Jack Staples and the City of Shadows (8 page)

Jack looked down when he felt wetness around his ankles. Thick green liquid rose inside the spinning rings, and within seconds it was above his chest. Elion smiled at him, so he tried to pretend he wasn't afraid. But when the liquid continued to rise, he took a deep breath before it passed over his head.

Jack let go of Elion's hand and kicked frantically upward, but the liquid was far too thick for swimming. The world was darkness. Surely this couldn't be what was meant to happen! Jack's chest burned as the oxygen in his lungs was depleted. He gasped and inhaled deeply.

As he breathed in, his vision cleared. He was floating in an emerald sea—and it was exhilarating. Elion was beside him, wearing an amused look. When he tried to ask what was happening, only bubbles escaped his lips. Elion laughed as bubbles spilled from her mouth; her eyes changed from gold to aqua blue.

She pointed downward. Not far below, hundreds of streams were flowing through the emerald ocean. She motioned for Jack to follow and began swimming toward the closest stream. She swam directly into it and sped away in a beam of light.

Jack gasped, then kicked his legs and reached for the stream. The moment his fingers touched it, he was drawn inside and propelled forward. Suddenly he was moving so quickly he thought his skin might burn off from the sheer speed of it.

Just as Jack thought he could take it no longer, he saw a shimmering wall—and on the other side was land. Before he could see more, his skin pricked and he was tumbling across a jungle floor.

Elion laughed delightfully as Jack rolled to a stop. “There truly is nothing like traveling through the Sea of Worlds!”

Jack's stomach turned somersaults as he pulled himself up by a thick vine. “Where are we?” He gazed upward, feeling as small as an ant. Every tree was at least ten times bigger than any he'd seen before. They rose so high and had such large canopies it was impossible to see the sky. The ground was a tumble of roots and moss; massive vines hung everywhere.

“I would guess we are in the Brazilian rain forest,” Elion said.

Jack had always loved maps and had dreamed of seeing new and faraway places. But Brazil was as far away from Ireland as he could imagine. His mind spun as he looked at the mammoth trees and low-hanging vines.

“Jack.” Elion's voice was tight. “Don't move.”

Jack had just seen what Elion saw, and though he wanted to scream, he did as told. He wasn't leaning against a giant vine but an unbelievably large snake. The serpent was twice as wide as Jack, with a head the size of a carriage wheel.

Elion stepped closer and spoke in a whisper. “Although this serpent is not a follower of the Assassin, it is still wild and therefore dangerous.”

Jack didn't blink. The serpent's head hovered directly in front of his. Its eyes were locked on his while its great forked tongue flicked in and out, brushing against Jack's chin. The serpent's skin was golden with round black spots, and it shimmered as it moved.

When Elion stepped closer, the serpent hissed irritably, yet its gaze never left Jack. The Sephari hissed back. Except it wasn't just a hiss; it was more like a series of strange fizzling sounds. Her body swayed bonelessly.

She's talking to it!
Jack's eyes widened. The snake seemed interested in whatever Elion was saying, though it continued to watch Jack. The conversation continued, and Jack's legs began to cramp. He felt like he'd been standing there for hours. Without warning, the giant serpent whipped back.

Jack dropped to his knees and screamed as the snake sprang forward and rushed past. The serpent's body was so long it took nearly ten seconds before it disappeared into the jungle.

“What … what just happened?”

“I told the serpent who you are,” Elion said. “I told it the Last Battle is coming and explained that nothing in this world will be able to stand aside. All living things must choose whom they will serve.”

“You can speak to snakes?” Jack asked, still panting.

“Yes, I can speak to all creatures. Though some are far too stubborn to reason with.”

“Why would a snake care who I am?”

“All of creation stands on the brink, Jack. The choice must be made, darkness or light, the Author or the Assassin.” Elion looked in the direction the snake had disappeared. “I told the serpent it has a greater purpose. I asked if it would join the Awakened and help us spread the word of your and Alexia's arrival.”

