In the Name of the Otherworld

By Hermione Lee

Regarded as a witch and alienated by the majority of her peers, fourteen-year-old orphan Alexandria Richardson wants to be anybody but herself. However, this all changes one day, when the mysterious fountain in her school transports her and her three classmates to a world of magic— the Otherworld. The four of them are brought to the palace of the Otherworld on the rulers' orders, and the shocking truth of Alexandria's identity and parentage is revealed. As Alexandria then participates in a miraculous adventure with her companions, she explores the depths of courage, kindness, and friendship. But will she make it safely back to the Otherworld? Or will she eventually yield to her biggest enemy, someone no other than herself?
It's not just an adventure. It's a journey of growth and redemption.

• Language: English
• Publisher: World Castle Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Sep 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9781955086370

Hermione Lee

Professor Dame Hermione Lee is President of Wolfson College, Oxford, and was lately Goldsmiths' Professor of English Literature in the University of Oxford and Professorial Fellow of New College. She is a Fellow of the British Academy and of the Royal Society of Literature. She is the author of books about Elizabeth Bowen, Philip Roth, Virginia Woolf, Edith Wharton and Penelope Fitzgerald, as well as numerous other works.

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In the Name of the Otherworld

by

Hermione Lee

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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World Castle Publishing, LLC

Pensacola, Florida

Copyright © Hermione Lee 2021

Smashwords Edition

Paperback ISBN: 9781955086363

eBook ISBN: 9781955086370

First Edition World Castle Publishing, LLC, September 21, 2021

http://www.worldcastlepublishing.com

Smashwords Licensing Notes

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews.

Cover: Hermione Lee & Karen Fuller

Editor: Maxine Bringenberg

Dedication

For my incredible parents. Mom and Dad, you nurtured me with tales of classic and modern, of fantasy and science fiction, of romance and mystery, fostering a profound love for reading in me. You made me who I am today.

Acknowledgements

For every writer, a fiery flame of passion for writing flares within. Because of the firewood each and every one of you has kindly provided, the blazing fire in me continues to burn more vigorously than ever....

Dear Mom and Dad: When I was young, you satisfied my insatiable curiosity with stories. I, the avid reader, am now an author, and I pay it forward, contributing to the marvelous world of literature, a book I myself have penned, as a salute to all the stories that broadened my horizons. Mom and Dad, I hope you know how big an influence you had on me and how much you deserve to be on this list.

Dear Aunt Rebecca: I remember the day you called and offered your honest critique on my first manuscript. Every word of yours enlightened me, eventually leading me to the recognition of my flaws. Because of you, my craft of writing has skyrocketed during the past years, and I attribute my growth—both in skill and in character—to you.

Dear Grandma or Ama: Pure ecstasy reigned me every time I wrote at your cozy home, a veritable paradise for writers. You pampered me with delicious home-cooked meals and a comfortable armchair to nestle in while I worked my magic on paper. Thank you for all the seemingly insignificant yet heartwarming little things you did for me.

Dear Maxine: Words fail to express my gratitude and appreciation for all the effort and time you spent on perfecting my story, every sentence, every word, and even every comma and period. You never pressured me with deadlines or urged me to hurry up. Instead, you always told me to take my time and make my changes. I am touched by everything you did and all the long nights you devoted to my book. You are a remarkable lady, and I am incredibly lucky to have you as my editor.

Dear Karen: I had never known the true meaning of euphoria until the day you informed me of your decision to publish my book. It was you who granted me the ticket to the Pearly Gates of publication, exposing me to a whole new world of endless possibilities. You saw the potential behind a messy manuscript and bestowed upon me an invaluable opportunity to share my words with the world. You changed my life, and I have committed to my permanent memory, that sensational moment when I realized my dream was no longer merely a dream.

Dear friends and relatives: Thank you for your support and encouragement. Thanks to my two grandfathers, my other grandmother who is in Heaven, my uncles Henry and Bryan, my aunt Rose, my cousins, and all my teachers and neighbors. Also, a special thanks to my good friend, Abby, whose infectious positivity strengthened my confidence in my book.

Dear everyone who made this list: I thank you for everything you have done to make my dream a reality. I owe my success to each and every one of you.

Chapter One

Monologue of a Dreamer

(Alexandria)

The golden medallion shaped like a unibird gleamed under the iridescent sunlight, a souvenir from the most unforgettable event in my life. Back then, before that miraculous adventure took place, I had not even the slightest inkling that everything about me, from my whimsical dreams to my relationships with others, was never a coincidence.

