But Glinda said that was bunk, which meant Prime and the Security Council were spinning it to make the Munchkinlanders think they had lost their greatest weapon of protection: Glinda the Good. Which meant that somehow Security Prime or a member of the Security Council had tricked Ozma into releasing the Imp in the first place, and then told Ozma that Glinda was moving against her.
Nothing like being in the middle of a couple of sisters a guy used to screw.
My legs were cramping. I hoisted myself up on the lip of the basket and peered out. Ahead I saw the first twinkling of yellowish-green sparkles off of the topmost towers of Emerald Castle. I could also see the faint wisps of smoke rising up from around the base of the walls. The closer I got, the clearer it became that during the night something grand and horrible had happened in the Emerald City. Fires burned around the parameters of the castle. Bodies, both Tall and Half-as-Tall, lay strewn in poses only created by the last ditch efforts of warring. The aroma of warm and burnt flesh filled the skies and I hovered in the thick of it, retching at the stench.
There were shouts beneath me. A long emerald tip bolt held taught in a crossbow was leveled at me. I stood up to wave them off, holding up the breast of my captain’s jacket. The guard, still frenzied from the all night battle, fired the bolt. If I hadn’t ducked it would have split my skull in two. As it was, it passed through the balloon canvas like a twig through a paper wrapper.
The basket became an anchor to the flapping dead ball above me. The tower came closer and closer and for the third time in a day I found myself plummeting. This time I had no carpet to carry me away; no flying monkey to catch me. The guards readied their bows. Tiny flecks of green glinted off their arrowheads in the morning sunlight. I braced myself against the far side of the basket just as the first arrowheads popped through the weaving in front of me. Two broke all the way through. One embedded itself in my shoulder.
The basket hit one of the parapets. I spun around and tipped forward before slamming backwards. It rocked me. Dazed me. The bouncing and jarring intensified the pain from the arrow. I saw flashes both bright and dark and my head dropped. I remember spinning left and right until at last the world rocked me into blackness.
I woke up once. I was in a cool, dark green room. A bald man bent over me. He wore glasses. A series of telescoping magnifying lenses stretched out from his face to mine. He struggled with something I couldn’t see but I could feel in my chest. Sweat beaded on his crowning scalp. He grunted and tugged and as he did so, I felt a rush of warm liquid spill over me. Green bolts of electricity shot around my eyes. Then blackness returned.
The next time I awoke I was in a room with an open window. White lace curtains billowed in a breeze. Ozma sat on the windowsill looking out at the streaming sunlight. I attempted to sit up in bed. A heavy white bandage was wrapped around my shoulder from where the arrow had pierced it. My scooching to sit up aggravated the wound and I winced. Ozma turned to look at me. Her smile trembled.
“Jo Guard,” she said. Her voice was as soft as the morning breeze.
“Queen Ozma.”
She came to me, threw her arms around my neck and hugged me. Her sobs fell heavy on my neck and her gentle heaving was enough to make me see the green bolts of pain behind my closed eyes.
“Ozma,” I said. “Ozma. The pain.”
She sat back quickly, her eyes full of concern. Her face softened and she placed the palm of her hand on my cheek.
“I’m so sorry.” She said.
“Never mind me. What happened here last night?”
“A riot. The Munchkinlanders took to the streets. It was supposed to be a peaceful march of unity, of showing whatever or whoever has been preying on them they weren’t going to take it.”
“But they got jumped.”
Ozma nodded.
“It was horrible. Flying monkeys by the score descended upon them. Lions attacked from the shadows. There was blood everywhere.”
“Where was Glinda?”
Ozma’s eyes narrowed for an instant. Just long enough to let me know what she suspected.
“Where ever is Glinda when the Half-as-Talls need her?” Ozma stood and strutted across the room to the window. When she turned to face me again, she was full of concern. “I sent the guards to do what they could but we were greatly outnumbered. Fear works an evil magic on a mob. They turned on us. Three armies fighting for individual survival.”
“Guess that changes your plans.”
