Blood of Wonderland

by Colleen Oakes

  Sir Gorrann smiled and stroked his beard with disturbing fondness. Dinah was suddenly very afraid of him.

  “I stalked and killed one each night, so that the rest might live in fear before their death’s imminent arrival. They called me the Night Ghost and wrongly assumed that I was a Yurkei assassin. When at last my vengeance was complete, I left their bodies in the Twisted Wood, just like they had left my Amabel to die. I lived for months in these hills, eventually finding the will to continue on living.I made my way to Wonderland proper. There was nothing left for me in the Twisted Wood. I never wanted to see those places again, those places in my memory where I had first seen my wife, or where we had conceived our child.”

  Sir Gorrann cleared his throat and blinked before continuing along the uphill trail. His voice steadied. “I made my way to the palace, where I was blindsided by its size and wealth. I fell in with unsavory bedfellows, and soon was stealing to eat, then stealing to live. I was a good thief when I wasn’t drinking, but unfortunately that was more often than not. I was caught breaking into a lady of the court’s house while attempting to steal her jewels, so drunk I could barely stand. Her husband was a beast of a man and rightly beat me to a bloody pulp. I was thrown into the Black Towers.” Dinah’s mouth fell open, and he managed to give her a rough smile.

  “Yes, Princess, yeh aren’t the only one who has seen the horrors of the Black Towers. Luckily for me I was in the Thieves’ Tower. I was never strapped against its terrible roots.” Dinah said a silent prayer that Harris was not being strapped to the tree. Seeing him devoured from the inside as Faina Baker had been would surely be enough to break her.

  “I was imprisoned in the Black Towers for two years. It was a dark time, but I managed to befriend a young Club who told me everything he knew about Wonderland, the Black Towers, and the Cards. I was forced to join the Spades, for which I am ever grateful. Thanks to the Spades, I had food, a place to live, and a purpose. Eventually I became the lead tracker for the king, and that led me to being here with yeh now.”

  Dinah frowned as she sent a scattering of pebbles rolling down the steep mountainside. “I still don’t understand why you sought to help me. You’re a Spade. Therefore you are loyal to the king and the Cards. You have betrayed your oaths in a grand way.”

  The Spade climbed up onto an overhead ledge to view their surroundings and then looked down on Dinah, who observed him with confused admiration. Leading Morte, she scrambled up the path behind him, finally approaching the summit of the mountain.

  The Spade stood before her, his stare intense. “Indeed. I have broken my vows by helping yeh. Surely yeh’ve assumed that there was something I left out of the story. One man remains, just one left, and my vengeance against him will be a prize above rubies. A young man, a young king, recently crowned by his father, who ordered the raid on my village, was present for the murder of my family before he was called back to Wonderland on royal business. This man I could not kill silently while creeping through the woods, for he was guarded night and day by fighters more skilled than I. To take his life is not enough. I must see him fall, to see everything that he loves stripped from him, which as far as I can see, is only power.”

  Dinah stared at the Spade as fat drops of rain drenched them both. Lightning snaked across the gray sky. “Vengeance. This is why I help yeh, and this is why we hike endlessly through these mountains. So that someday we will both have justice for the loved ones taken from us.”

  Dinah stared at the Spade, not sure what to say while her head reeled with potent thoughts and emotions. An empty hiss of air escaped her lips as she wiped a stray tear from her eye with the back of her hand, mingling with the rain that was now coming in sideways. Her pain was nothing compared to his loss, and yet she felt a sting of anger burning through her. His motivations had finally shown, and she was aware of just how close she was to a man who could have taken her life a dozen times before she woke.

  Finally, she found the words she was looking for and began to speak. “Sir Gorrann, I am sorry for the loss of your family, but I have no intention of returning to Wonderland Palace. Not tomorrow, not ever. Now, if you will please tell me where you are leading me, I’m certain we can—”

  “Be silent!” hissed the Spade, his head turning swiftly to the west. Morte’s ears perked up. There was only silence, and then the crunch of a leaf, the sound of a step on the trail below them. “Hurry!” he whispered. “Someone’s following us. We must pass over this summit, and quickly.”

