Dorothy In the Land of Monsters

by Garten Gevedon

  “Want to make sure he can do it again?” I tease with a tart smile.

  “I want to be sure he has enough strength to get you and Toto across,” Nick says with an indignant arch of a single brow.

  A twinge of guilt slinks in for my remark because he’s right—it took a lot of power to get across and back. A third time may be too much for the Werelion.

  “Maybe we should wait awhile and let him rest before each of us goes,” I say, now even more concerned, but Nick offers a soft smile as he lays a gentle hand on my shoulder.

  “There is a long way to travel still. Daylight hours are the safest time to do that. We do not have the luxury of waiting. Now get on.”

  Just in case something happens, I hug him, despising the thought of him falling into the gorge. My chest constricts in anxiety as I hold him tight, so scared.

  “I will be okay. Be sure you will be too and call up your armor,” he says with kind eyes that search mine for a brief moment before he steps away from our hug.

  My armor covers all of me but my face in a flash, and with my bag of weapons over my shoulder, I scoop Toto up and climb onto the Werelion’s back using my free hand to grab onto his mane. Before I realize what is happening, I am flying, hanging on for dear life. In the next moment, I’m safe on the other side.

  The Werelion goes back a third time to get Nick and I worry with Nick’s armor and size, and all that muscle, he will be too heavy. Maybe Toto and I should have gone last. Even with Toto and the bag of weapons, we are far lighter than Nick, and Werelion already seems tired out.

  Before I can insist he rest until he regains his full strength, Nick climbs onto Werelion’s back. In a blink, Werelion leaps up high and long across the ravine, and when they land, his hind legs slip at the edge. I gasp a scream, but Werelion bursts forward fast and regains his footing. The panicked breath I was holding escapes as Nick jumps off his back, shaken by their near slip, but he covers well.

  Six giant leaps have tired Werelion out, so we sit down for a few moments to give him a chance to catch his breath. As I look around at the road before us, I notice the forest is even thicker on this side, and even more onerous. Dead and undead thick trees and bushes with long blackened vines and sharp branches that curl and crack extend across the road ahead in sharp spear-like points, as though the infected plants are looking for victims the only way they know how. I’ll have to carry Toto until we pass through the deathly terrain.

  Once the Werelion has caught his breath, we start along the blood-spattered road of yellow brick, and I can’t help the dark emotions that overcome me. Will we ever come to the end of these nightmarish, undead woods and reach the bright sunshine again?

  Strange noises in the depths of the forest echo in my ears, chilling my bones, and I wonder if it’s my suit of armor enhancing my hearing or if they can hear it too.

  “Do you hear that?”

  They all nod, staying quiet so we don’t attract attention.

  “Is it vampires?” I whisper, a sense of foreboding coming over me I have not experienced since I put on these boots. Whatever or whoever it is, it even scares my armor.

  “It is in this part of the country that the Kalidahs live,” the Werelion whispers. “It’s the reason we have not come across any vampires.”

  “What are the Kalidahs?” I ask, afraid to hear his answer.

  “Monstrous beasts,” Nick whispers.

  “Oh, Kalidahs,” Werelion whimpers. “I am terrified of Kalidahs.”

  “Everyone is,” Ardie adds in a hushed voice.

  “What are they?” I ask.

  “You hear many things, but no one I know has faced a Kalidah,” Nick murmurs.

  “Then how do you know they are real?”

  “They’re real,” Nick assures me, his voice almost inaudible.

  “Stay quiet,” Ardie breathes, mouthing the words, and I take his advice and ask no more questions, even though I have so many.

  When we round a bend, it’s as though we’ve walked into winter. Ice and snow dust the trees and ground at first, but as we walk on, the wintery weather proliferates until we are trudging through deep snow. Ice glazes the branches of the trees and drips off the tips in sharp, needlelike points. As we make our way through the snowy forest, the freezing rain comes, and we find ourselves in the middle of an ice storm.

  Werelion carries Toto as we forge ahead into the pelting sheets of freezing rain and hail, using his large arms and thick fur to keep him warm enough to survive the beating from the icy torrent.

