Chapter 1
The upper floors of The Wizard's Palace were quiet. The lights along the corridors, usually brightly lit, were turned down, casting long dark flickering shadows along the corridors.
There were only a few guards on duty. Some of them were told to help out in the party downstairs while others had joined the party itself. There were two guards on duty at the door to the Throne Room. Their eyes looked straight ahead, glazed. One of them stumbled and then straightened himself. The other guard snickered.
"Told you you shouldn't' have drunk so much." He gestured to the empty bottles next to them.
"Hic," the first guard protested.
They might be officially on duty, but that had not stopped their colleagues from bringing up a carton of beer so that they could celebrate with the rest. The second guard rubbed his eyes. He would stay awake, he promised himself. He looked ahead of him, at the corridor that stretched in front of them and ended in darkness. It was the only passageway to the Throne Room, the only way anyone could approach the room. In his slightly tipsy state (though he blamed it on the dim lights), the straight corridor split into two, winding and curving like a silk ribbon on a lady's hair. He blinked his eyes and the two corridors merged into one again. The guard swore and rubbed his eyes again.
He did not notice the dark figure that flew past.
The Witch came on her broom. She saw, through the windows lining the corridor, the two guards who were on duty outside the Throne Room. One of them stumbled, and the empty bottles by their side told her that they were not taking their duties seriously. Fools, she thought as she deliberately steered closer to the windows, tempting fate, hoping that they would see her.
They did not.
The Witch turned her broom around and flew past the windows again, but still the guards did not notice her. She thought of hollering at them but changed her mind at the last minute. She had more important things to do than to frazzle the nerves of two guards.
The Witch flew directly into the Throne Room through one of its opened windows.
She landed smoothly, her boots making barely a sound on the marble floor. The room was surprisingly lit and she froze for a moment, fully convinced that there must be a trap somewhere. Perhaps the guards would burst into the room with their rifles raised, or a cage would come crashing down from the ceiling and trapped her. She took a first step after a while, followed by a second, but nothing happened, and she approached the big, ugly bronze head with trepidation, her broom in her hand, ready to ward off any surprise attack.
She knew where the lever was. She had seen the Wizard pulled it the last time. She moved toward the bronze head. She remembered how menacing the head had looked the first time she saw it, with its eyes glowing red accompanied by the flashing lights and plumes of smoke. But now the lights were off and the eyes looked dead, and the head looked more silly than menacing. She shook her head to clear away the memories from another lifetime.
There it was, the lever. The Witch yanked on it with more force than necessary. The red curtain behind the bronze head jingled lightly before it moved along the railing on the floor and revealed a large cage that spanned the width of the Throne Room and touched the ceiling. The cage was filled with Monkeys, looking strangely human with their bulging eyes and scrawny limbs. They were all naked, except for one. The Animals stared at her, silent. Behind them, their wings unfurled slowly, reaching their full span.
It was as if they knew why she was here and were ready.
She approached the cage, a finger to her lips, not knowing if the Monkeys could understand the universal sign for silence. She did not know if they were capable of making any sound anymore, but it would not do her any good if they kicked up a ruckus and drew the attention of the guards outside. Despite her impulsive nature, she did not plan to die on that day.
She put her broom on the floor and pressed her palms on the metal bars. There must be a door somewhere.
She moved quietly along the length of the cage, trying to find the opening to the cage. She had just found it when she heard a voice behind her.
"I know that you will be back."
Downstairs, the party was in full swing.
The room was crowded. Politicians rubbed shoulders with businessmen while famous personalities joked with generals. Glasses clinked as two Gillikinese businessmen sealed a business deal, and giggles erupted between three young women as they eyed a handsome soldier near them. In a corner, a live band played the latest music and the guests danced to the tune, the gentlemen's hands placed lightly on the back of the ladies as they twirled around the ballroom.
A member of the cabinet had just arrived, and Glinda moved gracefully across the room to welcome him, unhampered by the big puffy gown that she wore. The gown was custom made for the party, its bodice a pale green to match the dark green of the Gale Force uniform that Fiyero wore. The spaghetti straps showed off her slim shoulders, while the sequins of various shades of green and gold formed a V shape down the front, emphasizing her figure. The petals at the back of her skirt were of a darker shade of green, decorated with thousands of sequins and beads that were stitched onto the fabric by hand. The gown sparkled under the light, and so did the tiara that she had on her head. Fiyero knew that the gown and the tiara weighed more than the clothes that he wore, but Glinda did not seem to be affected by all those weight. She looked absolutely radiant, a smile on her face as she gave her hand to the grumpy new arrival to kiss. The old man said something and Glinda placed her fingers on her lips, giggling daintily before she pointed towards Fiyero's direction. The man turned and smiled perfunctory at Fiyero. The prince nodded in response and he reached out automatically for a glass of wine as a waiter passed by.
"Great party," a dry voice spoke next to him.
Fiyero looked at the man next to him. Like most of the younger guests, he was fashionably dressed. His shirt was rumpled though and his collar opened. He held a bottle in his hand, and took a swig from it before he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Where did you get that from, Avaric?" he frowned slightly at the liquor swishing inside the bottle. The bottle was almost empty.
"The kitchen. There was a girl who was most willing to accommodate my requests for alcohol and … other things." Avaric snickered.
Fiyero scoffed. Avaric was a university friend, but he never understood his penchant for bedding every girl between the age of fifteen to fifty.
The Gillikinese interpreted his expression correctly.
"You can't blame me for that. Ever since you appear in the Emerald City, all every girl wants is an Arjiki boyfriend. Tall, dark, handsome Arjiki with the heart of a warrior and the soul of a poet. Poor thing like me no longer stand a chance anywhere. I'm passé, out of fashion. I'm as good as yesterday's newspapers, barely good enough to wrap the rotting vegetables sold in the market."
