Nemed
The Lost Novel
While clearing out my late mums house, I picked up a flash drive, knowing she did a bit of writing as a hobby I put it in my pocket to examine later in depth. The first few weeks were busy organising her finances and the funeral. Then the clearing of the house, the weeks turned into months, then years. Two in fact before I remembered the flash drive. I plugged into to my laptop not knowing what I would find, files of poetry and short stories mostly filled it but a file really piqued my interest 'Nemed'
I remembered that four decades ago in the late eighties my mum has bashed out thousands of words on a manual typewriter, armed only with correction papers and a three inch thick dictionary - no spell check or delete key back then.
She sent it to a few publishers, one of them (think large flightless bird that live in Antarctica) actually rang her to say her writing style was excellent but fantasy was out of fashion so the answer was no, but if she wanted to try writing non fantasy then they would certainly like to read it.
This was probably ten years before the boy wizard came along and the Tolkien revival through the films of Peter Jackson, so the manuscript went in the bottom drawer.
I didn't realise that she retyped in to her computer in the Noughties years after I had moved out. This was the file I was looking at now.
I couldn't let it sit unread so I published it on Kindle. It can be read for free on a Kindle unlimited subscription or purchased for £2.99
Nemed - Buy It Here
Here is the first chapter as a taster
CHAPTER ONE
The village lay below him now and from the shelter of the tall stones he gazed down towards his home. The boy strained eye and ear for any movement or sound that would tell him he was missed. But there was nothing, as always Nemed was at peace. The valley lay cocooned amid the three hills that stood like sentinels protecting the good fortune of the village.
This particular hilltop with the tall, cold stones and cool breezes had always tempted him on hot nights. He lay down at the foot of one the great stones. The sky was clear and bright above and the earth cool and sweet beneath. The breeze lifted his long yellow hair and cooled his hot tired body; its gentle breath lulled him to sleep. The early light of dawn would wake him before the village stirred and he was missed.
He woke long before then, aware that he was not alone. Trying to look about him without moving he found his vision was hindered by the dark, and by the pillars of stone. He listened fearfully to the heavy breathing that came closer and closer broken only by low, pain ridden moans.
The sight of a tall grey robed figure stumbling across the clearing only served to increase his fear. Owain decided he must leave quickly and return to the village. He was trying to plan his escape when the man collapsed beside the moss-covered stone lying at the centre of the circle. Even so, the boy still did not move. All seemed quiet and he listened carefully, making sure no one was with the stranger.
Owain began to crawl towards the still figure. Hardly daring to breathe, he kept his head low, feeling exposed as he left the shadows of the stones which had sheltered him while he slept. The night had turned cool and he wished he had more than his jerkin on. Now he was sorry he had not brought his winter cloak to use as a blanket.
He turned the man over onto his back and it was then Owain saw the blood stain on the rough grey robe he wore. The stranger had been stabbed in the side and he groaned as he moved his head from side to side. His eyes were open but he saw nothing. Owain leapt quickly away, back into the shadows. The eyes had disturbed him, seeming to see right through him. Pressed against the stone he waited to see if the man stirred again. Soon the fellow became quiet and Owain decided to venture towards him and he knelt beside the still figure.
The man became restless again but this time the boy stayed with him realizing he was not conscious. He tore the bloodstained robe and tried to stem the flow of blood from the wounds. He stayed with him until the first streaks of light came across the sky. Owain could not understand his murmured ramblings and caught only odd words here and there. The fever broke with the light of day and he looked at Owain, this time with clear, understanding eyes.
‘How long have I been here,’ he asked in a weak voice. On hearing he had been there most of the night and it was now dawn he begged Owain to leave him.
‘Go’ he urged him, ‘if the soldiers come and find you with me, you will be in grave danger.’
Owain didn’t move. ‘I can’t leave you like this, you need help.’ Every instinct told him he had to stay, that he must not leave this man to the mercies of whoever had caused these terrible wounds. Even as he looked at him, the man was drifting into unconsciousness again.
At the foot of the hill and quite a way from the village there were some caves. Owain knew them well, he had been there many times and now he decided this was where he must hide the priest. He had little idea how he would manage it, but he would try. He was tall and strong for his twelve years and resourceful.
