by Ryk E. Spoor
The two were suddenly in each other’s arms. Their lips touched and would not let go, even as the Daughter of the Rainbow began to dance. Her Hero followed her, with every step a glitter of polychromatic light that sent their joy echoing through the Emerald City. Ugu felt a stinging at his own eyes that he could not, for a moment, comprehend.
“Ho ho ho hooo!” Ruggedo laughed, a deep booming laugh that did indeed, as legend held, sound for all the world like the very essence of Saint Nick’s.
“Ahhh,” said the small, neat, balding old man with a clever, sharp face that had just come to join them, “so it is a happy ending, after all.”
Dorothy was smiling, tears in her eyes, and Ugu realized that what Ozma had said was literally true; these people, those imprisoned in the Castle with Ozma’s power, had felt Erik Medon’s pain, had come to know him…as, Ugu now understood, Erik had in truth known them, without ever having met. “Well, I’d say he deserves it, don’t you?” she asked, even as the others from the Castle arrived to watch Polychrome Glory and Erik Medon dancing across the courtyard.
“He showed great courage,” agreed the immense Lion.
“And he used his brains!” The indomitably cheerful Scarecrow nodded, painted smile seeming even broader than normal.
“And his heart,” said the glittering figure of polished tin beside him, with a gentle voice and a face of metal that still could smile.
A brightly-colored figure of patches and yarn-hair tumbled into view and plopped down to watch as Polychrome and Erik, still in embrace, danced up stairs without missing a beat. “Yeah, he was pretty clever, but, you know, I don’t think he’s hearing a word any of you are saying!”
The Wizard chuckled. “None in his position would,” he said, following the golden hair as it swirled about the dancers amid the light of all colors. “He’s a lucky man.”
Ozma smiled and tilted her head. “I am not so sure it isn’t Polychrome who’s the lucky one.”
Dorothy nodded. “He did it all for her, you know.”
“Not just for her,” Zenga said, with a brilliant smile through her own drying tears. “For all of us. He loved her more than anything, but…he loved Faerie too.”
“Then,” the Wizard said with a little bow to Ozma and Dorothy, “shall we agree they are both most fortunate?”
“Indeed, my Lord Wizard,” Glinda the Good said. “Wisely put.”
Ozma’s eye was suddenly fixed on him, and Ugu raised his head and met her gaze. “And what say you, Ugu?”
He looked across at Erik and Polychrome, and felt a sad smile on his face. “It is not the ending I sought,” he said slowly. “But…it is the ending that should have been.”
Ozma raised her head and stared at him for a long moment. Then she closed her eyes and gave a short nod. “Then perhaps you have gained some wisdom after all, Ugu. And for that wisdom, I shall leave your final fate in his hands.”
Ugu looked at her with dawning hope, and then at the Mortal, who had separated from Poly for just a moment, just at arm’s length, to see once more that she was truly there, truly whole, truly smiling and joyous and happy to be with him, and Ugu knelt before Ozma and bowed his head to the ground. “Then truly you are merciful, Ozma, for on this day and for many to come he will have naught but mercy to give to any, I think.”
There was a movement in the crowd of the armies, and a figure was hauled forward, in armor, bloodied, red staining pure-white hair, and Nimbus’ face darkened. He strode forward, drawing his sword. “The Usurper’s fate is a matter between kings, but the life of a traitor is in my hands!”
Ugu did not know how or — at first -- why, but suddenly he twisted from Zenga’s loosened grip and sprinted forward, throwing himself between the upraised sword and Cirrus Dawnglory. “NO!”
Nimbus’ arm hesitated, but by the trembling in it Ugu could see that only his surprise kept the Marshal of the Storm Guard from ending both Ugu’s and Cirrus’ lives in that moment.
“Take my life if you must,” Ugu told him. “But spare him, for he was no traitor, but the most courageous, faithful, and honorable of my own legions.” He saw Nimbus’ confusion and felt his own surprise…and yet knew he spoke truth, and straightened proudly. “For he is not Cirrus Dawnglory, not exactly.”
