The Witch of the Castle of Glass

It was eerily quiet. The sounds of their footfalls bounced off the narrow walls of the cave, causing drops of moisture to fall from the stalactites high above. It was musty and damp, an unpleasant scent that reminded Milly of the crawl-space beneath her third foster home, accessible through a hidden panel in her tiny closet. She used to hide down there on the worst of nights when he was deep into the bottle. When he came looking for her. Or after he was finished.

Milly grew anxious at the memory, dark thoughts pressing inward, and she released a fourth globe of gentle flame that floated above them, her fire magic and telekinesis working in tandem to light the path forward. She held a fifth one in her palm, pointed at the ground as she stepped over the rocky and uneven path.

“Xavier, where are you?” Milly shouted once more, her voice bouncing off the walls and ceiling as it echoed down the cave before abruptly ending. There was no response.

“How can he even see where he is going?” Calista said gruffly, still angry at Xavier. She rubbed her palms, healed but still tender and prickly.

Milly did not know, but they had seen no sign of him since they entered the cave. Calista could not even find a single track left by him along the path they travelled.

“The echo ended much earlier than before,” Rain observed, “I wonder…”

Rain moved ahead of Milly, gingerly stepping over the uneven ground, and bellowed down the narrow corridor. “Number five! Your order is up!”

Milly and Calista looked at Rain, completely confused, but Rain put up her hand for keep them silent. She listened to the words as they echoed off the walls and came to an abrupt stop a short distance away.

“There is something ahead of us,” Rain concluded, resuming her careful steps.

“Maybe it is Number Five,” teased Calista with a smile.

Rain giggled. “Dad used to put me behind the counter at our butcher shop. He said I had the biggest lungs and most unignorable shout out of everyone in the family.”

Rain’s voice broke slightly at the end. “I miss him. I miss all of them,” she said simply. “Mom, Dad, my eight annoying brothers. All of them. Even Bruce, who teased me relentlessly. We need to win this Contest so we can go back home.”

“We will, Rain,” Calista comforted. “We are going to survive this. Milly and I will get you home to them.”

“I hope so. You must miss your family too, Calista,” Rain said supportively.

“Oh…um… I’ve… been on my own for a while now,” Calista replied hesitantly. “Mom left us when I was three. Dad died while I was in high school. I lived with my aunt and uncle after that, but I have not been back to visit much since I left for the city. We could be here for a year before they would ever notice my absence.”

“I’m sorry Calista. That must have been hard.” Rain said, sympathetically.

Calista did not answer. Their voices had stopped echoing off the cave walls. The passage ahead was deep darkness, the light from Milly’s fire orbs diminishing with each additional step as if the dark was absorbing their fragile light.

Milly reached forward and held Calista’s hand. “In case we get lost,” Milly explained, feeling comforted by Calista’s hand in hers. She could feel where she had healed the cuts across Calista’s palm, gently rubbing across the tender skin. “How is it?”

“It hurts a bit,” Calista said softly, reaching out and grasping Rain’s hand to form a chain, “but it would be much worse without you.”

“I’ll give you another dose of healing when we get back tonight,” Milly promised. Her flames above flickered in the darkness, growing weaker.

“I don’t want to be a burden on you,” Calista worried. “I don’t want to be like Xavier, only using… for… abilities.”

“I want to help you, and I know you are not like that,” Milly said, but something was wrong. Not only were their voices no longer echoing, but Calista’s response had sounded fractured, as if her words were being absorbed into the stones around them.

“Where are…harder to see…” came Rain’s voice, but it sounded muffled and increasingly distant, despite their linked hands and closeness.

“Rain…. what do….see ahead…” Calista asked, growing anxious. Her voice now sounded distant and hollow.

Milly could feel Calista’s hand in hers, but her hand was growing numb. The lights above had dimmed so much that she could hardly see the walls on either side or either of her friends.

