Welcome to mythical, enchanted forest of Jyndari and the Village of Hwyndarin where The Fey of the Light, who are Light loving Fey, reside.
Where there is Light there is also darkness and the Fey of the Light live in careful vigilance, protecting themselves from the Dark Fey, known by many names, such as the Fallen, the Dark Ones, and most particularly The Reviled, who live in a realm of darkness and shadow known as the Uunglarda.
Although their two realms exist in close proximity, most Fey of the Light have never seen an actual Dark Fey and many Dark Fey only encounter very young Fey of the Light; yet crossings and abductions happen every day.
As their temples are desecrated, homes are pillaged and plundered, and the peaceful tranquility so important to the Fey of the Light is repeatedly shattered, the Fey Guard stand as protectors. They are mighty in battle and fierce in their vigilance to protect the fragile balance of life for the peaceful Fey of Light.
All Fey are born with special abilities, or gifts, such as telepathy, empathy, discernment, or the ability to dream walk. Many also have a gift of magic, though not all, such as spell-casting, enchantment, light bending or element wielding. While the Fey of the Light are beautiful and live harmoniously, the Reviled Fey are the opposite; they revere darkness and fill their lives with cruelty and evil, but all Reviled Fey begin their lives as Fey of the Light. The change comes only if they are abducted as childfey and forced to undergo the Integration, a process of intentional neglect and cruelty designed to twist them away from the Light.
This level of horror is not incorporated into the Dark Fey Trilogy simply for the sake of it. One does not need to open the pages of a book to discover the unthinkable, as the darkness typically embodied in fantasy genre stories by some terrifying being or creature is very much alive in our own reality and this is the underlying motivation for the darkness woven into Dark Fey. It was based in great part on the terrifying, yet true-life events of the Lord’s Resistance Army or LRA, a rebel militant group in Uganda that has for over 20 years abducted children from their homes; forcing them to commit horrifying acts of violence against each other and their own people. These children suffer a very real Integration and, like the childfey of Jyndari, they endure violence and cruelty at the hands of truly sadistic overlords. This is how the Reviled came to life and became the horrifyingly cruel beings depicted in Dark Fey.
This story shares the Power of Hope, Acceptance and Forgiveness through the ideal that you can change the world, if you take Positive Action to Create Change through doing what is Right.
Many times during your journey through the Dark Fey Trilogy, you will encounter words that seem to be capitalized for no apparent reason; yet, it should be noted, these capitalizations are anything but random. They mark either proper nouns, such as Fey of the Light, the Temple, Fey Guards, the Reviled, or the Light, which is not simply a glimmering of illumination, but a connotation that is highly important in the spirituality of Fey. If a word holds specific meaning, it may also be capitalized, such as See, Know, or Understand. You may encounter such words when they are in reference to a Fey gift, such as telepathy, empathy, or discernment, and they carry significant weight so, in order to emphasize their importance, capitalization is used.
Join me as we embark into this realm of Light and Dark. Allow your imagination take over as you experience the Jyndari forest and The Fey of the Light’s struggle with The Reviled. Let the Light reach outward from these pages and draws you into on a journey that promises to change your way of thinking.
Dark Fey Book 1
By Cynthia Morgan
Genre: Fantasy, Romance
In the mystical realm of Jyndari, a relationship blossoms between two unsuspecting, yet kindred souls.
Ayla, a Light-loving Guardian of Childfey, hides more than a few secrets — ones which isolate and set her apart from the rest. Yet Ayla’s veiled confidences entice one who lurks in the shadows. Silent and watchful, this dangerous presence knows all too well the secrets she wishes kept hidden.
The Darkness-revering Fey bids his time, waiting for the ideal moment to step away from the shadows and reveal himself to Ayla. But doing so will irrevocably alter the course of their lives, and shatter both their worlds.
Brimming with magic and mystery, beauty and enchantment, The Reviled is a fantasy novel like no other; an adventure for both mind and spirit.
