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Patricia Reding
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Science Fiction & Fantasy
Author Insight
Mere Mortals
This may seem odd, but here goes . . . I'm concerned for our youth, and that for too many, no one discusses with them, long-term consequences of their actions. Many are taught that their time here is short, that they are beholden to themselves only, and that nothing will come to them after death. They are taught that it is acceptable for someone to have chosen whether they would even make their debut into the world, and that once here, their presence has fouled the earth because they use too much of everything (paper, fuel, space, etc.) . . . Then they are taught that when they pass, there is nothing more. In short, they are "mortal," by which I mean perishable, terminal, irreconcilable--which is the case for the Chiranians here. So, I wonder, if this is taught, why wouldn't people act out in ways that harm themselves and others? There are no consequences, after all. By contrast, if people were valued from their very beginning, and if they were encouraged to give and do and be their best, do you think their behavior would change? If they believed they were more than mere mortals--that what they did had lasting effects--might they rise to being better people and doing better things? Maybe?
Book Excerpt
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Joseph jolted upright. “Careful with that!” he exclaimed, then broke out coughing again.
The innkeeper gently pressed him back. “You should rest. We’ll finish this up later.”
“No, I’m all right. But that thing is a weapon. A magic weapon, I guess you’d say.”
Ezra’s brow furrowed as he turned his attention back to the object. He rolled it between his fingers. “Oh?”
“It holds a powerful poison, a sort of magic poison, that is released if it punctures something.”
“You mean something like someone’s skin?” Marshall asked.
“That’s right.”
“How powerful is the poison?” Ezra asked.
“You’d be dead in seconds.”
“Where’d it come from?”
“Every Chiranian soldier receives one along with his uniform and weaponry. The soldiers are ordered to use the poison on themselves if they’re captured and find themselves unable to escape without the risk of disclosing important information.”
“Hmmm. So . . . you infiltrated successfully, anyway.”
“Yes, but something gave me away.”
“What was that?” Jerrett asked.
Joseph shook his head. “It was stupid really. I was assigned to Mortal Cark’s protection in Darth.”
“Wait,” the innkeeper said, his hand raised. “Darth is a city?”
“That’s right.”
“You said Mortal Cark?”
“That’s right.”
“That’s an odd name.”
“It’s not a name. Zarek recently adopted it as a title, a form of address, for use in Chiran. He chose ‘Mortal’ to serve as a constant reminder that the people are just that—mortal.”
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