Blood of Wonderland

by Colleen Oakes

  “She’s here! Bring her to me, dead or alive. A lifetime’s worth of wages and a position in the court will be given to the Card who finds her. Do your duty and avenge your innocent prince! His blood will not be in vain!”

  The voice stopped Dinah cold—Morte as well. They stood perfectly still as the roar of soldiers echoed all around them in the darkness. They were surrounded. A leaf crackled directly behind Dinah, and she heard deep breathing.

  “Hide,” whispered a voice in the darkness. “If you want to live, don’t fight. Hide.”

  Dinah didn’t need to be told twice—or have time to consider the source of her advice. She quietly dismounted Morte and bid him to follow her into a densely leafed area of the trees, stumbling many times over things she could not see. Something slithered over her boot and she forced herself not to scream. It was a consuming darkness. The stars must be on the other side of the sky tonight,she thought, hiding from this terrible noise. The sounds of the Cards were all around her—the violent breaking of tree branches, the clanking of cups against thighs, horses pawing the ground, and a singular sound that chilled her blood—the thundering sound of another Hornhoov.

  She stood still, considering how best to hide—and to hide Morte. She looked over at him through the night but could see almost nothing—the black of his coat blended effortlessly with the trees and night. I have to disappear, she thought. Disappear into the night. The dress. Moving as quickly as she dared, Dinah untied the flaps on her bag and rummaged through it, her hands feeling for the thick, heavy fabric. When it seemed she had touched everything in her bag except for what she needed, Dinah’s hand felt it. She pulled out the dress, unfurling it against the starless night. Dinah could barely see her hand in front of her face, let alone the pitch-black fabric of the dress. Dropping her sword to the ground, she pulled the dress over her head. It slipped over her easily, the ends of the dress brushing the ground. Reaching back, she felt that the dress collar was lined with a hood. Dinah pulled the black wool over her dark hair and face. It was long enough to cover everything, and the fabric reached her chin. She pulled her hands into the sleeves so that they would not show and inched up next to a particularly wide tree, leaning into the trunk.

  The voices were almost on top of her now—they would be on her in seconds with their swords and horses and torches. She looked over at Morte, who stood as still as she was, white steam hissing out of his nostrils. It was taking every inch of his control not to leap into the fight. Dinah reached out and felt for his nostrils. She gently and carefully laid her hand over his muzzle. Her voice shaking, she murmured, “Still . . . still. . . .” The steam stopped and Morte knelt on the ground, becoming one with the thick foliage around him. Perhaps the animal knew he could not win this fight, not tonight, not while he was still recovering from the bear attack. Either way, Dinah could no longer see him. She pressed her face and body up against the tree and waited for them to come. Quivers of fear crawled up from her legs and infested her chest. Her knees felt weak. She clutched at her heart.

  “Don’t move,” whispered the same voice from before. Was it above her? “Don’t move, don’t breathe, and the Cards shouldn’t see you.” Dinah froze, a black statue in the wood. She closed her eyes as the Cards swarmed around them. Several Cards trampled right past her—it sounded like one almost tripped over Morte before he suddenly changed direction and veered to the right. He should be thankful to be alive,she thought, as that would have ended in his very gruesome death. Two brushed past the tree she was leaning against, and Dinah clenched her hands inside the sleeves to keep from fainting. Unable to raise her head for fear of being seen, Dinah kept her eyes glued to the ground. She could see nothing except the occasional flash of a torch as it was waved in the darkness, the wood swallowing the light in their vast space.

  The voices of the Cards flowed past the trees. “She was here!” “I heard her, Your Majesty!” “She’s over there!” The echo of the Cards bounced through the wood, making it very hard to tell where each man was—and she could see that the Cards were disoriented and scattered. They were unaccustomed to the trees, to the starless night. To Dinah’s horror, she felt the earth shake beneath her feet and heard the singular plodding with which she had grown so familiar. She dared to raise her face a few inches. The white Hornhoov carrying her father had entered the trees, with Cheshire’s sleek stallion following behind him. Her father sat proud and furious atop a female half the height of Morte but still gigantic. He carried a torch, so clearly visible in the darkness that surrounded the rest of the Cards. He wore his red armor, a black heart slashed boldly across the chest. The gold of his crown glinted in the firelight, his eyes lit up like flames. He held the reins on the Hornhoov in one hand and his Heartsword in the other, ready to kill. He seemed to stare right at Dinah, right through her. Beside him, Cheshire sat with his dagger clutched loosely as he scanned the wood, his black, catlike eyes searching each tree, his purple cloak draped over the flank of his steed.

