Cinderella Dressed in Ashes

23 A Grimm Girl

Shew and Cerené watched as the local’s horses escaped the dark Huntsmen in Furry Tell.

Loki had been walking among the children for a while as if looking for something. He pulled each one by the hair and stared into their eyes the way the other huntsmen did before.

Her eyes were focused on Loki Van Helsing. She’d always known who he really was so Cerené’s remark didn’t surprise her at all. Shew was told that Frederich Van Helsing had been her father’s most trusted physician, and that he’d been present the night she was born. Was Frederich another Dreamhunter who sympathized with vampires? She had no idea what his relation with Abraham or Loki was exactly. She was only sure that Abraham Van Helsing, Loki’s father, was a Dreamhunter who was once banned for loving Loki’s mother, a demon.

“You remember when I was about to tell you a funny story at the Candy House before Baba Yaga showed up? The one about how Furry Tell’s name came to be?” Cerené said.

“What’s that?” Shew said absently.

“Furry Tell is actually another way of saying Fairy Tale,” Cerené explained. “I know it’s crazy but there is a secret language called ‘Anguish’. It’s said that someone created it to communicate with a woman he was prohibited to love. To speak the language you say words that sound alike but have different meanings. I don’t know who invented it but he is said to be from Furry Tell.”

“That sounds like a fun language,” Shew said, mildly interested. Having a chat with Cerené while Loki was about to kill one of the children wasn’t the best thing to do. She was hoping Loki was only looking for the children with ‘winter in their eyes.’ She supposed he should leave the other children be and ride away.

“It’s a fun language,” Cerené said. “For example, you know that rhyme ‘Mary Had a Little Lamp’?”

She nodded. She wished Cerené would stop talking.

“In Anguish language it would be called: “Marry hatter ladle limb,” Cerené giggled.

“What?” Shew said. She thought she noticed someone she knew amidst the children below, but she wasn’t sure.

“Itch fleas worse widest snore,” Cerené giggled again. “It means: whose fleece was white as snow.”

She ignored Cerené, squinting to see who the children were.

“So the whole rhyme in Anguish Language would be: Marry hatter ladle limb, Itch fleas worse widest snore. An ever-wear debt Marry win Door limb worse shorter gore,” Cerené couldn’t stop laughing.

“Cerené!” Shew hissed, and raised a silencing finger toward her. It was rather irritating how Cerené had been acting since they’d reached Rainbow’s End. A bit childish, Shew thought.

Cerené shrugged and tried to see what Shew was climbing down the hill for. She had no choice but follow her, trying to be quiet.

Down in the village, Loki came upon another boy he thought was worth sparing.

“Winter in his eyes,” he said as he set him free—Shew could hardly believe this was Loki’s voice; calm and confident without the slightest hint of compassion.

The huntsmen took the boy and ushered him to a carriage that had just arrived. It was the Queen’s pumpkin carriage. The spared boys were going to be transported to the castle.

“Why are the children with ‘winter in their eyes’ going to the castle?” Shew muttered.

“Maybe it’s ‘glinter in their eyes’, not ‘winter’,” Cerené suggested.

“Is that even a word?” Shew sneaked toward one of the horses that had fled Furry Tell. The horse didn’t move, unafraid of her. She had always been good with horses. It was one of the few advantages of imprisonment in the castle. She was allowed to ride white horses around the castle at night while huntsmen circled her so she would not escape. Angel had been her personal teacher when he was around.

“I don’t know,” Cerené shook her shoulders. “I don’t go to school, you know. I just clean it. Maybe it’s some kind of Anguish Language like I just told you.”

Shew pulled her close behind the horse as it walked slowly near the village.

“I hope Loki’s not collecting children for the Queen to slaughter,” Shew whispered.

“I don’t think so,” Cerené said. “They are sparing both boys and girls. The Queen only swims in the blood of girls. They treat the boys they spare with care. I’d worry about the others who don’t have ‘winter in their eyes.’”

"Please, no!" they saw a boy pleading. He was a bit chubby and he was crying. "My mother and father aren't home. They left town this morning and said they'll be back tomorrow. I’m supposed to take care of my sister. Please don't kill her. I’m supposed to protect her."

"You can't even protect yourself, child," the laughing wind roared and slapped the boy on his chubby cheeks, left and right.

"Who's your sister?" Loki spoke.

"That’s her," the boy said, and pointed at a pigtailed girl.

"Stupid boy," Cerené gritted her teeth. "If you want to protect her, you shouldn't point at her."

Shew omitted a quiet shriek as she had climbed down the hill, suspecting she knew the boy and the girl.

"My sister's name is Gretel," the boy said.

Loki walked over to Gretel and poked her with the tip of his sword in her shoulder, drawing a small trickle of blood out. "Look at me," he said calmly. "Are you Gretel?"

Gretel nodded without raising her head.

Once Shew saw her, she identified her as Fable. She remembered when Fable bravely fought Big Bad in the Schloss. She admired her for that. Loki had told Shew that Fable believed in her every step of the way.

