Chapter 11

Summer came on strong, settling over the Emerald City like an insufferable blanket during the day. At night, however, there was a measure of relief. Perhaps it was the need to catch the occasional breeze that caused Elphaba to continue to climb out onto the bridge trusses at night. Her wailing had ceased, and was replaced by a quiet stillness. Her heart still ached, yet it was duller now, tolerable, even. Malky sat beside her, without fail. She often wondered if it was her growing fondness for the Cat that continued to push out the grief. It seemed his constant presence was filling her with something warm, filling the gaping chasm she imagined existed where her heart should be.

With Frederick gone and very little else to do but think, Elphaba realized she was not just grieving over the loss of a companion. She grieved for the loss of relationships she hadn't even considered were possible. Admitting how Frederick had affected her made her realize she might have loved him. She couldn't help imagining the disgust any man would feel to discover her scars and the way she had been used. She grieved the loss of any future companionship, of ever being loved as a woman. It was an unexpected grief, since she'd never before realized such a thing mattered to her.

Occasionally, when she was fighting back tears the hardest, Malky would curl himself up in her lap. He was the only creature allowed to touch her. Elphaba found that she could not abide being touched. Even the brush of a stranger against her on the street brought fear and vomit to her throat. She loathed feeling this way, but try as she might, she could not put back on the armor that had kept her numb for nearly a year. The death of her friend and the presence of the Cat had pulled her guard down. She was left with the truth and depth of her scars.

She considered this as she sat on the bridge, this time with Malky at her side.

"What happened to your other child? The one who survived?" Her question was blunt and direct, but she knew that's what Malky expected. He didn't mince words.

He considered for a moment, cocking his head to the side and blinking his wide, clear green eyes. "She ran. As hard and fast as she could, for one only ten weeks old," He paused, remembering, "She was solid black…beautiful fur. Bright green eyes. Their mother was a calico. A show cat. She had a beautiful voice."

Elphaba considered this, "So you never saw her again?"

"No. It is my greatest hope that she is alive."

"And the rest of them?" She dared to ask.

"Exterminated." Malky's tone was flat.

Elphaba inhaled sharply, finding the word itself painful. She had heard there were Animal exterminations taking place, but the confirmation of such an atrocity was a horrid reality.

"They were herded into cages and carried away. Some of the Gale Force threw out statements about 'work camps'. But we knew. We all knew. We had heard from the Resistance how they were euthanizing any Animal small enough to be held down." Malky looked away for a moment, studying the sky. "I stopped talking then. Out of grief….maybe anger…and a desire to stay alive to find my daughter."

Elphaba let his words sink in before she spoke, "Do you speak to anyone other than me?"

"No," His answer was simple, yet powerful.

She felt utterly unworthy of his friendship, and his wisdom. Elphaba was incredibly awkward at expressions of gratitude, and she found her words stuck in her throat. Anything she could say in return seemed either trite, or too difficult for her to express. Somewhere deep within her, she longed to tell him about her scars, if only to know that she could voice the story without screaming, or vomiting, or letting loose torrents of fiery tears. Yet she still could not.

Instead, she opened her mouth and sang. She reached into that unidentifiable place inside her and brought forth a haunting melody. It was wordless, yet soaked in meaning. Malky seemed to understand, as he closed his eyes and took it in.

When she stopped, his eyes were rimmed with tears.

"You sound like her," He whispered.

Elphaba looked away, her dark hair spilling over her face.

"You have a gift," Malky continued.

She snorted slightly, refusing to meet his eyes.

The Cat was silent for a moment, thinking.

"You are not who you think you are," He finally told her, and she had to meet his eyes, if only to try to understand his meaning. "Thank you," He whispered rising to leave.

Elphaba sat for a long moment, wondering how he could put such wisdom into so few words.

Some time later, her thoughts were interrupted by a strange voice echoing from the bowels of the bridge below her. "Fae…I'm looking for Fae," It whispered.

Elphaba crept back into the shadows, not sure that she was ready for this.

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As Elphaba's eyes adjusted to the dim light in the underbelly of the bridge, she found herself looking at a human silhouette. She instinctively seized the broom for protection.

