“Yes, of course,” the Lion said, and then, “what? Isn’t that Tin’s department?”
Ozma laughed. “You have to pay better attention before you make promises, dear Lion!” Did she know about the deal Glinda had forced him into? He stared at her in panic, but her beautiful face was guileless. “You’re here, and Tin isn’t. We have to act now. I think if we can meet the Nome King underground, before he reaches the Emerald City, I might be able to convince him that there’s nothing for him in Oz. My magic is powerful, but it’s not strong enough to hold him back if something goes wrong. I could use you as a bodyguard.”
“We’ll have an escort?”
“If anyone in Oz finds out about this, there will be a terrible panic. If I can prevent—if we can prevent the Nome King from ever setting foot in Oz, no one will ever have to know.”
“We’re going underground, alone, to confront an ancient enemy of Oz who might have an entire army with him?”
“Oh, I’m sure the army isn’t with him yet,” Ozma said cheerfully. “I would probably have sensed it if they were. He’ll just be supervising the final construction of the tunnels. The army won’t come through until he’s ready to invade Oz. It won’t be the least bit dangerous—I’d just feel better if you were there. A lion is a very impressive-looking lieutenant.”
Probably have sensed an army? The Lion wondered briefly if the stress of the situation had caused Ozma to lose her mind. But she looked happier than he’d seen her since he arrived at the Emerald Palace, now that he’d agreed to go with her. He couldn’t let her down now—not if the future of Oz was at stake.
“If you think it’s a good idea, I’m sure it is,” he said. Ozma’s face lit up again and she threw her arms around his chest.
“I knew you’d help!” she cried.
“When will we leave?”
“Why, right now, don’t you think? There’s no sense in wasting time.”
“Right now? Are you sure?” The Lion’s stomach rumbled, even though he’d just eaten. “What about lunch?”
Ozma laughed. “You can bring something to eat along the way. The Nome King is very close—it won’t take us long to find him. Why, we could be back in the Emerald Palace by dinnertime if all goes well. There’s an old tunnel system underneath the Emerald Palace that we can use to reach the Nome King’s tunnel.”
“Why hasn’t the Nome King used them himself?”
“The fairies—my ancestors—passed down the knowledge of the tunnels among themselves, but no one else knows about them anymore,” Ozma explained. “They’re very, very old—older than the Emerald Palace itself. Some people say they were there even before the fairies created Oz, although no one knows for sure. They may have been created by the Nomes themselves, ages ago, even before the Deadly Desert formed and separated us from the Land of Ev.”
The Lion’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know there was anything before the Deadly Desert.”
Ozma laughed. “Of course there was, silly! Nothing is forever. And the Nomes are an ancient people, nearly as old as the fairies, though luckily for us they’ve forgotten as much as we have about the prehistory of our lands. The Nome King would have invaded long ago if he knew the tunnels existed. Anyway, we should be able to find a way to get close to where the Nome King is digging. My magic connects to the magic of Oz, and I can feel any disturbances, especially this close to the Emerald City. It’s difficult to teleport underground, but if we get close enough, I can do it if we have to.”
The Lion got to his feet, eyeing the empty breakfast plates sadly. Ozma, seeing his look, snapped her fingers and a heavy bundle appeared. “There’s your lunch,” she said, still laughing, and handed it to the Lion. He tucked the bundle over his shoulder, feeling much better about the adventure now that there was food involved.
“Lead the way!” he said, and followed Ozma out of the room.
EIGHT
It was still early, and the palace halls were nearly empty. Ozma led him down out-of-the-way corridors, anxious to avoid anyone who might ask questions about where the queen was going. She had magically transformed her royal gown into a plain traveling dress and covered herself with a drab gray cloak, but she wore her golden crown, and there was no mistaking her queenly air. She was so fiercely intelligent, so alert, that it would have been difficult for her to ever truly disguise herself, the Lion thought. Her intensity shone from her electric green eyes and was clear in her precise, alert movements. Oz’s new queen was formidable indeed.
