Hello everyone! Wow, this one took me a while. I'm sorry!!!!! It was so hard for me to write, you have no idea. It's not terribly long, and it's still not over yet! Give me maybe ... 2 chapters more, at the most i'm guessing, before the epilogue. Enjoy!
-Linz-

Chapter 41

The door slowly swung open, hinges screeching, the sound grating on my ears. I gritted my teeth, bracing myself against the noise. Two silhouettes were backlit in the fairly bright light streaming in from the open door; at least, it seemed bright, as I had been shut up in a nearly-black cell for three days. I shielded my eyes from the glare, hoping to be able to use the shapes of the two men to figure out who had come for me. I assumed the silhouettes belonged to Cherrystone and possibly some underling, or even Oz's emperor.

::Funny, I still don't know the man's name.:: I thought to myself; the thought came out of nowhere in some half-cracked moment of unnatural calm. It seemed unreal, like a too-vivid scene from some sick horror novel.

"Happy to see me?" Cherrystone sneered at me before addressing his companion. "Get her out here. Do you expect me to be the one to haul her to her feet?" I figured that it mustn't be the ruler of the country then.

The other, slightly shorter man jumped, and it took a few seconds for it to register in his mind that he'd just been issued an order. He came closer, and when his face was far enough into my shadows I could see it wasn't some mindless thug; it was Liir. He must've been Cherrystone's apprentice or something of the like here.

The boy held back a moment, about to close his hand around my arm, but in that moment of hesitation he gave me that same look I'd seen on his face the night I'd been taken prisoner; one of intense hatred, along with some sort of twisted pity and even something that bordered on what might've been sympathy. He shook it away quickly, afraid to set off the commander's temper, and made to pull me up like baggage. I intended to give him a hard time of it; my son or not, I was not going to quietly submit myself to him and to eventual death. Cherrystone scowled as Liir struggled; for once I was thankful of the weight added by the twins I was carrying.

Eventually the commander got tired of waiting for his inept young associate to haul me up and bent to help, taking me roughly into his grip. I wrenched back a little and he retaliated with more force, cracking the back of his hand across my face. My hand flew to where his knuckles had connected with me and pressed lightly on the spot, inhaling sharply from pain. Cherrystone's lip curled into a cruel smile, pleased with his handiwork.

"I wouldn't have had to do that if you'd just give up already. There's no hope for you anymore, don't you get it? Or are you dumb as well as mute?" he quipped, his twisted mouth forming the searing droplets of ridicule he was ever spewing forth. I was sick of it.

We continued in silence until I was forced to a halt in front of the steel door marring the steep coiled passage leading down to the dungeons Fiyero and I had broken into a few nights ago. The commander spoke to Liir, the aggravated tone dripping from him like hot oil. It was easy to tell how much he despised the boy just by the voice he used when addressing Liir.

"Boy, got tell the others to come meet me below the palace, in the larger room off the dungeons. And tell them to bring the Winkie with them."

Liir, who had been staring blankly ahead, his mind clearly elsewhere, seemed not to have heard his superior's instructions. It wasn't until Cherrystone loudly barked his name that he came back to his senses.

"What are you, boy, as stupid as you are inattentive? Wake that half-wit mind of yours into working order!" Liir seemed to bristle at the comment, but remained silent so as not to incense his master. Cherrystone repeated the command and Liir scampered to obey it; I could practically see the anger radiating out from him in waves. I seethed inwardly as the insults he'd thrown at Liir reverberated through my head; in a sick and demented way the man reminded me of myself. As much as I loathed everything about Cherrystone, pangs of guilt shot through me as I realized that I'd acted no differently toward Liir while still in residence at Kiamo Ko than my adversary was doing now. I was no better than Cherrystone. And I despised myself for it.

My head was reeling; between grim anticipation of possible torture and pain, belated sympathy for the son I'd never cared for, and the prospect of seeing Fiyero, a throbbing sensation came to be right behind my eyes; I could feel a splitting headache coming on. But Fiyero...there were so many things swimming through my mind that the Force could possibly have done to him! I had no idea what state he would be in when I next laid eyes on him; he could be dying, or already dead for all I knew. I was terrified beyond what words could express.

::Bring the Winkie...Fiyero...oh, heaven, what in the name of Oz is Cherrystone planning for me now? What if - no, they can't have killed him! I would've sensed something if he was dead, wouldn't I? Sweet Oz, tell me he's alright, tell me he's alive!::

Cherrystone fumbled one-handedly to pull a key ring from his belt loop while trying to make sure his other hand remained holding my arm in a bruising vise grip. I contemplated trying to wrench myself free, but that really wouldn't have gotten me anywhere. I had nowhere to hide, and I'd be caught before I managed to take three steps. It wasn't worth it. He struggled with the keys for a little longer, swearing under his breath every time he tried the wrong one. In a halfhearted attempt at defiance I folded my free arm together with the one he held captive, and he glanced at me with a flare of anger in his eyes before going back to the monotonous trial-and-error process of weeding out which of the many keys would open the door.

