Blinding Beauty, page 22
“Brokk?” she called. There was no answer. Twice more she yelled out his name before concluding he wasn’t nearby. She suddenly wondered if he had gone back to Cobren. If he had brought her here through a mirror, he must have been able to return through one as well.
Her suspicions were all but confirmed when she made her way to his workshop and found one steaming glass bowl of porridge set out on the table. As she ate, Isa hoped he would be gone for a while. Since the moment she had discovered where she really was, Isa had longed to explore the ancient castle on her own. Legends of the Glass Queen had been some of her favorites when she was a child. Even more importantly, however, she hoped to find some hint as to what the enchanter was truly planning. Then, when Ever came for her, she would at least have something to tell him.
Her boots made sharp clicking sounds against the frosted glass floor that echoed down the halls as she walked back to the throne room. As she went, she dragged her hand along one of the walls. Though her ability to produce the Fortress’s fire seemed to be all but gone, Isa wondered if she would at least be able to feel the power of one room if it was more important than the others.
Just as she entered the throne room, Isa stopped. It felt as though someone had poured something thick, icy, and hot into her blood. Her heart began to race, and the sudden urge to sprint up one of the spiraling staircase nearly overwhelmed her. Her chest grew so tight she could hardly breathe, but as soon as Isa removed her hand from the rough glass of the wall, everything stopped. Her breathing returned to normal, and it was as if nothing had happened. Mystified, Isa tentatively placed her fingers along the wall again. Immediately, the draw to go upstairs consumed her once more.
Could this be one of Brokk’s tricks? Might he be watching, waiting for her to follow? As she continued to hold onto the wall, Isa realized the power was different even from that which she’d felt in the glass hill. As ancient as Brokk’s power was, this felt impossibly older.
When she reached the throne room, the urge to go forward grew even more urgent. Sucking in a deep breath, Isa let go of the wall and walked to the closest staircase, and decided to let the strange pull, whatever it was, take her. The urge to run overtook Isa, and as she flew up the shiny steps, a thrill moved through her. Suddenly, she felt as though she were a bird climbing higher into the clear blue sky.
Eventually, she had to reach the bridge she had walked upon the day before, and the exhilarating flight was over. Whatever had first yanked her along, however, did not allow her to linger. Instead, it kept her hand upon the rail, then the wall, before pulling her down the hall opposite that of her room, the side of the castle she hadn’t explored the day before.
As she went, the walls began to change. Instead of ivy, the walls here were carved with stars and moons. The impulse to continue walking grew stronger until she reached the last door at the end of the great hall. Isa placed her ear to it and listened, but she heard nothing. With curiosity now nearly as strong as the force which compelled her forward, Isa began to slowly push on the door only to realize it was locked.
“You would think a castle this old would at least have loose locks,” she muttered to herself. But no matter how hard she pushed, it wouldn’t budge. Stepping back, Isa stared at the glass handle. If Ever had been there, a lock wouldn’t have posed a problem at all.
Ever wasn’t there, however, and her need to see what was behind the door grew more incessant by the minute. Isa huffed impatiently, knowing what Ever would tell her to do even if he were there.
Placing the palm of her hand against the door, Isa exhaled, trying with all her might. She imagined the little bit of fire left within her gathering in her hands. Groaning with the strain, Isa pressed her hands into the door until they hurt. The faintest of a blue aura lit up the glass around her hands, but only for a second. Then, nothing.
The pain in her hands was nothing compared to that within her heart. If the Fortress’s fire continued to leave her at this rate, she would be dead in a week. It wouldn’t even matter what the enchanter had schemed up for her. Isa sighed and leaned heavily against the door. The glass was cool, but warmed quickly under her touch, and that nagging sensation continued to dance throughout her body, biting her as she stood still. If only she could do something to quell it.
