Novelist Jenna Elizabeth Johnson writes about the magical, mystical Otherworld. Here’s Part Two of an excerpt that began in July’s showcase.
Soot and Stone, Part II
A Fae Tale of the Otherworld
By Jenna Elizabeth Johnson, Coastal Dunes Branch
The water in the creek was cold, but it felt so nice to get clean. As she dried her hair, Aisling gazed at her reflection in the water. Staring back at her was a young woman with bright, pale brown eyes and blond hair curling just a little at the edges. She grinned, glad to see joy on her own face for a change.
The weather was warm and pleasant, so Aisling gathered her things and left her hair loose to dry as she traveled deeper into the woods, seeking the place she considered her refuge. At the top of the hill, she spotted the break in the trees where the old castle sat a half a mile or so away.
So this is where Cernunnos’s son wishes to settle down, she mused. Well, so be it. Just as long as he doesn’t keep me from my alcove, I don’t care.
Aisling continued on down the hill, following the hidden trail until a familiar beech tree rose into view. Just behind its thick trunk and beneath its low sprawling branches lay a small culvert sheltered by several large, fern and moss-covered boulders. She had found this place by accident five years ago while out looking for wild herbs to restock the pantry. Secluded, secret and protected from the elements, it was the perfect place for her to hide her creations from her uncle’s jealous eye.
Ever since she was young, Aisling had exhibited a unique talent with her glamour. She could pull her magic into thin tendrils and guide it along the surface of stone, etching out fine details no sculptor’s tool could ever match. Too bad her uncle exploited those talents by using her skill to supplement his own. Not a single sculpture of his was seen by the public until her glamour passed over it, improving any imperfections and making each piece a stunning work of art. But she never received a speck of credit.
Brushing aside dismal thoughts of her cruel uncle, Aisling glanced around. The surrounding wood was, as always, abandoned so she climbed up the knotted trunk of the beech and slipped through the burned-out hollow about halfway up.
Just on the other side of the tree her sanctuary awaited. The small culvert housed a treasure trove of all her tireless work. Sculptures created from river-polished rocks and branches stood guard over smooth stone walls bursting with the colors drawn from mud paint and charcoal. Chimes constructed of bits of colored string, shells and discarded metal hung from the branches of the beech. And intricate designs carved into the softer stones standing sentinel over Aisling’s art studio only added to the magic of this sacred place.
Aisling sighed in pleasure and traipsed over to an old log she used as a bench, then pulled out her sketchbook.
“Finally!” she breathed with a great smile. “Peace and quiet.”
This first appeared in Jenna Johnson’s January 15, 2017 newsletter.
Read more about her on her blog/website
Jenna Elizabeth Johnson, jennaelizabethjohnson.com.