A Dark Descent

by Lisa Fiedler

  Glinda was lost, and that meant all was lost.

  Suddenly the whisper of a thought seemed to fill the toolshed, as though the very walls and the dusty air and the dirt of the floor were all thinking it at once: That moment in which all is lost is the same moment in which begins the battle to regain it.

  “Locasta?” came Ursie’s worried voice. “Should I find Miss Gage? Should I let her know that Glinda is missing?”

  “Yes.” Locasta nodded. “Go, Ursie. Go now.”

  Ursie spun and bolted from the toolshed.

  Locasta was about to follow when she heard a distant rushing sound. Peering over the rim of the hole, she saw that the water had begun to whirl in its depths, and the whirl was rising! Splashing and swirling it came, like a contained flood, climbing up the rocky sides, deepening until it had swallowed the upper part of the spiral staircase and lapped over the bank, sloshing into the dirt.

  Locasta felt the knees of her breeches growing wet; the overflow seeped through her leather boots and soaked her rough cotton stockings underneath. In the crystal swell she sensed motion; a fast, upward glide and a beating of winglike fins scattering the watery light. Then something broke the surface—an elegant head whipping back in a cascade of silvery-citrine hair, which threw off water droplets like a shower of diamonds.

  The creature bobbed there for a moment, studying Locasta with bright, unreadable eyes.

  A Sea Fairy. Not a pen-and-ink outline this time, but an actual Sea Fairy.

  “Where are Glinda and Ben?” Locasta demanded. “These steps—where do they lead?”

  The Sea Fairy only stared.

  Locasta’s heart raced. As she waited for an explanation, she tried desperately not to imagine her friends drowned in this mysterious pool. But the Fairy said nothing, just continued to gaze at her with a serene, inscrutable expression.

  Growing irritated, Locasta pressed, “Are they safe? Will they . . . can they . . . come back?”

  The Fairy remained silent.

  “So it’s a secret, then?” Locasta stood up and began tugging off her sodden boots.

  The Fairy tilted her head; this sent the water rippling around her shoulders as if someone had tossed a pebble into the pool. But still, she said nothing.

  “I guess you enjoy being utterly unhelpful,” Locasta huffed, slamming one foot onto the top step of the spiral. She felt the water squoosh between her stocking-clad toes. “Say something!” she yelled at the Fairy.

  In response, the Fairy lifted her arms from beneath the surface.

  To Locasta’s shock, she was cradling Illumina.

  “Where did you get that?” Locasta choked, because she knew that nothing less than abject tragedy could have caused Glinda to part with her beloved sword. “Look, if you don’t tell me, I’m just going to dive in and find out for myself. Don’t you understand? She’s my friend.”

  Silence.

  “Fine.” Locasta prepared to dive, but the Fairy blew a delicate breath across the pool; this brought up a thundering wave that crashed over Locasta, knocking her down. She landed on her backside with a splat, drenched and dripping on the muddy toolshed floor.

  “Clever,” Locasta ground out through gritted teeth. “But if you want to keep me out of that pool, you’re going to have to do better than a measly little bath.”

  To her surprise, the Fairy smiled. And when she finally spoke, her voice filled the shed with the sound of gently bursting bubbles: “I am sorry, but you who have not been called are not free to enter this portal.”

  “Oh yeah? Well, I’m sorry, but not being free to do something has never stopped me before.” Locasta clambered to her feet and made to throw herself into the pool. But the Fairy’s next words stopped her cold.

  “You cannot help her, Locasta.”

  Locasta went pale. “Are you saying I’m not allowed? Or not qualified? Or can I not help her because she’s beyond help . . . because she’s already—?”

  “Take the sword,” the Fairy urged.

  “Tell me!” Locasta roared. “Is Glinda alive?” Her next words were like barbed wire in her throat. “Or is she dead?”

  A graceful swish of her tail brought the Fairy to the edge of the pool, where she placed Illumina reverently on the bank. “Would the answer to that question—whichever answer it might be—have any bearing on whether you continue the fight? Tell me, fiery child of Gillikin, if I were to give you one truth or the other, would it make you any less willing to do what you can do . . . what you must do . . . from this moment forward?”