As if someone were watching her struggle, the door clicked open on its own. Without hesitating to wonder why the door had opened by itself, Isa darted through, hoping that wherever Brokk was, he couldn’t see or hear her. Something, perhaps the strange urgency in the glass, told her that she was not meant to see whatever was behind that door.
As soon as she was through, Isa came to another flight of stairs. These stairs led up to a tower that was much like the that of the Annals at home. This staircase, however, was much, much steeper, and the glass walls were no longer opaque, but perfectly clear. So clear, in fact, that Isa nearly screamed.
For the first time, she could see the castle in its entirety. The whole structure was indeed made of glass, and it was balanced atop a single island in the center of a mountain range that encircled them entirely. Between the castle and each monstrous mountain was a gorge so deep that the bottom was completely hidden from sight. The only way to reach the mountains on the other side of the gorge was to cross a thin glass bridge that spanned the chasm. It must have been nearly as long as the castle was wide. The bridge might have been quite sturdy itself, but over the deep, black chasm, it looked brittle, as though the wind might smash it to pieces at any moment.
When Isa looked up instead of down, she found herself staring at the jagged, snowcapped peaks. Their height made her dizzy, and the brightness of the snow in the sun made her nearly blind. It all made Isa want to suddenly lie on the floor, clinging to it with all her might, never to move again. Only the incessant sting of the glass gave her the ability to begin slowly climbing the steps that were as transparent as air itself.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternal death march, Isa came to a door in the sky. One more room sat upon the tallest tower. Like her own room, this one had frosted walls, but they were a rich blue. Cautiously, Isa gently pushed the door. This one, to her relief, opened immediately.
Suddenly feeling exposed as she stood between the nearly invisible stairs and the room’s dark, tapestried walls, Isa practically dove into the room, thankful for the privacy of its walls. Only when the door was shut and locked behind her did Isa turn around and truly look at what lay before her.
A beautiful woman was stretched out upon the widest bed Isa had ever seen. Her hands were folded upon her chest, as though she might be taking an afternoon nap. Hair so yellow it was nearly white lay strewn out around her head, glorious in its brilliance. Bone-pale skin covered a thin face with high cheekbones and bloodless lips. Her exotic gown, lined with fur the way Isa’s borrowed gown was, shimmered sky blue with purple jewels scattered about it.
She was the most beautiful woman Isa had ever seen. As Isa began to look around to study the rest of the room, however, a movement caught her eye. When Isa looked at the woman once more, her heart nearly stopped.
Isa was not the only one in the room who was breathing.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Gift of the Heart
Isa tried to imagine who the woman might be, but the urgent sensation that had brought her here prickled her skin, even though she was no longer touching any glass with her hands. Instead, the air was thick with it, archaic power, heavy and hard to breathe.
And Isa suddenly had the overwhelming urge to touch her.
With a will that wasn’t her own, Isa stretched out her hand and rested it lightly upon the woman’s ashen cheek. When she did, the tapestried walls around her began to fade into oblivion, and instead, she was standing upon the dais of the throne room below. Courtiers dressed in an exotic fashion similar to that which hung in Isa’s new wardrobe stood loosely clustered about the throne. Her gaze rested on the scant assembly of what looked to be wealthy nobles and several dozen commoners. Brokk, though much younger, knelt before her.
“Come, Son,” Isa said, realizing immediately that though she said it, the voice wasn’t her own. “We will not speak of this here.” She glanced up at the people milling about her. There was a sadness in the air, an urgency that Isa couldn’t understand.
The two of them left the throne room and walked at a quick pace to a smaller room down a side hall behind the throne. Isa nearly screamed when six giants encircled her, two in front, one on each side, and two more behind her, until she realized they must be her guards. She tried to study them without looking too obvious.
