Deep under the City of Glass in the frozen southern land, an age-old machine called the Heart of the City radiates a power which locals call icefire. Most citizens are immune to it, but a few, always born with physical disabilities, can bend it to their will. For fifty years, the ruling Eagle Knights, who fly on the back of giant birds, have killed these Imperfects, fearing the return of the old royal family, who used icefire to cut out people's hearts, turning them into ghostly servitors.
Across the border in steam-age, science-focused Chevakia, people have built barriers against the radiation, against which they have no resistance.
Chevakia also harbours the old southern royal family’s only surviving members, and they are planning revenge and their return to power, taking both countries to the first war in fifty years.
The trilogy has sold about 4500 copies and netted me about $15,000 in royalties over the past two years. At various stages, book 1 of the trilogy has topped lists, especially in the UK and on Kobo. The books are still selling well. Book 1 is about to be included in a boxed set with some big name authors.
This is a very big job, but these are three books in one, and it would not make sense to translate just one book. The books would be listed as three separate volumes. Based on my experience of the market, I believe translation into German or Dutch would be best. I'm able to read and review both languages.
SOMEWHERE NOT FAR from the edge of the plateau, where the goat-track snaked up the rock-strewn slope, the rain had turned to snow.
Cocooned in his cloak, his view restricted to the swaying back of the camel, Tandor had failed to notice until a gust of wind pelted icicles into his face.
He whipped off the hood and shook out his hair. The breeze, crackling with frost, smelled of his homeland. Oh, for a bath, to wash off the clinging dust and the stink of the prairie lands, of steam trains or the bane of his existence: this grumpy camel.
To his left, the escarpment descended into the land of Chevakia, its low hills and valleys bathed in murky twilight. To his right, the dying daylight touched the forbidding cliff face that formed the edge of the southern plateau, accessible only to those who knew the way.
Something flashed where the ragged rocks met the leaden sky. A tingle went up Tandor’s golden claw, pinching the skin where the metal rods met the stump of his arm. Icefire.
Ruko?
He peered up, shielding his eyes against the snow. Golden threads of icefire betrayed the boy’s presence, flooding Tandor with feelings of relief, of urgency, of panic.
Wait, wait, Ruko, not so fast. Tell me what’s going on.
There was no answer, of course. Ruko conversed only in images, and Tandor needed to be close to the boy to catch those.
But Ruko’s emotions had spoken clearly enough. By the skylights, something had happened while he was away. He flicked the reins to jolt the camel into a faster pace. The animal grumbled and tossed its head, but did as it was told.
Ruko waited at a rocky outcrop to the left of the path, seated cross-legged in the snow. An ethereal form, his skin blue-marbled, his brooding eyes black as a lowsun night.
| Language | Status |
|---|---|
|
Spanish
|
Translation in progress.
Translated by Zyanya Figueroa
|
