Archedis stopped laughing. His face grew solemn, then angry. Bastille threw herself at him repeatedly, her sword becoming a flurry of motion, the crystalline blade flashing with iridescence as it shattered light from the windows, throwing out sparkling colors.
And then Bastille actually started to push Archedis back.
Few people outside of Crystallia have seen two Crystin fight in earnest. The fleeing crowd slowed, its members turning back. Librarian thugs stopped beating on Himalaya and Folsom. Even I hesitated. We all grew still, as if in reverence, and the once chaotic room became as quiet as a concert hall.
We were an audience, watching a duet. A duet in which the violinists tried to ram their violins down each other’s throats.
The massive knight and the spindly girl circled, their swords beating against each other as if in a prescribed rhythm. The weapons seemed things of beauty, the way they reflected the light. Two people trying to kill each other with rainbows.
Bastille should have lost. She was smaller, weaker, and exhausted. Yet each time Archedis threw her down, she scrambled back to her feet and attacked with even more fury and determination. To the side, her father, the king, watched in awe. To my surprise, I even saw her mother stir. The woman looked dazed and sick, but she seemed to have regained enough consciousness to open her eyes.
Archedis made a mistake. He tripped slightly against a fallen Librarian thug. It was the first error I’d seen him make, but that didn’t matter. Bastille was on him in a heartbeat, pounding her sword against his, forcing him backward from his precarious position.
Looking dumbfounded, Archedis tripped backward and fell onto his armored butt. Bastille’s sword froze at his neck, a hair’s width from slicing his head free.
‘I . . . yield,’ Archedis said, sounding utterly shocked.
I finally managed to shove my way through the crowd, which had been stunned by the beautiful fight. I skidded to a stop beside my grandfather. He was breathing, though unconscious. He appeared to be humming to himself in his sleep.
‘Alcatraz,’ Bastille said.
I looked over at her. She still had her sword at Archedis’s neck.
‘I have something for you to do,’ she said, nodding to Archedis.
I smiled, then walked over to the fallen knight.
‘Look, hey,’ he said, smiling. ‘I’m a double agent, really. I was just trying to infiltrate them. I . . . uh, is it true that you have a Truthfinder’s Lens?’
I nodded.
‘Oh,’ he said, knowing that I’d been able to see that he was lying.
‘Do it,’ Bastille said, nodding toward the ground.
‘Gladly,’ I said, reaching down to touch Archedis’s blade. With a magnificent crackling sound, it shattered beneath the power of my Talent.
Swcbn finally put down her knitting. ‘You,’ she said, ‘are very bad children. No cookies for you.’
And with that, she vanished – replaced with an exact statue of herself sitting in that very position.
ROYAL EPILOGUE (NOT A CHAPTER)
There comes a time in every book when a single, important question must be asked: ‘Where’s my lunch?’
That time isn’t right now. However, it is time to ask another question, almost as important: ‘So, what’s the point?’
It’s an excellent question. We should ask it about everything we read. The problem is, I have no idea how to answer it.
The point of this book is really up to you. My point in writing it was to look at my life, to expose it, to illuminate it. As Socrates once said, ‘the unexamined life is not worth living.’
He died for teaching that to people. I feel I should have died years ago. Instead, I proved myself to be a coward. You’ll see what I mean, eventually.
This book means whatever you make of it. For some, it will be about the dangers of fame. For others, it will be about turning your flaws into talents. For many, it will simply be entertainment, which is really quite all right. Yet for others, it will be about learning to question everything, even that which you believe.
For, you see, the most important truths can always withstand a little examination.
One week after the defeat of Archedis and the Librarians, I sat in the Chamber of Kings. Grandpa Smedry sat to my left, dressed in his finest tuxedo. Bastille sat to my right, wearing the plate armor of a full Knight of Crystallia. (Yes, of course she got her knighthood back. As if the knights could refuse after watching her defeat Archedis while they lay on the ground drooling.)
