Solomon's Journey

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Solomon's Journey Page 34

by James Maxstadt


  It felt strange to be giving such directions to children, but these kids had been on their own in Dunfield for a long time, and they knew how to take care of themselves. Telling them to go play wouldn’t have meant anything to them. At least now, they felt they were doing something worthwhile.

  “I’ll go with you,” Friedrich said, but Celia cut him off.

  “No. Please, stay. The kids can do it. I need to talk to you and Greta.”

  She hated the way Greta’s face fell and the sour look that crossed Friedrich’s. But she had no right to hold what she knew from them.

  “Come on, guys,” Christoph said and led his troupe to the door. After the last one exited, he turned back. “We’ll be back in two hours. Is that enough time?”

  Celia nodded, grateful to this world-wise boy. Christoph nodded back and then followed his friends.

  Without another word, Friedrich and Greta took each other’s hands and waited for her. Now that it was here, she didn’t know how to begin.

  She started with the red hunter, telling them that he was the one she hit in the alley the night that she couldn’t save Lyssa. She described last night’s fight and then the aftermath, including her pulling the mask from it, and what she discovered underneath.

  “Are you saying our Lyssa turned into…what? A creature made of mud and worms?” Friedrich’s voice was quiet, and Celia could hear the anger underneath it.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe. But it could be something else.”

  “What?” Unlike her husband, Greta’s voice said she still held out hope.

  “Maybe the hunters are like models of the people who were taken. Maybe they’re still alive somewhere, being used to keep the hunters going somehow….”

  “You have no reason to think that,” Friedrich said.

  “No. I don’t. Other than hope.”

  Silence fell over the room and Celia felt like hugging the cup of tea in her hands to absorb the warmth.

  “There is something else, though,” she finally said.

  Greta sniffled and looked up at her.

  “I found something in the manor.”

  She told them about the stairs, the doorway, and the mask, including what happened when she placed it to her face.

  “I’m sure the answer is behind that door. But I can’t put that thing on again…it was…”

  “Of course, you can’t,” Friedrich growled. “For Heaven’s sake, girl, do you think we want you taken too? Things are bad enough.”

  Again, Celia felt that almost overwhelming love for these two people who had lost so much, yet still seemed to have so much more to give. Even to the woman who was unable to save their daughter.

  Like Solomon had been unable to save her father.

  “What now?” Greta asked.

  “I think we need to wait. One more day. Give Solomon time to get back and then we’ll make a plan.”

  “Is he really that smart?” Friedrich asked. “You think he’ll come back and know what to do?”

  “No.” And Celia smiled as she realized the truth. “Solomon is far from stupid, that’s true. But it’s not so much that he’s that smart. It’s more that things happen around him…and he makes others better. When he’s around, they want to be more like him.”

  Friedrich nodded. “Then we wait, and hopefully, find out for real and truly what happened to our daughter.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Dusk fell, and with it, the hunters returned. People had not gotten so used to their absence that they stayed outside as the light began to fade, so when the whistles filled the streets they were already inside or hidden.

  Celia watched through cracks between the boards. Hunters strode through the streets again, but they seemed different somehow. They didn’t appear to be mindlessly wandering, watching for targets of opportunity. Instead, they walked with a purpose, alone rather than in pairs or groups.

  Next to her, Friedrich watched as well.

  “What are they doing?” he whispered.

  From down the street came the sound of hammering and wood splintering. There was a crash, then a loud scream that wavered on and then slowly died away. Somewhere, on another street, the same thing occurred.

  “Are they—"

  “I think they’re breaking in,” Celia said. “We need to stay on our guard.”

  Christoph watched from another window, his face pale but determined. Behind them, Greta gathered the other children around her.

  There were no signs of any hunters approaching their house. Twice whistles heralded the appearance of one, but both times they walked by without a glance in their direction.

  Then, Celia felt Friedrich stiffen.

  “No.” His voice was a flat whisper.

  A small figure in bright pink appeared, golden hair spiraled up in a twist above her head. She whistled softly as she approached and stopped across the street, the tune changing suddenly, pausing, beginning again.

  For a moment, she stood and watched the house from that featureless white mask. Then she moved forward.

  Celia had tried to hold on to this one before. She knew how strong she was. Strong, yes, but not enough to break down the door.

  The small hunter didn’t try.

  Instead, she walked forward, raised her fist, and knocked. Then she stepped back.

  “Mommy?” The voice came from behind the mask, hollow and with almost a slight echo to it. “Mommy? Can I come in?”

  Chapter 66

  A quiet anger seethed under the surface as Solomon began his journey back to Dunfield. He had never met a more peaceful, quiet race than the Mar-trollid. Why had whatever foulness was in this world dared to target them. For what? No reason that he could tell, not even by the twisted standards of what he’d already seen.

  The hunters didn’t try to take any of the Mar-trollid away. They simply attacked, using hands and feet to beat at their victims, several ganging up on one of the larger beings at once, like ants attacking a spider. When that one was dead, they moved on to another.

