Solomon's Journey

by James Maxstadt

  “Sorry,” the doctor said. “Got to relieve the swelling and it’s the only way I know how.”

  Solomon could feel hot blood running from his leg and pooling beneath him.

  “Sam, go over to that wall cabinet, the one with the glass doors. There’s a bottle in there. Top shelf. No, the other one. Yeah, that’s it. Bring it over here.”

  “It’s empty,” Sam said.

  “Nope, just looks that way.”

  Solomon turned his head. The Doc held a bottle that did indeed appear to be empty. She pulled the cork and tipped it. For a moment, nothing came out, then a heavy, viscous, drop slowly appeared.

  “This stuff should help. Made it myself.”

  “What is it?” Solomon asked.

  “Not really sure. The Mar-trollid gave me some plants and herbs the last time they came through. It’s made from that. Don’t ask me how they make a clear liquid, but if I mix it right, they do.”

  “Let me guess. A young female named Yag-Morah gave them to you.”

  “She did.” The Doc moved back out of his sight, and he felt the liquid hit the cut in the back of his leg. The sensation of being burned flared up again and he tensed every muscle in his body. After a moment, the feeling started to change and become cooling.

  “Do you know her?”

  Solomon realized that Doc Mia’s questions were meant to distract him. He glanced back and saw her threading a large curved needle. He put his head down, knowing what was coming.

  “I’ve met her and her father. Plague-rats?” he asked.

  “Mmm. Like I said. Nasty things. They showed up a couple of years ago, before the Minister disappeared. They mostly stay outside the walls now, but for a while, they were all over the city. They don’t run like normal rats when they’re threatened, and every bite does exactly what yours did. They get infected and grow worse over time. If they’re not treated within a couple of days, it’s too late.”

  “What drove them out?” He gritted his teeth against the sting of the needle and the feeling of the thread sliding through the hole.

  “I’m not sure that anything did. One day, they were gone and those other things, the weird people in the bright clothes showed up instead.”

  “Haven’t heard of those,” he said.

  “That’s why I dragged you into my hiding place,” Old Sam put in. “If they catch you, they take you. I didn’t want to see that happen to you.”

  “Take you where? Geesh, are you almost done?”

  “No one knows,” Doc Mia said, “and yes. Hang in there.” She sighed. “The whole town has changed. People used to be kind, for the most part. You know, like anywhere else. Now… well, people like Old Sam here are rare.”

  “And you,” Sam said.

  “I’m not sure about that anymore. It used to be that I cared about my patients. Now, I don’t know. I have a hard time working up any compassion.”

  “You’re helping me,” Solomon said.

  “I didn’t say that I didn’t do it. Just that I have a hard time making myself care.”

  As if to illustrate her point there was a sharp sting on the back of his calf. He flinched.

  “Sorry,” Mia said. “That was poor timing. Had to break the thread. Now let’s see about that hand.”

  Solomon slowly rolled over. His leg was feeling better but was still a little swollen and hot.

  “Anyway,” Doc Mia said, examining his hand. “I imagine that eventually whatever those things are will have had enough and will move on. Hopefully they’ll take those damn rats with them. Maybe then the town can recover… or maybe we’ll all be gone.”

  Solomon’s head was swimming again. The temporary relief he got when he first came in was fading. But there were people in need. He assumed the weird people they were talking about were the same as the thing he fought in the Mar-trollid camp, and he recognized the signs of evil when he saw them. He could walk away from it. Find Celia, then the gate, then go home. This wasn’t his worry.

  Like he wasn’t Old Sam’s worry last night, or Doc Mia’s now.

  “I need a sword,” he said.

  “What?” This from both Doc Mia and Old Sam.

  “A sword,” he repeated. “They took mine. If I’m going to help you get rid of those things, I need a sword.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Doc said, reaching up to open his eye with her fingers and peer at him. “You’re delirious.”

  “No, I’m not. And I’m looking for someone that I’m even more worried about now.”

