AN:

Ok, here comes the last chapter for the year!

I want to thank everyone for your support this year, it has been fun!

So see you all again in 2015! :D

Recommendation for ppl reading both versions: read Fiyero first)

The companion chapter in the Fifi -version is: "As the Crow Flies"

Happy reading!

xoxo MLE


Chapter Twenty-Eight: Whatever it Takes

Yackle scooped some of the stew into two bowls and passed them on to Elphaba. Then, after helping herself to a big cup of wine, she, too, took a seat at the table and began to spoon her meal. Although hungry, Elphaba did not touch her food. Instead, she watched the old hag irritably, waiting for further elaboration.

Once she had sated the worst of her appetite, Yackle finally looked up and into the young, green witch's troubled eyes.

"As you know, there are hardly any spells that are reversible, least of all those written in the Grimmerie. But there is an exception to this rule, although it's not exactly what Yackle would call a counter spell."

Elphaba nodded slowly and edged a little closer in tense anticipation.

"When it comes to binding charms, there is one way to revoke them, and that is to cut off the enchanter's life-force, which perpetuates the spell. In other words: if the person who cast the spell dies, the recipient will no longer be affected by its magick."

Finished with the technical aspect of her explanation, the old crone dropped the serious expression in her face and chuckled lightly.

"So in your case, poppet, this would mean that with your death, your handsome prince and that unfortunate Munchkin boy would both be returned to their pretty, fleshy selves. That's two birds with one stone – it doesn't get much better than that."

For a brief moment, the younger witch eyed her with open bewilderment. But she quickly recovered from her initial shock and disappointed, released a deep breath. With slumped shoulders, she began to slowly eat her soup.

"You don't look too enthusiastic," Yackle remarked and Elphaba cast her a punitive look.

"Well, I'm sorry," she replied pointedly, "I'm afraid I was somehow foolish enough to hope that there might be a 'happy ending' sort of solution available. While I'm quite ready to sacrifice a lot for those I love, the prospect of jumping off a cliff for them is still not all that appealing."

"Oh, no - wouldn't recommend jumping of cliffs, my heart," the old woman dehorted solemnly. "Well, it's true, this plan asks for a lot of sacrifice and courage, but if you'd only hear old Yackle out, you will find that your much longed-for happy ending might not be impossible to achieve."

Her breath caught in Elphaba's throat. She looked up to study Yackle's face, but found that she was too nervous to hold her gaze.

"What is your plan?" she finally asked and biting her lip, forced her eyes to remain fixed on her opposite.

"For the spell to be broken, we need your life-force to leave your body, which practically means that you have to die. Now, there are several indicators of death, of which the loss of life-force is but one and bound to the failure of the heart where it resides. The good news is: 'tis not entirely impossible to revive someone after their heart has stopped beating. And exactly that would be the plan. A risky endeavour, but if planned meticulously, the odds are definitely in your favour."

"I understand," Elphaba replied calmly and folded her hands so she could rest her chin on them. "Have you done something like this before?"

Yackle chortled amused.

"No, pretty. But if you rather mean to ask whether old Yackle is confident in her skill, then the answer would be yes."

The witch nodded and considered the proposal. There still was a chance that she would not survive this procedure, but according to her old mentor, she would most likely live. And even if she were to die, there was much to gain. Not only would Boq and Fiyero regain their human form; if Fiyero were to be human again, he could take their sweet, little daughter and bring her back to the Vinkus where she would be able to grow up far away from harm and in the midst of people who would love her.

"No matter what happens to me… the spell would definitely be broken?"

Ultimately, this was the one question that mattered above all. The crone nodded once, which was good enough for Elphaba.

"Fine. Tell me what I need to do."

"Oh, not so hasty, child. There is much to prepare and many supplies to gather. But for tonight let us rest. Eat up and then be a dear and clean the kitchen. Old Yackle will go to sleep now."

With that, she slipped off her chair and leisurely shambled out of the room.


