sprawl of bodies behind.

“Be swift,” he barked at those still scavenging among the dead. “We leave now and reach the bridge today.”

Chapter 60

A wolf had been clawing at Declan’s face, tearing flesh away in long, bloody strips. He tried to run but the wolf’s paws held him down, the beast’s power overwhelming.

He rolled over. The late-afternoon sunlight cut through the trees and illuminated floating dust like glittering starlight. He put his hands to his face and rubbed his cheek.

He couldn’t remember how long he had slept or how he ended up on a makeshift bed of leaves atop soft pine needles. His head had been propped up and a lean-to had been built on the east-facing side. He moved his leg and the pain made him gasp for air. His left hand had been bandaged and a flowery blossom of dark amber stained the gray cloth.

The hunters? They warned me, he thought. And then treated my wound. Kept me alive.

He looked around and saw a satchel resting against the trunk of the tree. The cinch had been pulled tight but Declan fumbled with the strings and yanked open the top to see a flask of water, a hunk of meat and the knife that had been lodged in his leg.

“Nice.”

His stomach growled. He grabbed the meat with one hand and sniffed it.

Venison.

Declan tore into the salty, dry deer meat and then reached for the flask. The cool water hit his lips and he gulped, spilling some down the front of his shirt. He set the meat aside, shoved the water flask into a pocket and grabbed the knife. The blade had been cleaned, and as he ran his finger gently along the edge, Declan realized it had been sharpened as well.

He grabbed a branch and used his upper body strength to rise, putting most of his weight on his uninjured leg. Declan slowly shifted his weight to the injured leg. He felt a tightness and knew someone had stitched his wound shut. Although a faint ache radiated throughout his leg, he could stand—even take a few short, measured steps. Maybe a doctor in their clan had treated the wound or maybe they used an herbal pain deadener. Or maybe both. It didn’t matter. They had helped him, and set him up to survive, and when Declan thought back to the murky moments before he passed out, he remembered why.

“Go back. Do not go any further west. Tell your chief not to come west. There is nothing but death out here.”

There must be a reason. The hunters who saved him from the Cygoa could have tracked any of the scouts back to Jonah and the Elk. They had strong bows and medical knowledge. They didn’t need a messenger, and yet, they saved him. They wanted him to report back to Jonah.

“There is always more to the hunter clan than the hunt.”

Declan smiled and glanced to the west, where the sun had now faded. It would be dark within the hour and so Declan decided to stay at the temporary camp built for him by the mysterious hunter clan. He would sleep the night, let the skin beneath his stitches begin to heal, and fill his belly with venison. Tomorrow, he would head east and back toward Rocky Mount, to Jonah and the Elk. Or would he? A momentary doubt crept in, a nagging suspicion that the hunters knew more than he did and saw beyond the immediate scope of Rocky Mount and the Cygoa. They had been insistent that Declan return with the message. That he would not scout further west.

“But that is not their call, is it? I promised Jonah to scout, and that is what I will do.”

Declan felt his face flush with the confusing rush of contradictions that his teenage mind could not resolve. He had already disobeyed Jonah. Twice. Declan had willingly engaged Cygoa, and they had been every bit as dangerous as Jonah had claimed they would be. And he had gone days west, knowing he was miles beyond where Jonah had given him license to explore.

The last vestiges of the orange sky wavered and faded into deep purple hues. The first stars appeared in the east, silver sparkles against a black velvet sky.

A single howl pierced the silent forest.

Declan sat down, his back to the trunk. He clenched his teeth and scanned the trees. Shadows moved, and he could hear the slightest ruffling of leaves on the forest floor. He saw a set of eyes set against the darkness, floating through the air as if belonging to the ageless spirits. But Declan knew the threat was not supernatural.

Wolves.

He grabbed the venison and tossed it as far as he could, hoping the scent would attract the pack and buy him some time. Next, he reached down and gripped the knife. He took a step and fell forward, the pain in his leg screaming through the blanket of pain-killing herbs the hunters had given him. He reached for a long branch and snapped off the end so he could use it as a cane.

The growling came from all directions as the pack surrounded him, much like the Cygoa had. Declan hobbled forward, dragging his injured leg along and ignoring the new burn forming around the wound. If he had popped the stitches, he could bleed to death in this forest. But if he stayed, the wolves would tear out his throat.

He counted five but heard many more. The alpha male snarled and strutted not more than fifteen feet away. The wolf sniffed at the air, and its eyes never left Declan’s.

