The Fury of the Fae Quotes

“Tam was saying: ‘AN EVIL THOUGHT OR ACTION WOULD HAVE TO BE COMMITTED AT – OR JUST PRIOR TO THE MOMENT OF CONCEPTION. THIS SEEMS MOST UNLIKELY BETWEEN TRUE LOVERS. THEREFORE THE CHANCE OF THIS MUTATION OCCURING IS ABOUT ONE IN A MILLION.’ The screen darkened. Tam would say no more. The Mind never surmised or deliberated; that was for man creatures to do. She simply stated fact.
‘Well...’ Grom turned to face his mystified Council. ‘Has anyone got any ideas?’
There was an expectant silence as everyone looked at everyone else. Griff seemed about to speak, and then changed his mind.
Then Tameron (the seer) stepped forward. Her dark eyes were wide with horror at the awful revelation which had just come to her. Her step faltered as she moved towards the king, and he reached with his hands to steady her. She did not want to tell what she knew, but was compelled to speak the truth. This was something the Fae had to know.
‘My Lord...’ Her voice was barely more than a whisper, and she trembled uncontrollably as she struggled to find courage to betray one of her own. ‘My Lord... This creature is the seed of Griff.’
There was a stunned silence.”
― Bernie Morris, The Fury of the Fae

“Griff entered the cave, sword in hand. He had no desire to frighten Astelle, but he had to be prepared for anything.
She jumped up from her fireside position with a small stifled scream at his entry, then continued to back fearfully towards the shadowed wall.
She was quite alone. Griff could sense no other presence – only hers, and the wonder of it. He sheathed his sword, and gazed upon his long-lost love.
Her hair had lost all trace of colour while still retaining the texture of youth, giving the appearance of white silk. There was a pulsating light of a blue-lilac shade which clung to the crown of her head, reflecting in the hair – a soul – a lost spirit – someone who had loved her. She was almost as pale as death, for Torking took far too much blood from her, too frequently. She was also much thinner than she should have been, but for all of this, she was still the most beautiful sight of his life.
Her body was ravaged with Torking's bites and claw-marks. She was still wearing his old cloak which Griff instantly recognised, though it was little more than a rag, wrapped around her body and tied on one shoulder. Her beautiful dark eyes, those which had so haunted his dreams, seemed over-large in her pale face, as she stared at him with a mingling of shock, disbelief and joy.
Griff took a few hesitant steps towards her, unsure of his reception. ‘Astelle?’ His voice grated with emotion.
How often had she yearned to hear him speak her name exactly in that way?
‘Astelle – is it really you?’
He was just as divinely handsome as she remembered, and he looked so fine – he looked magnificent in Gremlen battledress. In the flickering torchlight, the blue krulmesh armour glittered over the black leather tunic. The emerald sheen in his raven hair was vivid as ever. Best of all, his dark forest-green eyes were shining with love, and she suddenly understood that Griff was a hundred times more beautiful than Torking, for his eyes held everything that was good, fine and noble. Astelle's heart almost stopped beating as she gazed at him. Her eyes filled with tears, and her lip trembled as she tried to whisper his name.”
― Bernie Morris, The Fury of the Fae

“The cold pre-dawn sky was softly grey through the cave opening above, when Griff finally arose and began to retrieve his clothes.
Astelle said, ‘A man like you – I could take full time.’
He smiled regretfully. ‘That is impossible, my darling girl. Even though you are irresistibly sweet to me, you are not suitable to join the Faen race, and I am not prepared to live among Morts.’
‘Suppose I should have a child?’ she asked. ‘You have put enough seed in me to make a dozen babies.’
‘You will not,’ he said with conviction. ‘A Faen child can be conceived only in love, and we don't have that, do we?’ Griff was quite sure that she thought nothing of him, even though she had left his emotions in turmoil. Damned bitch! She had stolen from him.
‘I would not know if we did. I don't understand how love should feel.’
‘If you loved, you would know it,’ he told her. And you would not steal from your love, he thought fiercely.
He was buckling his sword belt over the black tunic.
She did not notice the shaking of his hands; she simply thought what a fine manly figure he made, and she realised how much she wanted him to stay. ‘If I did have a child – could I let you know somehow?’ Astelle clutched at the only strand of hope she could find.
He strove to reassure her. ‘We do have mindlink, which means you only have to mindwhisper my name, if you ever need me – I will come.’ But he did not think this very likely.
‘Please don't go, Griff.’ She was almost tearful.
‘I have to go – before the sun rises.’ He then kissed her with unexpected tenderness, which made her feel even worse.
‘Use those jewels wisely.’ He smiled and winked at her, then looked into her eyes for a few more moments, seriously – almost wistfully.
Then he just vanished before her very eyes.