I still wasn’t clear on what Archedis had done. From what I gather, the Mindstone was cut from the Spire of the World itself. Like the Spire, the Mindstone has the power to radiate energy and knowledge to everyone connected to it. Archedis had been able to resist the Sundering as he’d cut himself off from the Mindstone earlier.
Either way, with both Bastille and Archedis being cut off – and with both wearing Warrior’s Lenses – their speed and strength had been equalized. And Bastille had beaten him. She’d won because of her skill and her tenacity, which I’d say are the more important indicators of knighthood. She’d worn her silvery armor virtually nonstop since it had been given back to her. A crystal sword hung from her back, newly bonded to Bastille.
‘Can’t we get on with this?’ she snapped. ‘Shattering Glass, Smedry. Your father is such a drama hog.’
I smiled. That was another sign she was feeling better – she was back to her usual charming self.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ she said, eyeing me. ‘Stop staring at me.’
‘I’m not staring at you,’ I said. ‘I’m having an internal monologue to catch the readers up on what has happened since the last chapter. It’s called a denouement.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Then we can’t actually be having this conversation; it’s something you just inserted into the text while writing the book years later. It’s a literary device – the conversation didn’t exist.’
‘Oh, right,’ I said.
‘You’re such a freak.’
Freak or not, I was happy. Yes, my mother escaped with the book. Yes, Swcbn escaped as well. But we caught Archedis, saved Mokia, and got back my father’s pair of Translator’s Lenses.
I’d shown them to him. He’d been surprised, had taken them back, then had returned to whatever important ‘work’ it was he’d been doing this whole time. We were supposed to find out about it today; he was going to present his findings before the monarchs. Apparently, he always revealed his discoveries this way.
So – of course – the place was a circus. No, literally. There was a circus outside the front of the palace to entertain the kids while their parents came in to listen to my father’s grand speech. The place was almost as packed as it had been during the treaty ratification.
Hopefully, this time there would be fewer Librarian hijinks. (those wacky Librarians and their hijinks.)
There was a large number of reporter types waiting in the reaches of the room, anticipating my father’s announcement. As I’d come to learn, anything involving the Smedry family was news to the Free Kingdomers. This news, however, was even more important.
The last time my father had held a session like this, he’d announced that he had discovered a way to collect the Sands of Rashid. The time before that, he’d explained that he’d broken the secret of Transporter’s Glass. People were expecting a lot from this speech.
I couldn’t help but feel that it was all just a little . . . bad for my father’s ego. I mean, a circus? who gets a circus thrown for them?
I glanced at Bastille. ‘You dealt with this kind of stuff most of your childhood, didn’t you?’
‘This kind of stuff?’ she asked.
‘Fame. Notoriety. People paying attention to everything you do.’
She nodded.
‘So how did you deal with it?’ I asked. ‘And not let it ruin you?’
‘How do you know it didn’t ruin me?’ she asked. ‘Aren’t princesses supposed to be nice and sweet and stuff l
ike that? Wear pink dresses and tiaras?’
‘Well . . .’
‘Pink dresses,’ Bastille said, her eyes narrowing. ‘Someone gave me a pink dress once. I burned it.’
Ah, I thought. That’s right; I forgot. Bastille got around fame’s touch by being a freaking psychopath.
‘You’ll learn, lad,’ Grandpa Smedry said from behind me. ‘It might take some time, but you’ll figure it out.’
‘My father never did,’ I said.
Grandpa Smedry hesitated. ‘Oh, well, I don’t know about that. I think he did, for a while. Back around the time he got married. I just think he forgot.’
Around the time he got married. The words made me think of Folsom and Himalaya. We’d saved them seats, but they were late. As I looked around, I caught a glance of them working their way through the crowd. Grandpa Smedry waved enthusiastically, though they’d obviously already seen us.
But then, that’s Grandpa.
