Jack Staples and the Poet's Storm

by Mark Batterson

  Shadows slithered at the edges of his vision, and there were far more beasts and monsters walking the streets than humans. The humans who remained were filthy and looked beaten down. The low-hanging sun bathed the once sleepy town in golden light, yet there was no beauty left in Ballylesson. Anger burned in Jack as he searched the once familiar streets.

  Thick webs covered every street and building. The webbing was black as pitch, and all of it could be traced back to a single pool of darkness. That’s where I stabbed the Assassin, Jack realized. The webbing spread from the place the Assassin’s blood had first spilled.

  Monsters and beasts walked in and out of O’flannigans, Ballylesson’s central store. Besides the shadowed webs, every building in town seemed to be crumbling even as Jack watched. Plaster walls were pockmarked with decay, and shutters had dropped from windows. A putrid smell wafted from the town.

  “So, what do you think?” Honi asked. “How do you plan to retrieve Mrs. Dumphry’s prize.”

  “I really don’t see why Mrs. Dumphry wanted me to lead this mission,” Jack said for the third time. “Surely it should be you!”

  “You are one of the Children of Prophecy, and you are meant to lead the Awakened into the Last Battle. I will offer my counsel if I feel it will be helpful, but in the end the decision belongs to you.”

  “But why would the Awakened want me to lead?” Jack had been wondering about this for some time. “Doesn’t the prophecy say Alexia and I will destroy the world? Doesn’t that mean the Awakened will be destroyed? I’ve seen the way everyone looks at us. I know they’re afraid.”

  “Yes”—Honi nodded—“but doesn’t the prophecy also say that you are the only hope for the world? And doesn’t it say that the two of you will defeat the Assassin forever?”

  “But how can all of it be true?”

  “How indeed,” Honi said. “Death is not something to be feared. It is merely the beginning of a new adventure. Sometimes life can only be found on the other side of death.” Honi searched the ground. “Do you see this acorn?”

  Jack nodded.

  “The mighty oak comes from an acorn that first died and was buried in the ground. Only when the acorn dies can new life spring from it.” Honi turned his eyes to the ruined farms surrounding Ballylesson. “And what does a farmer do to his fields every few years to ensure his crops stay strong?”

  “He burns them,” Jack said.

  “That’s right. Every few years the land must be burned. The old and worn must die so it can be replaced by the new and strong. Just because the prophecy says you and Alexia will destroy us does not mean you are evil. Many do not understand these things. And people fear what they don’t understand. But fear is nothing more than an empty suit of armor.”

  Honi tossed the acorn aside, then clapped his hands together. “Now, what is your plan, young Master Staples? How do we fetch Mrs. Dumphry’s prize and get safely away?”

  “I was thinking we should just walk in and take it,” Jack said. He’d thought long and hard, and it was the only thing that made sense. “I think we wear the black cloaks we brought and walk down the main street and into the schoolhouse. We haven’t seen anyone come or go from there since we arrived, so there’s a good chance it’s empty.” Jack was breathless by the end. He wondered if Honi might burst out laughing at the stupidity of the plan.

  Honi scrunched his brow in thought before finally letting out a long breath. “Remarkable!” He clapped his hands together. “It is obvious Mrs. Dumphry was right to place you in charge of this mission. It is a brilliant plan.”

  Jack felt his cheeks grow warm. He pulled the black-and-silver cloak from his bag and climbed into it, then crawled down from the edge of the rise and stood fully upright. “Should we go now?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. What do you think?”

  “Yes …” Jack felt his cheeks growing warm again. “Yes, I think that might be best.”

  “Brilliant,” Honi muttered. “Absolutely brilliant.”

  Alexia turned a corner, then skidded to a stop, barely suppressing a scream. A Shadule was slithering up the stairwell toward them. The creature was so close, she’d nearly stepped on it. The Shadule hissed as it rose.