  “Then you should go find them. As soon as you’re better.”

  “I will. But I can help you guys, too. She’d want me to.”

  “Crazy,” Doc Mia muttered, and slit open his hand.

  Chapter 36

  The inside of the Glittering Birch main tree matched what Shireen saw on the outside. Neglect was evident everywhere, from the amount of dust on furniture, to the smell coming from some of the rooms. Nothing was being taken care of.

  Servants were still present, but those that didn’t simply loll about talked with one another in hushed tones. They stopped and openly stared when Jamshir led Shireen’s party by. Guards were no better, slouching against walls, or in some cases entirely absent from what should have been their positions. Neither Jamshir nor Bragnold acknowledged anything being amiss.

  Jamshir led her further into the tree and up a set of wide stairs to what was once a grand room. She remembered it from her last visit here with Jediah and Florian, but now it was filthy. Jamshir sank into a large chair, with a stained and soiled cushion.

  Shireen motioned her senior scout to come near.

  “Spread out, search from top to bottom. I don’t think anyone is going to stop you but be respectful. There’s no reason to antagonize Jamshir at this point.”

  Neither Jamshir nor Bragnold made any comment, or even seemed to notice when the Towering Oaks forces slipped away.

  “Sit, dear, sit,” Jamshir said, closing his eyes.

  There were other chairs, haphazardly strewn across the room, some on their feet, some lying on their sides or backs. She grabbed one, righted it and sat facing the ruler of the Greenweald. General Bragnold took up a spot next to Jamshir’s chair, staring vacantly at the large room.

  The windows on the wall to her right let in plenty of light, enough to expose the filth that had accumulated.

  “What’s happened here, Lord Jamshir?” Shireen asked.

  “Hmm? What do you mean?”

  “Your House. It’s… not being seen to.”

  Jamshir looked around the room with a puzzled expression. “I’m not sure what you mean. This is what you requested, isn’t it? To see the grandeur of Glittering Birch again, something to tell your children. Do you have children?”

  “No, not yet. Someday perhaps.”

  Jamshir leaned toward her, his eyes hooded.

  “Well, no time like the present. How about if we try to fix that right now?”

  His breath was fetid and the odor from his unwashed body was vile. Shireen fought to maintain her composure.

  “I don’t think Orlando would like that.”

  “Bah. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. And you can say the brat is his. I won’t mind.”

  “Again, thanks, but I’ll decline.”

  “Suit yourself.” He leaned back in his chair and let his gaze wander around the room. He frowned, his lips moving as he spoke silently to himself.

  “Lord Jamshir,” Shireen said, keeping her voice low, “do you have any idea what might have happened to my aide? His name is Samuel and he was attacked near our compound. Now, he’s missing.”

  “Samuel? No, I know no Samuel. What about you, General?”

  Bragnold continued to stare at the wall, then slowly shook his head. Shireen was appalled to see a thin line of drool hanging from the man’s lip.

  “No. See? No Samuel here. Now, what can I do for you?”

  “What I just said. I’m looking for my aide.”

  “
Ah, right. He was attacked, you say?”

  “Yes, Lord Jamshir, by a Soul Gaunt.”

  Jamshir straightened, his eyes opening wide. “A what?”

  “A Soul Gaunt.”

  “Impossible. Soul Gaunts haven’t been seen in the Greenweald in years. Ever since I defeated that one with my flaming sword.”

  For a moment, Shireen wasn’t sure if Jamshir was trying to make a joke, but his eyes told her that wasn’t the case. No, he was serious. In his mind, Solomon’s story was now his own.

  She was about to speak again when Jamshir rose to his feet. “Drinks. We must have drinks. Wine!” He banged his fist on the arm of his chair and spun in place. “Wine! Bring wine for my guest!”

  There was no answer. Jamshir panted, his eyes wild. Finally, a door opened in the wall opposite the windows and a servant came through. Her dress was purple and silver, but filthy, and torn along one side. She carried a glass bottle of a white wine and two crystal glasses, all of which were smudged. Without a word she brought them to Jamshir and set them down on the seat of his chair.

