A Fiery Friendship

by Lisa Fiedler

  Mombi. An enigma, to be sure. And a mighty one at that.

  Strumming her fingers impatiently on the throne’s armrest, Aphidina thought back to the day Mombi had led her and the other three into a deep cavity in the Lurlian world, where the waste of the realm’s birth had concealed itself for longer than even the seasons themselves could reckon.

  The ceremony in which Mombi had anointed them with Wickedness had been harsh and irreversible, and when it was concluded, Aphidina had left her miserably aimless childhood in that hole and begun her Magical initiation at the Krumbic one’s filthy hands.

  So where was she now? Now, when Aphidina would at last have a chance to prove that she was worthy of Mombi’s expectations?

  She stood and paced the throne room in long strides; she could think of only three possible places where Mombi might be.

  “Daisy, fetch me the speaking things!”

  Daisy, with her sweet face and thorny spine, scampered from the chamber and returned soon after, lugging three cages.

  One was fashioned of webbed wire and contained a burly spider. One was made of golden bars, and within it a serpent bobbed its head to and fro as if dancing to music only it could hear. The third cage was covered with a flowing scarf of pink silk.

  Trailing behind the maidservant on a heavy chain was an ox, broad and shaggy with long, bent horns.

  Aphidina stood beside the covered cage and sighed, motioning for Daisy to pull back the scarf. Beneath it was a delicate structure of finely woven twigs. Inside this cage was a bird that looked as if it had been grown from flower seeds, a piece of paradise. The creature boasted a sweep of downy white and yellow tail feathers and a crownlike growth of red plumage adorning its regal head.

  When the Witch nodded to the pretty bird, it spoke, loudly and clearly, in Aphidina’s own voice. “Marada?” it called. “Daspina. Ava Munch!”

  The snake wriggled, the spider skittered, the ox threw back its bulky head and lowed. Clearly, none of the other three Witches wanted to engage in this conference any more than the Harvester did.

  “It is Mombi I seek,” the bird said for Aphidina, turning its piercing eyes to each of its three companions. “Who among you has seen her recently?”

  The spider spoke in Ava’s breathy tone, a reply that traveled all the way from Munchkin Country in the East. “She has not paid me any visits of late, I am happy to say.”

  “Nor me,” sang the snake, twisting and darting as Daspina’s musical voice filled the chamber. “She dislikes my parties and revels, and therefore keeps her distance.”

  “I have heard nothing from that Krumbic menace,” the ox droned deeply.

  Aphidina shuddered, for the ox’s voice was Marada’s voice, and Marada’s voice was the voice she hated most of all. It was a warrior’s growl, filled with rusted thoughts of battle and rock-hard cruelty. Glad she was that Marada resided far up in the North of Oz and that Quadling and Gillikin shared no borders.

  “Why do you ask?” Daspina said through the snake, her wispy voice hissing between its fangs.

  “Because of the Grand Adept and her missing calf, of course,” the ox chortled on Marada’s behalf. “We have all heard the rumors, Aphidina. Your bounty beast had the Sorceress’s child in his grasp and he lost her. And the Fairy as well! Idiot!”

  Aphidina could picture Marada in her Silver Gauntlets, clapping her hands with brutal delight. She could see Daspina celebrating in her Silver Shoes, and Ava, a smug smile hidden behind her shining Silver Mask. Collectively, they believed she had already failed.

  Well, they believed wrong!

  The exquisite bird shook out its feathers in a show of Aphidina’s indignation. “As it happens, I have recovered both the child and the Fairy! And you would all do well to remember that three more Elementals remain unaccounted for.”

  This quieted all but the ox, who snorted mightily, blowing the foul stench of his breath into Aphidina’s scowling face.

  “Flowers versus Fire,” the ox sneered. “Doesn’t sound like much of a fight to me.”

  Aphidina motioned to Daisy, who quickly covered the bird’s cage with the silken scarf, striking the spider, the snake, and the ox dumb.

  Conversation over, Aphidina told herself, tromping back to her throne.

  Without being told to, Daisy removed them from the chamber.

  And still no word of Mombi.

  So be it. She would face the Fairy alone.

  That’s what her Magic was for, wasn’t it? That’s what Wicked was for.

