Biological Suggestion
"The real thing about evil," said the Witch at the doorway, " isn't any of what you said.
You figure out one side of it—the human side, say—and the eternal side goes into shadow. (…) It is the nature of evil to be secret."
Wicked, pg. 371-372
Autumn's brisk and deepening chill was shifting into the quiet prelude of winter. High mists and steady rain blanketed the low valleys of Gillikin near the Shiz campus grounds, where muted greys had quickly replaced the blue skies overhead. It cast a serious, somber mood over the buildings and their inhabitants, preparing them for the long frigid months ahead.
The majority of the students had buried themselves in schoolwork, either in restless anticipation for their upcoming exams or purely out of boredom. It was a convincing (if not overly impressive) justification for Elphaba's own increased reclusiveness, which she was finding harder and harder to manage. The difficulties weren't strictly related to her relationship with Nessarose, though she was fully aware of her sister's displeasure for being so cruelly ignored. In truth, the greater injury involved the friends she had promptly neglected since the event of Glinda's attack. It wasn't as though she'd much choice in the matter, but that didn't make her own self-imposed seclusion any easier. She loved the fools, no matter how frequently they annoyed her, and it was difficult not to feel a slight twinge of guilt for failing to be more forthcoming with them.
But too much was presently at stake, as it always was, and she simply didn't have time to evade their questions or come up with clever excuses as to why she was ignoring them. She chose, instead, to hide herself in her research, and let everything else fall as it may.
Her relationship with Boq was undoubtedly her greatest regret, as little had been resolved between them since the heated argument they'd shared that night at Fellian Hall over a month ago. The absence of his company pained her more keenly than she cared to admit, but mending ties with the boy right now required too much effort. If she told him the truth, Boq would insist on getting involved, and Boq's involvement would only make things worse. So in the end, she was forced to ignore him, and their friendship festered like a hideous, open wound.
All of this could have been regarded as a necessary evil, however, if Elphaba had found even the smallest measure of success in her efforts to discern Morrible's twisted strategy. But for all she had learned in an impressively short period of time, her sorcery studies had taken her absolutely nowhere. Logical and illogical probabilities were starting to collide with one another, creating more problems than solutions for her to vex over. She was traveling in a continuous circle between supposition and improbability, and it taxed every last ounce of patience she possessed. No matter how close she came to unearthing the nature of the curse that plagued her roommate, a new and inconsistent effect would crush her theories and send her stumbling back to the beginning.
She blamed herself, as she always did, convinced that she lacked the ability to understand the endless complexities of sorcery. Once she learned to ignore her own niggling self-doubts, however, she opted to blame her failures on the insufficient material she was forced to work with. The school didn't provide much of anything that dealt with the darker aspects of the subject, and her limited funds made it impossible to acquire anything of interest in town. Eventually, she resolved on asking Tibbett and Crope to help her secure access to the Three Queens Library and their extensive collection of restricted, controversial literature.
The two were openly game for the task, and graciously agreed to provide her with the spare set of keys they'd procured during their earlier summer employment. They met with Elphaba on a late Friday afternoon, just outside of their biology room fifteen minutes prior to class. Crope slipped her the keys with exaggerated stealth and secrecy while retrieving them from the inner-pocket of his coat.
"We'll need them back by early tomorrow, or the Rhino will have our hides," he said. "He's caught us with the keys before, so we have to exercise a bit more caution whenever we make use of them."
"And if you ask us what we're using them for, we shan't tell you a thing," said Tibbett, grinning roguishly.
"The square ones provide access to the doors on the ground level, and the round keys will get you into the restricted areas. Don't get too excited though— restricted doesn't really mean interesting. Tibbett and I spent a few dozen hours in there over the summer, hoping to unearth a variety of naughty reading material. All we found were antiquated manuscripts and a few controversial texts from those boring as hell Barrisian scholars."
"Careful, old boy," his companion replied as they casually made their way into the classroom. "That might be precisely what turns her on."
"You know me so well," remarked Elphaba dryly, deciding to take the seat behind them. Unhappily, her desk was situated next to Boq, and Avaric was just to the right of him. With Fiyero occupying the seat just behind her, it appeared that she was trapped on all sides. Elphaba sighed deeply and slid into her chair, wishing the day was already over.
"Elphie," said Boq with cold familiarity. "How gracious of you to favor us with your presence. Have we've suddenly become more fascinating than the window at the back of the room, or are you merely fawning over Crope and Tibbett for handing the library keys over to you?"
