AN:
Greetings, fellow Ozians!
Oh man, I'm so sorry for the delay with this chapter. Please know that I suffered every day it took me to finish this and would gladly have cut the process a lot shorter! Well, ok, I'll quit the melodrama. Fact is, this took ages and I'm still not entirely happy with it... It might be a confusing chapter, I don't know. I do kinda know what I was going for, but I think I didn't quite accomplish what I had in mind. Either way, the show must go on, so here you go. Hope it's okay enough. The next chapter will hopefully be better. And faster. Let's hope for the best.
So here you go! Happy reading and all that!
Hope you're all doing okay and having a great time! See you in a week or something!
Edited to add:
Trigger warning for brief mention of life-ending thoughts.
xoxo MLE
(=^_^=)
Chapter Nine
Evening had turned into deepest night, but the dust had not yet settled around the ruins of what had once been Elphaba's magnificent palace. Glinda stirred, a moan rising from deep inside her at the pain that came with the smallest of movements. With a cough, she tried to clear her lungs of the sand and debris she'd inadvertently inhaled. Dirt fell off her shoulders as she staggeringly pushed herself up onto her elbows. Her famously golden curls were grey and lacklustre with the filth that remained caught up in between the tangles and wouldn't be shaken off so easily. Another fit of coughs made her sink back to the ground, her cheek resting uncomfortably against the rough remainder of some wall or pillar that had crumbled into unrecognisable rubble, along with everything else.
She was trembling, she realised by the way that her skin kept rubbing against the harsh surface. She was shaking like a leaf. Her breaths came in ragged, too, and her stomach felt queasy and awful. This awareness of her own wretched condition must have been the final straw, for now that she'd felt the churning, all she could do was turn her head and try not to soil herself as she retched bitter bile that burnt her throat.
Gulping for air, she dragged her limp body an inch or so away from the puddle of sick to avoid the worst of the smell, and to avoid a second gush of more of the same if she could. This small feat was all it took to exhaust her. Her eyes rolled back and fell shut. She drifted off again, her sense of self dissolving slowly until there was nearly nothing left of it. The ground below her felt neither hard, nor soft; the air around her was neither cold, nor warm. Eventually, she could no longer tell whether she was lying down or floating in a vacuum, whether any of this was real, whether she'd truly ever existed. Whether Elphaba ever had. After all, it could have all been nothing but a dream, or a story, or something as small as a little song from a stranger's lips.
Her bruises ached more keenly the second time her consciousness returned. Though still dazed, she was reasonably alive to what had happened, the chaos around her, the unexpected brightness that made her throbbing head hurt so much more. She turned her head and blinked. This was a kind of light she certainly wasn't used to anymore. Pure sunlight. Stiff as it was, her neck only allowed her a limited range of movement, but out of the corners of her eyes she could glimpse a pristinely blue sky. Not at all elated at the sight, she abandoned her efforts and let her head lull into whatever position it may fall.
The storm; had it really passed? For all she could see, it had. How? Why? Did this mean that—
She couldn't bear finishing that thought. A familiar, stinging pressure established itself behind her eyes and around her forehead, but she'd run out of tears to cry. She was altogether too worn out and parched for that. Her previous misadventure was still too recent, and she'd barely begun to heal and replenish her body's reserves, in part because chasing after Elphaba had seemed more important at the time. Well, it hadn't done anyone any good. If Elphaba truly was dead now, it was her fault! Her fault. Her own, damn fault.
Because she'd refused to wait, because she'd refused to listen. She'd been so eager, so blind, so selfish that she'd kept pushing her. Even when Elphaba had given in just a little, explained herself just enough so that Glinda would understand. But she hadn't understood at all, not even remotely taken in any of her words, except for the ones she'd been desperate to hear. Yes, Elphaba still cared, still thought of her fondly. Foolishly, she'd thought that this was all that mattered. She'd been wrong, so terribly wrong.
Now the storm was gone, and her love undoubtedly along with it. It was a good thing that Glinda was so close to death herself, for that was all that she could strive for now. At least Oz was no longer in danger, she supposed, and neither was Ev. She, however, would not return home to live another few dozen meaningless years empty, and heartbroken, and void of any feelings. Another would have to take on the mantle of Throne Minister, or whichever way they might fancy styling themselves.
Imagining Cherrystone as her successor left a flavour in her mouth that was bitterer than the taste of vomit that continued to linger on her tongue. Yet at the same time, she was so incredibly far away from Oz, and the more she told herself that its future was no longer of her concern, that she'd already done everything she could for her country, her people, the firmer she came to believe it. They weren't even her people anymore. Maybe they'd never truly been.
It could all have been nothing but an illusion, a result of her own, self-centred delusions. Wasn't it just as likely that she didn't truly know what was best for them in the first place, that she'd made terrible decisions left and right without even noticing it? Wasn't it possible that she'd merely cowed them into loving her, or into pretending that they did? Perhaps it would only be fair to pass on the torch and let someone else try their luck at making the masses happy. It would only be fair.
No, of course she couldn't go back. She would't as much as try, though she feared that she still had some residual strength left in her. She wouldn't use it. Her time on the throne was well and truly over. Instead of fighting her way back to a place where she no longer belonged, she'd simply stay here, become one with the desert, with Elphaba's body close by, two souls, united in their sorrowful fate. It was like something out of a classic tragedy, and sure enough, it was the best she could imagine for herself at this point.
She'd simply have to stay put and wait, but the waiting would be the most excruciating part, she knew. There was no telling how long she'd have to hold out to be delivered from this existence. She attempted to go back to sleep so she might pass time faster that way, or, dare she hope it, pass on without ever waking again. To her great frustration, however, her senses would not be quieted.