  Fear churned through Dinah as she gripped the leather reins, urging Morte as quickly as she dared up and over the rocky slope. Coming over the rocks, the pair ran into a sheer cliff face. An enormous slab of gray rock loomed before them, extending its jagged ends into the noon sun. Hundreds of boulders filled the small space, as if a giant had been playing with his toys and left them in a terrible pile.

  “We’re trapped!” Dinah snapped. “Where did you lead us?”

  Sir Gorrann was scanning the face of the wall, searching for something Dinah couldn’t see. There were several footsteps now, echoing off the ledges below, the sound of more than a dozen men inching ever closer. At first Dinah was confused as to why they had not been swarmed over already, but then she understood. Whoever tracked them wanted to push them over the cliff face. Sir Gorrann continued to search between boulders.

  “What are you doing?” Dinah screamed. “We have to fight!” Finally, Sir Gorrann found what he was looking for. Two boulders, perfectly aligned, of equal shape and size. Upon first glance, there was nothing extraordinary about them, but on further inspection, their identical shape, marking, and color was unnerving. Dinah ran to Sir Gorrann, her sword drawn.

  “Put that away,” he mumbled. “You could not fight what threatens to push us off this ledge.” As they crept around the boulders, the Spade took a surprising step between them. Dinah blinked several times before she was able to decipher the illusion. What she thought were two boulders was actually one carved to look like two separate shapes. Inside a narrow space between the two rounded forms hid a tall hole, almost impossible to spot unless you were standing at the perfect angle. Dinah knew she never would have been able to find it on her own.

  “Through here!” shouted the Spade. Something churned in her stomach as she looked into the inky tunnel. It was a lurking, terrible feeling, a fear that distorted and confused. She recognized it immediately—this was how she felt when the root had twisted into her mouth. There was evil in that tunnel.

  “No, I can’t go in there.”

  Sir Gorrann grabbed her arm and practically dragged her inside. “We have no choice, Princess. Move!”

  She opened her mouth to object, but there were no other options. Head bowed, she followed Sir Gorrann’s mare through the narrow opening. Morte gave a great huff and stomped the ground furiously, his hooves sending booming echoes through the quarry. The ground seemed to shudder. Finally, once Dinah took her hands off his reins, he ducked his head and entered the tunnel willingly. His flanks brushed against the wall. He was unfamiliar and uncomfortable in this rocky terrain. His ears were flattened against his head, and Dinah could see his muscles tensed and ready to run. She felt a sudden rush of panic.

  Sir Gorrann, his mare, Dinah, and Morte were stacked end to end, moving as quickly as they dared. If Morte should panic and bolt, they would all be trampled under his crushing weight. Sir Gorrann glanced back at Morte, his face pale and drawn. He had obviously come to the same conclusion. They paused, their hearts humming loudly in their closely drawn quarters.

  “This is a wicked place,” breathed Sir Gorrann. “Let’s hurry. Keep yer devil calm.” The tunnel was maybe a half mile long, and from the moment they entered, an all-encompassing darkness draped them like a heavy blanket. Overhead, Dinah could hear the slight slithering of roots, a whispered hiss, and the sound of a thousand tiny legs. A liquid dripped onto her cheek, warm and smelling of blood. Her hand brushed up against something wet and rubbery and she leaped toward the ma
re with a shriek. Morte was becoming more agitated, and Dinah forced herself to remain calm as a wet tendril caressed her cheek in the darkness. Something was crawling in her hair that made tiny clicking sounds with a sharp mouth. It scuttled across her forehead and leaped onto the wall. The walls around them were alive, raising their voices in a hissed chorus. Evil, evil, evil. Sir Gorrann pressed himself against the wall to let Cyndy pass, and Dinah felt his hand close around her wrist, grateful for the warmth of his calloused fingers. A creature wet and long encircled their wrists before slithering away into the tunnel.