  Why? Why simply kill a few of them, then run away? Back to Dunfield, Solomon presumed. What was the purpose?

  There was none, other than terror… and possibly to drive them away. Yag-Morah told him that they were not only leaving the area, they were leaving this world, through a gate of some sort far from here.

  Solomon didn’t know what else was in this world. What other cities or towns, what other races. But he knew the Mar-trollid were a force of good, unable to be corrupted. When they left, it would be that much easier for the evil that had already taken root here to continue to grow.

  He moved throughout the night, not even slowing when dawn arrived. It was time for the hunters to appear again. On the way out, he hid from them. Now, let them come. He loosened his sword in its sheath, eager for something to lash out at.

  Nothing appeared. Soon, he saw the walls of Dunfield on the horizon, and not long after that he could make out the gates, still hanging drunkenly open. The bodies that dotted the landscape were still there as well, with signs of the rats moving among them.

  He drew his sword and approached the first one. A large black rodent was busy tearing at it. Without hesitation, Solomon swung, cutting the vile thing in two before it even knew he was there. There were too many rats to hunt them all down, at least for now. Any that he came across, though…

  By the time he reached the gate he had killed more than a dozen of them. He watched as the rest moved in and treated their dead kin the same as they did the one-time citizens of Dunfield.

  When this was done, when whatever evil infested this place was removed, he’d spend as much time as needed exterminating the rats as well.

  Turning away, he cleaned his sword on the rough, dry grass near the gate, then walked through and back into the city.

  The change since he left was evident. The road ran from the gate straight through town until it reached a large fountain, continuing to the manor that the hunters came from. Streets ran off from t
he main one in angles, crossing each other as they twined through the city.

  The buildings along the main thoroughfare were mostly businesses, or at least they were at one time. A grocer here, a blacksmith there; further over, a tavern. All boarded up or allowed to fall into disrepair. Yet, people still lived in these buildings, too. Staying in modest or grand apartments above, the better to keep an eye on their investments and be close to their livelihoods.

  Three of the doors he passed were shattered, the lighter colored splintered ends of the boards showing that it was recent. Besides that, there were no people on the streets, neither looking for ways to survive nor to prey on one another.

  Scowling, Solomon walked to one of the ruined doors, which was very much like the broken one on Yag-Morah’s wagon and knocked on the wall beside it.

  “Hello?”

  There was no answer.

  Solomon stepped back and looked up and down the street. Still no one was about.

  “Hello?” he tried again.

  When only silence answered him, Solomon crossed the threshold. Inside was a set of stairs, leading to a door on the right of the landing at the top. That door was also broken, splintered and hanging from one hinge.

  His sword would do no good in the stairwell, but Solomon didn’t think he’d need it anyway. Whatever happened here, it was over.

  He took the stairs quickly and moved into the room at the top. It was a parlor, with nice chairs set before a fireplace and a braided rug set under them. The windows were hung with thick curtains, which were pulled together and fastened, the better to keep any light from showing below.

  The man and woman had died together, holding on to each other even in their last moments. The damage that was done to them was horrible to see.

  The hunters were now doing here what they did at the Mar-trollid camp. Simple killing, with no need to take others away. Something had changed.

  Although he knew what he would find, Solomon checked the other two buildings that had been broken into, finding more of the same. His stomach roiled at the last one, finding not only adults, but children as well.

  Not every building had been entered. Several still had intact doors, and he saw the twitch of more than one curtain as he moved from place to place. People were still alive here, only now so frightened that they wouldn’t even come out when it was fully light.

  Why only some buildings?

  The answer came to him, carried along with an icy feeling of dread.

  Because they were where the hunters had come from. Their families.

  Like Greta and Friedrich.

  Solomon ran.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  It only took a few moments to reach their house, and he was relieved to see the door still intact, the wood still over the windows. There were other people he wanted to check on. Doc Mia and Old Sam. But first he needed to make sure that Celia and the others were safe.

  The door opened as he approached, and there was Christoph, smiling out at him. Solomon felt his own face split into a large grin at the sight of the boy. If things had gone badly here, his greeting would have been much different.

  “You’re back!” the boy shouted, then turned and dashed into the house, yelling out that Solomon had returned.

  Moments later he was inside, surrounded by the children, and smiling at the two older people. Celia was seated at the table and returned his smile with one of her own. It still seemed strained to him, and for a second, he wondered if things would ever return to what they once were. Part of him doubted it.

  Then he noticed the strain on Friedrich’s face.

  “What’s happened?” he asked.

  The room fell silent.

  “Lyssa?”

  “Sit down,” Celia said. “There’s a lot to tell you.”

  Solomon took a seat. “All right. I have news also. It’s not good.”

  “You first,” Celia said. “Yours is probably quicker.”

  He told them about seeing the hunters run past him the morning before and knowing they were returning to Dunfield. About questioning whether he should return or continue on.

  “You did the right thing,” Friedrich said. “It’s not as if we thought they were gone for good. We just weren’t expecting…. well, finish your tale first, then we’ll tell ours.”

