Tag Archives: arthurian legends

Morrighan is Available in Paperback

greg-staples-morrigan

Back in September, I published my short story, Morrighan and yesterday I published the paperback version. For those of you who are interested in purchasing a paperback copy it is available on the Amazon.com website and will be available to non US residents in the next 24 to 48 hours.

Morrighan is my twist on the story of King Arthur and Morgan le faye. A what if… kind of story inspired by Marion Zimmer Bradley’s tale and the Merlin miniseries featuring Sam Neil and Helena Bonham-Carter.

Now, for those of you who might want a sneak peak, here it is:

Camelot was burning.

Avalon was under attack… from dragons.

The very creatures that graced the banners which flew high and proud on the many flag poles that graced the castle’s turrets were going to bring about its end. The symbol of Pendragon no longer stood for power, peace and protection, but death and destruction. Their very existence in the skies above spelled ruin for all of Camelot; not just its King. It was just a matter of time.

Was this what the Morríghan spoke of when she foresaw Arthur’s death? Rather than what Morgan herself feared. That the death of Arthur would be at the hands of the son she carried within her womb? Could this be the downfall of Camelot that was prophesised so long ago when she herself was only a child, trapped in the crystal cave beneath the earth with nobody but her cat Merlin for company?

She laid a hand on her stomach. The child within grew restless, as if it too sensed the calamity surrounding the world outside the womb. She’d tried and failed to stop one travesty from coming to pass. In the end the child would be born, and born healthy, she knew for the herbs she taken early in the pregnancy had not touched her – they hadn’t even made her sick as they often did with other women. And if she couldn’t stop the child from being born, how then was she supposed to stop the Dragons from destroying the entire world? Dragons were much harder to expel than a child. Harder by far than even Uther’s death had been, and back then she’d had the aid and favour of the Morríghan.

She doubted very much that Morríghan would help her twice, and Arthur wouldn’t suffer her insolence for long, not that she cared much what Arthur thought of her. She’d sooner take up residence in a nunnery than carry his favour. She wondered why her mother allowed herself to suffer under his rule; she’d already suffered the rule of one King, why not a second? But Arthur was no greater than Uther, just as she was no greater than Igraine.

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I Just Hit Publish!

I just hit publish on the kindle version of my short story Morrighan and I’m so impatient that I’m literally sitting at my computer compulsively clicking refresh hoping that it’s gone live in the last five seconds. And, finally it has!

So, why did I decide to publish a few short stories? Well, because I’m still working on the edits of The Winter Princess I wanted to share something instead of appearing idle to the publishing world. And hopefully build up a bit of a readership along the way.

The first story, Morrighan, deals with a retelling of the Arthurian Legends from Morgan le Faye’s point of view with a paranormal twist.

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It is available for purchase on Amazon and Smashwords for 99c.

Here’s an excerpt from the story…

The wind whipped through her hair, tossing the dark strands over her face and obscuring her vision. High above the sea, on the rocky crag the aerie was full.

Nemain settled on Morgan’s shoulder; the bird’s talons digging into the soft leather pauldron. She had become so used to it now that she didn’t even wince as the bird took its time hoping about on her shoulder before settling down.

As she turned her head and looked Nemain straight in the eye, the bird cocked its head to one side, its beady onyx eyes staring back at her. “Where are your sisters?” Morgan asked.

Nemain cawed once before raising one wing upwards, just as two more birds few in, circling once around Morgan’s head; the beat of their wings echoing in her ears. Badb and Macha landed one after the other on the leather gauntlet that covered her left arm from her fingertips right up to her elbow.

Smiling, Morgan gave a brief nod to each bird in turn. As she picked up the reins in her right hand, she nudged the dapple grey gelding on with her thighs, while being careful as she navigated her way down the steep path, that that had been worn into the cliff face after years of repetitive use and headed across the field for home.

It was true that she could have spent all day up at the aerie, looking out at the sea below while observing the hatchlings, but Morgan knew if she did she was only putting off the inevitable. That eventually she would have to see Arthur, and while she quite enjoyed the solitude, in having only the birds for company, she feared his wrath more.

