Twilight Forever Rising (Vampire Clan Novels)

Darel Ericson of the Dahanavar clan is a rarity among his vampire brethren: he’s an empath, strong enough to occasionally read thought as well as emotion.  For centuries, his power has given the Dahanavar a significant advantage against the machinations of the other vampire families, an advantage which makes Darel both a powerful tool and a highly visible target.Fortunately for Darel, it is more useful for the heads of the other clans to maintain the centuries-long peace between the houses than to remove him.  But, the cunning and violent head of the House of Nachterret is tired of the truce, and of hiding his presence in the world.  The Nachterret would like nothing more than have free reign over the helpless human cattle upon which they feed.  Darel, and the human woman he loves, become central to the Nachterret’s scheme to plunge the Houses into all out war.  Darel is ultimately forced to face the question: is one young woman’s life too high a price to pay for peace?

From Booklist

This novel, by an award-winning Russian writer, was originally published in Russia in 2005. Tor is bringing out the first English translation. It has been described as “vampires meet the Sopranos,” and the summary is apt. The vampires are divided into a number of clans, formally at peace but involved in a number of plots and deals. Darel of the Dahanaver clan is an empath, strong enough to occasionally read thoughts as well as emotions. This talent gives him influence in the family . . . and also makes him a target. The head of the House of Nachterret, an extremely gross and violent vampire, is tired of the truce. He wants to come out of hiding and rule humans directly. The plot is not original by English-language standards, and the pacing is a bit awkward. This may be due to the translation. However, the characters come through well even in translation, and the action will keep readers turning pages. The story should please those who like fantasy action as well as those who want some idea of what is being written in other languages. --Frieda Murray

