Dark Star Burning, Ash Falls White
(Sprache: Englisch)
The epic sequel to the book Song of Silver, Flame Like Night, is a fast-paced, riveting YA fantasy inspired by the mythology and folklore of ancient China.
Years ago, the Elantian colonizers invaded Lan's homeland and killed her mother in their...
Years ago, the Elantian colonizers invaded Lan's homeland and killed her mother in their...
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The epic sequel to the book Song of Silver, Flame Like Night, is a fast-paced, riveting YA fantasy inspired by the mythology and folklore of ancient China.Years ago, the Elantian colonizers invaded Lan's homeland and killed her mother in their search to uncover the Last Kingdom's greatest secret: the location of its legendary four Demon Gods. Lan's mother devoted her life to destroying the Demon Gods, and Lan is determined to finish her mission. Yet, there are others searching for the gods, too.
Zen knew his soul was forfeit the moment he made a deal with the Demon God known as the Black Tortoise, but he's willing to lose himself if it means saving the Kingdom--and the girl--he loves. But to crush the colonizers who have invaded his land he needs more power than even a single Demon God can provide. He needs an army. And he knows exactly where he can find it--in the undead army his great grandfather lead decades ago.
The Elantians may have stolen their throne, but the battle for the Last Kingdom has only begun.
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1Power is survival. Power is necessity. Those who seek power must first take it; where it does not exist, they must create it.
--Unknown, Classic of Gods and Demons
Elantian Age, Cycle 12
The Northern Steppes
The ruins rose before him like a graveyard, blackened bones jutting from the ground and gaping at a storm-gray sky.
Xan Temurezen drew to a stop. The steady crunch of his sheepskin boots against snow fell away, and silence swept in, broken only by the distant keening of the wind and his own heartbeat. Around him: a landscape shrouded in white as far as the eye could see. The color of mourning. It was as though the earth itself grieved the day a people and a civilization had died, their last moments now buried beneath the passage of time, the turns of cycles.
Zen held his breath as he knelt by the remains of a charred stone wall. All the ancient tomes and scraps of maps he had studied had pointed to this place, where the great Mansorian clan s palace had once stood--and where he, Xan Temurezen, its heir, had come to reclaim it.
He brushed away a mound of snow, revealing an engraved stone plaque. He immediately recognized the swirly, linear writing as Mansorian, standing in sharp contrast to the neat, boxlike Hin characters. Some clans, like the Mansorians, had cultures so distinct that they had their own writing systems, different from the standardized Hin language the Imperial Court had forced all to adopt.
Zen s memory of the Mansorian script had faded, but he could read enough to understand.
Palace of Eternal Peace
His hand gave a tremor; his heart tumbled in his chest. This was it: the lost palace of his ancestors. The place from which Xan Tolurigin, the Nightslayer, had ruled until the end of his civilization. The starting point of Zen s revolution.
Zen had been born two generations after the fall of the once-mighty Mansorian clan, following the war waged by his great-grandfather Xan Tolurigin
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against the Imperial Army of the Middle Kingdom. Zen s grandfather, then a boy, had escaped with a small faction of Mansorians and retreated deep into the unforgiving plains of the Northern Steppes, where they d built a nomadic life hidden from the iron rule of the Dragon Emperor, Yan long. That was the life Zen had known until, thirteen cycles ago, the Imperial Army had slaughtered what was left of his clan . . . and then, twelve cycles ago, when the conqueror had been conquered and the Hin had fallen to the rule of the Elantians.
I have returned, he vowed silently to the unquiet souls who slumbered beneath the snow. I will raise an army, and I will bring our clan back.
The snow stirred and the night pressed a little closer. And then came a rattling whisper, like the scrape of a knife against the bone of his spine: Army? You would call thirty or so half-fledged children an army?
It was the voice he had come to dread: the voice of his Demon God, the being that made him powerful beyond all measure, and the creature that embodied his shame. In the world of practitioning, demonic practitioning was dangerous and forbidden; the masters at his school who had raised him had taught him why.
Zen had betrayed everything he knew and loved in order to gain the power of the Black Tortoise.
Pushing those thoughts away, Zen turned to the small caravan of people following him. They, too, had stopped and stood huddled together in the cold, their long, pale robes made for the temperate winters of the south, not for the harsh northern climate. These were disciples of what had once been the School of the White Pines, the last-standing ancient Hin school of practitioning, where Zen had grown up. Less than one moon ago, it had fallen in an all-out battle against the Elantian Army and its powerful Royal Magicians.
The school s d
I have returned, he vowed silently to the unquiet souls who slumbered beneath the snow. I will raise an army, and I will bring our clan back.
The snow stirred and the night pressed a little closer. And then came a rattling whisper, like the scrape of a knife against the bone of his spine: Army? You would call thirty or so half-fledged children an army?
It was the voice he had come to dread: the voice of his Demon God, the being that made him powerful beyond all measure, and the creature that embodied his shame. In the world of practitioning, demonic practitioning was dangerous and forbidden; the masters at his school who had raised him had taught him why.
Zen had betrayed everything he knew and loved in order to gain the power of the Black Tortoise.
Pushing those thoughts away, Zen turned to the small caravan of people following him. They, too, had stopped and stood huddled together in the cold, their long, pale robes made for the temperate winters of the south, not for the harsh northern climate. These were disciples of what had once been the School of the White Pines, the last-standing ancient Hin school of practitioning, where Zen had grown up. Less than one moon ago, it had fallen in an all-out battle against the Elantian Army and its powerful Royal Magicians.
The school s d
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Autoren-Porträt von Amélie Wen Zhao
Amélie Wen Zhao was born in Paris and grew up in Beijing, where she spent her days reenacting tales of legendary heroes, ancient kingdoms, and lost magic at her grandmother’s courtyard house. She attended college in the United States and now resides in New York City, working as a finance professional by day and fantasy author by night. In her spare time, she loves to travel and spend time with her family in China, where she’s determined to walk the rivers and lakes of old just like the practitioners in her novels do. Amélie is the author of the Blood Heir trilogy—Blood Heir, Red Tigress, and Crimson Reign—as well as Song of Silver, Flame Like Night, its sequel, Dark Star Burning, Ash Falls White, and The Scorpion and the Night Blossom.
Bibliographische Angaben
- Autor: Amélie Wen Zhao
- Altersempfehlung: Ab 14 Jahre
- 2024, International, 368 Seiten, Maße: 14 x 20,9 cm, Kartoniert (TB), Englisch
- Verlag: Delacorte Press
- ISBN-10: 059380922X
- ISBN-13: 9780593809228
- Erscheinungsdatum: 02.01.2024
Sprache:
Englisch
Pressezitat
"An action-filled tale of love, magic, and demons." Kirkus Reviews
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