Cinderella Dressed in Ashes ( Book #2 in the Grimm Diaries ) (14 page)

Shew struggled to hold tightly to the blowpipe. Cerené’s mouth was fixed on the other end of the pipe, eyes still closed as if she were shaping the mold with her imagination.

The blue changed into lighter shades, almost transparent with a glittering surface like some kind of see-through diamond.

Isn’t it beautiful?
Shew remembered Cerené saying about the furnace. The furnace was as ugly as the witch who owned it, but the molten was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. It was mesmerizing to see evil fire assist the glowing molten mix take shape and turn into something more resilient and sparkling.

“Cerené,” Shew uttered, lost in the beauty of the transparent diamonds sparkling inside the witch’s hellish basement. “This amazing Art of yours I’m looking at, what is it exactly? “

Cerené stopped blowing for a moment. She took a deep breath, eager to reply, “This is glass, Shew, the Forbidden Art, and I’m a glassblower.”

15

The Forbidden Art

Shew didn’t quite understand what Cerené meant by the Forbidden Art.

She only knew that glass was more popular in this time in Sorrow and the rest of the world. Glass was as precious as gold or diamonds was in the Waking World. It was so precious that people killed each other for it.

Why would it be a Forbidden Art? Shouldn’t glassblowers like Cerené be cherished?

The molten glass at the end of the blowpipe took the shape of a flower with seven petals in the middle of Baba Yaga’s cellar. Shew was in awe.

How did the petit ashen girl acquire such a gift? Why did she live the life of a Slave Maiden when her name should have been praised all over the world for her talents? No wonder the Queen of Sorrow spared her. She must know something about this.

The stunning, flaring, glass flower shone bright in the cellar. Shew noticed it produced an irresistible aroma, like lilies.

Finally, Cerené opened her eyes, inhaling all the air she could into her lungs. The pain in her chest didn’t matter as much as her masterpiece. She took the blowpipe from Shew and plugged her mouth into it again, blowing even more. She looked like a pied piper playing a huge flute. Instead of melodies waving out of the other end, it was Cerené’s magic in the shape of precious glass.

“It’s getting bigger,” Cerené said after inhaling one more time. “I’ll take it outside,” she climbed the stairs up to the ground floor. Shew walked beside her and opened the Candy House’s door for her. Cerené stepped outside, her magical glass flower hanging at the end of her pipe like a kite.

“Don’t worry. It’s not getting heavier,” Cerené said, coughing. “I could build a glass castle with it and it would still weigh as much as a balloon.”

Shew was speechless, unable to take her eyes off the ever-expanding creation at the end of Cerené’s blowpipe, now lighting the outside of the whole Candy House like an enormous Christmas tree with flickering diamonds.

Cerené stopped blowing the pipe and ran down the hill with her flower above her and the full moon behind her. The flower, although glass, passed through trees like ghosts, illuminating them from the inside like x-rays. It sparkled like silver fireworks in the sky.

“Did you see that?” Cerené said.

“I can’t believe it,” Shew said, running after her.

“Did you really see that?” Cerené repeated. This time Shew understood she wasn’t talking to her.

Cerené was talking to the moon.

Shew raised her head, and this time, she was sure. The moon up in the sky was smiling at Cerené—maybe Shew, too.

It wasn’t evidence that the moon was a girl, but it was smiling. Shew couldn’t believe she’d spent her life imprisoned in a castle awaiting her sixteenth birthday. Who would have thought that such beauty existed in the Kingdom of Sorrow?

“Now look at this,” Cerené blew again. The flower started transforming into something else, something more curvy and detailed; a crystal sea horse.

“Unbelievable!” Shew yelled, jumping in place.

“Wait a while and see how far this goes,” Cerené smiled. She was happy Shew liked her Art. Shew assumed that Cerené did this on her own, without ever sharing it. “As long as I can still breathe, there are no limits to my imagination.”

Slowly, the glittering sea horse moved its head and bent down to look at Shew. It had real crystal eyes, and its smile looked like a crescent moon.

“Cerené?” Shew was a little worried. “Did it just come alive?”

Cerené nodded, unable to talk and catch her breath at the same time.

“I’m Splash,” the sea horse said.

Shew clamped her hands on her mouth with disbelief.

“I’m Shew,” she offered her hand.

