Look at it, showing off its colors. It sickens me. She raised her hand and the canvas was consumed by an invisible flame, the bright color blackening and blistering until every last fleck of color had been consumed, leaving the antique gilded frame to enclose a view of almost any part of Abarat at that moment. Just a few paces farther on was another picture, its style and subject as agitated and violent as the first image had been calm and peaceful. It appeared to be a body hung on a grid of barbed wire, but the details were hard to decipher.
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Look at it, showing off its colors. It sickens me. She raised her hand and the canvas was consumed by an invisible flame, the bright color blackening and blistering until every last fleck of color had been consumed, leaving the antique gilded frame to enclose a view of almost any part of Abarat at that moment. Just a few paces farther on was another picture, its style and subject as agitated and violent as the first image had been calm and peaceful.
It appeared to be a body hung on a grid of barbed wire, but the details were hard to decipher. Again the cremating hand was raised, and Voorzangler flinched. But Mater Motley simply pointed. My perfect city is no longer perfect. Are there no lights in here at all? Of course nnnnot. How could I? You are the Empressssss. I demand to know. It was Rojo Pixler, himself, who was the source of this frigid light, though his human anatomy was merely the frail centerpiece of a living form that had taken over the entire chamber, an intricate filigree of lacy tissue that covered the walls and hung in lazy decay from the ceiling.
A foul stench was in these layers of rotting tissue, which here and there clotted, forming sluggish creatures that were attached by pulsing cords of matter to the body of Pixler himself. Mater Motley seized hold of Voorzangler, her fingers digging so deep into his body that he cried out in pain.
It was the creature within whose body he was enmeshed that drew him into a standing position. Rojo Pixler, the great architect himself, had become a piece of a piece of something that existed in all its unknowable immensity somewhere in the depths of the Sea of Izabella.
He rose up off the floor, lifted up on fans of fluttering tissue that shimmered as they worked. Rows of wet-rimmed valves twitched and spat; soft spines swelled into clusters of vicious barbs, surges of power passed through translucent ducts from one body to the next, noisily spilling Requiatic liquids onto the marble floor when they brimmed over.
His tongue could only flop about in his mouth, unable to shape a single coherent word. But she held on to him, shaking him like a little one-eyed doll. With this. Whatever you assume you have made yourself, you are nothing, fish. Bow down! Do you hear me? Bow down before the Empress of the Abarat! This simple gesture caused her to rise up into the air, dragging Dr.
Voorzangler, his body now in the grip of something very close to a full seizure, with her. This was a pitting of Higher Powers; everyone watching knew that. Anyone who attempted to interfere now would only earn themselves a quick death.
So they all stayed close to the door in case things took a turn for the apocalyptic. And from there they bore witness. Then, very slowly, the creature began to shake its head. But Mater Motley had seen and smelled far worse. She was untouched by this whole performance. She was standing on the air at the same height as the architect now and raising her hand, presenting her palm to the enemy. And then I will make you do so, even if I have to break every bone in you to do it.
Choose, fish. Bow or be broken. Pixler raised his own hand to wipe from around his mouth the last of the noisome fluid. When the thing spoke again the corruption of its speech was over.
The Requiax spoke now with a clear intention to sound as though Pixler had regained control, enunciating each word with almost absurd precision. As it spoke, the thing lifted its arms above its head, seizing the wrist of his left with its right, and twisting it around as though the bones were made of rubber. She had anticipated that it would do exactly that, because as it reached for her, something that resembled a fan, decorated in purple and gold, snapped open in front of her.
Innocent though the weapon she had just called into service might have appeared, the innocence was a lie. It was that most guilty of things—a weapon possessed of the power to lay death down wherever its dart went. As he threw back his pierced visage, finely knotted cords of dark matter flew up out of the many wounds and rose to strike the ceiling.
Cobs of plaster came showering down, like brute snow. But their descent merely presaged a far more bizarre descent. The knots of dark matter burst like overripe fruit. As soon as it fell on Mater Motley, it began to spread like a vine, insane with its own fecundity, coursing over her body in all directions; dozens of trails of the nameless stuff raced down her body, crisscrossing to form a foul-smelling net around her.
But it was her face that the Pixler-Requiax was most concerned to control, its matter wrapping itself around her skull from five or six directions at once. Her merest touch leached the color from the chaotic network of matter. Then she tore it, ripping it away from her face.
Abarat: Absolute Midnight
Start your review of Abarat: Absolute Midnight Write a review Shelves: fun-adults-read-young-adult This review has been hidden because it contains spoilers. To view it, click here. I have to admit that I came into this with extremely high expectations. Yes, the Abarat books are still some of my favorite YA fantasy novels, but I was seriously let down by Absolute Midnight. Where the fuck did that come from? Did I miss Abarat 2. Oh yeah, apparently Boa tricked Carrion into teaching her super powerful magic.