Half Discovered Wings

COPYRIGHT AND
DISCLAIMER

HALF DISCOVERED
WINGS by DAVID BROOKES

SMASHWORDS
EDITION

© 2009 –
2015

Reptile
Books

This edition
published in 2015 by Reptile Books.

1

All rights
reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form
or by any means – graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including
photocopying, recording, taping or information storage and
retrieval systems – without the prior permission in writing of the
author.

The stories and
characters in this book are fictional only and any resemblance to
any person, living or dead, or situation is coincidental.

For information
about the author please see the back page.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook
may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like
to share this book with another person, please purchase an
additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and
did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only,
then please return to Smashwords.com or your favourite retailer and
purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of
this author.

ALSO
AVAILABLE BY DAVID BROOKES

The Gas Giant
Sequence (shorts):

Krill

Split

Tranquil
Sea

Tulpa

The Professor
Arnustace series (shorts):

An Account of a
Curious Encounter

Iced Tea for
Professor Arnustace

Short story
collections:

Love is an Eye
That Doesn’t See

Novels in
e-format:

The Gun of Our
Maker

Novels in
paperback:

Half Discovered
Wings

CONTENTS

1.
Copyright and
Disclaimer

2.
Also from David
Brookes

3.
Introduction and
Acknowledgements

4.
Map

5.
‘HALF DISCOVERED
WINGS’

6.
Glossary of
Terms

7.
About the Author

INTRODUCTION
AND ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

‘
Half Discovered Wings’ was many years in the making. I
completed an early draft when I was 19 prior to undertaking a
Bachelor of Arts in English and Writing at Bretton Hall University.
It underwent numerous changes in the years since, including the
title, characters and several major aspects of the plot. Although
there are many traditional fantasy elements in HDW, later drafts
attempted to make these as original as possible, within the
confines of the novel’s world and the wider literary universe that
I had just begun to create. HDW is a stand-alone novel, but fits
into a vast timeline of interconnected stories that currently
accounts for no less than 9 unpublished novels and at least 3
unwritten ones.

For
this reason, it was a big deal for me to land a publishing deal in
2009 (9 years after completion) with a traditional publisher who
put a previous version of HDW on the shelves. Sadly it was not a
company strong in marketing prowess or publishing clout, and so the
book had a few months of modest success before being largely
ignored. A few copies of the paperback edition still exist in
warehouses and libraries across the UK and US, and I’m occasionally
thrilled to see another purchase order drop into my inbox even
after all this time.

Many
years later, long after the global economic downturn made
publishing a distant dream for most unestablised writers, I decided
to revisit my old world and characters. It happened not without a
great deal of nostalgic love. I’m thrilled to now present what I
consider to be the definitive edition of ‘Half Discovered Wings’,
newly revised and enhanced, in e-book format for the first
time.

There are several people to whom I owe great thanks. The
first must always be my mother Diana Smallwood, for her constant
love and support even after I’m way too old to be dependant on it.
I should also thank my small circle of creative friends who,
without knowing it, encouraged me to continue with writing even in
midst of abject hoplessness: poet Matthew Hedley Stoppard,
writer/lecturer Andrew Palmer, actor/comedians Canan Cahit and
Philip Mason, writer Angelin Sydney and writer/teacher Sarah Cason,
amongst others. A special thanks must go to Gabriella Kakonyi, who
devoted more support for my “talent” in one year than I ever
deserved. Thank you all.

The
stylish original artwork for this cover was created by Vasco
Duarte, whose beautiful work deserves to be checked out with close
scrutiny. You can find him Facebook (“Duartemvasco”) and Behance
(“Vascoduarte”). The far weaker map and and “Bronze Side” artwork
is my own.

For
any editing, proofreading or ghostwriting work, please check out
The St. Paul’s Literary Service at
STPediting.wordpress.com.

~

HALF
DISCOVERED WINGS

DAVID
BROOKES

I see silver
and circuits and plastic and steel;

—
I see savagery: toothy and
bloody and real;

I see
brightness in science and faith in machines;

—
I see darkness and
remnants and scattered debris;

I see
Conflict, aggression and high-yield response;

—
I see pieces, what's left
of the violent ones.

Voices of
the Ministrati,

“
Visions of the past
—
Visions of the
present
.”

