The Dark Talent by Brandon Sanderson
“At least that’s something,” I said.
“Alcatraz,” Himalaya said softly. “There’s one more thing. I touched a piece of Shielder’s Glass here; we brought it along for cover, but it ran out of brightsand quickly. Alcatraz … when I touched it … it started glowing.”
I felt cold.
“You’re not an Oculator.”
“No, never have been. Folsom isn’t one either. But he can make the glass glow too. What does it mean?”
It meant I had no idea what was going on. It wasn’t only me and Grandpa, it seemed, who were making glass act crazy. The effect was multiplied in us, but if it was happening to Himalaya and Folsom too …
“Alcatraz, please,” she said. “I have to get back to the fighting. But if you can do something to help us out, we’d really appreciate it.”
More people relying on me. I felt a knot in the bottom of my stomach as Himalaya hung up. The Free Kingdoms Air Guard had come, the Librarian resistance, even Charles and his friends, all because they’d believed in my speech. I was the face of this rebellion, improvised though it was.
How in the world was I going to save them? Most days it felt like I could barely save myself.
We reached the tunnel that would lead to the Forgotten Language archive, and turned into it. Once again our only light became that of skull-shaped lamps on the walls. This corridor felt quiet, almost solemn, compared to the chaos outside.
“The Scrivener,” I said, shoving the phone back into my pocket and looking toward my mother. “That Dark Oculator confirmed to me that someone is using that name. Do you know what he looks like? Maybe we can confirm if this is Biblioden returned, or just someone using the title.”
“That will be tough,” my mother said. “We don’t even have pictures of him—not that the Librarian high-ups show off. But … Alcatraz, I doubt any other Librarian would claim that title. We have to confront the possibility that Biblioden found a way to bring himself back to life. Either that or he was never actually dead in the first place.”
I’d like to pause here and say something clever.
I’d like to, but I can’t because I’m not really feeling clever at the moment. So instead I’m going to include the mating call of the wooly sea sloth:
“Hey, wanna grab a pizza?”
Ah, such magnificent animals.
We reached an intersection in our tunnel. The wind was blowing more strongly from the left fork, and that’s the direction my mother turned. The direction of the archive we wanted.
I, however, turned right.
“Alcatraz?” my mother called, stopping at the intersection, though Dif followed me immediately. Finally I heard her footfalls racing after me down the corridor.
From my memory of the map, I only needed to count down four rooms in this tunnel to get where I wanted to go. When I arrived, I was disappointed to find a locked steel door blocking the entrance. Fortunately, when my mother drew close, a light on the side of the door turned green. The authenticator had enough clearance to get us in.
“What is this?” Dif asked.
“Chemicals lab and medical storage?” my mother asked, reading the words—etched into the stone in a cryptic language I couldn’t decipher—above the entrance. “Why have you come here?”
I placed my hand on the door. “Because,” I said, “I have a friend in a Librarian-induced coma, and this is precisely the sort of place they’d keep the cure.”
Chapter
17
I can’t drive a car. But if I could drive a car, and if this book were a car, my foot would be on the gas pedal and we’d be going about 200 miles an hour right now.
I’ve thought quite a bit about these last chapters of my autobiography. You are now approaching the end of the fifth book, the last book. You’ve dedicated hours upon hours of your life studying my exploits. It’s all been pointing at this.
I want you to understand the gravity of this moment; I need you to realize exactly how solemn all this is. And so, I’m going to do something I’ve never done before. Something incredible, something dangerous, and something completely unexpected.
I’m going to let you skip ahead.
Yes, I know. In every book so far, I’ve forbidden you from looking ahead. I’ve mocked and derided those who do so. I told you to never, never, never look ahead in a book.
And now I’m letting you. That’s how important this ending is. That’s how dangerous all this is.
We have to do it in a controlled way though. At the end of this introduction, I am giving you formal permission to look ahead to Chapter Twenty and read the first two paragraphs here.
Now, make sure you read only the first two paragraphs, and of only that chapter. No peeking at anything else. Just those two paragraphs.
