A/N: Now that we've moved away from explanations and into the actual plot, I'm hoping to present some actual developments in regards to the story and the characters; you'll have to be judge of how well I've done- feel free to review and tell me. One way or another, I've had the time of my life writing this one. Also, feel free to furnish me with your guesses as to how the story's going to turn out; it's this sort of audience participation (plus your viewing and reviewing in general) that gets my corroded little heart started in the morning!
So, without further ado, the latest chapter: read, review, and above all, enjoy!
Disclaimer: Wicked cannot be mine; I do not have a physical cast of thousands at my disposal - only a fictional one.
"Hello? Is anyone out there? Not to sound rude or anything, but I'd very much appreciate it if someone could get me out from under this thing!"
In hindsight, running headlong into a collapsing building hadn't been one of Fiyero's better ideas, though of course a few niggling doubts had occurred to him as he'd ducked the first hail of falling masonry. At the time, he hadn't thought much of them – the goal saving Elphaba's life was just about the only thing on his mind at that point, and the few concerns he'd had about the danger were quickly gagged by his newly-realized immortality. After all, he didn't have bones to break anymore, and sure enough, most of the rubble that fell on him only glanced harmlessly off his burlap arms and shoulders.
He'd spent perhaps five minutes hunting the ground floor for any sign of Elphaba, all the while dodging falling walls and brickwork; then, almost beside himself with panic and desperation, he'd charged upstairs, shouting her name almost every step of the way in the hope that someone might answer. No sooner had he arrived on the first floor landing when the ceiling had inexplicably tore itself apart and flung itself into the blinding light overhead... and then, he'd felt a gale-force wind dragging him in the same direction. He'd done his best to hang on to the staircase banister as best he could, and for the next few horrendous minutes he'd remained there, helplessly flailing against the pull of the wind as he tried vainly not to imagine his body ripping cleanly in two.
Fortunately, it had been the banister that had given way first. Equally fortunately, his flight through the air and into the light hadn't killed him; in fact, after a brief show of dazzling colours and images playing across the empty air in front of him, he'd landed with a thud in a relatively placid patch of countryside – a forest on one side, a railway on the other (plus one smouldering crater where a building had once stood). True, he didn't recognize any of it, but it was better than nothing.
And perhaps it had been the fact that he was still in one piece, perhaps it had been the visions he'd seen while passing through the light, but he'd been feeling pretty optimistic about things at that point, enough to entertain the thought that Elphaba might be found somewhere nearby. So, once he'd recovered his footing, he'd been setting off in the general direction of the railway...
... when a large section of staircase had dropped out of the sky and flattened him.
As it happened, this was yet another one of those embarrassing "in hindsight" moments: not only had part of the staircase actually landed with him – including the banister he'd been clinging to – but there'd also been several chunks of rubble scattered across the plain around him when he'd arrived. Fiyero had just been too preoccupied to notice them until the next chunk hand landed on top of him. So, pinned under the rubble and unable to move, he could only shout for help and hope that someone would hear him.
Perhaps Elphaba would be the first to find him, assuming she really was nearby (and assuming she's still alive, a cruel voice in the back of his mind whispered). And if not her, then perhaps Boq or the Lion; after all, he'd seen them hurrying after him in his mad dash to reach Kiamo Ko: with any luck, they'd be able to find the light that had brought him here, provided the castle's collapse hadn't buried or destroyed it. Maybe there'd be someone else about to help, if not them. After all, he was lying almost right next to a railway; there might be a train coming along sooner or later, or at the very least, someone interesting in finding out why the sky was raining bits of demolished castle.
Not for the first time since the staircase had landed on him, he tried to lift the massive weight pinning him to the ground, without much success: even if his arms hadn't been made of burlap and straw, he didn't have the strength to budge it. Of course, if he was really desperate, he could just rip himself in two and crawl to freedom until he found someone who could retrieve his legs and sew him together, but he didn't want to try anything extreme until –
Fiyero's train of thought suddenly ground to a halt, as something that sounded uncannily like footsteps rustled across the long grass nearby. "Is someone there?" he called. "I need help!" There was a thoughtful pause, and he added, "Even if you can't lift two tonnes of granite with your bare hands, any assistance would be-"
Two huge hands snaked into view, one wrapping itself around Fiyero's waist, the other lifting the broken staircase with apparently no effort whatsoever. Then, with one smooth motion, the right hand whisked Fiyero out from under the rubble and hoisted him off the ground a split second before the chunk of granite stair thudded back into the dirt. "Oh thank you," he sighed, as his rescuer's face came into view. "For a moment I thought I was in serious trouAAAAAAAARGH!"
The bloodied, skinless face of a woman flayed alive stared back at him, the corners of her mouth slowly twisting into a horrible, tusk-toothed grin, her yellow eyes flashing with delight. "Another doll?" she giggled, voice shifting wildly from one register to the next. "ANOTHER sweet little doll to REplace THE one she took frOm me?" For perhaps fifteen seconds, the impossible figure held him in one hand, idly poking and prodding him with one of her lower arms as she sniffed his face like a bloodhound scenting a trail; meanwhile, Fiyero remained as still as he could – there wasn't much else he could do under the circumstances, except perhaps for literally ripping himself out of the monster's grip and hoping that he could somehow outrun her without legs. Unfortunately, not only did this not appear to be an option, but the creature's smile was transforming into an enraged scowl.
"You're one of HERS!" she snarled furiously. "You're a doll alrEADY, and one BELonging to someONE ELSE – the Great and Radiant Lady of Emeralds!"
