Zuko In the Wonderful Land of OZ

[freakishone]

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters Avatar related, and the Land of OZ was originally created by author Frank L. Baum but after his death so many other writers added their own twists and views to Ozzian lore I’m not sure anyone in this day and age can claim ownership of Oz.

Summery: Zuko awakens to find himself in the strange and wondrous land of OZ. After freeing the hawk-hen Billina and accidentally killing the Gloomy Governess of the Northwest, he is sent to capital of OZ by the Good Witch of the North; in order seek the land’s ruler, an all-powerful wizard capable of returning him home, but to get to there he must follow the infamous Yellow Brick Road finding unexpected and un-welcome company along the way.


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Zuko In Oz

Ch1. The Witch Is Dead

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Sleep, the deepest kind of it, had claimed him. No one could bring him out of this slumber. Beyond the reach of consciousness, not even the spirit of dreaming could free the boy and take him to his castle of fantastical illusions and wonders. This impenetrable spell he was under would only break when he himself willed it and how could he when his mind was so deeply stuck in oblivion he might as well be mistaken for dead?

Still he slumbered, practically dead to the world.

What might be occurring as he slept so unaware and heedless of the world? Was he in a cabin or lying in a bedroll on the deck of a ship sailing to the city of hopes and dreams? Was he heading home? Or perhaps, as ludicrous as the idea is, he was flying in the air?

Strange as it is though he slept and never dreamt the boy was going somewhere somehow.

But, exactly where was that?

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Zuko, a lean and lithe youth of sixteen years lay on the ground unconscious. Slowly his eyelids fluttered open but immediately closed shut as morning sunlight blinded him. He covered his eyes with his right hand. Did uncle leave the window open again? He wondered. Zuko put his other hand on the ground to push himself up, when his palm touched and then his fingers grasped something damp and crunchy. What the…? Snapping his head up his eyes opened to see that he was now in a forest. Trees surrounded him, as tall as the eye could see their greenery, more fern like instead of leaves, all colored in vivid emerald.

Where am I? Zuko thought to himself. He sat up running his free hand through his messy black hair. He rose from the ground still clutching the damp and crunchy material in his hand. Zuko glanced down at what he was holding and saw that it was a dead plant with six brown leafs and shriveled roots. This is insane. How in the world did he get here and where was his uncle?

“Uncle?” he called out again. He turned around slowly, the only sound he heard was his own voice echoing through the forest. “Uncle Iroh!” No one answered, not even the sounds of forest animals could be heard. Zuko clutched the dead fern in his hand. His eyes scanned the morning sky as gray clouds swirled into view, spinning faster than normal, and blocked the late afternoon sun completely. Just then he thought he spotted a black dot zooming in the sky but it disappeared behind the clouds a moment later. Probably just a bird, his mind decided and tried brushing all thoughts of what he had seen away, but it wouldn’t leave him. It nawed at his gut, this wasn’t normal. He took another look at the forest around him. How did he get here? He tried recalling where he had last been before going to sleep…

“GAH!!”

A shriek of alarm and dismay rang through the forest. Zuko stood frozen for a second before racing to where the shriek had come from. As soon as he arrived he ducked behind a tree. He had only caught sight of what had occurred for a moment, but he knew it meant nothing good. A girl, no, a young woman, tall and thin covered in black from her neck down to her toes stood staring at a metal sphere trapping at her feet, its size large enough to hold a small child. Zuko waited, vigilant to the scene unfolding. He tightened his fist and realized he was still holding dead plant.

He heard a metallic clang and yelp. “Please,” a feeble voice begged, “let me out.” Zuko’s almost sank at those words. He knew what had released the shriek now, an old woman by the sounds of it. A terrifying thought occurred to him then, was the old woman locked in the trapping?

“Look at what I’ve caught today,” the young woman mocked, “a straggly old hen.”

“Gah!” the old woman shrilled. “Let me out and we’ll see if you dare to say straggly then.”

Zuko battled with himself. Should he leave or try to free the old woman? This wasn’t any of his business, as he knew nothing about what was going on. He was pulled from his thoughts at the snapping of a twig followed by the faint sound of approaching footsteps. The young woman was coming towards him. He swiftly circled the tree in time to avoid being seen by the black-clad woman. He continued circling the tree, knowing she was doing the same.

“We should stop playing this game,” said the young woman in a deadpan voice. “I’m not here to harm you, and you can’t be dumb enough to be doing this to amuse yourself.” They circled the tree several more times before Zuko quickened his steps and came up behind the black-clad woman. As soon as he was there, she froze. Slowly she craned her head around.

“Don’t move,” ordered Zuko. Zuko placed a flatten hand against at the base of her neck’s back intending to intimidate her. It was not in him to hurt a woman.

She didn’t listen to him, twisting her neck around to look at him. She had a pointed face and sharp yellow eyes. Her thin lips curled into a slight smirk. “Scary, aren’t we?” she mocked. “Hunter of the witch, or rescuer of the distressed?” Swiftly her whole body turned around. Zuko jumped back.

“I’m not here for anyone,” he stated.

“Then why come at all?” she said. Her hand shot forward, a dagger appearing in her hand. Zuko dodged the aim. His right hand, the one still holding the dead plant, grabbed her wrist in mid-air within the flash of an eye. He twisted her wrist; the dead plant became pressed against her flesh as Zuko gripped her. He watched as the young woman cringed at the pain and was rendered immobile. This gave him no satisfaction, but did not allow himself to feel any guilt at hurting her. The hard aggression he summoned when in conflict did not allow him to, yet he did not let the aggression grow to where he’d abuse an opponent. His uncle had tried teaching him to keep his emotions tightly roped lest their flood be his downfall.

The young woman withered under his grasp. “What is this?”

“A defense move my uncle taught me,” said Zuko.

“No,” she said. “The plant… it burns.”

No sooner had she finished the sentence than when a sizzling broke the out in the air and small wisps of smoke rose from the black-clad woman’s wrist. Zuko released her wrist as if it were a venomous snake. He stepped back until he bumped into the sphere trapping, the old woman inside let out a squawk. The young woman stared at her hand in horror. “Mandrake!” she screamed. To Zuko’s own fright, her hand had begun to turn gray. The skin started cracking but no blood spilt forth. The young woman screamed again and continued to as her face turned gray and cracked, resembling broken pieces of mud. Her eyes rolled back into her head, her screams ceased, and she collapsed to the ground.

