Lost Horizon Page 4

  Oh my stars. That’s what I hit when Horizon crashed. Is there anyone inside?

  I run toward the alien machinery, stopping short when it finally collapses in a heap of distorted metal. A large piece of its frame—the door is my guess—flies out as if pushed by an incredible force. A woman dressed in black-and-red armor jumps out of the vehicle, her flaming crimson hair a stark contrast to her colorless skin. Her appearance reminds me of the wicked witches depicted in ancient children’s books. She pierces me with soulless eyes before she menacingly raises one hand in my direction.

  “You! How dare you attack me!”

  “I didn’t mean to crash into you. It was an accident. Are you okay?”

  She ignores my question and ambles forward, favoring one leg. Shocked to see someone who looks human by all accounts and speaks the official language of the Star Freedom Alliance, I don’t realize what the woman intends to do until a glowing red energy sphere erupts from the woman’s hand, bearing down on me.

  I leap out of the projectile’s trajectory just in time, missing the blast by a hair. The ground explodes in a shower of debris where the energy sphere landed. My survival instincts kick in. Getting back on my feet, I whirl with my blaster, ready to fire. But the evil woman moves so fast I can’t take aim. She fires another power blast in my direction, hitting the tip of my weapon and sending it flying away.

  Before I can retrieve my blaster, she launches herself at me, pushing me to the ground with her on top. Her cold fingers wrap around my neck, pressing hard as her demented stare pierces through my eyes. Thrashing my body as I attempt to free my airway from her merciless grip, I spot a great shadow cross the sky, momentarily blocking the sun. Mirus. He’s still nearby. The knowledge gives me renewed strength. I will not die today at the hands of this witch.

  Toto jumps on her shoulder and bites her on the cheek. The deranged woman shrieks before releasing my neck to deal with him. Free at last, I shove her off me and quickly roll back onto my feet.

  I need my blaster.

  Searching manically for it, I spot the weapon only a few paces from where I stand. I make a dash for it, throwing my body on the ground when I sense a blast coming my way. Another explosion sounds nearby as I curl my fingers around the gun’s handle.

  Rolling on my back, I take aim, firing in the next second. The blast hits the evil creature squarely on her chest, sending her flying backward. Using my hand for support, I push myself off the ground. The woman is lying on her back, utterly still. Moving closer with care, I keep my blaster poised to fire. When I stop next to her inert form, I understand why she’s not moving. The witch is dead.

  5

  Darius

  Hiding under the shadow of a Scrape Town overhang passageway, I glance one more time at the piece of yellowed paper in my hands. The name Tonksolatis Proctor is scribbled there, plus his address. I’ve read that information countless times, but I can’t risk forgetting it. I’m prone to mind blanks and losing things.

  I neatly fold the note and shove it deep inside my jacket pocket, tapping over the fabric twice to make sure the paper is there. Before I venture out of my hiding spot, I adjust the hood over my head. I can’t risk being recognized in this seedy section of Munchkin country. Since the Red Witch took over the region, the place has been crawling with her soldiers and other sorts of unsavory citizens.

  Satisfied that no one will be able to see my face, I cut across the street, keeping my head down and making sure I bump into no one. The place I’m headed is just around the corner on the other side. With bitterness, I imagine what my cousin—the regent prince of Emerald City—would say if he found out I was here. He already thinks very little of me, but for a member of the royal family to leave the safety of the palace when our heads are each worth a pot of gold—that would be the epitome of stupidity.

  I’m the first to acknowledge that I’m risking a lot by coming here. But I’m sick and tired of being the shame of the family, of not being able to contribute to putting an end to this bitter war. I need to fix what’s wrong with my head, and Tonksolatis Proctor is the man I was told could find a solution for my problem.

  As soon as I round the corner, the smell of fried corn and beef wafts from the ventilation shaft above, probably from a housing complex. My stomach grumbles in response. I forgot when the last time I ate was.

