Solomon's Exile

by James Maxstadt

  Luke was back within half an hour, with scissors in hand. He sat cross-legged on the ground in front of her, and she cut his beard back, then turned him and trimmed his hair, also. She wasn’t a hair-stylist, so it was choppy and a little uneven, but better than it had been. Luke sat silently, calmly, while she worked.

  She wanted to ask him what had happened, how he ended up like he had, in service to that vile thing, and what had happened to his eye. But she was loath to break the silence. Instead, she sat and listened as the night noises resumed.

  But there was one noise that didn’t fit in. It was off in the woods, quite far back, but coming closer, she was sure. The sound of something large pushing its way through the undergrowth. For a moment she was afraid it was another Soul Gaunt, but then remembered how silently that thing had floated above the ground. Whatever it was, it wasn’t that.

  Still, she braced herself, her hand finding Luke’s as the noise got louder.

  Then, Daisy broke from the cover of the woods and raced toward them. Behind her, strode two, tall, thin, grim figures.

  CHAPTER 32

  Thaddeus pushed himself against the wall again, already conditioned that to try to run was to invite more pain and fear. He watched as the dark figure came closer, the footsteps ringing in the dark of the room.

  “Who are you?” he said, and hated the quaver in his voice.

  The figure said nothing, but stopped when it was a few feet away. Its hand went to its breast, then came forward, holding something out. Thaddeus shrank back further, readying himself for whatever horror was being presented to him.

  It was bread. A small loaf of crusty bread was being held out to him by a perfectly normal looking hand. The fingers were long and slender, much like his own, and although they were pale, they were nothing like the bone white of the Soul Gaunt’s sharp claws.

  “What is this?”

  “Eat,” the figure responded. The voice was deep and rich, so different from the whispers and chuckles of the Soul Gaunts that for a moment, Thaddeus wasn’t sure he had really heard it.

  “What kind of trick is this?” he finally got out. “Where are the Soul Gaunts?”

  “No trick. I sent the Soul Gaunts, as you call them, away for now. They will leave you be unless I tell them not to.”

  Thaddeus didn’t like the sound of that. His hand still throbbed where they had bitten off his fingers, and he felt sick and disoriented. He needed the food, needed to keep his strength up as much as he could, or he’d never have a chance to escape.

  Tentatively, he reached up, his good hand trembling. The figure stayed still while he took the bread, much as a man feeding a wild animal might. He grabbed the loaf, and pushed back against the wall, afraid of the blow that he was sure would now fall.

  But none came. The figure merely stood and watched him. Or at least he assumed it was. It wore a heavy black cloak, with a deep hood that hid its features. It reminded him of the Master of the Hounds, but not as shabby, and much larger. When nothing happened, he bit into the bread, the flavor flooding his mouth. It was the most heavenly thing he had ever eaten, despite its dryness.

  He wolfed a couple of bites down, the crumbs catching in his throat, and causing him to explode in a fit of coughing. The figure reached into his cloak again and brought out a water skin, which he held out to Thaddeus.

  This time, the mage grabbed it without question or hesitation and tipped it up to his mouth. Ahhh….cool water. It tasted better than the finest wine. His meal of bread and water felt like a feast for kings.

  “Water now, wine when you’re stronger.”

  The figure began to turn.

  “Wait! Who are you?”

  “Time for questions later as well. Finish your meal.”

  As the figure moved, the room started to darken again. Thaddeus clutched the water skin and bread to his chest, ignoring the pain in his maimed hand.

  “Please, leave the light,” he begged. “I can’t stand the darkness.”

  But the figure ignored him and left the room. The slight glow that had allowed him to dimly see went with him, and darkness descended once again. Worse, the air became colder, and a feeling of unease came over him. They were there again. Not in the room, but outside the door, passing by it, or gathered in the doorway, watching him.

  He nibbled on the bread, sipped at the water, and stared into the blackness. The simple motion of eating and drinking helped him to stay calm. But soon, the bread was gone, and the water skin was dry. Then he had nothing to do but sit and stare, and try not to notice that the man hanging on the wall next to him was starting to stink.

