Two: The Bonding
A/N: Okay so i continued.
They made their way through the dense forest of Belize, swatting mosquitos and bugs from their faces. They trudged, climbed, swam, slide, ran until Iskinaary began to complain his feathers were badly bitten and his stomach was empty and growling. So they took a rest in a small clearing, where Pir dumped a pile of grubs at the Goose to shut him up – again.
The two girls stared for a while as the Goose dug into his tea, Oziandra with an amused expression, Pir with a cold, hard one.
"Don't take too long, bird," warned Pir. "I hate waiting." To Oziandra she whispered, "How do you bear this?"
"I don't," replied Oziandra, and she turned to leave, as so did Pir. They found a narrow path leading to a small hill and set off down it.
"Is he always like this?" asked Pir.
Oziandra pondered over the question. "It must be the traveling, I suppose, that has made him this cranky. He is an old Goose."
"He seems to take his job of escorting you rather seriously," said Pir. "Could that be a reason?"
"He never really liked me," Oziandra answered. "He only escorts me for my father's sake."
They walked a few more feet in silence.
Then Pir looked at her. "Where are you from? You seem from neither here nor there."
Oziandra stared at the ground. "That's because I am. I refuse to harp on my past and origins."
"Fear your past and origin, you mean," said Pir, with a hint of disapproval, "out with it, green girl; fear is only for the weak."
"It is not fear for where I come from," said Oziandra. "It is disgust, shame, hatred for it." She spat out her last few words.
"But you run from it."
The green girl said nothing.
"I bear hatred for this place, as well," confessed Pir. "But I don't run from it." She was beginning to surprise herself – she rarely opened up this much to a stranger. Did this emerald green girl bear something that drew her in?
Oziandra seemed to observe her. "You don't? Then why are you hiding? Why must we cross treacherous rivers, pass through dangerous territories, make an occasional climb up a tree to check for followers, just to get to your hideout?"
Suddenly Pir gripped the girl by the shoulders and slammed her against a nearby tree.
"Don't criticize my actions, broccoli, or you're gonna end up in the frying pan." A spark flickered between her fingers.
The captive's face remained set. "You're afraid. That's the difference between you and me. You lie to cover up your emotions."
Pir stared hard into Oziandra's eyes, before she let go of the emerald girl's shoulders and backed away. "I have no emotions, Oziandra, I'm a heartless witch."
"The irony, now. I heard my grandmother claimed to have no soul, and yet it seems to linger in me."
"The green?"
"The sin."
Now it was Pir's turn to go silent.
"Everyone has feelings," said Oziandra. "You have feelings, I know it. You know it, Pir."
There was silence, and it took a few seconds for Pir to notice something odd about her statement.
"I never told you my name."
Oziandra looked puzzled for a moment, as if she hadn't even realized she had said Pir's name. Then she stared at Pir, more puzzled than before.
"Come to think of it, you never did," said Oziandra, "I just don't know how I knew it."
They stared at each other for a while. Pir was now convinced that this was the girl she had been waiting for.
"The Winds," whispered Pir finally. "The Winds spoke to you."
"The Winds?" inquired Oziandra. "Are they apparitions of saints? I do not know many saints, but I do know of Saint Aelphaba of the Waterfall, my grandmother's namesake. Or are they like the Unnamed God?"
"Do saints help witches?"
"Good ones, perhaps," replied Oziandra. "With the exception of Glinda. Oh the crimes, that witch has committed. She even got thrown into Southstairs. But yes, other than her, I do suppose saints do help good witches."
"Then the Winds are not saints, for they have helped me, a wicked witch, through all my deeds and dirty intentions. They are all around. They are just there, like the Goose."
"Whom do we speak of that is like me?" asked Iskinaary suddenly, and both girls started.
"Iskinaary!" scolded Oziandra, "When will you stop trying to make my spirit flee from my body in shock?"
"Until you are as soulless as your grandmother, Miss Oziandra,"
"Very funny, bird," said Pir.
"Bird. With a capital B."
"Whatever. Do that again and you'll be soulless."
They started down the path.
"My hid – I mean…place – " she noticed Oziandra raising an eyebrow, "is just another mile down this narrow stream here," said Pir, pointing towards a small stream at the edge of the path. She saw the Goose open his beak, and added, "No complaining or you'll end up as dinner."
They walked down the path in silence. So silent that they could hear the birds chirping in the distance, the slight rustle of leaves in the hot humid weather, all accompanied by the trickling of the small stream. How silent. How peaceful. Pir only wished she were peaceful, inside and out. Deep within her a storm still raged, conflicting opinions still fighting over her mind on Oziandra's words. Did she have feelings? Did she indeed have anything else other than hatred?
"So…" started Iskinaary, feeling the need to break the ice. "What is your place like?"
"It's got walls," said Pir, not in the mood for talking.
"Interesting," said Iskinaary, rather sarcastically. "Does it have a window, or roof?"
"Nope," Pir replied simply.
Iskinaary stared at her in bemusement. "How is that possible?"
"Why don't you shut your feather-hole and see for yourself?"
Iskinaary shut his beak.
They arrived at a spring, from which water was trickling gently down the side of the rock.
Pir turned to her guests. "Do you notice anything?" she asked.
Iskinaary took a sweeping glance at his surroundings. "Trees, bushes, water…ants!" he fluttered his wings and hovered above the ground, where he could steer clear of the ants that scavenged the ground.
