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The Protagonist Speaks

Interviews with the characters of your favourite books

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Weylin & Asurei (of Stone & Word, by Anne Pengelly)

Dear readers, tonight with us is a young boy with a special magical gift and a travelling assassin. They are here top talk about their world, and what happens when ancient seals begin to crack.

Tell us a little about where you grew up.

Weylin: Fenward. A river village where nothing ever changed, or so it seemed. My earliest memories are of chasing fish through the reeds, listening to my mother’s voice carry over the water. It was safe, small, a place where people expected you to stay and grow old in the same patch of earth. I would have been content with that once. But now the seals are breaking, one by one, and Fenward has become a memory instead of a destiny. The world is demanding more of me than I ever thought possible.

Asurei: I didn’t grow up anywhere worth remembering. My childhood was an apprenticeship to hunger. Streets teach you quickly who you are, or who you’ll have to become to survive. I became sharp. I became fast. And eventually, I became a Ghostblade. The Order of the Ghostblade forged me into what I am: an assassin who steps out of shadow when a name is given. My past is smoke. My present is steel.

Did you have any favourite toys as a child?

Weylin: A carved top, rough and unsteady, made by my father before he died. It never spun straight, always wobbling across the floor, but I loved it. I used to think if I could just make it balance, I could fix everything that had gone wrong, bring him back, stop the grief from swallowing us. Looking back, I suppose that was the first time I believed broken things could be mended. That belief is what carries me now.

Asurei: Toys are for children who have time to play. I didn’t. But I did learn early that people can be bent and broken like wood or glass. Fear was my toy, manipulation my game. The first time I discovered I could make someone dance to my tune, it was intoxicating. But if you press me for a softer answer… once, long ago, I had a ribbon, pale as moonlight. It was torn from me, like everything else. I still remember how it felt between my fingers.

What do you do now?

Weylin: I walk the world, whether I wish to or not, because the seals are breaking and something old and vengeful is stirring beneath the earth. The words I carry, the stones that answer me, they’re part of it. I didn’t ask for this burden, but if I don’t stand in the breach, who will? Fenward no longer needs me; the world does. And so I go on.

Asurei: I kill when the First Flame commands. A name is spoken, and I make sure the voice that spoke it is never silenced, or that the name belongs to a corpse. I am a Ghostblade, feared because I never miss. But sometimes, in the quiet after a mission, I wonder what I might be if I wasn’t only a weapon. Redemption is a dangerous thought for someone like me, but it lingers, like a shadow that refuses to leave.

What can you tell us about your latest adventure?

Weylin: I’ve walked roads I never imagined, met people who carry more secrets than smiles, and learned that magic listens, but not always kindly. The seals are breaking, and with each crack, something terrible strains against its bonds. I don’t know if I can stop it, but I know I have to try. That’s the shape of my adventure: stepping forward even when I’m not certain my feet will find solid ground.

Asurei: Adventure? Don’t insult me. What I’ve lived is blood, betrayal, and shadow. I’ve taken lives and unmade kingdoms in silence, and the world calls it ‘necessary.’ But I’m beginning to see that perhaps necessity is only another word for chains. Maybe that’s what this journey is teaching me, that I’ve been bound all along, and the knife at my belt can’t cut the ties that matter most.

Continue reading “Weylin & Asurei (of Stone & Word, by Anne Pengelly)” →
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Willy Jones (of A Night in Annwn, by Owen Jones)

Dear readers, tonight with us is a shepherd who lost his will to live after his wife’s passing. After collapsing and waking up in a hospital he soon realises he made it to the Welsh Afterlife — but things aren’t as he had thought they would be.

Tell us a little about where you grew up. What was it like there?

I was born and grew up on a mountainside, although it was only a small mountain, near Brecon in South Wales. My parents had a tiny cottage there. It was very quiet; we had no neighbours, so although we didn’t own the mountain, it felt like we did. The only road to the top passed by our house, but few people used it.

I was an only-child, my father was a shepherd of his own flock, which roamed freely on the mountain, since there were no animal predators. My mother took care of us, and made things, mostly foodstuffs, to sell in the village on a Saturday.

