by Ryk E. Spoor
“How funny. You’ll protect them instead of attacking while I am focused on them. You know that is the only chance you’d have, don’t you?” She shook her giant head mockingly. “The next time you would be wise to attack me, for afterwards shall I concentrate on you. Do not disappoint me; I expected an adversary of intelligence, not a fool.”
She began to draw in her breath, and I knew she was right. I could sacrifice my friends and possibly get in a strike that would take her down…or I could stand here protecting them until the power that even now burned like acid through me finally wore away the last of my soul. To do anything else would be stupid –
And that triggered a memory, and the memory told me what I had to do. I prepared for my last moment, the only strike that might both save my friends and destroy Amanita Verdant. It terrified me — but I remembered her cruel laugh, saw her hands on the knife plunged into Polychrome’s chest, and my own fury flared up with the power of Faerie.
I called upon the ultimate reserve, the one I’d never used, strange twin to the blue and red I’d used before, dark hair flaming golden in extremity. Ore wa… Ore wa densetsu no choujin. “You’re right, that would be the smart thing to do. Villains try to be smart, find the safe and wise path.” I grinned, even as she, with a draconic smile, began to open her mouth, as the golden power exploded about me and shook the earth once more. “But in the words of Marvel’s Thor: Heroes… heroes have an infinite capacity for stupidity!” And I blazed up from the ground, straight for her.
The ravening column of emerald-ebony fire blasted forth again, and with a scream of agony I focused all the power of Faerie ahead of me, splitting that gargantuan flame down the center. Just a little farther, a little closer, faster, faster! Kaiyo-ken!
The fire raged around me, eroding defenses, burning, scorching in a sick and twisted agony nothing like the purifying incandescence of Ozma’s power. But I could spare no more, I had to drive faster, faster, red-gold aura blazing like the burning of my soul, feeling the air itself screaming louder than my own voice.
Even through the searing dragon-fire I could now see the immense black-scaled head, looming ever closer, closer –
And I yanked in all of the power of Faerie. I was an unguided missile, a bullet of True Mortality with winds tearing at my blistered skin, and the dragon-fire vanished about me, the dragon eyes widened. My speed threatened to rob me of breath and consciousness but I hung on, and snapped out my arms into the bone-breaking airstream, envisioning the Mortal Power streaming outwards in both directions as I plunged straight down her throat.
Chapter 55.
Even more mad than I had imagined, and this a move I cannot counter. For a moment Ugu forgot his opponent, forgot even his pain, as he looked upon true horror. She was mad, and she may still have been right in her arrogance. She is the very race of Phanfasms in a single being, a monster of destruction and hatred given indomitable life and power. He looked over, heard the muttered curse under the breath of the shimmering avenger. Even he knows he has met his match, and perhaps more.
The order to “stay” was as though spoken to a dog, but Ugu did not protest. The wisest policy is to watch, here. One and one alone will survive this…or, perhaps, both shall perish. In either case, I will gather what remains to me and decide whether to risk myself against the victor.
A part of him also thought that, perhaps, he should simply flee. But that, too, he was denied, for though his throne was shattered and his armies embattled, still was he King in Oz, if only for moments more, and he would see how this would end. He owed…he owed Oz that much. And in truth…perhaps he had no more stomach for this fighting any more. It had cost the lives of so many, the souls of others.
Erik Medon launched himself upward and the Verdant Dragon smashed him down, and Ugu understood the cleverness of her plan. Insane, but far from stupid. He has no allies left who could save him from a fall, and he cannot use his Mortal power while flying. He cannot reach her without magic, but the magic will not avail him against her.
And then Ugu gasped, a silent curse on his lips, as Erik Medon became…something else, a monster fully the equal of Amanita’s Dragon, yet different, a massive bipedal form that loomed like a mountain and gave vent to an alien, echoing roar that screeched like tearing metal and boomed like thunder, and sent forth a column of blue-white fire that stopped the Verdant Dragon’s power cold in its tracks.
But even that five-hundred-foot titan could only stop the Dragon once, and it was gone, gone, leaving only the man behind, and Ugu could see the desperation and growing despair on Erik Medon’s face.
