Sample Chapter!

Something Set in Scotland

I still have about 20 unfinished short stories, and none of them seem to have a nice ending, so I thought I would share part of something I did some work on last year. Whilst visiting family friends near Loch Ness (be jealous), I realised I have never really written much set in my home country specifically. I liked the idea of a fantasy story with as much historical accuracy as possible.

The beginning of this story only starts about half an hour from where I grew up, but in the mid 1580s. Finding place names and maps of the time is incredibly difficult, and I have a feeling I will be visiting a national library or two in the future to try and find what isn’t online yet, if I decide to continue with this story. Some characters were real people, and so far all of the places are too.

I will likely write more of this one soon, considering I only just stumbled across it again whilst scouring my hard drives and cloud storages. For now, enjoy the first couple thousand words of a story that is currently saved under ‘Shrug’:

A gentle breeze. An owl’s hoot. The soft moonlight. A rustle in the undergrowth caused the fox’s ears to twitch ever so slightly, it’s eyes swivelling to find the source of the noise. Hind legs tremored, the anticipation coursing through the small brown body. Another sound came from the undergrowth, and the fox launched itself. Through the air it soared, toward its prey.

It slammed into the ground, ribs shattering as it landed on its side. The light in the fox’s eyes was gone. An arrow stuck awkwardly from the side of its chest, the black shaft and feathers blending into the twilight around it.

‘Nice shot,’ came a voice from a nearby. A stocky figure emerged from a behind a bush, arms crossed, and brow furrowed. ‘I’m not sure why you waited until it jumped though,’ the man continued, ‘strange choice really.’

‘I was bored, just wanted to see what would happen.’ A second figure, tall and slim, emerged, bow in hand and slight smile on her lips. ‘It’s a big one though. Plenty meat on it. It’ll make a nice change from the skinny rabbits you keep catching.’

The man gave her a wry look, then pulled a small length of rope from his pack and walked toward the fox. The woman darted past him and snatched the arrow up, placing it back into her quiver. Kneeling, she studied the damage her arrow had made. She had impressed herself with her marksmanship, but she knew she couldn’t admit that to her friend. The man swiftly tied the fox to his pack and began walking down the hill, the small body bouncing against his thighs with each step.

‘Ari!’ he called behind him. The woman had been staring at the same point the fox had leapt at earlier. Her eyes had landed on something small, reflecting the moon light. She began to lean toward it, before being interrupted by a loud ‘Ariadne! Come on!’ from the man. She blinked twice, stood and began down the hill after him. Glancing back, she saw a small flash of light. She blinked a third time, but it was gone. Ariadne shook her head and chased after the man.

~

‘You should’ve seen the shot Maggie, the lass’ ridiculous!’

‘Oh, it was fine, don’t be dramatic Jack.’ Ariadne had to brush off the compliment.

Jack scowled across the large oak table between them as he untied the fox from this pack and placed it in front of Maggie. He had hewn it from a nearby tree several years ago, after it had fallen during a particularly strong storm. Maggie had found it endearing at the time, but after a few days realised that Jack’s myriad talents did not include woodwork. The legs had been uneven enough for Maggie to stick a couple wads of fabric under one corner, and the top was so bumpy that she had insisted on a thick wool tablecloth to hide as much of the uneven surface as possible. Jack still didn’t know about the wads under the leg, and would never find out, if she could help it. The man’s ego was fragile enough.

‘It was great, and you know it! Anyway, how long ‘til dinner love?’ Jack grinned innocently at Maggie, the thought of a warm meal the most exciting part of his day.

Maggie stared at him for a beat, then rolled her eyes, picked up the fox and began muttering under her breath as she set about skinning and gutting it.

Jack turned to Ariadne, confused and surprised. Ariadne rolled her eyes and walked out of the kitchen. Jack stood for a moment longer, looking around the room, then gave up, following Ariadne with his arms flapping at his side.

~

Ariadne had been staying with Maggie and Jack for a few months now. Her parents had been neighbours, and good friends, with Jack’s, back when Ariadne had been growing up. All four parents had since passed, but Ariadne and Jack had kept in touch. Since then, Maggie had become very close with her, and the two spent most evenings sitting and chatting, while Jack sat in the corner with a book and a dram.

The room that Ariadne slept in had turned from the couple’s small box room into a den of furs and throws, small needlepoint pillows and oddities scattered across the various shelves and tables she had brought into the house. She had garnered a large collection over her short life, and she was loath to let any of it go.

The woman was sat on a small stool next to her bed, checking over her bow. The night had been cold, and she was worried the yew wood may have been damaged. It was a silly thing, but she loved her belongings and took great pride in caring for them. The tight, fine grain of the wood deepened in the candlelight of the room and Ariadne studied the tips of the limbs, which were beginning to darken with age. She had taken this from the wall in her parent’s kitchen the day she had left home. It was the only thing of her father’s she had rescued, and probably one of his better bows, before his hands started to give. He had always been so proud of his bows. It was just a shame that-.

Ariadne shook her head. Not the time.

She leaned the bow against the side of her small wardrobe and stood up. She had to find something to keep her busy tonight. No time to be sad and reminisce. She threw open her bedroom door and strode back down the hallway to the small kitchen to join Maggie.

As Ariadne walked through the open doorway, she was greeted by a warm and soft air. Whether this came from the roaring fire and good food or from Maggie herself, Ariadne was never sure. Maggie was one of the few women around here who seemed to really know how to cook, and actually enjoyed it.

‘Braised fox leg, roasting the pheasant you shot this morning too. Tatties, some other vegetables and fresh bread. Sound good?’

Ariadne was practically drooling at Maggie’s words, a quick ‘Christ, yes’, passing her lips. Maggie chuckled, tossing a paring knife at the bowl of potatoes sat on the table. Ariadne smiled, sat on the stool next to it and began peeling.

