Chapter 4

The room was simply furnished but tastefully designed. The walls were painted a soothing off-white colour, matching the carpet with its whirls of different shades of beige and brown. There was a small couch in the middle of the room, enough for two people. Perpendicular to the couch was a one-seater of the same design, facing the door. The couches were made of leather, black with bold, white stitches.

There was a bookshelf against the wall, filled with books of different heights and thicknesses. The books were placed in a slightly untidy manner, not so neat to give the impression that they were not read, yet not messy enough to distract any visitor in the room.

Next to the shelf was a metallic photo tree, filled with photos. From afar, they looked like pictures of families, lovers and friends. He could not see the faces in the photos from afar, but he got a feeling that the pictures were professionally posed, perhaps bought off the internet.

The air conditioning was set to slightly below room temperature, and he was glad that he had worn a light jacket on top of his shirt. He adjusted his jacket, pulling it closer to him, seeking comfort in the warmth. He thought of his mother's face when he got out of the car, the lines on her face when he declined her offer to go up with him. She never worried about her only son, not even when he left Vinkus to study at the tender age of twelve, but now she had that perpetual worried look on her face.

"I'll be fine," he told her as he closed the car door.

She was seated on the one-seater in the room, a slim file opened in her hand. Her hair was sandy blonde, pulled back and tied in a simple pony tail. Her makeup was minimal, just enough to bring some colour to her face and to show professionalism. She wore a simple long-sleeve blouse with blue pants and matching pumps. Hanging from her neck was a pendent declaring her faith. He looked at her hand. There was a leather watch, but no wedding ring.

She stood up when he entered the room, giving him a warm smile.

"Please sit down, Fiyero." She closed the file and indicated to the seat nearest to her. He slid his hand along the back of the couch before sitting down. A bad habit, to trust his hands more than he trusted his eyes.

"Do you mind if I call you Yero? It is such a nice name. My name is Leesa."

"You're my therapist." He pulled at his jacket again.

She beamed at him. "Officially I'm your therapist. But I will like to think that I am someone whom you can confide in, someone whom you can trust. I am here to help you."

He felt like he was back in Southstairs.


"They were really worried about you, Yero," she told him during one of the sessions. "Your mother called. She heard you talking in your sleep. Calling out their names."

He looked up. He did not realize that his mother had heard him. There had been nightmares. Nightmares where he had dreamt of losing one or the other, or both. Nightmares where men in uniforms dragged them away, or when he woke up from his sleep and they were gone. Nightmares imitating reality.

She reached for his hand.

"Fiyero, I have to say that it is a really effective coping mechanism. Many people do not survive their prison ordeals because they kept thinking of the unfairness of it all, because they let their hatred for their captors grow. You? You went deep into your mind and created this world where you had a happy family. They, more than anyone else, more than anything else in this world, kept you alive when you were in Southstairs. They were the reasons why you came out alive and sane and why you are able to bounce back so quickly. Your survival skill is nothing short of a miracle. But now that you are back, it is time to let your imagination rests. You have your family – you father, your mother, your cousins. You have your friends. They can give you the support that you need. We are all here for you. You can just speak to any of us. You need to come back to the real world."

"She's real. Elphie is real. Liir is real," he insisted, his fingers trying hard not to clench into fists.

Leesa leaned forward and placed her hands on his shoulder. Her voice was gentle when she spoke again, as if she was about to break more bad news to someone who was already grieving. "Then where is she? If she is real, then where is she? Why can't the private investigators hired by your parents find her? She is green, according to you. It is not so easy to hide a green person. Not to mention that it is scientifically impossible to have green skin."

He hated her.


"Have you been sleeping well?" she asked on another occasion.

He nodded his head. "Like a baby," he said. He knew that babies did not sleep well. Elphie had told him that Liir was colicky when he was young, and when he was older, his sensitive lungs would give him problems on some nights.

"The pills that you have given me seem to be working," he added.

Leesa looked satisfied.

"How have you been doing?"

