Genre: Dark Fantasy
Publisher: Tirgearr Publishing
Date of Publication: March 23rd, 2016
Number of pages: 319
Word Count: 97,000
Cover Artist: Cora Graphics
In an overpopulated city-state where technology and magic are forbidden by the corrupt church, young witch, Mirabel Fairfax, plots the creation of a deadly plague to cull the burdensome rabble.
That is, until she falls in love with the very alchemist she has been deceiving.
Now, with soul-hungry geists flooding the city, the church scrambling for their prey, and her own mind at war with itself, Mirabel must decide what she's fighting for before she loses everything to the evils of Autumnfall.
Mirabel waited in the darkness. Each passing second made it exponentially less likely the power would return.
“Mirabel? Did we lose power?” Felix’s voice quivered in the darkness.
“It should return momentarily.”
They waited. Mirabel could practically feel Felix’s demeanor evaporating.
“Unbelievable, the singular time I am protecting company on the geistlines, a train dies. We are not coal powered. We are coming to a stop. Perhaps your pessimism rang true. Sour fortune must have followed you from Haugen. We need to leave.”
“L-leave? As in, leave the train, and go out there?”
“Felix, without power the only thing stopping a geist from swooping in here and taking your face off is nothing. One hundred percent nothing. Essentially, we already have the cons of being outside, along with the narrow space of being inside. Not a survivable combination.”
Without hesitation Felix took to gathering his tools, and corralling them into his bags.
“No time for that.”
She tugged him out of their room and through the train car. One side of the car featured the cabins. Asleep and unaware, no one else left their rooms. Windows with their blinds drawn and a faint cyan shimmering through adorned the other side.
“They’re lining both sides of the tracks. How long do we have?” said Felix.
“Geist behavior is a constant mystery, even to me, but eventually some will strike. Even those with eternity run out of patience.”
They reached the door to the next car and Mirabel mashed on the panel. Nothing. No power, no doors. She tried the manual handle, but it wouldn’t budge. If only Miss Perfect-Priestess were here, then the door wouldn’t be able to fly open fast enough.
“Oh bother,” she said.
“Door haunted too?”
“Handle denies me. Seems rusted, and I wonder if they automatically power lock.”
She could barely make out Felix’s nervous wince. “I wouldn’t expect that, Mirabel. Emergency situations would turn fatalities.”
“That is not happening with us.” She put her weight on the lever. It didn’t amount to much, and the lever knew it.
“Let me try.”
Felix consisted of average build and height, if not a tad lanky. Certainly not the strong type. Petite Mirabel stood quite small, a whole head shorter, also not the strong type, but she expected she could generate more strength. The alchemist didn’t have the mind for it.
“Felix, darling, put your hands here.” She directed his hands next to hers. “Press down on three, yes?”
Violet light washed over the handle they gripped before she got to “one.” She didn’t have to turn around to know its source. It traveled up her arms and across the door. If another passenger had opened a blind, the light source wouldn’t be nearing them.
“Three-three-three,” she shouted.
Felix threw down on the handle alongside her. Perhaps he did have the mind for it when terrified. With a shriek the lever punched into the open position, and the partners threw their hands into the crevice at the door’s left.
“Get the blasted thing open. Pull, Felix, do not look back.”
She made a mistake. Everyone looks back when instructed not to. He turned his neck and got an eyeful of something that forced a spate foul language. Such words didn’t suit him. Pulling with whatever force her slender arms could muster, she joined his blunder and looked over her shoulder.
A geist, two-thirds down the corridor, drifted closer. Its face partially lifted from its head, hanging a few inches from where it belonged. The glowing wisp mimicked the body it used to have, but poorly. The translucent skin melted and slid ever downward. She knew the face would contort any moment: the precursor to assault. And it had the gut-wrenching violet hue. Of all the geists to enter first, it had to be a damned giftgeist. She had no hope of generating enough magic to destroy it before it reached them.
The broken door started to grind open. She fit her thin body part way into the opening. Her heels dug into the carpet and her back braced against the door’s narrow edge, with her hands pressing against the wall. “Felix, pull.”
The geist twisted into a monster far fiercer than before; its face warped into elongated grief and its jaw stretched to the side to give a dry, raspy howl. Passengers meandering into the hall heard it. They slung their own screams and ran the opposite way. The worst decision during a geistline incident: running toward the rear of the train. They wouldn’t live long.
She reached above her head and flicked her fingers. “You want electricity, you fromping door? H-have some.” More white flashes fluttered between her fingers with each flick. “Come on, I had this spell mastered yesterday.”
