Jack Staples and the Poet's Storm by Mark Batterson

Author:Mark Batterson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, Young Readers, Allegory, C. S. Lewis, Jack Staples and the Ring of Time, Jack Staples and the City of Shadows, Middle Grade
Publisher: David C. Cook
Published: 2015-04-25T16:00:00+00:00

“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.

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