‘Sorry,’ Folsom said as he and his new wife seated themselves. ‘Getting some last-minute packing done.’
‘You still determined to go through with this?’ Grandpa Smedry asked.
Himalaya nodded. ‘We’re moving to the Hushlands. I think . . . Well, there isn’t much I can do for my fellow Librarians here.’
‘We’ll start an underground resistance for good Librarians,’ Folsom said.
‘Lybrarians,’ Himalaya said. ‘I’ve already begun working on a pamphlet!’
She pulled out a sheet of paper. Ten steps to being less evil, it read. A helpful guide for those who want to take the ‘Lie’ out of ‘Liebrarian.’
‘That’s . . . just great,’ I said. I wasn’t certain how else to respond. Fortunately for me, my father chose that moment to make his entrance – which was particularly good, since this scene was starting to feel a little long anyway.
The monarchs sat behind a long table facing a raised podium. We all grew quiet as my father approached, wearing dark robes to mark him as a scientist. The crowd hushed.
‘As you may have heard,’ he said, his voice carrying through the room, ‘I have recently returned from the Library of Alexandria. I spent some time as a Curator, escaping their clutches with my soul intact by the means of some clever planning.’
‘Yeah,’ Bastille muttered, ‘Clever planning, and some undeserved help.’ Sing, who sat in front of us, gave her a disapproving look.
‘The purpose of all this,’ my father continued, ‘was to gain access to the fabled texts collected and controlled by the Curators of Alexandria. Having managed to create a pair of Translator’s Lenses from the sands of Rashid—’
This caused a ripple of discussion in the crowd.
‘—I was able to read texts in the Forgotten Language,’ my father continued. ‘I was taken by the Curators and transformed into one of them, but still retained enough free will to sneak the Lenses from my possessions and use them to read. This allowed me to spend weeks studying the most valuable contents of the Library.’
He stopped, leaning forward on the podium, smiling winningly. He certainly did have a charm about him, when he wanted to impress people.
In that moment, looking at that smile, I could swear that I’d seen him somewhere, long before my visit to the Library of Alexandria.
‘What I did,’ my father continued, ‘was dangerous; some may even call it brash. I couldn’t know that I’d have enough freedom as a Curator to study the texts, nor could I count on the fact that I’d be able to use my lenses to read the Forgotten Language.’
He paused for dramatic effect. ‘But I did it anyway. For that is the Smedry way.’
‘He stole that line from me, by the way,’ Grandpa Smedry whispered to us.
My father continued. ‘I’ve spent the last two weeks writing down the things I memorized while I was a Curator. Secrets lost in time, mysteries known only to the Incarna. I’ve analyzed them, and am the only man to read and understand their works for over two millennia.’
He looked over the crowd. ‘Through this,’ he said, ‘I have discovered the method by which the Smedry Talents were created and given to my family.’
What? I thought, shocked.
‘Impossible,’ Bastille said, and the crowd around us began to speak animatedly.
I glanced at my grandfather. Though the old man is usually wackier than a penguin-wrangling expedition to Florida, occasionally I catch a hint of wisdom in his face. He has a depth that he doesn’t often show.
He turned toward me, meeting my eyes, and I could tell that he was worried. Very worried.
‘I anticipate great things from this,’ my father said, hushing the crowd. ‘With a little more research, I believe I can discover how to give Talents to ordinary people. I imagine a world, not so distant in the future, where everyone has a Smedry Talent.’
And then he was done. He retreated from the podium, stepping down to speak with the monarchs. The room, of course, grew loud with discussions. I found myself standing, pushing my way down to the floor of the room. I approached the monarchs, and the knights standing guard there let me pass.
‘. . . need access to the Royal Archives,’ my father was saying to the monarchs.
‘Not a library,’ I found myself whispering.
