A/N: Well, ladies and gents, it's time for the latest chapter of this month. I don't know how I managed to wrap this chapter up before the 25th, (though caffeine and insomnia would seem to be the prime suspect) but somehow I did; this chapter, we're going to be hearing from a few characters that we haven't heard from in quite a while - at least in present-day form. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and with any luck I'll have another one ready very soon.
To Nami Swann, I agree - it's always nice when Elphaba gets to experience some form of acceptance; true, the Irredeemables are much more open-minded group than most of Oz - thanks in no small part due to their obsession with body-modification - but sometimes you've got to take heartwarming moments where you can find them.
To the Sleuth Guest: I'm glad I can still provide enough twists and turns to keep you guessing; however, the statue isn't meant to be of the Chapter Master - it's just that the hero depicted by the statue was such an inspiration to the Irredeemables of this particular city that the Greenspectre Chapter Masters have officially adopted the clothes he wore during his last stand as their uniform. As for morality, I agree that the Deviant Nations aren't clear-cut good guys, though their questionable behaviour is for different reasons than Unbridled Radiance: the Mentor does dark and questionable things out of desperation, while the Empress does them out of ideology and dogma.
Oh, and as far as the geography goes, both Exemplar and Greenspectre share fragments of the Emerald City's ruins, though neither of them are built upon it: the exact site where the Emerald City used to stand is somewhere in No-Man's Land. Basically, the war grew so destructive that the city itself ended up becoming a casualty, and all that could be saved of it were a few buildings - including the palace - that were hastily moved out of the ruins through magic. Some were taken by the Deviant Nations, others by Unbridled Radiance; the buildings taken by the Mentor are the only ones that can be recognized in the present, though, because in the interests of maintaining a homogenous image for her capital city, the Empress removed every last emerald from the walls of the surviving towers in her care and sold them.
No-Man's Land encompasses almost all of what was once Oz, having been created as the conflict began rendering huge swathes of territory uninhabitable - slowly forcing the two sides to opposite ends of the map; the Deviant Nations lie to the west of Oz, while Unbridled Radiance is situated to the east. I'm sorry I didn't clarify this sooner; feel free to point out any continuity errors I may have accidentally committed.
So, without further ado, the latest chapter: read, review, and above all, enjoy!
Disclaimer: We Friendly Onion Mutants Gather To Proclaimeth That Wicked Does Not Belong To Me
Once the ceremony was over, the Irredeemables all adjourned to a smaller hall to celebrate the newest initiation: Elphaba, was happy enough to play along as the guest of honour – not that she had any idea what the hell she was supposed to do. It wasn't like that dance at the Ozdust when everyone had just stared at her until she'd given up and started doing as she pleased; if anything, this was somehow better and worse at the same time. Every other minute, someone was approaching her to shake her hand or hug her, asking her questions about the "mysterious land" she'd journeyed from and her education in magic, or just chatting aimlessly about some new shop that had just opened or some theatrical production that was in town this month.
It was almost overwhelming, and indeed Elphaba would have probably lost her cool if Glinda hadn't tagged along: though she was still a little nervous around the Irredeemables, she'd thankfully managed to recover enough of her legendary social panache to channel the flow of well-wishers and help the introductions along. Dorothy, who'd long since conquered her fear of the augmented elite, blithely drifted around the room asking about almost every single altered feature that could be seen – which turned out to be something of a blessing in disguise, because it not only provided a great deal of colourful information about the alteration process, but also drew the interviewees' attention away from problematic questions like "How did you arrive in the Deviant Nations, Elphaba?" or "Where is this land you call Oz, exactly?"
As flattering as she found the attention, Elphaba couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit disconcerted by the fact that, for once, people aside from Glinda and Fiyero were being sociable with her; and none of these people seemed to have ulterior motives, either: the Irredeemables that spoke with her weren't fishing for favours or trying to manipulate her. They were just interested and conversational. In fact, a few of them actually seemed to like her, something that Elphaba had thought she'd never encounter more than once or twice in her life, at least prior to this visit to the Deviant Nations. Most startling of all were the people who'd arrived late to the ceremony and weren't aware that she hadn't been altered, because they tended to start a conversation by complimenting her looks: more than once, Elphaba had been left open-mouthed in shock and blushing a deep shade of avocado, leaving Glinda to clear things up.
On the upside, these conversations gave her the chance to gather some much-needed information on the Irredeemables: for example, they weren't all straightforward warriors as she'd initially believed, and in fact professions of almost every single stripe were welcome, so long as the work in question allowed them an active role in resisting Unbridled Radiance. Along with the multitudes of soldiers inducted every year, the group also accepted mechanics, physicians, designers, pilots, engineers, witches, wizards, mage-surgeons (most of whom ended up becoming honorary members anyway thanks to their rampant self-experimentation), scientists, alchemists, manual labourers, and a surprising number of bureaucrats and accountants.
In turn, there were no restrictions on who could be allowed into the Irredeemables: Animals and Humans mixed freely here, perhaps even freer than those she'd seen outside in the marketplace, in part because it was almost impossible to tell the difference between the two thanks to all the alterations (though according to a chimpanzee that stood on six riveted steel legs, Animal Irredeemables tended to prefer mechanical augmentations). One way or the other, all of them played their part in fighting Unbridled Radiance according to their skills – some closer to the battlefield than others – and all of them had their bodies augmented to that end… And that was assuming they didn't perform the alterations themselves, though looking at the armadillo-like electrical engineer she'd just finished talking to, Elphaba could only guess at how you'd actually go about doing that without the help of a mage-surgeon.