Fiyero could only blink in shock. "What?"
"She STEALS from me!" the monster ranted. "And THEN taunts me with her own pretty LITTLE doll!"
"I'm sorry, but what? I don't belong to anyone, and I'm not a doll; I'm -"
"A badly-stuffed AND tattered ragdoll but a DOLL nonetheLESS – no nerves to PARAlyse, no fleshbrain to sweeten... and YOU stink of her touch! SHE'S been all over YOU, the green-skinned bitch! IN BOTH here and there, she replaced so MUCH of you! YOU stood on the palace guard with porcelain face and golden hands AND NOW you lie in mud as sackcloth and straw!"
Somehow, Fiyero's canvas heart leaped, at once in hope and in shock. "Hang on a minute," he whispered urgently, almost forgetting the danger he was in. "You've seen Elphaba? Where is she?" The monster's scowl deepened, and for a moment, Fiyero thought he'd finally pushed his luck too far – and that he might be just about to learn how well his new body could cope with being dismembered. Then, a familiar voice yelled "Put him down!"
In all his short time as a Scarecrow, Fiyero had never been happier to see Boq and the Lion. The two of them had clearly acquired an impressive collection of bumps, bruises and dents from following him into the castle and through the light, but they looked ready for a fight all the same. Judging by the angry yapping from just beyond Fiyero's vision, so was Toto.
"Put him down!" Boq repeated.
The monster slowly turned, unearthly yellow eyes surveying the new arrivals. Her expression softened from a scowl to a sneer, and she laughed contemptuously: "MORE dolls from someONE else's toybox," she cackled. "A tin soldier AND a stuffed animal; and WHO do you belong to?"
"I don't belong to anyone! And neither does the Lion," Boq added as an afterthought. "Look, would you just put our friend down, or we'll be forced to –"
Without warning, the creature (who'd been sniffing the air for the last couple of seconds) burst out laughing. "The Mistress of Mirrors!" she cackled. "You march TO THE beat of the Cripple, little tin soldier! She MISSES you so much... AND look!" She turned to the Lion, clapping all six of her hands in glee. "The Green Girl has lost ANOTHER toy! She MUST BE so sad to be without her DEAR little lion cub."
There was an awkward pause, as Boq and the Lion's expressions shifted from anger to confusion, to shock, and finally to horrified disbelief. "What?" the Lion mumbled.
The creature laughed again. "Maybe I'll let YOU have her STRAWMAN back, little lost toys. I'll be sure to give the green girl your regards WHEN I see her next... soon." She eyed Fiyero gleefully, and her voice changed dramatically: for perhaps a sentence or so, it reverted to a perfectly ordinary human voice that sounded almost familiar to Fiyero – not to mention hideously incongruous coming from the skinless lips of the monster.
"Perhaps I'll trade you for the doll she keeps with her," she simpered. "Perhaps not. Perhaps sooner or later, she'll have her prickly old straw doll and whimpering lion cub... and I'll have one more sweet little doll to add to my loving family. Either way, what the Hellion wants, the Hellion takes..."
And it was at that moment that, with the tension stretched to breaking point, Toto barked angrily.
The Hellion turned sharply in the little dog's direction, her eyes widening in surprise as if she'd only just noticed him. Her head tilted quizzically to the side for a moment, an expression of uncertainty stamped on her bloodsoaked features; to the onlookers, it seemed as though she was just about to lunge forward and grab Toto for another morbid examination. Then, without a word, she hurled Fiyero aside and departed, rocketing away across the plains towards the forest.
For several seconds, the bewildered scarecrow lay in the dirt, staring in amazement at the raw-muscled thing racing away across the land. Eventually, Boq helped him to his feet – unable to disguise the fact that his tin hands were visibly shaking. Fiyero didn't blame him: quite apart from the fact that the Hellion was pretty damn terrifying on her own, it was pretty obvious what the monster had been ranting about when she'd spoken of him "marching to the cripple's beat"; somehow, she'd seen right through the guise of the Tin Man and known secrets that should have been known only to him (not to mention Elphaba and, thanks to the all-too-short interlude in the forest, Fiyero himself). The same went for the Lion, who was now quivering like a leaf: after all, he'd been conned into believing that "The Wicked Witch of the West" was somehow responsible for his cowardice; being accused of being her toy clearly didn't help the Animal's neuroses, that much was sure.
But amidst the fear visible on the Lion's face, there was another one: realization. "That thing said something about the Witch keeping a doll with her," he whispered. "Do you think it was talking about Dorothy?"
Boq took a deep breath he clearly didn't need. "One thing's for sure," he said grimly. "It knows where the Witch is... and right now it's our only way of finding her or Dorothy." And with that, he put his head down and hurtled after the rapidly-disappearing figure of the Hellion, all thoughts of revenge on Elphaba suddenly written clearly on his face. The Lion followed, barely managing to keep pace with the Tin Man's relentless charge; he was an impressive sprinter and he undoubtedly liked Dorothy better than any other member of the group, but even he couldn't compete with the speed and stamina of someone who didn't need to breathe or even rest. Meanwhile, with his flailing limbs and loping gait, Fiyero could only amble after them, delaying himself further to scoop Toto into his arms as he went.
"Well, Toto," he muttered, as he jogged awkwardly after the three distant figures. "It looks like it's just the two of us for the moment. We're always getting left behind, aren't we?"
Toto barked in agreement.
They're trying to keep her alive, she realizes.