Declan saw a tree nearby. The massive trunk had split about five feet off the ground, forming a tight V. He hobbled faster now, the tree about twenty feet away. When he turned around, Declan saw the alpha male leading the pack. They sniffed his lean-to, and one of them had found the venison and tore at it before the others realized what it had found.

He ran as fast as he could for the tree with the split trunk.

Ten feet away.

Five feet away.

The pain in his lower leg had spread to his thigh and his lower back. Declan fought back tears as he leapt up from his good leg and grabbed the left V of the trunk, his arms wrapping around the bough while his legs dangled.

Another howl came and he looked over his shoulder to see the alpha male leading the pack, closing in on him.

Declan swung his good leg up but his boot bounced off the branch. He swung it again, this time hooking his foot over the top. He used his lean, powerful upper-body muscles to pull himself upright on the top of the branch, his legs swinging below, but now ten feet in the air.

“Fuck you. Fuck you all.”

The alpha male growled and the pack circled the tree. Declan soon lost his defiance as he realized just how many wolves there were down there. Thirty? Maybe forty of them. He couldn’t count exact numbers because they circled the tree, weaving in and out of each other. But it was a pack the size of which he had never seen before.

The lead wolf then sat down on its haunches and stared up at Declan.

Chapter 61

Declan shuddered, jolting himself from dozing off to sleep for the tenth or twentieth time. How long had he been up there? Minutes? Hours?

He couldn’t be certain. Declan’s hands ached and the harsh bark of the tree caused blisters where the backs of his legs met the trunk. His ran his tongue over dry, cracked lips and that sparked a giggle, blossoming into a laugh that threatened to eject him from his perch. He couldn’t remember the last time he ate and his water was nearly gone.

“Fuck!”

The trees did not answer. He scanned the ground around the tree and turned his gaze outward, in concentric circles, as far as he could see. The alpha male had gone and taken his pack with him. Declan didn’t think the wolves were intelligent enough to bait him. If he couldn’t hear them or see them, he had to assume they had tired of waiting for him to fall from the tree and went to hunt slower, more accessible prey, and they had done so while he was passed out, sleeping precariously in the tree, likely to fall at any moment.

He turned his body and the pain in his leg roared back to life. If he kept it still, he could feel pressure and his heartbeat in the wound. But as soon as he moved, it felt as though the blade had ripped through his skin yet again. Based purely on his ravenous hunger, Declan estimated that it had been three days since the hunters had bandaged his wound and left him with enough food and water to get him back to Rocky Mount; at least that had been the plan before the wolves had arrived. Three days without changing the bandage or cleaning the wound. In fact, Declan had not even looked at what the hunters had done. He assumed they stitched his leg closed, but he didn’t know for sure. Now, a sickly-sweet smell wafted up from the bandage and it seemed as though the burning intensified, as if someone had slipped hot coals beneath his skin.

Declan slid his good leg over the branch and used both hands to hold onto it while his legs swung freely. He would drop about five feet to the ground and need to use his good leg to cushion the fall, turning into it and rolling through the leaves. Declan hadn’t spotted any sharp rocks or branches below.

One. Two. Three.

He experienced a momentary sensation of weightlessness before his good leg hit the ground. Declan spun and came down on his hip, smacking the ground with more force than he had anticipated. His wound screamed, even though he had done his best to keep the bad leg from hitting anything during the fall.

Declan blinked tears away. He leaned back against the tree and closed his eyes, breathing heavily. He opened his eyes and looked at the bandage.

His fingers trembled as they slid beneath the cloth, releasing an odor that reminded him of greened meat and maggots. Declan peeled the bandage back, and it with it came dried blood and pus. The cold air provided a momentary sense of relief until an overwhelming compulsion to gouge the stitches rose up. He wanted to dig his fingers into the wound and scratch until the itch went away or he passed out.

Declan screamed, no longer worried about the alpha male or his pack. Maybe having his throat torn out by a wolf would be better than the slow suffering from what he now knew to be true.

Infection.

“Don’t give up.”

He turned, a whimper escaping from his lips.

“Who said that?” but the voice, he knew. It couldn’t be, but it had to be. Her voice was unmistakable.

“C’mon, Declan. Get up and start walking.”

He recognized the voice. It washed over him and he wanted to wrap himself in it like a blanket.

Seren?

“I can’t. My leg. It…”

“One step in front of the other. Follow me.”

Declan saw a figure move behind a tree. He thought he caught a glimpse of her hair cascading down over the bow slung over her shoulder. Of all the people he could see in the forest, it had to be her. She would be dead by now, he had thought many times.

“Now. We have to go now.”