"Fae?" It spoke again, and she narrowed her eyes.

"Who calls me?" She asked, her tone wary.

"One who wishes to become many," The figure answered, and Elphaba recognized the phrase of those in the Resistance.

She relaxed her hold on the broom slightly, yet her heart leapt in her chest. Impossibly, they had found her.

"So you are the infamous Fae?" It was more of a statement than a question. As it spoke, the figure stepped forward. The moonlight fell across her face, and she turned out to be a woman.

She was tall, and solidly built. In the dim light, her skin was a deep ochre, hinting that her ancestry lie in the Vinkus, possibly in Winkie country. Her hair was plaited tightly around her head, with one braid snaking its way down her back. Tattoos in black and burgundy encircled her arms, which were bare underneath her black cloak.

"I'm infamous?" Was Elphaba's response, her eyebrow raised.

"You burned down the Ninth Ward printing press," The woman's voice was full of respect.

"That I did," Elphaba answered. She felt a twinge of pride. To be recognized for an accomplishment, to be respected, was a new experience, and she felt awkward in the moment. She stepped forward into the moonlight.

The woman gasped, her eyes widening.

"You're the green girl! Sweet Oz…I thought surely that was tabloid nonsense! You're supposed to be…" She trailed off, unable to finish.

"Dead?" Elphaba finished dryly. "Unfortunately no….I have lived to have this awkward conversation with you," She crossed her arms impatiently, "Was there something more?"

The woman opened and closed her mouth a few times, not producing any words. Finally, she sputtered, "My name is Nyalana."

Elphaba gestured towards the depths of the bridge, "Would you care to step inside my……bridge?" She threw out sarcastically.

Nyalana hesitated, her eyes still fixed on Elphaba's emerald face.

"Oh for Oz sakes! I don't bite!" Elphaba spat, turning and marching back into the darkness. She had never been a patient person, and the Winkie girl's gaping reminded her far too much of her early days at Shiz. So she was green? This girl was deep brown, and Boq had been ghostly white. Reaching back further, she remembered Turtle Heart's rosy skin. With such a colorful spectrum of people in the world, she swore she would go to her grave trying to understand why green was so repulsive.

"I'm sorry," Nyalana found her wits, "I just never expected….Well I suppose it doesn't matter…we have work to do."

Elphaba's eyebrow raised again. "First," She interjected, "how did you find me?" She would not dismiss that this might be some sort of trap.

"Frederick," Nyalana answered, and the mention of his name stung. "I was his contact, his vessel for entry into the Resistance. I was informed he was killed, and that he left instructions to find you. That is all I know."

Elphaba studied her for a moment, caught between wanting to curl up in the corner, and wanting to run full speed into the night on a new mission.

"If you're willing," Nyalana continued, "we are to go to St. Glinda's tomorrow at noon for instructions." She looked intently at Elphaba, trying to meet her eyes.

The green woman finally looked up, locking her dark eyes with Nyalana's. "I'll be there," She stated, striding over to the corner and flopping down on her cloak. The other girl was clearly dismissed.

A slight smile worked at the corner of the Winkie girl's mouth, and she turned to disappear into the night.

Above Elphaba, in the shadows, Malky smiled.

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The next morning, Elphaba awoke with the sun. She rubbed her back, working out the ache that every morning brought. She tied her hair securely and pulled her hat down over her eyes. She flipped the cloak over her shoulders and tucked the broom away in a crevice of the bridge.

Malky had left breakfast, and was now curled up, asleep. Being mostly nocturnal, he would sleep through noon.

By the time the sun blazed over the horizon in streaks of rose and amber, Elphaba was on her way. She had a long walk ahead of her, and she knew to pace herself. St. Glinda's was nearly on the opposite side of the Emerald City. She picked her way out from under the bridge, making her way through alleys and keeping to the lesser-traveled streets. She knew her way to the center of the city fairly well, and she barely glanced up as she made her way. Her pace slowed once she entered the Ninth Ward, however, as she was less familiar with this upper class part of town. She kept to the shadows, and her stomach untwisted in relief as she caught site of St. Glinda's.

