All excerpts and quotes property of Jackie Morrey-Grace, their author. All modelled pictures by Serena Hall Wood and used with kind permission. All non modelled pictures author's own or my daughter's depictions of characters. Models: Julia Eliza Shipley. More coming soon!
Excerpt taken from Chapter 10 of The Boy Without Wings
Excerpt taken from Chapter 10 of The Boy Without Wings
A scene from my first novel The Boy Without Wings by me, JMG. I've been learning to draw!!
***LATEST WORK! COMING SOON - BOOK 2!***
***THE CALL OF THE BIRDS!***
This excerpt is from Chapter 15. In it, three of Death's Lost Deities, Banyana, Drem and Viminia (only ever eluded to in Book 1), discuss with their pet mortal, Inediquette Rictum, the significance of two mysterious stars that have fallen into Life. Suspicion runs dangerously high that these stars herald the arrival of creatures from Death who might be set on waging revenge on the missing Gods - in particular Eldera and Raen… Though who might Raen be? The discussion is prompted by the arrival of Lyla - a new character to this, the second book in 'The Boy Without Wings' series.
***THE CALL OF THE BIRDS!***
This excerpt is from Chapter 15. In it, three of Death's Lost Deities, Banyana, Drem and Viminia (only ever eluded to in Book 1), discuss with their pet mortal, Inediquette Rictum, the significance of two mysterious stars that have fallen into Life. Suspicion runs dangerously high that these stars herald the arrival of creatures from Death who might be set on waging revenge on the missing Gods - in particular Eldera and Raen… Though who might Raen be? The discussion is prompted by the arrival of Lyla - a new character to this, the second book in 'The Boy Without Wings' series.
The Boy Without Wings
by Jackie Morrey-Grace
Chapter 10 - A Cruel Mistress
An excerpt
Pensively, Eldera was sitting in her Hide. In front of her was an enormous matrix of detailed sculptures, each one connected to the other by thin weaves of line and fashioned from the treasures that had been brought to her by her muse, Raven: Treasures that had been unashamedly plucked from the ghosts who wandered tortured and forgotten in the Lost Plains below.
Eldera wasn’t in the habit of mourning their pain however. She was an artist after all. In fact, she was the artist, the Shadow artist. Though if the truth was allowed to be spoken - which it most definitely was not, the disastrous state of the Lost Plains was almost completely her own fault. But hush! Quiet now! She shook her head to rid it of the offensive thought. Didn’t they know? Didn’t they realise? Such a responsibility was a huge burden for just one being, so just let them try to accuse her of greed and failure! For it wasn’t her fault. No one, not anyone would have been able to help such an infernal obsession.
Perfectly still, and keen to block any more such thoughts, she meditated quietly on her creation, her Har-harum - so named in honour of the sound it made. At least, when it behaved. Next, she reached to her side, carefully picking up a collection of thin and shiny threads. Threads, that to the observer, would look curiously like strands of hair. Swiftly, she began to fold and tuck and pin them, her accomplished hands working furiously to design a fascinating array of fragile patterns.
To the mortal, or even the immortal eye, the purpose of her vocation could not be described as immediately obvious. That said, she knew her skill was quite something to watch, her genius impressive, and it was, it really was! Eldera however, was dissatisfied. Crossly, perhaps even with an element of fatigue - qualities that really should not have been so present in such a powerful Goddess, she sighed.
Bored now, she looked around, wondering where Raven had got to.
“Damn him.” She spoke directly to the Har-harum. “Why can’t he just bring us some more interesting subjects?” The strands resonated in response. A subtly beautiful harmony that somehow managed to sound defiant.
“Don’t play with me!” Meanly, Eldera pinched the taut lines in retaliation. They wailed momentarily, then fell silent, whilst Eldera sat back. Briefly, she considered whether or not she should just crush her handiwork to pieces and let it crumble to dust on the floor. That would teach him. Besides, it was true: although the patterns into which the models merged were definitely breath taking, it couldn’t be denied that everything did reminisce a similar feel. Dare it even be said, a dullness.
“I need more colours!” Eldera complained loudly to her masterpiece, “and textures, and...” But ooh, as she drew pointy fingertips over the silky smooth threads of her latest offering, could she bring herself to say it?
“I need something more, alive!” There, it was said, and briefly her mind wandered back to another time, when other gods and goddesses shared her heavy load. With a fleeting disgruntlement that didn’t disguise her bitterness, she then studied her work carefully once more. For now, it would just have to do.