  As fast as the storm comes, it tapers away, and the further into the forest we go, the less unbearable the terrain becomes. The deep snow lightens to three inches instead of three feet, but the temperature drops to a level of cold I have never known before, and I worry about how we will survive the night in these arctic conditions.

  We press on through the heavy frost and soon find ourselves at another gulf across the road. This one is so broad and so deep that the Werelion knows at once he cannot leap across it. We stand and consider what we should do, and after serious thought Ardie speaks up.

  “That undead tree, at the edge of the ditch there,” Ardie says and points.

  A short distance away stands a towering tree with a thick trunk the color of midnight, brushed with a mossy lilac sheen. I would think it was beautiful, but I can sense its ominous threat from here. A myriad of questions barrel through my mind, like what does an undead tree eat? Does it still crave brains?

  Ardie continues, breaking my digressing train of thought. “Nick can chop it down so it will fall to the other side. Then we can walk across, but if we do and the wood pricks your paws, Werelion, you will die,” Ardie warns him. “If we could could find a living tree tall enough along the riverbank we could try that, but it looks as though this tree is the only one in sight that can reach the other side.”

  “Wood cannot penetrate my calloused paws,” says the Werelion with a scoffing snort.

  “Even a splinter will do the trick if it somehow reaches your bloodstream.”

  “Oh,” Werelion says and shivers, growing fearful.

  “I could fashion coverings for your feet thick enough to prevent splintering,” Ardie says. “My jacket will do. If we can cut it in half, we can tie them around your back paws. The fabric is thick enough to prevent splinters, but there is only enough fabric for two, so you must walk upright.”

  “I can do that and still keep my balance. That is brilliant. One would almost suspect you had an abundance of brains in your head instead of your stomach.”

  “Yes, brilliant. It is clear he is a genius,” Nick says, his tone laced with sarcasm.

  “You have any better ideas?” Ardie challenges.

  “No, tying a cloth around his feet is far more ingenious a thought than I could ever have,” Nick says as he pulls an axe off his chest.

  “We have no other materials to work with, do we?” Ardie says, not letting the insult go.

  “If it were me, I would seek the living plant-life out, gather cattail leaves, bark, things of that nature, then weave them into thick soles, use some deer hide to wrap them with, and fasten them to his feet, but I’m not a genius as Ardie is. A torn jacket is much safer.”

  “All right, Nick, we get your point. You can stop now,” I say.

  “What?” he says, feigning innocence.

  “You could just make your suggestion. You need not be a dick about it.”

  “What is a dick?” the Werelion asks.

  “A penis,” Nick tells him.

  “Oh, yes. You were being a dick,” Werelion says, and Ardie laughs.

  “Fine. Don’t expect jacket cloth to prevent a jagged, undead tree from infecting you. Fashion shoes from the living plants as I described. You will be much safer,” he says and turns to me. “Happy?”

  “That was better,” I say.

  Nick sets to work at once chopping into the undead tree, and when he does, a crackling, aubergine sap oozes from it. The sight of its sputtering secre
tions along with the faint hissing sound that prickles my ears is bloodcurdling. At the sight of purplish pus-like guck, Nick closes the helmet on his armor, shielding his face, and continues chopping with speed, force, and precision.

  “Be careful, Nick,” Ardie says and Nick nods to him before hacking away at the trunk again.

  Ardie and Werelion go to find the living trees in this undead copse to get materials to make shoes. Toto barks, wanting to go, but I hold him to my chest, worried about him walking around here. With my free hand, I clear a space on the ground of snow and bits of undead wood and sit with him in my arms, scratching behind his ears while feeding him little bits of deer meat to keep him happy.

  Nick’s relentless chopping rings out and echoes in the canyon below. We are calling too much attention to ourselves, but what choice do we have?

  “What do undead trees eat?” I call to Nick, hoping he can hear me over the echoing strikes.

  “Brains,” he grunts out as he hacks at the trunk.

  “How?”

  “They skewer the living with their offshoots and absorb it through their roots. They also consume the roots of living trees, infecting them and killing them. This one is newly undead.”

