from First Wolf...
‘Keep still, wriggly little eel,’ I whispered angrily. ‘If the men see us, we’ll both be beaten.’
This quietened him, for he knew about beatings, and I settled to watch the members of the folk moot with a feeling of great bitterness in my heart. I was old enough to attend the meetings, to join their war talk, but there was no place for me. With my useless leg, they would never send me into the forest to kill my first wolf. They would never think of me as a man.
Many nights I dreamed I was searching for the wolf, only to wake sweating, shouting, and filled with sick fear. The creatures often hunted in packs, it would be dangerous work, but I longed for my chance to prove my worth. Boys of my age had slain the wolf; they sat by right at the meeting place and pitied me. Their pity did not upset me much, for it was kindly meant, but some like Oswold, uncle Heolstor’s son, threw stones at me and shouted insults that made me burn with anger.
At my birth, my kinsfolk saw my useless leg and voted to leave me on the hillside for the wild beasts to eat, but Father would not let them tear me from my mother’s arms. He followed the teachings of the good Saint Cuthbert, knowing it wrong to kill a helpless child, and I was thinking it was a blessing to have such a father, when a sudden shout made me jump.
‘Godwin, what use is your folk moot?’ It was Heolstor, his face like thunder. Spitting angry words, he threatened my father with the ash spear. ‘There’s no king’s man to attend the meeting,’ he shouted, ‘there’s no one with the right to hold the spear, to judge what should be done!’
My father growled, wrenching the spear from his brother’s hand. An anxious cry went up, for only the king’s high reeve held the ash spear to decide right from wrong. Then clenching the spear in his fist, as tough as the hammers he used to beat the glowing iron on his anvil, my father gave so threatening a look that the men placed their weapons on the ground, squatting in the sand to listen to him speak.
from First Wolf..
Monks working in the fields, close to the beehive huts, ran towards the leeward side of the island. Others came from the long house, helping those who were old or ill. Abbot Higbald ordered them to seek safety in the church and protect Saint Cuthbert’s gospels. He ran towards the building, flinging open the door. Monks followed him, and as we hurried after them into the church Modig raced ahead of us and one man locked and bolted the door behind us.
The abbot seized a heavy, silver cross from the altar, and holding it before him, ran back to the door crying, ‘Deliver us O Lord, from the fury of the Northmen, deliver us O Lord, from the fury of the Northmen!’
There were heavy, running footsteps coming across the enclosure, men shouting in that strange language. Axe heads thudded against the stout, oak door, making me shake with fright. There were terrifying screams. I smelled burning thatch, there was a terrible crackling and a frightening whoosh above my head. Thick smoke drifted under the door, swirling round my feet.
‘Quick,’ an old monk shouted at me, the one who sent poor Desmond to his death, ‘follow me.’
He hurried as fast as his old body would allow and ran to the altar. Snatching up the book covered with Juliana’s jewels, he thrust it into my hands and cried, ‘This is more precious than your life – you must bring it safely to the monks at the White Church – close by the monastery at Durham.’ Then picking up a tall candlestick, fear giving him strength, he swung it above his head, smashing the coloured glass in the high window above the altar.
Screams from the enclosure froze my blood. Modig was barking, the church door splintering. The old monk peered through the wreathing smoke towards the door, grabbed me by my tunic, and shouted, ‘Swear you’ll do this. Swear on the holy book that you will guard it with your life!’
He seized my wrist, slamming my hand hard onto the surface of the gospels, the jewels digging into my flesh, and I cried, ‘I swear! I swear!’
Lindisfarne, an island off the coast of Northumberland, is also known as Holy Island, and it is where part of my children's book First Wolf is set...
from the book blurb:
It was Toland's twelfth year of life when his father hurled the wolf's head at the mighty Eorl Uhtred, bringing his childhood to a violent end. These were dangerous times, with people driven from their settlements, tribal wars, and bands of robbers on the roads, but Toland must keep his solemn promised to save the Lindisfarne Gospels from the Vikings, protect his family and find his father. With is faithful hound Bodo, he sets off on his quest through Anglo-Sazon Northumbria and his many adventures lead him into the fortress of Bamburgh, to the mysterious hermit on Inner Farne, the mystery of the stolen jewels, a blood debt, and a terrible discovery at the White Church...