“Mirabel? Mirabel,” yelped Felix. “It’s-it’s coming.”
“Simmer. I am focusing.”
With a final flick, current rushed from the witch’s fingertips up into the door mechanisms. She had no idea what it accomplished, but the lights around the immediate vicinity flashed, including the door panel. Her left hand dropped and swatted it. The door grinded opened halfway before its lights died again. Halfway gave them more than enough space. The partners darted through into the next car. Glancing back, Mirabel saw the geist stop and turn to its side. Another passenger had peeked out of their cabin an arm’s length from the specter. It shot from Mirabel’s view before the rattled cries of a man and woman reached her ears.
Felix stopped as abruptly as the geist had. “It’s attacking someone.”
“Mirabel, you’ve got to do something, there are three cars full of people back there.”
“And we are the only valuable ones.”
This was a fun mix of witches, alchemy, and some possible apocalyptic moments. Lol. With a darker feels and some great suspense and mystery following, this is a really intriguing read. I liked Mirabel. And I loved the world building! Think of it like this, no more technology and magic is forbidden. We've gone backwards. Well we have in this story. It's got such a cool noir feel to it. And to top it off, the churches are in charge now, not the government. It's definitely creative what the author did here. Mirabel and Felix need to make the changes happen to save not just themselves but a lot of others.
I liked the characters but the world building and the plot surrounding that is what held my attention. It's different and I love that!! :) the writing style is well done as well! With that said, 4.5 PAWS!!
First, tell me a little about your book J….
THE PART THAT DOESN’T BURN is a story with a unique setting with geists, horrors, illegal old-world tech, and corrupt churches of homicidal fanatics. Every character is damaged and seemingly hopeless. Our main protagonist begins the novel with sinister designs. It is dark fantasy, through and through. It is a novel about the ultimate test of goodness, an experiment to see if a simple seed of kindness can survive when surrounded by darkness.
Do you recall how your interest in writing originated or did you always just know?
I remember that at a very young age (early grade school) my father could explain things beautifully with words when he wrote them out. Soon I noticed that I could as well, seemingly better than most. Throughout my childhood it made me arrogant at times: winning writing competitions (essays or create fiction) was a “given.” Now, as an adult, I look back at myself and frown at my arrogance. My family may have some sort of genetic left-brain boon to writing, but the only way to grow in the art is to be humble and honest with yourself. There is always more to learn. We are always ignorant of something. That knowledge alone has renewed my interest in writing.
What inspired you to write your first book and what was it?
My characters inspired me. I initially created them in roleplay sessions and short stories, and they evolved to a point where they demanded a novel.
Are experiences based on someone you know, or events in your own life?
Not at all, they are entirely fictional.
How do you choose when/which characters die in your books?
I set the stage for the story, build the world, and flesh out the characters and kick them on their way. It “feels” like they take the story from there, my hand just writes as I envision what happens. Sometimes a character runs into a dead end, perhaps set by the other characters. And then they die. This may be an oversimplification: of course I have end goals in mind while I’m building my characters initially, however it doesn’t always go as planned. I write as much to discover as much as I do to express.
If you had to do it all over again, would you change anything in your book?
I would not change any of the content in the story of my novel. It was as good as I could make it. I would not have sought publication yet had I believed otherwise.
Is there anything you find particularly challenging in your writing?
Aside from finding the time between my other obligations? World-building is always a challenge for me because I’m terrifying I won’t come up with something original enough, or too original, or too similar to another novel. My fear chains me in world-building, but my characters see me through it. I never seem to have any trouble with them, at least.
Who designed the cover? And do you help with them?
Who designed the cover? And do you help with them?
Cora at Cora Graphics. I helped by explaining some characters and themes, and helped narrow down the samples to the best choices.
Did you learn anything from writing your books and what was it?
I learned a lot about how far damaged people are willing to go for redemption.
If you could be one of your characters, who would you chose?
My characters suffered a great deal and live in a dark world. I’m unsure I’d want to be any of them! But if I have to choose, it would be Grasp, the servant haunt.
Sam Poling has been writing fantasy and science fiction for the thrill of it his entire life, from short stories to screenplays. His love for each of the subgenres led to dedication to writing genre-skirting fiction with all the elements that make up the human condition. He holds a strong enthusiasm for medical studies and currently works as a medical assistant in a large clinic while taking classing for nursing. He also serves on a health and safety committee, including disaster preparedness and infection control. His interest in epidemiology and medical science tends to spill over into his writing endeavors.
Author’s site: www.samuelpoling.com