A brown rusted robot straddled the path, and beneath it were stone statues of a lion and a scarecrow. “The tin man,” Tye said.
“What? You know this place?” Milly said.
“Whatever it was had something to do with the Wizard of Oz, a classic story told by the old ones. There were books. Movies. It was a cultural phenomenon,” Tye said.
“How is it no one ever told me of it?” Robin said.
“Because your father didn’t have a copy of the book on the top shelf of the bookcase in his office on the Oceanic Eco,” Tye said. Everybody laughed but her.
The woods thinned out, and the castle rose before them. The iron gates stood open, and they passed under the portcullis. Birds, small animals, and wolves manned the castle’s ramparts, and Milly felt their eyes on her as she made her way across the entrance hall.
The castle was unadorned; no furniture, no paintings or tapestries on the walls, no rugs on the floors. A grand staircase led to the upper towers, and Turnip and Pepper scouted ahead. Minutes ticked by and after fifteen minutes, Milly was concerned.
“Where are they?” Robin said.
“You see anything, Ingo?” Tester said.
He shook his head no.
“Tye and I’ll take the lead. Stay back,” Tester said.
They climbed the steps, thin open windows drenching the stairwell in sunlight. Up they went, and Milly counted fifty steps before they reached the upper chamber. The air smelt of smoke and charred meat. A young man sat next to a brazier reading a large leather tome. The boy’s face was smooth and free of blemishes, his jet black hair streaked with gray. He wore a white robe and slippers of boiled leather. He looked twenty-five, but the streaks of gray made him look older.
“Welcome, I’m Ozzie,” the young man said.
“Are you alone?” Tye said.
“There are no other people here,” Ozzie said. “I am an exile of Argartha and thus suffer my plight alone. You suspected this, no?”
Nobody spoke. The fellowship stood on the threshold, waiting for someone to take the lead.
“You’re afraid, and you should be.” He rose and put his book on the chair. “But you needn’t be. I mean you no harm.”
“We’ve been told that before,” Tester said.
“Do you doubt that if I wanted to hurt you I could have done so already?” There was a pile of wood in a corner and suddenly a log floated through the air and placed itself on the brazier. Dark smoke swirled, forming a face in the air. Peter’s face.
Milly gasped.
“Come. Sit by the fire and be refreshed,” Ozzie said. There were chairs, a table, wine, and a board of cheese and bread before them, where moments before there had been nothing. “I can move fast when I want to.”
Milly and company seated themselves, the warmth of the fire refreshing. Candles burned in wall sconces and shadows danced on the ceiling. A crow landed in the open window, cawed and flew off. To Milly, it looked like the crow had one eye.
“Don’t worry, Larry is fine. He found the turtle,” Ozzie said.
“How do you know?” Milly said.
Ozzie looked at Ingo, and said, “Have you told the woman nothing?”
“You’re a reborn. Big deal,” Milly said. “You lack social grace, like some others of your kind I’ve met.”
“My apologies. I don’t entertain people often,” Ozzie said.
“How long have you been here alone?” Robin said.
“Oh, most of my life,” Ozzie said.
“And how long is that?” Tye said.
“I am six years, four months, and nineteen days old,” Ozzie said, his smile cool as ice on a summer morning.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Year 2075, Oz, northern Virginia
“Excuse me?” Tye said. “Did you say you’re six years old?”
“I did,” Ozzie said.
“You’re a little tall for a six-year-old,” Milly said.
“Yes, I know.”
Tye had seen a few things since grabbing a jump flight out of Iraq to go on leave, but this might take the prize. Ozzie was next to him, then next to the fire, or next to Robin. Every time he blinked, Ozzie jumped to a different position. Tye felt dizzy, and his stomach gurgled. This wasn’t right. None of this was right.
“Calm yourself, Tye,” Ozzie said. “I meant what I said. I mean you no harm, though I doubt I’ll be able to help you much.”
“How can you be six?” Ingo said. Then his eyes grew wide as understanding flooded through him. “You’re a highborn.”
“Yes, I’ve heard the term. I don’t like it. Both my parents are reborn,” Ozzie said.
“Doesn’t explain you claiming to be a toddler,” Robin said.
“Instead of staying the same age like my parents, I age about four years to every actual year I live,” Ozzie said.
“How sad,” Milly said.
“That’s why you need to live life to the fullest,” Ozzie said.
“That why they kicked you out? Living life to the fullest,” Tye said.
There was a blur of motion, and Ozzie stood before him with a tray of tall glasses full of a deep red liquid. “Refresh yourselves,” Ozzie said. He held out the tray. Tye didn’t want to take a glass, but pressure squeezed his mind, like a thousand ants pushing a mango up a hill. He took a glass and nodded.
Pepper and Turnip lay next to the ornate brazier, at peace and content. That alone should have been enough to put Tye at ease, but it had been almost ten years since he’d relaxed beneath his favorite palm, staring at the crystal sea. He’d never been a snowflake, but now he was hail; hard, destructive, and cold.
Ozzie watched him, waiting