He pulled himself to his feet and fell back into the tree, feeling as though he had stepped into a campfire. Declan shoved off and stumbled in Seren’s direction.

“Good. C’mon.”

Why wouldn’t she help him? he thought, and he wanted to call out, ask her to help him, but all that came out was a croak. And so he shambled along, falling into trees and then pushing himself off them. The sun seemed to be setting again but Declan had lost track of time. He couldn’t remember if dawn had already broken today, or whether the day had sped into night in the split second it took him to fall from the tree.

Ten yards ahead, he caught another glimpse of a moving figure. He turned and continued toward her.

“It’s another half mile. I know you can make it. Don’t give up.”

“What is it, Seren? Why won’t... Why not wait…for me?” He finally managed to say, but the words sounded strange, gravely, like a dying old man.

“There’s no time. Keep moving.”

He put his head down and gritted his teeth through the pain. He almost wished the doctors had removed his leg and cauterized it, somehow believing that would be less painful than his pus-filled stitches. Before she had arrived, he had been ready to give up, lie down and let the end come, but now he remembered. Ever since Joining the Elk, she had stayed in his mind. Even Jonah himself would not have urged Declan onward now, but the thought of showing weakness and failure in front of this girl... Why did that bother him?

The ground sloped downward and, for the first time since leaving Rocky Mount, Declan saw a man-made structure poking through the trees.

“I see it.”

“We’re close. Walk toward it. Follow me.”

The old-growth trees gave way to younger oaks. Declan fell and felt the consistent, smooth concrete surface underneath the layer of fallen leaves. He glanced up and saw a ruin, at least four stories tall but still smothered by the forest canopy overhead.

“Where is the door?”

“Go around to the right and you’ll see a staircase. You’ll have to climb up to the second floor. The stairs are broken, but it is not safe to stay on the ground level.”

Declan laughed. “I can’t climb a set of stairs.”

“You can,” she said. “And you will.”

He crawled on all fours, the pain in his leg turning his foot numb. Declan climbed over the threshold and saw a set of stairs to his left. He used both hands and the railing to pull his body up, one step at a time. Declan rested on the landing and his eyes drooped.

“Not yet. Don’t stop there.”

“Okay, Seren. Okay.”

He grabbed the railing again and continued, clawing his way up until he reached the gap where the stairs had collapsed. He looked up and groaned. The gap was only a few feet, but it seemed a mile to him now.

“You have to make it up.”

He cried out in pain as he pulled himself up onto his uninjured leg. He reached for the rail above, hoping it would hold. It did, and he pulled hard, struggling to haul himself upwards. He could feel the last of his strength finally giving way as he slumped onto the landing above, his legs still dangling in the air.

He crawled slowly forward until he reached the corner of the room where a dried up old mattress lay, and then rolled over onto his back and smiled. Seren leaned over, her angelic and yet strong features looking back at him.

Angelic? He frowned. Where had that come from? She was the annoyingly competent hunter, the archer with skill far beyond his own; she was a voice that Jonah listened to even when the leader had shrugged off advice from others. Why? Just a girl. But now her features came back to him.

“I did it. I made it.”

“Yes. I’m proud of you. You have worked hard. Sleep now.”

Declan did as Seren’s voice commanded. He let the ocean of darkness pull him into unconsciousness, but then, as he was about to fall into a deep sleep, he opened his eyes, wanting to check that she was really there.

The room was empty. The spot where she had stood, void.

She said she was proud of me, he thought. And then, as he looked at the empty room and the forest around him, he realized the foolishness of it all. Seren would never speak of him like that. She had barely noticed his existence. Proud? Worked hard? Those were not words that would come from her lips.

And she was not there. She had never been there, had she?

Then he thought. She is dead. Finally, he knew that she was. And she had come to help him this one time.

A ghost.

Chapter 62

Donast stood upwind from the bridge, a hundred yards higher up the slope, his remaining weapon, the axe, held firmly in his hand as he watched the bridge burn. It had to be done this way. It had to be more than just the collapsing of the bridge. This, he thought, was a statement to the Valk that had followed them from the river camp, biting at their heels the whole way.

It had to say this is where the line is drawn.

The glow from the flames lit up the area for a mile around, casting dancing shadows along the tree line where Donast stood. His warriors stood with him, watching as the bridge first took light then seemed to be engulfed in seconds. He had never seen such a fire, not even when they had burned buildings. The wood had only had a couple of weeks to dry, but the process must have been accelerated by the heat of the day. A hundred feet high, the flames seemed to climb, bright clawing tentacles of light against the night sky.

“Are we sure there is no other way to cross?” he asked the warrior nearest to him.

