A Fiery Friendship

by Lisa Fiedler

  Locasta pointed to the stoop. “I’m sorry, but did the fact that there is a pricker-faced Witch minion standing outside the front door somehow escape your notice?”

  Glinda shrugged off that remark and again made to step off the red road.

  But Locasta boldly placed herself between Glinda and the gate. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  Glinda let out a growl of frustration and dropped her face into her hands.

  That was when she heard a voice, calling out to the soldier.

  “Officer,” it said, “I require your assistance.”

  38

  THE PROTECTOR OF OZ

  Who’s that?” asked Locasta.

  Glinda looked up but was too stunned to answer; she stared at the girl who was rushing across the front yard.

  The soldier greeted the girl with a frown so deep it threatened to snap most of the spines on his cheeks. “Good day,” he said as formally as a guard with the face of a cactus could manage.

  The girl planted her hands on her hips. “I am the Governess Ursie Blauf, presently in the service of the Hitherinyon family, who live just over the next rise. One of my charges—the middle boy, Gertzsplatch—is such a disobedient rascal that he’s gone and locked his sisters, the twins, Immavinth and Wurlitzoo, in the root cellar.”

  “Immavinth and Wurlitzoo?” Locasta echoed, cocking an eyebrow. “She’s got to be making those up.”

  “She isn’t,” said Glinda, bemused. “Although, since it is widely known that Gertzsplatch Hitherinyon is the sweetest child in all of Quadling, and also happens to be half the size of his sisters Imma and Wurli, I suspect that what Ursie is making up is this preposterous tale of Gertz holding them prisoner in the root cellar.”

  Ursie was now tapping the toe of her boot impatiently on the Gavarias’ walkway. “I insist, Officer, that you do your duty and come with me to the Hitherinyon homestead right now to free those poor frightened little girls from the cellar.”

  It was clear that the soldier was befuddled over receiving a direct order from this wisp of a Governess. “What if the Sorceress’s spawn returns in my absence?” he fretted, glancing left and right, causing his spines to quiver.

  “You mean Glinda?” Ursie gave a careless wave of her fingertips. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about her. She and I were classmates, and I never knew her to be anything but a timid little coward. She’d never have the courage to venture back here. And she’d certainly never attempt to storm the castle!”

  The soldier looked confused. “Who said anything about storming the castle?”

  “Oh, I thought you’d mentioned it,” was Ursie’s offhanded reply. “I thought you pointed out that it would be reckless of Glinda to try such a thing, since Aphidina has posted her most ferocious minions along every available route to the palace grounds, and doubled the number of guards in the watchtower.”

  “I’m sure the soldier is aware of all that,” Locasta observed. “Why is she telling him what he already knows?”

  “Because she’s not telling him,” said Glinda, a slow grin curving her lips as understanding dawned. “She’s telling me. She knows I’m here! She can see us!”

  They all watched, astonished, as Ursie gingerly took hold of the guard’s prickly arm and guided him to the gate. There she paused, her shining eyes meeting Glinda’s.

  “Believe me, Officer,” said Ursie. “There is no need for you to worry about Glinda. She was never capable of much. In fact, I was forever having to remind her of the simplest little things, like, for instance, the fact that fireflies love the taste of roses. Now, come along, sir, as you are duty bound to assist me in this dire emergency!”

  With that, Ursie Blauf swept the soldier past Glinda and rushed off toward the Hitherinyon homestead, where Glinda was certain he would find no one locked anywhere. What Ursie would tell him then, Glinda could not imagine, but she was confident her friend would think of something.

  The moment the soldier and the Governess had disappeared over the hill, the stones of the red road fell away beneath Glinda’s feet.

  For the second time, she said, “Wait here.”

  Then she hurried up the walk.

  Silence welcomed her as she slipped through the broken door, like a cruel hostess inviting her in to share the emptiness. There was a chill in the parlor Glinda had never felt before, not even on the frostiest of winter mornings. Gloom touched every corner; she shivered.

