The End of Oz
Page 49
Dorothy cocked her head to the side as though she was remembering something. “I never wanted to hurt anyone. Not the witches. Not Aunt Em or Uncle Henry either. I just wanted to get my way.”
I’d forgotten. The Wicked Witch of the West wasn’t her only victim in those early days—her family was, too. But this was the first time I’d heard her blame anyone other than Ozma for their deaths. This was the first time she had ever taken responsibility. I felt a well of hope opening up inside of me. Was I getting through to her?
“What happened to them wasn’t your fault. It was an accident.” There were tears in her eyes now. “They wouldn’t have wanted this for you.”
I looked her right in the eye.
“You can change things.”
“Tin . . . Scare . . . the Lion . . . Toto . . . all their blood is on my hands.” She wiped her hands on her dress as if the blood was literal.
“Dorothy . . .” I said.
Nox and Madison were holding their breath. I could see it in their eyes: now they understood.
She shook her head suddenly and closed her eyes. “Auntie Em would be so proud,” she said bitterly.
“So make her proud now.”
Dorothy blinked her tears away, hard. “What’s done is done,” she snapped, her face blazing. “You can’t go home again. I read that on a pillow!”
I tried again. “It never had to be this way. This is your chance to change it all. You can bring them back—Em, Henry, Scare, Tin, the Lion—they’ll be alive again. It will be like none of this ever happened.”
Around us, Oz—its past, its present, and maybe even its future—was frozen as Dorothy struggled to make sense of who she was, and of how she’d come to this moment. I could feel her hesitation as she struggled to decide between the world she knew—the world she had come to love—and the world she thought she’d lost.
It was a feeling I understood better than I would have liked to.
“I’m strong now,” she hissed. “I’m a queen. Who’d want to change that? So I killed them. It only made me stronger, didn’t it?”
She was saying it all with conviction, but I knew she wasn’t sure. All she needed was a push. So instead of thinking of her, I thought of myself.
“Did it?” I asked.
But she turned away from me, and I knew my words weren’t reaching her anymore.
I closed my eyes and thought of Kansas.
Madison had been right. When I’d told her I put all my old hurt and pain in my rearview, didn’t mean I had let go of them. I was still holding on to Salvation Amy. I was still holding on to every unkind word and thing that had happened to me along the way.
I thought of my mother. I thought of Nox, and Pete, and even Madison and Mombi: all the people who’d helped to pull me back from the edge of my own darkness, whether they’d known it or not.
I called back all the hatred I’d ever had, against people back in Kansas as well as here in Oz. I let go of all the feelings I’d had growing up in Kansas with my addict, absent mom, the resentment toward my dad for basically abandoning me, and the anger I’d felt for all the bullies and people who’d ostracized me at school. Including Madison. Especially Madison. Finally, I called up my feelings about Dorothy herself. She’d taken so much from me, and Oz. I even let go of my wrath-filled feelings for Glinda.
When I opened my eyes, I saw a ball of red fire was suspended in the air. “I forgive you,” I said out loud. Like a mantra. Like a prayer. No—like a spell. The ball of fire dissipated into thin air.
I looked at Dorothy and repeated the words. “I forgive you.”
I expected a scoff. But Dorothy didn’t say anything. She was standing a few feet away from the girl she’d once been. A girl who was still innocent and guileless, and untainted by the blood that would soon stain her hands forever.
When she took a last step forward, the magic from our shoes rippled like she was wading through water.
Silently, and with a certain kind of gentleness, Dorothy put a hand on the little girl’s shoulder. The girl looked up at her with a wide-eyed trust, as she saw herself for the first time.
That could have been me. I could have been her. Change a few things, and it would have been so easy for me to do what she had done—to become what she became. We all have a witch somewhere inside us.
As for the real witch, the Wicked Witch of the West: her face was frozen in fear, knowing what was about to happen.
Dorothy didn’t let it.
She looked back at me one last time.
“Good-bye, Amy,” she said. And then she took the bucket from the hands of her younger self, paused for the briefest of moments, then upended it over her own head.
The air around us held still.
Then the world fell apart.