  “Your Highness,”—the creature bowed its head—“I did not expect to find you here. Are you not meant to be with the Shadow Lord in the arena?” A look of shock passed over the creature’s face, and it bonelessly darted forward and wrapped its hands around Parker’s neck. “My lady!” the Shadule rasped. “This boy is a Light Eyes! I must kill him now!”

  Alexia paused. It thinks I’m me from the past!

  Parker gasped for breath as he stared wide-eyed at the Shadule. Alexia made her voice hard. “Who are you to question the High Princess of Thaltorose? I command you to let him go!”

  The Shadule still hovered over Parker, but it loosened its grip as it eyed Alexia warily.

  “I was watching the games, and I grew bored.” She stepped forward. “But I do not answer to you, worm. Or do you want me to tell Belial of your insubordination?”

  The Shadule let go of Parker so it could kneel before her. “No, Highness,” it whimpered. “Please. There is no need to tell the master. I was merely concerned for your well-being. This boy is a Light Eyes, and he is dangerous.”

  Parker probed at the fresh bruises on his neck.

  “We shall see,” Alexia said. “I may allow you to make it up to me, worm. There is something I would have you do.”

  “Anything, Mistress, anything you ask,” the creature sniveled.

  “When I was last down here, I saw a door covered in chains held by a thick lock. On the door was a carving of a bird surrounded by notes of music. Do you know of such a door?”

  The Shadule glanced at her cautiously. “Yes, High Princess, I know of the door.”

  “Tell me, is it what I think it is? Are there Myzerahls in there?”

  “Yes. It is a nest. But the birds are dangerous. It really would be best to stay away from.”

  “I need the key to the lock,” Alexia said.

  The Shadule looked longingly up the stairwell. A beastly roar sounded from above. No, Alexia thought. They’re waking up! We’re running out of time. “Find me the key, now.”

  The Shadule fished a key from somewhere beneath its second skin, then offered it to Alexia. “Please, High Princess, I beg your forgiveness. I will serve you in all things!”

  Alexia remembered her first days in the city. Her uncle had told her that every dark servant would live or die at her command. His exact words were, “Tell any citizen of Thaltorose or any member of the Shadow Army to stop breathing—and they will.”

  “You must know that forgiveness cannot exist in the Shadow Army.” Alexia felt a chill run down her spine. “You have failed Belial, and you have failed me. I command you to stop breathing.”

  The Shadule’s pale eyes opened wide. It backed away fearfully. “No!” it shrieked. “Have mercy. I beg you!”

  “You will do as I command, or Belial will deal with you. And you can be sure that death at his hands will be far worse than death at mine.”

  The Shadule groaned, then melted to the ground. It didn’t take long for it to begin to asphyxiate, and Alexia felt sick to her stomach. The Shadule began to thrash in front of her, suffocating at her command. When Parker placed a hand on her shoulder, she saw a mixture of fear and shock on his face.

  “Do you think I’m wrong?” Alexia couldn’t keep the tears from her eyes as she stared at the dying Shadule.

  “I know they hurt you,” Parker said, “but, yes, I think this is wrong. I don’t know what the difference is between killing it in battle and killing it this way, but it doesn’t feel right.”

  “And do you think this creature would care about what’s right if it were in our position? Do you think the Assassin will make it a fair fight?”

 
“No.” Parker’s eyes never left the thrashing Shadule. “But we’re meant to be better than them.”

  Alexia watched another few seconds, then nodded sharply. “Breathe,” she commanded.

  The creature gasped as it inhaled. “Thank you, Princess. I will not fail you again, I swear it.”

  “I want you to find the darkest prison cell and lock yourself in it,” Alexia said. “No matter what you see or hear, you will not come out of the prison until I command you to do so. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, High Princess,” the Shadule hissed. “Thank you.” It slithered down the stairs and disappeared.

  Alexia watched it leave. “We could have ended it,” she said, “but now it will live to fight us another day.”

  “True,” Parker said. “But we didn’t sink to its level. Father always said there is no difference between someone who does the wrong thing for the wrong reasons and someone who does the wrong thing for the right reasons. There’s no such thing as the lesser of two evils.”

