Solomon's Exile

by James Maxstadt

  He hadn’t meant to leave Lacy. Not for long anyway. He had taken to walking in the woods, trying to clear his thoughts, stop the words that kept playing over and over. It worked, some. Enough so that he was able to focus on something else, lead a normal life, or at least give the appearance of that.

  The words, though. They kept coming, telling him of impossible places and people that had never existed. For a while, they had gotten the better of him, and he had taken to trying to drown them in beer, but they had shouted louder. He tried to talk about them, but people were scared of his incoherent rambling, trying to get the words out all at once before they disappeared. He couldn’t blame them. He would have been scared, too.

  He tried to write them down, but they didn’t come out right on the paper either. The same ideas, the same stories that had at one time seemed so promising became twisted and corrupt, and any skill that he had fooled himself into thinking that he had, evaporated. He couldn’t stop his pen from scratching out those messages to himself, telling him to give it up, he was nothing, but yet, he kept trying and trying.

  Lacy’s ultimatum had been his salvation. Those words had cut right through the ones in his head, and he had heard them loud and clear. And, almost as if they were cowed, the ones in his head quieted, became less insistent, and let him think.

  Walking became a balm as well. He loved listening to the birds in the trees, and the soft rustling of squirrels and other small animals in the undergrowth. At times, he would stand still, and let the sounds of the forest wash over and through him, and for a brief moment, the words in his head would fall silent, and he was at peace.

  So much so that several nights ago, he had lost track of time and distance, and found himself far from home, with darkness beginning to color the sky. He was a little worried. Walking through the woods at night was a fool’s errand, and a good way to end up with a broken leg. No, better to find a place to settle, and wait for morning.

  He turned back, determined to get as close to home as he could before he lost the light, but he had come further than he thought, and was still far away when he knew that he should stop. Lacy was going to be worried, and furious. She would think he had fallen back into his old behavior, and that thought almost made him weep. He’d show her in the morning that he hadn’t, maybe even take her for a walk out here to show her what he had been doing, and let her feel the peacefulness.

  Looking around, he found a likely spot to settle down, next to a recently fallen tree. He gathered up a large amount of dead leaves, intending to cover himself with them. It was a warm summer’s night, but the air in the woods would get cool overnight, and the leaves would provide some cover, at least.

  But the night air got colder than he thought it would, and much earlier than he expected also. He shivered, his arms wrapped around his torso, trying in vain to stay warm. Then, he started to hear those words again, telling him that this wasn’t natural, the temperature couldn’t drop like this, not here, not this time of year. Maybe it was something else, something that didn’t belong to this world.

  “Shut up,” he moaned. “Leave me alone.”

  But the words kept coming. If he had paper and pen he could have written them down, and turned them into the scariest story the world had ever known. If he could only find the right ones to string together, to express this feeling of cold dread that was on him now. But he wouldn’t be able to. He didn’t have the talent for it.

  Instead, he sat and shivered, trying to ignore those words flitting through his mind. Pain, terror, regret, loneliness, agony, fear, fear, FEAR.

  He scrambled to his feet, the dead leaves flying about him and floating gently back to the earth. There was something out there, in the darkness, watching him. He could feel its eyes on him, measuring him for something, evaluating his…worth? Was that it?

  “Who are you?” he whispered it. The words should have been shouted, that would be more dramatic and forceful, but all he could manage was that strangled croak. “Where are you?”

  His breath steamed in the air and he swore he was getting frostbite in his fingers. He stuck them under his armpits, and turned rapidly, sure that whatever it was that was watching him had snuck up behind him, ready to pounce, and tear, and feed.

  There was nothing there. Nothing that he could see anyway. Maybe behind him now!, He spun again, only to find nothing but the darkness, mocking him. Again, and again. He was too exposed here, too out in the open for something that could see in the dark. He needed to find a place where he could put his back, then it could only attack him from the front.

  He ran, and made it two steps before he tripped on a tree root, and sprawled into the dirt, like someone in a bad horror movie. The jolt brought him back to himself, and the words in his head quieted. He was able to think a little more clearly.

  What was he doing? Running through the woods at night was a recipe for disaster and nothing more. He was letting his imagination run away with him. There was nothing there now that wasn’t there in the day. Even if it was an animal, it was going to be more scared of him than he was of it. He chuckled at that thought, finding it hard to believe.

  And something in the dark answered him.

  A dry, cold chuckle, like the rolling of bones in a cave, came out of the night. Luke couldn’t tell from which direction, but at the sound, all reason, all coherent thought fled. He curled up into a fetal ball, closed his eyes and moaned.

  “Not real, not real, not real…”

  A hand touched him. Freezing cold, so frigid that it burned, it grabbed his ankle, exposed between his sneakers and his jeans when he had fallen. It felt like his flesh froze instantly. It burned like a rope of fire had been pressed into him, melting his skin. He screamed, loudly.

  The voice that had chuckled said a word, a strange word that sounded wrong to his ears, and his voice cut off. The pain still seared his ankle, bad enough that if had an axe he would have brought it down without hesitation. But he couldn’t scream. His mouth gaped open, his chest worked, and tears flowed from his eyes, but no sound came from him.

