Ozland

by Wendy Spinale

  Although it’s certainly a machine, the figure before me also appears human in form.

  Ginger grips my elbow. “Meet Timothy, the former royal woodsman for the king. Now let’s get out of here before he decides to chop off our heads.”

  I glance over my shoulder as we run. He leans his head back and howls. With screams so piercing, both Ginger and I are brought to our knees. I writhe in pain on the cold, damp ground, my palms pressed against my ears.

  Again, the earth shakes, as the steel woodsman jumps from the pit and onto the ground. Standing two meters tall, he roars. Through jagged metal teeth, rays erupt from the machine, like lightning from a raging electrical storm. Each blinding beam chars the vegetation and sears limbs from trees. What is left of the foliage floats to the ground in nothing more than a blanket of ash.

  The forest grows still once again as the woodsman’s eyes spin like that of a telescope, focusing in on his prey … me.

  I scramble to my feet as the contraption shrieks, wielding a sharp ax. Dirt flies in the air as I dodge the blade. With his weapon stuck halfway in the ground, I take the opportunity to wield my bow and send arrows into the chest of his armor. The diamond tips pierce the thick metal with ease. The shafts of a half dozen arrows protrude from the woodman’s shell, but the damage doesn’t slow him down. When the ax is freed from the earth, the woodsman returns his attention to me. Clearly, I won’t be able to stop the machine on my own, and Ginger has disappeared. With the odds against me, I decide to rest my fate on the only thing I can do … keep running.

  I take off. But metallic footfalls shatter the forest floor, sending wet earth exploding in every direction. The woodsman’s blade just misses me with every swing.

  “Ginger!” I scream, unable to hear myself above the tempest surrounding me.

  A piercing screech, even louder than before, tears through the trees. I whirl around, expecting to find the machine close behind me. Instead, several dozens of meters away, Ginger sits on a tree limb, fairly obscured among the leaves. Having surprised the woodsman, she grips the one mace still left in her hand. The other is embedded in one of the woodsman’s eyes.

  Jagged shards are all that is left of the lens. Circular metal rings hang from the few brackets that remain. Ginger hurries off the limb and starts to climb back down. Before she makes it even halfway, the machine slams into the tree. The trunk splinters. Ginger grips a branch, terror filling her expression as the treetop lists to the side before crashing to the earth. Ginger’s flailing body hits the ground hard.

  “No!” I scream, running to her. She doesn’t respond to my touch. Blood gushes from a deep cut just above her brow.

  The woodsman screams again, hovering over us. In his remaining eye, blue electricity sizzles angrily, building in intensity with each passing moment. Despite the heat emanating from the machine, my skin crawls with an icy chill. I slip my hands under Ginger’s armpits and try to pull her.

  “Ginger, wake up! You have to wake up,” I say, panic trembling in my voice.

  She doesn’t respond. The creature growls as I struggle to tug Ginger to safety. With a gasp, I watch the machine shift to the side and hit a lever on his ax. I can’t breathe, can’t take my eyes off the weapon as the blade swings wildly around the shaft. The woodsman raises the rotating blade and sends it hurtling toward us. I throw myself on top of Ginger and use my momentum to roll her out of the way. The ax drives into the soft earth where Ginger’s body was, centimeters away from my face.

  Snatching up the ax, the woodsman lifts the weapon once more.

  “Ginger, wake up!” I shout, shaking her.

  The machine barrels toward us. With no other choice but to fight, I take aim and prepare for battle. With each arrow I shoot, the diamond tips puncture the metal, but again only slow the woodsman down minimally.

  His only functioning eye sizzles with blue light.

  “Not with the barbecuing again,” I say, rounding the machine, eager to get him away from Ginger’s still body.

  As if on cue, electricity blazes again from his lens. I tumble to the left, out of the fiery path, as the spark scorches the earth where I stood.

  “Come on. Cut me a break,” I say, holding the grip of my bow tightly.

  Behind the woodsman, Ginger, seeming somewhat dazed, struggles to her feet. She retrieves her weapons and calls out to the machine.

  “Timothy, she’s awfully small to be considered a challenging target, don’t you think?” Ginger says.

