By James Jaros
Tomorrow's global is a wilderness, decimated via vengeful nature and sickness . . .
And those that rule the ruins worship a merciless and negative god.
Having survived the phobia of the Alliance and the single-minded fanaticism of its hideous faith, a caravan of survivors strikes quick into the good American desolate tract, the wastes of what as soon as was once America's heartland. along with her daughters at her side—recently rescued Ananda and her bold older sister, Bliss—Jessie hopes to discover sanctuary within the Arctic, now rumored to be temperate. yet their enemies are strong and constant, and won't leisure until eventually they own the caravan's most useful treasures: their prepubescent girl youngsters, a stolen tanker choked with gas . . . and a couple of apprehensive twins, whom the military of God calls "demon."
But the risk in pursuit pales earlier than the horror that lies forward while Jessie, the marauder-turned-ally Burned arms, and the innocents of their care face the savagery, the insanity, and the monsters that reside within the terrifying urban of colour
Read or Download Carry the Flame (Burn Down the Sky, Book 2) PDF
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Extra resources for Carry the Flame (Burn Down the Sky, Book 2)
So the queue wound round Tregon Marus, in at the East Gate, through the postern and stables, across the market square, and through the countinghouse. Even the youngest babies were carried past the clerks, for the quill pens to wobble and scratch their names on the parchment. Many a tribesman got a funny name because a clerk didn舗t know how to spell, and there舗s more of that sort of thing in History than you might expect. On the fifth day the Governor of the town called all the tribal chieftains to an audience in the market square, to hear their grievances.
The Munrungs moved around a lot, but always in the same area. The road was always around, somewhere. Pismire talked about places like the Rug, the Hearth and the Edge. Faraway places with strange-sounding names. Pismire had been everywhere, seen things Snibril would never see. He told good stories. Several times Snibril thought he heard other hooves nearby. Or were they black paws? Roland must have heard them too, for he trotted along smartly, always on the edge of a canter. Dust had drifted up between the hairs here, forming deep mounds where herbs and ferns grew thickly and made the air heavy with their scent.
A snarg could have made that if it was three times its normal size. Oh, dear. And there are such,舗 he said. The cry came. To Snibril it seemed as though the night had grown a mouth and a voice. It came from the hairs just beyond the broken stockade, a mocking screech that split the darkness. The horse reared. A fire had already been lit at the break in the wall, and some hunters ran towards it, spears ready. They stopped. On the further side there was a mounted shape in the darkness, and two pairs of eyes.