Ozma cocked her head at me. She gave me a bewildered smile.
“My plans?”
“Mayor Gerrld believes you’ve been launching covert attacks against the Munchkinland City. He says you want to expand the Emerald City’s borders.”
“Into Munchkinland? Everyone knows that’s Glinda’s territory.”
“Maybe that’s why you want it. Is it true Glinda was actually next in line to be queen but Prime and his cronies put you on the throne instead?”
“The throne is legally mine.” Ozma stood in front of the window. The breeze blew her gown against her body, pressing it against her like a cool white layer of skin.
“Unless it isn’t and that would mean either you or someone close to you wants you to protect the secret.”
“Why would I summon you to Emerald City? Why would I ask you to find Mayor Gerrld? And as for the Imp, I don’t think it will be much of a problem now, do you?”
I had answers for all of those questions but the one I hit on was the last.
“How do you know the Imp is dead?”
Ozma’s face froze. Her eyes searched for an answer. She let out a held breath, smiled, and said,
“I assumed you killed him. That’s why you came back.”
“I came back because there was nothing out there in the Oogaboo except a frightened Half-as-Tall who wanted to know why his people were caught in the middle of two spoiled sisters. You knew I’d find him and so you kept an eye me through your crystal ball. That’s how you zapped the Imp. That’s how you would have zapped the mayor but his paranoia kept him jumping. That and his pearl of protection.”
A shadow in the corner shimmered on the heels of a soft voice. A familiar voice, but it wasn’t Security Prime’s.
“I told you he was smart, Ozma.” Glinda slid out and stepped behind Ozma. “Maybe you know why we sent you away?” Glinda slipped her arm around Ozma. It hung lazily around the queen’s waist.
I had no reason to be concerned about the politicking of Emerald City. I wasn’t a part of it any longer. I remembered the riddle the Imp had posed to me the night before. Good is a relative term It had said. I knew the answer. There was nothing good in the Emerald City. If these two evil sisters were teaming up for something bad, where was the good in the land?
Mayor Gerrld.
As Captain Jo Guard, part of my responsibility was to maintain order in Munchkinland when Glinda couldn’t be summoned. Or wouldn’t be summoned. Mayor Gerrld and I had our share of ordeals to handle while I was in charge. We were tight. That was why he was surprised when I showed up. ‘She sent you’ he had said. So there it was.
It was Ozma and Glinda’s idea to come up with the kidnapping ploy to have me find Mayor Gerrld, giving them the opportunity to direct a heat ray or some other death spell through a crystal ball and zap him like the Imp. Why they couldn’t just locate him through their magic eluded me, unless the cloak also acted as a shield. They released the Imp, telling me it was after the Mayor, making me believe Ozma would be next on its list when it finished its job. The Imp was just a pawn. Those two sisters knew I would do whatever it took to find the Imp because those two sisters knew I still loved Ozma. With Gerrld out of the way, Munchkinland was ripe for the picking.
I told them my theory.
“And with the backing of Security Prime and the trustees, you were all set.”
The women laughed. It reminded me of Archetta and Detrita.
“Prime is dead,” Ozma said.
“Dead? When did that happen?”<
br />
“Right after you left,” Glinda said. “I would have been to the cave sooner but I had some things to take care of.” They laughed again. They laughed into each other’s faces and then their gazed lingered in one another’s eyes.
“The Security Council was getting wise to our plans,” Ozma said. “We couldn’t have that.” She looked lovingly into Glinda’s eyes. They kissed.
For Ozma, it was the kiss of death. I saw her hair smolder then the tips glowed like little lights at the ends of long fibers. I threw my heavy covers off the bed and swung my legs over the side. I stood up but the pain was still fresh. It rocketed through me. My legs buckled and I fell ass first onto the edge of the bed.
Ozma’s body shook momentarily and then she was a pillar of ash, burned from the inside out. The breeze rolled into the room and the ash crumbled and blew in swirls. When it cleared, Glinda stood alone.
“Now you can be Queen of Oz,” I said.
“And you can be my king.”