  Alexia nodded. She hated the idea of leaving the Shadule alive, but the cold feeling that had been forming in her stomach was gone. I don’t want to be like them. “Making the right choice should feel easier, shouldn’t it?” she said.

  “Maybe. But if it was, wouldn’t everyone do it?”

  “I suppose that makes sense.”

  “What did you want with the key? And what is a Myzerahl?” Parker asked.

  “It’s a bird. We were attacked by one of them in the woods just outside London. When it sings, your greatest fears come to life. And though I have no idea if it will work, I want to use the Myzerahls to help free the prisoners. But we have to capture some of them first.”

  Arthur could barely breathe. Every step in the Quagmire was exhausting. Sage galloped alongside him on all fours; she moved like a tiger. Her eyes had turned yellow, and a long tail flowed behind her. Aliyah flittered just above them.

  King Edward followed close behind, and Mr. Staples led the way. They’d never have made it this far without Mr. Staples. The man was unbelievable with the sword, but it was his Soulprints that kept them alive. Each time they became bogged down, Mr. Staples would spin and send out into the Quagmire a vortex of … something. Like silver bullets. And where the bolts hit, the Quagmire retreated. When evil struck, Mr. Staples became transparent for just a moment so the attackers flowed right through him.

  Each step brought a deadly attack, and Arthur was quickly discovering new ways to use his Soulprint. Vines wrapped around his ankles and body, but he sliced through them. When a tree attacked, Arthur forged the light into a battering ram and slammed it into the tree, sending it staggering back. In newly formed quicksand, he molded his light into a platform that lifted him upward and flowed beneath the feet of his four friends. An earthquake struck and a crevasse opened beneath them, but Arthur’s platform kept them from being swallowed.

  Arthur dove away from a large boulder that tumbled out of nowhere. It crashed past as he rolled to his feet. More boulders came, but King Edward took care of most. He jumped about like a madman, punching through the rocks as if they were as light as air.

  Still, with each passing second, the Awakened were losing momentum. It wasn’t just nature that was trying to stop them; it was the swarms of bugs, the animals, and the air itself.

  More than once Aliyah saved Arthur from a winged beast he hadn’t seen coming. She flittered about, sending arrow after arrow into the enemy. Her razored wings also acted as a weapon; anything that touched them was sliced to ribbons.

  Arthur used his Soulprint to help Mr. Staples clear a path. He cut and battered and slammed the enemy with his light, but the world was against them. Each time he helped Mr. Staples, he was vulnerable to an attack from behind.

  Sage snarled and leaped on a lion-like beast. In one smooth motion, she sunk newly formed claws into its back, then rolled over and hurled it away without slowing. Arthur couldn’t dance as he ran, but when he saw a tree blocking the way, he managed to spin and send a horizontal wall of sharp light shooting just over Mr. Staples’s head.

  Lava shot from the ground on either side, burning holes through Arthur’s platform. He quickly filled in the holes and molded a thick umbrella of light to keep the lava from hitting them on the way down. Behind him, King Edward slammed his fist into a tree that had come too close. The tree shattered, though not before another tree had wrapped the king in thick roots. Arthur cut the roots with his light, then staggered to a stop.

  “We’re here,” Mr. Staples called. “Watch my back as I dig.”

  Aliyah landed on the rock just above Mr. Staples. “We’ll hold them off,” she said, “but hurry.”

  Arthur turned. The path they had cleared was gone. Swarms of insects, winged creatures, beasts, and trees opposed them. Arthur strengthened the platform and clenched his fists. And then the air thinned.

  Chapter 11

  I Am Special

  Night had fallen by the time Jack and Honi entered Ballylesson. They walked down the main street in the dim light of a full moon. He and Honi had rubbed ashes on their clothes and faces so they could blend in.

  “It might be best if we slouch a little as well,” Honi whispered.

