I typically don't get along with YA contemporary fantasy, but when my sister Maddie charged me with reading Kara Swanson's Dust, I gave the genre another try. Maddie's view proved correct: I thoroughly enjoyed Dust, letting the story grab my attention for hours during the road trip to Tennessee.
The premise: Claire, a nineteen-year old orphan with mysterious dust that flakes continuously from her skin, travels to London in a desperate gamble to find her twin brother. Meanwhile, Peter Pan has been kicked out of Neverland, and needs Claire’s help to get his old life back. Kara uses the original Peter Pan as backstory, although I found myself enjoying this one more— Dust replaces Barrie’s extremely disturbing omniscient narrator with a first-person, present tense POV that alternates between Claire and Peter. The two narrative voices are distinctly developed, so much that the chapter headings declaring the POV are almost unnecessary. Kara’s reinterpretation of Tiger Lily, who voluntarily leaves her home in Neverland to accompany Peter after his fall to earth, was the most striking character in the book for me. She functions as a mentor figure to both Peter and Claire, which I appreciated, as it is rare for a girl (other than a love interest) to be the voice of truth in a male character’s arc. Tiger Lily and Peter have a deep, meaningful friendship, although without so much as a hint of romance. This makes sense, considering that Tiger Lily is light-years ahead of Peter in terms of maturity. Dust ends in a way that both satisfies all major promises made earlier in the story, and leaves us with a cliffhanger that sets up the second book in the series. Claire’s arc wraps up a chapter earlier than Peter’s. For a moment I prepared myself to turn the page into the acknowledgements and declare, “that was not a good ending!”. However, one final chapter from Peter’s POV sets all things right. Themes Kara Swanson is a Christian, but the Christian elements in Dust are implied rather than stated. Both lead character undergo powerful transformations. Peter is forced to confront the sins of his past and begin the long, hard journey toward growing up. Claire must learn to accept love despite finding herself worthy of rejection. Both characters’ journeys take us deep into their souls, and watching Claire and Peter grow helps the same growth take place in our own souls. Content Some fighting, but without much detail. Passionate kissing. Conclusion Although I normally don’t enjoy YA contemporary fantasy, Dust proved an exception. If you’d like to start with something shorter (and without a cliffhanger ending) try Kara Swanson’s earlier novella The Girl Who Could See. This basically serves as Dust-lite, with a similar premise and cast of characters, but a less complex plot. Now that I think of it, Kara’s short story Seaglass also has a similar premise, but on an even smaller scale. Almost as if her entire career has been building up to Dust. Interesting. This makes me eager to see where she’ll take her work next. Disclaimer: Up until my move to Tennessee a couple weeks ago, I attended the same church as Kara Swanson. I never knew her on a personal level, but my sister talked with her quite a bit. Anyway, Kara is one of Maddie’s favorite people, and Maddie is one of my favorite people.
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I phase into the spirit realm, bottled storm in hand. Ethereal mist presses in on me from every direction. Supposedly, ghosts can find their way through it by instinct. Some stay here for decades, unraveling, their fragmented thoughts contributing to the haze.
My Laura wouldn’t do the same. She’ll be at the station, waiting, ready to leave this realm as soon as the train arrives. I have little time to find her. I dash through the fog, ignoring the voices swirling around me. The ghosts mostly ignore me, although some hurl insults when I run through them. After several minutes of desperately scanning the horizon for landmarks, the ghost of a young boy approaches me, only recently dead. His mannerisms are confident, and hauntingly familiar. Where have I seen you before? Then I remember. He stood next to Laura when she died. He, too, faced the glare of the sun on that day, the crack of the firing squad’s rifles. My breath catches in my throat. I couldn’t see her face when she died. Would she have looked at me? Stop that. You’re going to get her back. I focus on another memory—Laura pulling me out of the gutters when I’d lost all hope. The boy folds his arms across his chest. “Are ya lookin’ for the train station?” “Yes—how did you know?” He shrugs. “The wizard sent me.” Grateful for the lead, I follow him to the station. The air here is clear, and the ghosts are mostly intact. They’re all smiling, and some are engaged in cheerful conversation. On the edge of the platform stands Laura, as angelic as the day I first saw her. Her soul shines brightly in a way no amount of damage to