Chapter: A Storm Is Coming: 6 of ?

Author: Sam

Series: A Deeper Magic

Note: Oscar Zoroaster Phadrig Isaac Norman Henkel Emmannuel Ambroise Diggs is the full name of the original Wizard of Oz from L. Frank Baum's series.

Last Chapter: Az recalls a traumatic incident from childhood.

xxx

Sliding yet another disc into the viewer slot, Glitch's dark brown eyes flickered over the viewing tube, taking in the gently rising bubbles of the green liquid. He seemed to patiently wait for the recorded memories to shimmer into view, apparently unbothered by the feel of DG's warmth as she leaned on his chair. Deftly he slipped his free hand to his thigh, clutching slightly, but unable to hide the tremor of fear that racked him.

Queen Lavender frowned softly and drew a slow, quiet breath. She hated to interrupt his pleasure, but he'd put this off far too long. His anxiety would only grow as he waited. Determination radiated through her as she set her back and turned her eyes to the viewing tube. She would have to intervene . . . after one more memory.

The bubbles cleared, as much as slowly churning liquid could be said to clear, and images seemed to solidify.

Without needing to look, Henry 'Hank' Diggs, reached up and adjusted the valve release on the heat, filling the silken envelope and keeping the balloon in a steady slow rise. It was a mass ascension, not a race, and he used that plan to show off his hand-crafted basket and fine silk. Aeronauts often received a great deal of attention when they flew overhead; what better way to advertise his willingness to take paying customers up with him?

The cool air rushed to envelop him in her frigid embrace. He closed his dark brown eyes, lifting his face to the wind as she combed chilled fingers through his blond hair, sliding over his smooth cheeks and sunburned forehead. He never felt such peace as when he was soaring over the pastures and hills of Nebraska in his garish orange balloon.

A sudden icy whip lashed him, drawing him from his peaceful musings. He opened his eyes and accessed his surroundings, noting the rapidly darkening skies and dropping temperatures. A frown chased away his normal wide smile and Hank began working his lines. A display was one thing, but he'd be damned before he risked his life in a rising storm.

All around him other aeronauts rushed to stabilize their balloons, to search for possible landing places. Already, one hung low down and another descended almost too quickly. That aeronaut would be lucky if he didn't crash his balloon with his careless handling.

Hank had no choice but to open up the valve and force his balloon above those fighting to land. He couldn't let himself be swept into a massive accident. Instead, he had to hope he could get beyond the mass descent and find a safe location before the freak storm hit. He trusted his instincts, borne of years of flying balloons with his uncle and grandfather, to help him avoid the disaster. As his balloon crawled higher, he let out a long whistle: a balloon with a purple silk envelope and one with rainbow silk had vied for the same landing zone. Hank looked away from the twisted baskets and ripped silk, pulling his mind back to his own safety. He could do nothing for the two aeronauts in the accident below.

Wind howled, sending a shudder through the wildly swinging basket. Gripping tightly, Hank crouched. Flashes of lightning and the tell-tale freight-train roar of a tornado sent dread from his heart to his groin. His muscles clenched; his insides churned. He quickly scanned the wind-whipped grounds and blackening skies; where was it?

Before he could spot it, the twister overtook him. He wrapped his arms in the lines and sank to the floor of the basket. The basket rocketed back and forth, as if trying to throw him out of his small safety, to suck him into the debris-riddled fury. And from that moment on, the only thing Hank Diggs could do was hold on for dear life.

Some time passed before the storm ebbed. Bruised and bleeding, nauseous, he pulled himself to shaky feet. Slowly, he unwound cables from numbed arms, absently noting the rope burns. Lifting troubled brown eyes to study the skies, he was relieved to see the clouds lightening. The storm had gone. And, the wonder of it, his silk wasn't even pierced.

He checked the lines and the fire source, adjusting the valve to keep the balloon aloft but bring it down slowly. He looked over the edge of the basket. His lungs felt empty and he tried to suck in a breath. It took a minute or so for him to cough then he began to breathe rapidly, heart pounding.