She recognized her folly immediately. In striving to protect the child, she had unwittingly sacrificed herself. In the darkness of the hall as he dragged her unfalteringly toward the only room in her home containing a mirror, she recalled the dire and dreadful warnings given to all young fey as they entered youth. A mirror never stood in a sleeping chamber for a mirror could never be left in darkness. Should a Dark One cross over, he would open the portal the mirror provided and summon his legion. Then they would cross in untold numbers visiting such vile acts of upon the young fey as could never be named. They would only return into their own realm when the first light of the sun crossed the horizon, leaving ruination and despair in their wake and, oftentimes, death.
“No!” She shrieked in absolute horror, straining against his grasp, leaning away from him, scratching at his hand, beating her wings with every ounce of strength she possessed, but her resistance seemed more an inconvenience to him than a problem. Tugging her along behind him, he strode purposefully into her boudoir, her private chamber of preparation, and turned toward the mirror. Raising his free hand toward the reflecting glass, he arched his wings as if setting himself against a foe and closed his eyes, beginning an incantation that was not spoken in the Dlalth tongue, but in a language she did not immediately recognize.
Where were all the spells of protection she had learned as a child? How could she have forgotten after repeating them, literally, thousands of times until she was weary of speaking? Her mind spun, her terror choked her, her breath came in ragged gasps, she shook like a willow in a November wind, but she could still hear him speaking in the mysterious language and, in spite of her fear, she could not prevent the shred of curiosity that made her pause and glance up at him. She realized in that brief moment of clarity that his hand around her wrist was not an iron of restriction, clamped around her like a manacle. In fact, astonishingly, he was not hurting her at all.
The mirror creaked like ice shifting on a frozen river, the sound making her tremble more fiercely. He was opening the portal. Desperation inundated her like a spring flood and she pulled against his restraining grasp more vehemently, but he did not even turn his head. Hauling her up against his side, he crossed his arm over her shoulders and pinned her against him, turning the edge of one broad wing toward her furious thrashings to threaten any further resistance with a glinting, ten-inch spine.
Suddenly, her training returned to her and words of protection filled her mind. She gasped them out in haste, but her voice was little more than a choked squeak. Regardless of the weakness in her chanting however, his reaction was instantaneous. Pausing in his invocation, he turned his head to look down at her with obvious irritation, pressed the cruel barb on his wing to the soft skin under her chin and raised his hand from her shoulder to cover her mouth. There was nothing more she could do to protect herself. She had been defeated in her first and only battle. She knew she was utterly lost.
Turning back to the mirror, he began again, the unrecognizable words ringing in her ears like chimes spinning her senses. She was falling under his spell. She was unable to struggle, unable to speak her own protection, unable to do anything other than listen as he opened the portal and wrought her destruction. Yet even in her panic-stricken state, she could not prevent her overly inquisitive mind from lucidly noting that his hand, pressed over her mouth, was not hurting her. He did not bruise her lips under the ferocity of his contact; he did not wrench her head backward with cruel disregard; he did not restrict her breathing. He was simply thwarting her ability to speak.
Why was he being so shockingly careful about not hurting her? Why had he permitted her to protect Roshwyn with Light as well as spell? Why had he pulled the nursery door closed quietly before proceeding to drag her down the hallway toward the mirror? She could not comprehend his entirely incongruous behavior. Moreover, she had always been told The Reviled were cold-blooded, heartless creatures; that the touch of a Dark Fey was icy as death itself, yet, pressed up against him as she was his surprising warmth was undeniable.
The mirror creaked more loudly, drawing her back to the horror of her present situation and, with these calamitous musings confusing her thoughts, she strained to see around his vast pinions and broad shoulders to watch the mirror with morbid curiosity.
Tiny shards like crystalline ice were stretching across the reflective pane, each splinter a minuscule prism that reflected any spark of light in the room, even the ineffectual glimmer of her diminishing aura and his ethereal, dark crimson glow. With each word he spoke, the crystals increased, growing in number, dimension and intensity until they spread across the glass like frost on a winter window. Scraping and creaking like snow scrunching underfoot on the coldest day, the shards in the mirror began to reflect their own luminosity and as he continued to speak the luster of the mirror intensified.
