Chapter 17

Spring was late coming, allowing tendrils of snow to linger around the new blossoms that pushed their way through the icy soil. Elphaba was careful not to step on the buds as she picked her way through the park on this early, April morning. The crispness in the air made her feel alert, and strong. Her head was clear, and her eyes darted back and forth as she kept a careful vigil for anyone who might be watching her.

In a large tree on the edge of a grove of Quoxwoods, she slipped the package she carried into a hollow crevice, tucking it into the dark recesses. She then slipped away quickly, admiring the flowers. There wasn't time to question the contents of the package. It had been a week full of strange deliveries, and she was simply a cog this time, a muscular twitch in the larger organism.

Elphaba made her way leisurely through the park, not wanting to appear rushed and suspicious. She stopped suddenly when she stumbled on an open garden. The space had been meticulously landscaped to hold several small tables and chairs on a stone terrace, laid over the usual grassy terrain. It was a private area, where only the wealthiest, most noteworthy citizens could hold a brunch.

This morning, the area was occupied by white and grey-haired ladies in ridiculously ostentatious gowns dripping with jewels. Elphaba recognized the wives of the Wizard's personal advisors, secretaries and officers. And there, seated in the far left corner, sat the headmistress of Shiz University, Madame Morrible herself.

Elphaba had always felt the teacher had ties beyond the University, ties that made her powerful and dangerous. She had felt the powerful tug of Morrible's skills in sorcery, and had postulated that this woman had more sinister intentions than simply causing her trouble in school. Yet here was proof, before her eyes.

The headmistress smiled demurely and leaned in to catch the gossip filtering across her table. She sipped her drink with a fish-like pucker and scanned the crowd with wide, bulging eyes.

I suppose she's found someone else to be her puppet, unless of course Galinda crumbled after all…Elphaba wondered.

Yet Galinda of the Arduennas was absent from this gathering, eliminated either by age or perhaps lack of real political influence.

But I suppose she's still just Glinda, now…

A dark flash caught Elphaba's eye, and she realized Zaar was perched on a stool near one especially feeble, squinting old woman. Her collar was sprinkled with rubies today, which glinted in the dappled sunlight. The Cat turned her head, sniffed at the air, and set her gaze in Elphaba's direction. She leapt down from the stool and danced after a butterfly, swatting and leaping for it until she deftly climbed the tree just behind Elphaba.

"You've certainly earned some finery…" Elphaba reached to finger the delicate collar.

"It's a beautiful shackle," Zaar answered, and Elphaba understood.

"A lot of deliveries this week," Elphaba commented, hoping for some news from the palace.

"There are stirrings about," Zaar followed suit, "some Animals have set up a colony in Fliaan. They have a measure of weapons, and a printing press. Anti-Wizard propaganda has turned up, and the forces are mobilized to stop it."

Elphaba felt a bubble of joy rise up in her. Yet it was mixed with a powerful fear for the Animals involved.

"There's nothing you can do," Zaar answered Elphaba's question before she posed it. "This is their fight. You are an ally, but any true revolution must be carried out by those most affected. For us to truly win, we must stand for ourselves. No one can win our freedom for us."

Elphaba wanted to argue, but she couldn't. Zaar was right.

"You must fight with us," Zaar added, "not for us."

Elphaba stared beyond the trees for a moment. "Perhaps if the Animals are free, there might be a measure of freedom…for me," She inhaled sharply after she said it, not entirely meaning to say it out loud.

Zaar look at her, compassionately studying her.

"You have done everything you can," Zaar finally spoke, "and you will continue to do everything you can. You're not one to live an idle life. But you are tired, and you are much too thin. And there is a sadness in your eyes beneath the zeal and determination."

Zaar paused for a moment, and Elphaba flushed at having been scrutinized so personally.

"Perhaps it is the season for you to take something for yourself," Zaar proposed, "We aren't meant only to give, you know."

Elphaba whipped her head around to meet the Cat's eyes. "I do not need--" She started, but Zaar stopped her.

"We all need, sometimes. You and I are too alike to argue."

Elphaba froze, because Zaar did not back down from her dark, flashing eyes.

"When you find it, whatever it is," Zaar instructed, "take it. Do not be ashamed or afraid. Take it, with no regrets."

