by Peter
The noises get louder. Glass smashing. Voices, whooping like demented birds. Wood splintering. She tugs her rucksack on her back, pockets the camera and stalks towards the carved wooden entranceway. Running footsteps echo in the corridor outside, and a teenage boy races into the room, breathing heavily.
“Marie, they’re here. We have to go!” he says.
“Calm down, Gordie. I’m here. We’re going now.”
Marie catches Gordie’s arm, pulling him into the corridor. They start running to the stairs at the far end. There is a thumping stamp of boots. A blue and white china vase smashes to the floor ahead of them, followed by a hail of other antique objects from around the world – a clay mug, fertility statues; a shower of the precious past disintegrating before their eyes.
Marie and Gordie slide to a halt before the onslaught and desperately look for another exit, but it’s the stairs or the room she’d just left. Marie considers the huge, arched window behind them; but they are on the third floor and the chances of both surviving the leap are slim.
Spiky green hair rises up the stairway, followed by a snarling face of a youth. He is dressed in torn leathers. Others surge up behind him. All are in their early twenties, with piercings and rainbow-coloured hair. Tattoos of pairs of burning eyes on right cheeks signify their allegiance to the Annihilators. Their credo is violence, vandalism and devastation. After all, what else is there left to do in this dying world?
“Arm yourself, Gordie.”
Marie glances at the wood-panelled walls around her, and spies an ancient longsword hanging high up. Springing onto a wooden cabinet, she lunges for the weapon. Grabbing the hilt, she swings in the air for a second before the display fixings give way and she crashes down. The blade clangs on the floor, missing her thigh by millimetres. She drags the sword towards her and pushes upright. Once standing, she grasps the hilt with both hands and manages to lift the tip a metre off the floor.
The gang members pause to laugh and jeer at her efforts.
Gordie acquires the remains of a mace, mostly the chain and handle. He swings it wildly above his head.
“Get back!” Marie says, pointing her sword towards the Annihilators. They smirk and move forward, picking up shards of pottery and glass as they come.
“Gordie, get back down the corridor – grab the door key. We’ll lock ourselves in.”
“No. I’ll fight.” he replies.
Marie grimaces. “You’ll get to fight soon enough. Now move.”
Gordie glances at the green-haired goon. He bares his teeth in a feral grin and Gordie decides retreat is the better part of valour. Marie allows herself a moment of relief and then slowly backs after him, all the while swinging the sword toward the gang. The heft of the weapon strains her arms, making them tremble.
The gang surges forward, some of them attempting to close in from the sides. She heaves the blade in a semi-circle. It pierces the gang leader’s thigh leaving a jagged gash. He howls and falls back. A pink-haired girl darts forward. Marie feels a sharp stab of pain in her side, as the girl jabs her with a shard of pottery; she yelps, nearly dropping the sword. Marie struggles to swing the blade again, panting with exertion. The flat of the steel connects with the back of the girl’s knees. Pink Hair pitches forward, becoming entangled with another gang member as she falls, becoming a thrashing heap of limbs.
“Marie – quickly,” Gordie shouts from the doorway to the sculpture room. The remaining gang members pause to assist their fallen comrades. Marie throws the sword at them and runs towards Gordie.
“Get them!” Green Hair yells, as another youth is tripped by the flying blade.
Adrenaline surges as Marie races towards the room. The pain in her side makes her stumble just as she reaches the carved doorway. Gordie pulls her inside, slams the door and turns the big, wrought iron key in the lock. They lean on the door, caught between relief and fear.
“Won’t hold long. What we gonna do?” Gordie asks.
“I don’t know,” Marie replies. “Help me to the far end.” She gestures with her head.
He places her arm over his slender bony shoulders and half drags her back towards the large stone head. Her other hand clutches the wound at her waist. Reaching the statue she removes her hand: it is covered with blood. She reaches forward, to the stone head, to steady herself, and slides down its side to the floor. Leaning against its strong jaw, she leaves her blood smeared across its dimpled cheeks.
“Sorry I couldn’t keep you safe,” she says, smiling weakly at Gordie.
