She couldn’t remember who she was. How did she get here again? Something was prying at her mouth. Might as well open it, she thought. What could be the harm? Then, there was light. A warm light appeared at the end of the tunnel, a hazy pinkish spot, warm and welcoming and safe. It throbbed through the darkness. Cyndy broke into a sprint toward it and Sir Gorrann followed, forgetting all previous instruction, so desperate to be free from this underground hell. Dinah did not run. She kept her pace steady, and Morte did not run. Slimy, terrible things detached themselves from her hair and wrists. Something slithered down her leg and back into the darkness. The light blazed through the dark. She burst through into its glorious pinkness, and fell to her knees beside Sir Gorrann. He pushed her out of the way just before Morte’s gigantic body collapsed in a heap right where she had been kneeling.
They lay on the ground, gasping, taking in heavy breaths of delicious, sweet air, so happy to be free of the tunnel. Minutes passed. There was nothing sweeter than being alive. Morte whinnied happily beside her, rolling on the soft carpet of flowers to erase the stench of the tunnel. When she finally felt balanced again, Dinah peered down at her hands on the ground. Purple flowers, the same color that Cheshire wore so often, opened and shut before her eyes, their blooms radiating individual rays of soft light. With each pulse of the petal, a tiny tendril of red lashed out, a pink light on the tip of the stamen. It was remarkable and strange all at once, and her eyes followed the ground until she saw that one flower led to a patch of flowers, and the patch of flowers led to a field. They were in an entire valley full of blinking purple and pink flowers, radiating light and— she held her hand over the tip of the flower. Yes. Heat.
The flowers radiated a warm heat when they popped open, which accounted for the heavenly air that flowed through this field. The grass was a bright green, and felt more like a soft pillow than a wooded forest floor. Dinah felt the overwhelming desire to slip off her boots and run laughing through the flowers. It could only be called a hysterical happiness. She was drunk with it.
“My gods,” she heard Sir Gorrann mutter, and Dinah stood up. The Spade rested his hand on her arm and with a gentle touch tilted her head upward. They both looked in wonder… at the mushrooms. Thousands of enormous, swirly mushrooms filled the field. They were huge, as tall as trees in most places. Their stems were wider than Dinah, trunklike white stalks that led up into a thick, billowy explosion of color, the horizon like a bucket of upside-down parasols. They exploded from the ground, each unique in its varied colors and type, giving the overall effect of being in a hazy dream. Dinah turned in a circle. The valley was deep and long, a maze of color and fantastic curling shapes, each mushroom standing proudly against the sky.
Dinah blinked. She suddenly wasn’t sure how long she had been staring at the mushrooms. Had she been here an hour or a minute? She looked over at Sir Gorrann. The Spade stood rooted in the same place he had been before, his mouth agape. Dinah shook herself out of the trance and began walking toward one of the mushrooms. Its cap was a brilliant yellow with swirls of glittering orange and red, like someone had taken a wet paintbrush to the top. Underneath the cap, a warm white light pulsed within its gills. They seemed to contract with each burst of light, as if they were breathing. The mushroom was utterly intoxicating, perhaps the most attractive thing she had ever seen. It seemed to be calling to her. Dinah reached out to touch the stem.
“Don’t.” The deep voice broke her trance and Dinah’s hand jerked to a stop. The Spade walked up beside her. “Don’t touch them. They might be poisonous, we don’t know. On the other hand….”
“I want to eat them,” whispered Dinah, her mouth watering at the thought.
Sir Gorrann scratched his beard, his hand trembling with want. “I do as well, which is exactly why I think we shouldn’t. Let’s continue on our way.”
