Solomon's Journey

by James Maxstadt

  Jocasta shoved him. His touch, always repellant, was suddenly unbearable. Jamshir stumbled away from her, coming up hard against the wall of the corridor. He stared at her, hurt evident in his wide-open eyes.

  “If you touch me again,” she hissed, “I’ll kill you. Do you understand me?”

  Jamshir drew himself up, gathering his disheveled robe about his thin frame. “You dare? I’ll have you hanged for this. Bragnold!”

  There was no movement from inside the room they were in before Shireen’s arrival. The general was still laid out on the floor, whether honestly hurt, faking, or merely sleeping, she couldn’t tell.

  “Bragnold!” Jamshir barked again.

  “Forget it, Jamshir.” Jocasta’s voice was low. She was suddenly very tired. What had she been thinking? “It’s over. Your general has been ruined by whatever foulness you allowed to happen to him. Your House is in ruins. And you…” She shook her head, unwilling to say more.

  Instead, she put her head down and walked past him. He hesitantly lifted his hand toward her, then stopped. She continued moving, determined to find that room once again.

  “Fine!” Jamshir’s yell reached her before she turned the corner. “I don’t need you! Or Bragnold! Or anyone!”

  Yes, he really had reverted to nothing more than a petulant child.

  “I have other friends! And I’m telling them!”

  Jocasta turned the corner, shaking her head. Then, she stopped. What did he mean he was telling them?

  She turned back and peered around the corner, staying as hidden as she could. She needn’t have bothered. Jamshir was scurrying off in the opposite direction from the one she had taken, muttering to himself.

  She slipped around the corner and, staying well back, followed him. He reached another set of stairs and went down. Waiting until he was out of sight, she followed quickly, just in time to see him duck into a small room near the bottom of the stairs.

  Jocasta frowned. She was pretty sure that room was nothing more than a closet, used to hold cleaning supplies for the servants. Not that any of those had been used in a long time now.

  There was the sound of something sliding, then a thump, and then silence. Jocasta waited a moment, then reached out and opened the door. It was exactly as she thought. A closet, nothing more.

  Except…that one shelf, where a bottle of some strong-smelling liquid had been tipped over. The substance was slowly leaking from the cap, pooling beneath it. Given the dust, it had been some time since anyone was in here. And yes, there were scuff marks through the dust on the floor, leading to that same shelf.

  She moved forward and pushed it, but it didn’t budge. She tried to pull it, to the same result. Sliding it side to side did nothing either. Finally, she stepped back and examined it more carefully.

  Ah. There. A knothole in the wood behind the shelf. She reached out and pressed it, and the shelf slid aside, opening to a narrow, dark passage behind.

  Of course. The old, secret byways that almost every main compound tree in the Greenweald held. Ways to move unseen when an enemy gained entrance, to come out behind them. Over time, they’d fallen out of favor as open battle between Houses became a thing of the past. Now they were hardly ever used, except by children playing games, or those trying to keep a tryst secret.

  She moved inside, carefully feeling her way forward.

  Her foot encountered a drop-off, which she quickly determined was a step. Keeping one hand on the wall, she moved cautiously down, the stairway curling into a spiral.

  Somewhere below her was the sound of another panel sliding open. There was a quick glimmer of dim light, far below, then the panel slid shut again, blocking it out. Jamshir had moved quickly.

  Jocasta quickened her pace as much as she dared. What felt like hours later, she stood at the bottom of the stairs, in total darkness.

  She fought back a quick moment of panic, thinking that she wouldn’t find the latch that opened the doorway to let her out. She could go back up, but what if one of those things was quietly creeping down the steps behind her?

  Shivering, she forced herself to calm down. Nothing was behind her, the door at the top was still open and she’d have no problem here. These passageways were designed to be hidden from the outside, not from the inside.

  She reached out, her breath exploding out of her as she felt a wooden handle. The panel easily slid aside and she stepped out into yet another closet, this one empty of anything except for a few rusty tools hanging on a peg.