But then…a realization, an idea, and the phantom image of a warrior transforming, transfigured to a gold-blazing avenger only slightly less substantial than the burning man of Faerie power that remained at the core, launching himself at a Dragon that covered the sky. The Dragon-fire enveloped the auric flame, but it seemed to bore through the black-green destruction, cutting forward, ever closer, ever nearer the great head –
And the light disappeared, and there was only a tiny dot hurtling the last few yards, the Verdant Dragon’s fire gone, gone with True Mortal power, and the great jaws snapped shut even as the dot streaked inside. There was a flash of light, a line drawn down the draconic figure from end to end, that then flickered downward to strike earth in a flare of brilliance that died away almost immediately.
The Dragon that had been Amanita Verdant convulsed, bellowed, and plummeted from the sky, smashing down atop the same point like an avalanche, piling up, an impact that sent a shockwave through the ground that just kept going, breaking the last of the Grey Palace, leaving only the original Castle of Ozma, also grey stone yet more solid than anything he had built, and finally the last massive coil struck ground and the shockwave died away.
Is it…over?
Even as he thought the question, the Brobdingnagian head stirred, rose, opening cold ruby eyes.
And just before the head, another figure rose, tiny, but glowing, staggering, cradling a broken arm, standing on a leg that bent wrongly. Yet… the leg was straightening, the arm as well, though they seemed less pieces of a living thing than shimmering outlines, a sketch of a man done in sunlight and fire. He strode away from the Verdant Dragon, his back to the monster.
“A…clever stroke, Mortal Man… One that hurt me. But alas, it, too, has failed, and now…” The Dragon smiled, and rose higher, preparing to strike once more, “…now shall I destroy you, if indeed enough is left of you to destroy!”
“Hmph.” The face was a study of lines and contours, an impression of a human countenance, but Ugu could see the one-sided, contemptuous smile. “You are…already dead.”
The Verdant Dragon began to draw in her breath, building the power of her strike… and stopped, as though choking. “What…what have you done?”
Erik Medon did not even turn around, but kept moving, eyes the only dark part of his burning form, and his voice was a mixture of pain and ecstasy that made him sound like the very embodiment of retribution. “Extended myself as a knife of mortality, across your entire body. I have cut through your soul, whatever you had of one, severing its connections to all that you have become.”
A brilliant golden line suddenly shone out along the Dragon’s length. “No…!”
“For a few moments your…pieces remained in contact, wires severed yet still touching, unaware they had been cut. But as soon as you sought to use the power, you placed pressure on the breach…and you have now torn yourself apart.”
“No! NO! I WILL NOT DIE!”
The scream of denial echoed across all Oz, as the monstrous thing that had been Amanita Verdant rose up, blotting out the setting sun with clouds of black storm, crackling lightning about her form, a terrible and awesome sight — but the light burned more brightly, a line, a seam, a crack, a splitting wound that burst open, releasing energy like a fountain of blood that could drown a world, with a shriek of agony and loss that left even Ugu, for a moment, on his knees, covering his he
ad, tears in his eyes.
And when he looked up, it was gone. The sky was clear. And a single strand of green hair drifted away on the wind.
His armies broke then, fleeing. General Guph led the retreat, Tempests and Infernos provided speed and the remaining Temblors performed rearguard action, disappearing as fast as they could into the forests beyond.
He began to turn, and with speed he could not follow Erik Medon was there. Erik’s hand, flickering like fire, almost transparent, closed about Ugu’s throat, burning iron, and effortlessly lifted him from the ground. Ugu pulled at that deathgrip, hammered at it with all his Herkus-born strength, but it was useless.
A strange peace came over him then. So…it does end here. Amanita has died, and I, who helped make her, who helped do all those things in her name, will follow her.
The blue Mortal eyes glared fiercely up, and he felt the hand trembling, starting to contract. There were footsteps, and from the corner of his eye he saw three other figures: Nimbus Thunderstroke, Zenga of Pingaree, and Ruggedo the Red, the Penitent. They were staring at the tableau before them, with mingled expressions of disbelief and triumph.
