Glinda was treating their assault on the Emerald City as if it were a grand picnic. She sent Ozma to her chambers to get ready—“Make sure you pick out a lovely dress, dear, we can’t have anyone seeing you look less than your best,” she called after Ozma—and then brought the Scarecrow up to her own room, where she spent a long time conjuring up various battle outfits before settling on a fitted hot-pink bodysuit with amethyst-edged metal plating at the breastbone. The Scarecrow glanced up at the sky, where the sun was already high.
“Aren’t we leaving soon?” he inquired. “It’s a long journey to the Emerald City.”
Glinda yawned. “Not when you have magic,” she said. “We’ll be there in no time. Don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud, Scare.”
At last, after adjusting her makeup and eating another ice cream sundae, she was ready. Once Glinda decided to get going, she didn’t waste a moment. In no time at all, she had assembled her troops in front of her palace. Ozma, contrary to what Glinda had suggested, was wearing practical clothes for the journey. She had on a plain, unembellished dress, and her hair was bound up tightly in a neat bun. Glinda gave her a disapproving look, but said nothing about her clothes.
“Now then!” Glinda said brightly. “Is everyone ready? Ozma, I’m going to need your help. Moving an army is a job too big for one witch!” Ozma nodded, and Glinda took one of her hands. “When I give you the word, join your magic with mine. Don’t worry about what to do with it—I’ll direct you.” Ozma nodded again. The Scarecrow tried not to show it, but he was impressed. Glinda was indeed powerful—far more than she’d let on. He’d never heard of a witch strong enough to move so many people before, even with help.
“I’ve never been in a battle before,” Ozma said worriedly to the Scarecrow. “Have you?” The Scarecrow nodded. “What was it like?” She took his free hand.
Once again, the Scarecrow felt sorry for the poor girl. She was no match for the likes of Glinda—or for what faced them at the palace. He thought of all the bloodshed he’d seen in the last few days. He was getting used to plotting, but he’d never get used to all that death.
“You’ll do fine,” he told Ozma. She was satisfied with that answer, although he didn’t know if it was the truth.
Still holding Ozma’s hand, Glinda raised her arms, and her soldiers began to glow with an eerie pink light. The Scarecrow prepared himself for the strange feeling of magical flight. At least they didn’t have to go through the wall this time. The ground dropped away from them, and a thick, dark fog poured in all around them. “We’re going a different way this time, since there are so many of us,” Glinda said in the darkness. Ozma squeezed his hand tightly, and he squeezed back in what he hoped was a reassuring way. He couldn’t see anything in the pitch-black world Glinda had brought them to, but he could feel that they were moving very quickly. Ozma was gripping his hand hard enough to cut off his circulation, and he was grateful he didn’t have any.
Still, her small hand in his made him feel something not in his head, but in his chest, where his heart should have been. She trusted him.
Then he felt the surge of magic and he wondered what the fuss was all about. He did not love it like the witches did. He did not chase it like the Wizard did. He felt the power but it meant less to him somehow.
The journey through the darkness somehow seemed to last forever and no time at all. “Hold on, everyone!” Glinda called out cheerfully. The Scarecrow felt himself plunging downward. Ozma squeaked in surprise. Suddenly the darkness lifted, and he hit solid ground with a thump that jarred his stuffing. All around him, Glinda’s soldiers were adjusting their armor and forming military ranks, unfazed by the journey. They were standing outside the gates of the Emerald City. This time, the gates were closed.
“Now that’s what I call a surprise entrance. They’re very well trained, aren’t they?” Glinda asked smugly.
“Indeed,” agreed the Scarecrow, wondering what use Glinda could possibly have had for a trained army. How long had she plotted to put Ozma on the throne? Would she have deposed him by force, if Jinjur hadn’t come along to waylay her plans? Somehow, he didn’t doubt it. It was more and more obvious how ruthless Glinda was underneath the pretty, feminine exterior. Had she had more evil thoughts in mind when she’d sent the Lion and his beasts into battle? Had she hoped they would be killed? The Scarecrow hoped his friend was still safe. Even at the end of the battle, the Lion had been loyal to him at no benefit to himself. That was more than he could say for Glinda.
“How will we get in now?” the Scarecrow asked, eyeing the tightly shut gates. “I can’t imagine Jinjur will just let us in.”