  He jerked awake as a line of pain was drawn down his leg. The air was frigid and froze the spittle in his mouth as he cried out. He could see a vague shape, hunched near his leg. A hand, so white it almost glowed in the darkness, reached out and ran down his thigh again. Another line of fire ignited. The thing was running its claw down him, slicing through his pants and into the flesh beneath.

  He screamed again as the icy fire flared up, and the Soul Gaunt chuckled in return.

  “Hurts, yes? There is more to come. Much more.” The voice was a mere whisper, dripping with malicious glee. It began to reach over to his other leg, when the glow that accompanied his benefactor earlier returned.

  The Soul Gaunt hissed and jerked upright, its claw withdrawing into the folds of its robe. It spun around and moved away from Thaddeus, but too slowly.

  The figure in the black cloak stood in the doorway again. “What is the meaning of this?” The deep voice came out tinged with anger.

  “Master, I…”

  “None of your excuse, wretch. I told you all that this one was off limits. He was not to be played with.”

  Unbelievably to Thaddeus, the Soul Gaunt bobbed, almost as if it were bowing.

  “Leave, before I decide to deal with you now,” the figure said.

  The Soul Gaunt glided away, faster than Thaddeus had ever seen one move. It skirted around the figure and flew out the door. The air in the room began to warm again.

  “I am sorry for that,” the figure said, advancing to Thaddeus. “They are notoriously hard creatures to control, I’m afraid.”

  He made no move to bandage any of Thaddeus’s wounds, but went instead to the side of the room and pulled a chair forward. Seating himself, he reached into his cloak and pulled out another skin. “Do you feel strong enough for wine? Or would you prefer to stay with water for now?”

  “Wine,” Thaddeus croaked. He would drink as much as he could, let it cloud his mind and take away the nightmare for a while.

  “Good,” the figure said. He threw back his hood and took a deep drink from the wine skin, and then handed it over to Thaddeus. “Not too much at once. We have things to discuss.”

  Thaddeus tilted the skin to his mouth and squeezed out a stream of the dark, red wine, watching the man sitting near him as he did.

  He was tall, this man, at least as tall as any of the Folk that Thaddeus knew. And while his hands were slender and almost delicate looking, he was wide through the shoulders. He was bearded, and both that and his hair were white. His eyes were pale blue, so pale as to be almost colorless, and they watched him appraisingly.

  Then the gloom resettled and the man’s features became more indistinct again. Thaddeus realized that for a moment, it had almost been as if a light had shined on the man.

  He took another healthy swig of the wine, and passed the skin back into the man’s outstretched hand.

  “Who are you?” he tried again. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Two very different questions, neither of which are easily answerable.”

  “Try.”

  In the gloom it was hard to tell, but he swore that the man smiled.

  “Who I am won’t mean much to you. Suffice it to say that I come from north of here. Far north. Beyond the land of the Hairy Men. Farther than any of your kind has ever gone.”

  “So you’re not one of the Folk. I figured that. Why a
re you attacking us?”

  “Attacking you? No, I’m afraid you misunderstand. I’m doing everything I can to save you. To save this whole place. And to save these poor, unfortunate creatures that you call Soul Gaunts, as well.”

  Thaddeus looked around him, at the devastation they had made of the Rustling Elms compound. He indicated the man hung on the wall next to him. “Tell that to him. And the rest of the people that your pets butchered.”

  The man sat quietly, watching Thaddeus. “You don’t know what they are, do you? Or why they’re here. I wonder…” He trailed off, then climbed to his feet and wandered off a few steps. “If you knew the truth, would you believe it? Or would you shut it out, refuse to hear it?”

  Thaddeus opened his mouth, but the man held up his hand to stop him. “It doesn’t matter. Not at the moment. Keep the wine skin. If you’ll listen to my advice, you’ll take it slowly. But still, it’s up to you. I’ll return later, after I’ve thought of the best way to go about what needs to be done.”

