Part 13 (1/2)

And break.

So, they got rid of me. They hadn't been cruel people I'd just been too much for them. I saw them once, on the street a few months later, walking with a little girl. My replacement. A girl who didn't break everything she touched, a girl who fit better into what they had imagined for their lives.

I s.h.i.+vered, sitting with my back to the gla.s.s bars of my prison cell. Sometimes I tried I tried so so hard not to break anything. But it was like the Talent welled up inside of me when I did that. And then, when it burst free, it was even more powerful. hard not to break anything. But it was like the Talent welled up inside of me when I did that. And then, when it burst free, it was even more powerful.

A tear rolled down my cheek. After moving from family to family enough times, I'd realized that they would all leave me eventually. After that, I hadn't worried as much about what I broke. In fact... I'd begun to break things more often important things. The valuable cars of a father who collected vehicles. The trophies won by a father who played sports in college. The kitchen of a mother who was a renowned chef.

I'd told myself that these things were simply accidents. But now I saw a pattern in my life.

I broke things early, quickly. The most valuable, important things. That way, they'd know. They'd know what I was.

And they'd send me away. Before I could come to care for them. And get hurt again.

It felt safer to act that way. But what had it done to me? In breaking so many objects, had I broken myself? I s.h.i.+vered again. Sitting in that cold Librarian dungeon faced by my first (but certainly not last) failure as a leader I finally admitted something to myself.

I don't just break, I thought. I thought. I destroy. I destroy.

Chapter 12

At this point, perhaps you feel sorry for me. Or perhaps you feel that my suffering was deserved, considering what I'd done to all those families who tried to take me in.

I'd like to tell you that all of this soul-searching was good for me. And perhaps it did help in the short term. However, before you get your hopes up, let me promise you here and now that the Alcatraz Smedry you think you know is a farce. You may see some promising things developing in my young self, but in the end, none of these things were able to save those I love.

If I could go back, I'd drive Sing and the others away for good. Unfortunately, at that point in my life, I still had some small hope that I'd find acceptance with them. I should have realized that attachment would only lead to pain. Especially when I failed to protect them.

Still, it was probably good for me to realize that I was driving people away on purpose, for it let me understand just how bad a person I am. Perhaps more young boys should be captured by evil Librarians, forced to sit in cold dungeons, contemplating their faults as they wait for their doom. Perhaps I'll start a summer camp based on that theme.

The weirdest part about this all, I thought, I thought, is that n.o.body yet has made a joke about a pair of kids named Alcatraz and Bastille getting locked in a prison. is that n.o.body yet has made a joke about a pair of kids named Alcatraz and Bastille getting locked in a prison.

Of course, we weren't in a very jokey mood at that moment. I couldn't know for certain, since the hourgla.s.s along with my jacket had been taken from me, but I figured that our remaining half hour had pa.s.sed, and then some. I tried very hard not to look at the latrine bucket, in the hopes that it wouldn't remind my body of any duties that needed to be done.

Yet as I sat and thought, some very strange things were happening to me. I'd always kind of thought of myself as a defiant rebel against the system. However, the truth was that I was just a whiny kid who threw tantrums and broke things because he wanted to make certain that he hurt others before they hurt him. It was that dreaded humility again, and it was having a very odd effect on me. It should have made me feel like a worm, crus.h.i.+ng me down with shame. Yet for some reason, it didn't do that.

Realizing my faults didn't make my head bow but made me look up instead. Realizing how stupid I had been didn't cause me grief but made me smile at my own foolishness. Losing my ident.i.ty didn't make me feel paranoid or worthless.

The truth was, I'd secretly felt all of those things shame, grief, paranoia, insecurity for most of my life. Now that I wasn't covering them up, I could begin to let go of them. It didn't make me a perfect person, and it didn't change what I'd done. However, it did let me stand up and face my situation with a little more determination.

I was a Smedry. And while I wasn't quite certain of all that meant, I was beginning to have a better idea. I crossed the room, pa.s.sing Sing, and crouched down by Bastille.

”Bastille,” I whispered. ”We've waited long enough. We have to figure a way to get out of here.”

She glanced up at me, and I could see that her face was streaked with tears. I blinked in surprise. Why has Why has she she been crying? been crying?

