Zusatztext Kirkus Reviews Best of Teen's Books 2012 Starred Review! Publishers Weekly ! August 6! 2012: For those that wish that Tolkien had explored the character of Aragorn more deeply! Marillier provides the next best thing. Informationen zum Autor JULIET MARILLIER is the author of several highly popular fantasy novels for adults, including the Sevenwaters Trilogy and the Bridei Chronicles. She is also the author of the teen novels Wildwood Dancing and Cybele's Secret . Klappentext Sixteen-year-old Neryn is alone in the land of Alban, where the oppressive king has ordered anyone with magical strengths captured and brought before him. Eager to hide her own canny skill--a uniquely powerful ability to communicate with the fairy-like Good Folk--Neryn sets out for the legendary Shadowfell, a home and training ground for a secret rebel group determined to overthrow the evil King Keldec. During her dangerous journey, she receives aid from the Good Folk, who tell her she must pass a series of tests in order to recognize her full potential. She also finds help from a handsome young man, Flint, who rescues her from certain death--but whose motives in doing so remain unclear. Neryn struggles to trust her only allies. They both hint that she alone may be the key to Alban's release from Keldec's rule. Homeless, unsure of who to trust, and trapped in an empire determined to crush her, Neryn must make it to Shadowfell not only to save herself, but to save Alban. Chapter One As we came down to the shore of Darkwater, the wind sliced cold right to my bones. My heels stung with blisters. Dusk was falling, and my head was muzzy from the weariness of another long day's walk. Birds cried out overhead, winging to nighttime roosts. They were as eager as I was to get out of the chill. We'd heard there was a settlement not far along the loch shore, a place where we might perhaps buy shelter with our fast-­shrinking store of coppers. I allowed myself to imagine a bed, a proper one with a straw mattress and a woolen coverlet. Oh, how my limbs ached for warmth and comfort! Foolish hope. The way things were in Alban, people didn't open their doors to strangers. Especially not to disheveled vagrants, and that was what we had become. I was a fool to believe, even for a moment, that our money would buy us time by someone's hearth fire and a real bed. Never mind that. A heap of old sacks in a net-­mending shed or a pile of straw in a barn would do fine. Anyplace out of this wind. Anyplace out of sight. I became aware of silence. Father's endless mumbled recounting of past sorrows, a constant accompaniment to our day's journey, had come to a halt, and now he stopped walking to gaze ahead. Between the water's edge and the looming darkness of a steep wooded hillside, I could make out a cluster of dim lights. Darkwater settlement, he said. There are lights down by the jetty. The boat's there! What boat? I was slow to understand, my mind dreaming of a fire, a bowl of porridge, a blanket. I did not hear the note in his voice, the one that meant trouble. Fowler's boat. The chancy-­boat, Neryn. What have we got lefthow much? My heart plummeted. When this mood took him, setting the glitter of impossible hope in his eyes, there was no stopping him. I could not restrain him by force; he was too strong for me. And whatever I said, he would ignore it. But I had to try. Enough for two nights' shelter and maybe a crust if we're lucky, Father. There's nothing to spare. Nothing until one of us gets some paid work, and you know how likely that is. Give me the bag. Father, no! These coppers are our safe place to sleep. They're our shelter from the wind. Don't you remember what happened last­ Don't tell me what to do, daughter. His eyes narrowed in a way that was all too familiar. What's b...

**Kirkus Reviews Best of Teen's Books 2012

Starred Review, Publishers Weekly, August 6, 2012:
**“For those that wish that Tolkien had explored the character of Aragorn more deeply, Marillier provides the next best thing.”

Autorentext

Juliet Marillier

Klappentext

Sixteen-year-old Neryn is alone in the land of Alban, where the oppressive king has ordered anyone with magical strengths captured and brought before him. Eager to hide her own canny skill--a uniquely powerful ability to communicate with the fairy-like Good Folk--Neryn sets out for the legendary Shadowfell, a home and training ground for a secret rebel group determined to overthrow the evil King Keldec.

During her dangerous journey, she receives aid from the Good Folk, who tell her she must pass a series of tests in order to recognize her full potential. She also finds help from a handsome young man, Flint, who rescues her from certain death--but whose motives in doing so remain unclear. Neryn struggles to trust her only allies. They both hint that she alone may be the key to Alban's release from Keldec's rule. Homeless, unsure of who to trust, and trapped in an empire determined to crush her, Neryn must make it to Shadowfell not only to save herself, but to save Alban.

Leseprobe

Chapter One

As we came down to the shore of Darkwater, the wind sliced cold right to my bones. My heels stung with blisters. Dusk was falling, and my head was muzzy from the weariness of another long day’s walk. Birds cried out overhead, winging to nighttime roosts. They were as eager as I was to get out of the chill.

We’d heard there was a settlement not far along the loch shore, a place where we might perhaps buy shelter with our fast-­shrinking store of coppers. I allowed myself to imagine a bed, a proper one with a straw mattress and a woolen coverlet. Oh, how my limbs ached for warmth and comfort! Foolish hope. The way things were in Alban, people didn’t open their doors to strangers. Especially not to disheveled vagrants, and that was what we had become. I was a fool to believe, even for a moment, that our money would buy us time by someone’s hearth fire and a real bed. Never mind that. A heap of old sacks in a net-­mending shed or a pile of straw in a barn would do fine. Anyplace out of this wind. Anyplace out of sight.

I became aware of silence. Father’s endless mumbled recounting of past sorrows, a constant accompaniment to our day’s journey, had come to a halt, and now he stopped walking to gaze ahead. Between the water’s edge and the looming darkness of a steep wooded hillside, I could make out a cluster of dim lights.

“Darkwater settlement,” he said. “There are lights down by the jetty. The boat’s there!”

“What boat?” I was slow to understand, my mind dreaming of a fire, a bowl of porridge, a blanket. I did not hear the note in his voice, the one that meant trouble.

“Fowler’s boat. The chancy-­boat, Neryn. What have we got left—how much?”

My heart plummeted. When this mood took him, setting the glitter of impossible hope in his eyes, there was no stopping him. I could not restrain him by force; he was too strong for me. And whatever I said, he would ignore it. But I had to try.

“Enough for two nights’ shelter and maybe a crust if we’re lucky, Father. There’s nothing to spare. Nothing until one of us gets some paid work, and you know how likely that is.”

“Give me the bag.”

“Father, no! These coppers are our safe place to sleep. They’re our shelter from the wind. Don’t you remember what happened last—­”

“Don’t tell me what to do, daughter.” His eyes narrowed in a way that was all too familiar. “What’s better than a drink of ale to warm us up? Besides, I’ll double our coppers on the boat. Triple them. Nobody beats me in a game of chance. Would you doubt your father, girl?”

Doubt was hardly the word for wha…