Morning all and welcome to the Fifteen Minute Novel. Here I take the start of a story idea and work on it for fifteen minutes a day. I started with an old writing prompt that interested me, cleaned it up a bit to fit the basic outline of the story I want to write and then set aside fifteen minutes each week day to see it grow. Each morning’s writing starts with the last sentence of the day before. And so now we have the story of Kasca…
Day 89: While Kasca made certain to pick up oars, she also added one of the long poles designed for hooking the carved holds.
While Kasca made certain to pick up oars, she also added one of the long poles designed for hooking the carved holds. While she was confident that she remembered the passage, she knew that seeing the carved holds in the rocks were difficult.
‘Morning is best,’ she told herself. In willing to stay in the deserted husk of a village, Kasca camped by the shore for the night. She wrapped herself up in the blankets and slept fitfully under the bright stars overhead. Thoughts circled. The cure worked for her because she had not been contaminated before taking it. Could it be adjusted to work for those who had been previously infected? The original mix would be good for them, but they could be reinfected. Her mind turned over the possibilities as she tried to sleep.
She dozed fitfully, worry about what she would find once she left the island circling through her. ‘There is nothing to stay for,’ she reminded herself as the sun edged the horizon. She relieved herself and then ate a larger ration than usual, knowing it would be nightfall before she dare stop for another meal.
There was nothing to stay for. It was the reason she never returned to her hometown of Deva. No one remained. There was no one to help and no one to work with. She knew she could live off stored supplies for a long time, but she was no farmer. She could hunt birds and deer if she needed to and could gather food in the woods, but she didn’t not raise herds.
‘Not that there are any more herds.’
Kasca learned how to turn flax into thread and weave it into cloth just as she knew how to spin wool and turn it into cloth but there were no sheep and she would have to depend on already planted fields of flax for her linen. She could make do on her own if she needed to but it would be a bare existence. It was better to seek out others, to rejoin a community who she might be able to help and who might be able to help her.
‘Which means I have to leave,’ she told herself as she shouldered her pack once more. She tried to quell the nervous butterflies in her belly. Kasca had been off the island but usually it was a stealthy operation and for only short periods. She had scried into the villages and seen enough death and chaos to know she needed to avoid them until she reached the city. If nothing else she would be able to avoid suspicion of carrying contagion more in a city. Or so she hoped.
‘One step at a time, she told herself as she made certain the oars and pole were in place. She took the small boat to the waters edge and splashed a little as she kicked off the beach, launching both it and herself into the water.
She clambered into the boat and used the oar to steer herself into the current. She felt the current take hold and speed her on her way. Ahead, she saw the first rocky outcropping she would need to start her cross to the main land. Kasca carefully lay the oar in the bottom of the boat and picked up the pole.
She spotted the carved spot, weathered but still intact. She hooked it with the pole and maneuvered herself out of the current that held her, arcing around the rocks until she was picked up by the next current. She let go of the outcrop and continued on.
There were three such maneuvers needed for this section and after the third, she made it to one of the larger islands. The sun was low in the sky and she knew she needed to cross before making camp so she would be ready to start early the next morning.
Ten til Midnight 