The warrior shook his head. “Our scouts have ranged in both directions for thirty miles before the clan arrived here, before this, and we found none.”

“Good,” said Donast.

We have stopped them, for now, he thought. Stopped the plague that would have taken us all. He hadn’t known if the Valk would have gone any further, crossing the bridge and following them into the forest.

Well they can’t now, he thought. The risk had been too much, and now he had told the Valk what they risked if they were to go further.

But it still left him, and his clan, in new territory. There would be no trek north from Eliz this year, no journey back to their homeland south of the Bleaklands. Their fields would remain untouched for at least this year, unless they could somehow find a trail through the mountains.

No. That was a foolish plan. For now, they were stuck with the forest, and bound to follow the trail of those from Wytheville, if those clans would allow them.

“Will we leave now?” asked the warrior.

“No,” said Donast. “Not tonight. We have the breach between us and them, and we need supplies. There is the camp the Elk left in the clearing, we can use that.”

“There is no game in the forests,” said the warrior.

Donast nodded. “I know. We should forage, and take down the birds from the trees, if we must. Whatever we must do, we will do. My people are too tired to run one more day. Also, we must send out scouts at first light. We need to find the trail of the Elk, so that we can follow and catch up with them. If they accepted all the refugees from Eliz, then they will accept us, too.”

He decided to head back to the clearing. There was no more for him here but the flames of the bridge, and he would hear that collapse, soon enough, now that it was fully engulfed. A shame, he thought as he turned his back and started to leave. All that work to build a way across the breach and we have had to destroy it to survive.

“My lord,” called the warrior.

Donast stopped and turned back.

“Look,” said the man, pointing at the fire.

He frowned, wondering what the warrior was fretting about. It seemed that all his warriors had turned into nervous idiots over the last few days. The trek and the constant harrowing by the Valk had made them all weak, and he was about to scold the man when he saw the glow of figures moving toward the great fire.

They were barely visible at first, until they moved forward and the bright glare of the fire uncovered the vast line of figures. They moved as one, a straight line across the barren ground the other side of the breach. Hundreds of them, armored with the same metal armor and the same weapons. The line stretched in both directions for a hundred yards, and their numbers were deeper than he could make out. They moved forward but did not go near the breach or the fire, stopping twenty feet from the depths and the heat.

And they watched him.

How could there be so many? he wondered. There had to be a thousand Valk warriors. He was speechless for a moment, staring at the vast legion of pale figures.

“Change of plan,” said Donast. “Tell everyone to pack once more. And send out scouts to find the trail of the Elk. We need to know where they went. We leave now.”

Chapter 63

Seren crouched in the bushes, keeping low into the shadow of the huge pine tree behind her. She slowly brushed aside some of the thick foliage, creating a gap no bigger than her hand to peer through. The forest was still utterly silent and even the birds failed to break it. She had traveled east the whole morning, following the road at a distance, always keeping it far enough away that she could see anyone passing by but staying deep in the woods away from prying eyes. After she’d reached the crossroads it had been easier, but still the lack of movement of any kind unnerved her.

The Cygoa were days behind, that much she knew. Three times, in the days that had passed, she had been forced to slow her pace and circumnavigate a patrol, and two of those times she had been detected but had managed to evade capture. They were frighteningly efficient and aware of everything around them, she had learned. The crossroads had terrified her. The ground was open for a hundred yards, and to avoid it would have meant traveling for miles, something she couldn’t afford, and the two minutes that it took her and Sorcha to run across the uneven ground had felt like an age.

But no one had been watching—when she crossed, at least. No one had followed her that she was aware of. There were no longer signs of groups heading east or west—nothing until she came to the clearing. Sorcha smelled death a mile away and groaned her displeasure as they drew closer to the source. There was one body, dead in the bottom of the recess and leaning against a tree, obviously savaged in some way, but Seren was in no hurry to go down there and look closer, even though the knowledge of their fate could be an advantage to her. She couldn’t face what was there.

She let the branches of the bush go and backed away.

“We’ll go around,” she whispered to Sorcha, who sat under the tree. Seren knew the wolf’s senses were far more sensitive than her own, and she did not need to go and look to already have decided what was there and what had happened. The wolves had been this way.

If only you could talk, Seren thought. The things you could tell me that I will never know.

They both backed away from the ridge and headed south for a short distance, keeping away from the recess by a few hundred yards as they made their way through the thickening brush. Seren missed the snow, even with its freezing touch. Everything in the forest was so much easier to make out when it was covered with a thick blanket of white. Everything seemed so much more stark and clear, even if most of it was hidden or obscured.