And with that, she scampered delicately down the tree and back to her stool, where she licked herself idly.

**************************************************

Perhaps it was because of Zaar's words, or the number of years that had passed since she was an idealistic student, but the weeks began to pass in a hazy fog for Elphaba. She was often angry with herself, wondering if somehow she had started to care less for her cause. Yet as spring melted into summer, she began to think it was not that the Animals mattered less, but that it wasn't enough anymore. Every year that she added to her age seemed to splinter life into a more complex and fragmented puzzle. When she had left Shiz behind, she'd been a girl devoted to her cause, with only one goal, one need. Yet the image reflected back at her in the storefronts of Oz was clearly a woman now, complex and confused in her regal, patchwork black dress.

So on this clammy, late summer day, Elphaba found herself in Saint Glinda's Square, having just left the church after receiving new instructions from her current contact with the Resistance. She stood in the balmy sun, swathed in scarves and having nowhere else to be. These were the hardest times, between assignments, when she felt purposeless, powerless, and utterly alone. On a whim, perhaps to escape the fierce afternoon sun, she wandered into the Unionist chapel in the square.

It was impossibly cool inside, and her eyes slowly adjusted to the candlelight. She considered darting back out the door, finding the whispered prayers and religious figures quite overwhelming. The chapel had an altogether different feel from that St. Aelphaba;s, her namesake. St. Glinda's, where she had so often received instruction, was more of a monument or a tourist stop, than a functioning church. Still, the religion in this place was palpable, tangible, and a bit overwhelming.

Penitents knelt in prayer, whispering fervently, while maunts, young and old, carried out sacraments and kept candles lit. Elphaba forced herself to walk forward, making her way past prayer altars and ikons of so many saints. As she wound her way into the bowels of the church, she found small prayer rooms, some with great religious books open to comforting, or condemning, passages. Elphaba glanced at them with the distant hope that one might be the book she had so long ago stolen and delivered. None were.

In the very last room, no bigger than a closet, she almost stumbled over a young maunt, deep in prayer. Her head was bowed so that her chestnut hair fell across her face, where it had pulled loose from the knot at her neck. Her fingers were delicate, almost like a child, and something stirred within Elphaba.

The maunt sensed a presence behind her and turned, her face catching the flickering candlelight as she caught sight of the green woman.

Elphaba froze in recognition.

Eliana.

The name rang through her mind, and she considered which direction she could run the fastest.

The maunt stood and took hold of Elphaba's arm before she could move.

"Fae?" Her voice was strong and soft at the same time.

Elphaba couldn't answer.

"It's you, isn't it? I can see it in your eyes," Eliana studied her.

"So my eyes gave me away? I would've thought it was the green…" Elphaba resorted to wit, which made her feel less off balance.

Eliana smiled slightly, and she dropped her gaze to examine the emerald hand she clutched in her own.

"We have the same scars…" Eliana whispered, raising her eyes to meet Elphaba's once more.

Elphaba turned to bolt out the door, stopped only by the maunt's grip on her hand.

"Don't go!" Eliana's eyes were pleading, "I'm not asking anything of you!"

Elphaba stopped, confused by the need in Eliana's voice.

"It's just…cathartic…to be near you," The maunt nearly whispered, "If you have survived, and you are still good, it gives me strength."

Elphaba snorted, not meaning to be harsh, but unable to believe that she could give anyone strength. She felt ready to crumble at any moment, barely able to carry the weight of the work she did. She was no one's idol.

So they sat on a narrow bench, in silence.

Elphaba finally spoke, "I believe it will break me, this secret you and I share, whether it be from holding it in, or in the anguish of finally telling it. Either way, the pain of it is too much for one person to bear…" She trembled at having said even that much, and kept her eyes straight ahead, not meeting Eliana's.

"That is why I pray," Eliana finally answered, "because nothing surprises God. No atrocity is beyond what he can see. God weeps with me, without shock or judgment."

Elphaba's temper flared, "The Unnamed God cares little for any of us. I have been used as a pawn for this God, and he seeks only to selfishly pass judgment on those without means to change themselves!"