“What lie is this?” Nimbus growled, and the sword was now at Ugu’s throat. Ugu did not move. “I know Cirrus Dawnglory well — or I thought I did.”
“And so you did. But,” he looked apologetically at the confused man behind him, “the real Cirrus Dawnglory died centuries ago, in the patrol of which you believed he was the sole survivor. Instead what returned was a creation of mine and Amanita’s, the perfect spy for the Rainbow Realm, called back only after he had lived among you for centuries.
“What even he did not know,” Ugu continued, “was that he was not merely a Tempest and the soul of a Gillikin given the form and false memories of Cirrus Dawnglory. He was, in fact, made from Cirrus Dawnglory, from what memories and fragments of his soul remained once Amanita was done with him.”
Cirrus looked at him with dawning horror and, at the same time, understanding. Ugu looked back into Nimbus’ eyes. “But as a Tempest — as a spy — he was in my service at all times. In the most dangerous of all positions, and he was faithful to us. Even though,” he raised his voice as Nimbus began to speak, “Even though he came to care for you, and your King Iris, and especially his daughter Polychrome, and think of you as friends and comrades. When called he returned, and that was hard, hard for him, yet he did it because that much of the true Cirrus Dawnglory was a part of him — faithful, true, and loyal. Slay him not for being exactly the sort of man he was supposed to be. I may be defeated, but I am still his King, and none shall touch him unless first they slay me.”
Ozma’s hand came down on Nimbus’. “He is right, Nimbus Thunderstroke. And there has been more than enough killing this day.” She looked at Ugu with new respect. “It is said that power corrupts, Ugu the Unbowed. Yet I do not see this in you.”
Ugu did not know what to say. “I…regret many things I have done, Ozma.” He held up a hand. “I do not regret, nor retract, many of the things I felt or believed…but I do sincerely regret the foolish and evil ways that I attempted to follow those beliefs and feelings. I should have found some other way. And had I done so earlier…perhaps even Amanita might not have become the monster she did.”
“I kinda doubt that,” Dorothy said tartly. “She was a downright mean woman from the start. But you have changed, Ugu, even if it did take a lot more’n changing you into a Dove.”
A sunshower, rain falling from a nearly clear sky, suddenly fell over them, and he could see Polychrome and Erik Medon laughing as they danced in the rain. Ugu heard himself chuckle, and it was a strange sound indeed, one without malice or the heaviness of intrigue. “It required that I change myself, Princess Dorothy, and that is a harder task than a mere Belt might accomplish.” He glanced at Ruggedo and the somewhat-diminished Belt.
A greater light shimmered above, and they all looked up to see a great Rainbow descending from the heavens. “We have reached the ending of this story, I think.”
“Not quite,” Ozma said. “The last words have yet to be spoken by the Hero and the Princess. And we all should be there for that moment.”
And Ugu understood, as the Rainbow grew even greater, and all of them — of Oz, of the Armies of Faerie, himself, Ruggedo — began to ascend the Rainbow, led by the dancing figures of the Mortal and the Faerie Princess.
Chapter 56.
She is alive. She is alive, and she is beside me on the Rainbow, and she loves me. She loves ME. SHE LOVES ME!
For a time I could not measure, I had no room in my mind or heart for any other thought or feeling except the utter incredulous and perfect joy of a literal dream come true, of a fantasy held for decades that had proven, in the end, to be far more than I had imagined.
I remembered a line from one of the Narnia books — The Voyage of the Dawn Treader —
about the smell and the song at the End of the World: “It would break your heart.” “Why? Was it so sad?” “Sad!! No.” I had never quite understood what sort of feeling that could be; now I did, for I was filled to bursting with a joy that I could not imagine I could contain, and tears kept flowing from my eyes because there were no smiles or laughter that could adequately express what I felt.
But at last I looked up from those perfect violet-storm eyes and beheld the glory of the Rainbow Castle, and realized that we had travelled the entire length of the Rainbow without my even realizing it. And by her startled look, I realized Polychrome, too, had lost all track of time, and I laughed aloud for the sheer amazement and wonder of it, that I could in any way, in any imaginable way, be the focus of such attention.
