Alcatraz Versus the Scrivener's Bones

The man in the sarcophagus didn’t move. I edged closer, eyeing him. He looked to be in his fifties, and was wearing an ancient set of clothing—a kind of skirtlike wrap around his upper legs, then a flowing cloaklike shirt on his back that left his bare chest exposed. He had a golden headband around his forehead.

I hesitantly poked his face. (Don’t pretend you wouldn’t have done the same.)

The man didn’t move. So, carefully, cringing, I checked for a pulse. Nothing.

I stepped back. Now, perhaps you’ve seen a dead body before. I sincerely hope that you haven’t, but let’s be realistic. People die sometimes. They have to—if they didn’t, funeral homes and graveyards would go out of business.

Dead bodies don’t look like they were ever alive. Corpses tend to look like they’re made from wax—they don’t seem like people at all, but mannequins.

This body didn’t look that way. The cheeks were still flush, the face surreal in the way it seemed ready to take a breath at any moment.

I glanced at Bastille and Kaz. They were still frozen, as if time weren’t moving for them. I looked back at the body, and suddenly began to catch a hint of what might be going on.

I put on my Translator’s Lenses, then walked over to the discarded lid of the sarcophagus. There, printed in ornate letters, was a name:

Allekatrase the Lens-wielder, first Bearer of the Dark Talent.

Intrinsically, my Translator’s Lenses let me know that the word Lens-wielder when spoken in ancient Nalhallan would sound different to my ears. The ancient Nalhallan word for “Lens” was smaed and their word for “person who uses” was dary.

Allekatrase the Lens-wielder. Allekatrase Smaed-dary.

Alcatraz Smedry the First.

Golden dust fell around me, sprinkling my hair. “You broke time, didn’t you?” I asked. “Kaz mentioned that there were legends of you having done so. You created for yourself a tomb where time would not pass, where you could rest without decomposing.”

It was the ultimate method of embalming. I personally suspect that the Egyptian custom of making mummies of their kings came from the story of Alcatraz Smedry the First.

“I have your Talent,” I said, stepping up beside the sarcophagus, looking at the man inside. “What am I supposed to do with it? Can I control it? Or will it always control me?”

The body was silent. They’re like that. Completely lacking in social graces, those corpses.

“Did it destroy you?” I asked. “Is that what the warning is for?”

The body was so serene. Gold dust was beginning to gather on its face. Finally, I sighed and knelt down to look at the Lens in the lid of the sarcophagus. It was completely clear, with no color to indicate what it did. Yet I knew it was powerful, because it had drawn me here.

I reached out and tried to pry it free. It was stuck on the lid very soundly, but I wasn’t about to leave a Lens that powerful sitting in a forgotten tomb.

I touched the lid and released my Talent into it. Immediately the Lens popped free, flipping up into the air. I was caught so off guard that I barely managed to grab it before it fell and shattered.

As soon as I touched the Lens, it stopped giving off power. The bubble of strange time-shift continued to be in force, however, so the Lens hadn’t been behind that.

I moved to stand up, but then noticed something. In the place where the Lens had been affixed, there was an inscription. It would have been hidden beneath the glass of the Lens, which had a small black paper backing to keep the text from being seen until the Lens was removed.

It was in ancient Nalhallan. With my Translator’s Lenses, I could read it with ease.