“No-one could. Least you tried.”
“Sit with me?” she asks, patting the floor beside her.
He perches, cross-legged and takes her hand. They sit in silence, listening to the muffled sounds of the gang attacking the door.
Marie looks up at the genteel face of the stone head and once again whispers to it. “I wish I had more time.”
As she lowers her face, it seems that the smear of blood on the statue’s cheek is absorbed into the stone. A red light flickers in its cold, grey eyes.
A sharp, loud crack signals the wooden door giving way to the Annihilators’ onslaught.
Marie’s head snaps up and Gordie’s grip tightens on her hand. From her perspective, it looks like the gang bursts through the door in slow motion. Even so, they are all rage and glee and noise. Green Hair brandishes the sword Marie had abandoned, his eyes full of pain and anger as he limps towards them.
Marie’s vision starts to blur from the blood loss. She catches a whiff of salt water and feels a light breeze across her face. Shaking her head, she tries to focus, pushing against the statue in an effort to stand. She refuses to die sitting.
Although the Annihilators are coming closer, they seem less clear, like reflections in a puddle. It’s as if they are approaching against a back drop of blue sky. Waist-high grass sways in a breeze, but a breeze that is growing stronger by the second, ruffling her hair – despite the fact that she knows they are still in that musty old room.
“What’s happening?” Gordie asks, as the wind buffets them, pressing them back against the stone of the statue.
“I don’t know.” She grips his hand in both of hers. The wind rises, roars to a crescendo, and her ears pop, like attaining a high altitude. She starts trembling as pain and adrenaline surge through her system. Were they church bells? How odd, she thinks as her vision darkens. What will happen now? She slips into unconsciousness. The last thing she feels is Gordie stroking her arm and calling her name. I’m okay, she thinks, just a bit tired.
MARIE OPENS HER eyes. The gang, the room – in fact, the whole damn building – has disappeared, replaced by lush blue-green grass, a sprinkling of white flowers. Topped by the brightest blue sky she has ever seen: a sky not possible in her smog-choked, polluted world. But then she doubts she is in that world right now.
“Where are we?” Gordie asks.
“Well, we’re not in Kansas any more, Toto.” she replies.
“Eh?”
“Oh, it’s something Mother used to say.” She looks around. “I have no idea where we are.”
Pain slices through her side. She is still crouching so she slides to the ground; warm stone scrapes against her back. The giant head from the museum is behind her, exactly as before…
“Wherever we are, it’s here too,” she says, jerking her head towards the statue.
A low rumbling sound startles her; it’s in time with the vibrations she notices running through the statue and the surrounding earth. The noise bubbles up, becomes louder, and the head starts to shake. Marie and Gordie scramble away from it, falling into the grass nearby. Just in time … to witness the rocky lips open and hear the booming laugh burst forth
Blue and green lights flicker in its eyes, looking straight at them. The laughter quietens and the lips settle into a smile. Marie stares at the now-animated head. She is definitely hallucinating, Marie thinks. Chalk that up to the amount of blood I’ve lost. Either that or I’m going mad, or dead, or all
three. The extra pain from Gordie squeezing her shoulders a little too tightly suggests maybe not – unless they are both sharing the same hallucination.
“Of course I’m here, too, young lady. This is my domain, after all. Where else would I be? Well, apart from that museum, and a few other museums, and actually, my awareness is stretched a little thin among all my representations to be honest, so forget I asked that.” the head rumbles.
“You … you’re talking,” Gordie states, pointing a trembling finger at the stone figure.
It raises an eyebrow in response. “Not too quick on the uptake, that one, is he?” the head says. “Then again, I’m sure being whisked through a few dimensions and suchlike would have an effect on zee little grey cells.” The final few words are intoned in a rather odd attempt at a different accent.
Marie and Gordie stare at the stone head.
Its expression drops slightly. “Not Poirot fans either, then? Should have guessed … you don’t even know The Wizard of Oz. What has happened to culture in your time?”