"The Unnamed God is not my god," Eliana answered without hesitation, "That is simply man's twisted version of who they want God to be. My God shows compassion, mercy, and gives strength. He brings what I need, when I need it," She paused, "He brought you here…"

Elphaba turned to stare at the young maunt. She was rendered speechless by shock. Eliana's face was peaceful, thankful even.

"You cannot just create your own God! It's absurd, and is simply an empty wish born from your desire to make sense out of the cesspit of life!" Elphaba knew her words were harsh, but for once it was how she truly felt.

But Eliana would not be deterred, "People believe all kinds of things, from the legends of Lureline and Kumbricia, to the stoic and harsh Unnamed God. I choose to believe the God of my faith is not who so many Unionist ministers have made him out to be. I choose to pray to a God who loves me in my imperfection, rather than one who wishes to burn it out of me with hellfire. My God meets my needs, as small as they may be."

Elphaba simply stared, wanting to argue but finding the absolute peace on Eliana's face riveting.

"I look at things in a different way," Eliana conceded, "I believe God hurts for us, for all we've chosen to do each other, rather than seeing him as the one hurtling all the hate and depravity down upon us."

Neither spoke for a long time, as Elphaba did not know how to respond. She was used to being unique, to walking a different path, but Eliana had made her own path altogether. She was carving a road no one had ever traveled. And something in Elphaba wanted to travel it with her.

She took Eliana's hand, lacing her angular green fingers through the maunt's paler ones.

"I've never believed in the soul," Elphaba stated haltingly, "It just seems to imply there is an eternal side to our current suffering…"

Eliana reached up tenderly, and brushed the loose, dark strands of hair off Elphaba's face. It was altogether sisterly, and Elphaba was too shocked to pull away.

"Pray to my God," Eliana requested, "and see if you don't find your soul."

Elphaba couldn't deny her the request, although the idea of prayer was still quite repulsive.

Eliana rose to leave, realizing she had other duties in the mauntery. As she reached the door, she turned back. "We're both scarred, you and I, but that doesn't mean we have to be broken. I have found my purpose, and my peace. I will pray you find yours."

And with that she was gone, having opened a great, metaphorical Pandora's box for Elphaba.

Elphaba felt her emotions rolling and tumbling, working her stomach into knots. She wanted to run, and she wanted to stay. She wanted to spill her secrets on the altar, and she wanted to smash the Unionist relics to pieces.

She rose unsteadily, and made her way slowly down the narrow hallway, passing the prayer alcoves again. She stopped at one poorly lit ikon, finding irony in that it was of Saint Glinda. Fighting her very nature, she shuffled into the small space and knelt, telling herself it was a gesture meant only for Eliana. Elphaba bowed her head and stumbled, mentally, over what to say. Finally, she uttered the only thing she could get out, the simplest and yet most potent of prayers.

"God, if you exist in any other form that what I know of you, I need…I need…" She stumbled over it, truly unsure what the end of the sentence was. She needed something, something concrete, and definite, and real. Something not magicked up with smoke and mirrors and illusions.

"I need something real," She concluded, feeling quite ridiculous.

"Elphaba!"

The sound of her name nearly scared her into an early grave. She had not heard her given name in so long, it sounded alien, as though it was no longer part of her. It was as though they called for someone she'd left behind years ago.

She turned slowly, dazed by the dim lighting and the intensity of her prayer. She felt ashamed, as though this person must have heard her ridiculous attempt at religion.

"Elphaba, it's Fiyero," The voice spoke again, and seemed to be coming from the tall, dark-skinned figure blocking the doorway.

She wouldn't let herself remember. It had been too long ago. She was far too different, too much had changed. She pretended not to know him, ducked her head and tried to disappear. Yet he persisted, and used her full given name, which she had nearly forgotten herself. Then he used Elphie, and it was painful, as the lightness of it seemed such a contradiction with who she had become.

When she could not shake him off, she agreed to meet him in an hour, at the fountain. It would give her just enough time to escape, to slip, unnoticed out the back and leave him behind, puzzled, but still remembering her as she had once been.

It's better, She thought, who I once was is a better memory than this shell I've become…

Yet Fiyero of the Arjikis would not be so easily eluded.

Answered prayers are hard to shake off.

**************************************************

Elphaba realized he was behind her just a few blocks from the church, and her heart began to pound. A hundred thoughts began to swirl erratically through her head as she cut corners and tried put passerby between her and Fiyero.

