Solomon's Journey

by James Maxstadt

  He didn’t seem to notice her lack of appetite, and when the meal was done, let out a satisfied belch.

  “Now,” he said, rising and taking her hand. “Let us go.”

  Jamshir was inordinately proud of his House and showed her unkempt and disheveled rooms as if he were revealing great wonders of the world to her. He held her hand, his palm sticky with the residue from his breakfast and several times pulled her into a side room or even pushed her against the wall of a hallway to kiss and grope her. He showed no regard for whether anyone else was present.

  It was all she could do to allow it to happen and not strike Jamshir. It’s for Whispering Pines, she told herself every time it happened. But that voice was getting quieter and quieter, becoming overwhelmed by the disgust and rising anger she was feeling.

  The servants, soldiers, and others that inhabited the tree watched the two of them with open amusement. Smirks greeted her whenever she met someone’s gaze and outright laughter often followed. Several times she looked over her shoulder to see lewd gestures being made behind their backs. Those making them didn’t bother to stop when they noticed her watching. If anything, the gestures became lewder and the laughter louder.

  Jamshir noticed none of it. He greeted those he passed as if he were the respected Head of House Glittering Birch, and acted as if they responded in kind, rather than with the derision and ridicule they really used.

  “And here, this is one of my favorite rooms,” Jamshir said.

  He opened the door to a large, nearly empty chamber, with expansive windows in the far wall letting in plenty of light. Inside were three statues and nothing else.

  Jocasta let go of Jamshir’s hand and walked in, studying the statues. For once, he didn’t try to touch her or even talk. Instead, he only watched her, his face alight with pride like he was the sculptor.

  Carved from stone in great detail and brightly painted, two of the them appeared to be men and one a woman. Clothes that would be out of place here in the Greenweald, simple pants and shirts in brilliant colors. One bright green, one deep blue, and one blazing orange. The figures wore boots and gloves, the same color as their outfits, and their hair was styled into crazy points and whorls, also colored to match.

  The only thing on them that wasn’t brightly colored were the masks on their faces. Those were solid white, with no holes for eyes, noses, or mouths.

  The workmanship was impeccable, yet the overall effect was disturbing.

  “What are they?” she asked. “Who made them?”

  “Do you like them? I don’t know who made them, but I find them quite breathtaking.”

  “They are….truly something.”

  “Indeed. I’ve shown very few people, you know. Only those that I trust and care about. Like you, and my father, and of course my dear friends Jediah and Florian. Why just yesterday, the three of us stood here, contemplating the art and discussing life and its vicissitudes. Perhaps they’ll stop by later, and I can introduce you to them.”

  Jocasta studied Jamshir’s face as he spoke. There was no sign of mockery. He believed what he was saying and for the moment, seemed almost calm. The normal inner turmoil of his mind that was usually evident in his speech and manners was subdued as he gazed at the statues.

  “Anyway,” he said, turning back to her. “I must return to my duties. Would you like to accompany me, or would you rather stay here for a while?”

  “If it’s all the same to you,” she said, “I’d like to return to my chambers. I’m afraid you’ve worn me out.”

  She smiled and managed to keep it in place even in the face of his leer.

  “Not too tired, I hope.” He stepped close, grabbing her and forcing a sloppy, foul-tasting kiss on her once more. She fought to restrain the shudder that tore through her. “I’ll come find you when I’ve finished.”

  He touched her face and then turned on his heel and left the room. Jocasta stood still a moment longer, then spit and wiped her mouth with her sleeve. She needed clean water but doubted there was any in the whole tree.

  As she left the room two soldiers approached. The hallway she was in was long, and Jamshir hadn’t reached the other end yet. He walked on, a slight stagger to his gait. Jocasta was watching him and not paying much attention to the two men passing her.

  At least until she felt a hand on her buttocks.

  “Hey!” She spun around, her hand going to her belt where her knife usually was, but she had left in her chambers. She cursed when she saw the open mockery on the faces of the soldiers.

  “What?” One of them, the shorter and stockier one said. “We thought that maybe when old Lord Jamshir is done with you, you’d like to try someone else out.”

  He sniggered, and his companion joined in. They moved closer, separating so that they were on each side of her.

  She narrowed her eyes. If one of them dared to…

  The one on her left reached out for her breast. His hand never made it that far.

  She grabbed his little finger, twisting it hard until it gave with a satisfying snap. The soldier howled and jerked his hand back, but she was already turning, driving her knee up into his groin. His howl turned into a groan and he began to bend, as she brought her fist up to meet his nose.

  The crack could have come from his nose or her hand. Either way, he pitched over backward, crashing into the wall behind and sliding down it.

  Before she could turn the other man hit her from behind. His fist crashed into the back of her head, sending her stumbling toward the man she had knocked down. Her feet tangled with his legs and she began to fall. The man behind her lunged forward but misjudged when she stumbled, and his arms barely brushed her.

