The Rithmatist

by Brandon Sanderson

  Fitch wasn’t daunted. He expertly bounced two Lines of Vigor around Harding’s front defending wall. Harding was forced to draw Lines of Forbiddance at his sides.

  Fitch then bounced a Line of Vigor off the wall Melody had drawn, hitting the back of Harding’s defense.

  “Wow,” Joel said.

  Harding bellowed, then drew a line behind himself as well.

  “Ha!” Fitch yelled just as the chalklings burst through his circle.

  “Professor!” Joel yelled.

  Fitch, however, stood up and leaped out of the circle as the chalklings piled into it. They hesitated, and Fitch quickly drew a Line of Forbiddance to block off the circle, trapping them inside his own defense. Then he rushed across the room and drew a Line of Forbiddance across the hallway to trap the chalklings there against Melody’s line.

  Finally, he turned toward Harding. The man, whatever he was, stood with eyes shadowed. He no longer smiled, but simply waited. The creature knew that soon, the chalklings would break free and attack again.

  “Professor,” Joel called softly, something occurring to him. It was a long shot, but …

  Fitch turned toward him.

  “A clock,” Joel said. “Find a clock.”

  Fitch frowned, but did as requested. He burst into one of the students’ rooms, then came back out with a clock and held it toward Joel. “What do I do with this?”

  “Break off the face,” Joel said. “Show the creature the gears inside!”

  Fitch did so, desperately prying off the front of the clock. He held it up, showing the gears. Harding shied back, dropping his rifle, raising his hands.

  Fitch approached, displaying the ticking gears, the winding springs, the spinning circles. Harding cried out, and in the light of the single lantern, Joel could see the creature’s shadow begin to shake and twist. The shadow fuzzed, coming to look as if it were drawn in charcoal.

  “By the Depths!” Fitch said. “A Forgotten!”

  “What the dusts is a Forgotten!” Joel said.

  “A creature of Nebrask,” Fitch said. “They lead the wild chalklings. But … how did one get all the way here? And attached to Harding! I wasn’t aware that was possible. This is dire, Joel.”

  “I figured that last part out,” Joel said. “How do we kill it?”

  “Acid,” Fitch said, proffering the clock. “We need acid!”

  “Melody, let me out the back.”

  “But—”

  “Do it!” Joel said.

  She reached back, dismissing the line. Joel dashed down the corridor and steps to where the second bucket of acid waited. He grabbed it, then ran back up the stairs. He rounded the hallway in the other direction, passing Nalizar on the ground and coming up behind Professor Fitch.

  Joel hesitated beside the professor. Nearby, the chalklings Fitch had trapped inside his defense burst out, swarming across the floor.

  Joel took a deep breath, then threw the acid toward Harding’s feet. The acid washed away the Line of Forbiddance and the Circle of Warding, splashing across Harding’s shadow.

  That dissolved, as if it were made of charcoal. Or chalk. Blackness melted into the acid.

  The inspector screamed, then collapsed to the ground.

  The chalklings froze in place.

  All fell silent.

  Joel waited, muscles tense, watching those chalklings. They continued to remain frozen.

  We beat him. We did it!

  “My, my,” Fitch said. He reached up to wipe his brow. “I actually won a duel. That’s the first time I’ve actually won! My hands barely shook.”

  “You did fantastic, Professor!” Joel said.

  “Well, I don’t know about that. But, well, after you children left I just couldn’t sleep. After how I treated you and all. And, hum. Here you’d been right so many times, and I sent you away without even listening. So I came out to find you. Saw the policemen at the front of the building here, and…” He hesitated. “I say,” Fitch said, pointing. “What is happening to them?”

  Joel glanced at the chalklings. They were beginning to quiver even more furiously than normal. Then they began to expand.

  Uh-oh, Joel thought. “Dismiss the lines boxing them in! Quick!”

  The other two gave him incredulous stares.

  “Trust me!” Joel said as the chalklings began to take shape. Fitch rushed over to his defense and began to release the chalklings he’d captured in small boxes. Melody gave Joel a “you’d better know what you’re doing” look, then bent down to release her lines.