They almost resembled the ice sculptures some of the artisans in Destin would create in the town square every winter. Their movements were surprisingly fluid, and their steps as light as one of Ever’s personally trained foot soldiers. Each one stood a full head taller than Launce, though, and they wore no human clothes, but garments that seemed carved into their glass bodies. Their opaque, pupil-less eyes seemed to see everything and nothing at the same time, and each carried a long, sharp glass scythe, as though it were merely an extension of its hands. The gleam of the weapons made Isa shudder, and suddenly wonder if they had disappeared with the spell as well, or if they still lurked in the shadows unseen.
After walking in silence for a few minutes, Brokk at her side, chewing his lip and looking very much as though he might burst, they turned and entered a sunny room made only of glass windows. Though it shared the southern wall with the rest of the building, the other three walls and its ceiling were unfrosted and clear. The walls weren’t smooth either, but made of many six-sided small panes. Together, they played with the room’s reflections, some parts of the wall concave while others were convex. The non-uniformity was strange and beautiful.
The room itself was nearly the size of Isa and Ever’s sleeping chamber at home, but it was stuffed so full of plants and tables and growing tools that one could scarcely move without knocking something over. And it smelled of soil. Isa immediately felt at home in that room of green paned glass. In the great citadel of glass perfection, this room felt homey and lived in.
Isa’s host body knelt near a little lemon tree, which stood in a pot wider than Isa’s shoulders, and lifted one of the tools. She began to prune it methodically. “You know why I called you,” Isa heard herself say in that low, melodic voice. Brokk paused in his pacing briefly, the long, deep purple cloak swishing around his feet, gathering dirt as it scraped the floor. His eyes were wild, and deep bags hung below them. He glanced at her, but remained silent, so she spoke again. “This is not the way the Maker intended us to use our gift.” Her voice was kind, but authoritative.
“Then He meant for us to rest while we watched thousands die before us, simply to placate the vain concerns of mere men?”
“We are not gods, Bronkendol. You are a man, and I am just a woman, the same as them. Possessing the ability to help does not mean we are to possess dominion over all other peoples.”
“You have not seen what I have!” Young Brokk exploded, suddenly so close that Isa could feel his breath. “You sit in this sparkling citadel and see them one at a time, withdrawing for the day when you tire. But I have walked among them. This sickness is only the beginning of their struggles! They fight amongst themselves constantly, killing one other for gain! The poor eat scraps, while the rich flaunt their overabundance. Mothers cannot feed their children, because fathers abandon them...” His voice trailed off as he held his head in his hands. The body Isa occupied rose gracefully to wrap her arms around him, but he shook her off.
“It wasn’t your fault,” she said softly, putting down the tool and standing.
“No, it was yours.”
Isa’s borrowed body drew back as though he’d slapped her, and a sharp pang filled her heart. “You don’t think I mourn the loss of a daughter I never met, and even more, my grandchild?” She shook her head. “Had there been time, I would have brought her here myself. But sometimes the Maker brings them home to Him for reasons we cannot explain, the way He took your father. We are strong, but we cannot prevent death.”
“Because you never tried!” He backed away, glaring at her, his eyes too bright in the reflection of the dancing firelight.
“Bronkendol,” she warned, “You think I saw nothing in the thousand years before you were born? You think I know not suffering? I have seen more anguish than you can ever conceive of! This gift of strength and long life has its blessings, but it also brings trials. Witnessing the hardships of man is part of our lot in life. They suffer, and thus, so do we.” Isa felt the woman tremble. “I told you, the Maker never gave me dominion over the people. He simply told me to help them.”
Young Brokk began to walk away, but stopped when she spoke again.
“I know what you have been doing.” As she said the words, memories that were not her own crowded Isa’s mind. Unfamiliar faces began to appear, begging her to remove something so small Isa had to squint to make them out. Tiny shards of glass, grains the size of sand rested in the corners of their eyes, nearly too small to see. Embedded in the skin, they looked like tiny crystals waiting to catch the light.
Isa gasped, and though she couldn’t see her own body, her hands flew to her eyes. To her horror, she could feel them there in her face as well. Before she could dwell on the horrible discovery, her host spoke again.