Perhaps it was my nature, or perhaps it was the environment, but I grew up a quiet, thoughtful, but not lonely, child. I loved my parents, and our lifestyle, although those feelings were never expressed openly. It wasn’t done in those days. I was equally happy helping my Mam in the garden or kitchen, or my father with his sheep, which, although they wandered freely, always came to meet him on ‘their spot’ at 08:00 AM.

I liked school, but not as much as being on our mountain. I left as soon as I could, at fifteen, I think, to help my parents. We were a Christian family, but really only enjoyed singing hymns in the village church on Sunday mornings. Our community’s real belief, which was not incompatible with Christianity, was in Annwn. We sometimes discussed it among ourselves, but never with strangers

Annwn is the ancient Welsh, perhaps even Celtic, word for the pre-Christian, Welsh Heaven.

When the early Roman missionaries arrived, they persecuted us, so they say, because Annwn is underground – some say under the mountains, which we can see a little way off from our cottage. The Romans thought that meant that we were Devil-worshippers, which was untrue. That’s probably why we all go to church, enjoy our singing, but don’t discuss religion with outsiders.

We remember what that can lead to even 2,000 years later.

Continue reading “Willy Jones (of A Night in Annwn, by Owen Jones)” →
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Geoffrey (of The Way of Lucherium, by Christopher Rziha)

Dear readers, tonight we bring you the official record of the Committee of Social Order: Geoffrey, former bard. Geoffrey was a bard for the Committee of Spectacles in the grand nation of Trastaluche. After being disgraced and stripped of his post for a series of indiscretions, Geoffrey disappeared, turning up several seasons later in the company of the Followers of Joaquin, a known group of insurgents who are strongly suspected to be planning open warfare with against the Committees. Geoffrey is currently wanted for high treason, the spread of propaganda, and the practice of black magic.

Did you have any favourite toys as a child? Any cherished memories?

A mandolin, I’d say. I’ve loved music since before I knew what love was. I remember holding hands with my mother and going to a festival hosted by the Committee of Spectacles when I was barely able to walk. I can still recall the tunes they played that day.

What do you do now?

Currently I’m recovering from my wounds and serving as an advisor to the army of Hazcaluche while they prepare for their campaign against Trastivo.

What can you tell us about your latest adventure?

I had the inside scoop on the type of story that makes any bard’s career… and then everything around me exploded. Literally. Next thing I know, I’m a nobody in Muckland and the only thing keeping me from picking a fight with the wrong person and suffering the consequences to end my pain is my own cowardice. Then, one night, everything changed. Some strangers who were involved in some definitely less-than-legal activities gave me good, shelter, and support. And the more time I spent with them, the more I realized that everything I thought I knew -about progress, society, and truth- was all mixed up backwards. I joined their band, and was even chosen to play a small part in their upcoming plans to undermine the Committees… and that’s when it all went south.

Continue reading “Geoffrey (of The Way of Lucherium, by Christopher Rziha)” →
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Belinda (of Dark Matter, by Deborah Ann Gordon)

Dear readers, tonight with us is an immortal training in an order dedicated to healing. When a beloved mortal falls deathly ill, she must travel back to her mortal origins in the sixth century to save him.

Tell us a little about where you grew up. What was it like there?

I don’t remember where I grew up. My past is a fog I can’t quite lift. I’ve tried to shape it, to grasp something solid, but the memories dissolve as I reach for them.

Michael found me wandering in Paris. He took me in, became my teacher and guardian. He said we were different. At first, I thought he meant we didn’t belong. Later, I learned he meant we were immortal.

He brought me to his chateau in France and trained me in the immortal arts. He told me we were part of a society called the Group of World Servers, devoted to healing human fear because it blocked their evolution and their capacity to accept us among them. We were not meant to take their pain away, but to minister to it so they could heal themselves.

But to return to your question: if I had a hometown, I don’t know its name. Whether there were trees or towers, winters or summers, all of it is lost to me. What I do know is that I didn’t just lose a home; I lost the story of where I began. That absence has shaped me more than any place could have.

