Skyward brandon sanderson download pdf

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Cytonic Brandon Sanderson. I imagined those broken rocks as the broken bodies of my enemies, their bones shattered, their trembling arms reaching upward in a useless gesture of total and complete defeat. I was a very odd little girl.

I caught up to my father, and he looked back, then smiled. He had the best smile, so confident, like he never worried about what people said about him. Then again, why should he have worried? Everyone liked him. Even people who hated ice cream and playing swords—even whiny little Rodge McCaffrey—liked my father. Father took me by the arm and pointed upward.

Let me lift you. I was grown-up. Granted, I had put my toy starfighter in my backpack. What if we ended up getting caught in a Krell attack and they bombed our retreat, so we had to live out the rest of our lives as wasteland survivors, devoid of society or civilization?

A girl needed her toy starfighter with her just in case. I handed my backpack to my father and looked up at the crack in the stones. There was. An unnatural light seeped through it, wholly unlike the soft glow of our lanterns. The surface. I grinned and started climbing up a steep slope that was part rubble, part rock formation.

The daughters of pilots did not cry. The crack in the cavern roof looked a hundred meters away. I hated being so small. Any day now, I was going to grow tall like my father. I growled softly as I got to the top of a rock. The next hand-hold was out of reach.

I eyed it. Then I jumped, determined. Like a good Defiant girl, I had the heart of a stardragon. But I also had the body of a seven-year-old.

So I missed by a good half meter. A strong hand seized me before I could fall too far. I had even drawn a pin on the left over my heart, like the one he wore—the pin that marked him as a pilot. It was in the shape of a small starfighter with lines underneath. Father pulled me onto the rock beside him, then reached out with his free hand and activated his light-line. The device looked like a metal bracelet, but once he engaged it by tapping two fingers against his palm, the band glowed with a bright molten light.

He touched a stone above, and when he drew his hand back, it left a thick line of light like a shining rope fixed to the rock. The glow there faded, but the luminescent rope remained in place, attaching me to the rocks. Like a hug. You fight the Krell. And if I break my arm, you can leave me here until I heal. I could pull against it to brace myself. We reached the crack, and my father pushed me up first.

I grabbed the rim and scrambled out of the caverns, stepping onto the surface for the first time in my life. It was so open. I gaped, standing there, looking up at. No ceiling. No walls. But it was so much more, and so much less, all at once. My father heaved himself up after me and dusted the dirt from his flight suit. I glanced at him, then back up at the sky.

I grinned widely. I glared at him. Our planet, Detritus, was protected by several enormous layers of ancient space debris. Junk that was way up high, outside the air, in space. Still, some of it worked. For example, the bottom layer—the one closest to the planet— had enormous glowing rectangles in it. Skylights: enormous floating lights that gave illumination and warmth to the planet.

There was supposed to be a lot of littler bits of junk up there too, particularly in the lowest layer. I squinted, trying to see if I could pick any of that out, but space was too far away. Other than the two nearby skylights —neither of which was directly above us—the only things I could see were some vague patterns up there in the greyness.

Lighter chunks and darker chunks. Now we lived in clans, each of whom could trace their lineage back to the crews of one of those starships. Gran-Gran had told me these stories many times. Until now. We were starting to fight back. Is that it? I want to go see the starfighters.

We have to remain hidden. We have to live nearby to protect the machinery, but we fly missions anywhere the Krell come down, anywhere they decide to bomb. Before we crashed here, we were all part of the same fleet—and someday all the wandering clans will remember that. They will come when we call them. Not if we stand and fight back. I thought. That made my father hug me for some stupid reason, even though I was just telling the truth. But I hugged him back, because parents liked stuff like that.

Besides, it did feel good to have someone to hold. So BIG. Father was pointing at something specific. I squinted, noting that a section of the grey-black sky was darker than the rest. A hole through the layers of debris? In that moment, I looked out into infinity. I found myself trembling as if a billion meteors had hit nearby. I could see space itself, with little pinpricks of white in it, different from the skylights.

These sparkled, and seemed so, so far away. There are too many layers. Strangely, he seemed embarrassed by it. Their heads are heads of rock, their hearts set upon rock. Set your sights on something higher.

Something more grand. I was going to be a pilot someday. I would fly up there and fight. I just hoped Father would leave some Krell for me. I squinted as something flashed in the sky. A distant piece of debris, burning brightly as it entered the atmosphere.