Through half-closed eyes and delirium-fogged vision, she sees figures in surgical gowns and masks at work upon her body, trying to bind her wounds, trying stop her from bleeding out, trying to keep her heart beating and having very little in the way of luck or success. And Fiyero's here: he's beyond angry, now – he's in blind panic, trying desperately to stay by her side even as a couple of terrified-looking orderlies attempt to force him out of the operating theatre.
She tries to tell him that everything's going to be fine, but her voice cannot respond through the haze of pain and sedatives; and in truth, she doesn't want to lie to Fiyero. She's going to die on this table, even as these surgeons fight to keep her alive; she would laugh at the irony, if she could – these doctors, proud Ozians to a man, are fighting to keep her alive! And if she could, she'd applaud: none of them turned her away; none of them have tried to cut her throat or give her a sedative overdose when Fiyero's back was turned. Perhaps he was a lot more successful at persuasion than she ever was.
Funnily enough, she has only one regret: that she didn't get to say goodbye to her friends... to Nessa... to Fiyero... to Glinda...
Then, just as sorrow begins to blossom, a piercing scream shatters her reverie-
And Elphaba lurched out of bed, mind reeling in confusion: for perhaps five seconds, she had literally no idea where she was or how she'd gone from the operating theatre to here; then, her memories of the previous day returned in a flood, and she recognized the room around her.
She was onboard an airship – an airship owned by a fanatical group of soldiers who disfigured themselves with magic in order to protest against the laws of the country they had just attacked, a country so far removed from Oz that nobody knew of its existence. Not for the first time, Elphaba wondered if she was still dreaming. She gave herself a little shake and collected her thoughts as best as she could: alright, I'm on an airship, going to see The Great Mentor in a city called Greenspectre, and I'm hopefully going to find Glinda with her help and then go back to Oz. And a moment ago, I was trying to sleep to make the time pass a little faster. Just one question – why is somebody screaming?
Glancing blearily to her right, she found Dorothy Gale sitting bolt-upright in the opposite bed, mouth open in a bloodcurdling scream of horror. Oh sweet Oz, she thought furiously, now I remember: I'm sharing a room with her.As she absently stifled the urge to reach out and slap the girl across the face, it occurred to Elphaba's sleep-muddled brain that, infuriating gullibility and helplessness aside, Dorothy wasn't the sort of person who'd scream at absolutely anything. Indeed, her gaze was fixed on the porthole in the nearby wall...
And hovering right outside that window, clawing at the glass with bloody, skinless fingers, was the Hellion.
Overhead, there was a loud series of gunshots from the top deck, indicating that the crew of the ship had seen the monster; for her part, the Hellion didn't seem mind being pelted with gunfire – or even notice it. Her gaze was fixed on the tiny, whimpering figure now pressed into the furthest corner of the room, only shifting once or twice as her bloodied claws cut deep into the glass of the window. But it was too thick, even for her.
Elphaba wondered if the Hellion was strong enough to punch through the hull, and if so, wether or not the monster would be willing to risk sending newest "doll" on a death-dive towards the ground three hundred feet below. From what she'd seen of the Hellion's behaviour so far, it was impossible to guess. Thankfully after several tense moments of scratching and scrabbling, the hovering creature finally gave in without any further violence; then, her luminous yellow eyes flickered towards Elphaba, and she snarled something at her. Thanks to the thick glass, the distant rumble of the engine and the gunshots from overhead, it should have been just about impossible to hear her, but somehow Elphaba heard with perfect clarity:
"Give me the girl and I'll give your toys back. Stand in the forest and call my name when you're ready."
With that, the Hellion dropped out of view. Hurrying to the window, Elphaba saw the red-muscled bulk of the creature soaring downwards into the forest below, vanishing into the canopy of trees to the accompaniment of angry swearing and a holler of "CEASE FIRE!" from the Irredeemables on deck. Slowly, the gunfire and the shouts dwindled away, leaving on the gentle purr of the airship's engines... and at long last, Elphaba finally let the go of the breath she'd been holding for the past thirty seconds, and turned away from the porthole.
Unfortunately, she happened to turn in Dorothy's direction, and the girl immediately panicked. "Please don't give me to her," she whimpered, "Please don't give me to her, I didn't mean to steal the Slippers I'm sorry I'm so sorry pleasepleasepl-"
She almost hit her; she'd heard enough of this pathetic whining back at Kiamo Ko, and hearing it again rasped at nerves already stripped raw by the appearance of the Hellion. But at the last moment, her hand slowed in mid-swing and instead clamped down over Dorothy Gale's mouth. The terrified gibbering stopped immediately, but not the girl's terror – if the wide eyes and the chill to the skin was any evidence.
"Shut up," Elphaba hissed. "This situation is bad enough already without having you screeching into my ear every other minute of the day, and I don't intend to lose my hearing while we're stuck in this broom-closet of a cell, so would you please keep your voice down?!"
Dorothy nodded. So, Elphaba removed her hand and sat down on her bed – whereupon Dorothy started pleading again, though thankfully more coherently and at a much lower volume this time. "Please," she said, trying and failing to keep the fear out of her voice. "I know you want to give me to her but I promise, if you'll let me, I'll help you get the Ruby Slippers back from her-"
"Oh would you please shut up?"
As Dorothy lapsed into a despairing silence, Elphaba wearily added, "I'm not going to give you to the Hellion, okay? You can stop worrying about that now."
There was a surprised pause, as relief and confusion briefly warred for control of the girl's face. "... Why not?" she asked.
