Alcatraz vs. the Shattered Lens Read online

  "No!" I cried.

  Draulin shot me a withering gaze, something that said, "This is your fault, Smedry." Then she pulled out her sword and rushed at the Librarians. "Run!" she yelled at me. "Lose yourself in the forest!"

  I just stood there. I couldn't carry Bastille with me, and I wouldn't leave her.

  Draulin charged against an army of several hundred. That seemed a metaphor for everything that had gone wrong in this whole siege. But instead of making me feel sick or depressed like it had earlier, this just made me feel angry.

  "Go away!" I screamed at the advancing Librarians. "Leave us alone!"

  Something stirred inside of me, something that felt immense. Like an enormous serpent, shifting, moving, awakening.

  "I want everything to make sense again!" I screamed. Saving Bastille had turned out like everything else. Draulin and Aydee would get captured because of me, and Bastille would remain in a coma.

  I'd failed Bastille.

  I'd failed the Mokians.

  I'd failed the entirety of the Free Kingdoms.

  It was too much. It seemed to well up inside of me. Rocks around me began to shatter, popping like popcorn. The tent behind me frayed, the bits of threads that made it coming undone and falling apart.

  There had been a time when I hadn't known how to control my Talent. When I hadn't tried to. I went back to that time.

  Alcatraz the First had named the Breaking Talent the "Dark Talent." Well, sometimes darkness can serve us, work for us. It welled up inside me, bursting free, rising above me like an enormous and terrible cloud.

  Reports of that day are conflicting. Some people say they could see the Talent take shape, like an enormous serpent with burning eyes, insubstantial and incorporeal. Others only felt the massive earthquake I caused, shaking the ground all around, breaking enormous rifts around Tuki Tuki.

  I didn't notice any of that. I was in the middle of what felt like an intense storm, spinning around me like a cyclone. It tried to get free, tried to rip completely out of me, and I held to it, clinging, trying to force it back inside.

  Reports say it lasted only for the length of two heartbeats. It felt like hours to me as I struggled, both terrified and in awe of the thing I'd let loose. With a heave of strength, I pulled it back into me. In a second, it was contained.

  I blinked, standing in the night. There were a dozen enormous cracks in the ground around me. The Librarians who had been running for me had been knocked to the ground.

  Unfortunately, the fighting in Tuki Tuki was still going on, however. I wasn't done. I took the thing inside of me and suddenly knew what to do with it. I reached down, pulling the single remaining Bestower's Lens from the pouch at my pocket. I knelt beside Bastille, who lay on the ground beside me. I brushed back her hair and exposed her Fleshstone. It was crystalline and pure, translucent, like an enormous diamond set into the skin of her neck.

  That stone connected all of the Knights of Crystallia together. I raised the Bestower's Lens and looked into the Fleshstone, willing my Talent to pass into the stone.

  It refused to move. It seethed within me, angry that I had stopped it from destroying. I gritted my teeth, angry but I was feeling exhausted from all that had happened. I couldn't force it.

  So I tried a different tactic. I need to trick it, I thought. Grandpa had to be tricked into thinking he was late so that he could arrive early. Aydee had to be confused by numbers so that she could add wrong.

  What did I need to make my Talent work? I need to think it's breaking something important, I realized. Always, during my childhood, the Talent had acted to shatter, destroy, or break things that were very important to me or to those who cared for me. As I realized this, I found myself hating it again. But there was no time for that.

  I focused on the Fleshstone, and I thought about how much I cared for Bastille. How important she'd become to me recently, and how if that stone broke, she'd die. The Talent - gleeful for something to destroy - snapped from me, but I raised the Bestower's Lens and channeled it, sending the Talent into Bastille's Fleshstone.

  I felt an immediate draining within me as something very powerful was pulled through that Lens and sent into the stone on Bastille's neck.

  It sapped me, sucked away what strength I had left. Everything went dark, and I collapsed.

  CHAPTER ∞ + 1

  Three hours later, the sun rose over a broken city.

  I sat up in my bed, looking out the window. Tuki Tuki was in shambles; many of the huts had collapsed. Broken spears, bits of metal, and shards of glass lay peppering the lawns of fallen homes. Bits of trash blew in the wind.

  There were no bodies, but I could see blood. The bodies had been removed.

  “Ah, lad, you're awake."

  I turned to find my grandfather sitting in the chair beside my bed. I was in the palace, one of the few buildings that hadn't fallen during the earthquake.

  "What happened?" I asked softly, raising a hand to my head. It throbbed.

  "You saved us," he said. He seemed . . . oddly subdued. For my grandfather at least. "My, my, lad,” he said. “That was something incredible you did! I'm . . . not even sure what it was, but it was something incredible indeed!"