TWENTY-TWO
I could hear Nox and Madison shouting something but everything was dark. A tiny hand clutched my own, its palm clammy with fear: Dorothy’s servant, I realized. We were falling through darkness, the wind whistling around us. Not darkness. This place was familiar. The Darklands. Something was pulling us back from the past. Some force so powerful that I could feel it like a tidal wave dragging me from shore.
Don’t be afraid, Amy. I’m bringing you home.
That voice. So familiar.
“Ozma,” I whispered.
A single spark sprang to life in front of me. It spread outward and took shape. Ozma hovered before me, radiant and calm. Her face was peaceful but her eyes were horribly, horribly sad.
“Oh, Amy,” she said gently. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“Why?” I asked, dazed. “Where are we? The Darklands?”
She smiled. “Neither here nor there, past nor present. We’re in the place in between while Oz repairs itself.”
“How are you—but we—” I couldn’t shape the words.
“I’m a fairy,” Ozma said simply. “Time is not the same for us. The world is not the same for us. I remember everything that has come before and that will come after.”
I looked around me for Nox and Madison and Dorothy’s servant. They were fast asleep on the ground. Only Ozma and I were conscious.
I could feel my heart splitting apart in my chest. I had done it. I’d undone everything that Dorothy had done to Oz.
And that meant the person I loved more than I’d ever loved anything in the world had no idea who I was. But how had I not forgotten him?
“You will never forget what you have been through,” Ozma said quietly, almost as though she could read my mind—which she probably could. “And for that, I am so sorry. You have saved Oz, Amy, but we have asked so much of you. No one should have to sacrifice what you have sacrificed.”
“Nox,” I said brokenly. She nodded.
“It was a terrible thing to ask of you,” she said. “But you chose well, Amy. You chose the good of all over the desires of your heart. And for that, there is one thing I can give you in return.”
She bent over Nox and kissed him on the forehead. “North, South, East, West, wind, fire, sun, earth, protect him and keep him. Protect him and keep him.”
I recognized those words: they were the blessing Gert had spoken to me in the aftermath of my first battle. The first time I’d killed someone in Oz. The words she’d told me would keep me safe.
I’d forgotten. The Wicked Witch of the West wasn’t her only victim in those early days—her family was, too. But this was the first time I’d heard her blame anyone other than Ozma for their deaths. This was the first time she had ever taken responsibility. I felt a well of hope opening up inside of me. Was I getting through to her?
“What happened to them wasn’t your fault. It was an accident.” There were tears in her eyes now. “They wouldn’t have wanted this for you.”
I looked her right in the eye.
“You can change things.”
“Tin . . . Scare . . . the Lion . . . Toto . . . all their blood is on my hands.” She wiped her hands on her dress as if the blood was literal.
“Dorothy . . .” I said.
Nox and Madison were holding their breath. I could see it in their eyes: now they understood.
She shook her head suddenly and closed her eyes. “Auntie Em would be so proud,” she said bitterly.
“So make her proud now.”
Dorothy blinked her tears away, hard. “What’s done is done,” she snapped, her face blazing. “You can’t go home again. I read that on a pillow!”
I tried again. “It never had to be this way. This is your chance to change it all. You can bring them back—Em, Henry, Scare, Tin, the Lion—they’ll be alive again. It will be like none of this ever happened.”
Around us, Oz—its past, its present, and maybe even its future—was frozen as Dorothy struggled to make sense of who she was, and of how she’d come to this moment. I could feel her hesitation as she struggled to decide between the world she knew—the world she had come to love—and the world she thought she’d lost.
It was a feeling I understood better than I would have liked to.
“I’m strong now,” she hissed. “I’m a queen. Who’d want to change that? So I killed them. It only made me stronger, didn’t it?”
She was saying it all with conviction, but I knew she wasn’t sure. All she needed was a push. So instead of thinking of her, I thought of myself.
“Did it?” I asked.
But she turned away from me, and I knew my words weren’t reaching her anymore.
I closed my eyes and thought of Kansas.