"Because I don't trust the Hellion to deliver on any bargain I'd make with her; I don't know her well enough at this point to trust her with anything, really. For all I know, she might try and kill me the moment I handed you over to her, or steal the Ruby Slippers as soon as my back was turned- the list goes on and on." Somewhere in the back of her head, her conscience flicked an override switch, and she grudgingly added, "Besides, I'm not interested in adding to that lunatic's collection of kidnapped children."
"But you kidnapped me," Dorothy pointed out. "You were happy keeping me locked up-" she clapped a hand to her mouth, realizing she'd said too much.
Elphaba shrugged. "Well, there are some things I'm not prepared to do: even I have limits..." Once upon a time, I would have said I was unlimited, she thought sadly. It's amazing how times change, isn't it?
Meanwhile, Dorothy was leaning towards the opposite bunk, as if hoping to somehow emphasize her next point, when she lost her balance and tumbled out of bed with a crash. Wincing, she used the dangling edge of the sheet to haul herself into a sitting position... but not to her feet. "Whatever the Hellion did to me, it hasn't quite worn off yet," she explained. "I can't move my legs – can't even feel them. I-"
Acting on instinct and almost completely unaware of what she was doing, Elphaba reached out and grabbed Dorothy under both arms, hoisting her back onto the bed and arranging her in a sitting position, her legs stretched out across the mattress and her back propped against the wall with a pillow. It wasn't until the girl was comfortable that Elphaba finally noticed what she was doing, and with a fresh thrill of grief, realized that her memory had just played a very cruel trick on her. As far as her mind's eye was concerned, for the last thirty seconds she hadn't been helping Dorothy Gale back into bed: she'd been helping Nessarose.
Hastily blinking away angry tears, she turned away before Dorothy could notice the change in her expression. But it seemed that the girl was more interested in worrying than paying any attention to her captor's emotions, or even the reason why she'd been helped in the first place (though it was equally likely that she was just too scared to ask). "What if it never wears off?" she asked nobody in particular. "What if I never walk again? What if..." She bit her lip, her eyes filling with tears.
For the second time in as many minutes, Elphaba's conscience hammered insistently on an override switch. "You heard what Vara said," she reminded her, voice as gentle as she could manage. "If these people have doctors with the magic to change their bodies right down to the bone structure, who says they won't be able to help you walk again? And even if they can't, it's not the end of the world: you still have your health, the use of your arms, and your mind."
"But when I get back to Kansas..." she floundered, clearly trying to avoid thinking of the possibility that she might never see home again. "I mean, we live on a farm! My aunt and uncle can't afford to take care of me if I'm going to be like this forever... and what about my chores? What'll they think if I can't do my chores-"
"Are the farms in Kansas worked only by slave labour? Will you be executed if you can't work?"
"... No."
"Then you're worrying over nothing, child. I doubt very much your aunt and uncle will think any less of you for having to spend the rest of your life in a wheelchair. You're not exactly the first person in history to endure this sort of thing, and you're not the first one I've met either; and more to the point, you've at least got a distinct chance of walking again in the future." Making you luckier than my sister- again.
"How do you know all this stuff?"
"What stuff?"
"You know, about how... well, how my life would go, or even how to lift me back onto the bed."
"Implying that I wouldn't know how to help someone into bed already?"
"But you did it without me having to ask; I didn't even have to tell you to straighten my legs out."
Damn it, she's a lot more observant than she looks. Out loud, she said, "I've had quite a bit of experience looking after people in your condition; in fact, I think spent half my childhood taking care of one such girl."
"Really? Who?"
Elphaba said nothing: another dose of grief and hatred had just killed whatever potential for almost-friendly conversation remained.
"Come on, please tell me? Who was it you took care of?"
This time, it was a sudden burst of anger that finally coaxed a reply out of Elphaba – coupled with the knowledge that the damnable brat would only keep asking questions if she didn't respond. "My sister Nessarose," she answered at last. "Remember? The one you killed?" she added bitterly.
The look of excited curiosity on Dorothy's face faded, and she bit her lip. "I didn't kill anyone," she said quietly.
"You certainly didn't disagree with being called a hero for it."
"But I didn't kill her! It was an accident!"
"And where was this insistence when the Muchkins were hailing you their saviour? Did you even stop the celebrations to say "but it was an accident?" or were you just having too much fun being danced around the corpse of my sister?"
"I... I just... they said she was-"
"Mad? Evil? Wicked?" Elphaba shook her head disgustedly. "Word of advice, child: never take anything in Oz at face value; honesty died in that country when the Wizard took over. And Nessarose wasn't wicked by any stretch of the word, just obsessed with hanging on to what little she had left... but people were already calling her wicked long before she started changing laws – she hadn't sided with me, but she was still close enough to get lumbered with the worst of my reputation. And by the time I found out she'd been left alone, it..." Elphaba once again found herself blinking away tears, and she struggled to keep her voice steady. "... It was too late," she finished quietly. "I was too late. And it happened again too soon; I wasn't there to help her when... when..."
Dorothy was staring at her in amazement. "I-I'm sorry," she stammered. "I didn't know... I didn't even ask-"
"No, and that's just your problem: you never asked. You rambled from one end of Oz to the next, eating up every explanation the people happily spoon-fed you and never once questioning anything. And when it came time to actually do something, you scarcely bothered to think for yourself: you just accepted your orders and went marching off into danger, trusting that the Wizard would make things right. You thought your little trip along the Yellow Brick Road was something out of a fairy-tale, didn't you? You thought that if you did as you were told and stayed a good little girl you'd have your own happy little adventure before being sent back home. You didn't even bother to ask if the "Wicked Witch of the East" really deserved to die, or who she was in life, or even if you could trust the Wizard, or would you stop flinching? For Oz's sake, I'm not going to hurt you." She briefly paused for breath. "This isn't a fairytale, Dorothy," she continued. "And if it is, I'll be damned if I can figure out who's meant to be the hero... but I know for a fact it's not me," she added, almost silently.