Dinah wanted to stay forever, but she simply nodded. Her eyes took in every stem, every inch of the mushrooms. Together they walked silently through the field, the fungi stretching out in all directions, seemingly never ending. Dinah watched with fascination as they passed a pink- and white-striped mushroom with a black stem and yellow gills, a bright blue mushroom the color and depth of the sky, and a deep purple mushroom with a stem covered in a thousand tiny mushrooms of the same color. The light in the valley faded into a soothing glow. It was something otherworldly, the most extraordinary thing Dinah had ever seen, the exact opposite of the dark tunnel from which they had emerged. Sir Gorrann didn’t speak, but the Spade had drawn his sword for some reason that Dinah couldn’t fully comprehend. Morte walked behind them, eating everything in his sight. There was no way Dinah could stop him in this valley of rich food, and she watched him with envy as he gulped down a pure white mushroom that appeared to be made of frosting. Her steps fell silently on the soft lawn. Twisty tendrils curled up from the ground, as thick as a man’s arm, as they passed. The curls gave a tiny shake when her foot landed beside them, as if they were stirring from a dormant sleep.
I could stay here forever, thought Dinah. I could lie underneath the mushrooms and simply watch their colors pulse with this… enthralling life. Dinah let her eyes linger on a pink mushroom, its rich fuchsia the same color as the inside of a Julla fruit. Tiny glowing stars dotted its cap. “Oh,” breathed Dinah, amazed at the beauty of it all. She reached for the mushroom. An odd cry echoed through the valley, such an odd sound in this peaceful haven of light and warmth. It sounded like a crane. The cry was followed by another, and then she heard a whump. She knew that sound. Her face distorted with terror as she spun around. The first arrow took the Spade off his feet. He flew backward onto the grass, a white quivered arrow protruding from his chest. Two more arrows landed on either side of him. The valley grew lighter as all the mushrooms suddenly radiated with blinding white light. A second arrow landed just past her feet, another in front of her. She blinked in confusion.
Wake up! She screamed at herself. You are under attack! Her thoughts finally connected and then she was running blindly, arrows falling around her like rain. Dinah plunged through the mushrooms, ducking and bobbing as arrows whizzed past her face.
“Morte!” she screamed. “Morte! Morte!” Suddenly, he was upon her, his black hide rippling with excitement. He barely even stopped moving long enough for her to step onto his leg and vault herself onto the nape of his neck. Then, they were flying, his muscles pounding like thunder beneath her. Through the mushrooms they plunged, the rainbow light a colored blur that flashed past. Dinah watched with horror as a line of feathered warriors appeared before them. Hundreds deep, each holding notched bows and arrows, each one trained on her, on Morte. The Yurkei. Morte wheeled to the left, but they were there as well, and to the right, emerging from between the mushrooms like ghosts in the darkness. Had they been there the whole time? Morte whinnied and backstepped. Something was wrong with him. He was stumbling, jumping, falling over his feet. The warriors slowly moved toward them. Dinah and Morte were surrounded on all sides.
Morte began to buck, and Dinah clutched his mane to keep from falling off. When he landed, she nudged him forward. If there was no passage leading away from the Yurkei, she would go through them. Morte would crush them under his mighty hooves, even if he was acting strangely. Dinah drew her sword.
“DINAH, STOP!” The voice plowed through the valley, strong and deep. The light from the mushrooms dimmed at the sound. She turned her head in surprise. It was the first time Sir Gorrann had ever said her name. He stood a thousand yards away, looking very much alive in the midst of a thousand Yurkei warriors that surrounded him, their arrows drawn, all pointing at her, pointing at him. Blood leaked steadily from his shoulder, but the wound didn’t look terrible. There was no sign of a chest wound. Armor, she thought. He still has his Spade armor on. Thank the gods. The wild thudding of her heart shook her body as Morte wheeled and turned again.
Sir Gorrann raised his voice. “Dinah, do not fight! They will kill you with a hundred arrows before you cross their lin
e. We are surrendering. Put down your sword.” The Spade took his sword and laid it on the ground before raising his arms above his head. There was a murmuring in the crowd, and Dinah’s eyes widened as the Yurkei parted like a sea. The mushrooms began to hum with light and sound. The warriors all extended their arms and pressed the base of their palms together, thumbs linked, fingers spread. Like wings. Dinah heard a familiar thudding, and her stomach clenched.