Arthur, like most fey, was deathly afraid of birds, ravens in particular. It was said to see one was a bad omen, to lay eyes on three signified one’s own death. So superstitious was Arthur that when he and Morgan had been presented the murder of ravens as a wedding gift he’d threatened to spill their blood then and there in the reception hall.

What had been seen couldn’t be unseen, however; Arthur was destined to die.

Had it been anyone else but the Queen of Camelot’s kin that had presented such a gift to the newlyweds, the lives of Badb, Macha and Nemain, wouldn’t have been spared at all.

Pressing her thighs to the gelding’s flanks she worked him up to a trot before she gave the animal its head and allowed him to lengthen his stride until he was pacing at an even canter. Spying Arthur not far from the castle she brought the horse under control, knowing full well what was in store for her, should feathers wind up shedding on his clothing.

Bringing the ravens out of the aerie at dusk was not entirely wise, but Morgan was never one to play by anybody else’s rules but her own.

“Those creatures belong in the aerie not out here by castle walls,” Arthur said facing her.

“And fey belong in children’s story books,” Morgan spat.

I am Morgan le Faye

26FB8BBC-3A1C-4F6E-BF6C-BC51A5E7A05EI’ve been busy working on expanding a short story that I’m hoping to offer up to the public in the coming weeks…

I’m thinking of releasing it as a series of three short stories – 6,000 words each – totalling 18,000 words… for 0.99c each.

The stories are my take on the Arthurian Myths, complete with new twists and all feed into my forthcoming Eldritch novels.

I’m looking forward to sharing them with you all and it’s because of that very reason, I’m gifting you a sneak peak…

Here it is!

Enjoy!

I am Morgan le Faye – revenge was the very last thing bequeathed to me.
My name was such that it would be written on the wind for centuries to come. A litany that would beat madly in the hearts of all those who’d wronged me.
Morgan le Faye… Morgan le Faye… Morgan le Faye.
Death would not come soon enough.
Once, I’d had a father who loved me as much as I loved him.
And they killed him.
The fair folk.
All for the want of a woman. A woman whose name was Igraine. The Queen of Camelot.
My mother was beautiful. Her fair hair shone like spun gold, and when she let it fall loose it fell almost down to the floor. Plaited, the long braid came to her waist.
I envied those long golden locks as a child, even when they turned snow white with age, I envied them. Anything would have been better than to be cursed with dark unruly curls as I was.
Nobody ever told me I was pretty, only common. How I wished I’d get to receive the type of looks of adoration my mother received. First from my father and then from Uther. I’d spent many a sleepless night as a child dreaming of the day I’d have a love as great as my mother had, had. It wasn’t until he showed up in my life, that I knew I was adored, simply for being me. Little did I know that his adoration would come at a price.

 

Opening Lines, Part 2

C13EDC35-82FF-4ACD-9A70-9F7BC20842B7.jpegEarlier this month I shared a story prompt with you all. I hope it gave some of you some inspiration to start something new, as it did for me.

I wasn’t planning on starting anything new but this is what happened when I sat down to write.

I knew that sound. Dragons. They were flying directly above, their wings beating rhythmically against the wind.
I looked up, the dragon itself was unrecognisable from my spot on the hill.
As it circled over head, I knew landing was imminent. 

It’s the beginning of Book 9, Ironheart, which centres around the daughter of Lancelot and Guinevere. Both of whom are dead at this point in the timeline.

I know, I know, for those of you who know anything of the Arthurian Legends, you’ll know that Lancelot and Guinevere never got their happily ever after. But they did have a long lasting affair. This is a play on that. I’m a big fan of what if’s in my novels.

I can’t give too much more away without spoiling it. Other than to say their daughter winds up at the residence of the Lady of the Lake and while there Vivienne being Vivienne meddles in things she has no right to meddle in. A girl’s future. Which brings a tonne of drama and old characters resurface etcetera. I’d been looking for a happily ever after for one of my minor characters, who until recently I thought was going to end up sad and alone, but I think he just might be the fix for Vivienne’s meddling ways.

We’ll see, it’s all subject to change at this point.