Shadows of the Emerald City

by J. W. Schnarr

  Red jelly mixed with bits of bone and brain slopped off the edge of the stage to Oddlaug’s stunned fascination. Was she dead already? Was this pain part of death? She stared at the haunted expressions within the crowd and realized the impossible. She had done it.

  Hadn’t she?

  Choking for air, she focused on a group of Munchkins all clutching together and staring at her wide-eyed. She kicked her feet. She inwardly wished for the group of Munchkins to bleed out.

  Their screams were different from those around them. Pain etched their voices, the group of Munchkins collapsed to their knees. Blood ran from their eye sockets like tears, dripping to the stone ground. Blood gurgled from one of their mouths. He convulsed, dropping to his side and clutching his stomach. With a heave he vomited not only his food but puddles of crimson chunks.

  The horror and pleasure that she felt at seeing their noses bursting with blood and their bodies twitching painfully was exhilarating.

  The rope, she thought. I need air. Her hands scratched at the rope uselessly, it was too tight and she was far too weak from years of being locked in a cell. She’d never be able to lift herself out of it.

  Nothing was happening and she was running out of time. Kicking again, her shoes clinked together and she dropped to the stone covered ground beneath the stage like a discarded doll.

  Her legs screamed on contact. Her fingers snagged the rope and loosened it around her throat. Gasping in the first breath was painful. Her lungs protested at first. She ripped the noose from around her head and tossed it aside. She took another ragged breath. Ducking out from beneath the stage she felt emotions from the crowd wash over her. Fear swelled through the crowd. They pushed through their own kind, trampling the smaller ones beneath their feet just to get away.

  Standing to her full height in front of the stage she bathed in the revenge. It was far sweeter than she could have ever imagined.

  But, it wasn’t complete just yet.

  “You!” She pointed a gnarled finger towards Quelala, who stood frozen with a single remaining soldier.

  Quelala froze, unable to run amongst the Munchkin followers.

  “Your own people, these goblins who love you so, should grant you your death.”

  Quelala turned towards the scattered faces, the few that remained in listening distance stared at their king helplessly, though none approached him to do Oddlaug’s bidding.

  Oddlaug tried again and wished her suggestion; squeezing her eyes shut she wished it as hard as she could.

  Opening one eye, Quelala was still standing before her, untouched and confused. The soldier before him realized the mistake first and drew his sword, pointing it towards her threateningly.

  Everyone was distracted as a swooping figure far larger than that of a bird shot down from the sky. It hovered over the small group.

  Oddlaugh stumbled backwards in surprise. It was the notorious Wicked Witch of the West. She wore her thinning dark hair in three pig tails all around her head. She had aged from the stories that Oddlaug had been accustomed to but otherwise she knew it was her. Only witches or sorcerers could ride broomsticks. The Wicked Witch of the West was drowned in black but her robes were lined with a white trim. Oddlaug noticed that the Wicked Witch of the West gripped a second broom in one of her hands while balancing on her own.

  The Wicked Witch of the West smiled triumphantly at them all, her eyes lingering on Oddlaug.

  “Kill him!” she shrieked.

  The goblins nearest to Prince Quelala paled as they stared at the Wicked Witch of the West. Then they trudged towards their Prince. Their expressions were blank and their movements numbingly mechanical.

  The Prince gasped in a breath, retreating to the top of the stage. His eyes snapped towards Oddlaug uncertainly.

  “The shoes—where did you get them?” He shouted.

  “From me, foolish man!” The Wicked Witch of the West cackled. “I cannot wear them because of your decree, isn’t that right?”

  Oddlaug gaped.

  “What decree?” She demanded.

  Quelala’s eyes shifted between the two women uncertainly.

  “Back!” the soldier who guarded the Prince shouted. The soldier thrust his sword towards the Wicked Witch of the West.

  Oddlaug screamed a warning, but it was too late, the blade was long enough and the soldier quick enough. The tip of his silver sword gouged into with Wicked Witches right eye, creating a shallow, excruciating wound.

