Solomon's Journey

by James Maxstadt

  It took a step back, the whistle changing to a high pitch, then moved forward again.

  Shireen glared at her for a moment, then turned back in time to see the thing moving toward her. With a growl she punched it, the same way she had punched Jocasta a few minutes ago.

  The effect was less satisfactory, Jocasta was sure. Whereas she was driven back onto the couch, even if only for a moment, this thing was barely moved. Its head snapped back and it took another step backward, but it didn’t fall or seem any more hurt by the punch than it did by the dagger sticking out of its arm.

  “Don’t play with it,” Jocasta said, moving up to stand next to Shireen.

  She pulled the other dagger from her belt and held it casually in her left hand.

  The green figure turned its head, almost like it was seeing them somehow, despite the fact that there were no eyeholes in the mask.

  Shireen pushed her, forcing her to the side of the hall and opening up distance between them.

  “Some of us have real weapons,” she said, drawing her sword.

  For a brief moment, Jocasta almost turned on the other woman for daring to touch her. Instead, she swallowed her rage and kept her eyes on their real opponent. It hadn’t done anything yet, but Jocasta could feel the wrongness coming from it. This was something that didn’t belong in the Greenweald, or anywhere else.

  Shireen moved forward and the figure moved to meet her, its arms coming up like it was going to catch her sword. A horrible mistake for anyone who didn’t have a dagger sticking out of it like it didn’t even feel it. Maybe it really could catch it.

  Shireen didn’t give it a chance. She reversed her swing, bringing her sword around in an arc and catching it under the right arm. It made a sound like an axe hitting wood as it went in. Not nearly as far as it should have, as it would have if the sharp edge encountered flesh and bone.

  An explosive whistle came from the mask and the arm dropped. The left came around to grab Shireen’s blade and tug at it, which left it open. Jocasta stepped in, drove her dagger into the things throat with her left and grabbed the one she threw with her right, tugging it free.

  There was no blood on it, nor did any flow from the wound.

  Now the figure staggered backward, that annoying whistle becoming raspy.

  Jocasta smirked at Shireen. The other woman sneered, then stepped forward again, swinging her sword hard and nearly took the thing’s head off.

  The whistle was cut short and the thing dropped stiffly to the floor.

  There was still no blood.

  Behind them, they heard Jamshir’s voice raised in anger.

  “What did you do?! Why?!”

  Both women ignored him.

  “What is that thing?” Jocasta said, again.

  Shireen shrugged, examined her blade, resheathed it and squatted down near it. Jocasta followed suit, annoyed that she always seemed to be one step behind the other woman.

  To take the lead, she reached out and twisted the head back, opening the cut that Shireen had given it. Inside, it was pale and solid. There were no veins, muscle, bone, or blood.

  Maybe it really was a statue.

  She exchanged glances with Shireen, then both of them looked at the mask.

  “After you,” Shireen said.

  Jocasta noticed that Shireen’s face was pale and her breath rapid. But she didn’t want to be the one to pull off that mask. There was something wrong here, beyond Jamshir’s madness. She could feel it beating at her mind, like some invisible force pounding inside her head.

  Enough of that. If Shireen was too cowardly, she would do it.

  She reached forward, expecting the mask to easily come off. Instead, it was stuck fast.

  She worked her fingers under it, encountering something that felt slimy. She jerked her hands back in surprise.

  Shireen didn’t appear to notice. Instead, her gaze was fixed in a kind of fascinated horror on the white mask.

  Jocasta wiped her fingers on her pants and tried again. It was still stuck to the thing’s skull, so she pulled harder and it started to give.

  The green thing started to buck, ripping the mask from her grasp.

  “Hold it down!” she snapped.

  Almost in slow motion, Shireen grabbed the thing’s shoulders and forced it down, leaning on it to hold it steady.

  Jocasta grabbed the mask, braced herself and with one sudden pull, yanked it free. It released with a wet, sucking sound, and the figure went completely still.