  The brass sign with Tonksolatis Proctor’s name wobbles when a light breeze blows through the alleyway, the sound of the sign’s hinges cracking in an eerie manner. A gas lamp above the door gives a warm glow to an otherwise shadowy passage. It seems modern amenities never reached Scrape Town.

  Peering left and right first to make sure I wasn’t followed, I knock on the door. I count three breaths before the iron-barred security window opens, and one slit-pupil eye stares at me.

  “What do you want?”

  “I’m looking for Tonksolatis Proctor.”

  “And who is looking for him?”

  Drat. I didn’t think I’d need to provide my name. Pulling my hood forward, I reply, “I, er, Sonny Crow.”

  The window shuts before the distinct sound of locks being unbolted rings from inside. The door opens a sliver to reveal a stooped figure with a bald head and warts covering his face. A pungent smell hits me at once, drifting from inside the house. I have to fight the urge to cover my nose with my hand. I don’t want to offend the creature, so I hold my breath.

  “You don’t look like a Crow to me.” He narrows his eyes, his nostrils flaring as he inhales deeply. “Nor do you smell like one.”

  “It’s of the utmost importance that I speak with Tonksolatis Proctor. I have coin.”

  I touch the pouch attached to my belt, rattling the silver coins within. Immediately, the suspicion vanishes from the creature’s eyes, only to be replaced with sudden interest.

  “Why didn’t you say so before? Come on in.” He opens the door wider, allowing me to pass through.

  I’m in a badly lit hallway where the pungent smell is so strong that I’m afraid it will burn my sensory glands. I suppose I’ll have to breathe through my mouth during the entire duration of my visit.

  After locking the door again, the creature walks by me and waves with his hand for me to follow. The wooden boards creak as I move, the sound reverberating against the gray-colored walls, which are covered with strange, abstract paintings. The narrow corridor ends in a small chamber with a low ceiling. I have to lower my head in order to pass through the arched entrance without bumping against it. If I were any taller, I’d have to walk in a semi-crouch.

  The room is filled with mismatched furniture, peculiar apparatuses, and tomes. There isn’t any sign of modern technology in sight. The creature circles around a long desk covered with potion pots and vials of different sizes.

  “Excuse me. Are you Tonksolatis Proctor?” I take a step closer.

  My host doesn’t look up from his current task of clearing a portion of his desk of all the junk. “Yes, I am, my fellow.”

  With an air of victory, he pulls an old leather-covered notebook. A film of dust covers the object, which Tonksolatis promptly cleans by blowing on it. He opens the notebook down the middle as he takes a seat behind the desk. Finally, he looks me in the eye.

  “Now, tell me what ails you.”

  My cheeks become warmer as a great sense of shame takes over me. I lower my gaze to the floor, unable to withstand the stranger’s scrutinizing gaze.

  “Well, I suffer from severe memory loss.”

  “Oh? Are we talking about short-term memory or long-term memory?”

  “Both,” I reply in a whisper, shoving my hands into my pockets.

  “I see.” Tonksolatis Proctor glances down to scribble on his notebook. “Were you born with that defect?”

  I wince, my mouth going agape. “Defect?” My voice rises to a shrill as my heart begins to beat a staccato rhythm.

  The creature lifts his eyes from his notes to give me a droll stare. “Defect, condition, potayto, potahto. So, were yo
u born with it, or was it caused by an accident?”

  Grinding my teeth, I switch my attention to the wall behind the creature. “I can’t remember.”

  “Hmm …” The creature begins to write once more.

  Standing here in front of this peculiar being is starting to affect my nerves. I hate being the center of attention, being around folks. My feelings of inadequacy always increase when I’m forced to interact with people.

  “Can you help me or not?”

  Frowning, Tonksolatis Proctor sets his notebook down. He braces both hands on the desk to stand up before he walks around it. “Not so fast. Payment first.” He extends his callused hand, palm up.

  It’s foolish to pay the creature without ascertaining if he can actually provide a cure to my ailment, but I know he won’t give me an answer before he’s in possession of coin. The creature licks his lips in anticipation as I untie the leather pouch from my belt. When I drop the payment onto his palm, he eagerly digs his wart-covered fingers inside, pulling one thick silver coin from it. His eyes widen as he marvels at the shiny object.