  Locasta glared at the Fairy, clenching her fists as the tears welled up behind her eyes. “It would not.”

  “Very well, then.” The Sea Fairy nodded and gestured to Illumina. “Consider this a beacon of friendship to light your way.”

  Locasta bent down and picked up the sword with trembling hands; then she watched as the Sea Fairy arched and dove, her luminous tail swinging up just long enough to flick once—a wave good-bye—then flipping down to disappear into the blue-green shadows. Her departure sent a scuttle of tiny whitecaps across the surface; Locasta took them for what they were: a wish for luck.

  She was not surprised when the hole began to pull in on itself, closing over the steps and the water until all that was left was a pretty, curling shell, resting on a muddied patch of floor.

  13

  NOMES!

  Glinda came awake slowly, groaning at the unpleasant sensation of the pebbly ground beneath her cheek. She reached for Illumina before she’d even opened her eyes, only to recall as her hand came away empty where she was and what had transpired. Since her clothes were merely damp, not wet, she surmised that she’d been asleep for some time. She was in a grotto similar to the one the Sea Devil had snatched her from, but much larger. “Ben?” she murmured.

  “Kaliko, actually.”

  Glinda sat bolt upright on the bank and scanned her shadowy surroundings. “Who’s there?” she demanded.

  But all she saw were rocks, hundreds of them scattered around the cavern floor. Her first thought was that she’d slept through an underground avalanche. But as her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she saw that the rocks were not rocks at all. On closer inspection, Glinda realized she’d awoken amid a gathering of rock fairies. And though they all looked as if they’d been chipped or gouged straight from the walls, they were very much alive, with arms and legs and curious faces. Collectively, their build could be described as “stout,” but as in all populations, there were some notable variations—a few were tall and narrow, like monoliths, while others were flatter and smoother, like stepping-stones.

  One of them, the tallest by far, stepped toward Glinda. She guessed from his bearing, as well as the thick silver chain and medal he wore around his neck, that he enjoyed a measure of authority over the others.

  “Welcome to the Underlands,” the obelisk-like creature pronounced. “I am chief steward to King Roquat, the ruler of the Nomes.” He grinned, exposing teeth that looked like tiny rows of stalactites and stalagmites. Then he gave a haughty sniff and importantly waved the other Nomes away. The sound of the stony assemblage rolling off down the tunnels was nearly deafening.

  “Did you have a nice swim?”

  “Not particularly.” Glinda frowned. “Do you happen to know what’s become of my friend?”

  “He’s at the palace of King Roquat.”

  “Will you take me to him, please?”

  “Soon enough,” said Kaliko. “Did they give you a present?”

  “Did who give me a present?”

  “The Sea Fairies. I assume you encountered them.”

  “Oh, I encountered them, all right. As a matter of fact, I saved them. And lost my sword in the battle.”

  “All the more reason for them to give you a gift,” Kaliko twittered. “Check your pockets.”

  Dipping her hand into her pocket, Glinda’s fingers closed around something smooth and round. She withdrew it, squinting in the dim light of the cave. “It’s a pearl.”

>   “And a rather sizable one at that!” said Kaliko with an approving bob of his head. “Quite priceless, I assure you. Though not quite as precious as the stones we Nomes mine. See for yourself. “When the steward gave the heavy links of his chain a shake, several torches in sconces affixed to the walls burst into flame. The torchlight revealed countless piles of colorful stones scattered around the edges of the cave. They reminded Glinda of the emerald in the rough, and the miniature city that had come to life in her hand.

  “Lovely,” said Glinda.

  “I especially like the way they twinkle in the firelight,” the lanky steward remarked. “The flames are so much brighter now that Ember is free.”

  This caught Glinda entirely by surprise. “So . . . you are aware of what’s been happening above, then?”

  “Not usually,” said Kaliko. “But something very strange and sinister happened in the North earlier today.” He pointed one rocky finger upward. “Right above our heads, in fact.”

