White Sand, Volume 1

by Brandon Sanderson

  #

  The Taishin were the last ones to arrive. The new Lord Admiral came first, accompanied by Delious. A few moments later Vey and the Lord Farmer made their appearance, both dressed in bright violet robes. The two Kershtians made their way down to their places, speaking quietly with some of the kelzin they passed. Kenton stood at the bottom of the Pit, his bare feet touching the sand as he tried to prepare himself for the battle to come. He watched with discomfort as Eric arrived, wearing the formal red of the Lord General. Kenton had half-feared that his friend would disappear for another three years. His uniform, however, meant that he had actually claimed the Lord Generalship. Eric’s cold, almost lifeless eyes focused on Kenton as he made his way to his seat.

  Next came the Lord Artisan. Rite’s stern, simple face was disturbed as he entered the building. From what Kenton heard, the man had nearly decided not to come to the fight. Social pressures, however, had persuaded him to attend the event. Kenton was almost disappointed—in his opinion, the fewer people who saw him get slaughtered the better.

  Finally, the Lady Judge arrived, accompanied by a group of dark-clothed trackts and aids. She left the trackts to stand in the shadows above, and swept down the stairs to her place, moving with the grace of a woman half her age. Her aged eyes, however, held every bit of wisdom earned during her seven decades of life. She took her place, regarding Kenton with an unreadable look.

  That’s all of them. Kenton thought. The saddest part about it all, he decided, would be that he would die before they voted. He would never know if his efforts had managed to save the Diem or not.

  Kenton took a deep breath, preparing himself as best he could. Drile stood at the other end of the forty-foot wide pit, conferring with several sand masters. He wore his white robes tied with the customary black cord. As the Lady Judge took her place he turned, smiling, and nodded to Elorin, who sat at the front of the sand masters.

  Elorin looked to Kenton. Kenton nodded as well. He was ready.

  Elorin stood, looking over the crowd. He looked nervous, but he had a right to be. Sand Masters hadn’t fought one another for centuries. Elorin hadn’t looked too eager when Kenton had asked him to mediate the ceremony.

  “My Lords and Lady Taishin, people of Lossand. You have come to witness a very serious event. These two sand masters, unable to resolve their difficulties, have come to face one another in single combat. May we—”

  Elorin paused as a commotion stirred at the back of the room. Kenton turned, and was surprised to see a tall form with bright red hair walk into the room. He wore the dark brown robes of a Talloner. The Lord Mason’s emissary, Kenton realized. So Dirin failed. The realization hurt—Kenton had been intentionally avoiding thinking about of Dirin’s mission. Now he would die knowing he had failed.

  However, even as the thought occurred to him, Kenton saw another, smaller form push its way into the room. This form also had red hair, and it wore the white robes of a sand master. Dirin smiled encouragingly at Kenton as the Talloner emissary took his place with the Taishin. Dirin’s optimism gave him hope—perhaps the boy had succeeded after all. Of course, Dirin would be optimistic no matter what happened, so perhaps the boy’s smile wasn’t a good way to judge.

  Regardless, Elorin continued his speech, so Kenton didn’t have time to give the matter further thought.

  “May we be witnesses to the victor, and mourners for the loser,” Elorin announced. “May we avoid this day in the future. Sand masters, you may begin.”

  Elorin sat down.

  Kenton took a deep breath, his body suddenly tense as he reached for his sand pouch. His hand never got there.

  Sand exploded around Drile, rising into the air like a mythical many-armed beast. Twenty-five ribbons screamed toward Kenton. They didn’t cut him; instead, they picked him up and slammed him back against the Pit’s stone wall. Kenton both heard and felt something crack inside his chest. He gasped in pain, dropping to the ground as Drile withdrew his sand.

  Kenton lay curled on the sandy ground, his body throbbing, his eyes wide with amazement. The pain was more sharp than he could have imagined. He rolled over with a groan, trying to regain control of himself. Drile stood at his end of the pit, smiling, his sand writhing around him like two-dozen whips of glowing smoke. Eventually, Kenton made it to his knees, then back to his feet. In one hand he clutched a handful of sand.

  He cried out in anger and pain, bringing the sand to life with a flash. Drile didn’t respond as Kenton gathered his sand around him, though he did raise an eyebrow in surprise as he counted Kenton’s ribbons.

