There were only a handful of people on the journey with her, few enough that she doubted the leader of the train was making enough money to possibly justify leaving the City. Surely the woman could have waited until there was a higher demand; more people equals more profit after all. Not that Glinda was in a position to complain, if it weren't for the train she doubted she would have been able to get to the Vinkus in time.
The group sent to… dispose of Elphaba, were set to leave less than a week after her own departure. Or so she was told by an eager Ella. Though, if Shell's assumption that this was just a scare tactic was incorrect, who was to say they had not already left? That, perhaps, the small groups she was travelling with may even include those very same people?
It was an odd thought, one that came from nowhere and struck her chest painfully, and in her confusion she kept her distance from the others, studying them perhaps a bit too intently.
In the end, however, it became obvious that while most of the group appeared to be composed of natives returning home for whatever reasons they had, the few others were adventurers. Tourists was perhaps a better term to use.
She would rather mar herself than ever repeat the experience of the journey, she was not brought up to cope with such ordeals. Yet, despite her struggles and frequent wishes to return to civilisation, she soldiered on with her chin held high and a determined set to her form.
This was not for her, at the end of the day, this was for someone else. Someone dear. And quite possibly for the good of so many other innocent people – which was the main reason, she reminded herself. That was what she continued to tell herself as she looked over the book in a secluded corner of their camps, trying to understand why now it no longer seemed to work.
Following the words of a book on a whim was laughable at best, and if it turned out to be a dead-end she would be left in a foreign land waiting desperately for the caravan to return after, presumably, winter. Then again, if it did turn out to be true… well then it was a chance worth taking.
And really, the scenery was rather beautiful, she doubted it was something she would ever see or experience again in her lifetime after she returned to the City. So why not appreciate it? Which she did, with a rapidly building enthusiasm. The architecture of nature comes close to, but had yet to surpass, some of the great words she had seen built by man's own mortal hands.
There was an old, almost toothless man that caught her attention after a few days. Maybe it was simply because he was not as overbearing as some of the others on the trip, he kept to himself and spent most of his days whittling at various blocks of wood as he whistled. She was unsure where exactly all of it was coming from, but she chose to keep to her manners and so did not question him. There was something almost hypnotising about the process of creating something from nothing, she had never thought she would find such simple, primitive work, so interesting.
After a few days of watching his work, seeing how he turned an ugly block of wood into a horse, or her favourite, a beautiful pfenix carved out of some rich, red coloured wood. She realised she did not know his name, something that previously would not have bothered her suddenly did.
When he had first noticed her interest in his work, he had beckoned her closer, and every day after that they could be found seated near or next to one another. Him with his figures, she with her book.
His name was Haumann, at least that is what she thought he said, his accent was thick and the loss of so many teeth did not help her understanding.
If she were still vain, little Galinda his appearance would have disgusted her. Instead she felt drawn to the kindness of the man, for it reminded her of her dear, sweet Ama. Quickly she found herself speaking more and more with him, inquiring about things that previously had never once crossed her mind. Not even in her most droll and idle thoughts.
She asked him if there was still a big demand for whittled items, for she had not seen many items like that in a long time. Sure some of her social circle would purchase such items when they travelled elsewhere as 'native curiosities', but that was about it. In fact the last time she saw an item like his was back in Colwen Grounds. The damaged bird that Frex treasured so.
Oh.
The realisation dawned on her like the rising sun over the mountains they saw each morning. Frex treasured that small, insignificant item. One that many would have disposed of as soon as it showed even a hint of damage. He carried it in his pocket; cradled it like a real, living bird as he stood at that window mourning the 'loss' of his oldest child.
She wondered…
Years of secretly studying architecture, learning about and observing all the tiny, mostly over looked details had given her quite the eye and memory for remembering such things. Something she was extremely grateful of, and rather proud of herself for, as she instructed Haumann on the appearance of that damaged wooden bird of Frex's.
All based on a hunch of hers, one that could prove to be very, very wrong. Much like this whole trip in actual fact. However, unlike the trip if this hunch turned out to be wrong, then it was no loss for her or the whittler, he would be paid and she would be able to keep the figure as a memento of him and the trip. Not that she was enjoying the journey in question or anything.
She had to fill in a lot of the details by herself, as she had only seen the figure from a distance and it was very damaged. Once again, it was thanks to her study of architecture that it was not as much of a struggle as it could be. As well as modern and well-kept old buildings she had studied a lot of abandoned and dilapidated buildings. Filling in gaps and picking up on signs of what the worn down work used to look like.
Over the course of a few days, the last few in the trip, Haumann focused on the work for her. He discarded many partially completed figures as there was something wrong with them, or Glinda remembered some other small nuisance of the original carving that they lacked.
