Dorothy Must Die (5 page)

“No!” Indigo cried. But she didn’t try to stop me. Within seconds I’d gotten him free. I caught him in my arms—he was heavier than he looked—and as I laid him carefully down on the yellow bricks, I felt two rough, bald little stumps on his shoulder blades.

It took me a second to realize what they were, and when I did, I felt sick to my stomach. This monkey had once had wings.

“Shit,” Indigo said, running her fingers through her hair in panic. “Shit, shit, shit shit.” She had scampered to the middle of the road and was looking up and down in either direction like she thought they would be coming for us at any moment. But no alarm bells started ringing. No gunshots rang out; no flare was sent up. Nothing happened at all.

“What do you think is coming?”

“You don’t understand. They have their ways. They know everything. They see everything.”

“How? Who?”

“They just do.”

“If
they
knew everything that went on around here, they’d have already caught us. Come on—you must have some water somewhere in that giant pack of yours, right?”

Reluctantly, Indigo dug around in her bag and came back with a canteen. She handed it to me, and I poured the water over the animal’s cracked lips and waited. After a moment, his eyes fluttered open. He gurgled and sputtered for a moment before registering our presence.

“There you are . . . ,” I said, leaning over to give him another sip.

“Thank you,” he said in a weak, hoarse voice.

“Oh my God!” I exclaimed, jumping back. “He can talk!”

“Of course I can talk,” he croaked. Even in his weakened state, he managed to sound offended. “I’m an educated monkey. My name is Ollie.”

Although I was still freaked out, I bent down to help him sit up. My fingers brushed against the jagged, stumpy nubbins poking out of his shoulder blades.

“Don’t mind those,” he explained, seeing the look of confusion on my face. “That’s just where my wings used to be. Before I cut them off.”

“We need to move,” Indigo said. “That post he was tied to was probably enchanted. They’ll know that we freed him.”

“Maybe we should leave the road,” I said. “We’re too exposed. If they’re looking for us . . .”

Indigo was shaking her head emphatically. “No,” she said. “The road leads to the Emerald City. That’s where we’re going.”

Ollie agreed. “We’re in the wildest part of Munchkin Country,” he said. “Once we step off the road of yellow bricks, things get turned around. Directions stop making sense. We’ll be lost in no time.”

“You’re going to the city, too?” I asked.

Ollie nodded. “They say that the entrance to an underground tunnel is hidden somewhere in the city walls. The tunnel leads north, to where the rest of the Wingless Ones live. I’m going to find it.”

“There are others like you? Without wings?”

“Dorothy wanted to harness them,” Indigo snapped, her face suddenly red. “Make them her slaves. She wanted a thousand of them pulling her sicko flying monkey chariot. What else were they supposed to do?”

It was good to see her mad, actually. At least anger can get you somewhere. I liked this Indigo better than the Indigo I’d been sitting with on the rock an hour ago, the Indigo who seemed like she’d just given up. I liked this Indigo better than the one who had been so terrified that she’d wanted to leave Ollie strung up by the side of the road.

I just didn’t know what she was talking about. I looked at Ollie quizzically.

“My people have always been used by those who are more powerful,” he began to explain. “Even before Dorothy rose to power, we were slaves to others. It’s part of our enchantment. The wings are vulnerable to magic; they make us easy to control. When we were freed from the witches we thought we would never have to serve anyone again. But then Dorothy came back. This time, some of us decided that the price of freedom was worth paying.”

“So you cut off your wings,” I said. I couldn’t imagine that kind of sacrifice. I thought I understood it, though.

“I would rather be free than fly,” Ollie said firmly. “Not all of my people agreed.” A look of pure disgust crested his face. “The ones who would be free went north, into hiding.”

“Why are you here, then?” I asked. “Why aren’t you up north with them?”

“I couldn’t leave them.”

“Who?” I asked.

He looked at the ground. “My parents,” he said. “My sister. They thought their wings were what made them special. So they stayed behind. Now they pull Dorothy’s chariot. I thought I could help them. I thought I could convince them. . . .” He faltered, his voice breaking.

“I guess Dorothy must not have liked that plan,” I said.

Indigo was getting antsy. “We need to go,” she snapped. “We don’t have time for Oz History 101.”

There was still so much more I wanted to ask Ollie, but Indigo was right. If everything they were telling me about Dorothy was true, we were asking for trouble just sitting around like this.

“Can you make it?” I asked Ollie. “You still look pretty weak.”

But Indigo was already marching ahead of us, her boots stomping against the brick road. Ollie shrugged and he and I followed a few paces behind, moving as quickly as we could.

