One of the first things any writer will tell you is to never throw away any piece you have ever written. It might prove inspirational or otherwise useful at a later point in time. It's also the perfect excuse not to get rid of precious pieces of writing which didn't make the editing cut ;)
Quick Intro: The croigreach, a triad of three prophecied warriors, - Calynorne is one of them - just arrived in Anat and discovered that the slaves have banded to form an underground resistance against slavery. Their home base is an intricate cavesystem spanning the town of Anat and the adajacent forest. In this scene, Fenella - shrine priestess of the resistance - leads up to the story of the resistance's birth.
Outtake Celtic Forest - Book 2:
“Gaoth an Iar, the Rune of the Western Wind“, Fenella finally intoned quietly, carefully settling a pendant into the palm of her hand, “It is the final rune that binds the seven clans of Anat together.” At the hint of confusion in the croigreachs’ eyes, a small smile tucked at the corner of the priestess’ lips. Slowly, she drew back the sleeve to reveal one of her wrists. The same italic rune as the one engraved on the pendant spanned her pulse point in a black green shimmer. “Seven runes mark the members of the resistance, each announcing the unique talent an individual carries. These symbols of Old rose from the depth of legend together with our ancestors’ fighting spirit, gifted to us on the day when we faced the first challenge of our new people: the loss of Mhanaidh, the priestess who blew into Anat with the Western Winds and saved us all. The runes are our centre points, an heirloom of the first families to enter a new life. Intermixed, the blood of the seven Western clans of Géobhan Ridge flows in our veins yet the seven clans have risen again uniting each of us under the guidance of a rune gifted to us by Mhanaidh, but I am getting ahead of myself. I shall introduce myself first.”
Lifting her grey gaze to the three strangers opposite her, a proud smile stretched her lips. “I am Fenella, priestess of the shrine of Gaoth an Iar. I, solely, stand apart from the seven clans, bearing the responsibility of fulfilling the teachings that were left to us by the priestess that saved us all: Mhanaidh of Celtic Forest.” Reverence rung in the elder woman’s alto as her fingers softly stroked the curves of the pendant in her palm. Tilting her head to the right, she studied the fabled croigreachs. “I am responsible for watching the western winds and listening to the messages they carry to us. For days they have been whispering of your coming, telling me that I had to prepare for your arrival.” Calynorne felt confusion well at the admission, but Fenella quickly dismissed that titbit of information.
Her grey eyes grew distant. “But as I said, let us start at the beginning: In the time of our great-grandfathers, when our people listlessly waited for death in the barren slums of Anat. We did neither distinguish between winter nor spring nor summer, then. Endless days bled into the next, cold or heat slowly absolving the few lucky ones among us from the hell that was life on this plain. Life was an endless succession of sacrifices, one day bringing little more than the next. But then, one day, upon the wings of a cool western breeze, a silver cloaked stranger blew into the heated streets of the slums. The air stirred with a different kind of energy. Hope…
Lifting her grey gaze to the three strangers opposite her, a proud smile stretched her lips. “I am Fenella, priestess of the shrine of Gaoth an Iar. I, solely, stand apart from the seven clans, bearing the responsibility of fulfilling the teachings that were left to us by the priestess that saved us all: Mhanaidh of Celtic Forest.” Reverence rung in the elder woman’s alto as her fingers softly stroked the curves of the pendant in her palm. Tilting her head to the right, she studied the fabled croigreachs. “I am responsible for watching the western winds and listening to the messages they carry to us. For days they have been whispering of your coming, telling me that I had to prepare for your arrival.” Calynorne felt confusion well at the admission, but Fenella quickly dismissed that titbit of information.
Her grey eyes grew distant. “But as I said, let us start at the beginning: In the time of our great-grandfathers, when our people listlessly waited for death in the barren slums of Anat. We did neither distinguish between winter nor spring nor summer, then. Endless days bled into the next, cold or heat slowly absolving the few lucky ones among us from the hell that was life on this plain. Life was an endless succession of sacrifices, one day bringing little more than the next. But then, one day, upon the wings of a cool western breeze, a silver cloaked stranger blew into the heated streets of the slums. The air stirred with a different kind of energy. Hope…
I love the background story this scene reveals. Alas, there is such a thing as too much information in a sequence which causes the story to slow down. Well, my writer's heart is still bleeding everytime I have to cut out a fascinating new insight I gained on the world I created. Tough luck, I guess.
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