“By such a laugh I know you are healed, Erik Medon,” Ozma said, gently laughing herself. “It is well; truly would it have been a steep price to pay, that our savior be broken in the moment of his triumph.”
I turned, and suddenly stopped dead in my tracks, staring. I hadn’t realized how many were following us, and who they were, and I knew then that I had been wrong, that it was possible for me to feel more wonder and joy than I already did, for they were there, all of them: the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman, Dorothy and Glinda, the Cowardly Lion and Scraps the Patchwork Girl, the Wizard of Oz himself, some not quite like their illustrations — but more themselves, even as Ugu had been more than the simple caricature of an impotent villain.
And for a moment I simply could not speak. There were so many things I wanted to say, and do, and think, and I found myself on my knees again, crying and unable to stop, and Poly asking me what was wrong, and I just took her hand and shook my head and though I was blushing crimson I couldn’t stop the tears.
Another hand covered hers. “Nothing’s wrong, Poly,” Dorothy said, with a smile and tears in her own eyes. “B’lieve me, I know what he’s feelin’, at least some of it. Couldn’t talk very much myself, when I knew I’d come back to Oz to stay. Add that t’ you comin’ back to him? Poor man’s just got to have too much happiness for one person t’ say!”
I met her gaze, and saw she did understand, as she’d say, jus’ ’bout ’zactly. I smiled and nodded again, and took a deep breath. “Princess…Dorothy Gale.” I stood and bowed. “You’re right. It…was all just too much. Still is. I love Polychrome more than anything,” I looked to her again, just reassuring myself that she really was there, alive, “but I’ve loved all of Oz, all of Faerie, for just as long.”
“And I understand, perhaps, more than even Princess Dorothy,” the Wizard said with a smile — and, I thought, a suspiciously bright sparkle in his own eyes. “You no doubt understand that my return to Oz — to confront the Princess I had betrayed — was nowhere near as simple as Baum painted it… and so you can realize my own joy when I was, in the end, welcomed home.” He leaned a bit closer, and in a lower voice said, “And as a man, I can very well understand the rest.”
I hoped Polychrome liked the sensitive blushing sort of guy, because it seemed I was awfully prone to that.
Suddenly another voice, a deep voice like thunder, shouted out, “Polychrome!”
And Iris Mirabilis was there, sprinting from the mighty gates of the fortress, somehow smaller but still immense as he caught up his daughter and swung her around, his own face not entirely dry. “Thank all the Above. You are alive.”
Then he turned to me and — in front of all assembled on the Rainbow — knelt and bowed to the very ground. “My thanks — all the thanks of Faerie — to you, Erik Medon.”
I looked down at the top of his head, and waited a moment. “Thank you, Iris Mirabilis,” I said finally, and he raised his head. “Yes,” I said, in answer to the unspoken question, “I was royally pissed at you when I finally understood what was going on. And if she were not alive…” I realized my eyes must have gone terribly cold, because I saw understanding in his. I pushed my hair back from my face — for some reason it seemed to be dropping over my eyes more — and drew another breath. “But that is what might have been, and I won’t waste more time on it. We all paid prices for this war — none more than the soldiers on both sides who died, and they are gone –” a thought struck me, and I turned to Ozma. “Unless whatever…brought back Poly…?”
“Alas, no.” It was Ruggedo, and I turned to him in surprise. He raised his eyebrow, then chuckled. “Ah. So deep in your grief were you that your powers of observation failed to even note that it was I, not Ozma, who was able to return life to Polychrome.”
Iris’ eyes narrowed. “That is…virtually impossible. It requires the power and the tolerance of the Above, and the price is –”
“I know the price — none better, Iris — and the power was returned to me by those who had taken it — and most justly so — in centuries past.”
Now I realized that Ruggedo was wearing the Magic Belt, the Wishing Belt, the Belt that had held the vast majority of the powers of the Nome Kingdom. But as I looked, I could see that while it still blazed with gems of all sorts, fully half of the settings were empty, their gems shattered and dull. “That…was the cost?”
