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The Fifth Season (The Broken Earth #1).epub - Ebook download as ePub .epub) , Text File .txt) or read book online. - The Fifth Season ebook EPUB/PDF/PRC/MOBI/AZW3 free download for Kindle, Mobile, Tablet, Laptop, PC, e-Reader. Author: N. K. Jemisin . free EPUB | free books | Download epub | books for Kindle, iPhone, iPad. Autor: N. K. Jemisin The Fifth Season · The Fifth Season · The Obelisk Gate.


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Descargá gratis el libro The Fifth Season - This is the way the world ends. Again. Three terrible things happen in a single day. Essun, a woman living an ordinary. The Autumn Republic - Brian cittadelmonte.info MB. The Buried Giant - Kazuo cittadelmonte.info MB. The Fifth Season - N. K. cittadelmonte.info N K Jemisin - [Broken Earth 01] - The Fifth cittadelmonte.info MB. N K Jemisin - [ Broken Earth 02] - The Obelisk cittadelmonte.info MB. The Stone Sky_ The Broken.

Automatyczne logowanie. Copyright Act of , the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author's intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book other than for review purposes , prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at permissions hbgusa. Thank you for your support of the author's rights. Get it over with and move on to more interesting things. First, a personal ending. There is a thing she will think over and over in the days to come, as she imagines how her son died and tries to make sense of something so innately senseless.

Elsewhere in the world villages rarely grow into towns, and towns rarely become cities, because all such polities are hard to keep alive when the earth keeps trying to eat them,,, but Yumenes has been stable for most of its twenty-seven centuries. Yumenes is unique because here alone have human beings dared to build not for safety, not for comfort, not even for beauty, but for bravery. The city's walls are a masterwork of delicate mosaics and embossing detailing its people's long and brutal history.

The clumping masses of its buildings are punctuated by great high towers like fingers of stone, hand-wrought lanterns powered by the modern marvel of hydroelectricity, delicately arching bridges woven of glass and audacity, and architectural structures called balconies that are so simple, yet so breathtakingly foolish, that no one has ever built them before in written history.

But much of history is unwritten. Remember this. The streets are paved not with easy-to-replace cobbles, but with a smooth, unbroken, and miraculous substance the locals have dubbed asphalt. Even the shanties of Yumenes are daring, because they're just thin-walled shacks that would blow over in a bad windstorm, let alone a shake. Yet they stand, as they have stood, for generations.

At the core of the city are many tall buildings, so it is perhaps unsurprising that one of them is larger and more daring than all the rest combined: Pyramids are the most stable architectural form, and this one is pyramids times five because why not? And because this is Yumenes, a vast geodesic sphere whose faceted walls resemble translucent amber sits at the pyramid's apex, seeming to balance there lightly-though in truth, every part of the structure is channeled toward the sole purpose of supporting it.

It looks precarious; that is all that matters. The Black Star is where the leaders of the empire meet to do their leaderish things. The amber sphere is where they keep their emperor, carefully preserved and perfect. He wanders its golden halls in genteel despair, doing what he is told and dreading the day his masters decide that his daughter makes a better ornament.

None of these places or people matter, by the way. I simply point them out for context.

But here is a man who will matter a great deal. You can imagine how he looks, for now. You may also imagine what he's thinking. This might be wrong, mere conjecture, but a certain amount of likelihood applies nevertheless. Based on his subsequent actions, there are only a few thoughts that could be in his mind in this moment.

He stands on a hill not far from the Black Star's obsidian walls. From here he can see most of the city, smell its smoke, get lost in its gabble. There's a group of young women walking along one of the asphalt paths below; the hill is in a park much beloved by the city's residents. Keep green land within the walls, advises stonelore, but in most communities the land is fallow-planted with legumes and other soil-enriching crops.

Only in Yumenes is greenland sculpted into prettiness. The women laugh at something one of them has said, and the sound wafts up to the man on a passing breeze. He closes his eyes and savors the faint tremolo of their voices, the fainter reverberation of their footsteps like the wingbeats of butterflies against his sessapinae. He can't sess all seven million residents of the city, mind you; he's good, but not that good. Most of them, though, yes, they are there.

