Ruby Caverns of Oz Read online

  Ruby Caverns of Oz

  The Ozite Cycle, Volume 3

  Rebecca A. Demarest

  Published by Rebecca A. Demarest, 2018.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  RUBY CAVERNS OF OZ

  First edition. October 15, 2018.

  Copyright © 2018 Rebecca A. Demarest.

  Written by Rebecca A. Demarest.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  How the Humans Left Oz, as Told by The Wizard

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  I stopped by the side of the path to throw up, again, and Mrow just sighed, standing far enough back that he wouldn’t get spattered.

  “I told you not to eat so much while coming down off the Zosozo, but did you listen? No.” He sat and curled his tail around his paws, damnably pink nose in the air.

  “You’re right, you’re always right, is that what you—hurk—” I stopped talking long enough to see if things were going to stay down, before continuing. “Is that what you want to hear, you fuzzy, self-righteous—”

  “I don’t need to hear it, I already know. And no need to get prickly just because you’re sick. I wonder if this is an Earther reaction to coming off the Zos or if all the Herkuans are going to be feeling this way come next week.” He shuddered and cleaned one paw thoroughly before continuing. “I don’t think I’d want to be you when they find out who stopped their supply.”

  I took a couple steps down the game trail we were walking along to sit under a tree, putting my head on my knees. After a moment of sweaty misery, I pulled the hair off my neck to let the breeze cool me down. “They were slavers. Slavers and oppressors. I’d say killers, but nobody can die when they’re here, so all those skeletal humans are just going to sit there and waste away and away until they can’t even move...in a lot of ways that’s worse than just overdosing.”

  Mrow followed me over to the tree and sat primly once more, his tail twitching. “Speaking of not dying, bit of a shock to see Elphred up and about...well, about, anyway. Can’t really say up considering he was missing his lower half.”

  “Yeah, not sure how he made it back. Though, since he’s native, he is fae. By all accounts, they have a lot easier time finding ways to Oz than humans do. Or maybe the backlash didn’t dump his top half on Earth and he just ended up somewhere nearby. If that happened, it’s no surprise he’s still making trouble. Probably a good thing they kept his lower half at the palace, maybe they can put him back together.” I sat up, frowning. “Why didn’t he just have someone make him a new lower half? Like the Tin Man did?”

  Mrow tilted his head, his version of a shrug. “Maybe he’s got body image issues. I don’t know, don’t care. The palace will know he’s up and about and causing trouble as soon as the Gump arrives. You, however, had the great idea to go haring off after a lead. That’s what we should be focusing on now so we can get out of this forest and back to someplace civilized. With fish.”

  I scowled at the cat. “But you’re the one who brought up Elphred!”

  “And my curiosity will not be sated by rehashing what we know and do not know. However, now that you are capable of holding an actual conversation instead of giggling madly, I would like to know the details of your great plan to follow this lead you think you have.”

  I sighed and leaned back against the tree, closing my eyes. “It’s hard to differentiate truth from fiction in my Zos-soaked memories of the last 24 hours, but I am positive the Czarover’s plan to send money and Zos north to the Skeezers was real. So we head north, skirting the city and avoiding being seen by anyone if possible. Not until I figure out what Elphred wants from them.”

  Mrow snorted. “Nice plan. Tell me again why I came with you instead of heading back to the nice cushy palace with Shaggy Man and the Gump?”

  I smiled, keeping my eyes closed as I answered. “Because you’re a nosy cat who likes to complain, secretly likes me, believes I cannot take care of myself, and is determined to keep me alive.”

  “Oh, yeah, that’s right. As evidenced by my sage advice not to stuff your face when we found that grove of lunch pail trees.” Smugness radiated from him in waves I thought I could feel, though that might just have been my stomach trying to eject more food. I didn’t think there was anything left to come up, however determined it was to prove me wrong.

  “Don’t talk about eating,” I groaned, putting my head back down. It took less time for this wave of nausea to subside than the others, and a few moments later I was feeling well enough to stand up and try walking again.

  A while back, the terrain had shifted from yellow scrub grass and dirt to red rocky hills and pine trees, and the path was starting to get steep as we climbed into another stretch of mountains. It was a nice visual break after the relentlessly cheerful golden Winkie lands. The crimson color theme of Quadling country was bracing, and I picked up the pace as my stomach stayed still.

  We walked for several miles in companionable silence, listening to the rustle of the wind in the trees, and pausing when we heard the occasional animal in the underbrush. There weren’t a lot of critters here, and most were Earthen beasts that had gotten caught in a travel storm. They were usually fairly polite, once they figured out that they could speak and be understood by all the inhabitants of Oz, so I wasn’t particularly worried about them. It was the Ozite animals, those created and sustained by magic, that concerned me. They tended to be territorial at the very least, and outright homicidal at their worst. A few, like the Glass Cat or the Sawhorse, were friendly and enjoyed the company of humanoids, but I didn’t want to draw the attention of anything I didn’t have to.