What could he possibly want from her so badly? Why did he have this need to chase her as though they had been inseparable friends? Were they not merely acquaintances, brought together by a lion cub and the unusual nature of their skin? Or perhaps their friendship had meant far more to him than she had realized…

Elphaba cut corners and followed the light of the western sun, which seemed to be her beacon, leading her home. Yet he was swift and sharp, and fear began to grow in her. Within sight of the corn exchange, she rooted within her cloak for the key. Her hands trembled as she made for the door.

"Fabala!"

She turned before she could catch herself, and altogether gave herself away. The scarves and cloak and layers of black could not hide the expression on her face.

Fiyero closed the distance between them swiftly, and she fumbled with the lock while her heart pounded in her ears. She'd barely opened it and slipped through the crack when he jammed his foot between the frame and the door. Elphaba desperately tried to close the door, fear quickly becoming terror.

"Are you in trouble?"

His question made no sense, for someone bent on harming her.

"Leave me alone, please, please!" She begged. She was growing desperate, clawing at the door in her effort to shut him out.

"You're in trouble, let me in," Fiyero's words were kind, truly concerned, but she was too jaded, and he was too male, for her to concede.

"You're trouble. Stay out."

"You're making me into a monster," He argued, pulling open the door enough to wedge in his shoulder, "I'm not going to rob you or rape you…"

Elphaba didn't hear the rest of what he said. Her head spun, and she felt as though he could see through her. She felt as though he knew, somehow, as impossible as that would be. And so she lost her grip on the door.

Fiyero fell backward, stumbling over himself and looking shocked.

Elphaba stood, paralyzed, for a moment, until she saw the look on his face. He looked altogether confused and hurt, and then confused again. She took a deep breath, and made herself remember that he used to be a friend.

He once helped you...laughed with you, She told herself, He's just Fiyero. He's still the same...

"I remember you as full of delicacy and grace," She threw out, needing the memory to calm herself, "Did you catch something by accident, or did you study awkwardness?"

Fiyero half-smiled and defended himself as she allowed him to follow her up the narrow staircase to the second floor. Malky scampered up with them, not speaking, but looking in Elphaba's eyes for cues as to the identity, and safety, of this stranger. She put out some milk for him, bolstering the illusion that he was merely an animal. Yet over the saucer their eyes met, and by now she and the Cat could read each other's thoughts.

I think he's safe. I know him.

I'll be right here.

She watched Fiyero's eyes rove over her ramshackle home, taking in the elephant skull, and the flowers she'd had Malky slip inside of it. It was a pathetic tribute to a beautiful Animal who'd given its life so unnecessarily. The glass orb glinted in the evening light, and she still marveled that she'd been able to dig it out of the boarded up shell that was Hadrick's home. Fiyero studied the sallow wood table she'd spent nearly an entire day dragging to the second floor from where she'd found it, abandoned in the residence across the street. He took in the bedroll, the bits and pieces of spells, and leftover food that hadn't made its way back into the cupboard. For a moment, she was self conscious, and very aware that her home was not much of a home.

So she covered the insecurity with humor and wit, and made Fiyero tell her about his life. What he said would later be foggy to her, as she was altogether agitated and unable to sit still. He laid out the basics of his life, confirmed his marriage to his child bride, and even told her something of Glinda. It gave her a measure of peace, to know that Glinda was married, but not affluently enough to be mired in the Wizard's political circle.

Still, Fiyero pressed her further, seeming bent on understanding why she had left them all at Shiz, as though she had done him some great, personal injustice. She answered him flippantly, and tried to put him off, but he was persistent. He looked at her with wide, dark, brooding eyes that had so much more depth than she was used to. She answered before thinking.

"I loved you too much to keep in touch."

And she regretted the admission, feeling it implied far too much.

"What does that mean?" Fiyero looked shocked.

"Don't ask me," She threw out the words, feeling the fear and the need to run rising up in her again. Elphaba couldn't say for sure why she had said it. It was a reflex, like pulling one's hand away from a flame. She wondered if, having said it so instinctively, that made it true. She waived her arms, signaling the conversation was over, and bustled about, pretending the straighten things.