Read them out loud.
I inched open the door into the chemical storage facility and got a faceful of wind; the air vents inside were blowing full force. This chamber was all smooth metal surfaces, distinctly different from the organic “rocky cavern” feel of the rest of the Highbrary. A pair of Librarians moved inside, stacking a set of glass tubes on a rack. They wore white robes instead of black, and spoke in hushed whispers.
“I’m telling you, I saw it,” one of them was saying. “I was on the expedition to Alexandria; I know what they look like. I don’t know why those spirits are making their way here, but they are.”
I pulled back, letting Dif and my mother peek through the crack. “We’ll have to wait until those Librarians are gone,” I whispered to the two of them.
“No time,” my mother said.
She stood up and shoved her way into the room. I stifled a yelp of annoyance and fished for my Shamefiller’s Lens. But I didn’t dare use that on people. Not even Librarians. I—
“You two!” my mother barked. “We have wounded in the main hall.”
The two Librarian scientists—a man and a woman—spun about, took in Mother’s black robe, then glanced at the light on the wall indicating that she was allowed into the room.
“Wounded?” the male Librarian scientist asked. “Why would there be wounded?”
“Haven’t you been paying attention?” Mother snapped. “Useless fools! Rebels have broken into the Highbrary.”
“Did they cause the wind?” the other scientist asked, pointing toward a stack of papers they’d had to weigh down with beakers full of water.
“Obviously,” Mother said. “They also brought some of our own weapons, stolen from the battlefield in Mokia, and are using them to knock our troops unconscious. I need the cure, stat.”
“Stat?” the woman asked.
“It’s Latin,” my mother said. “It means I’ll rip out your tongues if you don’t obey RIGHT NOW.”
They obeyed, rushing to a cabinet and unlocking it. My mother folded her arms as I joined her; then she cocked an eyebrow at me. I might not have thought highly of her parenting skills, but I did have to admit that she had an enviable ability to get her way. People tended to do what she said, if only because her presence was so loathsome they wanted to be free of her as soon as possible.
The female scientist came back with a tiny vial, smaller than a perfume sampler. My mother looked at it, skeptical.
“We’ll need way more than one vial,” I said.
“No you won’t,” the woman said, unscrewing the lid. “This stuff is super concentrated. You’d be surprised at how much a few drops can do. We merely have to hold it up beneath the subject’s nose, and once they smell the fumes they’ll awaken.”
The vial let out a distinctive scent of cinnamon. It seemed safe to breathe. My mother looked to me, and I nodded. It would at least be enough for Bastille.
“We’ll take it,” my mother said, reaching for the vial.
“We’re not allowed to let level-eight superchemicals out of our sight,” the woman said, putting the lid back on.
My mother glared at her, but the scientist remained firm.
“Fine,” my mother snapped. “Take it
“Uh…” the woman said, shuffling. “Is that where everyone is fighting…?”
“That’s what I said.”
“But I’m a scientist.”
“Don’t worry,” my mother said. “You can take your colleague. I’m certain the two of you will be safe together.”
After a short staring match, the woman wilted, then nodded. The two scientists left, scuttling away before my mother’s glare like they’d been caught eating apples in Eden.
I pushed the door shut behind them, then hurried to the cabinet where they’d gotten out the vial. It was locked. I pried at it, cursing softly. The whole thing was metal. I’d need a crowbar to get in.
“This is a waste of our time,” Mother said, folding her arms.
“My friends,” I muttered, “are counting on me.”
“Your friends are not as important as the fate of the world.”
“I’ve kind of got to agree,” Dif said. “As awesomely yet irresponsibly impulsive as this was, Cousin, we can’t spend much time here.”
“Just a minute,” I said, grabbing a screwdriver off a nearby table, then trying to use it to pry the medicine case open.
This was ridiculous. Here I was, trying to break something. And failing. How often had that happened in my life? True, my Talent had occasionally broken everything except the item I wanted, but during these last few months with my family, I’d learned control. I’d stopped breaking things by accident. I’d channeled my powers, as Grandpa had taught.
