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The Worthing Saga

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It was a miracle of science that allowed human beings to live, if not forever, then for a long, long time. Some people, anyway. The rich and powerful lived at the rate of one year every ten. Somec created two societies: that of people who lived out their normal span and died, and those who slept away the decades, skipping over the intervening years and events. It allowed plans to be put into motion and interstellar empires to be built. And it nearly destroyed humanity. After eons of decadence and stagnation, a ...

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The Worthing Saga

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Overview

It was a miracle of science that allowed human beings to live, if not forever, then for a long, long time. Some people, anyway. The rich and powerful lived at the rate of one year every ten. Somec created two societies: that of people who lived out their normal span and died, and those who slept away the decades, skipping over the intervening years and events. It allowed plans to be put into motion and interstellar empires to be built. And it nearly destroyed humanity. After eons of decadence and stagnation, a few seed ships were sent out to save our species. On each ship was one man. Thisis the story of one of these men, Jason Worthing, and the world he found for his seed.

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780786129362
  • Publisher: Blackstone Audio, Inc.
  • Publication date: 1/28/2005
  • Series: Worthing Chronicle Series
  • Format: Cassette
  • Product dimensions: 6.40 (w) x 9.64 (h) x 2.33 (d)

Meet the Author

Orson Scott Card

Orson Scott Card is the author of the novels Ender's Game, Ender's Shadow, and Speaker for the Dead. Ender’s Game and Speaker for the Dead both won Hugo and Nebula Awards, making Card the only author to win these two top prizes in consecutive years. There are seven other novels to date in The Ender Universe series. Card has also written fantasy: The Tales of Alvin Maker is a series of fantasy novels set in frontier America; his most recent novel, The Lost Gate, is a contemporary magical fantasy. Card has written many other stand-alone sf and fantasy novels, as well as movie tie-ins and games, and publishes an internet-based science fiction and fantasy magazine, Orson Scott Card’s Intergalactic Medicine Show.  Card was born in Washington and grew up in California, Arizona, and Utah. He served a mission for the LDS Church in Brazil in the early 1970s. Besides his writing, Card directs plays and teaches writing and literature at Southern Virginia University. He lives in Greensboro, North Carolina, with his wife, Kristine Allen Card, and youngest daughter, Zina Margaret.

Biography

Any discussion of Orson Scott Card's work must necessarily begin with religion. A devout Mormon, Card believes in imparting moral lessons through his fiction, a stance that sometimes creates controversy on both sides of the fence. Some Mormons have objected to the violence in his books as being antithetical to the Mormon message, while his conservative political activism has gotten him into hot water with liberal readers.

Whether you agree with his personal views or not, Card's fiction can be enjoyed on many different levels. And with the amount of work he's produced, there is something to fit the tastes of readers of all ages and stripes. Averaging two novels a year since 1979, Card has also managed to find the time to write hundreds of audio plays and short stories, several stage plays, a television series concept, and a screenplay of his classic novel Ender's Game. In addition to his science fiction and fantasy novels, he has also written contemporary fiction, religious, and nonfiction works.

Card's novel that has arguably had the biggest impact is 1985's Hugo and Nebula award-winner Ender's Game. Ender's Game introduced readers to Andrew "Ender" Wiggin, a young genius faced with the task of saving the Earth. Ender's Game is that rare work of fiction that strikes a chord with adults and young adult readers alike. The sequel, Speaker for the Dead, also won the Hugo and Nebula awards, making Card the only author in history to win both prestigious science-fiction awards two years in a row.

In 2000, Card returned to Ender's world with a "parallel" novel called Ender's Shadow. Ender's Shadow retells the events of Ender's Game from the perspective of Julian "Bean" Delphinki, Ender's second-in-command. As Sam to Ender's Frodo, Bean is doomed to be remembered as an also-ran next to the legendary protagonist of the earlier novel. In many ways, Bean is a more complex and intriguing character than the preternaturally brilliant Ender, and his alternate take on the events of Ender's Game provide an intriguing counterpoint to fans of the original series.