  In addition to the damage Bog had done, Aphidina’s soldiers had given the place a thorough trampling. The spinning wheel was broken into a hundred pieces; the embroidered curtains had been yanked from the shattered windows and now lay bunched on the floor, torn and soiled with muddy red boot prints. Even the crockery mugs from which Glinda and Tilda had sipped their tea on the morning of Declaration Day were crushed to powdery bits. On the floor lay the pewter vase in which her mother had arranged the rosebuds.

  Glinda had never felt so wretched in her life.

  The Witch had won, of that there was no doubt. In the name of power, Aphidina had taken Glinda’s mother and destroyed their home. In the name of Wickedness, she’d gathered the future of Quadling into her frigid hands and crushed it between her bony fingers like so much dried grain. Now all that remained of what the Foursworn had set in motion eons ago was the dust of a glittering promise.

  A promise Glinda Gavaria had not been strong enough to keep.

  It’s over.

  A wail of grief escaped her and an ache settled in her chest, a weight that pressed itself against her heart until her spirit felt too heavy to hold. Staggering to the hearth, she crumpled herself into the only chair that had not been smashed or overturned. There in the fireplace, amid the cold gray ashes, was her Declaration scroll; the fire must have gone out before it had fully caught. Only the corners were singed.

  With a shaking hand, Glinda took the scroll from where it lay across the andirons.

  The crackle of the parchment sounded like fireworks in the silent room. She recalled with a wave of humiliation that it had been blank when she’d received it in the Grand Drawing Room, and Madam Mentir had been forced to write a substitute future upon it.

  How long ago that seemed now. And how meaningless.

  She was about to return it to the ashes when, of its own accord, the scroll unfurled in her hand.

  The word SEAMSTRESS (which the headmistress had snapped out as if she’d been handing down a life sentence) was gone. In its place was a phrase written in glittering emerald letters, each as perfectly wrought as if it had been inscribed by Quadling’s most talented calligrapher.

  Glinda the Good, Protector of Oz

  Glinda stared at it. The brilliant green of the inscription was the same color as her eyes, which blinked in disbelief.

  She read it again—Glinda the Good, Protector of Oz—then, with a shudder, she tossed the scorched scroll back into the damp cinders of the hearth.

  “I am no such thing!” she said aloud. “I was entrusted with everything and able to deliver nothing.”

  She stood on wobbling legs and stumbled toward the door. But in her haste her boot heel caught on the toppled vase and sent her sprawling. Her cheek hit the wooden floor so hard that she was momentarily blinded by the pain.

  Blinded . . .

  The world spun behind Glinda’s eyes. Her cheekbone throbbed and she could already feel the sting of its swelling, but she pushed away her discomfort and focused on the memory that was making itself known.

  In it, she saw Bog, pulling the necklace from her throat. She heard him roar and watched him fling the pendant across the room.

  The image was so vivid in her mind it was as if it were happening all over again—she saw the pendant flying toward the vase of rosebuds, the chain catching itself on the stem of the one blooming rose in the bouquet.

  The rose that had opened in the same moment that Glinda had been given the Gift of her mother’s Magic.

  In the memory Glinda heard the clattering of the pewter vase crashing to
the floor, spilling water and buds everywhere.

  And one blossoming rose.

  Ignoring the throbbing in her cheek, Glinda lifted herself to her hands and knees and crawled to the toppled vase. Around it the scattered buds lay dry and shriveled.

  All but one.

  One bud, fresh and alive. Despite having been deprived of water for three long days, it was alive and ready to burst into bloom, just as plump and as lush as it had been when Tilda had placed it on the Magical trunk.

  Glinda felt her heart quicken.

  Because this bud had already bloomed once before. Something had caused it to close again.

  Ursie’s voice suddenly filled Glinda’s head: Fireflies love roses. Ursie had told the soldier that Glinda could never remember this fact, when in truth it was Ursie who’d always gotten it wrong. This time Ursie had remembered. She’d been giving Glinda a hint. Fireflies . . . Fire Fairy?

  She took the stem between her trembling fingers, tenderly cradling the fragile bud in her palm.

  “Bloom,” she whispered.

