Stories featuring plague are no rare thing in the world of fantasy and fiction. There’s something deeply fascinating about the setting that has inspired writers for years. Even the word alone is enough to inspire a flicker of fear. Plague. That disease that rampaged through Europe, nearly wiping it out. But what about it has inspired writers and directors, video game producers, and graphic novelists to continue creating stories about it? Is it the sheer apocalyptic nature of the event? Or is it, perhaps, the feeling that mankind’s true nature comes to the fore when confronted with such an end?
In Plagueborne, a devastating plague is sweeping across a continent still recovering from revolution. The plague seems incurable, inescapable, but for the province of Rothenberg, which has remained untouched. Of course, as religious hysteria rises, and talk of witchcraft and fell beasts spread, the stakes get higher and higher. The story itself follows Katarina Lorenz, a noble of the city of Rothenberg; Tannhauser, a mercenary; Ezekiel Smith, a Prelator of The Order; and Gelt Brunner, a former knight of the now dethroned king.
Following Katarina across Greater Virren as she tries to discover the cause of the plague has allowed me to delve into some interesting themes, and answer some questions I’ve always wanted to take the time to consider. One of these questions is one that Slovenian philosopher Slavoj Žižek often poses: “… but what happens after the revolution?” It is a question spurred on by the fact that, often, the story we are told is how the revolution came about, and how the ruling elite or tyrannical government was overthrown. But do things actually get better after the revolution? How does society shift and change once the revolutionaries have control? How are those who advocated against revolution treated? Perhaps things actually get worse, and if so, how do the people react? Exploring these questions has always appealed to me, and I think they make for compelling themes in any work of fiction.
In Plagueborne, the reader is plunged into a world still coming to terms with its own revolutionary past. The monarchy is gone. The king is dead, his empire dissolved, and independent city-states now cover the continent of Greater Virren. Much of how the continent has been shaped, in terms of political and religious ideology, is intrinsically linked to the role the monarchy played in the years prior to revolution. Indeed, the revolution itself—a deeply political act—was triggered by the execution of Bartolomeu Kezia, a religious figure. The resulting conflict saw both religious and political tensions boil over, which left a power vacuum once the war was over—a vacuum that The Order was only too happy to fill.
Followers of Kezia and
worshippers of The Twins, members of The Order reject any and all beliefs
contrary to their own. It was for this reason that they, as well as the Brother
and the Sister, were outlawed under King Behan’s rule. It was for this reason
that Kezia was executed. Now, in the aftermath of revolution, The Order has
become the dominant religious faction on the continent, with only the barbaric “painted
men” of Vorgar left to their pantheon of gods. This flip from polytheism to
monotheism is interesting to me, as it is one that has played out in our own
history. The rise of Christianity and Islam both involved a similar
shift—either brought about through the state, or as a cultural phenomenon.
Examining that period of time, the
precise moment when such a shift occurred, is fascinating for myself, and I
hope for my readers, too.
A more recently devised
character, who features in the later novels, explores what this really means in
a most interesting way. Gelt Brunner rejects the Faith and The Twins,
preferring the worship of the old gods. But for him to even admit this fact
could see him shunned, or even killed. How is that people, many of whom would
have believed the same thing a few years ago, would now see someone killed for
expressing that same belief?
There’s another idea that I’ve
always found quite intriguing, but you’ll have to forgive the fact that it was
inspired by a re-watching of The Mummy (1999). In the film, we are presented
with Christian, Islamic, and “pagan” characters. As events unfold, it becomes
increasingly clear that the pagan characters’ beliefs are the only ones with
any real power in the film. This is
illustrated a number of times throughout The Mummy, from the awakening of
Imhotep and his seemingly immortal nature, to the coming of the ten plagues and
the power of the Book of the Dead (both to awaken him, and to have his soul
spirited away, making him mortal once more at the end of the film.) The main
characters in the film, Rick and Evelyn O’Connell, take all of this in their
stride, despite the fact that it may very well mean that all they believe in is
wrong—that the ancient Egyptian beliefs are valid to the exclusion of all others. But what happens when you are
presented with the diametric opposite of your own faith? The result may vary
between individuals. Some may double down on their own belief, and claim the
devil is at work, while others may find themselves completely lost. This idea
is never fully explored in the film, but it certainly inspired my approach to
Plagueborne and plays an important role in the development of Ezekiel and Gelt.
Mitchell Luthi is the author
of The Ritual and The Zealot, the first two books in the
Plagueborne trilogy, as well as The Black
Hussars, a Plagueborne prequel novella. He has written short stories for
the Write Like Hell anthology series.You
can find his work on Amazon, Audible, and iTunes. He is currently working on
the final instalment in the trilogy, with The
Heretic set for release by the end of the first quarter of 2020.
For more guest blogs go to https://alicedesampaio.blogspot.com/search/label/guest%20post
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