While sleep refused to come to her, her eyes remained closed—the smallest of comforts. There was no need for her to take in any more of the destruction around her, the shockingly bright and jubilant daylight that had finally broken through the clouds of grey. If anything, all she wished to see was Elphaba's face just one more time. In her mind's eye at least, she could. When she concentrated hard enough, she could see herself back in her love's arms, vaguely relive the brief feeling of safety and contentment. Owing to her wonderfully unreliable memories, the fleeting embrace they'd shared seemed miraculously extended, as if they'd held each other close for several hours before the cacophony of noises had put such a terrible and rude end to this intimate moment.
There were no brutal, thunderous sounds now. In fact, as she paused to consider it, she became aware of the remarkable, absolute silence that seemed to envelop her like a soft blanket, like a soothing fog. All she could hear was some kind of static murmur in her ears. Was she already dead?
She could't be. The pain all over her body, though indistinct, was far too vivd. Surely the dead must be free from physical afflictions, or else they'd suffer for all eternity. If indeed there was something like an afterlife, she hoped for it to be a blissful state, full of peace, and not at all like this. It couldn't be like this. She couldn't be dead just yet.
But maybe she was close, close enough for her to slowly transition to this other plane. Or could it be the world that had fallen silent in the aftermath of it all? Utter, complete, reverent, and remorseful silence. At any rate; with the storm gone, what sounds had she expected to hear? There would be no birdsong in the middle of the desert, nor the rumbling and roaring that had accompanied the castle's downfall. There was nothing of the castle left to fall. All that remained was sand and brittle rocks. Not one single stone was left standing atop another as it used to. Elphaba's safe haven, her home away from home, had turned back into the raw materials it had once been created from. Unremarkable and, of course, silent.
It occurred to her then, that no one would pass by this place and suspect that it had ever been the site of a spectacular stronghold. Within days, the sand that, only hours ago, had stood firm and strong as walls of stone would be carried away, spread out, and shaped by the gentle wind into something entirely natural and nondescript. Both of their bodies would be buried underneath, well concealed, in all likelihood never to be found. The thought didn't bother Glinda in the least, quite the contrary. She relaxed somewhat, trembled a little less. The inevitability of it all was comforting, and she decided to abandon her meandering contemplations all together. Ultimately, there was no use. She simply needed to let it all go.
Then, out of nowhere, despite her closed eyes, despite her decision to let nature run its course and to ignore everything around her, she could sense a shadow above her head. Keeping the unforgiving sun from boring hot into her skull, it was a relief and a vexation at once. How could she not sigh at the temporary alleviation of her agony, and how could she not be furious at the possibly life prolonging intervention? What was it? A rare cloud? Or had the vultures arrived early, to take up watch over their upcoming meal and ensure that it wouldn't fall to some other creature?
In the end, her inquisitive disposition won out, even under these most impossible of circumstances. Evidently, she wasn't weak enough yet to achieve absolute apathy. A disheartening conclusion. All she would ask for ever again was for this to be over as quickly as possible, but someone up there in the sky, in the universe, clearly wasn't listening to her plea. What would she do next? Stagger to her feet and find them useful enough to carry her to the very end of the Deadly Desert, all the way back to Oz, regardless of everything she'd sworn she wouldn't do?
Why was it that death seemed to elude her, mock her even? She no longer needed a survival instinct. What she needed was a good old-fashioned knock over the head so she could be done with this. She wasn't tough enough for this kind of game. She was only a fragile, spoilt little girl from rural Gillikin who liked the fine things in life, but no longer enjoyed any of them without the woman she loved beside her. That was all she was, and this farce had to end before she completely lost her mind.
And yet, she followed her nagging intuition, and yet she still needed to know what was happening around her. Her attempt to turn her head was rewarded with a squall of sand in her face. The desert truly must despise her, or otherwise it simply relished in tormenting her for sport. What a place to chose for her eternal rest. Maybe it was defiance, maybe it was nothing but wicked luck.
Nevertheless; blinking to clear her eyes and gnashing her teeth in spite of the sand in her mouth, she resolved to try again, bolstered by whatever was left of her pride. She was certain that it wouldn't do her any good, but apparently, she was just a smidgen tougher than she ought to be.
What she discovered when she painfully craned her neck was not at all what she'd expected. At first, she couldn't twist far enough to see anything at all, but when she ever so slightly lifted herself up to look to the ground instead, the distinct shape of the shadow she saw made her heart beat hard enough to make her push herself around and onto her back with one bold thrust.
She groaned, then squeezed her eyes shut in response to the dazzling light. It was enough to make her head swim, golden dots dancing in front of her. What was more, she quickly discovered that breathing came a lot harder to her in this new position. Raising her heavy, shaky arm for shade, she managed to pry open her right eye to either confirm or set aside her absurd hunch.
Her breath hitched at the sight. Her outstretched hand slowly fell back down above her head, and a weak gasp escaped her lips. She had not been mistaken. It truly was Elphaba's broom that was hovering above her. Waiting for her? Trying to rescue her? She averted her face at the mere notion. Such blasphemy. She couldn't possibly allow it.
Hatred ran cold through her veins. She wholeheartedly loathed herself for being so fickle as to clamber onto that cursed broom, for breaking her unspoken promises to share Elphaba's fate, no matter what. Her cravenness was despicable, her disloyalty revolting. How she could possibly live with herself for the remainder of her miserable life was beyond her. What was she going to do? Flee to safety now, only to plan a better death at some later time? There was no better death, and goodness knew, if she couldn't do it there and then, with minimal effort, she never would. She'd simply return to her old position, her old ways, and suffer as she had before. Therein lay the only consolation amidst all this—knowing that she was going to be atoning for this recreancy until the very last of her breaths, exactly as lonely and doleful as before, if not more so for the certainty that this time, she'd undeniably had a hand in Elphaba's end. Maybe one fate wasn't too different from the other. Maybe death was the easy way out and too good for her, measured against this hideous crime she had unwittingly committed.
