September 13, 2013

Since my last post emphasized the poetry side of my writing life, I thought I'd take this opportunity to extend my introduction and say a bit about myself as a writer of fiction. This post will be about my first novel.

The Flowering Hands of the Borealis, a YA novel complete at 75,000 words, is about auras, aura pirates, and the race of witches called lightseeders who can channel the light of the borealis that surrounds their planet, both to kill aura pirates and to heal those whose auras they have ripped away. Its protagonist is a sixteen-year old girl named Mia. With her mother, the lightseeder Stara, far away fighting aura pirates on behalf of the federation of planets of which Earth is a part, Mia is the last of the line on the planet Lemulas. And when the most fierce and famous of the aura pirates, Austere, is smuggled into the capital, where he and his men begin to feast on the auras of the underclass population on Lemulas, called strugglers, it's up to Mia to stop them. Only thing, she's not ready yet, not by a long shot.

To give you a taste of the novel, here's the first subchapter from Chapter 1, which is entitled "Mia and Non":

So Many of Them, So Little of Me 

They were almost beautiful.

Non could almost admire the three shadowy figures coming toward him, how they leapt into the air as if catapulted over the slums of Purge. Once in flight they stretched their wings, not so much to fly, but rather, like hawks riding thermals of air, to glide. When they settled down at last, their pellucid wings extending like parasails before they folded them into their backs, the figures looked like pieces of cinder fluttering to the ground. One leap, two leaps, three, and they were fluttering down upon Non.

The one with a scar that stretched from his left ear to his chin landed closest to him. Non watched him take in the scene, first the car with its motor still running, its doors flung open, then the three figures lying in the alley – a struggler girl of around five, shorn of her aura; a woman wearing a white senatorial robe, a kif blade sticking in her throat; and one of the winged, shadowy creatures, like the ones who had just landed, lying beside her – and then his eyes passed over Non, who stood in the middle of them all, alone, trying to keep his knees from knocking together as he stood ungainly in a fighting stance.

The other two aura pirates quickly circled behind Non, but the one with the scar took his time. Calmly, as if he was on holiday strolling along a beach, he walked over to his dead comrade. He paid particular attention to the burn marks about his wounds. Then he made his way to the little girl. He nudged her with his foot, knelt down, and pulled off a bit of her aura still stuck to her hair. He licked it off his finger as if it was a piece of cotton candy. Then he looked at the woman, Aria Crinklelit. Non imagined him thinking, yes, this is the one who killed my comrade, not this boy shivering like a leaf in front of me. Non watched him kneel down and pull the kif from Aria’s throat, then wipe the blood from the blade onto her robe. Only then did he turn and face Non.

Non had never seen such pitiless eyes before. Even citizens who hated strugglers looked at him with at least some recognition that he was someone akin to themselves. But these eyes were different, cold, black stones whose only depths were of hunger.

“You show little respect to an invited guest. Gutted was one of my best men.”

His voice sounded like someone walking over gravel, but Non understood exactly what he had said.

“Is this how you repay us for the honor of imbibing your light?” He pointed to the little girl. “See how peaceful she looks?” He took a step closer to Non.

Non felt transfixed by those eyes, but he forced himself to jumpstart his mind. Two aura pirates stood behind him; the one with the scar stood in front of him, within an arm’s length now. A concrete wall stood to his right. To his left there ran another wall, this one composed of corrugated metal and wood, remnants of work-yard fences and the windowless backs of low-slung shacks. The aura pirates would drag him down from behind before he could even reach them. And where were the people, Non wondered. This was Purge. Crowded, dusty, dirty, grimy Purge. But he could see no one, hear no one. It was as if the fear of the shadows had scoured away the people. I will die here, Non thought. I will die here in this alley in Purge alongside Aria Crinklelit.
            It was then that he screamed. He screamed for his murdered father. He screamed for his mother. He screamed for his hopelessness. He screamed because he didn’t know what else to do. His screams echoed up the alley, and ricocheted back, bouncing back to him like a rusty can that somebody had kicked. Then his voice rattled shut and there was silence. Non lowered his hands to his sides, giving in to the inevitable death that awaited him. It had all started with Mia, he thought. It had all started with her.

                                                            ***

I hope you've liked what you read so far! If so, feel free to let me know.

Next time, I'll tell you about my second novel, Between Us & Spiritland.


All best,

S.D. Lishan