I shook my head.
“There’s nothing for me here now.”
Glinda produced a ruby red horseshoe from a pocket of her robe. She pointed it at me.
“There’s plenty here for you,” she said.
I felt the dark attraction return to her. I saw her long blonde hair blowing off and around her shoulders, revealing a long ivory neck. Her dark brown eyes drew me in. I stood on shaky legs and stumbled around the edge of the bed to her. My arms went around her and my lips went against hers. Her narrow hands came up on my shoulders and pressed down on them, pushing me lower along her body. I took her breasts through her shimmering white gown, cupped her firm ass with my hands. I was on my knees before her as her dress slid upwards. A thin trace of hair the color of honey and the shape of a lightning bolt rose up above her warm spot. My tongue traced around her lower lips. Her fingernails scratched my head and tugged on my hair.
“Yes, my king. Yes,” Glinda moaned. Her body tensed, trembled, and she let out the most horrific gasp I’ve ever heard.
Her hands fell away from my head and her body tumbled backwards. The ruby read Love Magnet horseshoe clanged on the marble floor. Something warm and sticky seeped around my feet.
Mayor Gerrld stood over Glinda’s body. At least parts of him. His head and hands floated in the air, disjointed from the rest of his body. In one hand he held a long, moon-curved dagger. He shrugged and as the cloak fell from him and became visible, so did the rest of him. It took me a moment to realize he was giddy. Before I knew it, he was kneeling on her chest and working the dagger’s outer edge across Glinda’s throat, pushing it deeper and deeper until it touched the stone floor beneath it.
“What—what are you doing?” I could barely choke out the words.
The Mayor could only look at me through his narrowed eyes. Frenzy gripped him as he grabbed the blood soiled locks of Glinda’s hair.
I fell back against the end of the bed. My hands were covered in Glinda’s blood. My fingers trembled before my eyes. I looked again at the Mayor. He carried Glinda’s head to the window and held it out. Below there was a loud, if somewhat nasally cheer. Gerrld opened his fingers and let Glinda’s head drop. He wiggled his fingers and smiled at the crowd below then turned around to face me.
“All right, so maybe the cunts weren’t sisters. More like step-sisters. That’s where all that legal bullshit about who was going to be queen and who wasn’t came in,” he said. He stepped out of the Teleportation Cloak of Invisibility. “But it doesn’t matter now, does it?
“No,” I said. I felt oddly remorseful over both of their deaths even though I was more than likely going to die the same way Ozma had gone.
“Oh, what are you so broken up about? Ozma played you like harp. She knew all she had to do was tell you she was in trouble and you’d go running back to her.”
He had me. I stared at him, wanting to say something in my defense, but my mouth dried up and seemed stuffed with something gritty. I hoped it wasn’t Ozma’s ashes. Finally I shook my head.
“Why call me?” I asked.
“Ozma knew sooner or later the Security Council would bring you into it. You’re the only Jo Guard anyone of them would have trusted even if you were diddling their virginal queen. Eventually the murders were going to go into Winkie Country. It was better to bring you in on a bogus kidnapping to look for me and cover it up with all that hogshit about the mystery murders of Half-as-Tallers.”
“So they were both in on it.”
“They weren’t going to stop at Munchkinland, you know. Munchkinland was a training ground for their troops.
“Training for what?”
“They were looking for the portal.”
“Portal? You mean to Kansas?”
“To the Outer World. Kansas was the first stop. Oz was small pockets. They wanted total control of Dorothy’s world.”
I looked around at the emerald walls, the sparkling gold furniture, and the fine silk paintings.
“They had everything they needed here.”
“And it wasn’t enough. War gets in the veins like a drug. You just keep it going because you get such a rush from it.”
A rush from war. I was Captain Jo Guard of Emerald City and I had had my share of war. It was no drug I wanted to become addicted to.
“Emerald City is going to need someone to lead it out of this dark chapter,” Gerrld said. “Someone everyone in it and around it can look to for strength and leadership.”