Then the mirror resounded with a deafening crack and she flinched abruptly away, a sharp cry escaping her muffled mouth. Even the Dark One recoiled from the force of the sound and fell silent. Petrified, she squeezed her eyes tightly closed and held her breath. He had opened the portal; his kind would soon rush in and then she would pray for death long before it would come. In her terror, she could not breathe, blackness swirled at the edges of her mind, and her knees grew weak. Almost imperceptibly, she began to collapse, sliding down the length of his strong frame with no measure of power left within her to break her fall.
Without a sound, the Dark One turned his head to look down at her and released her. He did not drop her or throw her to the floor like a worn out plaything; he took her by the shoulder and by the hand and lowered her to the floor at his feet. Her thoughts swirled at this additional peculiarity and, before she lost herself to fear completely and was swallowed up by blackness, she opened her eyes to peer up at him wanly, utterly bewildered.
The room was bathed in Light! The mirror was intact, not lying in a multitude of shattered pieces on the floor as she had expected, and, somehow, it stood aglow with radiant, incandescent Light that sparkled and reflected in its own shimmering! Blinking woozily in the brilliance, she gazed up at him and drew a deep breath.
What had he done?
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Standing in Shadows
Dark Fey Book 2
After escaping captivity, Gairynzvl has been rescued by the Light-loving Fey. Now, he wants to return into the dark realm of The Reviled and rescue the innocent childfey trapped there.
But it will take strength, courage and more than one Fey to breach the borders of The Uunglarda, and to slip past the legions of Dark Fey who abide there. The daring mission will shake the foundations of everything The Fey of The Light have accepted as truth for thousands of years, but Gairynzvl knows the secret ways in and out of the dark realm.
Slipping into the darkness through darkness is easy; escaping with the childfey is another matter. Should they be captured, his band of liberators will pray for death long before it comes. Even is success, their deeds could spark a full scale war, unleashing the barbaric hatred and viciousness of The Reviled upon the peace-loving Fey of The Light.
Will the Fey of the Light risk a savage war in order to rescue the innocent childfey, and who are prepared to join Gairynzvl’s quest to the realm of shadows and fear?
Darkness lay thick and unyielding like a heavy mantle smothering from every direction at once. Pungent and prodding, the intense murk was sooty with the condensing smoke of a thousand fires, which was the only source of light permitted in the, otherwise, bleak city. As it curled in the streets and avenues, turning frequented ways into misleading paths that made even those most familiar with them turn about more than once to reorient themselves, layers of damp mist leached downward from the leaden sky. Out of the dimness that poured from the ashen buildings and sank from above, voices of discontent and misery echoed insidiously. Unmistakable cries of torment serrated the dense atmosphere; yet, from those same environs, delirious laughter also scathed into the brooding night, confusing the ear and twisting the heart with uncertainty and dread.
The city was rank with a petulant odor; sour and reeking from sulfur, which burned in the widespread grates as the city’s chief source of light and heat. Drawing close in order to soothe the soul and extract some meager warmth or find any sense of direction meant breathing in the malodorous stench that twisted the stomach until it could be born no longer, chasing the one seeking momentary solace back into the shadows. There was little warmth in the darkness; an unshakable, seeking chill melted through clothes regardless of the protection of layers. In the burgeoning gloom, buildings pressed together in misaligned, shoddy workmanship, some leaning precariously or half fallen in tatters and on every street raucous taverns and brothels tainted the air with lascivious noise and drunken abandon.
Through the curling shadows and dusky fog, a willowy, silent figure moved; draped in darkness that reflected the dimness around it and intensified the obscuring confusion of shade it seemed to carry along with it as it stole silently down the street. Muffled by the thick smog that twisted in the air, the form made no sound whatsoever, but drifted past the beetling shoppes and foul brothels like a ghost brazenly wandering through the haze. None who passed this cloaked figure took notice of it; no heads turned as it paused at the corner beneath a spluttering lamp of burning, sulfurous, gas; not a single bystander gazed in its direction as it moved silently down the narrow street towards the edge of town and when it turned the corner, disappearing into the blackness like a shadow melting into graying twilight, no trace of its passage was left behind.