A mile further on from the grisly scene, Sorcha sniffed at the ground and whined. Seren stopped and quickly jogged over to where the wolf stopped, then crouched and patted the ground. She saw the disturbance in the grass, the broken twigs, but saw no sign of what could have caused it, but then she lifted her hand and saw the stain of dried blood.

Someone had left the scene before them, and they were injured. A survivor, she thought. But how long ago? The blood was dried, yet the damp of the forest had prevented it from turning to dust and vanishing for good. She looked around, hoping for some sign of where the person or thing had gone, but could see no further sign until she stood up to move on. There, among the bushes ahead, almost hidden by the shadow of another large pine tree, was a muddy patch that had been disturbed.

Paw prints. The same as those Sorcha left behind, yet these were bigger. An adult wolf, or more than one. Looking around at the ground she hadn’t seen them all at first, but the longer she looked, the more signs came to her. Disturbed leaves, broken twigs, trodden weeds and grass. Not just one wolf had passed this way, but many. The markings were maybe two or three days old.

“Looks like we’ll be finding somewhere to hide up tonight,” she said. Sorcha gave her usual sniff in reply.

It was another hour before Sorcha discovered a fresher trail of blood. The forest gave way to a stretch of road that had long ago been disconnected from the main road, and as the pair stepped out onto thin stretch of hard ground, Sorcha whined again. This time the disturbance was more recent. As Seren followed the trail along the road she noticed something hidden in the forest to the north, where the road led. Large gray shadows loomed through the trees, veiling much of the forest beyond them.

Some ruins, she thought. Maybe the remains of a village that had been lost to the forest. “Come on,” she said, and she made her way along the road, keeping to the edge where the trees could provide cover.

There were several buildings hidden along the way, clustered together on either side of the broken road. Some of the buildings were little more than knee high walls, marking where larger buildings had once stood, and most of the interior of these were filled with collapsed rubble and broken roof tiles, but the last building, the one furthest along the road, separated by a hundred yards of open rocky ground, was taller. Two high floors still clung to a skeleton of cracked and broken masonry, but much of the front of the building had collapsed.

Seren moved to the side of the building, following Sorcha as she trailed the line of blood that Seren could barely make out, and there they crouched as Seren peered upwards to the collapsing wooden floors. The blood led directly to a set of broken stairs that no wolf would be able to climb, but the gaps were short enough that Seren could cross if she decided to risk it.

Someone had gone up there to escape the wolves. But what if it was a Cygoa up there? And what if they were still alive? If they were barely injured, she could be in trouble. It was risky.

Coughing broke the silence. From the first floor, she thought. Definitely the first floor. Whoever was up there sounded sick, weak. The cough had no strength to it. Do we leave them? Carry on and hope that it was someone who would do no good, cause trouble? But what if it was one of her kin, or another clan member?

She had to find out. There was no question of it. If it was someone she could help, then she could maybe find out where the clans were. She edged forward and began to slowly and cautiously climb the stairs, every step taken carefully so as not to make a sound, but it was inevitable that she would make some, and each time the wooden supports creaked, she stopped and cringed. Some sections of the stairs had broken away and fallen to the ground below, and she had to pull herself up, but eventually she ended up lying on her stomach at the top of the stairs, a few feet from the entrance to the room beyond. She stood slowly and edged toward the gap, peering around the doorway.

On the far side of the room was a prone, huddled figure. A knife lay a few feet away, along with the rough remains of a satchel and an empty water flask. The air was thick with the smell of fresh blood.

She drew her weapon and edged forward, stepping quietly through the room until she could reach out and snatch up the knife. Then she took a few steps back and peered at the body. There was little movement there, but there was some. The person was lying still, but Seren could see the gentle rise of breathing.

“Hello?” she called, quietly.

The figure moved, tried to roll over, but then fell back to the ground.

“Who are you?” Seren asked, stepping forward, weapon held tightly in one hand, axe gripped in the other. Whoever this person was, if they tried anything she would not hesitate. “Are you injured?” she asked, knowing it was a stupid question.

The figure moved again, once more trying to turn over, and this time he was successful. The prone man rolled over onto his side and Seren found herself staring into the pale semblance of someone she thought she recognized. Who was he? She knew him, of course, but from where? Where had she seen that face?

“S…” the man tried to speak but coughed again. “You...dead...back...haunt me...”

Seren frowned, and wondered how this young man had come to be out here alone, far from his clan, but she still didn’t lower the handgun that Artemis had spent hours teaching her to use.

“Declan?”