“Let me out! Let me out!” shrieked the prisoner of the sphere trapping. Zuko looked at the woman before turning to separate the trapping’s metal flaps. When he spread the flaps apart wide enough a large red bird flapped out and landed on the ground beside him. It shook its wings and feathered head. The bird was the size of a rooster, and had the round belly of a chicken but the legs, wings, and head of a hawk. It had a long ribbon-like scarlet tale, a burnish-red belly, and a mane of red-gold feathers on its neck. The rest of it was a collection of different splashes of red. The hen-like hawk than craned its head to look at him with strangely bright and conscious eyes.

Zuko’s eyes snapped back to inside the sphere trapping, now empty. Where was the old woman…?

“Thanks for letting me out, lad. I’ve been cooped up for hours! And here I’d thought I’d end up in the witch’s pot for supper.”

Zuko’s eyes widened. It was… No it couldn’t be. Had the…? Was he dreaming? He HAD to be dreaming; there was no way, no flaming way under the sun that this hen-like hawk had just—

“The witch is dead!” shrieked the bird. Zuko whipped his head around to see young woman had turned completely gray, and her skin was withered and chinked like cracked dried mud. Her eyelids seemed as if they were fused shut for the eternal sleep. Suddenly the wind blew by and the woman’s body crumpled, and her skin was carried away by the wind like dust in the air.

Zuko stared in shock at the black clothes on the ground, covered in the ashes of the woman’s body. That wasn’t possible. What he had just witnessed. He had never heard of anyone ever speaking to him of seeing such a sight, nothing that was even remotely similar! One moment she was alive and whole, flesh and blood. The next… dust, ashes… dead…The thought made him feel as if ice was sliding into his stomach, the sinking knowledge, bitter and awful. Suddenly he felt revolted; revolted at himself as though Zuko knew the blame lay with him for the young woman’s death. But that was impossible. All he had done was gripped her wrist. He hadn’t struck her in any fatal way. And if he had how was that enough to turn a person from flesh and blood to dust and ashes.

He walked over to her remains and knelt down to the ground. He looked at the woman’s ashes sadly. He heard the soft approach of the bird behind him. Zuko glanced at it to see staring at the woman’s ashes too, a curious gleam in its eyes. He turned back to the ashes. “Never seen a witch more dead than that.” It sounded as if the hawk-like hen had spoken again, and Zuko was getting sick of it. He sprung up. “Whoever you are!” he shouted at the top of his lungs in a fury. “Come out now! What’s there to be afraid of? She’s dead.”

“Gah!” screeched the voice. “I’m right here!” Zuko turned behind him, his eyes darting this way and that trying to find the speaker. “Do I have to tell you to look down too? Really!”

When he looked down he saw the hen. Zuko groaned angrily. “Quit with the stupid hen, this joke is sick enough!”

Suddenly a burst of red appeared in front of him. Tiny claws scratches at his face and wings beat the sides of his head. “Don’t call me stupid!” the screeching filled his ears. “If anyone’s stupid it’s you! Gah!”

Zuko batted the thing away. He stared at it in shock. “You can talk!”

“Of course I can!” exclaimed the red hen. “What did you think I was, mute?”

“Animals don’t talk,” he stated, more to himself than anyone else.

The hen shook her head. “What in the world is wrong with your lot these days? You deny what your eyes tell you.”

Zuko turned away from the bird. This is insane, he thought. Is she a spirit? He knew little to nothing about the spirits and their crafts, only the bits and tales his uncle told him, but yet also warned the stories were very likely untrue. “A man’s mind can conjure illusions and sights more dangerous than any spirit, nephew”. Was such the crisis now; A play of the mind’s superstitions and fancies. Zuko’s eyes wandered to the dead woman’s ashes. Was, what had the hen called her? The witch? Was the witch’s death a trick of the mind too?

Zuko reached down and touched the ashes. He grasped a handful, and the ashes fell from his grip. I saw her… I saw her die, he silently lamented. “Its bad luck to touch a witch’s remains,” said the hen. Zuko turned his head to look at the bird; he felt both disgusted by its words of apathy and still bewilderment at its existence. An animal that could talk, or a spirit of some kind, or even…

I’m not mad, he told himself firmly. I can’t be. A part of him wished his uncle were there for he knew more about the nature of spirits than anyone else he knew.

“You look like your cat died,” piped the hen.

Zuko released the last of the ashes. He rose slowly, and ignoring the strange bird, talking hen, spirit, whatever it was, and walked away.

“You’re going the wrong way,” offered the bird from behind him.

Zuko halted; he slowly turned to the hen with a glare plastered to his face. “Just leave me alone, spirit,” he said.

The hen’s chest puffed with feathers in indignation. “I’m no spirit, you nitwit! I’m as mortal as you are.”

Zuko’s impatience rose and reached its peak swiftly. “Look!” he said in raised voice. “This whole place doesn’t make any sense. Women turn to dust, talking animals, and I’ve never seen such trees in my life.” His hand shot for a second to gesture at the scenery around him. “I don’t know what this place is, but I need to find my uncle and get out of here!”

The hen cocked her head to the side. “So you need help? Why didn’t you say so?” Zuko put his hand over his face in frustration. Al right, I now know I’ve gone crazy. All those years of gossipers whispered behind his back… This is all insane, he’s insane… Words, a bit of a conversation he was never meant to hear. It seemed so long ago that someone had uttered those words. He couldn’t even recall the person who’d spoken them. The memory seemed more a far-off dream than an actual memory. Was he really loosing his mind…?

“Gah, quit acting like you’re going crazy. Of course maybe you are if you think animals can’t talk,” said the hen. Zuko shook his head and took a step to resume his leave. “That’s still the wrong way.”

Zuko snapped. He wheeled around. “Than what would you have me do?” he demanded hotly.

The hen hadn’t flinched at his temper, but rather regarded him calmly. “Well, you can’t go into the woods alone. Tiger-wolves, saber-tooth-moose-lions, and you really need to watch out for those stunk-bears!” The hen shook her neck, ruffling her feathers. “And they talk too, but that doesn’t mean they can be reasoned with. The best bet to find your uncle is to find people first.”

“And where’s that?” asked Zuko. Slowly he had begun to calm himself.

“The nearest people are the Munchkins,” said the hen. “We’ll need to start now to reach ’em before nightfall.”