  Of course, the Fairy would have the girl—that Glinda Gavaria—on his side. But she was only a child. And although Aphidina’s childhood had been unspeakably grim and unnaturally brief, she did recall pieces of it, bitter memories that did not include much in the way of strength.

  No strength at all, in fact, until Mombi had gotten ahold of her.

  This realization comforted her. Glinda was young, and young was akin to weak. And stupid. According to the lilies’ report, the empty-headed Glinda had all but surrendered to Leef Dashingwood and was, at that very moment, preparing to deliver the Fairy right into Aphidina’s waiting hands.

  And Aphidina would be ready.

  And she would win.

  A moment later she was startled from her thoughts by Daisy’s voice. “They have arrived, Your Weediness. The soldier has delivered them to the Grande Allée.”

  Aphidina gave a curt nod. “Bring the book,” she directed. Then she smiled. A pleasant stroll in her favorite lane was just what she needed.

  A pleasant stroll and an epic battle.

  A battle she had no intention of losing.

  After all, she told herself, this is Quadling. And all is well.

  40

  THE STONE IN THE SWORD

  They followed Leef into the allée, their boots crunching on the gravel path as they made their way to the midpoint. Glinda stood with Ben and Locasta on either side and Feathertop hovering above. Leef snapped his fingers and two flytrap soldiers crept from opposite sides of the allée to flank the trio.

  From the far end of the lane, a willowy figure glided toward them, regal in her gown of pomegranate-colored silk and elegant headdress. Draped over the gown, somewhat incongruously, she wore a vest of Silver Chainmail; Glinda recognized this to be a piece of the armor the Witches had stolen from King Oz, and anger roiled within her.

  Behind Aphidina a tiny creature—part girl, part flower—scampered along, toting a heavy book bound in a cover of dried leaves.

  As they approached, streamers of sunlight filtered through the Symmetrees, glowing briefly upon the Witch’s face, then just as quickly falling to shadow; the effect was that the Witch was somehow walking through both darkness and light at the same time.

  The illusion, Glinda thought. The lie.

  Aphidina halted, leaving several yards of gravel path between herself and those who had come to destroy her. Tilting her chin up and striking a stately pose, the Witch considered her guests, her cold eyes boring first into Locasta. Taking in the riot of purple curls and snapping jewel-toned stare, she gave a disgusted little laugh. “Gillikin filth! How dare you present yourself in my garden? You are a step below manure, in my opinion.”

  For once, Locasta said nothing.

  Next the Witch pointed her nose in Ben’s direction and inhaled, her nostrils flaring with distaste. “And you!” she drawled. “An even stranger stranger! Not homegrown, that is certain. I can tell by your stink that you are the harvest of a foreign field. There is no Magic in you at all.”

  “Better no Magic than Wicked Magic,” Ben muttered. The comment earned him a kick from the flytrap posted beside him.

  At last, the Harvester turned to Glinda. “So you are the Sorceress’s seedling,” she drawled, the mulchy scent of her breath filling the air. “You are not a wholly unimpressive specimen, I must admit; but you are just a tender hothouse blossom. Weak, fragile . . .” As her gaze swept to the red beryl pendant, a smile of pure triumph spread across her face. “And no
t nearly as clever as you think.”

  Glinda’s stomach lurched.

  “You thought you would catch me unawares, didn’t you?” Aphidina taunted. “You thought sneaking the Fairy in would give you the advantage and my ignorance would be my undoing.” Again her piercing glare went to the stone.

  She knows, Glinda thought.

  Locasta understood at the same moment. “Now who’s got the element of surprise?” she snarled, slicing a sideways look at Glinda.

  “Dashingwood!” Aphidina commanded. “You know what to do.”

  Glinda’s hand shot to her throat to protect the red beryl a split second too late. Leef’s fist was already there, closing around the stone. The Witch’s laughter filled the allée as he ripped the chain from her neck.

  “Did you think I would not discover what I needed to know?” Aphidina cackled. “You told the lilies exactly where I could find the stone, and I knew if I sent young Dashingwood to collect you, you’d come willingly. Now it is I who will surprise Ember. And win!”