He breathes deeply and becomes a fixture of the earth. They tread upon the filaments of his nerves; their voices stir the fine hairs of his skin; their breaths ripple the air he draws into his lungs. They are on him. They are in him. But he knows that he is not, and will never be, one of them.

So that it couldn't be changed to suit fashion or politics. So it wouldn't wear away. Yes, you were probably there when it was first set down, I forget. You won't fail me. You won't die. And I know the price up front. He wasn't really expecting a response, though a part of him hoped. He has been so lonely. But hope is irrelevant, as are so many other feelings that he knows will bring him only despair if he considers them again. He has considered this enough.

The time for dithering is past. He's been smiling for hours: There is an art to smiling in a way that others will believe. It is always important to include the eyes; otherwise, people will know you hate them. Her emulation of human gender is only superficial, a courtesy.

Likewise the loose drapelike dress that she wears is not cloth. She has simply shaped a portion of her stiff substance to suit the preferences of the fragile, mortal creatures among whom she currently moves. From a distance the illusion would work to pass her off as a woman standing still, at least for a while.

Up close, however, any hypothetical observer would notice that her skin is white porcelain; that is not a metaphor. As a sculpture, she would be beautiful, if too relentlessly realistic for local tastes. Most Yumenescenes prefer polite abstraction over vulgar actuality. When she turns to the man-slowly; stone eaters are slow aboveground, except when they aren't-this movement pushes her beyond artful beauty into something altogether different.

The man has grown used to it, but even so, he does not look at her. He does not want revulsion to spoil the moment. Will your kind rise up through the rubble and take the world in our stead? Anyway, you'll still be here.

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Your kind. She often treats him as though he represents his whole species. He does the same to her. Stone eaters rarely bother stating the obvious.

He's glad, because her speech annoys him in any case; it does not shiver the air the way a human voice would. He doesn't know how that works. He doesn't care how it works, but he wants her silent now. He wants everything silent. His fingers spread and twitch as he feels several reverberating points on the map of his awareness: He cannot free them, not in the practical sense. He's tried before and failed.

He can, however, make their suffering serve a cause greater than one city's hubris, and one empire's fear. So he reaches deep and takes hold of the humming tapping bustling reverberating rippling vastness of the city, and the quieter bedrock beneath it, and the roiling churn of heat and pressure beneath that. Then he reaches wide, taking hold of the great sliding-puzzle piece of earthshell on which the continent sits. Lastly, he reaches up.

For power. He takes all that, the strata and the magma and the people and the power, in his imaginary hands. He holds it. He is not alone. The earth is with him. Then he breaks it. Now it ripples, reverberates, in cataclysm.

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Now there is a line, roughly east-west and too straight, almost neat in its manifest unnaturalness, spanning the girth of the land's equator. The line's origin point is the city of Yumenes. The line is deep and raw, a cut to the quick of the planet. Magma wells in its wake, fresh and glowing red.

The earth is good at healing itself.

The Fifth Season

This wound will scab over quickly in geologic terms, and then the cleansing ocean will follow its line to bisect the Stillness into two lands. Until this happens, however, the wound will fester with not only heat but gas and gritty, dark ash-enough to choke off the sky across most of the Stillness's face within a few weeks.

Plants everywhere will die, and the animals that depend on them will starve, and the animals that eat those will starve. Winter will come early, and hard, and it will last a long, long time. It will end, of course, like every winter does, and then the world will return to its old self. The people of the Stillness live in a perpetual state of disaster preparedness.

They've built walls and dug wells and put away food, and they can easily last five, ten, even twenty-five years in a world without sun. Eventually meaning in this case in a few thousand years. Look, the ash clouds are spreading already. The obelisks had other names once, back when they were first built and deployed and used, but no one remembers those names or the great devices' purpose.

Memories are fragile as slate in the Stillness.

In fact, these days no one really pays much attention to the things at all, though they are huge and beautiful and a little terrifying: It isn't. It's obvious that the obelisks are nothing natural. It is equally obvious that they are irrelevant.

Awesome, but purposeless: There are many other such cairns around the world: And where there is no mercy. How to download eBooks: Next post: The Invasion of the Tearling. Previous post: The Buried Giant. Last Name. Donation Total: We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Read More: Subscribe Our Feed to receive an ebook everyday! The Fifth Season.

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