“Victory, Lord Erik! Finish this one and we have won!”
In that glowing countenance, insubstantial lips skinned back from crystal teeth in a snarl. “Ugu. Release the enchantment on Oz. Free the Castle and the Emerald City.” The words were forced from Erik, clearly the work of a man holding onto himself for dear life.
Of course he would ask the one thing I cannot do. “I…cannot.” He forced the words out, painfully, past the grip on his throat. “To willingly…release…required both.”
“Ah.” Ruggedo said softly. “A safety mechanism, to ensure that both held the keys to the realm.”
“Then the only way to save the Emerald City — to unbind that enchantment — is to finish the job,” Zenga said coldly, and Nimbus nodded with grim agreement.
“Finish this now, Erik,” Nimbus said quietly. “It is the last thing left undone.”
The hand on his throat tightened… but slowly relaxed. “Is that the only way?”
I…find I do not mind, any more. “As far…as I know.” He managed an ironic shrug. “Without us fighting you…there may…be other ways.”
“We cannot risk that!” Nimbus said decisively. “Lord Erik Medon, hurry! Finish what we came here to do! Do not let her sacrifice be in vain!”
That nearly ended it. The hand squeezed, crushing, as molten tears started from Erik Medon’s blue eyes. The world began to go grey around Ugu, and though he felt much fear at what might await him on the other side, a part of him…welcomed it. I have done enough evil here.
But then the hand slowly began to relax. “I…can’t do it.”
“Erik –” Zenga began.
“I CAN’T!” This was the voice of the Mortal man again, though the power still burned through him, a voice of simple pain and tragedy. “In the middle of a battle, against something like Amanita, that’s one thing, but … Nimbus, you know me.”
“But –”
“No.” Erik straightened, and Ugu — incredulous — felt himself being slowly lowered. “I will not kill in cold blood. Not with Ozma’s power.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “And never in Poly’s name.”
He tossed Ugu into Zenga’s grip, stronger even than a Herkus. “Take him away.” Still blazing, he collapsed to insubstantial knees, tears welling up in his voice, falling to the ground like stars. “I’m…done.”
The world went white.
The light streaked into the sky, a column of sunfire that became a pure leaf-green, coalesced into a perfect sphere, a shining ball the color of life itself.
It flew out, near the horizon, and began to run, roll, skip, jump, along the ground. And wherever it touched, grey turned to living green. The light split, became two, danced along the dead circle, the broken battlefield, and scarred land was healed, was waving grasses and bright flowers; twisted bodies vanished, injured rose healed. The lights spiraled inward, and the great stone wreckage of the Grey Castle evaporated before them like morning mist in the sun, the houses beneath beginning to emerge, sparkling with emeralds and aquamarines, jade and nephrite, green-polished granite and emerald marble. The broken was rebuilt, and the Spheres SANG, a call of joy that even lifted the now-all-too-solid Erik Medon’s bedraggled head, caused his sobs to cease and a momentary catch of wonder in his breath, for the Emerald City was rising, the Castle of Ozma was no longer all grey dead stone, the towers were flying the banners of green and gold, gemstones were catching the light as they had not in centuries, and the lights spun with laughter, and Ugu suddenly understood.
“All will hinge on the choice of one;
A choice only made before it has begun.”
“Of course,” Ugu heard himself say, and Nimbus turned from incredulously staring at the miracle.
“Of course?”
“He is a man. A Mortal man. But he is not a killer. He sought to avoid killing, even in our battle, for much of it. Had he killed me then, it would have been an act of deliberate evil, using the power of Ozma in ways…” he smiled bitterly, “that only we have ever attempted. He would have become that which he fought, and in doing so would have destroyed what he came to defend. Only by being true to his own nature — only by having, as his true nature, mercy in his heart rather than hatred — could he release the spell by releasing the power that otherwise was bound to him unto death.”
