“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.”