Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize and everything you do not.

A/N: I know, I know, a month. I'm really sorry. I keep losing track, plus I was in Romeo and Juliet (as Romeo) so I had to deal with that before updating again... here is, though, hopefully good enough to make up for my absence...


Resistance
by Fiyero Oberon

VIII.

"Sweet Lurline, you must be joking."

Glinda's face is screwed up into a look that Elphaba can't decide is either disgust or fear. Kumbricia's Pass, a great area of flat land between the Great Kells and an unnamed mountain range, lies out before the three women, looking to Elphaba to be plain and boring and rather uninviting altogether. The only thing creepy that Elphaba can see is the way the sun is setting in the distance – not yellow or orange or gold, but blood-red, and it fills the whole sky with a chilling shade of crimson.

"We've got to camp here," states Elphaba simply. "The sun's already setting and if we go any farther we'll have to camp in the mountains."

"Better the mountains than Kumbricia's Pass," says Glinda, a shadow falling across her face. "This the most unlucky spot in all of Oz," she says suspiciously.

"I don't believe in luck," says Heart, who is already struggling to get the pack off her back. Glinda learned quickly not to offer to help Heart set up her bed, for the blind woman is extremely sensitive to doing simple things by herself.

Glinda isn't unpacking with her companions; she is squinting over the land, searching for anything suspicious. The call of a hawk overhead makes her jump. "Seven years ago, a man and a boy vanished here." She pauses for dramatic effect. "Did you hear me? They were the last to dare enter into the Pass, though they certainly were not the first. We shouldn't be here." But Elphaba and Heart have already laid out their pallets and have begun undressing. "I can't sleep," she states, tossing her pale curls so the red light glints off them menacingly.

"You haven't even tried," insists Heart. "Besides, we're not saying we have to go to sleep immediately. I think we should stay up and tell ghost stories." She reaches out and grabs Glinda's silky skirt, tugging gently and making Glinda yelp and whirl around, flailing her arms.

"That's not funny," she snaps as Heart chuckles. She sticks out her lower lip in a pout as Elphaba unrolls a bundle of blankets and tosses one at Heart, who begins sorting her way out of it. "I won't be able to sleep!" she reminds them.

"So stay up all night and keep watch," says Elphaba informally, lying down on her cot. "I don't really care. If we die, we die." She lies down, not bothering to pull up the blanket.

Glinda is frantic: "'If we die, we die'? Have you gone insane?" Her lip curls as she sees Elphaba's thin lips spread in a smirk. Glinda drops her bags and sits down on them, crossing her arms, her massive skirt billowing around her. Killyjoy comes running up from where they had walked, a fat black rat clutched in his jaws. The dog, who has taken a peculiar liking to Glinda, to her disgust, trots over to her and climbs up onto her lap, leaving a trail of miniature footprints running up her skirt. The dog drops the rat in her lap, cocks his head, and pants while he looks at her fixedly for approval.

Elphaba whips around when she hears Glinda spontaneously combust; she is hopping up and down, screaming at the dog, who looks terrified. She looks at the rat as though it is not just a dead rodent, but more like a mountain of dead rodents. Heart emits a snicker, laughing at the ridiculously high pitch Glinda's voice has taken on.

When Glinda has calmed down, Elphaba has a hard time not laughing at the sight of her: her perfect hair is tangled and falling in her face; her dress is wrinkled and twisted around her body in a way that Elphaba can't tell which way it's supposed to go; her eyes are blazing with fury, glaring at the dog, who sits on a boulder, his head cocked, gazing at Glinda curiously.

"Glinda," Elphaba manages to say, "it is a dead rat…. This must be why people are so superstitious of this place; one little rumor and suddenly dead rats are bad omens and hawks are death threats. Glinda, go to sleep." Elphaba retreats, slipping down to her pallet and lying flat on her back.

"Fine!" Glinda says. "Fine. I'll just sit down. Here. And think. Alone. By myself." She puts her elbows on her knees and cups her chin in her hands, her lower lip trembling.