A tan Hornhoov emerged out of the dim light, and astride him, a fearsome-looking man. His hair was as white as snow, shaved back in a long strip that caressed his shoulder blades. Stripes of white paint covered his deeply tanned and muscular body, his radiant blue eyes visible even from a distance. On his head was a woven headdress of feathers, white and blue and gathered in a circle at the crown before cascading down his back. The rest of the Yurkei watched him with rapt attention, their hands still spread before themselves. He gave the slightest nod and their arms dropped back to their original position—aiming arrows at her and Morte. He was almost upon her now; Dinah was sure of his name. Mundoo, the Chief of the Yurkei.
A cold fear shot through her as she remembered all the terrible stories she had heard about this warrior chief. He raised his hand to her, his voice steady and calm. “Woman. You have trespassed into the sacred burial ground of the Yurkei tribe and will now be punished as such: give us your steed, your supplies, and all of your food and then you may go with your lives. Otherwise, you will be pierced through with the arrows of my strong warriors. They do not miss.”
Dinah sat perfectly still, surprised at his perfect grasp of the Wonderland language. This seemed like a fair deal, but she did not want to part with Morte. Mundoo was eyeing him greedily—who knew what they would do to him.
Dinah coughed. “I have something of great worth to give you instead of my steed. Jewels and gold are worth much more than this horse. I can get you all of those and more.”
Mundoo gave a nick of his tongue and his pale Hornhoov approached, eyeing Morte with aggression. The mare was almost the same size as Morte, the color of the purest sand, her white mane braided through with blue ribbons and paint.
Mundoo narrowed his glowing blue eyes as he neared them. “But that is not just a steed, My Lady, as you well know.” As Mundoo grew closer, Dinah saw his bright-blue eyes widen just before he drew his own arrow, pointed straight at her throat, drawn in the time it took her to blink.
“Iy-Joyera! Iy-Joyera!” The tribe moved swiftly toward her, all arrows trained on Morte.
Mundoo stared past his quivering arrow. “This is no regular Hornhoov. I have seen this steed before. Iy-Joyera, the black devil. This is Morte, the King’s horse. This beast has killed dozens of my best warriors and carried the murderous King of Wonderland upon his back as he burned and pillaged our villages.” Mundoo was now very close to Dinah, their Hornhooves dangerously close to each other as they heaved and pawed the ground, desperate to fight each other. Morte stumbled again, and Dinah lurched down toward Mundoo. The tip of his arrow brushed her throat.
“Tell me! Tell me how a dirty peasant girl has the horse of a king and the speech of a noble. Tell me now or I will spill your blood here. I will let you watch as we kill your devil, one arrow at a time.” Dinah raised her chin and stared deep into the Chief’s eyes. She had no choice. They would no doubt kill her once they learned who she was, and it was better to die a quick death than a long one by torture. She would not go quietly, a meek, insecure princess. She would go out in a blaze of glory, a warrior who had come so far on her own, one who had made it through the Twisted Wood. She had seen death and pain, felt the blade of a sword on her neck and the thrill of the fear that preceded imminent death. She was a woman, not a girl, and she would not go without a fight.
Dinah raised her voice as she drew her sword quickly. “My name is Dinah, and I once was the future Queen of Wonderland until I escaped my father and made my way here. You will not touch my steed this day, nor spill my blood. I do not fear death from your arrows, but you should fear my sword and my rage.” Morte rose up on his hind legs and she saw confusion and surprise register across Mundoo’s face as she sliced her sword down toward his head. Mundoo’s Hornhoov gave a skilled leap back, and Dinah swung into empty air before something hard and heavy hit the side of her head with a sickening crunch. The hazy light of the mushroom field went dim and Dinah gave thanks that her death had been quick and painless. She closed her eyes and waited to see Charles’s happy face, just on the other side of the rabbit hole.
Chapter Eight
There it was again, the swirling darkness, the inky sky, the floating clocks. Dinah twisted and turned inside it, struggling to move. Something was wrapped around her arms—something like a vine? No matter how much she struggled, it wrapped tighter around her, strangling her, pressing her organs uncomfortably together. She opened her mouth to scream, but the vines were in her mouth as well. But now they were the roots, the roots of the Black Towers, twisting in and out, filling her with their visions. Blood on a sword, a white ghost emerging from the darkness, its claws outstretched…. Dinah’s body jerked and she had the sensation of falling before something strong and hard encircled her waist and righted her. Awareness returned and she realized that she was bobbing up and down. She shook her head once and forced her eyes to open.