  “How do you know?”

  “It’s not motile yet.”

  “Motile, as in moving around?”

  “Yes,” he says with a grunt as he reels back and strikes. “When they are motile, they can reach and kill their prey with their offshoots and then pulverize them into the ground where their roots consume them. If we did not chop it down, it could grab us soon enough. A somewhat recent influx of zombiism has blighted these woods. We best get across to the other side as soon as possible.”

  With that, he chops harder and faster, without letting up until the task is complete.

  Ardie and Werelion return with heavy thick leaves and small vines that are vivid deep green and not undead. I offer to make them and do a decent job keeping the weave tight. When I make four soles large enough for his paws, I set to tying them off with strips of deer hide and then I cover them in more hide, threading long strips in and out in a thick stitch using a needle I conjure from my armor. At the mere thought, it appeared from my fingertip. Nick’s suggestion was a good one, and I am impressed with the thick-soled booties I make, thanks to the magical help my boots provide.

  By the time I finish making the shoes, Ardie sets out to hunt for a snack, and I shiver as another subzero cold-front rolls in.

  “It’s colder than a vampire’s cooter out here,” I say. Nick huffs out a surprised laugh, steam billowing from his mouth as he does.

  “What is a cooter?” Werelion asks.

  “Female genitalia,” Nick explains with an amused smirk, and Werelion gasps in shock.

  “Dorothy!” Werelion says, stunned I would say such a thing.

  “Yes?” I say as if I have no clue why my words shock him.

  “How do you know the temperature of a vampire’s… cooter?”

  “Call it an educated guess,” I say with a giggle, and he smiles back in his sweet way as he puts on the booties I made. They appear to fit, which is a relief. When he ties the laces, he stands on all fours.

  “Oh, Dorothy, these are wonderful,” Werelion says, overjoyed, modeling them as he struts back and forth before me.

  “I’m glad you like them.”

  Nick grunts as he strikes the undead tree trunk again. By now, he has chopped almost all the way through.

  It occurs to me how lucky it is we haven’t heard any strange and foreboding animal noises for some time. I guess kalidahs don’t like the cold. Ardie returns and sits beside me with a sigh.

  “Catch anything?”

  “Nothing. This frozen forest is barren. All the animals must have migrated to a warmer country.”

  With one final chop that echoes through the great canyon below us, Nick hacks into the tree for a final time leaving nothing but the bark uncut before he lowers his axe and steps back.

  “Werelion,” Nick says, his breathing heavy.

  “Yes?”

  “Push this tree over.”

  In his new booties, Werelion struts over and presses his front paws against the blackened, undead tree with all his might. After a loud grunting roar, the tree cracks, tips, and falls with a crash across the ditch, landing with its top branches and blue-black leaves on the other side.

  As we approach the undead tree, a sharp growl makes us all look back and to our horror we see at least ten massive beasts running toward us, each one the size of an eighteen-wheeler truck. They look like a cross between dragons, tigers, and bears. Or dinosaurs and those weird deep-sea fish that live near volcanoes with long, curved fangs. Their eyes even have a purplish phosphorescence, emitting a distinct violaceous glow.

  “Kalidahs,” cries the Werelion, trembling.

  “No wonder there were no animals in this forest,” Ardie says.

  “What do we do?”

  “Quick,” Ardie says, “let us cross over.”

  With Toto into my arms and Ardie carrying the bag of weapons, we all head over to the tree as they stalk toward us, closing in.

  “Climb up,” Ardie says, now standing atop the trunk.

  “We won’t make it. I will lead them away,” Nick says and runs to the right. Before I think better of it, I hand Toto to Ardie and speed after him, the Kalidahs taking the bait and galloping after us.

  “Dorothy, no,” Ardie calls as I hurry away.

  “How do we kill these things?” I ask Nick, and he looks over, noticing I am with him.

  “What are you doing?” he says, anger plain in his voice as he pumps his arms and legs.

  “Playing hero with you. So, how do we kill them?”

  “I don’t know. No one ever has.”

