Chapter 18
Elphaba forced him out the door at dawn, needing him gone before the sunlight made all that had happened real. Fiyero still managed to pull her into him for a long, lingering kiss.
She wouldn't meet his eyes as he whispered, "I'll be back, in three days, at sunset."
"No, no you won't. You mustn't. You couldn't…" Her argument was rambling and nonsensical.
And then he was gone, leaving her with just the dust and furniture, and Malky, who climbed down from the skylight.
Elphaba curled up on the bedroll and wrapped the blanket around her. Malky padded gently over, and looked up at her with compassionate eyes. She turned away, not ready to talk. So he curled up near her and closed his eyes.
She stared, watching the sun brighten and fill the room with golden light. Her thoughts ran rampant, and she was grateful that she did not have a mission today.
Growing up under the thumb of a unionist minister, with a crippled sister and without a mother, Elphaba had never considered sexuality in any real sense. It had always been a vague notion that, it seemed, would not be part of her life. Perhaps it was this lack of knowledge, or even consideration, which had made Hadrick's crimes against her so heinous, so unexpected, and so wildly beyond anything she imaged could happen to a person. And now there was this. It was such a great contradiction, and she wasn't sure how to resolve it. How could this act, which she had so feared and reviled, now make her feel so full and alive and new? It was altogether illogical, and yet all she wanted was more. And at the same time, she was afraid, afraid that he wouldn't return, or that he would. She feared that he would discover how she'd been used and wasted and thrown out like garbage. She was afraid that now that he'd had her, he was done with her.
The sun was at the noon position before she shook herself out of her reverie. Malky raised up his head and stretched languidly, inspecting her.
"So," He began, "Your name is Elphie?"
She looked at him, and trusted him, completely.
"It's Elphaba," She admitted quietly.
"It's a nice name..." Malky complimented.
She turned away, hiding behind her hair.
"I do not judge you," The Cat spoke firmly, but with compassion.
Elphaba finally looked at him.
"You're a woman, Fae……Elphaba. Not a machine or soulless revolutionary. You are a person, and a woman. And you deserve to be loved."
"I need this," Her voice was barely a whisper as she struggled to articulate, "It makes me feel good and new, complicated, holy and wicked…it just makes me…feel."
Malky nodded as she rose from the bed and started banging dishes and furniture around.
"He won't come back," She was talking to herself, "none of them ever came back…"
Malky begged the Unnamed God that this one would come back. He didn't think her spirit could withstand the devastation of having given so much, so freely, only to be discarded once again.
I pray that this one is a good man…
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For the next three days, Elphaba threw herself into her work, making deliveries and giving instructions to her comrades as she received them. She wondered if they saw a change in her, a new vigor or an agitated nature. None let on if they did.
On the third day, she went to see Sambwa to have her dress cleaned. She had the Gorilla wash and brush her hair until it shone, telling herself it was simply due. She took with her a fresh supply of oils, which she had needed anyway. She refused to admit that any of it was for him.
Back at the exchange, she lit a lamp, hung her great, heavy dress over a chair, and peeled off her other garments. She cast them aside and poured a little oil into her hands. She had learned to turn away from the window for this ritual, for fear that she would catch her reflection in it. She supposed she might never be able to look at herself without a measure of disgust. All that she saw in the reflection were the scars, making the word 'whore' pound through her head.
Elphaba thoroughly rubbed herself down with lavender oil, until her skin was soft and clean. She started to wind her hair up into a corkscrew, but she remembered his hands in it, and she left it loose. She blew out the lamp as the last rays of the sun melted over the horizon, and wrapped the blanket around her naked body. And then she sat, waiting, and began to feel silly. Her thoughts were rambling and inconsistent as she twisted her fingers together.
Why would he come back? He's had you.
I am not a whore.
What else does he need from you?
People do not love you.
He called you Elphie…and the look in his eyes…
The door creaked and startled her out of her erratic reverie.
And there he was, standing before her, searching the darkened room with his eyes.
"Fiyero?" She needed to know that it was him.
"Elphie? Why is it so dark?" He pushed the door closed behind him and tried to navigate the space.