After about half an hour of enjoying the festivities and blushing her way through the conversations, Elphaba was finally ushered out of the hall, down a long flight of stairs and through no less than five secret doors before emerging into a huge basement.
Carpeted and wallpapered in deepest crimson, bordered with mahogany bookshelves and oil paintings, crowded with plush armchairs and couches, and even outfitted with a sizeable pool table, the room was explicitly intended for luxury. The one exception to the décor and purpose was, of course, the three enormous glass lenses that dominated the back wall of the room – and the various scenes visible through them.
At first, Elphaba thought they were simply windows into a room next-door; but then she looked closer and noticed that the lenses weren't actually part of the wall. Clearly magical in nature, each lens showed a different part of the Temple: the left lens showed the reception area, which was almost as peaceful as it had been when she'd arrived; the middle – probably the most interesting of the three – displayed a sterile operating theatre crowded with solid granite slabs, where a figure instantly recognizable as Dr Kiln was slowly making "alterations" to a number of grim-faced men and women reclining on the slabs, to the accompaniment of solemn chanting from the watching acolytes; the third displayed a gymnasium, where new Irredeemables were acclimatising to their new limbs and augmentations under the watchful eyes of Vara, who'd now settled back into the role of the resident mother hen.
"You can do it!" she was urging them. "Stretch those new muscles, now, and walk to me; in a couple of hours, they'll feel just like your old legs! Only more jointed, I'd imagine. Ulmly, don't do that, you'll hurt yourself. Rez, stay calm and hold still, I'll be with you in just a minute. Dillby, practice that claw-crush; crabs don't generally just punch people…"
Eventually, a cough from over Elphaba's shoulder finally drew her eyes away from the images playing across the lenses, and she turned to see a small knot of official-looking figures marching across the room towards her. Immediately recognizable among the gaggle were the Great Mentor and the Chapter Master, but other than that, most of them were strangers. However, from the immaculate uniforms and clusters of medals that they wore, Elphaba could hazard a guess that they were military officers. Much to her surprise, quite a few of them were clearly Animals: ocelots and alligators could be seen wearing the pips of colonel and lieutenant, and the general that appeared to be leading the group was clearly a yak – his shaggy coat clattering with medals, and his curving horns elaborately decorated with gold leaf accoutrements. Once again, a sign that the discrimination against Animals was no longer a problem in this alternate future.
They'd also clearly been waiting for her to arrive for quite some time, because there was a very distinctive smell of cigars and brandy hovering about them. There was a brief interlude as they all went about shaking her hand and congratulating her on the capture of the two airships and her initiation; then, they guided her into one of the nearest armchairs, poured her a glass of wine and finally began the meeting.
"My sincerest apologies for the delay," the general of the group coughed politely, bowing his gilded horns in contrition. "I'm quite sure that Doctor Kiln provided all the necessary explanations for your recruitment, yes?"
Elphaba sat back and took a decent sip of wine before finally responding. "For the most part, yes. There's just one thing I'm not quite sure of, though: I can understand why the Irredeemables selected me for honorary membership, but other than to cut through all the red tape and allow me to work for you people, why would the military want to see me join the Order? Wouldn't it be simpler to just hire me as a mercenary or something like that?"
There was an awkward silence, broken only by Vara shouting "Yes! Crab claws are go! Crab claws are go! Well done, Dillby!" and the gentle whirr of Kiln busily altering the next round of recruits: all things considered, the process was a lot more humane-looking than Purification; for one thing, the recruit didn't appear to be struggling or even complaining – least of all after the anaesthetic was applied. Right now, Kiln was displaying a huge collection of replacement organs and appendages, and asking the newest recruit (now sporting a bloodied stump where his left hand used to be) if he wanted something for melee, ranged combat or just day-to-day usage. Eventually, someone once again cleared their throat and drew Elphaba's eyes away from the sight of a human head being grafted to the new Irredeemable's hand, back into the comforting depths of the observation room.
It turned out to be the Chapter Master, who'd been glaring disapprovingly at the general for the last few minutes. "While I was more than happy to welcome you into the Irredeemables on the Mentor's recommendation, our fine friends here were still a little suspicious of you." He nodded at the gaggle of officers, most of whom were now obscured by a small fogbank of cigar smoke. "Your recruitment into our Order allowed them one last chance to check that you weren't actually a spy: the customary check for legitimate alteration or distortion allowed them to ensure that you weren't in disguise, and the ceremony itself proved your allegiance once and for all."
"In other words, half of you were expecting the loyal servant of Unbridled Radiance to panic and blow her cover as soon as the initiation rite was announced." Elphaba sighed wearily. "Oh well, at least I know why you left it up until the very last minute."
"I hope you're not offended by our precautions," said the general. "But as much as we respect our Mentor's guidance-"
"Nice to know," the Mentor chipped in sarcastically.
"-we needed to be sure of your allegiance; matters of national security, you understand."