  The door was still ajar from where Jamshir had passed through, so she cautiously peered out.

  The passage that led away was dug from the earth, thick tree roots running across the wall, floor and ceiling. Wherever she was, it was deep under the main tree of the Glittering Birch compound.

  The tunnel led straight, with no turnoffs or doorways that she could see. Stones set into the wall every several feet glowed weakly. In the distance, she could see Jamshir scuttling along. There was nowhere that she could hide, which meant that if he turned, he’d see her. She didn’t think he would. Knowing Jamshir, he’d forgotten about her already. Quite possibly, he’d already forgotten why he was even down here.

  Not bothering to hug the wall, Jocasta followed him. Finally, he stopped and she saw him pull what seemed from a distance to be a large key from his robe. He moved to the wall, there was a creaking noise and Jamshir disappeared.

  Jocasta blinked. Did he really vanish, or…no, he had simply stepped into a doorway. The dim light of the tunnel was playing tricks on her eyes.

  She hurried forward, finding the entrance that Jamshir had gone through. The door itself was heavy wood, strapped with black iron. Beyond it, there was a sickly glow of yellow and green light.

  The headache returned with a vengeance. She hissed and pressed her palms against her eyes, making bright spots appear in her vision.

  And her stomach rebelled. She felt like she was going to vomit up every meal she’d ever eaten. It was like Jamshir’s touch again, only a thousand times worse.

  But she deserved that. All the vile, horrible things he wanted to do to her, she earned. As a matter of fact, she should find him, bare herself to him and give herself over. She was worth nothing more. The things she had done. Crew members she’d beaten. Childress and the poison. She wasn’t worth anything more.

  “The hell I’m not,” she growled.

  Jocasta had never lacked confidence, not even when she was a small child. She’d made mistakes, yes, and had regrets. Childress chief among them. But who didn’t? She did what she did for her House, for the good of the Greenweald in the long run.

  Jamshir? He wasn’t worth the time it took to remember his face, let alone his touch.

  Squaring her shoulders, she pushed inside the room.

  There were no glowing stones here, and there didn’t need to be.

  Around the walls of the room were stone arches, set into the dirt wall. She quickly counted six of them. Two were blank, showing only the brown walls of the chamber behind them. The others held eddying mixtures of various glowing colors.

  The largest one was flaring brightly, the light changing from green to yellow, like the color of old bruises. It was from there that the feelings beating against her were coming.

  Of the other arches, one was a steady swirl of black and dark gray. Jamshir stood before that one, whispering to himself.

  “Jamshir!” she yelled. He paid her no attention and never so much as glanced back as he stepped forward into the swirling lights. His body seemed to flatten out, and then he was gone.

  Jocasta was considering following him when a tendril of sick green light wormed out from the large gate and worked its way to one of the others, passing within. The gate it entered flared for a moment. Then the tendril disconnected from the main gate and disappeared into the new one. A moment later and the smaller gate was a swirling mess of muddy brown again.

  The colors in the remaining one seemed familiar. Grays, in different tones, all m
ixing together. The glow from this one was subtle, much dimmer than the others.

  “What the hell is this?” she whispered.

  As if in answer, the large gate flared, and a spike of pain shot through her head. She dropped to her knees and vomited onto the floor.

  With tears streaming from her eyes, she managed to work her way back to the doorway and then into the tunnel. The pain lessened and she staggered to her feet. Holding on to the wall for support, she ran back down the passage.

  She needed to leave this place, get back to Whispering Pines. Maybe even back to the Southern Seas and leave all of this behind her. Let the Greenweald deal with its own problems.

  Chapter 64

  “Thaddeus.” Willow’s voice was like ice.

  It was strange, seeing the healer. The last time, he held her in front of him as a hostage against Solomon, threatening to kill her. And he would have if he were forced into it. Now, here she was, and he didn’t know what to say to her.