  Before long, our game track widened out and became a trail, and then a real road a few miles beyond that. It wound through the mountains, a brown scar cutting its way through the scarlet terrain. As we topped a rise, we could see a crossroads in front of us, thankfully with signage. I hurried towards the post to study the signs pointing every which way, leaving Mrow to follow at his leisurely pace.

  “Winkie Country, one day to the left, Munchkinland, three days to the right, Emerald City, two days ahead of us, and Gillikin two days beyond that. Perfect, we’ve been heading in the right direction. Come on, Mrow.” I started straight across the intersection, but Mrow stopped, jumping up onto a stone on the side of the road and sprawling across it, panting. I backtracked and sat down beside him.

  “No, no, it’s fine, you great leaping human, I’ll catch up with you.”

  “Don’t be silly. Resting is a good idea.” I rested my hand on his neck, working my fingers into the fur at his favorite spot. He sighed and closed his eyes. “What I could really do with is a cool drink of water. I haven’t seen any rivers or streams lately, have you?”

  Mrow didn’t even open his eyes. “Nope. I think there’s water off to our right somewhere. I can smell it, faintly.”

  I weighed my options for a moment, then shook my head. “We should keep heading north. If I remember correctly, it’s not much further to a lake. We’ll try and push through to there and spend the night on the shore.”

  Mrow opened one eye. “Do you think there will be fish in the lake?”

  “I’m sure there will be. We might even be able to catch you some.”

  “Right.” He rolled upright and stretched in one motion. As he jumped off the rock, he winced.

  I very carefully studied the sky. “You know, if I carry you for a bit, we could probably make better time.”

  Mrow sighed dramatically. “If you must. It’s undi
gnified, though.”

  “I really think it’s for the best.” I scooped him up and draped him around my neck. It was overly warm, but as I started massaging his paws, he sighed and relaxed against me, purring. He really was a stubborn and prideful cat, or he would have said something about his paws earlier than this. Cats aren’t built for sustained marching.

  When my neck started to get sore, I paused long enough to turn my jacket into a sling, which allowed Mrow to ride in state in front of me. While I was at it, I pulled my locket out from under my shirt, trying to keep it from sticking to my skin.

  It didn’t take long for Mrow to lose interest in the countryside and curl up to sleep, and I found myself walking in time to his soft breathing and distracting myself from the tiresome march by trying to walk counter to his rhythm.

  “Who goes there?”

  The barking question snapped my concentration and I stopped, looking around for whoever had spoken. Mrow popped his head up out of the sling.

  I kept my voice soft so it wouldn’t carry too far and alert anybody else to our presence. “I’m sorry, but I can’t seem to see you.”

  A large, flat-topped head popped up to the left of the path. “Who goes there?” it demanded again.

  I bowed, seeing as I was in slacks, and informed him, “I am but a weary traveller headed north to visit a friend of an acquaintance.” Being a terrible liar, I stayed as close to the truth as I felt comfortable with, not knowing where this strange person’s loyalties lay.

  “Stay back!” it cried. “This is the hill of the Hammerheads! None may pass!”

  “Excitable fellow,” Mrow mumbled and I put a hand on his head to shush him.

  “I must go north. Is there a way around your hill?”

  The flat head bobbed up and down, the neck stretching much further than I would expect a humanoid neck to go. “None shall pass the hill of the Hammerheads!”

  “I understand and do not want to trespass―”

  “TRESPASS!” he screamed, jumping up onto the path. He was a round little man, with no arms to speak of, and the large flat head that bobbed up and down on an accordion neck. Not like a bobble head, which I would have found comical, but more like a piston, full of power.

  “No, not trespassing, I’m just―”

  “TRESPASS!” he screamed again and more Hammerheads started to pop out up and down along the path on the left, echoing the cry of trespass.

  “I think you should probably stop saying that word.” Mrow suggested.

  “You think?” I hissed back at him. I held my hands up in the air in what I hoped was a universal sign of surrender.

  “I’ll go back, promise, I’m not going to cross your―”

  “You must not cross our hill!” yelled the first hammerhead and his head shot out in my direction. I jumped to the side and heard splintering behind me as the head made contact with a tree. The neck snapped back, with no apparent damage to the Hammerhead. The tree, however, toppled slowly over behind me.

  “I think now is the time to run.” Mrow hissed.

  “I couldn’t agree more.” I faked left back down the trail the way we had come, before diving into the underbrush behind us where there were no Hammerheads. The crowd behind us let out a roar of outrage and I could hear them charge into the forest behind me. I started to duck and weave around trees, trying to keep a few at my back to foil the punch of those enormous heads.

  The cries of “Trespass!” and the sound of branches splintering started to fall back, but I didn’t dare stop running. It was a good thing I had picked up Mrow prior to this, as there was no way he would have been able to keep up with me. I started to grin as I thought I might actually be able to outrun the stubby people until I bolted out from under the tree cover and found myself on the bank of a very angry looking river. I skidded to a stop before I fell into the rapids in front of us. It was far too large to attempt to jump, and it was definitely not the kind of placid river I’d be comfortable swimming in, so I headed left up the bank in an effort to keep my northerly direction.

