A fantasy novel for kids age 12-16.
With her silver skin and silver hair, fifteen-year-old Princess Avielle of Rhia resembles her Dredonian great-great grandmother who practiced evil magic. Everyone in Rhia expects Avielle to turn evil, too. Shunned by those around her, she feels unloved and unable to love others. In addition, she fears that Rhia will go to war with Dredonia, which suffers under the rule of evil wizard-priests: the Brethren of the Black Cloaks. They have placed impossible demands upon Rhia, but the king and queen have refused to acquiesce. One terrible night, the Brethren attack, killing the royal family and hundreds of others. Only Avielle escapes. She must keep her identity secret to avoid death from the enemy. While hiding among the common people, she learns that she has a magical gift for weaving. But will this gift, rooted in her Dredonian blood, lead Avielle to the same evil that possessed her great-great grandmother? Or will it help her free her people from further attacks?
My YA fantasy novel, Avielle of Rhia, grew out of the days following September 11th. Many people made eloquent speeches exhorting us all to be courageous, and that was good, for this country desperately needed encouragement. We were all told, as I have come to think of it now, to go marching bravely on. To go on with our lives in order to show the terrorists that they had not won.
However, as one speech followed another, as the days passed, and as the terrible tape of the towers' fall played over and over again, I felt hollow. What, I thought, if you can't go marching bravely on? What if you do feel despair? I felt awful having these feelings because they seemed so unpatriotic. Un-American. I was letting the terrorists win.
I kept waiting to hear some one talk about these feelings I was having. Surely, there had to be others out there like me who could not go marching bravely on. Oh, there were occasional articles or news-reports by psychologists about people being depressed by the events of nine-eleven, but there were no great speeches, there was no hero for the frightened and the despairing. Who spoke for me?
Being an artist and a writer, I turned to my writing to make sense of what was happening to me. I wrote a truly terrible middle grade fantasy novel. It was nine-eleven, thinly veiled. I had to wait two years before the book would begin to transform into a real story, and oddly enough, the story that I really needed.
I created fifteen-year-old Princess Avielle of Rhia, who loses her entire family when her palace is blown up by terrorists. Avielle alone survives. Her fear of the terrorists sends her into hiding, and she refuses to come forward to help her people. And the people have always shunned her, because she looks like her Dredonian great-great grandmother who practiced evil magic. In her despair, Avielle wonders who speaks for her. She meets a group of wonderful people while she is in hiding and learns about her magical gift for weaving. Gradually she overcomes grief and despair and comes into her power as queen by learning to love all her people. Avielle realizes that it is she who must speak for her people.
I wrote this book for three reasons. First, because I needed someone to speak for me, to speak for my experience of nine-eleven and terrorism. I had to create Avielle to do it. Second, because I wanted to speak for those like me, those who were too frightened to go marching bravely on. The third reason I wrote this book is that I want to be like Avielle. By the end of the book, she has acquired the Magnificent Heart. She has one shining magnificent moment when she does not wish for revenge upon the terrorists. Instead, she wishes them true strength. She wishes their hearts to be opened. That is her true heroic moment. I wish I could have a moment like that. I hope that when people read this book, they will have such a moment.