Oziandra narrowed her eyes. "A crack. A small one, but big enough for a human to fit through." She pointed at a crack in the stone just over the spring.
"Or a inhumane witch," said Pir, nodding in approval. "Sharp eyes, Oziandra, that's my place."
She hopped over the spring and slipped into the crack, followed shortly by Oziandra, then Iskinaary, whom they had to tug through the hole.
"I told you not to have tea," huffed Pir, who tugged at Iskinaary's left leg.
"Hey! I was starving and – ouch! Don't pull my leg off."
"Good. That way we will have dinner before I even go out to search."
The two girls gave one big pull, and the Goose popped through. He then ruffled his feathers and brushed down his satchel.
Oziandra walked around the room. It was small but cozy, with a fireplace and a bearskin rug lain on the floor, and torches that lit the walls. On a rack hung a stock of rabbit and squirrel, along with a hand made hunting bow, a hunting knife and a sharpened spear.
"Why do you need so many weapons for hunting?" asked Oziandra, rather curious, "Do you not have your magic? Apparently I do not have such a knack as you do, after seeing you perform telekinesis on the beach."
"Anything to do with mind channeling wears me out," said Pir. "Do you ever have that feeling when you feel as if all the energy is being ripped from your body, draining you as fast as a bottle of drink?"
"I've never really tried mind-channeling spells," said Oziandra. "Only physical changing spells like elements or bodies."
"Even so," said Iskinaary, whom they had once again forgotten, "she fell into unconsciousness for seven days."
Pir nodded. "I did try telekinesis once on a rabbit, but I think I fainted after half a minute of trying to lift it. When I came round, witch hunters had surrounded me. Luckily my broadswords were with me. I never tried telekinesis after that, until today, when this clumsy bugger here fell from the sky."
"Like how Dorothy's house fell from the sky and crushed my grandaunt," joked Oziandra.
"Your grandaunt got killed by a –? Oh never mind, just stay put here and I'll go searching for some fresh geese."
With that Pir slipped out the crack and into the breeze of the forest.
"Iskinaary, my head is still spinning from all that flying, and running around the room isn't helping!"
"Serve you right, Miss Oziandra, nobody asked you to take that piece of shitty broom and fly out of Oz."
"It reeks of my unholy past, Iskinaary, I had to leave."
"It's Tip, isn't it?"
Oziandra said nothing.
"When will you get over that girl, Miss Oziandra?" asked Iskinaary, fluttering towards the green girl. "You yourself said that you've already lost her to the throne."
"Yes, I did," admitted Oziandra half-heartedly. "And now can we speak of something else, and for once try to better my headache?"
"The sorceress then."
"Pir?" Oziandra never really thought much of the girl. She was like a boulder, hard, stubborn, and unable to crack. It was impossible to get through to her, but something inside Oziandra told her that she would find out Pir's past soon.
It was a queer thing, this intuition. It had told her Pir's name, and made her trust Pir, and now it seemed to be pushing her to discover Pir's past for unknown reasons. But Oziandra didn't like sticking her little green nose into anything.
Yet, there was something about Pir that made Oziandra feel slightly uncomfortable about, like an itch she could not scratch. It made her feel like it was not the first time she was meeting Pir, like she had seen her before. Was it the clothes; the well-worn knee-length dress, with tears and shreds in the embroidered skirts? Was it the fighting skills, the way she handled her knives with cat-like agility? Oziandra had encountered much sword fighting in the cold wartime of Oz, but never has she seen such skill in such dense surroundings. No, it was something else. But what?
She had to get to the bottom of this. She had to scratch that itch.
And the only way to do that was to find out Pir's past.
Pir returned an hour later, carrying three geese and sack full of geese eggs and liver.
"Not my typical choice, to go to a farm and steal with the risk of getting chased down by dogs, but if it pisses Iskinaary, it's worth it."
"For Lurline's sake then, I shall not be pissed."
"And now I'm pissed," said Pir, adding a tone of anger to her voice. "And you don't want to see me when I'm pissed."
"Fine I'm pissed," said the Goose, obliging.
"So," began Oziandra, as Pir started up the fire, "Is your name really Pir?"
"It's short for Pirpetusia," replied Pir, surprising herself. How was she revealing so much about herself?
"And you're a witch."
Pir paused in her actions. There it was again, the sudden urge to answer all the green girl's questions. What was it? She never answered questions.
A sudden realization struck her hard. The Winds. This girl was the one…the Imminent, wasn't she?
"Sit down – not you Goose," said Pir, gesturing to a spot across her. "I think we both know the Winds have chosen you, to be my guide to my future."
"You're saying I'm in charge of your future?" repeated Rain incredulously.
"Yes, or at least that was how I interpreted it."
Oziandra was silent for a while. She looked up at Pir, eyes locking for a moment.
"I shall take up this important role given by the Winds then," she said finally. "But you will need to open up."
Pir looked at her quizzically. "Whatever for?"
"In order to discern your future," said Oziandra, her tone taking a serious turn. "I must know your past, is that not it?"
"So…so I tell you my entire life story, no matter how boring it is?"
"You aren't saying a witch with magical abilities of yours has a boring life, are you?" asked Oziandra, her tone lighthearted. Pir merely frowned at the green girl. "Of course, i do suppose that life can sometimes be a bore," Oziandra added quickly, "but I do love stories. So let's start right from the beginning, shall we?"