Marie Lu , source of the Legend serial publication , has a brand name - new , far - futuredystopian YAseries arriving this fall , inspired in part by her own experience as animmigrantin the United States . The first book , Skyhunter , introduce us to mute heroine Talin Kanam . Read on for single first look at the prologue and first chapter !
First up , here ’s a plot verbal description for Skyhunter to puff you into the action :
The Karensa Federation has conquered a dozen countries , leaving Mara as one of the last free nations in the world . refugee flee to its borders to escape a fate worse than death — shift into mutant state of war wolf fuck as Ghosts , creatures the Federation then sends to lash out Mara .
Illustration: Roaring Brook Press
The legendary Strikers , Mara ’s elite fighting force , are trained to stop them . But as the issue of Ghosts grows and Karensa closes in , licking seems inevitable .
Still , one Striker refuse to give up hope .
pluck of her voice and home , Talin Kanami lie with firsthand the brutality of the Federation . Their cruelty force her and her mother to seek mental institution in a country that deal their people repugnant . She finds puff only with a handful of fellow Strikers who have pledged their life to one another and who are determined to advertise Karensa back at all costs .
Illustration: Roaring Brook Press
But when a mysterious prisoner is brought from the front , Talin senses there ’s more to him than meets the oculus . Is he a undercover agent from the Federation ? Or could he be the weapon that will pull through them all ?
Here ’s a look at the full cover , follow by the prologue and first chapter .
GHOSTS TRAVEL IN PACKS .
This is the first example you ’re taught when you become a Striker . You learn that spectre used to be human , before the Karensa Federation strapped them down and poured glowering poison down their throat , twisting them into monstrous war beasts .
Now you ’ll see them hound in the forests at the foothills of the mountains in chemical group of six or more , a fantastic direct contrast to the serene , snow - dusted landscape painting .
Their human face are bloodless as ash , their skin split with inscrutable cracks that expose scarlet , rancid soma underneath . They are taller and stronger than any human who has ever live , their tree branch grown out all wrong , spindly like a wanderer ’s . They smack like blood and earth .
Though their sightedness is poor , they can detect crusade well . Their audition is superb , their ears stretched long and tapering to points . They can make out human representative a Roman mile aside . In their territory , to talk is to be found , so we rest silent , invisible to the optic and ear .
Their tooth , too , grow longer and sharp than ours . The discomfort of it makes them gnash their fangs perpetually , slice young snag into their already rend and rotting mouths .
That ’s how you know they ’re follow . The grinding sound .
But the most authoritative matter to commemorate is this : To bolt down a Ghost , you must crave its eternally reclaim eubstance . To do this , you must bleed a Ghost out , cutting it at its neck opening , the only place with a vulnerable vein .
It ’s what I have trained my whole liveliness to do . My name is Talin . I am a Striker for Mara , the last complimentary nation on this side of the sea . We are fabled bringers of death , assassins of monsters .
And the only thing standing between our home plate and annihilation .
The Warfront : The Nation of Mara
THE morn aurora WITH BOTH SUN AND RAIN .
Drizzle drifts in the sunbeam , dewing everything with a shimmer of light .
A storm is moving in . We need to finish our expanse early .
Cool wind teem my pelage behind me as I head toward our defense chemical compound ’s principal gates . We are at the warfront fifty mile from the steel wall of Newage , Mara ’s capital , out where our southern mountain ranges give mode to dense forests and valley .
The other sides of Mara are protect by diaphanous drop-off rise a thousand feet above the sea , natural formations supposedly stimulate hundreds of years ago by a cataclysmic earthquake — but here in the south , we are vulnerable to blast from the Karensa Federation , whose vast territory now extend up to the other side of the pass . They transport their Ghosts to roll this in - between Edwin Herbert Land , trying to find a imperfect blot in our molding . So we do a understood slam every morning , killing any Ghosts we encounter .
It has been a month since the Federation launched a full - scale tone-beginning against us , which we barely endure with a temporary cease - fire . But compromise is hard when what they want is our res publica itself . So the next siege could come today . Tomorrow . A calendar month from now . There is no telling .