"Great. I am helping Mother in her charity work. We went to Quadling recently for the ground breaking ceremony of a children's home."

Leesa nodded her head. "It's always good to be involved in the community. There is no better sense of achievement than to know that what you have done helps the unfortunate. I understand that you are seeing someone."

"Yes, her father is one of the patrons of the orphanage."

"Would you like to tell me more about her?" she prompted.

At least Elphie was not mentioned during this session.


"Congratulations! I heard that you are engaged," she said one day, out of the blue.

"What?"

"That's what the papers said."

He looked flustered. "It was a misunderstanding. She thought that I was going to propose to her and she went around and told her parents and friends. I had to tell her that I did not have the intention to propose. It was quite awkward. And then her parent said that I was misleading her and I have to make it true or their daughter will not be able to face the society again. Anyway, we broke up. She broke up with me."

Leesa patted his hand gently, the sympathy in her eyes.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?"

Fiyero looked down on the carpet for some time before he spoke.

"I called her by the wrong name," he told her, his voice embarrassed. He need not tell her when.

He had called her Elphie.


"You have been making very good progress for the past few months, Yero."

He smiled. His smile was tired, and there were eye bags below his eyes, but he did look happier.

"I think your suggestion of helping in my father's business helps. It feels good to wake up every morning knowing that the things that I do that day will help my father and his business. Every day, there are challenges to overcome, new deals, new business decisions to be made. It is not some text book scenario. It is real life. I don't know to describe to you but it feels like I am born to do this."

"Are you tired?"

"Just a bit. We are crafting out this takeover proposal, which I am sure you will be reading soon in the papers. I have been surviving on three hours of sleep every night, but I have never felt better."

Leesa looked at him proudly. "It seems that you have the same business intuition as your father."

He ran his hand through his hair and laughed nervously. "I hope so. Everyone has high expectation of me just because I am the son of Marillot Tiggular."

Leesa smiled at him.

"Yero, it's great that you are able to help your father, but please remember to take a break whenever you can. You do not want to neglect your health. Are you still sleeping well now that you are off the pills?"

He nodded his head.

"Any dreams?"

"Oh yes," he laughed again. "I dream of the day when I finish the proposal. I intend to go back to my bed and sleep for twenty four hours non-stop." He paused for a while, as if something had just occurred to him. "You know, now that you mentioned it, I have not dreamed of Elphie and Liir for a long time. In fact," he added with marvel. "I don't even remember when was the last time that I dreamt of them."

His therapist could not hide her pleasure in hearing those words.

He hated himself.


Lurlinemas eve.

Fiyero sat in his office, one hundred and fifty floors up in the air. Behind him, the full length glass wall revealed the city centre of Kiamo Ko, short for City of Kiamo Ko, as its backdrop. Kiamo Ko - the capital of Vinkus, named after the fortress that was now just a tourist spot, a shrouded shadow on the mountains behind the city.

Kiamo Ko (the city) was both the administrative and financial city of Vinkus. It was also home to many of the big corporations from Oz which had shifted their headquarters to avoid the political instability during the last years of the Wizard's reign. In addition, many companies which wanted to expand their customer base to include the rising affluent from Vinkus and beyond knew that having a regional office in Kiamo Ko was the way to go. And none of the addresses was as prestigious as The Windmill Towers, owned by the vast Tiggular business empire. And Fiyero's office was on the top floor of Windmill Tower One. Across the hall, he could see his father's office. The office lights were off. His father was in EC for a business meeting, and would only be back the next day. His mother was attending a charity ball a few streets away, raising funds for the poor children in Quadling.

Fiyero looked at his watch. He still had some work to do, but his mother was expecting him to fetch her in thirty minutes and he got to be ready.

The TV mounted on the wall was tuned to the business channel. It was showing the repeat telecast of the interview that he had done a few days ago. It was his first interview, and he had agreed to give it because his parents thought that it would be good publicity. The interviewer did not mention that he had spent six years in Southstairs nor that he was in intensive therapy for two years. She only highlighted the fact that the handsome heir had been deeply involved in the family business for the past three years and was also involved in many charity initiatives. She also did not fail to mention that Fiyero had been in the top ten of The Most Eligible bachelors conducted by Ozmopolitan magazine for the past two years.

