“Any options?”
“I could put her to sleep. Hopefully, she’d stay that way for several hours.”
Solomon nodded. His stomach tightened at the thought of doing that to her, even if it was for her own good. He kept reminding himself of that and trying to ignore his inner voice telling him that he had no right.
“Let’s do that, then. Somewhere safe.”
“I’ll take her somewhere,” Willow said. “She’ll be in good hands.”
“Thanks,” Solomon said.
He watched wordlessly as the two rose to their feet. Darius spoke quietly to Celia and she followed them from the room, leaving Solomon alone with Orlando.
“You even in there?” he asked his friend, trying to keep his voice light.
“Sure.”
“Doesn’t sound like it.”
“I know. I’m not sure what’s wrong with me.”
“Is it Shireen? I have to know Orlando, because—”
“I know. Evening is coming and if any of those hunter things are around, that’s when they’ll show up.”
“Right. Can you handle it?”
Orlando nodded. “Yeah, I can do it.”
“What about the rest of the House?”
“There are still some who haven’t been infected yet. We’ve been rounding up those that show signs and keeping them safe. Locked up, really. There are more every day, but it’s what Shireen started to try to contain it. It doesn’t seem to be working.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Solomon said. “It might be the only reason that we’re not as bad off as Whispering Pines.”
“Maybe.”
“We’ll find her, you know. When this is over.”
“Is that before or after we go fix whatever is wrong in that other place you were in?”
Solomon opened his mouth, then shut it again. He didn’t have a ready answer. Orlando had been his friend since childhood, and Shireen not much later than that. He owed them his efforts at finding her and bringing her home.
And what of those he left behind in Dunfield? Every day he stayed here was a day more that something could happen to them.
“I don’t know,” he finally answered. “Let me do what I need to with this Malachi guy, then we’ll figure the rest out.”
“Sure,” Orlando said, his eyes dropping back to the table. “Whatever you say.”
Chapter 78
She could hear everything. From the moment Darius led her into the room to the second he led her out again, Celia heard every single thing that was said to her, or about her.
Solomon was sorry? He was going to fix this?
What gave him the right to do any of it? She hadn’t asked for his help, or to be brought here. And now she was going to be put to sleep like an errant child?
She fought against the pressure Darius was holding in her mind. It was like a blanket laid over her thoughts. She told her arm to move, but the command went no further than her own mind before being suffocated, her arm never moving an inch.
Yet her legs and arms did move without her telling them to or being able to stop them. She walked, sat, got up and whatever else Darius ordered her to do.
It was infuriating.
Stop fighting, the voice that she first heard at Whispering Pines growled. Let it be. Do what you must. Then, the time will come.
The voice whispered to her all through the meeting, especially when Solomon was in front of her and she itched to punch him right in his smug face. It counseled calm. Patience.
Easy for it to say, whatever it was.
She fought anyway, constantly pressing against the barrier in her mind, searching for any weakness. Blink an eye! Wiggle a finger! Anything!
Nothing moved.
Then, when the others were discussing the plan for them all to go to Subtle Hemlock, the voice clamped down on her, stopping her from even doing that. She got the sense that it was listening intently, and then it settled with a feeling of great satisfaction, letting her go back to her futile efforts.
She kept at it until the meeting was over and Darius and Willow led her away.
Willow took her leave in the hall, saying something in soft tones to Darius that Celia couldn’t catch. Minutes later, they were in a bedroom and Darius made her lie on the bed.
For a brief moment, fear of what he was going to do ran through her, but faded quickly, when he stepped back and waited near the still open door. Time passed, Celia didn’t know how much, and Willow reappeared, along with another man in a healer’s robes. They spoke quietly, then stepped out and shut the door, leaving her alone in the room, unable to move.
To her frustration, the voice in her head was quiet, telling her nothing.
More time passed, the shadows on the ceiling started to lengthen and the light grew dimmer. The door opened and the other three walked in, coming to stand near the bed.
“Celia,” Willow said, her voice soothing. A perfect healer’s voice, intended to keep a patient calm. “We have to go. You’re in good hands here, and you’re safe. When we get back, we’ll help you with Whispering Pines. All of us. Solomon will move heaven and earth to restore your House.”
Solomon will! Solomon will!
Always it was Solomon will! In reality, all he did was clean up problems that he created himself!
Inside, she strained against the force holding her down. Darius muttered something to Willow.
“Stay calm, Celia,” the healer continued. “And sleep.”
The heavy blanket around her thoughts began to close in on her, shutting her down. First her sight went, then her hearing, and finally the rest.
♦ ♦ ♦
Wake up!
The voice was back with a vengeance, echoing in her head. Celia’s eyes snapped open. The room was gloomy, not yet completely dark.
Get up, the voice said.
“I can’t,” she muttered, then realized that she’d said it out loud. Her jaw worked!
She sat up, feeling no resistance to the movement.
“What happened?” she asked.
Deep inside a soft murmur seemed to say, Go home.
The healer that was left to guard her was nowhere to be found. Perhaps he had gone to relieve himself, or joined with the others, or…who knew? For that matter, who cared?
