Chapter 1 of My New Novella

Greetings, friends! I am going to break the system and post on a Saturday today. This morning I'm thrilled to reveal to you chapter 1 of my new novella called Tro Stoirmean: Through Storms. This chapter will probably go through some changes as I continue working on the novella, but I thought it would be fun to give you guys a sneak peak of what I've been working on of late. This novella is a little different; it's written in the first person. I don't write in the first person much and it's not usually my favourite point of view to read a book from, but I thought it would fit for this particular story.

So without further ado, here it is.

Chapter I

All year round I travel.

I sail around the Inner and Outer Hebrides and the shoreline of Scotland. When I stop, it is only at small shoreline villages to buy food and supplies. Apart from my old hound, I am all alone. I like it that way.

I stay in no place for long. I was not made to stay on firm earth, but to sail the seas and brave the storms. Tro Stoirmean, my boat, is where I belong.

The Tro Stoirmean is not a large boat, but she is large enough for me. Her deck is about fifteen metres long and three metres wide. Her sails are crisp and tight. There is a small trap door on the deck with a ladder leading down to my cabin. She is a sturdy boat, and until now she had always sailed steadily through all weather.

But we had never experienced a storm such as the one that came upon us that fatal night.

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The icy sea spray dashed against me as I pulled on the sails whipping in the wind. I fought to hold on to the ropes that held them, my hands freezing and raw. Thunder cracked above me and the lightning allowed my eyes for a split second to see the small deck, soaking wet with large puddles all around it.

The wind picked up again suddenly. The boat rocked and rolled, and even more water splashed onto the deck. I distantly heard the old hound howling from down below. He hated storms. I usually didn’t mind a night of excitement to break up long monotonous weeks of calm seas, but I couldn’t remember ever going through a storm quite this harsh.

More lightning flashed. I could see the waves around us, rolling across the water, high above the Tro Stoirmean. I felt my fear begin to grow.

Suddenly, the ropes jerked out of my hands. A wave crashed onto the deck, and for a moment I couldn’t breathe or see anything. I felt myself sliding across the deck, and frantically groped for something to hold onto. At length I grabbed something solid and held on as tightly as I could. The water cleared from my eyes, and I was left gasping for air, hanging on to the side of the boat for dear life. The ropes flapped far above my head, and the sails were now blowing uselessly a few metres away from me. I was too afraid to let go of the side of the boat for fear a sudden wave would wash me overboard. Before I had held onto the ropes, but I didn’t dare try to grab them now.

I stared out across the dark waves. It must be far past midnight. I had no idea where I was, and things were looking quite grim. The Tro Stoirmean had already seemed to sink deeper into the water. If this storm did not end soon, or if I did not find a way to gain control of the boat, the Tro Stoirmean might sink.

The lightning allowed me to see again, and it was at that moment when I saw it. Land.

I breathed a thanks to God. The land was only a few miles off, and if I could safely manoeuvre the Tro Stoirmean past any sharp rocks in the shallows, I might be able to land her safely.

The night turned dark again, and I quickly began to try to think how I could fix the sails. As the lightning kept flashing, I turned to look back at the shore of the land. Suddenly, I thought that the shore looked familiar somehow. Was it one of the islands I had visited before?

I stared at it for a few moments longer. A most horrible realisation came upon me.

I did know that island.

It was the island of Eriskay.

The one place I had sworn never to return to.

Something like panic seized me then. Without further thought, I let go of the side of the boat and leapt towards the ropes. I managed to grab one of them, but several still flew too high for me to reach. I began pulling on my one rope, desperate for some way to gain control of my boat again so I could turn it away from Eriskay. I would rather be drowned than return to that place.

As I continued working, I realised that the wind was blowing me straight towards the island. This made me work even harder. I knew there was another, larger island called South Uist very near Eriskay, and if I could only turn the boat enough the wind would blow me there instead.

The storm did not relent, and neither did the wind. At last I resigned myself to the fact that I was either going to land on Eriskay or be drowned out here on the sea. Shivering and miserable, I clung to my rope, hoping that either the storm would stop, or that I would at least not have to be blown to Eriskay.

As time slowly passed and I grew closer and closer to the shore, I began to worry about rocks. If there were any sharp ones in the shallows, the Tro Stoirmean could be in trouble.

Just as I thought the words, there was a horrible scraping sound. Soon following came the splintering of wood. I cried out in surprise, looking down at the hull. It had caught on a large rock, and there was now a gaping hole in it.

A wave crashed down upon us again, and the boat was pushed over the sharp rock and on towards the shore. It was of no use; the deed had already been done, and the Tro Stoirmean was sinking.

I could hear the hound continuing to howl balefully. Water was undoubtedly filling the cabin, but there was nothing I could do to help him.

Eriskay was coming closer and closer. In a few minutes we would reach the shore. I continued to hear smaller scraping sounds and knew that smaller holes were being torn in the boat.

With a final thump, me and the remains of the Tro Stoirmean bumped against the rocky shore and came to a stop. I stumbled off the deck, soaking wet and numb with cold. With apprehension I turned to view what was left of my beloved boat.

The hull was indeed badly torn, and I could see several other small holes here and there. The sails were limp and shredded.

I sighed, and then shivered. This would be several weeks, if not months, of repairs.

I then turned to face the island. The hills were a deep green from all the rain and the shore was long and smooth.

I had built the Tro Stoirmean from pieces of boats that had been shipwrecked here.

Now I was the one who was shipwrecked.