"Oh, I'm not offended in the slightest. Quite frankly, after everything I've experienced in the last few months, it takes a lot of effort for someone's paranoia to really get on my nerves." Elphaba drained her wineglass in a single gulp and set it down on the table beside; unbeknownst to her, she missed and set the glass down on thin air, and by the time she realized her mistake, it was already hovering somewhere around the chandelier. "Now," she said briskly, "I'm very happy to have joined the Irredeemables and I'm even happier that I've managed to assuage your paranoia… but can we please get the business you called me here for?"
By way of an answer, one of the officers idly waved a hand in the general direction of the lenses instantly, the middle lens rippled into life as an image slowly took shape beneath the glass, gradually revealing a huge map of the Deviant Nations- the northernmost region of the country pinpointed with a single large red marker.
"As it turns out, those UR airships you helped capture have finally shown some interesting results," the general explained. "From the moment we had them secured, we've been studying the contents of the cargo ship and interrogating the surviving crew: that second one didn't have much results – apparently, the crew were kept out of the loop by their superiors, and most of them are too inexperienced to tell us much anyway. Then, after an exhaustive search of the crew, we found a couple of skilled technicians hidden away; with a bit of persuasion, one of them eventually admitted to –"
"Not to be rude or anything," Elphaba interrupted sharply, "but how do you know that your prize witness was telling the truth? If you're talking about the kind of persuasion I think you're talking about-"
"We have methods of distinguishing truth from falsehood, Miss Thropp," one of the younger officers whispered ominously. "Spells that can sift lies from confessions, machines capable of differentiating between belief and verifiable fact, and countless others; the only difficulty is in getting our captives to talk. Of course, it's not such an obstacle with the techniques we have at our dispo-"
"Oh don't be so goddamn melodramatic," grumbled another officer. "All we had to do was threaten to press-gang him into the Irredeemables and the bastard squealed like he'd been breathing helium for an hour."
"Excuse me, but just because you're the official representative of these people doesn't give you the right to downplay the-"
"Does it really matter how we managed to get them to talk-"
"All of you shut up and-"
Without saying a word, the Mentor reached out and deftly ran the sharpened tips of her prosthetic hand along the surface of the nearest coffee table with a sound like fingernails on a chalkboard; instantly, the argument vanished in a cascade of pained yelps and – as the officers realized who they'd annoyed – muttered apologies.
The general took a deep breath. "As I was saying," he said loudly, "one of them admitted some key information; apparently, if their teleportation gate hadn't gone wrong and sent them to the middle of No-Man's Land, they would have been transported out here…" He indicated the marked point on the map, a densely forested area several miles away from the Deviant Nations' northern border and even further away from the nearest settlement. "According to the confession, they would have remained in the area only long enough for the battleship escorts to clear the area of all hostile forces, then offload the technicians, the cargo ship's payload, and a skeleton crew of guards; after that, they would have left as quickly as possible before our patrols could locate them. The cargo itself – those ingots your friend reported – they're actually the components of a highly advanced magical-technological fusion:
It's a teleportation platform. From what we can tell from the examinations of these components, it's been calibrated in order to transport both machinery and living beings… and we're naturally very concerned. Normally, our cities and our borders are protected from unwanted teleportation by enchantments; of course Unbridled Radiance is defended pretty similarly, and both sides have been trying to cancel out the defences for decades. They've tried utilizing loopholes in much the same way that they did the previous evening; we've tried disrupting their enchantments and getting as much ordinance off the ground before they can correct the problem. But this is a very special loophole: this is a portable staging ground for an invasion. "
"I can see that," said Elphaba. "But if it's as simple as teleporting soldiers and equipment just outside the border and having them invade from there, why hasn't Unbridled Radiance tried this before? Why haven't you?"
Now it was the Mentor's turn to speak up. "Up until now, it's not exactly been the most practical solution," she said flatly. "Over distances of a hundred miles or more, teleportation of living tissue becomes dangerously unreliable, especially in large quantities; it's like sending the troops by catapult: they get there easily enough – it's just that they tend to arrive smeared over most of the landscape. Even teams of highly-skilled magicians working in tandem can't always keep teleportations stable over extreme distances. Suffice to say, there's a good reason why we had you brought into the country by airship. But can you see where we're going with this?"
There was a pause as Elphaba considered everything she'd heard so far. "I can already guess," she said at last. "You're implying that Unbridled Radiance had another set of teleporter components ready if something went wrong… and they've already got their contingency plan underway. Am I right?"
The general nodded. "At three o'clock this morning, we lost contact with at least three border security points on our northern front; airship patrols also dropped out of contact shortly after. With most of our forces kept focussed on No-Man's Land and U.R., the northern border's always been considered a low priority, and with the loss of that security, the area's critically undermanned. And that just one of the advantages the enemy has at this point: the forest keeps their forces hidden; the artillery they've already brought in is powerful enough to bring down our airborne defences; and we don't know precisely where this teleportation platform's been set up, how many soldiers they've got on the ground, or if these platforms are sophisticated enough to bring in attack airships." The general paused to allow this grim news to sink in. "Fortunately," he continued, "They haven't gotten too far into the area: the terrain becomes almost impassable after the first five miles, and the only reliable route through the Jagged Hills takes them right through here…"
He pointed to a tiny mountain pass leading across the appropriately jagged peaks; however, the road was clearly blocked by a small town built right in the middle of the pass. "Loamlark: high walls, sturdy foundations, and – unless the enemy has a way of bringing in airships through that teleporter – just about impossible to bypass. The last reports we received indicate that the townsfolk have already gathered a fairly decent militia and have successfully repelled the first wave of attackers."
