No Place Like Oz: A Dorothy Must Die Prequel Novella(23)

“Not to worry,” the Scarecrow said. “The Wandering Water isn’t unpleasant—just inconvenient. It’s a river with a mind of its own, you see. You can never tell where you’re going to find it. In a few hours it will have moved on to somewhere else entirely. Never fear, though, the road isn’t without its own personality. It will get us across with as little delay as possible.”

As we galloped toward the water, I saw what the Scarecrow meant. The river was actually moving, shifting and undulating, snaking its way across the landscape, paying no attention to the fact that it cut right through the middle of the road, leaving no way to cross.

But as we approached, the Road of Yellow Brick began reconfiguring itself, too. As if it sensed us coming, golden bricks began to float into the air, one by one, constructing themselves into a curving bridge that led high up into the sky where it took a meandering, curlicued route across the water.

The only problem was, it didn’t look very stable.

“We’re not going over that, are we?” Aunt Em asked, craning her neck out the window and turning a shade of pale green.

“Oh yes,” the Scarecrow said. “Not to worry, though. The Saw-Horse has never lost a passenger.”

Soon we were trotting upward into the clouds, the river hundreds of feet below us. The bridge of yellow bricks continued building itself as we made our way across it, fluttering in the breeze like a ribbon.

Aunt Em’s eyes were squeezed shut, and her knuckles were white, her hands clasped together in her lap. Uncle Henry gripped her arm tight, not looking much braver than she did.

Back in Kansas I’d never been much for heights myself, but now that I was in Oz, I discovered that I didn’t care. It was all part of the adventure. Why come to a place like this and then turn away the secret things it has to offer you?

So as we climbed higher and higher into the sky, I forced myself to keep my eyes open.

All of Oz was spread out below us like a patchwork quilt. When I squinted, I almost thought I could see the red towns of Quadling Country to the south and the yellow hills of Winkie territory to the west. The purple Gillikin mountain range stretched north as far as the eye could see. That is, until I saw the Emerald City glowing on the horizon, and I forgot everything else.

I would never forget that glittering skyline.

From high above the Wandering Water, the city appeared first as a green glimmer against the blue sky and then popped into focus, rippling like a mirage beyond a massive glass wall that rose over the trees. The curved rooftops of the skyline blended into each other in a series of sloping, gentle waves, all surrounded by a halo of light.

In the center of it all, the pointed spires of the palace rose straight up into the air, scraping the clouds. I wondered what it would be like to stand at the top of one of those towers and look out over all of Oz. I wondered how far you could see from up there; I wondered what it would be like to know that all this magic was yours. Did Ozma appreciate what she’d been given?

I hoped she did. If I had all that, I would never let myself lose sight of how lucky I was. Not for a moment.





Eleven

We all breathed sighs of relief as the flying road began to make its descent back to the riverbank, and before we knew it, we were on land again. After that, it was only a matter of minutes before we were approaching the majestic emerald walls of the city.

Everyone was silent as we pulled up to the gates, which were intricately carved with twisting vines, gilded and studded with jewels. I noticed with some curiosity, though, that the gates were solid all the way through, and there was no obvious place for them to swing open, or even a mechanism for them to rise up. How were we going to get through?

The Saw-Horse answered my question by thumping his hoof, three times, loudly against the ground. As he did it, the entranceway rippled, and it began to melt away until it was just a smooth puddle on the ground, leaving an opening where it had just stood.

“What happened to the Guardian of the Gates?” I asked. “That funny little man who used to hand out the glasses?”

“Ozma reassigned him,” the Scarecrow explained. “That was just one of the Wizard’s many idiosyncrasies. Now that he’s gone, people are allowed to see clearly again. The city’s green enough without the glasses anyway. Ozma installed quite a bit more emerald once she took over, and anyway, she doesn’t believe in guarding the gates at all.” He sniffed at what he obviously considered to be a preposterous flight of girlish fancy. “‘It’s everyone’s city,’ she says. ‘Why would I want to keep anyone out of it?’ The former guardian works as an optometrist now, and I’m told he’s quite happy. Most people in Oz have perfect vision, so he leads a very relaxed lifestyle.”

I looked over my shoulder as the Saw-Horse trotted us into the city, and as soon as we had cleared the opening in the wall, the gate sprung right back up and re-formed itself, closing behind us.

As we made our way through the city streets, I took in the sights. Little round houses were arranged in clusters around open plazas with burbling fountains and vibrant gardens where townspeople chattered amongst themselves. The smell of baking pies and fresh flowers filled my nose.

It was strange to be back in this city that I had so many memories of. It was both the same and different. For one thing, it really was green now, just like the Scarecrow said. From the funny little domed buildings whose roofs were reinforced with giant, smooth-polished emeralds the size of dinner plates to the towering skyscrapers that somehow seemed to be formed entirely of huge, seamless jewels, every surface in sight managed to incorporate the city’s signature gemstone in one way or another. Even the yellow bricks of the road weren’t immune to the treatment: the road hadn’t ended at the gates, but instead continued on into the city, toward the palace, and each and every individual brick was inlaid with a single emerald at the center.