”Get out?” she said. ”We can't get out! This cell was built built to hold people like you and me.” to hold people like you and me.”

”There has to be a way.”

”I've failed,” Bastille said quietly, as if she hadn't heard me.

”Bastille,” I said. ”We don't have time for this.”

”What do you know?” she snapped. ”You've been an Oculator all of your life, and have you done anything with it? Never! You didn't even know. How is that fair?”

I paused, then reached up to touch my face. I hadn't even noticed my gla.s.ses were gone.

Of course they are, I thought. I thought. They took my jacket with the Tracker's Lenses and the Firebringer's Lenses in the pocket. They took Bastille's and Sing's Warrior Lenses. They would have taken my Oculator's Lenses. They took my jacket with the Tracker's Lenses and the Firebringer's Lenses in the pocket. They took Bastille's and Sing's Warrior Lenses. They would have taken my Oculator's Lenses.

”You didn't even notice, did you?” Bastille asked bitterly. ”They took your most powerful possession, and you didn't even notice.”

”I haven't been wearing them for long,” I said. ”Only a few hours, really. I guess it felt natural to me for them to not not be there when I woke up.” be there when I woke up.”

”Natural for them to not be there,” Bastille said, shaking her head. ”Why do you you get to be an Oculator, Smedry? Why you?” get to be an Oculator, Smedry? Why you?”

”Aren't all Smedrys Oculators?” I asked. ”Or, at least, all of those in the pure line?”

”Most of them are,” she said. ”But not all of them. And there are plenty of Oculators who aren't aren't Smedrys.” Smedrys.”

”Obviously,” I said, glancing over my shoulder, toward the room where Blackburn and Ms. Fletcher supposedly were.

Then I glanced back at Bastille, c.o.c.king my head. She stared at me defiantly. That's it. That's what I've been missing. That's it. That's what I've been missing. ”You wanted to be one, didn't you?” I asked. ”An Oculator.” ”You wanted to be one, didn't you?” I asked. ”An Oculator.”

”It's none of your business, Smedry.”

But it made too much sense to ignore. ”That's why you know so much about Oculator auras. And you were the one who identified the Lenses that Blackburn used on us. You must have studied a whole lot to learn so many things.”

”For all the good it did,” she said with a quiet snort. ”I learned that studying can't change a person, Smedry. I've always wanted to be something I wasn't and the thing is, everyone supported me. 'You can be anything you want, if you try hard enough!' they said.

”Well, you know what, Smedry? They lied. There are some things that you just can't can't change.” change.”

I stood silently.

Bastille shook her head. ”You can't study yourself into being something you aren't. I won't ever be an Oculator. I'll have to settle for being what my mother always told me I should should be. The thing I'm apparently 'gifted' in.” be. The thing I'm apparently 'gifted' in.”

”And that is?” I asked.

”Being a warrior,” she said with a sigh. ”But I guess I'm not too good at that either.”

Now, you're probably expecting poor Bastille to ”learn something” by the end of this book. You probably expect to see her overcome her bitterness, to realize that she never should have given up on her dreams.

You think this because you've read too many silly stories about people who achieve things they previously thought impossible deep and poignant books about trains that climb hills or little girls who succeed through sheer determination.

Let me make one thing very clear. Bastille will never never become an Oculator. It's a genetic ability, which means you can only become an Oculator if your ancestors were Oculators. Bastille's weren't. become an Oculator. It's a genetic ability, which means you can only become an Oculator if your ancestors were Oculators. Bastille's weren't.

People can do great things. However, there are some things they just can't can't do. I, for instance, have not been able to transform myself into a Popsicle, despite years of effort. I could, however, make myself insane, if I wished. (Though if I achieved the second, I might be able to make myself do. I, for instance, have not been able to transform myself into a Popsicle, despite years of effort. I could, however, make myself insane, if I wished. (Though if I achieved the second, I might be able to make myself think think I'd achieved the first....) I'd achieved the first....) Anyway, if there's a lesson to be learned, it's this: Great success often depends upon being able to distinguish between the impossible and the improbable. Or, in easier terms, distinguis.h.i.+ng between Popsicles and insanity.

Any questions?