"So what's the problem?"
"Well, quite simply, they aren't accepting any aid from us. The mayor of Loamlark has declined all reinforcements and insists that the militia's capable of handling the problem on its own; they're not even responding to edicts from the regional governor. Furthermore, the gates have been barred, our emissaries are forbidden from entering, and the few operatives that remained inside the city are no longer responding."
The Mentor scoffed contemptuously. "Not so surprising in hindsight. For the last ten years, Loamlark's been considered a haven for U.R. refugees that have been reluctant to accept our ways. The Northern Nations have always been conservative and resistant to change, but they're nothing compared to Loamlark's standards; they don't even have Irredeemables up there. As you can imagine, we're already worried that they might be collaborating with the enemy… but if that were the case, they'd have made it past the town and spread across the country from there, and our scouts haven't found any evidence of that. So, it's high time we investigated."
Elphaba took a deep breath, bracing herself for the impact. Here we go, she thought. My first mission. And it's going to require me heading out of the capital for gods only know how long; Glinda's not going to be happy.
"We're sending in two platoons by airship to bypass their defences, inspect Loamlark for enemy forces, and defend the city if necessary. In total, there'll be thirty unaugmented regulars, thirty Irredeemable warriors, with you and a squad of eight magicians accompanying them in the event that the situation warrants magical artillery. On the grounds of experience and thaumaturgic knowledge, I'm putting you in charge of the squad: you'll still be expected to cooperate with the two platoon leaders and take orders from command, but for now…" The Mentor offered a horrific-looking grin. "Congratulations on your appointment, squad-leader."
Elphaba's jaw dropped. It took a while for her to determine exactly what problem she needed to discuss first, but eventually she settled on, "Only sixty-eight people to deal with an invasion force?" she asked. "Plus Oz only knows what the Loamlark townsfolk are hiding? Are you sure this is such a good idea?"
"For the moment, it's the only practical one, especially since this probably isn't going to be the only front they attack on. Amongst other things, we have to ready the fleet in case an aerial invasion's up next, we have to reinforce our magical defences, and we have to check the other borders to make sure Unbridled Radiance hasn't set up secondary teleporters there, too. You're in Loamlark to evaluate the situation: if it turns out that you're dealing with the main invasion force, we'll provide all necessary reinforcements. Until then, you'll have sixty soldiers and eight well-trained magicians to assist your efforts, plus the militia if they're willing to cooperate… and you'll also have a bodyguard."
"… I'm sorry, what? How much use do you think that's going be in a potential war zone? No offence, but if I'm working in artillery, having a bodyguard around isn't going to help when I've got to worry about being reduced to flying offal by a stray explosion."
The Mentor grinned again. "Skilled magicians tend to attract snipers. So, we're giving you a counter-sniper; Harker's kindly volunteered his services for-"
"Harker? As a counter-sniper?! With due respect, the man doesn't have any eyes! How is he-"
"Experience. Lots and lots of experience. Plus, just because you can't see his eyes doesn't mean that they're not there. As for your mission, we're going to be giving Loamlark another fifteen hours to comply with our orders while we prepare the airship, equipment and personnel; whether they open their gates or not, you'll be needed at the docking bay by 0400 hours. Get the picture?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Good. Enjoy the rest of your day, Elphaba, and remember – this mission is top secret; all Glinda needs to know is that you're heading north on business. The rest is to remain confidential."
Glinda is really not going to like this.
Not for the first time that week, Kiln found himself sighing exasperatedly at the latest collection of bloody cuts and abrasions that now pockmarked the stump of the Mentor's arm. "With all due respect," he intoned, as he went about disinfecting and sealing the most obnoxious of the wounds, "You could easily save yourself a great deal of pain and irritating routine if you just had that prosthesis fitted with a new cushioning layer and improved joints."
"And this "irritating routine" saves me the bother of having to put up with spending two whole days one-armed and useless when I could be doing something productive. A few scratches, a whiff of antiseptic ointment," here, she wrinkled her nose at the smell, "and a five-minute treatment process in exchange for a full day of work in a time of crisis? Fair trade, if you ask me."
"Oh, I forgot: you're a masochist." He eyed her sharply as he sealed a particularly gruesome-looking laceration shut with a long, spindly finger. "I am serious, you know: you need to take care of your health, or what's left of it; it's only been six years since we managed to heal all the damage to your lungs, and I'd rather not add a potentially lethal infection to your list of problems. In case you hadn't noticed, Mentor, you're not getting any younger."
"And you are, then, are you?"
"Well, mage-surgery does grant me something of a… malleable constitution." He allowed his swirling fingers a brief flourish of movement. "And you've still got the Empress's curse to contend with, otherwise alterations could cut down on your list of problems. Oh, and speaking of the Empress, Elphaba has some interesting perspectives to offer."
"Hm. I expected as much; she should be into the Plague of Transformations by now. Is there anything of military value yet?"
"Nothing yet. It's still looking pretty worthwhile, though: she's managed to gather some exact figures on how the Empress engineered the Plague of Transformations, and the main source of her research teams. But she doubts your perspectives on the parasite-"
The Mentor stiffened, her scarred lips briefly twisting into a scowl. "Let her doubt," she snarled. "She'll understand soon enough; with the way time passes within dreams, she'll know just how different the Empress is by her third night in Loamlark." She took a deep breath, talon-like fingers digging into the armrest of the chair.
