Solomon's Journey

by James Maxstadt

  When he turned to the building he saw movement. There, in one of the windows stood Malachi, watching him.

  He let the flame go out, put his head down and trudged to the door that led underground. Back to the caves where novice members like him belonged.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  “I’m sorry,” he said, for what felt like the hundredth time. Melanie still didn’t look at him. She lay in bed, her back to him, reading from an old text. “Come on, talk to me.”

  “What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry for almost frying your brains? Well, I’m not. And next time, I’ll do worse.”

  Her voice was cold, with an edge to it that Thaddeus hadn’t heard before.

  “I was a jerk. Again. I’m sorry. I’m just having a hard time adjusting to all this.”

  “Sounds like that’s your problem.”

  For as angry as she was at him, she hadn’t stopped him when he came to her chamber and climbed into her bed. She wouldn’t touch him, and recoiled when he tried to touch her, but she hadn’t told him to leave either.

  “I guess it is,” he said. He kept his voice calm, but inside his temper was beginning to build.

  Yes, it was his problem. What did she know of it? She didn’t have the comfort of a Great House taken from her. She wasn’t held in a rotting tree by living nightmares. And she wasn’t suddenly thrust into a servile role.

  She still didn’t turn around.

  “You know, I don’t get you,” he said, letting some of his anger creep into his voice. “I’m the one who should be angry. If you remember, you attacked me.”

  Melanie said nothing.

  “All right,” he said after a moment. “I’ll go back to my own chambers. When you want to talk this out, let me know.”

  Now she did turn, her eyes burning brighter than the ball of fire in his hand earlier. But what shocked him were the tears on her cheeks.

  “What?” He suddenly felt disoriented. His anger gone, replaced by a gnawing sense of guilt over something he hadn’t even done. “Why are you crying?”

  “Because I love you, you idiot!”

  She threw the covers back, jumped from the bed, and ran from the room, leaving Thaddeus gaping.

  He recovered his composure and swung his legs out of bed, standing slowly. She loved him? But they were only…weren’t they? And what was with this guilt? Could it be that…

  Leaving the bedroom, he found her sitting her on a couch, her face buried in her hands. Thaddeus sat beside her and pulled her to him. She leaned into him, sniffling.

  “I don’t, you know,” she said. “Not really.”

  “I know,” he replied. “Me neither.” He knew they were both lying.

  They sat like that for several minutes, not saying anything, until there was a knock on the door.

  “Who the hell is that?” Melanie said, getting up and cinching a robe around her.

  She went to answer the door while Thaddeus eased back further into the room. Malachi knew of their relationship, but no one else did, and they both agreed it was better that way. He couldn’t hear the muffled conversation, but when Melanie returned, her face was pale.

  “What is it?” Thaddeus asked.

  “Malachi. He wants to see us.”

  “Now? It’s the middle of the night.”

  She shrugged. “The messenger said now.”

  Chapter 22

  Celia left the thin bed she was lying in and returned to the main room of Greta and Friedrich’s house. They were already up, and she wondered how many others woke this early, sitting in the low light of a candle, listening in vain for any noise from outside.

  It was still dawn, the time when the hunters would be prowling the streets, seeking victims for whatever mysterious purpose they had. They never entered a house or building so far as anyone knew, but that didn’t stop the fear that permeated the city at dawn and dusk.

  “Good morning,” she said quietly, taking a seat at the table with them.

  Greta got her a mug of tea and then retook her seat, Friedrich’s hand coming over to cover hers. They sat in silence for the next hour, until a thin shaft of sunlight fell through a gap in the shutters, dust motes sparkling as it struck the floor.

  With a heavy sigh, Friedrich got up and opened the shutter fully, letting the light in. In comparison to the gloom of the room a moment ago, it seemed bright. But Dunfield had a permanent pall over it that made the sun weak.

  “I’m going to go take a look at that manor you told me about last night,” Celia said.

  Friedrich turned to look at her, eyebrows raised.

  “I didn’t question it last night, girl. But why? What good will it do you, or anyone?”

  Celia shrugged. “I’m not sure. But if that’s really where the hunters are coming from, I want to know.”

  “Again, why?”

  “I’m going to stop them.”

  “Don’t be silly, dear,” Greta said, moving to start preparing a breakfast of gruel and tea. “You’re not even from here.”

  “I admire your resolve,” Friedrich added, “but it’s foolhardy. Others have tried, and they’ve disappeared too. I don’t want you to be the next one to go.”

  “I don’t, either,” she admitted, “but I have to do something.”

  “Then again I ask,” Friedrich said. “Why?”

  That was a good question. Celia didn’t belong here; this wasn’t her home. And while Friedrich and Greta had been good to her, everyone else in this town had been nothing but malignant. She’d been sneered at, spit on, and attacked ever since she came through the gates, if not outright ignored. Why should she stick her neck out to help them?

  Because he would have. Solomon would be on the streets already, not afraid of the hunters, facing them down. She didn’t have his prowess, or his bravery; she could only do what she was able to. Which was all anyone could do, he always said.