‘What I need’, he thought, ‘is something I can lay him on and pull him along.’ The journey to the caves was down hill so he felt he would be able to do it.
As gently as he could he pulled the lifeless man along the ground to the shelter of a large clump of trees. Anyone coming to the circle of stones would not pass by there and the stranger would be safe until he returned. He looked up at the sky, it was still only half light and if he was quick he could be in and out of the village long before anyone was about.
He ran all the way, stopping only at the edge of the village to catch his breath. No one must hear him, so he waited until his breathing became slow and quiet. He started towards the hut which was his home. Drying outside were some animal skins that would become part of their winter clothing. He took the largest of these and rolling it quickly, he tucked it beneath his arm.
He could already hear the first sounds of life inside the low roofed huts and he heard a dog bark some distance away. Smoke was starting to curl from the roofs of some of the cottages and he could hear the clatter of cooking pots. The first meal of the day was always a thin broth thickened with yesterday’s bread, nothing was ever wasted. But he would have to hurry, soon the men would be going to the fields for the day and he must not be seen. Making his way back to the edge of the village he fled towards the hill.
The stranger had disappeared; at least he no longer lay where he had left him. Owain began to search among the trees; he grew more anxious as time passed. The man was wounded and whoever had done it may have found him, they may even now be watching Owain. Perhaps they had watched as he had helped the man. He went deeper into the wood and his eyes soon grew accustomed to the dim light. Slowly, he moved through the trees and coming to a clearing he had to shield his eyes from the sun and there he saw the stranger, standing in a brilliant shaft of light. He stood tall and straight now and showed no sign of pain or weakness. He spoke, almost chanted, strange words and as he did so he ran his hands over the wounds on his body.
Owain moved forward slowly and carefully, but the sound of snapping twigs startled the man. He turned towards the boy. Owain gasped, he saw no sign of the injuries that had almost killed the grey clad man. There was not a spot of blood on his robe, and from the way he was striding towards Owain it was plain there were no longer any wounds.
‘I told you that you must not be seen with me. Go back to the village.’ The man looked about him as he spoke. ‘The soldiers will kill you, just as they tried to kill me.’ He spoke sharply.
‘You’re hurt,’ answered Owain.
‘Not any more.’ The man’s reply was terse.
When no further explanation came, the boy continued. ‘The soldiers will be looking for you and if my people see you they will not shelter you, they are afraid of any strangers and the soldiers.’
‘Then you must help me to hide. Do you know of anywhere, for I need rest and time to think?’
Owain pointed silently to a way through the trees and down the hill to the caves. As they walked they spoke to each other in quiet tones.
Owain looked up at the tall man. ‘What is your name? Are you one of the priests? Who was it tried to kill you?’
‘Steady’ replied the man, ‘One question at a time. To answer your first one, my name is Cathair, and to answer your second, yes, I am one of the priests.’
‘But who tried to kill you?’ persisted the boy.
Cathair stopped and looked about him before he spoke.
‘The soldiers who came to conquer this kingdom, fear us, for we have great knowledge of many things and they who are ignorant always fear what they do not understand. They rule like mighty kings elsewhere, but here in Nemed it is to us, the priests, your people come. The soldiers and their leaders don’t like it. They have tried to kill us, or drive us away. Now nearly all of us are dead and those who are not have fled to other parts of the land.’
The tall man had to stoop to avoid the low branches as they made their way through the woods. When they neared the caves, Owain wondered aloud why Cathair had gone to the circle of stones.
‘Because the soldiers know we use them for our ceremonies and they think that is where our knowledge and power come from, so they fear the place. When they believe the last of us have gone they will search every crack in every stone to try to uncover our secrets, but they will never be able to find them or understand our knowledge.
Finally they reached the caves and Owain helped Cathair to collect straw and leaves to make a bed. The boy still had the animal skin he had taken from outside his home and they laid this over the pile they had put into a corner. From the remaining debris they built a fire and before long, exhaustion and the warmth of the flames soothed Cathair’s weary body. He was soon asleep. Only then did Owain leave the man’s side to return to the village.
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