  Frantic, Glinda turned to Leef, sickened by the sight of the precious pendant dangling from his grasp. “Don’t do this!” she implored, her voice wild with hope. “Leef, please! Give me the stone.”

  “Give her the stone!” Locasta echoed through gritted teeth.

  Instead Leef reached into his coat and withdrew a perfect pink cherry blossom. This he offered to Glinda.

  As he did, it shriveled before her eyes.

  Then he marched across the room to stand before the Witch. “Your Mercilessness,” he said, presenting the pendant. “As you commanded, the red stone is yours.”

  “Leef!” cried Glinda, her voice breaking. “No!”

  Leef returned to Glinda’s side, his face blank and cold. Clutching her arms roughly behind her back, he said, “I hereby arrest you, Glinda Gavaria, in the name of Aphidina, the Haunting Harvester, Queen Witch of the South.”

  The Witch nodded to her handmaiden. “Daisy, bring me my book.”

  Scuttling forth, the flower girl held up the tome. Aphidina opened to a blank page, reached into the pocket of her gown, and withdrew a handful of plump black seeds. These she sprinkled over the book, reciting an incantation:

  “Seeds I sow, words I plant,

  To reap the Fairy, I grow a chant.”

  The Magic took hold and the seeds sprouted into words that ripened into phrases, which became the lines of a Wicked spell.

  Holding her hands above the book, palms down, fingers splayed with the chain dangling from them, the Witch read the words the seeds had produced.

  “Element of fire, so long sought

  Release yourself and Oz’s thought

  Beryl break so I may claim

  The life of Ember, and douse his flame.”

  With a hiss, Aphidina dropped the red stone onto the book. Greedily the words loosened themselves from the page and wrapped around it, as if desperate to strangle the Fairy hidden inside. But the stone began to rise up slowly, shirking the wordy tentacles until it dangled in nothingness, rising higher and higher, hovering in the space between the book and Aphidina’s grasp.

  Glinda went numb. It had never occurred to her that Wicked Magic could drag the Fire Fairy out of hiding. She’d been certain that only the reunion of stone and sword could release him. But it was clear from the way the pendant was now floating in midair that the stone was reacting to Aphidina’s spell.

  Or was it?

  It began as a shimmer; a trembling of the air behind the Daisy girl. Glinda was sure she was the only one who noticed it—the form taking shape, at first a silhouette that then began to fill itself with presence, substance, not quite color or matter but something more indistinct, like the palest of shadows. Or a patch of shade.

  Shade!

  She was a flicker at best, a fleeting whisper of herself, standing across from the Witch with her barely visible arms outstretched, her hands poised above the book.

  Grasping the stone.

  It was not Aphidina’s Magic that was acting upon the beryl . . . it was Shade! She was holding the pendant, lifting it with her invisible hands, fooling Aphidina into thinking she had control.

  Before Glinda could blink, the shimmer that was Shade vanished. But the stone continued to hover. Aphidina repeated her incantation, unaware that the beryl remained safe in Shade’s hands.

  Leef looked on with wide eyes, so in awe of his liege’s Magic that his grip on Glinda faltered.

  With a mighty jerk, she wrenched herself free of him at the same time that Ben surprised the Venus flytrap with a well-landed punch. Then he dove for Leef, tackling him hard.

  “Shade! Throw me the stone!” Glinda cried.

  At the sound of her name, Shade materialized, startling the Witch, who roared and grabbed for her. Shade tossed the pendant in time, vanishing from view before it even left her hand; Aphidina found herself clutching nothing but air.

  Glinda reached out to catch the stone sailing toward her. It danced on the tips of her fingers for one second, then fell to the ground, skipping over the gravel and stopping beside the tussling Ben and Leef.

  Aphidina dashed for the stone. Locasta dodged the other befuddled flytrap guard and leaped into her path, only to be slapped away by the Witch as if she were no more than a piece of dandelion fluff. Aphidina stormed on in Glinda’s direction.

  “Feathertop!” Glinda hollered.

  Feathertop swooped down with an ear-piercing cry, his talons outstretched to catch the loose weave of Aphidina’s Silver Chainmail. Flapping his wings, he managed to yank the heavy mail vest up over her face.