“She doesn’t have to,” Glinda said airily. She let go of Ozma’s hand, wiggling her fingers, and flicked them dismissively at the gates. A sizzling bolt of lightning struck the solid, heavy wood, splintering it to pieces. “Go get ’em, girls!” she ordered her soldiers.
As one, her army pushed through the ruined gates and marched in unison down the broad Road of Yellow Brick that led to the Emerald Palace. The Scarecrow, Ozma, and Glinda let the ranks of girls march past, and then fell into step behind them. The city was still deserted, but it didn’t give him the same eerie sense of being watched. This time, the Scarecrow felt sure, Jinjur didn’t know they were coming. This time they’d be protected. If only the Lion and even Lulu had had that guarantee. Did people you cared about always have to get hurt? Glinda was clearly the wrong person to ask, but he wondered. He liked power, but he wasn’t so sure yet about the consequences.
If they’d surprised Jinjur, it wasn’t by much. By the time Glinda’s army reached the palace, Jinjur’s own soldiers were pouring out of the palace doors, pistols at the ready. Jinjur herself leapt from a second-floor balcony, landing lightly on her feet and brandishing her own gun. Glinda’s soldiers raised their glittering swords. Time stood still in the moment before the two armies met.
FIFTEEN
Suddenly Ozma pushed forward. “But they’ll be hurt!” she exclaimed.
“That’s the point, Ozma,” Glinda said, gritting her teeth.
“Is that what a battle is like?” Ozma demanded. “Is this what happens?” The Scarecrow was at a loss for words. Had Glinda not explained the full ramifications of her plan? If Ozma had grown up sheltered in Gillikin Country, the idea of Ozians killing each other would have been completely unbelievable to her. He hadn’t believed it possible himself, until he’d seen it with his own eyes. It was one thing to worry about his friends, but Jinjur and her soldiers were the enemy. They deserved to die.
“If we don’t kill them, they’ll kill us,” he said, his own words surprising him when he said them out loud. A few days ago he could not have said them. But that was before Jinjur. Before she took his palace, before her soldier killed Hibiscus, before she almost took his life . . . “Plus, we have to get Jinjur out of the palace, and she wants to fight us. There’s no other way for you to be queen.”
“But I don’t want to be queen, if it means bloodshed!” Ozma exclaimed, her cheeks blushing with fury and her green eyes sparkling.
“Jinjur is a tyrant, Ozma,” Glinda said impatiently. “She’s murdered half the palace staff and several Munchkin villages, and she’ll kill more unless she’s stopped. There’s no sense in reasoning with people like that, darling. The only language they understand is force.”
“I refuse to believe that,” Ozma said with a sudden calm. She spun around on one foot before Glinda could stop her and marched up to the edge of Glinda’s army.
“Stop this at once,” she said. Though she did not raise her voice, the Scarecrow could hear her as clear as a bell all the way at the back of Glinda’s forces, and the strength in her voice was unmistakable.
Jinjur’s soldiers froze. Glinda’s soldiers lowered their swords a hairsbreadth. One of them looked back at Glinda, as if waiting for new instructions.
“I told you to attack!” Glinda screamed. Her soldiers raised their swords again and moved forward.
“A
nd I told you to stop.” Ozma’s voice was so powerful that it hit the Scarecrow with a physical force, sending both him and Glinda stumbling backward. The air around Ozma was crackling. In that same huge, awe-inspiring voice, she addressed Jinjur. “Why have you come to the Emerald City to do harm to my people?”
Jinjur brought up the pistol, snarling in rage. Ozma held up one hand and the pistol clattered to the ground. Jinjur struggled furiously, but it was clear some kind of invisible bond was holding her.
“I asked you a question,” Ozma said. Jinjur kicked furiously, and then slumped over as she realized the futility of fighting Ozma’s magic.
“The Scarecrow wasn’t doing a very good job,” she said sullenly.
“That’s not true,” the Scarecrow protested.
“Oh, shut up,” Glinda said, her glittering eyes fixed on Ozma.
Ozma stared daggers at Jinjur. “Do you think you have done better, then?”
Jinjur scuffed at the ground with one high-heeled foot, looking slightly sheepish. “I would have done,” she said. “In just a bit, soon as we got settled.”
