Black Feathers

EPILOGUE

And so it was that the boy began his journey, torn from family and stained by the blood of those who stood in his way. An innocent, transformed by hardship and the demands of a sickened Earth. Guided by the mother and father of us all, he took his first steps into manhood.

His search for the Crowman was far from over, but his faith in the land had been rewarded. He stepped into power, into the mighty shadow of the Black Light. Under cover of that sacred dusk he sought out the dark force which would reunite us with the Earth, healing all rifts.

And yet, whether he was to succeed in this or not, the boy’s every effort would have been as naught had it not been for another. A girl of whom he knew nothing. A girl as yet unborn. A girl of whom he could, at best, only dream. Without her, triumphant or defeated, his travails would be utterly wasted.

For, without the teller, there can be no tale.


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The perception that writers birth their creations in lone, agonised acts of heroism is mostly false. Ideas are often triggered by those we meet, later to be fed and watered by others; long before the writing even begins. Once work commences, though we may sit alone to do it, there are many people who make that sitting possible, who encourage it and give it their blessing. When the writing is done and the idea has entered the world, raw and crudely formed, there are many more – the midwives, obstetricians and nannies of the publishing world – whose input is crucial to the process. This tide of energy adds something immeasurable to a work of fiction. Without it, books would be incomplete in ways that would make them hardly worth reading. Many wouldn’t reach a first draft.

Black Feathers and The Book of The Crowman contain a great deal of shared effort and history. Without such positive influence from so many sources, this tale would never have made it from brain-spark to manifestation. If I haven’t thanked you – yes, you. The one I always forget – it’s because I’m an airhead it’s not because I don’t care.

When I was thirteen, I made a batik in art class. The subject was three crows, perching in a dead tree at sunset. It was the first time I’d really “studied” the corvid form and I’ve loved them ever since. So, dear art teacher whose name I don’t remember, thanks for being there at the beginning.

Tracy Walters, you first spoke the Crowman’s name. In that instant you personified a mythical creature who gestated in my subconscious for more than fifteen years before finally being born into these pages. For that and other inspirations, I’m very grateful.

My heartfelt thanks to vision quest guide, David Wendl-Berry, a man more connected to the land than anyone else I know and whose wisdom and kindness has brought many individuals much closer to it. I hope this tale will reawaken a desire for that same intimacy in many more.

Sun Bear, all I can do is hurl my gratitude into the spirit world as I never met you. Your book Black Dawn, Bright Day did much to shape my apocalypse and its aftermath.

Michael Meade, of the Mosaic Multicultural Foundation, your work on myth, the hero’s journey and the initiation of the soul has been a great inspiration. Thanks for enriching me and so many others.

Vanessa Blackburn of Corvid Aid, whose charity cares for injured corvids, thanks for patiently answering all my questions about crows while I wrote the first draft. The limping crow who foraged outside my office window throughout that year still visits me now.

I’m especially grateful to John Jarrold for helping me knock the first draft into something readable – no small task considering the size of the original manuscript. Also to Fraser Lee for very specific and useful notes – which I’m still using!

On the subject of editing, this last year has been quite a learning experience. Without the input of Steve Haynes, my editor on Blood Fugue, I doubt I’d have been prepared for the magnitude of re-write that was essential for Black Feathers. My attitude, a direct result of working so closely with Steve, meant that I was ready – and willing – to step up and swallow some big cuts and changes. I owe you about a zillion pints and my soul on a plate, Steve!

This “critical maturity” has been a long time coming and was a turning point. Without it, I would also not have been ready for Brie Burkeman, an old-school literary representative who wanted my serious commitment to change before she would take me on. There’s a very special place in all this for her, hyper-agent and no-bullshit driving force that she is. Thank you, Brie. You’re a guiding light.

Several authors have given me a great deal of their time and support while this book developed. Their combined contribution is monumental. To Will Hill, Alison Littlewood, Graham Joyce, Tom Fletcher, Tim Lebbon, Mark Charan Newton, Carole Johnstone, Conrad Williams, Paul Meloy, Matt Cardin, Cliff McNish, Jasper Bark, Don Roff, Sam Enthoven, Adam Nevill and John Costello my sincere and humble thanks.

Big hugs to the bloggers and reporters who read and react to my work most frequently. This is just a few of you: Jim Mcleod, Paul Nadine Holmes, Colin Leslie, Nat Robinson, Lisa Campbell of The Bookseller, Mark Goddard, Adele Wearing, Dave de Burgh, Ben Bussey and Clare Allington.

Two gentlemen warrant particular mention for their backing: Michael Wilson of This Is Horror and Adam Bradley of Morpheus Tales, both of whose support has been constant and unflinching. Thanks, guys. I appreciate it everything you’ve done.

Others who’ve had a hand in the evolution of this novel include Kim Harris, Mary Ann von Radowitz, Rob Goforth, Kim Hoyland, Philip Harker and Anna Kennett. A black feather for each of you.

Of course, the manuscript would never have become a book without the fine team at Angry Robot taking it on, guiding it to readiness, clothing it, displaying it and inviting the reading world to witness its birth. Thank you, Lee Harris, Marc Gascoigne, Darren Turpin and Roland Briscoe.

Most important of all, my family. Each of you have always done everything you can to help me write, never giving up on my efforts, even when the way forward seemed impossibly blocked. I know I’m hell to live with when things don’t go to plan, so my love and thanks to all of you for keeping the faith.

And to the limping crow who visited daily through the many months spent quietly in the office, you know best of all that I did not write this book alone.