“What do you mean?”

“I mean this is my Art, Joy. I don’t need to cool it because when I breathe into it, it becomes alive,” Cerené said.

“Alive? You mean this glass is alive?”

“You haven’t seen anything yet. This is only the beginning,” Cerené said.

“Are you aware that you’re literally playing with fire?” Shew couldn’t help but wonder if this was the reason for Cerené’s wounds. Maybe she just burned herself playing with fire.

“Playing with fire!” Cerené jumped in  place, shaking the mold. “Never thought of it like that. Isn’t it enchanting?”

“It is,” Shew said, staring at the piece of the molten she’d shaped into a cup.

“Now, come hold the blowpipe so I can show you the real magic,” Cerené handed her the pipe.

“There is still more to show than this?”

“You have no idea. Hold the pipe about one third away from my end for balance. I will blow into it now,” Cerené said. Then she took a deep breath closing her eyes. She squeezed her fingers and took an even deeper breath. “If I pass out, don’t worry,” Cerené said.

“Pass out, why?”

There wasn’t enough time to get an answer. Cerené blew into the pipe with all her might, eyes closed again. Her face and ears reddened, and her cheeks bubbled like shimmering light bulbs. It looked like she was blowing into it with her very essence, with her own soul.

Soul? She said the third part was the Soul! That’s her talent. She completes the magic with her breathing.

While Cerené breathed into the pipe, the molten grew increasingly bigger like a balloon about to explode, except this one was getting more flexible like warm clay she could shape with her breath.

Cerené blew harder without stopping for a breath. The molten color changed from orange slowly to blue. It was a lovely light blue like the color of clear skies, waving like a ghost among the darkened walls of the cellar.

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.