“You call murdering my people ‘getting settled’?” Ozma’s voice was thick with anger. “Disrupting the rule of Oz, killing innocents, bringing warfare on my city?”
“It ain’t your city,” Jinjur mumbled, looking around. Her soldiers remained frozen where they were, held by Ozma’s magic.
“It is my city,” Ozma said, and her voice was like a massive bell tolling across the courtyard. The Scarecrow gasped. Huge black wings, veined with gold like a butterfly’s, unfurled from Ozma’s back and spread outward. Green lightning cracked down out of the cloudless sky, and a wind whipped up around them, sending a cyclone of tiny green gems spinning around them. “I am Ozma of Oz, direct descendant of the fairy Lurline, heir to the throne of Oz, and rightful mistress of the Emerald Palace,” Ozma said in that same huge, terrifying voice. “I demand you leave my city and return to the land whence you came.” A bolt of green lightning slammed into the ground inches from Jinjur’s feet and she jumped backward with a little scream.
Her jaw went slack, and she sank to her knees. “It’s not possible,” she whispered. “You can’t be Ozma. Ozma’s dead.”
At last, Glinda saw her moment to act. “Not true at all!” she said cheerfully. If she was disconcerted by Ozma’s totally unexpected actions, she didn’t show it as she walked gracefully up to stand by Ozma’s side. The Scarecrow, not wanting to miss a moment, ran after her. Glinda put an arm around Ozma’s shoulders, ignoring the fact that Ozma was trembling with rage and the air around her was shivering with magic. “The Wizard exiled our dear Ozma when she was just a baby,” Glinda continued. “Where on earth did you get the idea she was dead, young lady? You’ve been very impertinent.” Her honeyed voice dripped menace.
“I didn’t—I had—we didn’t know!” Jinjur stammered frantically. “We just thought he—” She pointed at the Scarecrow without finishing her sentence.
Glinda rolled her eyes. “You thought he wasn’t doing his job properly, so you decided to hop on over and do it for him? I don’t think so, you little minx. The Scarecrow was doing his job—as regent, holding the throne for Ozma’s return. Well, now she’s here.”
Jinjur looked back and forth between them, her face filling with confusion. “But if the Wizard exiled Ozma, and then made the Scarecrow king, how could the Scarecrow be a regent?”
“Don’t ask stupid questions!” Glinda snapped. “It’s time for you to suffer the punishment you deserve.” She turned to her soldiers. “Bring me firewood,” she said coldly. “We’ll burn this bitch at the stake.”
“No,” Ozma said. Glinda raised an eyebrow.
“Is it—is it really you?” Jinjur was staring at Ozma, her eyes filling with tears. “It is really you! It’s Ozma, our own princess come back to us!”
To the Scarecrow’s utter astonishment, Jinjur ran forward—but not to attack. She flung herself on the ground at Ozma’s feet. “I never would’ve done bad if I knew you was coming!” she wailed. “I’m so sorry, Majesty!”
“You have done more than bad,” Ozma said. “You have murdered my people and brought warfare to Oz, where before there was none. You have watered the soil of my gardens with blood.” The emerald wind had died down and the lightning retreated back up into the sky, but her eyes were still glowing with an eerie green light. The Scarecrow could hardly believe this powerful creature was the same terrified girl who’d held his hand outside Glinda’s palace. It was as if tapping into her fairy powers had unleashed a whole new person. This girl, he could believe, was meant to be the Queen of Oz.
Jinjur began to cry, snuffling miserably into the dirt at Ozma’s feet. “I don’t know what came over me!” she cried. “It was like someone told me to do it! We ain’t like this normally, I swear, Highness! Something just came over us! We was minding our own business, and then one day I got this bee in my bonnet and suited up to come down here and kick out the old Scarecrow!”
Ozma’s eyes narrowed, and she tilted her head to one side. “Is it possible?” she murmured to herself. “But who would do something like that? Who could use magic to such an awful end?”
The Scarecrow felt his brain at work. He had a pretty good idea of who, and carefully avoided looking at Glinda. If she had somehow compelled Jinjur to invade the Emerald City, she had been planning even more carefully than he had thought. And it was bigger than that. His head spun. What happened to Good versus Wicked? Wasn’t Glinda ultimately supposed to be Good? But maybe a witch was a witch and Glinda was only Good when compared to someone really Wicked. Right now, Glinda didn’t seem at all Good.