The mammoth structure towered over her, and she made her way hesitantly inside. It was cool and dark in the stone structure. Candles flickered and cast dancing shadows on the walls. She made her way over to a statue of St. Glinda, taking in its towering presence, its delicate grace, and its strength.

Glinda…

The memory tried to surface again, and Elphaba shoved it away, burying it with so many other things.

She was suddenly aware of a presence beside her. Turning her head slightly, she recognized Nyalana.

"Follow me," The Winkie girl spoke.

Elphaba found herself being led down several winding corridors to a small prayer room. The only light came from one struggling candle against the far wall. Nyalana crossed the room and blew out the candle. No longer able to see, Elphaba felt her leave the room. She stood there, very still, waiting.

"What is your name?" A voice finally whispered.

"Fae."

"Good. I see you are a survivor."

"I suppose…" Her reply was shaky.

"Do you have any family?" The voice asked.

"No," Her reply was curt.

"Friends?"

"My only friend is dead."

"Very well then," The voice seemed to approve, although not unkindly, "you are to go to the Wizard's palace in three days time. Go to the East wall and wait. You will be given access. Once inside, find the third floor library. You are looking for a large book, very old, with this inscription." A piece of parchment was slid into her hand, and she startled at the touch.

"Bring it to this room immediately. That is all," The voice was silent, and Elphaba felt very alone. She clutched the parchment and turned to find her way back out the door.

Nyalana waited just outside the prayer room. She led them both back outside without question, clearly understanding that Elphaba's assignment was not for discussion. In the slanting light of the alley behind St. Glinda's, Nyalana simply pressed a hand to Elphaba's shoulder and strode away. Such was the Resistance. Whether she would see the Winkie girl again, only time would tell.

For now, Elphaba made her way back to the bridge, lost in her thoughts.

As ambiguous as the Resistance could be, Elphaba knew she had been given a dangerous task, an important task. Something that was kept in the Wizard's palace would be of great value, and would not be easily stolen. She knew she could be put to death for such a crime. Yet she was strangely proud at having been given a mission that could end in death. She had gained a measure of respect in the silent, faceless world of the Resistance.

Her state of eagerness made the next three days drag on mercilessly. She nibbled at food and altogether frustrated Malky with her sullen moodiness. He retreated to the heights of the bridge trusses, leaving her to stew in her impatience.

Finally, the sun was setting on the third day. Elphaba pulled her hat down low over her brow. She would need its cover tonight. With her cloak pulled high around her neck, she set out, hoping to blend into the inky black night.

The new moon was high and dark as she reached the palace grounds. High shrubs and full trees surrounded the soaring gates, making any entrance daunting in the least. She made her way to the East wall. She stood amongst the shrubbery, watching and waiting. She suddenly felt herself being pulled, then drug, through an opening in the wall. Upon emerging on the other side, she couldn't say for sure where the opening had been, as it was so overgrown with vines and other greenery.

She didn't have time to consider it further, as she was being led forcefully through the dark. Part of her wanted to scream and pull away, yet she knew to do so would forfeit everything. She swallowed hard and allowed herself to be all but drug to a small, rear door in the palace. She was shoved through, and found herself in a kitchen of some sort.

Elphaba looked around, her eyes slowly adjusting. Large pots and baskets of fruits and vegetables came into focus. She slowly, soundlessly made her way out and into the nearest hallway. Having no instruction as to where to find the library, she crept like a cat in the shadows cast by the flickering lanterns. It was late, and surely any staff would be sleeping, expecting any potential intruder to be caught by the guards at the gates.

She found a winding stair case and began to climb cautiously, having nowhere to hide should someone appear around the bend. She counted the floors, emerging on what must be the third. The Wizard's palace was vast. She remembered that much from her visit with Glinda three years prior. There could easily be a hundred rooms on this floor alone. Elphaba drew a deep breath and began to creep steadily forward, peering cautiously into each room. She willed each door not to creak, each stone not to shift as she made her way.

Finally, she pushed open a large, quoxwood door that revealed shelf after shelf of books. Her mouth dropped open for a moment at the sheer magnitude of it. Her fingers itched to touch, to explore, to read. Yet she held back. This was not a time for indulgence. Stooping, she unfolded the parchment and began to run her fingers over the volumes, looking for the strange lettering.

