Jack Staples and the City of Shadows

by Mark Batterson

  “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 Assassi
n’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.

  Chapter 12

  A CHILD NO LONGER

  Elion and Jack had been walking through the jungle for more than a week—a blessedly uneventful week, save for one evening.

  Each night as they made camp, Jack trained with Ashandar for an hour or more. Elion made him train blindfolded, claiming he needed to “feel” the sword’s movement. Yet only once had Jack felt the handle warm in his hands. Elion had told him not to move until he felt Ashandar prompting him to move. The sword knew battle more than he ever would, and if he listened, it would teach him. Then Elion left to collect wood for a fire.

  Jack stood blindfolded, with Ashandar outstretched, for almost forty minutes, but all he felt was the biting bugs. He had been about to take the blindfold off when the sword began to warm. Ashandar called to him, and without thinking, Jack began to move.

  There were no wild swings or leaps and kicks as he’d imagined; rather it was a steady flow of intricate strikes and twists of the blade. He gave himself to the sword. Somehow he moved among the thick roots without ever tripping. Jack felt as though he were dancing, both graceful and calculating.

  Sweat poured from him and his muscles burned, yet the movements became more natural with each passing second. His breathing was labored, but he didn’t slow. Ashandar was fire in his hands. As the movements became routine, he thought of his mother, father, and brother. He remembered everyone sitting around the kitchen table and laughing at one of Parker’s jokes. He remembered building a giant snowman in his front yard with Parker and Father.

  Jack continued to move, unsure whether he himself was moving his body or Ashandar was—until something changed. He froze, a feeling of terror rising inside him. Something evil had entered the jungle; he could feel the darkness pressing against him. A sickly sweet smell filled the air as bird and insect went eerily silent.

  “NO MATTER WHERE YOU RUN, YOU WILL NOT ESCAPE ME.”

  Jack gasped. He knew this voice. Yet he couldn’t make himself move. He wanted to remove the blindfold, to run, to scream for Elion, but his muscles wouldn’t listen. Ashandar was fire in his hands, and the sword was willing him to stay perfectly still.

  “YOUR DEATH WILL END THIS WAR, JACK STAPLES. BUT I WILL NOT STOP WITH YOU. I WILL DESTROY EVERYONE YOU KNOW AND LOVE. YOUR FATHER AND BROTHER, YOUR FRIENDS …”

  Jack barely breathed. Every word the Assassin spoke was like a knife in his heart. Ashandar called to him, and he lunged forward, extending the blade and twisting it upward. “No!” he screamed.

  “NOOO!” the Assassin’s scream echoed.

  Jack stumbled as Ashandar cooled, and he landed flat on his face. He ripped the blindfold off and rolled onto his back. The jungle was perfectly normal now—insects chirping and birds calling. Before he could rise, Elion was there. She stood on the tips of her toes, with a short sword in her hands. Her hair glowed with a golden light, and her eyes were silvery gold.

  “What happened?” Her voice was tight.

  Jack told her everything. When he finished, Elion sheathed her sword. “I will not pretend to understand what just happened, and I do not doubt what you heard, but it may not have been the Assassin. Yet I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough.” She scanned the surrounding jungle and offered Jack a hand. “For now at least, I think the danger has passed.”

  Most of his evenings were pleasantly uneventful. After he trained with Ashandar, Jack sat around a fire with Elion and talked. And each night Jack asked as many questions as he could before he fell asleep from exhaustion. One night he asked Elion how long it would take to get to the garden.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “The Forbidden Garden is never where you found it last.”

  “Then how do you find it?”

  “So long as you believe you are walking toward it, you will arrive eventually. But you must believe.”

  “But how does it move? I don’t understand.”

  “The garden doesn’t move exactly, but it is always where it needs to be. And apparently it needs to be in Brazil right now.”

  Jack was excited to finally be getting answers. Most answers Elion gave only brought new questions, but she seemed happy to answer anything he asked.

  The next night, Jack and Elion sat around a small fire, roasting a rabbit on a stick. “Elion, can you tell me what’s truly happening? I don’t understand most of it.” He was so confused most of the time that he didn’t know what to ask.

  Elion stared into the fire. “Do you know what an Oriax is, Jack?”

  “I don’t think so.” He was puzzled by the question. “I guess I thought they were from your world, something the Assassin created—something evil.”

  “The Assassin does not have the power to create, only to distort.” Elion’s eyes became a thunderstorm. “Ever
y Oriax was once a normal animal.”

  “But how can an animal change like that?”

  “As I keep telling you, all creation must make the choice: Will I follow the Author or will I become enslaved to the Assassin?”

  “But what does that have to do with Oriax?”

  “When humans choose evil, your souls become distorted. But for animals the distortions are on the outside.

  “The Assassin wants to remake the world in his image. And his is a world without mercy. When men or animals choose to follow him, at first they like what they find. They are offered power and riches; they are shown a world without rules. But power will never satisfy. It is a sickness. The more you have, the more you want. And riches have no more meaning than a tool, like a hammer or saw.”

  Jack remembered Agartha. Diamonds and silver had been placed inside the stone to help strengthen the city. To the Awakened, a diamond was no more valuable than a stone.

  “It doesn’t take long for those who follow the Assassin to realize they have become his slaves. They seek power but will never hold enough. They gain riches but are never satisfied. They chase glory and become consumed by jealousy. So when the Assassin demands that his followers murder, steal, and destroy in order to find more power, wealth, and glory, they do it. And their souls become even more distorted.”

  Jack was cold as he listened to her words.

  “An Oriax is merely a beast that has given itself fully to the Assassin. It has killed again and again. And what it kills it devours. And what it devours it becomes.”

  Jack shivered.

  Elion reached into a small bag and produced some bread and cheese. “Once an animal begins to change, it will seek out its new master. The Oriax can find their masters—Shadule, Drogule, and Grendalls—in the same way a homing pigeon finds its way home.”