Jack Staples and the Poet's Storm

by Mark Batterson

  “All right, then. I’m ready if you are.”

  The battle in the streets above echoed through the corridors. Alexia wanted to run up and help fight the Assassin, but she knew there was nothing she could do. The Awakened would be defeated in a few hours.

  She shoved open the door, and they stepped inside, then pushed the door closed. Parker held the torch high in the darkness. Thick branches and twigs covered the floor and walls, with bits of leaves and dirt stuffed between. They began to walk deeper into the branches.

  “It’s like—” Parker brought the torch low.

  “Like we’re in a nest,” Alexia said.

  Parker held the torch high. “What do you think those are for?”

  Alexia had just noticed the thick steel crates stacked back near the door. “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe that’s how we get them out of here.”

  A small bird fluttered past Alexia’s face, then disappeared into the darkness. Then many more birds rocketed out of the darkness, slamming their bodies into Parker and Alexia. The children ducked and screamed. Again and again the small birds pummeled them with their bodies. The only sound was the beating of their wings and the screams of the two children.

  Alexia stumbled into the darkness. Once she escaped the pool of light, the birds left her alone, even as they redoubled their attacks on Parker.

  “It’s the torch!” she yelled. “They don’t like the torch! Drop it and follow the sound of my voice!” Thousands of birds fluttered in and out of the light, clobbering Parker.

  Parker dropped the torch and stumbled toward her, but he disappeared in the darkness.

  “Parker!” Alexia cried. “Are you there?” The only sound was Alexia’s terrified breathing. “Parker, I’m here!”

  Nothing. Terror formed in the pit of her belly as thousands of birds began to sing. The song that filled the darkness was slow and steady, but it was growing louder by the second. The birds began to harmonize.

  Alexia ran, then stumbled. Alone! As had happened so often in her life, everyone had either abandoned her or been taken from her. The darkness was never ending. She lurched forward again, tripped again. The Myzerahls’ song vibrated in her chest.

  She began to weep as she beat at the ground with her fists. “What’s wrong with me?” she screamed. “Why do I always end up alone? Why does everyone I love have to die?”

  “Because you are cursed.”

  Alexia gasped. She stood slowly, afraid of what she would see when she turned around. Was it a Shadule, like the last time she was caught in the Myzerahls’ song? Was it her father or mother screaming at her? Alexia turned to see a man bathed in eerie light. He was sitting on a plush chair with one leg hanging lazily over the side.

  Alexia brushed at her tears. The Myzerahls still sang, though she barely noticed. “Who are you? What do you want with me? What do you mean I’m cursed?”

  “Don’t you recognize me?” The man smiled wickedly.

  Alexia blinked. He wore strange clothes and a colorful patchwork cloak. She’d seen him before, but where? “You’re the poet!” According to the Awakened, the poet was the Author made flesh. He was the creator of all things, and he was sitting in front of her.

  “I knew it would come to you eventually.” The poet leaned forward. “You asked what was wrong with you, why everyone you love has been taken away. And this is the answer: you are cursed. Your birth ruined everything. The world needed Jack. He is the one who will destroy the Assassin, not you.” The poet shook his head. “To put it simply, you were a mistake. You are not needed. You never have been.” The poet stood, then stepped forward. Alexia wanted to run, but fear rooted her to the ground. “When you die, the curse will die with you.”

  Alexia shook her head. Each word he spoke was like a whip to her back. “No!” Her knees weakened, but she made herself stand. The song of the Myzerahls rose toward its disastrous crescendo.

  “Didn’t Jack have someone to watch over him?” the poet said. “Didn’t he have someone protecting him every day of his life? Where were your protectors? Why didn’t they find you when your parents died? Why weren’t they searching for you when you joined the circus? If you are truly special, someone would have found you. But you are not. You are a curse. And I have come to fix this … mistake!” The poet’s lip curled as he drew a gleaming sword.

  The Myzerahls’ song was dizzying. Ten thousand songbirds flitted around her, and Alexia could feel herself fading. The poet raised his sword.

  “No. You are not the poet,” she said. “And I won’t listen to you!”

