Author's Note

Disclaimer: Neither "Tin Man" or "Warehouse 13" are mine, and although SyFy does own them, they don't appear to love them nearly as much as we do... I won't get on my soapbox here, but let's just say that I love these characters too much to let their story end because they're not making enough money. Since I have no hope of making profit off of the production of these stories, I can at least take some solace in the fact that someone in the internet-sphere might get some enjoyment out of them.

This is a short chapter, but it will hopefully be enough to set up the rest of the story.

So without further ado, on with the show.

-White Rabbit

Chapter Eight

Somewhere south of Central City, three men on horseback rode hard in the waning light of the day. The men had been riding for two days, only having stopped once on the eve of the first night to give their animals a rest. Although the terrain had been fairly steady for most of the ride, it had become more uneven since leaving the Brick Route, and became downright squirrely once they neared the Crack in the Oz, and their animals were beginning to tire more quickly as the second day wore on. The men pushed on, however, knowing that they would not be able to make camp until they crossed. The land beyond the gorge was rough, and the people that crossed the expanse were either royalty headed for Finaqua or miners from the black hills, neither of which the men had any want of contact with. From time to time, the bridge guards had also had run ins with the folk of the Realm of the Unwanted, but generally waved them through under orders from the Monarch, who had been making efforts to fold these individuals back into the accepted society of the OZ. Although the men on horseback did not seem to fit any of these categories, the guards seemed to quickly recognize them, and turned away as they approached, as if they wanted to deny knowledge of their passing if asked later.

The men were thankful for this quiet acceptance and crossed quickly, being careful to leave the road quickly when they reached the other side, in the case that their crossing might have been witnessed by unfriendly eyes. The light of the suns was failing as they completed their traverse of the crack, and the men had chosen a path away from the worn road that would take them closer to Finaqua, stopping their horses some distance away in a thick copse of trees where they would not be seen or heard by passersby. In short time, the exhausted horses were tied up and given feed bags, and a fire had been started nearby. The men settled around the fire, eager to get some rest themselves, and all three soon had rations and flasks at their fingertips as they gazed at the flames licking the growing dark above them. As night settled in around the men, the unsteady silence between them melted away, and a comfortable but quiet banter soon ensued.

"Well, we'll be at the Realm by midmorning tomorrow, if we decide to stay the night" the oldest groaned as he stretched out on his mat, removing his boots. Although Ahamo had been accustomed to this sort of rough travel and had been doing it for over fifteen annuals, the past two annuals in comfort had reminded him of his age, and the arthritis in his knees screamed at him as he stretched.

Wyatt removed his hat and scrubbed his hair before he did the same to the beard that was steadily becoming thicker on his face. He took a swig from his flask and winced as the bitter fluid burned his throat, and he passed the flask to Ahamo, who seemed to need it more than himself. As the consort quietly nodded his thanks, Wyatt retorted, "Well we need to let the horses rest up for a few hours, but I'd like to keep the cover of night for as long as we can if it's all the same. When we get do there, how are we going to get word to Artie?"

Ahamo smirked, and he leaned forward so that his voice was low, barely above a whisper in case there were unseen eyes in the woods, "The Gales have always had a way of contacting the Curator, Wyatt. That's how I was always able to get a hold of him before. There's a device in my hut which will allow us to alert Artie, and he'll know to keep an eye on the tavern in the Realm."

Wyatt took the flask back from Ahamo and he corrected him, "When you say device, you mean artifact, right?"

Ahamo nodded silently while chewing on his food. During this exchange, Jeb had been listening intently, but finally chose to speak up, a skeptical air about him, "So Artie will know then, who we are, or at least where we come from, but how do we know we can trust him?"

Ahamo sat up, suddenly looking somewhat uncomfortable, "Well, that's a great question. I guess we really don't, except he remained completely hidden during the Sorceress' reign, and the only artifacts that ever left that archives during that time and since were those that related directly to the Emerald and finding it, and the piece that I use to contact Artie. If he wanted to hurt us, he could have already."

Wyatt cut in, glancing from Ahamo to Jeb, "Son, the Curator comes from a long line of caretakers that were hand-picked by Ozma herself in the beginning. I don't think we have to worry too much about being in his crosshairs, unless we plan on cutting off our noses to spite our face."

