like lilies.
Finally, Cerene 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 Cerene’s magic in the shape of precious glass.
“It’s getting bigger,” Cerene 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. Cerene stepped outside, her magical glass flower hanging at the end of her pipe like a kite.
“Don’t worry. It’s not getting heavier,” Cerene 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 Cerene’s blowpipe, now lighting the outside of the whole Candy House like an enormous Christmas tree with flickering diamonds.
Cerene 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?” Cerene said.
“I can’t believe it,” Shew said, running after her.
“Did you really see that?” Cerene repeated. This time Shew understood she wasn’t talking to her.
Cerene was talking to the moon.
Shew raised her head, and this time, she was sure. The moon up in the sky was smiling at Cerene—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,” Cerene 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,” Cerene smiled. She was happy Shew liked her Art. Shew assumed that Cerene 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.
“Cerene?” Shew was a little worried. “Did it just come alive?”
Cerene 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 Cerene for clarification.
“Part of making the glass through my own breathing is that it represents my psyche,” Cerene 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, Cerene 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 Cerene.
But she was too late. Without Cerene 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 Cerene.
Cerene 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.
“What’s wrong? Let me help you,” Shew insisted, wishing Cerene 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,” Cerene let out a hollow cough. She looked like she wanted to shout but was too weak.
Cerene 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 Cerene and let her rest on her knee, as she tried to wake her up. A few seconds later Cerene 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,” Cerene 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,” Cerene explained. “You have to pay a part of your soul to obtain it, or everyone would perform it,” Cerene said.
“What kind of price?”
“Each breath I blow into the pipe is a breath deducted from my life,” Cerene said.
“You mean…”
“It shortens the magician’s, I mean the artist’s life,” Cerene 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,” Cerene 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
“Listen to me,” Shew stood up. “This is not right, Cerene. You have to stop practicing this Art.”
“Why?” Cerene’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!” Cerene let out a bitter laugh. “Look around you, Joy. This is Sorrow. It
Shew didn’t know what to think. She had seen Cerene’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 Cerene such an Art?
“Besides, you haven’t seen my magic in color yet,” Cerene said. “I can make a huge butterfly with colorful wings as big as the night sky.”
“Really?” Shew couldn’t resist the idea.
“Really,” Cerene 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.