  “Do not run. Do not run.” He repeated the mantra again and again, convincing himself rather than Dinah. Dinah did not need the reminder. As terrible as the tunnel was—and it was the foulest place she could ever dream of, a place of nightmares—there would be nothing worse than being trampled alive and left to die in this place, to have your body consumed slowly by whatever demons thrived in this dark corridor. Her pace stayed steady, and her hand tightened around Sir Gorrann’s in a show of strength. She would keep him calm. They stayed silent, afraid their voices would collapse the rock inward, or even worse, stir up the invisible creatures to aggression. A wild fear of the unknown pressed against Dinah’s brain and she found herself remembering every dark thing that had ever happened to her. She saw death, bodies, the king. Charles, with worms crawling out of his eyes. Vittiore, wearing the crown her brother made her. The dead farmer, the arrow in his back leaking blood.

  She stumbled once, twice. Sir Gorrann was having a hard time as well, murmuring violent things to himself as he bumped off the wall, falling over his own feet. Some slithery heavy thing had settled on his shoulder, and he struggled to wrench it away. Dinah kept walking. She couldn’t help him. Her hope was gone. The steam from Morte’s nostrils was burning her elbow now, his muzzle pressed against her back. He was pushing faster now. We’re going to die in here, she thought. Another thought occurred to her—perhaps they were already dead. Perhaps this tunnel was death, in all its hideous finality.

  She couldn’t remember who she was. How did she get here again? A creature was prying at her mouth. Might as well open it, she thought. What could be the harm? Then warm light appeared at the end of the tunnel, a hazy pinkish spot, welcoming and safe. It throbbed through the darkness. Cyndy broke into a sprint toward it and Sir Gorrann followed, forgetting all previous instruction, so desperate to be free from this underground hell. Slimy, terrible things detached themselves from Dinah’s hair and wrists, slithering down her legs and back into the darkness. The light blazed through the dark. She burst through into its glorious pinkness and fell to her knees beside Sir Gorrann. He pushed her out of the way just before Morte’s gigantic body collapsed in a heap right where she had been kneeling.

  They lay on the ground, gasping, taking in heavy breaths of delicious, sweet air, so happy to be free of the tunnel. Minutes passed. There was nothing sweeter than being alive. Morte whinnied happily beside her, rolling on the soft carpet of flowers to erase the stench of the tunnel. When she finally felt balanced again, Dinah peered down at her hands on the ground. Purple flowers, the same color that Cheshire wore so often, opened and shut before her eyes, their blooms radiating individual rays of soft light. With each pulse of the petal, a tiny tendril of red lashed out, a pink light on the tip of the stamen. It was remarkable and strange all at once, and her eyes followed the ground until she saw that one flower led to a patch of flowers, and the patch of flowers led to a field. They were in an entire valley full of blinking purple and pink flowers, pouring out light and—she held her hand over the tip of the flower—Yes, heat.

  The flowers radiated a warm heat when they popped open, which accounted for the heavenly air that flowed through this field. The grass was a bright green, and felt more like a soft pillow than a wooded forest floor. Dinah felt the overwhelming desire to slip off her boots and run laughing through the flowers. It could only be called a hysterical happiness. She was drunk with it.

  “My gods,” she heard Sir Gorrann mutter, and Dinah stood up. The Spade rested his hand on her arm and with a gentle touch tilted her head upward. They both looked in wonder. Thousands of enormous, swirly mushrooms filled the field. They were huge, as tall as trees in most places. Their stems were wider than Dinah, trunk-like white stalks that led up into a thick, billowy explosion of color, the horizon like a bucket of parasols. They exploded from the ground, each unique in its varied colors and type, giving the overall effect of being in a hazy dream. Dinah turned in a circle. The valley was deep and long, a maze of color and fantastic curling shapes, each mushroom standing proudly against the sky.

  Dinah blinked. She suddenly wasn’t sure how long she had been staring at the mushrooms. Had she been here an hour or a minute? She looked over at Sir Gorrann. The Spade stood rooted in the same place he had been before, his mouth agape. Dinah began walking toward one of the mushrooms. Its cap was a brilliant yellow with swirls of glittering orange and red, like someone had taken a wet paintbrush to the top. Underneath the cap, a warm white light pulsed within its gills. They seemed to contract with each burst of light, as if they were breathing. The mushroom was utterly intoxicating, perhaps the most attractive thing she had ever seen. It seemed to be calling to her. Dinah reached out to touch the stem.

