Jack Staples and the City of Shadows (13 page)

“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 kingdom 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.”