  Screaming hideously, the Witch cleared the Common save for the few sourly slow paced goblins that plodded up the stairs to the stage. The Witch shot backwards out of reach before any more damage could be done. Clutching a palm over her wounded eye she thrust the broomstick in her hand down towards Oddlaug.

  Oddlaug fumbled but caught the broomstick in both her hands and clutched it close to her chest.

  Blood trickled down the Wicked Witch of the West’s face, but her good eye was able to locate the offending soldier.

  “You should be thrown out in the desert!” he shouted, his voice brave and terrified at once.

  With a chuckle the Witch nodded her head towards the gallows. The unused noose on the platform whipped outward and flung itself around his throat. He bit his tongue and blood trickled out the side of his mouth. The rope dragged him violently backward. Balancing over the trap door, the rope became tight again and the trap door released, dropping him instantly.

  Oddlaug ducked her head to see the hanging man grow still. The only man to have ever injured the Wicked Witch of the West was now dead.

  There was shouting from where the Prince stood,causing Oddlaug to peek over the stage. Munchkins had wrenched Quelala down to his knees.

  “Get on the broom!” The Wicked Witch of the West ordered. Oddlaug was quick to respond.

  She didn’t want to incur the anger of this woman anymore than anyone else. She straddled the broomstick and awaited further instructions.

  “Click your heels together and you will fly,” the Witch snapped. She seemed frustrated with Oddlaug’s awe-struck expression.

  Oddlaug clicked the sliver shoes together and suddenly understood how she was able to free herself from the gallows at last.

  She took to the air. She felt light as a feather, as if the wind itself was carrying her. She rose to the same height as the Wicked Witch of the West and watched as Quelala emitted unearthly shouts towards the goblins. His own people were beating him with their fists. They stabbed him with hunting knives and whatever they could find in their pockets.

  Her sister, Gayelette would be furious when she found out.

  An unusual cry from the distance alerted both flying women to the skies behind them. The flying monkeys were approaching. They came at the call of their Master, Prince Quelala, who still held the Golden Cap upon his head.

  “Kill him faster!” The Wicked Witch of the West commanded the goblins.

  One swift blow to his temple, and the Prince Quelala fell silent.

  The Wicked Witch of the West darted down on her broom and with her free hand she scooped up the Golden Cap from the dead man’s skull. Placing it on her own head, the monkeys paused in the air before retreating back to where they had been called. “Now they are under my control,” the Wicked Witch of the West purred smugly.

  The Wicked Witch of the West turned her good eye to Oddlaug.

  “Follow me.”

  Casting one last gaze down towards the streets she could smell their fear. She could see the glassy gaze of Quelala staring up at her. She stared back for a long moment, pondering what her sister would think up for her own revenge.

  Sighing, Oddlaug took to the skies with her friend. Her friend had given her the shoes that had freed her from the confines of the dungeon, from her beautiful sister and the fiendish goblins.

  Pausing in the air far above the Ruby Kingdom, the Wicked Witch of the West flashed a brilliant smile towards Oddlaug.

  “You have questions?”

  “What of Gayelette? She will
come after us.”

  The Wicked Witch of the West clucked her tongue as if it were nonsense.

  “Gayelette disappears on the day you are released from the dungeon for a reason. Did you not think that perhaps a sorceress can see into the future now and then?”

  Stricken, Oddlaug tried to recover as swiftly as possible.

  “Where did she go?”

  “North, I think. This is yours now,” the Wicked Witch of the West gestured towards the Commons with a pleasant imitation of a smile.

  All of this land would be hers! Her revenge on all the Munchkins could happen now that she had the shoes.

  “Why didn’t you wear the shoes?” Oddlaug said, her eyes drawn to the shimmering silver at her feet.

  “I cannot, I have been forbidden. Years ago, Gayelette found out about the powers of the silver shoes so she had a spell worked that no witch, good or wicked could wear them. The fear being that their power could take over all the witches. But you hadn’t been dubbed a witch till today. You had the shoes on yesterday when you were still part mortal, therefore the spell is now broken and they are yours.”

  “Today?”

