By Diane Duane
A goddess within the making, or a demon reborn?
In the distant mountain village the place she was once born, Mariarta dil Alicg lives the untroubled lifetime of a peasant girl...until, quickly after a mysterious stranger's arrival, she begins to listen to voices within the wind. The voices whisper unusual secrets and techniques in Mariarta’s ears -- promising her the ability to command the stormwind, hinting at an unknown magical background, and prophesying a destiny exceptional prior all Mariarta’s imaginings.
Then a curse falls on Mariarta's village, shattering the lives of her friends and family. Mariarta needs to set out around the mountain realm of Raetia looking for the way to holiday the curse -- whereas additionally looking for the reality concerning the appealing and poor being who's attempting to own her soul.
Mariarta’s seek will lead her into hidden domain names of sorcery either dreadful and wondrous, and may ultimately embroil the younger girl within the becoming uprising opposed to her land's merciless Austriac oppressors -- yet no longer earlier than Mariarta comes head to head eventually with the immortal woman of the Storms, and demanding situations her to at least one ultimate conflict for regulate of her existence, her soul, and her destiny...
Reader advisory: This novel rated PG-15 for mature subject matters, language (Romansch), and the reinvention of democracy
Read or Download A Wind from the South (Raetian Tales, Book 1) PDF
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Additional info for A Wind from the South (Raetian Tales, Book 1)
Finally I discerned the queen at the center of the circle of ladies. Her back was to me as she faced the mirror. One lady knelt to fasten her slippers. Another held out a selection of glimmering jewelry. A third tended to her skirts, while a fourth stood on a stool combing her curled hair. “Your Majesty, I bring you Lady Catherine Archer as you requested,” announced Lady Mary. The ladies fell back and the queen turned to face me. I could not help staring. I noticed how slender she was, how wide and white her forehead, how bright her hair.
She was dressed now, her ample flesh restrained by a dark-colored bodice. Frances, sitting on her bed, raised her hands to her face. The other beds were empty. Emme stood regarding me with light brown eyes that were not unfriendly. “I am Catherine Archer, daughter of the late Sir Thomas Archer of Winchester and as much a lady as either of you,” I said, hoping they would not laugh at me. Instead they looked startled. I got up and stood in my shift while Lady Mary measured me for new clothes. ” Grumbling, Frances obeyed.
I asked Emme. “Why, have you not seen him at court? He is unmistakable—tall and quite proud,” she said. I shook my head. There had been little opportunity to observe the gentlemen courtiers, let alone learn their names. “The queen sent him to Ireland to put down the rebels, then to the Netherlands when she sent Monsieur Frenchman away. Now he profits from … shipping,” Emme explained with raised eyebrows. “I’ve heard his dream is to colonize the New World,” said Graham. “I’d sail with him. ” “Every young man fancies himself an adventurer,” grumbled Leicester.