And yet sometimes I dream of a woman with bright eyes and a voice that commands the wind. Her name rises like a forgotten incantation—Cerridwen. I don’t know if she is memory, myth, or the shadow of who I once was. But she walks with me, quiet and ancient, in the blood I carry.

Did you have any favourite toys as a child? Any cherished memories?

If I did, they’re gone. I sometimes believe I’m older than anyone knows—possibly centuries old. If there were toys, they might have been hand-carved, or stitched from scraps. Or maybe there were none at all.

Even if I once held something dear—a doll, a book, a worn blanket—I no longer remember the feel of it. And without memory, joy becomes something abstract. A shadow, shaped more by faith than experience.

The absence of memory is its own grief. A quiet, aching kind.

What do you do now?

I’m a healer. I once travelled with Michael to places torn by war and suffering. But I live in tension with the vows I took.

I have the power to fully heal—to stop death, erase pain, restore a body to wholeness—but I’m forbidden to use it. The rules say we can calm and comfort, but never intervene. Not even when a child lies dying in front of me.

I don’t believe I chose this life. Because if I had, I would have chosen differently. I argue with Michael. I push the limits. I carry guilt like it has been sewn into my skin.

Right now, I’m on a break while Michael travels in Europe. He left me with the Bensons in Coriander, New Hampshire. A mortal family. I’ve been attending high school and pretending to be eighteen forever.

They say our mission is to help humanity evolve on its own terms. But what use is power if you must keep it hidden? What kind of oath demands you let someone die when you could save them?

So what I do now is live in that space between obedience and defiance. I try to honour my role without losing my soul. And in quiet moments, I wonder who I might have been, if choice had been mine.

What can you tell us about your latest adventure?

I wouldn’t call it an adventure. It was a reckoning. A collapse. A return. And maybe a kind of resurrection.

I discovered I’m not just immortal. I’m something more—tied to an ancient prophecy that speaks of a child born to an immortal who might one day bridge the mortal and immortal worlds.

But none of it mattered when Damien fell ill.

Damien is mortal. Fierce and brilliant, stubborn and kind. He loved me for who I was, not for what I might become. When he grew sick, and the light began to leave his eyes, the world shrank to the pain of watching him fade.

Michael told me it was too late. That even my power couldn’t reach him. But I couldn’t accept that.

So he gave me an elixir and said I had to return to the moment I became immortal. Only there would I discover what Emila truly was. He would not explain further.

So I drank. I went back through time, through memory, and became my former self—Cerridwen, High Priestess of the Isle of the Mists.

I didn’t do it because I was chosen. I did it for Damien. Because loving him is the one thing I never doubted. And I would risk everything to save him.

Continue reading “Belinda (of Dark Matter, by Deborah Ann Gordon)” →
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Tom (of The Longest Journey, by En Hui Ye)

Dear readers, tonight wit us is a young man who was kidnapped at an early age for experimentation, and then rescued. He’s here to tell us about a world with angels and shape-shifting demons.

Tell us a little about yourself. Where did you grow up and what was it like there?

I was born in Kiringham and lived there until I was about seven or eight. That’s about when things started to go bad—my dad died in action, my mom passed away, and then there was the experiment… Yeah, no need to dwell on that. Mr. Archibald found me—all messed up—and saved my life. He decided I wouldn’t be safe in Kiringham anymore, so he took me all the way to North Scarlot (which sits across the ocean from Kiringham).

Since then, I’ve lived with my aunt’s family in a quiet neighborhood called Aredene. It was a swell place. Well, my aunt and uncle were kind of strict, and I was annoyed by them, but my cousins and I got along well. Chris is like my best friend, my brother, and we’re there for each other. And of course, Agnes is really sweet too. As for my aunt and uncle… I don’t know, man. After everything that happened, I kind of feel… Okay, I feel that I was in the wrong, and I was the one being mean and annoying. They loved me and they cared for me, but I just didn’t understand that. I do now.