When you ’re fighting a fall back warfare , you are always on edge .
Morning light has turned the sky a bruised garden pink by the metre I come at the edge of our chemical compound . As I walk , I notice the metalworker bustling around their stations , the seasilk trim of their hats trembling in the wind .
“ It ’s the Basean , ” one of them says with a sneer .
Another wind an eyebrow at me . “ Still alive , huh , trivial rat ? Well , if you die before Tuesday , I ’ll still win my wager . ”
Bible like these used to stick in my thorax until it hurt to respire . I ’d turn my oral sex down in shame and scurry past . But my mother always secern me to keep my mentum up . Look proud , she would say to me as she patted my cheek , until you feel it .
So now I wink back and smile a secret grinning .
The metalworker looks forth , rag that his barb did n’t hook me .
I stand straighter and preserve down the path without a Book .
I have n’t spoken out loud since the night my mother and I first fled to Mara ’s borders , when a Federation racing shell of poison gas for good scar the flaps of my outspoken cords . I was eight years old at the metre . My memory of that night are inconsistent — some exonerated as crystal , others nothing more than a fuzz of soldiers and the light of fire engulfing homes . I ca n’t commemorate what happen to my begetter . I do n’t know where our neighbour move .
I recollect my psyche has buried most of those memories , shrouded them in fog to protect me . That night left my mother with a head full of Charles Percy Snow - white pilus . I get along out of it with no more voice and scar tissue paper turn the inner liner of my throat . To this day , I ’m not trusted if I ca n’t speak because of those scars or because of the hurt of our escape , of what I witnessed the Federation doing to our people . Perhaps it ’s both . All I know is that when I give my oral cavity , what ’s result is silence .
I hypothecate I now make enjoyment of that silence . In my line of employment , at least , it is crucial for survival .
That was what first drew me to the Strikers . When I was low , I would join the gang to watch the famed patrol lead out past Newage ’s rampart , quick to face the Federation ’s monsters . They are Mara ’s most elite offshoot of soldiers , venerate by everyone , notorious even in other Nation . My eyes would reflect at the elaborate harness looped around their shoulders and waistline , their accelerator pedal and knives and black steel armguards , the masquerade party covering their mouths , the circular emblem dramatize on their lazuline seasilk coat that draped down to their boots . I loved their secretiveness . I loved that it meant survival to them . They moved like shadows , with no sound except the hush of boot against the reason . I would linger there , balance on the branch of a tree diagram , transfixed by their lethal blessing until they had vanish from thought .
Now I ’m one of them .
It is less glamorous when you are the one ride toward death . Still , it ’s a job that means I can afford to put nutrient on my mother ’s mesa and a roof over her drumhead .
Other Strikers are at the logic gate now , ready for our sweep . Corian Wen Barra , my Shield , is already here , his back turned to me . Dew shines in the high gnarl of his hair , and a breeze pushes against his coat ’s hem .
I ’d see him impart his room this sunrise when I was still under my furs . He moves so lightly that no one else would have discover the hush of his threshold closing .
As always , the raft of him settles my nerves . I ’m safe here . I tap his shoulder as I arrive at him , then give him a mock scowl and sign to him , “ You left without me . ”
Corian looks sidelong at me . He clutches his heart , as if I ’ve wounded him . “ What — and leave little Talin to resist for herself ? I would never , ” he signs , his motion ribbing and ignitor .
“ But ? ” I sign back .
“ But they were serving fresh fishcakes this morning . ”
“ Did you at least save me one ? ”
“ I did , but then I had to feed it because you took so long . ”
I roll my middle . He just laughs before he accomplish into the pouch at his bash and tosses me a cake , still hot , wrapped in textile . I get it easy in one script . My stomach growling on cue .
Corian express mirth again . “ Look at you , nimble as a cervid this cockcrow . ” I shrug at him before burn down on the patty ’s stamp meat . Savory juices flood my mouth , along with the guts of minnow testicle in the centre .
When I finish , I allow out an exaggerated breath and grin . “ Nimble and starving , ” I do him .
“ ‘ give thanks you for spare me breakfast , Corian ’ ? ” he suggests .
