Solomon's Journey

by James Maxstadt

  But she knew that already, didn’t she? How else could she account for what she was feeling? It occurred to her that she hadn’t thought of Orlando once since riding away from Towering Oaks. That should have made her sad, or worried. Instead, it felt like nothing. The thought fell into a black abyss in her mind and disappeared.

  She stalked up the stairs to Bragnold, who turned without a word. Following, she was led to a small sitting room, rather than the large, bright room she was expecting.

  Inside, she found Jamshir, sitting on a couch, his arm draped over a stern-looking woman. There was something almost familiar about her. It took Shireen a second to recognize the colors the woman wore. Green, not the normal silver and purple of Glittering Birch.

  This woman, whoever she was, was from Whispering Pines.

  “I see you’ve been making friends, Jamshir,” Shireen said.

  “I’ve told you before.” His voice was low, almost a hiss. “It’s Lord—”

  “I don’t care.” She cut him off. “Why should anyone call you Lord anything? I’m here because something is happening at my House. Something that you’re responsible for. I want to know what it is, and how to fix it. And you’re going to tell me.”

  Jamshir glared at her in fury.

  “How dare you! I am the ruler of the Greenweald! I have saved this land more times than I can count! I have been alive since the beginning! Who are you to come in here making demands? General!”

  Bragnold moved toward her, but it was like he was moving in his sleep. His lunge was slow, awkward, and she avoided it easily. It would have been child’s play to pull her sword and cut him down. Instead, she stepped to the side and slammed both her fists down hard on the back of his neck as he went past.

  Bragnold went down and stayed there. Shireen backed up, hands raised, ready to defend herself, but Bragnold didn’t move.

  “Come on,” she snarled. “I didn’t hit you that hard.”

  And she hadn’t. Certainly not for someone like him. But still, he stayed lying prone at her feet.

  After a moment of silence, Shireen turned her attention back to Jamshir.

  “Now, are you going to tell me what I need to know, or…”

  She dropped her hand to her sword hilt, letting the gesture finish the threat.

  “I don’t know what sorcery you beat my champion with,” Jamshir said, “but he’s not my only guardian. Will you yield?”

  Shireen laughed and moved forward. She wasn’t even quite sure what her intentions were. At the least, the ruler of the Greenweald was going to get the slap that he should have many years ago.

  The woman next to him surged to her feet. Unlike Bragnold, her movements were fluid and graceful. She faced Shireen, her fingers touching the hilts of two long daggers thrust through the green leather belt she wore. Her eyes stayed focused on Shireen’s and there was no sign of fear in them. If anything, a gleam of excitement was lit in them.

  “You’re Shireen, right?”

  “I am. Who are you?”

  “Jocasta. Head of House Whispering Pines. I’ve been looking forward to this.”

  Shireen tilted her head.

  “Looking forward to what?”

  “You and me. Why involve anyone else in this? We can settle it now.”

  Shireen was confused. “Settle what? What are you talking about?”

  “Like you don’t know. Like you haven’t been planning on using us again.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. But the fact that you’re here, cozied up to... that!... says all I need to know about you. Get out of my way.”

  “I don’t think so—”

  Shireen hit her. She didn’t bother with her sword. Instead, she punched straight ahead, her fist slamming into Jocasta’s jaw. The other woman fell back on the couch, blood bursting from her lips.

  She sprang back up and returned the blow, catching Shireen in the cheek, sending her stumbling back as well.

  She shook her head. That hurt! If nothing else, this Jocasta knew how to throw a punch.

  Good. Maybe she’d be able to work off some of the horrible aggression she was feeling on Jocasta first, before turning to Jamshir.

  She smiled and rolled her shoulders.

  “All right then,” she said. “Let’s get to this.”

  To her surprise, Jocasta smiled back, then moved forward. Shireen backed up, moving out of the small chamber to give herself room to maneuver.