Yet Fiyero pressed on, either because he was terribly stubborn, or because he truly cared. He needled and questioned, seeming desperate to know where she had been, as though all he'd done for five years was consider the fate of Elphaba Thropp.

"Are you associated with the Animal Relief League, or one of those defiant little humanitarian organizations?" Fiyero finished his questioning.

She whipped around, her eyes blazing, knowing she was taking out her bitterness and anger on an entirely innocent victim, but she didn't care. It had been her experience that humans did very little to help one another, and even less for Animals. It had been a human who raped and scarred her, followed by dozens more who served only to prove, for her, the great capacity for malice the human race possessed.

"I never use the words humanist or humanitarian," She choked out between clenched teeth, "as it seems to me that to be human is to be capable of the most heinous crimes in nature."

Fiyero was undeterred. He did not shrink away from her intensity, or argue against her point.

So Elphaba finally conceded, telling him a sliver of her story, enough to pacify. Then she tried to usher him out, evading his persistent questions and stressing the urgency that he not return.

She needed him gone, because she felt entirely off balance. His presence was working her into a state of agitation she hadn't experience in quite a while. He knew too much about her and made her consider things beyond her cause. He wanted her to be someone again, instead of just a mechanism in a greater organization. Fiyero wanted her to be a person, who felt and loved and remembered. And she was very afraid of that, terrified, even.

So Elphaba hustled him out the door. She was nearly rid of him, when he turned and clasped her hand. It was altogether unexpected, and for a moment she dropped the carefully constructed mask that was her façade. He studied her a moment longer than was necessary and she feared she might have scared him away with what he saw in her face.

It's irrelevant, She told herself, Because you won't be letting him come back.

**************************************************

And yet she did, more than once. Elphaba let him sit and talk, and share stories of people she hadn't seen in years. She listened and questioned, and even laughed, which shocked her. She found herself riveted by the tribal markings on his face, and then felt a stab of shame when her eyes followed them down to the open collar of his shirt.

Everything inside of her said to run from him, to focus on her mission and what she had devoted herself to. Yet Zaar's comments haunted her. She had given so much, worked so hard. Briefly, she ventured that she might deserve a chance to laugh. And then she berated herself for it, feeling deeply ashamed.

It was in this state of great conflict that Elphaba opened the door for Fiyero's latest visit. Her heart fluttered a little at the sight of him, with his Winkie skin, smooth as dark chocolate, and his dark hair cut short, to keep it from being unruly.

Fiyero went on at length this time about Sarima, his wife, and the family he had left behind in the Vinkus. She didn't quite know why, but the stories gave Elphaba a sour feeling, especially the scandalous idea of him taking his sisters-in-law as a sort of harem. That such a custom was even remotely acceptable was repulsive, and yet she wondered why it mattered so much.

And then he insulted her, when she made it known she didn't understand such a custom.

"You're not married, you don't know…"

He might have continued, but her temper flared and she didn't hear him.

Of everyone she knew, she felt herself to be the most enslaved, the most bound and chained and devoted. She was married to a cause that demanded every bit of her, and would most likely claim her life, and even her soul, if it existed.

"I am married," She spat, "just not to a man."

Then Elphaba heard it, the bitterness and anger and harshness with which she had spoken. It shocked her, hearing how hard she had become, and then it grieved her. Had she meant to become this cold and regretful? And why now, in this moment, did it suddenly seem to matter so much? Why was this maelstrom of feeling whirling through her, making her question her motivations and needs and frivolous things she'd thought she'd lost forever?

She saw Fiyero's shocked expression, and suddenly there were tears. Great, fat tears that threatened to spill, and that seemed to have come from nowhere. Elphaba sniffled, turned away and tried desperately to will them away.

When she could not, she ran for the blanket, thrown haphazardly across the counter, and desperately tried to wipe them away.

"Elphie, Elphie," He used her old, pet name with such tenderness it brought up a fresh wave of tears. She nearly cursed, for she felt as though she had lost all measure of control.

What in Oz name is wrong with me? She asked silently, but was afraid to answer her own question.

Fiyero wrapped his arms around her, tenderly, without expectation, and looked as though he might cry with her. Yet he was a man, and he cleared his throat and said nothing.