  “Yes, yes. You think killing all those Munchkins was a thing of Good? You’ve crossed over, with me. Things won’t be as lonely anymore.”

  “You were the only wicked witch?”

  “Yes, of the West and for a long time the balance between good and wicked had been upset. But, now that you’ve been recognized, it is even once again. Two good and two wicked now. You shall be known of the Wicked Witch of the East from this day forth. No other name will suffice.”

  “Oh,” Oddlaug choked on the shock. Then she mulled the idea over in her head. A smile crept up on her face.

  She was free.

  Not only that, but free to do what she wanted. Her will was her own. Squealing in delight, she flung her arms in the air triumphantly.

  “Eeeeeeeeee!”

  “Careful with those!” The Wicked Witch of the West hissed as her new sister tapped the toes together experimentally. “Whatever is your deepest desire in the Land of Oz , the shoes will reciprocate.”

  The Wicked Witch of the East’s eyes widened.

  “My deepest desire?” She breathed the words out loud, feeling euphoric as the possibilities streamed through her mind. They bumped together in a jumbled mess. “Anything I want?” Her pale purple eye wandered from the sky to the Western Witch.

  “Anything you want,” The Wicked Witch of the West confirmed with a curt nod. “All you have to do is tap your heels together and wish.”

  The Wicked Witch of the East shrieked a laugh and twirled around in delight.

  “Then I want a yellow brick road.” She tapped her heels together, hearing the silver click against each other sharply.

  Both sisters froze as the old Dickery Trail transformed into the Yellow Brick Road.

  The Wicked Witch of the West frowned pointedly.

  “And I want a lovely land called the land of the Munchkins where I will rule. Can you imagine? I will make those slobbering goblins into something cute and friendly. They’ll have round hats with bells and polished boots,” she laughed in sheer wickedness.

  The Wicked Witch of the West eyed the new Eastern Witch suspiciously.

  “Have you gone mad? These are all lovely things! We hold a secured title of Wicked for a reason, sister.”

  “Yes yes,” The Wicked Witch of the East agreed, her eyes alight. “But what do children like?”

  Hesitating, the Wicked Witch of the West answered.

  “Children like shiny objects.”

  “And candy?” The Wicked Witch of the East urged with her hands for her sister to continue.

  “Definitely candy,” she agreed with her Eastern sister. “They also like bright and sunny skies and brilliant colors.”

  At the mention of bright skies, the Wicked Witch of the East squeezed her eyes shut and clicked her heels, her face scrunching up, causing all the wrinkles to roll forward. The sun shot out from behind the clouds causing both sisters to duck and hide their eyes beneath their hands. The Wicked Witch of the East wasn’t finished however.

  “Do they like Yellow Brick roads? Stately trees with bright colored birds? Sparkling brooks and green banks?”

  “Yes, yes, yes!” The Wicked Witch of the West agreed wholeheartedly.

  “Then won’t they like to come here? To the Land of Oz? Where everything is bright and sunny and they can eat gingerbread houses or dance along a yellow brick road? Once they’re here, there’s no going back.”

  “No going back,” the Wicked Witch of the West repeated, smiling slowly, her half rotted teeth revealing themselves at last. “All ours.”

  “Good to eat, all shapes and sizes and they’ll walk right into our trap.”

  “I knew you’d be the perfect Wicked Witch.”

  The Wicked Witch of the East enthusiastically agreed with high pitched squeals of laughter that rippled through the land like a hurricane. Tilting forward on her floating broomstick she tipped her toes together preparing to click her heels.

  “Wait!” The Wicked Witch of the West cried.

  The Wicked Witch of the East paused, her eyes trailing up to her new sister in frustration.

  “Do you see what I see?” The Wicked Witch of the West was pointing North West and if the Wicked Witch of the East concentrated hard enough she was certain she made out a giant floating bubble.

  “A floating balloon, how clever…”

  The End.