The sun is nearly gone once more, the giant red orb almost completely sunk into the distant horizon. The sky has gone velvety black, bringing a sort of comfort down around Elphaba. It is strange; the one place in Oz that most would say is the most hazardous location in the world is where Elphaba feels true comfort, true safety. The starless sky brings a sort of relief down on Elphaba, and the rising full moon also brings reassurance, as though promising to protect her from harm. Turning and looking up at Glinda, still moping, Elphaba attempts a realistic smile. "Glinda, come on. Come to bed."

Apparently the smile was realistic enough, because Glinda lets out a whiney sigh and gets up to find her pallet, though she is whimpering about full moons and starless nights and bad omens. Elphaba closes her eyes and ignores her; for what feels like the first time in a long time, Elphaba feels calm. Exhausted, she begins to drift slowly into a darkened world… a world of peace… a world of unity… a world of equal rights… a world of rest… a world of–

Glinda's shrieks jolt Elphaba's slumber and she jumps up, quickly unsheathing the knife at her hip; Heart, too, has sat up in her bed, her head cocked, listening for some kind of assurance that Glinda is all right. Elphaba's eyes narrow and her jaw sets as she realizes that Killyjoy had taken the liberty of prancing on Glinda's face, leaving a set of muddy tacks running across her delicate features. "That dog," Glinda spits out threateningly.

Elphaba is lying on the ground again without even realizing she has lowered herself, her knife secured again in its sheath. She drifts into a compromising sort of half-sleep for a bit before Glinda screams again, but this time Elphaba ignores her. Glinda is letting out short spurts of noise, and from what Elphaba can tell with her eyes shut Glinda is trying to form words. Elphaba lazily opens one eye – "Hello."

Elphaba flips around, standing up in a whirlwind of cloak and skirt, her dagger in her hand. The boy jumps back, a sloppy grin spread across his face. "Give me one good reason to not kill you," she whispers dangerously.

He cocks an eyebrow at her, clearly doubting that she would use the dagger, but responds anyway: "I'm th' on'y one t'ever pass through th' valley 'n' live."

Glinda lets out a whimper from behind Elphaba and whispers, "Elphie, put the knife down." Elphaba lowers her arm, but her grip on the knife does not loosen and her posture remains every bit as tense. "Who are you?" Glinda asks, her voice high with nerves.

It is only as the boy puts his long swords away simultaneously does Elphaba realize he had a bladed weapon in each hand, thus the reason for his cocky smirk and raised eyebrow. Long dirty locks frame the boy's pinched face, the face of a boy who has grown too much in a short time and not had enough to eat. Even in the dark Elphaba can see the fine hairs that grow thick on the boy's face and her eyes travel quickly up the thin arms, freakishly muscular. He extends one knobby hand ornamented with dirty fingernails. "M'name's Ojo. 'Ojo the Unlucky' (1)t'm'friends 'n' fam'ly. Not that I've act'ly seen'm 'n a while or anyfing." Elphaba shakes the boy's hand firmly and he grins with satisfaction, taking a step back to survey her. "Never met a wench wif green skin b'fore."

Elphaba forces a small smile and withdraws her hand, making a show of wiping it off on her skirt. Ojo smirks again. "Fig'res," he states simply. "Years since I b'n'n civ'lized comp'ny an' o' c'rse ya'd wipe yer hand off." He jumps down from his position on the boulder to Glinda's cot. Again he extends his hand, "Ojo the Unlucky," he says.

Glinda eyes the hand distastefully and ultimately ignores it. She scans his bony body and licks her lips with discomfort at the lack of clothing hanging onto the boy – a pair of tattered pants, flapping lazily in the dry wind, is the only garment saving this Ojo from nakedness. He grins at her, displaying a mouthful of yellowed teeth, then slowly lowers his hand. Raising one perfectly-plucked eyebrow, Glinda asks, "Why do they call you 'the Unlucky'?"

