Alcatraz Versus the Knights of Crystallia

Now, there are some occasions when violence is appropriate. Usually those are occasions when you want to beat the tar out of somebody. Unfortunately, “somebody” at this moment happened to be me. Folsom’s punch was completely unexpected, and it hit me full in the face.

Right then I realized something quite interesting: That was the first time I’d ever been punched. It was a special moment for me. I’d say it was a little like being kicked, only with more knuckles and a hint of lemon.

Maybe the lemon part was just my brain short-circuiting as I was tossed backward onto the chamber’s glass floor. The blow left me dazed, and by the time I finally shook myself out of it, the scene in front of me was one of total chaos.

The soldiers were trying to subdue Folsom. They didn’t want to hurt him, as he was a nobleman; they were forced to try to grab him and hold him down. It wasn’t working very well. Folsom fought with a strange mixture of terrified lack of control and calculated precision. He was like a puppet with its strings being pulled by a kung fu master. Or maybe vice versa. A trite melody played in the background—my theme music, apparently.

Folsom moved among the soldiers in a blur of awkward (yet somehow well-placed) kicks, punches, and head-butts. He’d already knocked down a good ten soldiers, and the other ten weren’t doing much better.

“It’s so exciting!” the prince said. “I hope somebody is taking notes! Why didn’t I bring any of my scribes? I should send for some!” Rikers stood a short distance from the center of the fight.

Please punch him, I thought, standing up on shaky knees. Just a little bit.

But it wasn’t to be—Folsom was focused on the soldiers. Himalaya was calling for the soldiers to try to get their hands over Folsom’s ears. Where was Bastille? She should have come running at the sounds of the fight.

“The Alcatraz Smedry Theme” continued to play its peppy little melody, coming from somewhere near the prince. “Prince Rikers!” I yelled. “The book! Where is it? We have to close it!”

“Oh, what?” He turned. “Um, I think I dropped it when the fight started.”

He was standing near a pile of unsorted books. I cursed, scrambling toward the pile. If we could stop the music, Folsom would stop dancing.

At that moment the battle shifted in my direction. Folsom—his eyes wild and wide with worry—spun through a group of soldiers, throwing four of them into the air.

I stood facing him. I didn’t think he’d do me any serious harm. I mean, Smedry Talents are unpredictable, but they rarely hurt people too badly.

Except … hadn’t I used my own Talent to break some arms and cause monsters to topple to their deaths?

Crud, I thought. Folsom raised his fist and prepared to punch directly at my face.

And my Talent engaged.

One of the odd things about Smedry Talents, mine in particular, is how they sometimes operate proactively. Mine breaks weapons at a distance if someone tries to kill me.

In this case, something dark and wild seemed to rip from me. I couldn’t see it, but I could feel it snapping toward Folsom. His eyes opened wide and he tripped, his graceful martial-arts power failing him for a brief moment. It was as if he’d suddenly lost his Talent.

He toppled to the ground before me. At that instant, a book in the pile beside me exploded, throwing up scraps of paper and glass. The music stopped.

Folsom groaned. The trip left him kneeling right in front of me, confettilike scraps of paper falling around us. The beast within me quieted, pulling back inside, and all fell still.

When I’d been young, I’d thought of my Talent as a curse. Now I’d begun thinking of it as a kind of wild super power. This was the first time, however, that I thought of it as something foreign inside me.

Something alive.

“That was incredible!” said one of the soldiers. I looked up and saw the soldiers regarding me with awe. Himalaya seemed stunned. The prince stood with his arms folded, smiling in contentment at finally getting to witness a battle.

“I saw it,” one of the soldiers whispered, “like a wave of power, pulsing out of you, Lord Smedry. It stopped even another Talent.”

It felt good to be admired. It made me feel like a leader. Like a hero. “See to your friends,” I said, pointing at the fallen soldiers. “Give me a report on the wounded.” I reached down, helping Folsom to his feet.

He looked at his shoes in shame, as Himalaya walked over to comfort him. “Well, I give myself nine out of ten points for being an idiot,” he said. “I can’t believe I let that happen. I should be able to control it!”

“I know how hard it is,” I said. “Trust me. It wasn’t your fault.”

Prince Rikers walked over to join us, his blue robes swishing. “That was wonderful,” he said. “Though it’s kind of sad how the book turned out.”

“I’m heartbroken,” I said flatly, glancing about for Bastille. Where was she?