There I said it. I hope you’re happy, Chris.

You mentioned your birth parents. Do you have any cherished memories that you would like to share?

My mom was the best. What I remember best about her are her stories. Stories of angels battling demons—or Fallen, as we call them. The angels were beautiful and fierce, and even when they lost battles, they never gave up. That’s what my mom said. She made me believe in hope. I miss her.

As for my dad… I don’t remember him much. He was always gone, fighting in Orelia or whatever other country it was. He was supposed to be there when Mom got sick. Instead, he had to go off and got himself killed. Mom died almost right after.

I heard that you’ve recently been named a commander for the Missionseekers. How does that feel?

I’m honored. Mr. Archibald says I earned it after Castellum Island—fighting the Cassowary, stealing the antidote, and all that. Honestly, I’m just glad we made it out of there alive.

Now, I lead small Missionseeker squads. We’ve had a lot of new recruits—mostly the kids we rescued from the South Venez mines. But, since the Cassowary disappeared after Castellum, things have calmed down a bit. We’re mostly just tracking down leftover Sicariuses and Fallen. I love being on the move every day, fighting bad guys and demons. That’s when I’m in my element.

Continue reading “Tom (of The Longest Journey, by En Hui Ye)” →
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Tam Haworth (of Dancing in the Purple Rain, by Judy L Mohr)

Dear readers, tonight we print a confession note from an antagonist. They’ll present quite a different view on the telepath they tried to guard, in world ravaged by pandemics and poisoned by acid rain, where experimental pharmaceuticals are used to genetically engineer the population to adapt to the toxic atmosphere.

If you are reading this, then things have gone horribly wrong. I tried my best to keep Michaella safe, watching over her ever since she was a child. But destiny has a lot to answer for, and my cover will soon be blown. When that happens… Well… The ones in control will try to wipe the memory that I ever existed from her mind. And if they are unable to wipe those memories, no doubt they will turn me into the antagonist of Michaella’s story.

Before it is too late, I need to set the record straight.

My name is Tam Haworth, and for the past twenty years, I have been Michaella’s psychiatrist. For the past ten years, I have been her handler, for the lack of a better term. It was my responsibility to ensure that Michaella was never able to fully control her abilities. I knew, just like the Pregutor knew, that if she gained full control over all of her faculties, there would be no stopping her. However, we needed her to help us keep what little control we have over the others like her.

Some of them are… shall we say violent? It is in their personality to dominate others. Michaella, on the other hand… Her heart is pure. She is caring, though lost. All we need to do is ensure that she is given a reason to fight. At that time, she will volunteer to be our champion—but a champion against what?

I have tried to explain to them that we have nothing to fear. She is the next generation—our last hope at reclaiming the Earth’s surface. We can no longer live under the false environments of the domes. The technology to keep the systems running is failing. If we are unable to find a way to live outside, the human race will die.

However, they have taken the experiments too far. And they have kept their secrets for too long.

The Pregutor has recommended that Michaella’s involvement become more active. They have recommended that she be moved into STAR.

I do not know how much longer I can prolong the inevitable. If she is given the medications that is given to all STAR… No, it is not even worth thinking about. Instead, I pray that she continues to favor the calmness of purple. I know she still has that purple stuffed cat that her mother gave her when she was born. And every time I see her purple hair, it brings a smile to my face—though I can never let the smile show.

The others can never know that I can still see what they cannot. Instead, I wear my white, embracing everything about it. I must remain in control for as long as I can—even if the control is just a façade.

Only moments before I sat down to write this message, I followed the Pregutor’s orders to send Michaella to one of the outer sectors of the city. No doubt, she will perform her duty admirably, and another threat to the Pregutor will be gone.

However, the Pregutor does not know that I have also sent another courier to the other side of the city to set into motion a chain of events that will eventually bring the Pregutor’s unfeeling control to an end.

I have chosen to sacrifice one that is very close to the child that I watch grow. I regret that such an action was necessary, but I have very few options left.