  The woodsman peers over his shoulder and scrunches up his face, rage etched in his expression with each shift of the metallic plates that make up his face.

  “Remember me? I know it’s been a while. You were my favorite of the king’s woodsmen. Always kind and giving. I know what they’ve done to you is horrible, but I’m sure somewhere in that hunk of metal you possess some semblance of a heart. Let us be on our way,” she says. With an ax in each hand, she twirls them, circling the machine.

  The woodsman pauses for a moment, his single lens fixed on Ginger.

  “Aw, you do remember me, don’t you?” Ginger asks. “Of course you do. How could you forget all those times I stole your ax as a kid? You’d pretend to be mad, but I knew you never really were. Can I tell you a secret? I did it on purpose just to watch you attempt to make that silly, angry face. You never pulled it off well.”

  Peering at his ax, the tin man seems to contemplate her words.

  I’m confused by the one-sided conversation, but I don’t ask questions. Those will come later. Instead, I also circle the woodsman, prepared to fight.

  “Come on, Timothy, we don’t have to fight. I know you’re in there,” Ginger says.

  The machine gazes at Ginger for a moment, then raises his ax and violently swings it Ginger’s way. She dodges its sharp blade. His actions are quick, but Ginger is quicker.

  When the creature whirls, his face is met with the blunt end of Ginger’s mace. She spins and smacks the jagged end against the woodsman’s leg, leaving a sizable dent. Ginger leaps in the air, hopping over the woodsman’s weapon as it comes slicing toward her.

  I keep my aim fixed, waiting for the first opportunity to shoot. With another swing of the mace, this time using the sharp teeth, she slices through the leg of the machine. Wires dangle and spark from the breached metal parts.

  “Please stop, Timothy! It doesn’t have to be like this,” she says, hurt evident in her tone. She swings her mace, leaving slashes along the machine. The damage is severe, but still the woodsman battles as if uninjured. All I can think to do is to continue to inflict harm to the exposed parts. I send several arrows flying, each one striking the metal components fueling the machine. While the arrows make movement cumbersome, the tin man fights on.

  Ginger strikes the woodsman across the head, momentum turning his body in my direction. It takes a second for me to nock my bow and send an arrow to his chest. The diamond tip buries itself into a gash left over from one of Ginger’s hits.

  He screeches as steam and smoke billow from his torso. Finally, he lets out a sorrowful groan before falling quiet.

  I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Ginger turns her green gaze my way as she returns both of the short-handled maces to their holsters on her back. She wipes the sweat from her forehead with her shirtsleeve, brushing away her auburn disheveled hair. Clearing away the dust and wrinkles from her vest and pants, she takes in a sigh.

  “Godspeed, Timothy. Maybe you’ll finally be at rest,” she says, placing a hand on the tin man’s face.

  “Timothy?” I finally ask.

  “Yes,” she says, helping me gather my arrows. “That thing you see there used to be a real living man. One of the king’s closest soldiers. The king loved him like a brother. Timothy was hard not to love. He was caring, humble, generous. There wasn’t a soul in all of Lohr who didn’t take a liking to him. No one except the Bloodred Queen.

  “Timothy supposedly died young from a heart condition, but most of us believed his demi
se was the queen’s doing. King Osbourne was distraught with grief. Willing to do anything to bring his friend back, he sent the body to the metalworkers along with his personal physician to see if they could revive him with a machine heart. Instead they created this thing. When the king realized that the person who once was Timothy was long gone and all that remained was his shell, he armored the creature and made him part of the Henchmen.”

  Ginger hands me my arrows and trudges ahead.

  “The Henchmen?” I ask.

  “Yes. The elite of the king’s army,” Ginger says.

  My nerves spark again at the idea that there are other creatures, or men, out there as fierce as this one. “Just how many Henchmen are there?” I ask, scanning the treetops.

  “There are only three Henchmen. Two now that the woodsman has been incapacitated,” she says. “But if the woodsman found us, the other two are not far behind, and that’s not even the worst part,” she says.

  “How can things get much worse?” I ask.

  “If she’s dispatched the Henchmen, the Bloodred Queen knows we’re here,” she says.

