Authors: Brandon Sanderson
Alcatraz (23 page)
Grandpa Smedry smiled.
‘Perhaps.
But when it counted, you broke that Firebringer’s Lens in
exactly
the right way.
You didn’t just shatter it or make it stop working.
You made it work wrong, but made it work right for you.
That shows real promise, lad.’
I looked over at the Sheldons’ house again.
‘You’ll .
.
.
come for me, won’t you?’
‘Of course I will, lad!’
I took a deep breath.
‘All right, then.
Do you want to take the Translator’s Lenses with you?’
‘They’re your inheritance, lad.
It wouldn’t be right.
You keep them.’
I nodded.
Grandpa Smedry smiled, then reached over to give me a hug.
I held on tight – tighter than I’d probably intended.
Grandfather, cousins, perhaps even my father
, I thought.
I have family
.
Finally, I let go, then got out of the car.
I looked up at the house again.
I’ve always had family
, I thought.
Not always the Sheldons, but someone
.
People willing to give me a home.
I guess it’s about time I admitted that
.
I closed the door, then looked in through the window.
‘Don’t break anything!’
Grandpa Smedry said.
‘Just come for me,’ I said.
‘Don’t be late.’
‘Me?’
Grandpa Smedry asked.
‘Late?’
Then he rapped on the dash of the car, and it began to hum.
I watched it pull away, watched it until it was gone.
Then I walked up the street to the house.
I paused on the doorstep.
I could still faintly smell smoke.
I knocked on the door.
Roy opened it.
He stood, stupefied, for a moment.
Then he yelled in surprise, grabbing me in a hug.
‘Joan!’
he cried.
She rushed around the corner.
‘Alcatraz?’
Roy handed me over to her.
She grabbed me in a tight embrace.
‘When the caseworker called,’ Roy said, ‘asking where you’d gone .
.
.
well, we assumed you’d run off for good, kiddo.’
‘You didn’t get into trouble, did you?’
Joan asked, looking at me sternly.
I shrugged.
‘I don’t know.
I knocked down two floors, one wall, and a few doors, I think.
Nothing too bad.’
Joan and Roy shared a look, then smiled, and took me in.
Hours later, after giving them some reasonable lies about where I’d been, after having a good meal, and after accepting their pleas that I stay with them for at least a little while longer, I walked up to my room.
I sat down on my bed, trying to think through the things that had happened to me.
Oddly, I didn’t find the Librarians, the Alivened, or the Lenses to be the most strange of the recent events.
The strangest things to me were the changes I saw in myself.
I
cared
.
And it had all happened because of a simple package in the mail .
.
.
My head snapped up.
There, sitting on my desk, was the empty box, beside its brown wrapper.
I stood and walked across the room.
I flattened out the packaging noting the stamp that I’d investigated, the address written in faded ink .
.
.
and the scribbles up the side of the paper.
The ones I’d assumed had come from someone trying to get the ink in his pen to flow.
With trembling hands, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the Translator’s Lenses – the Lenses of Rashid.
I slipped them on.
The scribble immediately changed into legible words.
Son,
Congratulations!
If you can read this, then you have managed to craft Lenses of Rashid from the sands I sent you.
I knew you’d be able to do it!
I must tell you that I am afraid.
I fear that I’ve stumbled on something powerful – something more important, and more dangerous, than any of us expected.
The Lenses of Rashid were only the beginning!
The Forgotten Language leads to clues, stories, legends about the Smedry Talents and –
Well, I can’t say more here.
By the time you get this package, much time will have passed.
Thirteen years.
Perhaps I’ll have solved the problem by then, but I suspect not.
The Lenses that let me see where you will be living at age thirteen have also given me a warning that my task will not be done by then.
But I can only see vaguely into the future – the Oracle’s Lenses are far from perfect!
What I see makes me even more worried.
Once I have confirmation that this box reached you without being intercepted, I will send you further information.
I have the other set of Rashid Lenses – with them, I can write in the Forgotten Language, and only you will be able to read my messages.
For now, simply know that I’m proud of you, and that I love you.
Your father,
Attica Smedry
I put the paper down, stunned.
It was at that moment that I heard a rapping on my window.
Instead of a raven outside, however, I saw the mustached face of Grandpa Smedry.
I frowned, walking over and opening the window.
Grandpa Smedry stood on a ladder that appeared to have extended from the back of his little black automobile.
‘Grandpa?’
I asked.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘What?’
he asked.
‘I came for you, as promised.’
‘As promised?’
I asked.
‘But you only left me a few hours ago.’
‘Yes, yes,’ Grandpa Smedry said.
‘I know, I’m late.
Come on, lad!
We’ve got work to do.
Are you packed yet?’
Grandpa Smedry began to climb back down the ladder.
‘Wait,’ I said, sticking my head out the window.
‘Packed?
I thought I was staying here with Joan and Roy!’
‘What?’
Grandpa Smedry said, looking back up.
‘Edible Eddings, boy!