He still had to visit his therapist once a month. And every time he told her the same story. He kept himself busy with work and friends. He dated on and off. He had no problem sleeping and his appetite was good. He no longer had dreams of Southstairs and of his imaginary family. But late at night, in the privacy of his room, he would think of them. He replayed his memories like a private video session. The cramped little bed where they made love. Elphie's dry humour. The way her fingers brushed against his when she handed him something. How every single action from her told him that she loved him, even though she had never told him so. He remembered Liir. The weight of the boy when he sat on his lap. The way his hair tickled his nose. The way his son laughed, taking delight in the simple things in life. But there were some things that he could not remember. Her scent. The silkiness of her hair. The way Liir's little hand felt in his.

He finally had a chance to go to EC earlier that year. He extended his trip so that he had two days free and he went north to visit some old friends from Shiz. He rented a car in Shiz Town and drove past the place where he had first met Elphie when she worked in the convenience store. The whole place had been rebuilt and was now a shopping mall. He pretended to get lost and drove to the place where he used to drop her off. The winding staircase was still there, but the neighbourhood was even more dilapidated than before. He wanted to get off the car and go up the stairs when then he noticed that a car had stopped a distance behind him – he had seen the same car following him the whole day. He took out a map from the glove compartment and pretended to consult it for a while before he drove off.

There was always another chance.

The eye operation was a success. He did not regain perfect eyesight and had to wear a pair of glasses whenever he had to do too much reading, or if he strained his eyes too much. But it was definitely much better than being blind. And it was funny how the press lapped up everything about him – rich, smart (this was a cause of contention between some reporters) and handsome. Even the imperfections that he had – the need for glasses and his slight limp – was gushed over. One female reporter even said that he 'shows a hint of boyish charm that has every woman fangirling'. He had cringed at that description.

He sent a print job to the printer next to his secretary's desk – he would have to complete his reading over the holidays. When he had collected the printouts, he went to her desk and used her stapler. He clipped and nothing happened – the stapler had run out of staples. He tried to retrieve a fresh strip of staples from the box but sent the whole box tumbling into the waste paper basket below. Mumbling a curse, he kneeled down next to the waste paper basket to retrieve the small metallic items. And that was when he saw the book in the waste paper basket.

His secretary was the one who went through all his mails, and this was most probably filtered by her. But the book got his attention. That, and the torn envelope with the childish handwriting.

He dug into the waste paper basket and took out the book.

One thousand and one Vinkun Legends and Tales.

He sank onto the carpeted floor, his back to the desk. He remembered reading this book. No, someone read it to him, in another lifetime. A lifetime that was not supposed to be real.

He flipped across the pages, skipping the stories on Lurline, Kumbrica and other Vinkun gods. There were a few pages that had been folded previously, a bad habit that a little boy had until his mother scolded him and made him stopped. He flipped to the last story that they had read together as father and child – the story where Kumbrica converted the starving Lion that had wanted to eat her. And tucked at the last page of that story was a folded piece of paper. He unfolded the paper to see a series of raised dots, made by a slate and a stylus.

Fiyero placed his fingers on the dots and swore. It had been years since he had read using his fingers and they were no longer sensitive. The dots were suddenly too small, too faint and too close together. He flipped through the rest of pages, and there was no more folded paper, no written messages. He returned to the paper and closed his eyes, his fingers resting gently on the dots, willing his fingers to feel the slight dots, willing his brain to remember what each pattern meant.

It was a message.

A date and a venue.

Lurlinemas Day.

The Cloister of Saint Glinda.


The constant ringing on his hand phone (from both his parents. He had left vague messages on their voicemails lying about a friend from Shiz on his deathbed) and an argument with the airline's customer service staff at the airport (she refused to charge his ticket to the corporate account because he was unable to quote the corporate account number (his secretary had the number)) failed to dampen his spirits. In the end, he used his personal credit card, which was expiring in two weeks' time, to pay for an economy class ticket that cost as much as a first class ticket; it was the holiday season, it was last minute and it was the last ticket for the only flight from Kiamo Ko to EC on Lurlinemas Day.