  Like a dancer executing a graceful twirl, the bud began to unfold itself, opening into a ruffle of velvety petals until it had revealed its heart, nestled in which was the red beryl stone, still on its chain.

  Safe. Not lost, or stolen or seized by the guards who’d plundered the house, but shielded inside a Magical flower.

  Glinda removed the stone from the blossom and found it warm to the touch. Ember, making his presence known. The sudden sound of her own laughter rang through the house as she gazed down at the treasure in her hand.

  “Well, hello again,” she said to the pendant.

  But it was not the pendant that answered her. It was a voice that came from the kitchen door.

  “Hello again yourself.”

  Glinda whirled to see the soldier closing the back door behind him. In only a few confident strides, he was standing in the parlor beside her.

  Unable to speak, she closed her fingers around the red pendant.

  And in the next moment found herself wrapped in the comforting arms of Leef Dashingwood.

  Glinda stepped into the daylight where Ben and Locasta waited, leaning against the gate. Feathertop sat perched on a fence post.

  “You’ll never guess who I found,” she announced.

  Ben looked hopeful. “The Fire—?”

  “My old friend, Leef Dashingwood!” said Glinda abruptly, cutting Ben off. “He just came in through the kitchen door.” She smiled at Leef, who was exiting the house behind her.

  Locasta stiffened and Ben’s mouth dropped open at the sight of Leef gallantly placing the red beryl pendant around Glinda’s neck and fastening the clasp.

  “Leef has been very worried about me since the . . . incident.” Glinda’s voice was so cheerful she might have been ordering a slice of cardamom cake with orange zest icing—frosted left to right—from the baker’s shop.

  Locasta planted her hands on her hips. “Would that be the incident in which the Wicked Witch sent a stinking splat of swamp scum to drag your mother to the castle dungeon?”

  “Yes, that incident,” said Glinda.

  Leef, who was absently brushing a stray lily petal from the shoulder of his scarlet coat, grinned.

  “He had a hunch,” Glinda went on, “that I’d be returning from . . . well, from wherever it was I’d run off to in my fear and confusion. As one of Aphidina’s most trusted soldiers, he understands how precarious my situation is, so he’s offered to arrange an audience with the Witch to plead my mother’s case.”

  “An audience?” Locasta spat the word out like it was something with bones in it. “Is that what he’s calling it? Because it sounds to me like he’s planning to deliver you right into the Harvester’s hands like some kind of criminal!”

  Glinda was utterly unruffled. “He’s going to escort us along the route to the castle, past the doubled guards in the watchtower, through the reinforced gates, and across the moat with its tripled growth of poisonous water hemlock.” She gave Locasta a pointed look. “Isn’t that thoughtful of him?”

  Locasta’s response was silenced when Ben jabbed a quick elbow into her ribs.

  “I’d say it’s extremely thoughtful,” Ben agreed with a smile.

  “Then let’s get on with it,” said Leef, beaming as he gestured to the walkway. “After you, Miss Gavaria. After you.”

  They made their way along the road that wound through the Woebegone Wilderness toward Aphidina’s palace. Soldiers dotted the path, with swords and muskets at the ready. Locasta’s glittering purple eyes shot threatening looks.

  “I wouldn’t provoke them if I were you,” said Leef with a chuckle. “These are the fiercest of Aphidina’s troops.” He turned to cast Glinda a warm look. “By the by, that’s quite a fine-looking sword you have there. You’ve certainly come a long way from the curious schoolgirl who begged to borrow my Particulars of Pointy Combat textbook.”

  Glinda smiled. “Well, it’s not really the blade, but the handle that intrigues me.”

  “Ah, the jewels. Of course. Girls like you do enjoy a shiny bauble.”

  “Yes,” said Glinda, her hand resting on the hilt. “Girls like me.”

  At last they arrived at the Witch’s castle, which was enclosed within an immense wall overhung with masses of tangled vines. On closer inspection, Glinda realized that it was not a wall, rather a squadron of the Witch’s homegrown Lurcher monsters, standing shoulder to shoulder with their vine-arms linked together at their twiggy elbows. Sticky green sap dripped from their fangs as they stared down at the new arrivals.

