The Wicked Will Rise
Page 15
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Tonight I had more than the usual amount of thoughts to fend off. Actually, it was just one thought that kept returning stubbornly, no matter how many times I tried to banish it, of the fantasy I’d had while I’d been fighting the Lion, not just of killing him, but ripping him to shreds. Of the satisfaction I had taken in causing him pain, and the way I had wanted to laugh when I hurt him.
The monkeys were all terrified of me—even Ollie had seemed scared. I was a little scared of myself, to tell the truth.
But I had liked it, too. Even now, a part of me wished that Ozma hadn’t stopped me, that I had done all those things to the Lion that I had wanted to.
I could still feel the thrill that had shivered through me when I had looked down to see black magic spilling from my knife and into my body, and I already missed it. I knew I shouldn’t, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted to feel like that again.
And I’m not even sure if I fell asleep or not. What came next could have been a dream, but it didn’t feel like one. It didn’t feel like real life either. It felt like I’d taken a wrong turn somewhere on the way to dreaming, and had gotten lost, stuck in between the world of awake and asleep.
It was night and I was walking through a forest dense with thin twisted trees. For some reason I wasn’t wearing shoes, and slimy moss squished under my bare feet. I had somewhere to be, and so I was moving quickly, following a path that I somehow knew by heart even though it was too dark to see anything.
I had no idea what I was looking for, but I had the gnawing sense that there was something in these woods that I had lost—something that I had to get to.
So I moved through brambles and leaves and vines, feeling leaves scratching my face, stepping easily over branches and roots without even thinking about it. I was alert for danger, but I wasn’t the slightest bit scared. I felt a soft breeze on my face and it felt good.
In the distance, I heard an owl hooting, its call getting louder with every step I took, while at the same time the trees got straighter and taller and closer. I could have used magic to light my way, but I didn’t mind the dark, and so I kept on going until finally I found myself in a small and perfectly circular clearing. The full moon hung as big as a pancake in the sky, looking spooky and cartoonish at the same time and illuminating the clearing in a ghostly silver light.
In the middle of the clearing was a dark shape. There was something strange about it: it was both clear and indistinct at the same time, solid and real but blurry at the edges. I couldn’t quite judge the shape or size of it. Was it some kind of injured animal? Or something weirder?
Whatever it was, there was something off about it—maybe even evil. Just looking at it made me feel a little light-headed, made the hairs on my arms stand on end.
But it also made me a little excited. And instead of running, or even hesitating, I took a step toward it. As I did, four heads turned toward me.
Because what I’d thought was a single animal was actually four hunching, cloaked figures who were huddled so close together that they appeared to have merged into one being. As they looked up, the moonlight hit their pinched, rotting faces, each one tinted a different shade of green, and I saw that they were each wearing raggedy, pointed hats.
All at once, the four figures opened their mouths and began to hiss.
Witches.
I took another step forward, and then another, feeling more confident the closer I got to them until I was filled with a sensation that was something like joy. Their hissing grew feverish and high-pitched, and then, when I had almost reached them, they began to disappear, melting like black candles into the ground. Then they were gone, and I knew that I had found what I was looking for. In the ground, in the place where they had huddled, was a small pool that bubbled in the center. A fountain with water so black that it looked like liquid shadow.
I knelt to examine it, but before I could dip my finger in, something began to emerge from the water; a newer, darker figure that slowly began to take shape. From the dark and glittering mass of shadows, a girl emerged. There, standing in front of me, was Ozma.
It was the same Ozma I knew, except that it wasn’t. She had the same emerald green eyes and red poppies in her hair, the same tiny, delicate frame. But her skin was glowing, and her hair was swirling around her face in ropy skeins as thick as snakes. Her pupils were tiny flames.
And from her back sprouted two huge black butterfly wings, twice as big as her body and etched with an elaborate gold pattern. As she flapped them gently, they crackled with energy.
She extended a hand in my direction.
“Rise,” she said. I felt my feet leave the ground.
SIX
I opened my eyes. I think. Anyway, I was awake, and I was back in my room in the monkeys’ tree house village. Ozma was crouched over me, staring into my face with exactly the same look of intensity that she’d worn in my dream. Somewhere behind her pupils, I saw the glowing embers of what had recently been flames. Light streamed through the windows, casting her in an almost silhouette.
She reached out her hand for mine.
“Rise,” she said.
That one word startled me so badly that I almost flipped out of the hammock. But then the princess stuck out her tongue and blew me a raspberry, and when she started to laugh I felt my heart slowing back to a normal rate.
I was imagining things. It had only been a dream. Right? I put my hand in Ozma’s and let her help me up, trying to quiet my mind. It was only a dream, I told myself again.
