Vespertine by Margaret Rogerson (English) Paperback Book

Description: Vespertine by Margaret Rogerson When her convent is attacked by possessed soldiers, Artemisia defends the Gray Sisters by awakening the revenant bound to a saints relic, even though she runs the risk of being possessed permanently by the powerful ancient spirit. FORMAT Paperback LANGUAGE English CONDITION Brand New Publisher Description An international bestseller! From the New York Times bestselling author of Sorcery of Thorns and An Enchantment of Ravens comes a thrilling, "dark coming-of-age adventure" (Culturess) about a teen girl with mythic abilities who must defend her world against restless spirits of the dead. The spirits of the dead do not rest. Artemisia is training to be a Gray Sister, a nun who cleanses the bodies of the deceased so that their souls can pass on; otherwise, they will rise as ravenous, hungry spirits. She would rather deal with the dead than the living, who whisper about her scarred hands and troubled past. When her convent is attacked by possessed soldiers, Artemisia defends it by awakening an ancient spirit bound to a saints relic. It is a revenant, a malevolent being whose extraordinary power almost consumes her--but death has come, and only a vespertine, a priestess trained to wield a high relic, has any chance of stopping it. With all knowledge of vespertines lost to time, Artemisia turns to the last remaining expert for help: the revenant itself. As she unravels a sinister mystery of saints, secrets, and dark magic, Artemisia discovers that facing this hidden evil might require her to betray everything she believes--if the revenant doesnt betray her first. Author Biography Margaret Rogerson is the author of the New York Times bestsellers An Enchantment of Ravens, Sorcery of Thorns, and Vespertine. She has a bachelors degree in cultural anthropology from Miami University. When not reading or writing she enjoys sketching, gaming, making pudding, and watching more documentaries than is socially acceptable (according to some). She lives near Cincinnati, Ohio, beside a garden full of hummingbirds and roses. Visit her at MargaretRogerson.com. Review "Vespertine is far and away Rogersons best work yet, a dark coming-of-age adventure about faith, belief, and morality in many forms."-- "Culturess""Rogerson excels at creating fantasy worlds that feel lived in. Vespertine blends darkness, thrills and satisfying characterization for an engrossing fantasy tale." -- "Book Page" Review Quote Amid escalating danger and an unfolding mystery, Rogerson unveils a grim and intriguing world with a rich, plot-relevant history inspired by late-medieval France....A satisfying, but open-ended resolution demands for the story to continue. A dark and enthralling journey. Excerpt from Book Chapter One ONE If I hadnt come to the convents cemetery to be alone, I wouldnt have noticed the silver gleam of the censer lying abandoned at the base of a tombstone. Every novice and sister carried one, a thurible on a chain to defend ourselves against the Dead, and I recognized this censer by its shape and its tracery of black tarnish as belonging to Sophia, one of the youngest novices, brought to the convent only last winter. When I crouched down and touched it, the metal still felt warm. I had to press my wrist against it to be sure, because my scarred hands werent good at telling temperature. I knew right away that Sophia hadnt dropped it while climbing trees or playing among the tombstones. She wouldnt have burned incense unless something had really frightened her; even children knew that incense was too precious to waste. I straightened and looked toward the chapel. A bitter wind whipped loose strands of my braid around my face, lashing tears from my eyes, so it took me a moment to locate the ravens sheltering beneath the eaves, huddled against the mossy gray stone. All of them were black, except for one. He sat apart from the rest, nervously preening his snow-white feathers, which the wind kept ruffling in the wrong direction. "Trouble," I called. I felt in my pocket for a crust of bread. As soon as I held it out, he launched himself from the roof in a wind-buffeted flurry and landed on my arm, his claws pricking through my sleeve. He tore apart the bread, then eyed me for more. He shouldnt be alone. He was already missing a few feathers, cruelly plucked out by the other birds. When hed first come to the convent, theyd left him in a bloody heap in the cloister, and he had almost died even after Id taken him to my room in the dormitory and pried his beak open every few hours to give him bread and water. But I was an older novice and I had too many responsibilities--I couldnt watch over him all the time. Once hed healed, I had given him to Sophia to look after. Now wherever she went, Trouble followed, especially indoors, where she had a habit of upsetting the sisters by hiding him inside her robes. "Im looking for Sophia," I told him. "I think shes in danger." He fanned out the feathers on his throat and muttered to himself, a series of clicks and grunts, as though thinking this over. Then he mimicked in a little girls voice, "Good bird. Pretty bird. Crumbs!" "Thats right. Can you take me to Sophia?" He considered me with a bright, intelligent eye. Ravens were clever animals, sacred to the Gray Lady, and thanks to Sophia, he knew more human speech than most. At last, seeming to understand, he spread his wings and flapped to the tumble of earth and stone that shored up the chapels rear wall. He hopped along the length of a slab and peered into a dark space beneath. A hole. Last nights storm must have eroded the chapels foundation, opening an old passageway into the crypt. He looked back at me. "Dead," he croaked. My blood ran cold. Sophia hadnt taught him to say that word. "Dead," Trouble insisted, puffing his feathers. The other ravens stirred, but they didnt take up the alarm. He had to be mistaken. Blessings reinforced each stone of the convents walls. Our lichgate had been forged by holy sisters in Chantclere. And yet... The passageway yawned beneath a fringe of dangling roots. I had approached it without thinking. I knew what I should do--I should go running back and alert Mother Katherine. But Sophia was too young to carry a dagger, and shed lost her censer. There wasnt time. I unhooked the censer that hung from my chatelaine. Gritting