  She sneered at Shireen before turning and shuffling away, slamming the door behind her.

  “That’s better!” Jamshir said. “Would you do the honors?”

  Shireen poured the wine, handing a glass to the mad ruler of the Greenweald and taking one for herself. The wine was cloudy and smelled sour, and Jamshir drank it with obvious relish.

  “Drink! To the reunification of our great Houses!”

  Shireen wasn’t sure exactly what it was that Jamshir thought was happening, but she raised her glass to her lips anyway. Taking a small sip, she almost gagged. Sour was an understatement. The wine had turned some time ago.

  Jamshir took another long drink, dribbling a good amount down the front of his shirt, then refilled his glass.

  “Now, where were we? Ah. Yes. We were going to celebrate our new understanding, were we not? Perhaps in my bedchambers?”

  “No, Lord Jamshir, we were not. You were going to tell about what happened to my aide and the Soul Gaunt who attacked him.”

  Jamshir moved the wine bottle to the floor and retook his seat. He sat and stared at Shireen sullenly.

  “I know nothing of a Soul Gaunt and would thank you not to bring it up again.”

  His voice grew cold and for a moment, one brief second, his eyes cleared. Then, he looked past her, and his features slackened as he began muttering to himself again.

  Shireen set her glass to the side. There would be no answers coming from Jamshir. She glanced at Bragnold. Whatever had happened to him, the man was almost catatonic. She didn’t understand how he was even moving.

  One of her scouts walked into the room, proceeding calmly toward her, keeping his eyes on both Jamshir and Bragnold. He shook his head at her questioning look.

  Shireen rose, noting that the rest of her party had quietly entered the room as well.

  “Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Jamshir,” she said. “I’m afraid I have to return to my own House now.”

  “Of course, dear. Come back soon, we’ll have another date.”

  She bowed slightly and turned on her heels. Moments later, she drew a deep breath of clean air. The Glittering Birch compound was still a mess, but compared to the conditions in the tree, it was like a fresh, spring day.

  “Let’s go,” she said, mounting her horse.

  Her soldiers lined up behind her and they rode at a controlled pace until they left the Glittering Birch compound.

  Shireen rode at the head of the column in silence. Jamshir had been showing signs of madness the last time she saw him, before the gates of the Towering Oaks compound. She still wanted him brought to justice for what he had done, but now, he was obviously completely gone, his mind shattered, by what she wasn’t sure. Either by the guilt of what he did, or by his association with the secret House, or… who knew?

  For now, though, he was harmless. She didn’t believe he possessed the faculties to send a Soul Gaunt after them again, and certainly not the guile to have it take her aide. No, he could stay there, in his filth and decrepitude, until Solomon returned and decided what to do with him.

  Behind her, she heard a voice.

  “The whole place smelled like crap.” And then a loud guffaw from another.

  She turned, surprised and not a little displeased by this break in discipline.

  “Who said that?”

  No one answered, but she saw the guilty parties anyway. At the back of column, two of her scouts looked back at her. One staring directly at her, insolence written all over his face. The other with his head down, glancing at her, his face pinched.

  Shireen peeled off to the side and motioned the rest to go past. When the final two drew even with her, she moved her horse between theirs.

  “Is there a problem, here?” she asked.

  “No, Ma’am,” one said.

  “Then what’s going on?”

  “Sorry, Lady Shireen,” the other said. “It’s just a relief to be out of there. It was…distasteful.”

  She couldn’t argue with that, but discipline had to be maintained. “Keep it together!” she snapped. “We’re Towering Oaks, not some lesser House. Act like it!”

  Both bowed their heads and sat up straighter in the saddle. With a final glare, she spurred her horse into a trot, moving back up into the lead.

  Chapter 37

  “Of course, people are talking.”

  Jocasta turned from the shelf of books she was pretending to look at. Darius sat at his ease in one of the library’s chairs, legs crossed.