When Elphaba woke the following morning, she was still tired and fighting a terrible headache. Although it was true that she would do what ever it took for Fiyero and her little princess, planning one's own death – however temporary – was not something that promised a restful night.

The apartment above the fortune telling shop was just as narrow as the store itself and surprisingly extended over four levels. It had been on the top level, or rather the attic, that Elphaba had found a free room with a ready made bed and even a small ensuite toilet. Now her only problem was to ignore the spinning in her poor head and clamper down these ridiculously steep and uneven wooden stairs without taking a tumble. In the end, she made it all the way back down to the second floor without any injuries, but certainly wondering how the old witch living here was able to negotiate these dangerous tripping hazards on a daily basis.

Releasing a long-drawn yawn as she opened the kitchen door, she immediately noticed the sweetness and aromatic scent of ripe peaches that hung in the air. Her eyes darted to the corner where the table was positioned and they almost popped out of their sockets when she discovered Yackle surrounded by several huge baskets of peaches. Confused, she watched as astonishingly nimble old hands halved and then pitted the fruits.

Eventually, the grey-haired witch looked up, her mien anything but happiness and sunshine.

"Are you going to stand there all day, or do you think you could grab a knife and help me with this?" she barked crabbily before returning her attention to her task. "Yackle's poor hands are going to fall off if they have to finish everything by herself.

Elphaba did as she was told and sat down next to Yackle, casting one brief, astonished glance at the big bucket of already processed peaches.

"I didn't know that you're selling jam for a living," she said to start the conversation. "I thought you were going with this fortune teller nonsense."

"'Tis no nonsense. You know seeing is Yackle's specialty, poppet."

The green woman smiled.

"And yes; guess you might as well cook us some confiture. After all, it would be somewhat of a waste to just throw all those juicy things out once we're done."

Cocking her head and raising her eyebrows, Elphaba stilled in her work and eyed Yackle curiously. She knew better than to question this old lady. Although some of the things she did seemed rather peculiar at first, there was always a good reason behind her antics.

Noticing her protégé's bemused expression, the old woman decided to explain.

"We are going to use a poison known to most as bitter-sleep. It's widely used and easily purchased as a weight-loss elixir. Harmless amounts of substances that yield this toxin are even present in many food items and the seeds of some fruits. You wouldn't die swallowing the seed of an apple, for example, but as it's often the case, it's a matter of quantity."

Frowning, Elphaba once more scanned the several dozen pounds of fruit.

"You are going to extract the poison from the stones of these peaches? But if it's so easy to get-"

"If the plan was to simply put you in the ground," Yackle interrupted her, "going to such great lengths would be a waste of time. However, since you asked Yackle to try and bring you back once the spell is broken, we will have to work with the upmost precision. If we rely on some shady apothecary or quacksalver, you'd already have a food in the grave before you even take a swig of their concoction."

So they spent the next three or four hours filleting their peaches and when Yackle left the house to fetch some more materials, Elphaba began stewing the leftovers for the jam.

While the third portion merrily bubbled and simmered in the big copper kettle, Elphaba rummaged in the storage room for more sugar. Given the humungous amount of fruit they were processing, she was barely surprised to discover that they had run out. She hurried back upstairs where she had left her cloak and once she was appropriately dressed, she slipped out of the house in search of some sort of grocery store or corner shop.

Half an hour had passed and still no luck. Growing a little anxious about wandering among people for so long and worrying slightly about the food she had left on the fire, she decided to speed things up a little. Instead of buying the sugar from a grocery store, she thought it might be quicker if she went to the bakery instead to ask if they could sell her some of their stock.

"Excuse me?"

It was already late in the afternoon and the shop floor seemed deserted, save for the small family of mice that were busily gathering grains and seeds on the now fairly empty shelves.

The witch noticed a small bell on the counter and gave it a ring.

"Oh, I'm sorry for the wait, miss," a young girl in her early teens apologised as she came rushing from around a corner.

