Alcatraz vs. the Shattered Lens

by Brandon Sanderson

  "So. . . er . . ." I said.

  "Yeah," Mallo said. "Their speech is quite flowery."

  I walked right into that one like a bird hitting a glass sliding door at seventy miles an hour. Beside me, Bastille rolled her eyes.

  Kaz whistled, watching the city. "There are more things in heaven and earth . . . €er, sorry. I'm having trouble getting over that last chapter. Anyway, I've always loved visiting Tuki Tuki. There's no place like it; I always forget how beautiful it is."

  "Perhaps it was a pleasure to visit in the past,” Mallo said, his face growing even more solemn, "but the siege has been difficult for all of us. See how our regal daftdonias droop? The Shielder's Glass lets in light, but the plants can feel that they are enclosed. The entire city wilts beneath the Librarian oppression."

  Indeed, many of the flowers lining the street did seem to be drooping. As the wonder of my first sight of Tuki Tuki began to wear off, I saw many other signs of the siege. Open yards where people were up despite the late hour, cutting bandages and boiling them in enormous vats. The sounds of blacksmiths working on weapons rang in the air. Most of the men we passed - and even many of the women - wore bandages and carried weapons. Spears with long, shark-tooth-like ridges down the sides, or swords and axes of wood, also made with shark-tooth sides.

  If you're wondering where the Mokians get all of those shark teeth, by the way, it involves using children as bait - specifically children who skip to the ends of books to read the last page first. I'm sure that you would never do something like that. That would be downright stoopiderific.

  Many of those passing waved hello to Aydee, and she waved back. Her family, the Mokian Smedrys, were well known. Eventually we approached the palace. It looked like a very large hut, constructed using thick reeds for the walls. It had a crown of red flowers blanketing its thatch roof.

  Now you're probably thinking what I am. Huts? Aren't the Mokians supposed to be one of the most learned, scientifically minded people in the Free Kingdoms? What were they doing living in huts?

  I assumed that, obviously, there was a good explanation. "So, these buildings,” I said. "They're made of special, reinforced magical reeds, I assume. They look like huts, but they're as strong as castles, right?”

  “No," Mallo said. “They're just huts.”

  “Oh. But they've got Expander’s Glass inside of them, right? They look small from the outside, but they’re enormous on the inside?"

  "No. They're just huts.”

  I frowned.

  "We like huts,” Mallo said, shrugging. "Sure, we could build skyscrapers or castles. But why? To cut ourselves off from the sky with walls of stone and steel?"

  "It makes sense," Bastille added. "Huts are more advanced than the buildings you have in the Hushlands, Smedry. Automatic air-conditioning, for one thing, and –”

  "No," Mallo said. "With all respect, young knight, we must learn to stop saying things like this. We like to pretend that what we have is better than what the Librarians have. But comparisons like those, and the jealousy they inspire, began this war in the first place."

  He looked forward, toward the palace. “We choose this life in Mokia. Not because it is 'primitive' or ‘advanced,’ but because it is what we like. The more complex the things surrounding your life become - the homes, the vehicles, the things you put in your homes and your vehicles – the more time you must spend on them. And the less time you have for thought and study."

  I blinked, shocked to hear those words coming from the mouth of the enormous, spear-wielding, war-painted Mokian. To the side, Bastille folded her arms, brooding. Her assertions that everything in the Free Kingdoms was better than things in the Hushlands had shocked me the first day we met. I had assumed that that was the way that all Free Kingdomers thought, but I was coming to realize that Bastille just has a . . . particular way of seeing the world.

  (That means that she's bonkers. But I can't write that she's bonkers, because if I do, she'll punch me. So, uh, perhaps we should forget I wrote this part, eh?)

  We reached the steps up to the palace, where a woman waited for us. She looked familiar too, though this time I could pinpoint why. She looked a lot like her sister, Bastille. Tall and slender, Angola Dartmoor was about ten years older than Bastille and wore a Mokian wrap of yellow and black with a matching flower in her hair. She carried a royal scepter of ornately carved wood.