my teeth, I forced my clumsy fingers to open the tiny hatch and fumble with flint and incense. The scars were the worst on my left hand, where the shiny red tissue that roped my palm had contracted over time and pulled my fingers into permanent claws. I could close them into a loose fist, but I couldnt open them all the way. As I worked, I thought of Sister Lucinde, who wore a ring set with an old, cracked ruby. The ring had a saints relic sealed inside, whose power allowed her to light candles with a mere gesture. Finally, the spark caught. I blew on the incense until embers flared. Then, wreathed in smoke, I stepped into the dark. Blackness swallowed me. The smell of wet earth closed in, as smothering as a damp rag clapped over my nose. The openings thin, watery light faded away almost at once, but like all girls taken in by the Gray Sisters, I possessed the Sight. Strands of light swirled around me like cobwebs, their ghostly shapes resolving into a contorted face, a reaching hand. Shades. Groups of them congregated in places such as these, drawn to graves and ruins. They were a type of First Order spirit, frail and nearly formless. Their fingers plucked at my skin as though searching for a loose thread to unravel, but they posed little harm. As I hurried past, the smoke that spilled from my censer mingled with their translucent forms. Sighing, they dispersed along with the incense. Shades were so common that Trouble wouldnt have paid them any mind. Only something more dangerous, a Second Order spirit or higher, would have caught his attention. "Sophia?" I called. Nothing answered but echoes of my own voice. The wavering ghost-light revealed niches filled with yellowed bones and scraps of decayed linen. Nuns were traditionally interred in the tunnels surrounding the crypt, but the age of these remains surprised me. They looked centuries old, crumbling and clotted with cobwebs--older than the Sorrow, when the Dead first rose to torment the living. If this section of the tunnel had been sealed off at some point in the convents distant past, it was possible a spirit had risen from one of these piles of bones and haunted the catacombs for years without anyone knowing. A sound shivered through the passageways thick underground silence, almost too soft to identify. A childs sob. I broke into a run. The shades whipped through me, each touch a sudden shock of cold. My censer banged against my robes until I wrapped the chain tightly around my hand. I drew it in front of my face in the defensive position taught to me by Sister Iris, the convents battle mistress. A glow bathed a bend in the tunnel ahead. When I rounded the corner, my stomach turned to stone. Sophia had climbed into a niche to hide, her face buried in the knees of her robes. Hovering just outside, a ghoulish form peered in at her, the crown of its bald head visible over a hunched and knobby spine. A shroud flowed weightlessly around its cadaverous body, shining with an unearthly silver light. For a heartbeat, I stood frozen. The last seven years melted away and I was a child again. I smelled hot ash and burning flesh; my hands throbbed with phantom pain. But that had been before the Gray Sisters found me. Before they had saved me--and taught me that I could fight back. I slid my dagger from its sheath. The spirit whipped around, alerted by the whisper of steel against leather. It had the hollowed face of an emaciated corpse, its lips shriveled back from an oversized set of teeth that took up nearly half its skull, bared in a permanent grimace. There were no eyes above, only empty sockets. Sophia lifted her head. Tears shone through the dirt on her cheeks. "Artemisia!" she yelled. The spirits form blurred and vanished. Instinct saved my life. I turned and swung the censer, so when the spirit reappeared a handspan in front of my face, the incense held it at bay. A groan shuddered from its jaws. It flickered out of existence again. Before it could re-form, I lunged forward and threw myself in front of Sophias niche, already swinging my censer in a well-practiced pattern. Only the most powerful spirits could pass through a barrier of incense smoke. To reach Sophia, it would have to fight me first. I knew what it was now. A common Second Order spirit called a gaunt, the corrupted soul of someone who had died of starvation. Though known for their speed, gaunts were fragile. A single well-placed blow could destroy them. I raised my dagger. Gray Sisters wielded misericordes: long, thin blades designed precisely for such a strike. "Sophia, are you hurt?" She sniffed loudly, then said, "I dont think so." "Good. Do you see my dagger? If anything happens to me, promise me youll take it. I hope you wont have to, but you need to promise. Sophia?" She hadnt responded. The gaunt reappeared near the bend in the tunnel and flickered closer, zigzagging an erratic path toward us. "I promise," she whispered. She understood the danger of possession. If a spirit managed to gain control of a persons body, it could break through barriers designed to repel its kind, even walk among the living undetected for a time. Luckily for most people, only the Sighted were vulnerable to possession. Otherwise Loraille would have been overrun by the Dead long ago. Another flicker. I sliced my dagger through the air just as the gaunt materialized in front of me, its bony hands grasping. The consecrated blade etched a line of golden fire across its shroud. My breath stopped as the fabric dissolved into vapor, laying bare the unharmed sinew beneath. I had only caught its sleeve. Its hand closed around my wrist. Splinters of cold shot up the nerves of my arm, wrenching a cry from my throat. I struggled to free myself, but it held my wrist fast, Details ISBN1534477128 Author Margaret Rogerson Publisher Margaret K. McElderry Books Language English ISBN-10 1534477128 ISBN-13 9781534477124 Imprint Margaret K. McElderry Books Pages 416 Year 2022 Format Paperback Audience Age 14-17 Publication Date 2022-11-01 UK Release Date 2022-11-01 Edition Description Reprint ed. DEWEY FIC Audience Teenage / Young adult We've got this At The Nile, if you're looking for it, we've got it. With fast shipping, low prices, friendly service and well over a million items - you're bound to find what you want, at a price you'll love! TheNile_Item_ID:144833972;

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