  The first of the chalklings popped into three dimensions, forming the shape of the young woman Joel had seen taken earlier. Fitch exclaimed in surprise, then reached out with a second piece of chalk, releasing the chalklings more quickly before the people inside of them got squished by their confines.

  In minutes, Joel, Melody, and Fitch were surrounded by a group of dazed people. Some of them were students—Joel recognized Herman Libel among the group—but many were older Rithmatists in their twenties, wearing the coats of graduates. Rithmatists from the fight at Nebrask.

  “William?” Melody asked, looking at one of the younger Rithmatists—a man with red hair.

  “Where the dusts am I?” the young man said. “Mel? What the…?”

  Melody’s brother trailed off as she grabbed him in an embrace.

  At that moment, Joel heard footsteps. A breathless Nalizar appeared around the corner, holding his chalk, still dripping slightly with acid.

  “I will save—” he began, then stopped short. “Oh.”

  “Yeah,” Joel said. “Great timing, Professor.” He sank down, exhausted, leaning back against a wall.

  Melody walked over, hands on hips. “Worn out already?” she asked with a smile, her confused brother trailing along behind her.

  “Tragic, eh?” Joel asked.

  “Definitely.”

  CHAPTER

  “I suppose we owe an apology to Professor Nalizar, don’t we?” Principal York asked.

  Joel shrugged. “I’d apologize to Exton first, sir.”

  York chuckled, his mustache quivering. “Already done, lad. Already done.”

  They stood outside Warding Hall, groups of people piling in for the Melee. York had declared the campus open again after just one day of chaos following the Scribbler’s defeat. The principal wanted to make a point that Armedius would continue undaunted; he had been certain to publicize not only the return of the missing students, but the dozens of Rithmatists thought lost at Nebrask. The media was having a frenzy with that.

  “And not one, but two new Rithmatic lines discovered,” York said, hands behind his back, looking utterly pleased.

  “Yeah,” Joel said, a little noncommittal.

  York eyed him. “I’ve sent letters to some of my friends who lead the other academies, Joel.”

  Joel turned.

  “I think that, in light of events, several of them can be persuaded to honor some of their contracts with your father. Armedius certainly will. It may not be the riches your father dreamed of, lad, but I’ll see your mother’s debts paid and then some. We owe you and Professor Fitch.”

  Joel grinned. “Your gratitude will include a couple of good seats to the Melee, won’t it?”

  “They’re set aside for you, son. Front row.”

  “Thanks!”

  “I believe that we are the ones who owe you thanks,” York said. To the side, Joel noticed some men in very rich-looking suits approaching. One was Knight-Senator Calloway.

  “Ah,” York said. “If you’ll excuse me, there are politicians who need to be entertained.”

  “Of course, sir,” Joel said, and York withdrew.

  Joel stood for a long while, watching people enter the broad doors, filling the arena inside. Exton approached with Florence. The two of them seemed to argue a lot less frequently lately.

  Harding had been relieved of duty, but claimed he didn’t remember anything of what had happened. Joel was inclined to believe
the man. He’d seen the change that happened in Harding. The other authorities weren’t as quick to understand. Apparently, a Forgotten had never acted in this manner before.

  Joel was beginning to suspect that whatever happened to make Rithmatists in the chamber of inception could happen in Nebrask as well. That book he wasn’t supposed to have read had said the inception ceremony involved something called a Shadowblaze.

  He’d seen one in the chamber of inception. He’d asked several other people who hadn’t become Rithmatists, and none had seen one of the things. He already knew that the Rithmatists, Melody included, wouldn’t speak of the experience.

  Joel wasn’t certain why he had seen the Shadowblaze, or why he hadn’t become a Rithmatist for it, but his experience hinted that the entire process of inception was far more complex than most people knew.

  Harding had no history at all of having Rithmatic abilities, and he could no longer produce lines. Whatever the Forgotten had done to him, it had granted the ability. Was that what a Shadowblaze did for someone during the inception?

