The Wicked Will Rise

SIX


I opened my eyes. I think. Anyway, I was awake, and I was back in my room in the monkeys’ tree house village. Ozma was crouched over me, staring into my face with exactly the same look of intensity that she’d worn in my dream. Somewhere behind her pupils, I saw the glowing embers of what had recently been flames. Light streamed through the windows, casting her in an almost silhouette.

She reached out her hand for mine.

“Rise,” she said.

That one word startled me so badly that I almost flipped out of the hammock. But then the princess stuck out her tongue and blew me a raspberry, and when she started to laugh I felt my heart slowing back to a normal rate.

I was imagining things. It had only been a dream. Right? I put my hand in Ozma’s and let her help me up, trying to quiet my mind. It was only a dream, I told myself again.

But what if it had been something more? And what had it meant? Most importantly, why did I feel almost disappointed that it was over now? What did it say about me that I had felt myself approaching something truly evil, and that even though I’d had every opportunity to back away, I’d taken a step closer, and then another?

Some part of me had even wanted it. Maybe. I decided, for now, to just not think about that.

Standing up, I still felt a little unsteady on my feet from the day before, but the sleep had done me good and the soreness in my arms and legs was mostly gone.

Last night, I’d been too tired to really examine our quarters, but now I had a chance to look around. There really wasn’t a lot to see: I spotted a folding screen in the corner, the kind people coyly stepped behind in old movies to change. A large wooden bowl sat on a wooden pedestal by the window. It was filled with bubbling water, and a few large, pink blossoms floated on the surface. I walked over and splashed the water across my face gratefully. It tingled in a pleasant way against my skin before evaporating.

I was glad that there was no mirror here—I didn’t want to know how terrible I looked. Sure, I’d taken a quick dip in a stream yesterday when we’d been trudging through the forest with the monkeys, just to get the Lion’s blood off me, but I had a feeling that I was still a total wreck. How could I not be? Before last night, I hadn’t slept since the night before Dorothy’s big party.

Still, the water was refreshing, with a vaguely perfumed smell, and it felt good to wash up. I cupped another handful and pulled it through my hair, feeling days’ worth of dirt and grime coming off on my hands.

“So what the hell do we do next?” I found myself asking aloud. I wasn’t sure if I was talking to Ozma or to myself. I wasn’t expecting Ozma to be paying attention or to understand what I was saying, but at least she was someone to talk to. Look, I’d grown up with a mom who was on another planet most of the time, so I was used to having conversations with people who weren’t really listening. It was no big deal.

Anyway, after everything Ozma and I had been through together, I was starting to feel weirdly close to her. No, she probably wasn’t the friend I would have chosen for myself, but she was something. And with Star gone and Nox missing, friends were in short supply these days.

“We can’t stay here forever,” I said, taking advantage of her willingness to at least pretend to listen. “But I don’t know where to go next either. Do we go back to the city? Do we look for Dorothy? Do I try to find the Scarecrow so I can cut out his brains?” I shuddered a little at the thought of that one. I knew I had to do it eventually, but I really didn’t feel like it. “Every time I turn around, someone’s telling me to do something different; every time I sit down to think, there’s another mystery that I can’t solve. I just feel stuck.”

Ozma looked at me expectantly, and suddenly I found myself saying the thing I hadn’t even admitted to myself.

“I have to find Nox,” I said. “I know it makes no sense—he’s the last one I should be worrying about. But he’s the only one I trust.”

That’s the thing about talking to someone you’re not sure is really listening. Sometimes you end up saying stuff you don’t know you mean until it just comes spilling out.

But Ozma didn’t look surprised. Instead, she gave me a sly wink. “Nox Nox!” Ozma said.

Something about the way she said it piqued my interest. And after all, I was starting to think that maybe I was underestimating her. She had seemed to know that the magic was coming back to Oz. She had known the Lion was coming for us. Underneath all her idiotic chatter, it was becoming clear that she had some hidden depths.

“What about him?” I asked. Ozma just rolled her eyes and scowled at me like I was the dumbest person in the world. “Who’s there?” she said in frustration.

My shoulders drooped and I let out a groan, suddenly realizing exactly how much I’d hoped she’d been about to say something that was actually useful. “Whatever.” I scooped the filthy dress I’d discarded the night before up from the floor, and I was just about to put it on when I noticed that the monkeys had left me a clean outfit, neatly folded on a table by the door. Maybe Queen Lulu liked me more than she had let on, but more likely, she just didn’t want me walking around her village looking like a bum.

