A/N: I'm sorry this update's arrived so late, ladies and gents, but it's been a pretty busy fortnight; this chapter's a bit on the short side by my standards, but for those of you who were wondering what the hell's going on this story, its meant to explain a few things about the setting before we get any deeper into it - and to foreshadow the truth, of course. Any guesses you might have are always welcome, as are your reviews.

So, without further ado, read, review and above all, enjoy!

Disclaimer: Wicked is not and cannot be mine.

"Where are we going, exactly? I mean, you've told me we're crossing the border, but you haven't exactly told me where we'll be going once we've managed that. And another thing - is it going to be all on foot? Because I think my arms are about to drop off."

They'd been walking for almost half an hour: they were still wandering through the depths of the forest, with most of the Irredeemables being too busy hauling equipment or injured comrades to hold much of a conversation; the rest were busy keeping a close eye on the surrounding trees and the canopy above, just in case the skinless "Hellion" or the "Eyes" returned. For her part, Elphaba hadn't minded all that much: she'd been preoccupied in lugging Dorothy Gale around – not nearly as easy as she'd thought it would be. For one thing, the girl was a lot heavier than she looked, proving quite a strain on the muscles in her arms after a while ("That's what they don't tell you about kids," a woman with porcupine quills for hair had laughed. "They're like baby elephants.") Much more annoyingly, the paralysis hadn't extended to her throat, so the girl spent half the time whimpering in terror; the other half was spent with her eyes clenched shut, as if she were hoping that this was all a nightmare that she would eventually wake from the next time she opened her eyes. It was after one of the louder whimpers (during which, one of the child's bony elbows had ended up lodged squarely in Elphaba's jaw) that she'd given in to frustration and broken the silence.

A grotesque smile briefly rippled across Captain Marl's scarred face. "We're heading home, Miss," he grunted. "Back to the Deviant Nations – more specifically, the barracks in Greenspectre. In the meantime, the transport shouldn't be much further; I'm pretty sure we landed it just a couple of hundred yards from here."

"While we're on the subject of the Deviant Nations, would it hurt to explain a few things to me?"

"Like what?"

"Like anything: the Hellion, the Eyes, the Deviant Nations, your enemies, why you blew up a railway building and why you were about to capture and ransom me before you changed you minds... I just need a few answers; you don't have to give me the keys to the kingdom or anything like that – I'd just like to know why any of this is happening."

Marl hesitated, briefly exchanging glances with some of the other members of the group. Elphaba had seen that tentative, all-too-meaningful look before: they didn't trust her. Question was, what had changed since they'd first met her? Maybe this had something to do with the Eyes refusing to kill her, or maybe the information she was asking for was too sensitive. Whatever the case, Marl eventually turned to the woman with blue scales marching opposite Elphaba. "Vara," he announced, "You've got all the relevant details memorized; tell her what she wants to know."

If Vara had any objections to acting as a mobile helpdesk for clueless newcomers, she didn't voice any of them; she simply turned to Elphaba and started talking. "Let's just start with the basics," she said briskly. "I'll assume you understand that we're in a country called Unbridled Radiance, yeah?"

"I won't ask how the country ended up with that name, but yes, I think I got that."

"Well, to put a very long and boring story short, we're at war – have been for decades, truth be told. Unbridled Radiance wants to expand its borders and force its laws on the countries it absorbs; the Deviant Nations are a coalition – a family, really – of all the governments that chose to resist imperial expansion: in fact, a few of the nations actually used to be part of U.R. before the Radiant Laws were passed and kicked off the secession movement."

"And what laws were they? I mean, why did those governments object to them?" And why didn't the others? Elphaba wondered.

"The laws against this," said Vara flatly. She pointed at her face, at the gleaming cyan scales running along the curve of her cheek; then, as if to clarify, she pointed at Elphaba's face. "U.R. doesn't take kindly to deviations from their precious "True Image." They don't like "the low mingling with the great," or "the foul existing as insult to the purified," and they certainly don't like it when "the great of spirit but low of body" aren't allowed to claim their so-called true potential. Breaking any of the Radiant Laws is punishable by death, or worse, re-education." She laughed, briefly affecting a pompous, declamatory voice that – to Elphaba – sounded uncannily like Madame Morrible: "Crimes against beauty shall not go unpunished, citizens!" she yapped mockingly. "Beauty is Goodness and Goodness is Beauty!"

"So that's what those Eye-things were talking about back there?"

"Exactly: the Vigilant Eyes were built specifically to seek out and destroy wilful deviants. Worse still, they've been stationed in every single town from here to Exemplar, and unless you've got enough guns and enough cover, it's just about impossible to bring them down."

"Hang on a minute; you said they hunt down "deviations"... but you weren't born like this right?"