Morte. She was on Morte, but what was behind her? She managed to turn her head. The Spade was sitting behind her on Morte, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other one clutching the red leather reins with desperation. She could see why. Sir Gorrann had been blindfolded. Dinah’s head dropped forward and she could see that she was bound with a heavy white rope, its texture not unlike the branches of trees. In her mouth was some sort of fabric gag, and she forced herself to breathe through her nose before she choked. The side of her head felt like a blunt object had been shoved through it, and there was dried blood crusted over her eye and nose. She tried to move her mouth and felt the Spade’s hand feel its way up her face and gently remove the gag from her mouth. His lips brushed against her ear, an angry rush of words coming from his mouth.
“Do not say a word, not one godsdamn word, yeh stupid, silly Princess. Yer lucky to be alive right now, and because of yer impulsiveness, we almost both lost our lives. So like yer father, quick to rage and slow to think. Yer lucky that my hands found a rock, otherwise you would be strewn about the mushroom field in a thousand pieces.” Dinah felt the waterskin brush her lips. “Drink some water now and yeh go back to sleep. I imagine we have more than a few miles to travel before reaching Hu-Yuhar.”
Dinah could barely nod her head with the thundering pain in her temple, but she managed to swallow a few gulps of water. Sir Gorrann had thrown a rock at her? Her thoughts were confused, cloudy. There were the mushrooms and the Yurkei and their arrows and then… she couldn’t remember. Why had the Spade taken her this way in the first place?
Morte’s easy lilt rocked her back to unconsciousness, and when she awoke again the dusk was settling. She looked around. They were in a vast field of waving pale-green grass, as tall as most men, interspersed with curling lavender trees that whirled and leapt from their roots. The wind rippled the grass violently from side to side, and when she tucked her head to avoid a lashing from the grasses, the Yurkei didn’t even seem to notice. A line of Yurkei warriors stretched out in front of them, and Dinah noticed that she was surrounded on all sides by Yurkei guards, eyeing her and Sir Gorrann with obvious loathing. She stared back unabashedly at the warriors, so different than anything she had ever seen before. Their skin was a dark toffee, the color of wet sand or burned bread. Stripes of thick white paint ran from under their eyes down their entire body, covering their arms and bare torsos. Each one had glowing bright-blue eyes that radiated from their dark faces. They each had white hair that came to a point in the middle of their forehead. Most had short hair, cropped to just below the neck, although Mundoo’s was longer and braided down his back with stripes of blue. Each warrior wore pants (if one could call the
m that) made of white feathers that sat low and snug around their muscled pelvises.
They were strangely handsome and moved with a graceful ease that eluded every human Dinah had ever known. Their horses were all the same pale tan with white manes. The horses were smaller than the mares she had seen at the stable, but they seemed quicker and more connected to their riders. Together they moved, horse and rider, as though they were of one mind. All together, the Yurkei created an incredible mass of muscle and skill, each Yurkei in possession of a quiver hung across their backs, full of white arrows flecked with gray.
Mundoo rode at the front, the heavy footsteps of his Hornhoov echoing across the quiet landscape. He was taller than the rest, and Dinah could see from the rippling of muscles across his back that he was an impressive specimen. It was strange to look upon Mundoo, a name that struck fear into the heart of every Wonderland girl and boy and see that while he was no doubt a fierce man, he was still just a man. Stories of the Yurkei ran rampant in Wonderland—stories of the horrors they inflicted upon innocent towns, of how they beat their women, of how they sacrificed their children and gnawed on human bones. It was said that they mated with cranes, and that their offspring were the terrible white bears of the Twisted Wood. Dinah had always been skeptical of the Yurkei stories—mostly because she was skeptical of everything she learned—but she could see now with her own eyes that the stories were grossly exaggerated.
These men weren’t so unlike the Cards. They dressed differently and spoke in a language that sounded like the flowing of water, but they were just men, not monsters. She had learned some basic Yurkei language in her studies, but the true lesson had been unspoken: they are the enemy. Know the language of the enemy.