Ozma led him farther and farther into the depths of the palace, and soon they saw no one at all. This part of the castle was silent and oppressive. They were too deep for any natural light to reach them, and the hallways were lit with sooty, guttering torches that flared into life as they approached and then extinguished themselves again, leaving the hall behind them in thick, velvety darkness. Without light from the outside, the Lion had no sense of the passage of time, or how long they had been walking. Down here, the hallways were carpeted with a thick layer of dust that drifted up into his nostrils and made him sneeze. No one had been down here in a long, long time. Here and there, and then more frequently, the cut stone walls gave way to sheer rock, and the floor pitched steeply downward.
“We’re going underground now,” Ozma said unnecessarily. Hers were the first words either of them had spoken in a long time, and her voice rang out harshly in the dense silence so that both of them flinched. Ozma took a deep breath and straightened her back. “This is a very old part of Oz,” she said more firmly, “but it’s not a hostile one. You have nothing to fear here, Lion.”
He suspected her words were meant to reassure herself as much as him, but he only nodded. The line of torches ended soon after she spoke. Ozma muttered something under her breath and snapped her fingers, and a tiny ball of cheerful yellow light sprung to life and darted back the way they had come. “Over here!” Ozma called, and it dutifully fluttered back to hover directly over Ozma’s head, where it seemed to shrink a little.
“Can you make it go ahead of us so it lights the way a little better?” the Lion asked. Ozma said something to the ball of light and it shivered violently.
“It’s afraid of the dark,” Ozma said apologetically.
“I’m not afraid of the dark,” the Lion said. But despite the Wizard’s gift of courage, he wasn’t quite as confident as he sounded. The darkness itself closed in like a living thing, its menace creeping into his heart and stealing away his bravery. In the distance, he could hear a faint dripping noise, as if water was slowly dribbling from a great height. He could feel the weight of the stone above them, as if the ceiling was beginning to sink. What would they do if the tunnel crumbled? he thought, beginning to panic. He huddled on the floor, covering his head with his paws as if that would somehow protect him, but he knew the feeble gesture was useless. This was the end. He’d never see the light again, or run through the forest, or feel fresh air riffling through his fur. They’d be trapped down here, down in the darkness forever . . .
“Stop!” Ozma’s voice rang out into the darkness, and her ball of light blazed a little brighter. “I am Ozma of Oz, direct descendant of the fairy Lurline and rightful ruler of Oz! I come on a mission of protection!” Her wings fluttered, the golden veins catching the light and scattering it like a shower of fireworks. Suddenly, she was every inch a queen, all trace of the lonely, frightened girl he knew completely erased. As she spoke, the panic that had gripped the Lion eased immediately, and the feeling that the tunnel was collapsing around him slipped away. He took a deep, relieved breath.
“This place is very old,” Ozma said again in a normal tone of voice. “It doesn’t like strangers.”
The Lion had nothing to say to that, but he let Ozma go ahead of him as they continued down the tunnel, and he stopped more than once to listen carefully, making sure no one was following them.
As the tunnel continued to descend, the air grew warmer and warmer. The Lion’s fur itched in the heat, and even Ozma looked a littl
e wilted in the wan light from her orb. Moisture ran down the rough stone walls and trickled past their feet. Ozma stopped suddenly, and the Lion nearly ran into her. “What is it?” he asked. Ozma pointed at a yawning patch of darkness in the tunnel wall, and it took the Lion a moment to realize it was another tunnel branching off from theirs. Ozma closed her eyes, holding up both hands to the hot, stifling air for several long, tension-filled seconds before dropping them again and opening her eyes. “This way,” she said, continuing down the same tunnel.
“Are you sure?” the Lion asked. Ozma didn’t answer. The ball of light bobbed slightly, as if it were shrugging. The Lion kept his doubts to himself and padded along after Ozma.
