The Obelisk Gate by n.k jemisin EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
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- Author: n.k jemisin
- Language: English
- Genre: Action & Adventure Literary Fiction
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Nassun, on the rocks
HMM NO. I’M TELLING THIS WRONG.
After all, a person is herself, and others. Relationships chisel the final
shape of one’s being. I am me, and you. Damaya was herself and the family
that rejected her and the people of the Fulcrum who chiseled her to a fine
point. Syenite was Alabaster and Innon and the people of poor lost Allia
and Meov. Now you are Tirimo and the ash-strewn road’s walkers and your
dead children… and also the living one who remains. Whom you will get
back.
That’s not a spoiler. You are Essun, after all. You know this already.
Don’t you?
Nassun next, then. Nassun, who is just eight years old when the world
ends.
There is no knowing what went through little Nassun’s mind when she
came home from her apprenticeship one afternoon to find her younger
brother dead on the den floor, and her father standing over the corpse. We
can imagine what she thought, felt, did. We can speculate. But we will not
know. Perhaps that is for the best.
Here is what I know for certain: that apprenticeship I mentioned?
Nassun was in training to become a lorist.
The Stillness has an odd relationship with its self-appointed keepers of
stonelore. There are records of lorists existing as far back as the longrumored Eggshell Season. That’s the one in which some sort of gaseous
emission caused all children born in the Arctics for several years to have
delicate bones that broke with a touch and bent as they grew—if they grew.
(Yumenescene archeomests have argued for centuries over whether this
could have been caused by strontium or arsenic, and whether it should be
counted as a Season at all given that it only affected a few hundred
thousand weak, pallid little barbarians on the northern tundra. But that is
when the peoples of the Arctics gained a reputation for weakness.) About
twenty-five thousand years ago, according to the lorists themselves, which
most people think is a blatant lie. In truth, lorists are an even older part of
life in the Stillness. Twenty-five thousand years ago is simply when their
role became distorted into near-uselessness.
They’re still around, though they’ve forgotten how much they’ve
forgotten. Somehow their order, if it can be called an order, survives despite
the First through Seventh Universities disavowing their work as apocryphal
and probably inaccurate, and despite governments down all the ages
undermining their knowledge with propaganda.
And despite the Seasons, of
course. Once lorists came only from a race called Regwo—Westcoasters
who had sallow-reddish skin and naturally black lips, and who worshipped
the preservation of history the way people in less-bitter times worshipped
gods. They used to chisel stonelore into mountainsides in tablets as high as
the sky, so that all would see and know the wisdom needed to survive. Alas:
in the Stillness, destroying mountains is as easy as an orogene toddler’s
temper tantrum. Destroying a people takes only a bit more effort.
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