  "What do you mean?" I asked.

  "The Librarian weapons fell apart,” Grandpa said. "In the middle of the battle. Every gun, grenade, cannon, robot, everything they had. It all just . . . well, lad, it broke.”

  I could hear drums. The Mokians were having a celebration. How could they celebrate when their city was in shambles?

  Because they still have a city, I thought. Broken though it is.

  "How are you feeling, lad?" Grandpa asked, scooting his chair closer to me.

  "Fine, actually," I replied. "Tired. No, exhausted. But remarkably good."

  "Well, that's great. Fantastic, in fact! Excellent to hear." He seemed hesitant about something. "I don't want to push, lad, but . . . do you mind me asking what you did?"

  "Well," I said, "I knew that the Fleshstones on the necks of the Crystin are all connected. And once, when using the Bestower's Lenses you gave me, I loaned someone else my Talent. So I figured . . . well, if I gave my Talent to all of the Knights at once, while they were fighting, it would work for them like it did for me. It would destroy the weapons of the Librarians when they tried to fire.”

  My grandfather seemed disturbed. "Ah . . ." he said. “Yes, very clever, very clever."

  "It wasn't supposed to be clever," I said, grimacing. “It just kind of . . . happened. But it looks like it worked."

  "Oh, it worked," Grandpa said. "Maybe better than you thought . . ."

  "What?" I asked.

  "Well, lad, here's the thing. You didn't just break the weapons of the Librarians who were fighting here. You broke them all, every weapon being wielded by a Librarian anywhere in Mokia. In one moment, they all shattered, broke, fell apart.” Grandpa raised a hand to his head, scratching at the fluffy white hair there. "They've retreated, called off the war, and gone back to the Hushlands. The Mokians have named you a national hero.”

  I sat back, stunned.

  "Already the news is spreading through the Free Kingdoms," Grandpa said. “This is the first time the Librarians have been turned back from taking a kingdom they were besieging. It's being called a miracle. You're a hero, lad. Everyone is talking about it."

  “I . . ." I felt odd. I should have felt like celebrating, jumping up and screaming for joy. But I still felt troubled and worried. Something inside of me had changed. Being forced to confront my conceptions of what was right and what was wrong, who was good and who was evil, had changed me.

  I didn't want to celebrate, I wanted to hide. The world was a scary place. My Talent terrified me suddenly, even after I'd used it to save so many.

  "Lad," Grandpa said. "Do you know when the Talents . . . might come back?"

  I felt a chill. "What do you mean?"

  "None of them work anymore," Grandpa said. “Me, Kaz, Aydee . . . no more Talents.
They're gone."

  Hesitantly, I reached out and touched the bed frame, engaging my Talent. But nothing happened. It wasn't like before, when I felt reluctance within me. Now there was just a void, an emptiness where my Talent had once been.

  I let it out, I thought. It can't be! I contained it, kept it from destroying! I pulled it back in!

  But I'd done something else. I'd . . . well, somehow, I'd broken the Smedry Talents.

  "I don't know,” I said. "I don't know anything."

  "Ah. Well, then, lad, you should rest. Rest indeed . . ."

  *

  When I next awoke, I had a stream of visitors. Aluki, Aydee, Kaz, then countless Mokians wishing to show their appreciation for me saving their city.

  I tried to explain that I’d destroyed their city, but they weren't listening. The Librarians had retreated; Mokia was safe. What was left of it, at least.

  I kept waiting to see if Bastille, the king, or the queen would come to see me. None of them did, though someone did bring me a cheese sandwich and insist that I eat it, thereby fulfilling the holy prophecy of the Author’s Foreword, as was spoken by Alcatraz Smedry.

  Finally, I asked the question I'd been dreading and got the answer I'd feared. Those who'd been knocked unconscious during the war were still in comas. The Librarians had fled, taking the antidote with them.

  Mokian scientists were confident they could find a cure, given enough time. But in the end, I had failed Bastille after all. And Mokia too - more than half of their population was still unconscious.

  I didn't say this to the Mokians. Instead, I nodded and accepted thanks. I couldn't really explain how I felt. I wasn’t the same person anymore. Too much had happened. Too much had changed.

  I was finally free of the Talent, and that terrified me. Where was it? What had I done?

  When I remembered that I'd lost my Translator's Lenses, that only made me feel sicker.

  My final visitor of the day was a very unexpected one. She sauntered in, accompanied by my grandfather and two guards. Shasta Smedry, my mother. She still wore her Librarian business suit and skirt. Her blond hair was down, and they'd taken her glasses as a precaution. My mother could have been a pretty woman if she'd wanted to be. That had never seemed to matter to her.

