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Chapter 6

Six

Nick moved to stand in front of Dorothy, while she swept up the dog, who growled and snarled at the newcomer. But the lionman gave a regal bow to match the travel-dirty royal-purple vestments and the somewhat shredded-hem cape adorning his almost-human body. The whole thing was so peculiar and gallant and proper that it snuffed the word "Run!" off his tongue.

"Despite the name some have given me," the lionman added. "I would be unafraid to join you on your passage through the forest."

"Um…" Dorothy faltered. Luckily, the scarecrow seemed up to the task.

"And who are you?" Straw asked brightly.

"Prince Lional of Winkie Country. Perhaps you've heard of me?" He puffed his waistcoated chest. "I am questing to the Emerald City. What of you? What brings you fair travelers to this road?"

"Prince Lional of Winkie what?" Dorothy repeated.

Nick relaxed almost immediately at the name. "Yeah, Lional," he said. "I've heard of you. And I've heard the name they've saddled you with. And knowing the one they've given me, I imagine it isn't completely accurate."

"It's Prince Lional," Dorothy whispered, nudging Nick in the rib. "HRH."

Nick wasn't sure what "HRH" meant, but he felt that bump against his ribs long after she'd stopped. He couldn't remember the last time someone had touched him so willingly.

"No, no, Lional will suffice. And you are too kind, sir," the regal lionman replied. "And you are right in your assumptions. I do not feel I deserve the nom de plume the residents of my land have thrust upon me with, but I find it difficult to shake."

"You won't be shaking anyone!" Straw balled up his fists and circled them in the air like a boxer. "If you mean to harm my friends Dorothy and Nick and Toto, you'll have to come through me first."

"I would never harm a soul," Lional replied. "I swear it upon my title and my name. Though, as your companion of silver skin has declared, one of my names has become besmirched."

"I just got my name!" The scarecrow dropped his protective stance and shifted gears with such gusto it left Nick with whiplash. "Everyone is going to call me Straw. But maybe I should have a nickname too. What's yours?"

The lionman shifted uncomfortably, tugging on his bottle-green cravat. He took a breath, and his proud shoulders slumped a touch. "They call me… the Cowardly Lion."

"How silly!" Straw laughed. "Don't your subjects know that lions aren't cowardly? Even I know that!"

Nick sniffed. "I think that's the problem."

"Yes," Lional replied. "Quite."

Dorothy stepped forward, her arm grazing Nick's. "I don't speak for all of us, but I'd say you're welcome to join us, since we're all going the same way. I'm not about to say no to having a lion-prince for extra protection. Are you good at catching?"

"Catching?" Lional's bushy eyebrows furrowed, rounded ears flicking every time Toto snarled in his direction.

"Apples," Dorothy said. "You any good at catching apples if they're hurled at us?"

He seemed to understand. "I shall catch all the apples that might be hurled in your direction, mademoiselle." His golden-brown eyes twinkled, as if he'd just been given a precious gift. "Then, you will see that I am not what they call me!"

"Let's get going," Nick said bluntly. Waiting on the edge of the forest was only giving the Fighting Trees more time to prepare their throwing branches.

"Shall I lead the way?" Lional asked, proving the nickname Cowardly Lion false right at the get go.

"Be my guest," Nick responded. "And be mindful of Kalidahs."

Lional nodded. "Always."

If someone was going to be attacked, it was likely the person in the front. Although, the Kalidahs who lived in the forest didn't exactly make finely detailed plans when they decided to eat someone. They were supposed to be hibernating at that time of year, but the storm that the witches had called was enough to wake the dead, let alone a sleeping Kalidah.

"What are Kalidahs?" Dorothy asked.

"An indigenous creature to this area of Oz," Nick said as they started forward into the dark wood. "Body of a bear. Head of a tiger."

"Oh my," Straw chimed in. "What's a bear?"

There was verylittle about Oz that wasn't absurd or dangerous. Sometimes it was a coin flip on which of the two—but usually it was both—a person would get at any given moment. Dealing with the Fighting Trees was on the dangerous side of the coin. But the conversation going on between their little impromptu group was on the absurd side.

It had started out simply enough, with Dorothy asking about Lional's quest to the Emerald City, and Lional telling her a tale that meandered further and further away from the point before circling back around.

Dorothy was absorbed in hearing the odd story of Lional's Curse, which he'd finally gotten to, but Nick was more interested in Dorothy and her story. Cursed princes were basically a time-honored tradition in Oz, but a visitor from Earth was much rarer—and doubly so considering her otherworldly beauty. It certainly helped distract him from the wholly unwise endeavor of walking through the forest enshrouded dark.