*

One

THE BLOODLESS
BLADE

The
hunter wondered, not for the first time, if he preferred the
company of creatures to people. His sometimes-unsavoury work as a
factotum, which included everything from cleaning slop buckets to
assassination, sometimes encompassed as a necessity those jobs in
which a man must be killed. Joseph Gabel could hunt creatures alone
and happily do so; but to pursue another person, particularly a
woman, felt like torture to him.

His raised a hand to
shield his eyes from the pale spike of lightning rippling beneath
the heavy clouds. It came with an immediate crack of thunder,
tremendously loud in his ears and compounding the headache that had
developed during this most recent sojourn into the forest. A fresh
sheet of rain washed over him, drumming against the leather of his
coat. When he looked up at the lightning, raindrops sprayed from
his face and hair.

Another crack of thunder could be heard, rumbling away into
the night. From his position at the edge of town, he could see the
old tree in the centre of the square. It looked like everyone else
had gone inside. He made an uncertain noise to himself deep in his
throat. His sigh turned to vapour in front of him.

Then
he turned his attention from the square to the distant wooden idol
mounted on the top of the church. A bright streak of lightning
burst across the sky, burning the image into his vision for a few
seconds. Only when it faded did he look away. He saw colourful
spots in front of his eyes, and blinked them gone.

A dry figure
walked through the rain next to him. It was a boy. Gabel nodded in
greeting.

‘
Hello, Samuel,’ he said.

The boy stayed
silent for a moment, looking down at his bare feet, then said in
his deepening voice, ‘Why don’t you go and talk to her?’

‘
She isn’t ready for what I have to say.’

‘
She seemed ready enough earlier, Joseph.’

Gabel looked down at the teenager. Samuel had shocking white
hair that seemed always to be slightly luminous in the dark. His
skin was pale, soft with youth, and he had striking blue eyes. His
pearlescent features often gave off a sort of glow, like the moon,
because his complexion was so smooth.

‘
You seem older today, Samuel.’

He looked up and peered toward the square. ‘Yes, I expect I
do.’

‘
I’m sorry,’ Gabel said, freezing momentarily. ‘I don’t want to
talk tonight.’

‘
I’ll see you, then. Night, Joseph.’

The boy
disappeared through a fresh sheet of raindrops, his form drifting
through the darkness. The hunter nodded a goodbye.

He looked sorrowfully at Bethany, who sat on the bench by the
tree, in the rain. He could see even from this distance that she
was shivering, and the shivering became more and more apparent as
he approached.

‘
Beth, it’s cold.’

She jumped a
little as she looked up at him; this imposing figure standing over
her in the darkness, close enough to touch, yet too far away to
hold. Water poured from his hat and pattered on his boots. Only
now, when she looked, did she seem to realise how much it was
raining.

‘
I think I’ll go inside soon,’ she said simply. When she stood,
he took her arms.

She was soaked
to the skin, long hair plastered over her face and neck, and
hanging in limp curtains over her brown eyes. Her mouth quivered in
an uncontrollable shudder from the cold, and he tried not to look
down at her dress as it clung, completely soaked, to her body.

He took off his jacket and put it over her shoulders, rubbed
her arms through the thick material. He began to lead her toward
the church, but Bethany wouldn’t move.

‘
Come on,’ he said. He didn’t get a response. He repeated it,
but she sat down and looked through him.

‘
You’ll get ill if you stay outside,’ he said.

She just sat, her brow slightly creased. Her lips hadn’t
ceased quivering. He looked at her for a moment, troubled, and then
asked, ‘Won’t you come inside with me?’

She shook her head, and lifted her chin, saying, ‘I’ll go in
a minute.’

Then lowering her eyes, she once more stared through
him.

This was a
typical response from Bethany, the sort of dazed, non-specific
comment that Gabel had become used to. There was nothing wrong
with her in her head, although others sometimes debated the
fact. It was more likely that the problem lay with her heart,
which had been bruised and deflated by years of neglect. Gabel
had been forced to admit in the past that he had inflicted much of
that bruising himself; the boy Samuel often berated him about it,
accusing him of leading the woman on when all she needed was a firm
word either way. The hunter was unable to supply such a word.
The only time he ever truly felt fear was when he was in Bethany's
company, and the fear was even more potent when they were alone
together.