“You’re the Wizard of Oz?” Marie asks. “Did you bring us here with some kind of … magic?”
They both jump as the booming laugh washes over them again.
“HA HA HA HA. Me, the Wizard of Oz? Ha ha haaa! No, no. The Wizard of Oz was … well, never mind. That would be far too complicated to explain. But you can call me Oz if you want, it’s as good a name as any, and you probably couldn’t pronounce half of my other ones.”
“Where are we … Oz? Why did you bring us here?” Marie asks. “Not that we’re ungrateful – better than being killed.” She points her face into the gentle summery breeze for a moment. The land is peaceful, now that Oz has stopped sending ripples through the ground with his laughter. Gordie sits down behind her, though one hand still rests on her shoulder.
“I told you where you are, my dear girl. My domain.” Oz replies. “And as to why I rescued you, why, it seemed only fair after your flattering comments. I’m rather partial to being called magnificent. Plus, you made the appropriate offering.”
Marie’s bloody smear briefly reappears on Oz’s cheek before soaking into the stone again. She shivers, despite the warmth.
“You whispered many wishes in my ear.” Oz continues. “For time, peace, beauty, love, to marvel at wonders and to create them. To stay with me. Well, I could grant the last request easily. As for the boy – you seem rather fond of him, so it would be rather churlish to leave him behind.”
Its full stone lips quirk upwards and the light in its eyes starts to dim.
“For now, my attention is needed elsewhere and you need to rest. You’ll find everything you need in the hut behind you. See you later, alligator.”
The blue-green light flickers out and the stone eyes stare straight ahead.
“Oz? Oz?” Gordie says.
“It … he’s gone,” Marie replies. “Or rather he’s not answering. Come on, rest sounds good.”
THE HUT IS constructed of woven grass. Inside, they find a couple of grass-stuffed pallets and a crude wooden table. A number of wooden bowls sit on the tabletop. Several contain nuts, berries and fruit. Another contains water and a final one a grey paste. Little handmade paper notes are propped up against the bowls, each with instructions, written in an ornate hand.
EAT ME, says the food note. DRINK ME, says the water note. PUT ME ON YOUR WOUND, says the paste note.
“I don’t remember the last one from Alice.” Marie mutters. As she says this, on the final note more writing appears, in a smaller, more hurried script.
Hurrah, you have at least read Alice’s Adventures. There is hope for you yet. I had to improvise as Alice did not sport a wound like yours...
While Marie is reading, Gordie eagerly grabs a handful of nuts, but then hesitates. “Do you think it’s safe to eat them?” he asks.
“I expect so. Seems a bit of a waste of time to rescue us and then to poison us.”
THEY EAT AND drink their fill. Marie dresses her injury with the grey paste; it numbs her wound quickly. Then they both collapse on the grass pallets. Sleep comes quickly, lulled by the sounds of waves lapping and the sweet scents of summer flowers.
The next morning, they wake refreshed. Gordie heads straight to the table. Marie yawns and stretches, pausing to check her side, lifting her t-shirt to peer at the wound. The skin has healed into a slightly puckered scar, which feels tender and tight – but no actual pain. Miraculous, indeed.
“There’s no new food. I thought it would magically refill,” Gordie complains.
Marie smiles.
“Well, I’m glad the magic worked on my injury,” she says, indicating her side, “but I guess we can’t rely on magic for everything ... let’s go explore.”
They spend the rest of the day wandering around. It turns out to be an island only a few miles across. Their hut is the only habitation. Otherwise it’s just plants and rocks, apart from Oz’s statue, which is visible from nearly everywhere. Despite frequent treks past the head, and yelling at it a few times, there is no reaction from the entity. A stream provides fresh water, the sea a warm bath and patches of trees and bushes plenty more berries to refill the wooden bowls. This becomes their routine over the next few days, as they slowly relax, luxuriating in a freedom from fear that she – and Gordie – has not experienced for a long time.