I was starting to get tired, not to mention hot. The sun, which had had an eerie, icy-blue tint to it back in Munchkin Country where I’d landed, was now a bright, fiery yellow, beating down on my skin. I could feel a bead of sweat forming at the base of my scalp.

The sun had changed colors; it had gotten hotter. But it hadn’t actually
moved
: it was still hanging in exactly the same place, dead center in the sky, that it had been when I’d set out on my way. It didn’t show any signs of budging.

“Is it just me, or has this day been really long?” I asked Ollie.

He groaned. “The day’s as long as Dorothy wants it to be,” he said. “She controls the time around here. Sometimes it’s ages before she remembers to turn the hands on the Great Clock and make it night again. The princess gets distracted easily.”

I shuddered. In addition to everything else, Dorothy controlled time itself. We kept walking.

The girl took us all by surprise when she appeared in the middle of the road out of nowhere, blocking our way. She had dark hair and flawless, ivory skin, and was dressed in a silk sheath dress in emerald green, setting off huge green eyes. She must have been about my age, and she was more beautiful than any girl I’d ever seen before. She also had way more bling: strapped to her head was a tall gold crown that burned in the endless afternoon sunlight. Her ears were covered by giant, jewel-encrusted poppies that looked like really fancy earmuffs.

As soon as they saw her, Indigo and Ollie dropped instantly to one knee. Indigo grabbed my arm and pulled me down with her.

“Dearest people of Munchkin Country!” The girl was talking to us as if she were addressing a huge audience, except there was no one else here. “I am pleased to announce this auspicious day for all of Oz! A day when sadness bids its final farewell and joy begins its eternal reign! By royal order, under punishment of death, I hereby declare Happiness henceforth!”

Indigo sighed in disgust and rose to her feet just as the girl was starting her speech all over again. It was like someone had set her on repeat. “Dearest people of Munchkin Country!” the girl cried again.

“It gets me every time,” Indigo muttered. “Just ignore her,” she said, noticing my confused expression. “Come on.”

“It’s not real,” Ollie explained, standing, too. “Just a recording. You come across them every now and then, to keep us in line. I bet it means we’re getting closer to the Emerald City, though.”

“Who is she?” I asked. “That’s not Dorothy. Is it?”

“It’s Ozma. Oz’s true ruler,” Indigo said. “She’s still technically in charge, but no one’s seen the real Ozma outside the palace in ages. It’s always just these illusion things. Look.”

She wound her arm up like a pitcher and went to slap the girl. Her hand passed easily through the princess’s head.

“See? Fake. The
real
Ozma doesn’t care about us anymore.”

“I am pleased to announce this auspicious day for all the people of Oz!” Ozma kept babbling.

Ollie looked away from the hologram like it hurt him to stare at her even a second longer, and then Indigo stepped right through her and we all just kept on walking. Ozma’s canned speech faded slowly away into the distance.

“We waited a long time for a ruler like her.” Ollie sighed. “She was supposed to be in charge all along—she’s descended from the fairy who gave Oz its magic. But she was just a baby when the Wizard came here, and he didn’t want her getting in his way. So he sent her off somewhere. Then, when
he
left, he made the Scarecrow the king. That didn’t go well.”

“The Scarecrow was evil, too? Like Dorothy?” I asked. I was having a hard time keeping track of all this, but something about it seemed important.

“No,” he said, and then chuckled ruefully to himself. “Not
then
at least. He just wasn’t a very good king.”

“He wanted to sit around the palace thinking all day,” Indigo cut in. “If you ask me, brains aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. Anyway, everything went to hell, until Ozma came back.”

“Where was she that whole time?”

“No one knows,” Ollie said. “She would never talk about it. But she has fairy blood, which meant she had a right to the crown. It’s deep magic—since she was finally of age, no one could do anything to take it away from her.”

“Dorothy did,” I pointed out.

“Not exactly,” Ollie said.

“Ozma was in charge for a long time,” Indigo said. “Things were good with her. The best. The sun rose and set on time. There was magic everywhere. . . .”

“The monkeys flew wherever they wanted while Ozma reigned,” Ollie interjected.

“It was what Oz was supposed to be all along,” Indigo said. “The funny part is that when Dorothy came back, everyone was happy at first. She was a hero, you know. And nothing changed for a while, except that she moved into the palace. She and Ozma became friends. They did
everything
together. No one even minded when Ozma made her a princess, too. It seemed like she deserved it.”

“And then?”

“Then came the Happiness Decree. After that, we stopped seeing so much of Ozma. It was, like, all Dorothy all the time. Ozma was just . . . gone.”

“You think Dorothy did something to her.”