"Just come…" She whispered, not ready to explain.
He made his way over, stumbling and stubbing a toe. He finally lowered himself onto the bedroll, reaching for her hand and taking it in his.
"I thought you might not come," She cleared her throat and looked away, trying to appear as though it wouldn't have mattered either way.
He looked hurt.
"Oh Elphie…" He touched her face with one hand, and leaned in to kiss her, brushing her lips gently, carefully even.
She was startled at her body's reaction, and the speed at which it ached and tingled and responded. Its capacity to heal and revive after such battering and torment shocked her. She moaned a little, and wound her arms around his neck to pull him closer. When she did, the blanket slipped, and he realized she was naked.
Fiyero gasped lightly, and she could see his trousers tighten over his excitement. Elphaba turned away and covered her uncertainty with sarcasm.
"Don't act as though you've never seen a woman undressed. Perhaps you've seen a whole harem of them…"
"Don't chide me. I've never seen you…" He trailed off, his eyes daring to roam over her body. "We could light the lamp," He started to move.
"No!" Her reaction shocked him, she knew. "There will be no light, or I'll send you from here and then disappear. I can do it." She didn't mean to be threatening, but she simply couldn't have him see her, so very green and strange and scarred, in the light.
Fiyero looked concerned, with great questions in his eyes, but he let it go. He knew better than to argue with her. He understood her ability to disappear.
So he kissed her, again.
For long moments he simply touched her, running his hands over her skin, finding her small, expressive breasts, the cleft in her neck, the dip at the small of her back. He marveled at how soft she was, and how she smelled of something exotic and mesmerizing. She was also much too thin, but he dared not tell her.
Her breath came in small gasps as she discovered what it meant to be touched so completely, so softly. His lips found hers hungrily, and her hands found the collar of his shirt. She studied the diamonds that ran from his face to his neck, and suddenly she was pulling at his shirt. It ripped a little as she tore it away to expose the diamonds that ran over his chest to his waist, and further.
Her hands trembled, and she focused only on the diamonds as she undid his trousers and exposed the rest of him. There was a twinge of fear at the sight of him, exposed and aroused and so very masculine. Yet he made no move toward her, and she forced herself to calm. She ran her fingers over the pattern of diamonds, tracing the length of them, and watching as he gasped and moaned at her touch. It was new, the way he reacted to her, the way she controlled this moment. It melted her fear.
Elphaba pulled him under the blanket. Her hair spilled out around her as they wrapped themselves in each other, entwining legs and arms and lips. It was dizzying, the feeling of skin on skin from head to toe. Male and female melded together as they surrendered to the power of their lovemaking.
Each time they thought it was over, they found each other again, clinging to one another through racking, trembling, explosive climaxes and aching, lingering explorations of each other.
Elphaba stopped him only when his hands ventured below her waist, terrified at his reaction if he discovered the scars and all they implied, afraid of his disgust and rejection if he knew. By dawn they were hopelessly tangled in the blankets, sleeping. Malky found them this way when he returned from some midnight foraging. He smiled a little, at this picture of love in such a cruel and hateful world.
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Their affair continued this way, with Elphaba waiting under the blanket for him on the nights she wasn't trekking about for the Resistance. She surprised herself with how comfortable she'd become with him, how much she looked forward to talking, even arguing, with him. He was the one person in her life from whom she didn't have to keep her life a secret. As much as she loved Nyalana, and had come to trust Besnik and Sun, they could know almost nothing of each other. Fiyero truly knew her.
She supposed that was why it was beginning to gnaw at her, this secret she kept buried. She began to feel as though she owed him honesty. It seemed that this man who'd known her so intimately deserved to know that she had once been someone's whore. But it terrified her, since in every scenario in which she imagined telling him, he said horrible things and disappeared forever.
The closest they'd come to broaching the subject, was his implication that this was her first sexual experience.
"You think all this is new to me. You think I am such a virgin," She had said, and then wasn't sure how to continue. Perhaps it was better to let him think she had had some previous affair, or a fleeting moment with a school friend.