  The Hornhoov turned her head in their direction, and the king began thundering toward them. Dinah clutched the tree, pressing her face against it, fearing that her heart would actually explode.

  “Stay still,” ordered the voice. Dinah froze as her father’s Hornhoov walked closer to them, his torch only lighting the few feet in front of him. Carefully, she raised her head and saw her father in the darkness, his face a mask of righteous fury. The king looked confused, as though he were unsure of what he was seeing. He was close enough that she could make out the sweat on his brow and smell the stink of drink clinging to his skin. She was sure he could hear her heart, which thudded with enough power to shake the tree.

  Her father climbed off the Hornhoov and began making his way toward the clump of trees where Dinah was standing. Hatred flooded over her fear, and she felt an intoxicating rush of fury circle up from inside her gut. He killed Charles, she thought. And I will kill him now, a shadow in the darkness. Yes, my king, come ever closer. Moving as slowly as she could, Dinah reached for her sword, her eyes trained on his neck, the only open spot in his armor. Suddenly there was a loud crash from the wood behind her.

  “There!” yelled a soldier from a distance away, “I heard something over there! I think it’s her!” The king’s face distorted with pleasure, and he vaulted back onto the Hornhoov, turning her in the direction of the sound. Cheshire followed, giving a backward glance at the seemingly empty valley before raising his dagger menacingly and following the king. The king’s Hornhoov kept trying to turn back—it could obviously smell Morte—but Dinah’s father simply yanked the reins and dug his spiked heels in.

  “Go, you blasted creature! Find her!” Together they galloped off into the brush, the light from his torch dimming to a dull candle in the darkness.

  “Go . . . ,” snapped the voice, and then Dinah heard the sound of a body dropping down from the tree above.

  “Who are—”

  “No time!” snapped the voice, distinctly male, somehow familiar. “Yeh, go! I’ll lead them south. Quickly, for they will surely come back here.” He was as invisible as she was, a hulking, dark shape in the trees. Dinah flung the bag around her, climbed onto Morte’s back, and strapped the sword across her shoulders. She leaned forward and pressed herself against his black coat, becoming invisible once more. Black on black, a shadow at midnight.

  “Quietly now,” she whispered to her giant steed. Morte seemed to understand as they headed east, his hooves gently kissing the earth. They moved far away from the roaming Cards, deeper and deeper into the night, until the sounds of her father’s army were no more. They walked quietly for hours, and Dinah noted that the flat floor of the forest was now increasingly sloping upward, harder and rockier. Hornhoov and rider moved soundlessly through the trees until Dinah spotted a small rock outcropping perched upon a narrow ridge overlooking the forest. Strategically, it would be a great place to watch for the approaching Cards, and besides, the trembles in her legs reminded her that they should go no farther. Witho
ut a word, she slipped off Morte and collapsed against the rocks, exhausted from her ride and from the all-encompassing fear. Morte knelt behind the rocks next to her and fell quickly into slumber, leaving her alone with the night sky.

  Comforted by the fact that she didn’t think her father’s army could sneak up on them in the dark—or find them in the dark, for that matter—Dinah let her eyelids flicker closed once, twice, and then she surrendered to her voracious exhaustion. She dreamed of a deck of cards on a glass table, being played by a black glove. The hand was detached from an arm, and tiny flecks of crimson dripped across the faces on the cards as they were revealed. Hearts. Spades. Diamonds. The king. The king. The king.

  Her eyes opened again in the early dawn and she woke drenched in a feverish sweat, unsure of what had awakened her so suddenly. Then she heard the click of a boot in front of her and felt a cold steel blade pressed firmly against her neck. Trembling, she raised her eyes, her black braid brushing the tip of her sword. A Spade stood before her, his massive frame blocking the sun.