“Like I’m staying in these woods at night!” yelled the hen exuberantly. “Do you know what they do to hens like me? I’m fine dining!”

“All right, all right,” said Zuko, trying to quiet the thing. “But if the woods are dangerous, my uncle’s out there.”

“Gah!” said the bird. “If he’s smart he’d of found the Munchkins by now. Listen, you saved my life and killed the witch, but I’m sticking around if you’re planning on staying here when the killers wake up. Follow me or YOU can be the fine dining tonight.”

With that the bird began to walk away. She soon disappeared behind the trees and the only sign she was still around were the sounds of her tiny feet scrapping against the forest floor as she went on. The sounds were growing fainter and fainter. Zuko stood still, frozen by indecision. His heart commanded him to find his lost uncle. It was a powerful urge, but another part of him, his gut, told him to follow the hen. The heart was the strongest, but his gut was too stubborn to relent. He didn’t know what to do. “When all else fails you, nephew”, he remembered his uncle telling him once, listen to your gut! It never failed me. Uncle Iroh always laughed after telling him that.

Making his decision, Zuko followed the hen. I’ll come back for you, uncle, he silently promised.

And it was promise that would take him far across the land of OZ and beyond.


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Like the original Wizard film, people Zuko knows from his world will take some shape or form in Oz. Just a clue, Zuko pictured Mai as the witch he just killed.

[zukoxme]

AWESOME!!

Even though I never saw the Wizard of Oz before..

[Zink]

LOL, I vote 'Wicked.' Me no like the Wonderful Wizard of Oz- can you make him Ozai? It would certainly fit.

Nice job, though.

[›Adaira]

lol. Zuko..in the land of OZ ^^

[zukoxme]

More like Zuko in the Wonderful Land of Ozai! xD

[Ilise]

Aaahhh... Wow, that was strange! So was the young woman the witch? Why did she die when Zuko touched her? Was the witch someone else who died earlier and the hen wanted to proclaim it?!
Aah! Please continue!

[freakishone]

Note: To all those who said The Wonderful Land of Zuko, that Avatar's real world. XD

Zuko In Oz

Ch2. The Beast’s Bite

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Dusk had faded from the sky awhile, and the sun had long ago set. The full moon hung in the sky, brighter and closer to the world than Zuko had ever seen. If he were to reach for the moon, his fingers spread as wide as they could go; the moon’s saucer shape would still be larger than his outstretched hand. This unsettled him a great deal. The moon had never been an omen revered nor admired by his family, except maybe by Uncle Iroh, but that old man had a respect for things, and it seemed a respect for its eminence alone, let alone what it meant. Even though the moon was what provided light to the dark forest and kept him from being swallowed by its blackness, the shining sphere looming in the heavens unnerved the youth with its eerie white wholeness. It was like a ghost, following him, watching him, haunting him.

He stopped for a moment and looked high into the treetops, his eyes scanning for his feathered companion. The hen had taken off some time ago to locate the village, and Zuko had told her to look for any humans, the possibility being of finding his uncle. The hawk-hen had shaken her head but agreed to keep an open eye. Zuko would continue northward as she scouted from the skies for the Munchkin village. She said traveling north was the best direction to head in and even though they were separated she’d still find him since he was “making enough noise to wake a hibernating skunk-bear.” Zuko had wanted to kick the hen the insult, but restrained himself. He was still wary of the thing; Zuko didn’t know what to make of her, or anything else he had encountered since waking. The hen told him the forest was known as the Witchwoods, christened after the “witch” he had “killed.”

Zuko didn’t allow himself to think of the young woman, and continued to do so. He had to concentrate on getting out of these woods, and finding his uncle. Thoughts of her and other things would hinder him. His survival, perhaps even his uncle’s, depended on it. No mortal could take care of themselves with a clouded mind and a heavy heart. The mere thought of her death, had left his heart heavy with both guilt and revulsion at himself as if he were truly responsible for her death. Stop it, Zuko ordered himself. This isn’t getting you anywhere. Zuko resumed his trekking. Trigs snapped and leaves crunched under the stomping of his boots. Earlier in the evening Zuko had tried traveling at a slower and quieter pace, knowing noise could alert or attract animals to him. Yet the attempt was in vein. He still made noise and nothing had ever come. As he wandered the silent woods, alone and lost, his patience begun to run dry. How long before that hen returned? He should have reached this village of the “Munchkin” by now. He had to find his way out of these woods, or else he’d go mad if he were not already. Such a thought Zuko was not fond of. He had little faith in the hen, he half-expected she was gone for good. She was an animal, no matter how much she talked. Animals were beasts that looked after themselves, they couldn’t be counted on like a person, and if she wasn’t an animal well… She didn’t strike him as being a spirit, but how was he to know that never having met one? Iroh would know, but he was not here. Zuko had no idea how long it would be before uncle and nephew were united.

He searched the heavens for stars and constellations he would recognize to guide him, yet like the moon the skies were unfamiliar and shaped differently. Zuko refused to let himself lapse into the bleakness of being lost, he needed to keep a clear and focused mind. He kept trekking forward, determined to find any path leading out of the dark forest.

A wind blew by, high and violent, rattling the trees’ peaks. Zuko heard the flapping on the wind; a rhythm he knew did not belong to the forest. Indecisive for only a moment, he followed it, straying from his original path. He pushed aside low branches and beat back bushes and the tall plants in his way. Soon enough he knew he had heard the place of the flapping came from. He turned around in a full circle, but saw nothing suspicious in the moonlight at first until he spotted something, and it bewildered. What under the sun? he thought as he approached it. For a moment, Zuko thought it looked like a ridiculously oversized woven basket, large enough to carry several men. It was turned on its side, the basket’s mouth faced him; ropes were tied to it and rose into the trees. He tilted his head up to see a red sheet, large enough to wrap around two komodo-rhinos, caught in the branches above him. A corner of the sheet flapped in the wind. This was the source of the rhythm he’d heard. Enough moonlight shone on the sheet allowing him to see the edges had been ripped and worn by the weather. Zuko tore his eyes from the red sheet and approached the basket. He grasped its rim, and noticed an iron stove had fallen from the basket. His mind wheeled. What was this land that filled him with nothing but confusion?