Thankfully, considering the monkeys’ normal fashion sense, they had left me a fairly sensible outfit. Of course, when I say sensible, I mean relatively speaking. As I went through the pile beside the bed, I discovered that they had decided to outfit me in a faded pink T-shirt that read Kiss My Grits! in chartreuse script across the chest and a pair of cut-off denim short shorts. Okay, it wasn’t quite my style, but at least my hosts hadn’t decided I’d look stunning in a nun’s habit or an oversize baby’s onesie and a pacifier.

Just having a fresh shirt was almost good enough for me, but it wasn’t the best part. When I got to the bottom of the stack, I almost jumped for joy. Of all the wondrous things I’d encountered in Oz, this might have been the most miraculous of all: a pair of clean underwear. I didn’t even care that they were leopard-print granny panties—I still felt like I’d won the lottery as I stepped behind the screen in the corner to put them on.

“How stupid am I?” I asked myself aloud as I changed. I was still thinking about Nox. “How is it possible that I’m here in the middle of a magical war, supposedly saving the world—or the kingdom, or whatever I’m supposedly saving—and all I can think about is some dumb boy? Tracking him down should be the last thing on my mind.”

I stepped out from behind the screen to find Ozma regarding me with amusement.

“What?” I asked indignantly. “You don’t like my outfit? Look, not everyone can pull off the nightgown and tiara look as well as you can, okay?”

Ozma gave a little pirouette, sending her flowing white gown billowing, and I giggled. The girl was crazy, no question, but I had to admit that she was growing on me.

“Hey,” I said, suddenly curious. “You don’t by any chance keep a giant pair of wings somewhere under there, do you?”

She flapped her arms up and down and hopped on one foot, but no wings sprouted.

So much for that idea. “It was worth a shot, right?” I shrugged, then returned to the subject of myself. Because, really, why not? “The thing is that I don’t even really like him,” I mumbled. “I just think he might be able to . . .” I trailed off without finishing my sentence, suddenly embarrassed that I was trying to get away with such an outrageous lie. Of course I liked him. I didn’t want to find him because he could help; I wanted to find him because I had a crush on him. There, I said it.

I know, I know. How stupid am I?

From the way Ozma was looking at me now, it seemed she wasn’t really buying what I was selling either. She was gazing at me with a deep, bemused kindness that was also a little skeptical, and I had to wonder, yet again, if maybe she actually understood what I’d been saying all along. I stepped closer to her.

“What is it about you?” I asked. She replied by bobbling her neck and twirling her finger at her temple.

Maybe it was because of my dream, but this time I wasn’t quite convinced by her look-how-dumb-I-am act. Was that what the dream had been trying to tell me? That Ozma and her secrets were the key to everything? Or at least the key to something?

I looked her up and down carefully, trying to find a clue. This time, I found one.

At first, it was just a glimpse of something overlaid on top of reality. It was like a double vision, another image that was barely there, hovering around the princess’s body. It reminded me of what I’d seen, for a moment, when I’d defeated the Lion, just before I’d taken his tail. When that had happened, I hadn’t had time to really think about it; I’d been acting totally on instinct. This time I tried to really focus on what I was seeing.

Again, I had to wonder how all this magic was coming so easily to me. Was the fact that Oz was getting its magic back just making it easier to take ahold of, or was I actually finding some kind of power of my own? And if I was, was that a good thing or a bad thing?

As I let myself become distracted by questions, I felt the magic slipping through my grasp. I clenched my fists and tried harder, and then it was gone entirely. But I could tell I was on to something—after all, the instinct I’d had about the Lion’s tail had been right. I wasn’t about to give up now. I narrowed my eyes and tried again.

One of the first lessons Gert had taught me about magic, in the long series of barely successful lessons she’d given me before she’d died, is that it’s hard to hold. Magic is tricky; it will do what it wants to, but not if you boss it around. You have to ask nicely. You have to think it’s the magic’s idea instead of yours. Kind of like Sandie Charlemagne, my old manager at Dusty’s Diner back in Kansas.

It was a funny connection to make, but thinking of Sandie made me think of quicksand, and how the more you struggle the faster you sink, and that made me think about those Chinese finger traps you get when you’re a little kid—the ones you can only get out of if you stop trying. Then I thought of the soap bubble trick from my mother that had helped me fall asleep last night.

I decided to just let all my thoughts drift away, and as my mind began to clear, the glowing aura around Ozma got brighter and clearer while, at the same time, the princess herself became more and more vague.

It wasn’t just Ozma either. Everything in the room was coming in and out, like when you’re driving and the radio reception changes depending on whether you’re going up or down a hill. Why not try adjusting the dial? I thought. And it worked.

