Jack Staples and the City of Shadows Page 12

“You mean … when I am with Alexia?”

  “Yes! When you are together, I feel as if nothing bad can happen!” Time giggled again.

  “I don’t know about that,” Jack said. “Plenty of bad has happened since we’ve been together. My mother—” Jack stopped.

  “Your mother gave her life to save you. There is no greater gift,” Time said.

  “But she’s still gone.”

  “She’s not gone, silly. I see her standing before me now. She lives in you and she lives in Alexia. And death is not the end. It’s the start of the grandest adventure yet!”

  “She lives in Alexia?”

  “Well, why wouldn’t she?” Time shook her head. “Alexia is your sister, after all.”

  “What do you mean she’s my sister?”

  “I mean you both have the same parents, silly! What else would I mean?” Time giggled. “And when you’re both together, your notes are so beautiful they make me want to cry.”

  “That doesn’t make sense!” Jack insisted. “Parker is my brother. I only met Alexia recently.”

  “Parker Dreager is your adopted brother.” Time sounded as though she were explaining something completely obvious. “Alexia and Parker were switched so the Assassin wouldn’t find her. Parker is the son of Madeleine and Caleb Dreager.”

  Jack sat down. He was dizzy as he tried to make sense of it. But it did make sense. When Jack had gone back in time, he’d seen his mother holding a baby girl. It must have been Alexia.

  “Are you ready to leave the garden now?” Time extended a hand, waiting for Jack to take it.

  “You want me to leave? I just got here.” Jack didn’t want to go back to his world just yet. He felt safer here than he’d felt in a long time.

  “I’m going with you, silly!” Time said. “I have to show you something.”

  Jack took her hand and inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with pure energy.

  “Are you ready?” Time asked again, and Jack nodded. “Okay, then, all you need to do is listen for your note and when you hear it, embrace it!”

  “How do you embrace a sound?”

  “Until now, every time you’ve heard it, you’ve tried to make it do what you wanted. But that’s not right. Your note comes from the Author. It is what defines you. When you embrace it, you let it decide where to take you. You needn’t worry about going to the wrong place or time if you let the Author decide.”

  Jack shook his head. “Who is this Author everyone keeps talking about? And what do you mean—he gave me my note?”

  “That’s what you’re here to see, of course! Take my hand and I’ll show you.”

  As Jack took hold of Time’s hand, the bells inside his chest rose to a symphony. Jack and Time lurched backward, flying through the air.

  “Before you go see your friend beneath the coliseum,” Belial said to Alexia, “I want to show you something.” He reached around his neck and grabbed a thin chain. At the end of the chain was a small stone, streaked through with blue veins. It was exactly the same as the one Alexia had taken from her father’s chamber. The blue veins glowed with a flickering light.

  “My lady,” Belial said, “this is a Memory Stone. It captures the memories of anyone who wears it. And before you go and talk with your friend, I wish to show you one of my memories. Hold it tightly in your fist and close your eyes.” Belial handed Alexia the stone.

  Alexia clenched her hand around it as the stone began to warm. When Belial wrapped his hands around hers, blue light shone faintly from between their fingers.

  “Show us the poet’s death,” Belial whispered.

  The last thing in the world Alexia wanted to see was Belial killing a man, but before she could say a word, the world shifted around her.

  Alexia gasped. They were still in the throne room, but it had changed. Everything looked newer and somehow more real. She had become used to the otherworldly feeling of Thaltorose over the weeks, but in the memory the throne room was far more substantial and there were no shadows slithering in the corners.

  “Are we still in Thaltorose?” Alexia asked, letting go of Belial’s hand.

  “Yes. Though the city used to have a different name. This particular memory is more than five thousand years old.”

  Five thousand years!

  The throne room was completely still, as if the memory hadn’t started yet. It was far better lit than Alexia was used to, with torches and fire pits, though not a single flame moved. Alexia and Belial stood near the center of a crowd of hundreds who had gathered.

  Alexia turned to see a beautiful red-haired woman in an elaborate dress of silver and ruby thread. She was sitting on a large golden throne encrusted in rubies, though it didn’t come close to the size of Belial’s throne. Mirrors of every size surrounded all but the front of the throne, so the red-haired woman could view herself from every angle.

  She must be the queen, Alexia realized. Behind the queen, two men in white and silver cloaks stood in the shadows with heads bowed. Standing before the queen was a man in a colorful patchwork cloak.

  “This is the poet I told you about.” Flames raged in Belial’s eyes. He waved a hand and the memory lurched into motion.

  Chapter 17

  THE DEATH OF THE AUTHOR

  Five thousand and twenty-four years earlier

  Jack blinked. He still held Time’s hand, but they were no longer in the garden. They stood in the middle of an enormous hall filled with torches and blazing hearths. They were surrounded by a large crowd of men and women who were dressed in layered silks. Jack looked down and was shocked to see that he and Time wore the same kind of lavish garments as everyone else.

  The hall was enormous. The floor was smooth marble, and looming large in the center was a golden throne inlaid with rubies and surrounded by mirrors. A beautiful red-haired woman, wearing a dress of silver and ruby, sat on the throne.