  Jack nodded. He couldn’t stop himself from glancing at the men and women around him. He hadn’t recognized anyone, but he was curious as to who might still be there. His breath caught when he saw a man stumbling toward him. Doctor Falvey? Jack could barely believe it. The doctor had always been kind. Surely only evil men would serve the Assassin! The doctor’s eyes were dull and listless.

  Jack slowed his walk. Everyone had the same lifeless step. It was as if they were only walking because it was what one did, not because they were going somewhere. He glanced inside O’flannigans as he plodded past. A Shadule stood in the center of the store with wings outstretched. Monsters cowered as it hissed orders.

  Though Jack tried not to step on the shadowed webs crisscrossing the street, there were places the webbing was so thick, he had no choice—and every time, something changed. He never stayed still long enough to figure out what, but he could feel it.

  “Get out of my way!” someone shouted.

  Jack turned to see Doctor Falvey yelling at another man. It’s Farmer McNally! Both men stood in thick patches of shadowed webbing. The doctor grabbed a knife from inside his cloak and stabbed the old farmer in the shoulder. McNally gasped, and when his blood dripped to the ground, it hissed and popped like oil in a frying pan.

  “I warn you,” the doctor shouted. “Get in my way again, and it’ll be the last thing you do!”

  Farmer McNally whimpered as he stumbled away holding his bloody shoulder.

  “It is far worse than I’d imagined,” Honi whispered. “Did you see the farmer’s blood when it hit the ground?”

  “Yes,” Jack said. “What does it mean?”

  “As I was telling you before, blood has power.” Honi’s eyes stayed glued to the spot where the blood had landed. The farmer’s blood was mingling with the shadowed darkness as the webbing thickened. “Those who choose to serve the Assassin will eventually be transformed into his image,” Honi said. “I fear that those who follow him are changing. Their flesh is being corrupted as they take on his image.”

  Jack was horrified as he stared at the webbing covering the town. “Is all of it blood?”

  “Yes”—Honi nodded—“though I’m sure most of it is the Assassin’s. Unless we can find a way to stop it, the blood will continue to spread until it covers the world.”

  The two made their way toward the schoolhouse. “Is it possible for the Assassin to kill the Author?” Jack whispered.

  “I don’t know,” Honi said, “but it may be possible to destroy the Author’s greatest work. If the Assassin can convince humankind to follow him, he will have won the war. And if he can transform humans into his image, he will have broken the Autho
r’s heart. We humans are unlike anything in the entire universe. We have the blood of the Author in our veins. And that is why the Assassin hates us. He won’t stop until every last one of us has become like the poor souls who walk these streets.”

  When he saw the schoolhouse, Jack wanted to scream. The shadowed blood covered the school completely. He felt cold.

  “I thought this might be the case,” Honi said. “Mrs. Dumphry’s school would have been of great importance to the Assassin. He would do all in his power to destroy something she loved.”

  “I think it might be best if only one of us enters,” Jack said. “Mrs. Dumphry wanted me to lead, so I should go. You keep watch.”

  “I think that is a wise plan. But be careful in there.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to tell you what to do.” Jack suddenly felt foolish. “You can do as you like—”

  “A leader does not apologize for giving instruction,” Honi said. “And only a fool spurns wisdom. I am old, Jack Staples. I rarely act the fool. As I said, it is a good plan.”

  In many ways the old man reminded Jack of Mrs. Dumphry. He gazed into the schoolhouse. Thick webs covered everything, floor to ceiling. He took a deep breath, then stepped inside. As he entered, shadowed tendrils detached from the floorboards and slithered up his leg.

  Click. The key turned in the enormous lock as chains dropped to the floor. Parker shoved them aside, then grabbed a torch from the wall.

  “Remember,” Alexia said again, “whatever you see is not real. Mrs. Dumphry said the only way to defeat a Myzerahl is to face your fears. But if we give in, even for a second, we’ll die.” Alexia placed her hands on the door. “She also told us not to look back. She said no matter what you hear, don’t look back. I don’t know why, but I think it’s important.”

  “And you’re sure we need these birds?” Parker asked.

  “Without the Myzerahls, we have no chance of saving anyone.”