Then another fell, and another. Then dozens. Father frowned and reached for his radio—a superadvanced piece of technology that was given only to pilots. He lifted the blocky device to his mouth. I see a debris fall close to Alta. Stars help us. An extremely large group of Krell has breached the debris field.

All fighters report in. It was a straight trip through those tunnels. A voice came through. We lose everything. If we ever want to have a civilization again, a world again, we have to stand here! I trembled at the idea of a battle, but I still wanted to watch it. Just you watch how many I bring down! I liked him immediately. My father debated only a moment before pulling off his light-line bracelet and stuffing it into my hands.

Chaser out. Then he stopped and turned back. He pulled off his pin and tossed it—like a glittering fragment of a star—to me before continuing his run toward the hidden base. I, of course, immediately broke my promise.

I squinted and picked out the dark Krell ships swarming down toward them. I used the light-line to lower myself into the cavern, where I recovered my backpack and headed into the tunnels.

I figured if I hurried, I could get back to my clan in time to listen to the broadcast of the fight on our single communal radio. I was wrong though. The hike was longer than I remembered, and I did manage to get lost.

So I was wandering down there, imagining the glory of the awesome battle happening above, when my father infamously broke ranks and fled from the enemy. His own flight shot him down in retribution. By the time I got home, the battle had been won, my father was gone. I stalked my enemy carefully through the cavern.

The rock under my feet was comfortably cool as I took another silent step forward. This deep, the only light came from the faint glow of the worms on the ceiling, feeding off the moisture seeping through cracks. You had to sit for minutes in the darkness for your eyes to adjust to that faint light. Another quiver in the shadows.

There, near those dark lumps that must be enemy fortifications. I froze in a crouch, listening to my enemy scratch the rock as he moved. I imagined a Krell: a terrible alien with red eyes and dark armor.

With a steady hand—agonizingly slow—I raised my rifle to my shoulder, held my breath, and fired. A squeal of pain was my reward. It sprang to life with a reddish-orange glow, blinding me for a moment.

Then I rushed forward to claim my prize: one dead rat, speared straight through. My enemy was a plump rat, and my rifle was a makeshift speargun. It helped relieve the monotony, to pretend I was doing something more exciting than hunting rats. I held up the dead rodent by its tail. But I figured it was good to practice my taunts for when I really fought the Krell. Gran-Gran taught that a great warrior knew how to make a great boast to drive fear and uncertainty into the hearts of her enemies.

I tucked my prize away into my sack. That was eight so far—not a bad haul. Did I have time to find another? I glanced at my light-line—the bracelet that housed it had a little clock next to the power indicator. I followed my own hand-drawn maps, which I was constantly updating in a small notebook. A part of me was sad to have to return, and leave these silent caverns behind.

They reminded me of my father. Besides, I liked how. Nobody to mock me, nobody to stare, nobody to whisper insults until I was forced to defend my family honor by burying a fist in their stupid face. I stopped at a familiar intersection where the floor and ceiling gave way to strange metal patterns.

On the far side of the room, an enormous, ancient tube emerged from the rock—one of many that moved water between the caverns, cleansing it and using it to cool machinery.

Cool and refreshing, with a tinge of something metallic. Like the rubble belt, it had been here already when our small fleet crashed on the planet. But how distantly related they were to us was a mystery even now. None of them were still around, and the melted patches and ancient wrecks on the surface indicated that they had suffered their own war. I poured the rest of the water into my canteen, then gave the large tube a fond pat before replacing the bucket and moving on.

I followed that sound and eventually approached a glowing break in the stone on my left. I stepped up to the hole and looked out on Igneous. My home cavern and the largest of the underground cities that made up the Defiant League. My perch was high, providing me with a stunning view of a large cave filled with boxy apartments built like cubes splitting off one another. In defeating the Krell that day over nine years ago, those fledgling starfighter pilots had inspired a nation.

Dozens of once-nomadic clans had congregated, colonizing Igneous and the caverns around it. My clan was the Motorskaps— from the old words for engine crew. Together, we called ourselves Defiants. A name taken from our original flagship. Of course, in gathering together, we had drawn the attention of the Krell.

