D:L&L - Part 13 | Scarecrow: Through the Fog

I think now would be the best time to say that I don’t have much of a head for heights. Hanging from a pole in a field is one thing; hurtling through the air via monkey-power is another. Memories of my adventures with little Dorothy and the others came flooding back. Only this time there was no Wicked Witch of the West overseeing proceedings. It was just me, Turlo and a purple fog you’d need a knife and fork to wade through. I didn’t want to look down; so I looked up at my pilot.

‘How’s life?” I asked.

‘Couldn’t be worse, couldn’t be better,’ the monkey said. I noticed that he had some kind of flashing device sticking out of his left ear. ‘That’s my Bluetooth, boss. I’d rather not fly and use a hand-held at the same time. Could cause an accident, that could.’

That explained a lot, I thought. Shit – it explained nothing. Had I been out of it for so long that everything about the world I came from seemed alien to me? I continued to entertain myself with these self-pitying thoughts. They diverted my attention from the fact that I was several hundred feet in the air.

‘What good is a tooth if it’s in your ear?’

‘You’re funny, boss. At least you haven’t lost your sense of humour.’

‘What does it do?’

‘It speaks to me, tells me what to do next.’

‘Who’s talking to you?’

‘You are.’

‘I know I am. But who’s talking to you through your teeth?’

‘You are.’

‘Fuck off, Turlo!’

Turlo’s face worked up a hurt expression, but it didn’t quite succeed. In the end, it looked constipated.

‘Nobbin’s balls, boss! You sure know how to hit where it’ll do the most damage. So is that the thanks you’re going to give me for rescuing your strawy ass?’

I couldn’t bring myself to apologise to the monkey. I didn’t need saving; I needed more wine. My head was drying up and I didn’t like the feeling. Then a thought came to me. ‘Who’s behind this excursion? Is it Dorothy again?’

Turlo peeked down at me. I could barely see his eyes behind the goggles he wore. He shrugged, which jostled me, his thick digits digging into my shoulders. Overhead, his massive wings gleamed blackish-blue in the high sun. ‘You’ve gone stupid on me, boss. It’s your other half that’s telling me what to do.’

‘Fiyero?’

‘Welcome back to the land of the intelligent. Collect your spot prize on the way out.’ He turned his attention back to the fog ahead of us. It showed no signs of thinning out. If anything it appeared to be getting thicker the closer we got to where we were going. Which brought me to my next question.

‘Where are we going?’

‘I’ve already told you – Bright Lettina.’

‘Why?’

‘To stop the fog. To meet up with your old friends. To defeat Glinda. To grab some lunch, too. I’m hungry.’

‘What if I don’t want to go? What if I tell you to turn around?’

‘You told me you’d probably say that. You told me to ignore you.’

I looked down, despite my better judgment. I couldn’t see much because of the fog, but I could make out shapes of Munchkin settlements, little towns I’d spent an age walking through. I wondered how my former charges were getting on without me. I tried my best for them, Oz knows I did. But I doubt that they really appreciated me. Not in the way they should have. Not in the way I should have. Not until it was too late. Until the end. Did they remember? Munchkin lives weren’t long, as short as they were, but Munchkin memories…they lasted an age.

‘Have we much longer to go?’ I asked.

‘No. But I may have to make a pit-stop first.’

‘What for?’

‘That’s on a need-to-know basis.’

‘And I don’t need to know?’

‘Not yet.’

A shift, and a dive, the wind hitting me full in the face and we sped towards the fog and somewhere below it, the ground. I felt my stomach rush up into my throat, which would have been what it felt like if I had a stomach. If so, I’d have lost my lunch. If I ate lunch, this is. If I had a digestive system at all and not just a facial orifice suited somehow for the utterance of utterances. Understanding the anatomy of hundreds of Oz’s creatures didn’t help with the dilemma of not understanding how I myself operated. A scarecrow that can walk and talk, think and act, rule and administrate, cower and hide and flee. What good is it? What good is any of it?

‘We’re about half-an-hour to Bright Lettina,’ Turlo said, ‘but I need to make a detour first. Can you be trusted on your own for a bit? I need some privacy.’

‘Where else is there for me to go?’

‘You’d be surprised.’

The ground rushed up through the fog, but we landed softly, my feet alighting gently, the crushing grip on my shoulders gone as Turlo lifted off again. He called out something as he swept up into the fog again, mighty wings unfurled and beating at the swirling purple mist. He flew off again and disappeared, leaving me in the middle of…somewhere? Trust me on this, people, I stood there in the sudden eerie mulberry wine darkness next to three dead trees and watched my only friend in the world disappear. Somewhere high above, the sun was gleaming, but here on the ground, my booted feet shuffled across scrub and dirt. I rifled through my brain to see if I could calculate where we were based on trajectory, distance, and speed, but nothing came to me. The fog had mostly hidden the ground, and now, there was nothing to see but the three dead trees, some high grasses, and a line of dark hills in the distance.

Where were the old cornfields? I’d always navigated these lands in relation to that fateful location, that moment in time, when an innocent felled me from the pole and gave me purpose. But here, there was nothing. No hint of the yellow brick or old fencing. Munchkinland was always so green, and yet, in this place, left to myself, all I found was darkness and silence. Some things don’t want to be known, I figured, and I sat down. There was nothing to do but wait. I took my hat off and rubbed my head. I checked my pockets to see if I had the forethought to pack any liquor. They were empty.

Hold on! They weren’t quite empty. My hand wrapped around a small rectangular metal object. I took it out and looked at it. It had a small screen, and underneath that screen was a panel with numbers and letters. I remembered Fiyero using such a machine before Turlo picked me up. I pressed one of the digits and it came up on the screen. If anything else, it would amuse me until the monkey got back. I closed my eyes and searched through my brain once again. Surely my superior intelligence would help me use such a device. Then the screen glowed and the gadget beeped.

1 NEW MESSAGE, the text on the screen read. I was prompted to open up this message and using the instructions it gave me, open it up I did.

WHAT IS YOUR GREATEST FEAR? it read.

What, I only get to pick one? I thought. Flying, perhaps? No, that was too easy. I shook my head.

‘Who is this?’ I said to the device.

It beeped again and I went in to see what this new message had to say for itself.

FEAR OF FLYING IS FOR WIMPS. NO, MY FRIEND, YOUR GREATEST FEAR IS THAT WHICH CAN KILL YOU. THAT WHICH CAN BURN YOU. THAT WHICH CAN TURN YOU TO ASH.

Fire. It was obvious. ‘Why do you ask me that question?’

A new message popped up on screen. LOOK BEHIND YOU!

I did so – and immediately regretted it. This desolate place wasn’t home to just dead trees. I saw maybe a dozen or so Munchkinlanders coming toward me. They didn’t look right. Even through this fog, I saw – or rather felt – their eyes. There was no life in them. But there was plenty of life in what each of them held.

Flaming torches. I stood up and screamed at the top of my voice and began to run.

‘TURLO!!’