  “That is the queen.” Time stood on tiptoe as she whispered into Jack’s ear.

  “Where are we?” he whispered. “And when are we?”

  When Time looked at him, she didn’t smile and she didn’t giggle. “We have gone back more than five thousand years,” she said. “This is the worst day ever. I hate it! But you need to see what happened if you are going to save the world.” Time pushed her way through the crowd, pulling Jack until they stood at the front of the gathering.

  Two men stood in the shadows behind the throne, wearing cloaks of white and silver, but all of Jack’s attention was given to the fire-haired queen. She sat on her throne studying a man who stood before her. He wore a colorful patchwork cloak and did not look afraid. He had kind eyes, and though Jack was sure he’d never seen him before, the man seemed very familiar.

  “You dare speak against me?” the queen said. “You are here to answer for your crimes, yet you dig yourself ever deeper.” Even as she talked, her eyes drifted to the mirrors and she watched herself.

  “My queen”—one of the men behind the throne stepped forward—“if I may speak?”

  Jack gasped. It was the Assassin. He looked different than he did now, more human, but Jack was sure it was him. He wore a cloak of white and silver.

  “It’s you!” Alexia whispered to Belial.

  “Yes,” he said with a smile. “But you needn’t whisper, my lady. They cannot see or hear you. This is only a memory.”

  Alexia studied the younger Belial from the memory. He looked the same, yet also different. There was something … more human about him. And he was quite handsome!

  “My queen”—the memory of Belial stepped forward—“if I may speak?”

  “Speak,” the queen said.

  “As your chief adviser, I must tell you I believe this poet to be the most dangerous man your kingdom has ever seen. He calls himself a simple poet, but he has enticed your people with honeyed words. And if you do not act now, your kingd
om will fall.”

  The queen barked a laugh as she turned to study herself in a mirror. She rearranged her garments as she spoke. “You give this poet far too much credit. Would you have me rid the kingdom of every bard and sonneteer? Would you have me throw every storyteller in chains?”

  “I would, Your Majesty,” the humanlike Belial said. “But this man is the most dangerous of them all. I believe you should make an example of him. I believe this … poet,” he sneered, “should be killed without delay.”

  The poet watched the queen, but he didn’t look upset in the least. There was something peaceful about his eyes. Something about the man made Alexia feel … good. She couldn’t say why, but she liked him immediately.

  “No!” said the second man who had been standing behind the throne. He stepped forward and bowed low. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I cannot stand aside and listen to this.”

  “What?” Alexia was suddenly dizzy. She knew the man.

  “I don’t understand!” Jack whispered. “That’s Aias! It’s not possible!” Aias looked much as he had the last time Jack had seen him, except he still had both arms and didn’t have the scar crossing through his right eye and down his chin.

  Time didn’t answer. She just squeezed Jack’s hand as she watched the human-looking Belial with horror painting her face.

  “I agree that this man is not just a simple poet,” Aias said carefully. “His words are revolutionary, but I do not think they will bring destruction. Hear this poet for yourself, Your Majesty. Let him speak freely, then decide what you must do with him.”

  “You cannot allow him to speak.” Belial spoke to the queen but looked at Aias. “You must not! He will destroy it all! You must do as I say and kill him now!”

  The queen held up a hand to silence the men. She was too busy preening to see the dangerous look in Belial’s eyes.

  “I will allow him to speak.” The queen turned to the man. “But I warn you, poet. I am tempted to end your life and be done with it.”

  Jack stepped forward, breaking from the crowd of onlookers. Something about the queen was familiar. Time grasped his hand and pulled him back. “Please don’t leave me,” she whispered. “I don’t want to be alone. It’s going to happen soon and I’m scared!”

  “What’s going to happen?” Jack whispered. But Time didn’t answer. Her whole body trembled as she watched the Assassin.

  Alexia studied the poet’s face. How can I be so drawn to a man I’ve never met before? It was a peculiar thought. The man didn’t look afraid in the slightest. Alexia’s breath caught as the poet stared directly at her. It’s not possible! she thought. It’s just a memory. The poet held her gaze a moment longer, then winked before turning his attention back to the queen. As he stepped forward, he pulled a small harp from his cloak and began to strum.

  The poet met the queen’s eyes and spoke with a quiet authority, his fingers strumming a tune to accompany his words. “There once was a queen so powerful that she had conquered the entire world.” The poet’s voice carried clearly throughout the mammoth chamber. “She ruled over every man, woman, and child on earth. In fact, so powerful was this queen that even the beasts of the field and the birds of the air were subject to her.”

  The poet’s fingers moved along the harp, playing a haunting tune.

  Alexia’s chest tightened. She knew the end of this story; Belial had told her. This poet was about to die. How could anyone hate this man?

  “There was nothing this queen did not rule over.” The poet’s voice was captivating. “But still, she felt empty inside.” He plucked a string, making it warble like the cry of a hungry bird. “The queen had absolute power and riches beyond measure. Anything she wanted was hers, but there was no joy in her heart.”

  Alexia listened to his words. There was something very meaningful about his story. She had the distinct feeling the story was not just for the queen, but for her as well.