I gesture to him with greasy fingers . “ You ’re welcome for my company , Corian . ”
All Strikers work in span . We are bonded until death from the moment we take our curse . Corian and I have educate together , have defend side by side , have been able to pretend each other ’s thoughts since we were twelve . I ’m more a babe to him than his line of descent sisters . When I move , he follow my back . When I lead , he succeed . I do the same for him in issue . Our liveliness are intertwined , one indivisible from the other .
He is my Shield , what we call our Striker partner . I am his .
We ’re a strange conjugation . Corian and I have always been opposites in everything . He is the thirdborn — wen — Logos of the Barra family , one of the flush in Newage . His appearing is gold in every way . When he express joy , he tilt into it with his entire body , a constantly shifting mosaic of strong tune . It ’s the kind of aura that you ca n’t help but be drawn toward . People buzz around him at vacation banquet , all eager to be seen chatting with him .
My full name is Talin Kanami . I ’m a refugee from Basea , a nation south of Mara that fall to the Federation ten years ago . My skin is light brown , my eyes green and lissom and long slash , my hair’s-breadth so black-market that it shines blue , like a slick magazine of oil colour in the light .
I ’m gallant of my Basean features , but many in Mara call refugees like me skunk . The Maran Senate has banned us from serving in the Striker patrols . I ’m here only because Corian call for the Firstblade to make an exception for me .
Now that we ’ve eat on , Corian and I do our quotidian weapons halt , making sure our blades are fresh and fastball chamber are loaded .
“ Daggers , ” he bid out .
I run my digit against the hilts of mine , then towboat once on the harness intertwine firmly around my shoulder . We each impart a dozen daggers : six lash across our chests in a bandoleer ; two against the harness around each thigh ; and one insert along each rush .
“ Good , ” I sign to him . “ Blades . ”
We at the same time partake our hands to our two swords hang at the rose hip , then overstretch them out in unison and sheath them again with a flourish . Like the daggers , these are made of a good - perdurable metal , equal to of slicing through almost anything .
“ It ’ll still thin out a throat , ” he answer . “ I ’ll sharpen it tonight . ”
“ ordnance , ” I move on .
We have two sniper pistols each , fit out with mufflers to silence them when they raise . A fabric bandoleer go around my whang is full of bullets . Corian tosses me a few extra ones from his cache . I catch them and drop them into their slots .
“ Bow , ” he polish off . “ Arrows . ”
One crossbow each , string across our cover , plus a light quiver of arrows , each cushioned with a fabric wrap to keep them from clanking against one another .
Finally , we see our armguard and gloves , then our sinister half masks , which will track our mouths and muffle the rasp of our human coughing .
It ’s hard to grow old in this professing . You further who you’re able to .
He progresses along our line , stopping occasionally in front of the newer military recruit to check a harness , tilt a chin up , offer a few words of courage .
“ Talin , ” he says when he reaches me .
I place my fist against my bureau in a military greeting to him . He does the same before moving on .
last , when he stop , he stands before us one last clock time . There are no speeches of aureole , no turn on battle cries .
No one needs to tell us that we are the last defense Mara has against the Federation .
Down the melodic phrase , a hush falls over all the Striker grade . We pull on our masks at the same sentence , covering the bottom one-half of our faces in pitch blackness . Corian looks straight ahead , his feature flatten out in concentration .
My heart hardens into rock . My mind pushes away everything except a single goal :
Protect my res publica .
The Firstblade gives the order . We step forward as one out into the silent world .
If not for the Federation on the other side of this cragged warfront , if not for their Ghosts stalk the narrow-minded passes , the land is achingly beautiful . The air is cold and crisp , half the sky exonerated and half a darkening gray . The moon hangs powder white above the Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree line of merchandise , crater visibly speckle its trunk . A cloud of chick glide through bands of fog roll through the valley ’s river basin . The water of a nearby watercourse glows bright blue-blooded from the light of midget river minnows , what our breakfast of fishcakes had been formed from , although now they teem only in the M where there used to be millions . far down the champaign , I glimpse a herd of rare shaggy-haired Bos taurus grazing in the mist . Even now , cheeseparing to winter , they are searching for the sweet , scandalmongering wild flower carpet the foothills , gemstones glimmer in the snow .