  He started to leave and the soft glow that semi-illuminated the room went with him.

  “I don’t suppose you can leave the light?” Thaddeus called.

  The man didn’t acknowledge the question, or so much as turn his head. When he was gone, the room descended into darkness again. Thaddeus slowly lifted the wine skin to his lips, and ignoring what the man had advised, drank deeply.

  His mind was still fuzzy when the man returned, the dim light coming with him. No Soul Gaunts had brought him back to himself this time. The wine was gone, but he didn’t think it was as strong as the man had told him. It did dull him somewhat, but there was never a single moment that he forgot where he was, or that the pain from his wounds went away. Instead, he became more unfocused, his stomach was roiling, and he had a horrible taste in his mouth.

  “Ah, Thaddeus. It is Thaddeus, isn’t it? It looks like you didn’t take my advice. Well, there’s no teacher like experience, I’m afraid. The wine made in my homeland is different from what you’re used to, I’m sure. But don’t worry. The effects will pass just the same.”

  Something felt off. How had the man known his name? Did he tell him in a previous conversation? He didn’t think so, but when he tried to replay them in his mind, they slipped away, like water through cupped hands. The wine was really affecting him after all. His mind was his best, most potent weapon, and his ability to remember conversations, no matter how trivial seeming, was one of the reasons he was so valuable to House Whispering Pines.

  “I’ve come to a decision,” the man continued. “One that I think you’ll like. It’s a deal that I have to offer you.”

  He waited silently while Thaddeus tried to focus. “What kind of deal?”

  “The kind where you get to leave. Go home, back to your compound, and tell the Head of your House what you’ve seen here.”

  Freedom? He wasn’t to be tortured anymore? Or killed by the Soul Gaunts? “Yes,” he said, his voice pleading, no matter how much he tried to make it sound firm. “I’d like that. I’d like to go home.”

  “Of course, you would. Who wouldn’t? But, I need you do something for me.”

  “Anything. Name it.” The thought of walking out of this charnel house had helped to focus his thoughts. He could see the daylight welcoming him, warming him.

  “I’ll need you to spread my message. Well, our message I should say.”

  “Message? Sure. What message?”

  “The message that we come in peace, really. That we want these poor creatures to have the justice that they deserve.”

  Thaddeus glanced around again, his gaze flitting past the man rotting on the wall. “Peace? How is this…”

  “Perhaps you’re not quite ready to make a deal? Maybe more time would convince you of our sincerity?”

  “No! No. Peace, yes, I can see that. I mean, it wasn’t the fault of the Soul Gaunts that they…”

  “Exactly. These poor creatures, and they prefer to be called Nightwinds by the way, were merely trying to find a place to escape the harsh sun, when they were set upon by the soldiers of this House. They tried to escape, but to no avail. They had no choice but to defend themselves.”

  “Of course,” Thaddeus mumbled. “That makes sense.”

  “Since that time, we haven’t moved from here. We’ve hurt no one else. Not even the two from that other house who abandoned you here, left you to what they were certain was a hideous death. And yet, here you are, at the mercy of these supposed terrible creatures, and you’re fine.”

  Thaddeus glanced down at his maimed hand and the slashes in his leg. He remembered the cold fire that had burned through him whenever the Soul Gaunts, or Nightwinds, or whatever they were, had touched him. He looked back up to see the man gazing at him calmly, waiting for his reaction.

  “Yes, I’m fine. A couple of scratches, really. Nothing more.”

  “Exactly. Now, here’s what I need you to do.”

  There was more wine, and more whispering. The man left, and came back several times, and in between, the Soul Gaunts returned, bringing their fear and coldness with them. They never touched him, but they were always there, near him in the darkness, until the man with the light came and chased them away.

  Finally, after what felt like years, the man told him that he was free to go, but to remember their bargain. Thaddeus nodded weakly, the man helped him to his feet and guided him to the door. Moments later, he stood outside, blinking in the harsh glare of the sunlight. He held his hand up to shield his eyes, and started to stagger back to Whispering Pines.