Those were her thoughts while she blankly stared at the fast moving ground below her, contemplating a not so accidental fall as her best way out of this predicament. With a bit of luck and the added benefit of height on her side, this could be over quite quickly, she reckoned, even if the impact didn't break her neck outright.
But then, when they at length reached a comfortable altitude where the warm currents and favourable winds helped to carry both their weight more smoothly, her mood abruptly changed. Lifting up her heavy head in an attempt to gauge how far they'd travelled from their point of origin, she unexpectedly caught a first glimpse of the enormous wall of dust before her, the ring of stirred up sand that still surrounded them, distant though it seemed now.
She realised then, that while the storm may not be howling right above her head anymore, it hadn't dissipated at all. Far from it! It wasn't gone, it kept on raging; it was only that its eye had widened, allowing the sky to peek in. Did this mean that it was weakened or that it was stronger than before? Did it mean that Elphaba was alive, or was it only vestiges of her powers that continued to live on without her, released from her control? Glinda couldn't say, there was no concrete way of knowing, although Chistery's words kept echoing in her mind. With the castle in ruins, it would be reasonable to assume that its creator had fallen along with it, especially since there had been no evidence to the contrary.
Such heartbreaking deductions made the deep drop into the dunes evermore tempting, but she had to pull herself together. Her dreams, Elphaba's life even, were insignificant in the grand scheme of things. No matter what she desired, what she felt, her unexpected discovery was sure to mean this: Oz was not yet safe, and she had work to finish before she could allow herself to either perish or retire home. This was the naked truth, and all she needed to know.
So she did her best to focus on this and nothing else, but ultimately, she couldn't silence the small voices in her head that once again haunted her, whispering of hope, and possibilities, the slight chance that she might yet be reunited with Elphaba, hold her in her arms again. Oh merciful Oz! Among all the physical hardships she had to endure, nothing could truly compare to this sweet, but treacherous suggestion of a happy ending. If only she could make it stop!
Shaking her head, she tried to clear her thoughts. In her unsteady position, the sharp movement almost made her tumble off her mount. To keep her safe and to ensure that a potential fall wouldn't be too great, the broom descended quicker than it might have planned. She was glad for it now, but puzzled all the same. Maybe all her gloomy ideations hand been useless to begin with. Maybe the broom would never have allowed her to use it as an instrument to her death. While her plans might have changed, she still didn't like that patronising implication. There was something offensive about being told what to do with one's life, and by a filthy, old broom no less.
But her rapidly dwindling attention was drawn elsewhere as they neared what looked very much like a desolate, abandoned village. Could it be a former Animal settlement? For all she knew, the humans who called this bleak wasteland their home were exclusively nomadic and built no permanent encampments.
All she could make out at first was a ring of mud houses, most of them decidedly uninhabitable. Their roofs had been destroyed by the tempest that must have torn through the village a couple of days, if not weeks prior. While a few of the structures remained standing, they were partially buried beneath the dune that presently divided the circle into two nearly flawless halves. Other buildings had already collapsed into sad heaps of wood and sunbaked clods of clay. Whatever gardens or yards might once have fronted the now defunct homes likewise had been erased by erosion and flooded with more sand. It was a dreary sight, but seeing as there likely was no other shelter anywhere in the vicinity, she came to the inevitable conclusion that this must have been their intended destination all along. Well, it would have to do. As long as there was a place for her to lie down and rest, she wouldn't complain.
Without hesitation, the broom honed in on one particular hut that appeared to be in a marginally better shape than the rest. Sand was covering a good portion of it like a thin blanket, while the back of the dwelling was impossible to identify underneath the dune. The entrance, however, remained accessible, and the roof did not look like it was going to collapse under the added weight just yet.
Pulling a rather too sudden stop in front of the hut's scarred door, the broom caused Glinda to finally lose her balance and flop to the ground like a piece of lifeless luggage. One or two extra bruises aside, she was going to be fine, though exhaustion was at long last threatening to get the better of her. Now that she was yet again nestled against warm, soft sand, lifting as much as a finger seemed altogether too much to ask of her body. Getting up to open the door and retreat into the safety of the crude house felt like an impossible task. The broom would have to break it down and sweep her inside, or she might just as well spend the night right where she'd dropped.
As she lay there, a by now well-known feeling began to gently draw her away from the world. The ground beneath her seemed to slowly give way. Her eyelids grew heavy, and the ache dulled, even in those spots where the fall had given fresh life to it barely a moment ago. After such a strenuous flight, it was time for her to catch some much needed rest, and her body would take what it needed, by force if need be.
But not quite yet.
A strong hand on her upper arm brought her back from the brink of unconsciousness. Elphaba?
She managed to force her eyes open. It wasn't Elphaba. Of course it wasn't. But it was a familiar face nonetheless: Chistery. If she was at all surprised, she was too listless to realise. His lips moved, but she couldn't make out a word he said. His head tilted expectantly, but even if she'd heard him, she wasn't entirely sure that she would have had the strength to respond. Feeling dizzy and light-headed, she most definitely did not wish to speak or be spoken to. All she wanted was to…
There was a small fire going nearby. She felt its heat long before she could make herself crack open her eyes to see it, but the absence of the usual sputtering sounds she was so fond of bemused her. She wouldn't have thought that any wood could possibly be dry enough to not just temper, but completely silence any crackling as it burnt. What a fascinating, new insight.