There was a long and terrible silence, broken only by the sound of footsteps on the decks above them and the gentle rumble of the engine. For ten whole minutes, neither of the two cellmates spoke, or even dared look each other in the face; then, Dorothy whispered, "I am sorry about your sister."
Was it her imagination, or did the girl actually sound sincere when she said those words?
"Not as sorry as I am," said Elphaba quietly.
There was another long and awkward pause. Then, without warning, Dorothy's eyes lit up and, with some difficulty, she turned herself to face Elphaba. "Why didn't anyone in Oz tell me the W... your sister's real name?" she asked, voice alight with curiosity.
"Because they didn't want to see her as a person; they didn't want her to have an identity that didn't match up with the stories they'd been told. They didn't want to see her as the governor's daughter, or the sweet girl in the wheelchair: they wanted to see her as a monster. But the thing is, you treat someone like a monster long enough, sooner or later, they're going to start acting like a monster."
Dorothy had the decency to look uncomfortable, at least for a minute at the most. Then, she exclaimed, "But I just realized – I don't even know your name: no-one ever told me it."
For a moment, Elphaba honestly considered telling the girl to shut up and leave her alone; but eventually, her temper faded enough to allow logic to take control: maybe it would be better to answer Dorothy's questions – if only because it might assuage the girl's curiosity and get her to shut up of her own accord. So, she tentatively announced, "Before they started calling me The Wicked Witch of the West, my name was Elphaba."
Dorothy blinked. "El-pha-ba," she murmured, rolling the word around in her mouth. "That's a very pretty name."
Elphaba's jaw dropped.
Then, as if the situation couldn't get any more improbable, Dorothy Gale then extended a hand in tentative greeting.
Damn it, girl, why are you making yourself so difficult to hate? Elphaba thought.
Slowly, not entirely sure what she was accomplishing, she returned the handshake.
"She's here; she's in a prison hospital – in a critical condition. They say she might not last the night, Glinda."
Fiyero's voice is unusually tense, holding none of the light-hearted suavity she'd normally come to expect from her fiancé; still, Glinda tells herself that this is only to be expected under the current circumstances. She focuses on minor details at this point – a coping strategy, one of many she's developed to keep herself from panicking in the face of bad news. As long as she thinks about the little things, she can't be able to concentrate on the fact that Elphaba was...
...Was...
"You're certain?" she asks.
"It was my squad that captured her, Glinda; I've still got her blood on my uniform!"
A few passers-by looked up at the outburst, but they're lost in the crowd almost immediately; they're walking as fast as they can towards the waiting door of a carriage, ready to take them off to Elphaba's deathbed- no, she tells herself; it'll just be her new home for a little while. She won't die. She can't die...
The carriage ride is painfully silent: everything that Glinda had wanted to talk to Fiyero about is now frozen by the horrible news, trapped as if in ice. The nervous tension building up doesn't help much; it distends the wait a thousandfold. By the time they finally arrive at the prison, she's certain that they've spent ten years just getting there, and by shocking comparison, the journey through the corridors of the Emerald City Penitentiary seems to take a matter of seconds - even as Fiyero goes about signing the multitude of forms that will permit them to visit the jail's newest and most infamous inmate.
Escorted by a quartet of armed guards, they are swiftly escorted through a labyrinth of hallways and corridors. As they walk, Glinda can't help but notice that the route they take conveniently avoids any possible contact with the actual inmates; she can tell that they're somewhere nearby, judging by the distant hubbub of conversation from the lunchroom and the occasional blood-curdling expletive from the distant cellblock, but she never sees anything of them. Even the medical wing where Elphaba is being kept has been cleared of inmate patients, leaving it empty except for the few doctors and nurses assigned to look after her – and, of course, the army of guards watching her every move.
"Just a security precaution, Ma'am," rumbles the lead officer, as he goes about signing them in. "Orders from His Ozness, y'see."
Glinda nods, all the while wondering how Elphaba's being treated.
She doesn't have to wonder long.
At the very end of the medical wing, behind a thick shroud of sterile white curtains, Elphaba lies unconscious on a bed. Swathed from head to toe in bandages, most of her limbs sheathed in plaster casts, and the rest strung with a bizarre array of wires and tubing, the only uncovered part of her body is her face... and thanks to the innumerable bruises and cuts dotting it, that has been left almost unrecognizable. But at least she's breathing – if only shallowly; Glinda tries to convince herself that she'll recover, that she'll be better soon, and maybe the Wizard will forgive her, and-
Suddenly, Elphaba stirs: one badly-swollen eye slowly opens, briefly clenching shut against the bright lights overhead; cracked, blood-encrusted lips part, and a hoarse voice whispers, "Glinda?"
Heart thundering, Glinda leans closer towards the bedside. "I'm here Elphaba," she reassures her. "I'm right here."
"I... I..." Elphaba struggles to finish her next sentence, but Glinda can't tell if it's because her jaw is too badly-bruised to produce sounds properly, or if she just can't bring herself to speak. But eventually, she finally manages to gasp out the words, "I... couldn't ... make them... listen..."
