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The third and final instalment in an action-packed fantasy series, set in the two worlds of the Dominions and Kirin Taq. "For kids who find fiction second-best to.
Table of contents
Somehow the orogenes are connected with the lost technologies of a dead civilization, whose machines still orbit the planet in the form of mysterious giant crystals called obelisks. To most people on the planet, the orogenes are known by the derogatory term "rogga," and they're the victims of vicious prejudice.
Further Reading Four book series that are shaping the future of science fiction on television A few, very special orogenes are allowed to train at the Citadel, becoming masters at stopping earthquakes, volcanoes, and other natural disasters.
They're still treated like second class citizens, and aren't permitted to live outside the Citadel for very long. But they are permitted some freedoms, and watching their powers emerge is a major part of what makes the first novel in the series so compelling. But Jemisin is hardly retelling The X-men , only with orogenes instead of mutants. She's created a sociologically complex world, and the more we read, the more we understand how the orogenes fit into it.
As we travel with our protagonists across the planet's single megacontinent, we discover the place is full of many cultures, often at odds with one another. The brown urbanites from the tropics think the pale, rural people of the poles are ugly idiots; the coastal people aren't too sure about the inland people; and of course everybody hates the orogenes. These tensions are part of a long and complex history that we learn more about as the series develops.
There are a number of mysteries to unravel in this series, but one of them is understanding the devastating origin of prejudice against orogenes. Another mystery is what exactly powers the orogenes, the obelisks, and several other strange creatures with connections to the dead civilization.
And this is where Jemisin's series has been a game changer, because she's deftly woven together the tropes of fantasy and science fiction so well that she makes it impossible to separate the two genres. Though Jemisin is hardly the first writer to do this, she's one of the leading lights in a movement among speculative writers to break down the boundaries between magic and science in their storytelling.
In The Broken Earth , the results will surprise you with their devious complexity. Mark was ahead. When he got to the top he flattened down as much as he could, and it looked to me like he was trying to shove himself right into the ground. I edged up alongside and looked. For not thirty feet away was a little fire with two men bending over it cooking something or other.
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One of them had on overalls and a hickory shirt. The other one wore shabby black pants and a gray flannel shirt. We laid there as still as a cat in front of a mouse-hole and watched. After a while one of the men turned, and we could see his face. A little darker, and not so intelligent or handsome, but of the same race, all right. Then the other one turned, and he was a Japanese, too!
After that one of them laid down and shut his eyes, while the other one sat up with his eyes wide open. He was keeping guard. Right off I began to wonder why two Japanese in a friendly country should think it was necessary to keep watch like that. They must have had some reason for it. Mark reached over and touched my leg and then motioned back toward the hotel.
I nodded, and we began to wiggle away feet first like a couple of crabs. We went pretty slow and careful, I can tell you. We kept on going slow and easy till we were around a little bend in the lake, and then we legged it for home. Those fellows were dressed different. Both of them had on blue suits.
It was another two. We got back to the hotel in a little while, but nobody else was there.
CHAPTER II
I guess as soon as we got out of sight he went and hid up. They both wanted to talk, and neither of them could manage it. That made it sure it was two more Japanese. We saw a c-c-couple ourselves. Them men can have him, for all of me. Tell me that. What kind of a country would you think Japan was if nobody l-lifted a finger to help you? Pretty rotten one, I guess. Now what about it? Binney looked pretty embarrassed. Well, sir, something happened then that clean took the wind out of my sails.
It was Motu. He stepped right into the middle of us, and held out his hand to Mark. It was as Samurai boy should speak, first for the honor of his country, then for his own honor. This story shall be told in my land, not this year alone, but for years to come. It shall be made into a song. For myself I would not accept, but for—for another reason I do accept. I can tell you nothing. I cannot tell you why there is a danger. But I can tell you that there will be no dishonor to you in giving me help.
I have done nothing wrong. There may be one other. Well, I should say so. As different as a darning-needle is to a crowbar or a weasel to a hippopotamus. Many plots he has made. He likes compliments, but the ones that tickle him most are the ones about his head. Mark Tidd would rather think up a great scheme than win the hundred-yard dash in the Olympic games—and I never could understand it. The way he said it made you sort of worry. The Man Who Will Come! Sounded like a threat. It was a sort of name. As a matter of fact it got to be a name, and we never called him anything else, even when we knew what his real name was.
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It will make a d-difference how we act. I must not be seized and held. I must be free. I heard Binney muttering to himself and listened. The Man Who Will Come They have traced me to this lake, but they do not know I am still here. They will find me. Might as well try to play checkers with a bullfrog. Mark sort of squinted at me. Without his reading hitched on to his imagination I guess those Japs would have had Motu and would have eaten him in a sandwich, for all we could have done to prevent it.
Mark Tidd was a cylinder built to run on imagination. Afterward he went up-stairs, I expect to his hiding-place, and Mark and I went out on the big front porch.
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We sat there and talked for a while. All at once a big rabbit shot out of the bushes with its ears back like it was planning on making considerable speed. He was coming blind, but I got up to take a shy at him and he saw me.
Well, sir, he was one flabbergasted rabbit. He stopped and then jumped sideways and then jumped the other way. For a minute he tried to run four ways at once, which is a hard thing to do. Then he made up his mind and scooted off along the shore till he got to a clump of little trees and disappeared. Then stroll into the hotel slow and sneak up to the t-top. Get as high as you can over on this side and then take a look down on those bushes there.