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The Protagonist Speaks

Interviews with the characters of your favourite books

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Fantasy

Helen Rosenthal (of Back in Time for Tea, a short story in The Artificial Elephant anthology by Eric J. Hull)

Dear readers, tonight we print an in-world encounter between two characters from this literary speculative fiction collection.

Helen sits alone at a small table by the window of the busy coffee shop, her silver hair short and neatly cut, reading glasses perched on the bridge of her nose as she holds the paperback open with one hand. She sips her latte and turns the page. Her back is to the wall; by long habit she has chosen a spot with a full view of everyone in the room, and all the exits.

A stern, powerfully built woman with an ex-military bearing enters the café, scans the tables, and cautiously approaches Helen, who smiles, places a bookmark in her paperback, and greets her.

Oh, I’m so happy you got in touch, dear. I’m sure you have all sorts of questions. Won’t you sit down?

The woman narrows her eyes and sits across from Helen, spine stiff. A waiter takes her order – coffee, black. She has a thick Russian accent.

~~~

Who are you? Your group is government, NGO? Private, maybe?

Helen Rosenthal, pleased to make your acquaintance. We had so little time to chat when me met last time.

Little chat time because you tased me with tricky knitting device! And stole from boss. Former boss.

Oh, yes, well, you did have a Glock pointed at me, dear. And I’m sorry if our little operation cost you your security position with your… unpleasant former employer. He’s still in federal custody, isn’t he?

Yes, sure. Unimportant now. Business card from you had no details. But you said maybe job. Merc?

Not exactly, no. We’re indeed private, as you surmised. We take on security-related engagements for a variety of groups. Corporate, private, occasionally government when they need something with plausible deniability. And you showed excellent instincts, we’re always looking for new faces, but it’s a far cry from mercenary work. Our assignments usually require subtlety and eschew more pedestrian wetwork.

Subtlety. Hah. You broke into safe and stole money.

Oh, the cash was a spur of the moment decision. I ended up giving that to the nice young man who ran the front desk at that hotel. He didn’t know it, but all the trouble I put him through proved essential to gaining access to the penthouse suite where you and I met. The actual target of that episode was the thumb drive in that safe, which contained enough incriminating evidence to put your horrible boss away for a very long time.

Continue reading “Helen Rosenthal (of Back in Time for Tea, a short story in The Artificial Elephant anthology by Eric J. Hull)” →
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Athena (of The Orichalcum Crown, by J. J. N. Whitley)

Dear readers, tonight with us is a young princess, talking about exile, dragons, and lost family members.

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

I grew up in the palace. Father was often too busy being the emperor, and Mother too busy not caring. That left the servants with the job of keeping me respectable. I was easier to discipline before my powers. More polite, dignified. Once I realized nothing could hurt me, I wanted to let loose.

The kiddos weren’t around yet, so I had to make my own fun. Mostly exploring the palace, learning history or sparring with Klaus. 

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

I was more a teenager at the time, but Old Man Python made a mechanical bike. He had me test out the prototype. Since I’m harder to hurt, it was safer to use me than someone else. He let me keep it after the tests.

As for memories, there’s a lot. 

Hate to admit one of them involves my father. He helped me control my powers when they manifested. There’s an aura around my body that doesn’t let anything in. Great for a bar fight, terrible when I’m trying to drink. I couldn’t let anything in the first few days. Then he sat with me, promised me his hand wouldn’t hurt me, and I was able to let him through.

A lot with my sisters.

One of the best days of my life was when Olive joined the family. Rambunctious little scamp but looking after her gave me purpose. Olive needed to wind down, and the little ruby needed to relax. Seeing Olive smile the first time she painted. Kidnapping Makoto to take her running through the flowers.

Hate to play favorites with the kiddos, but nothing beats the first time I held Lucielle. I’d been an older sister a couple times but never from the start. Meant a lot to me.

What do you do now?

Still trying to figure that out to be honest. Best part of being an exiled princess is not having to deal with the pageantry of politics. The worst part is everything else. 

Did a lot of traveling and liked most of what I saw but hard to stick around in places that don’t like my family name.

Heard my family was in danger and made my way back home. So, my duty now is to keep my sisters safe. Mostly, that means being suspicious of every one else and punching when necessary.

What can you tell us about your latest adventure?

I was minding my own business when my uncle found me. He’s one of Mother’s earliest creations. History says he used to be a dragon, but you wouldn’t guess by looking at him now. 

Uncle’s the kind of person who doesn’t take much seriously, but when he speaks you listen. He warned me someone was plotting to assassinate my father at the annual ball.

And if he’s in danger, there’s no telling what might happen to my sisters. So, it’s up to me to warn them of the danger and to stop any plans already in motion. Like I said, being suspicious and punching when necessary.

Continue reading “Athena (of The Orichalcum Crown, by J. J. N. Whitley)” →
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Sonja Vinzler (of Kepstadur Keep, by R. G. Sartain)

Dear readers, tonight with us is a woman trying to find a way to bring her brother back from the dead. Though educated in magic, it is still an uncharted territory. She is here to talk about haunted places and the undead, as well as family ties.

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

Jrendavar is great — a little grey, so I’m told, but you get used to that after a while. A peaceful country for the most part, at least in the West where I’m from. The nearest city is Helslidir, though these days, our vineyard might be better known. Snow’s Grove Vineyard. My grandparents were the first to discover magic to grow grapes where grapes really didn’t want to be grown. 

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

If I’m honest, it’s hard to remember too far back. There was a time where my siblings and I would bind hay into little stick-figure people. None of them lasted long enough to become favorites. We spent a lot of time with our imaginations, my brother, sister, and I. They were both talented with perception magic early on — illusions and hallucinations and whatnot. So maybe “imagination” isn’t quite the right word.

