Chapter Nine
Slowly, the four travelers walked down the hallway. They had lost sight of the figure in the dark ahead, but there were no turns in the hall, so it would be difficult to get lost in it. They continued through the dim corridor with Italy holding Romano's hand with one hand and Pooky with the other. Germany clung tightly to his axe and America clenched and unclenched his fists. At long last, they reached a set of two doors. Germany held out his fist, hesitantly debating with himself whether or not to knock. He was halfway to reaching a decision when the doors swung open, revealing a large room with high ceilings, a pedestal in the middle, and tapestries lining the walls. Just about everything in the room was mint green, with the exception of the dark gray floor.
They looked around, confused. Wasn't the wizard supposed to be here? With a clap of thunder and a cloud of green smoke, the mint green rabbit appeared on the pedestal. Although America had a soft spot for rabbits, the immense size of this one terrified him.
"What are you just standing there for?" asked the rabbit in a familiar voice. "Come forward."
Warily, the four of them stepped closer to the rabbit. "You, tin man," the rabbit said.
"Yes?" answered Germany.
"You have come to ask for a heart. Scarecrow, you want a brain." America nodded.
"You want courage, lion," the rabbit thundered. Romano shakily agreed through his shudders.
"And you, Italy want to be returned home."
"Uh-huh." Italy trembled.
"And why should I be bothered to give these things to you?"
No one said anything.
"I said why?" the rabbit roared, nearly causing Romano to faint.
"Maybe," said America. "We could work something out."
"How exactly do you mean?" asked the rabbit.
America couldn't believe he was scared of a bunny. "Maybe we could do something for you. You know, like payment."
"Alright," agreed the rabbit. "Make an offer."
"Uh…" America stopped short.
"Then I'll tell you!" he shouted, causing America to leap back. "Bring me the hats of France, the witch of the west."
"Both of them?" shrieked America.
"Both of them!" the rabbit yelled.
"But… but… in order to get it… we'd have to…"
"I don't care if you have to kill him to get them, just get them!"
"Why do you want the hats, anyway?" Germany asked, stepping forward.
"That's none of your business! Bring me the hats, or no deal! Kill him if you have to! And make sure you punch him in the balls before he dies."
"Oh, come on, we have to touch it twice?" America whined.
"One more complaint out of you and I'll make you carry the hats in your mouth!"
America shut up immediately.
"If we bring you the hats, you will give each of us what we ask for?" Germany asked.
"Quite so," said the rabbit.
"Very well. I look forward to seeing you after we have completed our task." He whirled around and spread his arms, gesturing the other three to exit the room. They continued down the hall and back into the foyer. The table, which had been empty before, now contained a basket of scones. Despite the aching in their stomachs, presumably from the cooking, Germany took four and placed them in his torso.
Silently, they made their way out the front door. The silence, however, was short lived. "I really, really don't want to touch France's junk," America complained.
"You think we want to?" said Romano. Pooky meowed and Italy petted him.
"I don't even know how to get to France's house," America blustered.
"I know how!" said Italy. "I've visited before."
"How the hell have you visited?" America asked. "I thought you got here because of a tornado."
"I visited him back home," Italy explained. "I figure he'd be around the same place."
"I guess," said America.
With that, Italy led the way. America heard a flutter and a chirp, and looked briefly at a small, yellow bird in the tree.
France gazed into the crystal ball, chuckling to himself. Prussia hung back as usual, leaning against the wall next to a window ready to call back his bird when needed.
"I thought I'd have to trap them to get them to come here," France confessed to Prussia. "But they're just walking toward me."
Prussia remained silent. At that moment, Spain strolled in, nibbling on a churro. He held out one to France, who refused, and one to Prussia. Prussia took both his and the one France turned away, eating one and feeding the other, crumb by crumb, to his other birds who'd fluttered to the windowsill. He broke it into tiny pieces and fed them out of his hand. His favorite, who'd been sitting on his shoulder, ate from Prussia's own churro. France soon got bored of watching through the ball and promptly threw the sheet over it. Spain and Prussia dutifully left the room after Prussia whistled his bird back.
Italy and Romano had fallen asleep. Germany and America, as was their custom, stayed up a while longer to talk.
"You think we'll have to kill him?" America asked.
"I don't know," Germany answered. "But I'm eager for another fight."
America was shocked. "Dude, how can you be so heartless?"
Germany gave him a look. "Oh, yeah, my bad." America corrected himself.
Germany found himself with stomach pains and indigestion, and resolved not to eat any of the scones. During their journey, it was learned that Italy and Romano had similar gastric issues, and of course didn't want their scones, either. America was the odd one out.
Thankfully, the fruit trees along this particular path were plentiful, and Germany made a point of storing lots of food. Still, they felt they still had a long way to go, and it seemed that every five minutes, they had to stop and console Romano, who became overwhelmed with fright. This could sometimes take hours, but the entire process stopped altogether when Germany threatened to leave him behind. When this threat was made, Romano ceased to be terrified and began to spew insults at Germany and America, which they simply shrugged off. However, the energy he got from his nervous anger was enough to keep him going for a while longer.
Three days of this passed, with America and Germany never skipping a watch. Germany was ready for action at any moment with his sharp, powerful axe, and America, although a bit drowsy on his watches, was well prepared with his incredible strength and makeshift baseball bat.
As before, the longer they travelled, the less plentiful fruit trees became. This time, though, they took comfort in that Germany had the foresight to preserve extra rations. On the third day, Italy recognized Frances house, sitting atop a high hill and looking more menacing than he remembered. America twisted his fists around the handle of his bat, tensing his muscles. Germany flexed his joints, making sure they moved correctly, and held tightly to his axe. They continued their walk, slowly approaching the hill, an air of grimness, anger and determination about them. That is, except for Romano. Romano slinked along by himself at the rear of the procession, each shaking step harder to take than the previous one. The last thing he wanted was to be left alone in this scary place, and he didn't doubt that Germany would abandon him in such a manner, so, despite the crippling horror, he pressed on.
"I wish I had courage now," said Romano quietly to himself.
"Hey, Germany," Italy said, pointing.
Germany, whose mind had been wandering as he walked, looked up. "What is it, Italy?"
"What is that yellow thing?" Germany looked to where Italy pointed. The others followed his example. Sure enough, a massive cloud of yellow was descending on them from somewhere atop the hill. As it moved closer, they began to recognize it. What looked to be a massive yellow cloud was a flock of birds, birds that they, especially America, knew well and did not want to mess with.
The hoard of birds picked up speed, growing ever closer.
"Run!" hollered Germany. Each man took to his heels, only to be confronted by Spain, Prussia, and France when they turned. In what seemed like slow motion, France thrust his arm forward, pointing to the travelers, and his cohorts advanced. Automatically, Germany and America braced themselves while the Italy brothers trembled.
Italy and Romano backed away a few steps, when, all at once and no longer in slow motion, the gargantuan formation of birds slammed into them from behind.