They began to pass side tunnels with increasing frequency. At each juncture, Ozma stopped and performed the same mysterious ritual, her face upturned and her palms lifted, before deciding which way to go. Some of the tunnels they passed opened up on vast, jewel-encrusted caverns where even the orb’s meager light was reflected into dazzling brilliance. Once the Lion peered into a doorway, entranced by a dim green glow. He saw a huge, empty hall. Its floor was an elaborate tiled mosaic that had mostly crumbled away. Its walls were painted with rich murals nearly swallowed up by an eerie moss that was the source of the sickly green light, but here and there sections of the paintings remained. Unable to resist his curiosity, the Lion wandered in for a closer look. The murals were so vivid their subjects seemed almost alive: long-limbed, pale-skinned people with thick white hair cascading down their backs moved through endless candlelit libraries, or painted beautiful pictures of cave crystals and pools, or played instruments the Lion didn’t recognize. One of the paintings depicted them seated at a huge table in the hall itself, piled high with strange-looking foods. At the head of the table sat a stern, pale man wearing a silver crown. His eyes were cold and hard and cruel.
At the far end of the hall a huge, pale marble staircase led up into the darkness as far as the Lion could see. The marble, like the moss that covered the banquet hall’s walls, glowed with a pale, unearthly light. It was cracked and pitted, and in places chunks of the staircase were missing altogether, leaving black, cavernous gaps. As soon as he saw the staircase, the Lion couldn’t look away. Where did it lead? The question throbbed in his brain until he was unable to think of anything else. He had to know. Before he knew it, his paw was on the first stair. The marble was as cold as ice and burned like fire. Welcome, it seemed to whisper. Come with us . . .
NINE
“Lion!” Ozma’s voice was loud and clear in the huge room. The Lion jumped and lifted his paw away from the marble stairs. Immediately, the voice in his mind lessened its grip and he shook his head furiously, trying to dislodge it. Ozma was at his side in seconds, one hand on his shoulder and her light bobbing behind.
“We are still under the Deadly Desert,” she said quietly, “but this was once part of the Nome Kingdom in the Land of Ev. The Nomes’ magic lingers here even now, all these centuries later.”
With Ozma at his side, the pull of the staircase was gone entirely. The Lion padded back to the murals, studying them carefully. “These are Nomes?”
Ozma nodded, looking over his shoulder. “Some people say they are actually fairies themselves, who went down under the earth long ago and became a distant branch of our people. There are fairies living underground in Oz who look very much like them.”
“They don’t look very nice,” he said simply.
“The Nomes are not a kind people.” Ozma stared at the cruel-eyed man in the painting of the banquet hall and shivered. “This place is tainted. Its power nearly trapped you. Come back to the tunnel, and be careful not to leave my side again.”
After that, the Lion made sure to stay in the circle of Ozma’s light. They passed more and more tunnels, but now Ozma seemed sure of where they were going and only rarely stopped to find the way. Soon, the Lion could hear a faint, distant noise echoing through the tunnel. “What is that?” he asked.
“The king,” Ozma said quietly. “Digging.” As they drew closer, the noise grew louder: a repetitive clanking, like metal striking stone.
Ozma stopped. “We’re close,” she said. “If you want to rest, now is a good time. We may not be able to later.”
The Lion had been so overwhelmed by the strangeness of their descent that he’d forgotten his hunger for the first time in his life, but at Ozma’s words his stomach rumbled loudly. Ozma smiled, some of the strain leaving her pale, drawn face as she laughed at the Lion’s discomfort. “Even down here, some things never change,” she said teasingly.
They found a dry patch on the tunnel floor and settled down. The Lion tore eagerly into his bundle and found a hunk of dried meat, some fruit, and a jug of water. Ozma nibbled starfruit and sipped water while he happily gnawed the meat. They sat in silence for a while, letting some of the weariness fade from their limbs.
“What happens when we meet the Nome King?”
Ozma stretched, and the air around her shimmered for a second as if her magic was stirring with her. “I’ll talk to him and explain to him how important it is that Oz remains free.”
The Lion thought that this seemed like a naive view of the situation. “I could fight him,” he offered, puffing up his chest. “I certainly will if he tries to attack you.” Presumably that was why Ozma had brought him along. If things went south, he could protect her. But as brave as he was, he secretly had his doubts about taking on who knew how many evil fairy-like creatures. His only real fighting experience was the battle with Jinjur, and her soldiers had been mortal girls.