He had forgotten his black forest cloak. It lay on the floor at the end of the bed. Astelle picked it up and held it close to her body.
She watched the red streaks of dawn spread across the cold grey sky, framed in the rocky aperture above her.
If you loved, you would know it, he had said.
She had never felt more lonely or deserted in her life.
Unexplained tears slid slowly down her cheeks.

And that was how Griff broke the Faen Colonial Rule.”
― Bernie Morris, The Fury of the Fae

“At last they came to the lower slopes of the great mountains. Here she met a wild and bedraggled boy. He stumbled across her when she had stopped to rest and suckle the baby. The boy stared at the unlikely pair for a moment, then seated himself on the ground at a respectful distance, obviously preparing to converse. He was the strangest looking boy she had ever seen. Evidently a changeling like herself, for he was tall and straight with long slender limbs, but his hair was golden like the sun and his eyes a deep blue like the sky. He looked to be about fifteen years old, not quite a man, yet man enough to survive. She guessed he must have originated from the fabled district of Shor, in the far south, where it was rumoured that all the people were changelings, and all golden-haired.
Astelle tensed, fully expecting Torking to deliver one of his pain bolts to the curious boy, but the child seemed unperturbed, and simply carried on suckling. This boy's attention was obviously not deemed as a threat. She relaxed and smiled at the youth.
He returned the smile, white teeth startling against his tanned and dirty face. ‘Why are you travelling all alone?’ he asked.
Encouraged by Torking's mindwhispers, Astelle managed to concoct a story very close to the truth.
‘As you can see, my child is rather unusual,’ she explained. ‘I could not bear to raise him among mortals who would constantly deride and insult him – and his father has left me, so I had no choice but to run from my tribe.’
Sympathy appeared in the deep blue eyes. ‘I understand that very well,’ he said. ‘I am an escaped slave. I was captured in infancy, and have no memory of my own people, but all my life I have been mocked and abused because I am different. My name is Bren. I would like to travel with you, if you don't mind. I could take care of you both.’
‘Keep him,’ Torking mindwhispered. ‘He will be useful to fish and hunt for us. But do not tell him that I speak to you.’
Astelle smiled. ‘Thank you Bren,’ she said. ‘I will be glad of your company. I am called Astelle.’
‘A Faen name...’ he said wonderingly.
They began to climb the mountains of Clor.”
― Bernie Morris, The Fury of the Fae

“The child, Nika, whirled around and saw the Bat Fae; he who would become a legend upon Omega, to be used by mortal parents as a dire warning to their errant children.
For several moments she just stared, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, for she had never seen anyone so beautiful. His violet-black eyes mesmerised her, their sparkling depths seemed to draw her to him, and she was unwilling and unable to look away from them. But she also noted his huge bat wings, his pointed ears, the pale gold of his skin which actually seemed to glow, and the coloured iridescence of his hair.
Torking eyed her robust little body, and he almost drooled. What a tasty little morsel!”
― Bernie Morris, The Fury of the Fae

“The child was a boy – beautiful in the face, with a great mop of silky black hair. He was perfectly formed, but there was something attached to his back. Estelle gasped with horror when she discovered the baby had black, leathery wings, like those of a bat, neatly folded on his back.
The Fae did not have wings!
Somewhere she had heard that they used to have – long ago. Maybe her child was a throwback? But what would her father think of a baby with wings? She tried again to call Griff, to tell him his child was born.
There was a terrible sharp pain in her head, then a fierce whisper that seemed to fill her mind. ‘Don't call HIM! I forbid you to call HIM ever!’
The child's eyes had opened.
They were beautiful Faen eyes – an impossible colour of violet-black and much too intelligent for a new-born baby.
Worse than that – they were evil!”
― Bernie Morris, The Fury of the Fae

“THE FAEN COLONIAL RULE

The Faen Colonial Rule was laid down by Elfira, the first Faen Queen of Omega, in the year A.E. 91.
The Faen Colonial Rule states:

No Faen creature may copulate with a mortal, unless the said mortal is of exceptionally fine character. In such a case, his/her suitability and final acceptance must be decided by a Faen Royal. Even then, the chosen mortal must be given three days to reach his/her own decision. Immortality must not be endowed lightly, for a number of reasons.

Elfira was young to be a queen. She was renowned for her unwise decisions.
But in this instance, she was perfectly right. The Faen Colonial Rule was the wisest ever made, as you will discover...”
― Bernie Morris, The Fury of the Fae