  "Lad,” Grandpa said, "she insisted that we bring her to you. I'm not sure if it was a good idea."

  "It's all right," I said, focusing on Shasta. "You should be gone. The Librarians who kidnapped me went back and freed all of you."

  "Yes, they did," she said. “And I waited behind to get captured again."

  I frowned.

  "I think your father is going to come here," Shasta said, eyeing her guards with a raised eyebrow. "The catacombs of the Mokian Royal University are said to have walls that are inscribed with the Forgotten Tongue. I thought Attica would try to get to them before the city fell. Alcatraz the First was said to have spent much time in this area, and so there's a high probability that the writings were his."

  “Well, that's not an issue any longer," Grandpa Smedry said. "The Mokian University is no more. The entire thing was swallowed up in the earthquake, crushed flat, the catacombs pulverized."

  "Is that so?" Shasta said flatly.

  "Indeed," Grandpa said, meeting her stare. There didn’t seem to be much affection between them. Of course, they were in-laws, so what did you expect?

  "Where will he go next?" I asked.

  Shasta turned to me. She drew her lips into a line.

  "I'll go with you,” I found myself saying.

  "What!" Grandpa said. "Trembling Taylers, Lad! What are you talking about?"

  "We need to find my father," I said firmly. “I think he's going to try something stoopid. Something very, very stoopid."

  “But –”

  "You," I said to Shasta, "me, and my grandfather. Just the three of us, and anyone else you approve. You have my word."

  She seemed amused at that. "Very well. There are rumors of an enclave of Forgotten Language texts in the heart of Librarian power. I suspect we'll find your father there. The place is carefully guarded, however, and even one such as I will have difficulty sneaking in."

  "Lad, I don t know about this," Grandpa said.

  "The heart of Librarian power?" I asked, ignoring him. "Where is that?"

  "They call it the Library of Congress," Shasta said. "But it's really something far grander. The Highbrary, a bunker the size of a city, hidden underneath Washington, D.C., in the United States, deep within the Hushlands."

  That got my grandfather's attention. "The Highbrary?" he asked. He got an almost dreamy look in his eyes. "My, my,” he said. "I've always wanted to infiltrate that place. . . ."

  That's my grandfather for you. He might have lost his Talent, but he was still a Smedry.

  "The Highbrary will contain the formulas for all Librarian weapon antidotes," Shasta said, almost teasingly. "If you want to cure your friends, it is the place to go."

  Grandpa looked even more eager, but he held himself back. "The lad and I will discuss it, Shasta. If we agree to this little endeavor, then you'll be coming as a prisoner, carefully watched over. That's the only way I’d agree to it.”

  Shasta smiled again, glancing at me. "Very well,” she said, then waved to her guards - as if they were attendants - and had them lead her from the room.

  My grandfather looked shaken. He sat down on the stool beside my bed again. “That woman . . .”

  "We need to go with her," I said. “My father can’t be allowed to try to give everyone Smedry Talents. Grandpa, I think that the Talents might be what destroyed the Incarna! I think -"

  "Yes," Grandpa said. "Yes, you're probably right.”

  "What? You know already?”

  "I've guessed it, lad," Grandpa said. “And feared it, after you told me what you found in the tomb of Alcatraz the First."

  "Do you think my father can really do it?” I asked.

  "If it were anyone else,” Grandpa said, “I’d say no. But your father . . . well, he's a special man, capable of extraordinary things. Yes, I think he might just be able to do it, if he wants to."

  "He's got the only remaining pair of Translator's Lenses," I said. "Mine were destroyed."

  "Ah. I wondered why we didn't find them on you."

  "He's going to the Highbrary. You know what we have to do, Grandfather."

  He looked at me, then nodded. "Yes. But let's at least sleep on it a day and then decide."

  I nodded back to him, and he stood, withdrawing, leaving me to listen to the sounds of the Mokian drums outside. They'd celebrate all day, as per their tradition.

  And then, on the morrow they'd mourn for those who were dead. Celebrations first, sorrows second.

  I didn't have time for either one. Mokia had been a diversion, a distraction, both for myself and my mother. My father, Attica Smedry, had a huge head start, and what he was planning could destroy us all.

  The Dark Talent was free, and the entire Smedry clan had lost their powers. An enormous fleet of Librarian soldiers was returning to the Hushlands with tales of what the Talents could do.

  I think this is a good place to end, don't you?

  AUTHOR’S AFTERWORD

  NOW YOU KNOW THE TRUTH OF WHY I’M LAUDED AS A HERO.