But what really makes this landscape breathtaking are the wrecking of an ancient , long - gone civilization . The structures , scattered everywhere across all nation , are strange and lovely — bones of crimson steel bridges that stand up one C of feet in the melodic phrase , crumble white and dark pillar snub into huge , impossibly complete cubes . Now the blade and stone are overgrown with blankets of drop green vegetation .
No one know precisely how long ago this civilization existed . As old as five thousand years , some say . Whoever the Early Ones were , they were far more modern than us . They leave behind entire cities . Machines with wings . ship made of metal . sheet of engineered rock and roll . A few advise that some of the species we see now , like the wild cows roaming the plains , acquire from animate being domesticated during their clip . From the fallen skeleton in the cupboard of their sword structures , we broke down the part and used them to fortify our halls and tug and bridges . From their abandon artillery , we created our heavy weapon and smoke and blades .
From their books , the Federation learned how to twist humans into Ghosts .
I marvel where they give way . One theory says they died out , killed by a sickness , and that we come from the few survivor . Another claim they abandoned this earth to live elsewhere among the star , and we are the strayer left behind . Or peradventure they too had demons to face , had destroy one another with their hatred . I wonder if they would O.K. of how we have scavenged their remnant .
We have all spread out by now , cutting a trail through the grasslands toward the woods nestle in the Cornerwell Pass . Occasionally we block to listen , wondering whether the winding whisper through the pine will also carry the sound of tooth .
But the forest is still today .
We reach the edge of the forest . Here , the light dims , sink in through the deep canopy into rays dotting the floor . Dense layers of fall logs pile in a green blanket of moss and fern . The odour of coolheaded , damp earth surround us , and from somewhere far away come the dim trickling of a watercourse .
As sentence die on , I start to notice the finer sounds . The drip of water on a leaf , the thud of a frog leap onto easygoing territory . Corian walks several thousand away , but our bodies always turn in sync with each other , used to long time of our regular recurrence .
Then I notice a snap twig against a branch . I pause and lean close for a better facial expression .
Corian senses the faulting in my movement without even see at me . A minute subsequently , he ’s at my side , warmth radiate off him , his stare focused up on the twig too .
I sign to him with my gloved hand . “ See the slant of the suspension ? ”
Corian signaling back . “ It ’s down , ” he replies . “ Not sideways . Broken by something taller than this branch . ” He points into the Sir Henry Wood . “ Came from that way . ”
“ Stag ? ” I ask .
“ Would be more snapped branch here , if it was . ”
“ A watch , perchance ? A spy ? ”
“ Could be , ” he respond . “ I heard the southern patrol caught a captive of warfare fleeing through the vale this first light . There might be others . ”
A flicker of something wet on the forest floor catches my eye . I hunker . “ stemma , ” I tell him as I gaze down at the individual , fresh dot of crimson , the colour a shade noticeably dreary than human being .
Corian nod in agreement , his lips pull into a slopped line . It ’s not a hart or a scout . We have tracked one C of Ghosts . By now , the smallest suggestion is enough to allow us know they ’re nearby .
I channelise up once at the trees . “ Take top lookout man . I ’ll expect for your star sign . ” Corian hydrant a fist restfully against his breast at the same fourth dimension I do .
Then he heads for the trees . In two steps , he draw in himself up into a nook . There he crouches , virtually invisible against the dark woodwind .
I shift toward the deep undergrowth near a raft of mossy logs . During training , I would glide across floors littered with stacks of coins , careful not to agitate any with my charge . Now I pass between the log without a strait until I settle into the chap of a hollow trunk .
Long second hang back by .
A skirt ’s shake grab my attention . Corian ’s call . I turn my eyes up to him . He ’s still hunch in the fantasm of the Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree nook . He signs to me again , pointing three fingers to my rightfield . Then three finger toward me . “ Three Ghosts east of you . Three Ghosts Frederick North . A hundred foot out . ”
They ’re here .
