Signed oracle cards available


To mark the publication of the Raven’s Wand Oracle deck by US Games Systems, I’m delighted to be able to offer a limited number of signed cards that collectors can add to their decks. Cards are chosen randomly by myself and posted out in a gift card with a personal thanks written inside. For collectors in the UK, the price is £2.50. For all countries outside the UK the price is £3.50

Numbers are very limited, and so if you want a signed card to add to your Raven’s Wand Oracle send payment via Paypal to: and enter a postal address to go with your payment – thereafter, watch the skies for a thunder-sprite delivery (-:

Best wishes to all my supporters out there

Steve Hutton – March 8th 2019

Chapter Ten – The Hand-of-Fate

Raven’s Wand review continues – this week with chapter ten, The Hand-of-Fate

Valonia and her witches badly need to discover a secret. Digging out this information couldn’t take too long, so no lengthy spy missions, and it couldn’t rely on obvious and hackneyed plot devices like crystal balls or just ‘saying a spell’. So, Valonia has to crack a secret and has roughly one chapter to do it in. Enter The Hand-of-Fate; this bizarre creature was my way of combining a bit of exposition with an exciting slab of action. Yes, Valonia could have consulted a crystal ball, but then again many, many other witches have done so in stories down the years. Instead she hunts a giant, subterranean six-fingered hand that’s smothered in living tattoos.

The HoF emerges to duel Valonia at a real place called Troller’s Ghyll, which is in the Yorkshire Dales. I just sent the Ghyll a few miles west into Cumberland (as it then was), but the place is fairly accurately described. Plus, Troller’s Ghyll has a famous barghest story attached to it, and was the first haunted place I spent the night alone long ago. No huge black hounds materialized to bother me, but rabbits nibbled my tent guy-lines a bit. On the way to the Ghyll Valonia again highlights the link between witchcraft and midwifery during a chat with Kolfinnia. I was inspired by an account I read of a woman condemned as a witch during the middle-ages; her crime was to assist a pregnant woman during labour. The twisted logic behind this sentence was that God punished Eve by making childbirth painful for all women, and thus anyone attempting to treat that pain was acting against God – now that really is a tale of black magic.

Sunday clashes again with Flora in this chapter, adding further layers to each woman’s character, and while Sunday might sting like a whip she remains all witch. The swan feathers she’s so proud to fix into her hair are either given freely by the birds or exchanged for something – as is the case with all witches. I couldn’t envisage a story about witches honouring the Earth and its creatures and then have those same witches strike a bird from the air with an arrow to pluck its feathers and enjoy a Sunday roast – pardon the pun. And although this principle is very important to me as the writer I didn’t want it to float too close to the surface. The eco/animal message is there, often in what witches don’t say or do. Wildwood foundations remain unseen but they remain ever green.

Lonely Sands

Raven’s Wand review continues with chapter nine: Lonely Sands

I have a soft spot for Flora, and if I were in Farona’s shoes I think I’d be just as tongue-tied around her. There isn’t space here to say why I admire Flora so much, but my blog will answer that. Just follow the link and read about this rare bloom.

Flora’s real name isn’t ‘Greyswan’ by the way; it’s ‘Grayson’, and the reason it changed is because when she first joined the coven as a child she was so ashamed of her eye-patch that she’d keep her eyes down and mumble if spoken to. Grayson sounded like Greyswan, and it stuck. Grey Swan or otherwise, Flora’s encounter with the kelp-harpy harks back to the book’s earliest draught. In it, the Illuminata’s first-dawn machine has disrupted the world so much that a tear has opened into Ruination. This tear I called ‘The Trench’, and it lurked out in the ocean, steadily getting wider, edging towards Britain and destined to swallow up the outer islands before hitting the mainland. Out of The Trench poured creatures from Ruination, and the kelp-harpy’s mortal wounding at the hands of some unknown Ruinous creature were the first signs of this sinister rip in the world. Sadly, that could have been the plot of a novel in its own right and there wasn’t time to explore it further. So The Trench had to go, although it might get recycled in later books, who knows?

The mysterious Clovis gets another mention in this chapter. As pointed out I loved the idea of men or women or children being witches, and then I thought couldn’t we have alien witches too? The answer is yes; I see magic as a universal force, so it seemed natural to have witches on other worlds. That’s all I’ll say on the matter here, but again returning to the book’s earliest incarnation, when it was just a collection of scribbled notes, each witch had a cat companion that could magically change into humanoid form if the coven was threatened and so fight alongside their witch. These diminutive ‘cat warriors’ never made it further than my hasty notes, but there is an echo: Clovis. You’ll see what I mean when you meet him.


