Undine's Blessing

By Tessa Hastjarjanto

A dutiful daughter, a mystical archipelago, and a hidden power waiting to command the tides...

Marella spends her days caring for her sick mother and selling her father's fish. Bound by duty and love, she dreams little of adventure. But when her mother must travel to the city for treatment, her father takes her out to sea, despite her fear of water.

A storm steers them to Emberrain, home to a tribe of magical nymphs and a place of secrets, where Marella discovers a startling truth: her father is a frequent visitor to these mysterious islands.
Soon she learns that Emberrain isn't the only secret he had kept from her.

Marella has the power to control water and communicate with aquatic animals.

Overwhelmed by the magical but dangerous islands, and the secrets of her father, Marella must learn to harness her powers to save herself and her new aquatic friend before they are separated from their parents forever.

Undine's Blessing is a journey of wonder, where fears are faced and mysteries unravel, and a young girl learns that true adventure begins when you dare to embrace who you truly are.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tessa Hastjarjanto
• Release date: Jan 28, 2024
• ISBN: 9789083220925

Tessa Hastjarjanto

Tessa Hastjarjanto is a Dutch/Indonesian writer from the Netherlands. She writes speculative fiction, and blogs at narratess.com about books, fountain pens, and writing.From a young age, she imitated popular stories and games in creating her own worlds. This love eventually led to a masters degree in media and game studies at the University of Utrecht. However a mundane desk job was enough to inspire her to follow her creative passion. The first fanfics were written in lunch breaks and soon original fiction followed.With the support of her husband, she now focuses on her writing career while battling chronic pain. Swiss white shepherd, Shiro, acts as a therapy dog to keep her healthy and reduce stress through extensive cuddle sessions.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The sea breeze swept through Marella’s curls and salty air filled her nose. However, it was the smell of her father she wanted to lock into her memories—a blend of plum blossoms and cherries unique to him.

You take care of your mother, alright? he said when breaking their embrace.

Always, Dad, she said with a smile.

Her father grabbed the last of his things and walked onto the boarding planks. Fish weren’t going to catch themselves. And neither would anyone else, as he was the only fisher in a village full of farmers. Marella never knew how long he’d be at sea, and her mother worried he’d someday never come back at all. She often wondered why he loved his boat so much. It barely fit two sails and he needed to do everything himself, but he seemed happy.

Marella waved goodbye for what seemed like the hundredth time, but it never hurt less seeing her father leave.

When his boat had faded into the horizon, she lowered her hand and sprinted back to their hut. Her leather soles were no match for the frosty bumps and pebbles, but after fifteen years of living on the beach, she’d become used to it. She hated wearing anything on her feet, but she couldn’t afford to become sick. Don’t get frostbite, my Ella, as her mother would say.

Marella peeked through a crack in the wooden door. Her mother was still asleep, her blanket moving to the rhythm of her breathing. Marella opened the door as slowly as she could. The creaking of the hinges would wake up her mother, and she needed all the sleep she could get. Marella tiptoed to her bed and pulled the wool blanket over her chest. Just a little more rest.

Her mother slept long and often, napping after breakfast or later in the day, sometimes both. Exhaustion would take a hold of her long before Marella would need a break. At first, she thought it was her mother’s age, but after having spent time with her neighbors and seeing people go about their business in the village, Marella knew her mother was different.

With her mother asleep and her father out at sea, their home felt cold. Marella closed her eyes and listened to the sound of the sea stroking the beach and the seagulls circling above. Marella sighed. She slipped back out, to the smoking hut behind their house. The embers still smoldered. Marella warmed her hands and toes before getting to work. She grabbed some fish from her father’s latest catch—stored in big wooden barrels—when one of them wriggled free from her grasp and flopped onto the sand. With a sigh, she grabbed it and put it in her basket. I’m sorry, my friend, she said.