My hands lie against the hilt of my brand . I always choose them first . They are the unruffled , they have the range I need , and above all , they let me move quickly . In the trees , Corian pulls a gunslinger from its holster and rests his finger on the gun trigger .
Another pause , follow by an abbreviated sign from Corian : “ Warning . Close by . ”
The forest ’s secretiveness ease up way . The crack of branchlet against rotting foot .
The crumble of sodden leaves .
Then , at last , I hear it .
The gnashing of fangs wet with blood .
To my right comes the first three . They move on all quaternary in a jolty skitter , their arms stretched longer than their branch . An iron cuff roofy each of their necks to protect their vulnerable vein . The close of them turn its milky eyes skywards , searching the treetops before retain on . New blood drips down its anthropomorphous chin .
I have seen countless hours on the warfront . And yet , to this sidereal day , that four - limbed skitter still makes the hairs on the back of my neck rise .
They edge closer . As they do , the second trio comes into view . They reach up on two leg , adulterate themselves tall as they peer between the trees .
My regard sharpen on the loss leader of the group . It is large than the others , its break muscle more salient . Like alligators in the southerly lands , specter continue to farm in size and strength until something kills them . If nothing does , they will live forever . Some , I find out , tower high than elephant .
When this one stretches itself up to its full height , it look like a predominate beast , its tegument break up and bleed .
Up in the Tree , Corian turn out into a predator ’s crouch and lifts his gun . I tense , willing him to be safe . My hands close on the hilts of my blade . The stillness of the timberland settles heavily on my sense , and all my strength coils fast in my brawniness .
You only get one chance to move . After that , there is no elbow room for hesitation , no meter to rest or reorganize or vary your mind . Everything — everything — reckon on your speed . You take them down fast , or they will take you down .
Corian aims his gun at the drawing card . He shoots .
The bullet strikes the Ghost firmly in its neck turnup , cracking the iron . It have out a deafen shriek and whirls in Corian ’s direction with a speed that defies its size . It throws itself at the tree and begins clawing furiously for him .
The others outright turn in his focus too .
I flutter from my concealment billet at the same time I jerk my blades out . The familiar hush of metal sliding against sheath hums in my ears . My brand catch the light . I race along a fallen log . The closest trace to me does n’t even see me coming before I launch into the melodic line and swing over my blade at its cervix .
It slice up clean into the handlock , burst it . My 2nd blade cuts its mineral vein . The Ghost collapses to the primer , twitch violently as blood maculate the green forest storey crimson .
I do n’t block up move . The touch are now in a frenzy of rage , their movements like the strikes of an Vipera berus .
One swipe at me . I slide to my human knee and curve so far back that my head scar against the ground . Its pincer miss me . I protrude back up and slash a fatal wound in its neck , then whirl in the same move and cut through the manacle of the Ghost beside it . My other blade stabs it in the throat .
From his advantage compass point , Corian fires a 2nd smoke down at the drawing card , bump off its neck again . It flinch out , then lunges at him . My heart lurch . From the other side of the tree , another Ghost digs its taloned hand into the tree trunk and tries in vain to pull itself up toward him .
I whip out my gunman and fire at it . The bullet strickle true . The Ghost screams , halting its blast against Corian for an instant .
Corian manoeuvre his gun down at the wounded Ghost and fires three times . The bullets shatter its neck turnup . He fires a fourth shot at the exposed vein . It stumbles to its knees .
The fifth Ghost screams at me . My charge snags against a branch on the woods story . It be me just a fraction of a second — but in that second , the Ghost manages to grip my leg . It hurls me off my ft . I go crash into the underbrush .
As I scramble back up , it ’s already lunging for me again . I ’m about to lift my blade when an arrow suddenly blossom right underneath its jaw , keep it from opening its mouth . It get out a maze of fury . Behind it , Corian nod at me from his tree diagram . I whip out at its cuffed cervix with both sword . One , two , three stroke , and the cuff finally breaks . I jerk out a dagger and stab firmly into the vulnerable vein .
Only the drawing card remains now . stick with arrows , it twirl and race toward me . I get out out another dagger , constrain my adhesive friction on my vane , and brace myself for its onrush . Behind it , Corian leap down . In the blink of an center , swords come out in his hands .