  “This is from Emerald City.” He switches his attention to me, his eyes watching me with rapt attention. “Who are you?”

  “Just a poor artisan. No one of importance.”

  “Right. Suit yourself.” The pouch vanishes inside his ragged robe.

  He whirls toward his desk once more and begins to search for something among the small glass vials spread on it. Finally, he curls his fingers around one.

  Turning to me once more, he offers me the small bottle. I hesitate to accept it.

  “Go on. Take it.”

  I finally grip the offered vial, suspiciously eyeing the container. “What is it?”

  “A potion to relax the mind.”

  As I stare at the dark liquid inside the bottle, my brain begins to make a list of the pros and cons of drinking the unknown substance.

  “If you want me to help you, you have to drink it. It’s fine either way with me, for I already got my payment.”

  Clenching my jaw, I remove the cork. I’ve traveled too far and risked too much to back down now. Throwing my head back, I bring the rim of the bottle to my lips, drinking its bitter contents in one single gulp. The beverage goes down my throat like liquid fire, and almost instantaneously, the room begins to spin. I shake my head to clear my vision, which is blurry now.

  My limbs become numb, and before I know it, I collapse on the nearest chair.

  “What in the world is happening to me?”

  “Now, now. Don’t worry. What you’re feeling is completely normal.”

  Letting my head fall backward, I stare at the ceiling. “I feel like my head is filled with clouds.”

  From the corner of my eye, I notice the creature approach me. I want to ask him a question, but my tongue is stuck to my mouth.

  “Let’s see now who you really are.”

  He pulls my hood back, and with a hiss, he takes a step back. “That tattoo … you’re one of them.”

  I expected many things if folks around these parts found out who I was, but never did I imagine that my tattoo would spark such fear. I wish I could ask why Tonksolatis Proctor was so terrified, but in my current altered state, all I can do is stare like an idiot.

  A succession of loud knocks on the front door, followed by shouting, sets my would-be helper into a panicked frenzy. Ignoring me, he grabs a satchel by the foot of his desk and begins to shove random items in it. Before he dashes out of the room, he throws a fleeting glance in my direction. I want to believe there’s an apology in his gaze, but that’s probably me being naïve. Without a word, he disappears through a small door.

  The sound of wood splintering and heavy boots on the creaky floor tells me whoever was outside breached through. A group of stocky munchkins with long, curly beards bursts into the cramped space. Their beady eyes focus on me for a second before one of them departs—my guess is, to search the house.

  “What do we have here?” The beefiest of the group strides toward me.

  “Must be one of the unfortunate souls who still trusts that charlatan.”

  Rough hands curl around my shirt, pulling me closer to his unfriendly face. “Who are you?”

  My mind begins to whirl at a rapid pace. How can I communicate with these munchkins if I can’t operate my tongue?

  “What is it? Can’t talk?” The guy shakes me.

  “He must have drunk one of Tonksolatis’s potions. He won’t be able to speak for hours,” the second scoundrel replies.

  A cruel grin unfurls on the munchkin’s face, making my pulse quicken. What does he plan to do with me?

  “Search him. Maybe he hasn’t given all his coin to that wacko.”

  The munchkin in front of me does as his companion said, probing everywhere and coming up empty-handed. I had the foresight of not bringing any form of identification. Despite my propensity to forget things—sometimes even who I am—I didn’t think it was wise to carry papers with me. Besides, one look at my face’s reflection in the mirror usually does the trick of jostling my memories. They haven’t recognized my tattoo, which means they aren’t scholars. Not that I had any suspicion they were.

  Frustrated that I have nothing of value on me, the largest munchkin shoves me hard against the back of the chair. “He’s poorer than us.”

  The third guy returns to the room and announces Tonksolatis Proctor has escaped, which sends his companions into a manic fit of rage. Forgetting for a moment about me, they aim their anger toward Proctor’s things, breaking everything in sight. Once their breathing is ragged and there’s nothing else to smash, they remember I’m still there. I was hoping they would simply leave. Wishful thinking.

