They began to pass side tunnels with increasing frequency. At each juncture, Ozma stopped and performed the same mysterious ritual, her face upturned and her palms lifted, before deciding which way to go. Some of the tunnels they passed opened up on vast, jewel-encrusted caverns where even the orb’s meager light was reflected into dazzling brilliance. Once the Lion peered into a doorway, entranced by a dim green glow. He saw a huge, empty hall. Its floor was an elaborate tiled mosaic that had mostly crumbled away. Its walls were painted with rich murals nearly swallowed up by an eerie moss that was the source of the sickly green light, but here and there sections of the paintings remained. Unable to resist his curiosity, the Lion wandered in for a closer look. The murals were so vivid their subjects seemed almost alive: long-limbed, pale-skinned people with thick white hair cascading down their backs moved through endless candlelit libraries, or painted beautiful pictures of cave crystals and pools, or played instruments the Lion didn’t recognize. One of the paintings depicted them seated at a huge table in the hall itself, piled high with strange-looking foods. At the head of the table sat a stern, pale man wearing a silver crown. His eyes were cold and hard and cruel.
At the far end of the hall a huge, pale marble staircase led up into the darkness as far as the Lion could see. The marble, like the moss that covered the banquet hall’s walls, glowed with a pale, unearthly light. It was cracked and pitted, and in places chunks of the staircase were missing altogether, leaving black, cavernous gaps. As soon as he saw the staircase, the Lion couldn’t look away. Where did it lead? The question throbbed in his brain until he was unable to think of anything else. He had to know. Before he knew it, his paw was on the first stair. The marble was as cold as ice and burned like fire. Welcome, it seemed to whisper. Come with us . . .
NINE
“Lion!” Ozma’s voice was loud and clear in the huge room. The Lion jumped and lifted his paw away from the marble stairs. Immediately, the voice in his mind lessened its grip and he shook his head furiously, trying to dislodge it. Ozma was at his side in seconds, one hand on his shoulder and her light bobbing behind.
“We are still under the Deadly Desert,” she said quietly, “but this was once part of the Nome Kingdom in the Land of Ev. The Nomes’ magic lingers here even now, all these centuries later.”
With Ozma at his side, the pull of the staircase was gone entirely. The Lion padded back to the murals, studying them carefully. “These are Nomes?”
Ozma nodded, looking over his shoulder. “Some people say they are actually fairies themselves, who went down under the earth long ago and became a distant branch of our people. There are fairies living underground in Oz who look very much like them.”
“They don’t look very nice,” he said simply.
“The Nomes are not a kind people.” Ozma stared at the cruel-eyed man in the painting of the banquet hall and shivered. “This place is tainted. Its power nearly trapped you. Come back to the tunnel, and be careful not to leave my side again.”
After that, the Lion made sure to stay in the circle of Ozma’s light. They passed more and more tunnels, but now Ozma seemed sure of where they were going and only rarely stopped to find the way. Soon, the Lion could hear a faint, distant noise echoing through the tunnel. “What is that?” he asked.
“The king,” Ozma said quietly. “Digging.” As they drew closer, the noise grew louder: a repetitive clanking, like metal striking stone.
Ozma stopped. “We’re close,” she said. “If you want to rest, now is a good time. We may not be able to later.”
The Lion had been so overwhelmed by the strangeness of their descent that he’d forgotten his hunger for the first time in his life, but at Ozma’s words his stomach rumbled loudly. Ozma smiled, some of the strain leaving her pale, drawn face as she laughed at the Lion’s discomfort. “Even down here, some things never change,” she said teasingly.
They found a dry patch on the tunnel floor and settled down. The Lion tore eagerly into his bundle and found a hunk of dried meat, some fruit, and a jug of water. Ozma nibbled starfruit and sipped water while he happily gnawed the meat. They sat in silence for a while, letting some of the weariness fade from their limbs.
“What happens when we meet the Nome King?”
Ozma stretched, and the air around her shimmered for a second as if her magic was stirring with her. “I’ll talk to him and explain to him how important it is that Oz remains free.”
The Lion thought that this seemed like a naive view of the situation. “I could fight him,” he offered, puffing up his chest. “I certainly will if he tries to attack you.” Presumably that was why Ozma had brought him along. If things went south, he could protect her. But as brave as he was, he secretly had his doubts about taking on who knew how many evil fairy-like creatures. His only real fighting experience was the battle with Jinjur, and her soldiers had been mortal girls.
As if Ozma could read his mind, she smiled at him. “You don’t need to worry, Lion,” she said confidently. “I know you think I’m being silly, but I can be very persuasive when I have to.” Her words had that steely hint behind them, and he remembered how she had sounded when she talked about Glinda. If anyone could talk an ancient, evil, homicidal king out of invading their country, Ozma was probably the one.
Ozma’s magic light bobbed anxiously. “It’s time to go,” she said, reaching forward to scratch the Lion behind the ears. “I’m so glad you’re with me. You don’t know what a difference it makes to have you here. It’s so lonely down here in the dark.” Her voice sounded wistful now, and she resembled the sad, brave creature he’d left sitting alone in her chambers on his first night in the Emerald City. Ozma might be powerful, but she was still barely more than a child.