Cinderella Dressed in Ashes tgd-2

by Cameron Jace

  “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 viciou
s 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.

  35

  A Wit of Swords

  Shew’s unicorn took a couple of strides back.

  “Loki,” Shew whispered to herself with longing. Unlike her unicorn, Shew took a foolish step ahead, then her brain took over and she stopped. Her heart was yearning for Loki, but she had to find a way to resist his charm. This wasn’t the Loki from the World Between Dreams.

  “Please don’t hurt me,” Shew said, buying time until she decided what to do.

  “Love hurts, princess,” he titled his head and flashed his irresistible smile.

  “So you remember loving me?” Shew wondered aloud.

  “Of course,” he said. “Not,” he added. “I know you like me, princess. Always did. I don’t blame you. What’s not to like about me,” he asked nonchalantly as he chewed on a dead Rapunzel plant.

  “You found me because of my singing,” Shew blamed herself.

  “Beautiful voice you have, princess,” Loki leaned back against a tree, sniffing the Rapunzel plant. “Wrong song. Nothing’s going to happy about your birthday.”

  “You’re right about that,” Shew agreed, her eyes looking for an escape. “You know this is a dream, right?” she stalled again, hoping he’d remember.

  Loki said nothing, and began trimming his fingernails with his knife.

  “Believe me, Loki,” she pleaded. “We’re both stuck in a dream, and we can only wake up if one if one of us kills the other,” she almost bit her tongue. The last words were agonizing. She shouldn’t have told him that.

  “Now that’s interesting,” he puffed air at his nails. “Would you want to have the privilege of trying to kill me first?”

  “Argh,” Shew thought. It was useless conversing with him, “you are not you who you think you are. Are you even listening to me?”

  “Here is my advice to you, Princess of Sorrow,” he gazed back at her. “You’re much more fun when you’re silent. Now how do you prefer to die?”

  Slowly, Loki walked closer to her. He stopped midway, his eyes scanning her face. For a moment, she thought he remembered her, or at least sensed something was wrong. Then his stare intensified again, and sent a chill through her spine. It was almost as scary as the Queen’s eyes when she got angry.

  Shew didn’t know what to do. She had no Rapunzel plants and no magic. Had she tried to run away, he’d have caught her. She’d seen him killing in Furry Tell. He was fast and merciless.

  “What are you looking at?” She sneered at him, pretending she wasn’t afraid. She made sure she straightened her back and held her chin up.

  “It’s a shame I have to put such a beauty to sleep,” he said, rubbing the tip of his sword gently on her face. It didn’t sound as sincere as she’d hoped. Shew pushed his sword away and he did not resist.

  The situation drove Shew crazy. Looking at him weakened her. She would have preferred an ugly enemy she could just kill without thinking. Loki’s charm was disarming.

  Loki kept approaching slowly. Like the Queen, he took his time with his prey. He knew he’d win in the end.

  In her defense, Shew took a huge chance. She walked over to him and slapped him on the face, “behave when you talk to me. I am your princess,” she said lamely, trying to pose like her mother. “Kneel before me, Huntsman.”

  Foolish! Damn foolish. What’s wrong with you?

  Loki took the slap then wiped it off his cheek as if it were a spit. He gazed back at her, admiration sparkling in his eyes, “Tsk Tsk,” he wiggled his forefinger, staring at her lips. “Not a smart move.”

  “Listen to yourself,” she said. “Who say
s ‘tsk tsk’ in the 19th century? This is a dream!”

  All of Shew’s talk about dreams meant nothing to him. He kept staring at her. For a boy set on killing her, he seemed infatuated with her courage and his eager pace slowed.

  “Even though the Queen of Sorrow is waiting for me to return with your heart and liver, I’m immensely enjoying this,” Loki said, circling around Shew, his hands behind his back. She could feel his eyes scanning her body, his nose sniffing her scent. “I like a girl who isn’t afraid of me,” he said. “That’s why I’m going to give you a chance to run,” he stopped right in front of her again. “If you escape me, the Queen will hang me by the noose, and you will get your freedom. What do you think about that, princess?”

  Shew didn’t think it was a good idea. He knew that if she ran, he would catch her. If this was how the game was going to be played, then she thought she’d better raise the bar. People only die once. What the hell!

  She decided to offer him an even bolder solution, “How about we fight?” She took some steps back, pulled Cerené’s glass sword from its scabbard, and raised it in front of her. He was too far from her to swing at him.

  “A brave and crazy princess,” Loki rubbed his chin. “What more could a man ask for?” he locked eyes with her again then let out small laugh.

  “What are you laughing at?” Shew demanded.

  “You’re standing in an awkward position,” he raised his eyebrows.

  “Stop talking and fight like a man!” She shouted. Loki approached her with two hands in the air, promising he wouldn’t attack her. “May I?” he said, offering to help straighten her position.

  Shew thought it was the perfect moment to strike, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. How did she expect to fight him? She didn’t have the heart for it.

  Loki positioned her legs and her arms as if he were a teacher. She, let him, helpless to his advances. When he did, another mild headache hit her. This time, she remembered Angel von Sorrow teaching her how to fight when she was a child. It was an image of them swinging swords in the castle’s garden, Angel teaching her how to ride unicorns, and training at night. She felt the knowledge Angel had given her rush back into her veins.