Текст книги "Cinderella Dressed in Ashes"

Автор книги: Cameron Jace

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

32

A Secret Revealed

“Did you know that fairy tale folks call us Minikins?” Axel said, reading from Loki’s phone again. He’d been researching for the last hour, reading from the diary and surfing the internet. “I heard Loki say it, but wasn’t sure he meant us. It’s a little insulting if you ask me.”

Fable wasn’t responding. She was still circling the purple light, and Axel didn’t know what she was really thinking.

“And listen to this,” Axel thought a lot of interesting information would cheer her up, “in J.G.’s diary he mentions a special cake called Sanguinaccio.”

“What about it, Axel?” Fable only replied to keep him talking.

“It’s a real Italian cake. I mean real as in you can go to Italy and order it some place,” Axel said. “That’s weird.”

“What’s so weird about an Italian cake?”

“It’s topped with kidney or pig’s fresh blood and is served as a dessert,” Axel said. “That’s a real cake Italians eat, although it’s mentioned that most restaurants won’t serve it and claim it’s a myth. They call it Bloodylicious.”

“And we thought Shew was an outcast, being a blood sucker,” Fable said, still circling the light with weary eyes. “Why is it mentioned in J.G.’s diary?”

“I have no idea,” Axel closed the book. “This man’s quest for the Lost Seven led him to some weird stuff. And listen to this. He thinks the Phoenix, which we assumed is Cinderella, was mentioned in other fairy tales, too.”

“Do we know of these fairy tales?” Fable said absently.

“One is called The Little Match Girl, a fairy tale by Hans Christian Anderson,” Axel flipped through the pages.

“I know that one,” Fable said, her hand on her stomach. She looked as if she was in pain. “I love it actually. It’s about a poor girl who tries to sell matches, and no one buys them from her, so she burns them up on by one in hopes to get warm in the freezing cold.”

“Do you know that she dies in the end?” Axel said, reading from the diary. “What kind of fairy tale is this?”

“One that Charmwill Glimmer would tell,” Fable said. “How is it connected to Cinderella?’

“I have no idea,” Axel said. “The girl died for God’s sake. She can’t be Cinderella. And here is another one. He also thinks Cinderella is The Girl Without Hands, another creepy fairy tale.”

“I never heard that one,” Fable said. “I assume it really has a girl with no hands, right?”

“It does,” Axel said. “And then at the end of he notes, he thinks Cinderella, which is also Ember, Cerené, The Little Match Girl, The Girl Without Hands, and the Phoenix was born in Murano Island.”

“Where is that?”

“A Venice-like island, which is actually near Venice where glassblowers had been imprisoned and banned centuries ago,” Axel said.

“That’s interesting,” Fable considered. “Cinderella, being famous for her glass slipper, to come from an island of glassblowers.”

“What’s more interesting is that the glassblowers once lived in Venice, and then were banned because of the amounts of fire and cinders they produced and threatening the destruction of Venice,” Axel said. “What really drives me crazy is how Cinderella is all those people J.G. mentioned. It just doesn’t make sense,” Axel closed the book, noticing his sister still wasn’t well. “What’s going on Fable?” Axel wondered. “Have you sensed anything else about the Dreamworld?”

“Not at all,” Fable said. “But it’s driving me crazy.”

“I am afraid if I tell you why, you’d snap at me,” he remembered the Dreamhunter’s Diary mentioning that whoever walked through the purple light could end up insane.

“I know what you’re thinking, Axel,” Fable said. “You think it’s just something that happened because I am exhausted. You don’t believe that I have actually peeked into the dream.”

“That’s exactly what I am thinking,” Axel said. “It’s all psychology, believe me. I read about it.”

“Yeah, how so?”

“You’ve been thinking about the spell to get into Loki’s body since we woke up,” Axel folded his arms. “It’s been on your mind all day. But you wouldn’t do it because it is dangerous. Therefore, your mind played tricks on you, making you think you saw into the Dreamworld. How else can you explain how you only saw Loki and not Shew?”

“I really have nothing to say to your stupid theories,” Fable rubbed her arms as if it were cold all of a sudden. “You just think you know it all.”

“Trust me, I know what I am talking about,” Axel said. “You wanted to do anything to go save Loki, but like you said, you had to know his real name to use the spell. And when you didn’t, you went into some kind of denial and your mind created an alternative reality for you. I told you I read a lot about the subject.”

“What are you talking about?” Fable still rubbed her arms, slightly shivering. “I know what Loki’s real name is now. Loki Van Helsing. Actually, it’s Loki Abraham Van Helsing. You told me that.”

“Oh,” Axel’s eyes widened. “I did. Just forgot. There is too much information in my head today.”

“And I had even more reasons to use the spell and enter Loki’s body when you told me that the only way to break the locked dream was for one to kill the other,” Fable said.