  The Fuddles of Oz

  by Mari Ness

  The Fuddles scattered themselves as the man approached. Not merely scattered the way regular people might scatter, or even the way the magical people of Oz, who live, after all, in the finest fairyland of the world, might scatter at the approach of danger, even though for most people in Oz danger was so little known that they had quite forgotten the word.

  But the Fuddles were different. They were made of many little pieces of wood, all wonderfully and differently shaped, like a jigsaw puzzle, except more round than most jigsaws. When they saw people, it was their habit to scatter themselves into all of their many pieces, from a few hundred to several thousand, depending upon the person, and then rest patiently in the street, waiting for the viewers to come and patiently piece them together. It had become commonplace for the various Gilikins and Munchkins who lived nearby to come and amuse themselves for awhile putting the tricky pieces together, but after awhile, they came less and less, for even the most avid jigsaw puzzle lover becomes tired of putting the same people back together over and over again.

  This was terrible for the Fuddles, who were forced to scatter themselves whenever even just one person came nearby. If that one person had no interest in puzzles, they might find themselves lying scattered for weeks. It became more and more difficult to keep up with cleaning their houses and repairing their pretty fences and doing their knitting. And, the longer they stayed on the ground, dry or wet, the more their little wooden pieces became slightly warped and moldy. For people in Oz may live forever, but that does not mean that they are not subject to things like water and damp, if it continues long enough. And yet they did not want to stop people coming by altogether, for it was only when people came by that they could learn about events elsewhere in Oz, and get the pretty yarns and paints they needed to keep their village beautiful.

  So the Fuddles got together, or as many of them that were together, and decided to Advertise.

  Advertising is a rare thing in Oz, and the Fuddles were not sure how to do so, but after some time, they made a sign, and asked a Munchkin farmer to place it upon the road. And the Munchkin farmer agreed to do so, of course, because such is the way of Oz.

  And sure enough, a few curious travelers stopped by. Among them was a stout Winkie called Tidikins.

  The Fuddles scattered when Tidikins approached, and he stepped forward, eager to solve their puzzles and piece them together. But no matter how hard he tried, he could not - he could not
put even two pieces of a blue leg together. When evening fell he walked to a nearby village and complained about his hard day.

  “Ha ha,” laughed the villagers. For in Oz, it is perfectly acceptable for even the most kindly of souls to laugh at each other, for in so doing not only do the bellies of the overfed Ozites get much needed exercise, but also, the humiliation of being laughed at prevents anyone from becoming too proud, which is the quickest route to injury in Oz. And although no one can die in Oz, injury is still very very painful. “Those Fuddles are so easy that even a two year old may put them together!”

  “Our two year olds are much brighter than the average two year olds in the countries outside Oz, I believe,” replied Tidikins, angry at the insult. “For in those countries, two year olds may only be two for one year, but here, the two year olds remain two forever, and thus are able to gain more knowledge and skill than might be expected from them.”

  “That is as maybe,” said the villagers, not all that coherently, “but still, it should be easy to put the Fuddles together, even for someone of very low intelligence.”

  Determined to prove himself of high intelligence, Tidikins returned to Fuddlecumjig, where the Fuddles lived, and tried again. And again. And again. The other villagers laughed and laughed. For an entire month Tidikins tried, but was unable to put two pieces together. And in his anger he decided to do a Very Wicked Thing, although he himself thought that he was only doing this to protect other inhabitants of Oz.

  It is true, as the Royal Historian of Oz has said, that the reason most people are bad is because they do not try to be good. And others are bad out of sheer indifference or forgetfulness. But some are bad because they do not think things through.

  For Tidikins was not a bad man, but his inability to put the pieces of Fuddles together, and the way everyone had laughed at him, had so fuddled his brain that he decided that the best thing to do was to hide the entire village of Fuddlecumjig behind a large wall and stick up notices of Danger! Danger! The notices, he knew, would not keep everyone out, since some of the inhabitants of Oz had a tendency to ignore signs saying “Danger” or deciding that they must go past these signs anyway. But this behavior was mostly confined to inhabitants of the Emerald City, and since they had already visited Fuddlecumjig, Tidikins thought that they might not return. (And in this he was quite right.)