Joakim Even is the only teenager reasonable enough to stay out of it—except he stumbled upon the power to control it.
Now he can read secrets in paintings, weave illusions with poems, defy gravity through dance, and bend time with music. This puts him in the middle of a doomed conflict between revolutionary artists and the regime ruling his island.
But he soon learns that Soverinn Donn—a gaunt figure in a wide, round hat—pulls the strings from the shadows.
If Joakim can’t believe the fight is worth it, no one will ever fight again.
Belief may require him to stop being reasonable, though.
A coming-of-age fantasy for readers ages 12+, blending wonder, tension, melancholy, and seaweed crepes.
Joakim Even is the only teenager reasonable enough to stay out of it—except he stumbled upon the power to control it.
Now he can read secrets in paintings, weave illusions with poems, defy gravity through dance, and bend time with music. This puts him in the middle of a doomed conflict between revolutionary artists and the regime ruling his island.
But he soon learns that Soverinn Donn—a gaunt figure in a wide, round hat—pulls the strings from the shadows.
If Joakim can’t believe the fight is worth it, no one will ever fight again.
Belief may require him to stop being reasonable, though.
A coming-of-age fantasy for readers ages 12+, blending wonder, tension, melancholy, and seaweed crepes.
Take a piece of your stay home with you, and enjoy the best of Kembac from the comfort of your own home—without the rain.
Take a piece of your stay home with you, and enjoy the best of Kembac from the comfort of your own home—without the rain.
Plouanna, the island’s capital: winding streets, crumbling houses, austere inhabitants—yet so proud to belong to the Big Nation!
No one in Plouanna belongs to anyone—and certainly not to the Big Nation. The Big Nation does not belong in Plouanna
You will find whatever you might need during your stay on the stalls of the covered market, set up on Elibouban Square beneath the great overturned ship’s hull. Nothing as refined as what you would find on the mainland, of course, but seeing the island’s old-timers lingering there will give you the feeling of traveling a hundred years back in time.
You will find whatever you might need during your stay on the stalls of the covered market, set up on Elibouban Square beneath the great overturned ship’s hull. Nothing as refined as what you would find on the mainland, of course, but seeing the island’s old-timers lingering there will give you the feeling of traveling a hundred years back in time.
Don’t miss the old Saint Kemo chapel in the city center. It perfectly illustrates the islanders’ naive superstition. The stone is sacred to them, the stained glass is blessed, and the hideous gargoyles perched along the edge of the roof are supposed to protect them.RIP Rezennet
Fortunately for them, in truth, it is our dear Proconsular Agents who protect them—sometimes even from themselves.
Don’t miss the old Saint Kemo chapel in the city center. It perfectly illustrates the islanders’ naive superstition. The stone is sacred to them, the stained glass is blessed, and the hideous gargoyles perched along the edge of the roof are supposed to protect them.RIP Rezennet
Fortunately for them, in truth, it is our dear Proconsular Agents who protect them—sometimes even from themselves.
Here the coastline is jagged and torn, and the sea is cold and dangerous, strewn with reefs like so many razor blades—but the marine air is pure and heavy with iodine. Come intoxicate yourself with the scent of sea spray, and shudder at the chilling spectacle of the raging waves when the wind blows (that is to say, almost every day of the year).
A hike in the mountains of Kembac would stand a good chance of being fatal. These steep heights may well be the most hostile place on the island. At the very least, go and contemplate the fearsome beauty of these ranges from the arid plains that surround them, and take home the unforgettable memory of those white and ocher rocks.
Here the coastline is jagged and torn, and the sea is cold and dangerous, strewn with reefs like so many razor blades—but the marine air is pure and heavy with iodine. Come intoxicate yourself with the scent of sea spray, and shudder at the chilling spectacle of the raging waves when the wind blows (that is to say, almost every day of the year).
A hike in the mountains of Kembac would stand a good chance of being fatal. These steep heights may well be the most hostile place on the island. At the very least, go and contemplate the fearsome beauty of these ranges from the arid plains that surround them, and take home the unforgettable memory of those white and ocher rocks.
What is there to do on the island of Kembac?
Honestly, not much. You get bored quickly. The little culture you might find there—if you even dare to call it “culture”—is, of course, nowhere near as rich or profound as that of the Big Nation, which the entire world envies. And if you happen to try chatting with the locals, you will soon realize they are not much for conversation.
Still, here are a few tips and addresses for the least demanding visitors.
It is a festival held in honor of the island’s patron saint, Anna—who gave her name to the capital. It takes place every year at the end of June. The locals use the occasion to parade in their traditional costumes, eat coarse food, and make a dreadful racket with their old instruments, playing music one is quite happy not to hear too often. Those with sensitive ears will have a miserable time.
Tourists are often surprised that this kind of event is still allowed. But it is entirely exceptional, and each year its authorization depends solely on the Proconsul’s goodwill, granted only if the inhabitants have behaved themselves over the past twelve months.
Freedom for Kembac!
It is a festival held in honor of the island’s patron saint, Anna—who gave her name to the capital. It takes place every year at the end of June. The locals use the occasion to parade in their traditional costumes, eat coarse food, and make a dreadful racket with their old instruments, playing music one is quite happy not to hear too often. Those with sensitive ears will have a miserable time.
Tourists are often surprised that this kind of event is still allowed. But it is entirely exceptional, and each year its authorization depends solely on the Proconsul’s goodwill, granted only if the inhabitants have behaved themselves over the past twelve months.
Freedom for Kembac!
One can hardly say that the island’s museum houses any great masterpieces in its galleries. In any case, it is not really in the locals’ nature to marvel at works by master painters, so no one is losing much.
If you are an artist, if freedom matters to you—you will find us there
If the idea ever crosses your mind to listen to local musicians, you may be told that you can find some at Plouanna’s main pub, O’Connells. Be warned: it is strongly advised not to go there. Fights are frequent, the regulars are the wildest of the wild, and even the most competent Proconsular Agents might be unable to guarantee your safety.
Kembac’s cuisine is nothing to write home about. Almost everything is made from seaweed gathered on the island’s beaches.