Her anguish was not new. The lack of interesting materials in Death had become the bane of her existence. At first, she had tried the flowers and the water and the rocks. But the flowers had wilted and the water had escaped. The rocks lacked resonance. She needed resonance. As her addiction to her art had matured and devoured her, she had therefore begun to look further afield. In the end she simply settled on hair. Ghostly hair.
Deep down she knew this was a cruel affair; stealing the locks of the ghosts in the Lost Plains weakened them, crushed their spirits to an agonising annihilation. But, so what? That would be their fate anyway, she had persuaded herself. So, sighing with resignation, she had tucked her guilt safely away in the back of her mind. But now, even their precious hair felt inadequate.
“What we need is brighter hair!” The enthusiasm was rising dangerously in her voice. “Hair that glitters, hair that shines!” She forced her voice to fall again. Oh how she would love to creep into the Realm of the Gracious Angels and take some of that angelic hair from the children. How it pained her to merely be condemned to watch their antics and their flights from the Observation Deck!
But what she really wanted. No! Stop these thoughts now, Eldera! Oh but what she really, really wanted. Well, imagine all the things she could construct from the hair of the Gracious Angels themselves! Lauriel’s golden spirals, Arla’s flaming locks and Meade’s teary tresses!
Eldera caught her breath and slapped a hand to her mouth. The thought was unspeakably thrilling. She plucked the strands viciously again. This time, they screamed in response, whilst simultaneously Eldera cursed the fact that she couldn't just take the goods for herself.
She briefly cradled her head then; her foray into the unbearable nature of unrequited lust had left her visibly shaken. But, so it was: Eldera had woven a prison for herself in the shape of the Hide. Leave her work? Never. The Goddess could no more escape this place than fly up to Life itself!
Oh Life! The very thought of it. She moaned slightly in self pity. How dearly she regretted that she hadn't been blessed with the insight to escape with the other gods when the chance arose. How could she have been so naive? How could she have even imagined staying behind in this Death after tasting Life!
Her face curled into a snarl. What a fool. And now here she was, forced to atone for her mistake for all eternity! Forever recreating that which was stolen from her, by stealing from others.
It annoyed her too that for her thievery she had become completely dependent on Raven. They had loved each other once. Did he remember? Now, well, as much as she had first tried to cajole and woo him, then to torture and pain him, he could not be persuaded to steal from the Gracious Realm.
Still, a Goddess could dream, so dream she would. And experiment. With a wicked smile she pondered this for a while: her next favourite hobby. The fermenting! Row upon row of fermented ghosts, fermented tar, fermenting hair. Large jars, tiny jars, fat ones, thin ones, long skinny ones. All with a neat little lid squeezed on top. Waiting and waiting for just the right combination, just the right moment. Her time would come soon, she could just feel it in whatever equivalent she had of bones.
A moment of passion suddenly descended on her. Collapsing dramatically to the floor, she therefore knelt down in front of the Har-harum and offered up a prayer. Just at that precise moment, tap, tap, tap, there came a knock at her door.
An excerpt
Pensively, Eldera was sitting in her Hide. In front of her was an enormous matrix of detailed sculptures, each one connected to the other by thin weaves of line and fashioned from the treasures that had been brought to her by her muse, Raven: Treasures that had been unashamedly plucked from the ghosts who wandered tortured and forgotten in the Lost Plains below.
Eldera wasn’t in the habit of mourning their pain however. She was an artist after all. In fact, she was the artist, the Shadow artist. Though if the truth was allowed to be spoken - which it most definitely was not, the disastrous state of the Lost Plains was almost completely her own fault. But hush! Quiet now! She shook her head to rid it of the offensive thought. Didn’t they know? Didn’t they realise? Such a responsibility was a huge burden for just one being, so just let them try to accuse her of greed and failure! For it wasn’t her fault. No one, not anyone would have been able to help such an infernal obsession.
Perfectly still, and keen to block any more such thoughts, she meditated quietly on her creation, her Har-harum - so named in honour of the sound it made. At least, when it behaved. Next, she reached to her side, carefully picking up a collection of thin and shiny threads. Threads, that to the observer, would look curiously like strands of hair. Swiftly, she began to fold and tuck and pin them, her accomplished hands working furiously to design a fascinating array of fragile patterns.
To the mortal, or even the immortal eye, the purpose of her vocation could not be described as immediately obvious. That said, she knew her skill was quite something to watch, her genius impressive, and it was, it really was! Eldera however, was dissatisfied. Crossly, perhaps even with an element of fatigue - qualities that really should not have been so present in such a powerful Goddess, she sighed.
Bored now, she looked around, wondering where Raven had got to.
“Damn him.” She spoke directly to the Har-harum. “Why can’t he just bring us some more interesting subjects?” The strands resonated in response. A subtly beautiful harmony that somehow managed to sound defiant.
