The Witch of the Castle of Glass

“Why is your hair so short?” Flutterwing asked curiously, standing on her tiptoes to inspect the frayed ends of Calista’s crimson hair.

“Umm…I cut it,” answered Calista awkwardly, taking another bite of roasted river trout. “I wanted a fresh start, I guess.”

She had been fielding constant questions from the children for the past hour. Whitewing giggled and gave Calista a subtle smile. The smile of a mother who knew exactly how Calista felt but who was enjoying herself too much to intervene.

“You can cut you hair?” Flutterwing gasped in awe, clutching at her own bright red hair. “Mom, can I cut my hair? Can I? I want to look like Calista!”

“When you are older, honey,” Whitewing responded, immune to her daughter’s pout. “Fairy hair does not grow back once cut, so you can only make that decision when you come of age. It is our way.”

“I’m going to cut it short like Calista,” mumbled Flutterwing, crossing her arms and puffing out her cheeks to look defiant.

“Can I play with your spear?” croaked Tentongue, eyeing the weapon at Calista’s side. He reached down to grab it without waiting for Calista’s response.

Calista moved without thinking, grabbing Tentongue’s wrist before it reached the spear. Tentongue looked up at her, wide-eyed and frightened.

“Tentongue!” Whitewing scolded, “I told you before that such objects are not toys.”

Calista released Tentongue’s wrist, feeling ashamed by her overreaction. She looked away from Tentongue and Whitewing, towards the river, so she did not need to see the hurt in Tentongue’s eyes. Yet her hand still hovered over her spear as if expecting trouble. A habit she had developed the day she had sensed The Dragon of Endless Shadows.

“Sorry, Ms. Calista,” muttered Tentongue, rubbing his wrist to sooth it.

“It’s fine, Tentongue,” said Calista, drawing her gaze back to the child. “I’m sorry I hurt your wrist.”

“I’ll be okay,” Tentongue said, then quickly shook away his shame and looked up at Calista. “You are very strong.”

Calista gave a sly smile. “Stronger than I used to be,” she said.

Her eyes drifted across the camp, to a simple tent, where a team of fairies had been healing Milly for the past three hours. Milly had fallen unconscious a few minutes after the Elder’s saliva had taken effect and they had moved her beneath one of the tents to keep her out of the sun. Calista had tried to stay at her side, but despite her protests the fairy women had shuffled Calista out of the tent once Milly was unconscious, as if they were nurses in an emergency room.

“But not strong enough. I need to get stronger,” Calista continued, hand resting on her spear. “If we are to survive the contest.”

“What contest?” asked Tentongue curiously.

“A contest, stupid. Like when we play swimball,” teased Flutterwing, looking over at Calista for her support.

“Like the tournament at the Gathering?” Tentongue exclaimed excitedly. “Are you playing in the swimball tournament, Calista?”

Calista did not know how to respond to that. “Umm…no. It’s not like that. It’s something else. It’s the God Contest. It is… well, all of this. Everything.”

Calista waved her hands at everything around them.

The children looked confused. So did Whitewing.

“You’ve… really never heard of it?” Calista asked, dumbfounded. Oracle’s memory orb had shown Milly and Rain that this world had been created for the God Contest. She had assumed all the creatures in this world were aware of their role within it.

“I’m afraid not,” said Whitewing apologetically. “The fairy tribes have roamed these lands for many generations, but I have never heard a story told of a… God Contest. Is this God Contest your religion? Are you missionaries?”

“No. Definitely not,” Calista said emphatically. “It’s… complicated, I guess.”

How could she tell them that everything they knew, and everything they were, had been created by the Gods as part of a death game?

“Well, perhaps there will be stories told of this God Contest at the annual gathering. That is where we travel now.”

“A gathering?” Calista asked curiously. “Where?”

“West!” Tentongue recited from memory, “But only the Elder know…”

“Tentongue, honey,” Whitewing interrupted, sweetly yet sternly. “They are outsiders. You know the rules.”

Tentongue slapped his webbed hand over his mouth, looking mortified.