  “It’s just something that needs to be done,” she finally replied.

  They might not understand, but she knew.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  “That’s it?”

  Friedrich nodded, his hand clasped firmly around his wife’s.

  The manor was exactly as they described. In the middle of town stood a fountain that at one time had flowed with clean sparkling water but was now empty, slimy with green and black algae. Streets radiated out from that circular plaza, with the largest leading straight through town and ending here, in front of this large house.

  It was three stories high, built of brick, thick timbers and once-white stucco. There were several peaked roofs with chimneys poking into the sky. No smoke came from any of them.

  As big as the place was for a village like Dunfield, it would easily fit inside the main tree of the Whispering Pines compound with room to spare. Still, Celia was well aware of how many rooms, stairways, passages, and twists and turns a house such as that could have.

  And all the windows were boarded up. Heavy timbers ran across each of them, some on the inside, some on the out. The door was firmly shut, offering no way into or out of the place.

  The street divided here, running across the front of the building, then down each side in two narrower lanes. Celia moved forward, intending to circle the place, looking for other openings that things could be coming out of.

  When she started to approach, a malingering sense of menace grew. She didn’t notice it standing back with Friedrich and Greta, but when her intention came clear in her mind, she started to feel a revulsion.

  She ignored it and pushed closer. The unease in her stomach grew with every step. Soon, it turned to nausea, and she was fighting to keep from retching up her thin breakfast.

  Finally, she gave up and moved back to stand with her hosts again. The feeling diminished but stayed with her.

  “That was…. strange,” she said.

  “No one can go near the place,” Greta said. “Ever since it was all boarded up that one morning.”

  “They must be coming from here,” Celia said
.

  Friedrich shrugged. “So everyone assumes, but no one has been brave enough to follow them when they’re out to see if that’s true. At least not that they’ve returned to tell the tale.”

  “Well, let’s go for now,” she said. “I need to think about this.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  They passed what amounted to a pleasant afternoon in Dunfield, although there was still an air of great sadness in Greta and Friedrich whenever they saw a child. Celia wondered if it would ever leave them. She watched them observe a mother and her young daughter, picking over the half-rotten apples in a vendor’s cart. The vendor also watched them, his hand close to the cudgel on his belt.

  The mother finally picked up a wormy apple and handed it to the vendor. He looked it over. “Five shillings!”

  “Five shillings? That’s robbery! Look at it!” the mother protested.

  “Five. Take it or leave it.”

  The mother glared at him, her daughter pressed behind her skirts, peeking around at the scowling man.

  “I don’t have five. I only have two. And we need milk for the little one at home.”

  “I said five. If you don’t have it, beat it.”

  “Please,” the mother pleaded. “We haven’t eaten anything in two days.”

  The vendor glared at her, then down at the little girl. A sly smile crossed his face. “Another one at home, you say. Then leave this one with me. You can take five apples in trade and keep your money to feed your other brat.”

  Celia had heard enough. She stepped forward and snatched the apple from the vendor’s hand. He spun toward her in outrage, his protest choking off when saw the height of her. Then, his bravado returned when he realized he was facing a woman.

  “Ah. You offering yourself in her place?”

  That was as far as he got before Celia hit him. Her fist caught him perfectly, in the space where his nose and upper lip met, and he went down in a heap, not moving.

  Celia handed the apple to the woman, who eyed her suspiciously.

  “Leave one shilling here on his cart,” Celia said.

  The woman dug it out of her grubby pocket, placed it on the lip of the cart and scurried off, dragging her daughter with her. The little girl looked back, her eyes wide.

  “Nice work,” Friedrich said, “but that shilling will be gone as soon as we turn our backs.”

  “No, I’ll wait until he comes to. He’s a crook and a creep, but I won’t be party to stealing from him.”

  The man at her feet started to stir. She reached down and hauled him upright, taking the coin from the cart and pressing it into his hand. She bent down so that she could stare directly into his still slightly dazed eyes.

  “This is more than a fair price for your apple. Be better. And if I hear about you threatening a child in any way again…” She let the sentence linger, unfinished, and dug her fingers painfully into his shoulder.

  Then she released him and, making sure Greta and Friedrich were still with her, walked away.

  “You’ve made an enemy, there,” Friedrich muttered.

  “Yes, but maybe a friend, too,” Celia replied, thinking back to the girl staring at her.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  “I’m going out,” she said simply, waiting for the expected response.

  “When?” Greta asked.

  “Now. I want to see if the hunters really are coming from the manor.”

  Friedrich and Greta exchanged glances.

  “Well,” Friedrich said, his voice thick. “I’m not your father, girl, and I don’t know that I could stop you if I were. But I wish you wouldn’t. It would be hard, on Greta, you see, to lose another so soon after. Well, you know.”

  “You won’t lose me,” Celia said, touched that this gruff man would display such emotion to her. “I’ll come back in a little while. Trust me.”

  Greta hugged her tightly, blinking furiously to stop the tears from overflowing her eyes.

  “Really,” Celia said. “I promise. I’ll be careful.”

