Tearmann: A Chaelerian Novel. Prologue:

She paused for just a moment, but a moment was all it took; the baby in her arms let out an unearthly wail, startling the animals of the woods into flight. In the ensuing cacophony of noise she barely heard the whisper the arrow made through the air, managing to dodge just in time for it to land in the gnarled tree trunk that had moments ago been in front of her. Before the quiver had stopped shaking from the impact she took off again, dodging through the trees not risking looking back; her only goal to reach the river and the church standing guard on it’s other side, where she could seek sanctuary. She had been running for days, hoping the King’s men would not catch up to her again, for she knew there would be no second escape.

As she continued fleeing she took no notice of the various sticks and rubble on the ground slicing into her feet nor the branches snagging her blood-worn and tattered cloak, further lacerating her back. With the single-mindedness of a mother protecting her young she dashed onward till her energy began to run out.

She could see the river, not even a yard in front of her but as she slid down the trunk of one of the weeping willows near the rivers edge she knew she would never make it across. With the last of her breath she sent up a plea to the Gods and Goddesses of old to protect her little dark one since she had failed. As her eyes drifted shut for the last time she thought she saw a face form in the bark of the trees and the weeping tendrils reach out to caress the baby’s face before sealing around them; barricading mother and child from those who hunted them.

Several hours later the branches finally parted as the sounds of a fussy child were heard across the riverbank where Mother Superior Brigit was gathering herbs. She walked upstream to a shallow part of the river and quickly waded across the river to investigate the noise. As she stepped through the branches a small gasp escaped her at the sight of the battered body holding onto the baby. She reached out and pulled the swaddling cloth down as the little boy cried out.

“Oh sweet child, you poor thing. Let us get you in where it is warm, Lord knows how long you have been out here.” She quickly plucked the child from the corpses cold embrace and checked to see if there was anything of import on her, before she headed back across the river and into St. Aloysius Convent.

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