  Under was slimy, black mud with things moving in it. Things that came to the surface, pale and shining, then sank back under.

  The pounding in her head seemed to increase, but she shook it off.

  “What the hell is…”

  But Shireen was up and moving. In a staggering run, she pushed past Jamshir, who was standing in the hallway with tears on his face, and disappeared down the stairs.

  Jocasta turned back to the thing at her feet. The mud was starting to harden and as it did the beating in her head started to lessen.

  Chapter 58

  It was all Shireen could do not to take off running as soon as the green thing appeared. She wasn’t going to let Jocasta know that, however, even though she could feel the evil, the wrong, that emanated from it in waves. What was worse was that she responded to it. It called to her, telling her that it was fine to do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. Everyone else was out to get her anyway, so she might as well strike first.

  Here, in Jamshir’s corrupted home, it was easy to believe. Her hand crept back to her sword hilt. Jamshir was easy; she could kill him in one quick shot. This Jocasta however …she was a different story.

  She was tough and could move, and presumably could fight. If Shireen struck first, and quickly, she could end it before the other woman had a chance to…

  No. This wasn’t her. She fought back against the thoughts that had been there already and intensified when this thing…whatever it was…appeared. Eliminate that, and she’d be back to a more even footing.

  As she moved toward it, and then stood in front of it, she fought to keep control of herself. It would be so easy to pull her sword now, kill this thing, and then anyone else around. The figure in green stood there, taunting her, daring her to do it.

  Then, Jocasta did something predictably useless and threw one of her toy daggers. It stuck out of the thing’s shoulder, having no effect. Why would it? Something like that would hardly bother a real soldier, to say nothing of something like this thing.

  She sneered, pulled her sword and hit it, hard. Her hands rang with the force of her blow and the sudden stop. She’d expected it to cut deeper. All well and good. Her next one would do more.

  Jocasta stuck a dagger in the thing’s throat. That seemed to be more effective. At least that insipid whistling changed. She yanked her sword free, sent it whistling around and showed Jocasta what a real blow should look like.

  There was no blood, from anywhere. Not on her sword, Jocasta’s dagger, or coming from the wounds. When Jocasta opened the wound in its neck further, it was easy to see why.

  Then, Shireen looked at the mask, knowing it needed to come off. Her vision blurred and her chest started to ache, like she couldn’t draw a deep enough breath.

  “Do it!” Her voice echoed in her head, but it felt like someone else talking. Someone who wasn’t right there.

  Jocasta reached for the white mask and Shireen tensed. Her head started to pound.

  The urge to get up and kill everyone around her was growing. It took all her control to stay squatted down near the thing, watching as Jocasta jerked her hands back, then tried again.

  When the mask came free, her vision filled with a bright light, stabbing into her brain like she had looked directly at the sun. It cleared a moment later, leaving a throbbing headache. She saw the black muck and the things writhing in it.

  It was beautiful. It was something that should be everywhere. And she could help make that happen. Reach in, grab a handf
ul and smear it…

  She pushed herself upright and took off running, slamming into Jamshir, then past him. She ran down the stairs and out of the tree, drawing in great gasping breaths of air.

  The coolness outside helped. Her vision cleared and she was able to think again, although her head still pounded. The forest was in shadow. The sun was starting to go down.

  Whatever that thing was, whatever vile things Jamshir had invited in this time, it was the cause of this.

  No. Not the cause. One of the symptoms. Like the surly derelicts she saw here at Glittering Birch, or the scouts at her own house. Only more so. More complete.

  It was her future. If she didn’t find a way to stop this, she’d be one of them and she’d do everything she could to infect everyone else, until the entire Greenweald, then the land beyond, was the same.

  Her horse was nowhere around.

  “Ha. Better sense than me,” she muttered.

  A few Glittering Birch soldiers loitered around, watching her from hooded eyes, their hands on their weapons.

  Shireen drew herself up.