  His teeth gritted against the pain, Kenton launched an attack of his own.

  Five ribbons crossed the area between the two men. Kenton expanded his mind, moving each ribbon independently as it wove toward Drile. When the ribbons were just a few feet from his enemy, Drile’s ribbons suddenly responded. They snapped forward like predators, no less than three ribbons striking each of Kenton’s. Sand sprayed across the pit as ribbons met. Kenton tried to keep his ribbons free from Drile’s defense, but it was to no avail. There were too many ribbons, and Drile was too practiced. Even Kenton’s superior ability to control barely helped in the face of such odds.

  Each of Kenton attacks fell dead as Drile’s ribbons touched them. Kenton did manage to reciprocate, touching the tip of his ribbons to two of Drile’s, making them fall dead.

  Unfortunately, he was quickly overwhelmed. He pulled back, regrowing his ribbons around him. His eyes were already beginning to burn—he had expended an amazing amount of water in the attack. His body was feeling weak as well. Drile, however, was unfazed. None of Kenton’s ribbons had gotten within a few feet of his body.

  This is hopeless, Kenton thought with pain. Of course, he had always known that it would be.

  Drile attacked. The ribbons whipped and spun, streaking toward Kenton. Kenton pulled back reflexively before them, pushing against the stone wall. He focused himself, ordering his sand to protect him.

  His five ribbons rose to his defense, attacking Drile’s ribbons. He managed to intercept several of them, smashing through their centers, dropping the ribbons dead to the floor. Unfortunately, the attempt was laughably insufficient. Fifteen ribbons still made it to him.

  The sand slicked into his body without mercy. He felt his shirt get ripped from his body, a dozen ribbons cutting into his flesh. Pain erupted through his body, and blood splashed against the wall, dripping down to the sand. Kelzin cried out in surprise and horror, but Kenton only groaned, his eyes shutting against the agony.

  He felt pain from his chest, arms, and legs. However, for some reason he was still alive. Drile hadn’t pierced him with the sand, he had only cut and sliced, lacerating Kenton’s flesh with painful, but not fatal, wounds.

  Drile was laughing again. He had avoided delivering a death blow on purpose. Kenton opened his eyes, barely able to keep himself conscious. He was on the ground again, white sand sticking to his blood-stained body. There were slices on his chest and arms, like lashes from a whip.

  I didn’t even hurt him, Kenton thought with shame. I lasted a few brief minutes. He looked across the Pit, his eyes seeking out Khriss in the crowd. She seemed terrified. Her eyes were wide, tears streaming down her cheeks. Poor girl.

  With a sigh, Kenton pushed himself to his knees again. I won’t let him beat me so easily!

  #

  “This is horrible!” Khriss said, trying to stand, trying to do something. A firm hand held her down.

  “Yes,” Baon said quietly, “it is horrible. However, it is not your place to interfere, duchess.”

  “He’ll die!” Khriss said, her mind finally grasping what that fact meant. Kenton couldn’t die. She needed him. She didn’t know why, but she did. “He can’t die,” she whispered.

  “He chose his fight,” Baon said. “And he does so with bravery. This sacrifice is for his people. You cannot rob that from him.”

  Khriss tried to tear her eyes away from the horrible scene before h
er, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t abandon him. Kenton was struggling to his knees, surrounded by sand that was more red than white. It wasn’t a fight, it was an execution.

  Suddenly, Kenton cried out, thrusting his hand forward. Sand flashed around him, burning with inner light as it whipped toward Drile. For a moment, hope returned—Kenton’s sand moved more quickly this time, glowing more brightly.

  Once again, Drile slapped the five ribbons aside with an almost flippant gesture. He was too powerful—he had too much sand.

  “Oh, Kenton,” Khriss said with fear as Drile raised his sand for another strike.

  #

  Kenton braced himself. Fortunately, this time he didn’t have far to fall—he was still kneeling in the sand. He barely managed to intercept three of Drile’s ribbons. The other sand master’s laughter was matched with slices of pain across Kenton’s back—no punctures, just cuts.

  Kenton shuddered in pain. Stop toying with me! he thought with anger. Finish me, and let it be done.