  After spitting on the floor, the scoundrel who searched the house asks, “What should we do about him?”

  The largest of the trio smiles in a perverse way, his dark eyes shining with mischief.

  “Let’s bring him along. I’m in the mood for some fun.”

  6

  Dorothy

  My breathing is still coming out in quick bursts as I stare at the woman—witch—whatever she was. The blaster’s discharge left a charred hole in her chest. I’ve never killed anyone in my life, and at present, I don’t know what I should be feeling.

  Excited yells from several voices erupt in the valley as small shapes leap from behind trees, boulders, even from holes in the ground. Toto snarls and barks, standing in front of me. For what he lacks in size, he more than compensates for in feistiness.

  The finger I have on the blaster’s trigger twitches as my entire body becomes a solid wall, ready for another fight. Adrenaline is still running rampant through my veins.

  As the newcomers approach, it becomes clear that they aren’t the same race as the fallen witch. Shorter than an average human, the tallest of them doesn’t reach past my rib cage. Their skin coloring ranges from ivory to russet. But it’s their hair tones, varying from neon green to deep purple, that draw my attention the most; it seems they dipped their heads in a pot of rainbow. Despite their peculiar, cheery appearance, they wear clothes designed for battle. Some kind of armor made of an unknown type of metal protects their chests. Underneath that, their bodies are protected by thick fabric shirts and worn leather pants.

  If their ensemble wasn’t a dead giveaway, the rudimentary weapons they carry shred any lingering doubt that I crashed into a battlefield. The question is, were they with or against the red-haired she-devil?

  “I mean no harm,” I say but keep my blaster ready.

  The tallest warrior breaks from the group, approaching me with careful steps. His spear is pointing at the ground in a nonthreatening way.

  “Is she dead?” He spares a fleeting glance at the corpse next to me.

  “Yes.”

  Immediately, his companions shout and leap, hugging each other in a demonstration of utter joy. So, I guess that answers one of my questions. The witch was definitely not their friend.

  The leader presse
s his hand on his chest, bowing deeply. “Thank you, Sky Warrior, for freeing our beloved land from the clutches of the Red Witch.”

  “Sky Warrior?”

  Straightening once more, the leader replies, “Yes. You came from the sky, didn’t you?”

  Lowering my gun, I answer, “I suppose I did. But I’m no warrior. Somehow, I came through a wormhole in space and crashed on your planet. Where is this place anyway, and how come you speak USF, the universal language of the Star Freedom Alliance?”

  The native furrows his bushy sapphire-blue eyebrows together as he massages his mustache. “I don’t know anything about universal languages or this Star Freedom Alliance you mentioned. I speak the tongue of Oz, just like everyone else does.”

  “Oz? Is that what this planet is called?”

  “It sure is, and you, mighty Sky Warrior, have landed in the prosperous Munchkin Country.” The leader opens his arms wide in a grand gesture, but his enthusiasm is short-lived. “Well, it used to be prosperous until that dreadful witch took over our lands.”

  His mentioning of the fallen woman draws my attention to her body again. “That’s awful.”

  “I’m Skooli, captain of the Munchkin army.”

  “My name is Dorothy Hanson, and I—”

  A ray of sunshine breaks through a cloud in that moment, making something spark on the witch’s boots. It derails my train of thought. Curious, I inch closer, bending over when I’m near to investigate what caused that effect. Two pieces of a multifaceted red stone falls from the top of the witch’s footwear.

  Skooli gasps loudly. “Don’t touch that, great Sky Warrior.”

  With eyebrows scrunched together, I focus on the munchkin’s face. His eyes are rounder and his mouth agape. He’s definitely frightened. Naturally, I must ask why he’s afraid of the red stones, but a commotion further back sends the munchkin warriors into a frenzy. They scatter in panic, some returning to their hiding places in the ground, others choosing to move closer to me.