“All the more reason to execute the traitor, Ozma,” Glinda interrupted smoothly, stepping forward to try to take control of the situation. “If someone has controlled the girl before, they could do it again. You must be strong enough to prevent her from harming anyone in the future. Remember what I told you, about casualties being necessary when it serves the greater good.”
But Ozma shook her head. “Thank you for your advice, my dear friend,” she said. “I know you mean well, and you are far wiser than I am. But I can’t bring myself to spill any more blood. I know I may regret it, but how are we to end killing with killing? Her death is not the answer. No one’s is.”
Glinda’s mouth tightened with fury, and she controlled her voice with an effort. “Ozma, darling, I am wiser than you. Didn’t we agree I would be your counselor?” The Scarecrow cleared his throat. “The Scarecrow and I,” Glinda amended, shooting the Scarecrow an irritated look. Ozma took no notice.
“Of course you shall,” Ozma agreed. “But if I am to be a true queen, I will have to learn to make decisions of my own as well. I may come to regret this, but I will spare the life of Jinjur and her soldiers.”
Glinda opened her mouth again and then paused for the barest second. “Certainly, my dear,” she said. “You are the queen, after all.” Only the Scarecrow saw the furious glitter in her eyes. He felt a chill. Crossing Glinda would have consequences for Ozma, he felt sure of it. The girl might think Glinda was her friend, but Glinda was clearly no one’s friend but Glinda’s.
SIXTEEN
Jinjur was so dazed by Ozma’s return that it was no trouble at all for Glinda’s soldiers to disarm her and her army. When Ozma had collected all their pistols, she made a huge pile of them in front of the palace. She closed her eyes, summoning her magic. The metal began to melt, flowing together to form a liquid silver pool. As Ozma moved her hands, the molten metal formed a miniature replica of the Emerald Palace, perfect down to the last brick. Ozma opened her eyes and looked at her work with satisfaction.
“Take this with you back home,” she told Jinjur, “and never return to the Emerald City again. Your actions have gone against everything we hold dear in this country. I will spare your life, and the life of your soldiers, but I will not forgive you. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Jinjur said, curtsying deeply. She was so humbl
ed she was nearly unrecognizable as the cruel and arrogant girl who’d stood in this same place and issued her challenge to the Scarecrow. He was astonished that Ozma had been able to work this change without violence. Maybe Ozma was right, and Glinda’s way wasn’t the only one. He had much to think about.
Jinjur and her soldiers filed out of the Emerald City, their heads down. Several girls carried Ozma’s statue of the Emerald Palace. Jinjur turned one last time and waved farewell. “Thank you, Highness,” she said. “I’m sorry.” Ozma nodded regally, and Jinjur turned away.
When the last of the girls had dwindled into the distance, Ozma sighed deeply and ran one hand through her hair. “I’m so tired,” she said softly, and suddenly she was just a girl again, young and inexperienced.
“We must get you into the palace, Your Majesty,” Glinda said, putting an arm around Ozma’s shoulders. “You should rest before your coronation.”
“Is it soon?” Ozma asked plaintively.
“The Lion and his people should be here shortly, and I’ll send messengers to all the corners of Oz. We’ll have your coronation in a week, my dear. I’ll plan everything while you rest. You shouldn’t have to worry about details at a time like this. Why, you’ve just liberated Oz!”
“Thank you, Glinda,” Ozma said, leaning her head on Glinda’s shoulder. “You’ve been so good to me. Both of you have,” she added, taking the Scarecrow’s hand. “I couldn’t have done this without you.” She let go of the two of them and walked into the palace.
“Don’t you forget it,” Glinda muttered under her breath. She fixed a sickly-sweet smile on her face and stalked after Ozma. The Scarecrow watched them go, his mind churning. How was he supposed to figure out what to do next? Was he on Glinda’s side—or Ozma’s? Was there a way for him to find a side of his own—to come out of this ahead of them both? He had a lot of thinking to do. Maybe he needed a bigger brain, or more gifts from the Wizard. Maybe he needed a shot of Glinda’s magic. Could he trick her into making him more clever?
Dorothy Must Die Novella #5 Page 7