“So my psychoanalysis didn’t work?” Axel rubbed his chin then pulled his phone out to surf the internet. He needed to look up where his analysis went wrong.

“But the thing is,” Fable said as Axel was scrolling. “I didn’t need to wait until you told me about how the dream can be broken.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be with you in a minute,” Axel scrolled through the phone.

“Please pay attention, Axel,” Fable’s jaw started to shiver. “Can’t you understand what I am telling you? Look at me.”

Slowly, Axel raised his head. He watched his sister who looked even worse than before, and his mind began replaying the day’s events again. He thought about everything that had happened since they had followed Loki to the Schloss.

Everything came together now. He knew why Fable was shivering, and what she was trying to tell him. For the first time, he  believed she had crossed to the Dreamworld. She did really meet Loki as a Huntsman.

But how could she? He gazed at her, disappointed and worried.

“How could you, Fable?” he said softly. “And when did you do it?”

“While you were consumed by reading  J.G.’s diary,” Fable said. “I recited the spell to myself. It wasn’t that hard, and it worked.”

“You are connected to Loki in the Dreamworld now?” Axel had no intention of yelling at her. He pitied her. She was suffering already, looking ill from using the spell.

“Yes,” Fable nodded. “But it’s like an ‘on and off’ thing. I can only see him when he shows up in Shew’s dream. When he doesn’t, my vision is blank, and I can’t see anything.”

“I’m so disappointed with you. What have you done?” Axel said. “Look at you. You look like you’re going insane.”

“It’s messing with my mind, Axel,” Fable spit uncontrollably. “The problem is that I’m not even in Loki’s body. I can only see him.”

“Forget about Loki, now,” Axel said. “Tell me what I can do. Is there a spell that could save you?”

“I don’t know,” Fable said. “I need to cross the purple light into the Dream Temple.”

“No, you won’t,” Axel blocked her, his back to the light. “What you have done to yourself is enough. I’m going to take you to a hospital now.”

“Hospitals have no cure for magic spells, Axel,” Fable said, trying to peek over his shoulder at the purple light. “If I went that far, let me into the Dream Temple. I will posses Loki’s body and break his connection with Carmilla. Maybe then, one won’t have to kill the other.”

“I said no,” Axel pulled her away from the light. Fable was weak enough. She didn’t resist him. “Look what’s happened to you from using the spell, and you haven’t entered Loki’s body yet. Who knows what happens then? I have no interest in Loki and Shew coming back if you’re dead.”

Fable insisted one more time. Axel slapped her hard enough she fell back in his arms, helpless and unable to move.

“I’m sorry, sis,” Axel said, holding her tight. “I can’t let you inside the Dream Temple.”

33

A Breath of Life

Shew wasn’t sure at first because she thought she was numb, but apparently someone had been touching her lips for some time.

A breath of air tickled her lungs. The air was warm. Shew felt it fill her veins as her hearing and vision slowly came back.

This must be it, she thought. The kiss of life again. Could it be Loki?

Whoever touched her lips didn’t taste of Loki’s. Was it the prince she’d bitten when she was younger?

Now that her soul returned to her body, she knew that whatever touched her lips tasted of metal. She was sure it wasn’t a kiss. The magic wasn’t in the metal on her lips, but in the breath filling her soul.

She opened her eyes, eager to see who resurrected her. Who else would it have been, but Cerené?

“Hurry up, Joy,” Cerené urged. “They’re preparing the bathhouse for the Queen’s ceremony so she can consume your heart. We’re still in the chamber. They all left and I sneaked in through the fireplace,” she pulled off her muzzle.

“You saved me,” she hugged her, unable to express her gratitude enough. “I think you’re my Chanta or something.”

“I’m your Chanta, really? What’s a Chanta?”

“I understand now,” Shew said. “I’m not alone.  I have a mentor, except it’s not an old man with a stick and white beard. It’s you.”

“You’re talking too much, Shew,” Cerené said. Shew remembered Death and Loki before telling her the same thing. “You have to escape the castle now. Here is your sword,” she gave her the glass sword she’d designed for her. “I named it Joyuka Snotari. You know like all those legendary names of swords sent to the huntsmen from the Far East?”

Shew took the sword, and the first image that hit her was the blood of her enemies on it.

“I have your favorite unicorn tied up outside the window. You can escape on it,” Cerené said.

“I won’t escape,” Shew said. “I will fight.”

“Don’t be impulsive. You still need to learn a lot. You still need to find your own Art,” Cerené said. “There is a cottage in the forest that I know of.”

“What cottage?” Shew wondered, already heading for the window. “Is it safe?”

“I found it once and hid in it when running from my stepsisters,” Cerené explained. “It’s my secret place from the darkness in Sorrow. I don’t know if it’ that safe, but its secret is that you can only get if someone guide you to it. It’s like Candy House; it changes places. I met a kind old man there once who told me I could go hide in the cottage anytime I like.”

