Kiliman bellowed, finally getting one hand inside the boot, then pulling it free by making as if he were taking a step with the hand. The Grappler’s Glass let go, and Kiliman tossed the boot aside.
I gulped. He wasn’t supposed to have figured that out so quickly.
‘Nice trick,’ he said, swinging the sword at me again. I scrambled away, dashing back toward the exit. Kiliman, however, just raised his Frostbringer’s Lens, getting ready to fire it square into my back.
‘Hey, Kiliman!’ a voice suddenly yelled. ‘I’m free and I’m making a face at you!’
Kiliman spun with shock to find Kaz, standing free from his bonds and smiling broadly. A Curator hovered next to him – but this Curator had grown legs and was starting to look more and more like Australia as her Talent wore off. We’d sent her in first, looking like one of the ghosts, to untie the captives.
Kiliman had another moment of dumbfounded shock, which Bastille took advantage of by tossing her mother’s Fleshstone to Kaz. The short man caught it, then grabbed one of Draulin’s ropes – she was still tied up – while Australia grabbed the other one. Together, they towed the knight behind them, running away.
Kiliman screamed in rage. It was a terrible, half-metallic sound. He spun his Frostbringer’s Lens around. The glass was already glowing, and a beam of bluish light shot out.
But Kaz and the other two were already gone, lost by Kaz’s Talent, into the netherspaces of the Library.
‘Smedry!’ Kiliman said, turning back toward me as I reached the doorway. ‘I will hunt you. Even if you escape me today, I will follow. You will never be free of me!’
I paused. Bastille should have already run for freedom. Yet, she still stood in the center of the room, from where she’d tossed the Fleshstone to Kaz.
She was staring at Kiliman. Slowly, he became aware of her presence, and he turned.
Run, Bastille! I thought.
She did. Directly at Kiliman.
‘No!’ I yelled.
Later when I had time to think about it, I would realize why Bastille did what she did. She knew that Kiliman wasn’t lying. He intended to chase us, and he was an expert hunter. He’d probably find us again before we even got out of the Library.
There was only one way to be rid of him. And that was to face him. Now.
I wasn’t aware of this reasoning at the time. I just thought she was being stupid. Yet, I did something even more stupid.
I charged back into the room.
19
Life is not fair.
If you are the discriminating reader that I think you are (you picked up this book, after all), then you should have figured this out. There are very few aspects about life that are, in any way, fair.
It isn’t fair that some people are rich and others are poor. It isn’t fair that I’m rambling like this, instead of continuing the cli**x of the story. It isn’t fair that I’m so outrageously handsome, while most people are simply ordinary. It isn’t fair that diphthong gets to be such an awesome-sounding word, yet has to mean something relatively unawesome.
No, life is not fair. It is, however, funny.
The only thing you can do is laugh at it. Some days, you have to sit in your boring chair sipping warm cocoa. Other days, you get to blast your way out of a pit in the ground, and then run off to fight a half-metal monster who is holding your friend’s mother captive. Other days, you need to dress like a green hamster and dance around in circles while people throw pomegranates at you.
Don’t ask.
There are two lessons I think one should learn from this book. The second one I’ll blather on about in the next chapter, but the first one – and perhaps more interesting one – is this: Please remember to laugh. It’s good for you. (Plus, while you’re laughing, it’s easier for me to hit you with the pomegranate.)
Laugh when good things happen. Laugh when bad things happen. Laugh when life is so plain boring that you can’t find anything amusing about it beyond the fact that it’s so utterly unamusing.
Laugh when books come to a close, even if the endings aren’t happy.
This isn’t part of the plan, I thought desperately as I dashed back into the room. What’s the point of having a plan if people don’t follow it?
Kiliman activated the Frostbringer’s Lens, blasting it toward Bastille. She dropped her pack and whipped up her dagger, slicing it directly through the icy beam. The dagger shattered, and her hand turned blue. But, she blocked the ray long enough to get inside Kiliman’s reach, and she delivered a solid blow to his stomach with her other hand.
Kiliman let out an oof of pain and stumbled backward. Angered, he slammed his sword down toward Bastille. Somehow, she got out of the way, and the sword hit the ground with a harsh sound.
She’s so quick! I thought. She was already around to Kiliman’s side and delivered a powerful kick to his ribs. Although he didn’t look like he enjoyed the blow, he didn’t react as much as I would have thought a regular person would. He was part Alivened; regular weapons couldn’t kill this creature. That was a job for an Oculator.
As I grew close, Kiliman spun, slamming his shoulder into Bastille’s chest. The blow threw her backward to the ground, and Kiliman laughed, then raised the Frostbringer’s Lens, pointing it directly at her.
‘No!’ I yelled. The only thing I had, however, was the Grappler’s Glass boot. So, I threw it.
The Lens began to glow. For once in my life, however, my aim was true – and the boot hit the Lens square on and locked into place. When the Lens went off, ice formed in a large block around the shoe, weighing it down, but also filling the boot itself, making it impossible to reach inside and turn it off.
Kiliman cursed, shaking his hand. As he did so, I realized that I still had ahold of the trip wire tied to the boot. Thinking that I’d be able to pull the Frostbringer’s Lens to myself, I yanked on the wire.