"She is… very unpleasant," Lional said, referring to Zolesha.

"I've only encountered her once, and I think you're being way too polite," Dorothy replied. "I can't believe she took advantage of your generosity. Well, I can, but it's still a mean trick. That kind of behavior is what'll put people off inviting genuinely weary travelers into their home. My Auntie Em would never deny anyone a cup of something warm and a bite to eat."

Lional nodded. "I will certainly think twice in the future."

"What happened next?" Dorothy prompted, as Nick pretended not to listen, too fascinated by Dorothy's empathy for the prince's plight to tell them to be quiet. Of course, he couldn't show any empathy for Lional—or even any interest in Dorothy's interest—but he could quietly enjoy her gasps of surprise and tsk-tsks of sympathy as the lionman relayed it.

"I told you she entered my castle during the Winter Solstoz?" Lional said, repeating a part he'd already mentioned four times.

"Awful," Dorothy replied, apparently unbothered by the repetition. "The Blessing normally guarding your palace was down…"

"Yes, exactly." Lional's ears flicked in irritation. "Smothered by the Wicked night! And I mentioned she came to my gates, pretending to be a pilgrim seeking out alms and shelter?"

"Was she green?" Dorothy asked.

Lional's leonine nose twitched. "I do not recall. It was very dark. I do not believe so."

"She must have hidden it from you."

"I expect so." Lional sighed. "I let her stay, fed her, gave her everything she might need. When the midnight chimes rang out, I learned a terrible lesson."

Dorothy's beautiful eyes widened. "What lesson? What did she do?"

"I learned that no Good Deed goes unpunished." He lowered his head. "When I rejected her request to join forces with her, she Cursed me into this form, and turned all of my dear servants—any who refused to pledge themselves to her, that is—into a standing apple orchard."

Nick's insides flinched. Perhaps that was why he was so fascinated by Dorothy's empathy, wondering if she would feel the same way if he told his tale. Although, his would have some missing pieces, since part of the Curse was not telling anyone about the Curse.

"I'm so sorry," Dorothy murmured.

Straw cocked his head. "You don't need to apologize if you didn't do the bad thing."

"Sometimes, ‘I'm sorry' can be used to comfort someone," Nick explained quietly. The scarecrow frowned, falling back into silent contemplation, while Toto trotted beside him. The dog seemed to like the scarecrow more than the lion-prince.

"But why a lionman?" Dorothy asked. "It seems awful dangerous to turn you into something that looks like it could tear her apart with your bare claws."

"Two reasons," Lional responded. "The sigil of my family is that of a lion. All our banners bear the image. But, more to the point, she was aware of my solemn oath to never do harm to another living being. Long ago, I added to my oath, promising to never consume the flesh of any living animal. To punish me for not joining her side, the witch changed me into a creature that must eat raw meat to survive."

Dorothy sympathy for Lional changed to a barely held-back rage. "Are you kidding me?"

"I do not jest."

"That's not what she means," Nick told the prince. "I think she was being rhetorical."

"And more than a little angry on your behalf, Lional," Dorothy added. "This witchy woman needs to be tied up and dunked in a river, Monty Python–style."

"Absolutely!" the scarecrow said, bouncing back and forth, happy to agree. He leaned over to Nick and asked, "I've always wanted to see a snake. Do you think a money python is super big?"

Nick stopped his shoulders from their ingrained desire to shrug. "I have no idea."

"Never mind, you two." Dorothy shooed their confusion out of the air with a hand wave. "Damn, Lional, that's horrible. You have my genuine condolences."

"As you have mine, Dorothy, on your abrupt and unprepared arrival to the land of Oz." He bowed as he responded. "It is a shame your first experience was with the Wicked Witches. Hopefully, you will eventually see there is some good in the rest of our lands."

"And on that note," Nick interjected, nodding ahead to where the trees thickened and the darkness seemed near impenetrable. "We have some land in front of us we have to get through, and I think it'd be best if we didn't speak while we pass through it."

Dorothy shivered as she glanced forward, leaving Nick fighting more than a shrug. Had it not been for the splatter of an apple on the bricks, a few paces ahead of them, pulp flying, he might have done something stupid, trapping him there on the yellow brick road as he turned to solid steel. The stupid act of thinking he could put his arm around her, give her his warmth to ease her shivers, and get away with it.

"Faster, everyone," Nick said, his knee seizing as he limped on.