  Jocasta rolled to the side, shaking off the ringing in her head from his blow as she climbed to her feet. The man on the floor was slowly getting up, while the other spun to face her. She raised her hands and used quick jabs to connect with his chin, his throat and his right eye before he could raise his own in defense.

  She was strong and knew how to punch. The force of her blows pushed him back, the one to his throat making him gag. He backed into his friend and Jocasta moved forward, her foot rising, toe pointed. This result was even more satisfying.

  The soldier’s mouth opened, and a strangled mewling sound came out as he collapsed to the floor. Jocasta delivered another kick, this time to his temple and the man’s eyes rolled back in his head.

  The first man had gained his feet and stood leaning against the wall, his left hand cupping his genitals, his right held up in surrender.

  “Leave,” Jocasta said.

  The man nodded and weakly moved away, leaving his friend lying on the floor.

  Down the hallway, Jamshir was still there, watching the fight with excitement in his eyes. When the soldier stumbled away, Jamshir got the same look a small child does when the puppet show is over. Then, he turned and walked on.

  Chapter 50

  How was it possible to have such joy turn to sorrow in so short a time? Solomon was there. He came for her and they were together again. But he brought such awful news with him.

  Her father was gone, and though he died a hero, he was still lost to her and she never got the chance to say goodbye. Worse, he died believing that she was dead as well.

  And her cousin Thaddeus, a traitor to his own House and responsible for the death of her father. He was older than her, but had always been kind, and treated her more like a little sister than a cousin.

  And Solomon… He allowed himself to be sent off to another world, so he wasn’t there when he was really needed. He gave himself to despair and grief and neglected his duty. He was also to blame for her father’s death.

  Celia could hear muttered conversation from the other room, and the giggle of a child’s laughter. Greta and Friedrich had greeted the children warmly and with compassion as she knew they would. More mouths to feed, but Solomon said there were places to get food, and he had money that could be used. All of them would be better off now, at least
for a while.

  Her thoughts returned to Solomon, who could solve any problem, always coming to the rescue. Where was he when her father needed him?

  She lay on the bed and stared into the darkness, letting it surround her like a heavy blanket. Until now, the darkness in Dunfield had been a curse, but at the moment it was a friend. Someone to hide her so she could go away from the world.

  The damnable thing was that she still loved him. When he appeared behind her on the street and she heard his voice, her heart skipped and her breath caught in her throat. She never wanted him to let go once his arms were around her. She wanted those arms around her now.

  Was she being unfair to him? Perhaps.

  From what little he would say about it her father was the one who insisted on Solomon’s exile from the Greenweald. If he hadn’t been so hot-headed about things, maybe he’d still be alive and…

  “Celia?” The voice was gentle and for a brief moment she thought it was Solomon. She didn’t want him there, not right then.

  But the voice wasn’t that of a man. She turned over and Greta gathered her in her thin arms. They weren’t strong like Solomon’s. They were better. Like the arms of the mother that she lost so long ago.

  “It’s okay,” Greta said, “you can let it go.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  It was morning before she came out of the small bedroom that she stayed in. Greta had stayed with her until she cried it all out and finally fell asleep. She was still fuzzy. Her night was full of terrors and her mind played scenarios of death and betrayal over and over again.

  “Where is everyone?” she asked.

  Greta looked up from the cup of tea she was drinking. “Solomon has gone out for food. Friedrich and the children went with him.”

  Celia sank down into a chair and Greta brought her a cup of tea. Normally, she would have gotten it herself and refreshed Greta’s while she was at it, but she felt so tired and tea didn’t seem important.

  “How did you sleep?” Greta asked her.

  She smiled slightly. “Not well.”

  “I didn’t expect you would, if at all.”

  “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Solomon. I love him, but he let my father…” She was unable to finish.

  “No, dear, he didn’t.” The certainty in Greta’s voice brought her up short.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “We talked for a long time last night, after the children fell asleep. Solomon told us everything. What happened was tragic, there’s no doubt of that. But it wasn’t his fault any more than what happened to our Lyssa was yours.”

  Celia recoiled in shock. Lyssa. She had almost forgotten the young girl in the midst of her own grief. And to hear Greta speak so…bluntly, about it…

  Yet, she was right. Celia hadn’t been able to hold on to Lyssa and the child was taken. It didn’t mean that she didn’t try, or that she wouldn’t continue to try.

  But Solomon was Solomon. Surely if anyone could have stopped what happened it would have been him.

  Which was exactly the point. Maybe no one could have. And maybe it was unfair to put that on him. He was just a man. A special one, for sure, with abilities that came easily to him that most would kill for. But still, just a man.

  They would need to talk, and maybe enough things had occurred that would make them being together impossible, but for now, there were things that needed to be taken care of. She needed to swallow her grief, let it stay inside until she had the luxury of letting it out again, and deal with the present before more were hurt or killed. And her best bet of doing that was to work with Solomon.

  Anything else, whether it be love, hate, or indifference, could come later.

  She sighed, sipped her tea and patted Greta’s hand.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  When Solomon and the others returned, they came bearing armloads of fruits, vegetables, eggs, bread and even a small amount of bacon. None of it was overly fresh, but Greta’s face said they were things that hadn’t been seen in the house for a long time.

