The Silent

Solomon

(Story Content Warnings: Depiction of PTSD following prolonged trauma.)

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His people had not come from this land.

This did not make Solomon Obote unusual. The only people who claimed to have been born of the dirt and dust of the land were the natives who lived in the forests and mountains and sometimes among the Kingdoms. Those strange, grey-eyed folk told stories of how the Lady of the Mount had sculpted them from mud and breathed life into them. All the other kingdoms—his include—had old stories about boats and the sea. Some said that their forefathers came from strange lands, too far away to reach, feeling some great evil. Others said they were born of the ocean, placed into boats by a god or gods and sent to the island to say. Still others said they came from the air, beings who were lead down from the air by Taran or another god. The details varied, but there was one constant: they were not of this land. They did not fully belong, even after countless generations living on the land. Perhaps that was why the elves and deep creatures seemed to react more strongly to the people of the Kingdoms than they did the people of the wilderness; perhaps that was why some felt an urge to take to the sea, to travel far away and never look back.

He thought about those stories often these days.

The people in the Kingdom of Palesa were among the ones who claimed their people came from somewhere far away—an endless plain where only the swiftest survived. Eventually, someone found the edge of that plain, built the first boat, and took to the water to escape whatever danger they were trying to flee. He sailed for days and days until he found this land, and then he stayed, because he knew he wouldn't have to run anymore. The man's name was Uten. He was said to be one of the five fathers of their kingdom. The other four came in similar fashions (two flying, one sailing, one brought directly by the gods himself). But it was the story of Uten that Solomon always remembered clearly. He had faced more struggles than the others, and had to use his wits to reach this land. He suffered many hardships, but ultimately found someplace safe.

When Solomon found himself on the cart to his home, he thought at first that he would be like Uten at the end of his journey. He thought he had reached the end of his struggles and that now, now he could stop running. But this wasn't true. It didn't take him long to realize that his journey had only begun.

The first hardship he faced came when he saw his family.

Solomon should have been relieved to see them. He was relieved to see them. It had been so long since he'd seen any of them. His sisters were both grown. His father had grey in his hair and his mother had more lines around her eyes. Or perhaps those had always been there and he just couldn't remember. When they ran to him and embraced him, he hugged them back. He did not weep, though he felt that he ought to. It seemed that he had cried away all his tears when he had first been taken.

Despite his lack of tears, he was still happy to see them. But after that moment—after that first day of relief to see that his family was alive and well, that his sisters were thriving and his parents had not succumbed to injury or illness—things became difficult.

It started the next day, when his youngest sister Aba started asking questions about where he'd been, about what happened to him. Solomon didn't know what to say to her. He didn't want to talk about it; even if he had been able to, he didn't want her to know. She may have been older now, but she was still so young, innocent in many ways. She shouldn't have to know about the things he'd seen.

His other sister, Dalila, didn't ask so many questions, but she talked a lot. She told him about everything that had happened in the time he'd been gone—people coming and going, people getting married, people dying. It was too much for him to take in. Time had been strange when he was in captivity, going far too slow and far too fast at the same time. It made it difficult to reflect on what the passage of time really meant. But her describing all these things made him realize exactly how much had been taken from him. It stirred the embers of anger in his heart, made him resent his captors all over it. It was a futile anger that couldn't be directed at anything or anyone. He knew it would burn him if he let it, but Solomon couldn't put out the fire.