I frowned and looked down at my feet, still battered and bloody in my new magic boots. “Did Dorothy’s old shoes bring me here?”
She raised her eyebrows, like she thought I was being very silly. “You brought yourself here, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but . . .”
She raised a slender finger. As she touched it to her red lips, I found that I had been silenced. As hard as I tried to speak, I couldn’t.
“The spring has judged you,” Lurline said. “And it has judged you worthy of standing here before me. I cannot interfere directly in the matters of your kind. I did not say you were without flaws,” she added with a smile, as if she could read my thoughts.
She looked troubled. “I am afraid you cannot rest here long, Amy. But I want you to listen well.”
I nodded.
“The magic of Oz is not safe for people from your world. It has driven Dorothy mad, as you know.”
She nodded in response to my unasked question. “It will drive you mad, too, if you let it,” she said with a sigh. “All things will continue in their own way, but if Dorothy succeeds in tearing everything apart, the creatures of Oz and the Other Place will perish. I do not wish this to come to pass. And you have more to worry about than just Dorothy.” Her voice was still gentle, but it was terrifying, too. I had the feeling that anybody who tried to make something come to pass against Lurline’s wishes didn’t fare well.
She laughed her musical laugh again, and I realized she could read my thoughts.
“You mean the Nome King,” I said, suddenly able to speak again. She nodded.
“I do. Even I cannot entirely guess at the game he plays, but I know he wishes to use you and Dorothy as its pieces. And very likely Ozma, too. I’m afraid your work in Oz is not yet done. I can see the pain in your heart, child, and I am sorry to ask more of you. So much rests on your shoulders. Especially when not all of your companions wish the same healing for Oz that you do.”
“What do you mean?”
She shook her head. “I cannot see that far; only that you must be careful. Trust in yourself, but do not place your trust easily in others. You are very strong, Amy—strong enough to defeat Dorothy, possibly strong enough to defeat even the Nome King. But not in the way that you think. The most obvious way is not always the right path.”
She was making about as much sense as Ozma. I wondered if anyone in Oz had ever given any question a straight answer. She put a hand on my shoulder.
“I know this is difficult for you,” she said. “You have suffered much, already, and you still have not learned to know yourself. Dorothy is blinded by her own pain and anger. Take care that you do not walk down the road that she has chosen. I cannot promise you a future without harm, but know that I am watching over you. You have drunk of my spring, and that is no small trifle. And you have my shoes.” She gestured at the diamond-studded boots with one elegant hand.
“Your shoes?” I gasped. “But I thought they belonged to Dorothy.”
She smiled. “Dorothy had them for a while, yes. But they belong to the fairies. They are made from our magic. They will serve you well if you trust in their power.”
I had so many questions. But she shook her head and held a finger to her lips. “All in good time,” she said. “The way is cloudy now, but soon I think we will be able to see the path again.”
She reached up to her neck and undid a thin silver chain, drawing a pendant out of her dress and handing it to me. “This, too, you will find useful,” she said.
I looked at the necklace. The pendant was a pale golden jewel, made of the same material as the road. The harder I looked at it, the more I thought I could see movement in its translucent depths, as if it were filling with smoke. I felt as though I were falling down a long, golden tunnel.
“Be careful,” Lurline said at my side, and I snapped back to the present. I made as if to fasten the necklace around my neck, and she shook her head. “It is not for you, but for another. You will know when the time is right to put it into the proper hands.”
I tucked the necklace into my pocket instead. Lurline stood up and held out her hands to me. “And now I must send you home, dear child.”
“To Dorothy,” I said, standing up.
“To Dorothy,” she agreed. “But to many brighter and wonderful things as well. To the living, breathing world. To a boy who loves you, if I am not mistaken.” I turned bright red and she giggled. But then a look of longing flashed across her face. “There is a part of me that envies you, to be returning to the living, breathing world. Think of me when you go into the mountains,” she said softly, her gaze far away. “When you look out over the blue valleys to the far horizon, say my name that I might see them, too, through your eyes. And remember as in all of us, it is only your capacity for wickedness that makes selflessness possible.”
“But you still haven’t told me how to defeat Dorothy.”