Sunday Flowers

Chapter Eight – Sunday Flowers

The chapter-by-chapter insight into Raven’s Wand continues this week with chapter eight: Sunday Flowers

Sunday Flowers of Regal-Fox coven was once Sunday Flowers of Badger-Kings coven, and going back further she was merely Valonia’s adolescent handmaiden at Wildwood. I gave her the prettiest name I could think of to contrast with her glacial manner, but as Sunday grew from a hard little seed into a lush yet thorny rosebush, her character seemed more the queen than the handmaiden, and more the fox than the badger. Clearly she needed her own coven and her own story, such was her presence. Now I know that many dislike Sunday, which is understandable, but this dislike seems to blind people to her wider role in the book and the true scope of her character. Although arrogant, she believes that her appearance reflects the majesty of the serpent twins, and as their emissary she holds that she is duty-bound to carry herself with dignity and be regal. Trivia fact: Sunday has a younger half-sister called Summer Flowers.

(**SPOILER ALERT**) Love her or loathe her, readers owe Sunday a huge debt. Hers was the first story I plotted; a lone witch allied with a trio of invincible berserker warriors takes on the Illuminata and their demons of Ruination. Cue darkness, slaughter, destruction and battle! But the story (my twisted take on Goldilocks and the Three Bears) demanded such focus that I wasn’t sure how to cram in all the crucial world-building needed for a first novel alongside it. My solution was to write a prequel first – which of course is Raven’s Wand – so ‘The Three Bears’ story could really fly when it was unleashed. I always knew who Sunday was and what she was capable of, and so I was always on her side, even when she was obnoxious. Give her your sympathy and patience, and think how different things would have been without her. . .

‘Jik’. The word crops up frequently and it is of course a derogatory word for a witch, abbreviated from the last syllable of ‘magic’ and spelled ‘Jik’. It’s akin to some of the derogatory names in our own society, ones that if I even typed would result in a rush of complaints. Few wield the insult Jik as well as Warden Moore (you’ll meet him later). The man was born to swear.

And no story about witches would be complete without a mandrake, although the one that Valonia and Hilda find at the end of the chapter is a bit on the frisky side. . . Here’s another example of using humour to endear the characters to the reader, so they’ll want to be there with them at Wildwood, and when danger looms they really feel anxious for them.


The Accusing Eye

Raven’s Wand chapter-by-chapter. This week – chapter Seven: The Accusing Eye

Humour’s important because it contrasts with the darker moments, and chapter seven ‘The Accusing Eye’ is one big dark moment. Eliza Cobb is the lone witch who suffers the horrors of interrogation, but I knew I had to make the scene memorable because later on another witch suffers the same fate and I didn’t want to write that scene in detail but rather in sparse back-story (SPOILER ALERT – the witch being interrogated later is just a child). And so one of Eliza’s jobs is to endure the unthinkable so the reader can easily, if not willingly, picture it applied to another character when the time comes. Her other job is to provide us with another insight into Krast’s demons, because what the chromosite uncovers devastates him. In fact, this entire chapter is concerned with plotting Krast’s story-arc, but how to do it in such a way as to keep it visual and thrilling? I could have had the Illuminata beating the answers out of Eliza, but it was too obvious and too brutal, and so I devised the ‘chromosites’ (chroma, as in colours and images, and ‘site’ as in parasite: chormosites hunts and steal subconscious imagery). This engineered creature grips the victim’s skull like a limpet and siphons out the desired information, to imprint it upon its retina to examine later. Originally the chromosite drilled fine needles into the victim’s brain, but I thought this too grim and irreversible – chances are the prisoner could only be questioned once before expiring!

The illustrator in me can’t help but be visual. Krast’s defining secret is locked in a vault in his mind; immediately there’s an image for the reader. This isn’t something I planned – I can’t help it; I see everything before I write it or as I’m writing it. When the vault explodes the secret Krast has tried so hard to bury consumes him again (now the interrogator is being tortured) but the secret isn’t shared with the reader yet because I had no idea what it was. Later, I knew I’d have to reveal all, but I told myself I’d cross that bridge when I came to it. By the way; the date ‘November 19th‘ is the day I finished the first three chapters of the book and contacted my first literary agent. Happy to be making things up as I went along, I charged ahead into chapter eight and crafted (what to me anyway) would become one of the book’s most memorable characters. Most hate her, but I love her because I always knew that although she appears more ‘bitch than witch’ she’s has a tale to tell: Sunday Flowers. . .