Gordie laughs more, splashes in the sea and eats everything in sight. Marie sleeps, floats in the sea, and collects pebbles and flowers. The deep coil of tension within her slowly unravels. Each day Marie sits in the shade of the stone head, talking to Oz. She tells it about her life, the little she knows of Gordie’s experiences, the few books she used to read, the things she misses and since the deterioration of her world.
Hoping for an answer – even just a quick quip to indicate that Oz is still aware of them.
GORDIE SHAKES HER awake, lines creasing his forehead and his breathing heavy.
“Marie! Marie! The berry bushes have gone.”
“Uurgh. Whaddaya mean?” she says, rubbing her eyes.
“The bushes have gone—”
“What? You mean the wind has torn them up – or something?”
“No,” Gordie replies, jabbing his hand towards the entrance.
“There’s no sign of them. It’s like they never existed.”
They spend the day searching the island, noticing changes. By midday some of the trees have gone and it takes five minutes less to walk across the island. Then a further five minutes less the next hour. By the evening only their hut and Oz’s head remain on an island a few hundred yards in diameter. Waves lap the shores surrounding them.
“Oz! Oz! Answer us, damn you.” Marie shouts. “Where are you? What’s happening?”
Tears of frustration run down her cheeks, and she hugs Gordie to her. After a few minutes staring at the statue she slowly pushes him away and wipes her eyes. She takes a deep breath and tightens her shoulders. “Okay. We’ll try it another way.” she says, looking directly into the stone eyes. Picking up a sharp rock from the ground she scrapes it across her lower arm, grimacing in pain. Gordie grabs the hand holding the rock.
“What are you doing?” he yells.
“Blood got his attention last time. Perhaps it will again. We have to do something, before we … we wake up in the sea.” She squeezes Gordie’s hand and carefully removes it from her own. She scrapes the jagged rock against her arm again, this time drawing a little blood. She drops the rock and wipes the blood off with her forefinger. She dabs her bloody finger on the warm stone cheek of the statue, hoping for a reaction.
Green-blue light flares in Oz’s eyes and a sighing breeze escapes the stone lips.
“More blood? What now?” it asks, eyebrows drawing together.
“The island’s disappearing,” Marie shouts.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Oz replies.
“We’re not,” Gordie says. “Look around.”
There is a grinding noise as the stone head slowly swivels from side
to side. The flickering eyes take in their surroundings.
“Ah. That’s not good. No, indeed,” Oz states. “Houston, we have a problem.”
“A problem! A problem!” Marie’s eyes widen. “I thought we were safe here. You’re a god, for God’s sakes. Do something!” She slaps Oz’s cheek, stinging her hand.
“Hey, hey! No need to get violent.” Oz’s stone lips purse. “I never said I was a God. You just presumed that.”
“What are you, then? More importantly, what’re you going to do?”
“What I am would take a little long to explain. Let’s just say that … that I’m a powerful being, rather like the Wizard of Oz. Your blood gave me a power boost, but obviously that’s worn off while I’ve been distracted. I thought you’d be fine here.”
Marie and Gordie stare at the head, its green-blue eyes dimming a little under their scrutiny.
“What I do is easy. I grant your next wish. So, what will it be? Time, peace, beauty, love, to marvel at wonders or to create them?”
“What?” Marie asks, now realising their idyll was always too good to be true.
“Where do you want to go? What do you want to do?”
“What do I want?” she shouts, while Gordie hides behind her. “I want to live, I want Gordie to live. In fact, I want us to do more than live. I want us to have lives. Lives that aren’t all about fear and hiding, and sieving the ruins for scraps. I thought you’d given us that, but it was all a big trick, wasn’t it?”
The stone head draws back a little at her onslaught and then grins. “You are a feisty one, all right. No wonder I like you. It isn’t a trick, merely a respite while you heal. I could never keep you here forever. Your path is always back in your own world. It’s just a case of seeing what path you would choose.” The light in its eyes flares red. Its mouth opens wide. “You do not wish destruction, therefore you choose creation.” it shouts. The roar of its voice knocks them over and the waves wash right up to their bodies.
Marie’s vision dims. This is all starting to feel familiar, she thinks, as the darkness envelopes her.