In any case, watching these unusually quiet flames was about as calming as watching any other kind of fire, and just as hypnotising. Staring deep into the well-stoked blaze, she imagined it to be dancing at her personal pleasure, almost in the same way her loyal subjects used to dance at her grand balls and feasts. Were they dancing now, at this very moment? Was Cherrystone presiding over them with this self-indulgent grin of his plastered all over his arrogant face?
Wasn't she lucky to be resting in front of this cosy fire instead, far away from courtly duties and all that fanfare. Why shouldn't she let Cherrystone have the throne if he wanted it so badly, as long as she could have her peace and tranquility, and as long as he tried to do right by the people? Oh, she hoped he would. And she had served Oz for long enough, she reasoned, so the trade might be worth it. Well, something to think about. In the meantime, perhaps another snatch of sleep. Who knew when she'd next have the opportunity. She'd never slept much while in charge, with the weight of a whole country bearing down on her shoulders.
Her head sunk all the more heavily into the pillow, but she didn't shut her eyes just yet. Allowing the flickering flames to lull her to sleep would be easier than meditating on soothing thoughts. With her mind so constantly preoccupied with her endless responsibilities and worries, she'd never been any good at that.
Then, the boy—Liir, was it?—got in between her and the fireplace, blocking her view and casting a bothersome shadow. She sighed in discontent, but seeing as he was setting up a kettle of water, she figured that she couldn't scold him for that. He was only carrying out his assigned task, and exceedingly carefully and silently at that. How considerate.
Everyone was so considerate. At the far end of the room she spied Chistery working on… on something. But he didn't make a single sound while he did so. She appreciated that. There were two more Animals that noiselessly shuffled in and out of her periphery. One was a large canine, maybe a Wolf. The other was a Fox with a stump for a tail, poor thing. Neither of them made a fuss or spoke out loud, no doubt intent on preserving her repose. She'd thank them later, when she was in the right spirit and up for conversation. Later.
When the boy was done and turned around, he seemed startled to find her awake and briefly gawked at her before scrambling away with excessive haste. Glinda made a mental note to have someone talk to him and see whether he was doing all right. Things had been difficult for all of them, but the child seemed to take it harder than anyone else.
Before she could return her attention to the fire and once more consider the benefits of another nap, she was approached by Chistery who won her attention by tickling her ear with the tip of his long tail. Feeling too weary to speak, she offered him a smile instead, hoping it would suffice.
He hopped onto a stool next to her bed to adjust the blanket that had slipped a few inches down from her shoulders. Taking the gesture to be a prompt to get comfortable, she snuggled into her simple yet cosy bed. Her lids were already half closed, when she noticed his mouth moving. Looking up again and raising her brows questioningly, she urged him to repeat what he'd said. Only, when he did so, she couldn't understand him any better.
She paused and pushed a strand of hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. Surely her fatigue was to blame, she simply needed more rest. Nevertheless, she began to feel uneasy and shifted underneath the blanket, looking at her scratched and bruised hands that rested on her chest instead of his face. How had she come by such injuries anyway?
It wasn't that she didn't remember at all. Rather, it felt like those memories were so distant and hazy that the traumatic events they related must have happened a lifetime ago, in another world maybe even, or to someone else entirely. It almost was as if she'd only heard stories about them and lived through them vicariously. The Monkey's glum expression when her gaze found his again appeared to suggest otherwise.
With his forehead furrowed in a frown, he reached out to tap her arm lightly, to regain her full attention. She lifted her chin and looked at him properly as he'd asked, but it made no difference. His words continued to escape her. Alarm began to show on his features, and part of her felt similarly distressed. But mostly, she felt disoriented and just a tad sad. She really wanted to go back to sleep though, and so she did.
The moment she woke, she felt hungry. Normally, food would be presented to her on a regular basis. In her current situation, she quite frankly didn't know how to go about it. With no chance of ignoring this primal urge, however, she slowly pulled herself into a sitting position. For a moment, her vision blurred. Blinking helped somewhat, but mostly it was her head that had to stop spinning so viciously. It did eventually, allowing her to have a proper look around in search for something edible.
The fireplace by her bedside was cold, she noticed immediately. The flames must have died down a while ago, for there were no embers left glowing in between the grey and white ashes. The big brass kettle was gone, too. On the hard, dirty floor in front of the hearth, she spotted the Fox from earlier, curled up in a tight ball and fast asleep. Their stumpy tail barely reached the tip of the dry, cracked nose. At full length, it might once have covered both eyes like a blindfold, adding to the restful darkness. To Glinda it almost looked as if it was subconsciously straining to still achieve the same effect.
The remainder of the single room dwelling was chaotic, cluttered with all sorts of things, most of them at the very end of their lifespan. No one seemed to have the heart to dispose of the rusty, old wok, or the woven basket whose handle must have unravelled ages ago. After all, there was no knowing whether they might come in handy at some point, and replacements seemed hard to find. Not even the broom by the half unhinged, battered door looked to be in particularly good nick, yet it was easily the most well kept article of them all. If needs must, Glinda supposed, any combustible item may serve one final time as food for the fire at least, if nothing else.
Copping another fleeting glance in the direction of the broom, she noticed Chistery and Liir lying on the only other cot, barely a step away to its left. The bed was altogether too narrow to accomodate two bodies, but small-framed as they were, they made do. Either out of tenderness, necessity, or both, the Monkey held the boy close, preventing him with his arms, legs, and his tail from falling off.
A bout of guilty conscience overcame her, and she drew the flimsy blanket tighter around herself. How come she'd been assigned a bigger bed, and all by herself? She didn't deserve special treatment. Not after all she'd done. It didn't matter that she couldn't exactly recall what she'd done. She certainly had done something wrong, and for the time being, that was all she needed to know.