Jack gulped. “And what did it say?”

“It hasn't decided yet. Though it obviously decided not to eat you, so that was positive at least.” Elion smiled. “But it can feel the battle coming. It can sense it in the air. By now every creature on earth knows the world is changing. The Last Battle is almost here. And though many still hope to escape it, in the end the choice must be made—darkness or light.”

Chapter 11

UPSIDE DOWN

 

Days passed and Alexia was more mystified than ever. She wasn't a prisoner. In fact, she could do almost anything she wanted. The Assassin had even given her permission to go back to her friends. He'd just asked her to stay in Thaltorose a few weeks before making a decision.

Alexia had barely seen her father. He was too busy to see her, except for lunch a few times. And she was confused about him. Besides the way he looked and sounded, everything about him was different—even his name.

“Those who choose to serve the Shadow Lord are given a new name,” her father had told her.

Is he really different
, she wondered,
or have I just been remembering him wrong?
The thought came to Alexia each time they talked. She'd been only five years old, after all. Could she really remember him as well as she thought she did? Every day since the fire, she had dreamed about seeing her father. All she'd wanted was to sit on his lap and have him call her Alley Goat.

But her father hadn't called her Alley Goat once, and every time she was with him, he seemed preoccupied and irritable. Had she done something wrong or made him angry somehow?

Alexia was free to explore the palace and all of Thaltorose. Yet since the day the Assassin had opened the curtains, she'd been too afraid to even look out the window, let alone leave the palace. What she'd seen was burned into her memory.

The sky of Thaltorose was an unearthly yellow, and winged monsters filled the air. Black spires rose impossibly high, and the streets had been filled with shadows and sickly looking humans and creatures. But it hadn't been these things that scared Alexia so, at least not entirely. Everything about the city felt … hollow, as if a heavy wind could blow it all away. The buildings, the gold and gemstone streets, even the people and creatures had been lacking in … substance.

The palace, though unnerving at first, was becoming familiar. Like the room she slept in, the palace was solid gold and encrusted with every jewel imaginable. Every inch of it was glaringly bright. And though it should have been something from her dreams, it all still felt wrong somehow. She'd learned to ignore the shadows at the corners of her vision. Something dark always seemed to be slithering just out of sight, but whenever she turned to look, nothing was there.

Her father told her every servant in the palace belonged to her. “You can command them to do anything and they will do it,” he'd said. “Tell any citizen of Thaltorose or any member of the Shadow Army to stop breathing—and they will.”

Alexia's stomach had turned at her father's example, but it was true. At least so far. When Alexia was hungry, she could choose any servant in the palace and ask for food. At first it had been like a dream—ice cream and cake and sugar cookies and strawberry pie had come to her by the table load. Yet as the days passed, the whole thing began to feel absurd.

The only thing expected of her was to meet with the Assassin for a few hours every evening. It hadn't taken long to realize he was injured and sick. He tried to hide it, but his hand was often pressed against his stomach, and if he forgot to dab at his face with a kerchief, sweat dripped steadily from his chin. When he came near, the smell of rotting flesh emanated from his belly. Alexia guessed he'd gotten the wound when Jack had stabbed him in the stomach.

Alexia always met the Assassin in his throne room, which was enormous. Thousands of torches lined the walls, and at least fifty fire pits burned throughout. Gemstone-encrusted pillars rose to impossibly high ceilings; the floor was rich marble. Standing near the balcony was a golden statue of the Assassin, so enormous the head was lost in the shadows of the vaulted ceiling. Only its fiery eyes were visible from below. The golden throne was the size of a small house and encrusted with diamonds.

Each time Alexia walked in, she found the Assassin sitting atop the mammoth throne, caressing a small wooden box. It was not much larger than a fist and so plain that it looked completely out of place. Whenever Alexia entered the throne room, the Assassin would drop the box and turn his attention to her. The moment it left his fingers, the box floated beside him. As it hovered there, shadows detached from the throne and slithered around the box, making it almost impossible to see.

