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I couldn’t find much time to research, what with midterms coming up before the winter break, but I did manage to get in a few internet searches and was rather satisfied with the results.
First I searched for the term faelah, and of course, nothing came up. I wasn’t surprised. I had never heard the word before in my life. Next, I searched for information on the ancient Celts. This proved to be much more promising when a hefty list of websites popped up on the screen. I clicked on one that looked legitimate and was immediately faced with a page full of knot work designs and more lists.
I skimmed the introduction and read the overview. It told me that the Celts were a group of ancient people who inhabited the British Isles and some parts of mainland Europe. They were a tribal people and practiced a pagan religion. Okay, I knew that much from Robyn already. Weird how one of my friends was into this stuff and now I had some guy suggesting I research it. Just a coincidence, I told myself.
I clicked on the word pagan since it was highlighted, and that took me to a definition. Growing up, I had been led to believe that pagan was synonymous with devil worshipper. Apparently I had been wrong. I read a few examples, nodding at the list of ancient civilizations that practiced pagan belief systems: the Romans, Greeks, Egyptians, and of course, the Celts to name a few. According to this site, most pagan cultures worshiped a multitude of gods and considered the earth and its bounty to be sacred. That didn’t sound too bad at all. In fact, it sounded much like Robyn’s own belief system.
I clicked on the link that brought me back to the main page. I looked over the different headings, my eyes halting when I read one that said Celtic Gods and Goddesses. I moved my cursor above it and clicked. Once again, I was greeted with a list. I scrolled down the screen, trying to figure out how to pronounce each name as it passed: Balor, the Dagda, Danu, Don, Epona, Lugh . . .
It was when I got to the Morrigan that I stopped. I read it carefully, remembering Robyn’s Halloween costume. But something else seemed familiar about the name as well . . .
Cade’s voice suddenly played in my mind: “Cumorrig. Hounds of the Morrigan . . .”
I clicked on the name without so much as an afterthought.
The Morrigan: major Celtic deity that is often represented in the three aspects of Neaim, Macha and Badb. She is mostly associated with war and the battlefield and is often depicted in animal form, most commonly the raven.
I stopped reading, my eyes glued to the last word of that sentence. A raven. My mind flashed back to the day I stood waiting for Tully and the afternoon I had cut my finger with the potato peeler. Both times I had seen a raven, too big to be a natural bird. And both times it had watched me, I was sure of it.
My skin prickled and I glanced out my sliding glass door. It was getting late, twilight descending on my backyard like a blanket. I got up and checked to see if the door was still locked. It was. I grabbed the comforter from my bed, wrapped myself in it, and sat back down at my desk. I pulled out my binder, found the section where I had written down my notes from Cade’s letter, and quickly jotted down the paragraph about the Morrigan.
Setting my binder aside, I returned to the site’s home page. I had read enough about gods and goddesses for the time being. I clicked on the Otherworldly Creatures tab. This gave me a list of things with strange names and descriptions: Leprechauns, silkies, fairies, changelings; your usual list. The little creatures that had followed me weren’t listed, but a few descriptions from other creatures matched. I decided they either hadn’t been prevalent in ancient Ireland, or people’s sightings had been sketchy.
Further down the page, I spotted a link that read familiar animals. Curious, I opened that link, only to find a Celtic design of several known animals accompanied by a short description. The paragraph above them said that often, animals from the Otherworld were seen by the Celts. Otherworldly animals were very distinctive, and although they were similar to earthly animals in physical makeup, they tended to be larger and white with reddish or rusty colored ears.
My heart thudded in my chest. Fergus. Cade’s dog. He was huge, white and had ruddy colored ears. And so did the dog from my childhood memories.
I quickly closed the web page and took several deep breaths. This was too much. It was as if, all my life, I had been puttering around grasping for answers, and they had been just out of my reach. Now, they were here, splayed before me in plain sight. But one big question still remained: what did all of this have to do with me? Why was I suddenly surrounded by symbols and creatures from an ancient pagan belief system?
Or worse, I thought, my mouth dry as I tried to swallow, had these things been around me my entire life, and I was just now noticing them? The voices, the visions. Had they all been clues and answers trying to break down some invisible barrier?
I had to talk to Cade. I didn’t trust him, I didn’t know him, but he seemed to be the only one who had any clue about what was really happening to me.
Trying to fall asleep that night was a joke. How could I, what with all I had just learned? I glanced over at the clock, its glowing red letters burning an image in my mind. It was after twelve, but I couldn’t sleep. Frustrated, I kicked the sheets back and crawled over to my desk. Ripping a piece of lined paper out of my binder, I wrote:
Cade,
I researched the ancient Celts like you suggested. If you are still willing to help me, I have lots of questions to ask. Can you meet me after school next Tuesday? We get out at 2:30.
Meghan
It was crazy. I was going to ask a strange man to help me answer the biggest mysteries of my life. He could be lying. He could be insane. He could be some sadistic creep who planned to murder me and save my fingernails as trophies. I shivered. As much as my common sense wanted to steer me down a different path, something deeper, something more primitive was fighting to escape the cage I had put it in years ago.
Once the letter was written and I had made the decision to leave it in the oak tree in the morning, I was a little more successful at falling asleep. I thought my dreams would be haunted that night, but instead of the usual goblins and trolls creeping around and cackling at me, I dreamt of a place so beautiful and calm I thought I might weep. I walked through gently rolling country, spongy with damp moss and thick grass. Flowers bloomed everywhere, despite the soft, cool mist that hung in the air. The hills were littered with lichen-encrusted stones, great and small, and in the distance I could see trees that belonged to a very old forest.
I crested one of the hills and it was then that the mist parted and revealed a small, verdant valley and what could only be an old castle, not quite in ruins, nestled against the hillside. It was covered in wild ivy and a sluggish stream trickled past it. Just as the sun was piercing through the fog, scattering its light against the castle’s diamond-paned windows, I woke up.
My alarm clock read three in the morning. Sighing, I slouched back into my pillows. I reached up and touched my cheeks. They were wet. Shock coursed through me as I realized I had been crying. But the dream hadn’t been terrifying or depressing. As I drifted back to sleep, I realized I had been crying because of the beauty of the place and the knowledge that somehow I knew I had been there before.