My father didn’t notice me. ‘There are some books there I believe would be of use to my investigations, now that I’ve recovered my Translator’s Lenses. One volume, in particular, was conspicuously missing from the Library of Alexandria – the Curators claimed their copy had been burned in a very strange accident. Fortunately, I believe there may be another one here.’
‘It’s gone,’ I said, my voice soft in the room’s buzzing voices.
Attica turned to me, as did several of the monarchs. ‘What is that, son?’ my father asked.
‘Didn’t you pay attention at all to what happened last week?’ I demanded. ‘Mother has the book. The one you want. She stole it from the archives.’
My father hesitated, then nodded to the monarchs. ‘Excuse us.’ He pulled me aside. ‘Now, what is this?’
‘She stole it,’ I said. ‘The book you want, the one written by the scribe of Alcatraz the First. She took it from the archives. That’s what the entire mess last week was about!’
‘I thought that was an assassination attempt on the monarchs,’ he said.
‘That was only part of it. I sent you a message in the middle of it, asking you to come help us protect the archives, but you completely ignored it!’
He waved an indifferent hand. ‘I was occupied with greater things. You must be mistaken – I’ll look through the archives and—’
‘I looked already,’ I said. ‘I’ve looked at the title of every single book in there that was written in the Forgotten Language. They’re all cookbooks or ledgers or things. Except that one my mother took.’
‘And you let her steal it?’ my father demanded indignantly.
Let her. I took a deep breath. (And, next time you think your parents are frustrating, might I invite you to read this passage through one more time?)
‘I believe,’ a new voice said, ‘that young Alcatraz did everything he could to stop the aforementioned theft.’
My father turned to see King Dartmoor, wearing his crown and blue-gold robes, standing behind him. The king nodded to me. ‘Prince Rikers has spoken at length of the event, Attica. I believe there will be a novel forthcoming.’
Wonderful, I thought.
‘Well,’ my father said, ‘I guess . . . well, this changes everything . . .’
‘What is this about giving everyone Talents, Attica?’ the king asked. ‘Is that really wise? From what I hear, Smedry Talents can be very unpredictable.’
‘We can control them,’ my father said, waving another indifferent hand. ‘You know how the people dream of having our powers. Well, I will be the one to make those dreams become a reality.’
So that was what it was about. My father, sealing his legacy. Being the hero who made everyone capable of having a Talent.
Yes, I know it is selfish, but that’s how I felt. I think this is – perhaps – the capstone of this book. After all I’d been through, after all the fighting to help the Free Kingdoms, I was still selfish enough to want to keep the Talents for myself.
Because the Talents were what made us special, weren’t they?
‘I will have to think on this more,’ my father said. ‘It appears that we’ll have to search out that book. Even if it means confronting . . . her.’
He nodded to the kings, then walked away. He put on a smiling face when he met with the press, but I could tell that he was bothered. The disappearance of that book had fouled up his plans.
Well, I thought, he should have paid better attention!
I knew it was silly, but I couldn’t help feeling that I’d let him down. That this was my fault. I tried to shake myself out of it and walked back to my grandfather and the others.
Had my parents been like Folsom and Himalaya once? Bright, loving, full of excitement? If so, what had gone wrong? Himalaya was a Librarian and Folsom was a Smedry. Were they doomed to the same fate as my parents?
And Smedry Talents for everyone. My mind drifted back to the words I’d read on the wall of the tomb of Alcatraz the First.
Our desires have brought us low. We sought to touch the powers of eternity, then draw them down upon ourselves. But we brought with them something we did not intend . . .
The Bane of Incarna. That which twists, that which corrupts, and that which destroys.
The Dark Talent.
Wherever my father went on his quest to discover how to ‘make’ Smedry Talents, I determined that I would follow after him. I would watch, and make certain he didn’t do anything too rash.
I had to be ready to stop him, if need be.
THE LAST PAGES
Alcatraz walks onto the stage. He smiles at the audience, looking right into the camera.
Alcatraz Page 57