her body can dim. She stares into the distance, smiling serenely. I hesitate for a moment, then stride toward her, tightly clutching the storm I purchased from the wizard. She turns her head, her smile banishing the horror that’s haunted me ever since seeing her bloody, broken body. “Daniel!” she exclaims. “You’ve come to say goodbye?” A torrent of emotions swirls within me. I open my mouth and manage to express one of them. “I’m—I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.” Laura laughs. “What’s there to be sorry for? I didn’t need you to save me.” I take a deep breath and step forward. “But I will. Laura, I have a plan to bring you back.” I hold out the bottle. Thunder rumbles within it. “This bottle contains a storm that will release enough energy to rip a hole through dimensions—a hole leading to the place where the executioners dump their victims. When I release the storm, you can jump through the hole, and your soul will use the energy to reunite with your body. I’ll follow. We can be together again, Laura.” A shadow crosses her face. Her shoulders slump; her radiant beauty dims. She seems less angelic and more human. “Daniel… I don’t want to go back.” A spike of fear runs through my veins. “What?” “I’m done. I fought the good fight, even to death. God has been faithful through it all, but…” she looks back to the horizon. “He’s finally calling me home, and I’m ready to go.” I reach out a hand, but it passes right through her. “Laura, you can’t go yet. I need you… and the schoolchildren, what will become of them?” “There are other teachers.” Laura rests her incorporeal hand on top of my own. “As for you, you’ve always been too dependent on me. It’s time for you to find your own faith. There is far more of God’s grace than I could ever show you.” A whistle sounds. The train pulls into the station, shaking the ground. The conductor, a rainbow-haired man with a cat perched on his shoulder, calls out the names of the souls. They board one by one. I jump up as Laura’s name is called. She steps on the train, but I rush after her. “Laura, please—” “This is what I want, Daniel.” Her smile is tender, but her eyes are firm. “My journey is over. Yours isn’t.” Panic rises in my chest. “Stop!” She steps deeper into the train, then glances back. “We will meet again, in a better world than this.” Another name is called, but no other soul boards. The boy who guided me to the station waves. “I’ll come next time, conductor.” The conductor gives a thumb’s up, and the train begins to move. I run along the platform, stretching out my hand to touch it, but it evades my grasp. The platform ends, but I’m still running. I trip and fall to the ground, crushing the bottle beneath my hand. Glass cuts into my palm, but the pain is distant, overpowered by the anguish in my heart. Wind howls around me, drowning out the noise of the departing train. Someone grabs onto my coat as a flash of light blinds me. When I open my eyes, I’m kneeling at the edge of a mass grave. The corpses slowly decay in the open air. Laura is on top, staring sightlessly. A scream rises in my chest. I suppress it by punching the ground. This isn’t Laura. I fix the image of the radiant lady in my mind, a sorrowful smile on her face vanishing into the distance. That’s the real Laura, the one who-- Left me. The truth hits me harder than all the energy in a bottled storm ever could. If God used her to save me, why would he take her from me? A hand reaches out and wraps around my wrist. I cry out as a living form crawls from the rotting pile, whole and vibrant. “It worked,” says the boy, grinning. “The wizard was right. My journey’s not over yet, either. Let’s do ours together, in memory of Laura, huh?” *** Resurrection in a Bottle originally appeared in November 2019 through Havok. I released it here as a tribute to my home as I leave for college on the other side of the country. Hundreds of intermeshed triangles emanated from Veyja’s hands, then locked with those of her fellow shieldmages to form a glowing wall. The first wave of scalewolves crashed into the barrier. Blood and spittle sprayed into the air. Veyja winced at the impact, but the wall held firm.
Her hair writhed in response to the danger. It wanted to be used, but Veyja left it covered by her headscarf. Enough of her life had already been ruined by the fear and hatred evoked by her heritage. Veyja pushed an extra surge of energy into the wall as the second wave hit. Arrows soared over her head and rained upon the advancing scalewolves, inducing bloodcurdling howls. Behind her, soldiers scrambled into formation. The hundreds of Third Army shieldmages maintaining the wall would surely be able to hold off the pack long enough for the combat units to deploy. The scalewolves clawed the flesh of their own kind in their frenzy. Veyja fought off nausea at the rising stench of blood. She hated this part. Actually, she hated most parts of being in the middle of a battle. But