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“Very well. I’ll send a regiment to the woods now. But we’ll need a roost for those who stay behind.”

I turn to Bron. “Will you send word to the Head of the Palace? Tell her we need—” I glance at Faos. “How much space? And do you need shelter or prefer the outdoors?”

“Shelter for weather. Ten acres is preferred so we have space to fly and roam.”

Bron nods, taking in the notes.

“If that is all?” Faos says.

“How long will it take you? To find the dog?”

“His legs are small and slow. Our wings are faster. You’ll have the creature by nightfall.”

“Good. Alert me when he’s here.”

Faos summons his soldiers with a click of his tongue. They assemble behind him in a V formation.

With a nod, Faos opens his wings and pushes off the earth. His soldiers quickly follow, taking to the air.

Some of the flames gutter out beneath the force of their wings.

I’m confident in Faos’s skills. Toto will be mine soon enough. And when I’ve taken possession of her dog, Kansas won’t be far behind.

SIXGod of the East

The God of the East was known for her harvest blessings.

Every autumn, beneath the warm golden sun, Metnua would walk the fields of corn and wheat. Row after row, she would run her hand through the crops and feel every leaf, every stalk bristling with life and every leaf, and every stalk would stretch toward her touch like she was the sun incarnate.

Beneath her blessings, the soil was rich and loamy, the seeds hardy and plentiful. Every harvest was better than the last. There was so much corn, so much wheat that bread flowed from ovens like a river current.

Every year, in the months between the Reaping of the Gods and the Autumn Harvest, the East Enders would show their thanks to her and ask for her continued blessing by leaving out treats. Fresh honey and jarred milk. Trinkets of silver and bronze nestled in baskets woven of grass and reeds. And for those most dedicated, in the heart of their field, they’d build her an altar.

She loved them, the people of Oz, and particularly the people of the East End, her cardinal direction. She loved the men who tilled the soil with their oxen and carts. The women who nurtured the seeds they sowed into the earth. The children who ran barefoot through the fields, mud caked to their feet.

Hers was a presence that was felt more than seen. She saw no reason to make her face known. The people of the east felt her in the rays of sunlight, the rustle of wind, the scrape and rasp of cornstalks. She was there, tending to earth and hearth for them, and they were there for her, showing their gratitude and their thanks. She needed no more than that.

They carried on like this for centuries.

Peaceful. Bountiful. Bright.

Until one day …

… when the god killer came.

SEVENDorothy

As I survey the armory, I’m aware of time slipping away. And though it’s always hard to track the minutes and hours in the Land of Oz, with the sun blocked by the ominous clouds, it feels like the light is growing longer, so we must be nearing sunset.

Out of curiosity, I poke around the metal armor. It’s thicker than I imagined it would be, but I can see how it could easily fail beneath the sharp talons of a flying monkey.

I go to the leather armor last. I think I knew I would select this one the moment the Tinman approved of it.

I don’t know why, but his opinion holds weight. I can only imagine what Toto would say about that.

Without thinking, I turn to talk to him and remember he’s not here, and my heart sinks.

I’m glad he ran away when he could, but now he’s all alone in a strange land. He’s never failed to return to me, and I’m confident in his ability to do the same in Oz, but the sooner I get outside, the better.