Below him spread crystal blue waters, rippling amidst green and flowing grass. Wildflowers, blue, pink, red, yellow, and purple, sprinkled the grass with their vibrant colors. A riot of scents swirled through the air, rising in the clear air, fresh after the storm. In the field sat two girls staring up towards him.

With a subtle adjustment, he closed the value enough to bring the balloon down in a rapid, controlled descent.

As one the girls stood, one in her mid-teens the other older, perhaps even a grown woman.

The younger had a mass of dark brown curls trailing down her back. Her blue eyes seemed too large for her young face. Her blue satin dress, cinched at the waist with a white sash, matched the blue and white ribbons in her curls. She shaded her eyes with a hand, pointing in the direction of his balloon. The elder wore pale violet, gracefully hugging her curves, caressing her ankles. Her dark brown hair cascaded past her shoulders, a lavender ribbon, matching her eyes, curled against her right cheek. They made a beautiful pair.

Long minutes crept by before his balloon thumped onto the thick grass, the silk envelope deflating quickly as he deprived it of all hot air. A miscalculation brought down the heavy silk directly on his head, knocking him to his knees. The basket rocked, throwing him against the side, and the entire rig toppled sideways. He slammed into the ground with enough force to make him bite his tongue.

Both girls ran forward. Unmindful of her satin dress, the younger girl threw herself on the grass and grabbed his arm, tugging. The elder began to gather the silk, balling it as she freed him.

"Oh, are you hurt?"

He looked up into the girl's blue eyes.

"Lavender, he's hurt." She tugged again, a frown pulling down her mouth. "Are you broken?"

"Leona, be gentle." The woman, Lavender, dropped the folds of orange silk and knelt next to him. Her hands started to move carefully over his arms, his shoulders. "You're not from here . . ."

"I'm from," he blinked, placing his hands over Lavender's and staring into those glorious lavender eyes, "Omaha . . . where am I?"

Leona giggled. "Omaha . . . that's a girl's name." The girl swept her blue skirt aside, revealing a slim blade strapped to her outer thigh. Pulling it from its sheath, she started cutting the lines, freeing the silk.

Disentangling him, Lavender gave him a dazzling smile. "Then we shall have to make it a boy's name, shan't we, Leona?" Laying a gentle hand on his cheek, she tilted her head and said "we shall call you Ahamo."

As the images faded, Queen Lavender stood and cleared her throat with a chuckle. "And that is your cousin Leona, DG." She turned a look upon her still handsome husband. "We should write to her again. I know she hasn't acknowledged our letters since the Eclipse, but she cannot ignore us forever."

"It's possible she's hurt. After abdicating her claim to the throne in favor of Azkadellia, she fairly disappeared in the Thousand Year Grasslands. Those are rough lands," Ahamo replied in his soft voice, worry coloring his normally amused tones.

"She'd written regularly until . . ." Lavender sighed, not mentioning her youngest daughter's death or eldest daughter's possession. Instead, she shook herself lightly and turned to Glitch. "Enough videos, Old Friend," she strode gracefully to place a gentle hand on Glitch's shoulder. "It is time. Your memories are stored . . . and time grows late." She gave a swift smile to her younger daughter as DG straightened, frowning.

Swallowing, placing the disc container aside with a trembling hand, Glitch rose and smoothed down his new uniform. He turned wide dark eyes on his oldest friend.

Lavender offered him a comforting smile and reached out, gently taking his hand. "Raw, if you please? We will get Azkadellia and begin. Come, Ambrose." Firmly she guided the frightened, confused man from the viewing room towards the elevator.

"We'll be here when you wake up, Glitch," called the comforting voice of DG as the pair made their way into the elevator. Raw swiftly followed without a sound, glancing at Glitch with an inscrutable look on his bearded face. As the doors closed on the trio, DG ran past to find her elder sister and send her to sub-level three: brain storage and surgical suite.

With a lot of work, delicate nursing, and immense luck, Glitch would be Ambrose once more.

xxx

Continued in Chapter Seven: Disclosures in the Dark