by Cameron Jace
Then she opened her eyes.
Shew felt as if she was seeing the world with new eyes, the eyes of the future. If she were to cross this very dark hour, she had to see further than the length of her sword, further than the horizon, further that what logic and physical shortcomings permitted, and further than the imaginable. It was the only way to cross this moment: to long for the prize and reward of the future.
Cerené was shocked to see the Huntsmen slow down, a little cautious of Shew. Their yellow eyes dimmed a little. They were watching Shew watching them, and the air was charged with anticipation.
The hunter had become worried of the hunted, because the hunted was one step away from becoming the hunter.
Slowly, the Huntsmen made way for Loki’s unicorn, appearing from the middle. He stopped a stride ahead of them and pulled back his cloak. No amount of rain could wash away the darkness that stained him. He was bleeding from his scars caused by Shew and the glass dragon.
“I’ve never really had to go this far to kill someone,” he spoke. “Still, everything dies in the grip of my hands eventually.”
“I’m not in the grip of your hand, Loki,” Shew spoke back with the same seriousness and intensity.
“You will be,” he nodded. “Look at you, princess. You got the ocean at your back and me in front. Death doesn’t come any closer than this.”
“If I jump off this cliff and die in the ocean,” Shew said, “death will be yours because the Queen will kill you for not getting my heart.”
“I’m a good swimmer, princess,” Loki said. “I’ve even pulled a ring from the belly of a whale,” he said.
“Unlucky her who needed that ring,” Shew smirked.
“I’m no woman’s man, dear princess,” Loki said. “I’m not interested in you anymore. I’m not even going to give you the honor of killing you myself. I’ll let my hungry Huntsmen do it, just the way the Queen let’s her cats take care of the rats in the castle. You’re all alone now, princess. Who do you think will stand up for you?” He turned his unicorn to leave taking the same path he’d come from.
Loki disappeared, and his Huntsmen began approaching. Cerené’s heart beat so fast that Shew could feel it pumping on her back.
Instead of freezing, every step forward the Huntsmen took, Shew equaled it with another step forward. She wasn’t afraid of them anymore. If the Huntsmen were fear itself, she’d decided there was no better moment to face it.
About fifty strides away, the Huntsmen stopped. They pulled their cloaks back, showing their ugly disfigured faces, staring at the bold princess who stared back at them.
Cerené swallowed hard.
Each passing moment Shew looked at them, she gained more strength. Fear was just a coward like all of us sometimes. Dare look it in the eyes long enough and it will bow with respect.
A flat smile shaped the Huntsmen’s faces. It was like: really, are you looking back at us? Who do you think you are?
Shew made sure she did not flinch for a second. She raised her sword in the air, and one of the Huntsmen took a stride back. It was the beginning. Rights were taken step by step. Wars were won drop by drop of blood.
Another Huntsman stepped back. Shew could see the confusion building up on their faces.
She took a step forward and uttered one word, “Me,” she was answering Loki’s question when he asked her who’d stand up for her. “The worst thing about fairy tales is that they make you think you have to wait for the prince.”
The Princess of Sorrow, realizing she needed no mentor, no Chanta, no moon, rode down the hill and attacked.
It would be hard to explain what really happened. Shew swung her sword as if the Queen had really eaten her heart, and the heartless girl left was nothing but a beautiful monster. Shew was merciless, chopping off heads with one strike just as Loki did in Furry Tell. Everything her father taught her crystallized before her eyes. She even imagined herself wearing her father’s armor, killing the Intruders. Every trick, every maneuver, and every heartless swing was in the name of her father whom people feared all over the world.
She stroke as if she were one of them, evil, heartless, and a darkness eater. This was what she was meant for, to be one of the and yet kill them.
She rode the unicorn down the hill, killing whoever was on her left or right. No one dared block her way.
Cerené closed her eyes most of the time. Even when the blood of Huntsmen spattered on her face, she didn’t open them, grateful to the rain for washing it away.
Shew got wounded, but she didn’t bother to look. She was determined to be as strong as Loki.