She was free.
She slid off the bed and made her way to the door, expecting her legs to be wobbly. Instead, she felt wonderfully strong, as if she had rested a full night.
The hallway was empty. She ran down the stairs at the end taking them two at a time. At the bottom a servant in the grays of House Towering Oaks watched her with mouth agape but didn’t try to stop her as she ran across the floor and out the door.
No one in the compound tried to stop her. She made it to the entrance, then out, past the sentry who called to her but didn’t pursue, and into the forest.
She was free, she was going home.
It was dusk, a time in Dunfield that the hunters came out and scoured the streets, seeking victims to drag away. They were now here in the Greenweald, too.
She almost hoped to run into one. She would pretend it was Solomon.
♦ ♦ ♦
Things hadn’t changed back at Whispering Pines. It was dark by the time she got there, the twilight time of the hunters already over. Nothing challenged her in the forest, and she made excellent time from Towering Oaks to here.
Now, she made her way back to her father’s library, and closed the door behind her. Not bothering with a light, she stretched out on the sofa and closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. The sofa was there for her mother. Florian never sat on it, preferring the chair behind his desk, or one of the others placed near the shelves. But Celia’s mother wanted a place to recline, so Florian had the sofa put in place for her.
Celia hoped to catch the smell of her, but it was long gone. Gone before she ever went to that other world, or her father had died.
Still, it was where her mother spent time, and soon Celia slept again, this time becaus
e she wanted to.
She’d only been asleep for a short while when she woke again, restless.
She rose and walked around the room, still not lighting a lamp. It didn’t feel like she needed one. It was too dim for her to read one of the books, but she could see the room well enough regardless.
What was it that woke her? The noise of someone outside the door?
She heard nothing now, but opened it anyway, finding only darkness in the hallway outside.
Not that, then.
Again, that voice, so quiet as to be almost nonexistent, spoke.
Go home.
“I am home,” she insisted.
Go home.
“I did,” she said again, knowing that it wasn’t so.
She wasn’t home. Not anymore.
There was only one place that was home now, and to get there, she’d need to go to House Glittering Birch.
Chapter 79
If asked, Jocasta couldn’t have said why she agreed to go along with the plan. What difference did it make to her if the Greenweald was destroyed? She was intending to go back to the Southern Seas and her ship anyway.
It was possible that whatever was infecting the Houses would make its way there, of course. Maybe that was why.
She joined the others in the Towering Oaks conference room three hours after they dispersed. She’d spent the intervening time walking the compound, wondering what her father had done here, where he lived, and who he was. It wasn’t that she wanted to think of those things. Being here simply lent itself to those thoughts, and she wasn’t able to help it.
Which put her in a fouler mood than normal when she met the others.
“Are we doing this or not?” she asked.
Her fingers were placed lightly on the hilts of her daggers. An old habit that she’d cultivated long ago as a wordless threat.
No one seemed any more impressed by it now than Shireen had been in Glittering Birch. She forced herself to stop doing it.
“We are,” Solomon said. “It’s time to end this. First, we fix what’s wrong here. Then we decide what’s next. We need to find Shireen, and also fix Dunfield. And, if shutting the gates doesn’t do it, we need to figure out how to heal those already infected. And finally, we need to find out if those taken by the hunters are still alive.”
“Hang that,” Jocasta said. “You’re on your own there. I’m helping to off this Malachi guy, then I’m going back to the sea.”
Solomon gazed at her and Jocasta felt discomfort steal over her. It wasn’t disappointment that she saw in his eyes. It was acceptance. Acceptance that she’d reached the limits of what she could endure.
“We’re grateful for your help now,” Solomon said.
Jocasta glowered. She wanted to lash out at him, but for what? He hadn’t said anything wrong, and what’s more, he meant it. There was no hint of mockery or condescension in his voice.
“Let’s get on with it,” she muttered, suddenly ashamed of her statement.
“Thaddeus?” Solomon said.
Thaddeus must have found a healer. He was in much better shape now than he’d been in during the meeting.
“Right. Here’s the plan. We’ll go in two groups. Darius, Willow and Jocasta in one, with Darius holding the gate. Melanie, Solomon and me in the other. Melanie will open our gate. Once there, we find Malachi as quickly as we can. He won’t try to control Solomon, but he will Jocasta and that’s our opening. Hit him with everything you have.”
“Don’t kill him,” Solomon added. “We need him to tell us how to shut this down.”
“Exactly. This isn’t going to be easy. Don’t think it will be, and some of us will be hurt. Solomon, we think you should hold back.”
“What? Why?” Solomon said.
“Because if he sees you, he’s going to run, and we might not be able to follow. Jocasta is our surprise. After we’ve got him on his heels, you can come in.”
“If he’s still standing,” Jocasta growled.
Her bravado wasn’t fake. There was little in her life that had ever frightened her, and she wasn’t now. Malachi was going to fall and was going to tell them what they needed to know, of that she was sure. It was simply a matter of making it happen.