In addition to moral issues, a strong sense of family pervades Card's work. Card is a devoted family man and father to five (!) children. In the age of dysfunctional family literature, Card bristles at the suggestion that a positive home life is uninteresting. "How do you keep ‘good parents' from being boring?" he once said. "Well, in truth, the real problem is, how do you keep bad parents from being boring? I've seen the same bad parents in so many books and movies that I'm tired of them."

Critical appreciation for Card's work often points to the intriguing plotlines and deft characterizations that are on display in Card's most accomplished novels. Card developed the ability to write believable characters and page-turning plots as a college theater student. To this day, when he writes, Card always thinks of the audience first. "It's the best training in the world for a writer, to have a live audience," he says. "I'm constantly shaping the story so the audience will know why they should care about what's going on."

Card brought Bean back in 2005 for the fourth and final novel in the Shadow series: Shadow of the Giant. The novel presented some difficulty for the writer. Characters who were relatively unimportant when the series began had moved to the forefront, and as a result, Card knew that the ending he had originally envisioned would not be enough to satisfy the series' fans.

Although the Ender and Shadow series deal with politics, Card likes to keep his personal political opinions out of his fiction. He tries to present the governments of futuristic Earth as realistically as possible without drawing direct analogies to our current political climate. This distance that Card maintains between the real world and his fictional worlds helps give his novels a lasting and universal appeal.

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    1. Hometown:
      Greensboro, North Carolina
    1. Date of Birth:
      August 24, 1951
    2. Place of Birth:
      Richland, Washington
    1. Education:
      B.A. in theater, Brigham Young University, 1975; M.A. in English, University of Utah, 1981
    2. Website:

Read an Excerpt

The Worthing Saga


By Card, Orson Scott

Tor Books

Copyright © 1992 Card, Orson Scott
All right reserved.