Afraid to return to the road, I set off through the sand hills, but it was difficult with my feet sinking deep in the wind-swept dunes. Weary, and my leg aching, I was glad to reach the damp, hard-packed sand of the bay and see the island of Lindisfarne at last.
The crossing place was a long narrow road made from a pile of rocks, with stakes driven deep to show the way. Thinking I might soon be safe, I hurried towards it. It didn’t seem far, and I limped as fast as I could, but with growing alarm realised the tide was moving swift in silent ripples towards me. It was coming from many directions, each dark sheet of water criss-crossing another, creeping around my feet. I backed away, but the advancing tide surrounded me, rising above my ankles and filling my boots.
The speed of the water was frightening. It was already up to my waist, and I fought to escape its powerful tugging. I turned and found I was far out in the bay and visible from the road. I started to wade back towards the dunes as fast as I could, but the sea slowed me down, and I hadn’t gone far when I heard a shout.
A small group of horses had stopped on the road. One rider was galloping across the beach towards me, clumps of sand flying from his mount’s hooves. The sucking tide was almost up to my shoulders. Men were shouting and pointing in my direction. A rider urged his horse chest high into the water, but before he could reach me, a wave knocked me off my feet and carried me out to sea.
I let out a cry of fear, salt water slopped into my mouth, and powerful currents took me further down the coast. The sea soaked my woollen cloak and wrapped it around me. I thrashed about, desperate to find sand under my feet, but I was out of my depth and sinking. I kicked hard with my one good leg, fighting to keep my head above water. I’m a strong swimmer, but not strong enough to fight the weight of my wet clothes and the power of the tide. It was carrying me further along the coast. I struggled to free myself from my cloak, but my brooch pin bent, it wouldn’t open.
Chapter Two - Escape to the Forest
The men crowded round the old man, snatching at the straws in his hand. It was hard to see what was happening. Then a gasp went up, the men fell silent, and I knew a man was chosen.
Those standing around the elder moved away and settled on the ground, and I went cold with fear, for my father was alone beside the cross with a wisp of straw between his large fingers and thumb.
‘I would rather fight beside you to the death than ride to Bamburgh,’ my father said, his voice loud and clear, ‘but you see I cannot, for I hold the short straw. I know you will defend the settlement with your lives, but there is little time before Uhtred returns. First the women and children must be sent to safety in the forest.’
‘There’s no safety in the forest,’ the carpenter sneered. ‘The wolves and bears–’
‘Bears? There are no bears left in the forest as well you know, carpenter. Better for the women and children to take a chance with wolves than face Uhtred’s mercenaries,’ my father exclaimed.
‘Godwin, it’s not for you to decide these things. You will be safe in Bamburgh,’ the carpenter mocked. ‘Let those who must stand at the gates decide what is right! I say we choose Heolstor for tythingman. He has the ash spear, let him decide.’
The men shouted so loudly it was impossible to hear what they said until the weaver, red-faced with anger, jumped to his feet and tore the ash spear from Heolstor’s hand.
‘Godwin is right!’ he yelled, poking Heolstor’s belly with the tip of the weapon. ‘Uhtred will be at our gates and we are fools, fighting over who shall be tythingman when our families are in great danger!’ Then throwing the spear to the ground, he picked up his double-edged axe, ran across the yard, and called to his wife to collect food and clothing and run with the children to the forest.
This seemed to decide things for the others, and one by one, they gathered up their weapons and followed him, though some were arguing still. My father strode towards our house, and I lurched forward on my good leg, pulling Rinan after me.
‘Let go, let go!’ he shouted and tried to punch me, and I was spinning him round by his cloak when Father heard us, called angrily for us to stop our fighting, and waited until we caught up with him.
How nice that you're posting chapters of your book. So many will love reading it.
I'm so enjoying this story.
Thank you, Carole Anne for sharing.
Best wishes, always.
Margie
x
Great story! Thanks for sharing with us. :)
Thanks for sharing, I never read snippets or sample chapters now. I used to but I prefer to have the whole thing now and go at it.
Lainy www.alwaysreading.net
Wonderful scene, Carol. So intense. Reminds me of the Hunger Games. Really powerful writing.
Wonderful scene, Carol. So intense. Reminds me of the Hunger Games. Really powerful writing.