He found himself pacing to and fro in the departure terminal with nothing but a small backpack that he had bought at the airport for the story book. He frazzled attitude apparently caught the attention of security and he was escorted to a room where they questioned him on his trip. For a while, they did suspect that he had stolen the passport of the famous Fiyero Tiggular until one of their colleagues was brought in to identify him – she was a fan, and she squealed with delight when she saw him and insisted of taking a few photos with him. Fiyero gave her a grateful smile when he was finally allowed to catch his flight.

His seat in economy class was narrow with short leg room and he was surrounded by a family of six screaming children. He hid in the toilet and wished that he could have a smoke – he had quitted soon after meeting Elphie because she had frowned on it when he was paying at the counter. He wondered if any of the cabin crew would have some nicotine gum to spare.

The plane landed five minutes ahead of schedule (thank goodness!) and he was out of the airport in no time.

Like all previous winters, there was no snow in EC. But the air was cold. There was talk of snow, the first time in twenty years. He put on his jacket and went to the rental counter, but sorry, all the cars were rented out. He went to the cab stand only to find a long queue. There was nothing to do but to wait patiently. He read the story book while waiting for his turn.

He finally got a cab after a long time.

"Where to?"

"The Cloister of Saint Glinda, Shale Shallows, please."

"That's a few hours' ride away, buddy," the driver told him.

"I can pay, if you accept credit card payment," was Fiyero's answer, flashing the card over the back of the driver seat, wedged between his two fingers. The driver grinned and took the card and placed it on the dashboard for safety.

"Sit back, buddy," he said as he drove off.

"So why are you going there?" the driver asked when they left the airport behind. "It's a strange place, only opened once a year during Lurlinemas for eight hours. It brings in the crowd though. I think they have more visitors on that day than what other places can get in a year. Whoever who comes up with this idea has good marketing brains." He tapped on his temple for effect. "But they have the most beautiful cemetery there. Are you there to visit the dead or to pray for the living?"

Fiyero sat back and closed his eyes as he tried to shut out the endless chatter. He hoped that he was there to visit the living and to get his prayers answered.

It was late afternoon when the cab dropped him outside his destination.

He looked at the interconnected buildings. The Cloister of Saint Glinda had a huge compound. There were areas for praying, private quarters for the maunts and cloistered areas for those who had taken the vow of silence. At the back was a huge cemetery, known for the beautiful statues of the angels and saints that the living had commissioned for the dead. He wondered if he should start his search there, if he had come all the way only to find a simple tombstone marking the final place that she rested.

A notice at the main gate indicated that the main hall would be closing in ten minutes. Outside the gate, some of the vendors had started packing; the day was almost over, and they had earned enough for the day. Other vendors stayed put. There was that last group of visitors exiting the place and there was always some who would like to buy some souvenirs before they left.

A maunt stood by the gate, the keys ready in her hands as the last of the visitors exited the gate. Fiyero squeezed in between the crowd and mouth a five minute at the maunt, his five fingers outstretched. He was not stopped and he took a deep breath before he went into the hall.

The last mass had ended, as expected. The place was dim, lit by yellow lamps and low burning candles. The winter sun was setting; its light shone through the painted glass walls and turned the air a flaming colour. He moved to the side and stopped in front of a small table with a statuette of Saint Glinda and several fresh candles. Fiyero lit a candle and said a prayer. For Elphie. For Liir. For himself.

At the front of the hall, near to the altar, a pair of maunts entered by one door and disappeared via another as they chatted with each other, so fast that they were gone before he could catch their attention.

There were another group of maunts near to the altar, cleaning diligently and silently. He wondered if they were the maunts who had taken a vow of silence. He doubted that they would break their vows just to answer his question.

There were a few more maunts, deep in prayers at the first few rows. Should he interrupt their prayers?

