Shadows of the Emerald City (54 page)

“
Let’s get out of here,” Kansas said, proud that her voice shook only a little.

Scarecrow wiped his hands on his vest, then helped her stand. He didn’t waste any time asking the hundreds of questions Kansas could see swirling in his black button eyes.

They hadn’t gone more than a dozen steps when a huge glob of thick black liquid landed on Kansas’ shoulder, clinging like insect guts to the front of her robe. She touched it, disgusted when it clung to her fingers like molasses. Another drop dripped onto her other shoulder.

She glanced up.

Before them was an enormous tree, broad and round. From each branch hung the corpses of creatures—goats and unicorns, bears and tigers. The ends of the twigs seemed to root right into their scalps, making them dangle like obscene fruit. Giant spider webs choked the canopy, glistening with dew.

In the largest web were the remains of the Cowardly Lion—legs, paws, fur, and tail, even the pink ribbon on the tufted tip waving in the soft breeze. Strips of fur along the limbs were missing, as if someone carved thin ribbons out of the skin and muscles.

A massive metal trap sat open on the jungle floor at the base of the tree, metal teeth vicious and gleaming in the weak sunlight. Old blood stained the blades, drips from the dried organs and entrails still decorating the tips.

Kansas lost control of her stomach.

Scarecrow pulled the oily hair away from her face and squeezed her shoulder. He didn’t grip hard, but he leaned all of his weight against it. Kansas understood the force of feeling behind his silent comfort.

“
What kind of Animal would do this?” he asked, voice small.

She raised her head, a sick suspicion swirling in her gut.

“
Not Animals, but
animals
.”

“
But the wizard said—”

“
The wizard lied! About everything!” Kansas wiped the bile from her mouth with the back of her hand. “He didn’t
make
Animals talk, any more than he had the power to make them stop. And they gave up talking when people stopped listening.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but a decaying paw pushed through the thick undergrowth near where they stood, clawing the air. It groped through the tree line, white and twisted. Scarecrow pushed Kansas behind his back. A skeletal, pale body lurched through the curtain of vines. The creature’s fur was filthy and matted. It smelled like death.

Kansas stared, barely breathing. It was a bear, fur so white it looked clear, except for the red stains on its paws and jaw. Even its eyes were white, as if it were blind.

Scarecrow stepped forward.

“
Ferdinand?”

It turned toward them. Its jaws hung open, cavernous mouth a gaping, toothless hole. And its eyes—its eyes were cold and mindless. It roared at them, the sound ripping through Kansas’ head. She choked on a waft of fetid breath.

Pain pounded in Kansas’ chest, forcing her to take shallow breaths.

The animal had been someone once; a person with a name and friends and a life. But there was no sign of that person now. Each flicker of shaded light reflected in its blind eyes, each unnatural movement of its twisted limbs meant it was nothing more than a mindless, feral husk.

It stood on its hind legs, towering over them. Kansas felt like an insignificant speck of dust standing there in its shadow.

Then, it lunged.

Scarecrow grabbed her arm and yanked her out of the way.

“
Move it!”

Leaning on each other, they tore into the dark shadows of the jungle. Behind them, Kansas could hear other animal sounds—grunts, roars, and snarls—and the loping gait of hooves and paws. The herd was growing, and Ozma only knew what kind of creatures were following them now.

Rocks flew toward them from the sides and behind, smashing into trees and vines. One hit Scarecrow in the head, sending him sprawling to the ground. Kansas tugged at his remaining arm, pulling him to his feet. They stumbled on, further into the jungle maze.

Animals burst out of the thick growth—gorillas, boars, zebra, deer, and even more that were so wasted she couldn’t tell what creatures they’d originally been. They were everywhere, their foul breath moist on Kansas’ neck and face. She swung at them with her crutch, but the animals closed in around her and Scarecrow. They pressed closer.

Sweet Ozma, they weren’t going to make it out of here alive. They’d be ripped apart, like all the other pieces of bodies rotting in the canopy. Or worse, they’d become like the mindless animals themselves.

An explosion of sound. A tree crashed right in front of them, shooting a cloud of wood and splinters into the herd. Kansas tried to cover her face with her hands and felt shards of sharp wood chips cut and bruise her. A bloody paw reached through the cloud of tree dust and wrapped around her neck. Paws and claws tore into her and Scarecrow both. Limbs and hooves trapped her, pressing into her shoulders and neck and face.

“
Let me go!
” she screamed, throwing her fist and breaking an animal’s muzzle.

They yelled at her—screeches and clicks and grunts she couldn’t understand.

Without warning, the animals released her, braying and screaming. Kansas fell to her knees, dead leaves and sharp branches biting into the palms of her hands.

A herd of wildebeest crashed through the tree line, hooves kicking up a thick cloud of dust that choked her. They tore through the clearing, cutting Kansas off from the other animals—and from Scarecrow.

She jumped to her feet.

“
Scarecrow?”

A muffled scream was her only response.

She ran toward the wildebeest. They stopped moving and formed a living wall between her and the feral pack.

“
Scarecrow!”

Beyond the wall of wildebeest, the other animals jerking up and down in a sick parody of a dance. Kansas narrowed her eyes, trying to see what was happening.

No…

Four small, metallic traps pinned Scarecrow to the ground, arm and legs spread-eagle. The animals circled around him. Each took turns bending and taking chunks out of Scarecrow’s body with their teeth and fangs. He screamed. Thrashed. Broke down into whimpers and moans and pleading cries for help.

“
Stop it! Let go of him!” Kansas screamed. She pushed against the gray furry bodies blocking her, but they wouldn’t budge. She tried crawling underneath. They kicked her away with hooves sharp as knives.