The sight of the iron stove made him think of food, Zuko’s stomach gave a ravenous roar that sounded more akin to a beast’s. He clutched his stomach as hunger swept over him. He had been hungry and exhausted for hours now, but Zuko had kept putting it off until he reached some place. What place? his mind growled. How long have you been out here? Shouldn’t you have reached the village of the MUNCHKIN by now? He sank to the ground, leaning against the basket. His eyes wandered up to the stars again. What was the point of it all, he wondered. Zuko had been here in these woods for hours, and the only living creatures he’d found had been the witch and the talking hen, and one was dead. He half questioned if he should kill the bird and fry it if it ever returned to him. But he knew he couldn’t do it, the thing could talk and communicate with him like it was a human being even if she wasn’t. It just felt… wrong.

“There you are!” suddenly shrieked a voice in his right ear.

Zuko jerked his head to see the hen perched on the basket’s rim. “Where did you--?”

“Gah,” she said, “Don’t be so stupid.” Zuko lost the last of his patience then. He swung a fist at the thing. She let out an indignant cry and flew off the rim onto the ground. The hen ruffled her mane of feathers and gave him as much of a glare a hen could in the moonlight. “What bright idea was that?”

Zuko swat his face. “Did you find anything?” he seethed, trying to mute his frustration.

“First take a swing at me than ask if I’ve found the village? I’ll never understand you humans! One moment it’s this, the next it’s that!” It took a great deal of self-control to keep from doing something to the bird. He was starving, exhausted, lost, and its harping was not helping! He didn’t know whether he could dreaming, in the spirit world, or (his worst fear) that he was going mad. And the hen! Never had he been forced to put up with a creature so irritating, and he’d had to suffer Uncle Iroh’s music nightsand fireside songs

“Did you find anything? Any sign of my uncle?” he said, trying to speak in a calmer voice.

There was a long spell of silence before the hen spoke. “I haven’t found any humans, but I’ve found Munchkins. To get to them you’ll have to turn around though and make a circle from where we are now.”

“What?” yelled Zuko. He jumped to his feet, the hen reacted by flying back several steps. “What do you mean we have to go back? Do you know how long I’ve been walking? Hours!”

“Gah!” shrieked the hen. “You think your feet hurt? My wings ache!” He turned away from the hen. He realized how ridiculous and pointless this all seemed. Good grief, he was arguing with a chicken. What would be chucked at him next?

“If you’re going to be like this, I’m gone,” the hen told him. She spread her wings and flew upwards, disappearing behind the treetops. Good riddance, thought Zuko. That creature had been no help to him whatsoever. But what had she said? Make a circle from where we are now. From the sounds of it the village was straight ahead of him or in that general direction. Zuko dearly hoped Uncle Iroh had found his way to the village.

When he continued his course, Zuko kept track of time by watching the moon’s path. The silver sphere’s travels seemed to be faster than normal. This disturbed him. But when he heard the crutching of undergrowth from the dark woods around him, the moon became the least of his worries. Zuko tensed, his hearing strained for the tiniest of noises, and his eyes scanned the blackness for the slightest flicker of movement. Yet the forest had seemed to still, as quiet as it had been moments before. He didn’t know how long he wanted for something, anything, but nothing came. Thinking he had imagined the noise or the hen had returned to follow him, Zuko dismissed the sense of danger and resumed his path. Soon the forest abruptly halted around him, he emerged into a moonlight-illumined clearing where scenery a pack of five beasts was waiting for him. Resembling wolves, these beasts’ bodies were sleek and low to the ground, seemingly ready to lunch at him at any moment and rip him limb from limb. They were huge in size; it would take two common vegetable carts stacked atop the other just to reach the beasts’ shoulders. Thick coats covered their hides, the color of tree bark and upturned earth. Their noises were oddly shaped, looking more like blossomed flowers than a normal wolf’s sharp snot. The pack barred their sharp fangs at him, but Zuko could not see their eyes at all. Furred concealed the beasts’ eyes so much it was as if they had no eyes at all… Shirshu…it dawned on him. He recognized these beasts. These were sightless creatures, from what he knew they saw the whole world by smell alone, and the tongue of the shirshu was a dangerous oddity as well. Long and thin like a serpent; the tongue was able to spread a paralyzing poison upon whatever living creature it touched, but the fear in Zuko was so strong he did not need to be touched by the shirshu’s tongue to become paralyzed.

The beast in the center of the pack approached him. It was so close Zuko could see the twitch of its noise. He struggled not to let the monster frighten him. He took a step back, his heel digging into the soft earth and grass. He was prepared to sprint back into the forest when the shirshu commanded; “Don’t move.” Zuko automatically stilled. The beast lowered its head and came closer to Zuko. Its nose twitched violently as it continued to sniff the air. Zuko dared not move. The creature knew by now where he stood, and an attempt at flight promised a ruthless death.

The shirshu ceased its sniffing. It grunted, and the beast’s fang barred teeth relaxed. “So you’re the human,” it said. Zuko did it respond to it, thinking it would be better to remain silent and still. This angered the shirshu. It gave a fierce growl and snapped at him. Without much thought he wheeled around and was about to flee into the forest but another shirshu blocked his way. “Mute?” said the first beast behind Zuko, its voice deep and rumbling. “Scared speechless, pitiful creature.”

“Sire,” said the shirshu in front of Zuko, “we will get no where with this.”

The first beast grunted. “This is the human who came to our forest; this was the human that killed the witch. I smell her ashes on him.” The creature sniffed sharply. Zuko forced himself to remain strong though he had never felt more vulnerable in his life. Was this how the field mouse felt when the hawk soared down from the sky to catch it? Helpless to escape or fight, Zuko was suddenly painfully aware of how mortal he was then. If this pack of beasts decided to... He wouldn’t die, he couldn’t, but how was he going to get out of this?

“Why did you come to our forest? It’s been years since a single human stepped into our woods,” said the first beast, the ‘Sire.’

Slowly Zuko turned around to face it. He was to answer the beast? “I…” he struggled to speak, his heart hammered in his chest, “I don’t know.”

The shirshu growled. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I just woke up here,” stated Zuko in what he hoped was a firm enough voice. “I don’t know how…” Why did it feel like he was senselessly babbling? This wasn’t the time for that; he had to gain control of him. “I just woke up here, I have no idea I got here. I was alone when I awakened.” Alone without his uncle, yet he was somewhere out there in those woods somewhere. What if the beasts had found his uncle before he had? The thought for a moment worried him more than the shirshu close to him.

The Sire snorted. “Of course you were alone. You are the sole human here, the first to enter in years.