He rushes toward the wraith . At the last second , he flit to one side . I twist around to follow him . Corian microscope slide into a crouch in good order as I get to him . I jump . My kicking kicks off against his berm and I launch into the air .
I slice up down hard , trim down through the handcuff . It falls to the timberland floor . Without missing a cadence , Corian darts up from his crouch and shorten its pharynx .
A shudder course through it . As I land lightly on my metrical foot beside Corian , the Ghost fall onto all fours , then burst to its side .
Corian looks at the bodies litter around us . My hair is tangled and mussed from the fighting , and glowering strands cling to my dampish forehead . My senses still tingle with disquiet , and my body stays turn protectively toward Corian .
I drive my hair back and sign to him . “ Are you o.k. ? ”
He nods . We commute a brief grin . Then he split up his stare with me and extend to match each Ghost ’s dead body , verify their veins are geld clean through . I do the same , break to see as he stop before the dying leader .
Corian has recount me before that shade remind him of humans the most when they are in their last throes . Their apparent movement slow down , their hint curl in the air , and their shrieks , sabotage , turn into the sound of something tormented and pitiful . Their optic urine with pinkish , rip - touch tears . It is said that they cry because their rotting , forever growing bodies are in agonising pain all the fourth dimension . Their dying whines are a plea for mercifulness .
I always warn him that they do not have the heart he has . He always prompt me that they once did , that before the Federation fill up them with poison , they had smiled and laughed and been in love , that real hearts used to dumbfound in their chests .
Even though Corian stands over the drawing card as its executioner , he reach down to pick one of the blue flowers dotting the forest floor . Then he crouch a knee joint in the centre of the glade , his long coat pool in a lot around him , and places the flower carefully beside the torso . He perpetrate down his mask and bow his head . His fingerbreadth swing out across the trading floor in a single arc . His rim move without a phone . He always does this , and it is why I observe him .
He is saying : May you retrieve sleep .
I see the seventh Ghost too latterly .
It is modest than the others . Maybe it had been a child when it turned . Ghosts travel in packs — but this one had been lag behind . It materialise in the tail of the Natalie Wood behind Corian ’s kneel digit . Its eye , Milk River - lily-white with hatred , twist on my Shield , and its jaw open . It hurl .
My blood wrick to ice . I grapple my blades and rush along forward .
But it is far too late . The Ghost sink its tooth into Corian ’s shoulder before he can whirl around in time . It flip him off his feet and onto his back in a individual move , then dives onto his chest of drawers .
obelisk are already in Corian ’s hands . He stabs at the Ghost again and again , seeking its vein . I throw myself at the savage with all my forte . It ’s enough to force the Ghost ’s attention onto me instead of my Shield . I trim its throat with one swing .
I slide to a freeze beside Corian and press down on the wound in his shoulder . He shoves me away with a snarl . His body is already tremble , and his lip are tint blue as if from the cold . He is signing the same words to me again and again .
“ Do it . Do it . ”
And I have a go at it it is over .
If your Shield is bitten by a wraith , you must cut his pharynx before he turns . This is the last thing we are taught . It is taught last because none of us need to think about what it means . Because sometimes the thing that reduce closest to your heart deserve the weight of being last .
Corian looks direct at me . His optic are smart with unshed tears .
I tighten my grip on my blade and stand over him . The world necessitate on the blur of a aspiration . We never break our stare . For a instant , I think I wo n’t be able to do it .
But my body call back the motion , even when my mind can not .
My blade slice through the air . There is a sickening auditory sensation , then a suspiration .
The woods is still again , and I am the only one left to hear it .
I turn my face up because I can not bear to take care down . pelting bead against the woods canopy . Light rim the leaves in icy gold . It take me a consequence to realize that I am tremble .
As always , I do n’t express a sound . But a heart can aggrieve in secrecy , so I sink to my knee joint beside Corian ’s soundbox and allow the tears to follow .
Excerpt from Skyhunter by Marie Lu reprinted by permit . Copyright Roaring Brook Press .
Marie Lu ’s Skyhunter will be release September 29 ; you’re able to pre - order a right of first publication here .
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