Yumi and the Nightmare Painter by Brandon Sanderson EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Brandon Sanderson
- Language: English
- Genre: Epic Fantasy
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 30 MB
- Price: Free
THE STAR WAS particularly bright when the nightmare painter started his
rounds.
The star. Singular. No, not a sun. Just one star. A bullet hole in the
midnight sky, bleeding pale light.
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The nightmare painter lingered outside his apartment building, locking his
eyes on the star. He’d always found it strange, that sentry in the sky. Still, he
was fond of it. Many nights it was his sole companion. Unless you counted
the nightmares.
After losing his staring match, the nightmare painter strolled along the
street, which was silent save for the hum of the hion lines. Ever present, those
soared through the air—twin bands of pure energy, thick as a person’s wrist,
about twenty feet up. Imagine them like very large versions of the filaments
in the center of a light bulb—motionless, glowing, unsupported.
One line was an indecisive blue-green. You might have called it aqua—or
perhaps teal. But if so, it was an electric variety. Turquoise’s pale cousin,
who stayed in listening to music and never got enough sun.
The other was a vibrant fuchsia. If you could ascribe a personality to a cord
of light, this one was perky, boisterous, blatant. It was a color you’d wear
only if you wanted every eye in the room to follow you. A titch too purple for
hot pink, it was at the very least a comfortably lukewarm pink.
The residents of the city of Kilahito might have found my explanation
unnecessary. Why put such effort into describing something everyone
knows? It would be like describing the sun to you. Yet you need this context,
for—cold and warm—the hion lines were the colors of Kilahito. Needing no
pole or wire to hold them aloft, they ran down every street, reflected in every
window, lit every denizen. Wire-thin strings of both colors split off the main
cords, running to each structure and powering modern life. They were the
arteries and veins of the city.
Just as necessary to life in the city was the young man walking beneath
them, although his role was quite different. He’d originally been named
Nikaro by his parents—but by tradition, many nightmare painters went by
their title to anyone but their fellows. Few internalized it as he had. So we
shall call him as he called himself. Simply, Painter.
You’d probably say Painter looked Veden. Similar features, same black
hair, but of paler skin than many you’d find on Roshar. He would have been
confused to hear that comparison, as he had never heard of such lands as
those. In fact, his people had only recently begun to think about whether their
planet was alone in the cosmere. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves.
Painter. He was a young man, still a year from his twenties, as you’d count
the years.
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