The Black Reckoning

The final book in the bestselling Books of Beginning trilogy that began with The Emerald Atlas, which the New York Times called "a new Narnia for the tween set."

Informationen zum Autor John Stephens wrote and produced television for ten years. During this time, he read His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman and fell in love with fantasy for young readers. He spent the next several years waking at 4 am every morning to write his first book, The Emerald Atlas, before heading to work for the day. John lives in Los Angeles with his family. Visit BooksofBeginning.com and follow him at @johnrstephens to find out more. Klappentext The final book in the bestselling Books of Beginning trilogy that began with The Emerald Atlas, which the New York Times called "a new Narnia for the tween set." The adventures of siblings Kate, Michael, and Emma come to a stunning conclusion when they must find the last Book of Beginning-the Book of Death-before the Dire Magnus does, for when all three books are united, their combined power will be unstoppable. Soon Emma is on a journey to places both worldly and otherworldly, confronting terrifying monsters and ghosts, and what is darkest within herself. As the fabric of time begins to fray, she becomes the final piece of an extraordinary puzzle. Only if she can master the powers of this most dangerous book will she, Kate, and Michael be able to save the world from the dramatic, deadly final confrontation between magical and ordinary people that the Dire Magnus has in store."Let me out! Let me out!" Emma's throat was ragged from shouting; her hands throbbed from pounding her fists against the metal door. "Let me out!" She had woken with a jolt several hours earlier--covered in sweat, Kate's name upon her lips--to find herself alone in a strange room. She didn't question the fact that it was no longer night, that she was no longer in the clearing. She didn't even wonder where she now was. None of that mattered. She'd been abducted, she was a prisoner, she had to escape. It was that simple. "Let me out!" The first thing she'd done--after trying the door and confirming that it was indeed locked--had been to inspect her cell to see if it offered any obvious means of escape. It hadn't. The walls, floor, and ceiling were made from large blocks of black stone. The three small windows, too high up for Emma to reach, showed nothing but blue sky. Besides that, there was the bed on which she'd woken--really just a mattress and a few blankets--and some food: a plate of flatbread, bowls of yogurt and yellow-brown hummus, some burned, unidentifiable meat, a clay jug of water. The food and water Emma had hurled out a window in a fit of pride and anger, an act she was now regretting as she was both hungry and very, very thirsty. "Let--me--out!" Emma leaned, exhausted, against the door. She felt the urge to sink to the floor, put her face in her hands, and sob. But then she thought of Kate, her older sister, and of hearing Kate's voice as Rourke had carried her across the clearing. Their sister had returned from the past only to die right in front of them. And Michael, though he was Keeper of the Book of Life, had been unable to bring her back (leading Emma to question what, then, was the point in having something called the Book of Life). But she had heard Kate's voice! That meant Michael must've succeeded! Kate was alive! And knowing Kate was out there somewhere meant there was no way, like zero-point-zero-zero-zero-zero percent chance, that Emma was just going to sit down and cry. "LET--ME--OUT!" Her forehead was still pressed against the cold metal of the door, and she was screaming directly into it, feeling the vibrations as she struck the door with her fists. "LET--ME--" Emma stopped; she held her breath. The whole time she'd been hitting the door and screaming, she'd been met with total, thundering silence. But now she heard something, footsteps. They were faint and somewhere far below her, but they were growing louder. Emma backed away from th...

Autorentext
John Stephens wrote and produced television for ten years. During this time, he read His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman and fell in love with fantasy for young readers. He spent the next several years waking at 4 am every morning to write his first book, The Emerald Atlas, before heading to work for the day. John lives in Los Angeles with his family. Visit BooksofBeginning.com and follow him at @johnrstephens to find out more.

Leseprobe
"Let me out! Let me out!"

Emma's throat was ragged from shouting; her hands throbbed from pounding her fists against the metal door.

"Let me out!"

She had woken with a jolt several hours earlier--covered in sweat, Kate's name upon her lips--to find herself alone in a strange room. She didn't question the fact that it was no longer night, that she was no longer in the clearing. She didn't even wonder where she now was. None of that mattered. She'd been abducted, she was a prisoner, she had to escape. It was that simple.

"Let me out!"

The first thing she'd done--after trying the door and confirming that it was indeed locked--had been to inspect her cell to see if it offered any obvious means of escape. It hadn't. The walls, floor, and ceiling were made from large blocks of black stone. The three small windows, too high up for Emma to reach, showed nothing but blue sky. Besides that, there was the bed on which she'd woken--really just a mattress and a few blankets--and some food: a plate of flatbread, bowls of yogurt and yellow-brown hummus, some burned, unidentifiable meat, a clay jug of water. The food and water Emma had hurled out a window in a fit of pride and anger, an act she was now regretting as she was both hungry and very, very thirsty.

"Let--me--out!"

Emma leaned, exhausted, against the door. She felt the urge to sink to the floor, put her face in her hands, and sob. But then she thought of Kate, her older sister, and of hearing Kate's voice as Rourke had carried her across the clearing. Their sister had returned from the past only to die right in front of them. And Michael, though he was Keeper of the Book of Life, had been unable to bring her back (leading Emma to question what, then, was the point in having something called the Book of Life). But she had heard Kate's voice! That meant Michael must've succeeded! Kate was alive! And knowing Kate was out there somewhere meant there was no way, like zero-point-zero-zero-zero-zero percent chance, that Emma was just going to sit down and cry.

"LET--ME--OUT!"

Her forehead was still pressed against the cold metal of the door, and she was screaming directly into it, feeling the vibrations as she struck the door with her fists.

"LET--ME--"

Emma stopped; she held her breath. The whole time she'd been hitting the door and screaming, she'd been met with total, thundering silence. But now she heard something, footsteps. They were faint and somewhere far below her, but they were growing louder. Emma backed away from the door and looked about for a weapon, cursing herself once again for throwing the clay jug out the window.

The footsteps grew even louder, a heavy, rhythmic thud--thud--thud. Emma decided that when the door opened, she would rush past whoever it was. Wasn't Michael always saying something about the element of surprise? If only her big toe didn't hurt so bad. She was pretty sure she'd broken it kicking the stupid door. The footsteps had stopped just outside her room, and there was the metallic rasp of a bolt being slid back. Emma tensed and got ready to spring.

Then the door opened, Rourke ducked inside, and all Emma's plans of escape vanished. The giant man filled the doorway; a fly couldn't have squeezed past.

"My, my. Aren't you making quite the racket."

He was wearing a long black coat that was lined with fur and had a high fur collar. He had on black boots…