  “Well? Are you going to try it?”

  Smirks met her challenge, then melted away, the soldiers not wanting any fight with her.

  She scoffed and walked across the compound and back into the Greenweald.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  The closer she got to Towering Oaks, the better she started to feel. The trees, especially the oaks, helped soothe her. Her head still hurt, but she could recognize the thoughts she was having as alien, coming from beyond her.

  At least, that was what she told herself.

  “Are you sure about that?” her inner voice asked. “Maybe not. Maybe this is what you always wanted.”

  “Shut up.” She muttered it out loud, keeping her eyes on the path in front of her, not wanting to run into anyone else.

  “Let it go. Why fight? It’s only getting worse.”

  “You don’t know me very well.”

  But that thought terrified her. She was deathly afraid the little voice was from inside her, and that it knew her very well indeed.

  When she drew close to the Towering Oaks compound, she slowed.

  “Stay focused,” she told herself.

  She approached to within hailing distance and yelled out to get the guard’s attention.

  The young woman on duty looked up in surprise, took a moment to recognize her, and then started forward.

  “No!” Shireen held up her hand. “Stay back there, away from me. I don’t want you to come any closer. Go get Orlando. Bring him back here, but not closer than you are now.”

  The sentry looked confused, but saluted and ran off, glancing back at her only once.

  Shireen found a large oak and leaned her head against it.

  She took comfort from it. Ancient, patient, sturdy. Light and air played in its upper branches, while its roots went deep, anchoring it solidly and drinking clean water.

  “Cut it down. Burn it.”

  The voice was quieter now. Against this mighty tree, which had stood here for so long, it was nothing but a minor annoyance. Shireen gave herself over to it, let her mind flow with the movement of sap. For a moment, the voice fell silent, her head stopped hurting and she was at peace.

  “Shireen?”

  She opened her eyes and pushed away from the trunk. Taking a deep breath, she turned away, feeling the headache return.

  Orlando. Simple, small, petty, stupid Orlando.

  “Stop it,” she whispered.

  “Shireen,” he said again. “What are you doing?”

  He stayed back where she told the sentry to stay. Afraid to come any closer, she was sure.

  “Not fair,” she told herself. “Stop it.”

  With an effort, she gathered her wits.

  “I came back to warn you. About the thing in green. It’s not alive…or not really…”

  She trailed off, suddenly unsure of what she was trying to warn him about.

  “It’s dangerous. But beautiful, too.”

  Wait. That wasn’t right. They weren’t beautiful, they were horrible. Weren’t they?

  “We know,” Orlando said. “We saw one not long ago. The scouts tried to track it, but the signs suddenly disappeared. What are they?”

  “Wrong,” she said. “They’re wrong.”

  Orlando nodded. “Okay. Are you coming in?”

  Stupid question. Couldn’t he see? Couldn’t he feel? Did he want the whole place infected?

  “What about the others? Has it spread?” she asked.

  Orlando didn’t answer for a moment, then, “Yes. We’ve isolated those we could, but it doesn’t seem to be doing much good.”

  Of course not. Good. Soon, they’d all be the same.

  Although, there were those who would stay as they were now. Small, insignificant, weak. Then there were those who would get to change: become faster, tougher.

  “Are you coming in?” Orlando asked again.

  “No.” She shook her head. “Don’t let it spread. Stop it.”

  She turned away, but he called her back.

  “Wait! Where are you going?”

  “I don’t know. Away. To find an answer maybe.”

  She had to. And she had to go now, before she did rush into the compound, spreading whatever it was she was infected with everywhere. She half turned toward Orlando. Him first. It would be fun.

  She forced herself to turn her back on her home again and take a step. Just the first one. That was the hardest.

  “I love you,” Orlando called.

  Of course, he did.

  She put her head down, took a few faltering steps, and then started to run.