Just then, he felt something furry brushed against his leg. He looked down and saw a big, white dog passed by, its tail wagging. There was a strange contraption on its back.

As he looked on, the dog went to the front of the hall and sat down next to one of the maunts who was praying alone. Interesting, he never knew that maunts were allowed to keep pets.

The dog whined, and the maunt reached out a hand and scratched its neck, and suddenly Fiyero could not breathe – it was as if all the air were suddenly sucked out of the hall, forming a vacuum.

A green hand, with the familiar slender fingers.

He stood there. He wanted to run over but suddenly his legs were like stone. He stood there for some time, staring at the apparition, hoping against hope that she would not disappear as the blood in his legs slowly restored. He wanted to run over, but he suspected that he would trip; he did not trust his legs at this point, they felt weak. Or maybe the running sounds would alert her to his presence and she would disappear before he could reach her. He did not know.

He walked as fast as he could, but quietly, his eyes not leaving the woman and her dog.

He slowly entered the pew from opposite end and made his way silently to her. Her head was down, her hood pulled so low it covered her face, her hands hidden in the sleeves again.

"Happy Lurlinemas, Elphie," he called her name as he sat down next to her.

He heard her sudden intake of breath, and her hands clenched into fists inside the sleeves.

"Aren't you going to wish me a happy Lurlinemas?" he asked.

She dipped her head. "Please go."

"Why? You promised that you would be there when I woke up. But when I woke up, I was somehow magically whisked to Kiamo Ko and you no longer exist."

One of the maunts who was scrubbing the altar glared at him. Obviously there was only a rule against the maunts for speaking, they were allowed to glare.

"Please go," she pleaded. "I am not the one whom you are looking for."

"Do you know who am I looking for? I am looking for a woman who thinks that she is old and ugly," he almost laughed at his own joke. "I am looking for a woman who has no idea how beautiful she is."

There was no response from the woman seated next to him.

He reached out to rest his hand on hers that were still hidden by the sleeves. She shrunk away from his touch, and in doing so, shifted away from him. There was a clattering sound as something light fell, and Fiyero saw what had caused that sound – a plain white stick with a loop at the top. A walking cane, like the one that he had used when he could not see.

Elphie let out a gasp and stood up. She turned, her hands flailing as she tried to feel her way out of the narrow aisle. But she forgot that the dog was just outside and she tripped over the animal. The dog barked. Fiyero grabbed her and pulled her into his arms, ignoring her struggles.

The maunt who had glared at him dropped her washcloth and ran away as fast as her skinny legs allowed.

The dog growled at him to let its mistress go.

"Please, please, let me go," Elphie pleaded as she continued to struggle in his arms, her arms folded between his chest and hers, her head turned away.

"No," he told her simply as he pulled her closer to him. "No more."

The maunt came back, bringing with her the superior maunt. The elderly woman walked up to Fiyero calmly.

"Good evening sir, but I noticed that you are holding one of my sisters. Can you please release her?"

"No," he said. "She'll run away. I can't let her disappear from my life again."

The woman chuckled. "Well, I will want to run away too if there is a man holding me so tight I cannot breathe. Please, loosen your grip before she pass out. I promise you that she will not run away."

Fiyero loosened his grip sheepishly. And to his surprise, the struggles ceased after a while and Elphie stayed here in his arms. Her breathing was heavy, her head still turned away. He reached out a hand and touched her cheek. It came away wet.

The superior maunt crossed her hands at the wrists, pleased that she was right.

"May I know what is your reason for looking for Sister Aelphaba?"

Sister Aelphaba? Was that the name that she used nowadays? And hidden in a place where no one could visit. It was no wonder nobody could find her.

"I've been looking for her for five years," he replied.

The woman nodded wisely, and he wondered what kind of life she had lived before she gave her life to the Saint.

"So he was the one, Sister Aelphaba."

Elphie shook her head, but she no longer said no.