The quintet spentthe trip enduring the occasional apple slamming into one of them, seemingly at random. Up until Toto got hit once, yelping. Dorothy had threatened to take Nick's axe and cut down the culprit. It seemed to do the trick. It didn't stop Nick, Lional, or Straw from being apple-into-applesauce pelted by red fruit, but there'd been a distinct lack of Dorothy's occasional yelp of pain from the moment of her threat forward. And of course, none of the trees dared to take a shot at Toto.

Nick had thought about making the same threat to save his jacket from getting cider covered, but that would have required more passion than he could afford to show.

Putting the jacket on Dorothy had been the height of foolishness, anyway, making the mushed apple smell more of a blessing in disguise. Beneath that sickly sweetness, melted into the damp leather, every jasmine-soap breath of her scent was a spark struck too close to the decommissioned furnace of his emotional center.

He looked for any way to distract himself each time that perfume caught him off guard in the darkness of the forest, from counting the near misses of thrown apples to listening to the steady, nonsense babble of the trees to concentrating on the few other passengers on the unsettling stretch of yellow road.

Twice they had passed riders and merchants using the forest tunnel, but unfortunately, they were heading in the wrong direction or Nick would have tried to negotiate a ride or offered to join forces just in case.

None of the travelers stopped, or even talked to them, as they rode by, obviously intimidated by the odd assortment emerging from the shadows. And no one really wanted to halt and talk in a place like that, even if they hadn't been such a mismatched bunch.

It wasn't bear-tigers or the Fighting Trees or a generous traveler pulling a big enough wagon that eventually stopped them. It was a washed-out section of the road just beyond the perfectly cut end-line of the Fighting Tree forest. A large creek separated the forest from the hills ahead and had burst its banks after the Witchy deluge earlier in the day, becoming more of a full-on river. The yellow-brick bridge was gone, though whether it had actually been washed away or was merely submerged was anyone's guess.

The gulf was easily fifteen feet across and full of fast-flowing water running off the hills all around.

"Ideas?" Nick asked.

"Follow the water and find a place where it's not so far apart?" Dorothy suggested. "Those people we passed must have found a safe crossing spot."

"Perhaps we wait for it drain itself," Lional suggested. "Camp here for the evening and move across when it has but mud left?"

The long summer day showed in the evening light, still not close to true darkness though the sun had gone down a while ago. Not the worst conditions to set up camp, though the forest was a bit too near for Nick's liking.

"You can throw me across," Straw suggested. "And I can hold onto a rope, and you crawl across?"

"All forty pounds of you?" Dorothy asked.

"Oh, I didn't think of that. Strategy is so hard to do."

Nick stepped to the edge of the deep embankment. Hundreds of gnarled tree roots snaked in and out of the mud, the rushing water washing the clay-like dirt from them and exposing their wiggling mass more by the moment.

"We may have to camp like Lional suggested," Nick said. "But it will have to be away from here. The fighting forest roots are barely holding the ground in place as it is."

A red apple flew by Lional's face and into the water.

"Plus," Nick continued, his concerns confirmed. "I'd rather not end up with a hundred apple bruises if we stay too close to the trees."

"Which way?" Dorothy asked, looking up and down the embankment.

"The fighting forest ends about a mile that way." He pointed south. "It becomes regular elm trees there."

"Maybe if we ask the trees not to throw stuff at us like Dorothy did," the scarecrow suggested, "they'll leave us alone. If we do that, then we can stay here where it's safer, rather than wandering down that way."

Apparently, Straw had spoken too soon. A pair of purr-growls wafted on the breeze, the sound trailing the group to the washed-out bridge.

"Kalidahs?" Dorothy whispered, her hand closing around his elbow.

Nick swallowed against his suddenly sand-dry throat.

"Could be." He scanned the fifteen-foot gap between where they were and where they needed to be. There had to be brick under that churning water somewhere. "New plan. We cross now."

"Cut down a tree," Straw suddenly said.

"Huh?"

"If you cut down a tree and make it into a quick bridge, maybe we can get across," he answered.

Impossible. Even if Nick could aim it right, and even with his mystical axe's special cutting power, the odds of it working out as an instant bridge were ridiculous. If he had all day, maybe, but the sounds of the snuffling, purring, growling were increasing with each passing second.

When he hesitated, Lional jumped in, adding, "Are you a brave woodsman or not?"

Nick explained his concerns, concluding with, "I usually knock off the limbs before I fell a tree. We don't have time."

"I'll show you exactly where to cut," Straw said happily. "Let me pick a tree." He started to walk back up the shallow incline, over the threshold of Fighting Trees, and studied them with his gloved thumb and forefinger in a vee beneath his shapeless chin.