And then she starts to choke, to wheeze, her only free hand clutching at her throat; she's trying to breathe, but she can't. And suddenly, the bandages around her waist turn a deep crimson. Glinda screams for a doctor, but they're moving so slowly and Elphaba is dying-
Glinda's eyes snapped open, and she took in a deep shuddering breath as the real world finally became apparent to her.
She was still sitting in the passenger compartment of the train, leaning against the window and comfortably lost amidst the cushioned red seat. All around her, various elegantly-dressed men and women went about their affairs: most of them were as fast asleep as she'd been a moment or two ago, but others were chatting quietly amongst themselves, reading, working, or helping themselves to the beverages trolley as it trundled along the aisle. Outside, the landscape blurred smoothly past them, the afternoon sun now illuminating the farmland of this strange countryside: here and there, she could see farmhouses, plantations, wide green fields and roaming livestock. Things had changed since Glinda had dozed off: hours ago, most of what she'd seen of Unbridled Radiance had been wild and almost uninhabited except for the few heavily-fortified border towns – settlements often under threat from "those damn abominations and Irredeemables" and constantly under scrutiny for any signs of "Distortion" (whatever that was) according to the other passengers.
Speaking of which, some of the people sitting nearby had noticed Glinda's awakening, and turned to her in apparent concern. "Are you alright, Miss?" said the man sitting directly opposite.
"I'm fine," she mumbled sleepily. "How much further are we from Exemplar?"
"Oh, probably only a couple more hours at the most; the crew say we'll be making a pit-stop in the next town – checking the engines, picking up a few extra passengers, stuff like that. Nothing much to worry about."
"And, um, when we get to Exemplar... would you happen to know where I could make inquirifications into missing persons?"
The man gave her an odd look. "That depends entirely on how serious the matter is, I suppose: if it's just a simple disappearance, I'd take it up with regional security administration; if you think that this person's suffered some kind of Distortion, broken one of the Radiant Laws, or been kidnapped by known Deviants-"
"She has," Glinda whispered urgently. "Last I saw of her, she was being captured by the raiding party that attacked the train when we last stopped."
"Then you'll have to report the problem to the Imperial Centre for Vigilance, I'm afraid." His expression brightened. "I can show you the way to their offices, mind you. Then again, just about anyone here could."
From what little Glinda could gather, the train's passengers consisted of some of Unbridled Radiance's highest-ranking ambassadors and their staff, all of them on their way back from a conference in one of the "unaligned nations" that had apparently showed signs of succumbing to Distortion and Deviancy. Oddly enough, the ambassadors were nowhere to be found in Glinda's carriage; the passengers here were all functionaries and bureaucrats, well-dressed and well-paid but nowhere near the level of one of the Empress's personal emissaries. Glinda shook her head in disbelief: somehow, this plush, luxurious carriage was supposed to be the second-class compartment. In Oz, it would have easily been the first – maybe even decadent enough to pass for a dignitary's private car.
And that was another thing she'd have to inquirify about when they finally reached this capital city: the peculariaties of this strange land. Who was the Empress, apart from the country's ruler? What were the Vigilant Eyes? What were the "Deviant Nations?" What was Distortion? And why had the raiding party attacked (and possibly kidnapped) Elphaba? Normally, she'd have been happy enough to just ask the people next to her, but there was something about the people here that smothered any questions she intended to ask: maybe it was the suspicious expressions that crept across their faces whenever she asked too many questions; maybe it was the fanatical whispers of loyalty to the Empress, the almost-religious reverence with which they praised her; or maybe it was the verbal hatred they professed to traitors and rebels. One way or another, she didn't feel safe asking any of them.
Meanwhile, the train was slowly grinding to a halt: it seemed they'd finally arrived at the country town for their pit-stop; from what Glinda could see from the platform, the settlement looked like any of the numerous country towns she'd ended up stopping at during her journey from home to Shiz: small, quaint, and with a very obvious fetish for red bricks. There was even a small clocktower visible in the distance.
There weren't too many people waiting on the platform: other than the stationmaster and a small gaggle of boiler-suited technicians hurrying towards the stopping train, the only commuters were a couple of uniformed men standing as far away from the edge of the platform as possible. Grim-faced and serious-looking, they were visibly restraining an already-handcuffed figure between them, ensuring that he didn't make a run for the train when its doors finally opened. Obviously, they had a very strong grip, for the prisoner clearly couldn't escape their grasp even as the doors finally clanked open and the technicians went to work.
Suddenly, a hush fell over the carriage, and all eyes turned towards the passageway leading into the second carriage. Standing in the doorway was one of the most astonishingly handsome men Glinda had ever seen: tall, slender, his dark hair elegantly slicked back and his eyes a luminous sapphire-blue, his high cheekbones and smooth skin framing an expression of smiling, unsinkable confidence; for good measure, he was dressed in a tailored suit that looked as if it cost more than the entire train put together. Acknowledging the other passengers with a respectful nod, he strode gracefully down the aisle towards the driver's compartment without a word or second glance, seemingly oblivious to the looks of naked adoration that were being directed at him.
"Who was that?" Glinda asked, as the apparition disappeared amidst the ranks of bowing technicians.
The man sitting next to her checked to make sure that nobody in the driver's compartment could hear them, before replying: "That was one of the ambassadors. Lord Hayfelt, I think his name was."
"He doesn't look like most ambassadors I've met."
"Of course not: he's one of the Purified."
"The who?"
"The Purified!" the man whispered reverently. "They're the greatest and most accomplished men and women in all of Unbridled Radiance: they've been selected by the Empress herself to be cleansed of all Deviant tendencies and any potential for Distortion, and given new forms that match the greatness they displayed while still among the lowly."