Jeb nodded, and spoke through the food he was struggling to chew, "Alright then," Jeb swallowed hard, "so we signal Artie, and hightail it to the tavern, then what?"

Wyatt too was thinking about this, and both Cain men turned to Ahamo, eager to hear his thoughts. Ahamo sat quietly for a moment, considering his knowledge of the Curator. Finally, he answered, his eyes not leaving their study of the fire as he thought out loud, "Well, I've never actually seen Artie. We've only ever passed messages back and forth. I think we may want to split up. I don't want to spook him, just in case he's staking us out."

Wyatt spoke as he removed his jacket, eying Jeb paternally, "Jeb, you know the Realm contacts that Pete mentioned, and how to reach them, right?" Jeb nodded silently, and Wyatt continued as he stuffed his jacket under his head while he stretched out on his own mat. "Well, I'd like to get as much intel as we can before we make any solid moves against Vizor. I don't know what he's up to, or who is financing him, but I don't want to take any chances." Wyatt paused to shift his shoulders against his jacket, then continuing on, he added, "Ahamo and I will go get a message to Artie, and you go talk to those contacts. When you're done, meet back with us at the hut, okay?"

This idea seemed reasonable to Ahamo and Jeb both, and they both gave their quiet approval. Jeb was the last man still sitting up at this point, and he drained his cup before he rose to stuff it back in his saddle bag, replying with a sigh, "Well, I don't know about you guys, but I'm beat. I guess someone ought to take watch while the rest get some shut eye. The horses can't be the only ones to get a break."

Wyatt had already propped his Stetson over his face, and he growled low in reply, "Age before beauty kiddo."

Jeb knew his father was grinning under the hat, and he kicked his father's foot in jest. Wyatt and Ahamo both chuckled at Jeb, who groaned in reply. "Alright dad, when do you want to get moving?"

Wyatt pushed the hat up enough so he could peer out at his son's face, and he replied in complete seriousness, turning slightly in Ahamo's direction, "How long you think it will take us to reach the hut from here?"

Ahamo yawned and reasoned, "Probably in about three and a half hours."

Wyatt turned back to his son, "Well, that gives us at least six to get some rest. Wake me in three unless there's trouble."

Jeb nodded and grinned at his father as he replied with a false air of chivalry, "Well then, sleeping beauty, get thee thy rest. I shall not wake thee lest I dare feel thy wrath."

Jeb bowed low at his father, and laughed heartily as he dodged a pinecone, which Wyatt tossed with pinpoint accuracy at his head, their laughter dying down quickly so they could all get to their much-needed rest. As silence came over camp, Wyatt closed his eyes and allowed his mind to drift in and out of consciousness. The past two days had not given him much opportunity to think of his wife, and now that he was stretched out on the cold forest floor, he ached as he imagined DG curled up in their bed, probably clutching his pillow where he should be instead. As his mind drifted, he imagined her standing in the open doors of their bedroom, looking out on the moonlight, a translucent silken nightgown floating gently in the spring breeze. She seemed to radiate in the moon's light, and her loose curls fell in a soft curtain across her backside that contrasted sharply with the milky shade of her bare arms. DG rubbed her rounded abdomen as she looked out on the sleepy landscape below, and a contented smile was on her face as she sang quietly to her ever-growing mound:

"Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high,

there's a land that I heard of once in a lullaby.

Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue

and the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true.

Someday I'll wish upon star and wake up where the clouds are far behind me.

Where troubles melt like lemon drops away above the chimney tops

that's where you'll find me.

Somewhere over the rainbow, blue birds fly.

Birds fly over the rainbow, why and oh why can't I?

If happy little blue birds fly beyond the rainbow,

why oh why can't I?"