"None of the Irredeemables were born deviated; hospitals in U.R. have a very strict policy to ensure that any infants with recognizable deformities don't stay that way for long." A spasm of pain flitted across Vara's reptilian features, and she sighed deeply. "No, we made ourselves like this, just like Captain Marl told you: either we hired a mage-surgeon to alter our bodies, or we performed the operation ourselves."

Elphaba opened her mouth to respond, but then thought better of it. Vara clearly noticed the puzzled expression on her face, though, because she laughed and said, "I know what you're thinking: "Why did you have yourselves altered? Why didn't you stay normal?" It's the same question we get asked from every refugee, deserter or defector who left the U.R. to take shelter in our midst. And the answer's always the same, too: rebellion." Her tone changed, slowly growing fierier and more passionate with every word she spoke, until every sentence audibly clanged with revolutionary fervour. "All the Deviant Nations reject the Radiant Laws," she proclaimed, "but we take our rejection further and greater than any before: we reject the very notion of the "True Image"; our bodies aren't the property of some high and mighty Empress - they're ours to do with as we please, and to spite the enemy, we sculpt them into any form they would call ugly and heretical. They've called us Irredeemable for it, and we bear that name with pride, because we are the elite of the Deviant Nations' armies: we oppose Unbridled Radiance not just in word and deed, but in body."

And despite everything that had happened in the last few hours, Elphaba found herself struggling not to laugh: on top of finding herself worlds away from Oz, by some amazing coincidence she'd somehow ended up in the company of fellow rebels; true, they weren't exactly espousing the same cause, but the sheer improbability of the whole thing still brought a smile to her face. Out loud, she remarked, "Fair enough. It makes sense... of a sort. But tell me, how did all this begin? I mean, you said that some of the Deviant Nations seceded from the country; what was it like before those laws were passed?"

"There's not much to tell, in all honesty. As far as I know, the laws were passed about fifty years ago when the Empress was first crowned; we haven't actually been at war that long – it's been an on-and-off conflict truth be told, but the Great Mentor will be able to tell you more about it when we get back to Greenspectre."

"Okay... but what about the Hellion? How does she fit into the whole equation? What does she want?"

"You might as well ask a rabid dog what it wants: nobody has the slightest idea where she came from, how she lost her skin, how she got her powers, or even what her real name is. She certainly isn't interested in explaining herself. She just does whatever the hell she feels like: she steals, she kills en mass, she puts the corpses on display, she breaks down fences, she makes milk turn sour, she teleports people from one town to another, she pulls all sorts of pranks... and she collects "dolls." I don't know what she does to the people she kidnaps – come to think of it, I don't want to know; all I know is that nobody who she's marked as a doll and successfully captured has ever come back alive."

Dorothy, who'd clearly been listening, whimpered loudly. Doing her best to ignore the noise, Elphaba asked, "Does anyone know where she lives?"

"Not to my knowledge. People have been trying to hunt her down for years on end, and nobody's been able to find her hiding place - and that's assuming she even has one: there's been sightings of her in the Deviant Nations, there's been sightings of her in Radiance, there's been reports of her in No-Man's Land..." Vara shrugged. "What can I say? She's a well-travelled monster."

So that means there's not much chance of finding the Ruby Slippers unless the Hellion decides to show her face again. Great.

And then, just as Elphaba was beginning to wonder if there'd be any chance of seeing Glinda again either, Yara tugged on her sleeve. "We've arrived," she whispered. Up ahead, the forest dwindled away into a clearing large enough to accommodate a house. And right in the centre of that clearing was...

Back in Oz, the countless stories about the Wizard and his rise to power had always started with him arriving in a hot-air balloon; in fact, on that first tumultuous visit to the Emerald City, the same balloon had actually been put on display as part of exhibition celebrating the Wizard's reign. The "transport" that the Irredeemables had finally reached looked vaguely similar, in the sense that there was a massive gas-filled balloon tethered to it, but as Elphaba pushed aside the branches and shrubs blocking her view, she realized that this was where any similarities to the old museum exhibit came to an end: instead of a basket, the balloon was tethered to what looked like a wooden sailing ship; perhaps a hundred feet long from bow to stern and equipped with an impressive array of propellers and engines, it was clearly big enough to accommodate the Irredeemables. As for whether it could actually fly, Elphaba could only guess at that point.

"... is this really what we're meant to be crossing the border in?" she asked quietly.

"I know, it's a bit run-down," said Captain Marl. "But that's pretty much the idea: it's supposed to look like a cargo airship bringing supplies to the expeditionary forces; that way, we don't get shot down trying to enter or leave the country."

And air travel is commonplace here. I can actually feel my uniqueness value decreasing.