Turning the darkened corner, the ebon shadow paused, the silhouette of its garments contracting as if the figure were doubling over and a muffled sound, like that of despair, slipped outward into the murk. Silence greeted this hushed cry; yet, as if in echo, a child’s wail pierced the heavy gloom. The keening sound was not close by, yet it pealed through the dismal atmosphere like the sharp clangor of a tolling bell and all who heard it shrank, stifling the evidence of such misery in whatever escape lay close at hand: the amber spirits contained within a bottle, the glittering secret injected directly into veins, or the fleeting, wanton embrace that left a deeper yearning than what it satisfied.
As the half seen figure stood motionless, the piteous sounds of the city gathered around it like moths drawn to an open flame, demanding to be noticed in spite of the listener’s desire for deafness. Reality in the Uunglarda was caustic as acid and burned just as deeply, compelling the figure to move hastily onward in spite of its slowed pace.
A description of Ilys from Dark Fey: Standing in Shadows, a Fey of the Light who was abducted as a childfey and, as a result, lives with haunting memories every day. A portrayal of PTSD.
She stands in the spectral silence, waiting; captive to the darkness spinning round her boldly and brazenly whispering in mutations of growls and hisses about all she does not have. The convoluted cavalcade of cacophonous calamity tears at her sanity like vultures devouring the freshly killed; lying, hating, vicious suspirations of half-truths more easily believed than dismissed.
The Light pours round her, ineffectual against the ebon cowl with which she covers her head, reflecting from all the decoys she uses to defend herself against the darkness that circles round her in a slow tyrannical aggress, pressing in on her even as she seeks to elude it; even while she embraces it with all her might.
Lifting her eyes, she gazes upward at the glittering glow above her head, watching as the sparkling illumination dances and sings all round her; warmth seeking to warm, but finding only bitter cold. Happiness smiles at her, winking in cheery promise; yet she, subsisting on the crusts of day old bread tossed at her from uncaring hands, cannot see beyond her misery. She is the night; she is shadows and disbelieved truths; she is hope slipping down the precarious pitch of despair; she is sorrow and anger and rejection personified into beauty that fears to wish.
Book Three- Breaking into the Light coming soon!
In today’s Character Spotlight, I would like to introduce you to Jaeryn, a TruthSayer. He’s traveled long and far to discover the truth about Gairynzvl, The Fierce One – one who is rumored to have suffered through and escaped from the unspeakable horrors of the dark realm, the Uunglarda, only to return that he might spare others the same fate. Jaeryn has just arrived in Gairynzvl’s home village of Hwyndarin where he is looking to speak with a few of his friends and what follows is the conversation he had.
Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Jaeryn; I am a TruthSayer – one who journeys from village to village, gathering information to prove or dispel the rumors and hearsay, which travel on the wind. I went to the village Hwyndarin in order to learn about one of The Reviled; about whom, supposedly, the Ancient prophecies foretell, and upon my arrival in that picturesque little village, I was immediately sent towards a tavern in search of a beautiful, young shefey named Ayla Yna. When I found her, I told her the same and this is the conversation that followed.
May I presume that you are she? (The shefey to whom I spoke blinked unassumingly and hesitantly nodded.)
“Perhaps.” (It was raining, so I motioned toward the bright little tavern set just outside the Temple walls.)
May we go within so I might ask you a few questions? I understand you know the One for whom I seek, whose name is Gairynzvl? (She agreed that she might and follows me into the tavern bustling with chattering Fey of the Light. We sat at a side table and I ordered a round of honeyed-ale.) What can you tell me about him? How did you meet? (She faltered, uncertainly, so I prompted further.) Is it true he lingered in the shadows near you for nearly six months before revealing himself? (She nodded then, but said nothing, so I tried once again.) Were you aware of him the entire time? Did he not frighten you? (Finally, she offered more.)
“Because of my gifts of telepathy and empathy I was aware of him some of the time, when he was close to me, but I was more curious about him than afraid.” Did he speak to you at all during that time? (She shook her head.)