military service allowed her to support herself and Callie, and the Dizadian custom regarding widows gave her a good excuse to cover her hair. Fangs sunk into her ankle. Veyja cried out, then looked down to see a scalewolf snout penetrating the bottom of her shield. She jerked her leg away, ignoring the pain of ripping flesh. The beast snarled and shoved more of its body through the gap. The angry snarls turned into pained whimpers as water splashed over the scalewolf’s face. A ten-year old girl dumped the rest of her pail onto the breach, dissolving the monster’s flesh. “Callie!” Veyja sent a few more triangles out to repair the gap, then turned to her daughter. “What are you doing here?” “Sorry.” Callie looked sheepishly at her pail. “That was supposed to be for drinking, but…” Dizadian water supplies were too low to be wasted, but Veyja was more concerned about Callie’s presence on the front lines. “I told you to stay in the encampment!” “Commander Tadel said we needed all the help we can—” “Go back, Callie!” Veyja recoiled as another set of scalewolf fangs burst through the wall a few inches from her face. A neighboring shieldmage repelled the scalewolf, then glared at Veyja. “What kind of idiot takes her brat into a war zone? You’re going to get us all killed!” Veyja ignored the barb and concentrated her energy on the wall, generating more triangles to add another few inches of height. Several scalewolves climbed atop the dead bodies of their companions and almost reached high enough to leap over the barrier. “Mama!” Veyja ignored Callie’s hand on her arm. “Get away from here. Now.” “But, Mama, look!” Veyja broke her attention from the wall to follow Callie’s pointing finger. A black specter of death descended on the encampment, and none but her and Callie had yet seen it. The dragon landed softly, a soldier crushed under its talons. Light from the dying sun gleamed off its scales. It ignored the shouting soldiers and eyed the line of unsuspecting shieldmages. Fire issued from its maw. Callie screamed. Veyja grabbed her and dove aside, casting up a shield to deflect the inferno. Many of her fellow shieldmages weren’t as lucky. They fell to the ground and slapped at their burning clothes as the wall disintegrated. Any confidence Veyja might've had shattered before their shrieks of pain. The scalewolves let out a howl of victory and charged over the defunct barrier, showing no mercy to the injured shieldmages. A wave of soldiers met them, while others tried to mob the dragon. Veyja stumbled to her feet, her ankle throbbing. “Run!” Callie obeyed. Veyja found a discarded spear and shoved it into the ground. Not an ideal anchor for a stronger shield, but it would do. She put up the shield and ran after Callie. The dragon moved to block their path. Callie skidded to a stop, a faint whimper escaping her. Veyja threw herself in front of her daughter and met the monster's gaze. The broken bodies of soldiers who had tried to resist it littered the ground. The dragon jabbed a claw downward. Veyja’s hasty attempt at a shield shattered under the impact. A deep rumble—was that laughter?—rose from the monster’s throat. Callie whimpered. The dragon opened its mouth, revealing teeth flecked with blood. Veyja stared at its deep, malevolent eyes, and the screams surrounding her faded. She untied her headscarf. Her hair sprung to life, a writhing mass of snakes that hissed in unison. Power surged through Veyja’s eyes, blazing out of her and entering the dragon. Fire flashed in the dragon’s throat, only to vanish a moment later. The dragon froze in fear, then froze forever. Stone. Veyja held Callie close to her breast. Behind, the scalewolves whimpered at the sight of their petrified champion. Several soldiers let out a rallying cry and charged to finish them off. Veyja wasn’t worried about those. She was worried about the ones who stopped when they saw her, confused about the monster in their midst. Several soldiers formed a ring of bristling weapons around her. Veyja looked up, hoping to show them she was harmless. They recoiled and refused to meet her eyes. Exhaustion overtook her. Veyja sank to the ground, ignoring the sounds of battle and the soldiers arguing about what to do with her. It was all she could do to hold Callie’s trembling form. She ran her hands through Callie’s hair, stopping when she felt something unusual. Scales. The tiny snake wiggled around, disturbed, then coiled up and returned to sleep. Only one so far. The rest would come in time. “I’m sorry, daughter,” Veyja whispered. “You have a long, hard life ahead of you.” I creep down the ancient stone hallway, barely containing my anticipation. Months of tracking down clues, solving riddles and dodging hamster attacks are finally bearing fruit. Beyond the door at the end of the hallway lies the Donut of Time, last breakfast artifact I must recover before I can challenge the Hamsters of Doom and stop them from destroying humanity.
