The lowest-priced brand-new, unused, unopened, undamaged item in its original packaging where packaging is applicable. Packaging should be the same as what is found in a retail store, unless the item is handmade or was packaged by the manufacturer in non-retail packaging, such as an unprinted box or plastic bag. See details for additional description. Eric is one of my favorite Authors, I have now read of his books. I will not devulge any details about the book, Because if you are like me you will not want to know the plots until you reach them in the book.
But I do highly recomend this book. The book actually looked like new. I was surprised at the condition, even the pages were crisp and clean. Skip to main content. About this product. New other.
Make an offer:. Stock photo. Brand new: lowest price The lowest-priced brand-new, unused, unopened, undamaged item in its original packaging where packaging is applicable. See details. But misused, the Ring is the trigger of seemingly inexorable annihilation for V'ornn and Kundalan alike.
Now from among the oppressed must arise the hero of prophecy, the Dar Sala-at, who alone can wield the sorcerous power to save the world. Thus begins a huge epic rooted in the conflict between spiritual and technological cultures. The twisting plot raises difficult and provocative moral questions in the course of a constantly surprising, sometimes shocking, fantastic adventure that will transport fantasy readers to new heights of enthusiasm, and make th… More….
The twisting plot raises difficult and provocative moral questions in the course of a constantly surprising, sometimes shocking, fantastic adventure that will transport fantasy readers to new heights of enthusiasm, and make them ask for more.
Dragon Pearl by Yoon Ha Lee: | pemusorameqi.ga: Books
Sixteen years—a lifetime—later, Bartta, now a small, dark, hunched figure not unlike a lorg, found herself on the same path. The sky was cloudless, of a blue so achingly rich it bore the appearance of fresh lacquer Lustbader creates. She pressed herself against the slope. Too late to run. She was murmuring a prayer when it passed close enough for her to feel the backwash of its mighty grey-blue wings. Then it swooped even lower, and she whirled to follow its flight. The owl passed over the long, flat rock, then again, and a third time, before lifting on powerful pinions, and wheeling away into the dark kuello-fir forest.
A peculiar terror gripped her. The owl was an omen, of course. An extraordinary omen, because an owl in daylight signified imminent death. Her sense of dread escalated, but she knew that she could not ignore an omen from Miina. But that could not be; Miina had passed beyond the rim, or so she had convinced herself. Then what was Miina's messenger doing here?
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She had to find out. Reluctantly, she retraced her steps. She fell to her knees beside the stone, grimacing with pain. The sun sat atop the collar of the forest, the shadows in the gully were long, blue, dense. Bartta grunted. The rock moved with the reluctance of an invalid, its protest in the form of a miniavalanche of shale. The chilling sound came again, and on her belly she stuck her head into the fissure.
In the last of the light she could just make out a small figure curled in a corner. It was Kundalan, not animal--and small, certainly not an adult. Once again, she almost turned away. She had no desire to descend into that dangerous darkness. But her training held her.
Miina had spoken; now she must act. How long had it been since Miina had given the Ramahan a sign? Bartta did not know. A long time, anyway. A very long time. She needed to be especially careful because the friable shale was all too apt to Shear off or crumble beneath her weight. The preponderance of sedimentary rock in this area, she knew, was due to the Chuun River, which flowed from here all the way down to Axis Tyr, the Kundalan city the V'ornn had chosen as their capital. Bartta had heard many stories of Axis Tyr as it had been before the V'ornn invasion, a beautiful city of blue-and-rose stone sitting astride the Chuun River.
Now, from all she could glean, the only Kundalan inside the city were miserable prisoners or slaves. Like Giyan. Bartta's hard heart was wrung out with the terrible sacrifices she had made. It had become a poor shrunken organ no more useful than a stone. Yet she could still hate. Her blood ran cold when she thought of the V'ornn. Such monsters! So nasty to look at; hairless as a rotten clemett and twice as smelly. You could never be certain what the hairless beasts were thinking, though members of the Kundalan resistance had come to know how they would react in certain situations.
But the resistance was largely impotent. Of what use was their deaths? One hundred and one years after the occupation and nothing had changed. There was no help for it. One had to learn how to live with the yoke around one' neck.
