S02EP06: A Reading from The Pirates of Sissa - TRANSCRIPT
S02EP06: A Reading from The Pirates of Sissa - TRANSCRIPT
Hello, and welcome back to another episode. It has been a long time since I last uploaded an episode, and there is good reason! I'll get into that and more important information in the next episode, where I'll be doing a end of year update for The Pirates of Sissa and wrapping up this season of the podcast, but in today's episode, I want to do a reading.
The following is a passage from my manuscript for The Pirates of Sissa. It takes place about halfway through Chapter 7, and it's in Sahra's point of view. I hope you enjoy it!
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The Imperial Gallery was a sandstone building with windows embedded into its ceiling - great, shard-like glass placed without coherence or form, but which illuminated the space as though one were standing outside. There were many large, open rooms, each set up with an array of artistic pieces - mostly paintings, but here and there, there were sculptures, beautifully woven carpets of immense detail, and artifacts that once belonged to a part of history that was engraved into the collective psyches of both Sissan and Qorsan alike. What the building lacked in height, it made up for with its sprawling size - room after room after room housed more and more pieces, and Sahra passed through them slowly, completely fascinated.
Vadra had stopped by her small cage and asked her to accompany him to the grand opening of the gallery. Apparently, it was one of the many duties they would have hanceforth - appearing at relevant social (and public) functions, to garner support for the reintegration process. There were many dignitaries here, but he'd assured her that it would be a quiet occasion. "Most people would rather enjoy art in silence, and with those they know, rather than spend their time worrying about strangers," he'd told her as they walked in. "Perhaps you ought to do the same."
It was a welcome change. She'd left her armed guards behind - though they'd only stayed behind at Vuur's insistence - and it didn't feel quite as suffocating today. For once, even though she was being stared at and whispered about, it wasn't as intense as she'd thought it might be - or as intense as she had experienced it standing outside in the street. The cultural silence of the gallery was a shield, and she gratefully held it to her as she walked around, with Vadra only a few steps behind. He seemed just as interested in the pieces on display, but had the coolness of one who had already seen most of the items before. "Some of these haven't been shown to the public for years," he murmured.
Every now and then, he paused to greet people that he knew, striking up polite conversation before moving on. Their chats were short and whispered, and soon they would move on, and Vadra would return to her once more, taking in the vast array of artistic talent that surrounded them. It was, Sahra admitted, quite a lovely experience. She only regretted that such nice things that been denied to her own people on the basis of their heritage. How fitting, then, that they were in a Qorsan-themed exhibit.
Sahra found most of the paintings held something familiar to her, something that made her feel a peculiar anxiety welling up in her stomach. She stopped in front of one painting, which was particularly recognizable, and it felt as though the painter had been privvy to her own memories. She gazed at it, completely entranced by every stroke, her mind playing for her all the memories she'd had of that day she'd seen her own life change forever, and felt violated but hollow, exhausted but determined, and above all, outraged.
"This one is called Expulsion." Vadra’s voice, soft yet amplified by the stone walls of the gallery, almost made her jump. He stood next to her, his hands clasped behind his back, and nodded at the painting she had been studying. “It’s one of the few pieces made by Sissan artists to protest what happened to your people – the forced exodus.”
A protest? Sahra took the vision in again, and realized that it was evident that the Qorsan were not depicted, as they were in some of the other paintings, as furious, monstrous, violent beings being pushed out by noble and stoic Sissan forces. Rather, the anguish on their faces and the pain that oozed out of every stroke was palpable. This was, indeed, a protest.
“I’m surprised they let it hang here for everyone to admire,” Sahra said flatly.
“Yes, well, I don’t think any visitors would be inclined to agree with the sentiment behind it,” Vadra told her, and, before she could open her mouth to ask, continued to explain. “The painter behind this piece was executed for treason not long after he unveiled it to the public. That it hangs in the Imperial Gallery, of all places, means that it is here for good reason.”
Sahra considered this for a moment, and, as she took in the painted faces of her brethren, twisted in anguish, she came to understand. “A reminder,” she said.
He gave her a small nod. “And a strong one at that.”
She huffed in irritation and took a step forward, holding a hand out to the canvas. Gingerly, she let her fingertips brush against the raised paint and follow the strokes. It was skillfully made. The artist would have spent hours – days, if not weeks, if not months – perfecting this piece. He would have painted the memory of that day – a memory that had undoubtedly been seared into his mind, if this painting was anything to go by. A memory she also shared – a scene she was all too familiar with. If she closed her eyes, she could see it all again, relive it to its smallest details.
Families pushed and pulled and dragged out of their homes.
Their belongings thrown out into the streets and burned.
Children calling for their mothers and fathers in the chaos.
People begging and soldiers beating.
And her – alone – in the midst of the chaos, so frightened she had lost control of her own body, ashamed of the puddle that had formed around her feet–
“Of course, now, I believe it will hang here not as a deterrent, but rather a symbol of a past that must be righted,” Vadra added, tearing through her memory. She had almost forgotten he was there. “Convenient, isn’t it?”
Convenient.
Sahra took a step back and gave the painting one last look, feeling the prick of angry tears in her eyes.
Yes, it certainly was convenient.
Not for the first time, she began to suspect the true motives of Emperor Gallus.
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And that's the passage! I hope you enjoyed this little peek into The Pirates of Sissa, and I look forward to sharing more about this project in the future.
Thank you for tuning in today! If you'd like to learn more about my projects, you can check out the links to my social media accounts and my blog in the episode description.
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Learn more about The Pirates of Sissa over on my blog (hybaiswriting.blogspot.com).
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Until next time!
~⭐~
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