“Sorry, Calista,” Whitewing explained. “The location of the fairy gathering is a closely held secret. It is a sacred place where fairy tribes from across the world gather every year. If a wolf clan learned of its location, it would be the end of our people.”

“I understand wanting to protect those you love,” Calista said. Her gaze was drawn again to Milly, still asleep under the care of the fairy healers. One of the five fairies tending to her, a purple haired woman, stepped away from their circle, soaked with sweat and swaying after hours of healing. Another fairy stepped in to take her place. Calista felt a pain in her heart when, in that moment, she glimpsed Milly’s arm, still covered in a deep red patchwork of burns and scabs.

“She risked her life to save our tribe and survived injuries that would have felled any of us,” Whitewing said, floating over to Calista and placing a tiny palm on her shoulder. “She is a remarkable woman.”

“The most remarkable woman I have ever met,” Calista said proudly.

“You are lucky to have her as your mate.”

“What? I mean, her and I aren’t… well, we are but… I mean, I feel that way, but I don’t know if she… and so much has happened,” Calista stammered, caught off guard. She took a deep breath to settle her beating heart. “We have only been… together… for less than a week. We just started dating. If it could be called dating. How does someone go about dating in a death game, anyways?”

“Then she is not your mate?” Whitewing asked, confused.

“Yes, she is!” Calista declared without thinking, then started back peddling. “I mean, I want to be if she wants to be. But is it too soon to call her my girlfriend?”

“Your ways are strange,” chuckled Whitewing. “They seem to cause you much confusion and doubt.”

Calista gave a huff of agreement, taking a bite of trout to cover her embarrassment.

“In the fairy tribes, we are assigned mates by the Elders at our sixth gathering,” Whitewing said, as if she were explaining it to a child. “We stay with parents until our tenth gathering, and during our eleventh gathering the males join their assigned mate’s tribe.”

Whitewing patted the top of Tentongue’s head. “Tentongue here was promised to a beautiful young fairy named Passiflora last year. It was a lucky match. She’s the grandchild of the Elder of the Walking Palms, one of the more prestigious jungle fairy tribes. His pairing will create an alliance between the Walking Palms and our tribe, the Tribe of the Lost Foal, which will bring us prosperity when it is so desperately needed.”

“And I learn who my mate will be at this year’s gathering,” Flutterwing said excitedly. “Mom says tradition means he will be from the mountain tribes, but I’m hoping he will be of the sea tribes. I’ve heard stories of how they glide through the waters on the backs of dolphins!”

“So you understand why the gathering is so important to us,” Whitewing concluded. “And why we protect it.”

“But also why it is important that we reach the gathering safely,” came the Elder’s voice from behind them.

Calista turned and saw Elder Twotongue with Rain at his side. Rain was jamming a cork into a glass bottle filled with a clear sticky liquid. Calista chucked. It looked like Rain was successful in convincing the Elder to give up a sample of his saliva for her growing collection.

Elder Twotongue sat next to Calista with a thump and a deep grunt. He flicked his long tongue towards the pile of roasted trout, like a frog catching a fly, and swallowed it whole. “The wolves know where we are. They will be hunting us, and I fear we will not make it to the gathering without help.”

The Elder paused thoughtfully, then continued with a hefty sigh. “I must beg of you a favor I have no right to ask. I want you join us in our journey, to be our protectors, until we reach the gathering.”

“Elder!” protested Whitewing, “I know we are desperate, but this goes against everything you have taught us. No outsider can know the location of the gathering. I would violate the ancient ways.”

“I know this, Whitewing,” the Elder said impatiently. “The Elder Council will send me into exile as punishment, where I shall not survive for long. But look around at our once vibrant tribe. How many have we lost this year to the wolves? How many were taken to their slave pits? How many have we sent to greet our ancestors? Without the help of Calista and her clan, we will not reach the end of our journey. So I will accept the punishment willingly if it means the tribe will live.”

“Elder,” started Calista sympathetically, her heart twisting in her chest. “I… I feel for your plight. I really do. But we are on a journey of our own, and the lives of our coworkers depend on us reaching our destination within a few days.”