A few days before that life-changing event, I remember gazing into a full-length mirror that belonged to my foster sister, Daphne. In it, I saw a teenager staring back at me. I knew her past and present, just as she knew mine. Her long red hair, like a flow of sizzling lava, didn’t match her features—asymmetrical eyes and a wide mouth. She looked plain, unattractive, and obviously lacked confidence.

That was me—Alexandria Richardson.

I lived in an orphanage for the first ten years of my life until a couple decided to foster me. The caretaker of the orphanage, Mr. Jones, told me that my parents abandoned me after I was born and sent me there. Three years later, leukemia claimed their lives.

The ten years in the orphanage was the worst experience of my life. Every day, we got up at five to have breakfast—bags of off-brand cereals, which was never enough for so many of us. That left us with an empty feeling in our stomachs for the rest of the day. Lunch was even worse since the little pot of stew was always wolfed down by the older kids, leaving the rest of us with nothing to eat. We always had bread and margarine with a large pot of pea soup for dinner. Although the bread had a stale, musty taste, we had no choice but to eat it.

The orphanage treated us terribly. Our rooms were humid in summer and freezing in winter. Mr. Jones, a man with severe mysophobia, made us scrub the ten floors of the building every week, even when it was snowing outside and our fingers were numb and icy. Because of this, many little kids froze to death every year, but I, fortunately, wasn’t one of them.

The older kids often threatened the younger ones to make them do their chores. I had the sense to not argue back since those who refused to comply always ended up in the infirmary. Many younger orphans, including me, were very used to getting hurt. The older ones were into a game which involved injuring us. We were forced to stand in a line, and they would throw bricks at our arms and legs. Every time their pointless game ended, there were bruises, cuts, and blood all over our limbs. Mr. Jones took no notice of the scars—or perhaps pretended not to—so the older kids were never punished.

Four years ago, a ray of light slanted into the abyss of my misery—a couple, Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, fostered me. They took in two orphans—me and Daphne, a bully my age who took delight in spreading rumors about my parentage. Despite the misfortune of having Daphne as my foster sister, I was overjoyed that I had found a family since I had always craved a real home. Unfortunately, Mr. Wilson was always busy at work, and when he left his office, he would drink with his friends until midnight. As for Mrs. Wilson, she spent every day attending galas, shopping at department stores, and having meals with wealthy socialites at deluxe restaurants. I was left home alone with Daphne every day.

Daphne, unlike me, was attractive yet vain. She spent almost every minute checking her reflection in the mirror, and her vanity had worsened since Mr. and Mrs. Wilson took us under their wing. She dyed her hair blue and wore black lip gloss. Pretty and popular, she was the queen bee of our school, always teasing the shy kids and pranking the teachers. However, that did not stop her from bullying me at home. She was always looking for reasons to start a quarrel or pick a fight with me by accusing me of things I’d never done. This was why I kept myself locked up in my room at all times, where I was safe from her fists. With my foster parents gone in the daytime, my days were filled with loneliness and isolation. The ray of light that had once smiled upon me had died, and the darkness of the abyss closed around me once again, leaving me stranded, wretched, and miserable. My hope of being accepted in a family that truly loved me was gone.

Countless nights I slept with nothing but tears to keep me company. Many times, I pondered to myself, Maybe my birth was a mistake. Maybe it was a cruel joke fate played on me. Entering a world, being abandoned by my parents before I even had a memory, being mistreated and bullied. I wanted to be anybody except for myself. I did not belong anywhere. I was a nuisance. An outsider. My existence was a disturbance to the world.

School was even worse. Even though my academic performance was acceptable, most teachers treated me like an outcast. Every time I got annoyed, sparks of fire would emit from my fingertips and zap at the others. Sometimes I could even make things blow up without meaning to. One moment I felt my anger mounting, fire licking my insides and flames burning in my eyes, and then the next—boom. Something beside me would explode.

I wasn’t always hot-tempered. Years of dismissal, rejection and the traumatic experiences of being bullied had shaped me into an irritable person with accumulated hatred and darkness deep down. Despite this, I never really meant to hurt anyone and couldn’t explain why the accidents would always occur in my presence. Unfortunately, that didn’t stop the other kids from isolating me and depicting me as a witch who attacked people with sorcery. One time, when I accidentally started an explosion by glaring at the wooden podium in the auditorium, I discovered something appalling—I was immune to fire. But even though I kept this to myself, everyone pinned the accident on me because they claimed to have seen flames blazing in my pupils and sparks of fire dancing on my fingers before the podium exploded.