Indigo nodded. “I don’t know
what
,” she said. “But Ozma would never let this happen to Oz. She must have been tricked . . . or . . .”

“Or she’s dead,” Ollie said.

“No!” Indigo nearly shouted. “She can’t be dead. Dorothy’s not powerful enough.
No one’s
powerful enough. Once Ozma had the crown, nothing could take it away from her. It’s fairy magic—that’s the strongest there is. Nothing can break it. Nothing can kill her.”

Ollie didn’t look so sure. “What if the magic’s gone?” he asked. Indigo didn’t answer him.

The whole time they’d been giving me a primer on Oz’s history—which I still wasn’t sure I understood—we’d been walking, and now we had come to a wide, stagnant river. The water was mossy and still and rotten-smelling, and had a toxic green tint to it. At the muddy bank, a tangle of thick black vines twisted like snakes.

Luckily, we didn’t have to swim through that muck: as it neared the water, the yellow bricks began to ascend, stretching up and out into the air in a meandering path. There was nothing supporting them—no cables or columns or beams—and the whole road swayed and fluttered back and forth like a ribbon in the wind.

I gulped. “Are we supposed to cross that?” I asked. Heights weren’t exactly my favorite thing.

But the height was the least of our problems.

“Monkeys,” Ollie breathed, pointing at the tiny silhouettes that swooped and dove against the newsprint-gray of an endless cloud that hovered just above the road. “They’re patrolling the bridge.”

I laughed nervously. “Time to turn back, I guess.” But I knew we couldn’t. Where would we go? We had seen what there was to see back there. The only direction was straight ahead.

Indigo looked up at the monkeys in thought. “I think we can make it past them,” she said. “I know a spell that might work.”

“Wait,” I said. “You can do magic? You didn’t tell me that.”

Indigo cocked her head and raised her eyebrows like she was offended. “My grandmother was a sorceress,” she said. “She may not have been as powerful as Glinda, but she taught me a thing or two. She would have taught me more, if Dorothy hadn’t banned it. But the Winged Ones are more susceptible to magic than almost anyone. I think a misdirection charm will get us past them.”

She closed her eyes and raised her hands, moving her fingers in front of her in rapid, fluttery movements. I looked down at myself, waiting to see what would happen—was I going to turn invisible or something? But nothing changed.

After a minute, Indigo opened her eyes. “I think we’re good to go,” she said. “Just don’t talk. Don’t do anything that will attract attention.”

“I don’t think it worked,” I said.

“It worked. Misdirection’s not that powerful, but it will do the job. It won’t hide us from them totally; it just makes us easy to overlook. They’ll simply be distracted every time they look in our direction. Trust me.”

The thing is, I was having a really hard time concentrating on what she was saying. But I got the idea.

Crossing the flying road was like trying to walk on a breeze. It rippled and dipped and swayed back and forth, and every time you lifted your foot you had to wonder if there would be anything under it when you put it back down.

Ollie was fine: he went scampering on ahead on all fours as easily as if we were still on solid ground. Indigo didn’t have too much trouble either. She was so squat and compact that it would take a wrecking ball to knock her over. But I was neither a monkey nor a Munchkin and I had to stretch my arms out at my sides and consider each step carefully.

I didn’t look down. I just kept my eyes on the road; the bricks yellower than ever against the dull gray of the sky.

Well, I tried to. Unfortunately, it’s hard to keep your eye trained on a moving target. Every time the narrow swath of road shifted, it revealed the water a million feet below us and still as menacing as ever. I didn’t know which would be worse: the fall, or what would be waiting for me underneath the surface of the nasty, slimy river.

With every step, I wanted to panic. I wanted to sit down in the middle of the road and hug my legs to my knees and give up. But I didn’t do any of those things.

Tornado or no tornado, a girl from Kansas doesn’t let much get to her. So I set my fear aside, put one foot in front of the other, and as the road carried me high into the sky, I felt myself becoming less and less afraid. I wasn’t going to let anything as stupid as a breeze or a few wobbly bricks knock me off my feet.

That’s what it means to be from the prairie. It was something I had in common with Dorothy.

I knew exactly how high up I was when I felt my fingertips scraping clouds.

After my dad left, my mom and I would watch
Wheel of Fortune
every night after dinner. I wasn’t very good at it, but my mom always guessed the answer before the contestants. At the end of each episode, Pat would thank their sponsors, and as he reminded us about the joys of Flying the Friendly Skies, an airplane would drift across the screen, bound for Sunny Aruba or Fabulous Orlando or wherever, floating in slow motion across a sunset-pink landscape of fluffy clouds.