The boy leans back from his crouched position, landing on his rump very ungracefully, crossing his legs in a sitting position. "I 'as born on Friday th' Thirteenth," he explains, "plus I'm lef' han'ed, plus I got a wart un'er my righ' arm." He turns and lifts his right arm to display the wart to Elphaba, who gives a faint smile and nods to the boy to demonstrate that she saw the wart. He turns around to show Glinda, but she erupts into a coughing fit and waves at him distractedly to continue. "Tha's it, re'lly," he says, shrugging. "'Though now I s'pose you cou'd add th' fac' tha' I been livin' in Kumbricia's Pass for sebben years."

"Seven years?" asks Heart, startling Glinda and the boy. Ojo nods and Glinda quickly voices the boy's response for him, whispering loudly to Ojo an explanation on Heart's eyesight. "I'm blind, not deaf, Glinda," says Heart bitterly. "How old were you when you were deserted? You can't be over fifteen."

Ojo's eyes narrow. "Lucky guess," he says resentfully. "I 'as eight. My Munchkinlan'er unc 'as bringin' me t' some Kvon Altar, 'n' we got lost in th' Pass 'n' 'ttacked b' a kalidah."

"What's an unc?" Glinda asked curiously.

"My Unc Nunkie (2)," says Ojo. "Uncle. Father's brother."

"Kvon Altar?"

At this, Ojo gives a shrug and spits lazily on his hand, rubbing at a mud stain on his lean stomach. "I 'ardly know what that is," he says. "I suspicion it's somefing t' do wif me bein' unlucky, but I re'lly don' know."

"It is," says Elphaba on a sudden, massaging her mind for passing words from her classes at Shiz and words from her own father. "Kvon Altar is like a haven for monks – a church, I presume, a sanctuary of sorts. A place where the 'holy priests of the Unnamed God gather to pray and to worship and to baptize.' Perhaps it was that your uncle was taking you there to have you baptized and to have the monks pray over you to erase the misfortune in you." She pauses, tapping her fingers together. "Strange though, that your uncle should take you… should be your father, really…"

Ojo's features seem to harden slightly as she speaks these last words. "My father's dead," he states curtly. "My fault, that one." Elphaba scowls at the look of curiosity on Glinda's face, but Ojo notices it and explains: "I shattered a mirror and – "

"There's no such thing as luck," Elphaba says sternly, repeating Heart's earlier denial.

"– and the shards of glass tore him apart," Ojo finishes. "He bled to death." The blood drains from Elphaba's face, lightening her skin to a paler green than she thought was possible.

"I – I'm sorry," she stutters, "I know what's it like to…"

He shakes his head. "I was six," he says gently, "I hardly knew him." She nods shortly and he gives what she sees as a feeble attempt at a smile.

"Well then, your family was compiled of mostly women, then?"

"All except Unc Nunkie."

"That explains it then – women are expressly forbidden from Kvon Altar, so the closest male relative attends with the 'victim.' I presume that the only reason my own father never took me to Kvon was because of the female forbiddance." Ojo looks uncomfortable, as though unsure what to say after this; Elphaba's eyes shift to Glinda, who is sleeping sitting up. Heart is lying on her pillow, facing them, her eyes shut as well, but Elphaba can tell that the blind woman is still awake. A glance at Ojo signals to Elphaba that the conversation is over and she kneels back on her pallet. "I would offer you a cot, but we have no extras and –"

Ojo puts his hand up, shaking his head. "I won' sleep anyway," he says. "I haven' slep' since the k'lidah killed my unc. I'll keep watch." He smiles kindly and settles himself in the midst of the three cots, taking up the work at starting a fire with a few feeble sticks and strips of bark.

Lying down, Elphaba looks up at Ojo as she begins to drift towards a half-sleep again. "Where did you get the swords?" she asks, her voice already heavy.

Ojo smiles oddly at her as flames began to flicker. "Go to sleep, Elphaba," he says.

And Elphaba's last thought as she drifts into a foreign sleep is that she could swear that she never told him her name.


(1) A character first appearing L. Frank Baum's The Patchwork Girl of Oz. He was known as Ojo the Unlucky because he was born on Friday the Thirteenth, was left-handed, and had a wart under his right arm.

(2) A character first appearing in L. Frank Baum's The Patchwork Girl of Oz. The uncle and care-taker of Ojo the Unlucky.


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