After the strange box was safely away, the Assassin would stand and walk down the golden stairs of the throne, extending his hand. Each time she wrapped her fingers around his, her skin crawled. Yet she made herself hold on because her father wanted her to get to know the Assassin. She spent hours walking through the throne room, talking with him.

During one visit, she found the courage to ask a question that had been burning in her since her arrival. “Did you kill Megan Staples?” she asked, feeling her chest tighten at the memory.

“I did not,” the Assassin answered. “I came to Ballylesson to find you, my lady. And when I arrived, I saw the old woman you know as Mrs. Dumphry standing over the body. I can only assume she killed her.” He shook his head sadly. “I am sorry, but I was too late to save her.”

Alexia remembered walking out of the house and finding Megan lying on a sea of grass. A short while later, Mrs. Dumphry had arrived to take Alexia and Jack away. Could the Assassin be telling the truth?

“Why do they call you the Assassin?” she asked without thinking. As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them. For just a moment the Assassin's icy blue eyes became the caverns of fire she'd seen on her first day in Thaltorose.

“Those who call themselves the Awakened,” he said, “gave me that name. They thought it a curse, but I have embraced it as an honor! My dear lady, there are few still living I have allowed to address me by my real name, but I would be pleased if you would call me Belial.”

Alexia gulped, then quickly nodded. “Okay, Belial,” she said. “Thank you. Did you really assassinate someone?”

“Yes, I did. But you must understand I had no choice. You see, there was a man, a very dangerous man, who called himself a simple poet.” Belial grimaced. “And this poet, this treacherous man, threatened to topple the greatest kingdom this world has ever known.”

He walked out to the balcony at the side of the throne room. Alexia hesitated. She didn't want to look at the city again. But Belial stayed silent, waiting for her to join him. After a moment she took a deep breath and marched out.

She gasped. The city was not nearly so terrifying as it had been that first night. Yes, the sky was an unearthly yellow, but there was something pleasant about it … not quite beautiful, but impressive at least. And those weren't monsters filling the air, but strange, winged creatures, and there was something graceful about them.

The city was as gilded as the palace—streets paved in gold, studded with gemstones. Alexia stared in awe at the elegant black spires. The city still felt … hollow, but it didn't bother her as she looked on it now.

“It's beautiful, isn't it?” Belial said.

“It is,” Alexia lied. She could not call it beautiful, but it wasn't the nightmare she remembered.
I must have imagined it.

“My lady, I know you have only been in Thaltorose a week, but you have already made me so happy. I am glad you agreed to stay, at least for a while. And though you have been here only a short time, have you seen how we live?”

Alexia nodded, suddenly dizzy as she looked into Belial's eyes. When he placed a hand on her shoulder, she shivered at his ice-cold touch. Yet when he spoke, his voice was somehow less jarring than she remembered.

“In my kingdom, anything you want is yours—riches beyond measure.” He dabbed at the sweat dripping from his chin. “But this vicious man, this poet who pretended to stand for peace, threatened it all. He used honeyed words to turn the hearts of the people. And, my dear lady”—Belial grabbed Alexia's hands and knelt in front of her—“I had to have the man killed, don't you see? He threatened our entire way of life. He would have ruined everything!”

Belial turned his gaze on Thaltorose once again. “Those who followed this poet called me an Assassin, and they were right.” For a moment Belial's eyes shifted to the fiery caverns. “And I would do it again. I do not regret it.”

Alexia didn't know what to say. Belial admitted to killing someone. He didn't try to hide it, and he didn't treat her like a child. He offered answers to her questions. She wasn't sure what she thought, but this Belial didn't seem half so threatening as Mrs. Dumphry and Elion made him out to be. Even the smell of rotting flesh began to diminish as she looked into his eyes.