  It was ironic, really. They were searching for a healer when the best one in all the Greenweald appeared. And she just happened to be the one healer in the place that he couldn’t ask for help either.

  But he wasn’t the only one who needed healing, or even the one who needed it the most.

  “Look,” he began, “I know you don’t have any reason to—"

  “Don’t bother,” Willow interrupted, “I have nothing to say to you.”

  “Yes, but—”

  To his surprise, Willow stepped toward him. He flinched and then forced himself to stay still, not raising his hands or trying to summon any magic. If she wanted to hurt him, he’d let her.

  But she didn’t. Instead, her gaze travelled over him, head to toe.

  “The same magic did this, didn’t it?” She wasn’t talking to him. Instead, she had turned her head back to Darius.

  “Yes,” the other man replied. “And I’m ashamed to say that I had something to do with it.”

  “We can discuss that later.” Willow turned her attention back to Thaddeus. “I should let you suffer with your wounds.”

  Thaddeus was about to reply when Willow’s gaze slid past him. Her eyes opened wide and her mouth shaped itself into an “oh”. She stepped past him and took Melanie’s hand.

  “You are hurt badly. Deeper and more grievously than what it appears.”

  Melanie’s eyes filled with tears. She nodded and let Willow fold her into her arms.

  “Come with me,” Willow said. “We will do what we are able.”

  She slowly led Melanie away without another glance at either Thaddeus or Darius.

  “She’ll be all right,” Darius said from behind him.

  Thaddeus whirled on him. “No thanks to you. Tell me why I shouldn’t light you up right now?”

  Darius actually smiled at him. “No reason, except that you’re nearly dead on your feet. I don’t think you have the strength left to summon enough flame to light a lamp, let alone fight me. I’m not that thing, you know.” He indicated the pile of ash on the stairs with a tilt of his chin.

  Thaddeus glared at him. The damnable thing was that he was right. Thaddeus did feel like he was about to collapse.

  “Why did you do it?” he asked, finding the wall and sinking down against it, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

  “I had to.” Darius took a seat next to him. “Well…maybe that’s not entirely true. I didn’t know what Malachi was really doing. I thought I was part of a great plan to help Subtle Hemlock rule the Greenweald and then I’d be high up…I don’t think you’d understand, being born as you were.”

  “I’ve been hearing a lot of that lately. I’m getting tired of it.”

  “It’s the truth, though,” Darius replied. “Like it or not, the Greenweald has a class problem. Those born to the nobility have it all, while those of us who aren’t, struggle to find a place.”

  “Maybe.” Thaddeus found that he didn’t care. Sure, he was born part of a noble family, into a position that gave him a life of ease. Just look at him. Wasn’t it obvious?

  They were silent for a moment. Then Darius spoke again. “Is it true?”

  “Is what true?”

  “Did you really try to kill Willow?”

  Thaddeus snorted. “Try? No. I threatened to, and I would have. You would have, too.”

  “No.” There was something in Darius’s voice that caused Thaddeus to open his eyes and look at the other man. “I wouldn’t have.”

  He was gazing off into the direction that Willow had led Melanie with a faraway look in his eyes. Ah. Now Thaddeus understood.

  “In my defense,” he said, “I only did it because Solomon was coming for me, with a big sword shooting white flames out of it. I didn’t really want to hurt her, I just wanted to get away from him.”

  “Never met him,” Darius said. “Heard the stories, of course. I always thought they were probably exaggerated.”

  “They aren’t. Trust me. I don’t ever want to see him again.”

  “The way things are going, I don’t think you’ll have to worry about it.”

  “He has a way of turning up. I can’t imagine I’m that lucky.”

  Again, they sat in silence. Thaddeus closed his eyes, but something kept nagging at him. It took him a moment to realize what it was.

  “Wait,” he said, lifting his head from the wall. “Why are you even here, and with Willow? How did you know where we were?”