And now … nothing. It was alarming how powerless I suddenly felt, unable to get through that little sheet of metal and its stupid lock. After a few minutes of fruitless struggling, feeling my mother’s and Dif’s eyes on me, I slammed the screwdriver down on the metal desk next to me with a resonant bang.
If there was one thing I was supposed to be able to do, it was break things! It was like a fundamental part of me was missing. Was this how Grandpa and the others felt? I’d been somewhat enjoying the loss of my Talent—it hadn’t been that long ago that I’d viewed it as a curse, rather than a super power.
I turned to look at the others, to beg for help getting the cabinet open, and I caught my reflection in a nearby glass case. It was watching me, and it didn’t move when I did.
“You’re it, aren’t you?” I asked the reflection. “The Talent?”
“Alcatraz?” my mother asked.
I ignored her, looking into my own eyes in the glass. The figure shook its head.
I jumped. I was expecting that, but I still jumped.
“What are you, then?” I demanded.
The figure mouthed something. I’m you.
“You broke things,” I said. “You broke everything. That wasn’t me. I didn’t want to.”
Didn’t you? the figure asked. You didn’t want to drive them away? You didn’t want to be alone?
“I…”
What am I to you? the figure mouthed. I could almost hear it. Something to be controlled, bottled in, used? Then ignored?
“Why did you do this?” I asked, stepping up to the glass. “Why did you let me save Mokia, then leave?”
Maybe, the figure mouthed, I was tired of being blamed for things that are not my fault.
I stared at the glass, and found tears leaking from the corners of my eyes. My mother stepped up to me, hesitant, as if she were approaching a wild animal. She touched me on the arm. “Alcatraz? Are you all right?”
“No,” I snapped, turning from her to the cabinet. I placed my hands on the metal and tried to summon the Talent. I reached for it, strained for it.
I was so close. Just another inch …
It refused.
But my robe did start talking to me again.
“I can’t believe I let my hood fall down right at the wrong moment!” it cried. “I ruined everything!”
And if this seems like too many talking inanimate objects for you, might I kindly remind you that you’re the one talking to a book.*
The Shamefiller’s Lens. I cursed, digging it out of my pocket, but the thing was brutally hot to the touch. It singed my fingers and I dropped it. It bounced to a rest on the floor and released a distinctive beam of light straight upward.
“Man, I’m a terrible ceiling.…”
I can’t believe that the last thing I said to Bastille was a complaint that she was supposed to protect me, a piece of me thought. I’m so ashamed.…
Uh-oh.
“Out!” I screamed at the others, then grabbed the screwdriver and ducked down, using it to tilt the Lens up toward the cabinet.
“Wow,” the cabinet said, “I can’t believe I slammed on that cute scientist’s fingers. It was absolutely the wrong moment too. There we were, the two of us, alone in here and, and, I can’t take it!”
No. I couldn’t destroy the cabinet. That would break the vials. Instead, I tipped the Lens toward the wall nearby. It was a long shot too, but I felt better about it.
“I’m the worst wall ever,” the wall said. “All I do is stare at the other walls. Do they see the dirty specks on me? Is that why they won’t speak to me? Oh!”
I failed her, I thought. I failed everyone.…
A section of the wall exploded as my screwdriver head melted. As I’d hoped, the wall ripping apart made the metal cabinet fall free. I managed to catch it, and the back was open. From within I grabbed a large bottle of liquid the same shade as the little vial the scientist had shown us.
“I’m the worst floor ever.”
“What an awful table I am!”
I ruined everything, I thought. I’m so terrible at all of this, I could just explode.…
I dove for the doorway, cradling the bottle as things inside the room began to burst in showers of sparks. The ceiling, the tables, the walls. Their blasts created a thundering cacophony.
But I survived.
Though a lingering sense of shame haunted me, I’d gotten far enough away. I was left with the image of a large column of light consuming everything in the room.
“What,” my mother said, “was that?”
“Lenses are acting kind of weird around me,” I said, struggling to my feet.
“That’s what you call ‘weird’?” she demanded as the entire room collapsed upon itself.