  I knew the moment the Hammerheads cleared the trees, because of their renewed cries of “Trespass!” They were much faster on open ground, and it did not take long for me to be surrounded, my back to the river. The footing was treacherous this close to the rushing water, and I struggled to find stable ground, the better to dodge the blows of their heads.

  “Thoughts?” I asked my passenger.

  “Well, you did say earlier you were thirsty.” Mrow snarked back.

  One head shot out of the angry crowd in front of me and I managed to avoid it, barely. As I wobbled, trying to find my balance on the river stone again, I saw the head of an otter pop out of the river upstream. I took a chance and hollered at the animal, “Little help please?”

  The otter head ducked under the water and didn’t come back up again. I stepped back and to the right to avoid another headshot, and found myself teetering precariously on the very edge of the bank, the roaring water nipping at my heels. As I pinwheeled to try and catch my balance, the otter popped up right behind me, yanked the stone out from under my foot, and sent me head over heels backward into the river.

  Chapter 2

  I struggled to surface in the churning river, gasping when I finally reached air. I grabbed the sling from around my chest and thrust it into the air with one hand, using the other to tread water. I could hear Mrow coughing, which was a good sign, so I took a moment to orient myself. The river was fast and we were already well past the crowd of Hammerheads, which had thankfully stopped and were dancing around in some kind of victory celebration. Or maybe one of them had bad gas. It was hard to tell.

  A wave swamped me and I ricocheted off a few rocks before I managed to get my head above water again, this time facing downstream, with my feet going first to try and buffer any more collisions. I debated trying to swim to the opposite shore, but the current was too strong, and holding Mrow up with one hand kept me from having the power necessary to change my trajectory. I contented myself with staying afloat until the river hit a gentler patch where we could clamber out.

  The otter popped up beside me, chittering anxiously before speaking. “Sorry, sorry, but you’re going to want to hold on!” It disappeared again before I could ask it what I was supposed to be holding on to; then we rounded a bend in the river.

  And went over a waterfall.

  I must have had water in my ears not to have heard the enormous cascade earlier. The rushing water obscured most of my vision through the fall, leaving me with the impression of the light of day, then pitch black, then a flash of red light before we hit the inevitable pool at the bottom of the fall. I felt something tug on my shirt, and I followed it, hoping it knew which way was up in the frothing mess.

  After what felt like an eternity, we surfaced and I had to blink my eyes a few times to make sure what I was seeing was real. We had dropped into a cavern that looked like it was made entirely of red glass, with the waterfall pouring through the ceiling, filling a pool, then traveling back out through a lower hole in the wall. Thankfully, once we had surfaced, the water was calm enough for me to side-stroke to shore. I heaved myself onto the red sand and unwrapped the sling far enough to make sure Mrow was still alive before I flopped backward and just stared up at the ceiling of the cavern for a few deep breaths.

  My view was ruined by an otter chin thrusting itself into sight, water dripping from its whiskers onto my face. I scooched to the side and sat up, studying our “savior.” He was large for an otter, more like the giant otters of South America than the smaller river and sea otters that live in the north, and he looked...embarrassed.

  “I’m terribly sorry, that was the only thing I could think of to get you away from those brutes. Are you alright, Ms. Gale?”

  I blinked a few times, wondering if I was hearing things properly over the sound of the falls, before responding. “I beg your pardon, and thank you for helping us, but how did you know who I was?”

  The otter laid d
own on the sand and regarded me for a moment, his whiskers like a great big mustache which gave him the look of an old man. “I could lie and tell you that I know you from the proclamation Ozma sent out about the new honorary princess. I do hate lying, though.” He wiggled his whiskers before continuing. “Now, at any rate. I know you by your locket.”

  “My locket?” Reflexively, I reached up to check it was still there, and gripped the cold metal tightly.

  He sighed. “Well, that and you are the spitting image of Dorothy. The Gale women all are. Like carbon copies of each other, not sure why. Makes an old man feel good to see you. Reminds him of younger days.”

  I was flabbergasted by this statement because Ozma and her retinue had never commented on my similarity to my ancestor, and then the second part of his statement made it through my haze of exhaustion. “I’m sorry to break it to you, sir, but you are an otter, and not a man. Have you been cursed or bespelled?”

  The otter slapped a paw to his face, stood up on his hind legs, which displayed a marvelous embroidered belt, and said, “I wish I were myself.”

  There wasn’t a great big noise or billow of smoke, but where there used to be an otter there was now an old man with a large mustache that looked an awful lot like whiskers. “Oscar Zoroaster Phadrig Isaac Norman Henkle Emmannuel Ambroise Diggs, Wizard, at your service.”

  I blinked at the long name, then put two and two together. “You’re the Wizard of Oz, aren’t you? You were supposed to have left with the other Earthers long ago!”

  He bowed, a performer’s bow, with a long flourish at the end. Then he ruined it when he had trouble standing upright again. “One and the same, dear child. Only I never left, I hid. From Ozma, from the rest of Oz, here in the Ruby Caverns.”

  “But why?”

  “That is the right question, Ms. Gale. And I will oblige you with the tale in short order. First, though, I wish to assure you of your safety and offer you warm towels and a change of clothes to dry off, and refreshment, of course.”