  The Witch shrieked, swinging blindly at the bird with one hand, grasping at the heavy mail with the other.

  As Feathertop fought, Glinda lunged for the pendant on the ground. But Leef gave a fearsome grunt and shoved Ben aside, scrambling for the stone just as Glinda’s hand was about to wrap around it.

  Her gaze met his and she let out a cry of horror. Leef’s brown eyes, once so gentle and familiar, were solidifying into lifeless tree knots. His golden hair turned to dead yellow leaves.

  Leef lifted his arm—now a thick tree branch—to attack but stopped mid-punch when a firm kick, seemingly from nowhere, connected with his midsection.

  He doubled in half, clutching his gut, unable to breathe.

  Above him, Shade materialized once again, her booted foot pressed to his ribs.

  Quaking with relief, Glinda again reached for the stone, at the same second that Aphidina’s fist connected with the eagle’s chest. The bird released the mail, squawking in pain; he fell to the gravel with a sickening thumppffff.

  Locasta gained her feet and chased after Aphidina, who was again bearing down on Glinda. This time Ben threw himself in front of her, but she pitched him aside and thundered onward.

  Glinda drew her sword, slid the red beryl off its chain, then held the stone near the hollow place in the handle. “I call upon the Elemental Fairy of Fire! For Oz! Forever! Truth Above All!”

  Heart racing, fingers trembling, she slammed the stone into the pommel and pointed it at the Witch.

  41

  THE FAIRY AND THE WITCH

  The Grande Allée filled with a light beyond light, a brilliance more dazzling than a thousand Lurlian suns. It poured from the red stone and became a whirling twister of radiance, exploding into a column of flame from which burst a colossal fiery physique—brawny torso, powerful arms, sturdy legs . . . and wings!

  Ember!

  Free from the stone in all his blazing magnificence, the Fairy and the purity of his beauty were in stark contrast to the Witch, whose stunning face was distorted in an expression of rage. The heat of his appearance wilted the flytrap guards instantly.

  The Fairy spread his enormous arms; the tips of his fingers touched the rows of trees, scorching them as he speared toward the Witch.

  Glinda thought Aphidina might turn and run, but instead the Harvester raised her arms, waving her hands like weeds in the wind and chanting in a guttural ton
e; the Magic was so intense that the words pulled the Witch into a trance. She now seemed oblivious to the Fire Fairy, singeing the gravel as he sped toward her.

  Leef logrolled out of Ember’s way just as a massive tree branch swung into the lane, twisting itself into something misshapen and grotesque and blocking the Fairy’s path. The tree across from it, no longer its perfect twin, thrust out an even larger branch, which bent itself in the opposite direction, impeding the Elemental Fairy from the other side.

  Leaves shook on their stems; thick roots bucked and rumbled in the ground. Aphidina slipped deeper into her trance, letting loose another, eerier string of Wicked words, which had all the trees stretching and contorting across the allée, extending and entwining their limbs until the Fire Fairy was surrounded by a snaggle of gnarled boughs and branches.

  And it wasn’t just the Fairy the trees were attacking.

  Whifffphhh. A limb wound around Ben’s leg, knotting itself like a rope.

  Whumpfff. Another branch swung out to trip Shade, who went rolling across the gravel path, bits of rock biting into her cheeks and arms.

  Fwwzzzztttt. A springy shoot flicked hard at Locasta’s face, and a fat root lurched up from the ground, knocking Glinda off-balance. She leaped over it just in time to avoid being thrown into the trunk across the lane.

  “What’s happening?” cried Ben.

  As the dazed Aphidina rasped on, swaying and gesticulating, Glinda realized that the more disfigured the trees became, the more ferocious their attack. “She’s taking away their symmetry. It’s not natural for them to be unbalanced! That’s what’s making them vicious!”

  Ember was now completely penned in by the disfigured branches. As the wood and vines grew denser and more contorted around him, he struggled to flare brighter and hotter, his flames licking desperately at their jagged bark. But the fire wouldn’t catch.

  Glinda, Locasta, Shade, and Ben did their best to elude the branches curling and crooking from every direction. Limbs slithered and slapped; one wrapped around Ben’s throat as though to strangle him.