  She was absolutely beautiful. She had long blond hair, kind of the shade of a bowl of mac and cheese. She was smiling a wide, genuine smile - which was rather the shape of a macaroni and cheese noodle. She seemed to radiate light, much like a bowl of mac and cheese might if you stuffed a lightbulb into it. Her skin was soft and squishy, like –

  Okay. Maybe I'm too hungry to be writing right now. Either way, though, Angola was gorgeous. Definitely one of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen.

  Bastille stepped on my foot.

  "Ow!" I complained. "What was that for?”

  "Stop gawking at my sister," Bastille grumbled.

  "I wasn't gawking! I was appreciating!”

  "Well, appreciate her a little less, then. And drooling."

  “I’m not -" I cut off as Angola breezed down the steps gracefully, coming up to us. "I'm not drooling,” I hissed more softly, then bowed. "Your Majesty.”

  "Lord Smedry!" she said. "I've heard so much about you!"

  "Er . . . you have?"

  She didn't reply, instead laying her hands gracefully on her sister's shoulders. “And Bastille. After all these months of writing you and asking you to come visit, now you finally come? During a siege? I should have known that only danger would lure you. Sometimes, I wonder if you're not as attracted to it as those you protect!"

  Bastille blushed.

  "Come," Angola said. "You are welcome to what comforts Mokia can provide you. We will take morning repast and discuss the news you bring. The Aumakua bless that it be of good report, as we have seen too little of that as of late."

  Now, as an aside, you might be shocked to hear such a distinct reference to religion from Angola. After all, I haven't talked much about religion in these books.

  This is intentional, mostly from a self-preservation standpoint. I've discovered that talking about religion has a lot in common with wearing a catcher's mask: Both give people liberty to throw things at you. (And in the case of religion, sometimes the "things" are lightning bolts.)

  Unfortunately, in the later years of my life I've developed a very rare affliction known as chronic smart-aleckiness. (It's kind of like dyslexia, only easier to spell. Particularly if you don't have dyslexia.) Because of this tragic, terminal disease, I'm unable to read or write about things without making stoopid wisecracks about them.

  Due to my affliction, I've wisely left the topic of religion alone - because if I were to talk about it, I’d have to make fun of it. And that might be offensive, as people take their religions very seriously. Better not to talk about it at all.

  Therefore, I will most certainly not tell you what religion has in common with explosive vomiting. (Whew. Glad I didn't say anything like that. It could have been really offensive.)

  Angola nodded to Kaz and Aydee in welcome, giving each a smile, then glided back up the steps, expecting us to follow her in.

  "Wow," I said. "Is she always so . . .”

  "Nauseatingly regal?" Bastille asked softly. “Yeah, even before she was married."

  "Well, I can see why the king married her. Too bad I won't be able to meet him."

  Bastille's eyes flickered toward Mallo. It was only for a moment, but I caught it. Frowning, I turned to study the general, trying to find out what had drawn Bastille’s attention. Once again, he looked familiar to me. In fact . . .

  "You're the king!" I exclaimed, pointing at him.

  "What?" Mallo said, voice stiff. "No I'm not. The king was taken to safety by the Knights of Crystallia weeks ago.”

  He was a terrible liar.

  "Hey," Kaz said. "Yeah, I thought I rec
ognized you. Your Majesty! We had dinner once a few years back. Remember? My father spilled cranberry juice on your tapa.”

  The man looked embarrassed. "Perhaps we should go inside," he said. "I see there are some things I need to explain."

  (Also, if you're wondering, it's because both often make you fall to your knees.)

  CHAPTER NO!

  I try very hard to be deep, poignant, and meaningful at the beginning of each chapter. Most of the content of these books is basically silliness. (Granted, these events are real silliness that actually happened to me, but that doesn’t stop them from being silly.) In the introductions, therefore, I feel it's important to explain meaningful and important concepts so that your time reading won't be completely wasted.

  I suggest you scrutinize these introductions, searching for their hidden meanings. My thoughts will bring you enlightenment and wisdom. If you are confused by something I say, rest assured that I'll eventually explain myself.