Wildwood’s Regal Guest

the chapter-by-chapter review of raven’s Wand continues – this week, chapter six: Wildwood’s Regal Guest

One character appears in the book thanks entirely to an earlier illustration. As previously mentioned, I began the project as an art venture. The girl lifting the huge bumble-bee into the air was meant to look appealing and cute, and nothing more, but chance seemed to have its own ideas and when Kolfinnia had to rescue something from the barghests I knew it would be that enormous bumblebee: and Lilain the hive-empress was born. As she recovers at Wildwood, Lilain’s needs are tended by a witch called Annie Barden, who’s able to communicate with animals, but the last thing I wanted was Annie and animals talking directly. I wanted animal consciousness to remain a mysterious dimension, so there’s never direct dialogue between Annie and Lilain, or Valonia and captain Jerrow (the crow) or between Kolfinnia and the trees she’s able to gather memories from. I feared that the story might become a little too fairytale if I had talking trees and creatures.

Chapter six was also my pleasure to introduce Valonia’s Wards, and I split them up by season and outfit and made sure each had a distinctive character to hold them in the reader’s mind. I also added the joke about Rooter running off with Lana’s bloomers to make the group’s entry memorable, and OK, it’s not refined but it made me laugh, so what the hell (and it’s another example of down to earth witchcraft).

I frequently don’t know for sure what I’m going to write until I get to that part of the story, and such is the case with the truth about Rowan’s special gift **SPOILERS COMING UP** Rowan can read the mind of the universal consciousness that witches refer to as The Patternmaker (and others might call ‘God’). He knows everything, therefore Rowan knows everything, only she doesn’t know that she knows everything – she’s only just six after all! I tried to avoid writing of God/god because the name has so many meanings associated with it. The Patternmaker is felt rather than seen or heard, and maybe just as well, because in sequel books we come to find that he is a stony being; difficult to understand and tormented in his omnipotence, and with little liking for witches. But why? There is an answer later down the line, I promise. . .

A Golden Dilemma




A chapter-by-chapter insight into Raven’s Wand. This week – chapter five: A Golden Dilemma

Chapter five has to move the story along like any chapter, but it also has to impart some seriously magical concepts. Krast and the cabinet ministers have to untangle the thorny issue of ‘first-dawn’, and we learn of the Illuminata’s cutting-edge experiments into matter transformation, that witches would recognize as the process of alchemy. Now alchemy is so synonymous with turning lead to gold that I steered away from using the word too much, and instead gave it a more witch-orientated slant. Valonia’s witches understand alchemy as the channeling of the will to affect matter, to change it from one form to another, for example in Kolfinnia’s feat of turning buds into hazelnuts in seconds. Witches believe the opposite of science – that mind creates matter, not the other way around. This is heavy stuff to convey and explain, and at the same time keep it visual. That’s why I added those golden fleas beneath the microscope, and the sinister black box containing human remains. I wanted the first-dawn machine to feel like a presence in the room, and to haunt the rest of the book just as the name ‘first-dawn’ has haunted Valonia most of her life. This machine vandalizes the natural order of the world, and of course witches aren’t going to put up with that. . .

The first signs of the Illuminata’s tampering come when Kolfinnia is confronted by three spectral hounds known as barghests, which are not my inventions but are a genuine part of folklore. Here I was blending established tales with my own storytelling. I made barghests part of Ruination, which is the strange and dark – but not necessarily evil or bad – universe that parallels our own. I explained Ruin in manageable little chunks through the book, so I’ll spare you a lecture here about it, but basically the dragons Hethra and Halla dream life and animation, while Ruination dreams death and decay, and the two are inseparable. I got the name ‘Ruination’ from a walking map of all things. Marked upon it was a place in West Yorkshire called ‘Top Withens’ (popularly associated with the novel Wuthering Heights). Having spent the night at Top Withens alone once and detecting a very sinister vibe from the place, the map label ‘IN RUIN’ beside the name of the dilapidated farmhouse took on a new meaning. It didn’t just mean a collapsed building, but something totally different. IN RUIN became Ruination, to remind myself of that unnerving night I spent there long ago, and it became the perfect name for the realm of death and change. Ruination presented such a writing goldmine that I explored it much deeper (and darker) in the sequel novel, Flowers of Fate. I love the way that characters and places take on their own life and almost demand to be heard. Ruination did just that.