"You didn't bleed the first time," He had answered, "So what's to think about?"
She had sighed and changed the subject, not ready or able to explain. Yet in her mind she thought, There is so much to think about. So very, very much to think about…
So Elphaba let him in on everything else, as a sort of compensation that he couldn't possibly understand. She expounded on her father, Nessarose, and even her younger brother, of whom she knew very little. It was nice, she found, to remember, even the things that were hard, because it was like another time, before she hated herself so much.
She could tell it was all having an affect on her, as evidenced in her conversation with Nyalana one afternoon in early fall.
"Fae? Fae?"
She was startled, and realized Nyalana must have been calling her name for several moments.
"Fae," Nyalana looked a little shocked, "you're smiling…"
Elphaba caught herself, and realized she had been staring across the darkened pub, her lips turned up in the slightest smile.
She shook it off and looked at her hands, mumbling, "I'm so sorry…I shouldn't be distracted."
Nyalana took her hand, and Elphaba found the touch wasn't disturbing anymore.
"Whatever it is that you've found, I hope it makes you happy. We could all use a little happiness…"
"He does…" Elphaba answered before she could catch herself.
She dipped her head, to hide her deep blush in the shadow of her hat.
Nyalana continued their business, sparing Elphaba any further discussion. She knew the green woman well enough by now not to push for details. For anyone else, Nyalana would have felt a relationship would make them weak and vulnerable, but not Fae. Fae was stronger for it, more alive, and occasionally even pleasant.
So Nyalana kept her secret, and Elphaba worked passionately, with a renewed sense of why life was worth preserving.
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Elphaba woke with a start the next morning, sensing something was wrong. It was a vague feeling, which became sharper as her mind worked its way into consciousness. Elphaba sat up and threw back the blanket.
Her mind raced and her heart pounded as she flashed back more than three years.
Blood.
Blood on her thighs.
Blood on the sheets.
She took a deep breath, forcing herself back into the present. She was safe, relatively, in the corn exchange, and she was simply bleeding as any woman bleeds.
How long has it been? She asked herself, searching her memory for the last time her body had behaved in a remotely feminine fashion. Elphaba supposed it was some time after leaving Shiz behind, early in her days with Hadrick. He had acted disgusted, and refused to allow her to wash her clothes.
She got up and dressed herself, gathering up the sheets and nightdress. After shoving them into a ratty duffel, she scurried through the streets toward Sambwa's, arriving just as the sun cracked over the horizon.
The Gorilla answered sleepily, squinting her eyes to see who had awakened her.
Elphaba tumbled through the door, clutching her bundle and pacing erratically.
"Fae?" Sambwa's brow furrowed, "Fae, is something wrong? Is someone hurt?"
Elphaba shook her head, the loose pieces of her hair flying about.
"Then what in Oz name…?" The Gorilla questioned, mid-yawn.
"I…well……it appears my body has decided to behave like a woman, however contradictory it may seem. I may be green, but apparently I still bleed like everyone else." She threw out the words with sarcasm and nonchalance, to cover her great embarrassment. "And I am utterly unprepared for these…trivialities in life."
Sambwa took the bundle from her and wordlessly went to fetch what she needed, sparing Elphaba the need to explain or ask anything further.
When the green woman had calmed slightly, the Gorilla smirked a little and commented, "You'd think this was your first time, the way you panicked."
Elphaba twisted her fingers together in her customary fashion. "Well, it's been years…" She offered.
"Years?" The Gorilla looked at her incredulously.
Elphaba suddenly felt ridiculous, and she tried her best to explain her body's private affairs. "I've never been…like the other girls. I always supposed my body was fighting the very idea of being female. After the first time, it would be months in between, sometimes a year…" She trailed off, her cheeks burning. She despised having to ask for help, having to explain, but she knew Sambwa could help her better than she could help herself.
The Gorilla looked her straight in the eyes. "You're too thin," She stated, without question.
Elphaba looked confused.
Sambwa chuckled a little. "You're no less a woman than me, or Nyalana, or your own mother. You're just too thin, or you have been in the past. You have more curves now, and your body needs the weight to be able to bleed."