On the last day she, and he, were finally satisfied with it. They stood at their final destination, a small village at the foot of a mountain, as he held the product of their work out towards her. Glinda beamed at the figure as if she herself had created it, which in a way she had, they both had.
"Thank you so very much for doing this for me." It was a bit of a struggle, one hand clasping the bag containing the book, the other rooting through her other bag for her money. Fully intent on giving Haumann a more than sizable amount for his work.
The whittler shook his head, grinning gummily.
"A gift."
"No. I insist –
"A gift," he repeated, pressing the figure towards her. Placing her bag down, she took it hesitantly.
"I – I do not know what to say. I really must give you something…"
He shook his head once more, holding out his closed fist. Glinda's brow scrunched, but she placed her own hand, palm open and up beneath his own hand. He opened his fingers dropping what he was holding into her grasp.
"Oh!"
Just to make sure she was seeing correctly she held the item up and, sure enough, the object he had given her was that small, pfenix figure she had complimented so much.
"Gift for you also."
"Please – " She pleaded, "Let me give you something."
The whittler declined, leaving Glinda feeling a mixture of guilt but also flushed delight that she had made such an impression.
As he bid goodbye, slinging his bag over his shoulder and departing with a whistle, she realised she would actually miss him.
Both figures were held like treasures in her hand.
Finding someone to take her the rest of the way was a harder feat than she had believed it to be. She had been certain that the people here, a village so far from civilisation and appearing so primitive than what she was used to, would be more opened minded – meaning not completely taken in by The Wizard's words. There had been no verbal conformation of that particular belief of hers, but why else would they be so quick to decline to take her to Kiamo Ko?
She stuck out like a sore thumb, smaller than the people here and with fair skin and hair. She had never felt so out of place and judged. Was this how she had once made others feel?
Communication was also more difficult than she foresaw, she had assumed they would be fluent in Ozian here, as she knew that it was a requirement in Munchkinland and Gillikin to learn the language fluently before graduating. She did have the benefit of being able to complain to herself in Gillikinese without offending anyone, but that was only a small positive.
In the end, with no other option forthcoming, she began the walk up the mountain trail. She could not see the castle, but she was fully aware it was built on the side of that very mountain, or so she had been informed when seeking where in the Vinkus the castle was. She was certain it would come into view soon and was simply not observable from the village. It would be a long trek, one she did not have the shoes to make without a lot of blisters and pain, but she had no other choice.
Who knew? Perhaps she would find someone on the way who would be willing to take her the rest of the way.
The village was still quite a large shape on the horizon behind her when she stopped in her tracks. A quickly approaching rattle catching her attention.
Stopping was definitely not the smartest decision of hers, for as soon as she stopped herself the pain that had built in her feet seemed to explode outwards, leaving her struggling to remain standing. It left her wanting to do nothing more than sit down on the ground, and put no more weight on her feet for the foreseeable future.
Over the brow of the hill came an ox drawn cart. The old man driving it peered at her curiously as he drew closer, the wheels of the cart slowing as he did. She turned, feeling decidedly uncomfortable for reasons she could not begin to explain, and resume walking, her body screaming at her to let her feet rest.
"Are you alright Miss?" He called, the cart drawing up alongside her, still slowing as it did.
"I am fine," she replied, automatically haughty, not the best way to convince the stranger to give her a lift the rest of the way. "I am travelling to Kiamo Ko castle. I have already inquired after a lift there, and despite my offering payment, no one has been accommodating of my request."
The old man shifted, scratching at the white hair on his chin as he narrowed his eyes at the ox pulling the cart. He hummed to himself for a moment before nodding his head, "Can do that, most of the way."
Well, that was better than nothing she supposed. And it was both a relief to find someone who she was able to communicate with well and for her feet to finally have a rest. Even if the price she had to pay was sitting in the back of a hay strewn cart that had most definitely seen better days.
"Thank you for your kindness."
The driver grinned at that, the skin around his eyes crinkling as Glinda hurried to the back of the cart, placing her bags on it before pulling herself up rather ungracefully. The man had the lack of manners not to help her, but also enough of them not to watch as she made a fool of herself.
He gave her a good length of time to settle before he looked over his shoulder to check on her. Once satisfied, he turned to the ox and the cart began to move forward at a steady pace.
Rather than fold her legs at an angle beneath her as was proper, Glinda allowed her moment of anonymity to grant her some freedom as she stretched her legs before her. Wiggling her toes in her shoes and rotating her feet, she tried to relieve the pain that was now throbbing in them. It would be a swifter process if she removed her shoes, but there was only so far she would be willing to stretch her lessons of propriety.
"Why it is you want to go there of all places?"
Startled by the man's voice it took Glinda a moment to register just what he had asked.
"There is someone there I was once close to." It was a bit of a challenge for Glinda to both answer his question while at the same time staying vague, if The Wizard knew where Elphaba was than who was to say that the people who actually lived near to there did not also know?