"Have you ordered anything, miss?"

"No, I'm just after some-"

"I'm really sorry, miss," the girl interrupted, "but we are all out. If you could come back tomorrow-"

"I'm not after baked goods, I just need some sugar."

This seemingly simple request must have been even more unusual than Elphaba had anticipated and the only answer she initially received was a blank stare.

"But miss; this is a bakery. We sell bread, rolls and pastries."

Why should it be so incredibly difficult to get some sugar from a bakery? Elphaba grew impatient with the dense child, but realising that throwing a temper tantrum wouldn't get her anywhere, she did her best to remain calm.

"I understand, but I live in the neighbourhood and as I cooked some jam, I ran out of sugar. I don't have time to go elsewhere, because if I don't return home soon, my house might burn to ashes. Please, could you help me out? Just this one time?"

"I don't know… I will ask my father if we can do that."

The girl walked off and the witch released an exasperated groan.

While she waited, the door opened and another customer entered the shop. When she cast a quick side-glance at the man, she immediately noticed his green uniform. What an unlucky day.

The Gale Forcer impatiently paced the shop floor, only noticing Elphaba when he walked right past her. As soon as his eyes fixated her with this uncomfortable, intense stare of his, she wanted nothing more but to dart out of the bakery and disappear behind the door of Yackle's house. Of course that would only have drawn more unwanted attention, and so she stayed, forcing herself to act as calm as she possibly could.

Anything but calm, the soldier's feet stomped up and down in the small room. Then he also discovered the small bell and began to ring it relentlessly. Almost immediately, the little girl reappeared and Elphaba felt incredibly relieved as the man's eyes found a new target.

"Have you placed an order, sir?" the girl asked and the man handed her an envelope, supposedly containing the order details and the due payment. The girl had a look inside, then nodded eagerly and disappeared again.

No sooner had she gone, than a surprisingly familiar man walked over to greet Elphaba.

"Oh, it's you," he laughed as he recognised her somewhat unusual garb. "So I assume the old witch found a bed for you?"

Elphaba nodded.

"She did. I have to thank you for that advise."

"Just be careful she doesn't hex you or something. Now, my daughter told me you need sugar?"

"Yes, I guess it's a bit of an odd request, but I'm making jam and ran out with some of my fruits still on the fire."

"Oh, I see. It looks like you're in luck; we do happen to have some sugar lying around in our storage room," the baking innkeep said jokingly. "It's two schilling a pound, but don't tell anyone about this or they will all show up here and I'll soon run out of supply!"

"Do you have, let's say, fifty pounds to spare?" Elphaba asked hopefully.

"Fifty pounds! Holy Oz, that's a lot of jam you're making."

"Well, the old hag is a little bonkers, I'm afraid. She brought home heaps and heaps of fruits and insists that it would be just enough for a jar or two," Elphaba told him, embellishing her story a little to keep the baker entertained and in a benevolent mood. "If it turns out we have some left over after all, I'll make sure to send some your way."

The man looked at her in amusement and shook his head.

"Fifty is too much, I'm afraid. But twenty I could do."

"That would be very much appreciated," replied the witch. It would be enough for at least two more batches of peaches, plus the one that was already cooking. The rest would simply have to wait until tomorrow.

Next to her, the Gale Forcer was still waiting for his order while the baker's daughter was now busy bringing Elphaba her sugar. Upon receiving her purchase, she inspected the bags and taste-tested the white crystals to make sure she indeed received what she had bought. Satisfied with the sweetness on her tongue, she counted the coins she had found in Yackle's till. Stretching out her arm to reach across the counter, her sleeve was pulled back ever so slightly and revealed but a hint of green skin. As she noticed this, Elphaba hastily tossed the coins the rest of the way between her and the girl and quickly retracted her hand.

"Well, thank you," she mumbled somewhat nervously. One bag of sugar under each arm, she took her leave. Out of the corners of her eyes, she saw how the soldier watched her with keen interest. He did not make to follow, however, so it seemed unlikely that he had actually seen anything.

