The Rithmatist (35 page)

Another, seeing many of the wild chalklings about his barn, ventured and went out, but was quickly set upon. They ate at his feet until he screamed, falling to the ground, then swarmed above him. There were three others belonging to the same garrison who were killed; the wild chalklings climbing up the sides of the walls, attacking from all sides, knocking over lanterns and beginning fires. Thus these murderous creatures went on, burning and destroying before them.

Joel shivered in the silence of his room. The matter-of-fact narrative was disturbing, but oddly transfixing. How would you react, if you’d never seen a chalkling before? What would your response be to a living picture that climbed up walls and slid beneath doors, attacking without mercy, eating the flesh off bodies?

His lantern continued to whir.

At length they came and beset our own house, and quickly it was the dolefulest day that ever mine eyes saw. They slid beneath the door and quickly they ate one man among us, then another, and then a third.

Now is the dreadful hour come, that I have often heard of (in time of war, as it was the case of others), but now mine eyes see it. Some in our house were fighting for their lives, others wallowing in their blood, the house on fire over our heads. Now might we hear mothers and children crying out for themselves, and one another, “Master, what shall we do?”

Then I took my children (and one of my sisters’, hers) to go forth and leave the house: but as soon as we came to the door and appeared, the creatures outside swarmed up the hill toward us.

My brother-in-law (being before wounded, in defending the house, his legs bleeding) was set upon from behind, and fell down screaming with a bucket of water in his hands. Whereat the wild chalklings did dance scornfully, silently, around him. Demons of the Depths they most certainly are, many made in the form of man, but created as if from the shape of sticks and lines.

I stood in fright as we were surrounded. Thus was my family butchered by those merciless creatures, standing amazed, with the blood running down to our heels. The children were taken as I ran for the bucket to use in our defense, but it was emptied, and I felt a cold feeling of something on my leg, followed by a sharp pain.

It was at that point that I saw it. Something in the darkness, illuminated just barely by the fire of our burning house. A shape that did seem to absorb the light, created completely of dark, shifting blackness: like charcoal scraped and scratched on the ground, only but standing upright in the shadows beside the house.

It did watch. That deep, terrible blackness. Something from the Depths themselves. The shape wiggling, shaking, like a pitch-black fire sketched in charcoal.

Watching.

Something cracked against the window of Joel’s room.

He jumped and saw a shadow moving away from the small pane of glass. The window stood at the very top of the wall, in the small space between where the ground stopped and the ceiling began.

Vandals!
Joel thought, remembering the curse that had been painted on the humanities building. He jumped from the bed and rushed for the door, throwing on a coat. He was up the stairs and out the door a few moments later.

He rounded the building to see what the vandals had written. He found the side of the building clean. Had he been wrong?

That was when he saw it. A symbol, written in chalk on the brick wall. A looping swirl. The Rithmatic line they still hadn’t been able to identify.

The night was strangely quiet.

Oh no …
Joel thought, feeling a horrible chill. He backed away from the wall, then opened his mouth to call for help.

His scream came out unnaturally soft. He felt the sound almost get
torn
away from his throat, sucked toward that symbol, dampened.

The kidnappings …
Joel thought, stunned.
Nobody heard the Rithmatists call for help. Except for a few servants, on the side of the hall where that symbol had been drawn too hastily.

That’s what the line does. It sucks in sound.

He stumbled back. He had to find the police, raise the alarm. The Scribbler had come to the dormitory for …

Dormitory. This was the
general
dormitory. There were no Rithmatists in it. Who had the kidnapper come for?

Several shaking white shapes crawled over the top of the building and began to move down the wall.

For Joel.

Joel yelled—the sound dying—and took off at a dash across the green.
This can’t be happening,
he thought with terror.
I’m not a Rithmatist! The Scribbler is only supposed to come after them.

He ran madly, screaming for help. His voice came out as barely a whisper. He glanced back and saw a small wave of whiteness following him across the lawn. There were about a dozen of the creatures—fewer than the attacks indicated had taken the others. But then, Joel wasn’t a Rithmatist.

He yelled again, panicking, his heart thumping, his entire body feeling cold. No sound came from his mouth.

Think, Joel,
he told himself.
Don’t panic. You’ll die if you panic.

That sound-stealing line can’t have this long a range. Someone at one of the other crime scenes would have noticed that they couldn’t make sound, and that would have given it away.

That means there must be other copies of the symbol nearby. Drawn in a row, because …

Because the Scribbler guessed which direction I’d run.

Joel pulled up sharply, looking wildly across the dark green. It was lit only by a few phantom lanterns, but in that light, he saw it. A white line drawn across the concrete walk ahead. A Line of Forbiddance.

He turned, looking behind him. The chalklings continued onward, pushing Joel toward the Line of Forbiddance. Trying to corner him and trap him. There were probably lines to the sides as well—it was hard to draw with chalk on earth, but it was possible. If he got trapped behind Lines of Forbiddance …

He would die.

That thought was almost enough to stun him again. The wave of chalklings approached, and he could see what Charles had described in his final note. The things weren’t like traditional chalklings. Their forms shook violently, as if to some phantom sound. Arms, legs, bodies melding together. Like the visions of an insane painter who couldn’t make up his mind which monstrosity he wanted to create.