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

TWILIGHT FOREVER RISING 1THE TELEPATH I can stand brute force, but brute reason is quite unbearable. There is something unfair about its use. It is hitting below the intellect.—Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian GraySeptember 11, 2004Darel Dahanavar“Well, do you like her?” I heard Chris whisper behind my back, but I didn’t answer, just cleared my throat.She was standing under a streetlamp, leaning against the railings of the bridge with her long hair fluttering in the wind. The girl I had been following for a week.“Then what’s the problem?” my omnipresent friend asked again. “Go across to her and let’s get going.”“I’m not sure.”“Nonsense. Go on, I’ll wait.”There was something strange about this girl. Something unusual. I couldn’t understand what exactly it was that disturbed me so much whenever I was near her. It was as if she gave off a fresh, cool breeze. Like the air streaming off a glacier. And it wasn’t even a matter of how pure her blood was, although I could tell it wasn’t polluted with drugs or nicotine or disease.“Group one,” Chris murmured. “Rhesus positive.”Seeing the expression of annoyance on my face, he laughed. “Take no notice. Just thinking aloud.”He turned and walked away along the dark, windy street.The girl with a golden halo that looked like sunlight raised her head, following the flight of a white moth, and I glimpsed her gentle smile.But it disappeared the moment she saw me standing beside her.“Hi. Not disturbing you, am I?”This girl I didn’t know shook her head and lowered her eyes, and her lips quivered again in that half-smile that made my heart contract so sweetly.“Darel,” I said in a quiet voice, realizing that I was already unobtrusively clouding her awareness. Just a tiny bit, so that she would feel she could trust me.“Loraine.”I had heard her voice before. Clear and gentle, as mellow as this autumn night. She had spoken only three words then—“Botanic Lane, please”—and the yellow taxi had whisked her away just when I had made up my mind to approach her. But she wouldn’t escape so easily today.“Do you like walking at night?”“Yes.” A single light, carefree word, a flutter of long eyelashes, and then again, more quietly: “Yes, I like it.”She was already starting to get used to me. Going through the stage of recognition. For her, it ought to feel like meeting someone she knew, and more than that—someone she liked very much.“It’s a nice way to pass the time.”We were already walking side by side from one streetlamp to the next, with our shadows running on ahead of us, growing shorter and longer by turns. She kept glancing at me curiously, too shy to keep her eyes on my face for long, but more at ease now. More natural. And I didn’t have to look at the girl. I could see her with my inner vision: the breeze from the glacier, the cool, steady current of air. And the light. The diffuse light of a sunny autumn day.I knew the way her eyelashes were fluttering, the way the lobe of her little ear turned pink when the wind touched it, blowing the golden curls of hair onto her cheeks; I knew her blue eyes were reflecting the cold light of the streetlamps, the black river, perhaps even my face in profile.“Shall we go in?”I glanced across at the brightly lit windows of a bar, and of course, I heard a quiet “Yes” in reply.It was warm inside; there was soft music playing and a bluish haze of cigarette smoke drifting in the air. I saw Bert at a table at the far side of the room. I didn’t know his girl, but she smiled, raising her glass, and I got the feeling I’d met her somewhere before.Bert nodded coldly in reply to my silent greeting and turned away. I hadn’t expected anything else.Loraine noticed this expressive exchange of glances, but she didn’t say anything, although her eyes flashed with curiosity. I ordered whiskey for myself and light French wine in a tall glass for her. Loraine smiled at my choice. “How did you know I like Aligoté?”I thought the color of the wine was like her hair. But I didn’t answer, I just raised my glass.When she turned her head, I saw the line of her exposed neck and a slim vein pulsing rapidly under the thin skin. . . . My lips felt hot and I raised my glass to my mouth so that the touch of the cold glass would quench the unbearable fever.The girl looked out the window. On the opposite side of the street was a gigantic billboard with a huge black-and-white photo in the Gothic style. I read momentary regret in Loraine’s feelings as she thought that she would never get to the opening night of the season that was plastered over all the billboards just then.I nodded at the poster. “Would you like to go to that opera?”She gave me a rather scornful look. “The tickets are all sold out.”“On a personal pass. A good friend of mine always has a couple to spare.”“Is he the director of the theater?”“No, he’s singing the lead.”Loraine smiled suspiciously and declared in an officious voice: “Hemran Vance is singing the lead in the Phantom.”But the girl hadn’t caught me out in a lie. I really did know the famous rock singer, the idol of the entire younger generation. When I told her I did, her eyes turned round in amazement. I was scorched by the brightness of her elation.“Really! You know him! Hemran himself?” Any number of exclamation marks could have been inserted into this impulsive outburst. “How long have you been acquainted?”“Quite a long time. I can introduce you if you like.”“Of course!” she exclaimed loudly, then looked around, embarrassed. Bert was looking down into his glass. His girl was smiling and checking out the barman. No one was taking any notice of us.I found myself liking Hemran more than ever. He’d never know what a good turn he had done me.“In that case, I invite you to the theater.”She smiled again with that self-confident eighteen-year-old girl’s smile.“So you really could introduce me to him?”“Yes, tomorrow, after the opening night.” I got up and put some money on the bar counter.She hadn’t been expecting me to go so soon. I saw a glint of surprise in her eyes, but it faded immediately.“I’ll be waiting for you in the foyer, tomorrow evening at nine.”Gentle lights glimmered in the misty depths of her eyes. Like the final rays of the setting sun. I watched this miracle for a few moments, then turned away quickly and walked out.The stars were going out one by one. Cool air was streaming off the river as it awoke to the day. The darkness of the night was slowly receding across the transparent sky toward the west, retreating in the face of the rising sun. . . .Of course, Chris hadn’t waited for me. But I made it in time. As always. The first bright rays shot over the horizon just as I closed the door behind me.The opera house was built in the century before last. A massive building of gray stone, copiously decorated with columns, statues, and bas-reliefs. Monumental, cold, and majestic. Lit with gentle golden spotlights.Marble Apollo in his flowing tunic could hardly hold back his four-in-hand of rampant horses straining to leap down off the slope of the roof. Muses, nymphs, satyrs, and maenads posed in a frozen dance around the sun god, as if they were about to throw themselves under the wheels of his chariot.Seagulls sat on the shoulders of the stone dancers and the heads of the horses. When the entire flock rose into the air, their piercing cries drowned out the noise of the city.There was a breath of freshness blowing from the direction of the river. The broad black ribbon glinted in the light of the streetlamps, reflecting an inverted bridge and the buildings on the embankment. The quivering forms seemed to be floating over the shallow waves. The sluice gates were closed, and three pleasure boats were waiting in the lock for the water to rise to the right level. I could hear music playing, the hubbub of people out on the town, the cries of seagulls.There were people inside the opera house; I could feel them even through the stone walls. A gathering of small warm lights. A buzzing swarm with high voices like the screeches of the river birds soaring above its low, monotonous song. Loraine’s note was a pure, resonant G.I saw her slender figure beside one of the columns in the foyer, her golden hair tumbling across her shoulders as she looked around impatiently, trying to spot me in the crowd. I saw her twirl her rolled-up program in her hands and mechanically tuck a rebellious lock of hair behind her ear, already sensing my intent gaze but still not aware that I was watching her.A group of skinny, long-legged teenagers was hovering about not far away. Edgy, defiant, and insecure all at the same time. They “creaked” like wagon wheels that needed grease, or their inner screeching rose to an almost unbearable crescendo. I shuddered inside and damped down my sensitivity.“Hi.”Loraine gave a gentle start and turned around. Now I could see her glowing face with the slightly embarrassed expression, the faint shadows under her eyes, the bright flush on her cheeks.“Good evening.” She was excited; she had been looking forward to this meet...

About the Author

Lena Meydan is a bestselling author in her native Russia and won the Silver Kaduzei, the highest literary award at the Star Bridge International Festival of Fantasy, for her first novel.  Her second novel, Twilight Forever Rising, won Best Urban Fantasy for 2000-2005 by the 13th International Congress of Fantasy Writers in St. Petersburg.Andrew Bromfield is an editor and translator of Russian works. He is a founding editor of the Russian literature journal Glas, and has translated into English Sergei Lukyanenko's Night Watch series and Alexey Pehov's Chronicles of Siala, among other works.

Reviews

News