Kiln winced. Shouldn't have brought that up now, he chided himself. Should have waited until after: this procedure always makes her crabby, even if she'd never admit it.
"… and while we're on the subject," the Mentor continued darkly, "I trust you're still capable of dosing Elphaba while she's in a combat zone?"
"It shouldn't be a problem, so long as I'm afforded supplies and a radio link with the palace. All the same, I still think it'd be better if we gave the job to the group medic instead of potentially endangering your health."
The Mentor glared at him, and Kiln knew before his head had started to move that he'd never be able to meet that gaze: her baleful stares were the stuff of legend among allies and enemies alike in no small part thanks to the sheer intensity of her mismatched eyes – one fogged with cataracts and eerily sightless, the other sky blue and shining with youthful energy that the rest of her body hadn't seen in decades. "Doctor," she said, voice deceptively serene, "My health is of the lowest possible concern next to the future of the Deviant Nations. You are one of the few mage-surgeons fully-versed in the procedures of formulating, preparing and safely administering the stimulant, and the only one who's had practical experience in treating the side-effects: if the amplification fails to manifest, or – gods forbid – Elphaba dies of an overdose because we entrusted the duty to a less-experienced doctor, then it won't matter how long I live; the Deviant Nations will have lost its best hope of turning the tide, and all our efforts will have been for nothing."
"Oh come on, it's not as if the medic's an incompetent: I've seen his record, and he's had experience with the stimulant before – just not as much as me. I can easily advise him by radio and…"
But if anything, the Mentor's gaze seemed even more unyielding than before.
"Very well then," Kiln sighed. "In all honesty, Glinda, what is the point of me being your personal physician if I'm not allowed to actually treat you?"
"Think of it as a different facet of the job; sometimes, personal physicians are required to attend to the needs of their employer's family and friends, to patients they deem more important… and there's no one in the world more important than Elphaba."
The mind of the Empress's Champion was, for the most part, a quiet place.
The re-education process inherent in his unique form of Purification had stripped away most independent thought processes and deadened what little remained, and as such, he was rarely troubled by things like doubt or remorse. Beneath his silver mask and the sculpted façade he only tentatively recognized as his face, the Champion's mind was cold and peaceful save for the echoing voices of those he'd been conditioned to obey, and the few remaining whispers of thought he was permitted.
The only time the relative silence of cognition swept into motion was in battle: there, past the calculations that guided his feet across the fallen bodies and sent the arc of his blade tearing through yielding flesh, music swirled and eddied across his psyche. It was always the same song; he couldn't recall where he'd heard it before – but then, as the Empress decreed, his life before Purification was irrelevant, so he did not let it trouble him. He simply let the music flow through him and thought no more of it.
But today, something was different: somewhere deep within the stillness inside his head, he could feel something unfamiliar boiling and bubbling as he thought back on the events of the last few days. It took him some time to realize what it was, for he hadn't felt this emotion for decades: it was anger, and all of it was focussed on the bloodied face of the False Glinda that still hovered within his memories. He knew that Glinda had been dead for some time – as the Empress had decreed – and thought of someone defiling her memory and hurting the Empress so grievously was an insult beyond imagining. Only his conditioning prevented him from losing his composure altogether: instead of dwelling on his own thoughts, he instinctively focussed on his surroundings and the words of his superiors, and though he didn't understand all that was said, it allowed him to smother his rage and return to the blessed state of stillness that the Empress had bestowed upon his mind.
At present, he was standing in the very heart of Paragon, the familiar emerald obelisk towering above him and the hum of the thinking engine reverberating through the air; all around him were the masters of Unbridled Radiance – generals, tacticians, magicians and other persons of great importance, almost all of them numbering among the ranks of the Purified. Ambassador Hayfelt was in attendance, as were most of the Childlike Researchers (or at least those of them capable of speaking complete sentences). And in the very centre of the room, commanding the attention of all present, stood the Radiant Empress.
His redeemer.
His saviour.
His god.
"… Loamlark is problematic," she was saying. "But most assuredly not impossible. As a refugee town and a trading hub, they are less anchored to the blasphemies of the Deviant Nations; with effort, we may yet be able to convert them to our cause, obtaining not only safe passage through the area but also additional troops. Ambassador Hayfelt, you will be required to negotiate on our behalf; I trust your charms are up to the task?"
"As you command, Your Radiance. But what if they do not comply with our requests? Or worse still, what if the mayor does not agree to meet with me at all?"
The Empress clasped her hands, a solemn frown briefly marring her sublime features. "It would be preferable that they joined us of their own free will; but if they cannot be persuaded, then we shall simply accept Loamlark as a road into the Deviant Nations and nothing more. General Stellham, should the negotiations fail or the inhabitants refuse to acknowledge our flag of truce, you are granted permission to extinguish them."
"By what means, Your Radiance?"
"Any that are available to you, though the most efficient under the circumstances would be recommended. Paragon, what are the current supplies of asphyxiating or paralytic gas?"
"Twenty-thousand units at present, Empress. We also have sizeable inventory of Dissolution toxins as well."
