PART
THREE
First Pete had to find the Wizard. And then he could find Jasper.
Based on what Jasper had told him, he’d decided that the only way to escape Mombi for good was to ask for the Wizard’s help. Otherwise it was just a matter of time before she found him again and brought him back to that terrible hovel in the woods to spend the rest of his life locked away behind powerful magic, bored out of his mind. Jasper had said the Wizard had vanished, but maybe Pete could find him.
Pete knew the woods and mountains around Mombi’s cottage like the back of his hand, but he’d never gone more than a few miles in any direction. Once he came out of the countryside he knew, he got lost almost immediately. Jasper’s map was little more than a rough sketch, and it soon became clear that the Munchkin had traveled enough to take for granted landmarks that meant nothing to Pete. Plus, the map had gotten wet in his escape from Mombi’s, and whole sections of it were blurred and unreadable.
But he couldn’t bring himself to throw the map away, even though it was useless. Jasper had been the closest thing to a friend he’d ever made in his short, lonely life. At night, sleeping curled up in makeshift shelters of leaves in branches like a forest animal, wrapped in his lone blanket, he clutched the tattered paper to his chest as if it could show him the way in his dreams.
The farther he journeyed from the mountains, the more frequently he passed through villages and towns. In Gillikin Country, people were cheerful and friendly. Seeing that he was alone and often hungry, they offered him meals and even a place to sleep for the night. If he was hungry enough, he accepted their offers, but for the most part he was too painfully shy and tongue-tied. He was reminded again and again how strange and sheltered his life had been with hardly any contact with anyone besides Mombi.
When he passed other children laughing and playing, it occurred to him he had only read about things like games in books, never experienced them himself. The people he passed eyed him curiously; he was certain it was because he was lonely and freakish, although in truth it was mostly because strangers didn’t often come through Gillikin Country, and they were only curious.
His resentment of Mombi, always strong, only deepened. It was her fault he didn’t know how to talk to anyone. Her fault he was so painfully shy that he fled, speechless, from most offers of help. She hadn’t taught him anything; she hadn’t even taught him magic, the one thing she did know.
As the days passed, no matter how far he walked, the Emerald City only seemed farther and farther away. And once he found it, then what? He had no idea who in the city to ask for help, or if they would even help him. Jasper had said Dorothy was beautiful and kind and surrounded by friends. He was none of those things. What could he offer in return for assistance?
Finally, he passed into Munchkin Country. Hills and forest gave way to golden fields and rolling farmland. And that was where the Road of Yellow Brick found him. Or rather, he tripped over it. He had been following a dirt path that skirted a field full of cows when he stumbled on something solid and square embedded in the dusty earth and looked down.
It was a brick. Not an ordinary brick; it was made of a dully gleaming gold that shone through its coat of dust like a beacon. He looked around and saw another brick embedded in the grass at the edge of the pathway, and then another, and another. Farther away, more and more bricks were appearing even as he watched, stretching in a glittering path across the field he had been avoiding.
He looked around him. The air was cool and silent. It was early in the day still, and no one was about. Even the birds flitting across the flower-strewn field were quiet.
This was the road that Jasper had talked about. The road that would help guide him more quickly to the Emerald City. There was no doubt about it: it had found him. And now it stretched out in front of him as though it had been there forever, not appearing out of nowhere.
He was tired and lonely and sad and Jasper’s map was useless. The road was the only direction he had. Even if he’d wanted to go another way, there was nowhere else to go.
He took the first step onto the golden bricks. A current of something like electricity ran through him. For just a moment he saw something in front of him shimmering in the air like a mirage: a girl, about his age, with long dark hair and fathomless green eyes. And then the vision was gone again, and he was alone, feeling shaken and strangely afraid despite the balmy sunshine and beautiful landscape.
Something was about to change. Something huge. He could feel it in his bones.
And it scared him.
Had Mombi found him? Or was it something far worse or more frightening than that? Whatever it was, he wasn’t going to stand around in a field waiting for it to find him. He set off down the Road of Yellow Brick with a new determination in his step. He was tough and resourceful. He could find his way through the mountains of Gillikin Country alone and survive on his own for days. Whatever was waiting for him, he told himself, he could face it.
Mombi had refused to teach him magic, but from an early age she had taught him how to defend himself and how to hide. If he was ever in trouble, she said, she would know, and she would come for him. He hoped now that neither Mombi, nor whatever great danger she was afraid of, was ever coming. But he would use those skills again and again as he made it through the strange and treacherous Land of Oz. Oz was indeed full of magic, and he knew not all of it was Good.
He walked for a long time, until the sun was high in the sky and hot on his shoulders. In its own way, the road seemed to be taking care of him, which was reassuring: just when he thought he was about to die of thirst, the road led him past a merrily bubbling brook where he could refill his canteen. When his stomach began to growl, he passed a grove of talking apple trees who politely offered him some fruit. (It was delicious.) He ate his fill, packed up his knapsack, and thanked them; they waved their branches in what looked like an apple-tree version of a bow. When the sun began to sink toward the horizon, he started looking for a good place to sleep, and found it a little while later: a pumpkin patch, strewn with bales of hay that would make a clean and relatively soft bed, watched over by a friendly-looking pumpkin-headed scarecrow with bright black eyes and a cheerful smile painted on its orange face. He sat down at its feet on an enormous pumpkin, stretching out his legs and wiggling his aching feet, before digging around in his pack for more apples. The next day he would try to find a village where he could buy something a little more exciting to make his meals out of, but for now he was grateful to have anything to eat at all.