  Capping the last vial, I let out a breath. It’s been several hours, but with the massive selection of ingredients and supplies Maus and Hase have accumulated, along with the help of Pete, we’ve created several batches of the antidote. Now all that’s left is to get it to those who need it.

  “How do you think Pickpocket is doing with that Haploraffen?” I ask.

  Pete shakes his head. “I don’t know, but I don’t trust those wretched things. We shouldn’t have left him alone.”

  I nod, an odd feeling brewing in my gut. Rubbing my hand across my forehead, I weigh our predicament, wondering if we should meet Hook and the rest as planned, or search for Pickpocket. “Someone needs to check on Pickpocket and it should probably be me,” I say wearily. “I’ll be no use when you infiltrate the queen’s throne room anyway. And the sooner I get the Haploraffen armed with the antidote, the better. You go meet up with Hook.”

  Maus laughs. “That’s your plan? Somehow convince those winged beasts to willfully join your agenda and release the cure around the world? We’re doomed,” she says, throwing up her hands and turning. She grabs a scoop from a bucket of herbs on the bottom shelf of a wooden cabinet. “If any of you need me, I’ll be out digging my own grave. Good thing the snow hasn’t settled in.”

  “Pickpocket is reengineering one of the Haploraffen now,” I argue. “He just needs time.”

  “Time?” Maus asks. “You think time is what will gain the Haploraffen’s allegiance to you? If it were as simple as tinkering with their mechanics, don’t you think someone would’ve already ended the Bloodred Queen’s reign? Nice fantasy, boys, but it’ll never happen.”

  “But … ,” Pete starts to protest.

  Maus sighs. “The Haploraffen only answer to the one who wears the golden halo. Without it, you’ll never get anywhere with them. No amount of tinkering will change that. And suppose you do gain control of the Haploraffen Halo; they are always loyal to the Bloodred Queen first.”

  “So, we kill the queen, take the halo, and rescue Gwen. Sounds simple enough,” Pete says.

  Maus shakes her head. “And how do you plan to do that? The Bloodred Queen is all exoskeletal armor and strength. Her scales are nearly impenetrable.”

  “We’re aware of that,” Pete retorts. “But have no doubt, that ruthless woman is going down, even if I have to melt the darn plates off her body one by one,” Pete says.

  Hase taps his chin. “It’s not a bad idea.”

  The old man shuffles to another cabinet and turns the dial of a lockbox. When it clicks open, in it is a glass container that looks to be coated with something on the inside. Wax, maybe? He carefully removes it and offers it to me.

  “What’s this?” I ask, preparing to take the cap off to get a whiff.

  “No! I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he says. “That’s hydrofluoric acid.”

  My stomach feels sick at the error I almost made.

  “What does it do?” Pete asks.

  Maus hands me a rucksack and fills it with old rags. “Put it in here to keep it safe. Until you need it,” she says.

  Cautiously, I place the container into the bag and zip it up. “Aside from burning flesh on contact, inhaling it is poisonous and will kill you within days.”

  “Sounds awful, but just the thing we need,” Pete says. “Once we’re rid of the Bloodred Queen, it’s only Katt we need to take care of. She might have the Haploraffen Halo, but not for long.”

  Maus laughs. “This almost sounds like an impossible task, boys. If you’re caught …” He makes a slicing motion across his neck.

  “We should probably stick together, then. Both Pickpocket and getting that acid to the Bloodred Queen are priorities. We’ll join the others later,” Pete says, worry evident in his tone. “Maus, is there any other way to get these vials distributed, if the Haploraffen don’t work out? Like, what about more of the Marauders’ airships?” Pete asks. He knows as much as I do that at the speed and distance they’re capable of traveling, it’s a viable option.

  “Pfft! Those hunks of junk have been gone for a long time. The Bloodred Queen’s entire armada left and never returned. They were sent to bring down London and return once German rule was established,” Hase guffaws. “Seems the zeppelins went down with London.”

  Pete rolls his eyes. “She sent her entire fleet? Amateur move.”

  I’m sure he finds some satisfaction knowing that he and the Lost Kids are responsible for the airships’ destruction, but I’m irritated. Zeppelins would be helpful right about now. “What other choices do we have?” I snap.

