![]() As I pass him, he flashes a wide, white grin. Its shabby swallowtails stream in his wake. The chill’s nudged him into a dandyboy frock coat. He says his feet map the land as they touch it. He’s shirtless, like always, tattooed neck to waist. As I surge forwards, Tracker keeps pace.Ĭreed’s a little off to my left. Keepin my eyes peeled fer Jack’s final waymark. But till they built this bridge, there warn’t nuthin in this lonely corner. We’ll test our drill, our discipline, our method. Easier passage fer his Stewards of the Earth as they work their stolen farmland. The bridge that spans the Eastern Defile, to join New Eden to the Raze. He tagged our trail all the way, jest over two leagues from the cave to the bridge. When DeMalo seized their land, they chose to stay. So-called Treedogs, becuz they went to ground in the woods. He’s got a few insiders, clear-eyed Stewards who share our aims. Busy workin his tiny network of New Eden rebels. We cain’t trust all of ’em, so it’s safest we tell none. If they know he’s alive, they’ll betray him fer sure. Jack rode with the killers, that’s enough to damn him. They lost their tribes at Darktrees that night. He was there that night, at the Darktrees slaughter when the Tonton killed our friends. To work aginst them, though, not with ’em. Them I run with tonight in these woods ain’t his friends.Īsh an Creed hate him fer his time in the Tonton. When we blasted the Tonton stronghold, Resurrection. He’s tagged me this shortcut every half-league. On the tree’s north side, on a shoulder-height branch, he’s hung a twist of root. When I clock the first tree, his first mark, I smile. We’re too wired, too buzzed to go slower. As we left the cave where we’d stopped to rest, I started off a quick walk pace. It warn’t my plan we should run all the way. East, that’s our course, due east by the Plough. But I slip back now an then to save my breath. Returnin to earth on unfinished business. In these short days of the year when the light fails early an things perish, the stars streak through the night. Rough-haired lord of the woods, his great body skims at my side. Ghosts on the run.Īn Tracker’s my ghostly wolfdog. The trees root wily an tough.Īs much as we can, we keep to the high ground. In the far southeast corner, where it bleeds to the bleak of the Raze. Then a sudden slowdown to pick-pick safe passage through a gangle of overground roots. Convinced an overcome an bent to his will. Breeders, workers fer his shiny new world. His Chosen ones, the Stewards of the Earth. People an beasts an all that share the earth. Good land an clean water’s scarce in this world. Set to fight fer the right to live in New Eden. Swaddled in cloth, tucked in my sack, along with my meagre gear. Lugh’s got the rope, slung around his chest. We run.ĭry tree litter cushions the ground. THROUGH the white night-time woods of New Eden. How much will she sacrifice to save the people she loves?īetrayal lurks in unexpected places in the breathtaking conclusion to the Dust Lands Trilogy. But what if the fight cannot be won? Then DeMalo offers her a seductive chance she may not be able to refuse. Saba knows how to fight-she’s not called the Angel of Death for nothing. Joined by her brother, Lugh, and her sister, Emmi, Saba leads a small guerilla band against the settlers and the Tonton militia. Saba commits herself to the fight-and hides her connection with DeMalo. Presumed dead, he’s gone undercover, feeding Saba crucial information in secret meetings. Jack’s choice is clear: to fight DeMalo and try to stop New Eden. DeMalo wants Saba to join him, in life and work, to create and build a healthy, stable, sustainable world…for the chosen few. Saba is ready to seize her destiny and defeat DeMalo.until she meets him and he confounds all her expectations with his seductive vision of a healed earth, a New Eden. Now it may destroy them all in the gut-wrenching third book in the highly praised Dust Lands trilogy, which MTV’s Hollywood Crush blog called “better than The Hunger Games.”
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