Marella could never stomach seeing an animal hurt or in distress, but today it was on her to gut the fish. Usually, her mother would take care of this part, but the cold had gotten to her joints. Every slice Marella made was another scar on her heart, but it needed to be done.

After she tied the fish to the rack and tended to the fire, she soaked her hands in the icy creek nearby, in an attempt to wash her worries out to sea. The wind had picked up since that morning and pale gray clouds covered the sky, but as long as it stayed like this, her father would be fine. And if there was no rain, her mother wouldn’t be rubbing her hands as much.

Being around the water allowed Marella to clear her mind in a way nothing else could. But she had no time to waste. She had baskets to weave. They weren’t big sellers, but the meagre earnings allowed them to buy vegetables or pay for another visit from the doctor.

Marella grabbed a stack of willow boughs from behind the hut and started weaving the first basket of the day, a big one that would still be comfortable to hold for people working the land. She picked a few of the thickest willow shoots for the base and pierced them, then lined up the slits and threaded the remaining ones through to form the cross she’d made so many times before.

Marella? Her mother’s voice was barely audible over the wind.

Marella dropped the half-done basket and hurried to the door. Good morning. How are you feeling?

Her mother sat upright, the blanket and her shoulder wrap around her, creating a cocoon of comfort. I’m not sure yet. How’s the sea today?

Calm, but windy. Nothing Dad can’t handle. Marella smiled. It could even hasten his return home.

Her mother rubbed her arms. I hope so… Do you want some tea? She got up and moved to the fireplace. Instead of clearing out the ashes, her mother pushed them to the back with a wooden log and stacked two more on top of it. She grabbed a hand of leaves and twigs and tucked them underneath.

Marella handed her mother a flint and knife and within moments, a spark kindled a fire. Her mother made it seem so easy. Whenever Marella tried to make fire, the stones didn’t spark at all. She often used her father’s method with a rod in a block of wood. It took a long time, but at least she could make it work.

You should eat something. Marella grabbed a small basket filled with blue, red, and pink fruit from the storage shelf. She’d forgotten to ask her father what they were called. Marella held up a pink one. They were bigger than her hand, with yellowish leaves growing from the body, and a tuft of leafy hair on top. You like these, right?

Her mother nodded and smiled. They’re so sweet, and then the sour kicks in at the end.

Marella sliced the fruit in half, revealing its juicy, magenta flesh with black seeds sprinkled throughout. She cut it into cubes, put them in a bowl, and gave it to her mother.

I wonder where Dad gets them from, Marella said with a frown on her face. Does he visit other ports to sell fish?

Her mother shrugged. It doesn’t matter. All I care about is that he comes home safely.

Marella touched her mother’s shoulder. I’ll be right back with water. She left the hut with a clay pitcher. The water from the nearby creek was fresh, unlike the murky sea water, and it was only a short walk past the bathing pond.

When Marella was little, her father had dug out an area near the creek where her mother would bathe her in the shallow water. Now, with the brisk weather and her mother’s aching joints, Marella was usually the one to help wash her mother with heated water.

Marella put the pitcher down, threw off her shoes, and dipped her feet in the water, watching as a hermit crab came crawling out of its shell. She dangled her finger in front of it, the little creature chasing her finger around the water’s edge. When it finally caught Marella, it didn’t pinch, but only held it. A small, silver fish joined their play and nibbled on her finger when it could.

Interactions like these made Marella unwilling to eat animals. She didn’t want to bring them pain. She felt every gutted fish in her heart, but she understood the cycle of life. Humans ate fish as well as other food to survive. Even though she did fine without eating any animals, her father often wanted her to take a bite. It would be a waste not to, and the fish were already dead.

After their play session, Marella returned home with the pitcher of water. Her mother was asleep again, like most mornings her father sailed out. The sun had barely risen, and the birds squawked in the distance. Marella boiled the water and filled a cup with a prescribed herbal mix from the doctor.

The tea needed time to steep, so Marella returned to the basket she’d started. The willow had soaked for a few days and her father had cut them into even-sized pieces before he left. She guided the branch between the boughs, over and under and over again, and soon enough, she finished the first basket.