Finally, further careful observations revealed that the ramshackle hovel was down one occupant, or at any rate, Glinda failed to detect the Wolf she was certain to have seen before. Where they might have scampered off to was a riddle. As far as she could tell, there weren't any other worthwhile places in the vicinity where one might want to pass the time. There were no parks, not estuary walks, no malls or market places. There was only sand, and… more sand. Unless she was somehow mistaken; after all, she hand't been outside in what felt like an eternity.
Suddenly moved to confirm her assumption, so as not to be fooled by misremembered falsehoods, she gingerly repositioned herself so that she could let her legs slide off the bed. The tips of her toes barely touching the ground, she sat for a while, reluctant to fully commit to the idea of standing on her own two feet. Her head turned towards the nearest of the permanently shuttered windows. A few stray beams of light were shimmering through, suggesting that the sun had already risen. Grasping the post of a nearby shelf, Glinda pulled herself up.
She didn't get much further than that. Her plans were foiled by the rickety furniture that, instead of aiding her in her endeavour, first warped at the joints, then broke into several pieces. Jars that had been stored there, along with wooden boxes, bags, and dried bundles of herbs cluttered to the ground and either shattered or spilt open.
The noise rose the others from their slumber and made them wheel towards the mess with thunderstruck faces. Glinda only realised that she was sitting on the floor, amongst the shards and pieces, when Chistery came waddling over to offer her a helping hand. In her confusion, she turned her head away instead of accepting it. Unperturbed, he took her by the arm to guide her back to her bed. The Fox cast her an accusatory glance when she sat back down, rubbing their forearm pointedly, as if to ensure that she knew that it had been hurt in the process. Glinda bit her lip and cast down her gaze. She did feel sorry, but out of all her mistakes, this was without a doubt the most excusable one.
Chistery continued to fuss over her, but let off in the end, seeing as her responses severely lacked in enthusiasm. There was no need for him to act so worried in the first place, she thought. She was fine and didn't need his help. If she didn't acknowledge him, it was simply because she didn't feel like going through the effort of explaining herself. That was all. Besides, she was rather distracted by this one, minor discovery: she was not entirely deaf.
While it was true that, thus far, she hadn't been able to decipher any of Chistery's communication attempts, nor catch any of the conversations between her housemates, Glinda was surprised to find out that she had actually been able to hear the clangour she'd inadvertently caused. It was a silver lining of sorts, making up for some of the embarrassment, maybe even the destroyed shelf.
She'd heard the thud as it had come crashing down on the ground, the clattering of shattering pottery, and the brassy clang of the big, round tin that had dropped, and then rolled all the way to the window where it still lay. The sounds had reached her like from a distant valley, muffled, and distorted. Her ears had started ringing almost instantly, and the high-pitched hum had yet to cease. Nevertheless, it was a relief to find out that her ears were still good for something. Knowing that, she could only hope for her condition to improve over the coming days. And if not? Well, she supposed she could find a spell to enhance her hearing, as long as it wouldn't desert her entirely before then. Where was the Grimmerie, she found herself wondering. Perhaps it could be persuaded to help her?
She thought on that for some time, while the Animals and the boy began their daily routines and went about their tasks as they always did. Hardly paying them any mind, Glinda turned the same ideas over and over in her head. Occasionally, she got sidetracked reminiscing over moments from her youth, her time in the Emerald City. She couldn't exactly say if all of them had happened exactly as she recalled, but they felt real enough either way. Every now and then, the persistent buzzing noise in her ears reminded her of her small problem and made her mull over possible solutions all over again. Without much success.
Her hunger had been all but forgotten by the time Chistery came over to her with a bowl of nuts and a few broken pieces of stale flat bread. He looked apologetic, probably because he had nothing better to offer. She merely smiled.
"No worries."
The Monkey's expression changed in an instant, his eyes widening, and his mouth falling open before he caught himself and opted for a wide grin instead. It was only then, that it occurred to her that she'd spoken.
Of course she'd known all along that she stilled possessed the capability, but the fact that it had happened so easily pleased her. Good. Another step forward.
Chistery, in his typical eagerness, began to talk to her in what looked like a gush of excitement, while all she could give him in answer was a sheepish shrug. It hurt a little to see the disappointment flash across his face, and even more to watch him turn away and slip off the stool. If she wasn't going to delight him with more stunning advances, he obviously had more important things to do. She understood that well enough, and slowly but surely, she was getting used to the feeling of letting people down.
Although she was accustomed to a life of privilege, Glinda soon came to thoroughly despise the sense of uselessness that wormed itself deeper and deeper into her conscience over the days that followed. She was given ample space, despite the sparse availability of such in their shared hut. She wasn't roped in to help with anything, whereas everyone else was labouring away, trying their hardest to make ends meet, trying to keep them, including Glinda, alive. They were handling her with kid gloves, and truly feeling out of her depth, she didn't know how to even begin to change that.
Merely watching from the sidelines could be isolating; she knew that better than anyone. After all, she'd long lived her life apart from the rest of society, a celebrated but ultimately lonely outsider to the world she herself had helped create. Yet this was worse still, as she had no purpose here, didn't know how to contribute in a meaningful way. It was sheer unbearable.
More than ever, she wanted to go home, return to a place where she was in her element. The fact that she'd hardly be any less lonesome didn't deterred her at all. The one, single thing she hoped for was to be useful again—nothing more, nothing less. Alas, at some level, deep down, she sensed that this was not the way it was meant to be. She couldn't return to Oz, not yet at any rate. Maybe never? How could she possibly say, if she didn't actually know why she had to stay exactly where she was. She just knew, and frustrating as it was, that was that for the time being.
