Fallenwood

By Louise D. Soule

Ashley Kensington is a girl overwhelmed – 23 and in college, she works an unforgiving retail job, still grieves over the loss of her stepfather to circumstances beyond her control, and despairs over her mother’s heartlessness. With self-doubt creeping in, and a sense that a bright future is beyond her reach, she runs away from it all and finds her way to a magical realm known as Fallenwood, a place that for all its charms, is no less plagued by problems of its own. Nevertheless, she meets up with friends like the mysterious sorcerer Will Everett, the talking cat Greymalkin, and the court jester Terces Solario, who show her the way down a path that can only lead to trouble, but with the promise of a bright future lurking on the horizon.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melange Books, LLC
• Release date: Oct 16, 2014
• ISBN: 9781680460056

Book preview

Previews

FALLENWOOD

by Leslie D. Soule

Ashley Kensington is a girl overwhelmed – 23 and in college, she works an unforgiving retail job, still grieves over the loss of her stepfather to circumstances beyond her control, and despairs over her mother’s heartlessness. With self-doubt creeping in, and a sense that a bright future is beyond her reach, she runs away from it all and finds her way to a magical realm known as Fallenwood, a place that for all its charms, is no less plagued by problems of its own. Nevertheless, she meets up with friends like the mysterious sorcerer Will Everett, the talking cat Greymalkin, and the court jester Terces Solario, who show her the way down a path that can only lead to trouble, but with the promise of a bright future lurking on the horizon.

To My stepfather, Richard

Note: And to that young man who, when I worked at Lowe’s, so vehemently wished to know what I was writing—you can see it now. ;)

In addition, I sincerely thank those of you out there who have reviewed Fallenwood before the main rewrite.

You have helped me more than you know.

Chapter One

~ Ashes to Ashley ~

As Ashley Kensington went through her daily routine one boring Tuesday afternoon, it dawned on her that her life was nothing more than a slow countdown till death. She kept the feeling to herself, preferring tortured silence to pitiful glances or questioning looks.

I want to die.

She would have committed suicide by now, but her Catholic upbringing taught her that killing herself would mean condemning her soul to hell for all eternity. Still, the pain bore down on her heart like a pallet of concrete bags. Who cares? I have done nothing with my life. She was twenty-three, working as a cashier at a hardware and outdoor supplies store, and already she felt extreme exhaustion coursing through her body. Her days consisted mainly of trudging her way through a boring retail hell as she wore herself ragged with constant work and a full load of college courses. The monotony of cashiering left too much room for an ongoing inner monologue. There’s got to be more to life than this.

A customer cleared his throat, startling Ashley from her thoughts.

Oh. Right. Sorry.

As he handed her his money, the feeling of grimy dollar bills disgusted her. She jerked back and blinked, sucking in a deep breath of air as she counted out his change. There is nothing redeeming about a world where money is everything and the individual means nothing. She wondered what price these retail owners would put on her soul or her stepfather’s.

Ashley’s stepfather Richard had been her best friend, the one person that she felt had truly understood her. But now he was gone, vanished from the Earth for all time, the victim of a bout with diabetes. At least that’s what she’d been told. Never having gone to medical school, her knowledge of what transpired was limited to her own sight, and to rumors and the words of others. He had been diagnosed and then fought diabetes for two years, his body’s condition steadily worsening. His eyes weakened, and then he went in for four-way bypass surgery on his heart. The veins for his heart were taken from his leg—a leg that developed gangrene and had to be removed. His other leg was eventually taken as well, and he had to begin dialysis treatment. It all happened so quickly. Was this some kind of curse? She knew the story about a fortune teller long ago predicting that he wouldn’t live past fifty. The cosmos sure seemed intent on making that happen. The list sounded like a menu of horrors. Richard died due to complications from diabetes, and while Ashley’s sisters claimed they were visited by his spirit, Ash had only nightmares. Now she knew the nightmares were real, and that they would never end.

She was still grieving and felt that she’d be grieving for the rest of her life, unlike some people. Not even six months after he passed, her mother had started dating again. Her sister had called her that morning and told her about the upcoming wedding that she was not invited to. Not that I would go, but Mom could have invited me at least. It would have been a nice gesture. So now she looked back on the events of the past. Four years had come and gone since she lost Richard. Has it been that long? I should be happy for Mom. I shouldn’t still be feeling so...disturbed. At the time, it hurt more than she could express, but wasn’t time supposed to dull the pain?

The turn of events brought everything back to the surface.

She clenched her fists as the customer droned on. Her head ached and her stomach churned and bubbled.

Are they going to hurry with those bricks? the customer asked, tapping his watch. I have a meeting in half an hour.

She felt the slickness of her palms as she called for assistance from the garden crew. Chris, she murmured into the phone, clinching her eyes as she turned away from the counter, Are you able to get a pallet of bricks? Ten minutes? Okay, thanks. Her gaze fell as she turned around, knowing the customer would be upset. She’d already prepped herself, mentally surrendering. It’s gonna be ten minutes or so.