  The poet hesitated.

  “I’ve been afraid of being alone for as long as I can remember, and I blamed myself for my parents’ death, but I was just a child!”

  The poet stepped back; Alexia stepped forward.

  “I am special, and I am one of the Children of Prophecy. I am no mistake!” She was shaking angrily. “And though you look like him, you are not the poet. You are nothing more than the fears of a little girl.” Alexia could feel her fear leaking to the floor.

  The poet screamed as light burst from his eyes and mouth. And when it faded, he was gone, and only a small, warbling bird remained.

  Parker stood a short distance away with the flaming torch in his hands. He was shaking. “She didn’t want me,” he said. “Mother didn’t even want to know me. She tried to kill me.”

  “It wasn’t real.”

  “That doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.”

  She nodded. Though she was exhausted, there was something else. She’d found strength she hadn’t known was there. “Come on,” she said. “We need to capture as many of these birds as we possibly can. Let’s go find those crates.”

  Chapter 12

  Who Loves You, Jack?

  Exhausted was far too feeble a word to explain how Arthur felt. He’d passed the point of exhaustion almost an hour ago. He danced at the base of the mountain with watery muscles. He’d sent a thousand bolts of lightning to strike tree, ground, beast, and mountain. He’d formed a platform for the Awakened to stand on, but the earth rolled so violently, it was still impossible to stand upright.

  King Edward didn’t stand on the platform; he leaped about like a madman, smashing fists and feet into every tree, boulder, or beast that came too close. The king seemed to have endless strength and energy.

  Sage and Aliyah fought together. Aliyah flew between the trees, sending streams of arrows into anything that attacked from above. Sage ran below, leaping onto large creatures and hurling them away.

  Mr. Staples was digging for the coffer and fighting against whatever evil managed to sneak past the others. The mountain trembled and shook, sending boulders crashing down. Arthur’s shield of liquid light stopped most of them, but—

  “I have it!” Mr. Staples yelled.

  Arthur watched Jack’s father tuck the coffer inside his cloak. It’s too late, he thought. It had been more than two hours since they’d entered the Quagmire. They’d fought boldly, but getting out was going to prove impossible.

  Jack shivered as he entered the schoolhouse. It was cold inside, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He felt something slithering up his legs, but when he looked, he couldn’t see anything.

  He glanced back to see Honi standing in the doorway and was immediately irritated. Why does the old man have to look so smug? he thought. And why am I doing all the hard work while he just stands there?

  Jack knelt behind the desk as the slithering darkness swirled around him. “What are you doing just standing there?” he called to Honi. “Why don’t you come help me?”

  Honi leaned in but didn’t enter. “Are you sure that’s wise?” he asked. “Mightn’t it be better if we stick to the plan?”

  Jack stood. “You told me I was in charge,” he shouted. “Now do as I command!”

  Honi stiffened but didn�
��t enter. “Are you feeling all right?”

  “What are you good for, old man? What are you even doing here if you can’t listen to a single order?” Jack placed a hand on Ashandar’s hilt. “I don’t need your help.”

  Honi raised his hands. “Jack, listen to me. I’m not sure what’s happening, but this isn’t you talking.”

  Jack drew his sword. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this angry. “What kind of stupid name is ‘Honi’ anyway?” He moved toward the door and raised Ashandar.

  When he stepped into the moonlight, Honi gasped. “Look, Jack! The Assassin’s corruption has attached itself to you! This isn’t you talking; you need to fight it!”

  Jack glanced down. The old man was right. Thin, shadowed tendrils slithered all over his body. They were wriggling beneath his clothes and sinking into his skin. Part of him was horrified, but mostly he was just angry. How dare the old man speak to me like this! Jack swung Ashandar wildly.

  Honi stepped aside, then punched Jack hard in the nose. The next thing Jack knew, he was being dragged away from the schoolhouse by his feet.

  “Lemme go!” he screamed. “I’m going to make you pay, do you hear me?”