ISBN: 9780812533316

1
The Day of Pain
 
 
In many places in the Peopled Worlds, the pain came suddenly in the midst of the day's labor. It was as if an ancient and comfortable presence left them, one that they had never noticed until it was gone, and no one knew what to make of it at first, though all knew at once that something had changed deep at the heart of the world. No one saw the brief flare in the star named Argos; it would be years before astronomers would connect the Day of Pain with the End of Worthing. And by then the change was done, the worlds were broken, and the golden age was over.
In Lared's village, the change came while they slept. That night there were no shepherds in their dreams. Lared's little sister, Sala, awoke screaming in terror that Grandma was dead, Grandma is dead!
Lared sat up in his truckle bed, trying to dispel his own dreams, for in them he had seen his father carry Grandma to the gave--but that had been long ago, hadn't it? Father stumbled from the wooden bedstead where he and Mother slept. Not since Sala had been weaned had anyone cried out in the night. Was she hungry?
"Grandma died tonight, like a fly in the fire she died!"
Like a squirrel in the fox's teeth, thought Lared. Like a lizard in the cat's mouth, trembling.
"Of course she's dead," Father said, "but not tonight." He took her in his vast blacksmith's arms and held her. "Why do youweep now, when Grandma has been dead for such a long time?" But Sala wept on, as if the grief were great and new.
Then Lared looked at Grandma's old bed. "Father," he whispered. Again, "Father." For there lay her corpse, still new, still stiffening, though Lared so clearly remembered her burial long ago.
Father laid Sala back in her truckle bed, where she burrowed down against the woven straw side, in order not to watch. Lared watched, though, as his father touched the straw tick beside his old mother's body. "Not cold yet," he murmured. Then he cried out in fear and agony, "Mother!" Which woke all the sleepers, even the travelers in the room upstairs; they all came into the sleeping room.
"Do you see it!" cried Father. "Dead a year, at least, and here's her body not yet cold in her own bed!"
"Dead a year!" cried the old clerk, who had arrived late in the afternoon yesterday, on a donkey. "Nonsense! She served the soup last night. Don't you remember how she joked with me that if my bed was too cold, your wife would come up and warm it, and if it was too warm, she would sleep with me?"
Lared tried to sort out his memories. "I remember that, but I remember that she said that long, long ago, and yet I remember she said it to you, and I never saw you before last night."
"I buried you!" Father cried, and then he knelt at Grandma's bed and wept. "I buried you, and forgot you, and here you are to grieve me!"
Weeping. It was an unaccustomed sound in the village of Flat Harbor, and no one knew what to do about it. Only hungry infants made such cries, and so Mother said, "Elmo, will you eat something? Let me fetch you something to eat."
"No!" shouted Elmo. "Don't you see my mother's dead?" And he caught his wife by the arm and flung her roughly away. She fell over the stool and struck her head against the table.
This was worse than the corpse lying in the bed, stiff as a dried-out bird. For never in Lared's life had he seen one human being do harm to another. Father too was aghast at his own temper. "Thano, Thanalo, what have I done?" He scarcely knew how to comfort her as she lay weeping softly on the floor. No one had needed comfort in all their lives. To all the others, Father said, "I was so angry. I have never been so angry before, and yet what did she do? I've never felt such a rage, and yet she did me no harm!"
Who could answer him? Something was bitterly wrong with the world, they could see that; they had all felt anger in the past, but till now something had always come between the thought and the act, and calmed them. Now, tonight, that calm was gone. They could feel it in themselves, nothing soothing their fear, nothing telling them worldlessly, All is well.
Sala raised her head above the edge of her bed and said, "The angels are gone, Mama. No one watches us anymore."
Mother got up from the floor and stumbled over her daughter. "Don't be foolish, child. There are no angels, except in dreams."
There is a lie in my mind, Lared said to himself. The traveler came last night, and Grandma spoke to him just as he said, and yet my memory is twisted, for I remember the traveler speaking yesterday, but Grandma answering long ago. Something has bent my memories, for I remember grieving at her graveside, and yet her grave has not been dug.
Mother looked up at Father in awe. "My elbow still hurts, where it struck the floor," she said. "It still hurts very much."
A hurt that lasted! Who had heard of such a thing! And when she lifted her arm, there was a raw and bleeding scrape on it.
"Have I killed you?" asked Father, wonderingly.
"No," said Mother. "I don't think so."
"Then why does it bleed?"
The old clerk trembled and nodded and his voice quivered as he spoke. "I have read the books of ancient times," he began, and all eyes turned to him. "I have read the books of ancient times, and in them the old ones spoke of wounds that bleed like slaughtered cattle, and great griefs when the living suddenly are dead, and anger that turns to blows among people. But that was long, long ago, when men were still animals, and God was young and inexperienced."
"What does this mean, then?" asked Father. He was not a bookish man, and so even more than Lared he thought that men who knew books had answers.
"I don't know," said the clerk. "But perhaps it means that God has gone away, or that he no longer cares for us."
Lared studied the corpse of Grandma, lying on her bed. "Or is he dead?" Lared asked.
"How can God die?" the old clerk asked with withering scorn. "He had all the power in the universe."
"Then doesn't he have the power to die if he wants to?"
"Why should I speak with children of things like this?" The clerk got up to go upstairs, and the other travelers took that as a signal to return to bed.
