The Endless Circle - Chapter 17: Falen

"The hillside was quiet, apart from the sighing of the wind
and the mournful bleating of the sheep."

In the hall of Craec Annwn the soldiers were waking up after their night of revelry. Coughs and groans filled the air as they stirred their stinking, ale-soaked bodies.

The last to wake was a young man whose name was Falen. At twenty years old he was allowed to call himself a man, but in truth he was scarcely more than a lad: his beard was sparse, and his voice still cracked occasionally. He was more hung-over than the rest, his eyeballs as dry as sandpaper and an ache in his head the size of a fist; as he sat up and rubbed his eyes the pain intensified, making him wince and clap his hands to his temples.

There were laughs from the other end of the hall.

“Hey! Look! Baby’s up at last!”

“You all right, mate? Bit of a lightweight, ain’t yer?”

“‘E is, isn’t ‘e?”

“Oi! Falen! You should stick to milk, mate!”

Lifting the Lid - Part 1

For those of you who are interested in the craft of writing, I've put together a series of articles that lift the lid on my own writing process.

Of course, everyone's writing process is different, and I can only speak for myself. But I hope that these may prove helpful and instructional for readers wanting to get into writing themselves.


For this first installment, I thought it would be interesting to give an example of something that happens more often than you might think: life imitating art (or as we say in the business - 'blind luck').

When I wrote the sixteenth chapter of 'The Endless Circle' I spent some time coming up with the description of Craec Annwn. Here are the resulting drafts (scroll down if these bore you):

'The Endless Circle' - Chapter 16: Haemel

"Upon its summit a castle crouched, like some predatory beast ..."

Banac woke with a start and sat up sharply, looking around in confusion. For some reason he was not in his warm, comfortable bed, but in the middle of a wood with the bright sun shining down in dappled shades of green through the canopy overhead. For a moment he was baffled, then he looked down at Balor’s small form lying with his head in his lap, and slowly the events of the night before came back to him, and he knew it had not been a dream.

He yawned and stretched his aching limbs, taking care not to disturb Balor. He looked around again, remembering more and more of the details of the previous twelve hours. In the cheerful light of day it seemed impossible that such things had taken place, here in this peaceful wood. But they had: the standing stones, the fire, the galac-men, the beremer ...

The beremer! He twisted his head, looking this way and that, but the glade was empty. They were alone. The beremer had not kept his word. He had left them here and run off.

The Endless Circle - Chapter 15: The Feasting-Hall

"In the middle place sat the Baron, champing on his food
as spit and juices dribbled down his chin."

As the soldiers rode away from the hollow in the forest Father’s only thought was of Banac. He was proud of his boy, proud that he had found him, that he had dared to come after him in the first place. But mingled with the pride was fear, and shame: he should never have allowed Banac to get involved in this.

He tried to comfort himself. Haemel was there, Haemel would be with him. If there was anyone in the world he would trust with Banac’s life it was Haemel.

He offered up a prayer to Cafan that they would be kept safe and brought out alive. But even as he formed the words in his mind he felt the same doubt that had come to him when he had seen the soldiers on the beach and the look of fear in his wife’s eyes. When the test had come, when the world had intruded on his faith, his faith had wavered, and now he trusted more in Haemel than he ever had in Cafan.

The Endless Circle - Chapter 14: Escape

"The beremer’s eyes snapped open ..."

The beremer was still unconscious, lying with his head back and his neck exposed, his eyes shut fast. Banac hissed at him and patted his face once or twice, all the time keeping half an eye on the galac-men as they busied themselves quenching the flames. But his efforts had no effect, and time was running out.

Quickly he picked up the sword and started sawing at the ropes. The blade was sharp, and though the ropes were thick and tightly knotted they soon fell away in limp coils. Banac looked up, his heart skipping a beat as he saw how much the smoke had cleared. The galac-men had brought the fire under control, and some of them were beginning to stand back and re-organise themselves.

He looked back down at the the beremer: he was as comatose as ever, his limbs limp and heavy. A quick glance over his shoulder showed Banac the way to the trees was still clear. He made up his mind.

The Endless Circle - Chapter 13: Sunlight

"... dark shadows of hooded men pacing round the clearing ..."

When he was sure the soldiers had gone, and the wood was silent once more, Banac rose shakily to his feet and scrambled back up the bank. Balor would still be waiting for him, alone and probably terrified out of his wits. He retraced his steps back to the tree where he had left Balor; but when he reached it his stomach knotted in alarm. The place was deserted. Balor was gone.

