36
The Cottage and the Wolf
Shew and Cerené entered the cottage. Cerené turned to lock the door behind them while Shew hurried to lock the windows.
Shew’s first impression was like Déjà vu again. She had been there before, but she couldn’t remember the details. If Cerené met Charmwill here, then the cottage was part of her erased memory. She expected to come across clues to the Lost Seven.
The cottage was small and separated into two levels. Three creaking wooden steps led to the higher level, which was occupied with seven beds. They were big beds, used by real people, not dwarves.
The lower level was smaller, lit by pumpkin shaped lanterns, and mostly occupied with an oval-shaped dining table. It was an old table, its surface filled with cracks and engravings. She hurried to it, comparing the cracks to Loki’s necklace.
Still, nothing made sense.
Shew wondered again how such scribbled engravings could hold an important message. She could neither read the engravings on the front or the back of the pendant.
Another thing that caught Shew’s attention was the absence of chairs. There was only one chair while the table that was big enough for eight people. She brushed the tips of her hands over the chair’s back, hoping she’d remember something, the way she remembered her father’s training.
Again, nothing. It was just a chair.
On the table, Shew saw five items: a knife, some scattered beans, breadcrumbs, an empty plate, and a fork. The image of each item gave her a momentary, but acute, migraine. With each item, an image flashed. She caught the image of a boy with a green hat, a girl in a red cloak, and a moon. The rest of the images were unclear. Shew was almost sure these were the Lost Seven, and that each item belonged to one of them.
Why hadn’t she seen an image of Cerené, and what was her item?
Shew altered her gaze between the items and chair for a while. Her gut feeling told her the chair was the sixth item—that’s why there were no other chairs in the house. “They belong to the others I told you about,” Cerené said, pointing at the items on the table. She had begun nailing logs on the windows as if preparing for a zombie attack. “I haven’t been lucky enough to meet them,” she added with a nail between her teeth.
“Is one of the items yours?” Shew asked.
“No,” Cerené said. “I have what I need here,” she lifted her dress, showing her the glass urn underneath. Shew wondered why Cerené hadn’t pointed at her blowpipe.
“And where is the old man, Charmwill?” Shew said.
“Like I said, I only met him once. Funny man, and a funny parrot!” Cerené sucked the blood out of her finger. She’d hurt herself while hammering. “Come help me, and stop talking. We can’t let Loki get in.”
“This doesn’t look like a safe place, Cerené,” Shew commented, rummaging through a box of nails and looking for a hammer.
“I know,” Cerené considered. “But don’t worry. We’ll make it.”
Shew found a hammer and started nailing. She wasn’t enthusiastic about it. Keeping Loki out wasn’t going to be that easy. She kept wondering why Cerené brought her to this cottage. It didn’t look safe. Her first hit with the hammer landed on her finger, too. She let out a scream.
“You need to be tougher,” Cerené giggled.
“You just hurt yourself a second ago,” Shew defended herself.
“That’s true, but I’m not the Chosen One,” Cerené winked.
“How do you know I’m the Chosen One,” Shew’s face tightened. “I never told you.”
“Charmwill told me,” Cerené sighed. “Can you stop talking now and do some work?”
“Why is everyone else telling you things all the time?” Shew wondered. “Is that why you keep coming rescuing me, because you think you should care for the Chosen One?” Shew said.
“Yes!” Cerené snapped again. “Are you happy now? I am supposed to take care of you, the same way you will take care of me. Bianca told me so, and Charmwill told me so. Why is it so hard for you to accept that I am here for you?”
Shew said nothing, and continued hammering. Cerené was right. They were two lost girls with no elder to take care of them. Both were damaged, yet blessed. The Chosen One took care of the Clue, and the Clue took care of the Chosen one. It was like nothing Shew had read in history books before. This was Shew’s and Cerené’s special journey, and they had to do it their own way. Love was not always the answer and friendship was just as important.
The two girls nailed a board over every window for extra security. Cerené had pulled off planes from the beds and used them as logs, and then she blew out the candles and dimmed the cottage.
Finally, the two girls sat on the floor with their backs against the wall, staring at the cottage’s door. Cerené cleaned her blowpipe, but Shew didn’t bother cleaning her sword.
After some time had passed they assumed Loki wasn’t coming for them. Either the glass dragon had killed him or Loki had no idea they were in the cottage. Anticipating silence surrounded the two girls, accompanied by their own breathing.
“Do you think I will able to create fire one day?” Cerené asked in the dark.
“I would like to think so,” Shew said. “You’re still young. Maybe you’ll acquire the talent later.”
“And maybe the Creators are worried I’d use it the wrong way,” Cerené said.
“If I were one of the Creators, I’d gift you with every power available,” Shew said.
“Don’t try to glasscoat your words, Joy,” Cerené said. Shew supposed the phrase meant something like ‘sugar coat.’ Glass was as precious as gold and sweet as sugar to the people of Sorrow—and probably Murano at the time. “I know how weird I am. I’m not a fool,” Cerené confessed.
“You’re not—”
“Stop it, please,” Cerené said. “I am fine with who I am. I don’t care if others think I’m an outcast. It might be hard to believe, but I believe in myself. I deserve a happy ending, a prince and a ball where everybody looks up to me. But frankly, sometimes I also feel like the Creators are doing the world a favor by not gifting me with the ability to create fire, or—” she shrugged.
“Or?”
“Or maybe I’d burn them all,” Cerené said. “I’d burn the Queen of Sorrow for what she does to the children and me; I’d burn my stepfamily for hurting me, Loki the Huntsmen, Baba Yaga. It’s an endless list, really. The world is full of evil.”
The girl who thought the world was full of evil was the same girl who held a clue to it all.
“Then you’d have missed the whole purpose of why the Creators gifted you with fire—if they ever did that,” Shew said. “Why burn the world if, with fire, you could create almost every living thing; the dragons, the sea horses, and the butterflies.”
“Good idea, Joy,” Cerené said. “I’d like to create plenty of those … after I burn the others. Let’s start all over again. The world needs a new beginning.”
Shew shrugged; glad it was dark. She did not want to see Cerené’s expression now, because she didn’t want to know if she wasn’t joking.
“Moutza,” Cerené whispered in the dark.
Shew laughed, “Did it work?”
“Of course not. You see any fire?” Cerené said. “Wouldn’t it be nice if I could light a candle with my mind now?”
“Keep trying, Cerené,” Shew said. “Who knows? One day, it might work. Tell me something by the way,” she fidgeted in her place. “Did your mother or Charmwill tell you anything else?”
“Bianca tells me a lot of things. I forget half of it most of the time,” Cerené said. “I usually remember when something in my real life reminds me of her words.”