Alcatraz Versus the Scrivener's Bones

“Get out your pen and paper,” I said, kneeling. “I need to write this down.”

Bastille sighed, but did as I asked, fetching a pen and paper from her pack. Kaz wandered over, watching with interest as I transcribed the writing on the wall.

“What language is that, anyway?” I asked. “It mentions the Incarna, but it’s not the Forgotten Language.”

“That’s old Nalhallan,” Kaz said. “I can’t read it, but we have a few scholars back in the capital who can. When the Incarna fell, its few survivors ended up in Nalhalla to live.”

I finished the translation. Then, immediately, the three Curators surrounded me.

“You must give up all writings to the library when you enter,” one hissed. “A copy will be returned to you once we have completed it. If a copy cannot be made in one hour’s time, we will return the original instead.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” However, I let them pull the sheet away and vanish with it.

Bastille was frowning—she’d read the translation as I wrote it. “That inscription makes it seem like your Talent is dangerous.”

“It is,” I said. “Do you know how many times I’ve nearly been beaten up for breaking something at the wrong time?”

“But—” She cut off, however, obviously sensing that I didn’t want to talk about it further.

To be honest, I didn’t know what to think. It was strange enough to find ancient writings that dealt with Smedry Talents. To have them give a caution about mine specifically … well, it was a little disturbing.

That was the first time I really got any hint of the troubles that were coming. You Free Kingdomers call me a savior. Can I really be considered a savior if I caused the very problem I helped fix?

“Wait a moment,” Bastille said. “Didn’t we get drawn here by an Oculatory Lens? Whatever happened to that?”

“That’s right,” I said, standing. I could still sense it working, though I’d been distracted by everything else in the tomb.

I swapped my Translator’s Lenses for my Oculator’s Lenses, then had to turn down their power because of how blinding the room was. Once I’d done so, I could see the Lens that had drawn me here. It was set into the lid of the sarcophagus.

“It’s there,” I said, pointing. “On the top of the sarcophagus.”

“I don’t trust that thing,” Kaz said. “That circle around it is strange. We should leave, gather a research team, then come back and study this place in detail.”

I nodded absently. Then I walked toward the sarcophagus.

“Alcatraz!” Bastille said. “Are you going to do something stupid and brash again?”

I turned. “Yeah.”

She blinked. “Oh. Well then, you probably shouldn’t. Consider me opposed to it. Whatever it is.”

“Objection noted,” I said.

“I—” Bastille said. She stopped as I stepped into the circle of clean ground around the sarcophagus.

Everything immediately changed. Dust began to fall around me, sparkling like very fine powdered metal. Lamps burned with bright flames set to the top of the pillars around the sarcophagus. It was like I’d entered a small column of golden light. Somehow, I’d moved from a long-dead tomb to someplace alive with motion.

There was still a sense of reverence to the area. I turned, noticing Bastille and Kaz standing outside the ring of light. They were frozen in place, mouths open as if to speak.

I turned back to the sarcophagus, the dust falling very faintly in the air, sprinkling over everything. I held up a hand. The dust was indeed metallic, and it glittered with a yellow sheen. Gold dust.

Why had I stepped blindly into the circle like that?

It’s hard to explain. Imagine you have the hiccups. In fact, you not only have the hiccups, you have The Hiccups. These are the hiccups to end all hiccups. You’ve hiccupped all of your life, without a moment of freedom. You’ve hiccupped so much that you’ve lost friends, made everyone annoyed at you, and grown pretty down on yourself.

And then, amazingly, you discover a group of people who have similar problems. Some of them burp all the time, others sniffle all the time, and still others have really bad gas. They all make annoying noises, but they come from a land where that’s really cool. They’re all impressed with your hiccupping.

You hang out with these people for a time, and start to grow proud of your hiccups. But then you pass a billboard that mentions—for the first time—that your hiccups will probably end up destroying the world.

You might feel a little like I did. Confused, betrayed, unsettled. Willing to step into a strange ring of power to confront, hopefully, the person who made the billboard.

Even if he did happen to be dead.

I pushed aside the top of the sarcophagus. It was weightier than I’d expected, and I had to heave. It clattered to the floor, scattering gold dust.

There was a man’s body inside, and he wasn’t even a bit decomposed. In fact, he looked so lifelike that I jumped backward.