Goose bumps rose all over her arms. I should have called in sick. She knew that her sisters would be dragging her up to the Anderson Property in Nevada City. She loved it there. However, it was not somewhere she wanted to go now. Richard’s family had waited to scatter the ashes until his father, Earl, a man Ashley had thought of as her grandfather, had also passed away. Ashley had hoped that day would never come. If only the people we love would never die. They deserve better than this disgrace of a tribute.

The memorial for her stepfather had been a joke. Richard was a Buddhist monk. Ashley wondered what possessed her mother to plan a Christian ceremony at the funeral home. She clenched her fists beneath the counter as she recalled the priest’s words after having invited the attendants to speak. Only one person did—one of Richard’s female friends from way back, a woman with blond curls and a dignified manner. After that, no brave souls ventured forward. The priest said, Well, he couldn’t have been that bad of a guy.

Ashley had wanted to sock him in the face. He wasn’t a bad guy at all. In fact, he was better than the rest of us. But she didn’t have the courage to say a thing, and regretted it ever since.

None of the family members had even been given a proper opportunity to mourn. A hard knot formed in her stomach as she thought about how circumstances had unfolded. She blamed her mother for not telling Richard’s brother and sisters when the doctor had given him three months to live. Only Richard’s wife, his stepchildren, and his parents were aware that he’d been handed a three-month death sentence. When the news of his death hit them, it struck with the force and swiftness of an atomic bomb. Ashley blamed herself, too. I should have done something, anything. There were times when she forgave herself. I was only nineteen, and barely that. What could I have done? She hated that she’d only given herself over to denial at the time. The sinking feeling in her stomach still lingered whenever she thought of him.

She often pondered how things would be if he had never suffered from diabetes and passed away. There was no telling how much easier and happier her life would have been with her stepfather’s kind guidance to see her through the years that, as they were, had been full of turmoil.

Ashley wanted to howl her insensate rage to the uncaring universe and whatever forces had taken her stepfather away. But she knew it wouldn’t get her any closer to the person that she had lost—the man who, though she didn’t want to say it, was now a ghost of memory. she often wondered what her stepfather’s appearance would now be if he had lived. His sandy-brown hair might now be flowing white or just dotted a little with white streaks or flecks. Perhaps his sharp face would look more wrinkled and weathered. Would his dark, intelligent eyes have subdued with time?

She turned away, wincing as though in physical pain.

What Ashley thought about most though, was whether her stepfather would even recognize the timeworn, confident, but shaken person she had become. All she could do was to reassure herself that the path she had taken in life was a true one, and that her stepfather’s last words to her still rang true: I’m proud of you. Still, this hope fought against the desolation that threatened to destroy her. Her stepfather had been her guiding star. He had been an intelligent, witty, and an intensely good man, possessing a rare caliber of spirit. But the cruelty of Ashley’s mother not only made the grieving process immeasurably harder, it threatened Ashley’s sanity as well.

What sort of love is that? How could she just discard him like that? Her stepfather was a man, a good man—not a freaking disposable razor.

The work day came and went, and Ashley piled herself into her little silver Saturn, her body feeling like a pile of mush. Her eyelids flickered like candle flames in a sudden breeze, moving up and down in quick succession as she fought off sleep. She tapped absently at the butterfly air freshener that dangled from her rearview mirror. Thank goodness home is just down the street. She allowed herself the fleeting luxury of a deep breath of smoggy city air and then turned the key in the ignition, the engine roaring to life. She drove home in a stupor, her brain on autopilot as the roads melted away and eventually gave way to the front door, and then the bedroom door. She collapsed fully clothed onto her bed, not even bothering to brush her teeth before drifting off into a deep slumber.

* * * *

She rose early the next day and drove over to Richard’s mom’s house. Grandpa Earl had passed away a month prior from cancer, and both his ashes and Richard’s were to be scattered in the woods. The cold air whipped into the car window and Ashley zipped up her black hoodie sweatshirt, thankful she’d grabbed a pair of jeans with no holes in the knees as she’d dressed in the morning. She parked her car by the woodshed and walked the gravel path to the main house, folding her arms tight against the cold.

When she reached the gathering spot, she stood with her back to an oak. Her gaze wandered over to her crazy mother, standing there like a Disneyland greeter. Ashley ran her hand through the strands of her chestnut hair that hung down in a ponytail. She hoped she wouldn’t turn out looking like her mother—a woman with a thin-lipped pout and a boyish coif of hair cropped short. She glanced at her mother’s piercing little mouse eyes. Her mother walked up with a generic-looking white cardboard box, on top of which was a sticker. Anderson, Richard A.

Ashley turned her gaze away, refusing to look at the container and acknowledge the horrible reality imprinted therein. Her stepfather and mentor had been reduced to nothing more than a mound of ashes. Tears welled up, goose bumps pricked the flesh of her arms, and a seething hatred bubbled beneath the surface of Ashley’s countenance.