  That left an uncomfortable knowledge in Joel. There was more than one way to become a Rithmatist. One of those ways involved something dark and murderous. Could there be other ways?

  It opened up hope again. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

  “Joel!” Exton said. The stout man hurried over and grabbed Joel’s hand. “Thank you so much, lad. Fitch told me how you continued to believe in me, even when they took me into custody.”

  “Harding almost had me convinced,” Joel said. “But some things just didn’t make sense. The inspector must have planted the evidence against you when he was investigating the office.”

  Exton nodded. Both Lilly Whiting and Charles Calloway had identified Harding as the Scribbler.

  “Well, son,” Exton said. “You are a true friend. I mean it.”

  Florence smiled. “Does that mean you’ll stop grumbling at him?”

  “I don’t know about that,” Exton said. “Depends on if he’s interrupting my work or not! And, speaking of work, I have to adjudicate the Melee. Goodness help us if I hadn’t been released—nobody else knows the rules to this blasted thing well enough to referee!”

  The two of them moved on toward the arena.

  Joel continued to wait outside. Traditionally, the Rithmatists didn’t come until most of the seats were filled, and this day was no exception. The students began to arrive, making their way through the doors, where Exton had them draw lots to determine where on the arena floor they—or, if they wanted to work in a team, their group—would begin drawing.

  “Hey,” a voice said behind him.

  Joel smiled toward Melody. She wore her standard skirt and blouse, though this particular skirt was divided and came down to her ankles to facilitate kneeling and drawing. She probably wore knee pads underneath.

  “Come to see me get trounced?” she asked.

  “You did pretty well the other night against the chalklings.”

  “Those lines barely held them, and you know it.”

  “Well, whatever happens today,” Joel said, “you helped rescue about thirty Rithmatists from the Scribbler. The winners of the competition will have to deal with the fact that while you were saving all sixty isles, they were snoozing a few doors away.”

  “Good point, that,” Melody agreed. Then she grimaced.

  “What?” Joel asked.

  She pointed toward a small group of people dressed in Rithmatic coats. Joel recognized her brother, William, among them.

  “Parents?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  They didn’t look like terrible people. True, the mother had very well-styled hair and immaculate makeup, and the father an almost perfectly square jaw and a majestic stance, but …

  “I think I see what you mean,” Joel said. “Hard to live up to their standards, eh?”

  “Yeah,” Melody said. “Trust me. It’s better to be the son of a chalkmaker.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  She sighed with an overly dramatic sound as her parents and brother entered through the doors. “I guess I’d better go get humiliated.”

  “I’m sure that whatever happens,” Joel said, “you’ll do it spectacularly.”

  She moved on. Joel was about to follow when he saw a set of Rithmatists arrive together. Twelve of them, wearing red shirts with their white pants or skirts. Team Nalizar had arrived.

  The professor himself was at their head. How was it that simply by association, he could make a group of students seem more haughty, more exclusive? Nalizar stood beside the doorway with arms folded as they entered one at a time.

  Joel gritted his teeth and forced himself to enter the building after Nalizar. He spotted the professor walking down a short hallway to the right, heading toward the stairs up to the observation room.

  Joel hurried after. This hall was pretty much empty now, though Joel could hear the buzz of people through the arena doors a short distance away.

  “Professor,” Joel said.

  Nalizar turned to him, but gave Joel only a quick glance before continuing on his way.

  “Professor,” Joel said. “I want to apologize.”

  Nalizar turned again, and this time he focused on Joel, as if seeing him for the first time. “You want to apologize for telling people that I was the kidnapper.”

  Joel paled.

  “Yes,” Nalizar said, “I heard about your accusations.”

  “Well, I was wrong,” Joel said. “I’m sorry.”

  Nalizar raised an eyebrow, but that was his only response. From him, it seemed like something of an acceptance.

  “You came here, to Armedius, chasing Harding,” Joel said.