Pain, wounds, and aches were an illusion, only manifested by the colors of bruises and blood, but it had no roots; pain was a figment of one’s imagination.
Only one thing could stop her: Death. Even then, she had found it arguable.
Slash, swing, chop, scream, slash, swing, and never look behind.
Fight fire with fire.
Her sword and fangs were Shew’s fire. Her fangs only scared the Huntsmen away. She wasn’t going to waste time biting them one by one. But her sword, made of white glass, energized by Cerené’s breath, was her Art. Some people’s art was a painting, some their knowledge, some their caring for their families. But the Chosen One’s Art was different. It was the cruelty she had to use to make things right, the darkness she used to bring the light, and her individuality in gathering a nation. Shew would have simply ridden back and given her heart to the Queen. She didn’t need one anymore.
Like a maniac, she ended up chasing the Huntsmen as they toppled and ran away from her down the hill.
“She really is the Chosen One,” one of them yelled, fleeing the scene.
Shew ran freely into the forest, away from them. She didn’t bother gazing back at the dead she’d left behind.
“You’re bleeding,” Cerené said. “Let’s stop. I can mend your wounds.”
However, there was no stopping. One single three-eyed unicorn was chasing her now. She could smell his deviously beautiful scent. It was Loki, coming to avenge all those Huntsmen she’d just killed.
“Can you kill him?” Cerené asked, grabbing her shoulder.
Shew’s warrior eyes softened a little. She still wasn’t sure, even after all those she’d just slaughtered, “if I kill him, he will never wake up again,” she said. Cerené looked confused. “He isn’t like the Huntsmen. He is like me, filled with darkness and confusion, not knowing what to do with it. All that he’ll sacrifice for me, being banned from Heaven and saving me, will be for nothing if I kill him.”
Cerené had nothing to say. She wasn’t going to ask Shew about this dream she always talked about. She only sensed Shew’s reluctance for a moment and got off the unicorn, running toward Loki. Cerené decided she’d stand up to him, not to defend herself, but to defend the Chosen One.
“No!” Shew reached out for her. “What are you doing, Cerené?”
“My job, I have to protect the Chosen One,” she yelled, running at the coming horse. “You take care of me, I take care of you, remember?”
Before Shew could catch her, Cerené stood foolishly in front of Loki’s approaching unicorn, stretched out one hand in the air and yelled ‘Moutza!’
Cerené closed her eyes, thinking if she focused strong enough, she could create fire and burn the evil Huntsman.
Shew was approaching to pick Cerené up, not intimidated by Loki, but then let out a shriek as she glanced up at him.
She was too late.
Loki, angry Shew had killed most of his Huntsman, raised his sword at Cerené who still had her eyes closed, trying to create fire with her mind.
Sadly, he was closer to Cerené than Shew, who could not believe her eyes. Loki’s sword had landed a blow on Cerené.
Cerené opened her eyes, disappointed she could not create fire, and glad she wasn’t dead. When she saw what had happened to her outstretched hand, she looked puzzled. A fountain of blood squirted in the air. Cerené looked at Shew wit
h pleading eyes, wondering if this was really happening to her.
Loki had cut her hand off.
“I told you not to leave me!” Shew yelled at her and bent over to pull her up on the unicorn.
As stubborn as Cerené was, she pulled away from Shew and ran toward Loki again, stretching out her other arm, and screaming, "Moutza, you Queen’s Bastard!”
Loki let out a small demeaning laugh, and waited until the little ashen girl approached him.
“This first one was for thinking you could kill me,” Loki said. “This is for being stupid,” he simply chopped her other hand off, and rode away again.
“You little piece of shit!” Shew screamed at Loki and ran toward Cerené, trying to pull her up. This time Cerené wasn’t stubborn. She had that heartbreaking look in her eyes as if questioning how this could possibly be her fate. Shew pulled her up before she fainted.
All she could think of now was saving Cerené. Looking to the left, she noticed they were near the Wall of Thorns. She remembered when Cerené told her that each sleeping beauty in the Field of Dreams was a girl who had been killed. In order to live again, they had to dream and provide sand and tears for a hundred years, and then they could come back to life revitalized.