  “How?” Greta asked.

  “This guy,” Friedrich said. “And his friends.” He beamed at the kids. “They knew where to go, and Solomon followed them. He bought whatever food he could and then made sure it got back here safely. There were a few toughs who thought they’d take a chance, but one look at him and that sword of his, and they decided to try for easier prey.”

  “It’s wonderful,” Greta breathed.

  “It’s probably the last for a while,” Solomon said. “We cleaned out most of the sellers we could find.”

  “I’ll make it last,” Greta said.

  Breakfast was wonderful, with Greta showing what she could do with real ingredients. Celia wasn’t surprised, considering what she had done with almost nothing up to now.

  As she ate, she studied Solomon, noting the way Greta and Friedrich were already comfortable with him, and the way the children looked at him like he was a hero from a storybook. She knew how they felt. She had felt the same at one time.

  But now… now she still loved him, she just didn’t worship him anymore. Instead, she wanted him as an equal. And that meant working with him to fix whatever was going on in the town.

  “Well,” she said, setting down her fork. “Let’s make a plan.”

  Chapter 51

  Things had changed between them. That first heady feeling of seeing each other had been tempered by the news. There was never any question of telling Celia what happened to her father and his role in it. She had the right to know everything, and he would need to deal with the consequences of that, even if that meant enduring her hatred.

  For all that, Solomon was proud of her. Greta and Friedrich filled him in the night before on all that she had done in Dunfield. From trying to rescue their daughter from the hunters, to entering the manor by herself and being the only person to come back out of it.

  She was trying to make the place better for Greta and Friedrich, and those like them, just as he was. And she was succeeding every bit as much as he.

  He smiled at her tentatively, the expression that usually came so easily to him feeling strange and out of place. Celia glanced at him, smiled sadly back and then turned away.

  Well, maybe she didn’t quite hate him.

  He was starting to open his mouth to mention that they needed to plan for how to move forward when she beat him to it.

  “Well,” Celia said, “Let’s make a plan.”

  “A plan for what, dear?” Greta asked.

  “To get rid of those things and get Lyssa back, for one. And then to fix whatever is wrong with this place.”

  “Tall order,” Friedrich said.

  “Maybe. Okay, yeah, it is. That doesn’t mean we can’t do it.”

  “What about those hunters?” Solomon said. “You said they left?”

  “Yes. I followed them yesterday morning. All except one ran out of the gates and disappeared. They didn’t come back last night, but I don’t know about this morning. I was still sleeping when it was dawn.”

  “They didn’t,” Friedrich said. “I’m always up at dawn. They haven’t tried getting into anyone’s house yet, but that doesn’t mean they won’t. I can usually hear them whistling, whether close by or streets away. This morning, there was nothing.”

  “Where did they go then?” Celia asked.

  Solomon looked around the table, seeing only puzzled faces. He had no ideas either, until he remembered the figure in white that he trailed here. The one that attacked the Mar-trollid camp.

  “Oh no,” he said. He turned directly to Celia. “I think I know.”

  The three other adults looked at him expectedly. Even the kids stopped what they were doing and turned to him.

  “The Mar-trollid,” he said. “There was one there. I fought it and then tracked it here. If they’ve decided it’s time to move on them…”

  “The Mar-trollid won’t have a chance,” Celia fini
shed. “They’re not fighters.”

  “No, they’re not. At least not enough that they’d be able to win against those things, especially with how many you say went.”

  “We have to get to them,” Celia said.

  “You can’t,” Greta said. “You’ve seen what happened to those that tried.”

  “Best to forget it,” Friedrich said, his face telling a different story. For all his words, he wouldn’t forget. “What’s done is done and there’s no way for us to help them.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Celia said.

  Solomon was thinking the same thing. The problem was getting past the rats without being bitten but moving fast and keeping a steady pace should do it. The rats were large and vicious, but they were still rats and couldn’t move as fast as he could.

  “I can make it,” he said.

  Celia turned to him. “Who says you’re going?”

  “Who else?”

  “Me.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t but me. I was doing just fine before you came along.”

  “I know that. I wasn’t going to say you weren’t. Only, if the hunters are attacking the Mar-trollid, what will you do?”

  “I’ll…” Celia started, then stopped, a frown appearing.

  “Right. I’m not even sure what I’ll do. Maybe I can rally the Mar-trollid. And at least I’ve got a weapon.”

  “So, I’m supposed to sit at home, waiting for you to return?”

  “No. There’s still one here, right? And besides, Gan-Rowe told me that the way home was here in this village. We still need to find that. Maybe you could work on that while I go to the Mar-trollid camp? That way when we’re ready, we can get back to the Greenweald.”

  She didn’t like it, that much was obvious. But Celia was smart, too.

  “Besides, I need you to stay at the gate. All of you. If it goes bad, you need to pull me back.”

  “Pull you back?” Friedrich asked. “From where?”