  “Looks like they’re preparing to do a song-and-dance number,” Locasta quipped. But there was a tremor of fear in her tone.

  The questing party followed Leef across the moat bridge, and two tall cabbage-leaf gates swung open to allow them entry. As Ben gaped at the agricultural marvel of growing turrets, buttresses, and parapets, he seemed to have trouble keeping the Makewright’s boots from beating a quick retreat. “We’re going in there?” he asked with a gulp.

  “No,” said Leef. “The Witch has asked to receive you there.” He pointed across the garden to a gravel lane flanked by two lines of towering trees.

  Studying the grouping of trees, Glinda was impressed to see that every one was pruned to perfection, and in precise alignment with the one that grew directly across from it. They looked less like trees and more like soldiers mustered for inspection, each a flawless mirror image—branch for branch, leaf for leaf—of the tree that stood opposite. The entrance to the lane was marked by a handsome wrought-iron sign:

  THE GRANDE ALLÉE OF SYMMETREES

  Glinda frowned, for she’d never heard of such a genus before. However, in A Smattering of Geometry Is More Than Enough for Girls, she had learned that “symmetry” meant “exact correspondence or equal proportion,” and the sign, like the trees, reflected that definition. Just as each branch and twig grew in perfect alignment with the one that mirrored it, the sign’s letters were all perfectly measured and matched.

  And then . . . they weren’t.

  The questers watched as the tidy, uniform letters began to squirm, bending and twisting from their orderly arrangement into a harsh and irregular pattern of zigzags and curlicues.

  “I don’t like the looks of that,” Ben whispered.

  “Neither do I,” Locasta snapped. Grabbing Glinda’s arm, she hauled her away from the gate.

  Leef’s hand shot to the dagger at his belt. “Where are you going?”

  “Nothing to worry about,” Locasta called over her shoulder. “Just a little girl talk between me and my bauble-loving friend here.”

  Leef let them go but watched with narrowed eyes as Locasta towed Glinda just out of earshot.

  “All right, I get that you and soldier boy have a history,” Locasta hissed, “but this is a bad idea. He’s the enemy. And you’ve willingly put yourself into his hands!”

  “I know that,” Glinda whispered. “But look around you. This place is im
penetrable. The only way we could have gotten near the castle would be if they dragged us here in chains, and then, even with the Fairy, we’d have been helpless. Leef walking us in like invited guests puts the element of surprise on our side.”

  “That would be perfect,” Locasta retorted, “if we were throwing Aphidina a birthday party! But this is a siege! And right now our entire army consists of me, you, Ben, and Sh—” Locasta stopped short. “Where’s Shade?”

  “I don’t know. Last time I saw her, she was waiting outside my house with you.”

  Locasta let out a grunt of frustration. “Some spy! Disappears when we need her most.”

  Leef cleared his throat, prompting Glinda to speak quickly. “Leef is very ambitious; he would have arrested me if I hadn’t gone willingly.”

  “If that’s true, why were you so happy to see him?”

  This time Glinda rolled her eyes. “Don’t you know a charade when you see one? I had to make him believe I was prepared to surrender to Aphidina. Once we’re inside, all I have to do is place the stone into the pommel and Aphidina will be vanquished. We can save my mother and—”

  “Girls,” Leef interrupted, waving them back, “Aphidina doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

  “Neither do I,” said Locasta. “Good work, Gavaria. Now come on! Let’s go vanquish ourselves a Wicked Witch!”

  39

  CONVERSATION OVER

  Aphidina had heard nothing from the Krumbic one since her brief and flamboyant appearance three days before.

  Ordinarily this would be a source of relief. But Aphidina knew from reports brought by the Listening Lilies that the daughter of Gavaria was fast approaching and the confrontation between herself and the Fire Fairy was imminent.

  Shouldn’t Mombi be present to see the Harvester best the Elemental in battle? To relish the moment they had so long awaited?

  Or, if things got complicated, to lend her terrifically powerful Magic to the fight?