Jack Staples and the City of Shadows (14 page)

“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.

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and turned his attention back to Mrs. Dumphry and the others. They were huddled under the overhang of a large black bolder, discussing the best way to enter the city. When Arthur saw the look in Mrs. Dumphry's eyes, his heart sank even further.

She's afraid
, he realized. It made him feel more terrified than ever. He'd seen his teacher face impossible odds, but he had never seen her look like this before.

“Mrs. Dumphry,” Arthur interrupted, “can we really save Alexia?”

Mrs. Dumphry turned to look at the city. When she spoke, her voice was grave. “I do not know, child, but we must try. If we fail, the war will be lost and the entire world will become like this city. It will be a world of shadows and monsters.”

 

“I don't understand!” Alexia pleaded. “What just happened? Was that really Mrs. Dumphry?”

“Yes,” Belial said, “it was.” He offered a hand and waited until Alexia took it. Together they walked toward one of the many exits of the throne room. “I needed you to see the truth, my lady. I needed you to understand the unfairness of it all.”

Belial turned and knelt before Alexia. “The woman you know as Mrs. Dumphry used to be the queen of this city, and her rule extended over much of the world. And as you saw, I was her most trusted adviser. Though it was she who killed the poet with her own hands, they named me Assassin.”

Alexia didn't care who had killed the poet; she just hated that he'd been killed. He had seemed so kind. “Wait.” Alexia stopped. “I thought they named you Assassin because you killed someone they call the Author?”

Belial shook his head sadly. “The poet and the Author are one and the same, my lady. They are but two names for the same man.”

“I don't understand! Aren't the Awakened following this Author person? Isn't he their leader?”

“Yes,” Belial said. “Now you know the whole truth. They follow a poet who died thousands of years ago. What's worse is that Mrs. Dumphry is one of their leaders. And you saw her kill the man with your own eyes.”

It doesn't make sense!
But she had seen it. Even if she wished Belial hadn't told Mrs. Dumphry to kill the poet, the man was dead. And who would follow a dead man?

“We are done for today,” Belial said. “If you still wish to go and see those who stand against us, those you name as your friends, then go. But remember what you saw. And remember that you have promised to follow me in all things.”

Alexia nodded. As she walked from the throne room, she felt sick to her stomach.

 

Five thousand and twenty-four years earlier

Jack watched the horrific scene play out in front of him. The queen, the much younger Mrs. Dumphry, pulled her golden knife from the poet's side and dropped it to the floor. Behind her, the Assassin let out a bloodcurdling laugh. As the blood of the poet dripped onto the marble, the queen sank to her knees in front of him.

“
No
,” she said shakily. “What have I done? Please forgive me!”

The gathered crowd shrieked as they fled the throne room. Time was screaming at the top of her lungs as tears streamed down her face. Jack couldn't tear his eyes away from the poet in the patchwork cloak. He had dropped to his knees and was holding a hand to the wound in his side. He reached out with his free hand and placed it on the side of the queen's face, then whispered something Jack couldn't hear. Whatever he said caused the queen to gasp and weep all the harder.

Throughout the chamber the fires began to extinguish themselves as the room decayed into darkness. Yet it was only dark for a moment. At the center of the chamber, a shadowed light began to pulse. It was faint at first, but grew brighter with each surge.
The light is coming from the Assassin
, Jack realized.

The pulsing darkness revealed the Assassin in all his glory. His humanness was gone and he had been transformed into the creature Jack had seen many times before. His eyes were caverns of fire and his skin sparkled like diamonds.

The poet still lived but had lost much blood. He was incredibly pale, lying on his back on the marble floor. The queen knelt beside him, weeping.

Only Jack and Time remained. Time was no longer screaming, but stood stiffly by his side, weeping. Jack scooped her into his arms and carried her behind a nearby pillar. When he looked again, he saw the Assassin standing over the poet.

“Was this the best you could do?” the Assassin snarled. “Before this world was born, you brought a child to the Sacred Mountain. You told me the child would destroy me.” The Assassin raised his fist. “But what child could stand against me when the most powerful queen willingly does my bidding? You have lost! I have turned the humans against you! Do you hear? I have already won!”

The queen was on her knees, watching the Assassin with a look of horror. Aias ignored the gaping wound on his face. Moving like a viper, he drew his black sword and leaped at the Assassin. Jack recognized the blade. It was Ashandar, the same sword now buckled at Jack's waist. Aias screamed as he swung Ashandar with all his might.

The blade ricocheted off the Assassin's neck as if Aias had struck stone.

The Assassin turned to face a stunned Aias. “You are a worm standing before a god,” he rasped as liquid evil exploded into Aias's chest and sent him flying into the darkness. When the Assassin turned to face the queen, he offered a cold smile.

“You have done well,” he said. “Bow before me now and I will spare your life. Prostrate yourself and swear to serve me always, and I will give you more power than you have ever known!”

The queen's eyes stayed locked on the poet as she stood. The pool of blood he was lying in was growing larger by the second. “I don't understand,” she said. “Who was he really? And why did you tell me to kill him?”

“In Siyyon, the world where I was born, we called him Author,” the Assassin said. “I suppose you could say he was my father, that he was the father of all worlds.” The Assassin knelt beside the dying poet and rummaged through his patchwork cloak, pulling out a carved wooden box and a shiny feathered pen.

“One day, I was walking along the Great River near the Sacred Mountain.” The Assassin twisted the wooden box as he spoke. “And when I bent down to drink, I saw my reflection. In that moment I realized something. The Author was not all-powerful as I had supposed. He could not possibly be! For what being would create something more majestic than itself? And in that moment I decided in my heart to kill him.”

Jack heard a click as the Assassin twisted the box again and a small hole appeared in the top. He stuck the feathered pen into the hole, and as it went inside, it acted as a key, opening a door in the top of the box. Jack couldn't see if anything was inside.

The Assassin screamed and slammed his fist hard against the Author's chest. The Author gasped as his body jerked violently. With ravenous eyes, the Assassin bent low and whispered in his ear.

Jack couldn't hear what the Assassin said, but he recognized the box. When he'd looked into the strange map—the Masc Tinneas—in the schoolhouse in Ballylesson, Jack had seen Parker and his father running from a vast darkness, Parker clutching the box as he ran.

The Assassin rose triumphantly. He placed the box inside his cloak and dropped the feathered pen. He stared down at the poet's dead body and began to laugh. The laugh grew louder and louder. “IT IS FINISHED!” he screamed, throwing his arms wide.

The Assassin's words echoed through the throne room, and hundreds of dark tendrils rose from the marble floor. They slithered upward to swirl around the Assassin's feet, thickening into larger tentacles.

“The Shadowfog,” Jack whispered.

“THE AUTHOR IS DEAD!” the Assassin screamed. “TAKE THE CITY!” The Shadowfog blanketed the floor, forming an ocean of darkness as it flowed from the chamber and into the palace.

The screaming started almost immediately. Hundreds of people, thousands of them, shrieking and wailing as the Shadowfog rushed over them and out into the streets.

The Assassin knelt beside the poet's body and placed a large vial on the marble floor.

“Rathule Magasulem!” He pointed at the pool of blood surrounding the poet. The blood began to ripple as it came together. “Radakcha!” He pointed at the vial and the blood flowed inside. Careful not to touch the top, the Assassin snatched the bottle and corked it, then placed it carefully inside his cloak.

When he stood to face the queen, a dangerous light shone in his eyes. “Bow before me,” he said. “Vow to serve me always and I will give you a seat at my right hand.”