Freda Warrington is known for the lush sensuality of her writing, in which she creates compelling characters and weirdly atmospheric worlds. She lives in rural Leicestershire, where she also enjoys crafts such as stained glass and beadwork, all things Gothic, yoga, walking, Arabian horses, conventions and travel.

Aetherial Tales 1: Elfland by Freda Warrington

Winner of the 2009 Romantic Times Award for BEST FANTASY NOVEL

"Even the most jaded fantasy reader will quickly fall under the spell of her characters and the warm, intimate voice Warrington uses to tell their stories. Highly recommended." —Charles de Lint, The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction

Rosie Fox is a daughter of Aetherials, an ancient race from the Spiral—the innermost realm of the Otherworld—who live secretly among us. Yet she and her kind are bereft of their origins, because on Earth, in a beautiful village named Cloudcroft, the Great Gates between worlds stand sealed.

Her parents, Auberon and Jessica, are the warm heart of her loving family. But on the hill lives the mysterious, aloof Lawrence Wilder, Gatekeeper to the inner realms. Tortured by private demons, he is beset by trouble on all sides; his wife has vanished and his sons Jon and Sam are bitter and damaged. Lawrence is duty-bound to throw open the Gates for the Night of the Summer Stars, a ritual granting Aetherials connection to their mystical heritage. But when he bars the Gates—haunted by fears of a deadly menace within the Spiral—he defies tradition and enrages the Aetherial community. What will become of them, starved of their essential life force? Is Lawrence betraying them—or protecting them?

Growing up amid this turmoil, Rosie and her brothers, along with Sam and Jon Wilder, resign themselves to living as humans. Yet they know their elders have denied them their birth right, harbouring dark secrets in a conspiracy of silence.

When Sam is imprisoned for an all-too-human crime, age-old wounds sunder the two families… yet Rosie is drawn into his web, even as she fears the passions awoken in her by the dangerous Wilder clan. Torn between duty and desire, between worlds, Rosie unwittingly precipitates a tragedy that compels her to journey into the Otherworld, where unknown terrors await. Accompanied by the one man most perilous to her, she must learn hard lessons about life and love in order to understand her Aetherial nature… and her role in the terrifying conflict to come.

CURATOR'S NOTE

Magical, vivid and lyrical, this is a stand-out fantasy from a writer at the peak of her powers – check it out! – Lavie Tidhar

 

REVIEWS

  • "A classy, beautifully rendered tale that persuasively builds from low-key beginnings into a complex enterprise with real heft, a rich back story and characters that grow with the narrative."

    – Kirkus Reviews
 

BOOK PREVIEW

Excerpt

A demon screamed and Ginny woke, heavy with fever. She was alone in bed. Outside the monsoon rain fell and she saw drenched, glistening blue light shining in the open doorway. She tried to rise but a shadowy weight pressed her down. Webs of mosquito netting held her.

She saw her husband on the verandah, framed in the doorway against the light. Rain fell silver around him. Beyond, the dense coils of the rain forest gleamed and dripped in a sinuous dance. With his black hair streaming, he roared soundlessly into the storm, summoning all the denizens of the Otherworld, all her nightmares. His hands wove a white spell. She felt his terror and defiance as he called upon them to do their worst; felt the jungle shudder as it disgorged horrors. The hot wet air swelled as they came.

He was in league with them, wild and mad. The invisible weight that pressed her down was terror. She tried to scream—

Ginny woke. Rain fell but all was dark, the door closed. Her husband lay breathing quietly beside her under the tent of netting. She sat up, gasping for a wisp of air in the humidity.

She looked down at Lawrence's serene, carved face and knew that she couldn't stay any longer. She had tried and tried but it was killing her. She was starving for England, with its cool green landscapes and kindlier faerie realms. Famished.

"Ginny?" he said, stirring.

"Something here hates us," she whispered. "I can feel it."

"Not this again." His voice was heavy with weariness.

"I know." She dragged her fingers through the raven tangle of her hair. "This isn't me. I'm a grown woman, a mother, a fully paid-up life member of the wise and ancient ones. In a way, that's the point."

"What?"

"When I say that something wants to destroy us, it means it's true."

She heard him sigh. "And you would let it win by running away?"

"I am not the one running away, Lawrence," she said softly. "I want to go home."

His eyes were shining slivers, fierce and cold. Her beloved cold prince; her husband, and she didn't truly know him.

"We can't go home," he said. "Our life is here. Our business."

"Your business is in New York and London. Your life, in England. Others could run this place for you, but you won't let them."

"You know why. I have to protect it … from Barada."

"But he's the one destroying us!" On previous occasions she had backed down, but now she was past caring. "Swallow your pride," she hissed. "Sell it to Barada."

"Not in a thousand years." His voice was hard.

"He couldn't afford it."

"The money doesn't matter!"

"It's not about money," he answered, quiet as a razor. "You of all people should understand. I will not abandon my workers, or my birthright."

"Is this truly about protecting your interests? Or about hiding?" Her words were vicious; he answered with the knife-edged hostility of his eyes. Ginny shrank a little inside. "I know the mine is everything to you. But Sam and Jon need us, too. Think of them."

"They're strong," he said.

"No, they're not." Every time she put her toe under the waterfall of guilt, it tore her skin off. "They're little boys."

"Who must become strong, in order to survive in this world. I'm not taking them out of school."

"I'm not asking you to." Ginny reached out to touch his arm. He was stone under her hand, a statue of ice. "But I have to go home. This place is killing me."

He did not respond. Her heart sank and grief congealed in the back of her throat. She let her hand fall away. The silence was an ocean of steamy rain and there were hours of sleepless fever dreams to cross before daybreak.

After a time, Lawrence's voice came softly out of the darkness. "When humans dream, they create elves and angels, devils and vampires. But when we dream … when we dream … what do we create for ourselves?"