  For instance, in reading the introduction to the previous chapter you might have understood my screams to be an expression of the existential angst felt by modern teens when thrust into a world they were ill-prepared to receive - a world that has changed so drastically from the one their parents knew (thanks for nothing, Heraclitus!). Or you might have seen it as the scream of one realizing that nobody can offer him help or succor.

  (Actually, I wrote that introduction to express the existential crisis I felt when an enormous spider crawled up my leg while I was typing. But you get the idea.)

  We stepped into the palace. It smelled of reeds and thatch, and the wide, open windows let in a cool breeze. The rug was made of long, woven leaves, and the furniture constructed of tied bundles of reeds. Quite cozy, assuming you weren't enraged, confused, and feeling betrayed like I was.

  "You knew" I said, pointing at Bastille.

  "I recognized His Majesty immediately," she admitted. "But he seemed to want to keep his identity secret. So I played along."

  "I did too," Aydee said. "I . . . er, just didn't do a very good job of it. Sorry.”

  "It's all right,” said Mallo, also known as King Talakimallo of Mokia. His wife stepped up beside him, and the guards watched the doorway into the palace.

  "But why hide from me?" I asked.

  "And me!" Kaz said, folding his arms, stepping up beside me.

  "It wasn't just from you," the king said. “It was from all outsiders. You see, we sort of . . . well, tricked the knights.”

  Bastille raised an eyebrow.

  "They insisted that I be protected,” Mallo said, voice fervent. "They would not stop pestering me. I worried they’d kidnap me and take me from the city for my own good.”

  "The city is close to falling, Your Majesty," Bastille said.

  "Mokia can't afford for the entire royal family to be taken by the Librarians. What of the rest of the kingdom? It will need leadership."

  "There is no 'rest of the kingdom,' child," Mallo said.

  "Mokia stands here. We’ve been beaten down by Librarian forces for decades now; if Tuki Tuki falls, it will spell the end for my people. We will become just another Librarian province, slowly assimilated into the Hushlands, our people brainwashed until we forget our past.”

  The queen laid a hand on her husband's arm. “We are not ignorant of the importance of preserving the royal lineage, fair sister - if only so that a proper resistance can be mounted to reclaim Mokia, should that become our fate."

  Before you ask, yes, she actually talks like that. I once asked her to pass the butter and she said, "It pleases me to bequeath this condiment unto you, young Alcatraz." Really. No kidding.

  "But wait," I said, scratching my head. Being stoopid, I do that a lot. "You're here, but the knights think that you're safe somewhere else?"

  "Our daughter imitated me,” Mallo said. "She is an Oculator and has a pair of Disguiser's Lenses. The knights shepherded her away to a hidden location while she used her Lenses to appear as if she were me."

  "The lineage is safe," Angola said.

  "And I can stay to fight with my people, as is right."

  Mallo looked grim. "Rather, I can fall with my people. I'm afraid that several Smedrys and a single knight will not be enough to win this siege. Our Defender's Glass is nearly broken, and most of my warriors have fallen to comas in battle. Those who remain have taken many wounds. My silimatic scientists think that one more day of fighting will shatter the dome. We are faced by superior numbers and superior firepower. In the moments before you arrived, I had made the difficult decision to surrender. I was on my way to the wall to announce it to the Librarians."

  The words hung in the air like a foul stench - the kind that everyone notices but doesn't want to point out, for fear of being named the one who caused it.

  Well, guess we came here for nothing, I thought. We should probably turn around and get out of here.

  "I'm here to help, your Majesty," I said instead. “And I can bring others. If you will resist a little longer, I will not let Mokia fall."

  I'm not sure where the brave words came from. Perhaps a smarter man would have known not to say them. Even as they came out of my mouth, I was shocked by my stoopidity. Remember what I said about bravery?

  Ridiculous though the proclamation was, the king did not laugh. "I have found that the word of a Smedry is like gold, young Alcatraz," King Mallo said appraisingly. “Of great value, but sometimes easy to bend. Are you certain you can bring aid to my people?"

  No.

  “Yes," I said.

