Alcatraz Versus the Scrivener's Bones

I opened Bastille’s pack and pulled out the boots with the Grappler’s Glass on the bottom. I activated the glass, then stuck a boot to the side of the wall. As expected, it didn’t stick. They only worked on glass.

“So … maybe we should have you try to break the walls down,” Bastille said. “You’ll probably bury us in stone, but that would be better than sitting around talking about our feelings and that nonsense.”

I glanced over, smiling.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing,” I said. “Just good to have you back.”

She snorted. “Well? Breaking? Can you do it?”

“I can try,” I said speculatively. “But, well, it seems like a long shot.”

“We’ve never had to depend on one of those before,” she said.

“Good point.” I rested my hands against the wall.

The Dark Talent … beware it.…

The words from the tomb wall returned to my mind. The paper with the inscription sat in my pocket, but I tried not to think about it. Now that I’d begun to understand what my Talent was, it didn’t seem a good time to start second-guessing its nature.

There would be time enough for that later.

I tentatively sent a wave of breaking power into the wall. Cracks twisted away from my palms, moving through the stone. Bits of dust and chips began to fall in on us, but I kept going. The wall groaned.

“Alcatraz!” Bastille said, grabbing my arm and pulling me back.

I stumbled, dazed, away from the wall as a large chunk of stone toppled inward and hit the floor where I had been standing. The soft, springy ground gave way beneath the stone. Kind of like my head would have, had it been in the way. Only that would have involved a lot more blood and a lot more screaming.

I stared at the chunk of stone. Then I glanced up at the wall. It was cracked and broken, and other bits of it seemed ready to fall off too.

“Okay, that was expected,” Bastille said, “but still kind of dumb of us, eh?”

I nodded, stooping over to pick up a Grappler’s Glass boot. If only I could get it to work. I put it up against the wall again, but it refused to stick.

“That’s not going to do anything, Smedry,” Bastille said.

“There’s silicon in the rock. That’s the same thing as glass.”

“True,” Bastille said. “But there isn’t enough to make the Grappler’s Glass stick.”

I tried anyway. I focused on the glass, closing my eyes, treating it like it was a pair of Lenses.

During the months Grandpa Smedry had been training me, I’d learned how to activate stubborn Lenses. There was a trick to it. You had to give them energy. Pour part of yourself into them to make them function.

Come on! I thought to the boot, pressing it to the wall. There’s glass in the wall. Little bits of it. You can stick. You have to stick.

I’d contacted Grandpa Smedry at a much greater distance than I was supposed to be able to. I’d done that by focusing hard on my Courier’s Lenses, giving them an extra boost of power. Could I somehow do the same to this boot?

I thought I felt something. The boot, pulling slightly toward the wall. I focused harder, straining, feeling myself grow tired. Yet I didn’t give up. I continued to push, opening my eyes and staring intently.

The glass on the bottom of the boot began to glow softly. Bastille looked over, shocked.

Come on, I thought again. I felt the boot drawing something from me, taking it out, feeding on it.

When I carefully pulled my hand away, the boot stayed where it was.

“Impossible,” Bastille whispered, walking over.

I wiped my brow, smiling triumphantly.

Bastille reached out with a careful touch, poking the boot. Then she easily pulled it off the wall.

“Hey!” I said. “Did you see what I had to go through to get that to stick?”

She snorted. “It came off easily, Smedry. Do you honestly expect that you’d be able to walk up the wall with it?”

I felt my sense of triumph deflate. She was right. If I had to work that hard to get a single boot to stay in one place, there was no way I’d be able to summon enough effort to get all the way to the top.

“Still,” Bastille said. “That’s pretty amazing. How did you do it?”

I shrugged. “I just shoved a little extra power into the glass.”

Bastille didn’t reply. She stared at the boot, then looked at me. “This is silimatic,” she said. “Technology, not magic. You shouldn’t be able to push it like that. Technology has limits.”

“I think your technology and your magic are more related than people believe, Bastille,” I said.

She nodded slowly. Then she moved quickly, putting the boot back into the pack and zipping it up. “You still have those Windstormer’s Lenses?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “Why?”

She looked up, meeting my eyes. “I have an idea.”

“Should I be frightened?” I asked.

“Probably,” she said. “The idea’s a little bit strange. Like one you might have come up with, actually.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Get out those Lenses,” she said, throwing her pack over her shoulder.

I did so.

“Now, break the frames.”

I paused, eyeing her.

“Just do it,” she said.