But what if it had been something more? And what had it meant? Most importantly, why did I feel almost disappointed that it was over now? What did it say about me that I had felt myself approaching something truly evil, and that even though I’d had every opportunity to back away, I’d taken a step closer, and then another?
The monkeys were all terrified of me—even Ollie had seemed scared. I was a little scared of myself, to tell the truth.
But I had liked it, too. Even now, a part of me wished that Ozma hadn’t stopped me, that I had done all those things to the Lion that I had wanted to.
I could still feel the thrill that had shivered through me when I had looked down to see black magic spilling from my knife and into my body, and I already missed it. I knew I shouldn’t, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted to feel like that again.
And I’m not even sure if I fell asleep or not. What came next could have been a dream, but it didn’t feel like one. It didn’t feel like real life either. It felt like I’d taken a wrong turn somewhere on the way to dreaming, and had gotten lost, stuck in between the world of awake and asleep.
It was night and I was walking through a forest dense with thin twisted trees. For some reason I wasn’t wearing shoes, and slimy moss squished under my bare feet. I had somewhere to be, and so I was moving quickly, following a path that I somehow knew by heart even though it was too dark to see anything.
I had no idea what I was looking for, but I had the gnawing sense that there was something in these woods that I had lost—something that I had to get to.
So I moved through brambles and leaves and vines, feeling leaves scratching my face, stepping easily over branches and roots without even thinking about it. I was alert for danger, but I wasn’t the slightest bit scared. I felt a soft breeze on my face and it felt good.
In the distance, I heard an owl hooting, its call getting louder with every step I took, while at the same time the trees got straighter and taller and closer. I could have used magic to light my way, but I didn’t mind the dark, and so I kept on going until finally I found myself in a small and perfectly circular clearing. The full moon hung as big as a pancake in the sky, looking spooky and cartoonish at the same time and illuminating the clearing in a ghostly silver light.
In the middle of the clearing was a dark shape. There was something strange about it: it was both clear and indistinct at the same time, solid and real but blurry at the edges. I couldn’t quite judge the shape or size of it. Was it some kind of injured animal? Or something weirder?
Whatever it was, there was something off about it—maybe even evil. Just looking at it made me feel a little light-headed, made the hairs on my arms stand on end.
But it also made me a little excited. And instead of running, or even hesitating, I took a step toward it. As I did, four heads turned toward me.
Because what I’d thought was a single animal was actually four hunching, cloaked figures who were huddled so close together that they appeared to have merged into one being. As they looked up, the moonlight hit their pinched, rotting faces, each one tinted a different shade of green, and I saw that they were each wearing raggedy, pointed hats.
All at once, the four figures opened their mouths and began to hiss.
Witches.
I took another step forward, and then another, feeling more confident the closer I got to them until I was filled with a sensation that was something like joy. Their hissing grew feverish and high-pitched, and then, when I had almost reached them, they began to disappear, melting like black candles into the ground. Then they were gone, and I knew that I had found what I was looking for. In the ground, in the place where they had huddled, was a small pool that bubbled in the center. A fountain with water so black that it looked like liquid shadow.
I knelt to examine it, but before I could dip my finger in, something began to emerge from the water; a newer, darker figure that slowly began to take shape. From the dark and glittering mass of shadows, a girl emerged. There, standing in front of me, was Ozma.
It was the same Ozma I knew, except that it wasn’t. She had the same emerald green eyes and red poppies in her hair, the same tiny, delicate frame. But her skin was glowing, and her hair was swirling around her face in ropy skeins as thick as snakes. Her pupils were tiny flames.
And from her back sprouted two huge black butterfly wings, twice as big as her body and etched with an elaborate gold pattern. As she flapped them gently, they crackled with energy.
She extended a hand in my direction.
“Rise,” she said. I felt my feet leave the ground.
SIX
I opened my eyes. I think. Anyway, I was awake, and I was back in my room in the monkeys’ tree house village. Ozma was crouched over me, staring into my face with exactly the same look of intensity that she’d worn in my dream. Somewhere behind her pupils, I saw the glowing embers of what had recently been flames. Light streamed through the windows, casting her in an almost silhouette.
She reached out her hand for mine.
“Rise,” she said.
That one word startled me so badly that I almost flipped out of the hammock. But then the princess stuck out her tongue and blew me a raspberry, and when she started to laugh I felt my heart slowing back to a normal rate.
I was imagining things. It had only been a dream. Right? I put my hand in Ozma’s and let her help me up, trying to quiet my mind. It was only a dream, I told myself again.
But what if it had been something more? And what had it meant? Most importantly, why did I feel almost disappointed that it was over now? What did it say about me that I had felt myself approaching something truly evil, and that even though I’d had every opportunity to back away, I’d taken a step closer, and then another?