Elsewhere, this same melody was also making its way into DG's subconscious, and she hummed it blissfully in her sleep. When the song ended, DG began to wake, certain that she was still hearing the haunting music. DG sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes, looking around the still unfamiliar room. Recognition dawned on her slowly, and she realized that she was in her new bedroom, and the moonlight was peaking in through the curtains that she had failed to close before dropping down onto the pillow just mere hours before. The music was still filling her ears, and it was a soft, lilting tune that drew her out of her bed. DG tip toed out into the sitting room, still only in her nightgown, thinking that perhaps she had left the gramophone playing, but upon reaching it, however, she found it turned off and motionless. The music was still playing though, louder to DG's ears, and she turned to face the room, uncertain of its location. With no other possibility becoming clear in her mind, DG turned towards the boxes sitting next to the sofa and pulled one up close to her head. The music seemed to be coming from inside, and DG frowned at it in confusion, wondering what sort of new devilry she might have stumbled on.

Curiosity burned in the troublesome princess, however, and DG finally gave in to the urge to discover the mystery of the musical box. Almost as if she were handling a ticking bomb, DG gingerly placed the box on the couch and lifted the lid, peering inside cautiously. Inside were various trinkets from their prior residence, many of which DG had decided she would arrange the next day, and none of which appeared any less mundane than they had the day she packed them. The sound was louder now that the box was open however, so DG began to sift through the contents with less trepidation, now intent on finding the source despite the initial warning in her mind. Finally, DG reached the bottom, and she drew out the music box that Wyatt had given her before leaving, her brow now furrowed, and her lip sucked inward while she considered the object.

DG turned the enameled box over, examining it closely, her confused countenance becoming more pronounced. Finally, she decided to take a chance, and lifted the lid. DG was almost thrown back by the rush of air that resulted in opening the lid, and she stepped back, feeling somewhat lightheaded. A cold gust of wind blew across her, and she looked around to determine the cause of the draft while she rubbed her arms furiously. When her eyes left the box to look around, she was aghast. Her apartment had dissolved away, and in its place, DG found herself standing among tall oaks reminiscent of the forest that she had painted on the walls of her sitting room. The forest floor was a mixture of hard wood and moss, almost as if it could not determine what it was, and the when DG gazed upward, she found she could not see the sky through the branches of the trees. Rather, the moon seemed to peer into the forest from her side, almost as if it were casting its rays through a large pane of unseen glass. Apart from the occasional biting breeze, the forest was silent, with no birds or twittering insects, but DG could feel a tingle of magical energy charging the air, and DG had the distinct impression that she had been brought here for some purpose which made her suspicious and fearful. She shivered, uncertain of who or what was behind her unexpected travel, and she hugged herself as her mind raced.

"You're perfectly safe, Dorothy," a gentle feminine voice spoke out, just feet away from DG.

DG spun around to the origin of the voice and was met by a very real ethereal being. DG gasped in awe at the woman before her, instantly recognizing her as the woman in both General Jinjur's painting and on the music box that was still in her hands, and she placed a hand to her mouth in shock. Ozma seemed made of light herself and shone so brightly that DG squinted until her eyes adjusted to her luminescence. Her long, golden hair was equally bright, and waved in its own soft breeze, and Ozma stood in silent serenity, patiently waiting for DG to gather herself. She smiled warmly at DG, as if she was looking on an old friend that she hadn't seen in some time, and she seemed to revel in the sight of DG as she was. DG recovered herself quickly and looked around at their surroundings again, eyes wide in amazement.

"Wow, this is amazing," She murmured to herself.

Ozma looked around as well and replied thoughtfully, "Yes, it is. I've always wished that I could be as skilled artist as you are, but it seems that my true gift lies in enchantments such as this." As Ozma spoke, she gently removed the music box from DG's grasp.

DG studied the music box in Ozma's hands and eyes narrowed suspiciously, "Why are you here now, instead of before, when I first opened the box?"

Ozma seemed discomfited by DG's interrogation and tapped the box, chewing on her lower lip in apparent nervousness, answering finally in an almost meek voice, "I wasn't ready before."

DG still seemed somewhat skeptical, and while she accepted Ozma's answer, she still didn't understand. "I thought you banned enchanted objects. I was told that you had them all put away somewhere. Why this, why now?"

Ozma looked up at DG, her cool blue eyes were piercing, and her eyebrow raised in oddly familiar annoyance. "DG," Ozma spoke with firm clarity, "we don't have much time. Please."

DG sighed heavily and shrugged. Ozma accepted this as confirmation that she could continue, so she spoke, now calmer than before. "I did put this away for safekeeping. With a very trusted guard, whose granddaughter I had a very special fondness for. She was the caretaker of this box until she passed it to her grandson. He passed it on to you."