The same feeling that had come over him that morning as he’d started on the road took hold of him again. The air was quiet, as if the pumpkin patch was holding its breath. The strange current ebbed through him, and for a moment the world shifted as if a veil had been drawn back; he saw a brilliant rainbow citadel in the clouds, the same dark-haired girl he’d thought he’d seen that morning, another girl, this one older but not by much, with bright pink hair in what looked like a prison cell, each vision flashing before him like pictures on a screen. He blinked and rubbed his eyes, and the strange visions faded. Somewhere in the grass nearby, a frog made an inquisitive sound.
He sighed and leaned back against the scarecrow’s post. “Weird,” he muttered aloud. He looked up. He could have sworn the scarecrow had tilted its pumpkin head just a bit, as if it were listening to him. But that wasn’t possible. Not even in Oz.
He didn’t think it was possible anyway. “Are you watching me?” he asked it dubiously. It didn’t move. “You’re being crazy,” he muttered aloud to himself. “Seeing things. You need to figure out how to make friends before you lose it completely.”
The scarecrow still didn’t move, but there was something inexplicably comforting about talking to it. “I’ve come a long way, you know,” he told it, settling back against its post again. “A long, long way. If I can just get to the Emerald City before Mombi finds me, then I can look for the Wizard and ask him to set me free. To send me on adv
entures, like he did Dorothy.” He thought dreamily about what his life might look like then, if he was given an important assignment by the Wizard. He could find Jasper again and they could travel all of Oz together, spreading the Wizard’s gifts to people who needed his help. He didn’t realize he was still talking out loud until he’d finished, and then he turned bright red when he realized he’d told all of this to a scarecrow. “I sound completely insane,” he said sheepishly. “I’ll never find the Wizard, who am I kidding? But there has to be a way to get away from Mombi. There just has to.”
“Oh, there is,” the scarecrow said.
Pete’s jaw dropped and he whirled around. The scarecrow was regarding him calmly.
“You—you didn’t just talk to me,” he whispered. “A scarecrow didn’t just talk to me.”
The scarecrow laughed, and then the shell of its pumpkin head split apart and began to peel away. Its clothes tore apart at the seams. Its post split down the middle with a crack. And stepping out of the wreckage was someone who needed no introduction.
“Of course a scarecrow didn’t just talk to you, silly,” Glinda said, smiling. “Even in Oz, that would be a bit ridiculous. Unless, of course, it was the Scarecrow, but he doesn’t work in the field anymore. Darling, I’ve been looking for you everywhere. I’m so glad I finally found you.”
Pete looked around, bewildered, as if there were someone else she might be talking to. “You’ve been looking for me?”
“Indeed I have,” Glinda said. She was somehow even more beautiful than her sister; her hair just a touch more lustrous, her eyes a clearer and gentler blue, her skin even softer and more radiant. She extended one hand to him and drew a shape in the air with the other. A pink silk tent materialized out of the cool night air.
“Let’s go somewhere a bit more comfortable where we can talk,” she said, leading him through its open doorway. Inside, soft, velvety cushions were arranging themselves into piles. Beautiful pink carpets were unrolling themselves across the hard-packed earth of the pumpkin patch. Tea was pouring itself into pink china cups at a little table, and a bowl of pink fruits and pastries appeared out of nowhere. Glinda daintily selected a pink-frosted tart and popped it into her mouth. “Delicious!” she proclaimed.
Pete’s eyes were wide with awe and shock. She looked at him and smiled. “Haven’t you seen real magic before, dear heart?” she asked in her sweet, musical voice.
“I’ve seen Mombi’s spells,” Pete said, shivering at the memory of the spider webs wrapping around their house.
“Oh, Mombi,” Glinda said, as if the name pained her. She sank gracefully down into a pile of cushions and patted the ground next to her. “Come, have something to eat and drink and sit with me. We have much to discuss.”
Pete didn’t need to be told twice. He wolfed down several of the pink pastries and drank a cup of tea in one gulp. And then he refilled his plate and cup, remembering that he was in civilized company, and sat down next to Glinda, eating more politely for the second helping. Glinda pretended to ignore his uncouthness, but he had a feeling she had noticed and didn’t like it much. He felt embarrassed.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Living out there in the woods with Mombi I forget . . . I forget my manners sometimes.”
It was the right thing to say. Glinda brightened, and he immediately felt better. But he had been warned about Glinda most of his life. And getting her approval felt like an affront to Mombi. He reminded himself that Mombi did not deserve his loyalty. But some small part of him looking around at all the pink that Mombi had described raised some kind of alarm. And the sweetness . . .