The Devil at Home

Our chapter-by-chapter review of Raven’s Wand continues with chapter four – The Devil at Home

Of all my characters, Samuel Krast has travelled furthest from his roots. To begin with he and his Illuminata kind were far more mystical; they wore robes and their headquarters was a palace-fortress as grand as The Vatican; they went by the name of ‘logicians’ and observed strict codes and rituals. But consequently the Illuminata grew too remote and overblown, which is why I reworked them and stationed them at Hobbs Ash; a dirty, unused railway station in the heart of London. Now here was a base of operations that the reader could picture and get a sense of, and Krast went from a hooded, quasi-priest, to a severed-suited, cold-hearted but believable man with some major skeletons in his closet. At this point I felt I knew him and could write him convincingly. All it took was a change of clothes and a railway station. Likewise the Illuminata infantry are mostly just ‘men doing their jobs’ which is always a terrible excuse for doing terrible things, but people only require excuses when they know deep down that they’re doing something wrong – minuscule but compelling proof of conscience. Most of Krast’s staff, such as the devisers and Knights, are more entrenched in their bigotry, and those that aren’t (such as Hathwell) keep tight lipped about it. Krast was originally called Karg, by the way, (which sounds much meaner) until I found out that Dr. Karg’s is a popular brand of wholemeal crackers – ah well.

In the same way I deflated Krast and his kind, bringing them a little further down to ground level, I also made sure not to paint Valonia’s witches as too spiritual to be true. When Esta Salt leads a magical ceremony on the beach, note how it doesn’t go according to plan and all the witches can do is try to see the funny side. I wanted witches to seem humble and credible characters; sometimes they’re tired and don’t want to say prayers, and sometimes they’re fearful and wonder if the dreaming gods they honour give a damn about them or even know they’re there? It’s in this chapter that one of the witches reveals, to my mind, the most profound lesson about witchcraft in the entire book. It comes from seasoned gardener Ada Crabbe as she’s telling Rowan why magic is so powerful and therefore so corrosive to government control. She rightly tells Rowan that humble gardening is the key to freedom, and with a little magic, Ada and other such witches can keep a coven fed and self-sufficient all year round – they have no need to work in mills or factories, and poverty and hunger are unknown to them. ‘Fed ‘n free’, says Ada, ‘they’ll never make slaves of us, and THAT’S why they hate witches so much.’ And she rightly knows that if magic gained widespread acceptance, then none of Britain’s working class would be wasting their lives down mines and in factories to keep the ruling classes afloat. There’s as much politics as magic in Raven’s Wand.

Chapter four is also the first time we see the term ‘first-dawn’ in a context other than Valonia’s personal life. The folders Krast takes to his ministerial meeting are all marked ‘first-dawn’, and the mystery begins to deepen and grow more sinister, after all, Valonia believes ‘first-dawn’ is an omen signalling the end of her life. . .



The chapter-by-chapter insight into Raven’s Wand continues. This week, chapter three ‘Way-beware’, and we take a look at names. . .

‘Kolfinnia’. This is a rare variant of a little-known Scandinavian girl’s name that I found in a book of baby names from a bargain bookshop. I chose it because I liked the sound of it and also because I liked the shape the word made on the page. As to its meaning, one source said it meant ‘white’, while another claimed it referred to coal and therefore black. Either way Kolfinnia has a lot of light and dark in her life.

Kolfinnia’s the glue that holds the story together and so she had to be an every(wo)man character that the reader can relate to. She’s almost eighteen and worried about her future. I remember leaving full-time education and having to find work in the ‘real world’ at last, and I think Kolfinnia faces something similar but more extreme; she isn’t job-hunting but avoiding capture and execution, but both feel just as stressful sometimes. Originally Kolfinnia was the grand, old coven matriarch (which became Valonia) and she was recounting her youth and adventures with Raven’s Wand from the vantage point of old age. . . but the split time periods (young Kolfinnia in early Victorian Britain, old Kolfinnia in the late 1800s) seemed too cumbersome and ultimately pointless. So I split the character in two, keeping Kolfinnia as the young woman we know and creating Valonia to take the role of the coven’s chief – but they began life as the same woman!

