I am seeking representation for the fantasy fiction series Between Heaven and Hell. I have completed the manuscript for Book One: Mist and Book Two: Shadow. Book Three and Four are in outline.
Blood bound and Druid born, a Highland Prince and a Dark Angel’s bastard son and their rapscallion companions are fated to a hellish destiny when they are pulled into a Fallen Angels dark game to gain dominion over Heaven and Hell.
Torn from the mist-covered highlands of Ireland and all that they love, for four hundred years the Unpledged battle to survive the darkness of the Under Realms of Hell. Protected only by the Fairie Star branded into their arms and the Fallen’s tainted blood that gives them godlike strengths, the Fallen Angel Shaddock will stop at nothing to break them. And when he tasks them to find a LockSmith who can open one of the seven Doors leading into the Upper Realms of Heaven, they wage a war of wit and cunning against him in a last ditch effort to save their souls.
Demon Overlords and Guardians, Wolves and Shades, Leprechauns and Pucas, Fairie gold and Elvish magic, and a Gypsy King with Fortune’s cards passing through his fingers. The Unpledged encounter all and more as they struggle to escape the Under Realms of Hell in this epic saga of brotherhood and the power of love to conquer all.
BACKGROUND INTO THE BETWEEN HEAVEN AND HELL UNIVERSE:
The Between Heaven and Hell series takes place in a universe divided between the Under Realms of Hell and the Upper Realms of Heaven.
The Under Realm is a world of its own. Divided amongst the Dark Angels at the Breaking of the Universe, each of the Seven was given a kingdom to rule. Over the milleniumns four of Hell's Dark Angel's Evanished into the Neverworld, and their Thralls and lands were divided between the remaining Fallen's: Gabriel, Proteus and Shaddock. Like feudal lords they stood guard over their dominions. Gabriel’s with his Red Dragons, Proteus’s with his Black Ravens and Shaddock’s with his Wolves. The Fallen Angel's wage a constant war to gain dominion over Heaven and Hell.
The Upper Realms of Heaven have been ruled by the Ascended, the Dark Angels immortal counterparts, since the Breaking of the Universe. Guardians are the chosen champions of the Ascended, and the faithful Soledari are their warrior knights chosen for their wisdom and strength as well as their unfaltering devotion. Together they are the forces of Heaven. But where the Fallen's Overlords used the powers of Hell to strip away Mankind’s soul, Guardians used the forces of Nature to restore it. It was said a Guardian could rekindle the light in the blackest of hearts with but a touch of their hand.
BETWEEN HEAVEN AND HELL
BOOK ONE: MIST
Set in 17th century Ireland, in the fabled highland realm of Donegal, Mist begins the saga of the Unpledged.
The story starts in the year 1650 with the fall of England to Cromwell’s armies and the coming of the soulless Lord di Gordeneau to Ireland’s shores. He has come for the Clans’ swords to fight the Royalist rebels, and for their souls to feed the dark secret hidden under his pious black robes. It is a secret that will bring the Under Realms of Hell to Donegal and set in motion a five-thousand year old prophecy.
The Time of Reckoning is a prophecy as old as the highlands. A banfili’s dire warning to the Druid Wizard Maghodian that the Fallen Angel Shaddock would return for the bastard son he stole from them, and that he would use him to destroy the world of men.
Nineteen-year old Bain di Gordeneau does not know that a Fallen’s tainted blood flows through his veins or that he holds the fate of Mankind in his hands. It is a secret his father has kept from him, and one his beloved tutor Reverend Michael’s fears when Bain tells him about the demon that haunts his dreams.