Shew didn’t know how to resurrect people through the blowpipe, nor did she know about the power of True Names. The Field of Dreams was her only choice to save Cerené. Cerené was dying in her hands.
To go to the Field of Dreams, Shew had to pass through the Wall of Thorns. Shew rode toward it, not giving a damn about the thorn bush. If she rode fast enough, she should be able to pierce through it. Even if she didn’t, she’d give in to the thorn bush and allow the unicorn to take Cerené to the Field of Dreams.
As she rode, she noticed Loki following her again, but she intended to be faster. Once she entered the thorn bush, a couple of thorn vines crawled around Cerené and the unicorn, sniffing them. They slashed slightly at them, and sniffed their blood. Finally, they let them go.
I’m so close. I can make it to the Field of Dreams.
When the vines sniffed Shew, it took them some time before they slashed at her, tasting her blood.
Instantly they went crazy.
“Can’t you understand that I’m not the enemy,” Shew shouted. “Stupid thorns!”
Shew had come to a point where shedding blood had become really insignificant. She felt the thorns cut at her arms, her legs, and her face. It didn’t matter as long as there was the slightest hope to save Cerené.
If only she could ignore Mozart’s Magic Flute playing in her ears.
Somehow, she did this time.
Being seduced by music was only meant for the weak, not Chosen Ones when they’d learned their powers. The thorns had to do more than cut her skin to stop her.
Finally, Shew crossed to the other side into the Field of Dreams. Her dress was soaked with blood from every pore in her body
She stopped near one of the sleeping beauties, and eased Cerené down off the unicorn. She was hardly speaking. Shew located a free puddle of water and laid Cerené in it. She went back, undressed one of the girls in red, and dressed Cerené. She placed a glass urn to her right and one to her left, wondering if she’d done it the right way.
“Did I make fire?” Cerené muttered.
“Don’t talk now,” She urged her.
Cerené was already fainting. She had no more words to say, disappointed she didn’t live long enough to make fire. She held tighter, not knowing what else to do. She was waiting for a sign. Maybe she’d see Cerené crying sand and tears like all the other sleeping beauties, which would mean Cerené was saved.
“Tay,” Cerené tried to talk gain, her eyes white, not staring at Shew.
“Say nothing,” Shew held her face, trying not to think about the fountain of blood spurting out her arms. She suddenly remembered reading a gruesome fairy tale called the Girl Without Hands in the Schloss when she was imprisoned.
Who are you, Cerené? Who are you, really? Cinderella, the Phoenix, the Girl Without Hands, or my mentor?
“Tay,” Cerené’s tongue twisted. “Take,” she pointed at her glass urn tied to her stomach under her dress.
Shew took it, not knowing what Cerené wanted her to do with it. It looked like the other urns to her left and right. Cerené wasn’t talking anymore. She only pointed at the Wall of Thorns then fell back completely.
“Piggy, Piggy!” Loki shouted from behind the wall, his voice void of sarcasm.
Even if it was going to delay saving Cerené, she had to get rid of him.
Kill him, damn it. Kill him!
Shew took the glass urn and rode her unicorn back to the edge of the wall. She wasn’t going to run through it again. She’d been bleeding for some time, and she was getting weaker.
Loki was already in the middle of the Wall of Thorns, crossing it slowly on his unicorn. Shew felt maddened by the fact that Wall of Thorns considered him a friend and let him pass. She rode close to the edge of the thorns, looking Loki in the eyes.
“This is for Cerené,” she said, and threw her sword like a spear, right into his heart, wiping the nasty smirk off his face. “And this sword has a piece of her in it.
Loki fell back instantly and his unicorn ran away. Shew couldn’t see what happened to him from behind the thicket of thorns, but she was worried. She’d stabbed him in the stomach before and he didn’t die. There was no assurance he’d die when a sword plunged right through his heart.
A moment had passed without him even cursing or talking. Could it be that he was dead? It looked like it.