  “We didn’t. We didn’t come here for you. We came looking for Jocasta.”

  “Why?”

  “She’s resistant to mind magic. I can’t get into her head and I don’t think Melanie could either.”

  “She couldn’t,” Thaddeus said. “She tried once already.”

  Darius nodded. “Malachi is afraid of Mel, you know. One of the only ones he is, although he won’t admit it. And if that’s the case, then Malachi probably can’t affect Jocasta any more than she can. We need her. Maybe we need both of them.”

  “To do what?”

  “To help us stop him. He’s going to destroy the Greenweald, the lands beyond and then anything else he sets his twisted vision on.”

  “All because he was born poor? Seems pretty petty.”

  Darius shrugged. “At this point, that’s probably an excuse. But who knows? Regardless, he needs to be stopped and we need someone who can resist him. I thought maybe Jocasta would bring Whispering Pines through and they could occupy the others while I led her to Malachi. Willow will help, and that’s no small thing either.”

  “And so you came here and…”

  “Watched the two of you start out the door and then turn back. We were coming to help when you burned that thing. Guess we weren’t needed.”

  Thaddeus turned toward where Melanie had gone. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “I think maybe you came just in time.”

  Chapter 65

  Celia tried the handle, but the door remained as firmly shut as it was when she first discovered it. She lifted the mask up, fighting her revulsion, and held it out in front of her so that she could see the door through it, not letting it touch her face, or even come close to it.

  The door still wouldn’t budge.

  Sighing, she lowered the mask and turned away. If the key was wearing the mask, then the door would remain shut, at least until she figured something else out. There was no way she could put it on again. She shuddered at the mere thought of it.

  The doors she opened on the way in were as she left them, and nothing interfered as she made her way back outside. Without the hunters, she didn’t believe there was much of anything to discover in the manor. Whatever was going on, the answers were down in the lowest level, behind that door.

  Outside, the streets were dark, except for solitary points of light escaping from boarded or covered windows. A few people moved in the deeper shadows, most freezing in place as she passed. How things had changed since she first came here. Now, she was no longer cowering in alleys, trying desperately to hide fro
m the hunters and the regular people of Dunfield.

  It all changed with Lyssa, the girl she wasn’t able to help, and her parents, who she could. Although, not the way she was hoping. Celia had no new information for them, other than that the thing masquerading as their daughter was most definitely not her. Without anything else to go on, she didn’t know whether that counted as good news or bad.

  Morning was still several hours away. It was time to go home, back to Greta’s, and get some sleep. She’d tell them what little she knew tomorrow. They could make a plan from there.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  The sun was overhead, trying unsuccessfully to burn through the brown clouds that hung over the town. Dawn had passed with no sign of the hunters returning. Nor did Solomon return with news of the Mar-trollid.

  When Celia climbed out of bed it was to hear the sounds of quiet laughter from the other room. Friedrich was telling a nonsense story to the children, something about gnomes and a giant with a thorn in his foot. She paused in the doorway to her room— Lyssa’s room her inner voice corrected— listening for a moment, smiling at the different voices the older man was using in his story.

  It was the sort of scene that could be found in any household, anywhere. It was nice, and normal. And Celia wanted it to be that for this whole place again.

  There must be a way into that basement.

  “Well, good morning, sleepyhead.” Greta smiled at her from her chair, where she sat listening to Friedrich’s story as well.

  The children turned to her, then back to the older man.

  Friedrich winked at her and continued.

  It was a kind gesture, and it almost broke her heart. With a sad smile, she moved to the small kitchen area and made tea. She sat and listened to the rest of the tale, even laughing at some of the more ridiculous parts.

  When it was over, she said, “Christoph, why don’t you take the rest and see if you can go get the rope I left in the street last night?” The young boy turned a baleful eye to her. “I know,” she said. “I didn’t mean to leave it, but there were things I needed to do. And listen, if one of the hunters is still there, don’t touch it!”