"Really?" The man asked, his voice filled with surprise. Enough so that it caught Glinda's attention, a tension settling into her muscles as she stared at the back of the man's dark shirt.
Why was he so shocked?
"Didn't think there were many left."
Glinda's brow furrowed in an almost childish manner as her confusion over the man's words settled on her features. Maybe it was a mistranslation, perhaps the man had not meant to use those particular words.
She did not want to be rude and point out that he may have made a mistake, not when he was the only reason she was not still on a never-ending trek (what in Oz would she have done once night had begun to fall and she was still nowhere near the castle? She really hadn't thought her plan through had she?) A question was needed, one that would get her what she needed to know, one that would clear the air of her confusion while maintaining the amiability of their fledgling companionship.
"How many people reside there?" Another benefit from the question was that the answer would allow her to know who to expect – which might help her prepare herself. To know who she needed to greet, to share her intentions with, perhaps even have some assistance in her dealings with Elphaba. But his earlier words made her doubts seep in, was there anyone besides Elphaba there?
"There used to be a lot."
"Used to be?"
"Gone now. All of them." The man's shoulders raised in a shrug, his hands gripping the ox's reins loosely.
"You are taking me to an empty building?" For she knew that could not be the case.
"Well, there's The Witch. Most folks scared of her. If you had any sense you would be too." He looked over his shoulder to her again, "But not my place to change your mind. Not when you're paying me."
"I've never been noted for my mind, or my senses." Her posture changed as she spoke, ignoring the need to stretch her legs out she tucked them beneath her, giving of an imposing air. A defensive reaction, perhaps, but one she suddenly felt justified for, "What happened to the others who resided there?"
"In the past now. No need to worry about it."
She disagreed with his words, but now was not the time for arguments. Instead, to distract herself, she watched what she could see of the village disappear as they made their slow way to her destination.
It was dark by the time they arrived some distance from the castle. She would have been certain it was abandoned if not for a solitary glow in a single window high up in the sky.
The man had long ago drawn a lantern from somewhere, lighting it before setting it beside him. Even with the light source present on the journey, Glinda had felt unsettled, as if someone was lurking in the shadows surrounding them, waiting to pounce. As those fears had grown so did her realisation that she had trusted a stranger to take her where she wanted, a stranger in a land where she had never set foot, nor even knew the native language.
It was not her smartest decision ever.
Even so, she was there now, and nothing disastrous had occurred to her on the journey.
Upon jumping down from the carriage, Glinda paid the man a decent sum, not as much as she original would have. She felt justified in doing so for he had not answered all of her questions as she would have liked. Still, he seemed pleased by the amount which annoyed her more than it should, in the City it would be offensive to only tip that amount, a nonverbal scolding that would be acknowledged internally by the recipient. Here, however, it was not. She should have realised that it would not receive the same reaction in the Vinkus.
She was tired. That was quite possibly the cause for her mistake. Weariness from the long journey there with the carriage, her walking and now here; with the man and his ox.
With no more words likely to be exchanged, Glinda moved to take her first tentative steps towards the imposing structure when a new, gruff voice cut in with a wish for good luck.
Her forehead creasing she turned back to the elderly man that brought her there, but his attention was elsewhere. Her eyes were caught, then, by movement at the front of cart. The nodding head and knowing eyes of the ox.
Froze in that moment she could only stare as the bulky creature bow its head and the carriage began its return journey to the village in the foot of the hills. She wondered idly where the man had originally intended to go, for he had been travelling in the same direction as her. But that did not last longer than a moment.
Shaking her head to clear the cobwebs of sleep from her head, she turned back to the castle, moving towards the grand door she could see.
It seemed to take longer than she imagined to reach the outer walls of the castle, followed by the disused courtyard. The darkness that swallowed the surrounding area as she and the cart drew away in opposite directions, did not help matters. Her heart hammering with each step, in the City there were always people around and lights even during the darkest, latest parts of the night. This was eerie, something she had never truly experienced.
She gasped.
Her heart jumping to lodge in her throat as some great beast charged her, jumping and barking, trying to reach her face as its great paws dug into and stained her dress. She stumbled backwards, her heels catching the ground beneath her oddly, her bag dropped with a thump to the ground. The one that contained the book swinging, still clasped strongly in her hand.
"Damnable mutt."
Glinda looked up from her struggle, one hand grasping a furry foreleg, the other trying to push her book between her and the beast.
One half of the door had opened, light spilling across the cobblestones and weeds of the courtyard from a lantern that trembled in old hands.
The beast jumped down, racing to the open door and sliding through a gap into the castle.
Regaining her footing and reclaiming her other bag, Glinda gasped for breath and found she could utter only one, confused word.
"Nanny?"