When finally the heavy steel swung open I was jerked through the dim passage and down the creaking spiral stairs to the familiar bleak stone of the common dungeon, my eyes flicking from one cell to the next, occasionally lighting upon one of the despondent emaciated prisoners I remembered from the last time I'd been down here, minus Boq. I didn't have a chance to take in much else because at that next moment I was roughly shoved through another steel doorway into a cold stone room much like my cell from before, just without the window, and this one was a little on the largish side so it could accommodate those who would be administering my torture.

There were a few green-clad men already waiting for me inside, arms folded, sickening grins pasted on their brutish faces. Yet, I wasn't afraid of them. I wasn't afraid of what they would do to me. This strange lack of fear was frightening, but also slightly empowering in a way. I felt almost defiant, and against all odds a small smile quirked up one corner of my mouth. I glanced quickly back over at the soldiers, and this time there were no grins on their faces . They were staring at me, one glaring, the others dumbfounded. Cherrystone, on the other hand, was reddening with rage. I could just imagine what those men were thinking, especially the commander, seeing me standing there before them, a smile where a humiliated and scared grimace should have been, hugely pregnant and facing torture and death without the tiniest indication that I was even minutely afraid of it in any way.

My quiet defiance was infuriating Cherrystone. His face remained calm, but he set his vehemence free with the reintroduction of my face to the back of his hand. I made no sound. My head snapped to the side on impact, my cheek stinging from the blow, turning my line of sight to merge with the opening door. Fiyero had been pushed through the doorway by two burly Gale Forcers and he was staring from me to Cherrystone with wide horrified eyes; he had seen him hit me. Liir was watching from behind them, biting his bottom lip and putting on a falsely cruel smile as he sidled into the room, trying to look inconspicuous. His eyes betrayed him.

"Don't touch her -" Fiyero growled.

Cherrystone snorted at Fiyero's expression, "I can do whatever the hell I want to her. You, my brave, stupid friend, are not one to talk."

"I swear it on my life, if you touch her again -"

"If you don't keep that mouth of yours shut you won't have a life to swear on!" Cherrystone roared, cutting off Fiyero and smoothly drawing a pistol from his belt, cocking the gun with his thumb. Fiyero fell silent and looked at me with pain in his eyes; he knew there was nothing he could do to help me now that wouldn't betray the both of us. I knew the feeling of helplessness that plagued him. I knew his heart better than my own. I knew he would rather die than see them hurt me. I knew I would rather die than have him forced to watch such a thing. I met his gaze blankly for a moment, then pressed my eyes shut. I couldn't look into his eyes and not hurt.

"Much better." Cherrystone said quietly and put the gun away. He bade one of the others to keep one of their pistols trained on Fiyero, just in case, then unsheathed a small silver knife with a gilt handle. He twirled it between his fingers, watching the dim light issuing from the three torches on the walls glint off the flawless metal blade.

"Do you remember this, Witch?"

I didn't answer.

"You should. Your blonde friend plunged this very knife into the Wizard's back not terribly long ago. It's been, what, almost a year since then? You were there, weren't you?"

::How did he find out - ?::

"I was in the room off the office that night. I was in charge of getting the woman to spill about you once His Excellency the Wizard had figured out that she was keeping something from us. She was a difficult one to crack, but eventually she came around. Anyway, this was the very knife that Glinda the Good stabbed into his spinal cord, killing him on impact. The Wizard would be happy knowing that this little blade of his will finally finish the job that should've been done through that pampered priss, Dorothy."

I clenched my jaw and stared at a fixed point on the wall, avoiding the gaze of everyone in the room. My breath caught slightly when I felt the pressure from the tip of the knife against me, but felt no prick of sharp pain or the burn of sticky wet blood; it was another moment before I realized Cherrystone had been slitting the seams holding the sleeves onto my dress. After a few moments of bitter anticipation one sleeve fell away down my arm, and he began his work on the other. He was careful, making sure there were no incisions made in my flesh - yet - and when he was finished emaciating my sleeves he moved on to carve up the back, making the fabric dip low enough to expose more of my spine than I cared to have sliced to ribbons. The cloth around my neck and shoulders went next, shreds falling to the stone around me. I stole a glance at Liir; the boy was looking back and forth from me to Cherrystone with wide eyes, afraid and intrigued both. His fists were clenched, for what reason I didn't know. I didn't think it possible for him to be fearing for me in any way, but yet the look that had been in his eyes when he was made to fetch me from my cell made me doubt my better judgement.

When Cherrystone seemed satisfied with his work thus far, he deftly and quickly engraved a long and moderately shallow line lengthwise through my arm with the razor edge of the blade. I clenched my fist against the searing droplets of blood running slowly over my skin but made no other movement. There was still no fear on my face for them to feast on, and not nearly enough blood to slake their thirst. They would have it so I ran red with the crimson life-liquid before they would be satisfied. They would make me burn alive with it.