Marella checked on the tea and found it ready to drink. She poured a cup and gently rubbed her mother’s shoulder. Mom, your tea.

With a sleepy face she said, Thank you. Her smile lingered until the cup touched her lips. The herbal tea was supposed to soothe the pain, but her mother massaged her joints when she thought Marella wasn’t looking.

Marella closed her eyes, her hair sailing in the wind. She let her fingers do what they did best, weaving basket after basket, while she thought about the adventures her father must be having out at sea.

Mom, do you need anything? she called. Her mother worked away at her own basket inside. Her mother’s weaving wasn’t as fast as Marella’s anymore, and no amount of tea was going to improve it. And neither would the cold. She didn’t understand why her father had built their house on the beach, but her mother loved this spot. She could always see Marella’s father returning home.

I’m fine, dear, her mother said. Just make sure the baskets are secure.

Marella stood and grabbed three heavy rocks to keep the baskets from blowing away. As she walked back to her mother, a gust of wind tugged them into the air and twirled them across the beach.

She dropped the rocks and chased after them. Two were easy to catch, but the third one ended up in the water. She scurried along the shoreline like the hermit crab that chased her finger, until she’d finally caught up to the basket.

It was out of reach, as if to taunt her. Spring had only just shown its face, but the brisk water nipping at her feet sent a shiver to her head. With every swash the basket would come closer, and every time the water flowed back to the sea, Marella took another step, the hem of her dress getting heavy with sea water. Just a little more. She held her breath and stretched her arm.

Marella! her mother shouted from the open door. What are you doing? Get away from the water.

Marella flinched and pulled her arm back. She was up to her knees in the water and the basket was right there. She sighed. I can get it, Mom.

I don’t care. The sea is dangerous. She crossed her arms and gave Marella a stern look. The basket isn’t worth it.

Marella bit her lip. She worked hard on that basket, and it would fetch a few coins. It could make the difference between eggs or no eggs.

Ella, please. I can’t save you if another tidal wave grabs you.

It happened over ten years ago, and her mother’s fear had only gotten worse. Marella’s stomach turned, and she stepped back. With every step, the basket drifted further into open water. She hoped her father would find it on his way back.

Her mother walked up behind her and wrapped her arms around Marella, holding her close. I’m sorry, my Ella, but I can’t lose you. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself. Her mother nestled her face in Marella’s hair.

It’s okay, Marella said. It’s just a basket. I’ll make another one. Marella patted her mother’s arm. Come on, let’s get you to the fire. This breeze isn’t good for you.

Her mother let go of Marella. Your skin is cold as ice and your dress is soaked. I’m going to make a nice cup of tea for you while you warm up.

I’m fine, Mom, she said. She turned around and hooked her arm in her mother’s. You don’t need to worry about me.

Marella gazed over her shoulder where the waves guided the basket out to sea, making up stories about the places it would visit during its journey.

Chapter 2

Sara’s braying alerted Marella to the arrival of their neighbor Henry. The donkey always seemed to be happy to see her. Marella waved to Henry and grabbed a small carrot from the kitchen.

Baskets filled with fish rested in Henry’s arms when Marella returned outside. Wait, let me help you. She gave Sara the carrot before helping Henry load the baskets into his wagon. You’re already so generous to pick us up. The least I can do is load our wares.

I should bring my oldest next time. He can do some real labor instead of chasing skirts, he grumbled.

Marella couldn’t help but giggle. She knew Laurens wasn’t interested in girls, just the skirts they wore. His dream was to be a tailor in the city, to dress important people in fancy fabrics.

Henry laughed with her. You’re doing well to help your parents out so much. Arthur helps when he can. And Herman is good at keeping the animals happy. He understands them better than I do.

I try to do what I can, when I can. We’re in it together, after all.

"Not every child thinks that way. I remember you and Clara chasing the chickens and