As if Ozma could read his mind, she smiled at him. “You don’t need to worry, Lion,” she said confidently. “I know you think I’m being silly, but I can be very persuasive when I have to.” Her words had that steely hint behind them, and he remembered how she had sounded when she talked about Glinda. If anyone could talk an ancient, evil, homicidal king out of invading their country, Ozma was probably the one.
Ozma’s magic light bobbed anxiously. “It’s time to go,” she said, reaching forward to scratch the Lion behind the ears. “I’m so glad you’re with me. You don’t know what a difference it makes to have you here. It’s so lonely down here in the dark.” Her voice sounded wistful now, and she resembled the sad, brave creature he’d left sitting alone in her chambers on his first night in the Emerald City. Ozma might be powerful, but she was still barely more than a child.
The Lion stood up and lashed his tail fiercely. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Your Majesty,” he said. “Not here and not anywhere else. I’ll be glad to protect you until—until the day I die.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, but thank you.” Ozma continued down the tunnel. The Lion followed.
In just a few moments, the clanking noise they’d heard earlier was so loud it was almost deafening. It echoed down the long, dark tunnel so powerfully that the Lion was tempted to cover his ears with his paws. Ozma stopped in front of a blank wall. Even the ball of light was nervous; it wobbled in tiny circles overhead.
“He’s here,” she said. “Thank goodness. I wasn’t actually sure he would be.”
“You came down all this way and you didn’t even know if the Nome King would be here?” the Lion asked in disbelief.
“It seemed likely he would be,” Ozma said serenely. “But you never know.” She rested her palms on the rough stone wall and the air around her began to glow. Her huge, beautiful gold-veined wings unfurled from her back like a butterfly’s and spread outward in the still, hot air, glowing with a brilliant emerald light. “We won’t have long to get through,” she gasped, her voice thick with exertion. “When I say the word, you have to follow me right away.”
As the incredulous Lion watched, the stone began to glow red-hot around Ozma’s palms. The red glow spread outward like molten lava, running in channels to form the outline of a door covered in mysterious runes. A golden doorknob, glowing with the same emerald light as Ozma’s wings, protruded from the door. �
�Now!” Ozma yelled, yanking at the doorknob. The entire door-shaped section of wall swung inward, and Ozma leapt into the darkness on the other side with the Lion and the ball of light at her heels. The Lion was half convinced he’d slam into solid stone, but instead he felt as though he were falling from a great distance. And then, with a bone-jarring thump, he landed on the floor of another tunnel.
“Well, well, well,” hissed a sinister, sibilant voice. “What under the earth do we have here?”
TEN
The Lion rolled to his feet, looking around frantically. Ozma lay crumpled next to him, her head lolling at an unnatural angle. She looked unconscious—or dead. The Lion swallowed hard. She had to be fine. She had to be. Panic welled up in his chest. What was he going to do now? Everything was up to him! He remembered the terrible darkness in the tunnels, the way he’d thought it was alive. He didn’t want to die down here in this awful place.
But then he remembered Ozma’s strong, powerful voice when she’d challenged the darkness, and felt ashamed of himself. He was a Lion—and not just any Lion but a king bearing the Wizard’s gift of courage. He would be strong. He looked around again, confidence flooding through him.
They had landed in some kind of cavern. The walls were lined with torches that burned with a blue fire and did little to dispel the darkness. The ceiling was high enough to be lost overhead in blackness. The clanging noise was almost deafening, and the air was even hotter than it had been in the tunnel they had just left.
The man who had spoken was looming over him. The Lion recognized him instantly. He looked exactly like the pale, terrifying king from the banquet hall. His skin was a sickly white. His icy pale eyes glittered evilly in the blue torchlight, and he wore robes as densely black as the darkness that surrounded them. But instead of the long white hair the king in the painting had had, this creature was as hairless as an egg. He seemed both ancient and ageless at the same time—there was something fathomless, cold and cruel and very, very old, in his eyes. An iron crown, wrought in the shape of thorny branches, rested on his bald head. He carried a staff topped with a glowing blue crystal. There was no mistaking him for anyone other than the Nome King.
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