“What?” he exclaimed.

The Sire snarled, it launched at Zuko, he was knocked to the ground, the wind slammed out of him. The beast pinned him down with a single paw. “Are you saying we don’t know our own territory? We know these woods than any, including the Witch! It was ours before hers!” Its claws dug into his flesh, drawing blood. Zuko grimaced in pain. He felt the shirshu’s hot breath on his face as it lowered its snot. “The Witchwood ours, we know what enters and lurks.” Zuko struggled under the beast’s paw. The Sire growled, and pressed further down on his chest. The pressure was becoming too much. It felt as if at any moment the shirshu’s strength would crush him.

“Sire!” another beast rushed. “Intruders are approaching!”

The Sire hissed in Zuko’s ear. “The forest was ours, but also came to be the Witch’s in time.”

Zuko’s mind swirled, what was this beast trying to day? “She stole it?”

“No,” answered the Sire, “she protected our forest from the likes of man, and you killed her.” The beast spread its jaws and tore into Zuko’s left shoulder. Flesh and muscle ripped like cloth, veins snapped like thread, blood poured like water, and agony flashed like white lightning. Poison, he thought. How strange the mind remembered such things through the searing, ungodly pain. Nevertheless the shirshu poison spread through him, and rendered him unconscious.

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Zuko’s mind sluggishly stirred to consciousness. He was vaguely aware of his left shoulder throbbing. He tried twitching his fingers but all that happened was a quick reflex. For a moment he attempted to make sense of it before letting it go. The throbbing increased, becoming close to painful. Zuko grimaced violently.

“He’s waking,” a man’s voice said. He felt a hard prick at his left side then. Zuko opened his eyes to see a dwarf standing over him. I’m dreaming, he thought. The dwarf’s height could be no taller than Zuko’s waistline. His face was darkly featured, his black hair. He wore glass licenses held together by a thin black band, a device unknown to Zuko. The dwarf wore a strange, black garment draped over his shoulders and underneath a black shirt with a narrow cut revealing a white undershirt. The garments and the device over the dwarf’s eyes were foreign to him. Suddenly awake and alarmed, he forced himself to rise. Blazing pain shot through his shoulder and he yelled in agony. The dark dwarf pressed his hands on his chest and pushed him down. He felt other hands on his bare chest pushing him down also. Where were they coming from? His eyes shot around him rapidly, desperate to find out what was going on. His body then violently revolted, and his mind ached, forcing him to settle down. Zuko panted, and slowly turned his eyes to the face he had awakened to.

“Who are you?” he croaked.

“I’m the doctor that tended to you once we found you in the woods. You had been attacked by the shirsu. Their sire had bitten your shoulder. Do you remember?” Zuko screw his eyes shut. He fought to recall what had happened, he had to. Slowly the memories surfaced. He had awakened to a bizarre place, nothing familiar to him. The woods, the skies, even the whether had perturbed him. Animals were capable of speech here, and their behaviors were as unpredictable as a person’s. The hawk-hen had tried guiding him to the Munchkin village because Zuko had freed her and supposedly saved her from a “witch.” After they wandered together for hours, she in the air and him on the ground, Zuko had found wreckage of something he could not make sense of. A basket large enough to support human weight tipped over with an oven fallen out of it. Ropes were tied to the basket leading to an enormous, torn blanket caught in the tree tops. Then the bird had wanted to change their course and she’d given him no good reason. Zuko had gotten frustrated with her and she’d flown away.And the shirshu, those accursed beasts, what had they wanted from him? They’d cornered him like a young buck ready to be feasted on, and he had feared that was their intent. But they interrogated him as to why he was in their forest, and when they weren’t pleased with his answer that he did not know they had savagely attacked him. Now he couldn’t feel his arm, what damage had those beasts done?

A young woman’s face flashed before his mind’s eyes, that face, the expression of fear, the very image of terror when death is promised in moments. The woman’s body, young and strong, crumpled to dust right before his eyes right when he touched her. It wasn’t my fault, he thought. The shirshu, he remembered now, mentioned the woman as the witch he had killed. No, he hadn’t killed her. How could he have? Zuko had only touched her, gripped her wrist, that wasn’t enough to kill a person. The move he had done was meant to disable, not to kill,the fear and horror in her eyes before she died, eyes upon him. It wasn’t my fault, he said to himself again. Yet still, thinking of those eyes sent a streak of deep running guilt through him. It made Zuko even sicker. I didn’t kill anyone. He realized then the shirshu had come to him because of the woman, their witch. Out of revenge the beasts had tried to kill him. The thoughts plagued him like demons. “I didn’t…” he muttered aloud.

“Didn’t what?”

Zuko opened his eyes to see the dwarf looming over him. “Get out,” he demanded weakly. The dwarf didn’t leave him, and almost seemed to disregard his words. “Get out!” he yelled at the top of his lungs, scratching his throat. A wave of fatigue slammed into him, and whatever strength he had regained deserted him. He could only look into the dwarf’s eyes. Those eyes weighed him.

“Let us leave our guest,” said the dwarf, “he needs to calm.” There was a scurry of feet around him. Zuko titled his head up to see the black dwarf and five other dwarves leave through a barn’s door. One dwarf, a young yellow-haired female, turned back to stare at him, her eyes wide. A burly dwarf grabbed her shoulder and herded her outside, the doors closed behind them. Zuko was finally alone. Slowly he sat upright, but the effort left his head throbbing. He took in his surroundings to find he was indeed in a barn, albeit the smallest barn he had ever seen. The roof did not seem much higher than Zuko’s own height, and it only housed half a dozen stalls. The stalls were just large enough to pin either a goat or a dog, were the dwarves’ livestock as small as them? By the looks of it yes. It was just his luck he to be rescued by a bunch of waist-sized freaks.

Zuko turned his attention to his left shoulder to find a blanket draped over him. He brushed the blanket off. His shoulder was tightly wrapped in white bandages smeared in brown, tried blood. Zuko tried wriggling his fingers but only twitched slightly. His yellow eyes narrowed and mouth frowned deeply. His right hand grasped his left wrist, gripping as tightly as he could yet he felt no pain at all, hardly felt anything. What has those dwarves done to him? He was half-tempted to take his bandages off to see how injured he was. For a moment he tried tearing and biting at the bandages but the materiel was too tough to get through easily and he didn’t have the energy to keep uselessly persisting. He flopped back down to find his bedding was soft hay that smelled sweet and fresh. The dwarves were probably trying to take care of him, but to put him in a barn instead of a clinic, the dimwitted simpletons. Zuko remembered the agony the shirshu has put him through last night. When he recovered he’d hunt the beasts down. Pain flashed through his left shoulder. Zuko gritted his teeth. What had he done to deserve this? He wasn’t their prey; he hadn’t killed their witch. Besides, she had come at him first; he had a right to defend himself. But no one knew that other than him, and could the beasts believe him? Would any stranger?