Here, said her mother, handing her the box with a wide, uncaring smile. She seemed too happy, too enthusiastic for an ash-scattering, and it horrified Ashley to watch her bounce around with a fake chipper façade. Seeing this kind of terror up close, she felt its icy grip clutch her heart, reaching down to her soul, and threatening to destroy more than just her life. God above, please get me the hell out of here. She could have sworn she saw some malicious void reflected in her mother’s dark eyes, some hint of a poison that she couldn’t put her finger on. What’s happened to you? You were never this deliberately malicious before.

No, Ashley answered in between sobs, again and again as the box was offered. No—No!

Here, her mother urged, shoving the box toward her daughter. Here. Open it. She would not be placated. Stop this horror, please.

I don’t want to, Ashley replied, attempting to steel her voice, to show her resolve. How can she sound so chipper? She’s not even attempting to play the grieving widow. Someone else can open it. Anyone else want to do it?

Here, you open it, Ashley’s mother urged again. No one else stepped up to volunteer. You cowards.

Give me a knife! Ashley barked out. Rage rose up to her throat. A knife was procured by Richard’s sister, who gave it to Ashley, her eyes soft in concern. Ashley opened the box and sawed crossways through the stupid metallic bag inside, then handed it off to her mother. There, my duty is done.

Take some. Her mother prodded Ashley’s arm when she refused. Staring at her for a few minutes, her mother gave up and walked away to spread the ashes with Richard’s sister.

Ashley waited until they were out of sight, then snuck off and ran into the deep woods. She let out all of her suppressed sorrow. Her body shook with sobs, and she cried until nothing more would come out. She wanted to put some distance between herself and her mother, her situation, and death itself. She took off up the gravel road, running as fast as her feet would take her, running and running until she ran out of breath. Then she kept on running, short-winded, going anaerobic.

Tears blinded her. She couldn’t stop and even the rough winds couldn’t scatter the wild thoughts that swirled in her mind—memories of her stepfather, words that people had said at his service, images of her mother and that stupid grin she wore—all she could do was run. Ashley was deeply wounded but was powerless to heal this kind of pain. She’d looked into the face of evil, and she had no clue what to do about it. Her feet hit the gravel, and the wind whipped at her face as she tried to outrun her anguish. She closed her eyes for a split second, and the wind stilled and stopped. Ashley looked around her. It had suddenly become night, and she was now in an unfamiliar part of the woods. Have my prayers been answered?

Though she no longer knew where she was, as long as she was far away, she didn’t care. Her soul searched for something, anything, to make her feel whole again. So when she saw a blinding light, like a door to another world, it didn’t faze her.

She continued to run.

Chapter Two

~ Life, Twice ~

Ashley looked around and realized that she was standing in a clearing. Her heart raced and she breathed slowly, trying to calm her frazzled nerves. Glancing around, she wondered how far off the road she’d wandered. She knew it had been midday when she’d started running, and now looking up into the star-filled sky, it had to be late into the night.

A rush of air greeted her the moment she reached this strange part of the forest, before her eyes had temporarily forsaken her. The wind whipped around her from all sides. She backed away from where she stood, and the wind felt like it was whooshing up from a precipice. Ashley paused to allow her eyes to adjust to the dark. When her sight returned, she realized that she was standing nowhere near a cliff—it was just an unfamiliar area of forest.

Suddenly, a ball of fire hurtled overhead in an arc toward her. Her mind screamed at her to run, but she found that her legs wouldn’t move. The flaming orb continued its descent, burrowing itself into the soft ground only inches away from Ashley’s boots.

Two men rushed toward her, arguing all the while as Ashley stood immobilized. Her bones were in revolt. Her brain scrambled for an alias to give out to the men if they asked, but she could only come up with Ash, because she was looking at the little pile of soot at her boots.

Deflected, the man in the lead announced.

He briskly walked toward Ashley from out of the thick mass of trees and crunched his way into a patch of moonlit illumination. Black clothing covered his bulky frame, a sharp contrast to the tangerine orange of his hair and beard. His facial hair showed bright as a beacon even in the half-darkness.

You! he shouted, pointing his finger. He may as well have been drawing a sword, for all its accusatory thunder.

What have I done?

As the man edged closer, his black leather boots mashed dried leaves with every step. He reached into his back pocket, fumbling for something. Ashley raised her hands in the air and waited for him to draw a gun.

Wait! the second man called. He approached, cutting the darkness with the force of his presence. This one stood in the clearing, cloaked from head to toe in the pristine, chocolate-brown robe of a monk. he stopped, lowered his head, and pressed his hands together as though in prayer. He shot a glance at the other man before reprimanding him. The other backed away like a grown man instantly reduced to a naughty child. You'll scare the girl, acting like that.

The monk looked sheepish for a moment as he drew Ashley’s attention to the patch of charred earth. I assure you that I calculated the trajectory correctly. We merely required a bit of light. He removed his hood, stepped forward, and