The fifteen minute novel writing experiment is a attempt to write a complete (and very rough) draft of a novel by writing for fifteen minutes each day. I have taken a timed writing from one of the daily prompts done in 2021, cleaned it up a little and used it as my jumping off point into a story. Each day I will take the last line of the story written the day before and use it as my sentence starter and write for fifteen minutes, growing the story as the year progresses.
Day 85: She took it back to her room, poured it into the basin and went back for another pitcher’s full.
She took it back to her room, poured it into the basin and went back for another pitcher’s full. As Anya filled the pitcher she looked around the well room. Now that she was not hurrying to make it through the line and back to her quarters, Anya had the leisure to study the room.
To her surprise carved along the upper parts of the walls were symbols. They were spaced along the upper wall just below where it met the ceiling. This room boasted no decorative cornices and woodwork like the rooms where Anya and the others sat during the day. Here bare stone met age darkened beams. The symbols were carved into the rock. They were deeply etched as though whoever put them there was determined that even time itself would be incapable of erasing them.
None of the symbols were familiar. ‘How odd,’ Anya thought.
She took up her pitcher and returned to her room. As she climbed the stairs Anya wondered why she had never seen them before. She stood In line for the well several times and as she was trying hard not to be seen too carefully observing the others had looked at the walls before. ‘Yet I didn’t see them.’
It was odd that they were there and odd that she never noticed.
When she arrived in her room with the second pitcher, enough time elapsed that others were starting to go down to the dining hall. Anya deposited her pitcher and joined the group heading down. She took her accustomed space with her cup. She drank and waited for the robed ones to come for those they wished to gather. Instead, the matron walked to the front of the hall and turned to face them.
“The choosing is complete for the year,” she told the remaining assembled women. “Please maintain your silence until we break our fast in the morning.”
Anya nodded as she saw several others doing. She then let her eyes skim the crowd. There were disappointed faces, and a few resigned looks. Many seemed comfortable with the announcement. Anya wondered if the choosing was ending early or if this was the normal procedure.
‘Do they just choose until they run out of people who are ready for placement somewhere or did something cause it to end early?”
Anya’s thoughts automatically leaned towards Lord Mathis. Surely if something happened with him that she needed to know someone would have told her. She felt a frown crease her face. She didn’t know. She may have been shown that those she cared for weren’t always who she thought they were, but she wasn’t sure she could trust the others.
‘And what did Marta mean about my family’s illness being caused?’ she thought. How did one cause someone to catch the illness that took down so many at random?
There were stories that circulated through the village about the number of dead and how the disease chose it’s victims randomly. There were stories where entire towns were demolished while others escaped with only a few ill people who recovered. The sickness came in waves. Every five or so years there would be another outbreak somewhere. Sometimes they were large and lasted months, other times only a few cases were reported.
Ten til Midnight 