  “What?” I ask, fear rooting itself deep in my gut.

  I turn my head and see how close they’ve gotten. In the distance, Ardie and Werelion cross the trunk. Relief washes over me, knowing Toto will survive, even if I don’t. In less than a minute they will be on us, and my suit stops me in my tracks, smarter than I am, knowing outrunning them with Nick is impossible. If I was alone, maybe, but he couldn’t do it. I turn to face them, and Nick stops up ahead.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Go back to the tree and get across. If I can get away, I’ll meet you,” I call to him as large curved swords grow from my fists.

  The Kalidahs slow and encircle me, as if they have been stalking me, just as Nick said. Their eyes glow violet as they narrow on me, and I can sense their wicked joy at having me surrounded.

  “Hey!” Nick shouts to get their attention but they ignore him. It seems they only want me, or maybe they want the boots, or the witch who once wore them.

  “I don’t know who you think I am, but I guarantee I’m not her.”

  The largest one, who seems to be their leader, steps forward and growls, saliva dripping off his teeth and blackened purple tongue. There’s a smile in his eyes, and it pisses me off.

  “Wow, that’s some breath you got there. Cheese Louise, it’s like hot garbage,” I say and wave my hand in front of my face.

  “They are undead,” Nick warns.

  “Great, I left my flamethrower with Ardie.”

  Nick takes off running back the way we came, no goodbye, no nothing.

  “Nice knowing you,” I call after him then redirect my attention to my new undead friends. “All right, vermin. Let’s do this, shall we?”

  The leader hisses a growl, its violet eyes glowing, its blackened tongue flicking out at me, and I spin and slice it off. Its fiery eyes widen with what I’m sure is astonishment, and its growl booms and gurgles as the black sludge pours from its mouth sloshing out onto the ground before me. The others react and all go for me at once.

  Time slows as I attack, slicing off jaws and muzzles, legs, slitting throats. I mount one and take out its eye before I leap off its head to another’s back and slice across its neck in a windmill, beheading it. Another comes
charging into the headless Kalidah’s body and I go flying before I crash into what I’m sure is an undead tree. By the time I hit the ground they are already on me, hovering, snarling. Despite my magical armor taking the brunt of the hit, I’m still hurting, and it’s clear this is the end.

  As soon as I rise to my feet, one of them clamps onto me with its jaws, the entire upper half of my body to my waist enveloped by its undead mouth. The armor is strong enough that its teeth don’t penetrate though. While my armor covers my face, encasing every part of me in its magic, I struggle, kicking my legs that are still outside of its mouth. I hit nothing but air.

  As it swallows me whole I stab the hinge of its jaw with all my strength and rip my arm back. The roar from inside its mouth vibrates, sending a rattling buzz through my armor that echoes in my ears. I use my other arm to do the same on the other side, severing its lower jaw so it falls open, gushing its black blood like a river. I fall to the ground surrounded by its sludge. When I pop up, I expect to slip around in it, but my boots grip the ground, helping me keep my balance.

  Again, I attack. The sword coming from my fists lengthen and serrate as I spin and strike, severing its unhinged head. The kalidahs I only injured are attacking again after healing so fast. They close in on me, snapping their dinosaur jaws with force—they’re pissed. The delight in attacking me is over. Now they’re just vicious and infuriated. The only way I will break free from them encircling me is if I attack and don’t let up, not for a second, so I can get away. Then I must run faster than I have ever run.

  My suit of armor goes into action, taking over my body. I behead two in one sweeping motion and as I spiral, one snaps onto my arm with a forceful chomp, jarring my entire body. The power of its jaws reverberates through me, making my teeth chatter, but again, its sharp teeth do not cut through my armor. Up through the roof of its mouth, I thrust my arm with a sword that extends from my fist and watch as the blade lengthens piercing through its gleaming violet eye. With a forceful yank, I pull my arm back toward me, ripping its head in two from its eye through its snout, its black goo fizzing and bubbling forth, blanketing me. So gross. Even though all I want to do is let out a squeal and shudder and shake away all the yuckiness and gore, my attack is unceasing.