  Glinda followed his gesture to the cavern ceiling. “Am I in the North?”

  “No, you are under the North. To be in the North you would have to travel vertically from here.”

  “But I was in the South,” Glinda persisted, “in Quadling. How did I get all the way to the North?”

  “The lagoon that delivered you here is vast,” Kaliko explained with a disinterested wobble of his stony head. “There are currents, and riptides, and undertows, not to mention Sea Devils, and of course, Magic. Put it all together and here you are, deep below the Northern region. And if the water carried you all the way here, I suspect it had a good reason.”

  Glinda could only hope. “Go on, please, about the strange and sinister happening in Gillikin.”

  “A lurlquake! Brief but powerful, a unique seismic event in that it was localized to the interior of Marada’s castle, of all places!”

  “There was a lurlquake in the castle?”

  “Hard to believe, isn’t it? We were certainly shocked. In fact, we were aftershocked.”

  Glinda considered this news with a grimace. “I’m guessing such an upheaval would be the ‘fault’ of the fifth Witch.”

  “Ha!” Kaliko grinned. “Good one, Oz child. Although I have never heard of a fifth Witch.” He shrugged. “In any case, the lurlquake, whatever its cause, resulted in a fair amount of pebbly debris trickling down here into the Underlands. And pebbles, if you didn’t know, can be quite chatty. They heard of your success in the South and were more than happy to gossip all about it. Roquat seemed pleased to hear of Aphidina’s demise. Of course, he has no official loyalty to either side of this conflict, but I choose to believe that in his stony heart, he’s rooting for the side of Good.”

  “That’s nice to hear,” said Glinda. “I look forward to meeting your king. And to that end, will you please take me to the palace now?”

  “Oh, but you’re already here,” Kaliko informed her. “This is Roquat’s throne room!”

  Glinda looked around at the sloping dirt walls and sandy floor. An archway on the far side of the cavern was blocked by the impenetrable bars of a rusted iron gate. “I don’t see any king,” she said. “For that matter, I don’t even see a throne. This isn’t a palace, it’s just a cave.”

  Kaliko grinned down at her from his teetering height. “Is it?” He gave his medal a little flick and the wall torches were extinguished, plunging Glinda into darkness. Without thinking, she reached for her sword and felt her heart plummet when she remembered it was gone.

  Then, in a burst of magnificent golden light, the torches flared back to life and Glinda found herself standing in an extravagant hall complete with marble floors and walls studded with diamonds, rubies, and sapphires. In the center of the room was a gilt throne adorned with grand carvings, and perched upon it was the Nome King. And standing beside him was . . .

  “Ben!” Glinda ran to throw her arms around her friend. “I thought you were lost forever.”

  “I thought the same about you.” Ben was almost giddy with excitement. “Glinda, there’s incredible news. We were right to believe!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Remember the seashell’s spell? ‘Who you must find, is who you will see’?”

  “The Elementals? Here in the Underlands?”

  “Guess again,” said Ben, eyes twinkling.

  Glinda’s knees nearly buckled. “Mythra?”

  “I told you anything was possible! And the Nome King has confirmed it. He’s quite hospitable, actually. He gave me this.” Ben held up a golden cylinder for Glinda to admire. It was both lovely and strange, engraved with elaborate etchings all around, tapering off at one end to accommodate an eyepiece, while the opposite end was covered with a sort of rounded glass cap. “He calls it a collide-o-scope.”

  Recalling that she was in Roquat’s audience chamber, Glinda quickly turned toward the throne and dropped into a curtsy before the king. “Your Highness!” she said. “I am most honored to make your acquaintance.”

  Roquat, like his steward, was a being of animated stone. His rough, gray-brown skin sparkled with shimmering flecks of mica, and he was dressed in a sumptuous velvet robe of sapphire blue. His hair was a luxurious mane of white, as was the long, flowing beard he stroked, as he studied the girl from above.

  “Care to play a game?” he asked.

  The request surprised Glinda. She was hardly in the mood for games, given what Ben had just told her about Mythra.

