Hi
Welcome to Caffe Nero on this cold Sunday morning. Twenty minutes ago, Station Square, Cambridge, was filled with Spanish teenagers and their teachers. Fifteen minutes ago, they had boarded coaches bound for … maybe London, maybe York, maybe Edinburgh.
I enjoy busy places. I’m not an author who sits in a cold garret, writing by the light of a single candle, sharing morsels of cheese with a mouse.
If you recall, last week, I wrote that I would turn the four-part story I shared with you into a slim book to give away.
I have many story fragments. I could have deleted them, but I’m glad I didn’t.
The P.P.S. at the foot of this newsletter is a fragment that might have appeared around Chapters 5 and 6 of ‘Beyond The Shining Portals’.
It’s the earliest memory of the Little Sister Sorcha, commander of the forces of the hidden order of the Maiden.
She is speaking to Van Buren.
Pick up Chapters 1-5 of ‘Beyond The Shining Portals’ for free here.
And if you are sufficiently intrigued, the full book is for sale on Amazon.
Sorcha Enters The Motherlode
“First, my name. I have many, but you may call me Sorcha. According to the current dating system, I was born 8000 years ago in what is now Western China. I am what you would call a Celt.”
“A Celt? In China?”
“My people were nomads. We travelled over a wide area.
Sorcha pulled her feet under her and leaned back into the worn armchair.
“Van Buren, let me show you something.”
She closed her eyes, and Van Buren ‘saw’ that distant time and place through his own eyes. He recognised it instantly from his dreams.”
“Now let me show you something else.”
Van Buren felt a quiver of fear. He was inside Sorcha’s mind, looking out, borne along by a rapid flow of events. He could sense everything.
Sorcha, he realised, had seen that cleft in the rock before. So she had slipped and slithered and slid towards it as quickly as she could. Her pursuer, he sensed, was much heavier than her, and climbing through the rocks would have been harder for him. But he was strong. Sorcha knew that, and fear drove her on.
She reached the cleft and scrambled into it, turning her head to see if ‘Tuvulu’ was in sight. He had not yet reached the top of the ridge, but she could hear him bellowing her name. Terrified, she squeezed herself into the gap and lay still. Her rapid, shallow breaths seemed incredibly loud. She forced herself to breathe slowly and noiselessly.
Now Van Buren could hear him. His hands and feet dislodged showers of earth and pebbles that beat upon the rocks below. Whenever the patter ceased, she heard him shout for her. He was getting frighteningly close. Van Buren could feel her terror. He could hear her heart pounding inside her. Her whole body was tensed to spring away from her hiding place upon discovery.
Instinctively, she pressed back into the tiny white flowers that grew in the cleft. Then she gave a cry. Van Buren felt a heart-stopping moment as she fell backwards through the hole she had torn through the foliage.
It was a short fall. She had landed on her back and was winded for a moment. But she got to her feet quickly looking up at the daylight shafting down to the cave floor. She expected Tuvulu’s face to appear in the gap at any moment.
She moved back away from the hole in the roof and then glanced around for cover, some rock to hide behind. But there were none. Then Van Buren began to sense her amazement. She was in a tunnel, but not like any tunnel she had ever seen. The sides glowed with faint light. Colours skimmed the surface, creating a beauty she could not have ever imagined. The tunnel wormed its way in both directions away from her.
Suddenly she remembered Tuvulu. She turned and ran as fast as she could up the passageway. The tunnel seemed to twist and turn and sometimes go back on itself.
She stopped and rested. She listened carefully for a long time but could hear no sounds of pursuit. She was surprised that she felt warm. The tunnel had a pleasant, even temperature. Nor did she feel hungry or thirsty, and this seemed very strange to her at the time.