Jack Staples and the City of Shadows (16 page)

Summer gasped and stepped back. Benaiah wrapped Adeline in a hug. Josiah just shook his head.

“I told you, didn't I?” Juno said bitterly. “She left without a word. She promised to join us … to lead us, and then she left without even saying good-bye. She's not who you think she is, Josiah. She never was.”

Each word made Alexia's chest tighten. She didn't know what to say. She could barely stand to look at her friends. She tried again, desperate to make them see. “You must listen to me! Belial will let you go! All you need to do is follow us; it's all he asks.”

“Follow … us?” Josiah sat down, his disbelief crumbling into disgust.

Alexia realized it might not be the best time to describe her new role as High Princess of Thaltorose. “Never mind that now,” she said. “I bet you think the Awakened are good, don't you? But I bet you don't know it wasn't Belial who killed your stupid Author; it was one of your own. You must listen to me. If you knew the things I knew, if you'd seen what I've seen, you'd follow him too!”

Juno stepped forward until she stood nose to nose with Alexia. “I think it's time for you to go,” she said dangerously. “Run along and tell the Assassin we will not bow. All the food and clothes and money in the world won't make a difference.” She turned her back on Alexia and walked back to stand next to Josiah. “Oh,” she said over her shoulder, “and don't forget to give Daddy a hug when you see him.”

“Fine!” Alexia said. “But when he hurts you, remember you could have been saved if you hadn't been too proud to bow.”

As she stomped from the cell, something died inside Alexia, as if a dim light had faded into darkness. She hated what just happened, but what could she do? As the Shadule led her down the dank passageway, she heard Benaiah call out, “It's not pride that keeps us from bowing; it's hope.”

Outside the dungeon, Alexia breathed deeply. She was no longer afraid. She had accepted her position as High Princess of Thaltorose. It was time she stopped behaving like a child. If people chose to follow a dead poet, how could she be expected to stop them?

They deserve what's coming to them
, she thought bitterly. Though she wasn't sure she believed it, she wrapped the thought tightly around her heart.

Chapter 20

WHEN EYES ARE OPENED

 

The City of Shadows was unlike anything Arthur had imagined. A putrid stink emanated from every stone, and the air burned Arthur's lungs. The entire city felt somehow … flimsy or intangible. Whenever Arthur looked directly at something, it seemed completely real, but the world at the corners of his vision darkened slightly, as if it were only a shadow of the real world.

The humans in the city wore necklaces of gold and gemstones. And though their clothes were colorful, their skin was gray and their eyes lifeless. The creatures and monsters were even sicklier than the humans.

Everywhere he looked were slithering shadows crawling over walls and streets. They weren't real, or if they were, they had no bodies. They were the shadows of something unseen. In the sky above, thousands of monsters flew—so many that it often looked like one solid mass.

Arthur, Mrs. Dumphry, Aias, and Andreal marched through the city draped in their stolen cloaks of black and silver. So far they had been able to pass themselves off as members of the Shadow Army. When they'd entered the city gates more than two hours earlier, a Drogule had eyed them closely, especially Mrs. Dumphry, but in the end it hadn't tried to stop them.

“How do you know where to go?” Arthur whispered as they walked. “I would have been lost ages ago.” Arthur was relatively certain they were walking toward a massive palace at the center of the city, but there were so many twists and turns he was completely turned about.

“This was once the most powerful city on earth,” Mrs. Dumphry said. “Thousands of years ago a vain and evil queen conquered much of the world and ruled it from within these walls.” Her face was shrouded inside her black hood, but Arthur had the distinct impression Mrs. Dumphry didn't like telling this story.

“One day,” she continued, “a poet arrived in the city. No one knew where the man had come from, but this poet spoke words of such beauty that all who heard them were transformed.” Mrs. Dumphry stopped speaking as they passed a particularly large group of small, wobbling creatures. The things only came up to Arthur's knees and reminded him of both lizard and bird.