  “Perhaps later,” she said as politely as she could manage. “Is it true that Mythra is alive? Do you know where I can find her? Is she close?”

  The Nome King smiled, resembling a friendly gargoyle. “My responses, in reverse order, are as follows: Yes; of course; absolutely; and . . . what do you mean, ‘perhaps later’? When the King of the Underlands invites you to partake in a game, you do not defer his gratification with vague promises! You accept his gracious invitation!”

  “But Your Highness . . . or is it your Lowness? Either way, I have been tasked with finding the Mystic, and if you can help—”

  “Silence!” The king roared the word with such force that Glinda stumbled backward. “If you refuse to partake in my game, I shall be forced to keep you here as my captive. Just like your associate.”

  “You mean Ben? But he’s not a captive, he’s . . .” Glinda shot a panicked glance to where Ben had been standing just seconds before.

  But all that remained on the place where he’d stood was the gilt cylinder with the bulbous glass end.

  “Go ahead,” the king said. “Have a gander.”

  Glinda suddenly felt very uneasy. But she picked up the collide-o-scope and pressed the smaller end to her eye. Inside, she saw the most spectacular array of colored stones. Through the lens of the collide-o-scope they seemed to be enormous, which was a very good thing since among them was Ben, surrounded by giant gems and jewels.

  “Twist it,” the king urged in a casual tone. “Give it a turn!”

  With quivering fingers, Glinda rotated the cap, and as she did, a squeal escaped her, though whether her reaction was one of joy or horror, she could not say. For inside the glass topper of this strange little instrument, endless designs were coming to life, defying dimension as they opened and closed in and out of themselves, creating countless mirror images of their own ever-changing shapes and colors. Glinda could not even describe the beauty of it except to imagine that if geometry joined hands with art and invited poetry and light to join them in a dance, this would be the result.

  And in the middle of it all was Ben, toppling over and under, this way and that.

  Jerking the collide-o-scope away from her face, she glared at the king. “Is he all right?”

  “Oh, he’s quite well, I can promise you that. A little dizzy, perhaps, but that’s not fatal. Well, hardly ever at least.”

  Glinda felt sick. “You mean he could die?”

  “I would hope not.” The king gave a stony shrug. “But it’s hard to predict what might happen when on
e is forced to look at oneself from a multitude of angles.”

  “But why? Why would you put him in such an odd little prison? He posed no threat to you.”

  “This is true,” Roquat concurred breezily. “But it is my opinion that your earth friend has much to learn. He does not yet recognize that ideas come in many colors, and when they are allowed—nay, encouraged—to collide, the results can be nothing short of dazzling! There are rainbows of purpose to be found, when one is willing to see the many colors that make up other schools of thought.”

  “You’re mad!” said Glinda. “You’re not making sense!”

  The king heaved one stone eyebrow upward and glared at her. “I’d be careful, if I were you. There’s room in there for two, you know.” He reached out to wriggle his stony fingers at her. “Give it back now. It’s not a toy.”

  Reluctantly, Glinda obliged, placing the collide-o-scope in his open palm.

  “Selfish girl!” Roquat scolded. “Did you think Master Benjamin Clay was brought to Oz only to help you? Did you not dream, just a little, that perhaps he was delivered here because he too has a future, and in order to achieve it, he just might require a bit of an attitude adjustment?”

  Embarrassed, Glinda looked down at her boots. “I did not dream that, no,” she admitted.

  “Well then . . .” Roquat’s hearty laughter boomed through the audience chamber. “Perhaps I’ve taught you something too.”

  He lifted his hand in the air and the collide-o-scope disappeared in a puff of jewel-toned smoke. Glinda let out a little yelp at the sight of Ben’s prison vanishing into thin air.

  “Seems you now require two things of me,” Roquat observed with a grin. “You need your friend back and you want to know the Mystic’s whereabouts. Yes?”

  Glinda nodded.

  “Tell you what . . .” The king crossed his stone legs and tapped the tips of his rocky fingers together. “How about . . . I play you for it?”