  He could barely see now. A cut across his brow was pouring blood into his eyes. Somehow, he knew that he still had control of his ribbons, but the five lines of sand hung limply. He was beaten. He had been beaten before the battle began.

  Kenton tried to struggle to his feet, but slipped, falling back to the sand. Hard grains bit into his cheek. It was over. He lay resigned, waiting for the final strike, his head turned to the side, his eyes staring unseeingly at the stone wall. An image seemed to form before him, and image of a young boy in white robes. A boy with a determined expression and light brown hair. A defiant boy—a boy that would be a sand master, no matter what others told him.

  I was a fool, Kenton thought with despair. I was always a fool. I never belonged in the Diem.

  The boy stared back at him, his eyes stubborn. I am a sand master! the boy’s expression seemed to say. I am as good as any other.

  You’re wrong, Kenton thought. You’re not as good as another—Drile just beat you. You didn’t deserve to be a mastrell.

  The boy shook his head. No. Drile didn’t beat you because he’s better than you. He beat you because you tried to become something you aren’t.

  Kenton lay numbly, watching the image fade. As a boy learning in the Diem, he had claimed he was as good as any mastrell. When had he stopped believing that? Sometime during his fighting, his arguments had simply become words to him. He had realized he didn’t have the power of a mastrell; he had kept fighting because he didn’t want to give up, not because he believed that he deserved a place.

  But once, many years before, he had believed. The boy had believed.

  Kenton groaned again, feeling his wounds, his broken ribs, his lashed skin. He felt like giving up and dying. Instead, he struggled to his feet once more.

  The Pit wobbled in front of him as he slowly pulled himself up, using the stone wall to steady himself. Drile actually looked surprised to see him rising. The man’s twenty-five ribbons swirled quickly, as if eager to taste Kenton’s blood one last time.

  Kenton reached down to a sand pouch—the only one that hadn’t been destroyed in Drile’s attacks—and removed a small handful of sand. He held his fist forward, his hand shaking slightly, small trails of white sand dribbling from his fingers.

  Obey me, he thought simply. The sand flashed to life. And then, he waited. He didn’t sent the sand to the ground, he didn’t gather more sand and split it into five, or even three, ribbons. He just waited, his single, pitiful ribbon hanging in front of him.

  Drile attacked, his eyes hard. This would be the last time. He intended to finish the battle with this one, final strike.

  Kenton closed his eyes, still leaning against the bloodied wall, and ordered his sand to move. The single ribbon leapt forward. Tiny, weak, insignificant. One ribbon was nothing.

  Unless that one ribbon belonged to Kenton.

  The tiny ribbon shot forward, ripping through the air at a speed impossible for any other sand master’s ribbons. It struck at Drile’s sand with a precision unequaled in the Diem, cutting down lines of sand, dexterous and nimble. Kenton had practiced for years, trying to prove that he could do with one ribbon what others couldn’t do with dozens. Eventually, he had given up on himself. He’d never realized that he was right.

  Stale sand fell to the pit floor as Drile’s ribbons fell dead. Kenton opened his eyes to find Drile staring at him with stupefaction, every one of his ribbons destroyed. Kenton’s one single ribbon hovered in front of him.

  “Impossible,” Drile mouthed, gathering another storm of sand around himself. He struck again, sending his sand in waves of five this time.

  Kenton stood a little straighter, concentrating on his single ribbon. The small line of sand spun and whipped, zipping back and forth in the air in front of him as it smashed through ribbon after ribbon, blocking every attack that Drile attempted.

  Drile had stopped laughing. He was focused solely on his sand now, striking at Kenton with rhythmic waves of ribbons. He watched incredulously as Kenton’s tiny ribbon intercepted his attacks, felling them with precise efficiency.

  Drile didn’t give up. He continued to master with disbelief, trying to find a hole in Kenton’s defense. Kenton’s little ribbon could cross the length of the Pit in the blink of an eye. It turned and doubled-back on itself neatly. Kenton wove it through the air, slicing through entire groups of ribbons in a single strike.

  And there was another advantage. Kenton’s eyes were burning, but Drile was obviously suffering more. The more ribbons one had, the faster one’s body lost water. Kenton’s one small ribbon barely cost anything, but he could see the effects of dehydration in Drile’s eyes. Since neither sand master could bring a qido into the Pit, it soon became obvious who would run out of water first.