That Valonia originally came from Iceland is due to my numerous trips there, meaning I could write about the place with conviction. Valonia, by the way, is an Anglo-Saxon name meaning ‘from the valley’, and if anyone out there knows of a different meaning please keep it to yourself! I also owe thanks here to the Museum of Witchcraft and Sorcery in Holmavik, Iceland. It was in this charming museum that I learned of Iceland’s own brand of witch trials in the middle ages, and that oddly, most witches were men; there was no mention of wizards or warlocks etc, and this in turn gave me the idea to call anyone who holds faith in magic ‘a witch’, with no gender distinctions. (Check out the museum’s revolting ‘Necropants’, you won’t be disappointed).

I like to have real places in mind when I write, just to anchor them. Wildwood-coven’s Appelier Bay is based upon Morecambe Bay where Lancashire meets the Lake District, and I think Flora’s adventures on the Bay’s treacherous quicksands will have tipped off a few sharp-eyed readers. Most of the place names are made up; Chertfield, Rothwaite, Leadchester and Thornlee were all plucked from the air and if these towns do exist then I hope their inhabitants don’t mind ending up in my book by accident. Other place names are real, of course, and sprinkling the real next to the assumed helps create an air of credibility. To this end I compiled long lists of names, both personal and places, and draughted a short profile for every one of the fifty-two witches at Wildwood, whether we meet them or not, and that includes the name of their thunder-sprite, and I also drew all fifty-two of them, so I could ‘see’ who they were. Actually, I drew them twice – as my drawings went from the children’s style I’d practised previously and became more realistic, I discarded the earlier drawings and re-drew them, learning along the way. This is the depth of commitment and complexity I invested in Raven’s Wand and subsequent novels because I wanted it to be ‘right’, and I hope readers find this dedications adds to their enjoyment of the story.

A Witch’s Duty


To mark the publication of Raven’s Wand’s second edition, plus the exciting features of augmented reality it now boasts, I’ve begun this chapter-by-chapter review of the book. Like the director’s commentary on a DVD I’m going to take you through the book one chapter at a time, week-by-week, revealing things nobody knows but me.

Chapter Two ‘A Witch’s Duty’

After the fury of the opening chapter there was a lot to setup in chapter two introducing the main characters and the witches’ world and their beliefs, not forgetting Skald and the thunder-sprite race. All of this had to be done ‘on the move’ so to speak; keeping the story going while laying out facts and back-story. Talking of introductions, this is where I introduced the concept of magic. I’ve always disliked magic as a story device to explain anything and everything, such as ‘a broomstick flies by magic’. It seems an unfinished and unsatisfactory explanation. Thunder-sprites became my logical-magical explanation as to how a witch’s lightning-staff flies, and it gave each witch a character they could play against and so keep the dialogue going, even when they were alone (a witch is never alone when they have a thunder-sprite!). As most of my cast were female I made sprites all male because I liked the contrast; giving sprites a more rational approach to life and making witches more intuitive. As an aside here I’d like to stress that the reason for the largely female cast isn’t to appease modern politics or entice a particular readership. Wildwood-coven began life as a portfolio of witch characters drawn as a personal project and nothing more (or so I thought at the time). As a children’s illustrator I’d long been pigeonholed drawing villains, monsters and craggy characters. My gallery of witches grew out of my simple desire to draw some likable female characters for a change, and these are the characters that evolved into the book characters and that’s all. Interestingly, the name Wildwood came later and the coven was originally called Apple-Eye but I changed it, although the name lived on, morphed into the name of the coven’s river: Appelier. At this time when I began writing I was living near Loch Ness in the Scottish Highlands. I took the name ‘Wildwood’ from the wooden house I was living in at the time, and I would walk the surrounding forest and visualize Valonia’s coven, its huts, walkways and aerial dwellings built around the trees, providing material for writing and drawing alike.

Returning to the concept of magic, chapter two’s most important task was to explain the purpose of magic and witchcraft, and that is to honour the serpent twins Hethra and Halla. These sleeping dragons symbolize the very Earth, and in protecting them the witches’ faith protects the natural world. Although there’s a lot of reinvention of traditional themes in Raven’s Wand, one thing I made sure to keep is witchcraft as a benign force, although I reinstated it as a belief system with a moral code shared by all witches to put it into a more formal framework. I hope my efforts resonate with modern day witches out there (-:


Captions to photos:

Photo 1 Wildwood-coven began life as a portfolio of witch drawings. Many of these earliest pieces no longer exist and were replaced as the project matured.

Photo 2 Wildwood-coven took its name from the wooden lodge I was living in at the time, in the Scottish Highlands.