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Moem: The Beginning - Book I

by Linda Whiddon

243 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #01-0390; ISBN 1-55212-988-8; US$24.50, C$32.95, EUR21.50, £14.90

A fantasy of high adventure that will keep you guessing all the way.

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about the book      about the author      excerpt      catalogue info

About the Book Moem was a Priestess who had spent the better part of her life in cloistered surroundings within the protected walls of a temple under the tutelage of the High Priest and the Shaman Onedja. Moem was unaware that she was to become a valuable pawn for the Ancient Ones. The years spent in the temple were in preparation for one important moment in her life. The act of betrayal which would force her to flee the warm confines of her home in the middle of a storm-swept night. The frightened Priestess would soon have to do battle with evil forces from the unseen worlds seeking possession of her beautiful mind and body. The one person who could save her stood by helplessly while she fought for her life and her very soul...

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About the Author Linda Whiddon is a first-time author. She has been writing since the age of 12. Starting with school essays, she went on to write stories for her children and day-to-day journals of her childhood growing up in southern New Jersey. Linda spent a great deal of her time reading novels written by Hemingway, Faulkner, and London. They served as her mentors and fired her imagination, leading the way to the desire to pen her own work. The Moem series has been in production over 10 years, with this first book now being introduced. Linda will continue writing the Moem sequels, introducing the next three volumes in the near future. Visit her website at MoemChronicles.com