The aliens were still determined to destroy humankind, so the war continued, and we needed a constant stream of starfighters and pilots to protect our burgeoning nation. Towering over the buildings of Igneous was the apparatus: ancient forges, refineries, and manufactories that pumped molten rock from below, then created the parts to build starfighters.

The apparatus was both amazing and unique; though machinery in other caverns provided heat, electricity, or filtered water, only the apparatus of Igneous was capable of complex manufacturing.

Heat poured through the crack, making my forehead bead with sweat. Igneous was a sweltering place, with all those refineries, factories, and algae vats. And though it was well lit, it somehow always felt gloomy inside, with that red-orange light from the refineries shining on everything. Its hatch looked—at first glance—like any other section of the stone tunnel, and so was relatively secure. I popped it open, revealing my few secret possessions. I rubbed that for good luck, then placed my light-line, map book, and speargun in the locker.

I retrieved a crude stone-tipped spear, clicked the hatch closed, then slung my sack over my shoulder. I hiked down to the normal entrance into the cavern.

Two soldiers from the ground troops—which barely ever did any real fighting—guarded the way in. Though I knew them both by their first names, they still made me stand to the side as they pretended to call for authorization for me to enter. Really, they just liked making me wait. Every day. Every scudding day. Eventually, Aluko stepped over and began looking through my sack with a suspicious eye. Maybe some rocks that insulted your mother?

Well, let him wonder. Finally, he tossed the sack back to me. I lifted my chin. On your way. Sanitation workers, maintenance techs, algae vat specialists. No pilots, of course.

Off-duty pilots stayed in the deep caverns on reserve, while the on-duty ones lived in Alta, the very base my father had died protecting. It was no longer secret, but had grown into a large installation on the surface, housing dozens of ships along with the pilot command structure and training facilities. That was where I would live starting tomorrow, once I passed the test and became a cadet. I walked under a large metal statue of the First Citizens: a group of people holding symbolic weapons and reaching toward the sky in defiant poses, ships rising behind them trailing streaks of metal.

The next turn took me to our apartment, one of many metal cubes sprouting from a larger central one. An official job was forbidden to my mother because of what my father had supposedly done, so we had to get by doing something unconventional.

Gran-Gran looked up, hearing me. Her name was Becca Nightshade—I shared her last name—but even those who barely knew her called her Gran- Gran. She had lost nearly all her sight a few years ago, her eyes having gone a milky white. She was hunched over and worked with sticklike arms. But she was still the strongest person I knew. How many did you get today? If we hurry, we can have them ready for your mother to sell today, and I can get to tanning the skins. These days, we were just getting lectures on the various jobs one could do in the cavern.

Though the test to become a pilot was supposed to be hard, Rodge and I had been studying for ten years. So why did I need to hear about how great it was to be an algae vat worker or whatever?

I made sure to attend the classes that had to do with flying—ship layouts and repair, mathematics, war history. Any other class I managed to make was a bonus. I settled down and helped Gran-Gran skin and gut the rats. She was clean and efficient as she worked by touch.

Not Leif Eriksson? Now, Beowulf, he was a mighty man. He was your ancestor, you know. Most people in the city lived on algae paste. Real meat—from cattle or pigs raised in caverns with special lighting and environmental equipment—was far too rare for everyday eating. I loved the way Gran-Gran told stories. Her voice grew soft when the monsters hissed, and bold when the heroes boasted. She worked with nimble fingers as she spun the tale of the ancient Viking hero who came to aid the Danes in their time of need.

A warrior everybody loved; one who fought bravely, even against a larger and mightier foe. My mother was back. I ignored that for now. But he was of the oldenfolk, who fought with hands and sword. Now, have you been doing your exercises? Imagine yourself flying. I loved Gran-Gran and her stories, but this part always bored me. I tried to let everything else fade around me, and to picture stars shining brightly above. We worked the flagship itself, a battle cruiser larger than this entire cavern.

The stars. With my eyes closed, I felt as if I were almost floating. Reaching upward. They thought we were strange, but we kept the ship moving. We made it travel the stars. Mother said it was because we could hear them.

My imagination perhaps? A distant, pure sound. This is your heritage. The heritage of warriors who traveled the sky, and will return to the sky. I opened my eyes and was shocked, for a second, to find I was back on that rooftop, surrounded by the ruddy light of Igneous. What does that have to do with being warriors? He taught that position and preparation won wars—not swords or spears.