Ruggedo nodded, but his smile did not fade. “A small price indeed; after all, I had long since given up any hope of ever holding my Belt again; what matter, then, that it has lost much of its power now? I still have far more than I did when first we met — far, far more, I think, even had the Belt been destroyed entirely for my temerity in using the gift of the Above to flout their law.”
“Thank –”
The old Nome shook his head violently. “I will take no thanks or intimations of a debt from you, my friend. I paid what I owed, as best I could — and as I said, I think I still have had a bargain.” He looked at Iris Mirabilis. “Now your thanks I shall accept, Lord of the Rainbow.”
“And you have them, and more besides.” He looked back to me, having risen now to his full height, and saw as Polychrome took my hand again, and smiled. He raised his arms in a welcoming gesture. “Enter the Rainbow Kingdom, friends and allies, for today Faerie is free.”
His gaze flicked across the crowd, and I saw it suddenly halt, and his face go first pale, then dark. “What is the meaning of this?”
I didn’t have to turn — though I did — to know what he was looking at. I didn’t remember exactly what had gone on afterwards, but I knew that I hadn’t killed Ugu, and no one else was likely to have tried.
Ozma stepped between Ugu and Iris as the Rainbow Lord started forward. “Ugu the Unbowed has been defeated, and in his words I have heard some faint hope that he is not beyond reason; his life was spared by your very champion, and in doing so he fulfilled your prophecy to the very end. So it is that his final fate is neither in your hands, nor in mine, but in those of Erik Medon, for it was he, not you nor I, who defeated the Usurpers and freed us all.”
I noted Ugu’s surprise — which I rather echoed — that Ozma used Ugu’s self-chosen title. I was also startled that they were lobbing that ball back into my court, and despite the euphoria that still sang through my veins, I recognized a deadly serious issue waiting for me. I will not make that decision immediately, that’s for sure. I need a clear head to judge someone like that.
Iris opened his mouth as though to argue, then looked down at me, closed his mouth, and finally gave a short bow. “As the Princess of Oz directs, so shall it be. Still, I would have someone be responsible for his actions, and watch over him.”
“I will do that.” Zenga stepped forward. “His strength isn’t the equal of mine, he’s just about out of magical tricks, and I really don’t think he’s looking for any more trouble.”
Ugu said nothing, though he did nod at the last. I suspected he figured it was best to keep his mouth shut, even when it came to agreeing, and he was probably right. Three centuries and more of fear will make just about anyone irrational.
“So be it,” Iris agreed finally. He turned to the assembled masses and spread his arms wide again, gesturing us forward. �
��Welcome again. And well done to you all — and especially to our Hero. We will thank him in true Royal style tonight — all of us!”
And the responding roar of agreement nearly deafened me. “Oh, jeez, I’m in trouble now,” I whispered to Poly. She giggled and pushed that annoying lock of hair out of the way as she leaned closer.
“You certainly are. Nomes and the Storm Guards throwing a party in the Rainbow Castle? This won’t be over for a week — and you’ll have to be there all the time!”
I shuddered, but kissed her cheek, marveling once more that I could do that. “Is it too late for us to say I fell heroically in battle?”
Chapter 57.
Polychrome felt Erik rise from his seat next to her and turn towards the throne, which was near to hand at one end of the immense banquet table. The celebration had already been going for hours, and the vast majority of the guests — though still toasting the Hero and his party whenever the mood struck — were mostly talking and laughing with each other, less attention finally focused on the nominal reason for the party.
“Iris, I would speak with you more privately, if I might,” Erik said, just loud enough for her father to hear.
The Rainbow Lord looked down and nodded, as though he had expected this — which, she guessed, he probably had. “Alone, or merely away from this mob of partygoers, Lord Erik?” he asked.
She noticed Erik’s cheeks were momentarily red, but that faded, and he glanced around at the others. “There are several things we must discuss…and they do concern Faerie as well as myself. So…with these others, if you allow it.”
Iris smiled ironically. “Erik Medon, though you are in my realm, on this day I do not think there is much that I would dare not allow.”
