Lavondyss: Journey to an Unknown Region (A Novel of the Mythago Cycle)
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A haunting entry in the World Fantasy Award-winning Mythago Cycle
In Mythago Wood, Robert Holdstock gave us an intricate world spun from the stories of Irish and English mythology, a great forest steeped in mystery and legend, whose heart contains secrets that will change all who behold them.
Young Tallis is one such seeker. When she was just an infant, she lost her brother Harry to Ryhope Wood. Her adolescent fancies now cause her to suspect that he is still alive---and in grave danger. Tallis follows Harry into the primal Otherworld armed only with magic, masks, and clues left by her grandfather. Eventually the primitive forest gives way to Lavondyss itself, a fascinating and terrible realm where she is forced to confront the mythagos, physical manifestations of the legends of humanity's collective unconscious.
Join Tallis on her quest into the ultimate unknown, and be invited into one of the finest and most compelling mythologies you will ever encounter.
"A stunningly good book . . . conveys the haunting power of old heroes and lost gods."
"Magical . . . It is rare to find a sequel which measures up to its original; but Lavondyss surpasses it."
--Times Literary Supplement
Harry was a solitary voyager, but Tallis felt closer to him now than she had in eight years, even from the time when he had called to her through the first of her hollowings. "I have to get rid of him before I can come to you …" she whispered to the distance, to the far peaks, to the unknown region. "Because you are the same. You are the same. I always knew you were…" She stared across the wood. It had swallowed Harry, then breathed out Scathach. It had filled her head with legend, then sucked
brandished her butchering blade and stepped forward. "No!" screamed Tallis from the branches of Strong against the Storm. "Get away!" The old women were stunned. They looked up, backed off, then stopped. Then the oldest took two steps towards the oak. "Go back!" screeched Tallis. "Leave him! He's mine. He's mine!" This oldest woman seemed to look right at Tallis, but the focus in her pale, watery eyes never hardened. She looked through Tallis, and to the side, and above her… "He's mine! Go
"No. We didn't get soaked, did we? Ah well." And brightening: "Did you enjoy the dancing?" "Not much." "You seemed to be having a good time, being whirled around by those burly youngsters. I felt tired; I wanted to think about your strange song; so I went back to the Manor." He looked around at the green with its churned up turf and the scatter of litter. Then he looked at the tree, and at Tallis. "You've got a certain look in your eyes," he said, frowning. "One of those looks. Something's
the ground and surrounded by a circle of snail shells. The shells were perforated. They had come from Morthen's ritual headdress. During the night of his escape, Tig had entered the long-house, where Morthen slept close to her dying father, and stolen the webbing which she had so carefully fashioned. It was his way of stating power. He could have killed Wynne-Jones at that time, if he had wanted, but Tallis's own power had subdued him just sufficiently. Defiance, then. But Tallis had threatened
sound of his motorcycle. That was the last she knew of him, and a few days later, for the first time, mention was made in the house that Harry was dead. II. Tallis became the tiny, confused witness of a terrible grief. The house became like a tomb, cold, echoing. Her father sat alone by the woodshed, his body slumped forward, his head cradled in his hands. He spent hours like this, hours a day, days a week. Sometimes Gaunt would come and sit with him, leaning back against the shed, arms