***

An hour later, Declan was sat up, looking a little less pale than before. Half a skin of water and two days’ worth of rations had perked him up a little. But the wound on his leg… Well, Seren could do little to help him with that but give him one of the tiny yellow pills that Dr. Henson had given her. The doctor had said they should only be used infrequently, to help the healing of bad sickness or wounds that had gone unaided and begun to fester, and that she should be sparing with them. But there were fifty of them in the bottle, and the wound on Declan’s leg was bad enough that she could see the signs of fever in his face.

“What is that?” he finally asked, once his breathing had steadied.

“Do you feel better?” She hadn’t thought to ask the doctor how long the strange tablets took to help, or even how they would help. “The tablet should help, I think. I was told it would help.”

“I didn’t mean the...medicine,” Declan said. He lifted a weak arm and pointed at the gun that was tucked safely back in its holster on Seren’s belt.

“Oh this,” she said, patting the holster. “It’s called a gun. It’s...well… It’s a weapon. I’ll have to show you some time, but not now. I don’t have a lot of shots, and I can’t make them like I can arrows. Please don’t tell anyone about it. I’m supposed to keep it a secret. I should have covered it better.”

Declan nodded but still looked puzzled. “They think you’re all dead, you know. The Elk. Jonah. They think all those of you who left to go with Gaston are all dead.”

Seren nodded and looked down at the floor for a few moments, silent. She didn’t know what to say other than the truth, or what she suspected was true. “I think other than me, most of them are.”

Declan didn’t answer.

“It was stupid of me to go, I know that now. But my brother was going. I had to stay with him. But it didn’t work out. I realized I’d made a mistake, and I turned back, but I got stranded by the snow.”

Declan shook his head. “He’ll forgive you, you know.”

Seren looked up, her eyes hopeful.

“Jonah will,” Declan continued. “He probably wouldn’t forgive any of the others, but he’d forgive you. And if he didn’t, he’d cave when Sasha and Keana got to work on him.”

Seren smiled, remembering her friends. “I hope so.”

“You’ll be fine. Plus, I guess I owe you my life, if that tablet thing does what you say it does—or what this doctor that gave you it says it does.”

Seren nodded. “The doctor said it may take a day or two, but I can redress your wound, clean it. I’ll make you a crutch so you can walk. Then we need to find Jonah and the clans. I have to warn them before they go too far east.”

“They were heading to Rocky Mount, last I knew. I sent back a scout to tell them of the problem out here. They will be setting up at Rocky Mount for a long stay, I think. I was sent to scout out east, or at least the land ahead, find out how much of a problem the Cygoa are.”

“Cygoa?”

“The ones who have moved into our lands while we were at Eliz. They are an old enemy of the T’yun, come far from the north.”

“Oh, is that what they are called? Well you don’t need to go any further. I can tell you that there are lots of them, and they have taken over the city. They have patrols everywhere. I was heading east, hoping to meet the clans before they went too far west, to warn them.”

“Shit,” said Declan. “It’s worse then. We really have nowhere to go. Back in Eliz the land is collapsing.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean just that. Big holes opening up in the ground, swallowing buildings. The earth shakes and is breaking. Everyone from Eliz is heading this way to escape it. There’s also some underground…things, these human but—well, not human—things. They are attacking people. Everyone thinks no one will ever be able to go back to Eliz. And the Cygoa have our lands. There’s nowhere.”

Seren paused, thinking of the people of the enclave and the offer they made. “That’s not entirely true.”

“What?” asked Declan, before he starred coughing again.

“I know somewhere they can go,” said Seren.

Chapter 64

The wind had shifted. Jonah could feel the relentless grip of winter slowly fading as the first thunderstorms drenched the land. He knew that spring came early in the south, that the Elk homelands to the north could still be smothered by a heavy blanket of the season’s snow. Here, the rain broke winter’s back but the cold, dark chill of early spring did not make the camp any less miserable than the northern freeze.

Declan had not yet returned but the scout relayed his message—the Cygoa leader known as Carlossa was marching on Rocky Mount, bringing two full warbands with him. Jonah wasn’t exactly sure how many men that amounted to, but it was clearly enough of a threat that Declan found it important to quantify. He didn’t have time to worry about the boy, but Jonah hoped to see Declan again.

Jonah had left men at the waystation in order to get advance notice of any Cygoa threat on Rocky Mount. He was not willing to risk the lives of the clans or his family for that place, although the other leaders had suggested as much. Word from Eliz had not been positive. The grumbles continued, creating a flow of refugees from the old city. And then there was the Valk.