  Before they could get into it however, there was a strange noise from down the hall. A loud, discordant whistling noise.

  Shireen took her eyes off Jocasta.

  Down at the end of the long hallway was a figure in bright green. Shireen laughed and turned back to Jocasta.

  “That your new House colors?” she asked.

  But Jocasta wasn’t paying attention to her. She, too, was staring at the figure, her eyebrows drawn down.

  “What the hell…” Jocasta whispered.

  “That’s not one of yours?” Shireen asked.

  Jocasta shook her head, continuing to stare.

  Inside the room, Jamshir started to giggle.

  Chapter 54

  Darius could barely hold the portal open as Samuel helped him stumble through. His clothes were bloody and there were gashes all over him, like those made by sharp claws. And all with that red, inflamed appearance that told of coming infection. He’d need to see Willow again.

  But first, he needed to get Samuel back to Towering Oaks. The portal dropped them deep in the woods, a good hour’s walk from the compound. Not ideal, since he needed medical attention badly, but he couldn’t take the chance on someone seeing it.

  “You go on,” he told Samuel. “Get help and bring them back to me.”

  “I will,” Samuel said, and helped Darius ease down next to a tree.

  For most Folk, merely sitting so close to one of the forest giants would have helped them heal. But those of House Subtle Hemlock had given that gift up. It was almost as if the forest itself knew what they were and turned its back on them. A silly thought, really. The forest was alive, sure, but it wasn’t sentient.

  His mind was wandering. None of this mattered. He needed a healer before he was beyond help. Malachi hadn’t been gentle, or overly careful, when he made sure that it would appear Darius had gotten Samuel away from a Soul Gaunt.

  “Are you okay?” Samuel was fussing over him, using his own shirttail to rub at the blood.

  “Yes,” Darius said. “Go, will you?!”

  “All right.” The aide stood. “But before I go, I just wanted to say thank you. For getting me away from that thing. It was horrible…”

  “Fine. You’re welcome. Now will you please go?”

  “Yes, of course.” With one last look, Samuel scurried away, disappearing among the trees a few moments later.

  Darius choked down a laugh, knowing that it would cause him more pain than it was worth. If he hadn’t spent so much time manipulating Samuel’s mind he’d be in real trouble. He didn’t have the strength to control him right now, so he needed to depend on things already put in place.

  They’d serve. Unless someone like Willow got suspicious for some reason and really examined him closely, no one would ever know that Samuel was anything other than himself.

  Darius had thought to make sure the aide looked like he had been with a Soul Gaunt as well, but didn’t have the strength for it, after Malachi was done with him. Instead, he made the suggestion that the Soul Gaunt was keeping Samuel alive and unharmed for some mysterious purpose, as if it were waiting for further instructions.

  He was rather proud of that one. He’d made it up on the fly when he collected Samuel from his cell. Not only did it explain the lack of wounds on him, it would add further concern for House Towering Oaks. There was still a Soul Gaunt around and it was being controlled? Oh no!

  Now he did laugh, blood spitting from his lips and a sharp pain stabbing into his belly. He groaned and put his head back, trying to control his br
eathing.

  It was no use; this simply wasn’t comfortable.

  Maybe if he lay down.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  “Darius? Can you hear me?”

  The voice was pleasant to listen to, and there was a warm, comfortable feeling spreading through him. He wanted to answer, but it was so nice to lie here, feeling the earth under his cheek. Everything felt at peace.

  “Come on,” the voice said. “You can get up now.”

  A slender hand grabbed his arm and tugged. He moaned, not so much in pain as in protest, and opened his eyes.

  Willow knelt next to him, her one hand holding his wrist, her other on his brow. He looked into her warm, brown eyes.

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered.

  Funny thing was, he meant it. The healer was very attractive, although most would call her stately, or dignified. But to Darius, she was simply the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

  Willow’s cheeks flushed, but she didn’t move her hands. “Don’t be ridiculous. That’s just the effects of my healing and what you’ve been through. You’d think a wood-troll was beautiful right now.”

