“Makes sense,” Solomon said. “It clears up a few things for me.”
“How can you be so calm?” Jocasta cried.
Solomon shrugged, then nodded toward the gate. “Because that’s my focus right now. When I have that finished, and a few other matters, I can celebrate having a sister.”
“Celebrate?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
He turned away from his newfound sister and drew a deep breath.
“I’m going,” he said. “I think it’s the only way.” He glanced at her and held out his hand. “You coming?”
Jocasta took it and they stepped forward, into the swirling colors.
Everything was flat. Jocasta looked like a drawing of herself and when Solomon looked down, so did his own body. Then, they blew up into gigantic proportions, and he felt his skin stretch and tear. Jocasta’s face grew huge, splitting into a grin and an impossibly long forked tongue spilling out of her mouth.
It went on and on for ages. Nightmare images replaced by idyllic scenes, only to have corruption seep in, taking it all. Pain flared in his body, his breath was stopped, then he was panting too fast to really breathe.
Then, it was over, and he was on his hands and knees, retching. Black, stiff grass covered the ground beneath him, and it stretched toward the puddle of vomit as if it were sentient and hungry.
Solomon recoiled from the sight and sprang to his feet. His body hurt all over and his head was ringing. Beside him, Jocasta stirred, and he helped her to her feet.
The world they were in was dark. A faintly glowing orb that might have been the sun, or could have been the moon, did nothing to further illuminate a gloom that made Dunfield seem sunny.
In the distance was the shell of a city, once mighty towers crumbling into teetering ruins, with dark shapes flitting among them. Dead trees with black bark dotted the landscape, and from the hill they stood on, Solomon could see a river flowing sluggishly between barren banks, vapors rising above it.
In the distance, he could make out a shape, hovering over the ground as it moved toward them. A black robe with a deep hood hid its face, but bone white arms with sharp claws hung from tattered sleeves.
The Soul Gaunt didn’t seem to see them, but Solomon dropped and pulled Jocasta down with him.
Behind them were more blasted trees, more black grass and the river flowing to dark mountains far away. There was no sign of the gate they’d come through.
“Now what?” Jocasta said.
Solomon smiled.
“Now we get to the bottom of all this, I guess.”
From the bottom of the hill came the cold, dry chuckle of a Soul Gaunt.
Epilogue One
Glittering Birch was almost identical to Whispering Pines. No one seemed to be in charge, and no one tried to stop Celia from going into the main tree. The gates were down, deep below here. Inside, down some stairs and she could go home.
A huge man stood on the grand staircase, his armor stained and pitted. He watched her with a vacant stare but made no move to stop her as she made her way to the closet under the steps.
Go home, the voice kept whispering.
It was guiding her. She had looked at the paths outside of Whispering Pines and knew immediately which one to take, even if she hadn’t remembered the way here. At the compound, she knew to go to the main tree, and from there to the closet.
Go home.
Down, out the door and down the tunnel. The door opened easily, and she stepped into the chamber, bathed in the beautiful yellows and greens of the large gate.
She considered it for a moment. She could go there, see what was on the other side.
Go home.
But that wasn’t home. Home was….there.
The muddy brown gate.
Celia smiled, and stepped through it.
Epilogue Two
Shireen retained just enough of herself to feel the loss. All around her the trees rose, close together here, far from any Houses. There weren’t even any single Folk, like the Master of Hounds, in this part of the Greenweald. It was left wild, tribute to the forest itself.
She couldn’t feel them. She tried lying next to them to rest. She put her arms around them, pressing her head to the bark, her eyes closed, reaching out.
Nothing worked.
Shireen’s connection to the Greenweald was gone.
And worse, she was caring less and less.
They were trees. Nothing more than that. Things to be used to make better, more useful things. And not the slow, inefficient way of the Folk, asking permission and being one with them. Axes, saws, and rasps would shape them faster.
She tried to miss Orlando and couldn’t, even though a part of her said that she must. He was her better half, her touchstone, and her safe haven.
He was a whiner, a simpleton stuck to the ways of a dead and decaying society.
The conflicting thoughts battled in her head and she fought with them until she felt like she would burst.
She curled up into a ball, weeping at all she’d lost and knowing it wouldn’t last. In moments the feelings would dry up and she’d be back to not caring, to wanting to tear it all down. These brief instances of being herself were coming less frequently and lasting less and less time.
Shireen was truly afraid that this would finally be her last few seconds of retaining her identity.
Footsteps sounded in the leaves, louder than when the Folk moved through the forest. Whatever it was; deer, raccoon, bear, it didn’t matter.
“I can help you,” a gentle voice said.
Shireen didn’t move for a moment, then blinked her tears away and looked up.
A figure was silhouetted against the bright sky through the branches. It seemed to be holding hand out a hand.
“I can help you,” it repeated, a man’s deep, slightly raspy, voice. “If you let me.”
AFTERWORD
A cliffhanger ending? What a gyp!
Fear not. As I write these words, I’m also working on the third chapter of Solomon’s travels. It’s shaping up to be a page-turner and answering a lot of the questions that were raised in this book. Solomon will return, sooner rather than later. At least one more time.
I want to thank the members of the speculative fiction group of the Writer’s Group of the Triad: Rick Fisher, Kelly McLean, and Mike Swan. Their critiques, suggestions, and revisions made Solomon’s Journey not only a much stronger book, but a much better one as well.
As always, a huge thank you to my mother, Joyce Maxstadt, for not only reading, but keeping a list of typos, misspellings, and omitted words. And Marty Roberts, my friend for more years than I care to think about, who read it and didn’t tell me it sucked.
And of course, to my beautiful wife, Barb. She not only listens as I read chapters to her, she puts up with me pouting when she tells me something doesn’t work, or I’ve repeated the same word three times in two paragraphs, or... well, any number of things really. Then, she rereads it herself, to pick up on all my punctuation, spelling, word choice, etc, that I’ve managed to mess up. It’s a huge amount of work, and she does it with a grace and ease that astounds. I often tell her that it should be her writing the books.
And finally, thank you, the reader, for making it to the end of this leg of Solomon’s Journey. Stay tuned, there’s more to come!
Please, if you enjoyed this story, leave a review on Amazon. It’s a HUGE help to independent authors like me. Thanks, and Happy Reading!
James Maxstadt lives in Burlington, NC with his beautiful wife Barbara and their dog, Remi. When not writing, he’s usually found reading, watching mindless TV, or performing a home renovation project. (Thanks, Dad!) But rather than read about James, he would much rather have you read the adventures of Solomon, or Duke Grandfather and his friends, or visit his website at www.jamesmaxstadt.com!
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