Artful & Literary Excavations of Imagination

A Fantasy Novella In Process… Being Written One Section at a Time.

© Cathrene Gehue, 2008

Dedicated to Monica.

 
In the hearth, fire curled over black shrivelled logs. Umera stared, forcing herself to gaze at the orange glow, but no amount of effort seemed to prevent being distracted by Yensilva.

Yensilva sat comfortably in a rustic, heavily covered arm chair, vigorously wiping her nose on one of the handkerchiefs she’d made from Umera’s old yellow dress.

Umera was mistified by the never-ending supply of these kerchiefs from the chest by the hearth. Either the dress yielded more than she thought or Yensilva had washed the small collection she kept for herself. Or, the chest was magical somehow and it multiplied whatever was placed inside of it.

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A Fantasy Novella In Process… Being Written One Section at a Time.

© Cathrene Gehue, 2008

Dedicated to Monica.
 

Yensilva snorted and her pout returned, but Umera could not understand why she was behaving like this.

“He’s a blacksmith that used to work at the castle,” Umera explained. “Maybe he recognized me-”

Yensilva blinked, her pout fading into worry.

“Adinav is gone,” Alik stopped her. “Despite the rumours and beliefs of some people, his power cannot and will not extend beyond the grave.” He looked long and hard at his niece, and she smiled weakly.

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© Cathrene Gehue, 2008

Dedicated to Monica.

It certainly was the drink, Umera couldn’t deny it. When she and Yensilva had arrived at Sunset House the previous evening, Yensilva first placed a tiny glass of thick yellow liquor before her. Umera had been intrigued, curious.

Lifting the glass, she had turned the liquor toward the light of a nearby lantern. There was something about it that reminded her of the sun–pale, golden, incandescent.

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A Fantasy Novella In Process… Being Written One Section at a Time.

© Cathrene Gehue, 2008

Yensilva’s madness momentarily subsided when she led Umera from the house. Together they set out across an open field which spanned the distance between the farm and the outskirts of the market.

Soft clouds like tufts of stretched wool spotted the pale blue sky. The orange of encroaching dusk was already spreading along the horizon, where a white sun slinked.

Umera’s stomach growled. She shifted uncomfortably in the belt snugly fastened about her waist.

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