Although I long to finish the quest, I stop and carefully inspect my path for traps. It took all the skills my mentor taught me, and then some, to survive this long. I would be a fool to let some silly mistake ruin my chances—not to mention doom the entire human race to furry annihilation. At last, I reach the door. I draw the Oatmeal Sword, the first artifact I acquired, and shatter the rusted lock with a single blow from its mighty blade. The door creaks. I tense. Every sound since entering the hidden fortress has suggested traps about to crush, burn, or decapitate me. I wait a moment, to make sure I’m not about die, then push the door open. The Donut of Time hovers above a pedestal in the center of the room. Sunlight streams onto its perfectly frosted surface, still deliciously intact after centuries of hiding. But someone has beat me to it. People fill the room wearing bright colors and weird cone-shaped helmets. They raise a shout when they see me. A battle cry? The leader of the crowd charges toward me. I raise my blade, but hesitate. “Sir Doddywink?” My mentor throws his open his arms and grins from ear to ear. “Happy Birthday, Freddie!” Confetti falls from the ceiling. The people cheer. Tables bearing a variety of refreshments surround the Donut of Time. A pile of brightly wrapped gifts rests in a far corner. I turn back to Sir Doddywink. “But I thought you were dead!” My mentor laughs. “The mentor figure dying? Even I wouldn’t do something that clichéd!” I let the Oatmeal Sword drop to the ground. “But the quest… the Hamsters of Doom…” “Well, I needed some way to get you out of town while I prepared your surprise party!” Sir Doddywink tosses his arm over my shoulders. “Come on, join the fun!” I mingle with the partygoers, still processing what just happened. I recognize most of them—friends and family from the village where I grew up. I assumed they had perished when Sir Doddywink, with his ‘dying breath,’ told me hamsters had razed my hometown. After a while, I settle into the party and laugh, despite still shoving down disappointment. Enduring months of relentless running and death-defying danger in order to save the world is one thing, but doing it for a surprise party? I seek out Sir Doddywink. “Okay,” I say, leaning casually on the hilt of the Oatmeal Sword. “I understand how you hid clues in secret chambers all over the world, but one thing still confuses me: Where did you get the hamsters?” Sir Doddywink cocks his head. “What hamsters?” “The ferocious beasts that attacked me at least once a week while I was on my quest! Honestly, that was going a bit too far. Innocent bystanders could have died!” Doddywink freezes. “Hamsters? You’re joking, right? Trying to get back at me for not telling you I knew where the Donut of Time was all along?” Concern grips me. I take the Oatmeal Sword by the hilt. “Are you saying you didn’t send hamsters to attack me?” “No! I would never do that! Besides, the Hamsters of Doom are long gone, if they ever existed in the first place.” The ground shakes. An uneasy murmur spreads throughout the partygoers. Small pebbles rain from the ceiling. An earthquake? “Stay calm!” I yell. Glass shatters. A hulking form blocks out the sunlight. A four-fingered paw reaches through the broken window and claws the ceiling. The building shudders. Before my eyes, the creature rips away the entire roof and tosses it aside like a rag. The screaming begins in earnest. Clearly visible through the gap is yet another horrifying sight, the kind I’ve come to expect weekly by now. A 300-foot tall hamster, fangs dripping saliva, beady eyes gleaming with malicious intent, stares down at us. “I AM FLUFFY, HAMSTER OF DOOM!” The beast roars. “PREPARE TO DIE!” Partygoers scatter in all directions. I remain transfixed by the terrible, yet majestic, sight. Fluffy throws back his head and laughs. A panicking guest crashes into me. I snap out of my trance and dart across the room to grab the Donut of Time. With Donut and Oatmeal in hand, I face my foe. Still chuckling, Fluffy slams down one humongous paw. I raise the Donut and deflect his blow. Fluffy looks down, his cheek pouches expanding in confusion. “I am Freddie, the Warrior of Breakfast!” I shout. “And as long as I stand, you shall not harm a hair on the heads of these innocent people!” Fluffy still looks perplexed. To clarify what’s happening, I stab his paw with the Oatmeal Sword. Fluffy whimpers and sucks on his injured paw. After a moment, his eyes narrow at the source of his pain. He spits out his paw and bellows in rage. “PUNY HUMAN! YOU ONLY INCREASE YOUR SUFFERING WHEN YOU RESIST A HAMSTER OF DOOM!” Fluffy rains down a hail of blows. I duck, spin and leap, deflecting his strikes and getting in a few of my own. His paws bleed from a myriad of wounds. I remain untouched. Fluffy roars again and redoubles his attack. He’s bigger than any hamster I’ve ever fought, but I’m faster and wielding powerful breakfast artifacts. I smile. Maybe I’ll get the birthday party I hoped for after all. The End *** Many years ago, when I was an itty bitty kid, I was playing a game of Risk with my cousin-- until my sister decided to drop a hamster on our board. My armies, about to conquer all of Europe, were pushed off the table and into oblivion. We never got to finish the game, but the idea of hamsters destroying the world has stuck with me ever since. A Fool's Quest originally appeared on Havok in May 2019. I released it for free here as part of my two-week campaign to connect more readers with my writing. If you enjoyed it, read the other stories I've shared on my website, or click the green button in the upper right hand corner to sign up for my email list and get an exclusive free short story, The Besouler. |
Progress on Doombear, Rough draft:10%
Progress on The Lore of Yore, third draft:
100%
"In truth, by leaving, I was seeking only one thing. A journey."
-Oathbringer, pg 981 Types of blog posts:
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