“First segment of the caravan is almost there.”

He looked at Solomon and nodded. “And?”

Solomon shrugged and said nothing more.

Jonah went from a walk to a jog, moving closer to the front where Gideon and Keana were pulling their cart. The skies had darkened quickly as they approached dusk, storm clouds casting deep shadows across the land. He moved past a few families, members of the Elk who had initially followed him south all those months ago. They smiled and waved as he ran past.

“Jonah.”

He almost ran right past Sasha, his mind racing in a hundred directions as the caravan came within sight of Rocky Mount. Jonah leaned over and gave his wife a long kiss.

“Lead carts say we’re close. You should get up there to check it out.”

Jonah smiled at Sasha before weaving through another handful of carts. He moved past the first one in the caravan, which had stopped when the man pulling it had spotted him. Jonah turned and gave the signal for the rest of the caravan to pause. The sky had started to rumble, and he knew his people would feel better with a sheltered camp instead of the road, but he was not about to rush them into an unknown ruin, especially given the information Declan had sent back with the scout.

“Wait here,” he said to the man pulling the first cart, although he had already locked the wheels and begun to dig through his pack for a smoke.

Two Elk warriors accompanied Jonah as he followed the winding off ramp which gently spun the road off Ninety-Five and onto a narrow roadway that ran perpendicular to it. The ruins stood against the darkening sky and they seemed close enough to touch, but Jonah knew how massive structures at a distance could fool the eye.

“Ten minutes?”

“About that, Chief. If we’re running.”

“Then let’s run.”

Jonah took off and the warriors followed. A crack of thunder split the sky and the cold rain fell in droplets the size of river rock. He wiped the water from his face and felt the sting of the sludgy mud oozing into his boots.

He kept his focus ten feet ahead, careful not to twist an ankle on a hole in the asphalt or trip over a tree root protruding through the road. Jonah ran and the rain came harder. He looked over one shoulder and saw nothing but a blurry, gray haze where the Ninety-Five ramp sat above the road to Rocky Mount.

“If Cygoa are there, we won’t see campfire smoke. We could be running right into them.”

Jonah heard the warrior shouting over the rain. He didn’t think the Cygoa was at Rocky Mount. Not yet. “We’re about to find out.”

They ran through an intersection where the crippled bones of old world structures sat off to the side, rusted to a deep red brown. Carts had been harvested long ago, as had any of the signs or metal rope that used to hang over the thoroughfares. This Jonah expected. What he did not see was merchant stalls or animal posts. Had Rocky Mount been occupied anytime in the past twenty years, the clans would have left these things as evidence. He looked to his right, where a field stretched into the distance. There was no shed, no yoke or metal buckets left by farmers who had tilled the soil.

Thunder and lightning rattled the land so hard that Jonah and his men ducked into one of the old ruins, unable to scream above the storm. They stood in a single-room structure where water poured through a gaping hole in the ceiling toward the back. The walls had been stripped down to the old wooden studs, and several of those had been yanked like rotten teeth and used as firewood. Their temporary shelter provided about as much cover as a massive oak tree.

“It looks dead. I hope it’s not blight.”

“Shut your mouth,” said Jonah. “You don’t say that. Ever.”

The other warrior looked at Jonah, deciding to say nothing.

“We can establish a temporary base here. Maybe even plant some peas or spinach, good and hardy cold-weather crops.”

The men exchanged a quick glance which made Jonah turn his head sideways. “What?”

“Did you see the field, Chief?”

Rather than listening to what the warrior was about to say, Jonah jumped up and ran back out into the rain. The thunder and lightning had relented but the rain came hard and heavy, pounding the pavement with a relentless flow. Jonah took three steps off the road and stared out across the field. He had been so focused on evidence of the Cygoa that he had not looked closely at his surroundings.

The entire field, as far as he could see, was blackened. A two-rung fence ran down the south side from the road, and it too had been burned to standing charcoal. He gasped and spun, seeing Rocky Mount for what it really was, as if the veil had been lifted and he was now seeing it for the first time—as it was and not as he had hoped it would be. Every standing structure on each side of the roadway had been set on fire. The absence of smoke, especially in the rain, made Jonah think that the settlement had been destroyed weeks, possibly months earlier.

The men had followed Jonah out and now stood on each side of him. “Cygoa? Did they do this?”

“I don’t know,” he said to the one warrior. “Does it matter?”

The men walked back to the building while Jonah stood, the water running off his nose and down his chin. It trickled down his back and touched his bare skin with an icy finger. He spun in a circle, hoping that somehow what he was seeing could be undone, unwound and returned to a state in which Rocky Mount could protect his clan.