The instinct to pull away was strong, but the warmth between them stopped her. Her breath caught as she looked up into his mournful eyes. Unlike all the others, she felt he could see her soul. If it was there, she felt he would find it.

Fiyero took a corner of the blanket and wiped the offensive tears away, drying each eye with a tenderness that was altogether foreign to her. He was close, so close she could feel his breath on her cheek. She felt paralyzed, but she wasn't entirely sure it was fear that riveted her to this spot.

Fiyero reached up and brushed the loose strands of hair from her face. His eyes fell on the single, large, ivory pin holding her hair in a knot on her head. He reached up, before she could protest, and pulled it out. Her hair came tumbling down, cascading over his hands like black satin. He wound his fingers in it, as if it were newly discovered riches.

Elphaba gasped lightly, and felt a twinge in her stomach. Warmth began to spread through her, working its way outward until it reached the very tips of her fingers and toes. Everything within in her told her to run, to push him away and bolt toward the door, to scream obscenities and scare him into the night. Yet she couldn't. The warmth had become a gnawing, aching yearning deep within her that simply…wanted.

Suddenly, Zaar's words flooded over her, ringing through her mind with more clarity than she had felt in a long time.

When you find it, whatever it is, take it. Do not be ashamed or afraid. Take it, with no regrets.

Something took over her. Elphaba pushed him backward against the wall, clutching and grasping and kissing him, more like a whirlwind than a woman.

"No, no," She heard herself protest, but still she did not stop.

"I'm not a harem…I'm not a woman…" But she pressed herself closer, finding lips and tongue and fingers, and the very sensation of being touched, intoxicating. She wondered if he could tell she'd never kissed, and in the same moment didn't care.

"I'm not a person…no…" And at that Fiyero stopped for a half a second, looked into her eyes and pulled her fiercely to him, his hands hopelessly tangled in her hair.

Malky turned from them as they moved together, relying on instinct, raw sensation and Fiyero's limited experience with a lukewarm, somewhat resentful, child bride. Elphaba couldn't take in enough at once. She hitched up her dress and wrapped herself around him, grasping and clawing at his neck and burying her fingers in his dark, exotic hair. She was speechless, thoughtless, brainless, even. For once, she stopped thinking, shut down all logic and let herself feel, in the most carnal way that she could feel. He was new and different, and unlike every other man who had touched her. It was as though she had finally, willingly, claimed what was rightfully hers.

And in the climax of the moment, she let out a rich, guttural wail that split the night. It was more than physical pleasure, simple passion, or the release of tension. It was triumphant and mournful, and scared Fiyero just a little, as he marveled at the power and depth of……her.

And then she pulled away, as quickly as she had seized him, and stumbled across the room to clutch the back of a chair.

Fiyero stared at her. Her dress was rumpled, yet still covered almost all of her, her hair was tangled and wildly disarrayed, and her chest heaved in gasping breaths. She was trembling, grasping the chair and staring at her hands.

For a moment, Fiyero wondered if he had dreamt it, perhaps momentarily losing himself in fantasy. Yet his trousers were undone, and there was quite a draft. He did them up, still speechless. He had lost himself to her, he was sure of it. It was as though he'd surrendered his virginity for the first time again, or perhaps finally given all of it. He was absolutely male, and he had slept with Sarima like any young, pleasure-seeking, man. Yet the fierceness of this feeling was new and overwhelming.

It didn't seem possible that, just a moment before, he had been buried deep inside of Elphaba Thropp, feeling the rocking and clenching of her body as she held tightly to him, like a desperate person trying not to drown.

He went to her, both afraid to touch her, and wanting to rip the dress off of her. It had been moments, and yet he wanted more. He wanted to see her and know her, to explore what was underneath and inside and beyond. Sweet Oz, he felt he could spend eternity and still never really know what lay in the depths of her.

She still trembled, still wouldn't look at him. So he took her in his arms, and she collapsed against him, as though she no longer had the strength to stand. He carried her to the bedroll, and she pulled him down to her, wrapping herself around him, trembling still.

Elphaba held him through the night, until dawn broke over the corn exchange, unsure that she could let go. She wasn't sure that alone was an option now. She wasn't sure where she ended and he began.

She wasn't sure she could face him in the daylight.