Dazed, I fished in my pocket. I’d dropped the Truthfinder’s Lens into the fans, so all I had left now were my standard Oculator’s Lenses and my Courier’s Lenses. Well, those and the Shaper’s Lens my grandfather had given me.
“Come on,” I said, holding the large bottle of antidote. “Let’s move.”
I got no complaint from the others, and Dif gave me a thumbs-up. He apparently considered what I’d just done to be properly “kooky” and “unexpected.” I pulled out the Courier’s Lenses and put them on as we ran down the hallway. “Grandpa?” I said, activating them. I couldn’t worry about the fact that they’d make me glow; hopefully everyone would assume I was a Dark Oculator.
NO NEED TO YELL, LAD! Grandpa’s voice screamed back at me.
“I’m not yelling, you are.”
MUST BE THE WAY WE’RE SUDDENLY SUPERCHARGING LENSES.
“I suppose,” I said, lagging behind Shasta and Dif. That burst of shamefilling had really taken a lot out of me. “We found where they’re keeping the Forgotten Language texts, and are on our way there right now.”
ROUSING ROWLINGS! I’M ON MY WAY TOO! YOU FOUND AN AUTHENTICATOR?
“Both that and the antidote for the Mokians. I took our authenticator off a Dark Oculator. You?”
TRICKED IT OUT OF ONE OF THE LIBRARIANS WHO OPERATE THE VENTILATION SYSTEMS IN HERE. RIGHT BEFORE JAMMING THE THINGS ON FULL SPEED.
“That was you?” I asked.
FIGURED IT WOULD MESS EVERYTHING UP IN HERE. LIBRARIANS CAN NEVER THINK STRAIGHT IF THEIR BOOKS ARE OUT OF ORDER.
I decided not to mention how the fans had nearly messed me up as well. “So that’s your plan to destroy
WELL, THAT, Grandpa said, AND ENGAGING THE HIGHBRARY’S SELF-DESTRUCT MECHANISM.
I stopped in place. “The what?”
DON’T SHOUT, PLEASE, LAD! Grandpa said, but chuckled. THE SELF-DESTRUCT MECHANISM. EVIL SOCIETIES CAN NEVER RESIST PUTTING THE SILLY THINGS IN THEIR BASES.
“But…” I said.
DON’T WORRY, Grandpa replied. THEY’LL GET IT DISARMED BEFORE IT GOES OFF. I’VE NEVER YET BEEN ABLE TO GET ONE OF THE BLASTED THINGS TO ACTUALLY BLOW UP, BUT IT WILL SEND THE HIGH-LEVEL LIBRARIANS INTO A PANIC, MAYBE KEEP THEM OFF OUR BACKS. I’LL MEET YOU AT THE FORGOTTEN LANGUAGE ARCHIVE.
I nodded. Ahead, my mother had stopped in the wide tunnel, looking back at me insistently. The wind was pretty strong here. Not “blow you over” strong, but maybe “blow over your baby brother” strong.
I continued forward, feeling drained. Perhaps it was the lingering effect of the Shamefiller’s Lens, but I had a sudden, almost overpowering feeling that this was all going to end like it had in Mokia. Maybe we’d stop my father, but what about saving my friends? What about Himalaya and Folsom, and all the people fighting in ships above the city? What good was it to “win” if everyone I cared about ended up dying for that victory?
I dug out the phone and dialed Kaz.
“Al!” he said, picking up the phone. I could hear explosions on the other end of the line. “Please tell me you’re almost done in there.”
“Battle’s going poorly?”
“You could say that,” Kaz said, then cursed. He didn’t speak for a few seconds. “That was close. We’re going to need to pull out soon. And Al, something strange is going on.”
“Glass is acting oddly around you?”
“Yeah! How’d you guess? When I push buttons on the glass control panel, it lights them all up. It’s nearly gotten me killed. I have to steer with the most delicate touch. I don’t know how long I can keep this up before something goes very wrong.”
“Okay,” I said, “I want you to pull out. But I need you to do something crazy first.”