  Honi didn’t stop until he was safely in the schoolyard. Jack thrashed and kicked on the ground, consumed by rage. All he wanted was to hurt Honi, who knelt beside him, tearing the tendrils from his body.

  Jack slowly regained control of himself. His rage subsided, and in its place was shock. “What just happened?” He rubbed his temples as he sat upright.

  Honi let out a shuddering breath. “No wonder everyone we walked past was so angry,” he said. “As I was telling you before, the Assassin’s blood is corrupt. The rage you felt came from him.” Honi turned his eyes toward the schoolhouse. “I’m afraid it will be far harder to fetch Mrs. Dumphry’s prize than we imagined.”

  Jack shuddered. The rage had been real. It hadn’t made sense to be so angry, but he hadn’t cared.

  Alexia didn’t make a sound as the Shadule threw her Gang of Rogues into the prison cell. All looked weary beyond words and carried multiple wounds. She stayed safely hidden in the darkened corner of the cell, barely able to contain her excitement.

  “The master will come for you soon,” the Shadule rasped. “You will beg for death by the time he is done.”

  None of her gang protested as the Shadule closed the prison door. Juno dropped to the cold, wet floor and cradled Adeline’s head in her lap. Adeline was bleeding from a wound in her shoulder. Josiah stared blankly at the closed door as Summer and Benaiah sat beside him. All five were filthy and streaked in blood. Some of the blood was theirs; much of it was not.

  Alexia waited until she was sure the Shadule was gone, then stepped out from the darkness. “I know you are weary,” she said boldly, “but if you are willing to help me, I can get you out of here. And with your help, we can free every last prisoner and animal.”

  None of the children so much as moved.

  “I don’t …” Josiah stopped. “We saw you fly away.”

  “I did,” Alexia said with a grin, “but that was weeks ago. I’ve come from the past to rescue you.” Alexia motioned to Parker, who stepped out of the shadows to stand beside her. “This is Parker Staples. He’ll help us. But before we free the prisoners, I’m going to need your help with something else.” Alexia was giddy with excitement. “We’re going to free my mother.”

  All five children sat watching silently. Finally Juno laid Adeline’s head carefully on the stone and stood. Without warning she balled her fist and slugged Alexia.

  “Today was the second time you left us,” Juno said. “You fled the city with your friends and left us here to rot.”

  Alexia flinched at her words. They hurt far more than any punch. She’d hoped her friends would be excited to see her, not angry.

  “And now you dare ask for our help?” Juno was a head shorter than Alexia, but fierce.

  “You’re right about the first part,” Alexia said carefully. “I will do everything in my power to earn back your trust. But I can’t change the past. And I didn’t abandon you a few hours ago. I was rescued and you weren’t. I had no choice in that. But I’m here now. I’ve come back for you. I do need your help—not just to save my mother. I have a plan to rescue every prisoner and Clear Eyes in this city.”

  Juno’s eyes narrowed as she studied Alexia.

  “She’s right.” Josiah palmed bleary eyes. “It wasn’t her fault that she escaped and we didn’t. That anyone got away is a miracle. And she came back. That’s what matters.”

  Alexia remembered what she’d been feeling that day. It was today, not weeks ago. They are hungry and heartbroken and exhausted, she reminded herself.

  “Parker and I brought some food, and we’ll find bandages for your wounds. For now, get something to eat and try to sleep. We’ll talk when you wake.”

  Juno took the bag from Parker and dug inside. She handed a loaf of crusty bread to Addy, then handed out more to the others. A few minutes later, all five members of Alexia’s Gang of Rogues were asleep on the dungeon floor.

  “No matter what you’re feeling, you must fight it,” Honi repeated.

  Jack nodded. “But it feels so real. When I was in there, all I wanted to do was hurt you. And it felt right.”

  “I’m sure it did.” Honi smiled. “I had a very bad temper as a young man, and I always felt justified. Then one day I met Mrs. Dumphry. She taught me that anger is almost always unwarranted. All of our interactions, all of our decisions must come from a place of love. Love conquers anger every time.”

  Jack liked Honi. Though he was thousands of years younger than Mrs. Dumphry, he was still far wiser than Jack. “All right,” Jack said, “I think I’m ready.”