“No, you aren’t,” Splash rubbed his nose against her hand. “You’re Joy.”

Shew’s eyes widened. She gazed back to Cerené for clarification.

“Part of making the glass through my own breathing is that it represents my psyche,” Cerené said. “I see you as Joy, so it believes it, too.”

“I’m Joy,” Shew said to Splash, lending her hand.

Splash’s eyes sparkled, and then bowed a little lower, “do you know what your next move is, Joy?”

Shew giggled, not quite comprehending.

“Look for the Phoenix,” Splash nodded.

Shew’s heart raced, “What is the Phoenix, and how do you know about it?”

“The Phoenix is a who, not a what,” Splash said. “And is a key to a big treasure.”

Suddenly, Cerené coughed, unable to breathe properly. She starting losing balance again, and her shoes weren’t helping much.

“Tell me what you know,” Shew demanded from Splash, her eyes on Cerené.

But she was too late. Without Cerené blowing with her soul in the pipe, Splash’s sparkles dimmed, and he wasn’t capable of talking.

“Hey. Let me hold the blowpipe for you,” Shew ran to help Cerené.

Cerené elbowed Shew away. She was a bit violent about it. It was a sudden and unexpected move while both of them were having the time of their lives.

“What’s wrong? Let me help you,” Shew insisted, wishing Cerené could rest and then blow again so she could learn more about the Phoenix from Splash. “You’re tired from blowing. Let me do it.”

“No,” Cerené let out a hollow cough. She looked like she wanted to shout but was too weak.

Cerené fell to the floor and passed out, letting go of the pipe, Splash’s glass image fading into the background of the night.

Shew didn’t care about Splash now. She held Cerené and let her rest on her knee, as she tried to wake her up. A few seconds later Cerené woke looking exhausted.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she told Shew, her eyes throbbing.

“It is, but what matters now is you. What happened to you? Why didn’t you let me blow the pipe?”

“Because I care about you,” Cerené said.

“I know you care about me, but why didn’t you let me blow the pipe to help you?”

“The Forbidden Art has a price to it,” Cerené explained. “You have to pay a part of your soul to obtain it, or everyone would perform it,” Cerené said.

“What kind of price?”

“Each breath I blow into the pipe is a breath deducted from my life,” Cerené said.

“You mean…”

“It shortens the magician’s, I mean the artist’s life,” Cerené nodded. “Not just that. Every time the artist practices the Art, they are one step closer to insanity.”

“Then why do you do it?” Can’t you see you’re too young to die or go insane just because you want to play?” Shew shook her as if trying to wake her up from a nightmare.

“I’m not too young for anything,” Cerené stood up, still feeling weary, picking her blowpipe up like a soldier refusing to give up in a battle. Splash had turned into a blackened piece of molt, a dead piece of glass, cold without fire or soul in it. “I love doing my Art. It’s all I have. I’m not worried of losing years in my life as long as I have
now
to live.”

“Listen to me,” Shew stood up. “This is not right, Cerené. You have to stop practicing this Art.”

“Why?” Cerené’s temper flickered again. “What if I lose a couple of years of my life? People like me usually die young, or worse, live too long and endure pain and humiliation,” she pointed at her scars and the recent bite marks. “I am going to live my life the way I see fit.”

“What about going insane?”

“Ha!” Cerené let out a bitter laugh. “Look around you, Joy. This is Sorrow. It
is
insane.”

Shew didn’t know what to think. She had seen Cerené’s Art and how magical and addictive it was, but what kind of price was this? How could every breath you give be a breath taken from you? Who taught Cerené such an Art?

“Besides, you haven’t seen my magic in color yet,” Cerené said. “I can make a huge butterfly with colorful wings as big as the night sky.”

“Really?” Shew couldn’t resist the idea.

“Really,” Cerené nodded. “Remember when I said I’ll take you to Rainbow’s End? That’s the place where we can mix the Art with all kinds of colors—”

An awful singing voice interrupted the quest to go to Rainbow’s End. It was Baba Yaga. She’d returned, unexpectedly. She’d probably seen the Art lighting the night from afar.  They saw her sack bobbing behind her as she climbed the hill in their direction.

Baba Yaga continued singing, licking her lips when she saw them.

“Run!” Cerené pulled Shew’s hand and they ran up the hill.