  “And though the queen ruled the world, she was not a wise woman,” the poet continued. “For this queen believed power was found in control. One day she left her castle and went for a walk, and she heard laughter from somewhere deep in the woods. Yet she did not recognize it. You see, the queen had not heard laughter in her kingdom for so many years she’d forgotten its sound.” The poet’s fingers plucked a sorrowful tune.

  “She followed the laughter until she found its source. Two children were playing together beside a river. They sang songs and danced with abandon. They told stories and laughed till their bellies ached!” The poet’s strumming had become momentarily playful.

  “As the queen watched, she became jealous of the children. Her jealousy quickly turned to rage. For she realized these two children were far more powerful than she had ever been.”

  Alexia wanted to shout at the man. She wanted to tell him to stop speaking. The queen had turned her attention from the mirrors and was watching him with a dangerous look in her eyes. But the poet was facing the crowd.

  Alexia squinted at the queen. The fire-haired woman suddenly reminded her of someone. She stepped closer.

  As Jack listened to the poet, Time squeezed his hand all the harder. Something bad was going to happen. He could feel it.

  “The queen watched the children playing and laughing, and she hated them.” The poet’s plucking song held the feeling of impending doom. “You see, every child understands that true power, true freedom can only come from surrender.”

  The poet met Jack’s eyes and smiled. “Enraged at the children’s freedom, at their immense power, the queen could take it no longer. She ran out from behind her tree and drowned both children in the river.” The poet’s plucking stopped dead as the last note echoed through the chamber.

  The gathered crowd gasped at the horrific twist to the tale. Time stiffened and began whispering under her breath. “I hate this part! I hate this part! I hate this part!” She trembled as tears streamed down her face.

  The poet turned to the queen. “You see, what your adviser has told you is true. I have been telling a different story. There is a new way to live, a way filled with joy and laughter and music and dancing.” The poet smiled. “It’s the way of love; it is the way of a child; and it is far more powerful than anything you have known. And this new way of living is available to you as well.”

  “You dare speak to me this way?” The queen shook with rage.

  The poet stepped forward and cupped the queen’s chin with his hand. “Love in the place of jealousy, wisdom in the place of pride, humility in the place of vanity.” His words were clear and strong.

  The queen was so taken aback that for a moment she didn’t move, but just stood there, gazing into his eyes. As the poet stepped away, the queen shook her head. Aias stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Please, my queen, do not act hastily!”

  The queen snatched a golden knife from her belt and screamed as she whipped around and struck out. Aias groaned as he fell back, clutching his ruined eye as blood spurted from the wound.

  Jack felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. He knew who the queen was. “It’s not possible!” he whispered.

  “Mrs. Dumphry!” Alexia exclaimed. “It can’t be!” The longer she looked at the queen, the more sure she became.

  The humanlike Belial stepped forward and placed his hands on the queen’s shoulders, speaking quietly, though Alexia was close enough to hear.

  “If you do not make an example of this poet, his words will spread like wildfire and your kingdom will fall. But if you kill him now, all the power he possesses will be yours!”

  The queen shook her head as she looked at the poet. “I don’t … I can’t. Maybe he’s right?”

  The Assassin’s eyes blazed. “He has deceived you! The only way to break his spell is to kill him. Do it now!”

  The queen nodded grimly as she stepped forward and plunged the golden dagger into
the poet’s side. The great hall erupted as men and women screamed in horror. Aias cried out, “No!” But the act was already done. Behind the queen, a look of ecstasy entered Belial’s eyes.

  Alexia felt the real Belial grab her hand. In the horror of the moment, she’d forgotten she was in a memory. Just before the world shifted around her, Alexia saw Jack Staples in the crowd. He was standing next to a very strange little girl.

  Chapter 18

  BIRTH OF THE SHADOWFOG

  Present day

  Arthur was terrified. He stood behind a large boulder on the outskirts of a City of Shadows. Mrs. Dumphry, Aias, and Andreal were nearby. It had taken the small band more than two weeks to journey to Thaltorose. The World Portal had spit them into a desolate land of black stone and scorching white sand. They’d had to walk from there, and each day had been fraught with danger.

  On three separate occasions they’d been ambushed and forced to run, barely escaping with their lives. Arthur nearly had his head taken off by a creature that was more bird than human. The creature’s winged arms had been razor sharp, and it wielded them with the skill of a Blades Master.

  The only way they’d made it safely to the outskirts of the shadowed city was by ambushing a band of dark servants. They’d stolen four of the filthy black-and-silver uniforms and put them on, pretending to belong to the Assassin’s army. It had been the most traumatizing two weeks of Arthur’s young life.

  He peeked around the boulder to stare at the city once again. It was a place of nightmares. The sky was an otherworldly yellow, and a swirl of dark clouds floated far above. Those aren’t clouds, Arthur thought as he gazed upward. The swirling darkness is alive! Tens of thousands of winged creatures circled above the city.

  Arthur wanted to look away, to run, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from the horrific scene. Hundreds of twisting black spires rose throughout the city; standing boldly at the center was a monstrous palace that shone with eerie light.