DG's eyes widened in recognition, and she gasped quietly as Ozma continued on, "DG, I had to get a message to you, but I couldn't trust it to just anyone, given what it is and who might be listening."

Ozma pressed on the eyes of her image, and then the mouth. This released a catch on the backside of the box, and a small compartment opened. Inside was a small slip of paper, which Ozma held out for DG. DG took it, and read the small script quietly as Ozma explained, "You're going to need that, so you'll know how to enchant your slippers."

DG looked up at Ozma and exchanged a wide grin. Ozma seemed to share DG's mischievous side, and she allowed herself a small chuckle before she regained her composure again and the smile melted away. Ozma stepped closer to DG and grasped both of her hands in Ozma's own delicate ones.

"Dorothy, I wouldn't be telling you how to do this if it wasn't important. Beware the old foe who lurks in the shadows. He's watching you, Dorothy, and I fear that Wyatt may be in danger as well. You must get a warning to Wyatt before he can see you." DG's breath caught in her throat, and Ozma grasped her shoulders to keep DG focused on her, "This enemy of ours is trying to tempt you into leaving the security of the palace, so you're going to need your slippers to find Wyatt. It's the quickest and safest way."

DG nodded, now just as serious in her focus on the woman in front of her. "Okay," DG whispered, her voice wavering with fear and uncertainty, "but can you tell me who this enemy is?"

Ozma shook her head and replied, "He goes by many names, DG, so me telling you isn't truly important. I've told you what you need to know." Ozma took a deep breath, adding, "But there is one more thing. Be careful of enchantments that you are unfamiliar with. Many have a singular purpose, and they're not always benign. This foe of ours enjoys using them to toy with his enemies as well as to increase his own power. Do not trust all that you see."

DG was visibly worried, and she began to shiver uncontrollably while the cold in the air seemed to cut straight to her bones. DG could feel her strength wavering suddenly, and she murmured in uncertainty to herself and her head swam, "but I'm not using any magic. Please kiddo, not now."

Ozma's expression became sympathetic, and she wrapped DG in her arms, causing a soft light to envelope the pair as they shared their magical essence. DG's breathing slowly steadied, and she shut her eyes, listening to the fluttering heartbeat of the woman holding her. When they separated, DG felt instantly better, and she furrowed her brow at the woman in confusion, uncertain of how she could have possibly shared energy with the woman, when she had only ever shared such a bond with Az.

Ozma's eyes flickered with uneasiness for only a fraction of a moment before they became cool and impassive once more, and she stepped forward once more, placing a slender hand on DG's shoulder. "Good luck DG," Ozma whispered, "I pray that we'll meet each other again soon. Don't forget, your enemies could be listening at any time, so guard your speech lest you want to be heard."

DG nodded, and almost replied, but Ozma stepped back from DG and smiled at her once again before the forest around them became blurry, and she faded from DG's vision. DG looked around at her surroundings, amazed to find herself back in the sitting room of her apartment. In her hand the box still rested where it had before, and in the other, a small slip of paper rested between her thumb and forefinger. DG closed the hidden compartment and tested it to see if she could release the catch herself, and in finding that she could, so she placed the slip of paper back in its hidden home in an effort to keep its information away from unwelcome eyes. DG then opened the box once more, curious if she might find herself back in her forest. When the lid opened, the only result was the sound of music floating gently out of its compartment, leaving DG relieved and she sighed as she collapsed on the couch.

"Woah," She muttered as she stared at the box in front of her.

As the music played down, DG realized that she recognized it, and she began to sing softly with the music. Her mother, she remembered, had sung this song to her as a girl, and DG suddenly remembered many evenings being rocked by her mother to this song, and she was thankful for the return of the lost recollection. DG's eyes began to drift closed once more, so she shook herself just long enough to stumble back to her bed, music box still in hand. Once back in her bed, DG wound the box again. The soft melody began to drift out delicately and DG's eyes drooped heavily. She began to lose hold of her conscious thought and as her dreams took her, and she imagined the OZ lit by the suns shining through the beams of a brilliant rainbow.