Move!
something inside of Joel yelled. He sucked in a deep breath, then took off at a dash straight
at
the chalklings. When he drew near, he jumped, soaring over the top of the creatures. He hit the ground and dashed back the way he had come.

Have to think quickly,
he told himself.
Can’t go to the dormitory. They’ll just come under the doors. I have to find the policemen. They have acid.

Where were Harding’s patrols? Joel ran with all his might toward the Rithmatic side of the campus.

His breath began to come in gasps. He couldn’t outrun chalklings for long. Ahead, he saw lights. The campus office building. Joel let out a ragged yell.

“Help!”

Blessedly, the sound came in full force. He’d gotten away from the trap. However, though sound was no longer dampened, his voice felt weak. He had been running at full speed for too long.

The door to the office flung open and Exton looked out, wearing his typical vest and bow tie. “Joel?” he called. “What’s wrong?”

Joel shook his head, sweating. He dared a glance behind, and saw the chalklings scrambling over the grass just behind him. Inches away.

“Blessed heavens!” Exton shouted.

Joel turned back, but in his haste, he tripped and fell to the ground.

Joel cried out, hitting hard, the breath knocked from him. Dazed, he cringed, waiting for the pain, the coldness, the attacks he had read about.

Nothing happened.

“Help, police, someone!” Exton was screaming.

Joel lifted his head. Why wasn’t he dead? The grass was lit only by a lantern shining through the window of the office building. The chalklings quivered nearby, surrounding him, their figures shaking. Small hands, eyes, faces, legs, claws formed periodically around whirling, tempestuous chalk bodies.

They did not advance.

Joel raised himself up on his arms. Then he saw it: the gold dollar Melody had given him. It had fallen from his pocket and lay sparkling on the grass.

The gears inside it ticked quietly, and the chalklings shied away from it. Several of them tested forward, but they were reticent.

There was a sudden splash, and one of the chalklings washed away in a wave of liquid.

“Quickly, Joel,” Exton said, holding out his hand from a short distance away, an empty bucket in his other hand. Joel scrambled to his feet, snatching the gold coin and dashing through the hole Exton had made in the ring of chalklings.

Exton rushed back into the office building.

“Exton!” Joel said, following him through the doorway and into the office. “We have to run. We can’t stop them here!”

Exton slammed the door shut, ignoring Joel. Then he knelt to the floor and pulled out a piece of chalk. He drew a line in front of the doorway, then up the sides of the wall and around the doorway. He stepped back.

The chalklings stopped outside. Joel could just barely see them begin attacking the line. Exton proceeded to draw another one around Joel and himself, boxing them in.

“Exton,” Joel said. “You’re a Rithmatist!”

“A failed one,” Exton admitted, hands shaking. “Haven’t carried chalk in years. But, well, with all the problems here at the school…”

Across the room, chalklings moved across the windowpanes, looking for other ways in. A single lantern flickered, giving the office a shadowy illumination.

“What’s going on?” Exton asked. “Why were they chasing you?”

“I don’t know,” Joel said, testing the Line of Forbiddance around them. It wasn’t drawn particularly well, and wouldn’t hold for long against the chalklings.

“Do you have any more acid?” Joel asked.

Exton nodded toward a second bucket nearby, within their defensive square. Joel grabbed it.

“It’s the last one,” Exton said, wringing his hands. “Harding left the two here for us.”

Joel glanced at the chalklings, visible under the door, attacking at Exton’s line. He took out the coin.

It had stopped them. Why?

“Exton,” he said, trying to keep the terror from shaking his voice. “We’re going to have to make a run for the gates. The policemen will have more acid there.”

“Run?” Exton said. “I … I can’t run! I’m in no shape to keep ahead of chalklings!”

He was right. Portly as he was, Exton wouldn’t be able to keep up for long. Joel felt his hands shaking, so he clenched his fists. He knelt down, watching the chalklings beyond the Line of Forbiddance. They were chewing through it at an alarming rate.

Joel took the coin and snapped it to the ground behind the line. The chalklings shied away.

Then, tentatively, they came back and began to work on the Line of Forbiddance again.

Blast,
Joel thought.
So it
won’t
stop them, not for good.
He and Exton were in trouble. Serious trouble. He turned to Exton, who was wiping his brow with a handkerchief.

“Draw another box around yourself,” Joel said.

“What?”

“Draw as many lines as you can,” Joel said. “Don’t let them touch each other except at corners. Wait here.” Joel turned toward the door. “I’m going for help.”

“Joel, those
things
are out there.” Exton jumped as the window cracked. He glanced toward the glass, where a couple of chalklings were attacking, scraping at the glass with a terrible sound. It cracked further. “They’ll be in here soon!”

Joel took a deep breath. “I’m not going to sit here like Herman and Charles did, waiting for my defenses to be breached. I can make it to the gates—it’s just a short distance.”

“Joel, I—”

“Draw the lines!” Joel yelled.

Exton fumbled, then went down on his knees, boxing himself inside a set of Lines of Forbiddance. Joel turned the coin over in his palm.