I N A region somewhere between the Everlasting Forest and Outer wilderbeastia, remarkable only for its desolation, Wonderlanders who not long before had been law-abiding, family-loving folk slaved away in Redd’s most notorious labor camp, Blaxik. Having fallen into the queen’s ill favor, they worked in unventilated factory rooms for seventeen hours a day on nothing more than water and infla-rice-a food favored by the poor because each grain inflated in the stomach, making the recipient feel full.
It had been decreed that every Wonderlander was to have a three-foot-high porcelain and crystal statue of Redd in his residence, the set piece in a shrine to the queendom’s ruler. Surprise spot checks by Redd’s soldiers were not uncommon. Those in violation of the decree, anyone whose statue was not in pristine condition, found themselves hauled off to Blaxik, where-in a bit of irony Redd found pleasing-they were forced to make the statues until death descended upon them.
But tonight something was wrong. Production of the statues had been interrupted by a rebel attack. Periodic explosions rattled camp dormitories. Flares zoomed through the night, illuminating figures engaged in hand-to-hand combat. Card soldiers from Redd’s technologically advanced, ultramodern army, known as The Cut, were trying to fend off the attack, which shouldn’t have been so difficult considering that the rebels were nothing more than a hodgepodge of ex-Heart soldiers and Wonderland civilians. But the rebels had righteous anger working for them, which could be a better weapon than mere combat skills, and among them was one who suddenly split in two so as to lend an extra body to the fight: Generals Doppel and Ganger, battling alongside a white knight, a white rook, and several pawns.
The rebels called themselves Alyssians, in honor of the young princess who’d been killed before her time, never able to ascend to the throne. Princess Alyss Heart: not alive in flesh and blood, but very much alive as a symbol of more innocent (though still imperfect) times, an icon of hope for peace’s return.
Among the Alyssians, one particular soldier was making a name for himself with his growing military prowess and suicidal bravery. If this renegade didn’t always mix with his rebel brethren, if he kept to himself when not engaged in battle, at least he was on their side. Better to have him as a friend than an enemy, as anyone who’d seen him fight well knew. It was this renegade who broke away from the cover of the other rebels at the Battle of Blaxik. Without concern for his own well-being, and with sword glinting, he slashed his way through Redd’s soldiers, who looked like ordinary playing cards (albeit larger) when unengaged, but who now fanned out as if the hand of a giant poker player was spreading them across the green baize of a gaming table. Each card flipped open to form a soldier almost twice the height of an average Wonderland male, with limbs of steel and a brain that understood little more than how to follow orders in combat. One by one, the renegade aimed the point of his blade at the soldiers’
upper chests, their single vulnerable spot (a medallion-sized area above the breastplate, at the base of the steel-tendoned neck); a direct hit cut through vital inner workings and sent sparks flying, killing them. He fired a cannonball spider at the doors of the factory; in midair it mutated from ball to massive black spider and tore through the doors. As the renegade slashed and hacked at Redd’s soldiers, the slave workers were able to flee across the plain into the Everlasting Forest.
A burning dormitory illuminated the renegade’s face: handsome and rugged, with four parallel scars visible on his right cheek. Dodge Anders. Only fourteen years old but fighting like a grown man.
A handful of years had passed since Redd’s initial invasion of Heart Palace, and the chaos that resulted from her takeover of the queendom had settled into a new order. Upon hearing of Redd’s coup and fearing the kind of ruler she’d be, many citizens had immediately packed their bags and tried to emigrate to Boarderland, that independent country separated from Wonderland by the tangled expanse of Outerwilderbeastia and overseen by King Arch. But whether these would-be emigrants didn’t bribe Boarderland’s border officials generously enough, or Redd had anticipated an exodus among the
cowards of the population and made an agreement with King Arch, no one was able to leave. All were stuck in Wonderland, forced to endure the teeth of Redd’s anger. Entire families were shipped off to labor camps or, worse, exterminated. Others, who hadn’t attempted to flee the country but nonetheless had issues with Redd being queen, heard about the Alyssians and fled what they knew of normal life to join the resistance.
Redd chose to rule the queendom from her fortress on Mount Isolation. The fortress served as a constant reminder of her years in exile and unjust banishment at the hands of her dear departed sister, and thus
was a spur to her ruthless methods. Soon after her coronation, and very hush-hush, Redd had the Heart Crystal moved to the fortress, and she could feel it now, shimmering in its secret chamber as she paced back and forth, listening to Bibwit Harte recite pages of In Queendom Speramus, which she was rewriting, the tutor acting as her secretary.
“…the queendom had always been a naive, optimistic place,” Bibwit read. “It was as if Wonderland were run by girls and boys-”
“By children,” Redd corrected.
“-by children who had yet to put away their childish toys and face the harsh realities of the universe.” “Good,” Redd said. “Now continue: A universe in which only the cruelest survive, a
jabberwock-eat-jabberwock universe, so to speak.”
The pointed tip of Bibwit’s quill scurried against the royal papyrus. The Cat entered the room. “Yes?” Redd asked.
The Cat hissed, “Blaxik has fallen and the slaves escaped. The Alyssians were responsible.”
Redd clenched her fists. Items around the room began to quiver. The Alyssians: a boil on the face of her reign, a thorn in the fist of her rule. Why hadn’t The Cut done away with them already? Weapons and furnishings, anything not bolted down, shook with her mounting fury. Knowing her intolerance for failure, Bibwit Harte and The Cat hurried from the room.
“Yaaaaaaaaah!” Redd yelled, standing at the center of whirling chairs, lamps, swords, spears, platters, and books, a tornado brought forth from the bottomless well of her hateful imagination.
Blaxik attacked? Slaves freed? Heads were going to roll.
In the aftermath of the Blaxik battle, their adrenaline still pumping, Dodge and the white rook braved a walk through the teeming urban slum Wonderland had become to remind themselves why they fought. The rook camouflaged himself in a hooded coat, but Dodge refused to do likewise. He would not hide who he was from his enemies.
“I remember when Wonderlanders actually cared for this city,” the rook said as they picked their way along a sidewalk choked with litter. “Streets were clean, roads swept. The curbside shrubs and flowers were always humming bouncy tunes.” He glanced at the curb: nothing but weeds and long-dead growth; all vegetation silent, killed by Naturcide, a chemical Redd had concocted specifically for that purpose. “And you could get a hot, fresh tarty tart on every corner. I miss tarty tarts.”