  Jack closed his eyes and listened. He was beginning to understand that his sound was always there; he just needed to train his ears to hear it. He slowed his breathing. There! He smiled as his note rose around him. He flew backward, landing on his knees beside Mrs. Dumphry’s desk. Though it had saved him only a few steps, every second mattered.

  The floor was so layered in webbing, he had to puncture through the shadows to touch the floor. Even as his fingers slid along the floorboards, his anger grew. Come on! It was a frantic thought. Why couldn’t Mrs. Dumphry have told me which corner of the desk she hid it under?

  When he couldn’t find a loose board, he crawled to the opposite side of the desk. Stupid old hag! It’s like she didn’t want me to find it! Even as the thoughts formed, he knew they were wrong, but his blood still boiled.

  “There,” he mumbled as the tips of his fingers found an edge. He picked at the floorboard with his fingernails, prying upward. It began to rise, then dropped again as his fingers slipped. “No!” he screamed. “Stupid board!” He slammed his fist into the desk and was immediately enraged at the pain in his hand.

  “Jack! You must fight it! This is an attack as sure as any blade.”

  Jack had forgotten all about Honi. “Who do you think you are?” he snarled. “You are useless, old man. You are—”

  “Who loves you, Jack?”

  The question took him by surprise. “What are you talking about?” he growled.

  “Tell me about the people who love you most. Tell me about the things you are most grateful for.”

  A picture of Arthur Greaves formed in his mind as Jack reached for Ashandar. Arthur was the most loyal friend anyone could have.

  “Tell me, what are you thinking?” Honi said urgently.

  “Arthur Greaves,” Jack said through gritted teeth. “He is my friend.” Jack felt something detach from his neck and drop to the floor.

  “And who else? Who else are you thankful for? Who loves you?”

  Jack turned back to the desk. “Alexia,” he said. “Even though she was upset with me the last time I saw her, I know she loves me. She’s my
sister.” He began prying at the floorboards again. Rage stirred inside him, but he kept talking.

  “My father,” he grunted. “He loves me, as does Parker. And my mother loved me enough to die for me.” Jack removed the board, then stuck his entire arm into the slithering hole. The more he spoke, the more shadows slipped from his body. There! His hand closed around a small tin. He grabbed it and stood, looking for Honi, but the old man was no longer watching from the doorway.

  Jack quickly walked toward the exit. He knew it would be safer to time travel, but the more he spoke, the more something changed inside him. It wasn’t just the shadows that withered and dropped from his body; it was more. Not all of his anger came from the Assassin’s blood. Somewhere deep inside, Jack had been angry for a long time. As he spoke words of gratefulness and love, much of his anger melted away.

  “And I’m grateful for you, Honi,” he said. “Thank you for being willing to follow me and help me.” Where Jack walked, the shadows fled. He stopped, shocked. Honi lay on the ground with three older boys standing over him. Jack couldn’t tell if he was still breathing.

  “Well looky, looky.” Jonty Dobson cracked his knuckles and stepped over Honi’s body. “It’s Jack Staples. And where is the other one? Where is that fat little boy who’s always by your side? Where is little piggy?”

  Even as Jack raised Ashandar, he couldn’t imagine using it against Jonty or the others. No matter how wicked they might be, they were only boys.

  “Hello, Jonty.” Jack tried to sound both confident and dangerous. “Why am I not surprised to find you here?”

  “The entire Shadow Army is looking for you,” Jonty said, “and you come here with nothing but an old man? You are either incredibly stupid, or you’re looking for something important. Which is it? What were you doing in the schoolhouse?”

  Jack resisted the urge to reach for the tin he’d tucked safely inside his coat pocket. He ignored Jonty’s question and stepped forward. His hands warmed around Ashandar, and he assumed a very dangerous stance. The blade called to him, willing him to move. But Jack didn’t listen. He would not hurt another human, not if he could help it. “You may find I’m not as easy a target as I once was,” he replied levelly. “I will give you one chance to run. Leave now and take your friends with you.”