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Friday, April 6, 2012

F is for FALLEN_THE LAST FAE



Fallen, the last fae.

She is a recurring character in many of my novels:

RITES OF PASSAGE, ADRIFT IN THE TIME STREAM, the LOVE LIKE DEATH quartet of urban/epic fantasies, THE BEAR WITH 2 SHADOWS, and the heroine of her very own THE LAST FAE.

Here is a snippet from the chapter, LIES THAT LOCUST TELL, from THE LAST FAE:

The pebble shot from between my thumb and forefinger like a bullet straight into the barred window. An electric circuit died, wailing its death song in tones higher than humans could hear. I smiled like a wolf. We would have visitors soon.

More the pity for them.

I drew in a breath from the cold breeze bleeding from the wounded window. The sharp tang of Autumn. Oak. Ash. Thorn. Decay. Rotting leaves, mottled in bright hues of strangled life.

The dark and bloody soil beneath them breathed out its lineage. An aching sadness hollowed out my chest. The Misty Isles. Albion. England.

I whispered, the words feeling like dewdrops of blood on a wounded deer, "The lonely season in lonely lands."

Clover kept studying me. I wondered what she saw. One human in a generation saw me as I was. The rest of the herd saw only what they were looking for. And I? What was I looking for?

I turned to the face reflected in the barred window. Certainly not that. Not that.

High cheekbones, seemingly intent on bursting up and out of flesh that shimmered as if coated with stardust. A living waterfall of honey-wheat hair, looking more like a lion's mane than any other earthly phrase I could use.

My eyes. I shivered looking at them though they were my own. Large, slanted fae eyes chilling even me with their lack of warmth or mercy. Their color the burnt-out ends of ancient days.

From beyond the wounded window I heard a mournful singing. Nightingales. Far off and forlorn. To do a service for a Sidhe was a fearsome thing indeed, never to be done lightly nor without cost.

But before the field mouse found that out I would do her a kindness. I smiled bitter. A breaking of tradition, true, but I broke every rule I could not bend.

I brought the faint, bittersweet song to the ears of the field mouse and murmured lines from the poet she so liked,

"Nay, barren are those mountains and spent the streams;
Our song is the voice of desire, that haunts our dreams,
A throe of the heart,
Whose pining visions dim, forbidden hopes profound,
No dying cadence nor long sigh can sound,
For all our art."
***

11 comments:

  1. I was researching the Tuatha DeDannan and put that into a search box at the Kindle store; Black Roses in Avalon was 3rd on the list of suggested reads. I think it was this one. Two of your books were listed.

    It gave me a smile to see that.

    .......dhole

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  2. Roland that 's exciting what Donna said. I hope it results in many sales. I love the sound of Fallen. This description sang to me: High cheekbones, seemingly intent on bursting up and out of flesh that shimmered as if coated with stardust.

    Thanks Roland

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  3. I have no idea how you churn out so much awesome fiction. Well done, Roland!

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  4. Hey, My old friend, So glad to see you are still writing that wonderful fiction. Visiting as many blogs as I can this month. Bless you, my friend. Ruby

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  5. I still don't know how you do it. You write such lyrical fiction that it make me want to revise everything I've ever written in order to at least match your quality! Great words, great post! :)

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  6. You write like magic. I'm not talking "abracadabra" I'm talking something far more powerful.

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  7. "The sharp tang of Autumn. Oak. Ash. Thorn. Decay. Rotting leaves, mottled in bright hues of strangled life."

    Beautiful! I'm always touched when I read your writing.

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  8. Donna:
    Wow. That certainly lifts my flagging spirits. Two of my books! Fallen is suddenly popular. The Tuatha DeDannan are also the major antagonists in my latest, BEST OF ENEMIES ... concerning a mysterious school in the modern French Quarter run by the Sidhe as the first stage of assailing our world.

    Denise:
    Yes, it is exciting. We never know when lightning will strike our writing. Right now, there is nary a tingle ... yet.

    I must admit to being a bit in love with Fallen -- dangerous thing for a mortal!

    Alex:
    I challenged myself in LIES LOCUST TELL to write in the manner of thought a fallen angel might express, having a perception more highly attuned than we mere mortals. Thanks for liking my effort!

    Thank you, Matthew:
    As some of my co-workers say: I live in a mental enchanted world. At least it's not boring!

    Grammy:
    I've missed you! Thanks for re-visiting. Don't be a stranger!

    Jack:
    I've read your work. Yours is distinctively your own and wonderful. Thank you for making my morning!

    Danielle:
    I was feeling a bit down earlier this week about my writing. Your comment makes me want to go on. Thank you very much!

    Marta:
    You, too, also give me the spirit to continue with your kind words. Thank you, Roland

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  9. Your writing is truly like poetry, Roland.

    J.C. Martin
    A to Z Blogger

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  10. As ever, your words sing, Roland.

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