  “Don’t.” The deep voice broke her trance and Dinah’s hand jerked to a stop. The Spade walked up beside her. “Don’t touch them. They might be poisonous. We don’t know. On the other hand . . .”

  “I want to eat them,” whispered Dinah, her mouth watering at the thought.

  Sir Gorrann scratched his beard, his hand trembling with want. “I do as well, which is exactly why I think we shouldn’t. Let’s continue on our way.”

  Dinah wanted to do anything but leave. Instead, she simply nodded. Her eyes took in every stem, every inch of the mushrooms. Together they walked silently through the field, the fungi stretching out in all directions, seemingly never ending. Dinah watched with fascination as they passed a pink-and-white-striped mushroom with a black stem and yellow gills, a bright blue mushroom the color and depth of the sky, and a deep purple mushroom with a stem covered in a thousand tiny mushrooms of the same color. The light in the valley faded into a soothing glow. It was something otherworldly, the most extraordinary thing Dinah had ever seen, the exact opposite of the dark tunnel from which they had emerged. Sir Gorrann didn’t speak, but the Spade had drawn his sword for some reason that Dinah couldn’t fully comprehend. Morte walked behind them, eating everything in sight. There was no way Dinah could stop him in this valley of rich food, and she watched him with envy as he gulped down a pure white mushroom that appeared to be made of frosting. Her steps fell silently on the soft lawn. Twisty tendrils curled up from the ground, as thick as a man’s arm, as they passed. The curls gave a tiny shake when her foot landed beside them, as if they were stirring from a deep sleep.

  I could stay here forever, thought Dinah. I could lie underneath the mushrooms and simply watch their colors pulse with this . . . enthralling life. Dinah let her eyes linger on a pink mushroom, its rich fuchsia the same color as the inside of a Julla fruit. Tiny glowing stars dotted its cap. “Oh,” breathed Dinah, amazed at the beauty of it all. She reached for the mushroom. An odd cry echoed through the valley, such a strange sound in this peaceful haven of light and warmth. It sounded like a crane. The cry was followed by another, and then she heard a whump. She knew that sound. Her face distorted with terror as she spun around. The first arrow took the Spade off his feet. He flew backward onto the grass, a white-feathered arrow protruding from his chest. Two more arrows landed on either side of him. The valley grew lighter as all the mushrooms suddenly radiated with blinding white light. A second arrow landed just past her feet, another in front of her. She blinked in confusion.

  Wake up! she screamed at herself. You are under attack! Her thoughts finally connected, and she blindly ran, arrows falling around her like rain. Dinah plunged through the mushrooms, ducking and bobbing as arrows whizz
ed past her face.

  “Morte!” she screamed. “Morte!” Suddenly, he was upon her, his black hide rippling with excitement. He barely even stopped moving long enough for her to step onto his leg and vault herself onto the nape of his neck. They were flying, his muscles pounding like thunder beneath her, the rainbow light a colored blur that flashed past. Dinah watched with horror as a line of feathered warriors appeared before them. They were hundreds deep, each holding a notched arrow, each one trained on her and Morte. The Yurkei. Morte wheeled to the left, but they were there as well, and to the right, emerging from between the mushrooms like ghosts in the darkness. Had they been there the whole time? Morte whinnied and stepped backward. Something was wrong with him. He was stumbling, jumping, falling over his feet. The warriors slowly moved toward them. Dinah and Morte were surrounded on all sides.

  Morte began to buck, and Dinah clutched his mane to keep from falling off. When he landed, she nudged him forward. If there was no passage leading away from the Yurkei, she would go through them. Morte would crush them under his mighty hooves, even if he was acting strangely. Dinah drew her sword.

  “DINAH, STOP!” The voice plowed through the valley, strong and deep. The light from the mushrooms dimmed at the sound. She turned her head in surprise. It was the first time Sir Gorrann had ever said her name. He stood, looking very much alive, in the midst of a hundred Yurkei warriors, their arrows drawn, all pointing at Dinah and Morte. Blood leaked steadily from his shoulder, but there was no sign of a chest wound. Armor, she thought. He still has his Spade armor on. Thank the gods. The wild thudding of her heart shook her body as Morte wheeled and turned again.