“Don’t play with me!” Meanly, Eldera pinched the taut lines in retaliation. They wailed momentarily, then fell silent, whilst Eldera sat back. Briefly, she considered whether or not she should just crush her handiwork to pieces and let it crumble to dust on the floor. That would teach him. Besides, it was true: although the patterns into which the models merged were definitely breath taking, it couldn’t be denied that everything did reminisce a similar feel. Dare it even be said, a dullness.
“I need more colours!” Eldera complained loudly to her masterpiece, “and textures, and...” But ooh, as she drew pointy fingertips over the silky smooth threads of her latest offering, could she bring herself to say it?
“I need something more, alive!” There, it was said, and briefly her mind wandered back to another time, when other gods and goddesses shared her heavy load. With a fleeting disgruntlement that didn’t disguise her bitterness, she then studied her work carefully once more. For now, it would just have to do.
Her anguish was not new. The lack of interesting materials in Death had become the bane of her existence. At first, she had tried the flowers and the water and the rocks. But the flowers had wilted and the water had escaped. The rocks lacked resonance. She needed resonance. As her addiction to her art had matured and devoured her, she had therefore begun to look further afield. In the end she simply settled on hair. Ghostly hair.
Deep down she knew this was a cruel affair; stealing the locks of the ghosts in the Lost Plains weakened them, crushed their spirits to an agonising annihilation. But, so what? That would be their fate anyway, she had persuaded herself. So, sighing with resignation, she had tucked her guilt safely away in the back of her mind. But now, even their precious hair felt inadequate.
“What we need is brighter hair!” The enthusiasm was rising dangerously in her voice. “Hair that glitters, hair that shines!” She forced her voice to fall again. Oh how she would love to creep into the Realm of the Gracious Angels and take some of that angelic hair from the children. How it pained her to merely be condemned to watch their antics and their flights from the Observation Deck!
But what she really wanted. No! Stop these thoughts now, Eldera! Oh but what she really, really wanted. Well, imagine all the things she could construct from the hair of the Gracious Angels themselves! Lauriel’s golden spirals, Arla’s flaming locks and Meade’s teary tresses!
Eldera caught her breath and slapped a hand to her mouth. The thought was unspeakably thrilling. She plucked the strands viciously again. This time, they screamed in response, whilst simultaneously Eldera cursed the fact that she couldn't just take the goods for herself.
She briefly cradled her head then; her foray into the unbearable nature of unrequited lust had left her visibly shaken. But, so it was: Eldera had woven a prison for herself in the shape of the Hide. Leave her work? Never. The Goddess could no more escape this place than fly up to Life itself!
Oh Life! The very thought of it. She moaned slightly in self pity. How dearly she regretted that she hadn't been blessed with the insight to escape with the other gods when the chance arose. How could she have been so naive? How could she have even imagined staying behind in this Death after tasting Life!
Her face curled into a snarl. What a fool. And now here she was, forced to atone for her mistake for all eternity! Forever recreating that which was stolen from her, by stealing from others.
It annoyed her too that for her thievery she had become completely dependent on Raven. They had loved each other once. Did he remember? Now, well, as much as she had first tried to cajole and woo him, then to torture and pain him, he could not be persuaded to steal from the Gracious Realm.
Still, a Goddess could dream, so dream she would. And experiment. With a wicked smile she pondered this for a while: her next favourite hobby. The fermenting! Row upon row of fermented ghosts, fermented tar, fermenting hair. Large jars, tiny jars, fat ones, thin ones, long skinny ones. All with a neat little lid squeezed on top. Waiting and waiting for just the right combination, just the right moment. Her time would come soon, she could just feel it in whatever equivalent she had of bones.
A moment of passion suddenly descended on her. Collapsing dramatically to the floor, she therefore knelt down in front of the Har-harum and offered up a prayer. Just at that precise moment, tap, tap, tap, there came a knock at her door.
CHARACTER PROFILES:
Aro:
"There is nothing more dangerous in Death than the presence of Life."
"There is nothing more dangerous in Death than the presence of Life."
Caught up in a cosmic shift, Aro, our 16 year old hero, dies whilst still holding onto Life. As a result, he fails to receive his wings on account of him not being quite dead. His task is to return the Life to where it belongs. The task however, is doomed from the outset and fraught with complications. Wounded in more ways than one, he must learn that trust, self belief and passion are bigger than his lack of faith - if he is to succeed.
"It seemed to quake for freedom. Alive like fire is alive."
FABLE:
"And when the winds of change come, little one, and the boundaries open, you must stay close. You must promise us that..."