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Miina be praised that Giyan had been taken by the V'ornn and not her. Bartta knew that she would surely have hung herself rather than be made to serve them or touch their rancid flesh. Anyway, she thought sourly, her twin had shown a perverse curiosity about the V'ornn. Now she had her wish. Bartta had begun to sweat. It was unnaturally hot inside the fissure, and she made her stumbling way around the perimeter to avoid the worst of the heat, which seemed to be rising in sickening waves from the jagged rock floor.
A copse of pink calcite stalagmites rose from the periphery of the fissure floor like grasping fingers. The heated air shimmered and burned her lungs so that she hastened to the spot where the figure lay. A girl of perhaps fifteen years, Bartta saw, who was shaking as if with the ague. A cloyingly sweet-smelling sweat rimed her forehead, matted her long, tangled, blond hair. Her beautiful features were clouded, darkened, ravaged. When Bartta scooped her up in her arms, the girl felt as if she were on fire. The girl cried out as Bartta carried her back to the opening she had made by moving the rock above.
You're safe now. The Ramahan were great healers as well as mystics. Bartta could well read the signs of duur fever, and she liked not the advanced stage the virus was in. This fever, which came in five-year cycles, had ravaged the Kundalan for a century now. The Ramahan believed that the V'ornn had brought the virus to Kundala; the resistance was certain that the Gyrgon, the mysterious.
V'ornn caste of technomages, had manufactured it as another weapon in their overwhelming arsenal to bring the Kundalan race to its knees. In any case, the Ramahan had had only limited success in saving the victims of duur fever. If it was caught within forty-eight hours of the onset of symptoms, a poultice of a mixture of the rendered seeds of black loosestrife and the thistle heart of coltsfoot digitalis had proved effective.
Otherwise, once the virus reached the lungs it replicated so rapidly that within days the victim drowned as if lost at sea. With the girl in her arms, Bartta stopped and looked up at the wedge of darkening sky. It looked a long way off, farther by far than the floor of the fissure had looked before she had scrambled down here.
The girl was dying, no doubt about it. Of what possible use was she then? Perhaps, if she, Bartta, was able to get her out of here and back to the village she could prolong her life a week, two at the outside. But to what purpose? Already the girl's face was distorted by pain, and her suffering would be merciful, a blessing even. But as Bartta was setting her down, a small earth tremor sent shale scaling down on them.
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Bartta braced herself against the trembling side of the fissure as the girl cried out. Her eyes focused and she moaned pitifully, clinging to Bartta. Waiting for the tremor to abate, Bartta had cause to recall Miina's sacred owl. Now that the Goddess had at last spoken, She had chosen Bartta!
The owl had passed three times over this fissure. Certainly not so that Bartta should leave this girl here to expire. But what then the meaning of Miina's messages? Perhaps the Goddess meant for this girl to become her property. But, again, why? Was she in some way special?
Bartta peered down at the face so ethereally beautiful, so ashen she could plainly see the play of blue veins beneath skin unnaturally taut and shiny with fever. Brushing lank hair back from the girl's forehead, she said: "What is your name? I do not recognize that name.
Where are you from? Except…" "Except what, my dera? What does it mean? You know, climbing up and down sheer rock faces. I distinctly remember coming down Four Whites. Four Whites was the name of a sheer mountain cliff that rose a kilometer above the abbey. It was too steep, rugged, and ice-strewn even for the surefooted mountain goats. I've done it may times.
What happened next? Maybe the rock had fractured when the earth tremored. Anyway, I fell. What about your mother? Your father? Think, girl. With an effort, Bartta softened her voice. She must be injured as well as sick. As if to underscore this, the girl whimpered, "I don't feel good. Bartta felt as if she had a millstone around her neck.
Forcing herself to smile, she said, "We will leave together. Very soon you will see the--" The girl"s startling blue eyes bobbled this way and that as another tremor possessed the fissure. With a hiss and clatter, more shale shook loose, scattering itself across the rock floor. She was obviously unaware of her condition. I must get out of here , Bartta though, or I will die. Again, she considered leaving the girl behind, but the image of Miina's owl remained in her mind's eye, bending her to its imperative.
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