Blood of Wonderland - Colleen Oakes

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into the deepest parts of the Twisted Wood, hoping to make their trail confusing and untraceable. How could she find her way back here, to this valley of her ancestors, who ruled when she would not? Had she been queen, would her head have one day graced this clearing? Now it would be Vittiore’s. She felt the blind fury rising up inside of her, that black hunger that clawed up her stomach and wrapped its arms around her heart when she was least expecting it. How dare they take her crown away? With a cry, Dinah flung her sword blade across the nearest tree, hacking and jabbing until the trunk was battered and flaking. She felt the tremors vibrate up the blade and into her arm, a jarring sensation that was more cathartic than painful. Both of her hands throbbed with pain, but she didn’t care.

      “You killed him!” She sobbed, tears covering her face as she brought the blade of the sword down again and again against the rough trunk. “That was my crown! It was mine!” In wide arcs, she slammed her blade against the tree, the metal cutting into the wood deeper with each swipe. This wasn’t swordplay, this was something else, something she had never known before. It felt glorious and dangerous at the same time, intoxicating.

      Dinah continued until her arms shook with exhaustion. She angrily flung the sword away to wipe the tears off her face. Taking ragged breaths, she leaned her head against the tree, her salty tears soaking into the now-exposed virgin white wood. From its towering height, the top of the tree let out a deep groan, and Dinah watched as the bark rippled up the tree like water. Several trunks twisted accusingly in her direction.

      “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, forgive me.” She rested her now-bleeding hand against the raw wood, feeling the scars and notches she had left. “I’m sorry. They killed him. They took everything.” Sniffling, Dinah found herself looking again at the head of her father, the way his crown was dug into the ground, the way his neck bore the blunt cut of a sword. There was an aggressiveness to this statue that the others did not share. While the other heads were resting, his position was a punishment.

      An unwelcome whisper was beginning to creep up her spine, a familiar, surreal feeling. It was the same feeling that she had awakened to that night in the palace, when a stranger in black was standing over her bed. She was being watched. Was it the heads? Dinah stared at the statues, her eyes jumping from face to face, but she saw no movement. They were not living things, only stone and metal. Dinah slowly picked up her sword from the base of the tree and held it in front of her, both sore hands clutched firmly around the hilt.

      “Come out!” she screamed. “I know you’re there!” There was only silence in return as the heads stared back at her, unmoving, and the long grass waved in concentric circles around their necks. Dinah was backing up slowly, past one head, then another. There was something here—she could feel it. Had her father found her? Dinah spun around and her eye caught a glimpse of white moving swiftly through the high green grass. She would never make it to Morte in time. It was time to fight, time to die.

      She saw the pelt of white emerge from the trees, and at first her mind wondered if her father was wearing a costume. Then she saw the claws, the black eyes, the red mouth that inspired the nightmares of Wonderland children. She heard the hungry gnashing of teeth and the licking of a fat, bloody tongue. It was a bear, and he was charging at her, letting out a roar that echoed off the metal heads and out into the wood. Dinah stood paralyzed with fear. She felt like she was in a dream, unmoving, watching death race swiftly toward her. I need to move, she told herself. Move, Dinah! Finally, her feet obeyed and Dinah sprinted toward the nearest head—an upright Yurkei chief, whose fabric crown circled lazily around his head and then looped down onto the ground. Without thinking, Dinah sheathed her sword and started her ascent, placing one foot onto his lips and pushing off the ground, grabbing hold of the chief’s long nose. The eyes didn’t provide anywhere to grasp, so Dinah moved sideways and pulled herself onto the man’s ear by holding the tip of the large feathers that rested against his temples. A spasm of pain ripped through her hands as she heaved herself up and over the heavy swath of fabric and beads that circled his head. She leaped off the tip of his fabric crown and tumbled onto the man’s head.

      A roar came from below, so loud and terrifying that Dinah feared her nerves would rip apart. The bear had reached the head now. Dinah peeked cautiously over the edge. The bear was gigantic. He began pacing around the base of it, irately sniffing the ground where she had stood and pawing jagged trenches in the earth. Rising up on his hind legs, the bear’s shoulders were level to the chief’s eyes, just below Dinah’s face. He opened his mouth and let out a bloodcurdling roar. Dinah felt a rush of hot, rancid air blow over her face and she gagged as she smelled his potent breath—a mix of decaying meat and death. It reminded her of the Black Towers.

      The bear raked his huge paws down the statue’s face and the terrible screech of bone meeting stone filled the air. He was a daunting creature, tall enough that his skull would brush the ceiling in her bathroom. His coat was two distinct shades of white—most of his fur was the shade of dirty cream, but the stripes that ran up from his stomach area to his visible spine were a bright, unspoiled, pure white, whiter than any garment or paint she had ever seen. His jaws snapped shut loudly as his milky eyes took in her face. Besides his massive mouth full of teeth, he also had two large fangs that rose up from the underside of his jaw. The head gave a tremor as the bear began rocking his weight against the statue. He means to knock it over, she thought with terror. The statue gave another tremble as the bear slammed his paws against the base and began digging in the mud around the chief’s neck.

      Dinah had read about the white bears of the Twisted Wood. They were sometimes passed off as myth, and many theorized that there were only a handful left. They were hard to kill, which was a shame since their pelts were worth a small fortune. Her entire body trembled as she stared down at him. The bear slammed his huge body up against the head, and it gave a violent lurch. He huffed, frustrated, and continued digging around the base before rocking the head again and again, alternating one activity for the other. Sprays of dirt flew into the air. Dinah frantically looked around for some form of escape. The trees weren’t within reach; besides, she was certain the bear could climb anything that wasn’t stone. She could jump and run for it, but she was entirely sure the bear was faster. She would be dead in a matter of seconds. Perhaps if she could entice the bear higher, she could stab its face with the end of her sword, or perhaps blind it. That would give her the best chance.

      Dinah leaned over the edge of the statue, her face low, the sword raised above her head. “I’m here!” she screamed. “Come and get me!” The bear gave her a confused look, its milky eyes focusing on her. Its jaws opened, and it let out a loud roar before charging the bottom of the statue. It hadn’t taken the bait, and Dinah braced herself for impact. The statue gave another violent lurch when the bear’s bulky body rammed against it. There was a moment when she thought the statue would stay upright, when it teetered on the edge of falling, but then Dinah was flying through the air and the sword dropped from her hand. She landed hard on her side and rolled into the deep grasses. She barely had time to look up before the bear was charging again. There was nothing she could do. She closed her eyes and waited for the attack.

      It didn’t come.

      Dinah opened her eyes. The bear was only about ten feet away from her, but it was crouched and still, the fur on its back raised up into a straight line. A thud echoed behind her, and Dinah turned her head. There stood Morte, his huge spiked hooves pawing the ground lustily. The bear began to pace back and forth as he eyed Morte’s ten thousand pounds of delicious horse meat, but also the bone spikes that protruded from his hooves. Even a white bear would think twice before attacking Morte. Dinah slowly crawled backward until Morte stood between her and the bear, which did not seem to notice her anymore.

      The air stopped moving and for a second the valley of heads lay perfectly still, its grasses bent lazily over their stems. Dinah saw the sunlight glinting off her sword hilt. It lay next to the bear, who was swiping the ground in front of the blade with a fluid sideways motion, creating a small cloud of dirt. Morte let a long hiss of steam radiate out from his nostrils.

      With a roar, the bear charged, and Morte responded in kind. They met in the middle with a terrible clash of claws and bone. In an instant they were both bleeding—the bear from its

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