Back at Yackle's, she found that the most recent batch of peaches had burnt and lumped together in a brown, sticky mess. Heaving a heavy sigh, she emptied the kettle and began to scrub away before continuing her jam making with a clean pot.


The following day was mainly spent cracking and grinding down a huge bucket of peach stones. Once that was done, the two witches began their preparations for Elphaba's 'after care' - the potions, elixirs and instruments Yackle would need to bring her back to life. Elphaba, as well as each ingredient they were using had to be weighed so the formula would be tailored exactly for this particular purpose. Every single inaccuracy, every tiny mistake, would decide over life and death.

On the third day, they were ready to distil the bitter-sleep. A mixture of crushed peach cores and ethanol was being heated over a particularly hot flame Elphaba had conjured. The rising vapours then travelled through a tube and as they cooled down, turned back into liquid, which was collected in a large, bulbous flask. The entire process was painfully slow, but had to be constantly watched, as the end product was not only poisonous, but also highly volatile in its pure form.

"Well, Yackle needs to leave now," the old crone announced. "Be so good and keep an eye on this. If all of the liquid has evaporated, you can refill the bitter-sleep into a smaller bottle. But be careful not to inhale too much, or you will keel over."

"Sure," Elphaba yawned and tiredly rested her head on the table.

"Don't fall asleep!" Yackle reminded her sharply and tossed a leftover peach in the younger woman's direction, successfully hitting her forehead.

The green witch jolted up and yawning once more watched the old crone leave. As soon as she heard the door fall shut, she sunk back onto the table, her tired eyes trained on the flask where the pale blue liquid was gathering drip by drip.

One, two, three … two hundred three, two hundred four…

She was woken by a repetitive knocking noise from the other end of the room. A little disorientated at first, she jumped up, looking around to see whether Yackle had returned to find her sleeping. The old witch surely would have her head for this.

However, this wasn't Yackle. After a thorough scan of the kitchen, she realised that the sound came from outside the window by the stove. On the windowsill, a jet-black bird was sitting. Over the past few days, Elphaba had witnessed several times how Yackle had received messages via birds or welcomed customers and friends; since the bird was so stubborn, chances were that he, too, would fall under one of those three categories.

She dragged herself up from the chair and opened the window. The crow came fluttering in and mid-flight assumed human form. Elphaba's mouth dropped open.

"I can't believe it!"

"Hello again, miss Fae," Crom greeted her.

The witch took a step backwards and crossed her arms over her chest.

"What in Lurline's name are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" he asked and laughed incredulously, "What are you doing here? First you're dead, then suddenly alive again, but lost without a trace, and now you're standing here, in old Yackle's kitchen, cooking-" he took a good sniff "-wine jelly?"

He walked over to the fireplace where a new batch of peaches was simmering away and inspected the sweet mixture.

"What do you want?" Elphaba asked coolly, resuming her seat at the table.

"Just a courtesy call."

From the table came a huff.

"Fine. I'm here for intelligence," the young man admitted.

"Well, then you will have to wait for the old hag to return. Momentarily she's out as you can see."

A loud hiss told her that the liquid of the alcohol blend had fully evaporated and soon the peach core residue began to burn and stink. Quickly, she smothered the flame with her bare hand. More slowly and carefully now, she used a funnel to transfer the poison from the flask into a vial. Some vapours escaped before she could seal the small bottle with a cork and the distinct bitter-almond scent attracted Crom's attention.

"What's that? Smells like bitter-sleep. Planning an assassination, are you?"

"No," she replied calmly, "this is intended for personal use."

They both turned towards the entrance when they heard the main door open. As expected, Yackle soon came shuffling into the kitchen.

The old woman only waved him off, grumpily.

"Oh, hush your beak, you insolent bird. We are too busy to bother with your silly jests."

He paused and his grey ayes narrowed.

