The Rithmatist

elbows on. There didn’t seem to be anything else in the room—though a springwork lantern shone quite brightly from above, mounted in a crystalline casing so that it cast sparkling light on the walls.
    Joel stood, waiting, heart thumping. Nothing happened. Hesitantly, he knelt down, but didn’t know what to say.
    That was another piece in this whole puzzle. Was there really a Master up in heaven? People like Mary Rowlandson—the colonist he’d read about the night before—believed in God.
    The wild chalklings hadn’t killed her. They’d kept her prisoner, always stopping her from fleeing. Nobody knew their motives for such an act.
    She’d eventually escaped, partially due to the efforts of her husband and some other colonial men. Had her survival been directed by the Master, or had it been simple luck? What did Joel believe?
    “I don’t know what to say,” Joel said. “I figure that if you are there, you’ll be angry if I claim to believe when I don’t. The truth is, I’m not sure I don’t believe, either. You might be there. I hope you are, I guess.
    “Either way, I do want to be a Rithmatist. Even with all of the problems it will cause. I … I need the power to fight them. I don’t want to run again.
    “I’ll be a good Rithmatist. I know the defenses better than almost anyone else on campus. I’ll defend the Isles at Nebrask. I will serve. Just let me be a Rithmatist.”
    Nothing happened. Joel stood. Most people went in and came out quickly, so he figured that there was no point in waiting around. Either he’d be able to draw the lines when he left, or he wouldn’t.
    He turned to leave.
    Something stood in the room behind him.

    He jumped, stumbling back, almost falling over the small altar. The thing behind him was a brilliant white. It stood as high as Joel did, and was in the shape of a man—but a very thin one, with spindly arms and only a curved line for a head. It held what appeared to be a crude bow in one hand.
    The thing looked as if it had been drawn, but it didn’t stick to the walls or floors like a chalkling. Its form was primitive, like the ancient drawings one might find on the side of a cliff.
    Suddenly, Joel remembered the story he’d read from before, the tale of the explorer who had found a canyon where the drawings danced.
    It didn’t move. Joel hesitantly leaned to the side and could see that the thing almost disappeared when looked at from that angle.
    Joel leaned back to look at it from the front. What would it do? He took a hesitant step forward, reaching out. He paused, then touched the thing.
    It shook violently, then fell to the ground, pasting itself to the floor like a chalk drawing. Joel stumbled back as the thing shot away underneath the altar.

    Joel dropped to his knees, noticing a slit at the base of the altar. There was darkness beyond.
    “No,” Joel whispered, reaching out. “Please. Come back!”
    He knelt there for the better part of an hour. A knock finally came at the far door.
    He opened it and found Father Stewart standing outside. “Come, child,” he said. “The others needing inception will arrive soon. Whatever has happened has happened, and we shall see the result.”
    He held out a piece of chalk.
    Joel left the chamber feeling shocked and confused. He took the chalk numbly, walking over to a stone placed on the ground for the purpose of drawing. He knelt down. Melody, Fitch, and his mother approached.
    Joel drew a Line of Forbiddance on the top of the block. Melody reached out with an anxious hand, but Joel knew what would happen.
    Her hand passed through the plane above the line. Her face fell.
    Father Stewart looked troubled. “Well, son, it appears that the Master has other plans for you. In his name, I pronounce you a full member of the Church of the Monarch.” He hesitated. “Do not see this as a failure. Go, and the Master will lead you to the path he has chosen.” It was the same thing that Stewart had told Joel eight years ago.
    “No,” Melody said. “This isn’t right! It was supposed to … supposed to be different this time…”
    “It’s all right,” Joel said, standing. He felt so tired. With a crushing sense of defeat on top of that, making it difficult for him to breathe.
    Mostly, he just wanted to be alone. He turned and walked slowly from the cathedral and back toward campus.



CHAPTER

    Joel slept through most of the day, but didn’t try to go to bed that night. He sat up at his father’s table, a