What do you do now?

Oh, well… Well, I’m a bookkeeper, actually. Or I was. Once I get back home, I will be again, probably. Numbers just work in my head. I keep up with figures for most of the businesses that work with the vineyard. I am nervous to find out who’s been tracking everything in my absence. Surely someone has…

What can you tell us about your latest adventure?

Sure, yes… What is there to say about Kepstadur? It was pretty cold for the summer months, even here. Beautiful, but cold. And definitely haunted. There were times I couldn’t hear my own thoughts, the voices were so loud. It was hard to know the real from the fake — and losing that certainty in yourself is pretty jarring. I knew the magic there would be strong, but the revenants… that first attack still rattled me. 

Continue reading “Sonja Vinzler (of Kepstadur Keep, by R. G. Sartain)” →
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Alicia Stormwell (of The Witch’s Bestiary, by Evangeline Hunter)

Dear readers, tonight with us is a vet specialising in magical creatures turned reluctant hero. She is here to talk about vampires, werewolves, and manticore poop management.

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

New York City, baby. Born and raised. I’ve been yelled at in ten languages before my morning coffee and once saw a cyclops try to parallel park in Midtown. My mom ditched me when I was a kid—vanished into a cloud of magical smoke or an MLM pyramid scheme, hard to say. I was raised by her sister, Aunt Lydia, who is basically what would happen if Aunt Mame ran a cursed antique shop in SoHo and could hex your ex with a glance. She taught me how to make potions, run a business, and never trust anyone who says “trust me.”

Now, I run a nonprofit called The Bestiary, which rescues magical creatures and gives them a second chance. And thanks to a permanently irritated dimensional witch, my nonprofit is now physically attached to my apartment. The good news: my commute is excellent. The bad news: sometimes a kelpie wanders into the kitchen and eats my cereal.

Did you have any favorite toys as a child?

Most kids have teddy bears or glitter wands. I had a lock-picking kit. Aunt Lydia gave it to me when I was seven. She said, “Sweetheart, your magic’s about as reliable as a goblin accountant, so you’ll need backup.” I also did martial arts, fencing, and the occasional magical beast wrangling camp. You know. Normal childhood.

What do you do now?

Technically, I’m the founder and director of The Bestiary, a rescue and rehab center for legendary beasts. Realistically, I clean up unicorn poop, negotiate with territorial manticores, and rescue abused phoenixes from underground fighting rings.

And okay, fine, sometimes I moonlight as a freelance magical crime consultant. If you call breaking into smuggler hideouts “consulting.”

Also: we accept donations. Like, right now. Seriously. I have a Venmo.

What can you tell us about your latest adventure?

Oh, just your average Tuesday. A vampire detective, very broody, very cheekbones, shows up and hires me to help investigate a dead witch and a suspiciously attractive wolf. My bank account says yes before my brain catches up. Turns out, the wolf isn’t just magical. He’s a werewolf. And not just any werewolf: Kyle. Tall, brooding, and somehow always shirtless. Suspicious, right?

Except… he’s innocent. I can feel it. Which means someone else is framing him—and if I don’t clear his name, the real killer might make me their next ritual sacrifice.

Continue reading “Alicia Stormwell (of The Witch’s Bestiary, by Evangeline Hunter)” →
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Jasper Ashford (of Little Hamlin Chronicles, by Sarah Ashworth)

Dear readers, tonight with us is a high-school student, juggling school, life, and magical training. He’s here to tell us about supernatural occurrences, a shipwrecked redhead, and a mysterious song.

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

Well, it all depends on how far back you want to go. If its my early childhood then I grew up in an orphanage in a not so glamorous part of town. The place itself wasn’t too bad, the staff taking care of us were pretty decent. It’s just there wasn’t always enough to go around so kids were basically fighting for scraps, couldn’t really afford to be weak there. Fun times.

In my later childhood until now I was adopted by a pretty sweet lady who took me to her home on a small island. It was nice, she’s not wealthy by any means but she lives a comfortable life and it was just nice to have my own bedroom. Though I scared her when I was hording food in my room when I first moved there. It took a bit of time but I became secure enough to not do that anymore.

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

There was one time at the orphanage when me and Eric decided to steal the cookies in the kitchen. It was a rare treat for us and we wanted them. OK, I say we decided it was more I woke Eric up in the middle of the night and wouldn’t let him go back to sleep so he went along with me to get it over with. His words, not mine. We had a blast though and got to enjoy the chocolaty goodness of the cookies.

Another fond memory was when I found my magic spark. I tried to pickpocket a woman and she saw me do it. I remember backing away and holding my hands out in front of me and poof I fired a pink cloud in her face and ran. She eventually caught me but didn’t turn me in. Instead, she adopted me because in her words I reminded her of a younger version of her and she saw my potential with magic.

I had stuffed dragon which I keep in my closet and cuddle it every now and again. Hey! Dragons are cool OK!

What do you do now?

Right now, I’m just a high school student who’s juggling school, my magic training, finding interesting things to write about in the school paper. Also going on some strange adventures which sometimes involve getting into trouble but I think it breaks up the monotony a little bit. Wouldn’t you agree? Sure, I fall asleep in Mr. Hughes’ class a lot but the adventures are worth it.

What can you tell us about your latest adventure?

Well, it all began with my friend Eric being kidnapped, can’t leave that guy for five minutes without something happening to him. I thought he’d abandoned me again and I was angry as we had only just managed to patch things up after all the craziness from before. It was only when I found evidence that he didn’t leave of his own free will that I started to look for him. I reluctantly teamed up with Mel who had hurt and betrayed me before and we ended up going to the mainland to search for him and bring him home.

Continue reading “Jasper Ashford (of Little Hamlin Chronicles, by Sarah Ashworth)” →
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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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