  “What do you mean, of course they are?” she said.

  “The whole council dies, except for you? Even if there is enough reasonable doubt, some people are still going to suspect you had something to do with it.”

  “I want it shut down.”

  “No, you don’t. Taking draconian measures like that will reinforce what some are saying. Better to let them whisper. In time, it will die out. In the meantime, treat your new council like they’re wise sages and you’re listening to their advice on all things.”

  Jocasta took a seat and regarded Darius. There was something going on with him. How did a mere doorman become so politically savvy?

  “Who are you?” She enjoyed the sudden confusion on the man’s face.

  “Who am I?” Darius laughed, but to Jocasta it sounded like a stall. “I’m your aide, remember? I don’t think I understand the question.”

  “You were a doorman. You opened the door for people going in and out. Until me, you never even spoke to your betters. Now you’re suddenly a political savant? How does that work?”

  “My betters?” There was an undertone of bitterness in his voice. “That’s a conceit that only the upper classes have. There are no ‘betters’. We’re all Folk, Lady Jocasta, and because my station in life relegated me to menial tasks doesn’t mean I’m stupid. Or that I haven’t paid attention.”

  It was her turn to laugh.

  “You should have left, went south. You would have found more equality than you knew what to do with on the Southern Seas.”

  “And have been a pariah on my return. The nobles can do such things. Those of us not so fortunate don’t have that luxury. For us, leaving means abandoning our House, and having nowhere to return to.”

  “Perhaps. Or perhaps you were simply too much of a coward.”

  She was trying to bait him. Darius didn’t respond to her insult.

  Lately, Jocasta had been feeling ill-at-ease. She didn’t feel guilty about the council, or at least not exactly. Still, there was a small part of her that missed Childress’s barbs. He’d been the closest thing to a friend there. She was under no misconceptions about Darius. He would stick with her as long as it advanced his fortunes. If something better came along, he’d cast her off like yesterday’s fish bait.

  But he was what she had right now.

  “Let the talk continue, then.” She rose and went back to the bookshelf. “If you find a wa
y to insert a counter, do it.”

  Behind her, Darius rose. “I’ll do that.” She heard his footsteps as he made his way to the door. Before he opened it, he said, “Lady Jocasta. I’m not your enemy. I’m grateful to you for giving me a chance to prove myself worthy of a station beyond what my birth dictates. I remain loyal to you.”

  She didn’t bother turning as he left the room.

  Maybe, she thought. But she didn’t believe for a second that his loyalty to her outweighed his own self-interests.

  She pulled a book from the shelf and took a seat again, leafing through it. A history of the Greenweald, of all things. The place was so ancient that Jocasta didn’t think such a thing existed. This one was for children, full of line drawings of explorers first entering the land, the first communions with the trees, and epic battles against the Hairy Men.

  “A little young for you, isn’t it?”

  The voice was from behind her, deeper in the room. The library only had one door, and no windows. It was empty when she came in earlier and no one other than Darius had come through the door since.

  She turned her head, hiding her surprise with an iron will, and reaching down to loosen her knife in its sheath at her belt.

  “Who are you? And how did you get in here?”

  There was something familiar about the man who stood near the back corner. There was a woman with him, someone who Jocasta was sure she’d never seen before.

  The man held up his hands and stepped forward. “I always loved this room. I spent a good amount of time in here with my cousin. Both as advisor and friend.”

  “Thaddeus,” Jocasta said.

  Her fingers tightened on the hilt of her knife. One of the two apparently surviving close relatives to Florian. One of the only two who posed a threat to her rule over House Whispering Pines. A quick flick of her wrist and this one would be removed.

  “Please don’t try it.” Thaddeus seemed to know what she was thinking. “You won’t succeed. Besides, I have no interest in taking over as Head of House. You can have it, at least for now. When Celia gets back, you can kill each other over it, for all I care. That is, if there’s anything left to fight over.”