"Oh. How does-"
From somewhere outside the train, there was a deafening crash. Glinda turned to the window just in time to see a number of heavily-armed figures scurrying down the embankment and onto the platform from a freshly-blasted hole in the perimeter fence. Immediately, the technicians still working at the train scattered, all of them diving for cover; but it seemed that the attackers weren't interested in the train or any of its passengers and crew, for all eight of them made a beeline for the serious-looking men and their prisoner at the opposite end of the station.
"Deviants," some of the passengers muttered amongst themselves. "Rebels; maybe not loyal to the Deviant Nations, but certainly disloyal to the Empress."
"Give him back!" one of the attackers was shouting. "I won't see my son executed for something he didn't do!"
"He is not to be executed," said one of the uniformed men, now struggling to keep the prisoner restrained. His voice was cold and businesslike – almost toneless except for the slightest hint of menace attached. "You know as well as I do that the potential for redemption within all of us, sir: your son's crimes are not serious, and his accomplishments are well known; once his interrogation is complete, he will be Purified-"
"And sent back to us as one of those... things!" shouted another one of the rebels. "You might as well kill him right now!"
"Treason to the Empress; not unexpected in a town such as this, but disappointing nonetheless... but redemption is within your reach. Surrender now, and you will all be granted amnesty; as for you, Mr Luddestone, your own accomplishments are sufficient enough to be rewarded with Purifi-"
The man's next words were lost in a hail of bullets, the rebels opening fire on the guard before he could even finish his sentence. The other swiftly drew a firearm from his belt, but the other rebels were quicker on the draw; the moment he hit the ground, the prisoner ran to join the others, and for the next few seconds, the entire group was clustered around him, asking him if he was alright, if he'd been hurt, or if they'd started the procedure. And for a moment, the relief was so palpable that some of them smiled...
And then a voice from above intoned, "Please lower your weapons and submit to the Judgement of the Empress; we do not wish to harm you."
Twenty feet above the station, suspended in mid-air by gods-only-knew-what, were three finely-crafted ivory spheres. To Glinda, they looked more like escaped mantelpiece decorations than anything else, at least judging by the elaborate silver carvings of angelic faces and outstretched wings on their flanks; the only thing that spoiled this impression was that, at the centre of each sphere was fitted a tiny glass lens, turning like an eye to follow the movements of the people.
"Remain calm," said one of the spheres; in startling comparison to the voice of the arresting officer, it sounded almost pleasant, if oddly mechanical. "Redemption is within reach: surrender and the Empress shall grant you amnesty."
"To hell with that!" shouted one of the rebels; as one, all eight of them opened fire on the hovering spheres, and once again the afternoon quiet was shattered by the crash and rattle of military-grade firearms. Some of them chose to shower the enemy with a rain of bullets from heavy, belt-fed, rapid-firing guns, while others took careful aim with long-barrelled rifles and carbines; a few even hurled what looked like improvised grenades.
But the spheres didn't fall, or even budge; the bullets simply ricocheted harmlessly off their casing – if they didn't miss altogether. Meanwhile, the rebel leader (Mr Luddestone, presumably) stopped firing long enough to turn to the newly-rescued prisoner; "Run, Walter," he shouted. "Don't bother looking back, just run."
And so he did, charging off towards the hole the rebels had left in the fence.
Then, the spheres finally retaliated: one turned in the direction of the fleeing prisoner, and spat a thick jet of greenish mist towards him from a nozzle in its side. The cloud enveloped him almost instantly before Walter could take another step, and as Glinda watched, he froze in mid-run and toppled back down the embankment in a paralysed heap. At the same time, the lenses of the other two spheres glowed an ominous red, before sending a solid beam of light lancing out towards the rebels below.
Fire rippled across the platform and enveloped all but two of the rebels; for the next few agonizing seconds, the men and women of the group, now ablaze from head to toe, could only stagger vaguely in the direction of the spheres and try vainly to fire guns that were swiftly turning to molten slag in their hands. The spheres, for their part, ignored them: they were too busy incinerating the two survivors.
Glinda wanted to look away, to close her eyes and pretend she was somewhere else and that she couldn't smell people being burned alive or hear the screams of the dying. But she couldn't look away: the sight of it had paralysed her almost as thoroughly as Walter had been; this was the first time she'd seen murder committed in front of her, and the intensity of it had frozen her in her seat. Worse still, the other passengers didn't seem all that disturbed by this turn of events; in fact, quite a few of them were applauding. They even cheered when the last rebel (now little more than a charred carcass) collapsed to the ground; Glinda wanted to protest this, to get to her feet and demand to know what the hell was wrong with all of them... but she couldn't. Shock – combined with so many years of experience in hiding her personal reservations – was still keeping her pinned to her seat.
"What did I tell you?" one of the passengers said triumphantly. "Nothing escapes the Vigilant Eyes; praise the Empress for their protection!"
Eventually, the fires were extinguished, the bodies were removed, and the re-arrested Walter was unceremoniously hauled away... and at long last, the train's doors clanked shut and the engine rumbled to life again.
But as the train finally left the station and sped off down the tracks, the ambassador finally emerged from the driver's compartment... and stopped right in front of Glinda. Instantly, the man next to her got to his feet and bowed low, frantically gesturing at Glinda to do the same, which she awkwardly managed.
"Greetings," the ambassador announced; his voice was gentle, almost mellifluous in tone – exactly the kind of voice you'd expect a diplomat to have. "Most pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss...?"