But Father did not go to bed: he knelt by his old mother's body until daybreak. And Lared also did not sleep, because he was trying to remember what he had felt inside himself yesterday that he did not feel now, for something was strange in the way his own eyes looked out upon the world, and yet he could not remember how it was before. Only Sala and Mother slept, and they slept together in Mother's and Father's bed.
Before dawn, Lared got up and walked over to his mother, and saw that a scab had formed on her arm, and the bleeding had stopped. Comforted, he dressed himself and went out to milk the ewe, which was near the end of its milk. Every bit of milk was needed for the cheese press and the butter churn--winter was coming, and this morning, as the cold breeze whipped at Lared's hair, this morning he looked to winter with dread. Until today he had always looked at the future like a cow looking at the pasture, never imagining drought or snow. Now it was possible for old women to be found dead in their beds. Now it was possible for Father to be angry and knock Mother to the floor. Now it was possible for Mother to bleed like an animal. And so winter was more than just a season of inactivity. It was the end of hope.
The ewe perked up at something, a sound perhaps that Lared was too human to hear. He stopped milking and looked up, and saw in the western sky a great light, which hovered in the air like a star that had lost its bearings and needed help to get back home. Then the light sank down below the level of the trees across the river, and it was gone. Lared did not know at first what it might be. Then he remembered the word starship from school and wondered. Starships did not come to Flat Harbor, or even to this continent, or even, more than once a decade, to this world. There was nothing here to carry away to somewhere else, nothing lacking here that only other worlds could possibly supply. Why, then, would a starship come here now? Don't be a fool, Lared, he told himself. It was a shooting star, but on this strange morning you made too much of it, because you are afraid.
At dawn, Flat Harbor came awake, and others gradually made the discovery that had come to Lared's family in the night. They came, as they always did in cold weather, to Elmo's house, with its great table and indoor kitchen. They were not surprised to find that Elmo had not yet built up the fire in his forge.
"I scalded myself on the gruel this morning," said Dinno, Mother's closest friend. She held up the smoothed skin of her fingers for admiration. "Hurts like it was still in the fire. Good God," she said.
Mother had her own wounds, but she chose not to tell that tale. "When that old clerk went to leave this morning, his donkey kicked him square in the belly, and now he's upstairs. Too much hurt to travel, he says. Threw up his breakfast."
There were a score of minor, careless injuries, and by noon most people were walking more carefully, carrying out their tasks more slowly. Not a one of them but had some injury. Omber, one of the diggers of Grandma's grave, crushed his foot with a pick, and it bled for a long, long time; now, white and weak and barely alive, he lay drawing scant breath in one of Mother's guest beds. And Father, death on his mind, would not even take the hammer in his hand on the Day of Pain, "For fear I'll strike fire into my eye, or break my hand. God doesn't took out for us anymore."
They laid Grandma into the ground at noon, and all day Lared and Sala were busy helping Mother with the work that Grandma used to do. Her place at table was so empty. Many a sentence began, "Grandma," And Father always looked away as if searching for something hidden deep in the walls. Try as they might, no one could think of a time before this when grief had been anything but a dim and wistful memory; never had the loss of a loved one come so suddenly, with the gap in their lives so plain, with the soil on the grave so black and rich, fresh as the first-turned fold of earth in the spring plowing.
Late in the afternoon, Omber, died, the last blood of his body seeping into the rough bandage. He lay beside the wide-eyed clerk, who still vomited everything he swallowed and cried out in pain when he tried to sit. Never in their lives had they seen a man die still in his strength and prime, and just from a careless blow of a pick.
They were still digging the new grave for Omber when Bran's daughter, Clany, fell into the fire and lay screaming for three hours before she died. No one could even speak when they laid her into the third grave of the day. For a village of scant three hundred souls, the death of three on the same day would have been calamitous; the death of a strong man and a young child, that undid them all.
At nightfall there were no new travelers--they always became rarer as the cold weather came. It was the only good thing about the night, however, the fact that there were no new guests to care for. The world had changed, had become a harsh place, all in a single day. As Sala got into her bed, she asked, "Will I die tonight, like Grandma?"
"No," said Father, but Lared heard in his voice that he wasn't sure. "No, Sala, my Sarela, you will not die tonight." But he pulled her truckle bed father from the fire, and put another blanket over her.
Lared did not need to be told, once he had seen. He also moved his truckle bed from his place near the fire. He had heard the sound of Clany's screams. The whole village had heard them--there was no shutting them out. He had never been terrified of flames before, but he was now. Let the cold come--better that than the pain. Better anything than this new and terrible pain.
Lared fell asleep nursing the bruise on his knee where he had carelessly bashed the woodbox. He awoke three times in the night. Once because Father was weeping softly in his bed; when Elmo saw that Lared was awake, he got up and kissed him and held him and said, "Sleep, Lareled, sleep, all's well, all's well." It was a lie, but Lared slept again.
The second time he awoke because Sala had another nightmare, again about Grandma's death. It was Mother who comforted her, singing a song whose sadness Lared had never understood before.
 