Elphaba was dumbfounded.
"Don't look at me as though I've grown another head," Sambwa laughed, "Even a poor, old hair dresser can know something about life sciences."
Elphaba nodded slightly, considering the idea.
"You've been eating better?" The Gorilla questioned.
Elphaba looked away, contemplating the meals she'd been cooking for Fiyero, and the way they lingered over food as though it were more than just a necessary thing to make it to the next day. She considered the things he brought her, treats only a Winkie prince could find and afford. She supposed she wasn't quite so thin anymore. She was still angular and sharp and far from soft, but perhaps gaunt no longer described her.
She smiled a little at Sambwa, grateful for both her help and the explanation.
The Gorilla sent Elphaba on her way sometime later, with a new bundle of clean garments to help her through the next few days. As she waived her out the door, Sambwa considered the changes in this strange, withdrawn, green woman she knew as Fae. She might be Animal, but Sambwa understood the nature of life and love. She saw the spark in Fae that only love could ignite. She could smell the scent of a man in the sheets and clothes Fae brought to have laundered. And now this. The Gorilla could only hope Fae understood something of the origin of infants.
Otherwise, we may have a squalling little green one on our hands…
Sambwa shook her head, concerned, but with very little right to interfere.
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Elphaba kept Fiyero away for a few days. Against her own convictions, she used her involvement in the Resistance as a façade. When she let him come back, she held him tighter, longer and with less hesitation. Perhaps because she felt so much more feminine, more normal, and less like a green plant posing as a woman.
He brought her a gift, above and beyond the sweets and treats he lavished on her, sometimes quite literally. It was a scarf, dark and soft and exotic, and she felt like a goddess with the flowing, rich fabric draped across her emerald skin.
Elphaba was wrapped in it the night she first called him Yero.
She awoke in the depths of night, when the moon was full and bathed the exchange in an unusual, pearly glow. She caught him staring at her, his eyes deep and searching as he studied her body. She quickly pulled the blanket over herself, afraid of his perusal, and of being so exposed.
Elphaba pulled him down to her, and drowsily whispered, "Yero, my hero." It had been more subconscious than anything, and an attempt at distraction. The intensity and response in his eyes frightened her a little. He held her close, without lovemaking, like a cherished thing that threatened to shatter or vanish without warning.
Elphaba felt altogether unworthy of such devotion.
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They argued the next time they were together, and Fiyero tried to make up for it by covering the corn exchange in the green and gold sparkle of Lurelinemas. Elphaba didn't much care for it, but she appreciated the gesture.
"I don't believe in religious feast days." She said it before thinking, and then felt guilty when he looked wounded.
"You have no soul," He threw out. She knew he meant it to be teasing, but she could see concern beneath his smile.
"You're right. I didn't think it showed," She answered, not meaning to darken the mood. She was still unable to consider that there was an eternal side to her wretchedness
"You're only playing at word games now," Fiyero tried to lighten the mood, not wanting to believe that she thought so little of herself that she would deny herself a soul.
Elphaba argued with him, somehow unable to let it go and give in to the frivolity of sex. She didn't want to matter so much to him. She was afraid of mattering that much. She was terrified of what she'd seen in his eyes the other evening, and of the way he clung to her, as though she were more than an integral cog in a greater cause. Elphaba understood how he made her feel, how had awakened her and given her purpose and passion. Yet she hadn't considered how he felt in return. She was unwilling to consider that she might be valuable to him, that her life had some great significance to this exotic, Arjiki prince.
So Elphaba argued against having a soul, against valuing one single life so much, because the existence of a soul meant the possibility of more. The eternal nature of the soul mean there could be more beyond this life, with no guarantee that it was good. It could simply mean more pain, more strife, and more abuse. It also allowed for the possibility that her skin coloring penetrated her soul, and that she would be eternally green, in this life and beyond.
Elphaba considered soullessness to be far better than this verdigris.