In a few hours, there will be no turning back. Events will need to unfold the way Michaella sees fit. I know that my actions will mean that my life is forfeit. No doubt, the Pregutor will choose Michaella to be the one to remove me from the equation, because I have become the threat from within.

There will be many who will see me as the evil mastermind behind everything that is about to happen. But I am doing this for the sake of the future.

They need to be set free.


Kiwi Judy L Mohr is a writer, developmental editor, writing coach, amateur photographer, and a science nerd with a keen interest in internet technologies and social media security. Her knowledge ranges from highly efficient ways to hide the bodies through to how to improve your SEO rankings for your websites. When she isn’t writing, editing, or doing something within the local writing community, she can often be found with a camera in her hand enjoying the world around her—no doubt scouting for locations to hide the bodies. (Shh… Don’t tell anyone.) Follow her crazy adventures on her blog (judylmohr.com) or on Instagram (@JudyLMohr).

You can find Tam Haworth on the pages of Dancing in the Purple Rain.

Browse our archives for past interviews, or follow the site by email (bottom-right) to know immediately when your new best-book-friend makes an appearance.

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Sabine Sacton (of The Serpent’s Chains, by Sylvia Conley)

Dear readers, tonight with us is a young woman sold as a slave to a war dragon and heir to the throne. But instead of cruelty, she found that behind the brutal exterior lies a man at odds with the future forced upon him and a dragon with plans of his own. She is here to tell us about the dangerous magic which stirs in the east and the building royal pressure, while she and the prince are drawn together in a bond neither expected.

Tell us a little about where you grew up. What was your life like growing up in servitude?

I couldn’t tell you the name of the village I grew up in or even point it out on a map of Estroria. My first nine years were spent in the loving care of my mother who taught me magic and about the beauty of the world. She didn’t have time to educate me on the world’s horrors, but I learned when the self-proclaimed “law enforcement” of the village beat down our door one night and took her life for refusing to cast spells for them. Their leader was in possession of an ancient magical artifact he bound around my neck, a collar that restricted my magic and made me his property. Only to use the powerful flow in my veins when he allowed me brief, and highly monitored, access to my magic.

Once I was taken as a slave, my childhood ended and I lived in a slave house with a violent foreman carrying a whip and broken down men, women, and children beholden to a careless master. What I experienced of the village was limited to glimpses as I was escorted from the slave house to my master’s workshop where he had me perform spells and act as his bodyguard against other overly-ambitious, power hungry thugs living outside the reach of the crown by their own laws.

Your ownership was recently transferred to the powerful War Dragon, what do you do in his service?

If by ‘transferred’ you mean Prince Cole’s dragon, Talon, claimed me as a prize in the middle of an auction during a festival in the capital, then yes, my ownership was ‘transferred.’

As for what I do in the prince’s service, the palace has more maids, servants, and staff than the royal family needs, and formally trained royal mages who are far more educated and talented than a slave. I learned magic based on my former master’s needs and those spells don’t carry over into palace life. There is little I have to offer a prince, let alone the fiercest warrior in Telasia. But he seems keen to keep me around, at the request of Talon, and finds menial tasks for me to assist him around the palace.

What was it like facing off with a dragon?

When my former master decided to sell me at auction, I was prepared to enter the service of another ruthless slave owner, perhaps a noble who wanted a personal spell caster. Instead, when I was presented to the court, Talon, the dragon bonded to Prince Cole, and the fiercest creature in the known world, chose to claim me. His mouth was large enough to swallow me in one gulp, and even though he’s burned entire armies with a single breath, and expanded Telasia’s borders through conquest, I wasn’t afraid of him. In fact, I welcomed death in his gullet rather than facing another brutal master and further meaningless existence.

But Talon had other plans for me, and I went from being an unwanted nobody to the prize of a powerful dragon and the property of the crowned prince. Though, I’m not sure if I can live up to the palace’s expectations.

Continue reading “Sabine Sacton (of The Serpent’s Chains, by Sylvia Conley)” →
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Tarra and Skar (of The Last Ritual, by Dragos Gaszpar)

Dear readers, tonight we listen in on an in-story episode, that still didn’t make it to the final publication. It is a form of interrogation, from a novel about sacrifice, ruin, and philosophy made manifest.