"Glinda, my lord," she replied hurriedly. "Glinda Upland." No theatrics, no gossip, she told herself. Don't say anything that might set him off. This isn't the time to get people suspicious.
The luminous blue eyes twinkled charmingly. "And I am Lord Paxton Hayfelt, ambassador of our Empress and our land of Unbridled Radiance. The engineer has informed me that you are from another country – a recent victim of the Hellion's disruptive activities, if I recall correctly."
"Yes, my lord. I'm originally from the Land of Oz."
"Really? The Hellion must be drawing in its victims from far beyond our nation's reach, for I have never heard of such a place. Sad that you have fallen victim to that Distorted monster's depravity." And here, Glinda couldn't help but notice that, despite talking of things that most people would have said disgustedly or angrily, Hayfelt's voice didn't change as he spoke; nor did the smile ever leave his face.
And now that he was actually within arm's reach, Glinda noticed something else: when she'd seen him earlier, she'd noticed that his skin was pale and smooth, giving him a look a aristocratic perfection and elegance. Now that she looked closer, she saw that the ambassador's skin was even smoother than she'd first thought: there were no wrinkles, no laugh-lines, no hints of stubble, no nicks or cuts, not even the slightest pimple; if anything, the man's skin looked more like porcelain than anything real. And while the effect was undeniably beautiful, Glinda couldn't help but feel a little bit unnerved by the flawlessness of it all.
"And they say a friend of yours was captured by the raiding party back at the border?" he politely inquired.
"That's right, my Lord; her name is Elphaba."
The ambassador's eyes swept Glinda up and down, and she had the uncanny feeling that somewhere deep within the man, a mask had briefly slipped and now something else entirely was peering out at her from behind those glowing, sky-blue irises, examining and all but dissecting her with its gaze. And even if she was wrong, the more she looked at those eyes, the eerier they seemed – more like doll's eyes than anything else, just painted ball-bearings set in a sculpted face.
"I am certain that the fine men and women of Our Empress's Vigilance will be able to help you find her again, my lady. In fact, I may be able to aid in your search: my carriage has a direct communications link with Exemplar; I may be able to help you lodge an inquiry right now if you wish."
Glinda could tell that something was very wrong: quite apart from the fact that she'd just watched eight people getting burned alive as her fellow passengers cheered, something about Hayfelt's offer didn't feel right at all. Even if all unearthliness she'd sensed about the man's face was just her imagination, it still didn't seem such a good idea to leave herself alone with someone complicit in those executions... but at the same time, it didn't seem such a good idea to refuse him, either.
So, smiling and nodding, she followed him out of the carriage to awed stares from the other passengers, all the while trying to tell herself that everything was going to be okay.
As expected, the Ambassadorial quarters were much more opulent than the carriage she'd just left: there were none of the seats you'd normally find in a train carriage, just an ocean of silken cushions, feathered mattresses and sofas; a dizzying haze of sweet perfume hung in the air, fogging the chamber almost as thickly as the velvet curtains. All around the room, the ambassadors lounged in various states of relaxation: even at a glance, it was clear to Glinda that all of them were of the Purified. And all of them were beautiful, too: the men were just as handsome and debonair as Hayfelt, right down to the tailored suits that somehow never wrinkled or crumpled, no matter how long the wearer had been lounging; the women were gorgeous, their bodies slender and full-bosomed, their faces sculpted and flawless, their clothing unimaginably rich – even Glinda felt inadequate, and more than a little envious. Once again, the only thing amiss was the smoothness of the skins, and the unchanging smiles they wore.
A servant offered her a glass of some dark, oily-looking liqueur as she entered; Glinda took it - but didn't drink. After the last of Morrible's tirades, Glinda was painfully aware of how shockingly naive and even outright stupid she could be... but for all that, even she could recognize the warning signs this place was showing off. So, she just held onto the glass (hoping to find a potted plant she could empty it into), and sat down beside Hayfelt as he went about tinkering with some arcane-looking brass gadget. It took about five minutes to ready, and all the while, Glinda was struggling not to get too relaxed even as she sank deeper into the cushions.
Eventually, after pressing a few keys and listening to the garbled response from the speaker, he instructed her to speak Elphaba's name into the microphone of the device.
"There," he said, once she'd done so. "They'll check their files for anyone answering to that name; I'm sure we'll find her soon."
Good, she thought. I can make my excuses and leave, now.
She stood, a little unsteady after becoming so accustomed to the luxury of the silk pillows; she opened her mouth to thank the ambassadors for all their help, but all that emerged was a drowsy yawn. Blinking rapidly to clear her blurring eyes, she tried to walk towards the exit, but her legs wouldn't respond; she could only wobble, back and forth, her limbs growing heavier and clumsier with every passing second.
What was happening? She hadn't drunken anything here, or eaten anything for that matter. How had they drugged her?
Painfully slowly, she turned to the door, hoping that the sight of her escape route might galvanize her limbs. But not only was the door shut, but the servant standing beside it now wore a gas mask.
Orange blossom, Glinda thought, woozily. I thought the perfume smelled of orange blossom.
She fell, sinking back down into the cushions as darkness poured in on her vision from all sides.
And the last thing she heard, before she lost consciousness altogether, was Ambassador Hayfelt's voice, purring, "The Empress would like a word with you, my dear..."
A/N: Who is the Empress? What awaits Elphaba and Dorothy in Greenspectre, and who is the Great Mentor? And will Fiyero, Boq and the Lion catch up with them? All detailed in the next chapters, ladies and gents!