Novelist Jenna Elizabeth Johnson writes about the magical, mystical Otherworld. Here’s an example of tales from a wondrous land.
Soot and Stone
A Fae Tale of the Otherworld
By Jenna Elizabeth Johnson, Coastal Dunes Branch
“Smudge, where are you?!”
Aisling jerked awake, her heart racing as she struggled to sit up. Instinct suggested she had best look alert because, judging by the tone of his voice, her uncle was in a temper.
A quick glance around told Aisling why her muscles were so stiff and why she was covered in ash. She was lying on the hearth. Again. Groaning, she lifted a hand to brush a stray strand of hair from her face and ended up smearing black dust across her cheek.
“Curse it,” she hissed, dropping a piece of charred wood into the ash of the attic’s small fireplace.
She had been using it to sketch images on the stone hearth the night before. No wonder she managed to get it all over her face. Not that a stain of charcoal would stand out overmuch. Her well-worn clothing was equally filthy. Hence, her uncle’s less than flattering nickname.
“Smudge!” that voice wailed out once again.
Gritting her teeth, Aisling rose, pulling her hair into a knot and securing it to the base of her skull.
“On my way!” she shouted down the stairs, hoping she hadn’t slept in too late.
Marta greeted her as she burst into the kitchen. The older Lorehnin woman rolled her eyes but donned a look of sympathy, passing Aisling a damp cloth.
“Get off as much of that charcoal as you can, Dearie,” she whispered. “His Haughtiness is in a mood.”
Aisling snatched up the cloth and gave an appreciative smile. “When isn’t he in a mood?”
Marta and her young granddaughter, Elrie, cast looks of sympathy as Aisling hurried past, scooping up the tea tray along the way.
In the formal dining hall the lord of the manor house, Deaghan, and his two sons awaited their breakfast.
“Father! Did you see this?” Deiric, the eldest of the two young men, asked.
He held up a leaf of paper, a periodical list of news and advertisements sent out every morning.
Deaghan blinked over at him, frowning.
Deiric’s brother Greagoire looked on as well.
“It says Cernunnos’s eldest son is coming to our arm of the Weald with the intent to settle in the old, ruined castle and keep a watch on his father’s lands. It also says he wishes to establish an art academy, right here in Arbeine.”
Deiric set the paper down and blinked at his father. “Father! You could apply to be an instructor and Greagoire and I can be your assistants.”
Aisling, who had been passing out teacups, tried not to appear too interested in the news. What a shame her uncle would never allow her to attend, let alone pay for an art education for his orphaned niece. No, she was far more valuable as a servant to him.
For the remainder of the breakfast the three Faelorehn men discussed the impending arrival of the son of the Tuatha De, lord of the Wild, but Aisling remained silent until it was time to gather the dirty dishes. Once her chores were complete, she fled back upstairs to grab her satchel. Inside she placed her sketchbook and pencils, then a pouch containing lavender soap and finally a folded drying cloth. She finished off her packing with a set of freshly laundered clothes to change into after washing up in the creek. On the way out the back door she grabbed some cheese and bread for lunch then fled the house as if it were on fire, ready to begin the more pleasant part of her day.
– continued next month –
Read more about Jenna Elizabeth Johnson
on jennaelizabethjohnson.com.