Calista wanted to help them. She had grown to like Whitewing and her children and the thought of them being taken by the wolves was heartbreaking. Yet to join them would be to abandon Elmer and the others to another Event. How many would die if they did not succeed?

“These… coworkers? They are your tribe?” the Elder asked.

“Sort of,” Calista answered, at the same time Rain gave an emphatic “Yes”. The Elder looked at both of them with surprise.

“It’s a long story,” Calista said. “It is not a tribe like you know. But there are those we care about who would be in great danger if we fail.”

The Elder sighed deeply. “I suppose the offer of payment would not be able to sway your decision? We have a few artifacts that have been passed down through the clan that I would offer.”

Rain placed a kind hand on the Elder’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Twotongue.”

“Your leader is wise to value the lives of her tribe above all others,” the Elder croaked, his voice thick with emotion. “I will respect her decision.”

“I am not their leader,” Calista protested. “What have you been telling him, Rain?”

“Not much,” said Rain slyly. “Just stories. Of the woman who was the first to feed our people. Who helped found the Freelancers to fight against tyranny and oppression. Who nearly died defending her people at the Battle of Tower Beach.”

The Elder gave a sympathetic smile. “True leaders are forged by their actions. It is not a mantle you place upon yourself, but one others place upon you. And once they have, it does not matter if you want it or not. It is yours to wear.”

The Elder snatched another trout with his tongue, swallowing it in one bite. “Now, Rain says you search for this Arena of yours, but you do not know where it is. Our people have wandered these plains for generations. Perhaps we have come across it.”

Calista opened her inventory and pulled out the map she had purchased from Tutoria. She ignored the amazed gasps from Flutterwing and Tentongue, who started to lob questions at her until their mother intervened. She carefully unfurled the map along the ground and pointed at the Arena icon in the prairies. “We are headed here. It must be in this general area, but we do not know where. We need to arrive with enough time to find it and complete it, or else…”

Calista looked up at Elder Twotongue. The frog’s eyes were wide with shock as he stared at the map.

“This…this is impossible,” the Elder stuttered. “Why would you be headed there? There is nothing there but…” The Elder trailed off, deep in thought.

“But what? What’s wrong, Twotongue,” Rain asked anxiously.

The Elder snapped his fingers at Tentongue. “Tentongue, bring the scroll from my tent.” Tentongue rushed off, and a few moments later returned clutching a scroll carefully wrapped within soft fur and hide.

The Elder carefully withdrew the scroll, unrolling it below Calista’s map. The scroll was completely blank, and Calista looked up at him curiously.

“You must swear never to reveal to anyone what I am about to show you,” the Elder said, his voice laced with a gravity that called for nothing less than Calista’s immediate agreement. The Elder placed his webbed hand on the centre of the scroll, closed his eyes, and muttered a command.

From beneath his webbed hand, dark charcoal lines began to trace across the page, twisting and turning to create grasses, groves, lakes, and canyons. Soon, the scroll was covered in landmarks, creating a detailed map of the nomadic path of their tribe. But there was one marking that drew Calista’s attention.

“This is the location of the gathering,” said the Elder, following Calista’s gaze. It was in the exact location where the Arena was marked on Calista’s map.

“Then the fairy gathering and the God Contest Arena… are in the same place?” Calista said, shaking her head with disbelief. This could not be a coincidence. She could feel the AI Director’s strings pulling at them.

“There is no arena at the gathering,” the Elder replied, puzzled. “It is a place of peace and plenty, hidden from those who would do us harm. There are no structures save those we erect that year, for we seek to leave no trace that others may find.”

“Perhaps the Arena is nearby?” Calista suggested, circling her finger around the broader area. “

“There are ancient and grand structures that can be found throughout this world. Forbidden places where our people do not enter. But none are known to be near the gathering,” the Elder said doubtfully.

“It may be hidden from view,” Calista said excitedly. “We have abilities that your people do not, which may reveal its location to us.”