  The hand left his ankle, grabbed him by the right arm and hauled him to his feet. Even through his shirt sleeve, he could feel the icy touch. He peered into the inky darkness, trying to see who, or what, it was that had grabbed him, but could only see more blackness. Except for two glowing, green spots, that looked like eyes watching him.

  A pale, skeletal hand, tipped with sharp nails rose, and struck him across the face. He collapsed in a heap, his face burning from the icy touch and his head ringing from the blow.

  “Huuumaaan,” the thing growled.

  Luke scrambled to his hands and knees. He had no thought of the danger of running through the woods now, only of getting away. He only made it a foot or two before he was grabbed again.

  The thing held him in front of it, examining him as he might a particularly colorful bug. The cold sank further and further into him, until it felt like it reached his mind. The words screaming in his brain faded, becoming quieter, but so did everything else. Finally, the pain went away as well, and he sank into unconsciousness.

  When he woke, it was daylight, but he was lying on a rocky floor in a cave. It wasn’t a deep one, more of a semi-shallow depression in a low rock ledge. Those dotted the area around here and provided homes for lots of different animals. This one was only about ten or fifteen feet deep, he guessed. He could clearly see the forest, awash in warm sunlight, through the opening. All he had to do was stand, or crawl even, and he’d be in it in a moment, and the nights terrors would be gone. He’d be free to go home, back to Lacy and to not ever turn off the lights again.

  He started to stand, but the ceiling was too low to allow him to, so instead, he struggled onto all fours. Keeping his eyes on the sunlight ahead of him, he began to crawl toward the cave opening.

  After a moment, the touch again. The grasp of the same ankle as before and the same, burning cold pain shot through him. He didn’t try to scream this time. Instead, a sob escap
ed him and he collapsed onto his belly. He was dragged back, away from the sunlight and freedom, deeper into the cave. Deeper than the cave went.

  He should have been brought up short by the back wall, but instead he kept going, the entrance getting smaller and further away as he was dragged. He tried to cling to the floor of the cave but his fingernails bent back, causing new agony to burst through him, but he kept trying, leaving steaks of blood on the rock. Then, he was pulled around a corner, the sunlight disappeared, and he was in the dark again.

  The thing let go of him then, although he sensed it was near. But it didn’t touch him. The fear that it generated was still there, as was the bitter cold. He rubbed his damaged hands together and blew on them.

  “What do you want?” he said quietly. “Why are you doing this?”

  The thing in the dark chuckled again, and Luke knew that he’d get no answers.

  His life was nothing more than fear and pain from then on. During the day, he was kept in the cave, unable to see the light, or to keep warm. If he tried to leave, he was grabbed, struck and cut by sharp nails. Whenever that happened, the thing chuckled and hissed, but it never said another word to him.

  When the sun would go down, the presence of fear would leave, and he was able to work himself out and into the woods. But if he tried to go home, again he was taken, and hurt badly. Finally, he stopped trying, and it was then that the black thing led him to the compost pile, allowing him to take scraps to eat, and to look at the house that he had once shared with Lacy, long ago, in another lifetime. Then, it would drag him away again, uttering that strange word to stop him from crying out for help.

  Once, he went to leave the compost pile, and the thing made him stay for a moment longer, surrounding him in fear until he was paralyzed with it. He was sure that Lacy had gotten a glimpse of him then, and when he was able to think more clearly, he knew that the thing that held him was playing a cruel game.

  “I won’t help you get her,” he said. The black thing was there, in front of him now. It hadn’t said a word, but hung in the air, a menace incarnate.

  “You will,” it hissed, the first thing it had said to him.

  Luke’s courage almost faltered, but he held on. “I won’t. I don’t care what you do to me.”

  “Foolisssshhh.” A bone-white finger came out and curled into Luke’s right ear. The pain was immediate and intense. He shook his head, trying to break away, but the ice flowed into his brain and he couldn’t move. His mouth opened, but no sound came out, except for a high-pitched whine, and spittle flowed down his chin.

  How long the thing held him like that, he didn’t know. But when it finally let him go, the night was waning and dawn was beginning to lighten the sky. He noticed it in a type of haze. He seemed to be looking at the world through a fog that wouldn’t clear, and he was having a hard time remembering where, or who, he was.

  “Obey,” the thing said, and flowed away.

  Luke followed, eyes unfocused, an obedient servant. Later on, he had stood and watched, helpless and almost impassive as the thing had attacked and hurt Lacy. There was an ache in his chest as he dragged her to the road after, the thing following and chuckling as he did, but no tears came, and when he dropped her, he turned back to the forest with barely a second thought.

  The next time he tried to break free was the night that Ed and the stranger had entered the woods. His dark master had chuckled as he watched them, at first. But then the tall stranger had come nearer and the thing had stopped, hissed, and flowed from the area.

  If Luke hadn’t known better, he would have sworn that the thing was scared. That thought, as impossible as it was, lent him a little backbone. He watched Ed, who he admired as a friend, and the stranger. There was something about the tall man, something that made Luke ashamed of what he had become. Made him think that he should have been a better man, someone more worthy of Lacy. He remembered his actions the night that the thing had attacked her and felt more ashamed then he ever had before. No more.