  SURE, THE THINGS I DID IN PREVIOUS VOLUMES OF MY AUTOBIOGRAPHY HELPED MY REPUTATION. BUT THIS WAS THE EVENT THAT EVERYONE STILL TALKS ABOUT, THE LIBERATION OF MOKIA, THE SINGLE-HANDED DEFEAT OF DOZENS OF LIBRARIAN ARMIES SCATTERED THROUGHOUT THE FREE KINGDOMS.

  MY REPUTATION WAS SECURE. I’D GO DOWN IN HISTORY AS ONE OF THE MOST INFLUENTIAL PEOPLE TO EVER LIVE, AND I’D BE REMEMBERED AS ONE OF THE GREATEST MOKIAN KINGS OF ALL TIME. (IF ONE OF THE SHORTEST TO RULE – I WAS ABLE TO GIVE UP THE THRONE TO PRINCESS KAMALI THE NEXT DAY, WHEN SHE CAME BACK TO TAKE OVER FOR ME.) SURE, BASTILLE WAS IN TROUBLE – BUT YOU KNOW THAT EVERYTHING TURNS OUT ALL RIGHT WITH HER IN THE END. AFTER ALL, I’VE MENTIONED SEVERAL TIMES THAT SHE’S OFTEN STANDING HERE IN OUR HOUSE, READING OVER
MY SHOULDER AS I WRITE THESE THINGS. ALL IN ALL, I SAVED THE DAY, DEFEATED THE LIBRARIAN ARMIES, AND PERMANENTLY TURNED THE TIDE OF THE WAR.

  THE FUNNY THING IS, IN DOING ALL THESE MARVELOUS THINGS, I’D CHANGED INTO A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT PERSON. YOUR HERO IS NO LONGER WITH US. THE VERY ACT OF HEROISM CHANGED HIM. I’D WALKED INTO MOKIA AS ONE PERSON, AND I WALKED OUT OF IT AS A VASTLY DIFFERENT ONE. THAT’S NOTHING SURPRISING; ALL PEOPLE CHANGE.

  SOME CHANGES HAPPEN SLOWLY, LIKE A ROCK BEING WEATHERED AWAY BY THE RAIN. OTHERS HAPPEN QUICKLY, SUDDENLY. AN EARTHQUAKE SHAKES A CITY. A HEART STOPS BEATING. A DISCOVERY IS MODE, AND A LIGHTBULB TURNS ON FOR THE FIRST TIME.

  THE LIBRARIANS . . . THEY TRY TO KEEP US FROM CHANGING. THEY WANT EVERYTHING TO REMAIN THE SAME INSIDE THE HUSHLANDS. YOU REMEMBER WHEN I TALKED ABOUT HOW THEY MAKE ALL CARS AND PLANES LOOK THE SAME? WELL, THEY DO THAT WITH EVERYTHING.

  IN THIS CASE, IT’S NOT BECAUSE THEY’RE OPPRESSIVE. IT’S BECAUSE THEY’RE AFRAID. CHANGE FRIGHTENS THEM. IT’S UNKNOWN, UNCERTAIN, LIKE SMEDRYS AND MAGIC. THEY WANT EVERYONE TO ASSUME THAT THINGS CAN’T CHANGE.

  BUT THEY CAN. I DID. ALCATRAZ THE HERO WAS NO MORE. IF HE EVER WAS A HERO IN THE FIRST PLACE. YOU’VE SEEN THAT MOST OF WHAT I ACCOMPLISHED HAPPENED BY ACCIDENT, LUCK, AND A FEW RANDOM IDEAS THAT TURNED OUT TO WORK. BUT EVEN IF YOU THOUGHT THAT SORT OF THING MADE HM A HERO, YOU NEED TO REALIZE THAT THE PERSON YOU WORSHIP IS GONE.

  THESE FOUR BOOKS ARE THE PARTS EVERYONE KNOWS ABOUT. BUT THE LAST VOLUME, THAT’S THE PART NOBODY UNDERSTANDS. NOBODY THINKS TO ASK, “WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM AFTER HE SAVED US FROM THE LIBRARIANS?”

  I’LL SHOW YOU. FINALLY, YOU’LL SEE. IT WILL BE AMAZING, EYE-OPENING, AWFUL, AWESOME, STOOPIDERIFIC, STOOPIDALICIOUS, STOOPIDERLIFLUOUS, STOOPIDANATED, AND CRAPAFLAPNASTI ALL AT THE SAME TIME. IT INVOLVES AN ALTAR. YES, THAT REALLY DID HAPPEN. I DIDN’T JUST MAKE IT UP. THAT ALTAR SCENE IS ONE OF THE MOST IMPORTANT EVENTS IN MY LIFE. IT HAPPENS IN THE NEXT BOOK, I PROMISE, NO LIES THIS TIME.

  MAYBE SOMEDAY I’LL ACTUALLY WRITE THAT BOOK.