"Excellent. Then should the civilian militia prove too resilient to extinguish through conventional means, we shall simply deploy the gas and put an end to any further difficulties; once the bodies are removed, Loamlark's well-reinforced walls shall serve as our forward base until we are ready to enact the next phase of the invasion. Should the Irredeemables try to intervene, Clarity will thin their ranks and our soldiers will deal with those who did not succumb. Of course, it may be possible to overcome the defences without wasting either troops or stocks of gas. Paragon, you were mentioning earlier that the Hellion was searching for something in the Deviant Nations?"
"Yes, Empress: survivors from the Hellion's last attack on our troops report that she has been travelling widely between Unbridled Radiance and the Deviant Nations in search for a girl she has selected as her next doll. Reportedly, she mentioned that the child was abducted by a raiding party of Irredeemables before she could retrieve her."
"Then perhaps the Hellion can prove an asset once again. Paragon, I want you to provide misinformation; we know that she still taps into military communications from time to time, so if we report that the girl is currently being held in Loamlark, she might be inclined to investigate. In the meantime, general, I want your troops warned of the Hellion's presence in the area; don't imply that we are cooperating with this Distortion, but ensure that your men know to retreat as soon as she appears. Now, as for the teleportation of the engine components to staging zone B, we shall abide by our original set date and…"
One of the Childlike Researchers shuffled forward; as far as the Champion remembered, this was their leader – the pale girl who called herself the Chief Researcher but everyone else just called "the Brat." She was older now, her age having fluctuated once again and left her in the awkward, crooked body of a teenager; of course, even if her sharp features hadn't been dotted with pimples and her pale blonde hair hadn't been tangled and knotted from adolescent worrying, she still would have seemed out-of-place next to the other dignitaries in no small part due to her being permanently illegible for Purification. The Champion could tell she was going to be disagreeable again, just as she had been on the day that the false Glinda escaped, and the thought of someone so openly disrespecting the Empress only fuelled his anger, forcing him to try and comprehend the researcher's words – just in case some hint of treachery could be found.
"With due respect, Empress," the Brat murmured, "Why were we not entrusted with this duty? My researchers are more than capable of making the necessary-"
"Yes, yes, this is true. But at present, your team has more pressing issues to focus on: I would like to see another teleportation engine ready very soon, along with a set of amplification sceptres for our war-magicians… and, if possible, the portable manufacturer you've been promising me for the last few months. These are of the highest possible concern to our invasion for the time being, certainly more important than a duty that any team of reasonably potent magicians can perform with time and preparation. And luck, of course."
"This is because we made a mistake with the last one, isn't it?"
"As I said, the teleportation of the components is not as important as you seem to-"
"We're not incompetent, you know," said the Brat, sulkily. "Just because some of us were still toddlers that day doesn't mean that we weren't successful in getting the gate open; it's just that the business with Glinda-"
"Distracted you, yes. I'm well aware of the problem. But the time being, you will not be required to cast spells for us except on the grounds of research and development. And that will be all, thank you." With that, she turned to the other dignitaries. "I'm sure you all know your duties for the next fortnight, so I will not burden you with any further deliberation. Thank you for your time, ladies and gentlemen."
As soon as Paragon's inner chambers were emptied of people, the Empress finally gave the Champion her undivided attention.
"You need not suspect her of anything, my stalwart warrior," she said gently. "Her condition makes her disagreeable, but it will not drive her to betrayal. She doesn't have the conviction for such a thing."
The Champion nodded. He knew that she was right; though he did not understand how, he knew that the Empress was always right about such things.
"You've been angry of late, my dear. It's the false Glinda, isn't it? Her appearance troubled you, and her blasphemy enraged you; I can read as much from your posture." She sighed deeply. "It hurts, I know: seeing Glinda fall from grace was sorrowful beyond all human measure, and seeing her warped and twisted into the Mentor was a death unto itself – the death of the woman we knew, and the death of our hopes for her. And now this… it seems that the Deviant Nations cannot help but compound betrayal with insults to her memory."
Her voice cooled his rage and stilled the unwanted fixations of hatred, returning the runaway thought processes to their conditioned state of serenity. Once again, the Empress was the only being in the world that could save him from himself, just as she'd saved him from execution at the hands of the treacherous, just as she'd saved him from Deviancy and Distortion.
She was standing right in front of him now, her arms gently winding themselves around his torso, delicate fingers trailing under his armour and across his skin, phasing through the material as if it were no more solid than air.
"You know, I really did want to see the two of you married," she said sadly. "You would have been perfect for each other. But some dreams die such bitter deaths even as others attain reality: we still miss the dream of Glinda the Good... and in the end, we can only thank providence that the dream of Unbridled Radiance was achieved, and seek solace in each other's arms…"
Then, without warning, the Empress plucked the mask from the Champion's face, leaving him barefaced outside of his quarters for the first time in years.
"You needn't worry any further, my love," she whispered. "I know just the thing to put your mind at ease…"
And with that, she leaned forward and kissed him – at first gently, then as she embraced his body, more passionately… and as he obediently returned the kiss, somewhere deep inside the echoing corridors of his mind, the Champion heard music once again. It was different than the music he heard in combat, the tone intimate and loving rather than joyous and carefree; he was sure he'd heard the song somewhere before, perhaps in happier times. Perhaps, if he could listen to the lyrics that followed the melody, he might be able to recall where he'd first heard it and when.
But he couldn't remember the words.
Once upon a time, that knowledge might have frustrated him, even angered him. But now that he was Purified, he understood that his life before attaining the Empress's blessing was irrelevant; he did not need a past, nor did he need to understand or doubt himself in any way.