Panic gripped him, and for a horrible moment he imagined that Balor had been found and taken away along with the beremer. Then a hiss came from near his feet, and someone whispered his name:

“Banac? Is that you?”

The Endless Circle - Chapter 12: Rescue

"It would only be a matter of seconds to untie Father’s cords ..."

Banac crouched low as he made his way towards the torches. He felt energised. No longer were they lost or aimless. He had a fresh purpose now, a mission to accomplish. He tried to think like a hero, and moved as silently as he could.

When he was close enough to the torches to feel the heat of the flames he dropped to his belly and wormed his way past them, squirming along the ground until he could look out into the camp beyond.

As his eyes adjusted to the light he saw that he was lying just above head-height on the lip of a steep bank that dropped into a wide semi-circular depression, a dark clearing dotted with figures and firelight. It was hard to make out details, but he could see horses tied on one side, and a number of camp fires here and there. About ten feet to his left a small group of figures was huddled around a fire. He lay still and tried to hear what they were saying.

The Endless Circle - Chapter 11: The Song

"... trees loomed ahead in the flickering torch-light,
hunched into twisted forms ..."

They followed a faint track down the hill, winding back and forth through knee-high gorse. At the bottom of the hill lay the edge of the wood, little more than an inky shadow under the burning sky. Banac went in front, knocking aside the thickest of the scrub with a stick; Balor followed patiently, pausing when his brother paused and walking where he walked.

They did not speak, but their silences were for different reasons. Banac was planning the next steps, feeling the exhilaration of leadership; Balor was pensive and moody, his mind’s eye turned back the way they had come, fretting and worrying about what they were doing.

The sun sank lower and lower, briefly setting the clouds on fire before she finally slipped out of sight. With her departure the sky began to darken and cool, and by the time they reached the tree-line dusk was deepening into warm, fragrant night. They stopped next to a dense hedge of chest-high ferns that flourished all along the edge of the wood. Balor flopped down on the grass, his cheeks flushed, the novelty of the adventure wearing off already.

The Endless Circle - Chapter 10: Pursuit

"The roof had become a bonfire,
smoke pouring upwards from the blazing thatch."

Balor ducked as the dull explosion ripped through the air; a fraction of a second later a blast of heat singed his face. He glanced out from the doorway where he was hiding. Everything was in chaos: people were running backwards and forwards through a billowing cloud of black smoke, shouting, crying, bleeding.

He looked around, trying to find Mother’s face in the confusion. He had lost hold of her as soon as the men had stormed up the beach and the soldiers guarding them had fled in the face of the attack. The women had scattered in panic, coming between Mother and him and wrenching his hand from hers. He had cried out for her and stumbled around desperately, hoping she would come back for him, but then the fighting had come upon him and he had run away, looking for shelter from the noise and violence. He had come upon the doorway and crouched there, his eyes tightly closed and his hands clamped over his ears, until the blast shook the door-posts and he looked out to see what had happened.

He could not make out much. The air was filling fast with black smoke, and the people dashing about were already little more than silhouettes. A gust of wind came in off the sea, clearing the air for a moment, and in that second he caught a glimpse of his house. He gasped. The roof had become a bonfire, smoke pouring upwards from the blazing thatch. The men and women were trying desperately to put it out, all thoughts of battle forgotten. Already the flames were reaching out to neighbouring houses: even as he watched another roof caught alight, and a fresh blast of heat rolled over him as cries of despair rose from the villagers.

The Endless Circle - Chapter 9: Arrest

"A slim blade sprang from nowhere and pressed against his cheek."

Banac’s stomach lurched. Balor clenched his hand tightly, and Mother drew them close. Banac could feel her hands trembling as she held their shoulders. He was breathless, tense, his mind whirling as he tried to take in what he had just heard.

No-one moved. Everyone was waiting to hear what the Elder would say. But Agwaen did not speak. He stood with the blade almost touching his throat and stared calmly at Aedwyc. The younger man began to grow visibly agitated. His arm trembled with the effort of keeping his sword raised, and his tongue darted out to moisten dry lips.

“What do you say, old man?” he snapped impatiently. “Will you tell me where this Beorod is cowering?”

Still Agwaen said nothing. Aedwyc clenched his teeth and raised the sword a little more. “Why do you protect him?” he said. “What is he worth to you? Must I put fire to these houses and swords to your women before I have an answer from you?”

“Aedwyc.” The voice was quiet, but it startled him so that he dropped his sword-arm. He turned, and the whole village turned with him to see who had spoken.