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from Chapter 1

  Moem awakened to the pain that snaked across her belly and burrowed deep in her womb. The Priestess sat up with a start and stared wild-eyed into the darkness. The cold dank air caused her to shudder involuntarily. Although it was freezing in the room, she found herself perspiring. Sharp stabbing pains assaulted her with every breath she took and fear whispered from the corners of her mind that the babe might come too soon.
  Moem flung back the soft, furry covers and rose clumsily to her feet, unaccustomed to the extra weight she was carrying. She gathered her belongings along with the hides on her bed, relieved that most of her things were already hidden under thick bushes in the forest.
  The belabored woman stepped into buttery soft leggings; the leather felt cool against her hot feverish skin. As she pulled the pants up and over her swollen stomach, she was aware of the constant movement of life within her.
  "The babe must be stretching." She mused, enjoying the moment of solitude, knowing that it would change soon.
  Gently placing her fingertips upon the protruding lump, Moem, smiled as she massaged what might be a tiny fist or foot of her unborn child, ignoring the annoying needles of pain that had kept her awake most of the night.
  The very pregnant woman reached for her fur lined parka and slipped it on, buttoning it tightly against the onslaught of the freezing world she was about to enter. She pulled the hood of her jacket over her long raven-colored hair wrapping a woolen scarf about her head and face so that only her eyes were exposed. The Priestess reached for her thick furry gloves and pulled them on feeling every bit like a large overstuffed bird.
  Her breathing became labored, the very act of bending to retrieve her pouches from the floor caused her to grimace in pain.
  Moem hefted the heavy pouches onto her back which were filled to the top with the essentials that she would need for the long and arduous journey ahead.
  "I hope I have not forgotten anything."
  Talking to herself was a habit she had picked up, during her long exile and confinement. Even though it was a self imposed condition, Moem was nonetheless lonely. She looked forward to the birth of her child. She would never be alone again.
  The Priestess checked through her list once more. The most important items were the herbal remedies to ease the pain and discomfort of childbirth.
  Moem packed her mortar and pestle, a necessity for grinding the leaves of assorted plant life along the way, needles and thread in copper cylinders, an assortment of dehydrated foods and a large variety of tea leaves, water pouch, cooking pots, and a drinking mug.
  Hoping she had not forgotten anything of importance, Moem gazed around her small, but cozy living quarters. The Priestess, in spite of her encumbrance, prepared to leave this place she called home even though it meant giving up a life of luxurious contentment. She considered it a fair trade for her life and for what she had done.
  The flickering candlelight emanating from the sconces on the walls created eerie silhouettes of the furnishings in the small chamber. Moem tried not to feel frightened or to let her imagination run wild. She allowed her eyes to rest momentarily on the small wooden dresser, then shift to the copper wash basin, glancing upward to catch her reflection in the small ornate mirror on the wall.
  The woman, heavy with child, gazed past her shadowy reflection where a tall wooden sculpture of a crane stared back with glass eyes, unsettling her.
  "Enough of this silliness, it is time to go". She murmured to herself. Ashes were all that remained in a cold hearth where just a few hours ago there had been a warm roaring blaze. Life as she knew it would never be the same.
  The Priestess twinged in pain as she pulled open the door. Fortunately there was no one in sight as she peered into the dark pewter-looking night. Again her stomach convulsed with sharp stabbing pains. She shut the door and leaned against the wall breathing heavily through gritted teeth waiting for the pain to subside.
  Instead, it worsened. Moem was frightened. She wondered how in the world she was going to make it to the forest.
  Time was running out. Soon the opportunity to escape would be gone. She could not risk being discovered in the throes of giving birth to her child. Her mind raced with anticipation and dread.
  "Not here, not now!" she pleaded to the empty silence. The fear of discovery spurred her onward.
  Moem spotted the mug on the night stand. "I must not forget this", she whispered.
  Shifting the weight of her hides and pouches to a more comfortable position on her back, she lumbered painfully toward the door, mug in hand.
  The Priestess turned the knob and stepped out into the surreallooking night. Without looking back, she shut the door.
  As the latch fell heavily into place, Moem sighed deeply and placed the mug on the ground in front of the chamber door. Turning her back on her way of life and everyone in it, the belabored woman trod cautiously across the hard-packed snow.
  Shortly after Moem arrived at the temple, one of the older priestesses had just died. She and Kohlmear, the High Priest of this sacred order were passing by the chamber as two of the priests were sealing it off. There was a mug on the ground in front of the door.
  Moem watched one of the men stomp on it, crushing it under the weight of his leather boot. She remembered being curious about the man because he was crying, unashamed, tears running freely down his face.
  Moem had asked Kohlmear, "what's the matter with him?" The Priest replied, telling her that the Priestess Yanna had left this world to enter the spiritual realms. In a small voice, Moem asked " does she fly with the winged ones now?" "Yes, said Kohlmear. She swallowed the elixir that allows her to separate her spirit from her body. By leaving the empty mug outside her door, we know that she has gone on to another world"
  At that time much of what Kohlmear said, she did not comprehend. But she knew all about the different dimensions and other worlds and told him so. She had been seeing spirits and talking with them since she was a baby.
  Moem remembered seeing a ghostly apparition hovering above the men's heads while they worked.
  She silently waved to the ethereal form of the old woman as it slowly disappeared leaving a thin trailing vapor.
  Little did she know that one day in the near future, she would resume the old woman's role as the temple's Prophet and liaison between the worlds of good and evil.
  The icy wind whipped at her heels, goading her onward. Into the elements and uncertain darkness she went. Moem tightened her woolen scarf against the chilling air, grateful for the soft fabric against her raw, tear-streaked cheeks. Her eyes adjusted quickly to the ghostly twilight and she peered into the darkness ahead searching among the shadowed outline of the trees for any signs of life, human or otherwise.
  In her third month of pregnancy, the Priestess had moved from her inner chambers to sparse living quarters located at the farthest end of the temple. The fear of detection of her noticeably changing shape prompted her self imposed segregation from the others.
  A small courtyard fell away to her left and a large wooden gate loomed largely to her right.
  She walked up to the gate. There were no sentinels on duty. Although she wondered about this, she was immensely relieved not to have to explain her presence to anyone.
  One look at her would tell them she was obviously very pregnant.
  Moem shuddered at the thought of being caught and put her full weight against the heavy gate. It swung open wide enough to allow her to pass through. She was careful to close it completely. "No mistakes", she whispered softly,"I cannot afford to arouse any suspicions now."
