Brandon Sanderson - The Rithmatist

Harding rounded the corner. He was a dark silhouette, stepping quietly, not speaking. He stopped as the chalklings began to work on Melody’s square, then he reached up and twisted the key on the nearby lantern, bringing light to the hallway.

He seemed even more twisted by the half-light than he had in the dimness.

“Talk to me!” Joel said. “Harding, you’re my friend! Why are you doing this? What happened to you out there, in Nebrask?”

Harding began to draw one of his modified Lines of Vigor on the floor. Melody’s square had failed, and the chalklings were starting to work on her circle. They squirmed and shook, as if anticipating biting into Joel’s and Melody’s flesh.

Suddenly, a voice rang in the hallway. Clear, angry.

“You will leave them alone!”

Harding turned toward a figure standing in an open Rithmatic coat at the other end of the hallway, holding a piece of chalk in each hand.

Professor Fitch.

Professor Fitch was shaking. Joel could see that, even from the distance. The flood of chalklings turned away from Joel and Melody and rushed toward him.

Harding raised his rifle.

Fitch dropped to his knees and drew a Line of Forbiddance on the floor. There was a loud click and a rush of air as the rifle fired.

The bullet shot through the hallway, then hit the line’s wall and froze a few inches from Fitch’s head. The bullet lost its momentum and was pushed back and away. It hit the floor with a clink.

Harding let out his first sound then, a roar of anger. It was quieted by the Lines of Silencing. Still, it was loud enough to make Fitch waver, and he looked up, eyes widening in fear. Hesitating.

Then he looked at Joel and Melody, trapped in their failing circle. Fitch’s jaw set and his hands stopped shaking. He looked down at the flood of chalklings approaching him, and reached out with both hands to snap his chalk to the ground on either side of him.

Then he drew.

Joel stood up straight, watching with awe as Fitch spun about, using his chalk to draw two Lines of Warding, one inside the other, both as perfect as Joel had ever seen. Fitch added smaller circles on the outside, one after another in rapid succession, one hand drawing each circle even as the other drew a Line of Forbiddance inside each one as an anchor.

The Taylor Defense.

“Professor…” Joel whispered. The defense was perfect. Majestic. “I knew you could to it.”

“Yeah, Joel?” Melody said. “Hello. Pay attention. We need to get out of here.”

She knelt down, using her chalk to dismiss the Line of Warding around them.

“No,” Joel said. He looked down at her. “Melody, those chalklings aren’t natural. Fitch can’t fight them; they can’t be destroyed. We need to help him.”

“How?”

Joel looked back. “Dismiss the rest of those lines around us.”

As she did so, Joel knelt down, taking a piece of blue chalk out of his coat pocket.

“Hey, you started carrying some!” Melody exclaimed.

“My father’s chalk,” Joel said, sketching out a long rectangular maze pattern on the floor. “Go draw this in the corridor there. Make it as long as you can, and leave this little section open on the side and at the far end.”

She nodded, then moved over to begin drawing. Joel took his chalk and closed off the hole she left open.

“What good will that do?” she asked, drawing urgently.

“You’ll see,” Joel said, spinning back toward Harding and Fitch. Fitch drew furiously and was faring far better than Nalizar had. He had managed to enclose a couple of the Scribbler’s chalklings within boxes, trapping them.

Unfortunately, his outer defenses were nearly eaten away. He wouldn’t last long like this.

Joel gave Melody as much time as he dared. Then he yelled, “Hey, Harding!”

The inspector turned.

“Wednesday night,” Joel said, “you tried to kill me. Now is your chance. Because if you don’t, I’m going to go get help and—” He cut off, yelping. Apparently Harding didn’t need any encouragement, for a good third of his chalklings began scrambling back down the hallway toward Joel and Melody, taking some of the pressure off the beleaguered Fitch.

Joel turned and dashed down the hallway. Melody had drawn quickly, and while her lines weren’t perfectly straight, they would do. Joel entered the long corridor of chalk she’d made, with Lines of Forbiddance to either side of him, then wove through the short maze of lines.

As he’d expected, the chalklings piled in after him. They could have gotten through to Melody if they’d known that the section of the lines that Joel had drawn wasn’t Rithmatic—but, just like before, chalklings seemed as fooled by a fake line as a human might be, at least at first.

Joel burst through the hole in the end of the small maze. “Close it!”

Melody did so, blocking the chalklings. The things immediately turned around to escape back out the front of the maze.

“Come on!” Joel said, running, Melody at his side. They raced the chalklings, who had to weave through turns to get to the end. Joel and Melody passed through the gap where he had drawn a non-Rithmatic line, then Melody closed off the entrance to the maze.

She stood, puffing, the chalklings inside shaking angrily. They began to attack the walls.

Joel turned around. “Melody!” he said. Another group of chalklings had broken off from Professor Fitch and were heading toward him and Melody.

She yelped, drawing a line across the corridor, then down the sides of the wall to protect her and Joel.

That trapped them again. Harding left the second batch of chalklings there, chewing on the line blocking Joel and Melody from the combat.

“That’s all we can do, Professor!” Joel called, just quiet enough that the Lines of Silencing had no effect. Then, more softly, he added, “Come on.…”

Fitch drew with a look of intense concentration on his face. Every time he seemed to waver, he glanced up at Melody and Joel surrounded by chalklings. His face grew more determined, and he continued his work.

Harding—the Scribbler—growled, then began launching his enhanced Lines of Vigor at Fitch. The professor drew expert Lines of Forbiddance to not just block, but deflect the Lines of Vigor.

Joel watched, breathing quickly, following Fitch’s moves as Melody shored up their defense, drawing reinforcing lines where the chalklings looked like they might be close to getting through.

“Come on…” Joel repeated. “You can do it.”

Fitch worked furiously, drawing with both hands. His defense was expert—he coaxed the chalklings toward weak points, then blocked them off inside Lines of Forbiddance.

Then, with a smile, Fitch reached out and drew a jagged Line of Vigor like Harding had been doing.

It shot across the room and hit the surprised inspector, throwing him backward. Harding hit the ground with a grunt. He groaned, then stood back up, drawing a Circle of Warding around himself, followed by a Line of Forbiddance in front of it.

When did Harding become a Rithmatist? Joel thought, realizing the oddity for the first time. That Line of Warding is almost inhumanly perfect. And he drew it at a distance, with chalk on the end of his rifle!