“Not verbally, but he did communicate through his thoughts. We share that gift.” (I nodded with growing curiosity.) How did he finally appear to you?
“He chose a night during which a powerful storm shook the village. I was alone in my cote, guarding a youngling. When he appeared, surrounded by shadows and darkness, I confess, I was terrified.” Did he take the childling?
“No. He was not interested in the babe at all. He even allowed me to cast a spell of protection and light around him.” Unusual, for a Dark One. (She agreed, but provided nothing further.) What was it about him that made you believe you could trust him?
“His honesty. I have the ability to read others emotions and can tell truth from lies. In spite of everything that happened that night, he never once lied to me.” (While we were speaking a small group of malefey entered the tavern. Two wore the cloaks of the Fey Guard and when they saw us, or, rather, Ayla; they immediately came to our table. She introduced us and I realized my luck.) You are Mardan, the Celebrant-turned-Spell Caster who stood with Gairynzvl at the Great Gate in the Uunglarda?
“Why do you ask?” (His reputation for being irascible was not unwarranted and the tall, handsome malefey assessed me from head to toe to wingtip with an intense, cerulean stare.) I am trying to learn his story to share with those who may not know it. Can you tell me about him? How would you describe him? (Mardan did not hesitate for an instant.)
“Infuriating.” (The others laughed at this derisive portrayal, but, astonishingly, nodded in agreement.) “But I would also say remarkable.” A strange combination. Why so?
“He has a strength of will I find admirable. He is unrelenting, daunting, even antagonistic; but his perseverance is motivating. At least it was for us.” But, is it not true that you tried to kill him when you first met? (Mardan’s brilliant gaze fixed on me and his expansive wings arched aggressively. I saw, out of the corner of my eye, that his Fey Guard friend shook his head, as if to indicate that I just over-stepped my boundaries; so I quickly reiterated.) I have no intention of offending; I am just trying to paint an overall picture. If you wanted to kill him, you certainly had to have a reason?
“I discovered him inside the home of my love. His actions were threatening and I considered him a danger.” (He paused, then, and shook his head.) “Nevertheless, I regret the actions I took, not only because the Spell of Inflicted Pain is a ruthless curse, but because it nearly took Ayla’s life.” You chose to use a forbidden spell? You? A Celebrant? (He glared at me with open hostility and I realized my mistake, but before he could tear any limbs from my body, one of his friends who had been standing quietly in the background stepped forward. I noticed immediately he wore the robes of a Healer of the Temple.)
“Mardan is a Celebrant no longer. He has always had the heart of a warrior and now, fortunately, he has discovered his purpose as a Spell Caster.” (Hoping to entice more information from them, I changed my tack to delve a bit deeper.) A Spell Caster must have been of great value to Gairynzvl in the Uunglarda?
“I played a part; we all did, but none of us would have gone if it were not for his unshakable determination to rescue the childfey trapped there.” This was his ultimate design, then; to come to Jyndari and be Prevailed through an ancient rite so he would be transformed and could safely return to the Uunglarda to rescue others? (Those gathered round me looked at each other as if to affirm the truth of this statement amongst themselves before any would answer and with good cause. This was the prophecy foretold by the Ancients, that One would come out of the Darkness to Lead others out as well.)
“His Purpose was set from the moment the Dark Ones abducted him as a child.” (The Healer explained, continuing to illustrate his character with unmistakable respect.) “We spent a single day in the shadow realm, but we all felt the effects of the darkness; myself especially. I have lived my entire life in the Temple, being schooled as a Healer; yet during that single day in The Uunglarda, I felt all the negativity within me rush to the surface like a flood.” (Those round the Healer concurred, but did not interrupt him when he continued more emphatically.) “I understand the physical and psychological aspects of the psyche. I comprehend the lasting effects of neglect, abuse and cruelty. How Gairynzvl survived 15 years under the lash of Demonfey with any hope or compassion remaining within him defies logic.” He was a captive of The Reviled for 15 years and, yet, is honest, compassionate and courageous; indeed that is remarkable. (The other Fey Guard then stepped forward, shaking his head.)
