By Richard Ferrone, Clive Barker, HarperAudio
A trip past mind's eye is ready to spread. . . . It starts within the so much uninteresting position on the earth: Chickentown, U.S.A. There lives sweet Quackenbush, her middle bursting for a few clue as to what her destiny could carry. while the reply comes, it is not one she expects. Welcome to the Abarat.
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Extra resources for Abarat (Abarat, 1)
Several stars had been shaken down from the firmament—great white cobs of fire piercing the clouds and falling seaward. One of them was heading directly toward The Lyre. ” Joephi yelled, catching hold of the back of Diamanda’s robes and pushing the old woman off her seat. Diamanda hated to be touched; manhandling, she called it. She started to berate Joephi roundly for what she’d done, but she was drowned out by the roaring sound of the falling star as it rushed toward the vessel. It burst the billowing sail of The Lyre, burning a hole right through the canvas, and then plunged into the sea, where it was extinguished with a great hissing sound.
She’d no sooner spoken than the mottled head of a mantizac— not quite the size Mespa had described, but still huge—broke the surface. Its vast maw gaped not more than a foot from Diamnda’s outstretched arms. ” the old lady yelled, withdrawing her hands and sitting up sharply. The frustrated fish pushed against the back of the boat, as if to nudge one of the human morsels on board into its own element. “So…” said Diamanda. ” “Wait,” said Joephi. ” “So I did,” Diamanda replied. ” The mantizac was now moving up the side of The Lyre, turning up its enormous head and fixing the women with its silver-and-scarlet eye.
It had been quite a sight, Candy remembered. To her astonishment she found that they were still there. She heard them before she saw them, the massed noise of their whirring coming to meet her down Lincoln Street. When she came in sight of them, she found that they were all rather the worse for wear. Clearly the Widow White had not replaced the pinwheels with new ones over the last few seasons, and many had been knocked over by the wind, or had lost their plastic blooms, and she’d simply left the sticks in the dirt.
Abarat (Abarat, 1) by Richard Ferrone, Clive Barker, HarperAudio