When I shifted my attention in one direction, the glowing got stronger while everything else faded away. Everything that had been in the room was still there, except that it was made out of a strange, glittering thread. The screen, the wash basin, the sleeping hammocks, Ozma. Even my own body. All of it was just energy, and all of it was connected to each other.

I knew, on some level, that what I was seeing was the real Oz. I had pulled back the curtain and stepped through it, but instead of finding a humbug wizard, I’d found the controls to the whole operation—and it turned out the whole operation was made out of what appeared to be magical silly string.

Well, that makes it sound kind of lame. It wasn’t lame. It was literally the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. So beautiful that I had to try to touch it: I just reached out in front of me and tried to grasp one of the stray filaments floating randomly in the air. It swayed a little, but it didn’t really move, and my fingers passed right through it. When I tried to grab a fistful of them, I came up empty. But I found that if I sort of brushed my fingers against them, they responded to my touch as long as I didn’t push too hard. And if I was patient enough, I was able to move them around.

It was weird and very cool, but I didn’t really see the point until I noticed that the wayward strings of magic that had seemed to be floating randomly through the air—the ones I’d been playing with—were actually slowly gravitating toward something. And that something was Ozma.

They were flowing into her, sort of, but they were also twisting around her body, which was the brightest thing in the whole room. When I looked closely, I saw that she was just one big knot of magic.

And what do you do with knots? Well, duh. You untie them.

I didn’t want to hurt her. I just wanted to see what would happen. And so I hovered my fingers around Ozma, trying to see if I could get the jumbled lines of magic to untangle themselves.

At first, it seemed like it wasn’t doing anything, but after a few minutes, I noticed that one tiny thread was now twisting out from her elbow, and I managed to catch it on my finger, and I tugged on it, feeling just the slightest bit of give.

I bit my lip in concentration, careful not to pull too hard. And, just like I was tugging on a loose string on an old sweater from the thrift store, Ozma began to unravel.

No—it wasn’t her that was unraveling, exactly. It was more like I was unraveling some kind of spell. Meanwhile, Ozma herself was changing shape. She was getting bigger. Taller. Her shoulders broadened into a man’s. Well, a boy’s, I guess. And I could tell from his slouch and the tilt of his head that it was a boy I knew.

“Pete,” I muttered under my breath.

As soon as I spoke, it all slipped away. I was back in the real world, Ozma was gone, and Pete was standing right in front of me, wide-eyed in surprise. He took a step backward toward the door and held up his hands, looking as guilty and sheepish as someone who has just been caught shoplifting a Hostess Twinkie from the Piggly Wiggly.

“Um, hey?” he said. “So, uh, that was pretty weird, huh?” He scanned me up and down. “Nice outfit,” he said, grinning.

I didn’t know what to think. All I knew was that Pete had played me one too many times already, even if I didn’t know why, and I wasn’t going to let him do it again.

Still, I couldn’t help it if I was just a little bit happy to see him. Because it was Pete, who had saved my life about five minutes after I’d first arrived in Oz. Pete, who had kept me from going crazy when I’d been trapped in Dorothy’s dungeons. Pete, who had been the only person I could talk to when I had been posing as a servant in the Emerald Palace.

“Forget the outfit,” I said shortly. I took a step back and felt a sizzle of heat in my palm as my knife appeared without me even calling for it. “I think it’s time for you to do some talking.”

He brushed his dark hair from his green eyes. The same exact eyes that belonged to Ozma. He looked away and took a deep breath. When our eyes met again, I suddenly saw a sadness in him that I recognized from somewhere. “It’s kind of a long story,” he said. “Don’t we have better things to talk about?”

“Dude,” I said. I took a step toward him, and I saw him glance at my knife. I didn’t want to fight him, but I would, if it came to it. “I’ve known you longer than anyone else in this whole messed-up fairyland, and I still don’t know you at all. All you’ve done is lie to me. So yeah,” I spat. “I like you. I think. But I think you’d better start giving me some explanations.”

Pete just nodded with resigned understanding. He took a deep breath and slumped against the wall, folding his tense, sinewy arms across his chest. “Okay,” he said. “But you might as well have a seat, ’cause I wasn’t kidding when I said it was a long story. And I don’t even know the whole thing.”

I considered it, and then sat back down in the hammock I’d slept in, leaving my bare feet firm on the ground to steady myself. For now, I kept my knife in my hand. I didn’t think I would need it, but you could never be too safe around here.

“Let’s hear it,” I said. “Just tell me everything you do know.”

“Where should I start?”

“The beginning.”

So Pete started at the beginning. “Once upon a time . . . ,” he said.