A great man, Sun Tzu. But have I ever told you of Queen Boudicca, defiant rebel against the Romans? She noted the rats, but then looked at me with arms folded.

I knew how Beowulf would face monsters and dragons. I settled on a noncommittal shrug. Mother eyed me. And he brought untold peace and prosperity to his people! All the greatest warriors fight for peace, Spensa. Remember that. But get going.

Listen to the stars. Vmeer, our Work Studies instructor, nodded encouragingly at the man who stood at the front of the classroom. Though he wore a sanitation jumpsuit and carried a pair of rubber gloves, he was actually handsome: square jaw, burly arms, chest hair peeking out from above his tight jumpsuit collar.

I could almost imagine him as Beowulf. Until he spoke. Not only was she Mrs. Another write-up would keep me from taking the test, which was stupid. We sat on the floor in a small room. No desks for us today; those had been requisitioned by another instructor. I felt like a four-year-old being read a story. The Ventilation Corps workers earlier in the week had said their job was the most important.

As had the construction workers from the day before. As had the forge workers, the cleaning staff, and the cooks. They all had practically the same speech. Something about how we were all important pieces of the machine that fought the Krell. Remember, obedience is defiance. Taking jobs like these still felt like settling. Where was the spark, the energy? We were supposed to be Defiant. We were warriors. The class clapped politely when Citizen Alfir finished. Outside the window, more workers walked in lines beneath statues with straight, geometric shapes.

Sometimes we seemed far less a machine of war than a clock for timing how long shifts lasted. The students stood up for a break, and I strode away before Dia could make another wisecrack. The girl had been trying to goad me into trouble all week. Instead, I approached a student at the back of the room—a lanky boy with red hair.

When did you get here? Only one day left. Why would I be nervous? You know basically everything. Not unless we pass the test. There were always questions about boosters, fighter components, and maneuvers—but technically, any part of our schooling could be included. Confidence was the soul of heroism. Yet a part of me was fed up with studying, with trying to cram things into my brain.

I wanted the challenge to just arrive. We had one more lecture today, unfortunately. Instead I found myself pacing like a caged animal, until I noticed Mrs. Vmeer walking toward me with Alfir, the sanitation guy. Vmeer had special clothing and food requisition privileges. I kind of liked her, even if her daughter was a creature of distilled darkness, worthy only of being slain so her corpse could be used to make potions.

Vmeer said. Everyone always wanted to ask about him. What was it like to live as the daughter of a coward? Did I wish I could hide from it? Did I ever consider changing my surname? People who thought they were being empathetic always asked questions like those. We make expeditions to them, and need rugged types for those trips. In sanitation? Vmeer studied me for a moment, then shook her head and went to welcome the next lecturer.

I backed up against the wall, folding my arms. Vmeer knew I was going to be a pilot. The dark-haired girl sat on the floor, leaning on the wall. The children of First Citizens get in automatically.

We had them in all the classrooms. And yes, I knew their children got automatic entry into flight school. They deserved it, as their parents had fought at the Battle of Alta. Just like anyone else. I heard my parents talking about it last night. Admiral Ironsides gave orders to deny you. She was trying to taunt me again, to get me to throw a fit. Dia shrugged. I stalked across the room to where Mrs. Vmeer was speaking with the new lecturer, a woman from the Algae Vat Corps.

Vmeer sighed, then pulled me to the side. Vmeer narrowed her eyes, then turned and glanced toward her daughter. Vmeer said, looking back at me. Of finding your right place and serving there? She lowered her voice.

If not sanitation, perhaps ground troops? I need to prove myself! Vmeer sighed, then shook her head. But this was never going to be. I wish one of your teachers had been brave enough to disabuse you of the notion when you were younger. A daydreamed future. A carefully imagined escape from my life of ridicule.

Lies that a part of me had suspected. Of course I was too much of an embarrassment to let fly. I wanted to rage. I wanted to hit someone, break something, scream until my lungs bled. Instead I strode from the room, away from the laughing eyes of the other students. I sought refuge in the silent caverns.

Gran- Gran. But fight what? I felt like a fool. My teachers must have spent these years laughing at me behind their hands. Read Online Download. Great book, Skyward pdf is enough to raise the goose bumps alone. Add a review Your Rating: Your Comment:. The Rithmatist by Brandon Sanderson. Mistborn Trilogy by Brandon Sanderson.

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