“…head…can’t…. go back…” Milly thought the voice might have been Calista, though it was too distorted to tell. She was growing anxious. She tried to pull on Calista’s arm to guide them back, but she could not feel it there anymore.

“…feeling…gone…where are you?” came Rain’s voice. Or was that Calista? Milly was having a tough time telling them apart now.

“Why is my hand so numb?” Milly thought. She opened her hand, flexing her fingers to restart her blood flow, and reached out to Calista.

Her grasp fell on empty air.

“Calista? Rain?” Milly called, but her words were soaked into the walls like a sponge. Milly turned around, but all she could see was darkness. Her flames above were so diminished that she could no longer see her feet, and no longer knew which way was forward and which behind. Her heart started beating rapidly, but even the sound of it pounding in her ears was lost in the void she was standing in. She felt claustrophobic, feeling as if the walls were closing in around here. She tried to scream, but even the scream was soaked up by the silence.

Then, when she was about to collapse in a heap of fear, she saw a light flickering in the darkness. A blue candle flame, dancing in the distance.

And she headed towards the light.

* * *

“Ms. Desjarlais, this would be a very risky loan for us. The reality is most restaurants, especially coffee shops, go bankrupt within their first year. And it is the bank that is left holding the bill.”

“Wha…. what?” Rain mumbled, confused.

Rain found herself sitting in a small office, industrial furniture and frosted glass walls giving off both a welcoming and imposing aesthetic. She was wearing her nicest dress, clutching a folder stuffed with her recipes and financial calculations.

“I know this place…” she muttered. “Wasn’t I just…what was I doing?”

“Are you feeling well, Ms. Desjarlais? We can do this another time if you are ill.” The woman across the desk was elderly, skinny as a rake, with thick glasses and a kindly demeanor.

“That’s right…” Rain whispered to herself, “she is my dad’s banker. Mrs. Greene. Dad set this meeting up. I have got to convince her to give me this loan to start Rain On My Parade. It’s my last chance. So why so I feel so…”

“Rain,” Mrs. Greene said, sounding concerned, “I can give Hank a call to pick you up if…”

“No!” Rain said suddenly, then laughed, “Sorry, just…I guess I’m just nervous Mrs. Greene. Opening this coffee shop is my dream. I have spent ten years fighting for it. I have saved every penny, and I have everything planned out.” She held up her folder to show the neatly sorted paperwork.

“Rain, you barely have enough to cover six month’s rent and basic supplies. You have no personal collateral. Yet you are here asking for fifty thousand dollars. Even if I could give it to you, is this really what you want? To set up shop in some third-rate office tower? I know your father wants you to join the family business. Meet for Meat is thriving, and I know he needs the help as he gets older.”

Rain shook her head. She wanted to follow her own dream, not adopt the dreams of her parents. She loved tea and coffee, experimenting with her own brews and watching that first sip draw a smile out of even the most gloomy of customers. And she was good at it. No, she was great at it.

“I want this, Mrs. Greene. I have never wanted anything more in my entire life,” Rain insisted resolutely.

Mrs. Greene sighed. “Well, you cannot blame me for trying. Look, Rain, I will be honest with you. No bank will touch you. You are a smart young woman with a dream, a dream you believe in, but the numbers don’t match up. It is too large of a risk.”

Rain felt her heart sink, feeling her dreams shatter with every word.

“However,” continued Mrs. Greene after a reluctant pause. She pulled out a contract, and Rain recognized her father’s signature at the bottom of the page. “Your father said if I was not able to convince you to do the sensible thing, that he would put your family’s butcher’s shop up as collateral.”

Rain swallowed. “Dad…did that for me?”

“He did. I advised against it. It is a huge risk for him. Are you sure you want to take it Rain? If you do, it will have ramifications far beyond the four walls of Rain On My Parade.”

Rain stared at the contract. Her hopes and dreams lay within those pages. A thousand thoughts ran through her mind, weighing the possibilities and risks. Her past decade of planning had led up to this moment. Yet, would she really put their entire family’s livelihood at risk just for her own dreams?