Saw my love at river's side
Across the stream.
The stream was wide.
 
Heard my love say come to him
Across the stream.
I could not swim.
 
Got myself a little boat
But the day was cold.
I had no coat.
 
Got a coat and put it on
But it was night.
Now wait till dawn.
 
Sun came up and night was over
I saw my love.
I saw his lover.
 
Lared did not know what else Mother might have sung. He was lost in the dream that wakened him the third and last time that night.
He sat beside the Endwater in spring flood, with the rafts coming down, the lumbermen poling them a safe distance from each other. Then, suddenly, there was a fire in the sky, and it fell down toward the river. Lared knew that he must stop the fire, must shout for it to stop, but though he opened his mouth he could not speak, and so the fire came on. It fell into the river, and all the rafts were burned at once, and the men on the rafts screamed with Clany's voice, and burned, and fell into the river, and drowned, and all because Lared did not know what to say to stop the fire.
Lared woke trembling, filled with guilt at his failure to save anyone, wondering why it was his fault. He heard a moaning sound upstairs. His parents were asleep. Lared did not wake them, but climbed the stairs himself. The old clerk lay on the bed. There was blood on his face, blood on the sheet.
"I'm dying," he whispered, when he saw Lared by the moonlight through the window.
Lared nodded.
"Can you read, boy?"
Again he nodded. This village was not so backward that the children had no school in the winter, and Lared read as well as any adult in the village, even when he was ten years old. Now he was fourteen, and beginning to get a man's strength on him, and still he loved to read, and studied whatever letters he could find.
"Then take the Book of the Finding of the Stars. It is yours. It is all yours."
"Why me?" whispered Lared. Perhaps the old clerks had seen him eyeing his books last night. Perhaps he had heard him recite the Eyes of Endwater to Sala and her friends after supper. But the clerk was silent, though he was not yet dead. Whatever his reason, he meant Lared to have his book. A book that is my own. And a book about finding stars, on the day after the Day of Pain, the day after he had seen a star fall into the forest across Endwater. "Thank you, sir," he said, and he reached to touch the old clerk's hand.
Lared heard a noise behind him. It was Mother, and her eyes were wide.
"Why would he give his books to you?" she asked.
The clerk moved his lips, but made no sound.
"You're nothing but a boy," said Mother. "You're lazy, and you argue."
I know that I deserve nothing, said Lared silently.
"He must have family--we'll send his books to them, if he dies."
The clerk tortured himself by shaking his head violently. "No," he whispered. "Give the books to the boy!"
"Don't die in my house," said Mother, in anguish. "Not another dead in my house!"
"I'm sorry for the inconvenience," said the old clerk. Then he died.
"Why did you come up here!" Mother whispered fiercely to Lared. "Now see what you've done."
"I only came because he was crying out in his--"
"Coming to get his books, and him on the edge of death."
Lared wanted to argue, to defend himself, but even his own dream had blamed him, hadn't it? Her eyes looked like a ewe's eyes, when the pain of birth was on her, and he dared not stay or quarrel. "I have to milk the ewes," he said, and ran down the stairs and out the door.
The night had turned bitterly cold, and the frost was thick on the grass. The ewes were ready for the milking, but Lared was not. His fingers quickly became too cold, despite the warmth of the animals.
No, it was not the cold that made his hands tremble clumsily. It was the books that waited for him in the old clerk's room. It was the three new graves heaped up in the moonlight, where soon a fourth would rise.
It was, above all, the man and woman who walked across the river, angling their steps to combat the current. The river was ten feet deep from bank to bank, but they walked as if the water were hard-packed dirt, whose only oddity was that it slid away underfoot as they walked. Lared thought of hiding, so they would not see him; but instead, without deciding, he stood from his stool by the ewe, set the milk bucket up high where it could not be kicked over, and walked out across the cemetery to meet them.
They were on the riverbank before he reached them, looking at the new graves. There was sorrow in their eyes. The man was white-haired, but his body was strong, and his face was kind and sure. The woman was much younger, younger than Mother, yet her face looked harsh and angry, even in repose. There was no sign that either of them had been in the water--even their footprints on the riverbank were dry. And when they turned and looked at him, he could see even in the moonlight that their eyes were blue. He had never seen eyes so blue that even without sunlight their color was brightly visible.
"Who are you?" he asked
The man answered in a language that Lared didn't understand, The woman shook her head, said nothing: yet Lared felt a sudden desire to tell them his name.
"Lared," he said.
"Lared," she answered. His name sounded strangely twisted on her tongue. He felt a sudden urgency not to tell anyone that he had seen them walk on Endwater.
"I'll never tell," he said.
The woman nodded. Then he knew, though he still did not know how he knew that he should take them home.
But he was afraid of these strangers. "You won't hurt my family will you?"
Tears came to the man's eyes, and the hard-faced woman did not look him in the face. The thought came into Lared's mind: "We have already hurt you more than we can bear."
And now he understood--or thought he understood--his dream, and the falling star on the Day of Pain, and the Day itself. "Have you come to take away the pain again?"
The man shook his head.
The hope and been brief, but the disappointment was no less deep because of that. "If you can't do that," he said "then what good are you to us?" Still, he was an innkeeper's son, and so he led them carefully through the cemetery, past the sheepsheds, and into the house, where Mother already had the water boiling for the morning gruel.
 
