(AN: Here we go again. I hope this hasn't been too confusing. I had to shorten my epic a lot, and therefore I hope it doesn't seem too rushed. Now we have some interesting things happening. Read on)
Chapter Ten - Flying Off the Handle
"Flying off the handle"
A sudden loss of self control.
An appropriate usage would be if one were offered a big government position, only to discover that the one giving you this position is practically the cause of all the problems in your community. Then, in this realization, without any thought or consideration of consequences, the act of "flying off the handle" would be to run.
That is a fine definition of "flying off the handle."
What Dorothy did when she saw the fair but green-skinned face peak out from beneath that hood was something far worse.
She gasped in fright, falling backwards on her rear.
Then, she exploded.
"ARE YOU OUTTA YER MIND, GLINDA?" Dorothy shouted. "I'VE TOWED TH' LINE AN' FOLLOWED WHAT YOU SAID 'CUZ I BELIEVED YOU WERE GOOD, BUT THEN YOU GO AND DO...THIS! WHY, IT WAS BAD 'NUFF THAT YOU'RE WEARIN' BLACK, BUT NOW YA HAD T'GO AND BRING HER BACK!"
"Please, Dorothy, listen..."
"LISTEN TO WHAT? YOU BROUGHT THE WITCH BACK! WHERE'S A BUCKET OF WATER WHEN I NEED IT!"
Immediately, Dorothy took off down the stairs, screaming about how the Wicked Witch was back and yelling for water. Unfortunately, she found what she was looking for and walked back up the stairs a few moments later, a bucket splashing in her arms as she carried it to the tower.
"...what use is a good sorceress if she's bringin' witches back!"
Once she reached the top step, she heaved it with all her might at the hooded stranger. The bolt of water splashed out, froze while flying, and fell harmlessly at her feet as snow.
"Dorothy, hold your peace." Glinda spoke. "You have not let me speak, and I have much to say and very little time in which to say it."
"Make it quick." said Dorothy rudely.
"My companion is Rain, the daughter of a friend of yours. Her green skin is...something she has to deal with...but that is no reason to be rude to her."
"What do you mean?"
"What I mean is that this is not the Witch! And your little assault against her was extremely wrong, especially since it would hurt her worse than you think. Now please, sit down and let me speak my peace."
"Why should I?" Dorothy asked warily.
"If you can't trust Glinda," Kloxolk suddenly interjected. "Who can you trust?"
"For once, he's right." Ozma agreed.
Obviously outnumbered, Dorothy sat down with a very unlady-like huff, as far away from the green girl as she could get, trying not to look at her.
"Rain is a friend," Glinda began. "She's here to help you in your struggle against the Nameless Traitor."
"Then it is true." Kloxolk said.
"That he has returned?" asked Glinda. "I cannot tell. My magical book was stolen, and I cannot see what is happening in Oz anymore. I dare hope that he is still imprisoned: there would be a great void of power if he had returned. So I charge you all not to speak his name, if you know it. And don't let anyone else speak it either. I fear some great power resides still in the speaking of his name. Just once more and it might be enough to break him out of his prison."
"None shall say his name on my watch, Glinda." the General said, nodding.
"But if nobody speaks his name," Ozma suddenly interjected. "How will we know what name we're not supposed to be saying?"
"Believe me," Glinda said knowingly. "You'll know."
"Why'd you disappear on us?" Ozma asked.
Glinda shook all over, cringing into a position of fear, trying to keep her trembling hands steady by holding them in each other. Dorothy came closer, trying to put a comforting arm on Glinda's shoulder, but the sorceress brushed her off. The green-skinned woman, Rain it was, came nearer to do the same.
"Don't you touch her!" Dorothy snapped at the green thing. "You filthy little monster."
Rain recoiled at this, slumping back into a solitary, black-shrouded mass of cloak and hood. Glinda, meanwhile, was almost on the verge of tears as she tried to speak.
"As you may know," she said, gaining her composure a little. "I'm not from Quadling. I never was the Good Witch of the South, but of the North. But a debt I had to pay to an old friend who left Oz many years ago led me to watch over the Quadlings. I received a letter, telling me that she had returned in the North. I tried to find her in my book, but it had been stolen.
"So I went North on my own, only to discover that I was too late. She was dead."
Another fit of trembling overtook the small, sad blond creature.
"And-and-and...and I was so distraught, that the sight of...another friend...made me let my guard down. He took me to a pub, to have a drink in memory of my friend. I am not as strong-willed as before..."
She broke off into incoherence. Both Ozma and Dorothy were stunned into dreadful silence, for neither of them had ever seen Glinda this weak before.