  Unfortunately, Drile could still do something Kenton couldn’t. Even as they fought, Drile reached down for a handful of sand and brought it up. He closed his eyes, and his ribbons paused in the air for a moment. His hand began to shine. He was going to slatrify—turn his sand into water.

  Kenton’s ribbon smashed into Drile’s hand, slicing a hole directly through the back of the palm. Drile cried out, dropping the sand and holding his hand in agony. Then he turned angry eyes on Kenton, and his sand rose for another attack. It moved with power and determination, but Kenton’s ribbon maintained its blurring speed. The ribbons fell dead as soon as Drile could create them.

  “It’s over, Drile,” Kenton announced. “Concede—I have no desire to kill you.”

  Drile growled his response, sending a new wave of ribbons. Kenton sliced them down, then drove his ribbon towards Drile’s chest. He pulled up at the last minute, slicing a cut across the man’s shoulder.

  “You’re beaten, Drile,” he said. “Give up!”

  Drile’s face burned with undisguised hatred. “I won’t be beaten by you!” he yelled back. “I am a mastrell!”

  Drile’s eyes grew wide, and he raised his hands, summoning more sand around him. Fully a third of the sand in the Pit was already black. Kenton stepped back bracing himself. Drile’s face was frenzied, and his sand began to grow brighter and brighter.

  “Drile … .” Kenton said warningly. “Drile, watch your water. Don’t overextend yourself.”

  Drile ignored him. His skin was beginning to turn a dun color, but his whirling torrent of sand was glowing even brighter.

  Kenton cursed softly. He had seen a look like the one in Drile’s eyes once before—in the eyes of his father, right before he died.

  Drile commanded his sand forward.

  #

  Khriss cried out, the brightness of Drile’s sand causing her eyes to water. She had actually begun to think that Kenton might win, but Drile’s sudden outpouring of power frightened her. It was like a tornado of brightly shining sand had been called up in the center of the room.

  Drile screamed, and entire waves of sand began to blast toward Kenton. Khriss heard herself cry out as Kenton disappeared in a cyclone of light. All around the r
oom, kelzin were crying out in alarm, and many stumbled out of their seats and began to push toward the door. Grains of sand flew through the room, biting into Khriss’s skin and getting in her eyes. It didn’t do any real damage, however, for it wasn’t focused on the audience, but on a single point. A point that was no longer visible in the storm.

  Drile was still screaming. Though Kenton, the source of his attack, was obscured, Drile himself was visible. His hands were raised high over his head, and he was moaning in a high pitched voice. His face was beginning to dry out.

  Khriss watched with horror as the skin on Drile’s face pulled in, stretching over his skull skeletally. His cheeks sucked inward with a sudden motion, as if someone had stuck a needle into them and drained out all the water. The skin of his lips curled backward, flaking and drying, revealing the teeth underneath. Drile’s tongue shriveled in his mouth, and his wide eyes suddenly deflated, leaving behind a skull that stared ahead vacantly. Still Drile screamed in rage.

  His entire body grew desiccate, his robes enveloping his skeletal arms and neck. His voice choked off as the raging storm of sand before him hit a crescendo. Then all was silent.

  The dried corpse that had been Drile fell forward onto its knees. Then there was a cracking sound as Drile’s waist split, and his top half broke free of his bottom half, falling forward onto the black sand, the knees and legs remaining upright. As soon as his skull hit the ground it shattered, turning to dust. There wasn’t a single drop of blood.

  Khriss sat stunned, looking at Drile’s remains. Only a tiny layer of black sand remained on his side of the Pit—which, now that most of the sand was gone, revealed itself to be much deeper than Khriss had realized. The rest of the sand lay piled where Kenton had been standing—a seven foot dune of black sand slumped against the stone wall, spilling over onto the benches behind it.

  “Kenton!” Khriss cried out, jumping out of her seat and stumbling down toward the Pit, walking over seats both empty and occupied. She reached the side of the Pit, lowering herself over the wall and down to the floor. She rushed past Drile’s desiccated corpse and began to dig in the sand mound.