Part 16 (1/2)

You rarely plan on it happening.

I charged the Alivened monster. It turned toward me, stepping away from Bastille, and raised its arm to swing. I somehow managed to duck the blow. Stumbling, I reached up and grabbed the sword in the creature's chest. I pulled it free.

Or, rather, I pulled the hilt free.

I stumbled back, raising the hilt to swing before I realized that the crystal blade was still sticking in the monster's chest.

Behind me, Sing's shotgun began to click, out of ammunition.

I lowered my hand, staring at the hilt. My Talent, unpredictable as always, had broken the sword. I stood for a long moment far longer, undoubtedly, that I should have in those circ.u.mstances. I gripped the broken hilt.

And began to grow angry.

All my life, my Talent had ruled me. I'd pretended to go along with it, pretended that I was the one in control, but that had been a sham. I'd purposely driven my foster families away because I'd known that sooner or later, the Talent would do it for me no matter what I wanted.

It was my master. It defined who I was. I couldn't be myself whoever that was because I was too busy getting into trouble for breaking things.

Grandpa Smedry and the others called my Talent a blessing. Yet I had trouble seeing that. Even during the infiltration, it seemed like the Talent had been only accidentally useful. Power was nothing without control.

The Alivened stepped forward, and I looked up, teeth clenched in frustration. I gripped the sword hilt tightly.

I don't want this, I thought. I thought. I never wanted any of this! Bastille wanted to be an Oculator... well, I just wanted one thing. I never wanted any of this! Bastille wanted to be an Oculator... well, I just wanted one thing.

To be normal!

The hilt began to break in my hand, the carefully welded bits of steel falling free and clinking to the ground. ”You want breaking?” I yelled at the Alivened. ”You want destruction?” destruction?”

The creature swung at me, and I screamed, slamming my hand palm-forward to the floor. A surge of Talent electrified my body, focusing through my chest and then down my arm. It was a jolt of power like I'd never summoned before.

The floor broke. Or perhaps shattered shattered would be a more appropriate word. would be a more appropriate word. Exploded Exploded would have worked, except that I just used that one a bit earlier. would have worked, except that I just used that one a bit earlier.

The stone blocks shook violently. The Alivened stumbled, the floor beneath it surging like waves on an ocean. Then the blocks dropped. They fell away before me, tumbling toward the level beneath. Bookshelves in the ma.s.sive library room below were smashed as blocks of stone rained down, accompanied by an enormous paper monster.

The Alivened hit the ground, and there was a distinct shattering noise. It did not rise.

I spun wildly, dropping the last bits of the sword hilt. Sing was furiously reloading the shotgun. I brushed by him, charging the second Alivened. I reached to touch the ground, but the ma.s.sive beast jumped, moving quickly out of the way. It was obviously smart enough to see what I had just done to its companion.

I raised a hand, slamming it into the jumping creature's chest. Then I released my Talent.

There was a strange, instant backlash like hitting something solid with a baseball bat. I was thrown backward, my arm blazing with sudden pain.

The Alivened landed in a stumble. It stood for a moment, teetering. Then it exploded with a whoos.h.i.+ng sound, a thousand crumpled sheets of paper erupting in an enormous, confetti-like burst.

I sat for a moment, staring. I blinked a few times, then lifted my arm, wincing. Paper filled the corridor, bits fluttering around us.

”Wow,” Sing said, standing up. He turned around, looking at the ma.s.sive pit I had created. ”Wow.”

”I... didn't really do that intentionally,” I said. ”I just kind of let my power go, and that's what happened.”

”I'll take it, either way,” Sing said, resting the shotgun on his shoulder.

I climbed to my feet, shaking my arm. It didn't seem broken. ”Bastille,” I said, stumbling over to her. She was moving, fortunately, and as I arrived she groaned, then managed to sit up. Her jacket looked... shattered. Like the winds.h.i.+eld of a car after it collides with a giant penguin.

Blasted giant penguins.

I tried to help Bastille to her feet, but she shook off my hands with annoyance. She stumbled a bit as she stood, then pulled off her jacket, looking at the spiderweb of lines. ”Well, I guess that's useless now.

”Probably saved your life, Bastille,” Sing said.

She shrugged, dropping it to the floor. It crackled like gla.s.s as it hit the stones.

”Your jacket was made of gla.s.s?” I asked, frowning.

”Of course,” Bastille said. ”Defender's Gla.s.s. Yours isn't?”

”Uh... no,” I said.

”Then why wear something so atrocious?” she said, stumbling over to the hole in the floor. ”You did this?” she asked, looking over at me.

I nodded.

”And... is that my sword down there, broken and shattered in a pile of books?”

”Afraid so,” I said.

”Lovely,” she grumbled.

”I was trying to save your life, Bastille,” I said. ”Which, I might point out, I succeeded succeeded in doing.” in doing.”

”Yeah, well, next time try not to bring down half the building when you do.”

But I detected the barest hint of a smile on her lips when she said it.

Chapter 15

Moron.

It has been my experience that most problems in life are caused by a lack of information. Many people just don't know the things they need to know. Some ignore the truth; others never understand it.

When two friends get mad at each other, they usually do it because they lack information about each other's feelings. Americans lack information about Librarian control of their government. The people who pa.s.s this book on the shelf and don't buy it lack information about how wonderful, exciting, and useful it is.

Take, for instance, the word that started this chapter. You lacked information when you read it. You likely a.s.sumed that I was calling you an insulting name. You a.s.sumed wrong. Moron Moron is actually a village in Switzerland located near the Jura mountain range. It's a nice place to live if you hate Librarians, for there is a well-hidden underground rebellion there. is actually a village in Switzerland located near the Jura mountain range. It's a nice place to live if you hate Librarians, for there is a well-hidden underground rebellion there.

Information. Perhaps you Hushlanders have read about Bastille and the others referring to guns as ”primitive,” and have been offended. Or, perhaps, you simply thought the text was being silly. In either case, maybe you should reevaluate.

The Free Kingdoms moved beyond the use of guns many centuries ago. The weapons became impractical for several reasons some of which should be growing apparent from this narrative. Smedry Talents and Oculator abilities are not the only strange powers in the Free Kingdoms and most of these abilities work better on items with large numbers of moving parts or breakable circuits. Using a gun against a Smedry, or one similarly talented, is usually a bad idea.