  CHAPTER 33

  The two approaching figures had the same body type as Solomon, Luke saw. They were tall and thin, with slightly angular features. Unlike Solomon however, they weren’t dressed in normal clothes. Both of them wore what almost looked like clothes you would see at a renaissance fair, in shades of gray. They also carried swords in scabbards at their belts, which was definitely something that you didn’t see every day.

  In short, they looked like something that had walked out of one of the stories that he had tried to write. He glanced back at Solomon, still unconscious on the lounge nearby. If he hadn’t been through what he had over the last several days, he wouldn’t have believed any of this.

  The huge dog bounded up, then stopped and sniffed at Solomon, a whine rising in her throat.

  “I guess he really did make friends with it,” one of the newcomers said. It was the man, and his voice sounded forced, like he was trying to make light of a horrible situation.

  The other one, the woman, rushed forward and knelt on the ground next to Solomon. She looked him over, her hands reaching out tentatively to his face. “Oh, Solomon. What did you do?”

  “He saved us,” Lacy said. She watched the woman carefully, obviously unsure of how to react to the newcomers.

  “That’s not surprising either,” the man said. “It’s what he does. My name is Orlando, and I’m a friend of Solomon. This is Shireen.”

  Luke stood and offered his hand. Orlando considered it for a moment, an amused expression on his face, and then took it in a firm grasp.

  “If you’re done fooling around,” Shireen said, “can you help me here?” Her voice was rough, as if she was holding back tears.

  “Of course.” Orlando knelt on the other side of the chaise lounge and examined Solomon. “He’s cut up pretty badly, obviously. But other than the wound to his face, I don’t see anything too serious. Not for him, anyway. Who patched him up?”

  He looked up, and smiled when Lacy tentatively raised her hand.

  “You did well,” he said to her. “He may have saved your life, but you probably did the same for him.”

  Luke watched Lacy with disbelief. She had always been so strong and sure of herself that he was having a tough time reconciling that with the timid seeming woman he saw now. He moved closer to her and took her hand. “Lacy and Solomon did more than that. Look in the pool.”

  The woman, Shireen, glanced at them, but seemed to d
ismiss them from her thoughts almost as quickly. Bad cop, good cop, Luke thought to himself. Or too concerned with Solomon to spend much thought on us? He felt his blood begin to heat. Not at being dismissed by her himself, but by having her do that to Lacy. If she knew what this woman had done!

  “Shireen,” Orlando said.

  She sighed, stood, and walked to the pool, glancing into the water, and then giving it more of her attention. “Is that…?”

  “A Soul Gaunt, yeah,” Luke said, his voice hard and cold. “They killed it. The two of them.”

  “How? I mean, Solomon didn’t have his sword, or any weapon that I can see.”

  “He used what was available here,” Lacy said. “The whole thing, it was his plan. To kill the thing, and to get…well…”

  “You can say it," Luke said. "Part of the plan was to get me away from the thing. It was holding me captive.”

  “Why?”

  Luke shrugged. “No idea. It hurt me at times and took a lot of pleasure in doing that. It used me as bait to try to get to Lacy, too. But it never told me what it wanted.”

  “I’ve never heard of a Soul Gaunt doing such a thing,” Shireen said.

  “Up until a day ago, we never believe they existed,” Orlando said, “so what do we know?”

  “Yes, but if they take captives…then maybe…”

  “Thaddeus. You’re thinking he could still be alive?”

  Luke listened to them, feeling a strange sort of detachment. They had no idea what he had been exposed to over the last few days. The constant fear and the bone chilling cold. The occasional glimpse of freedom, given just long enough to fill him with a slight hope, and then cruelly snatched away. The hopelessness and despair after seeing Ed taken, and being forced to lure Lacy in as well.

  He may have been putting a good face on it, but inside, he was barely holding it together. He didn’t think he’d ever be over it, but at least he was home with Lacy, for now. He’d hold on to that for as long as he could.