The podium incident nearly got me expelled. A week later, the school scheduled a meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, who then had a huge quarrel with the principal and the teachers. My foster parents insisted that magic and sorcery didn’t exist and that the school was responsible for the explosions. That left the principal and teachers speechless, and they finally decided to resolve the matter by leaving it unresolved. After all, my foster parents had been right—magic did not exist. Since there was no logical explanation for the explosions, nobody could do anything about it. The news of how I had seemingly caused an explosion and escaped punishment spread through the school like wildfire, and that made me more alone than ever. Nobody paid me the slightest attention. Nobody even wanted to bully me. Instead, almost everyone steered clear of me, as if afraid I might attack them with my strange powers. I was a freak, a monster, a witch, a threat to their safety. Even Daphne, though constantly sending me reminders of her hatred of me, shunned me in the hallways.

Fortunately, not everyone kept their distance from me. I managed to befriend two girls—Clarissa and Eileen—after a few months of being a loner.

A tanned complexion had Clarissa, with curly, dirty-blonde hair parted neatly in the middle, large round eyes that often glistened with curiosity, and a wide mouth always curved into a pleasant smile. As an extrovert, she was sanguine and enthusiastic about almost everything, especially skydiving. She was also energetic, outgoing, and had a broad mind, as well as a naïve heart.

Eileen, the prettiest and smartest girl in our grade, had silky brown hair that she always wore in a sleek ponytail, green eyes that sparkled like two emeralds, and sweet, heart-shaped lips. Eileen was introverted and always spoke timidly. However, she had such an adorable manner that her shyness made her seem twice as precious. Both Clarissa and Eileen believed the school was being unfair about the explosions and were always there to support me whenever I needed them.

Apart from my peers, I also received some support from the teachers. I had been very fond of our previous language arts teacher, Evonne Fitzgerald. Ms. Fitzgerald was demure and seldom spoke. She had a mild temper and was always patient with us, encouraging us rather than raising her voice. Sadly, she had resigned from her job six months ago for some unknown reason.

Ms. Fitzgerald’s successor was a brunette by the name of Helen Edmunds, whose fair complexion and cascading waist-length hair exemplified her beauty. Clarissa and Eileen disliked her for her strict character and prim manner, but I adored her wisdom and elegance. Ms. Edmunds had told me that she knew how it felt to be an outcast, having been one in her youth. She was the one who smoothed the wrinkles in my heart and brought me joy and hope, filling the empty void in me that my foster parents had failed to. I looked upon Ms. Edmunds as a family member I could confide in.

Always genuine and straightforward, our geography teacher Lilith Jackson earned my permanent respect by standing up to the principal and protesting against my expulsion. She insisted that he was absurd and that expelling students for something they never did would damage the school’s reputation. She was never afraid to speak her mind, and I liked her boldness and outspokenness. Unlike many others, she was easy to be around.

Zachary Valentino—or Zack—was my English teacher. He was charismatic and cheerful, which made him popular with us students. Among the girls in my grade, many were infatuated with and worshipped him for his handsome appearance, light blond hair, and cerulean-blue eyes. I, on the other hand, admired him for a different reason—his amiable temperament and easygoing personality. The two of us shared some wonderful afternoons chatting in his classroom after school.

Nevertheless, the happiest times I had were the ones I spent alone, fantasizing about the impossible. I found great delight in the times when I was all by myself, roaming wild in my imagination, which was based on eccentric dreams I had at night.

In my dreams, whimsical beasts that did not exist in reality visited my mind—bearnixes, bears with bodies like phoenixes; unibirds, unicorns with great, feathery wings; kittenpillars, caterpillars with catlike heads; and dogfishes, dogs with scaly fish-bodies. The four creatures belonged in the Otherworld, a magical world home to people and animals with magical blood. I’d been there in my dreams countless times.

However, back then, I had no idea that everything about me, from my bizarre dreams to my relationships with others, was never a coincidence.

Little did I know what awaited me in the future.

Chapter Two

The Fountain Portal

(Eileen)

So many days and weeks have passed, and yet I still remember that wondrous adventure as though it were yesterday. Every now and then, I indulge myself in memories of that mission, reviewing and savoring every little detail of it.

***

It all happened one school day.