He had the Empress.
The Empress made all the decisions for him, and the Empress was never wrong.
Fiyero's eyes snapped open.
For about forty seconds, he had absolutely no idea of what the hell had happened; then, as he gradually returned to wakefulness, he finally realized the problem: he'd fallen asleep. The fact that he'd nodded off while on watch was one thing, but the fact that he'd somehow achieved sleep at all was a different story altogether, for he hadn't slept at all since he'd first been transformed into a scarecrow. After all, what kind of scarecrow would need to sleep?
Then a new idea hit him: reaching out with unusually stiff arms, he prodded his chest, hoping against hope that he was once again human. But no: even with only minimal light to see by, he could tell that he was still just burlap and straw, his body without bones or any appreciable sense of touch.
Disappointed, he wondered what could have possibly sent him to sleep if he hadn't been transformed back into a human. Sighing, Fiyero decided to get up and check on the others; if nothing else, perhaps they might provide a few answers, or at the very least, some ideas of what the hell they were going to do next. He absently reached out for a handhold to haul himself upright with… only to discover the exact reason why his arms had seemed so stiff and immobile a few moments ago:
He was, in fact, tied up. More to the point, as he awkwardly rolled himself onto his back, he realized that he was clearly nowhere near the temporary campfire they'd set up the previous evening.
From what little he could tell by the dim illumination around him, he was now lying in what appeared to be some kind of cavern – or least he presumed as such, for the ground was clearly made of unhewn rock and dotted with stalagmites and patches of dark green moss. On the upside, there didn't appear to be any signs of dead bodies or chewed-up human skeletons, he didn't have to worry about being attacked by cave-dwelling monsters at least for the moment. Also, he didn't appear to be alone, either: lying just a few feet away from him were Boq, the Lion and Toto, all of them fast asleep and just as tightly-bound as he was.
Craning his neck, he finally saw the source of the light: dozens of candles sat in huge clusters around the room, flooding the room with a flickering yellow glow and coating the rocky floor with melted wax. Who'd set all these up? Was someone living down here? As Fiyero looked around, the light illuminated other signs of human habitation: just a few feet away, a huge mattress sat at the back of the room, lumpen with pillows and covered in a thick layer of sheets and blankets, some of them rich silk and velvet, others little more than roughly-woven wool. Shrouding both the bed and the nearest of the cavern walls were huge lengths of tattered blood-red curtains, pinned back by the dark shapes of battered wooden furniture. And where the curtains ended, the walls were-
Fiyero only just stopped himself from gasping in shock.
The walls were covered with faces. From floor to ceiling, from the curtains to the doorway, every single patch of wall in the room was covered with white porcelain faces, their eyes closed and their features painted with unearthly patterns. It took a while, but as rationality gently trickled back into the room, Fiyero realized that these supposedly disembodied faces actually had bodies of their own, most of them no taller than children and all of them dangling from hooks set in the cavern walls… and as he peered frantically into the darkness, Fiyero saw that hundreds more layered the walls of the tunnel outside.
Dolls, he reassured himself. They're just dolls. We've been kidnapped by someone with a very weird taste in interior decoration, that's all. And that someone is almost certainly…
"So close…" a familiar voice snarled. "So close I could just REACH OUT AND TAKE IT."
Oh dear.
A huge glistening red shape hovered into the room, its eyes glowing a hellish gold, its many hands clenching and unclenching in rage. "She taunts ME," the Hellion whispered furiously. "SHE ignores my warning, she DENIES my capture of her own DOLLS, and now she hides the doll that's rightFULLY mine within arm's reach!"
Tendrils of eye-searing magic swirled around the Hellion's twisted body, her arms leaving a blur of afterimages as they swept the air in rage. "WHORE!" she screamed. "Green-skinned little THIEF!" She slammed one gore-strung fists against the wall, leaving a fist-sized crater in the rock. "She steals what is MINE and ignores what is hers and she EXPECTS me to show restraint? I WILL TAKE HER SKIN!"
There was a polite cough from somewhere nearby, and a voice whimpered, "Mother?"
As the Hellion swivelled in mid-air, Fiyero subtly craned his neck to get look at the doorway: there, standing alone beneath the faces of its hanging companions, stood one of the dolls. Less than four feet tall, it was dressed in the red and black silk of a harlequin's outfit, its porcelain face daubed with clownlike makeup. "Are you angry, mother?" it said, lips remaining deathly still. "Have we displeased you?"
Instantly, the Hellion swept forward and embraced the doll tightly, gathering it up in her many arms and kissing it tenderly on the forehead. "No, no, sweet LITTLE doll," she purred. "You and your brothers and sisters never DISPlease ME. But I FOUND a new friend for you - a dear little sister to join our loving family – and SOMEone has kidnapped her! And she's now being held within the Deviant Nations, JUST BEHIND THE NORTH BORDER, just within reach… oh, the impudence, oh the disresPECT they show US…"
Her bloody lips curled into a snarl of rage… then, her eyes widened, and the scowl softened into a horrible grin. "But perhaps it's time we taught them a LESSON. Loamlark can teach them never to steal from US again, don't you think?"
"Yes, mother. They shall love you as we do and as our newest sister shall."
Horrid laughter rippled across the room. "Then it's time we awoke YOUR siblings; it's time our family went to WAR…"
She spread her arms wide, and bellowed, "To war, my dolls, TO WAR!"