And what was that tugging at her subconscious, as if she had made this choice before.

She looked up from the page, and was drawn to the painting behind Mrs. Greene. It was surreal in its detail. A cave pitch blackness, forked in two. One path leading to a shining field. The other to a graveyard. Its image was haunting, making the hair on her arms stand on end.

Why couldn’t she remember?

“Just take the deal, Rain,” she scolded herself. “Dad…dad wouldn’t have bet the family livelihood without trusting me, right? He believes in me. Just sign. That little space in the Castle of Glass might not be much but…”

The Castle of Glass. There was something in the name. Something dangerous.

Mrs. Greene reached for the contract, starting to pull it away. “If you do not go to the Castle of Glass, Rain, you can go back to your family’s butcher shop. You may not achieve your dreams, but you will be safe. Happy. Isn’t that what you want? To be safe? To be back home?”

She let her gaze fall from the painting to Mrs. Green. Only it wasn’t Mrs. Green anymore. In her place sat a young man, fair and tall with curly blond hair. He wore a red and gold tunic, and gave off a faint, radiant light. He appeared regal, perhaps more than regal, imposing yet curious.

Her memories flooded back like an oncoming tide. Milly. Calista. The Tower. The God Contest. Her eyes grew wide as she stared down at the contract before her. The man handed her a pen. No, he had handed her a dagger, made from black obsidian with an ornate handle of bronze, a hundred minuscule carvings of various plants and animals engraved in silver.

How could she have forgotten it all?

The young man leaned forward, until he was eye to eye with Rain.

“Your dreams come in many forms, and it may not be the dream you expect to achieve. When dreams must change, some run from the change, and some embrace it. I offer you a choice, Rain Desjarlais. Sign the contract and accept the new dream. Return to the God Contest. Or walk away. Give up on the dream and live your days safe in your father’s butcher shop, content but unfulfilled.” The man’s voice was deep and melodic, with power that transcended the world she knew.

She stared silently at the contract for a long time, the dagger clutched tightly in her hand. Scenarios played through her mind, snippets of the lives she could lead. She should walk away. Every instinct within her told her to walk away. To return to her family, to live a comfortable life. She would get married, have kids, grow old. Cut and sell meat day in and day out until she no longer could, then let the slow march of age take her away. Her dream long forgotten.

Rain raised her head from the page, starting the man in the eyes. “What is the point of living as a shadow of myself?” Rain asked. “I could live to be a century old, and still not have truly lived a single day.”

Rain placed the dagger on her palm and made a shallow cut. Her blood dripped down onto the contract. “I choose to follow my dream.”

The man chuckled, holding up a ballpoint pen with a sly smile. “Ink would have sufficed, but I appreciate your commitment to the drama.”

He placed a long, bony finger in the space next to where her blood fell. “I, Manifestation of Lugh Samildànach, of the Celtic pantheon, he who is skilled in many arts, God of skills, trade, and merchants, hereby witness and bind your choice.” The words appeared on the page as he spoke, in golden lettering that flared like the sun. As he finished, the contract dissolved into a fine dust and blew into the painting behind the Manifestation, though Rain could not see which of the two paths the particles had taken.

“Your decision is made, Rain Desjarlais. You are bound to the God Contest until you see its end, or an end finds you. I leave you with this advice. Those who last in the Contest are those that embrace both the potential that it brings, and the potential they already have inside. Meld the two together, and you should find victory in the end. Never be afraid to follow your dreams, wherever it may take you."

“Thank you,” Rain said, handing back the dagger in her hands.

He smiled. “You have marked it as your own, Rain Desjarlais. Take it with you, and may it serve you well in the challenges that are to come.”

The Manifestation of Lugh Samildànach then stared up at the sky, and his voice boomed out into the ether. “The decision is made. This one shall fight to be a champion. May she find herself, at the end of the Contest, victorious.”

There was a blinding white light, and Rain’s world faded away.