  “All right,” Solomon agreed. “It was as we feared. The hunters did go to the Mar-trollid camp. They attacked and killed several of them, including Gan-Rowe.” He stopped at the hard look on Celia’s face, sure that she was thinking that here was yet another thing that he had failed at. She wasn’t wrong.

  “Go on,” Celia said, ice in her voice.

  “The Mar-trollid killed some of them, too. But they burned them before I got there, so I didn’t have a chance to examine one.”

  “No need. I did,” Celia said.

  “There was a time I would have been surprised at that,” he said. She didn’t return his faint smile.

  “Anyway,” he continued after a moment, “the upshot is that the Mar-trollid are leaving.”

  “Going where?” Greta asked.

  “Leaving this world. They told Celia and I there was a portal back to the Greenweald here somewhere. But they don’t need that one. I guess they have their own means of moving from world to world, somewhere far from here.”

  “The world will be poorer without them,” Friedrich said.

  “It will,” Solomon agreed. “More than that, though, I think whatever is behind this purposely tried to eliminate them.”

  “To get rid of something that it couldn’t corrupt,” Celia said. “Yes. That makes sense.”

  “And now I come back to find that the hunters have started doing here what they did there. But you knew that part already, didn’t you?”

  The three adults looked at each other, Greta’s eyes welling with tears. Friedrich put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him.

  “We did,” he said. “And Lyssa, or something pretending to be her, came here, trying to get us to let her in.”

  “It wasn’t her,” Greta said. “It wasn’t her voice. What sort of monster doesn’t think a mother knows the voice of her own child?”

  “She stayed out there, begging to be let in, over and over,” Celia said. “Until it started to get lighter, then she turned and ran away. Back to the manor, I assume.”

  “It wasn’t her,” Greta said again, trying to convince herself as much as anyone else.

  “It wasn’t,” Celia said. “We knew that already.”

  “How?” Solomon asked.

  Celia told him about the red hunter and her discovery, about going into the Manor again and the door in the basement, and about the mask and what happened when she put it on.

  “Do you still have it?” Solomon asked.

  “The mask? Yes. Of course. Why?”

  “I’d like to see it.”

  “Why? Do you think you can do it? Even though I couldn’t?”

  The challenge in her voice was evident and it burrowed into Solomon’s chest. At one time, she wouldn’t have questioned this. Now, it wasn’t just that she wanted him to see that she was capable of doing things, it was that she was resentful that he was.

  “No,” he answered carefully. “I don’t think that.”

  “Then why do you need to see it?”

  This was ridiculous. There was no time for petty rivalries, especially between the two of them. And yes, dammit, maybe he could do something with it that she couldn’t.

  He was opening his mouth to reply, an answer that probably would have done more harm than good, when Greta spoke.

  “Get the mask, dear. And stop being ridiculous. You said yourself that we were going to wait for this young man to return. Now he has. I don’t know what’s come over you.”

  Celia spun on the woman, her eyes flashing. Then, she deflated, and nodded.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry. I don’t know what…I’m sorry.”

  “Nothing to apologize for, dear. Just go get the
mask for Solomon.”

  Celia rose to her feet and slowly walked from the room. Solomon watched her go, his anger fading. Her outburst had nothing to do with him. Not really. She was obviously exhausted and had been through the wringer.

  “Thank you,” he said quietly, when she returned and handed him the white mask without a word.

  He looked through it, the same way Celia had described. He could see the whole room as clearly as if eyeholes were cut into it, rather than being a solid, cold piece of porcelain. The view was different, though. The light was dimmer through it, and he could feel the wrongness of the thing.

  It was like everything he saw was off. Celia’s beauty faded, her tiredness emphasized so that huge dark circles were around her eyes, her hair lay flat and her mouth twisted into a sullen frown.

  He looked past the mask at her, not through it. Yes, she was still tired, but not to that extent. Looking through the mask again, that vision of her, beaten down and drawn, returned.

  It was the same for all when he turned the mask to them. Friedrich’s anger came out in a massive scowl and blazing eyes. Greta’s sorrow turned her into a visage of silent wailing. The kids were terrified, lost, and hurt.

  Yet, without the mask they all appeared normal. Sure, Friedrich was angry and Greta sad. Of course, they were. Celia was tired, but not to the point of total exhaustion.

  It was as if the mask took all the darkness inside of them and brought it to the surface. Everyone had their dark places, their inner selves, that they didn’t want anyone else to see. The mask intensified it, made everything seen through it miserable. Made it all seem like the darkness was…

  Solomon stopped and lowered the mask.

  “What?” Friedrich asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Yah-Morah’s voice echoed in his mind. Use it when the darkness is closing in…

  He reached to his belt, where he’d hung the sack of tea she’d given him.

  “I might have something that will help, after all,” he said.

  Chapter 67

  The walk from Glittering Birch to Whispering Pines took more than three hours. Jocasta’s horse was nowhere to be found when she left the main tree of the compound, a fact that didn’t surprise her in the least.

 

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