Blessed with unconditional love, Fable adds a level of protection to Aro's task. However, is this 4 year old infant quite the angel she seems?
"And when the winds of change come, little one, and the boundaries open, you must stay close. You must promise us that..."
Blessed with unconditional love, Fable adds a level of protection to Aro's task. However, is this 4 year old infant quite the angel she seems?
MARA:
" She could have had a thousand different futures. Mara. But in the end, she chose to fly."
A suicide also caught up in the shift, Mara is a young woman. She adds a further level of protection to Aro's task and serves as a mother figure to Fable. But will she remain true to the children, or will she become distracted by those who haunt her?
" She could have had a thousand different futures. Mara. But in the end, she chose to fly."
A suicide also caught up in the shift, Mara is a young woman. She adds a further level of protection to Aro's task and serves as a mother figure to Fable. But will she remain true to the children, or will she become distracted by those who haunt her?
MATHILDE: as she was
"And although her hand was comforting, it was cold."
This 16 year old angel-child is filled with mischief and a magnet for trouble. She's also a thief.
"And although her hand was comforting, it was cold."
This 16 year old angel-child is filled with mischief and a magnet for trouble. She's also a thief.
MATHILDE: as she became
"Now that her eyes had been forever opened to that which she had lost for all eternity."
"Now that her eyes had been forever opened to that which she had lost for all eternity."
MATHILDE:
"Not knowing that all of this time, she was being watched."
"Not knowing that all of this time, she was being watched."
LAURIEL:
"He had called it gold, and she was golden."
The Gracious Angel of Children. A harpist, she collects the souls of children by giving them wings, so turning them into angels to serve in her Gracious Realm for all eternity.
"He had called it gold, and she was golden."
The Gracious Angel of Children. A harpist, she collects the souls of children by giving them wings, so turning them into angels to serve in her Gracious Realm for all eternity.
ARLA:
"Filled with fire."
The Gracious Angel of the Snatched - the Fire Angel. She stores the souls of those who have been brutally murdered via her horn playing, in a cavity where a heart once lived. Also: Raven's clandestine lover.
"Filled with fire."
The Gracious Angel of the Snatched - the Fire Angel. She stores the souls of those who have been brutally murdered via her horn playing, in a cavity where a heart once lived. Also: Raven's clandestine lover.
MEADE:
"For to taste just one drop of her desolate tears..."
The Gracious Angel of the Takers, the Angel Lament. Through playing her pipe, Meade uses the Shadow magic to collect the souls of those who have taken their own lives. They live in the tears that make up her body and must never be tasted by another.
"For to taste just one drop of her desolate tears..."
The Gracious Angel of the Takers, the Angel Lament. Through playing her pipe, Meade uses the Shadow magic to collect the souls of those who have taken their own lives. They live in the tears that make up her body and must never be tasted by another.
ELDERA:
"There was only a sense of claws and sharpness and spikes. Her skin puckered somehow, or covered in very faint scales. It looked almost as if she'd been plucked."
Too wicked for words and the last remaining of the 7 gods. Mysteriously left behind when they escaped to Life, all we know is that she and Raven loved each other once, but now she too is a Contaminate, a great artist - the Shadow Artist, and a useless goddess. She is very very ancient.
"There was only a sense of claws and sharpness and spikes. Her skin puckered somehow, or covered in very faint scales. It looked almost as if she'd been plucked."
Too wicked for words and the last remaining of the 7 gods. Mysteriously left behind when they escaped to Life, all we know is that she and Raven loved each other once, but now she too is a Contaminate, a great artist - the Shadow Artist, and a useless goddess. She is very very ancient.
RAVEN:
"She had him trapped. This woman who promised him so much yet left him so little."
The Archangel. Trapped by the wicked Goddess, Eldera, he is addicted to her Shadow magic, the Har-Harum. Also a Contaminate, both his own affliction, and that of Eldera, remain mysterious, coming from a time long before Aro entered Death. Funnily enough, he is very similar in looks to Aidan Turner.
Raven with Mathilde:
"She had him trapped. This woman who promised him so much yet left him so little."
The Archangel. Trapped by the wicked Goddess, Eldera, he is addicted to her Shadow magic, the Har-Harum. Also a Contaminate, both his own affliction, and that of Eldera, remain mysterious, coming from a time long before Aro entered Death. Funnily enough, he is very similar in looks to Aidan Turner.
Raven with Mathilde:
CONNIE:
Mara's sister. Also: a ghost. Connie makes only a brief appearance in book 1, coming into her own in book 2.
Mara's sister. Also: a ghost. Connie makes only a brief appearance in book 1, coming into her own in book 2.