“I don’t like it,” Solomon said, “but if that’s how it’s got to be, then we’ll go with it. Everyone ready?”
They split into two groups, Jocasta joining Darius and Willow.
Darius made some ridiculous motions with his hand and a shimmering black hole appeared in the air in front of him.
“After you,” he said, motioning Jocasta to go through.
She grimaced and stepped forward, involuntarily holding her breath. She needn’t have bothered. There was a slight feeling of disorientation, a blink of darkness, and then she was no longer in the conference room of House Towering Oaks.
Instead, she stood in a small chamber, seemingly hewn from bedrock. There was a thin bed, a chest against one wall and a rickety stand with a pitcher and bowl on it. A wooden door was the only exit.
Moments later Willow stood next to her, then Darius came through, his breathing slightly heavy, and the portal disappearing behind him.
“Harder to hold it open than it is to go through it,” he explained, smiling weakly.
“Nice place,” Jocasta said.
“Used to be my bedroom, when I first got here. Malachi believes in making newcomers pay their dues.”
From the tone in his voice, Darius was less than satisfied with the room. Yet Jocasta had stayed in worse places and been glad for it. One more difference between her and the other Folk.
“Let’s go,” she said. “Where are we meeting the others?”
No one said anything.
Darius stood with his mouth open, staring at her.
“You’re kidding,” she said. “You didn’t agree on somewhere?”
“It didn’t even occur to me…”
“Great. All right then. We stick to the plan. Let’s get to Malachi.”
She opened the door and motioned for Darius to take the lead. He stuck his head out, looking up and down the passageway outside before leaving the room.
Willow glanced at her, not saying anything as she passed.
“Love,” Jocasta thought. “Truly blind.”
Outside, the corridor was a tunnel dug through the stone, whether by hand or by magic, Jocasta couldn’t tell.
They walked rapidly along, Darius explaining that anyone they met this far down, whatever that meant, was going to be new to the House, and not much of a threat.
After continuing for a few minutes, and taking stairs up three flights, they still hadn’t encountered anyone.
“Where is everyone?” Jocasta asked.
Darius shrugged. “Hard to say. We’re not a big House, so they could all be gathered together up top somewhere.”
“Not a big House? How many then?”
“A few dozen, maybe. There are no servants or anything, only those of us who can use magic. You either do for yourself here, or some of the older members get those below them to wait on them.”
“A lot like a ship, in some respects,” she mused.
“What’s up top?” Willow asked.
“Up top?”
“Yes. You said that they could all be gathered up top. What is that?”
“Oh, I see. It’s the upper levels of this place. Actual windows looking out over the mountains, nice rooms, comfortable. It’s where Malachi lives all the time and those in his favor get to hang out. The rest of us live down here.”
“How horrible.” Willow said.
“Is it?” Darius answered. “Is it really any different from the nobles living in giant tree mansions while everyone else works and serves them?”
“Yes, because…” The healer trailed off, a troubled look on her face.
“He’s got you there,” Jocasta laughed.
They continued to climb stairs and wind through stone tunnels, until they finally exited to a corridor paneled in w
ood, with several shut doors on each side.
“Ah,” Darius said. “We’re here. Everyone must be up here for some reason. Now we need to be careful. Not too much farther. Malachi’s office is up another two floors. This way.”
He led the way along the hallway, which took a turn to the right at the end.
When they reached it, he stopped them and slowly peeked around.
“All clear,” he said, and started forward.
A giggle sounded from behind them.
Jocasta spun, dagger already in hand, but there was no need for the weapon.
From one of the rooms they passed, Jamshir emerged, giggling and pointing at them.
“Playing sneaky-sneaky,” he said.
“Jamshir,” Jocasta warned. “Don’t get in our way.”
“Sneaky-sneak-sneaky-squeak… ppppbbbtttt.” He stuck his tongue out and blew a raspberry.
He was in even worse condition than when Jocasta last saw him. Still wearing the same dirty robes, he was emaciated and filthy. His hair hung in greasy strings and his beard was matted with drool and rotted food. His eyes roamed around the corridor, never settling for more than the briefest of moments on any one thing.
“Go away,” Jocasta said.
Jamshir ignored her and continued walking toward them, gibbering nonsense spewing from his mouth.
“What’s wrong with him?” Darius asked.
“He’s mad,” Jocasta said. “But harmless. At least, he is now.”
“Let me try,” Willow said.
“No,” Jocasta said. “We have other things to do right now. He’ll be here when we’re done and you can try then.”
Reluctantly, the healer moved away. Jocasta sheathed her weapon and turned as well.
“Jocasta, mocasta, bocasta,” Jamshir sang.
“Surprised you remember that much,” she muttered.
“Sneaky-squeaky-jojojo.”
Jamshir’s voice was closer. In his madness, he’d ignored her and kept approaching. He couldn’t be allowed to follow them, or he’d warn Malachi of their approach.
“Enough,” she said, turning back to him.
He was right in front of her, a knife of his own that he must have hidden in his robes held in his hand. She had enough time to see the madness there tinged with malice before he struck.
Solomon's Journey Page 40