His thoughts wandered to his Uncle Iroh, and the shirshu Sire’s words. Was it true, that Zuko had been the first and only human in the woods that night? No, that couldn’t be so. The dwarves while small and strange they were still human, and they must have gone into the forest to rescue him, spirits only know why. Perhaps the shirshu did not see the dwarves as human. Still, the utter conviction as it spoke that Zuko was aloneIt was either he could believe the beast was lying or mistaken, or it was telling the truth and Iroh was gone from him. What was he to believe, though? This place was getting stranger and stranger, and now he might be without his uncle? It was not surprise him, but it was a thought he did not cherish.

Hours seemed to pass. Zuko watched as golden beams of sunlight filtered through the cracks in the barn’s frame, glistening off the walls and himself. Without these beams of light his only company was the faint darkness and shadows in the barn. He took comfort in the sun’s rays, drinking in its warmth like sweet tea or cool, fresh water. When he was just a boy Iroh had told his nephew the sun was a great fire, the greatest to ever exist. As a child, he would sometimes play with the sun’s fire as if it were his own. Zuko tried remembering where he and his uncle had last been, if it might shed a clue on his current state. His memory was blurry, though, yet he could recall the times of uncle and nephew wandering through woods and forest. But still what had happened, what wrong turn was taken, to bring him here? The image of the basket and tattered red blanket sprung to mind. Did it have something to do with him other than he simply stumbled upon it?

The darn door opened then, and in came the yellow-haired dwarf. She had a pink, squashed face and wore a bright yellow dress. She held a tray piled with breed, a cup, and a bowl. She smiled at him timidly before coming over to his side. She laid the tray next to him. In the bowl was vegetable soap, and in the cup a type of red broth. The sight of food made his stomach grumbled. For the moment he ignored it. Zuko glanced at the young dwarf. The yellow coloring of her hair appeared natural, but that had to be impossible, no one had yellow hair unless it was dyed. He sat up, not feeling at ease lying down anymore. His body ached from the cramps of having to stay still for so long. His head felt faint as he rose. As his stomach gave another ravenous growl, his right hand clutched his belly, he had not been this hungry in ages.

“My mother made the soap not long ago, but it’s still warm,” said the yellow-haired dwarf without looking at him. “The bread is sweet, and the Scarlet Elixir will help you sleep.”

“Help me sleep?” Zuko eyed her sharply. She still did not look him in the eye as she spoke.

“Doctor Feyer gave you a shot that numbed your pain and another to help you sleep. He said that would be best for your body—”

“You expect me to trust the old quack?” he snapped. “I don’t even know where I am.”

The dwarf’s head jerked up, her squashed face pale and frightened. “We’re the Munchkin, our trade is sugar…”

“Munchkin?” he roared.

The young dwarf rose hastily. She spread the skirt of her dress, looking down at the ground, trembling. “Good day to you, sir,” before racing out outside and slamming the doors shut behind her.

The dwarves were the Munchkin he’d been following that damned hen to? He wished he hadn’t rescued the hen, never heard an animal talk, and above all else he wished he had never been as stupid to listen to his own gut about following the dang thing. Yes, it was just his luck all of this was happening to him. Burn me, he thought bitterly. He finally ate the bread and slurped down the soap down, but left the red broth alone. Hours went by and it was nearing twilight when his shoulder began to throb in pain. Zuko grimaced as the agony intensified. It became too much. He felt like fires scorched his muscles, the length of his arm suffered as if a snake of crackling lightning was coiled itself around his limb. His shoulder throbbed, itched, ached, burned with pain. Zuko started ripping and tearing at the bandages with his teethBy the time night had arrived enough bandages had been ripped off he was bleeding again. Zuko grasped his shoulder, his hand smeared in his own blood. He cursed himself for his own stupidity. The agony was worse than before. He wished his uncle were by his side, it all felt so hopeless. Spirits, why did misfortune continue to plague him?

[freakishone]

(Note: Still second chapter, super long chapter.)

The barn door opened then. Zuko turned wild eyes to see the doctor entering, holding a lantern above his head and a black bag in the other.“Easy,” said theblack dwarf. He put down the lantern and opened his black bag, pulling out a bizarre device, what looked like a circular veil with a long, cruel looking needle bursting from the top. In the veil was a red substance.

“What is—” Zuko was cut off before he could finish.

“Shirshu venom, nothing is more agonizing and dangerous. This is all we can do to help, lad,” said the dwarf. He brought the device close to Zuko’s shoulder, the needle not even an inch from pricking his skin. The youth jerked back. He glared at the doctor menacingly, a beast sending a murderous warning. The dwarf sighed. “Listen to me, if you continue to persist in this manner you will not recover to full health! The trauma you are causing your shoulder sickens me. Do you want to loose your limb? If you do not let your body rest and be calm, the strain it could take on you… you might wind up a cripple!”

“Dr. Feyer?” a voice called from outside the barn. The voice was as soothing as balm, and calm as a summer night. Zuko turned his eyes to her, a young woman in white. She drew closer to them, her steps fluid and graceful. Her face was stoic but Zuko saw a deep sadness in her eyes. “Is this the Outsider you told me about?”

Outsider? Zuko thought. “Yes, madam.” Zuko switched his gaze to the dwarf; his eyes were lowered to the ground, his body still. He had quieted as soon as she had entered, behaving as a peasant did around a traveling sage. The youth felt a hand gently touch his shoulder. He whipped his head to see newcomer knelt beside him. She was astonishingly beautiful, Zuko found, but just as strange as well. Her hair was the same pure whiteness of the moon, tied in a horse-tail draping down her back. The firelight from the lantern flickered across her skin, a queer mix of fair and tan. Her eyes were cerulean, blue and clear and sad. The white dress she wore had flowed around her legs as elusive as a ghost when she in, from the waist up the dress’s top clung to her like skin. Not once had he ever met a woman of such strangeness and stateliness.