Meanwhile, a small knot of figures clustered near the railing of the ship (presumably the skeleton crew left to guard it) lowered a gangplank, allowing the Irredeemables to go about boarding. A few stayed behind on the ground, though, either to detach the mooring lines, or to help move their injured comrades or the heavier equipment pieces. For her part, Elphaba was unceremoniously escorted up the ramp and onto the creaking deck of the airship as quickly as possible.

"How long is this journey going to take?" she asked.

"Oh, hours," said the captain. "Easily four or five, if weather conditions are stable enough; we're not just crossing the border, we're crossing the No-Man's Land that separates the Deviant Nations from U.R. In the meantime, I'm afraid we don't have any bunks left in the crew quarters, so you and your friend will have to stay in the brig for the time being."

Having barely managed to bite back a snarl of "she's not my friend," Elphaba found herself bristling with frustration yet again at the prospect of sharing a room with Dorothy Gale for the next five hours. But at that point, she wasn't in the mood to argue or to admit to the unpleasant details of how the girl had arrived in Oz; so, she forced a smile and said, "Fine. So long as I can put this girl down at some point in the near future, I'm not too picky."

As the crew readied themselves for takeoff and Vara began guiding Elphaba down the staircase leading into the ship's cavernous sleeping quarters, a thought struck her. "By the way," she said hesitantly. "You mentioned a "Great Mentor" a little while ago-"

"One of the most important figures in our society," said Vara, almost reverently, "The leader of the Revolution, and the foremost authority on magic in all the Deviant Nations. You'll meet her when we arrive in Greenspectre, as I said. Even if she doesn't have a way of sending you home, I've no doubt she'll be interested in you. It's not every day you meet someone who's able to fool the Vigilant Eyes..."

Miles away, the relative silence of a palatial bedchamber was broken by the sound of a radio crackling to life. The few occupants of the room scarcely budged from their routines at the noise, for they'd been receiving broadcasts for the last half an hour; so, as the report from Captain Marl echoed across the room, they went on with their business without showing much interest: they maintained the radio connections, they transcribed the reports, they stood guard, and they helped the physician tend to the bedridden patient in the centre of the room.

Then, the final item on Marl's report was voiced: in perfect unison, every single person in the room looked up in shock; and in the bed, almost lost amidst the heavy mantle of blankets, the patient stirred and leaned forward.

"The woman you refer to is dead," she whispered hoarsely.

"I know, milady, I know," Marl wheedled. "But she's practically identical to the description you provided when you last spoke of her, right down to the green skin."

"Such things can be faked, Captain; creating body doubles is a simple task for any competent mage-surgeon, as my physician here can testify. Of course, it raises questions as to whom this imposter represents: I very much doubt she is in the pay of the Empress – she would consider the surgery heretical..."

"There's another thing, Milady: when the Vigilant Eyes caught us, they refused to fire on her. In fact, they retreated the moment they saw her. Do you think it means anything?"

The patient thought for a moment. "I think we may have to examine this witch in person, whoever she really is; as soon as you arrive in Greenspectre, ensure that she is brought to me. Until then, keep an eye on her. If she gets violent, do not hesitate to pull the trigger."

"As you wish, Great Mentor," Captain Marl replied, ending the transmission.

At long last, the patient sank back into the pillows, exhausted. Meanwhile, the physician at her side was still staring contemplatively at the now-inactive radio: "Just for the sake of argument," he murmured softly, "What happens if it really is her?"

"She isn't."

"With due respect, milady, how do you know that? You've insisted that she's dead, but in truth-"

"Yes she is," the patient snapped. "Elphaba Thropp is dead, and has been for over fifty years. Dead, just like the Wizard, Madam Morrible, Fiyero, and every other poor soul that was taken by the Radiant Empress; even Glinda did not survive those monstrous times. The Land of Oz itself is dead, and we who live have built our kingdoms on its festering corpse. That is the truth, and it is the only truth I have ever needed. In all my decades of study, I've yet to find any magic that could bring her or any of the others back, and I very much doubt I'm about to find it in some girl sculpted to look like Elphaba."

She sighed. "I'm sorry. You'd think I'd have been able to hold my composure, but it still seems as though still I have much to learn."

The physician's gaunt face quirked into a smile: "Like the difference between truth and metaphorical truth, for example?" he suggested, ever-so-slightly mockingly.

In spite of herself, the patient laughed. "You still have hope for those consumed by the Radiance, Doctor. With any luck, it'll withstand the meeting with this claimant to Elphaba's name. If not, we will satisfy ourselves with the execution of the fraud who besmirched the memory of Oz's last hero..."

A/N: Who is the mysterious Great Mentor, and what has become of Oz? Find out in the next chapters...