His smile was a cold, dark thing that sent Nettie’s feet toward Pap and the crooked house and anything but the stranger who wouldn’t die, wouldn’t scream, and wouldn’t leave her alone. She’d never felt safe a day in her life, but now she recognized the chill hand of death, reaching for her. Her feet trembled in the too-big boots as she stumbled backward across the bumpy yard, tripping on stones and bits of trash. Turning her back on the demon man seemed intolerably stupid. She just had to get past the round pen, and then she’d be halfway to the house. Pap wouldn’t be worth much by now, but he had a gun by his side. Maybe the stranger would give up if he saw a man instead of just a half-breed girl nobody cared about.
Nettie turned to run and tripped on a fallen chunk of fence, going down hard on hands and skinned knees. When she looked up, she saw butternut-brown pants stippled with blood and no-spur boots tapping.
“Pap!” she shouted. “Pap, help!”
She was gulping in a big breath to holler again when the stranger’s boot caught her right under the ribs and knocked it all back out. The force of the kick flipped her over onto her back, and she scrabbled away from the stranger and toward the ramshackle round pen of old, gray branches and junk roped together, just barely enough fence to trick a colt into staying put. They’d slaughtered a pig in here, once, and now Nettie knew how he felt.
As soon as her back fetched up against the pen, the stranger crouched in front of her, one eye closed and weeping black and the other brim-full with evil over the bloody slice in his neck. He looked like a dead man, a corpse groom, and Nettie was pretty sure she was in the hell Mam kept threatening her with.
“Ain’t nobody coming. Ain’t nobody cares about a girl like you. Ain’t nobody gonna need to, not after what you done to me.”
The stranger leaned down and made like he was going to kiss her with his mouth wide open, and Nettie did the only thing that came to mind. She grabbed up a stout twig from the wall of the pen and stabbed him in the chest as hard as she damn could.
She expected the stick to break against his shirt like the time she’d seen a buggy bash apart against the general store during a twister. But the twig sunk right in like a hot knife in butter. The stranger shuddered and fell on her, his mouth working as gloppy red-black liquid bubbled out. She didn’t trust blood anymore, not after the first splat had burned her, and she wasn’t much for being found under a corpse, so Nettie shoved him off hard and shot to her feet, blowing air as hard as a galloping horse.
The stranger was rolling around on the ground, plucking at his chest. Thick clouds blotted out the meager starlight, and she had nothing like the view she’d have tomorrow under the white-hot, unrelenting sun. But even a girl who’d never killed a man before knew when something was wrong. She kicked him over with the toe of her boot, tit for tat, and he was light as a tumbleweed when he landed on his back.
The twig jutted up out of a black splotch in his shirt, and the slice in his neck had curled over like gone meat. His bad eye was a swamp of black, but then, everything was black at midnight. His mouth was open, the lips drawing back over too-white teeth, several of which looked like they’d come out of a panther. He wasn’t breathing, and Pap wasn’t coming, and Nettie’s finger reached out as if it had a mind of its own and flicked one big, shiny, curved tooth.
The goddamn thing fell back into the dead man’s gaping throat. Nettie jumped away, skitty as the black filly, and her boot toe brushed the dead man’s shoulder, and his entire body collapsed in on itself like a puffball, thousands of sparkly motes piling up in the place he’d occupied and spilling out through his empty clothes. Utterly bewildered, she knelt and brushed the pile with trembling fingers. It was sand. Nothing but sand. A soft wind came up just then and blew some of the stranger away, revealing one of those big, curved teeth where his head had been. It didn’t make a goddamn lick of sense, but it could’ve gone far worse.
Still wary, she stood and shook out his clothes, noting that everything was in better than fine condition, except for his white shirt, which had a twig-sized hole in the breast, surrounded by a smear of black. She knew enough of laundering and sewing to make it nice enough, and the black blood on his pants looked, to her eye, manly and tough. Even the stranger’s boots were of better quality than any that had ever set foot on Pap’s land, snakeskin with fancy chasing. With her own, too-big boots, she smeared the sand back into the hard, dry ground as if the stranger had never existed. All that was left was the four big panther teeth, and she put those in her pocket and tried to forget about them.
After checking the yard for anything livelier than a scorpion, she rolled up the clothes around the boots and hid them in the old rig in the barn. Knowing Pap would pester her if she left signs of a scuffle, she wiped the black glop off the sickle and hung it up, along with the whip, out of Pap’s drunken reach. She didn’t need any more whip scars on her back than she already had.
Out by the round pen, the sand that had once been a devil of a stranger had all blown away. There was no sign of what had almost happened, just a few more deadwood twigs pulled from the lopsided fence. On good days, Nettie spent a fair bit of time doing the dangerous work of breaking colts or doctoring cattle in here for Pap, then picking up the twigs that got knocked off and roping them back in with whatever twine she could scavenge from the town. Wood wasn’t cheap, and there wasn’t much of it. But Nettie’s hands were twitchy still, and so she picked up the black-splattered stick and wove it back into the fence, wishing she lived in a world where her life was worth more than a mule, more than boots, more than a stranger’s cold smile in the barn. She’d had her first victory, but no one would ever believe her, and if they did, she wouldn’t be cheered. She’d be hanged.
That stranger—he had been all kinds of wrong. And the way that he’d wanted to touch her—that felt wrong, too. Nettie couldn’t recall being touched in kindness, not in all her years with Pap and Mam. Maybe that was why she understood horses. Mustangs were wild things captured by thoughtless men, roped and branded and beaten until their heads hung low, until it took spurs and whips to move them in rage and fear. But Nettie could feel the wildness inside their hearts, beating under skin that quivered under the flat of her palm. She didn’t break a horse, she gentled it. And until someone touched her with that same kindness, she would continue to shy away, to bare her teeth and lower her head.