Their conversations nagged at her throughout the evening, lingering in the back of her mind as they held each other. She was distracted, and she knew he could sense it. As they lay together in silence Fiyero watched her, concerned, but she simply turned away, weary of arguing her point. She rubbed her temples instead, desperately hoping to calm the pounding in her head.
Elphaba felt it coming before it struck, like a rushing, mighty wave that she could not prevent from overtaking her. The racking paroxysm was strong, gripping her body and silencing her, and scaring Fiyero nearly to death.
"Fae? Fae!" He called, receiving no response.
"Fae! Elphie!" He rolled her toward him and grasped her seizing hands.
"Elphaba!" His last cry was desperate, with the tone of a man who felt he was witnessing death.
She met his eyes, trying desperately to tell him she would be all right, hoping he might leave her alone, and yet not wanting him to leave her. She was as conflicted as her body, fighting against herself in so many ways.
Fiyero met her eyes and realized that she could see him, yet he still shook with panic. "Elphaba?" He started to stand, "I'll go for help..."
With all the strength and control she could muster, Elphaba grasped his wrist and jerked him back. Through tightly clenched teeth, she managed to mutter, "No." By the grace of the Unnamed God, he understood.
He tried to hold her, to calm her, yet she would have none of it. His touch stung as her body shook and seized beyond her control. She tried to speak, to send him away, for she was deeply ashamed at him seeing her so weak and pathetic and in the grip of her infirmity. The best she could manage was to utter, "You should go away, I'm not worthy of you." And then another wave of spasm overtook her.
Finally, when the moon was high, her body calmed itself, leaving her unable to move from the oppressive fatigue that followed. She was drenched in sweat, with the blankets clinging awkwardly and her hair matted from the struggle. Elphaba turned, and saw Fiyero looking down at her with concern and confusion. She turned away, and refused to look at him.
"Elphie?" His voice sounded small, like a child who had witnessed something new and frightening.
Elphaba couldn't respond, couldn't explain. How could she tell him that, for all the good she wished to do, she was full of so many vile things? There was no way to voice how, despite the good the doctor had done, he could not cure her of this lasting evidence of her deprecating past. In her fatigue and delirium, it seemed as though doing good was against her very nature, against something born into over which she had no control. It was as though the desire to work for good ran in direct contrast with whom nature intended her to be.
As Fiyero removed the saturated blankets and covered them both with winter coats, she turned and spoke drowsily, in a state of semi-consciousness, "I love you so much, Fiyero, you just don't understand: Being born with a talent or inclination for goodness is the aberration."
She meant it. She loved him with a power and a need she couldn't quite grasp when she was fully awake. Yet at dawn, her words were a fuzzy memory, and only Fiyero remembered clearly what she had said.
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Elphaba was startled awake the following morning by a fierce banging on the door. She jumped up, ignoring her protesting body, and desperately wrapped her cloak around her nakedness. She ran for the door, seizing a knife from the counter and leaving Fiyero blinking and confused on the bedroll.
Elphaba wrenched open the door a few inches and peered into the stairway, the knife clutched tightly in her hand. She relaxed a little, when she saw Nyalana. Then she flushed a deep purple, when Nyalana's eyes widened at her appearance. She watched the Winkie girl take in her wildly disheveled hair and her bare shoulders above the cloak she clutched precariously. And then Nyalana caught sight of Fiyero over Elphaba's shoulder.
Recognition colored Nyalana's face, and she whispered, "Prince Fiyero, of the Arjikis…"
Elphaba raised the blade out of fear, and a little desperation, "He has no part in this. I won't have him involved. You will say nothing of this!"
Nyalana raised an eyebrow, perhaps having taken a page from Elphaba's book. "You don't need to threaten me. You know where my loyalty lies. Besides, who might I tell of this, without implicating myself in so many things?"
Elphaba considered this for a moment, but she refused to open the door. Several moments passed without any sound. Finally, Nyalana broke the silence.
"Big things are afoot. Meet us tomorrow, 9am. St. Aelphaba's this time." With that, she vanished into the shadows of the stairwell.
Elphaba stood, holding the door for a moment without moving. She had a sudden feeling of doom or dread, not exactly a premonition, but a churning inside her that said something very wrong was coming. She finally pressed the door closed, as Fiyero came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her. She was trembling.