I arrived at school on a mundane Friday and immediately registered that something was wrong. The principal was not standing in front of the gates. Even though the school building looked the same as before, it was pervaded by an eerie atmosphere. Strangely enough, the campus was devoid of students.

Regardless, I walked into the school courtyard, only to discover that it was enveloped in strange swirls of purple mist. It was a peculiar sight since the sun had been shining earlier that morning, and I had awoken to the cacophony of cicadas humming in the late summer. The large white-bricked fountain was perched in the middle of the courtyard as usual. The waters glimmered, even though there was no sunlight; I shuddered and intuitively backed away. There were rumors about this fountain—terrifying rumors that would make children cry and shout for their mothers.

At that thought, I turned away from the fountain and glanced down at my green watch. September thirteenth, Friday, 8:14 a.m. It wasn’t a weekend, but not a living soul was visible on the campus.

I was born with the uncanny ability to communicate with nature. Also, I knew the scientific names of all the flora and fauna, their habitats, and even the countries they originated from.

Since the age of five, I had been a nature lover. I enjoyed long strolls in the forest every day. Somehow, I had a strong emotional bond with nature, as if my life was linked to it. Having the ability to interact with flora and fauna, I conversed with the trees and animals in the forest whenever I paid them visits. They were my confidants, always listening attentively to what I had to say, and I provided assistance in return whenever they needed it. The skinny bare trees used to complain that the tall, strong ones hogged the sunshine and rainwater all to themselves, leaving them starving and thirsty. I encouraged the smaller trees to speak up for themselves and fight for their rights, and because of this, the once undernourished trees had now become stout and healthy. I felt at home whenever surrounded by nature, a place where I could find my true self and freely express my emotions.

On the other hand, my parents were everything but pleased at the fact that I spent hours out in the forest instead of devoting myself to math, English, and science. They pressured me to get top grades in every subject. As professors at a prestigious university, they wanted me to follow in their footsteps in the future. However, the more they pressured me, the more I wanted to escape, and the more I did, the more I missed my true home—nature. I would sneak into the forest whenever my parents were stuck at boring seminars, and my bosom friends would be standing there, arms outstretched and welcoming me home. The gentle rustling of their leaves was like the soft laughter of the occasional breezes that swept through the forest. I loved everything there with all my heart.

Hoot.

I turned around and saw Michael, the eagle owl flying in my direction.

Hi there, hooted Michael. He perched himself on my shoulder, and I caressed his feathers.

Michael had always been a close friend of mine. One day, while I was minding my own business in the forest, I heard an owl crying in agony. I followed the source of his voice and came upon an injured eagle owl that had accidentally gotten himself stuck among some branches. He had bent his tail feathers in a painful angle. I smuggled him home and nursed him back to health. Although Michael preferred living in the forest rather than the cage in my room, he promised to pay me weekly visits and be my confidant and helper.

What’s up, Mike?

Not much. The school looks quite spooky today, doesn’t it? Oh, it’s the perfect time for horror stories! Do tell me one!

Michael, you mind if we go somewhere else to chat? This fountain gives me the shivers.

Oh, yes it does! Tell me the legend of the two lovers and the fountain again!

What? Haven’t you heard it more than ten times?

But that naughty rascal hooted and chirped and badgered me so much I had no choice but to give in. Reluctantly, I retold the tragic story of the two lovers.

Once upon a time, there was a twelfth-grade couple in our school, Ricardo and Geraldine. Ricardo was a gifted straight-A student, yet his girlfriend Geraldine failed every subject. Regardless of this, they fell in love and began dating. They’d smooch in the hallways and go for romantic walks on campus, which made the other students jealous. As a result, everyone started dating. Nobody would focus on their studies. An important examination was around the corner, but none of the students cared about their academic performance because they were too centered on dating. So, of course, everyone did awfully on their exam. Our school was ranked last place in the nation, and it thoroughly destroyed our school’s reputation. Ricardo was a clever boy who used to get top grades, so he decided to repeat the twelfth grade, start fresh, and be a good student this time. Because of her boyfriend, Geraldine followed suit. However, Ricardo didn’t want himself to get carried away by romance for a second time, so he broke up with Geraldine.

Michael’s eyes became as round as coins as he heard the tragic climax. What happened next? What did poor Geraldine do? Tell me, I must hear the ending!

You already know what happened next, don’t you? I sighed. "I told you before, this is a poignant love story. Geraldine was heartbroken after the breakup. You see, she was a person of sensitivity, so she took it very