Hours passed. The clocked ticked. Her vision swam. Book after book after book passed in front of her. She opened a few, unable to restrain herself. The library was full of books from cultures she'd never heard of, in languages she had never seen. It was a window into the vast diversity that existed beyond the world she knew.

In one volume, she stumbled upon a passage and stopped.

Why should you be beaten anymore?
Why do you persist in rebellion?
Your whole head is injured,
your whole heart afflicted.

From the sole of your foot to the top of your head
there is no soundness—
only wounds and welts
and open sores,
not cleansed or bandaged
or soothed with oil.

It seemed to speak to her, to described her wounds, her scars, and yet her need to persist. Despite her pain, she was still going. She ripped the page from the book and tucked it into her cloak.

Mercifully, her fingers ran over a large book a few inches down the shelf. She carefully matched the lettering on the parchment to the volume, and then pulled it into her arms. It was large, heavy and awkward. She set it at her feet and knelt to study the cracked and peeling leather, the strange markings in the faded cover. Without time to open it, she heaved it into her arms and made her way back the way she had come.

It was slower going, with the unwieldy book in her arms, yet she only had to duck into a corner once as a servant snuck from his lover's quarters back to his own room. His dealings were almost as shady as her own, she considered, as she crept through the kitchen once more.

Once outside, she hugged the book close and ran, becoming a moving black shadow in the moonless night. She fumbled through the brush, taking nearly half a tree with her as she spilled onto the deserted street.

Elphaba leaned for a moment against the wall, her breath coming in heaving spasms. She waited for her heart to calm its pounding, and straightened her clothes. Leaves were imbedded in her hair and tangled in the cloak, and she cursed them all trying to remove them.

Only slightly less disheveled, she made her way to St. Glinda's.

In the depth of night, the building was all shadows and eerie gold light. Passing a few praying maunts, she found the prayer room. It was dark, with a chill that even summer couldn't seem to remove. Elphaba slid the book onto the small table next to the defeated candle and turned to leave. She glanced one last time, wondering its significance.

And then she whisked back out and into the night.

She was weary, her eyes heavy as she trekked back to the bridge. Perhaps in her fatigue her senses were dulled, her mind less focused, for she did not hear him approaching until he seized her from behind.

"It's late to find a lady on the street," A voice hissed into her ear. Large hands seized her arms and held her tight.

Elphaba struggled, kicking and jabbing with her elbows, trying to free herself.

The man turned her around and pinned her against the nearest wall. He pressed himself against her, and she felt the vomit rise in her throat.

"I remember you," He slurred, clearly having been drinking, "You're the green whore. Best money I ever spent," He smiled, revealing about five teeth.

A flash of recollection from countless nights of shame flashed through her mind. She felt paralyzed, her fear so great she nearly stopped breathing. Yet at the same time, she loathed herself for being so afraid. She hated fervently that this one thing could sap her strength and make her utterly useless. It seemed to be Hadrick's legacy in her life. He'd found the one way to keep her down, to make her powerless, to take her strength and reduce her to nothing.

The man pressed his lips to hers, and the stench of alcohol and filth choked her. He chuckled, "What's wrong? You seemed so…eager…before," He mocked her.

He reached down and hitched up her skirt, his hand finding its way under the layers of fabric to her bare skin. She swallowed over the shame and bit back the tears, trying to conjure up the power that had magicked the broom, wishing it were with her. His hand slid up her thighs, grazing over the scars and coming to rest in the folds of her womanhood.

He smiled sickly, "I bet it's just a good as I remember…"

And with his words, something within Elphaba snapped. With strength greater than her size, she shoved him off of her, wheeling him around and slamming him into the stone wall. Perhaps it was the crazed look in her eyes, or the effects of the alcohol, but he froze. Elphaba drove a knee between his legs and watched him collapse onto the street. As he lay, writhing in pain and whimpering like a dog, she spat on him.

She pressed her heel against his throat and met his eyes.

"I am not a whore."

Her words were measured, even, and sure.

Without so much as a backward glance, she left him.

The bridge was a welcome sight, and rest a welcome relief. She slept deeply, shutting out the demons that had been reawakened.