  Darius slowly sat up, putting his hand to his head. Healed or not, the headache he was experiencing was intense.

  “Take it slow,” Willow said. “When I say healed, I mean that you’re not going to die. That’s all. Soul Gaunt wounds are more than I can fix in such a short time. They will require more attention.”

  “Does that mean I’ll get to see you again?”

  “Me, or one of the other healers. We all have had too much practice in this recently.”

  “You.” Darius fixed her with a stare. “I want it to be you.”

  “Well.” Willow let go of his hand and fussed with her dress that was bunched on her lap. “We’ll see.”

  A sudden throat clearing alerted him to the fact that they weren’t alone. Several Towering Oaks soldiers stood nearby, most staring pointedly out into the Greenweald, although a few openly watched with grins plastered across their faces.

  “I guess Samuel made it back, huh?” Darius said.

  “Indeed,” Willow answered, climbing to her feet. She motioned for one of the soldiers to help him up as well. “And he told us of your heroism. He was still speaking to Orlando when I left to come find you.”

  “Orlando?” Darius gained his feet, swaying slightly in the grasp of the soldier for a moment before stabilizing. “Why not Lady Shireen?”

  “Shireen has gone on a…mission. Orlando is temporarily in charge of House Towering Oaks.”

  “I see….”

  Darius began to sweat. The suggestions he implanted into Samuel were to spy on Shireen and report back to him. If he couldn’t reach him soon, Samuel would begin to try to find out where Shireen went, and follow. Darius needed to get to work to switch those suggestions to Orlando, or better yet, whoever was holding the post of Head of House at the time.

  “I think I can walk,” he said, and took a faltering step forward.

  “We will go slow,” Willow replied.

  Which was exactly what he couldn’t afford to do.

  Damn Malachi. He might have made it impossible for Darius to do what he needed to, the very thing that Malachi demanded of him.

  The man really was a sadist. Perhaps it would have been better to support Melanie and that Thaddeus character.

  As soon as that thought entered his mind a flaring pain bloomed in his chest, directly below where Malachi had sliced him open the first time. It grabbed hold of him and squeezed, stopping him from breathing, stopping his heart from beating.

  He couldn’t even cry out as he collapsed to the ground.

  “Darius!” Willow scrambled to him, her hands moving around him but to no avail. Whatever Malachi had done to him was beyond her skill, at least if she didn’t know about it.

  He could tell her and—

  The pain increased. So badly that his vision turned red and dark shapes fluttered at the edges. He was going to die. Malachi wouldn’t care either. He would simply get someone else to work Samuel.

  There was no beating him. Malachi was too strong, too smart, to be brought down.

  The pain lessened slightly.

  “I won’t tell!” he screamed inside his own head. “I’ll be loyal!”

  The pain slowly receded, until first he could see again, then feel the dirt he was writhing around on. His heart began to beat and with an agonized gasp he drew in breath.

  “Darius? What’s wrong? Tell me what it is?” Willow sounded concerned. Kind of nice, really.

  “I’m okay,” he panted. “It’s nothing. Sudden shock, or something. That damn thing really got me. But I’m all right.”

  Willow was looking at him dubiously.

  “Really,” he said. He reached out for her hand. “I’m all right. It’s passed. But I don’t know if I can walk all the way to Towering Oaks from here.”

  “Then you won’t,” she said.

  Two soldiers made a makeshift litter from a cloak and carried him. He hated it. He hated appearing weak in front of Willow, but he didn’t have a choice.

  He needed to get to Samuel before all his hard work was undone. If he didn’t, Malachi would really go to work on him.

  Chapter 55

  The rats were around. Solomon could hear them rustling in the dry grass and see the occasional movement as one of them dug into one of the fresher bodies strewn about the ground. From his vantage, it seemed that maybe whatever was holding people in Dunfield was getting stronger. The newer victims were all gathered closer to the gate, while those that had been there longer were spread out further.