"Now sir, I think I need to ask you to leave." Fiyero looked at her in surprise, and the superior maunt raised a hand to stop his questions and to let her continue. "This is not exactly the place for discussing your past or your future. The quarters are out of bounds for outsiders, but perhaps the cemetery will be a good place. The dead do not eavesdrop and gossip," she gestured to an exit. "Just remember to keep her warm – our garbs are quite thin."

With that, the superior maunt turned and left. The silent maunt stared at the departing figure, appalled that she had condoned such behaviour, and left in a huff after giving Fiyero another glare.

Fiyero guided her to the cemetery; he held the cane in his hand, his other hand gentle under her arm. He found a bench between the tombstones and they sat down. He took off his coat and draped it over her shoulders. She did not thank him, but simply stared into the distance as if she was in a world of her own.

Five years. Five years of searching, dreaming and doubting his own sanity. And there she was, a real person, alive, with him. He engulfed one of her hands in both of his and she did not resist. He took it as a good sign.

But he did not know what to say. He finally knew what happened to her. Not the details, but he knew what she had done, and most probably her reasons for doing so. There were a million things that he wanted to say to her, and he did not know which one to start with. The dog, her guide dog, ran among the tombstones and then back again, its tongue hanging out of its jaws as it looked at its owner with its merry dark eyes.

"What is its name?" he asked, breaking the silence.

"Killjoy," she replied after a while, her voice weary.

He laughed.

Another silence.

"Do you like it here?" he asked.

Another pause before she answered, as if she had to go over her answers in her mind carefully before saying it out.

"Yes."

Fiyero stretched his legs, his hands not leaving hers.

"I live in Kiamo Ko. It's very urban. There are many tall buildings, and the roads in the city centre are always jammed. But I work there. Do you remember my previous apartment in Gillikin? My current place has a similar layout. And a few hours' drive away we have the national parks and of course, the Thousand Year Grasslands. You'll like it there."

She tried to remove her hand, but he had worked his fingers between hers, and she found her hand trapped. He chuckled.

"You don't have to decide today. But if you don't, I will come back tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow. I will come every day until you agree to move in with me. If you don't like Kiamo Ko, I can always find a job in Gillikin. You don't think that I will let you go, do you?"

"I promise that I will stay away from you," she said after a while.

He placed his hand on her chin and turned her face towards him. She looked down, and then he lowered his head so that he could see her face. It had been twelve years since he last saw her face, and there had been changes. Unkind changes. But Fiyero thought that she had never looked more beautiful.

"You promise that you will be there when I wake up," he reminded her. "And I hold you to that promise," he said as he kissed her gently.

Killjoy barked.

"You'll wake the dead," Fiyero admonished the dog good-naturedly. He pulled Elphie into his arms and rested her head on his shoulder.

He noticed that her hands were still at her sides. It was as if she could not bear to touch him. As if she would find him a figment of her imagination if she reached out for him. So he took her hand with his free hand and laced their fingers together, his thumb caressing the back of her hand.

They sat there, not saying a word.

"How did you find me?" she asked after some time.

"Saint Glinda's messenger delivered a message," he joked.

She scoffed, and he smiled.

After a while, Elphie raised her head, as if looking at something in the sky. It was a moment before Fiyero realised what it was. Tiny snowflakes giving ice cold kisses.

"It's snowing," he told her. "Let's go back."

Killjoy barked at them, happily he hoped, and ran ahead of them. Instead of running into the hall, he barked at the shadows at the entrance as he tried to paw at a pair of legs that was almost hidden in the shadows. The owner of the legs stooped down and scratched the dog behind its neck. It was a boy, tall for his age. The boy looked up. He had short blonde hair, blue eyes and a handsome face that most probably have broken a few girls' hearts. The boy broke into a grin when he saw Fiyero.

"Happy Lurlinemas, Daddy," he said.

Fiyero smiled back at his son as he wrapped an arm around the boy, his other arm still around Elphie.

"Happy Lurlinemas, Liir," he told his son. "And thank you," he added as the four of them went into the building together.

A/N It is Christmas eve here. Happy Lurlinemas and Merry Christmas.