"What are you two ladies up to?"

His question was directed at Elphaba. Yackle would surely never deign to answer.

"I magicked Fiyero into a scarecrow and now I'm going to turn him back to what he used to be," she answered curtly.

"A binding spell?"

He drew a sharp breath through his barely parted lips.

"So you were not joking earlier," he realised with great concern.

She shot him a brief glance, then finished unpacking.

"Why would I?"

"Mother Yackle," he said, turning to the older witch, "this is madness! You can't seriously be helping her with that!"

"If she merely wanted to kill herself, she wouldn't need old Yackle's help."

"Even your powers can't raise the death!" he protested.

"No, but knowledge can. And now tell me what you need to know, so you may leave us in peace."

Exasperatedly, he swiftly crossed the room and grabbed Elphaba's wrists, forcing her to look him into the eyes.

"Don't do something so foolish! Your love is alive, is he not? Who cares if he looks a little… well, different now?"

Glaring at him, she freed her hands from his grip.

"It matters," was her firm reply. "Even if it doesn't matter to me."

He tried no further. Between Yackle's authority and Elphaba's obstinacy he didn't stand a chance. Instead, he asked the old witch what he had come to learn and left in a furry of angry wing strokes.

"You go rest now," Yackle told Elphaba in a calm and almost soothing voice. "You look exhausted, but tomorrow you'll need all the strength you have left in you.

The green woman gave a small nod and retreated to her room.


Yackle poured Elphaba and herself each a cup of tea. Elphaba reached for hers and took a whiff.

"Rosehip and peach," she smiled.

Yackle nodded.

"A sweet flavour to mask a bitter taste."

"Thank you."

The younger witch picked up the vial in front of her and pulled the cork, then poured the poison in her tea.

When she had woken at sunrise, she had felt strangely calm. She had finished her morning routine like on any other day and slowly strolled down the stairs and into the kitchen. Now, the drink that would decide her fate in her hand, she felt her nerves rearing their head. Her throat felt dry, her heart was beating fast and hard against her rib cage. But this was what she had to do.

"You may still call this off," the ancient crone told her, but Elphaba vigorously shook her head and, with one resolute swig, emptied her cup.

The effect of the poison kicked in almost immediately. The rate of her heartbeat increased even further, while each subsequent breath seemed more impossible to draw than the last. Her head felt heavy and the room around her began to spi, creating a whirlwind of colours. Some poisons allowed their victims a painless, maybe even unsuspected death. Bitter-sleep was not one of such poisons, but at least, it acted quickly. Only moments later, Elphaba's hands began to twitch uncontrollably, soon after that her arms and legs began to do the same, however, she was already too delirious to notice. Yackle moved to stand beside her and slowly lowered her onto the ground, placing a pillow under her head.

The seizures lasted another few clock-ticks, then the young witch's limbs suddenly lay limp. Yackle listened for a breath from green lips and when she found none, she opened the first few buttons of Elphaba's black frock and pressed an ivory stethoscope against her chest. Not a single beat vibrated through the lifeless body.

Surprisingly swift, the old woman rose to her feet to fetch her equipment from the table. Through a long tube, she pumped a terrible tasting, bitter-salty solution into Elphaba's stomach, then pushed down on her midsection until bile rose up the young woman's oesophagus and messily spilled out of her mouth. Removing this first tube and inserting another, she then poured two elixirs – one deep red and clear, the other creamy white and murky - down the raw throat. Once satisfied that all of the liquid had gone down, Yackle put aside the empty bottles and the tubes. She kneeled to Elphaba's left and placed her hands on her chest. Her old age making the task rather difficult, she put all her strength in it as she began to push down, compressing the green witch's chest until she heard the crack of a rib.

"Come, poppet, no time to sleep now. Need to come back to old Yackle. Come, poppet, come."


AN:

For the science savvy and/or crime story fans among you... who can guess what real world poison 'bitter-sleep' is based on (loosely)?