"Fae…come back and lay down. You had a long night…" He tried to coax her.
"She knew you," Elphaba turned suddenly, "She knows you…"
"It's no wonder," Fiyero seemed less surprised, "I'm a Winkie prince, Elphaba. You and I have not managed to change that…"
Elphaba was quiet, resistant.
"I don't suppose I can know who 'she' is, can I," Fiyero asked, almost rhetorically.
"No!" She screamed louder than she intended. "You can't know any of them…you can't know anything! I've said to much already…you should go…this cannot be good…" Her words were rambling and terse.
Fiyero gently seized her shoulders, "Is she on your side of things, or is she not? Surely your co-conspirators, or however you call them, aren't out to see you hurt?"
Elphaba twisted her hands together, and then wrung them out nervously. She jerked her dress over her thin frame, tangling her hair in the buttons. She cursed, and then threw out, "You don't understand, you can't understand…"
"I would if you would tell me something!" There was frustration in his voice.
"I've told you, you cannot know anything of this! I myself don't even know everything involved! I know my part, I play my role! And now someone else has seen you! Recognized you, even! It cannot be good…it just cannot be good…" She was pacing now, and the last part she said almost to herself.
"Elphaba!" Fiyero tried to stop her ranting and incessant motion, tried to make her look in his eyes. "Elphie Fae…look at yourself!"
She refused to be stilled.
"You can't go on like this," He continued anyway, "Last night…you scared me. This life…it's making you sick."
Elphaba inhaled sharply, "It's not this life that is making me sick! I am not sick! I am not an invalid, or anything else that makes you think you can hold me and protect me and keep me from my mission! I am not a person, Prince Fiyero of the Arjikis!"
Fiyero stared at her for a long moment, looking both hurt and angry. She wasn't quite sure that she had meant it, or perhaps not all of it. Nyalana's recognition of Fiyero had coldly reminded her that they were more than two nameless, faceless people bound together by a raw, uncomplicated passion. He had a complete life, beyond her, a good life. She was angry with herself, for wanting him only for her, and for involving him in the danger that consumed her life. And beneath the anger, there was fear.
Her hands shook slightly, and she pushed the rest of his clothes at him as he carelessly dressed.
"You have to go." She didn't leave room for argument. Pulling and shoving, she forced him out the door, despite his protests.
He pressed against it, refusing to let her shut him out so quickly.
"Don't run from me, Elphie. I'm more than a pompous, air-headed prince. I didn't ask for my life anymore than you did." He held her eyes, until the intensity caused her to look away.
Elphaba finally pushed the door closed, when he had vanished. She leaned against it, her heart pounding for so many reasons. She caught sight of Malky, who plopped down from the rafters and padded over to the bedroll. He stared at her, with wide, unblinking green eyes. His silence said more than if he had spoken.
"Don't torment me!" She threw out, spinning erratically through the room with her dark skirts swirling around her. "I am not a woman, nor a person to be held down or held onto! I am a cog, a rivet, a tool in the mechanism!"
Malky watched her as she moved through the room with little purpose, "As a cog, do you never get tired of simply spinning?"
There was a long, deep silence, as Elphaba considered his words. She was angry with him, for always knowing what lay beneath her anger or insanity. She crossed the room and leaned against the counter, breathing hard as she tried to calm her reeling emotions. She caught sight of herself in the one murky window, and drew a sharp breath at the wild, crazed-looking figure who stared back at her. Her features were harder than usual, her eyes wide and her hair was tangled and matted. She frightened herself, and the glass reflected the war raging within her.
"You cannot do this forever," Malky's words cut through the palpable silence, "No soldier can fight forever in the same war." The Cat paused, considering his words, "Wouldn't you like for someone to take care of you, for a time?" Malky asked the question carefully.
Elphaba was shocked at the searing, stabbing need his words brought up in her. The feeling was there before she could ignore it or stamp it out. She wanted a measure of peace, to be held, without judgment, in the honesty of all that she was and had been. She wanted it so badly her throat ached with emotion and pent up sorrow. It frightened her most, this need. And then guilt followed, at the idea of abandoning the cause for which she was willing to give her life.