“What old man?” Shew turned around.

“When you get there, you’ll see there are other people using it. I haven’t met them, but don’t fear them. They look lost like you and me.”

They look LOST like you and me.

The words rang in Shew’s head. This must be them, The Lost Seven.

“You didn’t answer, Cerené. What old man?”

“His name is Charmwill. Love his name, but I don’t think you’ll see him again. I just met him once. Just go now,” Cerené pushed her. “I’ll find you.”

“How?” Shew asked. “How am I even supposed to find the cottage?”

“Ah. I forgot,” Cerené walked to one of the bigger candlesticks in the chamber. She pulled out one of her mixes and let it heat. She attached the molten to her blowpipe and breathed into it. She ran back to Shew, and blew her pipe onto the world outside, “the butterfly,” Cerené pointed at the butterfly fluttering out into the world, just out of her blowpipe. It looked like the one Shew had seen in the hallway. “It will usher you to the cottage through a secret path. Hurry and follow it before it dies. The life I gave it won’t last long.  Take my bag also. I think it will help you.”

“What’s in the bag?”

“You’ll see as you ride,” Cerené replied.

Shew took the bag, ready to follow the butterfly. Although she could hear the servants’ footsteps outside, she turned back to Cerené, needing to ask a question.

“How did you resurrect me?” Shew asked.

“I heard Dame Gothel say she could bring your soul back within forty-two minutes with her snake,” Cerené said. “I thought I’d use my breath through the blowpipe and see if it worked.”

“Every breath you give is a breath taken from you,” Shew reminded her.

“Yes,” Cerené giggled. “I thought if I’m going to give my breath away, I’d give it to someone who deserved it, instead of butterflies and sea horses.”

“You gave me your life, Cerené,” Shew said. “Those breaths you gave will shorten your life severely.”

“Life comes and goes, Joy,” Cerené said. “Friendship stays,” she raised her blowpipe like a victorious leader to her troops. “Now go. I have to escape through the fireplace, too.”

Shew jumped out of the window and landed on her unicorn. She rode it away with tears in her eyes.

34

A Path of Butterflies

Shew rode away.

She galloped down the hills, heading back to the fields before the forest, looking for the butterfly she’d missed when talking to Cerené.

Hordes of horses and three-eyed unicorns were coming after her. Dame Gothel and the servants urged the locals of the kingdom to help them hunt down the princess. They persuaded them that Shew was a vampire on Night Sorrow’s side. Regretfully, Shew snarled at a couple of locals trying to block her way, making Dame Gothel’s lie believable. Shew had no time to prove  otherwise. She had to find the butterfly.

The poppy fields spread wide in front of her. She rode her unicorn across the fields as the weather changed all of a sudden. The sky darkened slowly into purple-reddish patches and snow began to fall, burying the lovely poppy flowers with a thick layer of white. Her unicorn struggled in the snow and the dark but still kept on going.

What is happening to the weather?

The thought reminded Shew that she had been capable of controlling the weather to her liking in the Waking World. It was one of the Sorrow’s powers. She must have learned to control that power later after she’d split her heart because it was beyond her capabilities now. Carmilla had changed the weather, trying to slow the princess down.

The weather slowed the locals down, but not the huntsmen. They were getting closer.

Still looking for the butterfly, Shew opened the bag Cerené had given to her. A wicked smile crossed her face when she saw its content. The bag was full of chalk and dead Rapunzel plants. Shew knew what to do with them.

Finally, Shew saw the butterfly, fluttering her feeble fiery wings against the cold. She admired the butterfly’s courage in this stormy and darkened weather. It put a brief smile on her face. Shew stretched out her hand, hoping it would get the message and rest upon her palm, but the butterfly wasn’t there to take shelter in the warmth of her hand. She was there to show her the way.

Shew followed the butterfly into the Black Forest.

She began marking trees with chalk on her way. It was Cerené’s gift to her so she could find her way back if she needed, and also to have some kind of a map to get to the cottage in the future, in case Cerené couldn’t create guiding butterflies for her.

A little later, the butterfly stopped by a tree. It kept circling around a certain leaf buried in the white snow.

“What?” Shew asked, her heart beating fast as the distant voices of the huntsmen worried her. “What do you want from me? Just show me the way to the cottage.”

The butterfly continued circling, its wings getting heavier. Shew worried it would die. She knew butterflies were Cerené’s longest living creations, but they died eventually like everything else.

“You want me to pick up the leaf?” Shew reached for it, watching the butterfly land on the back of her hand.

“You want me to be gentle?” Shew said impatiently.

She moved her hand slowly over the leaf, brushing the thick snow away. Underneath it, there were seven caterpillars. Shew’s heart almost stopped. It reminded her of another suppressed memory of Angel Sorrow’s infatuation with butterflies. The King of Sorrow had kept caterpillars safe in his garden, taking care of them. He’d been fascinated by their life cycle, watching as their cocoons as the fought their way to a new life.