  The king studied me, then glanced at his wife. “If we surrender, our people retain their lives,” Angola said, "but lose their selves. If there remains but a slim chance . . ."

  He nodded in agreement. "You said you needed to use our Communicator's Glass, Alcatraz. Let us see what you can do with it, and then I will judge."

  *

  "Are you certain this is the right thing to do?" Bastille hissed to me.

  We sat on a wicker bench, waiting as the king and his wife fetched the Communicator's Glass. Aydee was talking to one of the soldiers, getting news about her family. (Sing, Australia, and their parents had been sent to provide leadership at the other main battlefront in the Mokian war - though I suspect that the king really sent them away to prevent them from being captured when the city fell.) Kaz stood nearby, arms folded as he leaned against the wall, wearing his brown leather jacket and aviator sunglasses.

  "I don't know if this is right," I admitted to Bastille. "But we can't just let them give up."

  "If they fight, people will get hurt,” Bastille said, leaning in close to me. "Can we really offer them enough hope to justify that? Now that I've seen how bad it is, I don't even know if the full force of the Knights of Crystallia would be enough to turn this war around."

  "I . . ." I trailed off, growing befuddled. I did that frequently when Bastille sat really close to me, particularly when I could smell the scent of the shampoo in her hair. Shouldn't girls smell like flowers or something like that? Bastille just smelled like soap.

  It was strangely intoxicating anyway. Obviously she gives off some kind of brain-clouding radiation. That’s the only explanation.

  "Shattering Glass, what am I saying?" she said, pulling back. "Of course it's better for them to fight! I’m sorry. I’ve just grown so used to contradicting you on principle that I'm shocked when you do something smart.”

  "Duurrr . . ." I said.

  She narrowed her eyes at me. "You aren’t still mooning over my sister, are you?" Her voice was quite threatening.

  I shook out of my stupor. "What? No. Don’t be stoopid."

  "Did you just call me stoopid?”

  "No, I told you not to be stoopid. What is it with you and your sister anyway?”

  "Nothing! I love my sister. We're like two shattering flowers in a field of shattering daisies."

  "What does that even mean?"

  “I don't know! It was supposed to sound sisterly or something."

  I
snorted in derision.

  "So what's that supposed to mean?" Bastille demanded. "I'm very affectionate with my sister!"

  "So much so that you’ve never visited her in Mokia?"

  "It's a long way away, and I was busy training to become a knight. So that I could keep idiots like you out of trouble!"

  "Wait. You get mad when I imply that you might be stoopid, but it's all right for you to call me an idiot?"

  "Because you're a Smedry!"

  "That's always your excuse," I said. “I don't buy it. Besides, this time you said you agreed with what I was doing!"

  “So!”

  "So!"

  "So?"

  "So maybe we should, like, go catch a movie together or something,” I said, standing up. "Sometime when we're not being chased by Librarians or being eaten by dragons or things like that!"

  Bastille paused, cocking her head, frowning. "Wait. What?"

  I found myself blushing. Why had I said that? I mean, I'd been thinking about it for a while, but . . .

  Brain- clouding radiation. Obviously.

  "It was nothing," I said, panicking. "I just, uh, got confused, and -"

  "What's a 'movie'?" she asked. .And why would we need to catch it? Did one escape?”

  "Er, yes. They're these big, monstrous creatures that the Librarians let loose in the Hushlands. To terrorize people . . . and, you know, and steal their time, and make them cringe at bad acting, and then make them sit through long boring award shows that give statues of little gold men to people you've never heard of.”

  She frowned even further. "You’re an idiot sometimes, Smedry," she said, then glanced at Kaz, as if asking for an explanation from him.

  "I'm not touching this one,” he said, smiling. “In fact, I'm staying so far away from it, I might as well be in the next kingdom over!”

  "Whatever," Bastille said, turning her narrowed eyes back on me - as if she suspected that I was making fun of her in some way she couldn't figure out. I just continued to blush, right up until the point where Mallo and Angora returned. The queen carried a small hand mirror. She crossed the woven rug and handed it to me.