How she'd gotten here in the first place was another mystery that had been plaguing her, but not enough to make her open her mouth and ask the others outright. She wasn't sure whether they knew anything about what had happened to her, so her efforts could very well proof doomed from he start. Better not to bother then. The same was true for her injuries, her strange weakness. She had yet to remember how she'd acquired those, but she trusted that the answers would come to her in due time, once she'd convalesced enough and was ready to take on whatever future awaited her. If there was a future, other than being buried and suffocated beneath a mountain of sand.
If only her recovery were progressing more smoothly at least, so she might find answers sooner, might earn her companions' respect rather than their pity and resentment. So that she might fulfil her purpose here before it was too late. Thus far, her achievements were few and far between. She blamed herself for that, cursing her weak constitution and feeble will to improve. While she craved to tell Chistery all about the three steps she'd managed to take the night before, she cautioned herself that she needed to do better than that before letting him in on her secret. He genuinely seemed to care, and that was a rare comfort, but wouldn't he be disappointed if, after all the rest she'd been afforded, this was all she could do? Wouldn't he much rather see her march right across the entire length of the room? Seeing as there was no reason for her to believe that she could do such a thing, it would certainly be better to refrain from raising his hopes and distracting him from more significant matters. Wasn't it?
Rhamun's return was one such matter.
Yes, that was right; the Coyote's name—for he wasn't a Wolf as she'd at first assumed—was Rhamun. She'd learnt it earlier this morning when he and the Fox had quarrelled over his imminent departure. He'd returned the evening before to rest and to share his meagre haul with them. For all she'd been able to gather, he'd been out stalking the desert, hunting for small reptiles and rodents. There hadn't been much meat on the tiny critters he'd brought back with him, but Chistery had thrown them into a soup, along with some mouldy dried mushrooms for at least a hint of substance and a dash of flavour. It was fascinating how easily her ever-growing hunger had made the unorthodox meal go down and, almost more surprisingly, stay down.
Well, be that as it may, the point was that Glinda had at long last been able to understand a few fragments of their conversations—another minor progress that she wasn't ready to share with the others, out of concern that it might simply not be enough. Or maybe out of fear that she'd see herself forced to open up too quickly. For, when it came down to it, her thoughts were still so terribly confused and meddled that she very much preferred to keep them to herself. And if she began to talk too much, this might turn out to be an awfully delicate balance to strike.
Chistery wasn't stupid, of course. Whether she wanted him to or not, he picked up on her gradual recovery, even as she tired to hide it. He didn't seem to try and rush her this time, and for that much she was grateful. He didn't share his discovery with the others either, yet they were bound to notice eventually.
While Chistery appeared to be glad about the development, Liir became more skittish than before, as if he felt increasingly threatened by her, the more she came into her own. Quaesee, the Vixen, reacted similarly. As her confidence grew ever so slightly, so did Quaesee's resentment. How she might have earned such disdain, however, baffled Glinda to no end.
Rhamun, on the other hand, was hardly often enough around to care one way or another, and whenever he was, he spent most of his time sleeping. He brought back food when he could, along with the occasional news. The tidings he had to share following his most recent excursion were deeply concerning.
The storm was closing in, he told Chistery and Quaesee while Liir was busy carving a toy out of the leg of a broken chair, and Glinda strained to listen from the other end of the room. Their bad fortune was compounded by the fact that he'd also arrived empty handed, with no prey to pass on to them. His coat was still ruffled and interspersed with sand, attesting to the worsening conditions out there. Even Glinda knew enough to find this troubling, only she had the odd feeling that she didn't fully comprehend why it all seemed so much bigger than the issue of their own survival. Was this a hint? Was this why she'd come here? To fight a storm? How in Oz would she accomplish such a thing?
They were running low on food—not that they'd ever had much to begin with. The Coyote's unsuccessful hunt and the dangerous weather, which temporarily prevented him from venturing out, meant that there would be no more than one piece of bread for each of them today. Glinda had to soak hers in hot water to make it at all palatable. Watching it float in her wooden dish, drifting from one edge to the next, spinning slowly, she could feel the juices accumulating in her mouth. Several times, she podded it to tests its softness. Several times, she realised that it was still rock hard, then proceeded to put her forefinger in her mouth, sucking on it as if the bread had transformed the water into something more appealing, or at least more nutritious. When she finally deemed her meal ready to eat, it was gone within the blink of an eye, leaving her desperate for more. But at least the possibility of food no longer taunted her like a succulent carrot on a too long stick. It was easier to accept and ignore her hunger when there was nothing within reach.
When Chistery came around to collect the bowl from her, he hesitated for a moment, looking around the room as if to ascertain that they weren't being watched. As soon as he seemed convinced that the coast was clear, he pried open her hand to press something into her palm. He was gone before she could find out what it was. A small chunk of dried meat, a downright treasure, given their situation. Her stomach growled. She didn't want it, didn't think that she deserved it. With temptation so close and no feasible way to return the morsel, however, she lay back down, pulled the blanket up to her nose and began to nibble. The flavour was a bit off, she could still tell, but compared to their usual fare, it tasted like ambrosia.
The next day, there was nothing left to eat. Rhamun and Qaesee were arguing again. Glinda found herself wondering what their relationship might be. She was obviously worried for him and seemed to prefer their starving over his leaving her for a risky mission. He departed soon thereafter, and for the first time, she cried. Glinda couldn't make up her mind over whether she might share into the Vixen's concerns. They weren't close, and his constant leaving and returning was entirely normal to her. She supposed she was grateful for his sacrifice and his willingness to endanger himself for all their benefit, but would't have thought much of it if he'd listened to his mate, friend, whatever they were. Maybe his efforts to keep them alive only postponed the inevitable. In the end, no matter how persistently he tried, on their own, his contributions had never been enough to begin with. If things didn't change drastically, they were sure to succumb to hunger sooner or later.