This city is crawling with Librarians.
It was dangerous enough to give you a chance to come back and say good-bye!’
‘But you said I had to spend some time with them!’
‘A few hours, lad,’ Grandpa Smedry said, ‘to apologize for the trouble you’d given them.
What did you expect?
That I’d leave you here all summer, in the exact place where your enemies know where to look?
With people that aren’t even your family?
In a place you don’t really like, and that is depressingly normal compared to the world you’ve grown to love?
Doesn’t that sound a little stupid and contrived to you?’
I raised my hand to my head.
‘Yeah,’ I noted, ‘now that you mention it, who
would
do something silly like that?
Let me go get my things and write a note to Joan and Roy.
Oh, and you have to see what’s written on this package!’
I rushed back into the room, pulling out a gym bag to begin packing.
Outside, I heard Grandpa Smedry’s car hum quietly to life.
I smiled.
Everything felt right.
Weird, true, but
right
.
It was about time.
So, that’s how it began.
Not as spectacular as some have claimed, I know, but it felt incredible enough to me at the time.
Now, I’ll be the first to admit that those first couple of days had a profound effect on me, shaking me slightly out of the self-indulgent rebelliousness that I had fallen into.
The thing is, if I could go back, I’d still tell myself not to go with Grandpa Smedry on that strange, unfortunate day.
The things I learned during that first infiltration – trust, self-confidence, bravery – might seem good at first glance.
However, the changes I experienced were just setting me up for my eventual fall.
you’ll see what I mean.
For now, I hope this narrative was enough to show that even supposed heroes have flaws.
Let this be your warning – I’m not the person that you think I am.
You’ll see.
With regret,
Alcatraz Smedry
And so, untold millions screamed out in pain, and then were suddenly silenced.
I hope you’re happy.
(This was included for anyone who skipped forward to read the last page of the book.
For the rest of you – the ones who reached the last page in the proper, honorable, and Smedry-approved manner – those untold millions are cheering in praise of your honesty.
They’ll probably throw you a party.)
Thanks to my agents, Joshua Bilmes (who single-handedly transformed this manuscript from being a whimsical idea into a full-blown super-project) and Steve Mancino, who exceeded my expectations wildly in finding the book a home.
And, speaking of that home, Anica Rissi – my editor at Scholastic – took fantastic care of this book, helping make it the best book possible.
Her tireless work is well appreciated, and the same goes for all of the wonderful people over at Scholastic.
As for alpha readers, I’d like to thank Stacy Whitman, Heather Kirby, Kristina Kugler, Peter and Karen Ahlstrom, Kaylynn ZoBell, Isaac Thegn Skarstedt, Ethan Skarstedt, Leif Ethan Skarstedt, Benjamin R.
Olsen, Matisse Hales, Lauren Sanderson, Alan Layton, Janette Layton, Nathan Hatfield, Krista Olsen, C.
Lee Player, Eric J.
Ehlers, and Emily Sanderson.
Special thanks to my grandmother, Beth Sanderson, for suggesting this project.
Also, I’d like to give a special acknowledgment to Janci Patterson who worked tirelessly to slay the typo demons in this manuscript.
(Not that I didn’t manage to sneak a few more in afterward.)
Finally, a thanks to all of the evil librarians out there.
It’s partially their fault that I ended up being a writer instead of something useful, like a plumber or a foghorn repair technician.
It’s poetic justice that I would now use my nefarious talent to expose you all for what you really are.
– Brandon Sanderson
For Lauren, who somehow manages to be both the baby of the family and the most responsible one of us all
I am a liar.
I realize that you may not believe this.
In fact, I hope that you don’t.
Not only would that make the statement particularly ironic, but it means you have very far to fall.
You see, I know that you Free Kingdomers have heard stories about me.
Perhaps you’ve seen a documentary or two about my life through a silimatic screen.
I can understand why you might not believe that I’m a liar.
You probably think that I’m just being humble.
You think you know me.
You’ve listened to the storytellers.
You’ve talked with your friends about my exploits.
You’ve read history books and heard the criers tell of my heroic deeds.
The trouble is, the only people who are bigger liars than myself are the people who like to talk about me.
You don’t know me.
You don’t understand me.
And you certainly shouldn’t believe what you read about me.
Except – of course – what you read in this book, for it will contain the truth.
Now, let me speak to the Hushlanders.
That means those of you who live in places like Canada, Europe, or the Americas.
Do not be fooled because this book looks like a work of fantasy!
Like the previous volume, we are publishing this book as fiction in the Hushlands to hide it from the Librarians.
This is not fiction.
In the Free Kingdoms – lands like Mokia and Nalhalla – it will be published openly as an autobiography.
For that is what it is.
My own story told – for the first time – to prove what really happened.
For once, I intend to cut through the falsehoods.
For once, I intend to see the truth in print.
My name is Alcatraz Smedry, and I welcome you to the second volume of my life story.
May you find it enlightening.