She turned around, back to Cerené.
“Peek-a-boo,” Loki’s voice called her from behind, sarcastic and full of himself again. She turned around and saw his head from above the thorns. The Fleece reddened it. Loki had been saved by the power of the Queen again. “I see you,” he said, pointing two fingers at her and back to his eyes.
She wasn’t sure if he had pulled the sword out or not. It was hard to see his chest from behind the thorns, and there was no way she was going to enter the Wall of Thorns again.
“It’s been a rough day,” he said, wiping Cerené’s blood from his mouth. “And you owe me a heart and liver, princess,” he was walking toward her, about to cross the Wall of Thorns.
Shew stood swordless, without ideas, and almost void of any strength left. Ironically, it was at this very moment when she’d decided that killing him was the right thing. The Loki she had loved and always known was gone, just like any other relationship gone to hell, one of the two lovers had simply died. Foolishly, it had taken her the whole dream to figure it out. Nevertheless, the heart had reason the mind didn’t know of.
At this moment, Shew’s heart was on Cerené’s side and she had to kill that beast standing in front of her.
While Loki was approaching, Shew stood with nothing but Cerené’s glass urn in her hands. What was she going to do with it, throw it at him? If she only knew what Cerené wanted her to do with it?
“Isn’t it ironic that the so called Chosen One herself can’t pass through the Wall of Thorns without being cut everywhere,” Loki said, approaching slowly. Of course, he was having the time of his life. He must have known there was no way out of the Field of Dreams, and she had decided she wasn’t in the mood to take more slashes from the Wall of Thorns.
“Stupid Wall of Thorns,” Shew said. A couple of insulted vines tried to reach out for her. “It doesn’t understand that you’re the enemy here, Loki Van Helsing.”
“Stupidity,” Loki considered, now extremely close. “What a beautiful thing. If the Wall of Thorns wasn’t stupid, we wouldn’t be in this situation now, where I’m going to rip your heart out with my own hands.”
A couple of another insulted vines crawled around Loki, unhappy with how he talked about them. She watched them with eager eyes and wished they’d avenge Cerené and kill him.
“Get off, stupid thorns,” Loki hushed them away. “They can’t hurt me, even when I am
not good to them. You know why? Because like everything else in the world, they are stupid,” he sneered back at Shew. “Look at you, princess. All soaked in blood,” he mocked her. “I hope you still have your heart and liver intact.”
It was the first time the word ‘blood’ sounded sweet to Shew. She remembered when Dame Gothel spattered the cake with the girl’s blood in the weighing-of-the-soul chamber, and finally understood what the glass urn was for. She understood why Cerené insisted on her taking it.
Slowly, Shew squeezed the blood soaking her dress and partially filled the glass urn with it while Loki kept approaching and talking.
“Even if I keep insulting the thorns all day, they can’t hurt me, because guess what,” Loki waved his celebrating arms next to him, only five strides away from Shew, “to the thorns, I am a friend.”
“Not anymore,” Shew said, as she raised the glass urn and spattered Loki with her enemy blood.
It was if the thorns had waited for this moment eagerly, sprawling their vines around Loki’s outstretched arms as the music began to play. The reaction on Loki’s face was priceless. All he had to do was give in to Mozart’s seductive tune, and then he’d kill himself in his own dance of death.
Thankfully, Loki loved music; it was a good way for him to die.
“Stupidity,” Shew mocked Loki, and watching the thorn which were about to kill him. “What a beautiful thing.”
She didn’t know if she’d just become heartless, or if it was because this was a dream, but she didn’t cry over Loki. It didn’t make sense. Maybe he really managed to make her hate him in this dream, or maybe it was all because he’d killed Cerené. Shew was confused. All she felt was the power of the Chosen One inside her. It was a grey kind of power. It wasn’t simply black and white or good and evil. It was dark power that could be molded to its owner’s liking, the power of making an instant decision. The Loki in this dream, who was controlled by Carmilla deserved to die. He might have not deserve death on another day when he was himself, but today either Shew or the Huntsman could live. Shew chose herself.