  Chapter 59

  Thaddeus let Melanie make the portal this time. She was damaged almost as much as he was, but he was secure enough to admit, to himself at least, that she was the stronger of the two. Besides, if Jocasta reacted badly to his presence, he might need to use his powers quickly. For some unknown reason, Melanie wasn’t able to get into Jocasta’s mind, so it would be up to him.

  He breathed a sigh of relief when they stepped through into the library of House Whispering Pines. Florian’s library. Thaddeus would always think of it that way, no matter who sat in the chair behind the desk.

  Behind him, Melanie closed the portal, limped to a chair and collapsed into it.

  “No one’s here,” she said.

  “No. That’s not a bad thing, though. It will give us a chance to recover for a few minutes before we try again to convince her to help.”

  He sank into a chair with a groan. His foot was throbbing, sending shooting stabs of pain up his whole leg. To say nothing of his other wounds. He had a bitter taste in his mouth, and his face was numb where that thing had… he shuddered, not wanting to remember it.

  Thaddeus looked over at Melanie. Now that they were somewhere safer, he could see how wounded she was as well. It didn’t appear that Malachi had cut parts off her, as he had done with Thaddeus’s toes, but her clothes were covered in blood and in tatters.

  Even through his pain and exhaustion, a cold rage started to build.

  Usually, Thaddeus’s anger was like the fire he loved to work with. It flared up, burned brightly, then was extinguished.

  This was different. He wanted Malachi dead, but more than dead now. He wanted the man hurt. He wanted him to suffer as he made them suffer. Thaddeus wanted to hurt him ten times over for every cut. And for what he’d done to Melanie, Thaddeus wanted to see Malachi weep. If it took a long time for that to happen, so be it.

  Thaddeus had spent a lot of his time at Subtle Hemlock learning control. Malachi was going to find out exactly how far he had come with that.

  In the meantime, both he and Melanie were in bad shape.

  “We’re a mess,” he said, trying to keep his voice light.

  “That’s an understatement,” Melanie responded.

  “We need a healer.”

  “So go get one.”

  “All right.
I’m on my way.”

  He didn’t move, and neither did Melanie. Finally, Thaddeus pushed himself to his feet and limped to her. He ignored the pain and squatted down next to her, putting his hand lightly on her leg. “Mel? Are you…?”

  He couldn’t finish it. Of course, she wasn’t okay. He didn’t even know how to ask her.

  “I told you, I’m fine.” She didn’t look at him.

  “All right. Just…you know…I’m here and…”

  He faltered again. For someone who used to be Florian’s ambassador to other Houses, he was having a remarkably hard time speaking now.

  “Yeah, great. Are you going to go get that healer, or what?”

  “Yep. I’m going.”

  He slowly stood, trying to keep the moan inside. He turned and took a step toward the door.

  Behind him, Melanie’s breath hitched. He turned back to see her face collapse and the tears start. He went back and held her, and for one of the few times in his life, Thaddeus was smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Rather than leave Melanie alone in the library, both of them went in search of either a healer or Jocasta. During the time they spent in the library no one entered, or even knocked on the door. Thaddeus led Melanie to a bedroom, and they took the opportunity to change out of their ruined and stained clothing. Once she was clean, Melanie looked somewhat better, but still exhausted, as he was sure he did himself.

  “Where is everyone?” Thaddeus muttered.

  There were no servants around, no other high-born lords or ladies strolling the corridors, nor, when they passed windows, were there any on the paths of the gardens.

  “The place has seen better days,” Melanie said.

  It was true. Dust had begun to gather on the furniture and scuff marks were on the polished wood floors. The gardens, always Florian’s pride and joy, were starting to look untended, with weeds pushing up among the flowers and trailing onto the paths.

  “Something’s wrong,” Thaddeus agreed.

  Finally, they came upon other people. A group of four servants, three men and a woman, were lounging on the stairs leading up to the fourth level of the tree. Several empty bottles of wine lay nearby, and one of the men snored loudly, his head leaning against the wall.