A figure came running through the rain, from where the caravan had halted on Ninety-Five. Jonah could tell it was a man, another Elk, but without a weapon.

“Word from the rear of the caravan. From Solomon.”

Jonah closed his eyes and nodded. The man continued.

“The rear guard. They’ve seen movement on westbound Ninety-Five.”

“Who?” Jonah asked, his body shaking uncontrollably from the frigid rain. “Cygoa?”

“The Nikkt.”

###

Dustfall, Book Four ---- COMING SOON!

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Acknowledgements - J. Thorn

I would like to thank my wife and kids who vetted the concept over salad and breadsticks at a crowded Italian restaurant - anything sounds great on a carb high. As always, The Keepers continue to provide me with constant support and motivation. The ADH gang (you know who you are) have become my “secret” round table of advisors and I continue to learn from their collective wisdom and humor, even Zach. Speak of the devil, Zach Bohannon has become a great friend and partner in many ways. I'm grateful for his friendship and look forward to many more years of it. Finally, I'd like to thank Mr. Glynn James. He is a true professional and a writer I've admired for years. To collaborate with him has been an amazing experience and I'm sincerely appreciative of the opportunity - I'd go to a Dustfall with you, brother.

Acknowledgements - Glynn James

Thanks to all of the Jameses – Julia, for your patience and constant encouragement, and my kids, for just being you.

To my parents and my brother for not being too surprised that I write crazy fiction, and for telling me it’s cool.

To Bill, Sara, Billy, Jim & Jean for taking me seriously and never doubting that I could actually do this, and for demanding signed copies when I thought that whole idea was daft.

Many thanks to Andrea of Express Editing Solutions - http://www.expresseditingsolutions.co.uk

Any typos or errors in this book after this fantastic editor went through it - are entirely my fault.

Lastly, thanks to James Thorn for going along on this crazy journey with me. It took us a while to get this project going, but we got there in the end and I’m certainly glad we did!

James is a blast to work with and a kindred soul, quite often first guessing me on ideas before I even mentioned them, and coming up with ideas far better than mine. Here’s to us continuing to work together to bring life to stories that not only we, but other people will want to read.

About J. Thorn

Click here: http://jthorn.net/optin/df01.htm

Healed by the written word
Want a story that's rooted in a fundamental aspect of being human?

I believe reading dark fiction can be healing. My overriding mission is to connect with you through my art, and I hope to inspire you to do the same. I’m a word architect and driven visionary. I’m obsessed with heavy metal, horror films and technology. And I admire strong people who are not afraid to speak their mind.

I grew up in an Irish Catholic, working class family and was the first to go to college. I didn't have expensive toys, so I used my own imagination for entertainment. And then I abused alcohol for entertainment. I spent the first thirty years of my life convincing myself I wasn’t an addict and the last ten worrying about all the potential threats the substances hid from me.

Anxiety and depression are always hiding in the corner, waiting to jump me when I start to feel happiness.

I had to break through family programming and accept the role of the black sheep. In my 30s I started writing horror and formed a heavy metal band while my family rolled their eyes, sighed and waited for the “phase” to end.

I spent years paralyzing myself with self-loathing and criticism, keeping my creativity smothered and hidden from the rest of the world. I worked a job I hated because that’s what Irish Catholic fathers do. They don’t express themselves, they pay the damn mortgage. I may have left my guilt and faith behind long ago, but the scars remain.

My creativity is my release, my therapy and my place to work through it all. I haven't had a drink in a long time, but the anxiety and depression are always lurking. Writing novels and songs keeps it at bay. I scream over anxiety with my microphone and I turn my guitar up loud enough to drown out the whispers of self-doubt.

I hope to leave a legacy of art that will continue to entertain and enrich lives long after I'm gone. I want others to see that you don’t have to conform to the mainstream to be fulfilled.

Don’t be afraid of the dark. Embrace it.

About Glynn James

GLYNN JAMES, born in Wellingborough, England in 1972, is a bestselling author of dark sci-fi novels. He has an obsession with anything to do with zombies, Cthulhu mythos, and post-apocalyptic and dystopian fiction and films, all of which began when he started reading HP Lovecraft and Richard Matheson’s I Am Legend back when he was eight years old. In addition to co-authoring the bestselling ARISEN books (over 250,000 copies sold), he is the author of the bestselling DIARY OF THE DISPLACED series and the THROWN AWAY series. More info on his writing and projects can be found at www.glynnjames.co.uk.

Table of Contents

Beginning

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Copyright