"I had too much. It all came back to me! I was in such a state of fear and loathing, I don't know what came over me. I think he is no longer a friend now: he used that moment to poison my mind, to get me to tell him things..." She turned to Ozma and placed a friendly hand on her shoulder.
"Forgive me, Your Majesty." she said, through tears. "I have betrayed you all: I couldn't help myself, I told him...everything."
"Whatever happened," Ozma said. "I'm sure you didn't mean to wrong us. You're not at fault."
Glinda smiled. Always the optimist, Ozma was.
Kloxolk was musing over this new revelation, and it made him nervous. Who was this 'him' she referred to? Could it be the Nameless? Had he returned to power and, in the guise of a friend, deceived even Glinda the Good? Was he even now mustering his armies in that castle in the west, assured of victory?
"It got worse." Glinda said, her voice dry and empty of all but shock. "There was pain, such as I never felt, and the memories all came rushing back to me. I felt as though I would die, I didn't know what to do. I cried out for help, for anybody..."
"What memories?" Ozma asked curiously, but in her mind alone.
"What happened?" Dorothy asked aloud.
Glinda shook her head and turned away, and the stranger in the hood put a comforting arm around her shoulder. Dorothy did not notice this, or else she would have rebuked Rain.
"Tell us what happened." the General asked.
Glinda swallowed hard, trying in vain to keep back the tears. She then turned to Dorothy and Ozma.
"You came. Then he spoke to me..." She sighed, then closed her eyes, trying hard not to look at Dorothy. "He said that there was a way I could make the pain go away."
Kloxolk put a hand on the hilt of his sword. Ozma looked at Glinda in shock, for her voice had changed. It was breaking, turning into a deep, hollow, lifeless moan, like the sound of some hideous black-robed creature from the depths of Gilikin Forest.
"What was it?" Dorothy asked.
There was an inner struggle as two power strove within Glinda's mind, behind her closed eyes. It was like viewing an argument between a violent, alcoholic husband and his defensive wife from the side of the road, they behind the drawn sheets of the window.
Then the blinds were lifted, and Glinda's blue eyes rolled back into her skull.
"Kill you." she hissed at Dorothy.
Hands threw aside her wand and almost jumped at Dorothy. The little farm-girl gave a cry in fear, scurrying against the far side of the room as if for her life. Noticing this, the General and Rain almost jumped upon her to keep her from doing anything she might regret.
"No!" cried the General. "You are not yourself!"
"My eyes are open, now get off me, you old fool!" growled the distorted voice.
"Please! Do not do this!"
"I've waited a hundred years for this moment!" Glinda hissed. "You won't deny me vengeance!"
"This isn't you!" a warm, sympathetic yet strong voice said from the folds of Rain's hood. "You must resist!"
"But the pain!"
"There's no more pain, Glinda!" Rain urged. "He can't hurt you anymore."
Glinda fell to the floor, coughing and sobbing uncontrollably. They rose her back to the sitting position, and wiped her face with a lace handkerchief. After what seemed like an eternity, she coughed and blinked open her eyes, their usual inviting shade of baby-blue.
"I must go." the sweet yet haggard voice of Glinda said. "I've wasted too much time here. The Enemy is after the Wonders, and my presence is playing into his hands."
"Wait a minute!" Ozma shouted. "You can't just attack Dorothy and then take off like that!"
"I must make amends, Your Ozness." Glinda said. "I told him everything, now I have to work against him with all my power."
"You still haven't told us anything," Kloxolk argued. "What must we do?"
"Keep the Wonders out of the Enemy's hand." she said. "Or, if you fail, fight to the last...until I return."
"When will you return?" Ozma queried.
"When I have the power to set this all to rights." she said. "Now hinder me no more, I must be off!"
Taking up her wand, she almost charged to the ledge of the North tower. She then turned back to the others.
"Rain will stay with you. Please, be accepting of her. You will need her help before the end." She then turned to the green-skinned woman. "Keep that hat with you always!"
A breeze blew upon the ledge of the tower, and Glinda disappeared in a haze of glass-like bubbles.
(Now the story starts to "wax philosophic", that is because I've got a LOT of my own philosophical debates and my personal battles with Wicked and the anti-hero of the story tied in with this story. I hope you can sift through my feeble attempts at a philosophically meaningful epic and enjoy it. Please review.)
(08.16.11 update - As it has recently been revealed to me, the name of Liir and Candle's daughter is Rain, therefore I will re-edit ALL of this story to include the new, Maguire-version of her name.)