“
No! Scarecrow!”

He looked toward her, one eye missing and half his face nothing more than a broken ball of weeds. Scarecrow smiled at her, still reassuring her, still comforting her.

Tears—real tears, her first in years—stained her filthy face.

“
Damn it, you can’t leave me!”

“
I…won’t. I…promise.” Then, a flash of fear in his remaining black button eye. The animals piled on top of him, all at once, shredding and ripping and tearing and rending, the sound like tearing silk.

Then, silence.

Without a sound, the animals slunk back into the camouflage of the trees and vines and long savannah grasses. Nothing remained as a reminder of their presence save their footprints in the earth and a torn jaunty cap lying near a small pile of twigs and straw.

Tremors raced through Kansas’ body. She ground her teeth and held back the impulse to scream.

Screaming would feel good, but if she started now, she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to stop.

Kansas lurched over to the pitiful pile of broken straw. She lifted the Scarecrow’s earthly remains in her trembling hands.

The hay was still warm.

Kansas was tired, and sick, and her throat and stomach and heart were sore. She’d never felt more useless in her entire life. She should just kill herself now. There was nothing left for her here. The map was destroyed, eaten by those monsters. And Scarecrow…

Scarecrow was dead.

She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering despite the humidity. Two empty buttons lay on the jungle floor, blaming her, hating her; still reflecting the fear she had seen on Scarecrow’s face. Fear that she didn’t remember ever seeing there before. Fear that she never knew existed.

Kansas stayed like that, head bowed and on her knees, until the scattered straw finally forced her to her feet, crutch clutched in her shaking hands.

She had nowhere to go.

What good was it if she couldn’t even save
one
person when it really counted? The one person who meant more to her than anyone else in this horrible place. All desire to put things right again faded out of her like shards of sand through a timepiece.

Wait.

Time. She could have Time. She could have all the time she wanted!

If she succeeded, and got the Time Dragon to turn back the clocks of Oz, wouldn’t that mean Scarecrow would be all right?

Could she take the chance
not
to?

Kansas took a deep breath. She finally understood the pattern of where their journey had led them thus far, and trusted that she knew the rest of the way. It was a path she’d never forget, no matter how much she’d wanted to.

She pressed onwards.

Everywhere Kansas looked, the streets—once full of color; of life and laughter—were bare. Each click of her crutch broke the silence. The people were long gone, but their legacy lingered—storefronts and sidewalks and building façades the color of green vomit, and the streets smelled the same. The empty avenues were filled with brown leaves swirling in hot afternoon gusts; nothing more.

So this is what had become of Emerald City.

If Scarecrow had been here, he would have cracked a joke about it being easier to find the Time Dragon this way.

Sweet Ozma, she missed him.

Kansas paused in front of the door of the Wizard’s former palace. So many times she’d wondered what would have happened if she hadn’t put her blind faith in such a sorry little man; if she would have refused to hunt down the Witch and searched for her own way home.

Or if that bitch Glinda had just told her straight-out that there was no way to leave Oz.

Taking a deep breath, Kansas pushed open the door and stepped into the palace’s antechamber. The room was dimly lit and the ceiling dipped so low she could brush it with her fingertips in places. Iron chandeliers hung on chains, forcing her to limp around them as she worked her way toward the center of the chamber. Long shadows darkened the floor. A thick layer of dust coated every surface and spun into the air as she passed, as if no one had journeyed this way in a decade.

It all made Kansas’ skin crawl.

“—
never realized how useless she was.”

Kansas spun around.

“
Who’s there? Where are you?”

“
It’s the girl’s fault. She ruined everything.”

“
She’ll never be good for anything besides spreading her legs.”

Voices whispered in the shadows, each murmur wrapping around Kansas’ throat.

“
Show yourself!”

“
Probably begged her uncle for it, the little slut.”

“
She deserved everything her dear auntie and uncle did to her.”

“
It’s her fault! Everyone who died, everyone who suffered. She’s to blame!”

“
She must pay.”

Whispers turned into shouts. Curses. Threats.

The voices kept pace with each step she took. Kansas couldn’t let them stop her. Not if she wanted to save Scarecrow.

A small flickering movement in the corner of the chamber caught her eye. The shapeless blob pulsed and throbbed like a beating heart. It twitched, then skittered away like a rat, scuttling across Kansas’ shadow and sliding underneath the door on the far wall.

Whether it was there to help her or hurt her, she didn’t know. But that was the only exit, and no shadow was going to stop her.

Her hand on the handle, one last voice taunted her.

“
You have a sad life.”

Kansas gave a cold, humorless laugh.

“
Don’t I know it.”

She opened the door. The fetid stench of decay surrounded her and made her stomach churn. Stacks of glass jars filled the room—Canopic jars, the kind that her primary school teacher said Egyptians used to store organs after someone’s death. From the smell, the organs were rotting away.

A narrow stone aisle lined by floor sconces ran between the rows of jars. Kansas followed a shaft of dusty light pouring through a high window, illuminating the center shelf. She hobbled toward it. Tall jars, covered in dust, filled the shelf. Kansas rubbed her tattered sleeve against the glass.

Congealed yellow liquid filled the first jar. Kansas frowned, then cleaned off the second jar, the third, and the fourth.

Nothing.

Kansas shook her head. Maybe she was just too suspicious for her own good.

A cool breeze blew across the chamber. It picked up speed and strength like a twister. The wind howled, hurting her ears. Chunks of rotted wood and shards of broken emeralds flew around in the gale, striking her arms and face. Kansas limped toward the wall, then dropped to her knees and covered her face. Debris blew around the room and smacked into her head and arms and back.