Cherrystone glared at my lack of a reaction, and spent a few seconds calculating where to make his next incision so that it would elicit from me some sort of response to the pain. A satisfied smirk soon spread over his face, and with a flash of silver I felt a stripe of sticky heat making its meandering way drip by drip down my cheek. Still I made no movement but my eyes, which stole a quick glance at my lover. His eyes were glittering with wet. I looked away, staring straight ahead as if fixing my gaze on the stone could chase Fiyero's pitiful lovely eyes away from my mind.

The commander tried his hand at making a few more incisions in my skin to try to elicit a response from me. "Still being difficult." he sighed at my silence, and shook his head as if I were no more than an ornery child. "Please, do give up. You're going to die anyway, whether you like it or not, so you might as well oblige me and make this amusing for us."

I continued to stare at nothing in particular just to look at something that wasn't alive and mocking me.

"You still need incentive? I'm beginning to think you're slow-witted, even with my considering all those times you've managed to evade me." He strode away from me and circled slowly around Fiyero, who clenched his jaw and did his best to keep the tears that had accumulated in his eyes from falling. I watched, both afraid and sickly curious of what he was about to do. Cherrystone paused near Fiyero's right arm and I knew he was examining the scar there left from his knifing, letting a subtle smile creep over his lips. I trained my eyes on my adversary, hoping against hope that he wouldn't choose to do what I thought he would -

- Hoping for naught as I learned a second later. The commander glanced at me, finally getting the reaction he wanted from my wide and horrified eyes, and slashed his dagger through the deepest part of the flesh on Fiyero's arm, reopening the old wound and enlarging it so more blood spilled more quickly than it had when my hand had been the one on the knife. The only sounds that had escaped Fiyero's lips were a gasp and a deep moan of pain before Cherrystone roared for him to be taken out and left in the only other totally walled-in cell on this level of the palace. Liir's face fell wide open with horror and took on a slightly pasty, nauseated tinge, but still he forced himself to watch. I almost pitied him.

"Put the Winkie away so he can bleed himself out, and then get rid of him! I've no more use for him!" And Cherrystone laughed, a terrible cold victorious laugh. The sound of it ran me through with hurt and fury better than any physical blade ever could.

My face flamed, my heart broke, my eyes burned with hate, and yet I made no sound or movement. I waited precious seconds for him to set upon me again, which of course he did, deftly wielding his destructive little weapon and making the blood that my lover had left on the blade mingle with my own, scorching its way over my skin in so many tiny rivulets. Still his maniacal laugh pierced my panicked thoughts. My head reeled as if I'd been dealt a physical blow to the skull, racing through it's fear-riddled state to come to some sort of way to get myself out of here in time to save Fiyero's life. If he died...there would be very little for me to live for if I myself managed to survive.

I began murmuring under my breath words I barely understood, running through them at such a speed it was a wonder I didn't trip over my own tongue and botch everything. Sounds and syllables from some foreign language swirled through my head and past my lips, so real to me I could almost see them. They were colored with reds, blacks, blues, and, more prominently, a very specific and much-loathed shade of green: the colors of my intense hatred for them, for myself, for sorrow, for fear, for circumstance, for life.

Cherrystone's knife continued to flash before me, more violently and frequently hitting its mark. Blood blossomed as did bursts of drawn-out liquid heat while the little rivers of the stuff streamed down over my arms and my face, my back and every other inch of skin the commander could get his blade close enough to. As much as I wanted to gasp or hiss from the excruciating pain I wouldn't; it wasn't possible for me to, what with the words coursing forth unbidden from my mouth I had no room in my voice for expressions of suffering. I cast a fleeting glance over myself; much of my exposed skin ran red with the blood, and the clothing that hadn't been cut away sported incisions and damp patches where the scarlet liquid had seeped into it.

My murmuring became even faster and more feverish, the words growing louder as I grew bolder. The syllables seemed to hold confidence in the form of sound, lending me a sense of sureness that otherwise wouldn't have been there. The sheer power contained in the language of the spell, for that was what I'd deduced it was, thrummed through me, sending a euphoric rush to my head. It was almost completed.

All of a sudden, Cherrystone's nauseating laughter turned to a half-strangled cry of fear and then to a death gurgle as the knife he had been using to cut me to ribbons fell from his hand, clattering against the stones. I sealed the spell , a satisfied smirk possessing my mouth as I watched him struggle to breathe and then as he shriveled before me, the magic eating away at the man from the inside. Bone disintegrated first, then muscle and organs and lastly the skin and clothing, until Cherrystone was no more than grey ashy dust among the grey ashy hue of the floor, clothes and all. I looked around the rest of the room and it was devoid of life, aside from me, and, surprisingly, Liir. Everyone else had met the same end as the commander.

The boy was pressed up against the wall, terrified and shocked. He was trembling, fighting to steady himself before I noticed. Vaguely I wondered how the spell had missed him, but I dismissed it without a second thought. There were far more important worries to contend with before Liir would claim my attention. I ignored him, more concerned about getting out of here and into wherever Fiyero was, hoping against all hope that I would be in time to keep him alive.

It was then I realized as my gaze swept over the commander's remains that the keys Cherrystone had been carrying on his belt were no longer there; they had deteriorated along with the rest of him. After all that, I was still trapped...