The lights coalesced again as the Emerald Palace was restored, coming together at the entrance. And from within that light came a figure, a woman, a girl really, with coal-black hair around a delicate face for which beauty would be a poor and inadequate word, in royal robes and with a dainty crown upon her head, a great emerald scepter in her hand. Nimbus dropped to one knee, followed by Ruggedo, Zenga, all of the men and women emerging from the newly-freed houses, the soldiers only now approaching. Ugu, too, dropped to his knees; Zenga looked mildly surprised that she had not had to force him down.
I have lost. I shall take this defeat, at least, with somewhat more grace than my first.
Only Erik Medon did not move. He remained on his hands and knees, immobile, as though even this miracle was not enough to give him hope or care.
Ozma looked down at him with sorrow, but did not intrude. Instead she came to them and gestured. “Nimbus Thunderstroke, we thank the Rainbow Kingdom for their faith and all you have given, and give our inadequate sympathies for what you have lost.”
Nimbus bowed, and Ugu could see that he was making a great effort not to cry before the Ruler of Oz. I knew this…Polychrome not at all, yet I see how she has touched them all. Where is my legacy, whom have I touched that would care to remember?
Other figures were emerging from the Castle — figures of legend he had passed many times in their stony prisons, now come to life, and at their head a tall girl, a young woman of fair hair and merry blue eyes, not as beautiful as the Princess-Queen but at least as formidable a presence, wearing the great jeweled Belt.
At that, Ozma turned to the Penitent. “Ruggedo, you have come to save my kingdom, that once you would have taken. You have my thanks.”
Ruggedo bowed so low his forehead touched the ground.
“And though you say nothing, and neither does he who saved us all, I was one with him. In a way, all of us of Oz’s heart heard him when he truly awakened to himself, and I was at his center. I know what was promised.”
Ruggedo shook his head, and Ugu wondered. “I know he had no true right to promise such things. I went with him anyway.”
“And because of that, the promise will be kept. I will not have my rescuer — the savior of Oz — foresworn. Dorothy…”
Dorothy Gale raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure ’bout this, Ozma?”
She smiled. “Look at him, Princess Dorothy. Is this the Ruggedo we knew… Or the one we thought he was, once?”
Dorothy studied Ruggedo the Red for a long moment. Then her hands went to the Magic Belt a
nd with a simple twist unfastened it, and laid it in Ruggedo’s hands. “There. Just as well, really, I never really did figure out everything it did, an’ it didn’t go with anything in my wardrobe.”
Ugu stared in disbelief. They have just given away one of the most powerful artifacts of Faerie to a former enemy.
Ruggedo was staring down at the Belt, and when he raised his face there were two tears trickling down the seamed face, tears backed by a rising smile. “My…my dears… I do not know what to say. I gave up hope of this when I gave up hatred, I think, and…”
“You need say nothing, Ruggedo, save that never again will the Nome Kingdom and Oz be anything other than friends and allies,” Ozma said gently, and the old Nome nodded, clearly unable for the moment to speak. “But if you would do anything…” She glanced towards Erik, and spoke very quietly. “The Hero deserves at least one Wish, don’t you think?”
Ruggedo smiled, and nodded. “The cost may be…high. But no higher than he has paid.” The Belt clicked into place, and Ruggedo placed his hands upon it and closed his eyes.
With the sound of shattering goblets, half the gems of the Belt exploded into sparkling dust. What has he done? The powers of that Belt are…
And from behind them all, an uncertain voice said, “E…Erik?”
Erik Medon snapped upright, and on his face was a look of utter terror — the expression of a man who dares not look, dares not hope, because he knows that if that hope fails it will shatter him completely. Eyes wide, voice trembling, he turned his head slowly, almost unwillingly. “Poly?”
Rising from the ground, even her stained garments once more unmarred, the golden-haired Daughter of the Rainbow stood, pale, unbelieving, her gaze only for the man before her.
Erik’s eyes grew even wider, and for a moment his face lit up until he looked not near fifty, not near forty, perhaps not even past one-and-twenty, shining with a piercing elation that transfigured him, and in a whisper so heartbreakingly joyous that it echoed across the land like a shout, he breathed, “Polychrome.”