INTRODUCTION
Ireland! I weep even as I write the word. In the circle of our lives, Ireland will ever be our beginning and our end. Though the Ireland we knew has long since faded from the world of men, I have but to close my eyes and through sweet memory I am returned to it. I can feel the crisp cut of the wind on my face, smell the sweat of my horse as I ride through the rugged highlands - wild and savage to an Outlander’s eyes, flowing and ever graceful in mine. With every turn of my head, I see rolling hills dotted with clusters of scarlet foxglove, sweeping fields of barley stretching down to a white-capped sea, thickly wooded forests, and slow moving rivers so clear of water a boy could catch his breakfast with but a sweep of his hand. Azure blue skies and star filled nights… those are the memories I keep locked in my heart. And as the final moments of my life slip away, I offer them to you. I will have no need of memories where next I go. The Demon’s taint has overtaken me, soon I will become a wretched beast of the Under Realm, my thoughts no longer my own, my soul a Fallen Angel’s to command. Yet before I am cast into Shadow I would have our story be known. I would not have us be forgotten, for only then will Hell truly take claim of us.
And so with the dip of a raven's quill, I vanish four hundred years. Return us to the year 1650 of Lord when we were proud men of the Highlands, sons of chieftains and common folk bound by our love of the land and our loyalty to its people. Then my blood was noble. I stood son to a Highland King, sole heir to the Oak Throne of Donegal; and as the tip of my quill sweeps across the vellum pages of my journal... I am that man once again.
A young man of twenty at stand upon Castle Donegal’s battlements, with the rise of a new dawn before me and the promise of summer in the air. Long have I awaited its arrival, for with the coming of summer’s harvest moon, I will reach my majority. On the eve of my twenty-first birthday, my father will place a crown of oak leaves upon my head, and I will take stand by his side as a titled Prince of Ireland - ruler of Armgeh, Reum, and Bandalk, sole protector of its lands and of its people. It is a duty I have prepared for all of my life...a duty I fear I will never fulfil. Enraged by the Royalist Uprising, Cromwell’s armies have laid cruel punishment upon us. Our blood now fills the rivers, our bodies feed the earth, our tears darken the skies, and it is a bitter rain that falls, for the infamous Lord di Gordeneau follows in Death’s wake.
Already the black sails of his ships have been spotted on the horizon. In two day's time they will make port in Belfast - the journey to Donegal but a few weeks' hard ride. It will be just long enough for my father to call the Clans to him. It is for them England comes! For the might of the Clans’ swords to use against Cromwell’s enemies, and for the souls of Donegal’s people to feed his Protestant Cause; Bernard di Gordeneau will have them, or he will lay flame upon our lands and sword upon all that I love.
It is a fate my uncle and cousin have already suffered. Condemned for taking part in the rebellion, they were put to the sword as my beloved aunt was forced to watch; their bodies tossed into the sea where she joined them by her own hand. A dagger through the heart. And as I gaze at the sleeping village below, I fear we are soon to join them... I fear the Oak Throne of Donegal will fall.
For a thousand years my forefathers have stood High King to the northern Clans. Not a legacy passed down from father to son, but an honor earned by the courage of our hearts and the strength of our swords. Never has Clan MacAuliffe been defeated in battle! Never has our flag been lowered from Castle Donegal’s battlements! And as it takes fly in a flow of emerald green silk and steel crossed swords above my head, I am reminded of it once again. England comes! And in one voice we will meet them: “We are Highlanders! The blood of the ancient Druids flows through our veins, the breath of Ireland fills our lungs, and if we are to die then we will do so with a sword of Irish steel in our hands and honor in our hearts… and naught even God can take that from us!”.
Darkness answers my cries. A fast moving storm that strikes with unGodly speed, vanishing the morning sun from the sky, casting a shadow over Donegal that sends a cold chill up my spine. And then I hear it! The raucous cries of crows heralding Death's ignoble arrival, and with a sinking heart I know that the Devil's Fist has come for us.
It is here the Unpledged’s story begins, with an Irish morn dark with crows and the coming of England’s army. And with them, the man who is the true author of our tale, for without his sacrifice the Unpledged would be food for worms and there would be no story to tell. So with that said, I hand my quill to him. You can trust his words, for a Brother of Vendome can tell no lies, and follow him carefully, for the road we embark upon is long and laid out by the Devil himself. I promise we will meet again upon it, but until then think well of me, for though I stand before you now a wretched beast of the Under Realm, once upon a long ago time I stood son to a Highland King and a noble Prince of Ireland.