“Perhaps,” said the Elder, taking his hand off the scroll. One-by-one, the landmarks disappeared, until the scroll was blank again. “Does this mean you will reconsider my offer?”

“We are heading the same direction,” Calista nodded, rolling up her own map. “If your people can travel fast, we will join you. We still need to find and win the Arena, and the clock is ticking.”

“We can travel quickly when we must,” the Elder promised, standing up and walking over to his tent. “We shall carry only what is essential. And, of course, I shall carry the reward I promised you, which shall be yours when we arrive safely at the gathering.”

“A reward isn’t necessary, Elder. We…” Calista started to protest but stopped when the Elder held up a milky white orb the size of his head, colorful light flickering below its surface. “Rain…is that…?”

“One of Oracle’s memory orbs,” Rain said, shocked. “It looks identical to the one Milly and I found on the beach.”

The Elder looked at Calista expectedly, and Calista gave him a slight smile.

“We will get you to the gathering safely. When do we leave?”

* * *

Xavier had given them a chance. These fairy women and frog men. When he dropped from the jungle trees into their encampment, landing in the midst of some kind of ritual, he had merely demanded they turn over any magical items in their possession. He was clearly superior to them, yet they had refused and pelted him with stones and spit. So he did it the hard way.

The encampment went silent now as Xavier’s blade pierced the heart of the final creature, a frogman with a pink scar across his eye. He waited until it gasped its final breath before pulling his blade from its corpse and letting it fall to the ground with the others. The smell of death permeated the moist jungle area around him, making his nose crinkle in disgust.

“There, Xavier. Wasn’t that easier than making demands? I told you they would not listen,” the Ring of Cizen spoke into Xavier’s mind with a smugness that made Xavier angry.

“It was too easy,” Xavier spat, cleaning his blade on the yellow dress of one of the fairy women. “These creatures hardly put up a fight and provided very little experience. I did not even level up. This detour of yours was a waste of time.”

Cizen did not respond. Xavier could still feel the ring’s presence in the back of his mind, lurking in his dark thoughts. Waiting. Watching. As if it was judging him. For the hundredth time, Xavier contemplated throwing the ring away. He could feel its corrupting influence growing within him. Yet the power it gave him was too great to ignore.

Xavier looked down at the fairy woman’s corpse, and reminded himself that this was just a video game. He always enjoyed playing the renegade in these types of games, and didn’t the ring give him the power to follow that path?

He would do what was necessary to survive this God Contest.

Xavier forgot his doubts and started moving through the camp, haphazardly tossing aside pots and blankets, carved toys and tattered clothing. He pocketed a few small gems but grew increasingly irritated at the lack of valuables these creatures carried.

As he reached the final tent, he heard a slight whimper from inside.

“Did I miss one?” Xavier thought, grasping his sword and grabbing the woven grass canopy. He yanked and threw it aside, ready to strike down the creature within.

A small fairy girl huddled over the body of an elderly frog, shivering with fear. She clutched a cylinder composed of vines and moss protectively to her chest. The body of the elder had been carefully washed and decorated with giant red and purple flowers, matching those that adorned the fairy girl’s outfit.

“I guess I interrupted a funeral,” said Xavier, putting away his sword. The girl was no threat to him, and the tiny bit of experience she would provide would not be worth cleaning his sword again.

“I do enjoy the living’s rituals around death,” commented the Ring of Cizen with amusement. “It is pointless, of course. This creature’s soul now resides in Xibalba, the land of the dead. But it is amusing to watch them mourn.”

“Shut up, Cizen,” Xavier spat as he reached over the elder’s body and grasped the tube in the girl’s arms. She tried to resist, but Xavier pulled it from her grip, causing her to fall forward onto the body of the elder.

“Please… grandfather left that for me to care for,” whispered the child, trying to be brave.

Xavier ignored her and ripped open the protective casing. An ancient scroll fell out, and Xavier grew excited. Could it be a new talent? Or a map to treasure? Was this detour going to be worth it after all?

He carefully unrolled the scroll, and his face fell.