Glinda had finally found something more or less useful to do, weaving a handful of bristles she'd removed from the broom into a new handle for the broken basket. Chistery had given her a couple of baffled glances, but said nothing. Glinda, for her part, remained as reluctant to start a conversation as ever, so she didn't bother to ask.
As her fingers braided away, she was astounded how soft and pliable the old twigs were, almost as if they'd been cut no sooner than the day before. How curious. When she was done, the basket looked pretty in its mended form. Even so, what use anyone might have for it wasn't clear yet. They had precious little to put in it now, and nobody was going to carry it into the dunes to gather berries. Rhamun preferred to use a backpack so he could keep his paws free. He wouldn't want to encumber himself with a basket for the sole reason that Glinda had repaired it.
Her musings were interrupted when the door flung open. The noise was loud enough to make her jump. A vicious wind blasted in through the opening, carrying squalls of sand with it. Even thought she was sitting in the furthest corner of the house, it was strong enough to tussle her hair. This was unusual and worrisome, a definitive sign that the storm had indeed worsened considerably.
Shuddering at the notion, Glinda didn't turn around at first and merely tried to seek comfort under her blanket. But if the door was open, Rhamun must have gotten back safely, she concluded. For what it was worth, this pleased her, regardless of whether he'd brought anything edible with him or not. Maybe she did care just a smite. Maybe she wasn't entirely detached from the goings on around her.
More shivers ran down her spine, an unsettlingly familiar feeling, though she couldn't place it. The wind continued to play with her dishevelled locks. Why had the door not been closed yet? Throwing a puzzled glance over her shoulder, she caught sight of Chistery, Liir, and Qaesee, all struggling to push the old door back closed. The strong wind made this ordinarily simple task incredibly difficult.
They managed at last and sunk against the door, panting. Leaning against the wall stood another figure, and it wasn't their canine companion that Glinda had expected. It was a woman, swathed in black, her long, unbound hair in wild disarray. In one of her hands, she carried a tattered broom—more like a branch with a bundle of smaller sticks tied to its end to make it look like a broom. Confusion quickly gave way to recognition when Glinda's eyes honed in on her unique face.
The basket fell out of her hands as the air escaped her lungs, leaving her breathless. If her stomach had been queasy before, it suddenly felt like it was about to devour itself. The lurching was almost painful. She hadn't wanted to speak for so long; this very moment, she was utterly speechless and certain that she couldn't have opened her mouth if her life had depended on it. A strong urge to jump up and run over to Elphaba gripped her, but shock held her in place.
Elphaba leaned against the wall a while longer, one hand on the windowsill, the other gripping the broom so tightly that it shook. She was breathing heavily, her eyes closed. Among the others, Chistery was the first to pick himself up and welcome her. Glinda thought she saw her sway a little as she straightened herself, but Elphaba barely let on how knocked up she really was. Acknowledging Chistery with a brief pat on his shoulder, she seemed more affectionate than Glinda had last seen her, and that observation alone made her wonder what had changed.
She blinked. When had she last seen Elphaba, and why was she at all surprised at such a simple gesture? Chistery was Elphaba's helper, her familiar. Why wouldn't she be kind to him? The more obvious question was, what was Elphaba even doing here? And in the same vein, what was she doing here? Were they meant to find each other here? It was but another variant of the same riddle that been plaguing her for far too long now, but this time, it was practically begging to be answered once and for all, and this time, Glinda was determined to try anything to do so. Would Elphaba know? Could she tell her? She sure hoped so.
Watching Chistery grasp Elphaba's hand and pull her down slightly, Glinda felt an aching longing bloom in her chest. She was dying to touch her for herself, dying to feel her, or just to be seen by her. A devastating fear overcame her, the fear to remain unseen and unnoticed. What if Elphaba left again only moments later, without as much as glancing her way? She couldn't allow this.
At last, determination prevailed over shock, allowing Glinda to rise to her feet. Her heart pounding in her ears, she willed herself to take the first step forward, but she didn't need to, as Elphaba finally turned her head and spotted her. The expression on her face was too complex to be read, but Glinda believed to recognise at least a measure of relief.
"So the broom found you, thank Oz!" Elphaba cried, then rushed to her side with long strides.
Overwhelmed, Glinda let herself sink back down and onto the bed. An eternity seemed to pass before Elphaba finally stood before her, tall, and green, and… and whole. Somehow, the mere fact that she was alive was remarkable, and like with so many things, Glinda had no way of knowing why she felt this way.
Her heart nearly stopped when Elphaba went down on one knee and two larger hands wrapped around her own, pressing tightly. It was the best feeling in the world, but also excruciating for reasons she could not fathom. There was no time for her to ponder this, for deep within her, she felt a dam crack, break, then spill over with bottled up, raw emotions. She cried, harder than she might ever have. Leaning forward, she let her head fall against Elphaba's chest. Her love smelled of dust and sweat, yet for Glinda there was no sweeter scent in the entire world. It only aided her in truly believing that she was real, and that she was here; a difficult enough concept to grasp as it was.
Elphaba let her weep for a while, but made no attempts at comforting her through any other means than their joint hands. If she spoke to her, she spoke too softly for Glinda to hear. Eventually, however, she freed one of her hands to lift up Glinda's chin and wipe away her tears. Despite the gentle touch, there was a firmness to her movements, and an odd expression in her dark eyes.
"I'm glad you're…" she paused to give Glinda a long, evaluating look. Well? Alive? She settled for "here," and let a fleeting, but entirely unconvincing smile tug at the corners of her thin lips.
Glinda sniffled and swallowed the impossibly large lump in her throat, then nodded, slightly discouraged. When Elphaba did not immediately continued to speak, she used the opportunity to study her, undistracted by the effort of trying to make out her words. She looked, well, terrible, to put it lightly.