My head felt heavy. My stomach turned like It had in the balloon basket. Glinda’s blood and Ozma’s ash made a horrible stink.
Gerrld kept talking.
“I know the citizens on Munchkinland and probably all the citizens of Oz would feel safe and secure under your guidance, Captain Jo Guard. Or should I say, King Jo Guard?”
“No,” I said. The pain in my shoulder, the roll of my stomach, and the fog in my head all began to mix and swirl together. I got to my feet and scooped at a blank spot on the floor; an area made blank, I hoped, by the cloak. My fingers brushed the cool silvery threads and I pulled it over my head.
My mind flashed on a golden field beneath a blue sky. In the distance I saw a red barn and a young woman in sapphire dungarees and a white cotton blouse looking up to the sky, shielding her eyes against the sun as she watched the air above her ripple. Even the trials and tribulations of her outside world were more inviting than where I was.
Keep me out of the Emerald City, I thought. And soon enough, I was.
The End.
The Last Battle of Trewis
by David F. Mason
The caramel apple orchard dripped with sweetness. The ground was gummy with it, and the west wind blew its October smell through the hills and valleys that crowded close. An old disused lane ran beside the trees. Beside that, a small cottage smoked blue and purple from its twisting chimney.
“Not long, dear wife,” Trewis said after peeking out the window. “Harvest time draws near.”
Celizabeth smiled and stoked the fire, sending flakes of bright orange ash wafting through the air.
“I’m sure they’ll keep growing without you standing there gawking,” she said. “Now sit down with me, my love, your old legs look like they could take a rest.” She patted the cushioned chair next to her.
He sighed and felt the creeping ache needle at his shins.
Striving had warped his bones like a plank of wood left too long to the sky; years bound themselves around him thick. And he wondered how much the War had really taken from him—long days marched through the heat of the High Desert had left his skin leather tight, and nights under the dripping Jungle palms clouded his lungs. In those days all there’d been was fighting, fighting—ever fighting—killing in the trenches of the West.
He’d been a hero once, tiny though he was. A fudgewood flintlock rifle hung above his mantle, the only evidence of soldiering he let himself keep. The rest moldered with the bones of the dead—those he’d killed and those he’d tried to save. Then, like a
sudden eclipse, his thoughts turned dark. Cannon thunder from years passed filled his ears. Winged Monkeys screamed, hanging gory on Quadling spears. Friends he’d known and loved since youth gasped with gushing wounds. And he was defenseless against the memories when they came.
Celizabeth saw his face seize, and inwardly winced. How many yesterdays lay like tombstones on his soul? she wondered. She caressed his calloused hand trying to thaw the ice that froze him so.
The white-headed Munchkin drew breath till his lungs ached, and exhaled in release, letting himself heal in her touch.
The visions of battle faded.
It had never been for the glory that he risked his life. It wasn’t even for freedom. This was why he faced the bullets and the swords, this was why he killed and soaked his hands in other creatures’ lives. It was for his darling bride and their quiet life.
He sighed again. This time with contentment.
“I think I’ll fetch water for the cooking,” Celizabeth said, bolting up from the chair. Fifty-years of habit fueled her quick steps. Trewis leaned back and closed his eyes, letting the breeze through the window caress him. Satisfied, he slept.
He didn’t notice that the wind turned cold.
Or that the fire sputtered.
Or that outside the sun bleached itself grey.
If he had been a soldier still, young and fresh, he would have woken, he would have known the signs, but he didn’t.
The stillest murmur of a whimper reached his ears.
“Dear Heart?” he called out, fumbling awake, “Are you well?” The fire had burned low. How long had he slept?
When no answer came he bounded out of his chair.
“Love? Love? Is something wrong?” His heart rushed, but he held himself steady. Nothing could happen. Not now. Not on a day as wonderful as this. He walked through the hall and turned a corner into the kitchen. The sizzle of a skillet filled his ears.
Someone stood at the stove cooking a flank of something on the fire. He was tall, twice the Munchkin’s height, and lank as a skeleton coated in wax.
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