Someone, surely, had been kind to her once, long ago. She could feel it in her bones. But Pap said she’d been tossed out like trash, left on the prairie to die. Which she almost had, tonight. Again.
Pap and Mam were asleep on the porch, snoring loud as thunder. When Nettie crept past them and into the house, she had four shiny teeth in one fist, a wad of cash from the stranger’s pocket, and more questions than there were stars.
By N. K. Jemisin
THE INHERITANCE TRILOGY
The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms
The Broken Kingdoms
The Kingdom of Gods
The Awakened Kingdom (novella)
The Inheritance Trilogy (omnibus)
DREAMBLOOD
The Killing Moon
The Shadowed Sun
THE BROKEN EARTH
The Fifth Season
The Obelisk Gate
The Stone Sky
Praise for
THE OBELISK GATE
“Jemisin’s follow-up to The Fifth Season is exceptional. Those who anxiously awaited this sequel will find the only problem is that the wait must begin again once the last page is turned.”
—Library Journal (starred review)
“Stunning, again.”
—Kirkus (starred review)
“Compelling, challenging, and utterly gripping.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“Beyond the meticulous pacing, the thorough character work, and the staggering ambition and revelations of the narration, Jemisin is telling a story of our present, our failures, our actions in the face of repeated trauma, our responses to the he
at and pressure of our times. Her accomplishment in this series is tremendous. It pole-vaults over the expectations I had for what epic fantasy should be and stands in magnificent testimony to what it could be.”
—NPR Books
“How can something as large and complex exist in [Jemisin’s] head, and how does she manage to tell it to me so beautifully? I can’t stand how much I love the Broken Earth trilogy so far.”
—B&N Sci-Fi & Fantasy Blog
Praise for
THE FIFTH SEASON
“Intricate and extraordinary.”
—New York Times
“Astounding … Jemisin maintains a gripping voice and an emotional core that not only carries the story through its complicated setting, but sets things up for even more staggering revelations to come.”
—NPR Books
“Jemisin’s graceful prose and gritty setting provide the perfect backdrop for this fascinating tale of determined characters fighting to save a doomed world.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“A must-buy … breaks uncharted ground.”
—Library Journal (starred review)
“Jemisin might just be the best world-builder out there right now. … [She] is a master at what she does.”
—RT Book Reviews (Top Pick!)
“A powerful, epic novel of discovery, pain, and heartbreak.”
—SFFWorld.com
“Brilliant … gorgeous writing and unexpected plot twists.”
—Washington Post
“An ambitious book … Jemisin’s work itself is part of a slow but definite change in sci-fi and fantasy.”
—Guardian
“Angrily, beautifully apocalyptic.”
—B&N Sci-Fi & Fantasy Blog
Praise for
THE INHERITANCE TRILOGY
“A complex, edge-of-your-seat story with plenty of funny, scary, and bittersweet twists.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“An offbeat, engaging tale by a talented and original newcomer.”
—Kirkus
“An astounding debut novel … the world-building is solid, the characterization superb, the plot complicated but clear.”
—RT Book Reviews (Top Pick!)
“A delight for the fantasy reader.”
—Library Journal (starred review)
“The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms … is an impressive debut, which revitalizes the trope of empires whose rulers have gods at their fingertips.”
—io9
“N. K. Jemisin has written a fascinating epic fantasy where the stakes are not just the fate of kingdoms but of the world and the universe.”
—SFRevu
“Many books are good, some are great, but few are truly important. Add to this last category The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms, N. K. Jemisin’s debut novel … In this reviewer’s opinion, this is the must-read fantasy of the year.”
—BookPage
“A similar blend of inventiveness, irreverence, and sophistication—along with sensuality—brings vivid life to the setting and other characters: human and otherwise … The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms definitely leaves me wanting more of this delightful new writer.”
—Locus
“A compelling page-turner.”
—The A.V. Club
“An absorbing story, an intriguing setting and world mythology, and a likable narrator with a compelling voice. The next book cannot come out soon enough.”
—fantasybookcafe.com
“The Broken Kingdoms …expands the universe of the series geographically, historically, magically and in the range of characters, while keeping the same superb prose and gripping narrative that made the first one such a memorable debut.”
—Fantasy Book Critic
“The Kingdom of Gods once again proves Jemisin’s skill and consistency as a storyteller, but what sets her apart from the crowd is her ability to imagine and describe the mysteries of the universe in language that is at once elegant and profane, and thus, true.”
—Shelf Awareness
Praise for
THE DREAMBLOOD DUOLOGY
“Ah, N. K. Jemisin, you can do no wrong.”
—Felicia Day
“The Killing Moon is a powerhouse and, in general, one hell of a story to read. Jemisin has arrived.”
—Bookworm Blues
“The author’s exceptional ability to tell a compelling story and her talent for world-building have assured her place at the forefront of fantasy.”
—Library Journal (starred review)
“Jemisin excels at world-building and the inclusion of a diverse mix of characters makes her settings feel even more real and vivid.”
—RT Book Reviews (Top Pick!)
“The novel also showcases some skillful, original world-building. Like a lucid dreamer, Jemisin takes real-world influences as diverse as ancient Egyptian culture and Freudian/Jungian dream theory and unites them to craft a new world that feels both familiar and entirely new. It’s all refreshingly unique.”
—Slant Magazine
“Read this or miss out on one of the best fantasy books of the year so far.”
—San Francisco Book Review
“N. K. Jemisin is playing with the gods again—and it’s just as good as the first time.”
—io9
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N. K. Jemisin, The Stone Sky
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