A little farther up Shew saw Cerené slowing down.

“I lost my shoe!” Cerené panicked.

“Can’t you walk without it? Why are you limping?” Shew said.

Looking closely at Cerené’s bare feet, Shew didn’t need to wait for an answer. Someone had cut Cerené’s toe on her left foot. The unusual shoe helped her walk better.

“Who did this to you?” Shew asked. Then it was clear that Cerené lost one of her toes to the vicious Rapunzel plant.
Every magic has a price to it.
Cerené must have made herself this unusual shoe to help he walk.

Cerené ran back down the hill in the witch’s direction, looking for her shoe, and, as usual, Shew followed.

Hysterically, Cerené went looking for her shoe without noticing that she was two strides away from Baba Yaga.

Shew watched the old witch smile and drool at her victim approaching her. Shew sped up, passing Cerené, and snarled at Baba Yaga. Cerené didn’t even notice, passing both of them and traveling further down the hill, still looking for her shoe.

Baba Yaga let Cerené pass because she’d been intimidated by the princess with fangs, but when Shew didn’t bite, Baba Yaga smiled slowly, showing her dagger sharp yellow teeth.

“If you’re going to show your fangs, you better use them,” she laughed.

Shew looked puzzled. The witch was right. Why hadn’t she just bitten her?

“You’re a monster, but you don’t have it in you,” Baba Yaga said. “You’re too weakened, probably by love. It does that to people. Your reluctance to face evil will have dire consequences, because you’re neither good nor bad. You’re nothing. A Dhampir needs to transcend beyond the chains of love to get hold of her powers,” she grabbed Shew by the neck and lifted her from the ground. Shew tried to free herself but the witch’s grip was choking her.

“Let me go!” Shew snarled at her one more time.

“I’ll admit that you scared me in the beginning, but the good in you prevents the dark side to blossom,” Baba Yaga said. “What a shame. I would have loved to see that dark in you, but now I am going to have to eat you.  Your mother will never know.” Baba Yaga opened her mouth wide and prepared to bite Shew.

“Get away from her!” Cerené had found her shoes. She raised her blowpipe in the air, aiming to hit Baba Yaga but hit Shew instead when the witch moved.

The hit, although accidental, was hard. Shew fell to the ground. Cerené, although tiny, hit hard.

Helpless, she stared at the moon above. She hated that she was weak. How could Baba Yaga tell her that she wasn’t strong enough when the Wall of Thorns considered her an intruder? As she fainted, she thought of the decision she had to make soon; either stay softhearted and forget about being the Chosen One, or embrace her darkness and use it to face all evil. She had to learn how to fight fire with fire, or die in this dream and forget about it.

The world faded to black around Shew. Cerené was screaming from the top of her lungs.

16

A Bird of Fire

When Shew woke up, the sky was filled with ashes, and the sound of flickering fire surrounded her. Trees were on fire. Plants were on fire. And even the air was saturated with it.

Ashes in the sky again, dancing a song of evil.

Shew checked her head, the wound wasn’t serious but she was bleeding. She stood up slowly, her eyes blurry, making everything look hazy as if the world was melting slowly around her.

A couple of breaths later, she understood that her vision was just fine. The world was really melting around her. Lava-like molten crawled down toward her from the top of the hills. It glided slowly over the grass, burning it as it crossed over, taking irregular shapes.

Shew raised her head, looking for the source of the lava creature, and saw it was the witch’s house. It was melting like ice cream in the sun. The Candy House was on fire. Cerené sat with her hands wrapped around her knees, both tucked against her chest.

She was humming those scary rhymes again.
London Bridge is falling down
and
Ashes, Ashes
and
Burn, Burn, Burn.

Cerené’s hair was the color of fire, almost burning, shaped like a bird’s wings, fluttering above her head as ashes fell down from the sky.

“Look for the Phoenix,” Splash’s words still echoed in Shew’s ears, and she thought she was looking at it.

17

A Puzzle of Seven Cards

“Stop it, Fable,” Axel said. “You’ve been walking back and forth forever.”

“What do you want me to do, Axel?” Fable stopped at the edge of the purple light encircling the Dream Temple. “This dream is locked forever, and we can’t do anything about it. I’m not going to wait here until this purple wall comes down by itself a hundred years from now,” she turned and gazed at the light again.