Alcatraz Versus the Scrivener's Bones

To my descendant, the tiny inscription read.

If you have released this Lens, then I know you have the Dark Talent. Part of me rejoices, for this means it is still being protected and borne by our family, as is our curse.

Yet I am also worried, for it means you haven’t found a way to banish it. As long as the corrupting Talent remains, it is a danger.

This Lens is the most precious of my collection. I have given others to my son. His lesser Talent, though corrupted, is not to be feared. Only when the Talent can Break is it dangerous. In all others, it simply taints what they have.

Use the Lens. Pass on this knowledge, if it has been forgotten.

And care well for the burden, blessing, and curse you have been given.

I sat back, trying to decide what I thought of the words. I wished that I had something I could write with, but then decided that it was better that I didn’t copy the text. The Curators would take what I wrote, and if they didn’t already know of the inscription, I didn’t want them to.

I stood up. With some effort, I managed to get the lid of the sarcophagus back on. Then I lay my hand on the inscription and somehow Broke it. The text of the letters scrambled, becoming gibberish, even to my Translator’s Lenses.

I pulled my hand back, surprised. I’d never done anything like that before. I stood silently, then solemnly bowed my head to the sarcophagus, which had been carved to match the face of the man who rested inside.

“I’ll do my best,” I said. Then I stepped from the circle.

The light faded. The room became musty and old again, and Bastille and Kaz began moving.

“—don’t think this is a good idea,” Bastille said.

“Objection noted again,” I said, dusting the gold powder from my shoulders, where it had gathered like King Midas’s dandruff.

“Alcatraz?” Kaz asked. “What just happened?”

“Time moves differently in there,” I said, looking back at the sarcophagus. It seemed unchanged, the dust hanging in the air, the lamps extinguished. The Lens on the lid, however, was gone. I still had it in my hand.

“I think stepping into that circle takes you back in time to the moment he died,” I said. “Something like that. I’m not exactly sure.”

“That’s … very odd,” Kaz said. “Did you find out who he was?”

I nodded, looking down at the Lens. “Alcatraz the First.”

The other two were silent.

“That’s impossible, Al,” Kaz said. “I’ve seen the tomb of Alcatraz the First. It’s down in the Nalhallan royal catacombs. It’s one of the city’s greatest tourist attractions.”

“It’s a fake,” Bastille said.

We both looked at her sharply.

“The royal family made it a thousand years back or so,” she said, glancing away. “As a symbol of Nalhalla’s founding. It bothered the royals that they didn’t know where Alcatraz the First was buried, so they came up with a fake historical site to commemorate him.”

Kaz whistled softly. “I guess you’d know, Bastille. That’s some cover-up. But why is he here, in the Library of Alexandria of all places?”

“This chamber is older than the parts around it,” I said. “I’d say that the Curators moved their library here on purpose. Weren’t you the one who told me that it changed locations in favor of a place with more room?”

“True,” Kaz said. “What’s that Lens?”

I held it up. “I’m not sure; I found it on the sarcophagus. Bastille, do you recognize it?”

She shook her head. “It’s not tinted. It could do anything.”

“Maybe I should just activate it.”

Bastille shrugged, and Kaz seemed to have no objections. So, hesitantly, I tried it. Nothing happened. I looked through the Lens, but couldn’t see anything different about the room.

“Nothing?” Bastille asked.

I shook my head, frowning. He called this his most powerful of Lenses. So what does it do?

“It makes sense, I guess,” Kaz said. “It was active before—it’s what drew you here. Maybe all it does is send out a signal to other Oculators.”

“Maybe,” I said, unconvinced. I slipped it into the single-Lens pocket in my jacket that had once held my Firebringer’s Lens.

“We should probably show it to my father,” Kaz said. “He’ll be able to…”

He kept talking, but I stopped paying attention. Bastille was acting oddly. She’d suddenly perked up, growing tense. She glanced out the broken wall.

“Bastille?” I asked, cutting Kaz off.