“Move your hand, I need to see your shoulder,” she said to him. He instinctively tensed at her words, but the sound of her voice made him want to think there was no need for alarm. Zuko thought of the woman from yesterday, the witch. She had been pale, black-haired, and clad in darkness while the woman before him now was a darker color of skin, her hair white, and wearing a white dress. Including demeanor they opposed each other as yin and yang did. The witch had been malicious and took pleasure in the cruelty she displayed towards the hawk-hen, but the stranger seemed softer and gentle. He thought of what the connection between them was, if such a thing existed.

“Are you a healer?” he asked, still grasping at his shoulder.

“My magic is capable of healing, so in a way yes,” she said. Zuko was both surprised and in disbelief at her statement. Magic, was she being honest or was she a moon-loon? To him magic had always been a superstition; a concept the weak-minded believed in to help them understand the miracles and events of their lives beyond the ordinary. As if to answer his questioning mind, the white woman’s fingertips began to glow. He stared in amazement at her hand. “You have never seen magic?” He met her eyes, his silence the only answer he could give in his shock. “Move your hand,” she told him again. Her fingers ceased glowing to take hold of the bloody hand on his shoulder. She set it down in his lap. Snapping out of his shock, he watched her as she examined him with gentle care, but this lamb-like nursing of him did not ease Zuko. She brought both her hands to his shoulder and undid the bandages carefully. When she unwrapped him her face fell, and even his stomach curled in horror. The flesh was black, blue and swollen, long gashes ran from the top of his breast over his shoulder to his back. So many scarlet cuts and ripped slices of skin, beast should have bitten his arm off. But what disturbed him the most about the bite was his shredded skin had been sworn back together, like a mended torn shirt. The sight caused him to convulse, and for a moment he knew the sheer depth of each inflicted gash.

The white woman gently touched his shoulder, her fingertips running across his torn shoulder like droplets of rainwater. A shiver ran through him as felt a burst of energy in his shoulder. His eyes widened in panic as he realized that the white woman’s glow, her magic, had begun to seep into him. He jerked his shoulder away from her, and his body gave a spasm of great pain.

She remained near him, looming over him, her face an image of somber beauty. “If you continue struggling, you will not only lose your arm in time but catch a fever and die from it. Is this what you want?”

The agony crippled his strength. Sun in the sky, he wanted this excruciating pain to end, but to trust these strangers and their queer ways? Not once in his life had he ever witnessed their methods of care and healing. A violet shot jolted through his shoulder, “Do it!” he cried. He felt the woman’s hand take a firm but gentle grip on his shoulders. He shivered as the warmth of her magic seeped into her skin. His stomach turned when it felt the cords of his muscle, veins, and pieces of his skin were being stitched together and mended. If anything was as difficult to endure as pain this was it, the ordeal he was experiencing now. This was not pain yet not so far a cry from it, a harsh discomfort. Zuko grimaced from the suffering. It was unbearable; almost enough to make him wish back for the agony had he felt moments ago.

Her hand left his shoulder. “Your shoulder is healed now, but I could do nothing for the scarring.” Drained of his strength, Zuko’s head rolled so he could look at his shoulder. He felt his pit drop when he saw the silver, dumpy scars, prominent veins, and stitched lumps of skin. For a moment he thought of himself as a ragdoll. “Magic comes at with a price,” explained the woman. A price, disfigurement was what he must pay? Zuko screwed his eyes shut. He thought of the few times he had looked into a mirror during the last two years, the terrible burn scar stretching from his left eye to his ear, a mark that would haunt him for the rest of his life. This disfigurement, he knew how to live with.

Before his mind’s eye the witch appeared, crumbling to dust. “Leave me,” he muttered aloud. He didn’t want to deal with her, yet he continued to think of her. He wondered why. You know why, a voice in his head criticized.

“Let him rest, Dr. Feyer,” Zuko heard the white woman say as he felt her leave his side. They were leaving him; the white woman and dwarf must think him asleep. He listened to the sounds of their retreating footsteps before he lifted his head up and cried out, “wait!”

The white woman halted. She turned around to face him, the lantern held to the level of her eye. “Where am I?” he asked.

“You’re in OZ,” replied the white woman. Then she and the Munchkin left the barn, shutting the doors behind them.

OZ was neither a place nor a word Zuko had ever heard of.

-----------------------

When Zuko awoke to the booming of the barn doors being swung open. He jerked upright, to see a burly, middle-aged dwarf stride in with the young, yellow-haired female from yesterday, and the white woman not far behind them. Like the last encounter the young female had brought a tray of food with her, her eyes still refusing to meet his. The burly dwarf strode up to him, glaring at the youth and giving off a hostile air. Zuko was reminded of a small lady’s lapdog that barked and acted fierce, using ferociousness to disguise its cowardice. He scowled at the dwarf. “There is no need to be this way,” said the white woman calmly, like a mother separating her two entangled brats. “Hans, why not you and your daughter return home? You shouldn’t waste yourself on me this early in the morning.”

The dwarf “Hans” looked to the white woman, a glint of admiration in his eyes. “If you will it, lady,” he answered her, his speech roughly accented, “but if you find yourself needing us just call and we’ll come.”

Her lips turned up, but Zuko would hardly call it a smile. “I thank you,” she said courteously, but no warmth in her voice. She practiced politeness, but there was no kindness. The burly dwarf waited for his daughter to set down the tray of food before they left together, closing the barn doors behind them.

“What do you want?” Zuko asked straight out. The white brought pile of folded clothes before his face, he glanced at it than her.

“Clothes,” she answered, “your old shirt was ripped from you so Dr. Feyer could tend to the shirshu’s bite.” He snatched the clothes from her. He unfolded the pile, a shirt, pair of pants, and a tunic. The shirt was a patchwork of a blue front and left sleeve, dark green back, and a brown collar and left sleeve. The pants were a made of a rough-spun material dyed in deep red. And the tunic looked as it had belonged to a wanderer three lifetimes ago.

“I’m not wearing this,” he declared.

“The Munchkins could find nothing else for you to wear,” said the white woman. “So unless you want your blood stained rags back or to stride around naked—”

“Fine, fine,” spat Zuko, hushing her. Bare-chested, his only clothing was the worn pants filthy with sweat and dirt. He held the shirt out in his hands, ready to put it on but hesitant because of the white woman staring at him placidly. He stared at her and remained frozen until she gave the ghost of a smile and turned her back to him. So that was how she responded to him getting dressed. Would she still be watching if he hadn’t expressed his unease? Ludicrous lady, a woman of her state should display more decency than the amount she was showing right then.