He pushed the thought aside. He was accustomed to Mombi was all. And no one was as sour as Mombi.
“Of course,” Glinda said. “How could you be expected to know any better? Mombi’s kept you all locked up like a prisoner. It’s lucky I finally found you. You don’t even know who you really are, my dear. And if Mombi had her way, you never would.”
“Who I really am?” Pete asked in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“I really have been looking for you forever,” Glinda said. “For thirteen years, to be precise. It took all the magic and cunning I had to figure out where she’d hidden you. Old Mombi was cleverer than I gave her credit for, I must admit. Her magic has grown far more powerful than it was when she came crawling to me, begging me to show her all my secrets.”
“I don’t understand,” Pete said. “Did you know my parents? Do you know where I came from?”
He had asked Mombi for years about where he came from. Who he was. She’d taught him to fear. But she never taught him why. Was Glinda finally going to give him the answers he always wanted?
“Oh yes,” Glinda said, turning to him and taking his hands in hers. “I know all about where you came from and who you are, my dear. The truth is that everything Mombi has told you, your entire life with her, was a lie. You aren’t Pete. You’re the rightful ruler of Oz, and your time has come.”
Pete stared at Glinda, his mind reeling. What she was saying didn’t make any sense. “The rightful ruler of Oz?” he asked in bewilderment. “But isn’t that . . . isn’t that the Scarecrow?”
Glinda laughed dismissively. “The Scarecrow? That little fool? Heavens no, child. He was only ever meant to be a temporary solution, and he can’t even manage to get that right. Dorothy defeated the Wizard, as you know, and sent him away. But she didn’t do it just so the Scarecrow could run Oz into the ground. She did it to prepare the throne for you. For when you were ready to rule. And that time, my dear, is now. Mombi has hidden you away all these years, trying to take your power for her own. But I’ve finally managed to find you, and she’ll never take you from us again. I promise.”
“I don’t understand,” Pete said slowly.
“And how could you? You have been kept in the dark your whole life. Shall I start at the beginning, my dear?”
He bit his lip and nodded. “Yes, please,” Pete said.
“Like all the true rulers of Oz, you were born in the Emerald City,” Glinda began. “You should have grown up there, and taken over the throne when you were old enough to rule. But Mombi—who is, I am afraid, a very Wicked witch—kidnapped you as a tiny child, bringing you away to the North and enchanting you so that none of the witches who would protect you from her could find you. She raised you there in secrecy and seclusion, and for many years, none of us were able to find you. It took your magic—yes, my dear, yours—to escape the circle she had drawn around her cottage and flee from her dark powers. When you set foot on the Road of Yellow Brick, I knew at once that you had come back to us. That you would need me more than you’d ever needed anyone in your life. I am here to protect you, my dear, whatever it takes. I will ensure that the throne returns to you.”
Pete could hardly form words, he was so shocked. Mombi had been unkind and cruel much of his life . . . but evil? A kidnapper? Glinda had been looking for him this whole time? What would his life have been like if he could have spent it with this kind, beautiful, gentle witch instead of old Mombi?
“But then you knew my family,” he said, as realization dawned. “Do I have a family? Are they in the Emerald City? Glinda, who am I?”
“You are the last descendant of Lurline, the oldest of the fairies, and the rightful ruler of Oz.” Glinda looked into his eyes and gave his hands a gentle squeeze. “The rightful queen of Oz,” she said quietly. “You are a fairy, and your name is Ozma.”
A shock went through Pete at the word Ozma that started at the crown of his head and spread throughout his entire body. Ozma. As soon as he heard it, he knew it was true. Ozma. The word radiated out through him and sank into his very bones.
“Say the word and I will restore you to your true form, my princess,” Glinda said. “Tell me you are ready to accept the responsibility before you. Tell me it is time.”
“But why—why would Mombi do that to me? Why would she hide me away and raise me to be nothing but afraid of the outside world?”
> “For the same reason that anyone does anything, darling,” Glinda purred. “Power. Or in her case, magic. She loves it to the exclusion of everything and everyone else.”
Pete felt the bristle of truth. Mombi did love magic more than him. She always had. He felt himself making up his mind. He almost laughed but it caught in his throat. Imagine that. He was never going back to that shack in the woods. He was going to have all the magic in Oz. He half wished Mombi could see him take it.
“Yes,” Pete breathed. “I’m ready. It’s time.” Glinda squeezed his hands again, even more tightly this time, and he felt magic pouring through her body into his like a wave of electricity.
And then he felt his body begin to transform. Not just his body, but the very essence of his being. He felt Glinda’s magic flooding through him and awakening something inside of him that had been long dormant, as if a locked box were being not just opened but smashed to pieces to release everything that had been inside.
He felt power. His own power. The oldest, deepest magic of Oz, coursing through him at last as his bones lengthened and his body altered. The skin on his back felt as though it were burning and splitting open, and then he felt huge, golden wings unfurling from his shoulders and spreading wide in a glittering arc of light.
And it was then that Pete knew it all the way down to his bones: What Glinda had said about Pete was true. Ozma had existed before Pete. Magic always wants to be something else. And sometimes it makes something new.