“The poet spoke of a new way to live,” Mrs. Dumphry said after they'd passed the creatures. “He spoke of freedom and joy and beauty and laughter. But the queen had never known true freedom, and she mistrusted the poet. When the queen's most trusted adviser told her to kill the poet, she did.”

Arthur felt cold as he listened to Mrs. Dumphry's words. “As the poet died, the queen's adviser revealed his true identity. He was not a human at all, but a usurper from another world—the Assassin. And in the moment of the poet's death, the Shadowfog was born.”

She sighed. “Within minutes, the Shadowfog had covered every inch of the city. And every living human and beast had been transformed into monsters and shadows. Many of the creatures and shadows you see now were once the inhabitants of this city.”

Arthur felt a shiver run down his spine. “So what happened to the queen?” he asked. “Did she also become a monster?”

Mrs. Dumphry turned and looked Arthur in the eyes. Her cheeks were wet with tears. “No,” she said as a small smile formed at the corners of her lips. “The queen did not become a monster. As the poet lay dying, she begged his forgiveness. And he forgave her. He spoke words of such beauty that they transformed her soul. Then her eyes began to burn, and the once-evil queen became the first member of the Awakened.”

Arthur lowered his eyes as a creature that was part bear and part octopus slumped past.

“The Assassin demanded the queen bow before him,” Mrs. Dumphry continued. “He threatened to kill her if she did not. And the queen had no doubt he would do it. She was trapped and could think of no escape.” Mrs. Dumphry stopped for a moment as a look of wonder filled her eyes. “And just as the Assassin was about to take her life, she heard it.”

“Heard what?”

“The voice of the poet.”

Five thousand, twenty-four years, and two days earlier

 

Jack huddled behind the pillar, cradling Time in his arms. She was pale and barely breathing. He stroked her hair and peeked out again.

“I will not serve you!” the queen cried. She squinted at the Assassin as if her eyes were suddenly sensitive to the light. “I've been blinded my whole life. But my eyes have been opened. And I will not bow!”

“You have chosen poorly,” the Assassin rasped. Black lightning exploded from his fingers but stopped just before it touched the queen, sizzling and snapping and straining. The Assassin stepped closer, but still the lightning did not touch her.

The queen looked as shocked as he did.

“The scales!” the Assassin screamed. “What have you done? Where are your scales?” He peered into the queen's eyes as his own flamed brightly.

“Did you truly think death could hold me?” a voice said.

Jack gasped. The poet was alive and standing! And he was also somehow … more. His eyes gathered light, and as he stepped forward, the wound in his side stitched itself into a scar.

“I killed you!” the Assassin screamed. “You cannot come back! It was agreed! If I could steal their hearts, if I could turn them against you, this world would be mine!”

“It was agreed.” The poet nodded. “But I will not abandon my children. If there is but one who believes in me, I will not leave her to you.” The poet looked at the queen, then turned his attention back to the Assassin. “The Last Battle is nearly upon us, and the end of this story will be told. The child will be born without scales, and the final choice will be made.”

The Assassin threw his head back and howled. The throne room trembled as pillars collapsed and debris began to fall. Jack dragged Time away and scrambled to hide behind a small pile of rubble. When he looked again, the poet and the queen were gone.

The Assassin's voice quavered with rage. “I will enslave your children, and they will worship me for it. I will plunge this world into never-ending darkness, and they will sing my praises. Alive or dead, your children will reject you and they will call me Father!”

After a moment he continued. “The child will serve me. The child will love me. And the child will destroy your children.” Then he stormed from the chamber.

As Jack sat in stunned silence, a figure in a dark cloak scurried out from behind a pillar and approached the throne. It studied the ground where the poet's body had been, then darted after the Assassin.

With the Assassin gone and the throne room empty, Time stood and watched Jack with wide eyes. “That's my favorite part so far,” she said. “Out of everything, that's my favorite!”