"We're going to trust our lives to a magical creation that is half a day old?" Dorothy asked, not unkindly. A moment later, she shrugged. "Screw it. Why not? This crazy place requires crazy solutions. Plus, felling a tree over a gulch works in the movies all the time." She waved her hands at Nick as if to tell him, Go for it, what's to lose?

He didn't have time to ask what a movie was—she'd mentioned them a few times—but he felt compelled to try. Especially as the sounds of the approaching creatures, the noises becoming crisper even over the raging water, told him that there might be more than two Kalidahs.

Nick unhooked his axe and hurried up behind Straw, who was pointing at a specific spot on one of the Fighting Trees.

"Hit here," the scarecrow said, even as the branches whipped themselves into him, their tapered ends clawing at his clothes and the canvas "skin" that held his stuffing inside.

The tree tried to take swings at Nick as well, but the rush of adrenaline surging through him must have peeked above the surface, as his skin felt nothing, and the tree limbs were bending uselessly against him, recoiling with every impact. Not technically an emotion, but a feeling strong enough to alter his flesh, reinforcing it, delaying the pain.

"Sorry," Nick told the Fighting Tree as he choked up his hold on the magic axe. He brought it back for the first swing, when it came to an abrupt stop over his shoulder. He tugged once, thinking it had caught on another tree's branches, and was rewarded with Lional's voice behind him.

"I'm dreadfully sorry," the lionman said. He coughed into an oversized paw in embarrassment. "But I can't let you harm a sentient creature like that. Not even to save us."

Nick's knees tightened as he let a little too much emotion fill his response. "Really? Would you rather we fight the two Kalidahs that are getting closer and closer? Or maybe we go for a swim in a creek that might as well be renamed the Munchkin River at this point."

"Nick," Dorothy said. It wasn't a chastisement, but he felt both the grip on his axe and his anger loosen.

"Right," he said. "You're right. Other than giving me an egg on my head, the Fighting Trees haven't really done anything to us."

Lional released the axe, and Nick scanned the various trees of the forest. There were more than a few Fighting Trees, but scattered among the multitude was the occasional elm or oak or ozpen. Plenty to choose from.

Nick rushed over to the elm and barked at Straw, "Where do I cut this one?"

"It's not guaranteed like the closer tree," the scarecrow responded. But he came up to the elm, nonetheless. His painted eyes zipped back and forth at the branches and then at the main trunk. He pointed higher, and on a side that made no sense to Nick, but there wasn't time to second guess. Nick put his faith in Glinda's magic, even though he didn't completely trust the bumbling scarecrow.

He swung the axe for the first strike.

The smallest line appeared on the bark.

When Nick swung the second time, the axe sought out the line of the first strike like the head of the woodcutting tool was on rails. The axe bit deeper and wider than the head should have allowed.

"Careful," Nick called out, feeling his lower back tighten in his anxiety. "This may fall wrong." He glanced over at Straw, who had wandered back to the main group and was shepherding them away from the imminent—with any luck—path of the tree.

The third swing cleaved straight through the recently cut gouge and traveled all the way out the back again. Lumber cracked. Branches snapped. And with a thundering shatter of a hundred branches and twigs, the elm fell perfectly, in slow motion, across the ravine.

A pair of tiger roars answered the thundercrack sound of the tree fall.

The makeshift bridge started to roll and heave as the water fought the rudder-like protrusions of the dozen branches now swallowed in its depth. It was holding for now, but the landing points ground into the mud, shifting just enough to be a worry with each determined push of the fast-flowing water.

"Go!" Nick shouted.

His left foot lost all sensation, and he was suddenly dragging twenty pounds of metal as he followed the group up and onto the swaying elm. Dorothy was the first across, Toto clutched to her chest. The lionman was second, down on all fours, sharp claws biting into the fresh wood, anchoring him one handhold at a time.

The scarecrow was another matter. He had got less than a third of the way out when he got hung up on the vee of a branch that was split into a huge slingshot-fork.

"I seem to be back where I started!" His panicked voice reached Nick over the rush of the water. "I'm afraid I can't scare anything but myself!"

There was no time for comforting him, and definitely no time to waste trying to gently untangle him. The Kalidahs had emerged from the Fighting Trees and were slinking along the embankment of the raging river, prowling for the elm bridge.

Nick limp-dragged his foot behind him as he cut-cut-cut branch after branch, carving his way to his stuck companion with the Three Strike Axe. When he reached Straw, Nick grabbed him by the wooden stick under his shirt that served as his backbone. Lifting the scarecrow up and off the branches, Nick whip-tossed him across to the opposite bank.