  “Morning, Princess.”

  Four

  Dinah flew backward, knocking her spine against a rock. Picking up a handful of loose dirt, she flung it at the Spade’s face and felt the ground for her sword. The Spade gave an annoyed cough.

  “You won’t be finding that now, Yer Highness.” The Spade raised his other hand, which held Dinah’s sword. He had two swords and she had none. “Yeh know, it’s not very princess-like to throw dirt.”

  Dinah paused a second before slowly inching herself toward the Spade, hoping to scramble over the rock to where Morte lay snoring on the ridge above. Why is he still sleeping? Curse that lazy beast! As she moved forward, his blade slid coolly against her throat. She stopped moving.

  “Don’t be calling that monster of yours. I just want to talk to yeh, that’s all.”

  Her heart galloped wildly in her chest and Dinah glanced frantically around for the rest of the king’s men. “Where are the others?”

  “Ah, them. I left them behind.” The Spade stepped forward into the light and Dinah gave a loud gasp.

  “You!” She recognized the Spade instantly—his dark gold eyes, his grizzly gray hair, the tiny black heart tattooed under his right eye—mostly because of the shallow two-inch scar that ran down his left cheek. “I know you.”

  The Spade smiled and drew his sword lightly across the mark. “Yes, yeh know me. You gave me this, you may remember, back in the palace when I dared to pluck a silly wooden toy from yeh. Yeh slapped me with a big ring? A big ring for a spoiled princess.”

  “It wasn’t my toy. It was for my brother.”

  The Spade grimaced. “He won’t be needing that much now, will he? Wings might have helped more.”

  Dinah let out an angry scream before she feinted left, twisting past the sword, and managed to grab the Spade’s black breastplate. He roughly shoved her backward with one hand. She tumbled in the dirt. He was so strong. She flung a rock at him, which bounced off his armored chest.

  “Do not speak of my brother, you filth!”

  The Spade peered at Dinah with fascination. “Just as spirited as I remember yeh! Now shut that privileged mouth and listen to what I say. I’ll need yeh to promise that you won’t try to run from me, otherwise I might have to give you a matching scar. And unlike me, you aren’t pretty enough to make it charming.”

  Dinah sat back, her legs collapsing underneath her. The Spade wiped his face with his sleeve and tossed Wardley’s sword into a nearby bush. He then dropped his sword down to waist level, his keen eyes never leaving Dinah’s face. Her eyes met his and there was a moment of silence where they stared at each other. He stroked his goatee, peppered black and gray.

  “I’m here to aid yeh. You can’t make it very much longer without my help. Yer father and the Cards will find yeh. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but they will. And when they do . . .” The Spade pursed his thin lips and drew his finger across his neck. “Your father is a king entirely without honor.” His eyes focused sadly upon the wood behind her.

  Dinah stared at him, not understanding what he was saying. He wants to help me? She followed his eyes to the side, giving the impression that she was considering his speech before bolting off to the right. She almost made it past the edge of the boulder and opened her mouth to yell for Morte but before she could, the Spade caught her around the waist and flung her roughly to the ground. Dinah’s still-healing fingers vibrated with pain, and the Spade reached forward and boxed her on her right temple, which left Dinah’s head spinning. Blood seeped into her ear.

  “Oh, fer gods’ sake . . .” The Spade picked her up and easily propped her back underneath the rock overhang. “We’ll try again. My name is Sir Gorrann. I’ve been a Spade in the Cards service for thirty years, and I am here to help yeh, if you will just settle down and stop behaving like a wild bear, damn yeh.” Dinah was having trouble breathing, and the world spun around as her hearing slowly returned. She was unsure of what was happening. He gave a loud sigh.

  “It makes me unhappy to treat yeh so, but until you stop tryin’ to run, it’ll just be beatin’ after beatin’.” He settled down next to Dinah on a tree stump and pulled off his black gloves, flexing his hands. She laid her forehead against the ground, her hands curled protectively over her head.