  She disengaged herself and walked to the door. With a last smile, she opened it and stepped out quickly into the gathering dusk.

  The streets were almost empty. The sun was barely visible above the rooftops and would be gone in moments. Those still out hurried on their way, glancing fearfully at the crescent of light. No one paid any attention to her.

  She moved off quickly, to be away from her host’s house in case a hunter was to see her too soon. But none appeared, and she found a hiding place.

  The street darkened, the last stragglers disappeared and Dunfield took on an even more menacing aspect than it wore during the day. Celia shivered and stayed where she was, hoping that one of them would pass by, and hoping the exact opposite at the same time.

  The minutes pass slowly until her patience was rewarded.

  Down the street came the sound of whistling. It was almost a jaunty tune, like a craftsman would sound while working on a piece. It was out of place here and made her even more nervous.

  Cautiously, she peeked out of her hiding and saw them. Two of the hunters, and she was reasonably sure they were the twins from that night in the alley. Bright blue and orange outfits, blank white masks, crazy hair styles. They came up the street together, and whether one was doing the whistling or both she couldn’t tell.

  When they neared she shrank back into the shadows. They passed by, never noticing her. When they moved several yards further away, she slowly slipped out behind them, hugging the wall and following.

  They moved aimlessly through the streets, that maddening tune never ceasing. Twice she needed to duck into an alley and trust to dumb luck to hide as she spotted others, but she managed to avoid being detected.

  Finally, the darkness grew deeper and the two hunters began to work their way back to the plaza with the fountain, then up the wide avenue. Yes, they were heading for the manor.

  Celia didn’t need to get close to see the door standing wide open, nothing but darkness visible inside. No sign of lights burned anywhere.

  She jumped over the rim of the fountain and crouched down, ignoring the smell from the shallow pool of stagnant water at the bottom. Other hunters showed up, and she worried that one of them would pass close enough to peer over the edge and find her there, but none did.

  There was also no one visible but the hunters. If it was their goal to drive everyone off the street but themselves, they had succeeded. But in the process, they had driven off their prey as well.

  Celia noticed a difference in them. Some weren’t moving with their normal fluid grace. There were a few missteps and staggers among them. And once, a wavering whistle that sounded like misery.

  But all of them made it to the manor and disappeared inside just as the last of the light faded from the sky. The door shut, and night truly fell on Dunfield again.

  Chapter 23

  Even being in the library couldn’t soothe her, and not for the first time, she wondered how often Florian felt the same. Darius had been gone for two days now, and there was no sign of him and no word from him. Jocasta didn’t have any idea of what was happening at Towering Oaks.

  Had he turned on her? It was possible. Even if she had taken him from being a mere servant and raised him above what his birth dictated, he still might harbor feelings of resentment. Or perhaps he was discovered, and even now they were getting information out of him, readying to march on Whispering Pines and take them by surprise.

  Anything was possible, and it was maddening to try to consider all possibilities and prepare for them. She realized how much she had come to depend on bouncing ideas off Darius in the short time he was her aide.

  Onboard ship, she always had a first mate and, while her word was law, much as it was here, she learned to hire on good ones and listen to their advice. A good first mate was worth their weight in gold, and Darius filled that role for her now.

  But if your mate went overboard in a storm, you picked another, even if only until you were back in port. Over the y
ears, Jocasta found a few diamonds in the rough that way.

  Here, she already had someone. Childress may have been upset last time they spoke, but it was he who called her home and backed her to be Head of House. Maybe it was only a matter of explaining her intentions better, staying calm and letting him have his say. Then perhaps, he would see the wisdom of what she was saying.

  Yes, time to involve Childress more deeply.

  She rose to her feet and opened the door to the room, summoning a servant.

  “Find Lord Childress,” she told him. “And bring wine. Good wine.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  “I must admit, I’m surprised to be in your presence again so soon,” Childress said as Jocasta poured him a glass of wine.

  “I didn’t like the way our last meeting ended,” she said. “I don’t want to be your enemy.”

  “And I don’t want to be yours. But I cannot condone working with someone as unstable and evil as Jamshir. To say nothing of attacking an ally of so many years.”

  “I understand, and it was unfair of me to spring all that on you so suddenly. If I may ask a question, though?”

  “Certainly.” He raised the wine to his lips.

  “I understand that, for a while, there was a rift between Lords Florian and Jediah. How did you feel about that? About your age-old alliance then?”

  Childress chuckled. “I hated it, of course. But I understood as well. Florian had just lost his daughter and blamed it on Solomon. And he wasn’t wrong. Solomon did disobey orders.”

  He took a drink and considered the wine in his glass. “Very nice, by the way. I always believed the rift between them would heal. Jediah did as he was ordered by Jamshir and allowed Solomon to be exiled without a fight from either of them. Florian would have come around to see that, even if the Soul Gaunts hadn’t shown up.”

  Jocasta nodded. “Then you weren’t worried because it was a temporary thing.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Well, so is my plan. I mean, yes, it will lead to a permanent restructuring of power, but Towering Oaks will accept it, and we’ll be allies again. And the threat from Jamshir will be gone.”