  With the wind at her back, the priestess trudged forward into the howling wind. Swirling gusts of snow soon covered her tracks leading to the gate and away. The planet was cloaked in darkness, but Moem knew where she was going, having secretly made this journey several times in the last six months. She crossed an open field praying that she would not run into anyone. Her boots crunched noisily in the hard snow unnerving her, setting her teeth on edge.
  Anxiety reached an all time high as the contractions grew close barely giving her time to catch her breath. Condensation from her labored breathing formed small wispy vapors that hung momentarily in the cold, bitter air.
  Another contraction caused her to double over in agonizing pain. More contractions followed, each one growing stronger and stronger. They were coming too close, escalating her suffering to almost unbearable heights.
  "No, baby. please, don't come now!" Moem muttered through clenched teeth.
  Another contraction rocked her body. The panic-stricken woman clamped her teeth together in an attempt to muffle her screams. Immobilized by her own fear, she was afraid that she would not make it to her camp, that she would have her child right where she stood.
  Finally, the pain lessened. She started walking again. The Priestess desperately wanted to enter the forest before dawn broke. Although the forest was not heavily traveled this time of year, she did not want to take any chances. The last thing she wanted was to answer questions about being in the forest unaided and alone.
  During the preceding months, Moem had come to the forest with her stolen cache of knives, axes, sulphur matches, candles, clothing and blankets for the child.
  Moem spent long hours in her chambers carving a cradle board out of birchwood and juniper limbs. This was to be her child's bed at night and his transport during the day.
  She must have pricked her fingers a hundred times sewing the soft furry hides of the sacred Elken onto the wooden frame and her fingers hurt even now. It had taken her the total nine months to prepare for this moment and she was still worried that she had forgotten something.
  In the foredawn, Moem spotted the familiar copse of trees straight ahead. She lumbered awkwardly toward the thick enclosure. Each step was a measure of pain that very nearly caused her knees to buckle. As she passed through the dense periphery, heavy snow laden branches brushed against her. She shivered violently as icy particles melted against the warmth of her soft skin.
  Earlier on, the Priestess had searched the surrounding area looking for a cave or secluded enclosure. She found this spot. It was perfect because there was enough room for her to stand or lie down if she chose to do so. The trees were so dense and the branches so tightly interwoven together that no one could see through them.
  Another stabbing pain. This one worse than the last. They kept coming, harder and harder. Moem leaned against the sturdy trunk of a large birch tree. Time had run out, the babe was ready. She shrugged off the pouches letting them fall to the ground.
  In spite of the freezing cold, Moem removed her gloves and untied the belt to her pants, inching them down over her distended belly. The leggings fell to her ankles and she hastily kicked them aside.
  The contractions came with excruciating intensity. Moem grabbed the icy tree limbs above her head and pulled down on them with all of her might. The muscles in her jaw ached as she clamped down hard often biting the soft skin inside her mouth. Her breathing came in shallow constricted huffs and she shuddered violently in the night air.
  The freezing wind swirled around her like a mad whirling dervish, hurling cold wet snow into her upturned face. The fear of dying in childbirth overpowered every thought. Moem fought desperately to suppress the onslaught of hysteria that lurked just below the surface of her mind.
  In her final stages of labor Moem knew, if discovered, the life that she was in the throes of bringing forth would be destroyed, for she had committed the ultimate act of treachery and deceit from which there could be no recompense.
  The contractions grew in intensity, melding one into the other. Her body expanded in agonizing pain as the baby moved further downward into the birth canal.
  The woman turned her tear-streaked face into the sleeve of her parka to muffle her screams.
  Her breath quickened and her loins trembled. Nature worked on its on accord, opening the canal ever wider in final preparation for the birth.
  It was out of her control now, as the body took over, straining, rending, tearing. Through clenched teeth she groaned in agonizing pain.
  The Priestess strove to endure the final moments of the birth unaided and alone. Her eyes swam with water and blurred her vision. She closed them and prayed that there would be no complications.
  The pink and grey early morning light bestowed no warmth upon the woman as she pushed from her womb the life demanding to be born.
  Naked from the waist down, Moem barely felt the numbing cold as she braced her body against the rough trunk of the tree. Pointed edges of bark dug into her flesh, but her mind soared above such minor infractions.
  Silhouetted against the backdrop of the early morning sky, snowgeese traversed the heavens in V formation. Incognizant of the woman's plight, they flew on, embracing the numbing cold with an inherent indifference to the travails of the world below, the small flock honked their wildlife song. Moem was unaware of their presence, hidden from view by the thick grove of snow-covered trees.
  The sun, its warmth muted by the cold and frozen terrain, slowly filled the morning sky with brilliant rays of brittle light, little of which found its way through the heavy enclosure. At last, legs bent, back arched, the tremendous urge to expel the child from her tortured body came upon her. A bloodcurdling scream synchronized with the final push brought forth a perfectly formed male child.
  He slid from her body onto the soft hides at her feet. Moem threw her head back and wept." Oh, my beautiful child, it is finally over, you are here at last."
  Her words were barely audible above the roaring wind that tore through the thicket.
  The child lay at her feet, wet, cold, and wailing. The exhausted woman numbly shook her head sending icy flakes of snow into the swirling gusty winds. She cried uncontrollably as she stared into the tiny face of her newborn son.
  Never had she felt such joy.
  Slowly, the Priestess lowered herself down upon the hides next to her child. She retrieved a bone handled knife, a small tin and heavy woolen blanket from her pouch. Moem laid the blanket across her lap and lifted her son onto it. Quickly, she slathered the salve over the umbilical cord. Grabbing the razor sharp knife, Moem severed the cord, releasing him into the material world.
  The new mother felt a small loss doing this; a twinge of regret for what he must now face as a human being born into a world where cruel things happened.
  Moem gently wrapped the blankets around her newborn son leaving a small opening for him to breath. She laid the tiny bundle upon a clean hide in his newly made cradle board. Concerned about the wild animals of the forest picking up her scent, she covered the soiled hide along with the afterbirth under a pile of heavy snow.
  With great difficulty, she grabbed her leggings and struggled into them. They were ice cold against her raw wet skin. Every movement caused needles of lancinating pain, but she forced herself to get up. A light snow had begun to fall. The soft, powdery flakes pelted her face, flattening against her cheeks in wet pancakes reminding her of the chain of events leading to this moment.

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Catalogue Information

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