  “I can’t . . . I can’t . . . think.”

  “Aye, you’ve never been hit before, have yeh? More reason that you need help to survive. I can teach you many things, Princess. How to cover a track, how to fight, how to find food.”

  “I know how to fight,” mumbled Dinah.

  “No, yeh don’t. That handsome stable boy might have taught yeh a few things, but fighting wasn’t one of them.”

  “Wardley?” At his mention, everything in the world seemed to stop. “What do you know about Wardley? Is he alive?”

  “Ah, now yeh want to talk.” The Spade dusted off his black tunic, adorned with a glossy black Spade symbol. “Tell you what, Princess—I’ll make yeh a deal. Yeh stop trying to run, and make sure that horse of yers doesn’t impale me on one of his bone spikes, and I’ll tell yeh everything yeh want to know about Wonderland and what’s happened since yer . . . departure.”

  Dinah blinked in the rising sun, her eyes trained on the Spade’s face. “I remember you. You left the gate open that night. You could have shut it, but you waited. I saw you. You paused . . .”

  The Spade gave a quick nod. “That I did. Now, we best be on the move. If we stay here, the king’s Cards will be on us in less than an hour.”

  “How do you . . . ?”

  The Spade gave a low whistle, and a reddish-brown mare approached on gently trotting feet. Dinah frowned. Morte would definitely not come if she whistled.

  “Answer me this, traitor: Why are you not with the king?”

  The Spade gave a snicker as he mounted the mare. “Let’s just say that I have my own interest in helping yeh. But that’s not for yeh to worry about yet. Before I’ll answer any questions, I need yeh to straddle that black thundercloud and ride.”

  Dinah climbed unsteadily to her feet. “How long?”

  “How long fer what?”

  “How long until you answer my questions?”

  The Spade gave a laugh. “I’ll answer one question each time the sun sets. Now, we really must go.” He had her just where he wanted her, she was sure of it, but what else could she do? She could no more stop breathing than turn away from knowing Wardley’s fate.

  “How is it that you know what they are doing if you aren’t with them?”

  The Spade had already begun riding into the trees, which were looking ever more whimsical on this side of the Twisted Wood. “I know because I’m the king’s best tracker, or at least I used to be. They are tracking yeh even now, and after yer close call last night, I’m sure yeh know what that means. They will rush in like water, surrounding yeh from all sides. The darkness won’t hide yeh again, not with the trees thinning out the farther east we go.”


  Dinah wiped her face on the heavy black dress. “That was you. You told us to hide.”

  “Aye. And if I hadn’t, yeh would be headless right now, since yeh were determined to fight an entire army for one single moment of revenge. I hope I can teach yeh to think about the consequences of yer actions, to control that fury.”

  “My father murdered my brother.”

  “Not the first, I imagine, to be wronged at the hands of the king, vengeful bastard that he is, but that’s a discussion for another time. We must move.”

  From the depths of the Twisted Wood below, she thought she heard the faint blast of a trumpet. They were still looking for her, and if she stayed, they would find her. The Spade was right. There was no choice. She pushed her hair back from her face and glowered at the Spade. “Fine. Let me get Morte.”

  “Oh, is that his name? He’s a ripe, ferocious animal that one. I’ve seen him in battle. Killed a dozen Yurkei right in front of me.”

  “You should ride him. He loves new riders.”

  The Spade chortled. “I don’t think I’ll be doing that today, Princess.”

  “Don’t call me princess anymore,” she snapped quietly. “My name is Dinah.”

  He tipped his head in her direction as his brown steed disappeared under a clump of mossy green trees. Dinah stood still for just a second, letting the breeze rush over her. There was a new chill in the air, and she realized with a start that from the top of the rock outcropping, she could see the faintest outline of the Yurkei Mountains, once far on the horizon. The trees in the valley below groaned hungrily in the breeze, and she saw several of them reach out to welcome the clean, frigid air. In the azure sky above, a red-feathered hawk dived again and again into the wood, searching for food, spiraling with deadly efficiency as it sailed above the trees. Its feathers rippled like fish scales, and she watched as the flaming colors danced over its small form.