Elphaba struck her as tired and worn, and thin. Not her usual thin that Glinda was used to; more like butter spread over too much bread. Her eyes were glazed over, and the circles underneath were so dark that they looked as though Elphaba had very unsuccessfully tried to apply coal for the first time. The resulting appearance was nothing like the colour of actual skin, even the texture was all wrong. Overall, the effect was so eye-catching that it nearly drew all attention away from the long cut across her cheek. Nearly.
Feeling her heart sink, Glinda lowered her eyes, letting them fall on the hands that were still holding hers firmly. They were rough, caked in dry blood, and the sight of it made her gasp audibly. At that, Elphaba pulled them back, hiding them by folding her arms.
"… nothing" was all Glinda could understand in between her mumbled sentences, then "dry."
Yes, this made sense. Elphaba's lips were similarly cracked and interlaced with dark red. That didn't mean that she was any less worried.
"Look what you've done to yourself," she said softly, her voice uncommonly raspy with disuse.
Elphaba seemed to do a double take before averting her face. Glinda only wished she knew what it all meant.
"Fine, listen," Elphaba finally said, staggering to her feet before shuffling around to sit beside her on the bed.
Glinda drew a shaky breath and made herself focus on her eyes alone, ignoring most of her disconcerting lesions and blemishes. Nodding gravely, she signalled for Elphaba to continue.
"Seeing as you've returned the broom to me, I need to leave almost immediately."
Glinda wished she could blame her hearing and that this was nothing but a dreadful misunderstanding.
"No!"
"Yes! Just listen, will you?"
Elphaba's hands came up to cup both sides of Glinda's face, holding her in place while her gaze bored into her, imploring her to heed her words. Already, the tears began to make a comeback, but at Elphaba's silent behest, she held them at bay for a couple of moments longer.
"When you came here, you brought the Grimmerie with you, didn't you?"
"Yes," answered Glinda, like in trance, then pulled back her head to free herself from Elphaba's grip and shook it. "I mean, I don't know."
"You don't know?" the other woman demanded, incredulous.
"I can't remember. Not really."
Eyes narrowing, Elphaba considered her for a few beats before pressing on.
"Well, I can sense it nearby, I just can't pinpoint its location. I tried to find it on my own, but I think I'll see if the broom can show me the way. You were still in possession of the book when you got knocked off the broom, yes?"
"I don't know," Glinda maintained, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. "I can't remember. I can't remember so many things. How did I ever get here? Elphie? Do—do you know? You must tell me!"
It was Elphaba's turn to shake her head.
"All right. Never mind all that. I'll find it. I hope."
She released a long breath, turned her gaze inwards, thinking. Her hands busied themselves with Glinda's blanket.
"One more thing," she sighed at length, motioning for Glinda to lean closer. "It's not safe here. I don't know how to contain the storm any longer. Perhaps I was asking too much when I cleared the vicinity of the castle so you could escape. It all spiralled out of control after that. But maybe that was bound to happen anyway."
Glinda let her head bob mechanically. Nothing of what Elphaba had just said made much sense to her. She didn't truly understand any of it, nor had the words spurred her latent memories into action. And yet, the anticipated confusion did not set in. She went along with it as if it were all self-evident, sensing not the faintest need to ask further questions. The information felt neither new, nor surprising, and so she simply filed it away for later use.
She did, however, lose the thread somewhere along the way and only became aware of it when she noticed Elphaba sitting silent, watching her intently.
"You do look frightful, you know?" commented Elphaba with a wry smile, a moment after Glinda's eyes had refocused on her. Blushing and feeling dizzy, she didn't know how to reply. "I worry for you," Elphaba added. That went straight to Glinda's heart, making it beat painfully hard. "I need you in a better state, so you can flee or fight back if necessary, or at the very least curl up and try to weather the tempest if it overruns you."
"I'm sorry. I don't think I can—"
Before Glinda could finish, Elphaba had already pushed her hands forward.
"There. Take what you need."
At first Glinda looked at her in pure bewilderment, but a moment later, realisation set in.
"I can't," she told her faintly, staring at the injured hands on offer, nervously chewing her own lips.
Elphaba didn't take this well. Roughly grabbing her shoulders, she brought her forehead to Glinda's in an anything but tender gesture.
"What do you mean, you can't?" she hissed under her breath, not wanting to be overheard. "You leeched sap from an innocent child, but you won't take an ounce of strength from an old scoundrel like me?"
Confounded by Elphaba's behaviour, it was all Glinda could do not to start sobbing. She barely knew what Elphaba was talking about, but it mattered little.
"I can't," she repeated. "Looking at you, I can't help but fear for you in return. I might accidentally drain my own powers to heal you. While I'd do so gladly, I don't think that that's what you'd want."
"For Oz's sake!"
Elphaba released her, bowing her head in frustration.
Neither of them spoke for some time, until Glinda couldn't take it anymore. She suddenly found herself a lot more sympathetic to Qaesee who'd argued with Rhamun, hoping to keep him safe, or at least safer.
"Don't go, Elphie," she whispered urgently, lifting her hand to caress her love's cheek. The fact that Elphaba let her do so simultaneously melted and broke her heart. Her inevitable answer seemed obvious.
"I must," said Elphaba, taking hold of her hand and kissing her palm almost desperately before getting off the bed.
Glinda tried to hold on to her, but her empty hand soon dropped heavily back into her lap. The loss of contact left her feeling numb and weak. Within seconds, it seemed like, Elphaba had flown from her side, gathered her proper broom and ripped open the door. The door stayed that way for quite some time after the black figure had vanished from everyone's sight. No one appeared particularly willing to accept that she was already gone again, gone before she'd even truly arrived.