“Blank? Your grandfather left you a blank piece of paper?” Xavier said in disbelief. He threw the paper at the girl. “I don’t think so. Show me how it works.” Xavier ran his thumb across the hilt of his sword. He did not need to add the words “or else.”

The fairy girl looked at the body of her grandfather, then placed the scroll on the ground. Her hands were shaking so much that the scroll looked like it was blowing in the wind. She whispered under her breath, and lines began to form on the scroll, spreading from her fingertips to its four corners.

The map to the fairy gathering was revealed to Xavier, and his excitement was renewed. He knew exactly where his next destination would be.

He reached down and snatched the scroll from the girl, but the map disappeared the moment her fingers left the page.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” muttered Xavier, glancing down at the girl. He sighed with frustration. He was not willing to let this opportunity pass him by. “Tell me your name, monster.”

The fairy girl hesitated for a moment, then stared up at Xavier defiantly, trying to hide her fear. “I am Passiflora, granddaughter of the Elder of the Walking Palms.” Her hands rested on the elder frog, but her eyes did not leave Xavier. Her grandfather would want her to be strong at this moment. The jungle winds blew through her long purple and white ponytail and across her similarly patterned dress, giving her strength. “And I am not a monster!”

“Well, Passiflora,” Xavier announced, opening his inventory, and removing a length of rope. “I am in a bind. I don’t like traveling with others, particularly with monsters like you, but I cannot read the map without you. So…”

Xavier threw the rope around Passiflora’s shoulders like a lasso, pulling it tight across her chest.

“… you will be coming with me,” Xavier finished.

Passiflora’s bravery broke in an instant, and she struggled to escape. Her feet flailed as she tried to run, her hands clawing at the tightened knot in the rope. Xavier held fast, with little effort, watching her. As he stood amongst the bodies of her kin, a small part of him wondered if this was a line he really wanted to cross.

“She is just a monster in the game,” whispered the Ring of Cizen in his mind. “A means to an end. As were her kin. Do not let false ethics hold you back from achieving greatness.”

Xavier scowled at the ring in irritation, but he felt his doubts leave his mind. This creature was not real. She was just part of a quest with rewards at its end.

Passiflora stopped trying to escape and collapsed on the ground, exhausted and in tears. Xavier reached over and picked up the tiny fairy girl, hoisting her over his shoulder with ease.

He started walking west. Towards the prairies. Towards the gathering.

* * *

Cizen removed the ivory circlet from around his decaying skull, severing his connection to the God Contest. The effort of accessing the Contest drained him to his core, and he could manage no more than a few minutes at a time. He could feel the Nexus fighting against his intrusion, as a body would fight an infection. It took all his strength to stay hidden beyond its sight.

And the Nexus was not the only entity fighting against him. He knew the AI Director could sense the vulnerability in its own system and was searching its world for the source of the intrusion. But it was searching blind.

“Oracle, you fool. Your creation – your artificial child - will never find me. It will forever be blind to my presence,” whispered Cizen with satisfaction, “Just like it was designed to be.”

Cizen spun the circlet around his bony finger, then set it gently on its pedestal to let it recharge. It would be another day before he was strong enough to enter the Contest again. But he had sent Xavier down a path of his choosing. A path that would slowly strip the remaining humanity from him, leaving only the killer. The monster. The pawn.

“And if he does not work out,” Cizen whispered to himself, tapping the circlet. “I have found another.”

“CIZEN!” came the voice of the High Lord from the depths of Godhome. “YOUR STENCH IS REQUIRED AT THE FESTIVITIES!”

Cizen grew agitated. He could hear the madness in His voice. It grew stronger every day. How much longer would it be before the High Lord succumbed completely?

Cizen left his hidden chambers, striding through the halls of Godhome until he reached the High Lord’s Chambers, a massive golden hall where his fellow Gods, drunk in their madness, watched the God Contest unfolding.

“CIZEN! ATTEND ME NOW!” came the maddening bellow of the High Lord from high above the festivities.

“When my plans come to fruition, High Lord, you shall no longer command me,” whispered Cizen with menace. “You shall no longer command anyone.”

* * *