The Wicked Will Rise

The Wizard rubbed his cheek, but didn’t seem injured. “The thing is,” he said as Dorothy’s scowl transformed into an unexpectedly complacent smile, “you’re not the one in charge anymore. Not in here. Since you’ve been away from the city, I’ve been hard at work communing with the Powers That Be. Powers far greater than you, or Glinda, or any of the witches.” He gestured toward the palace, which, even deep in the center of the vast maze, was towering over the hedges. “You see what’s become of the palace, don’t you? It’s not just for show, you know. It’s a symbol of all that I’ve become, and of all that I’ll be.”

Instead of arguing with him, or fighting, Dorothy regarded him curiously. “Tell me,” she said. “What do you have planned?”

She sounded so obsequious and smarmy that I thought it had to be sarcasm, but when she dropped the leash by which she held Ozma and took a step back, I got it. The Wizard was working some serious magic, and Dorothy, who had always enjoyed enslaving people so much, was now at the other end of her own torture: from the glazed, vacant look on her face, it was clear that he had her under some kind of hypnotic spell.

As Ozma stepped to his side, the Wizard looked around. “Just a moment,” he said. “There’s something else, isn’t there? Do I spy a witch lurking in the shadows?” he asked.

He fluttered a hand in the air, and, feeling strangely compelled, I dropped my misdirection charm and moved forward, joining them.

“Ah,” the Wizard said. “How lovely to see you, Miss Gumm! Tell me, what have I done here to deserve not one but two of my favorite people on a day like today?”

“I . . . ,” I began to say. But I stopped. A certain kind of contentedness had come over me—not like my mind was being controlled, exactly, but more like I had been drugged, and nothing in the world could bother me now. “I don’t know,” I finally said. “You tell me, I guess?”

“Yes,” the Wizard said. “I believe I shall.”

He gestured to a place at his feet, and two small stools materialized, each one upholstered in green silk with a golden filigree. I took a seat, and Dorothy sat down next to me. It was unnerving seeing her behave so pliably. But, then, I was behaving the exact same way.

The Wizard gazed at us with fatherly kindness. “Let’s discuss some things,” he said.





TWENTY-SIX


“Have you ever—either of you—looked at the American state of Kansas on a map?” the Wizard asked.

Before either Dorothy or I could answer, or even nod a yes, he went on. “If you have, I’m sure you’ve noticed the shape that it is. Dorothy? Amy?” he prompted us like a doubting schoolteacher. “What shape is Kansas?”

Dorothy answered with confidence. “Oh, something like a round blob with a funny little hole shaped like a jolly fat woman cut right out the side of it,” she said.

I looked at her like she was nuts. If it was anyone except her, I would have felt almost sorry for her to be humiliated like this.

Not that I was in much better shape. I had no idea why the Wizard cared what shape Kansas was, or why I felt so strange, but it wasn’t exactly a hard question, if you were from there. And I knew the answer.

“It’s a rectangle,” I said. “With a little missing chunk out of the top right-hand corner. I don’t know why.” That missing bit had always bothered me; it seemed to set everything a little off balance.

The Wizard smiled dotingly. “Correct,” he said. “Amy gets a gold star. Dorothy wears the dunce cap for spinning foolish taradiddles.”

“But . . . ,” Dorothy said, sounding like a kid in school who just can’t believe she’s spelled an easy word wrong in the last round of the spelling bee. “They must have changed it,” she muttered.

The Wizard shook his head impatiently. I could see that he was getting to a point here—I just didn’t know what it was.

“Now, girls, can you think of another place that’s shaped like a rectangle—wider than it is tall—with a little chunk cut out of the corner?”

It struck me immediately. This time, Dorothy knew what he meant, too. We both answered at the same time.

“Oz,” we both said.

The Wizard gave a golf clap.

“Ding ding ding. Oz is exactly the same shape—and, it just so happens—exactly the same size as the great state of Kansas. There’s only one small difference, which is that in Oz, that little chunk missing from the corner is in the west—right where the legendary valley of Oogaboo would be if it existed, which it doesn’t and never did.”

I glanced at Dorothy, feeling a strange camaraderie with her. She looked as confused as I was.

“Look, just forget Oogaboo for now—that’s a long and extremely boring story that I barely remember myself. It’s something to do with tariffs and Winkie bylaws, if memory serves. In any case, it’s not important. Here’s the important question: why do you suppose that Oz and Kansas are so similar, geographically speaking?”

The answer came to me out of the blue. “Because they’re the same place,” I said.

I hadn’t even really thought about it; it was just sort of there, something that seemed obvious and familiar, even if it was absurd. Sort of like the concept of pi, I guess.

“Or something like that,” I hedged quickly, embarrassed at how stupid it sounded.

But the Wizard was looking at me with something like respect.

“Indeed, Miss Gumm. They are, in a way, the same place. Oz and Kansas occupy the exact same physical space, but on two separate vibrational planes.

“You see, when the fairies created this fountain, and called forth the Old Magic that would be Oz’s lifeblood, they weren’t just pulling it from out of nowhere. They were pulling it from Kansas.”

He gave me a meaningful look. “Explains why Kansas is so very dull, doesn’t it? The fact is, it used to be a place of power. Dark power. All this time, it’s been feeding Oz. Giving up all its magic so that this place could live. And yet, the balance has never been perfect. It’s always been a bit inefficient. I’m going to change that. I’m going to finally open up the door between here and there—merge them into one glorious place. And, of course, I’m going to put myself in charge.”

I was trying to piece together everything he was saying, but I still felt too muddle-headed.

The Wizard continued. “Now,” he said, “let’s have ourselves a little ritual. Well, not so little actually. You have no idea how complicated it was to arrange all this. Dorothy, may I have the items?”

Dorothy didn’t resist—she unstrapped her satchel and handed it over to the Wizard, who opened it and glanced inside, nodding with approval when he saw what he was looking for.

“Wonderful,” he said, first pulling out the heart. “I thought Amy here would be able to gather these for me, but when she became too much of a loose cannon, I decided that I needed some insurance. I’m glad I did. You did such a good job bringing me what I needed.”

The heart was pulsing with a strange golden energy, and the Wizard held it out and placed it in front of him, at the level of his chest. Instead of falling to the ground when he took his hand away, it stayed planted in the air, vibrating.

Next, he did the same with the Lion’s tail and the Scarecrow’s plush brains, which were glowing purple and blue, respectively.

“I had no idea when I gave these silly things to your friends that I was unwittingly working in the service of the fairies,” he said. “Creating the key that would unlock Oz’s true potential. Now, Dorothy, I believe it’s time for you to do your part.”

“Yes,” she said, zombie-like. She stood and took her place, standing next to the glowing objects. She suddenly looked uncomfortable, and the Wizard snapped his fingers in front of her face, freezing her like a statue where she stood. “Just in case she gets squirmy,” he said. “Are you ready, Amy?”

I stood up from my seat, ready to obey him. But I wasn’t sure what he wanted.

“Yellow, blue, and purple. What’s missing?” the Wizard asked.

“Red,” I replied. “The color of the Quadlings.”

“That’s right. And what’s red?”