Madison had been right. When I’d told her I put all my old hurt and pain in my rearview, didn’t mean I had let go of them. I was still holding on to Salvation Amy. I was still holding on to every unkind word and thing that had happened to me along the way.
I thought of my mother. I thought of Nox, and Pete, and even Madison and Mombi: all the people who’d helped to pull me back from the edge of my own darkness, whether they’d known it or not.
I called back all the hatred I’d ever had, against people back in Kansas as well as here in Oz. I let go of all the feelings I’d had growing up in Kansas with my addict, absent mom, the resentment toward my dad for basically abandoning me, and the anger I’d felt for all the bullies and people who’d ostracized me at school. Including Madison. Especially Madison. Finally, I called up my feelings about Dorothy herself. She’d taken so much from me, and Oz. I even let go of my wrath-filled feelings for Glinda.
When I opened my eyes, I saw a ball of red fire was suspended in the air. “I forgive you,” I said out loud. Like a mantra. Like a prayer. No—like a spell. The ball of fire dissipated into thin air.
I looked at Dorothy and repeated the words. “I forgive you.”
I expected a scoff. But Dorothy didn’t say anything. She was standing a few feet away from the girl she’d once been. A girl who was still innocent and guileless, and untainted by the blood that would soon stain her hands forever.
When she took a last step forward, the magic from our shoes rippled like she was wading through water.
Silently, and with a certain kind of gentleness, Dorothy put a hand on the little girl’s shoulder. The girl looked up at her with a wide-eyed trust, as she saw herself for the first time.
That could have been me. I could have been her. Change a few things, and it would have been so easy for me to do what she had done—to become what she became. We all have a witch somewhere inside us.
As for the real witch, the Wicked Witch of the West: her face was frozen in fear, knowing what was about to happen.
Dorothy didn’t let it.
She looked back at me one last time.
“Good-bye, Amy,” she said. And then she took the bucket from the hands of her younger self, paused for the briefest of moments, then upended it over her own head.
The air around us held still.
Then the world fell apart.
TWENTY-TWO
I could hear Nox and Madison shouting something but everything was dark. A tiny hand clutched my own, its palm clammy with fear: Dorothy’s servant, I realized. We were falling through darkness, the wind whistling around us. Not darkness. This place was familiar. The Darklands. Something was pulling us back from the past. Some force so powerful that I could feel it like a tidal wave dragging me from shore.
Don’t be afraid, Amy. I’m bringing you home.
That voice. So familiar.
“Ozma,” I whispered.
A single spark sprang to life in front of me. It spread outward and took shape. Ozma hovered before me, radiant and calm. Her face was peaceful but her eyes were horribly, horribly sad.
“Oh, Amy,” she said gently. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“Why?” I asked, dazed. “Where are we? The Darklands?”
She smiled. “Neither here nor there, past nor present. We’re in the place in between while Oz repairs itself.”
“How are you—but we—” I couldn’t shape the words.
“I’m a fairy,” Ozma said simply. “Time is not the same for us. The world is not the same for us. I remember everything that has come before and that will come after.”
I looked around me for Nox and Madison and Dorothy’s servant. They were fast asleep on the ground. Only Ozma and I were conscious.
I could feel my heart splitting apart in my chest. I had done it. I’d undone everything that Dorothy had done to Oz.
And that meant the person I loved more than I’d ever loved anything in the world had no idea who I was. But how had I not forgotten him?
“You will never forget what you have been through,” Ozma said quietly, almost as though she could read my mind—which she probably could. “And for that, I am so sorry. You have saved Oz, Amy, but we have asked so much of you. No one should have to sacrifice what you have sacrificed.”
“Nox,” I said brokenly. She nodded.
“It was a terrible thing to ask of you,” she said. “But you chose well, Amy. You chose the good of all over the desires of your heart. And for that, there is one thing I can give you in return.”
She bent over Nox and kissed him on the forehead. “North, South, East, West, wind, fire, sun, earth, protect him and keep him. Protect him and keep him.”
I recognized those words: they were the blessing Gert had spoken to me in the aftermath of my first battle. The first time I’d killed someone in Oz. The words she’d told me would keep me safe.