“As Mardan pointed out, he can also be exasperating, argumentative, and, sometimes, downright petulant; this is why we call him The Fierce One, but it makes him an unrivaled Vladokhyssum player.” (Smiles attested to the truth of his statement and I raised my glass, sure I now had the whole story.) I have heard rumors that you still play the ancient sport here and would love to witness a game. (The Healer shook his head.)
“I am afraid you just missed it. We played this afternoon.” And Gairynzvl played? (The Healer grinned.)
“It is impossible to keep him from playing. He loves the intense competition.” (Mardan agreed, then added another reason under his breath.)
“He loves the freedom to be as aggressive and intimidating as a Dark One without killing anyone.” (His friends all laughed at this observation and I realized just how fortunate I was to meet them.) I am beginning to understand that he must be an extraordinary, yet complicated, Fey. (They were all of the same opinion, but Ayla quickly silenced us as a tall, white-haired malefey stepped into the pub, shaking the rain from his magnificent, nebulous-hued wings before folding them and entering further. Those fey gathered round turned and cheered at his arrival, but, although he smiled at them, he quickly located us at a side table and moved to join his friends. His icy-lavender gaze evaluated me openly as he approached and I felt both uneasy and excited to meet him. The others undertook my introduction and, as he extended his hand to offer his friendship, I saw the many unmistakable scars bore. At my hesitation, he turned his hand to look at it as well, recognizing my hesitancy, as well as my admiration, without my need to speak a word. A keen silence fell as the others, too, paused to gaze at his hands and for a brief moment, a sense of reverence settled among us.
There, before me, stood a Fey about whom the Ancients had spoken; a Fey who had suffered the unthinkable cruelties of The Integration of The Reviled and, yet, remained in the essence of his being a True Fey of the Light. Not only did he escape the captivity he endured for so many years, but he led others back into the realm of Demonfey to rescue as many as he could find. He was powerful of physique and undeniably fearless; yet equally kind of heart and, as I gazed round at his friends and the villagers who had come to know him, I became certain of one thing. Mardan was correct; he was indeed remarkable.
Then he smiled in a welcoming manner that set me at ease, clapped me across the shoulder genially, and invited me to share a round of honeyed-ale with him.
Cynthia A. Morgan is the creator of the mythical realm of Jyndari and author of the epic fantasy Dark Fey Trilogy, which is based, in part, upon the true-life events surrounding the Lord’s Resistance Army in Uganda and draws readers into a mystical realm of primordial forests, magic and the lives of Light-loving and Darkness-revering Feykind. Not to be confused with pixies or “Tinkerbell” type fairies, the feyfolk of Jyndari are winged beings the size of any human who live in a realm where tradition, magic, and spirituality are fundamentals of everyday life.
Dark Fey has earned many 5 stars reviews, including one of the leading industry review organizations, Readers Favorite. Dark Fey The Reviled was also awarded the New Apple Literary Agency 2016 Book Award for Excellence in Fantasy. Compared to a fantasy version of a play by Shakespeare, Dark Fey is a brutally beautiful story of Love, Hope, and finding Peace in the Darkness. Published by Creativia Publications in January 2015, Dark Fey is already among the top #50 in several Fantasy genre categories on Amazon.
Morgan is also the author of the popular blog “Booknvolume” where her ever-increasing number of followers are regularly treated to Morgan’s own brand of poetry, English Sonnets, and musings about life. She is a current member of the Poetry Society of America; is ranked among the top authors on the Independent Author Network; has had poetry published on numerous poetry websites and is rapidly becoming an Author to keep your eye on.
Some of her other interests includes a deep love for animals and the environment. She is passionate about music and theatre; is frequently heard laughing; finds the mysteries of ancient times, spirituality, and the possibilities of life elsewhere in the cosmos intriguing. Morgan Believes in the power of Love, Hope and Forgiveness, all of which is reflected in her lyrically elegant writing style.
You can find Morgan through social media in the following places:
Dark Fey The Reviled has been nominated for the Golden Book Annual Awards for Fantasy and is now a Semifinalist!!!!
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