  “Yes,” Nalizar said. “I knew something had gotten loose, but nobody back at Nebrask believed me. Harding seemed like the most likely candidate. I got the authorities to release me on a technicality, then came here. When people started disappearing, I knew I was right. Forgotten can be tricky, however, and I needed proof for an accusation. After all, as you might have figured out, making accusations about innocent people is a terribly unpleasant thing to do.”

  Joel gritted his teeth. “What was he, then?”

  “A Forgotten,” Nalizar said. “Read the papers. They’ll tell you enough.”

  “They don’t know the details. Nobody will speak of them. I was hoping—”

  “I am not inclined to speak with non-Rithmatists about such things,” Nalizar snapped.

  Joel took a deep breath. “All right.”

  Nalizar raised his eyebrow again.

  “I don’t want to fight, Professor. In the end, we were working toward the same goal. If we’d helped one another, then perhaps we could have accomplished more.”

  “What will accomplish the most,” Nalizar said, “would be if you stayed out of my way. Without your ill-planned dump of acid, I would have had the strength to beat that fool Harding. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must get going.”

  Nalizar began to walk away.

  Would have had the strength…? Joel frowned. “Professor?”

  Nalizar stopped. “What is it now?” he said, not turning around.

  “I just wanted to wish you luck—like the luck you had two nights ago.”

  “What luck two nights ago?”

  “The fact that Harding didn’t shoot at you,” Joel said. “He took a shot at Fitch. Yet against you, he didn’t fire his gun, even though you didn’t have a Line of Forbiddance up at first to stop a shot.”

  Nalizar stood quietly.

  “And,” Joel added, “it’s lucky that he didn’t attack you with his chalklings once you were unconscious. He ignored you and moved on to the students. If I’d been him, I would have turned the major threat—the trained adult Rithmatist—into a chalkling first.”

  Joel cocked his head, the conclusions coming to his tongue before he realized what he was doing. Dusts! he thought. I just got done apologizing, and now I’m accusing him again! I
really am obsessed with this man.

  He opened his mouth to retract what he’d said, but froze as Nalizar turned back halfway, his face looking shadowed.

  “Interesting conclusions,” the professor said quietly, the mockery gone from his voice.

  Joel stumbled back.

  “Any more theories?” Nalizar asked.

  “I…” He gulped. “Harding. The thing controlling him didn’t seem very … smart. It boxed itself in with its own Lines of Forbiddance, and it didn’t coordinate its chalklings, which let Melody and me escape. It never spoke except to growl or try to shout.

  “Yet,” Joel continued, “the plot was really intricate. It involved framing Exton, grabbing the perfect students to cause a panic that would end with the majority of the Rithmatists on campus lumped together, where they could be attacked and taken in one swoop. The thing we fought seems to have come out only at night. Harding himself was in control during the day. He didn’t make the plans, and the Forgotten didn’t seem smart enough to do so either. It makes me wonder … was someone else helping it? Maybe something smarter?”

  Nalizar turned around all the way. He stood tall, and something about him seemed different. Like it had that day when Joel had looked up at the window and Nalizar had looked down at him.

  Nalizar’s arrogance was gone, replaced by cool calculation. It was like the young upstart was a persona, carefully crafted to make people hate, but ignore, Nalizar as a threat.

  The professor strolled forward. Joel began to sweat, and he took a step backward.

  “Joel,” Nalizar said, “you act as if you are in danger.” Behind his eyes, something dark flashed—a fuzzing, charcoal blackness.

  “What are you?” Joel whispered.

  Nalizar smiled, stopping a few feet in front of Joel. “A hero,” he whispered, “vindicated by your own words. The man nobody likes, but one they think has a good heart anyway. The professor who came to the rescue of the students, even if he arrived too late—and was too weak—to defeat the enemy.”

  “It was a ruse,” Joel said. He thought back to Nalizar’s surprise at finding Joel in the dorms, and the way he had reacted to Harding. Nalizar hadn’t seemed surprised to see Harding, more … bothered. As if realizing that he’d just been implicated.