Science Fiction/Dystopian Fiction/Post-Apocalyptic Fiction
Date Published: 9/5/19
Publisher: Chandra Press
For fans of The Hunger Games, Divergent, and The Gender Game comes a captivating new story like no other.
The Pestilence sweeps the globe with terrifying speed. A group of survivors finds an island sanctuary.
Three generations later, no one has heard from the outside world in years. The old radio only crackles with static. The Pestilence either finished its job or the world tore itself apart.
In the Village of Lehom, Leilani has been called to court as a Virtue by the King. Going to court means losing her independence and self-respect. Unfortunately, she doesn’t have a choice.
Leilani decides to take a stand; the King be damned. She plans a daring escape and sets in motion a series of events that will shake the foundation of her village and the island to its core.
Excerpt:
In case you’re curious, my reader, about how we ended up
stranded in this boat, it all began one fateful day back on the island, when my
fall from daughter of a prince to criminal began. That was only about three
months ago, but it feels like an eternity. I remember most the images of shattered
pottery littering the dirt floor of my family’s cooking pavilion, my best
friend Dirmisu’s tears, and a nasty bruise on my arm.
Before daylight sullied my mood
that morning, I imagined myself as a mermaid under the sea, piercing the
water’s surface under a full moon and sky of stars. Dawn appeared as a fusion
of pink sunrise and blue moontrap, the lamps fueled by iridescent plankton,
that we used at night. In the world of sun and sand, my surroundings glowed
pink as the sun’s rays reflected off the inlaid mother of pearl carvings on the
support beams of my room. My cocoon hummed with birdsong, and a sea breeze
crept through the large fabric-covered window that dominated the wall across
from my bed. That light, while beautiful to the eye, exposed all the things
wrong with my life: broken dishes, temper tantrums, and bruises. Night’s
darkness was beautiful because it made the impossible possible by obscuring my
life’s ugliness.
My youngest brother Gisnen’s voice barreled into my room,
startling me awake. “Leilani,” he whined as he banged on my bedroom door.
“Dirmisu needs help with breakfast!”
Groaning, I rolled on my mattress of woven palm leaves and cotilk, a fabric Samsara had created
from infusing the old cotton plant with silk-like strength and iridescence.
“I’m coming!” I yelled back.
Just make it through breakfast.
You’ll be at the library soon. That’s what I told myself every morning as I
got ready for my twin brother Irin’s scrutiny. Women’s assets musn’t tempt men,
so I bound my breasts before tying my iridescent persimmon sarong. I completed
my morning routine by brushing my teeth, gathering my hair in a chignon, applying
light cosmetics, and placing the key to the spice cabinet around my neck.
Taking a deep breath, I walked down
the hallway, past the home’s three other bedrooms, the women’s bathing room,
and the men’s bathing room, until I reached our back covered porch, which
opened onto our family’s ancestral spirit garden, where our dead rested in the
ground. My family also ate meals in this sacred space. As usual, my family members,
who were seated around the table, didn’t even look up as I passed by. My two
brothers discussed male-world topics, and my grandmother looked blankly at her
favorite gold bracelet. They didn’t need me, but Dirmisu did, so I headed to
the detached cooking pavilion. There, my best friend and servant frowned at an
array of four eggs, two sliced mangoes, milk of coconut, honey, and quinoa
flour, the goods that the food distributor had brought to our kitchen that
morning.
My friend’s eyes lit up when I approached.
“You look like a fiery barracuda in that persimmon robe.”
“I wish I had a barracuda’s power,”
I said, feeling guilty because my finery contrasted so vividly with her simple
gray robe. “Well, dare we hope today my brother doesn’t throw a tantrum
about your cooking?”
About the Author
Anya Pavelle was born in Massachusetts but eventually settled in Florida, where she currently lives with her husband and dog. She’s a trained art historian who sees the quiet beauty in nature, art, and literature. Anya has been imagining new worlds since she was six years old and like many morbidly curious people, she’s obsessed with dystopian literature. The Moon Hunters is her first foray into science fiction. She’s currently working on the sequel and also plans on writing a prequel. In addition to writing, Anya loves traveling the world, SCUBA diving, relaxing with her friends and family, and finally, curling up with a new book and a glass of wine on a moon-lit humid night.
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