Lional leaped to the edge of the water and grabbed Straw before the scarecrow was snatched out of sight by the furious current—and possibly all the way out of the country.

A moment later, the elm rocked under Nick's feet in a new way. A glance over his shoulder showed one of the Kalidahs was risking the impromptu bridge.

The race to the other side was not a sure thing. Nick's knees were skintight, his foot was dead weight, his shoulders so tense they had pulled back his arms. But, somehow, he managed to make it halfway, then three-quarters. The leafy canopy of the finish line loomed just ahead of him.

"Can they swim?" Dorothy yelled at him over the roar of the water and adrenaline in his ears.

Nick knew why she had asked even as the words finished forming.

"They can," Lional replied.

It was all the permission Nick needed. He twisted around to face the Kalidah, picking its way down the elm. It cost him the movement that remained in his left shoulder. No matter—he only needed his right. Hooking one dead foot under a branch collar to keep his balance, he raised his axe and swung it, three rapid-fire strikes right into the trunk directly ahead of him.

The elm cleaved in two. The longer end, along with the Kalidah upon it, went racing down the new-formed river and out of sight, the creature clinging on as the trunk rolled and rolled in the thrashing wavelets. The beast's companion bear-galloped up the opposite side of the river, purr-roaring at its friend.

Meanwhile, the shorter end—Nick's end—began to turn in the same direction.

"Nick!" Dorothy screamed, snapping him out of his trance.

He turned to find the lionman, the Earth girl, the scarecrow, and even the feisty little dog holding onto the canopy of the elm. Struggling, feet digging into the mud, faces and muscles straining as they fought against the incessant pull of the water.

Nick stumbled the final stretch and fell into the muck as they all released the branches in one go. The shorter half zipped off into the current, sucked under before it popped up violently a few yards away.

Hands grabbed Nick's shirt, urging him upward. He looked up into Dorothy's face, her hair soaked from the spray of the overflowing creek, her dark eyes worried and relieved in equal measure.

"That might have been the most incredible thing I've ever seen!" she said, practically quivering with excitement. "You were freaking awesome, Nick. You should be super proud of that. You'll be able to brag on that to your grandkids."

He took in a breath to say something, anything: a thanks to Straw for the idea; a happy acknowledgment that they had got through it; a whispered gasp that he was just glad she was okay; even a lame joke about "bearing with him" as he recovered.

But the Curse exerted itself upon him again, reminding him that any emotional response would lock him up even more.

The opportunity passed as graceful white wings fluttered near his head and a large mother stork landed a few feet away.

Nick knew it was not going to be good news. There was no way the large bird would have voluntarily risked getting so close to the lionman and the dog unless her world depended on it.

"Good sirs and good miss!" The stork stamped twig-skinny feet in the mud as it rocked back and forth in obvious panic. "My nest has been trapped by a tree from the evil rain of the midday. Please help to save my eggs!"

Not even able to enjoy a good, exasperated sigh for their shared misfortune—as there was no way Dorothy or the kindhearted Lional were going to let this one go—Nick sat upright in the slime and grime and groaned at the sheer weight of his body, feeling joints cut and fray against silver skin and thick muscle.

This is why I should mind my own damn business, he thought. I could be back in my cabin, taking a nap, my biggest worry what to cook for dinner and arguing with the mice about the leftovers.

But when Dorothy immediately sprang into action with an "Of course, where are they?", shame overwrote his selfishness. The young woman had been thrown into the deep end of the Oz pond, so to speak, and was not only keeping her head above water, she was going to help others get to shore too.

"Follow me!" The stork took to the late evening skies, circling above, waiting to lead them on.

Dorothy lowered a hand to the still-sitting Nick. He gladly took it—though unable to show said gratitude—and let her "help" him to his feet. Of course, he had to do it almost entirely on his own; if he actually used her for support, he would have crushed her.

Her touch was warm in his water-chilled grasp. Luckily, his hands tended to be the last thing to fully metal up, and he was able to feel her farm-girl callouses. She was tougher than she looked—he suspected in more ways than one.

They let go of each other's hand almost immediately, once he'd found his feet again, but the heat stayed in his grasp as he collected his magical axe and gestured toward the stork above.

"Let's follow mama stork and see how bad it is," he said.

"At least she's wanting help with her own babies and not delivering one to us," Dorothy joked and then turned a charming shade of pink, blending all of her freckles into one rose-blossom wash.

Where did that come from? Nick wondered as he limped, numb-footed, behind their ragtag group toward the next part of an adventure he was still wholly unprepared for.

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