Before dressing himself though, he looked at his left shoulder. He had wished the sight he beheld last night had only been a nightmare, but as usual luck was not on his side; the sworn flesh, rough scarring, and the purple and blue veins streaking across his shoulder like more threads. He thought he could handle the disfigurement from such a severe injury. Soldiers were known to lose limbs yet he was lucky enough to still have his. But… this was a kind of maiming he had never seen before. Forever he would be questioned of his fitness for fighting and battle, the honor his country lived for. And if he ever returned home and a single person learned it was magic that had healed him, what would theythink then?

Pushing the thoughts of his shoulder aside, Zuko pulled the shirt over his head, to find the right sleeve only reached his elbow and the left sleeve fell to the base of his thumb. Zuko snorted in frustration. The Munchkin couldn’t seem to do a dang thing right. Their healing practices were questionable, and they couldn’t even seem to fashion a shirt for a normal man’s size. As he took off his pants and hosted on the Munchkin’s pair, the rough-spun material scrapped against his thighs. “dang it,” he swore heatedly, his anger reaching the boiling point.

“What is it?” asked the white woman without facing him. Zuko whipped his head in her direction, his anger dying a bit. He clutched the edges of his pants, all too aware of her now. He had seen women more revealed than her before, but her bare, slim shoulders, and the gown that clung to her body illumining her curves and dips, and in his own state of hardly bring dressed it was difficult to suppress the tension rising in his body. He found himself staring at her back. She still wore her hair as she did the night before, but instead of falling in a single tail her hair split two ways. He hastily finished hosting up his pants.

“Nothing,” he said.

She spun around to face him as he finished putting on the tunic. It draped down just past his calves, and to his judgment was the only clothing the Munchkins had done right by him. The white woman seemed to glide to him Zuko regarded her warily. “How is your arm?” she asked, her voice sounding more like a lamentation than anything else.

“I’ll live,” he stated gruffly.

The white woman folded her hands together and brought them just below her breasts. Her face was cool and calm, but there was still sadness in her eyes. “Do you know who I am?”

Zuko snorted. “Why should I?”

Her hands clutched together. She looked him straight in the eyes, a gleam of concern now in her cerulean orbs. “I am known to every village in the Northern region. You must come from a faraway place.”

“No kidding,” snapped the youth. “Just who are you, then?”

“I am the Dame Yue, the White Witch of Northern OZ,” she said.

“A witch,” he said in disbelief.

“A witch,” she replied, her voice firm. At first it was a ludicrous thought, but the more it rolled through his head, the more he found himself believing her. Seeing was believing for him, and she had performed her magic on him. As it sunk it, Zuko’s blood ran cold. A witch, she was a witch like what the animals called the young woman who had turned to dust. Witches, magic, forces that either are or like spirits, were never meant to be trifled with. But up until this moment those had just been stories to him. Since Zuko had abandoned those stories the word witch had been used as an insult against wicked and vindictive women, but that was meaningless now, it was the old stories that were real now, as real as Roku and his predecessors had been. In the old tales witches were indeed wicked women, but also knowledgeable in the arts and crafts forbidden to mortals, they could even command the spirits themselves. Witches were so wicked, it was said that if you crossed a witch even slightly they would repay you grievously, even with death.

“Why did the shirshu attack you?” she asked suddenly. Zuko thought this out carefully. From what had been told, witches were a close-knit sisterhood but hated mankind and his suns. If this white witch, the Dame Yue, discovered a sister witch had died in his presence, she might blame him for the witch’s fate, like the shirshu had. She was calm now, had been gentle when she healed him, but he didn’t know what it might take to spark her wrath.

“I don’t know,” he lied. “They’re beasts, what do you expect them to do?”

The white witch was silent for some time before she spoke, her face unreadable. “Shirshu are beasts that keep to their territories and forests. They are wary of people, and do not attack unless provoked. They are not savages that strike at other creatures for the pure sport of it.” Suddenly her eyes, so sad earlier, were very accusing. Feeling a flash of unease, Zuko knew he had to get away from her presence. He brushed by her and swung the barn doors open, stepping out into the glaring sunlight of the late afternoon. His eyes blinked then squinted, adjusting to the late morning sun.

At the sight of the Munchkin’s village, Zuko was dumbfounded. There were little houses and shops, made of stone and clay, the largest building in his sight no bigger than him. Each structure was painted white, as pale as snow, and circular in form. The roofs were dome shaped and brown, and metal pipes rose like grass snake from the roofs. There were little pathways winding themselves between the houses, paths made of yellow bricks. Flowers grew along side the houses, gardens of varied and bright colors and uniquely exotic patterns. The Munchkin folk, everyone of them dwarves, wandered about the village in clothes of bright pink, pale green, sunshine yellow, and such. Zuko’s mind could barely wrap around what he was seeing. Great dragons, what under the sun was this place? What was this place, this OZ where animals talked, dwarves lived, and witches roamed.

“Gah, good to see you finally decided to join the living.” He slowly turned around see perched on the tip of a barn’s roof was the hawk-hen he had rescued from the black witch. The sight of the thing sent him over the edge, he was ready to strangle the bird. But before he could a streak of lighting flashed over his head and hit the tip of the roof where the hawk-hen was perched. To the hen’s good fortune though it flew into the air just as the lighting bolt struck. The hen let out a shrill of fright and bewilderment as the barn roof caught fire. It flapped down to the ground beside Zuko’s feet. The Dame Yue raced out of the barn. “What is happening?” she pressed to him.

“Dear Yue, I did expect you here,” a woman’s voice asked, layered with false sweetness and malice.

Slowly Zuko twisted his head to see the newcomer. Another witch, he assumed. She wore a black shawl and dress, draping over her slender form like shadows. Only her face was bare to him, yet it was strangely familiar, the echo of a memory. She looked as young, no, younger than the Dame Yue, a girl where the white witch was a young woman. Her black hair was unbound, and locks framed her face like a crow’s wings. She had full crimson lips, and high cheekbones. She had titled hazel eyes that were cold and unfeeling.

“The Wicked Witch,” breathed the white witch from behind him.

[Blind Bandit]

very intesting not somthing I would normall read but. nice job anyway.lol