“These people are not your puppets! I have seen the glass you have begun to inflict upon the servants. They came to me, begging me to remove them while you were gone! I love you more than anything in the world, my son, but I cannot allow you to finish this.”
“I have inflicted nothing! By doing this, I will save them from themselves!”
“By controlling them, you will take away what makes them most human!” Isa heard herself shout back. They stood there for an immeasurable time, and as they stood, mother and son, Isa felt an unnamable pain fill her body, so intense it was nearly crippling, as though lightning had streaked across her muscles and lit everything on fire. It was a moment before she realized that sorrow was what plagued her, a sadness unfamiliar because it was one she hadn’t yet experienced. Isa suddenly understood that the woman whose eyes through which she now looked was feeling the pain of losing her son. Though he stood before her, they both knew what he was about to do, and that she would be forced and stop him.
“Brokk,” she pleaded, caressing his face with her hand the way she had every day when he was a babe. “I beg you, give yourself time to heal.” As she held his cheek, a raw, vulnerable expression crossed his face, making him look very much like the little boy she loved so much. “Promise me you won’t do this.”
“Father always said that I should be a man of my word,” he finally said.
“Yes,” she whispered. “He did.”
And without a word, he leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek before walking out the door. Tears rushed down her face as she watched him go, and the crippling pain that had begun in her heart moved outward until she was forced to kneel on the dirty ground. She stayed that way for a long time, unable to move.
“Vidar,” she finally called out, her voice so raspy it was nearly inaudible.
An older manservant appeared. “Yes, my lady?”
“Tell the servants to leave. They shall not pack their belongings, nor shall they prepare for a journey. There isn’t time.”
“But my lady.” The man’s cornflower blue eyes were wide with fear. “What about you?”
“I cannot leave my son. But I can stop him.”
As soon as her servant had hastened to obey, the Glass Queen had closed her eyes and raised her hands before her. The power the Maker had given her so long ago still rushed strong through her blood, and though Bronkendol’s power had never equaled hers, he was strong enough that her last spell would require all that she had. Not that it mattered. She would never be able to live in a world without him anyway.
The Glass Queen pulled in a deep, even breath before she began her work. Her hands moved in slow, steady circles. The light they created was nearly invisible at first, but began to glow more and more brightly as she continued. Streaks of violet, like webs, began to fill the air, hanging brilliantly as she wove them together. As she worked, she hummed a haunting melody. It sounded to Isa like a dangerous lullaby.
“Sleep well, my son,” she murmured, as though telling a child goodnight. Then she paused for only a moment before clapping her hands together so hard that it hurt. The web-like streaks collapsed, and when she opened her hands again, a glowing, purple orb rose and floated towards the door. The woman stood and followed it, pausing once before leaving the room to stroke her favorite cherry tree fondly. She would miss this place of sun and life.
As she re-entered the castle and began walking towards her destination, fewer and fewer servants filled the grand halls, and by the time she neared her son’s room, she could feel in her heart that the magnificent glass palace was finally empty. But the only person that mattered, she tried to reassure herself, was still there.
She finally came to a door that was partly ajar. How many happy hours had she spent rocking and singing to him here? After his father had died, how many times had they wept together upon the hearth? She paused at the entrance, running her fingers over the glass carvings of elk and does, the first carvings he had ever attempted, and she smiled as she remembered how proud he was of the does with their stick legs and the elk with their disproportionate antlers.
Inside, the violet orb glowed softly, steadily above the young man. Bronkendol was stretched out upon his bed, his hands peacefully at his sides, the forced sleep making breaths slow and even. She sat on the edge of his bed and gently pushed a copper curl from his face. Then just as she had done countless times all those centuries ago, she sat upon the floor, crossed her arms over the edge his bed, and nestled her head upon them.
“Sweet dreams, my son,” she whispered. “I will be here, just as I have always been.”