Fiyero ignored him. Avaric could be very dramatic at times.
"By the way, I forget to congratulate you. Congratulations! To both your promotion and engagement." The Gillikinese lifted his bottle for a toast.
Fiyero clinked his glass against Avaric's bottle but did not sip from his glass.
"Though if I didn't know better," he continued, "I would think that she sprung it on you. You look more like someone who has a noose tightening around his neck than a man who is getting engaged to the love of his life."
Fiyero ignored the last jab.
Avaric did not seem to notice Fiyero's lack of interest in the conversation. "It's interesting how Shiz manages to turn out brilliant students year after year. I don't mean teeny, tiny, insignificant me of course," he said, though Fiyero knew very well that the future Margreave had never thought of himself as either tiny or insignificant. "We got people like Glinda, the sweet voice of the Wizard. We got people like you, deeply involved in military politics …"
"I don't dabble in politics, Avaric. I am the captain of the Gale Force. I don't play with politics. My job is to maintain the peace in Oz, to bring criminals to justice and to make Oz a safer place for everyone."
"Ah yes, the taint of Shiz." Avaric shook his head dramatically.
Fiyero was about to reply when Glinda suddenly appeared next to him.
She curled one hand around his arm as she gave her other hand to Avaric, who kissed it.
"Thank you so much for coming, Avaric," she said gaily.
"Wouldn't miss this for the world," was his reply.
Glinda giggled, and then excused herself and Fiyero as she pulled her fiancé away.
"Fiyero, have you seen the Wizard?" she asked.
He shook his head.
"He is supposed to be giving his speech in twenty minutes and I can't seem to find him anywhere."
Fiyero had no idea what the speech was about, though he suspected that it had something to do with Glinda. No, it definitely had something to do with Glinda, and she knew what it was, for she had swept into his office two days ago brimming with excitement and told him that the Wizard had planned to give a speech during the engagement party.
"Can you please go and find him, dearest?" she asked him. Fiyero nodded as he patted her hand reassuringly. The Captain squeezed through the crowd toward the exit, thanking and acknowledging the guests and colleagues who offered their congratulations on his engagement and promotion.
It was nighttime, and short of leaving the Palace, there were only a few places that the Wizard would usually go to. Fiyero went to his first choice. The Wizard always liked the Throne Room. He had a secret room tucked at the back of The Throne Room that was out of bounds to everyone. Fiyero had found the Wizard more than once, sitting in front of the big bronze head, high on something that he had consumed. He hoped that he would not find the Wizard drunk. It would be difficult to sober him up in time for the speech.
Fiyero approached The Throne Room. The two guards stood to attention, or at least they tried to.
"Is the Wizard inside?" he asked. The guards nodded as they stood to the side. Fiyero nodded his thanks and opened the door before he closed it behind him. He did not want the guards to hear anything if the Wizard was really drunk and started to sing or mumble something nonsensical.
He went in just in time to see what seemed like a shadow jumping out of one of the windows. Somewhere near to the bronze head, a lump covered by a blanket cloth shivered uncontrollably. And then someone whimpered and got his attention.
The Wizard was on the floor. He was sober but he was not alone.
Facing the Wizard was a woman, her back to Fiyero. A tall woman dressed in a black dress that hung from her thin frame. She wore a black pointed hat and some of her hair had escaped from the confines of the hat, curling gently in the breeze that came in through the windows. But there was nothing gentle about her stance. She took a step toward the old man, a green hand raised. She held a broom in that hand, her knuckles turning white with the force that she gripped the stick, as if she was about to strike any moment. The Wizard cowered in fear.
Fiyer took out his gun slowly.
The Wizard cast a glance at Fiyero and the Captain could see the fear in his eyes, but the old man was so scared that he was not able to ask the Captain for help, nor plead the woman for mercy. The Wizard's limbs skittered on the polished floor as he tried to back away from the woman, but he soon found his back against the bronze head; he was trapped.
The woman continued to advance, her eyes on the Wizard who now stretched out a trembling hand as if the feeble gesture could stop her. The Wizard glanced at Fiyero again, panic written all over his face.
It was obvious that there must be someone else in the Throne Room. The Wizard's constant glances behind her should have alerted her to his presence, even if she had not heard the sounds when he entered the room. Fiyero expected her to pause or to see who was behind her but she did not. It was as if she did not think that anyone who entered the room could be a threat to her.
The Captain brought up his other hand to steady the gun.
A gust of wind came into the Throne Room as he took a breath, wrapping the black skirt around her legs and sending the strands of raven black hair drifting in the air. There was something eerily breathtaking about the scene, but Fiyero focused instead on the one shot that he was about to give.
There was no mistake who she was. She was the woman who had occupied his mind for the past few years, the one whom he had been searching for so long. And he had finally found her. He exhaled slowly and pulled the trigger.
He did not register the sound of the gunshot. Nor did he hear the soft gasp that escaped from her lips when the bullet penetrated her flesh. But he knew that he had hit his target when the witch's legs buckled and she slid slowly to the ground.
A/N New multi-chap. This takes place in Act II, so our favourite characters are older and more mature, though not necessary wiser.
As the story progresses, some of you may notice the similarities between this story and MyLittleElphie's Worlds Apart. The two stories are developed separately and any similarities are purely coincidental. I have to admit that I steal her idea for the Wicked dolls (see story image if you are not reading in mobile mode) though – she made these absolutely cute Wicked keychains for the lucky Australian cast! Some people are just multi-talented *green eyed*
Once again, thank you to those who reviewed for The Prologue. Your reviews are like gemstones – beautiful and precious. And thank you to those who nominated/voted for me in the Annual Gregs Award. It is much appreciated.