‘So,’ said Maggie, facing away from Ariadne while she looked for a skillet, ‘fox hunting, eh? We cannae be telling the neighbours what we’ve been eating, or they’ll think we’ve turned posh!’

Ariadne laughed quietly, nimble fingers making quick work of the potato in her hands. ‘Just catching what I can find Mags, sorry if it’s too good for ye!’ Her accent always got thicker when she was around Maggie. Most of it had dropped away after she had left her parents’, but it still came through now and again.

‘A just mean, am surprised. Never had it before. Used tae fish and oats here, cannae complain though.’ Maggie’s thick accent rolled across Ariadne, as she savoured every rolled r and rich vowel. Nothing like the sound of home.

‘Enjoy it while you can,’ she smiled, ‘before I disappear on you two.’

Maggie didn’t respond. Ariadne knew she didn’t want to see her friend leave. But she would have to. Eventually.

‘Anyway,’ continued Ariadne, ‘sounds like you’re cooking up a storm Mags.’

Maggie glanced over her shoulder, grinned and winked, and turned back to the array of pots and pans hanging up. She picked up a skillet and a copper pot, brought them over to the fire. Ariadne got into the rhythm of peeling and chopping the potatoes in front of her and began to let her mind drift.

She was looking forward to leaving. She couldn’t say it out loud, at least not to Maggie or Jack, but she was growing anxious staying here. Ariadne had never been good at keeping to the one place, not since her parents had died. She was constantly moving, physically or mentally. She wasn’t made for staying still. The few months spent at Maggie and Jack’s house had been a lot of fun, but she knew if it carried on much longer, they would soon be in danger.

The last place Ariadne had spent more than two months in a row was the home of a healer woman in Byerhill, not far from where she was now. The woman, one Alesoun Pierson, was very skilled. Ariadne spent the time recovering from a particularly nasty gash across her lower back which had become infected. Alesoun had nursed Ariadne back to health quickly and had offered to impart some wisdom to the girl. In return, Ariadne had helped Alesoun with busywork and other patients.

The woman seemed to have a lot of work to do, and even with an apprentice and Ariadne helping her, Alesoun was endlessly stressed and never short of jobs to delegate. Ariadne had learned an enormous amount in her time there, but eventually had to leave before anything bad could happen. It always did. She couldn’t let Maggie and Jack experience what others had had to. They were too good to have to live through what those… people would do.

It was decided then. She would leave tonight. No warning, no chance for them to object. Ariadne would slip away in the night, her life packed up again. Her friends finally safe again. Another home needing found, but she had been doing this for years now. Ever since that day when she was fourteen and she had discovered her parents lying there… no she shouldn’t think about that now. Once she knew her friends were fast asleep, she would pack quickly and head out. Probably go south, across the water and into the mountains. Up there, she could keep a better eye on what was going on around her. And who.

Ariadne blinked and looked at the potatoes in front of her. Clumsily peeled and roughly diced, they were piled neatly back into the bowl, the skins scattered across the floor around her. And all over her legs. Christ. As she stood to brush herself off, Maggie turned and reached for the bowl.

‘Aye, gid load eh tatties there,’ she said as she brought them over to the pot, now filled with boiling water. As she began dropping them in, Jack burst into the room.

‘We have a problem.’ His face was red, eyes wide and brows furrowed. Ariadne spun on the spot, knocking over the stool, and slipping on some of the peels. She crashed to the ground, then looked up again at Jack.

‘What’s wrong?’ She asked from the floor. She could tell it was serious, but she could also see Jack trying to stifle a chuckle at her. He cleared his throat and continued, avoiding eye contact with Maggie, who was giggling at Ariadne.

‘Someone’s set fire to the town hall. The chapel too. Half the town is out on the street helping.’ Jack seemed concerned. He looked at Ariadne, both the question he couldn’t ask and the answer he didn’t want on his tongue. He knew what this meant.

‘Good god, we have to go help! Get a move on!’ Maggie threw everything down and rushed toward the door. Jack put his arm out to stop her.

‘No Mags, we need to go. Put out the fire and grab your stuff.’ Jack glanced between the two women. ‘Ari, how long for you to get ready?’

‘No, you two stay. It’s me that has to go.’ Ariadne didn’t want to make them leave home. She could go, and make herself seen, and let her friends live their lives. If they joined her, things would change for them, and not for the better. Enough people had had their lives ruined because of Ariadne, her conscience couldn’t take the blame for any more.

‘No lass,’ said Maggie, ‘for once, you’re not on your own.’ She grinned at Ariadne, as the tall woman moved to head upstairs. Jack grabbed her arm as she passed. He looked into her eyes and gave her a pointed look. Ariadne glared for a moment, then sighed.

‘Five minutes, then we leave,’ said Ariadne, looking away from both of her friends as she said it. Then she ran up the stairs. She knew how to pack quickly. A travelling bard had once told her a phrase she would never forget. I don’t get ready, I stay ready. He had it written on a small piece of paper he kept folded up in a locket around his neck. Ever since then, Ariadne had lived by it.

Under the woman’s bed were two packs, handles facing the door. Ariadne grabbed these, the packs arcing through the air as she stood up quickly, landing neatly on the bed in front of her. She pulled them both open in one movement, checking over the contents. Then, gathering small items on the way, Ariadne spun around the small room. She deposited what she had picked up into the open packs, closed them again and secured them to her back. She turned, grabbing her father’s bow from one side and a large fur from the bed now behind her. Slinging the bow over her shoulder and the fur across her back, Ariadne made for the door. A dark, steely cloud crossed her eyes, and the edges of her mouth twitched upward.