Malky continued, "If you're indeed a part, a tool, just a rivet in something greater, you can only do your part. You cannot take on the whole cause yourself. You make the contribution you can make, fight your battles, and then pass it on. Let someone else carry the standard."
Elphaba was deathly silent for a moment, before she leveled her gaze at him. "I will never rest, until Animals have the rights with which they were born," She stopped for a moment, and her eyes softened a little, "Can't you see? It's as much a fight for myself, as it is for you…"
She swept toward the door, then threw back as she jerked it open, "They never wanted me to speak, either."
With that she disappeared, and the Cat was alone.
She didn't come back that night, and Malky worried, knowing she was wandering alone in the dark. She was caught in the conflict between the wants she could not deny, and the responsibility she felt to correct an oppression she had met at birth.
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Elphaba stumbled into the alley behind St. Aelphaba's the next morning, bleary-eyed and feeling altogether inhuman. She was wrapped thoroughly in black, and she startled Nyalana with the intensity in her eyes.
"Big things?" Elphaba questioned immediately, not finding much value in patience at the moment.
Nyalana looked her over without speaking. "I worry for you…" She finally whispered.
"I am not your concern," Elphaba spat vehemently, "worrying for me is a waste of time, time that's better spent at our cause."
"An Arjiki prince knows where you live, knows where we often meet. Have you not considered the ramifications of that? Suppose they take his wife, and his children, or suppose they take him? He knows…which means he can tell. Even if he doesn't want to…there are certain things that will make anyone give up their secrets…" It seemed to Elphaba that there was emphasis on the word wife.
"Are you playing at blame, now? Or trivial moral technicalities, when we deal in murder every day?" Elphaba's words were venomous.
Nyalana's gaze was hard, "I just don't want to find you, or him, dead."
Elphaba's stomach churned, and she spat, "Why? Because I've endangered one of your own? You wish me happiness until you discover with whom I might have found that happiness. Or are you just resentful that your Winkie prince prefers the company of the strange, green woman over the wife who was forced upon him?"
Nyalana didn't speak, and her stare was fixed on her co-conspirator, her friend. The Winkie girl's eyes were a mix of fear, anger, and uncertainty. Yet she said nothing, and turned to enter the church. Elphaba followed, silent and yet troubled.
They made their way into the shadows of the rear of the church, where they ducked into a darkened prayer room. They waited, in silence, until the very walls themselves seemed to speak from the lack of movement or sound. At last, in a cloak of darkness, a voice spoke to them.
"I want the green one first."
Elphaba bristled at this description, but swallowed the burst of pride as Nyalana ducked from the room. She then stood, waiting.
"You dabble in sorcery, Miss Fae?"
Elphaba felt her fingers tingle, at this knowledge the voice possessed.
"I am of minimal skill," She answered.
"You are stronger than you think."
There was a pause, and she said nothing.
"You are to take the book on the table and follow the marked spell carefully. It takes some skill, to produce the explosive power you will need. You will then go to the theater on Lurelinemas Eve and use what you have created. You will be a diversion, a cloud of destruction behind which your companions will work. Your target is Headmistress Morrible of Shiz University. She churns out nothing but brainwashed puppets for the Wizard. Your cell will take her down," There was a pause, "You have been entrusted with much, the Resistance hopes to see much in return."
Elphaba swallowed hard. It was the most she'd ever heard from any of her veiled instructors. Big things were afoot, indeed.
"I understand," She whispered.
As she turned to leave, the voice spoke once more, "We cannot protect you, or anyone else you have involved in your life."
Elphaba barely nodded, and fled the room. She left the church in a flurry of black, spilling onto the street and then tearing through the city. She wandered aimlessly for some time, feeling as though she were swirling in a vortex, being pulled toward the dark center. Yet she was powerless to stop the spinning. She felt powerful and futile at the same time, as though for all her great contributions to the Resistance, she was powerless to change her own fate.