Chapter One, Part One

The child was being pecked at by crows when Torna found him, lying on the ground in a way that suggested he was not unloved, just unwillingly left due to uncontrollable circumstances. The branches of the huge tree were offering some protection but the scavengers were hungry, and this baby was soft, its flesh tender – too much of a treat to resist when pickings had been so scarce recently.

            “Shoo, you,” the poet muttered, waving them away with his arms. He hurried forward to pick up the little boy, noticing with some surprise that he wasn’t crying. The shawl was familiar: surely, this was Cairenn’s child, the illegitimate son of the king, Eochaid?

            “You’re half frozen,” he said to the baby, though he knew it probably could not understand him. “Half frozen, and still bloodied from the womb. Aye, child, you’re just a newborn. You won’t survive out here unless I take you home, will you?” So saying, he wrapped his tiny charge tightly in its shawl and started home, riding as fast as he could with the precious bundle on his saddle.

            Around twenty minutes later he pushed aside the heavy clock that served as a door and entered his house. It was round, like all the houses nearby; one thick, unbroken wall surrounded the home of his everyday life and had done for the past ten years. Above them, Torna could see that the heavy thatched roof could do with repairing in places.

            “Welcome home, little baby,” he said.

*

            Cairenn went to the tree, filled with apprehension. She didn’t want to know what was there – those filthy birds, and her poor son! – but she had to. How could she forgive herself for not going, and yet how could she condone forcing herself to see his unbreathing, destroyed body, torn to pieces by the hungry beaks of birds?

            As she reached the trailing branches, however, it was not a baby that lay beneath them. Instead, a man she recognised only on sight was sitting on the ground, calmly waiting for her. He looked up as she approached, but her son was nowhere to be seen.

            “Cairenn!” He stood up, coming towards her with his arms outstretched like he wanted to embrace her. She backed away: he was a stranger. “My dear Cairenn, I am Torna. Perhaps you have heard of me?” Silence. Nothing. Just a blank look of incomprehension. “The poet, Cairenn, of the court.” Understand flared in her eyes.

            “What are you doing here, then? And where is my son?” Her voice lost its strength. Like her eyes, the fire had been replaced by tears and a great, deep sorrow. “My son ... I left him here.”

            “Why did you do that, my dear? Why did you not keep him?” Torna kept his words and voice gentle. She was obviously fragile and to upset her was not on his agenda, but he did really want to know, though he was glad that his suspicions had been confirmed and he was not making a huge mistake. “Your child is safe, do not fear. But please, answer my question.” He had left the infant fast asleep in the warmth of his house.

Author guidance for This story

Obviously, if I write 10,000 words in a day it's not practical to upload it under the 'Day One', 'Day Two' system etc, and I won't keep it up so this won't be the whole novel, but it'll give you a taster ... sorry if my formatting mutates!

Sorry for lack of updating. Have wordcounts instead :)

You can also follow my progress / read the blurb / read an extract on my NaNoWriMo profile ... http://www.nanowrimo.org/eng/user/603343

Day 1 - 7,000
Day 2 - 18350
Day 3 - 24467
Day 4 - 27029
Day 5 - 30050
Day 6 - 37496
Day 7 - 51115
Day 8 - 56361
Day 9 - 65051
Day 10 - 70096
Day 11 - 73800
Day 12 - 78296
Day 13 - 90036
Day 14 - 100080
Day 15 - 106312
Day 16 - 112064
Day 17 - 120322
Day 18 - 126506 (end of 'Beneath the Branches' and beginning of 'Figurehead')
Day 19 - 134604
Day 20 - 141322
Day 21 - 150121
Day 22 - 151358
Day 23 - 156456
Day 24 - 162835
Day 25 - 166135
Day 26 - 168628
Day 27 - 171801
Day 28 - 180921
Day 29 - 189530
Day 30 - 193812

Although the Young Writer's Program for NaNoWriMo, when I validated, claimed that I'd written 197,000 words. Hmm, I wish.

Basically, lots of words. Dead fingers. No time for Protagonize.

updated Dec 4 '10 by delorfinde