And to Fiyero's horror, the caverns were suddenly filled with the sound of hundreds of dolls detaching themselves from hooks and making the long march to their mistress's side.
It was nighttime now, but even with the sedative effect of the dream pills, sleep was simply not possible for Glinda.
The news of Elphaba's departure had leeched away what little happiness the day had offered, and the fact that Glinda, Chistery and Dorothy were expressly forbidden from joining her only made things worse. It was obviously a measure to keep the three of them safe (Glinda in particular), but that didn't stop it from rasping her nerves raw – partly through helpless frustration but mostly through sheer worry. She didn't even know where Elphaba was going or what she was going to be doing for the Mentor when she got there; she wasn't allowed to know. For all she knew, Elphie was being marched straight to her death. For all she knew, this could end up being Kiamo Ko re-enacted on an even bigger scale.
And whatever happened out there, Glinda would be powerless to stop it: once again, she was staying out of reach while innocent people suffered and died and Elphaba risked death for the benefit of someone else. Less than a day after they'd been reunited, the two of them were already being separated again and cast back into the same roles they'd played back in Oz, except now it was Elphaba being employed by the state. The only thing that stopped Glinda from going out her mind with nervousness was the vague promise that whatever work Elphie was performing on behalf of the Mentor might just get them home – that and the much-more-concrete promise that they'd be allowed a few minutes of radio contact every day. Other than that, she might as well have been picking out a straightjacket in pink already.
Over the course of the afternoon, Elphaba had tried again and again to reassure her that everything would be okay, and on every single occasion, she'd failed miserably – in part because she clearly didn't believe it herself.
And the news that Harker was going to be tagging along as a bodyguard didn't put Glinda's mind at ease, either: for one thing, Harker creeped her out, and not just because he didn't have eyes; something gave her the distinct impression that he hated Elphaba, and was planning to do something horrible to her – or perhaps he already had; even though he'd been unfailingly cordial in every single minute she'd seen the two of them together, Glinda couldn't shake the feeling that Harker was just waiting for the chance to stick a knife in her back.
She hadn't voiced any of these fears – after all, even Glinda knew that none of her suspicions made the slightest bit of sense – but then, even if she had somehow managed to get Harker reassigned it wouldn't have made a dent in her anxieties.
Sighing in exasperation, she decided to try sleeping once again: switching off her bedside lamp, she lay down in bed, drew the covers up to her chin, closed her eyes, and tried valiantly not to think that tomorrow morning might be the last time she'd ever see Elphaba alive.
It wasn't easy, because it meant having to keep her mind as blank and empty as she could until the tranquilizing effect of the pills kicked in, and keeping herself thoughtless at this time was damn near impossible. The idea of her being incapable of thoughtlessness for once in her life was almost enough to make her laugh, but even a decent fit of giggles was beyond her at present – partly because it would have spoiled her attempts to focus on absolutely nothing in particular, but mostly because laughter was the furthest possible thing from her at that point.
Eventually, she gave up on forcing her mind to stay hollow and tried a different strategy: instead, she began cycling through her memory in the hopes of finding something to fixate on until she nodded off – ideally something nice and pleasant, something comforting and nicely distanced from all her fears about what tomorrow might bring.
She thought of the way Elphaba had smiled at the end of her initiation; of the smell of intoxicating perfumes and chocolate wafting across the market; of the day she'd spent wandering the Emerald City with Elphaba by her side; of sunny afternoons at Shiz without a single thought given to study; of towering white monoliths and silent crowds and glazed, doll-like faces and writhing skinless bodies pleading for mercy and the Empress and no no no NO NO NO
Two eerily-perfect faces leered down at her through a haze of disinfectant; Glinda tried to back away, but immediately found it impossible – she was lying on a granite slab, chained-down and ready for surgery.
"So good to see you again, Glinda," Cataphlax whispered. "Don't look so surprised to see us again, too; you've always known that nothing can truly kill the Purified… and you'll have that much to enjoy once we're finished. Soon, you'll be one of us."
"We knew we'd have you in our care sooner or later," Ranse chimed in. "You've taken good care of your body, but I think it's time you allow us to consign it to the eons. It's time to grant you the Empress's blessing…"
A scalpel glinted in the air, slowly descending towards Glinda's defenceless body-
Suddenly free of the daydream, Glinda flung herself out of bed and out the door in a blind panic; she didn't know where she was planning on going or even how she was going to reach it with the lights turned out, but she couldn't stay alone for a minute longer. In reality, she couldn't have run for a few seconds at the most, but with the darkness all around her and the nightmares still fresh in her mind, it felt like five months. She didn't stop running until she'd reached Elphaba's room (the door left open, thank goodness), found the bed and dived under the covers.
"Sorry," she whimpered, as Elphaba sat up in bed. "I tried to sleep, I really did but I couldn't stop thinking about everything and how you're going to be gone tomorrow and I just-"
Elphaba hugged her. "It's okay," she soothed. "You can stay here tonight, Glinda. You relax, now: everything's going to be okay."
She kept saying it, as Glinda lay down beside her: over and over again, everything's going to be alright.
But in spite of her comforting, all Glinda could think of was how – after all the years since their time at Shiz – Elphie was still a terrible liar.
A/N: Up next; back to the Dream-Memories!