Copyright 1978, 1979, 1980, 1982, 1989, 1990 by Orson Scoot Card


Continues...

Excerpted from The Worthing Saga by Card, Orson Scott Copyright © 1992 by Card, Orson Scott. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4.5
( 22 )
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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 22 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted January 28, 2012

    One of Science Fiction's overlooked treasures.

    This is one of my favorite books, and if you're an Orson Scott Card fan it is based upon the first story idea he ever had.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 22, 2003

    It's Orson Scott Card. What else can you say?

    It's the best book ever written. Orson Scott Card wrote it. Because of that fact is is powerful. You can feel what the characters are feeling and it makes you want to be them.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted December 14, 2002

    You must read this book!!!!

    The best bedtime story that will keep you reading all night. After the first chapter you will be hooked. Better than drugs. Just read it!!!!

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 15, 2001

    I loved it!

    I read it completely through in one week and then I just started reading it again without putting it down. Its a book that you definately have to read twice to catch all the information you missed the first time. It is full of turns I never expected and I loved the idea of the reality-dreams. I would recommend this book to anyone who likes science fiction or fantasy.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 17, 2000

    Worth it for the first story

    This book is a set of stories about the same setting. Most of the short stories at the end are not worth reading, but the first book is absolutely awesome. Card once again uses his incredible writing power and vividly philosophical imagination to create a story that not only entertains, but encourages a different perspective on life, much like his more recent Enchangment. I have loaned my copy to about a dozen people and given several as gifts and I have yet to hear from anyone who didn't like the first story. Read this book, even if you do only read the first part.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted March 4, 2000

    Best in Design

    I remember once I read the Worthing Saga, I beleived that Card had one of the most amazingly designed universes for a story. The second half of the book are all of Card's short stories based in this universe he has written over his career (although, I discovered there are two more in 'Maps in a Mirror'). The first half is more of an overview of these stories. While it is confusing at first, it is nevertheless an excellent creation (and all of you Asimov fans will see some Foundation-inspired concepts.)

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