I hadn’t stopped to think that Kiliman might yank back. And he was a lot stronger than I was. His pull caused the wire to bite into my hands as it yanked me off my feet. I cried out, hitting the ground, and my Talent proactively broke the wire before Kiliman could pull me any farther toward him. I looked up, dazed, ten feet of wire still wrapped around my hands.
Kiliman freed his hand from the frozen Lens-boot combination, and he tossed both aside. Bastille was climbing to her feet. Without her jacket – which had broken when the Dragonaut crashed – she couldn’t take much more punishment than a regular person, and Kiliman had hit her square on with a metal shoulder. It was a wonder she could even walk.
Kiliman hefted the Crystin blade in two hands, then smiled at us. He didn’t seem to be at all threatened; that attitude, however, seemed to make Bastille even more determined. Despite my yelled warning, she charged the monster again.
And she calls us Smedries crazy! I thought with frustration, pushing myself to my feet. As Kiliman raised his weapon to swing at Bastille, I slammed my hand to the ground and released the Breaking Talent.
The floor cracked. There was an awesome, deafening sound as rocks shattered and sections of floor became rubble. Kiliman idly stepped to the side, raising a metallic eyebrow at the rift that appeared behind him.
‘What, exactly, was that supposed to do?’ it asked, glancing at me.
‘It was supposed to make you stumble,’ I said. ‘But, it’ll work as a distraction too.’
At that moment, Bastille tackled him.
Kiliman yelled, falling to the ground, the Crystin blade sliding from his grip. As he hit, something fell from one of his pockets and skidded across the floor.
My Translator’s Lenses.
I cried out, dashing toward them. From behind, I could hear Bastille grunting as she snatched the Crystin blade. Kiliman, however, was just too strong. He grabbed her foot with a metal-bolt hand, then threw her to the side, causing her to drop the sword.
She hit the wall with a terrible thud. I spun in alarm.
Bastille slid to the ground. She looked dazed. Her forehead was bleeding from a cut, and one of her hands was still blue from the blast of frost. She favored her side and grimaced as she tried – then failed – to stand. She seemed to be in really bad shape.
Kiliman stood up, then recovered the Crystin blade. He shook his head, as if to clear it, and with his flesh hand he pulled out another Lens. The Voidstormer’s Lens: the one that sucked things toward him.
He pointed the Lens toward Bastille. She groaned as she began to slide across the floor toward him, unable to even stand. Kiliman raised the sword.
I dived for the Translator’s Lenses, which had skidded across the floor to rest beside one of the scroll-covered walls. I knelt beside the Lenses, hurriedly grabbing them.
‘Ha!’ Kiliman said. ‘You’d fetch those Lenses even as I kill your friend. I thought that Smedries were supposed to be bold and honorable. We can see what happens to your grand ideals once real danger is near!’
I knelt there for a moment, my back to Kiliman, Translator’s Lenses in my fingers. I knew I couldn’t let him have them. Not even to save my life or Bastille’s . . .
I glanced over my shoulder. Bastille came to a rest in front of Kiliman. She had her eyes closed, and barely seemed to be breathing. He raised her mother’s sword to kill her.
This is the part I’ve been warning you about. The part I know you’re not going to like. I’m sorry.
I dashed away, making for the exit of the room.
Kiliman laughed even more loudly. ‘I knew it!’
At that moment, in my haste, I tripped. I stumbled on the uneven ground and fell facedown, the Translator’s Lenses sliding from my fingers and hitting the stone floor. They tumbled away. ‘No!’ I yelled.
‘Aha!’ Kiliman said, then spun his Voidstormer’s Lens toward the fallen Translator’s Lenses. They whipped off the floor and flew toward him. I watched the Lenses go, meeting Kiliman’s eyes – one human, one glass – as he exulted in his victory.
Then I smiled. I think it was about that moment when he noticed the trip wire tied around the frame of the Translator’s Lenses, which flew through the air toward him.
A thin wire, nearly invisible. It stretched from the spectacles to a place across the room. The place where I’d been kneeling by the wall a moment before.
The place where I’d tied the other end of the trip wire to one of the scrolls.
Kiliman caught the Lenses. The trip wire pulled taut. The scroll popped off of its shelf, falling to the ground.
The Librarian monster’s eyes opened wide, and his mouth gaped in shock. The Translator’s Lenses fell to the ground in front of him.
Immediately, the Curators surrounded Kiliman. ‘You have taken a book!’ one cried.
‘No!’ Kiliman said, stepping back. ‘It was an accident!’
‘You signed no contract,’ another said, skull face smiling. ‘Yet you took a book.’
‘Your soul is ours.’
‘NO!’
I shuddered at the pain in that voice. Kiliman reached toward me, furious, but it was too late. A fire grew from nothing at his feet. It burned around him, and he screamed again.
‘You will fall, Smedry! The Librarians will have your blood! It will be spilt on an altar to make the very Lenses we’ll use to destroy your kingdoms, break that which you love, and enslave those who follow you. You may have beaten me, but you will fall!’