  He looked back, adjusting the rope tied around his waist as he did. They were all there. Celia, Friedrich, Greta, and Christoph and his crew. All holding on, ready to start pulling if he got in trouble.

  So far, Solomon felt no differently than he ever did. He could move freely and his mind was still sharp. Whatever was affecting those who tried to leave, it either hadn’t had time to get to work on him yet, or it only affected those from Dunfield, or maybe this world.

  He turned, took a step, and still felt nothing.

  The rats didn’t seem interested in him either. None of them approached him, and he knew better than to get too close or try to chase one away this time. Maybe they only came to those that seemed helpless, as long as you didn’t antagonize them.

  He looked back one final time, smiled and blew a kiss to Celia. She smiled back but didn’t return his kiss. Rather than let her see his smile falter, he checked the rope one more time, and then began to run.

  He started out in a jog, testing his theory that it was only the people of Dunfield that were being held there. There was still no resistance.

  Running faster, he encountered nothing that would slow him down. Soon, he was going all out, running as fast as he could and still maintain his pace. Once, he stepped directly on a rat, but he was gone before it even registered. He didn’t know if he killed it or not, its brief squeak being the only indication that it even happened. Then he was past it and still running.

  A couple of minutes later and he was brought up short by the rope. It snapped tight and cut into his waist, causing him to bend forward with a whoosh of air.

  “Ouch,” he muttered.

  He knew that was going to happen, but it was better than being stuck out here while the rats came for him. Turning back, he saw that he had made a good distance from the gates. Those kids really did do a good job finding a lot of rope, and Friedrich had done a fine job of splicing it all together.

  In the shadows of the ruined gates it was difficult to see them. He untied the rope and let it fall, then lifted his hand and waved. He might have seen someone wave back, then the rope started to slither off through the grass. Friedrich was going to hold Christoph to it and make sure it got back to its rightful owners.

  “Onward, then,” he said, and turned away.

  He searched the ground for signs of the hunters’ passing. Nothing showed
itself, not even to him. Then he remembered the one in white that he tracked to Dunfield. Or at least partway. That one’s tracks had disappeared with the rising of the sun, so it was reasonable to assume that the same thing happened here.

  Luckily, Solomon remembered where the Mar-trollid camp was. He half hoped they were still there, and half didn’t. If they were, finding them would be easier. But that meant the hunters would find them there, too. And if the one in white really was a scout…

  He began to run again, eating the miles with an easy loping run. He made good time, but as night began to fall he was still some distance away. Remembering Greta’s words, he slowed down and looked for a place to hide.

  There wasn’t much. The land he ran through was short scrub brush and dry grass. There were no large trees or big rocks to get behind. It was flat, so ducking behind a hill wasn’t an option either. In fact, there was really nowhere for him to take cover. If the hunters came back this way now, he was going to be caught in the open.

  “It will be what it will be,” he decided, and started running again.

  Dusk passed without incident. Soon, the sun was down behind the horizon and shortly after the light faded completely. Now he did stop. Flat semi barren land or not, it wouldn’t do him any good at all to trip over an unseen bush and break his leg. And given his adventures in this land so far, he didn’t have a single doubt that it would happen.

  He found a place relatively free of thorns or rocks and lay down, his arms crossed behind his head, staring up at the stars. They were totally different from those in the Greenweald. The gloom that was always over Dunfield didn’t exist out here, so he could see them sparkling in the black velvet of the night sky.

  He wished Celia could see them as well.

  The night passed slowly. He slept now and then, for only a few minutes at a time, but used the opportunity to rest anyway. It wasn’t his first time spending the night uncomfortable and awake, and he was sure it wouldn’t be his last.

  Finally, he was able to start seeing vague shapes. Dawn had come, and with it, the whistles of the hunters.