You have no time for this! That damn voice inside Shew’s head growled. Forget the butterflies and run for your life.

“I know what to do,” Shew told the butterfly, burying her inner thoughts in the same dark place in her mind they came from. She imagined what Cerené would have done if she were in her shoes.

“We’ve got seven soon-to-be-beautiful passengers on board,” she told her unicorn, wrapping the caterpillars in their own protective leaf and tucking them in a safe place in her dress.

The butterfly flew higher, swirling with gratitude then began leading the way to the cottage again.

Then Shew heard the sound of approaching huntsmen. The butterfly froze in its place.

“Don’t worry,” Shew told it. “I think I know what to do,” she pulled a fistful of Rapunzel plants out, remembering when Cerené told her they would come to life again if planted back in the earth. She got off her unicorn and started planting the vicious plants everywhere, creating a shield against the huntsmen when they arrived.

“We’re going to rip off your toes!” One of the plants screamed at Shew.

“Can’t you just be grateful and shut up?” Shew complained, making sure not to walk near them. The plants were dark by nature and knew no manners.

“What good is it being grateful?” Another Rapunzel yelled at her, trying to eat her foot. “We’re from hell!”

“Nice to meet you,” Shew mumbled, having planted plenty of them already. “Now do your job well and bite all those huntsmen and unicorns’ feet or legs or whatever it is that you do.” She jumped back on her unicorn and rode away, following the butterfly to the cottage.

She could hear the huntsmen’s unicorns tumble and moan behind her as she sped farther into the forest. This should keep them away from her for a while.

Deeper beyond the trees, the Black Forest became much darker. Thick and curvy Juniper trees moved over her head, almost blocking all light from the sky, except a tiny moonbeam sneaking through.

“Hey!” Shew shouted, waving at the moon behind the trees. “Are you really a girl? Could you help me? I know you might have something to do with the Lost Seven.”

The moon didn’t reply, nor smile.

“Of course,” Shew mumbled, riding along. “Who am I to get an answer from you? Only Cerené does.”

Deeper and deeper into the forest, Shew saw large golden fireflies, giving way with their glowing light. Then the butterfly stopped again. Shew pulled her unicorn to a halt.

“What is it now?” Shew asked. “Are you lost?”

The butterfly wasn’t lost. It was dying. Shew watched it dim and harden into a black piece of ashen glass then drop like a stone.

She watched it, speechless, as the world around her in the forest seemed to squeeze her with its darkness. She got off her unicorn and patted it for assurance.

“It’s going to be alright,” she whispered.

Looking beyond the wavering dark, Shew saw pairs of red oval eyes staring back at her. She pretended she hadn’t seen them. She was only worried how she’d find the cottage now.

The light from the fireflies turned out to be helpful. Shew walked carefully over the mushy ground underneath her, stepping over stones for safety. There were hissing sounds all around her, and she wondered if they were animals or ghosts. She drew out her fangs in hopes to scare whatever meant her harm.

“Happy birthday to me,” she muttered.

Shew’s voice made her feel a bit safer. Foolishly, she decided to sing a birthday song to herself, pulling her unicorn along. She rested the leaf of caterpillars on a thick branch filled with other caterpillars and cocoons. It seemed like a safe place.

“You’re much safer here,” she told them. “The huntsmen could find me and kill me any moment.”

She came across a small lake filled with frogs.  They jumped out on the lake’s edge, croaking. She suspected they liked her birthday song, but listening carefully, she learned they were singing with her.

“Loki is right to hate your croaking,” Shew mumbled but didn’t mind their company.

As she rode deeper and deeper into the forest, she began feeling safer. She hadn’t found the cottage, and assumed the huntsmen had lost their way after whatever evil the Rapunzel plants bestowed on them. She still marked some trees on her way as she hummed her little birthday song.

Eventually, she came upon a spot in the forest rich with enough moonlight as if someone had drilled a hole of white light through the thickness of the trees above.

Then … everything froze to the sound of a pair of clapping hands.

Shew turned around and saw the red eyes had disappeared. The tree branches had stretched back as far as possible, and the fireflies hid in their shade.

Before Shew could catch her breath or question anything, a silhouette of a boy appeared under the light of the moon. It was if he were the center stage of the evening in the forest. He walked confidently toward her, slowly like a panther watching his prey. Then he stopped and leaned his shoulder against a tree, clapping again.

“One more time, please,” Loki said, waving his hands theatrically in the air. He looked like Loki but smelled like a monster; a cute, arrogant, and wicked one. He had his hood pulled back, his beautifully deceiving platinum blonde hair dangling down his shoulders, “sing it one more time, but with feeling,” he smirked.