“I don't understand,” Jack said. “That was terrible!”

“Oh, it was the worst thing ever.” Time nodded. “But I'm talking about the end part, when the poet rose from the dead and saved Mrs. Dumphry … that's my favorite! Did you like it?”

“I suppose so, yes,” Jack said after some thought. “But I don't understand! How is the poet still alive? I saw him die.”

“Yes. That was terrible,” Time agreed. “But why must you keep talking about that part? The next part is the best. It makes me happy every time I think about it!”

“But I don't understand!”

Time giggled. “I don't either, silly! But what does that matter? Now, are you going to get the pen or what?”

Jack blinked. He'd forgotten all about the pen. “Why do I need to—”
Could it be?
He walked to the place where the poet had died, and he picked up the pen from the bloodied floor. He pulled the ancient pen from his jacket pocket and compared the two. There was no question: the quill King Edward had given him was the same quill, only five thousand years later.

“What is it for?” he asked.

“Well, I suppose it's for writing!” Time snickered.

“Right,” Jack said slowly, “but why do I need it?”

“I don't know! But I'm sure you do.”

Jack was about to ask what he was supposed to do with it when she grabbed his hand. And suddenly Jack heard his note. He heard the ring of time, and he knew what to do. He closed his eyes and embraced its call. In less than a heartbeat, Jack and Time were flying backward through the air.

“I've always wished I could fly,” Time said when they landed. “Did you know Elion can fly? All Sephari can. But that's the closest I ever get. It's fun, though, right?”

It was hard not to be in a good mood with Time. She was full of wonder and quick to laugh. Jack smiled. “Yes, it is.”

They were standing in the middle of a group of stone huts and caves. The forest was thick all around them, and it was very quiet.

“Where are we?” he asked. Then he added, “When are we?”

“Oh, it's just a few years later. But don't worry, we're on the other side of the world and far away from the evil city.”

“What are we doing here?” he asked.

“P-please, don't hurt me!”

Jack spun to see a young boy, flat on his back, staring wide-eyed. He reminded Jack of someone, though he couldn't imagine whom.

“We're not going to hurt you,” Jack said. He offered a hand and pulled the boy up.

“How did you do it?” the boy breathed. “You just appeared out of nowhere! Are you … magicians?”

Time snickered. “Magicians! That's so funny!”

“No, we are not magicians,” Jack said with a smile. “We are just here to—” He stopped and turned to Time. “Why are we here?”

“You must be … are you … are you members of the Awakened?” the boy asked cautiously.

With those words, Jack knew who the boy reminded him of. Standing in front of him was a five-thousand-year-old ancestor of King Edward. “Yes,” Jack said. “Yes, I am one of the Awakened. And I have an important mission for you.” He fished the new pen from his pocket.

Present day

 

Arthur watched as Mrs. Dumphry, Aias, and Andreal were dragged away by the savage mob. He couldn't believe it. Mrs. Dumphry had been about to tell Arthur about the poet when a Shadule slithered by and recognized her. The creature's shriek had drawn every dark servant within twenty blocks.

Arthur was alone in the City of Shadows.

Andreal hadn't wasted a second. The moment they were spotted, he'd ripped off Arthur's black-and-silver cloak; underneath Arthur still wore Jack's Atherial Cloak. “It be up to you now, Lightning Dancer,” Andreal said in the confusion. “Get the girl and get out; do no' be trying to save us!”

Before Andreal could say another word, the Shadow Souled swarmed over them while Arthur scrambled away.

Mrs. Dumphry and the others hadn't tried to fight. They were impossibly outnumbered and knew there was no chance of escape. Arthur watched as his friends were beaten senseless within seconds.

He tried to slow his breathing.
How I can rescue Alexia by myself?
Arthur stood with his back against the wall for more than three hours, far too terrified to move. He searched his mind but could think of nothing. Even if he could find Alexia, how was he supposed to help her escape a city of monsters?