Woman: What. How. Ow… my head. Are those hooves I hear? Daisy? Bolt, girl! Gallop to Kroll, Mel, Voss! Get ‘em to—

Voice: Can you understand my words, human?

Woman: You don’t sound like Daisy… godcrap!

Voice: The blindfold remains. I will ask you things. You will answer. Who—

Woman: May as well start boiling water and gathering potatoes! My lips are sealed, Leath!

Voice: Potatoes? Another cursed weapon? My kind are no strangers to pain, receiving or inflicting. Your healing works against you; even the strong-willed have limits. There is no need for this. What is your name?

Woman: Tarra. Or maybe I’m lying; I’m not betraying my friends—so start smashing!

Voice: Your friends have stopped searching. Resumed their raids. Their third has left… little. As for lying, do not mistake questions for ignorance. I am Skar.

Tarra: There were rumours some could speak, but I didn’t… Where’s Kaatesh?

Skar: Kaatesh? Ah, a name. You were… the only one taken. Tell me of your tribe. How many of you remain? Your command structure makes no sense.

Tarra: Tribe? Oh, the others. Hordes! Zounds! We’re legion! If you’re so curious, untie me and I’ll go get them!

Skar: Indeed? Quite the number to fit into a few settlements and a single stronghold. I offer you a bargain, human: answers for freedom. Consider your position. Before my patience ends.

Tarra: My eyes may be brown and yet to see two centuries, but I’m not stupid! Ironwall won’t fall because of me!

Skar: This exchange displeases me as well, in spite of its necessity. We are the least of your worries. If you truly wish to protect your own, cooperation is your best path forward. Most of your secrets may remain yours.

Tarra: Least of my worries? How’s that?

Skar: All in due time. Ironwall. Is that the name of that abomination?

Tarra: You stinking goat! Take that back! If my hands were free, I’d slap you! Ironwall’s home. It’s where I was born and earned my name after a century’s basic, and I’ll not have your savage tongue tarnish a single rusted merlon!

Continue reading “Tarra and Skar (of The Last Ritual, by Dragos Gaszpar)” →
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Beth Shoner (of The Abandoned Theater, by Dana Robertson)

Dear readers, tonight with us is a thirteen -year-old girl, here to speak of an abandoned theater and the people who disappeared there.

Welcome and thank you for joining us. Let’s begin with a little about yourself.

Thank you. My name is Beth Shoner. I’m almost thirteen years old and I go to Abigail Public School. I start grade eight in the fall.

Tell us a little about where you live.

I live with my aunt in an old Victorian home with a wraparound porch in the small town of Springvale. Our house is in one of the original neighborhoods, with big oak trees and colorful flower gardens. The smell of lavender is in the air this time of year.

My school is downtown, just before Main Street. Main Street divides the old part of town from the new end. Everything is brighter in the new end. The streetlights are always on.   

Have you always lived in Springvale?

No. I lived in Koyo City with my parents until I was about four years old; until the car accident. My parents didn’t survive it, which is why I live with my Aunt Debra now. She said it was a miracle I survived.

Then, not long after that, our house caught fire. Debra said the cause was faulty wiring. We lost all of our family photos in the fire, including every picture of my parents, except one.

After that, she decided we needed a fresh start, and we moved to Springvale. She described it as a perfect place, idyllic and peaceful. Personally, I find it more ominous, like some secret is lurking below all the quiet.

Do you have memories of your parents?

No, none, which I actually find strange. My aunt says it’s because the accident was so traumatic. I thought if she talked about them, shared her memories, it might help with mine, but she says it’s too painful. And she doesn’t want to risk me having any traumatic memories of the accident.

This locket I wear around my neck is the only thing I have from my parents. It has a tiger engraved on the front and a symbol on the back. I don’t know what the symbol means, though.

Continue reading “Beth Shoner (of The Abandoned Theater, by Dana Robertson)” →
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