  He steeled himself, and ran to Ed, telling him to run. But it was too late. The dark thing took Ed, and it was only the actions of the tall man that saved him at all.

  Then he was punished, and punished, and punished some more, until he thought he was going mad.

  But he didn’t. He was half-blind now, his eye gone, and eaten in front of him. He had been tortured and pushed to the point of madness, until he couldn’t think of anything other than the pain.

  That included the words. The words that had been there for years, shouting and clamoring for his attention, drowning out the world at times. They were gone. The dark thing had pushed them out of his head, and replaced them with others. With words that would always recall the dark and the fear. Words that would remind him time and time again of the hopelessness of the world, and all in it.

  Yes, the sun was going down, and the thing would be back. It had herded him closer to Lacy’s house, his one-time home, again. He knew that the thing was planning on using him to lure her out here again, where it could hurt her once more.

  But that wasn’t going to happen. Not if he could help it. He’d warn her, at least, and let the thing do with him what it would.

  CHAPTER 25

  “We have to go get him,” Shireen said, pulling her sword free and taking a step deeper into the entry hall.

  “Shireen, stop.” Orlando put his hand around her arm. “We can’t. There’s too many of them.”

  From deep inside the tree came the sound of a scream. “Let me go!” Shireen pulled her arm free.

  “No!” Orlando grabbed her again. “I won’t lose you. Think! Thaddeus is gone. I’m sorry, but it’s true. I don’t know why they let us go, but they did, and we need to take advantage of that, and tell Jediah and Florian what we found.”

  Shireen jerked her arm again, but Orlando kept a tight grip. Everything that made her who she was, was telling her to go after Thaddeus, to rescue him. He had given his final strength to get them out of there, how could she abandon him now? Without the Soul Gaunts’ fear pushing against her, her own strength of will was back in full effect.

  She turned to Orlando. “How can we leave him? You heard him just now. He’s still alive.”

  “They’re playing with him. They’re cruel, and vicious, and horrible. They’re going to use his pain to hurt us as well. I hate them too, but we don’t stand a chance. We need to get help. Yes, Thaddeus will probably be dead by the time we can get back here, but at this point, that might be a kindness. Now come on!”

  He stepped through the doorway and back into the light of the Rustling Elms compound. Shireen reluctantly let herself be led away, but as she did, another scream came from within the tree. She paused, dropped her head and then stepped away.

  Outside felt worse than it had when they first arrived. After the darkness and decay of the tree, it should have felt bright and cheerful, but instead, the bodies still strewn everywhere, and the blood that had pooled in sticky puddles attracting flies, made a mockery of the day. It was a grim reminder that either the Soul Gaunts had attacked at night, or they were in league with something that was able to brave the light.

  She kept her sword drawn as they walked to their horses and mounted. Orlando took the reins of Thaddeus’s horse and they began to ride away, slowly at first, reluctant to leave the mage behind, but quicker as they drew away from the compound.

  An hour later, they arrived back at Whispering Pines where they were shown to the main tree and ushered inside immediately.

  “What happened? Where’s Thaddeus?” Florian was on his feet, a look of worry on his face as they entered the room. Word must have gone ahead of them as they rode through the compound that although three of them had left, only two returned.

  “Gone,” Shireen said. She felt numb, exhausted. She had kept her sword out the whole ride back, even through the relative safety of the Whispering Pines compound, but now finally sheathed it. “I am sorry, Lord Florian. He saved us though.” Her voice was quie
t, and she sank into a nearby chair, looking only at the floor.

  “What happened?” he asked again, his voice dangerously low.

  “Florian, be patient,” Jediah said. “We’ll get answers. Orlando?”

  It was fitting that Jediah ask him rather than her. He knew his people well, their strengths and their weaknesses. He knew that out of the two of them, Orlando was more level-headed and apt to think things through, whereas she had a harder time controlling her emotions.

  “It was Soul Gaunts,” she heard her love reply, his voice soft and halting. “Not one, but several. A lot. I don’t know how many. They took Rustling Elms. Killed everyone and left the bodies. We went in, not knowing what we would find, but the tree was…it was dying, from the inside. They trapped us. At first, we thought it was one, and started to leave, but then…they were everywhere, and the light was dying. Thaddeus. He saved us. He caused the stone to light up again, stronger this time, but it wasted him, used all of his strength.”

  He paused. Shireen felt a touch on her shoulder and glanced up. Jediah held a cup out to her, filled with a strong wine. She drained it in one quick swallow, while he did the same for Orlando. Florian stood off to the side, his face a mask of icy calm.

  Orlando took a drink and continued. “They wouldn’t let us leave. They herded us, like animals, to the door, but it was shut tight. We couldn’t get it open, and then Thaddeus. He tried, Lord, he tried with all his strength, but it wasn’t enough. The light went out, and they took him. They pulled him away from us, into the darkness.”

  Shireen was glad that he didn’t mention them hearing Thaddeus scream. There was no reason to cause Florian more pain than they had to, and she was sure that his mind was supplying plenty of horrors on its own.