Genre: Adult GLBT dark-fantasy Re-tell
Word Count: 72,000
Told from multiple points of view, at 72,000-words and set in Scotland and Australia , this dark-fantasy is a modern re-tell of the King Arthur legend. At times violent, this contemporary take on an old tale would be best surmised as sex, drugs and magic-out-of-control. Cautionary warning, in the blink of an eye, you could be transported anywhere and to any time in history; dark-magic has no boundaries.
When 21st century Australian crime boss, and sorceress, Morgause discovers the child, Artie, she ordered to be murdered twenty-four years ago, was saved by Merlin, she instructs her son Medruit to seduce Artie’s best friend Col. If a human falls for a sorcerer, he/she will become a tool to command. Through Col , Morgause seizes the opportunity to permanently rid herself of Artie and Merlin.
Their only hope; Merlin, who now works for the Salvos, an invisible dragon named Zilant who’s not convinced this group of Knights is worth saving, and an old Australian Aboriginal Wiseman who possesses the power to call the Rainbow Serpent from its slumber. Together, this unlikely trio will either destroy Morgause and Medruit; or each other.
“It is not enough…” Morgause said to her son Medruit, “…to have done nothing truly wicked in your life.” She knelt beside the unconscious body and watched the woman’s breast heave slightly. “These corporeal's must also understand what truly wicked is, if only to betterrecognise…” she withdrew her dagger from its bejewelled casing, “…and avoid it.”
With her victim sedated by magic and mind-altering drugs, Morgause used her dagger to pop the buttons on the woman’s coat. “To be truly protected…” she said as her dagger’s blade next unfurled the knit-one, purl-two jumper, “…that is to say, for a corporeal to protect him or herself…” the blade of Morgause’ dagger cut through the flesh and ribcage as though gliding through water, “…they must know which nightmares to fear and which to forget.”
Steam from a collapsed lung and slashed arteries escaped into the frigid air. “Well! A poor excuse for a washer-woman she may have been, yet her heart is most impressive,” said Morgause as her sticky, blood-stained fingers passed the still throbbing muscle to Medruit. Having taken what she needed, Morgause left the woman’s twitching body to her death-hound to devour.
As the last spasms pulsed, Medruit quickly plunged his hand and the heart deep into the smouldering clumps of wood set atop the altar. The ritual required a still beating heart and the freeze of the night was working against them. He thrust the heart deeper, and then held it there until he felt it, one final throb.