  My question is met with silence and sullen expressions.

  “I’m afraid there’s no other way, Doc,” Maus says, frowning. “When the Bloodred Queen learned of the destruction of her zeppelin fleet, she decided that if she wanted things done right, she’d do it herself. Instead of using an army of men, she had the Haploraffen created to be controlled by her using the halo. Armed with the latest technology, they have one job: to do everything she bids. Often, that means patrolling countries that are dependent on her promise for a cure. Other times, it means the destruction of those who defy her. Sadly, she might very well have the deadliest military in the world, and until you gain control of them, you’ll never get the antidote out.”

  “I may not be able to hold up my end of the bargain with Hook,” Pete says to me, balling his fists. “What I wouldn’t give to spill her blood.”

  He’s as desperate as I am to weaken the Bloodred Queen’s stronghold. It amazes me how alike we think, but how vastly different we are. The Bloodred Queen’s rule must end. He seeks her blood, while I seek to take away her power. I fight with medicine and the need to restore life to health. He fights with blades.

  I loved his sister, Gabrielle, so much it nearly killed me that I couldn’t save her. He loved her so much that, given the chance, I’m sure he’d have killed me because I didn’t save her—if he didn’t need me so much.

  Pete has been so many things to me. My patient, my friend, my enemy, my leader, my closest companion. Had Gabrielle not died, he’d have become my brother. Although Gabrielle’s life was stolen from both of ours, of all the things Pete is to me, whether he accepts it or not, he’s family.

  “The Haploraffen are our priority,” I say. “We need that crown.”

  “And for that, you’ll have to take it off Katt’s head yourself,” Hase says, nudging me in the ribs with his elbow. “Grab yourself a scooper. Looks like we’ll be joining Maus. The dirt is as hard as stone, and I’m only digging my grave. You’re on your own to make your bed before you meet your maker.”

  “What about Hook?” I ask, ignoring Hase. “Maybe he can manipulate his position as the queen’s son to get close to the crown?”

  Pete grimaces. I know the thought of him working with Hook any more eats at him. The hero and villain of Everland working together is absurd. But at this
point, that’s where we are at in this. Our options are running thin. And we’ve already involved him … at least at the end of Lily’s and Alyssa’s swords and Maddox’s gun.

  “What? We just tell Hook that he needs to get that crown because whoever wears it controls the deadliest army in the world? Seriously, Doc, you may be smart, but that’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said,” Pete says.

  “You’re practically doing the same thing with Jack,” I point out. “In fact, maybe this deal you’ve made with him should include retrieving that crown.”

  “The deal I made with him was to play along with Katt. Make her believe he’s on her side until we’re ready to strike. That’s it,” Pete says. “I don’t trust him with that crown either.”

  “But you’ll let him rule Germany?” I ask.

  “Not alone,” Pete says. “Of anyone, the German people would accept him as ruler long before they’d accept anyone else. Under our supervision, he could run the country until we find the king ourselves. But neither Hook nor Jack will be in charge of the Haploraffen Halo.”

  “At this point, what choice do we have? We’ve already brought them into our fold,” I say. “They may be the only way we get close enough to it.”

  “Hook’s insane as it is. Despite all she’s done, she’s still his mother. His own flesh and blood. Who in their right mind would kill their own mother?” Pete says, kicking a cabinet.

  Maus gapes at his burst of anger.

  Sighing, I afford him a moment, knowing that lately his whole life has been taking care of one child after another who have lost their mothers and fathers, including him. The thought of purposely killing one’s own parents—it’s incomprehensible to him. And that is his weakness.

  I hesitate, knowing my next words won’t be taken well. “I trust him,” I say.

  Pete raises a brow. “Trust him? How can you trust a guy like that?”

  “He’s got nothing to gain by keeping the Bloodred Queen alive and everything to lose if he does. Think about it,” I say, pacing the room. “What other options does he, or we for that matter, have? We’ve seen the evil the Bloodred Queen has caused. Of anyone else, he’s suffered the most by her hand. Who gouges out their own child’s eye?”