She wasn’t surprised that Axel and Fable were Hansel and Gretel. Loki had told her that Charmwill had hinted to that fact. All the talk about Candy House and food hinted more at it—Shew really hoped Baba Yaga wasn’t their witch mother. That would be awful.

All Shew could think about were the consequences of Loki killing Fable. Would she die in the Waking World if he killed her in the Dreamworld? She thought she would, because if Fable dies around 1812, how could there be a Fable in the present day? The rules that apply to vampires should apply to her, or?

"Get your hands off me," Gretel was saying. "You're the Queen's bastard."

"Shut your mouth," Axel pleaded. “Or he’ll kill you.”

"One day, I’m going to be a witch and I will curse you, Huntsman," she spit in Loki’s face.

Gretel wouldn't die in the Waking World if Loki killed her here because it wasn’t her dream, Shew thought as she walked slowly. Only if someone dies in their own dream, they die in the real world. She wasn't sure she was right about that, though.

"I can't let that happen," Shew muttered. "I have to save this girl."

"You know her? Is she your friend, like me?" Cerené asked.

“Yes,” Shew said, ready to get on the horse.

“Then let me come with you,” Cerené said. “I can help. I’ll fight with my blowpipe.”

Before Shew was able to consider Cerené, one of the huntsmen saw her and Cerené. He stood staring at them, his face hidden under the hood, from afar. Strangely enough, he didn’t tell the others about Cerené and Shew. He walked slowly toward them without saying a word.

“Who is that man?” Cerené said, aiming her blowpipe like a sword. “It’s times like these when I wish I could spit fire, just like a dragon.”

“It’s the man who’s been chasing me,” Shew was about to shriek, “the one who pursued me every where, in the Wall of Thorns and in my room in the castle.”

“What are you talking about?” Cerené said.

“It’s my pursuer, Cerené,” Shew said. “I think it could be your mother.”

“My mother? That’s impossible,” Cerené objected. “You’re mistaken. Why would Bianca hunt you?”

Her stalker was close now. There were no yellow glinting eyes showing from beneath his hood like the others, though. His silence and confidence was alarming.

Shew was going to get on the horse, pull Cerené up with her and then escape. But she unexpectedly realized she wasn’t afraid of the person following her. It was an unexplainable feeling. She was actually curious to know who it was.

Could it be Loki? Could it be that the other Huntsman isn’t Loki?

Fable’s voice, cursing Loki, brought Shew back to her senses. There was no time for curiosities. She had to fight and save Fable from Loki. Shew snarled with her fangs at her hunter.

“The Huntsmen are stronger than you,” the hunter said, now close enough to talk. The mysterious individual turned out to be a girl. But it wasn’t Bianca because she sounded too young and Cerené didn’t recognize her voice. “The only way to save Fable is tell Cerené to run as far as she can, out of your sight.”

“Who’s Fable?” Cerené said. “And who are you?” she snapped at the girl in the black cloak.

“How will that save Fable?” Shew coped, having no time to ask who the tracker was. If a person, especially a girl, knew Fable wasn’t from this world, she thought she’d trust her. Was it Charmwill Glimmer?

Charmwill is not a girl, Shew! You’re losing it.

“Think about it,” the girl dressed in black said. “Every time Cerené runs away from you, the dream shifts. When she left your room in the castle, the dream shifted to Oddly Tune’s scene. When you upset her and she ran out of the Field of Dreams, the dream shifted and you woke up in your bedroom.”

“What dream?” Cerené questioned.

“I know you’ve been questioning who’s controlling this dream,” the pursuer said. “It’s Cinderella. Cerené, the Phoenix.”

“How do you know my name?” Cerené tiptoed with anger. “Only my mother called me Cinderella? How do you know?”

“If Cerené runs out of your sight now, the dream will shift and Loki won’t kill Fable,” the pursuer said, ignoring Cerené. “Now please tell her to run. She will only listen to you.”

“Run,” Shew told Cerené. It was an impulsive move, but she wanted to save Fable. In truth, and although she knew Fable cherished her, she wasn’t really saving Fable. She was saving Loki from the aftermath of killing Fable in the Dreamworld—that’s if she ever managed to get his Fleece back.

“You believe her?” Cerené said. “She’s a liar—”

“Run!” Shew snarled at her. “Please!”

“I will see you later, right?” Cerené asked.

“Of course, and we’ll make more Art,” Shew tried to be as calm as possible. Fable was already screaming in the back.

Cerené, still clinging to her blowpipe ran as fast as she could.

Shew saw her disappear in the dark, staring at the covert new comer and hoping she was not lying to her.

The cloaked girl was right. She began feeling a bit dizzy, and considered a sign that the dream would shift soon.

But before that happened, Shew asked the girl one last thing, “who are you?”

“My name is Alice,” the girl pulled the hood back. “Alice Wilhelm Carl Grimm. I was sent here by Wilhelm.”