"You're a treasure Boq," said Elphaba with an unconvincing grin. "Why listen to sheep screwing each other in the pasture when I can hear you bleat and moan instead?"
"Oh, she's on one today, lads," Avaric cackled, placing his hands behind his head and leaning back in his chair. "Let's see if we can keep her riled up in time for Nikidik. Perhaps he's got another Animal to torture for us today."
"Master Fiyero is not an Animal!" said Crope in mock-offense.
"At least not the kind we'd enjoy torturing," Tibbett replied with a wink.
Elphaba untied the scarf around her neck, choosing to ignore the taunt. "I've already reached my tolerance level for idiocy today, Avaric; so you can save your asinine flattery for the whores you entertain on the weekends."
"Master Fiyero is not a whore!" said Crope more fervently than before.
"Well," said Boq irritably, "are you in the mood to tell us what in the hell you need the keys to the library for, or does that fall in the general category of things you refuse to discuss with me anymore? Consider yourself lucky that the boys were willing to give them to you in the first place. I'm not sure you deserve them."
"Do you know what I'm in the mood for, Boq? I'm in the mood to toss a meddling Munchkin imbecile out of the window. My affairs have never been any of your business, as I doubt they ever will be. Quit nagging me like a sagging, crotchety spinster. It's not a flattering look on you."
Boq chose to ignore her, and rounded on Crope and Tibbett. "You've been far too generous with her, you two, and I don't approve at all. Did you forget what she said to us all those months ago? How she made it perfectly clear that she doesn't want our help? Why not let her find her own damn way through the library instead of putting ourselves at risk! Let Elphaba be the noble martyr she enjoys pretending she is."
"My, but you're a catty thing," said Crope with arch approval. "Look at him, Elphie; you've wounded the boy. Now we'll never persuade you to kiss and make up."
"He does have a point though," said Tibbett thoughtfully, tapping his chin with his finger. "You've been terribly reticent with us, Miss Elphaba, and we're still a little sore about it. I for one would have dismissed your request entirely if I hadn't suspected an ulterior motive to all of this 'studying' business." He caught Crope's eye with a clever wink, and the pair of them grinned at each other like fiends.
"Something to do with a very lovely, very disturbed young Gillikin, perhaps?" said Crope in a singsong manner.
Elphaba could only glare at them with a bored, disinterested look. "I haven't the slightest idea what either of you are talking about, unless this is a prelude to another joke about Avaric's manhood. And if that be the case, please feel free to continue."
"Oh, lay off it you cunning fiend," said Crope, leaning over her desk. "We've seen you squirreled away with our beloved Miss Glinda for weeks now, and we're dying to hear what's been going on between you two."
"Those long walks together in the fields… the meaningful gazes exchanged behind notebooks…" Tibbett wistfully sighed.
"You're keeping her all to yourself, dear girl. One would think you weren't interested in sharing."
"Don't act so surprised," said Boq, folding his arms across his chest. "Elphie gets off on hording secrets and keeping us all in the dark."
"Boq," she said patiently, "as much as I adore you, you really need to shut the hell up. Get over your wounded pride about Dillamond and do something constructive; preferably something that won't make me want to kick you repeatedly in the groin."
"It would be the most action his groin has seen all year," Avaric grinned.
"Oh go to hell, Avaric," said Boq heatedly. "And don't you dare lecture me on wounded pride, Elphaba; this has gone far beyond Dillamond's research. Do you think that I'm immune to the callous way you've treated me after everything that's happened? You've accused me… you've ignored me… you've shown me nothing but contempt. Now you have the audacity to come in here and ask us for favors without even bothering to answer our questions? It's pathetic, Elphaba. You're absolutely pathetic."
"I'm sorry, did you want an apology?" she sarcastically replied. "Normally I'm happy to admit fault where fault is present, but I'm afraid it's impossible for me to give a damn when you sit there whining at me like some spoiled, petulant toddler."
"I think he's more chuffed about your roomie than anything," said Crope, managing to cut in. "After all, Miss Elphie, it's not fair of you to suggest she's been roughed up by a lover without letting us in on the details."
"Especially when your giant carpe of a Headmistress knows more of the particulars than we do," Tibbett added. "Acute schizophrenia and self-destructive tendencies? Good Lurline, it's like a page straight out of a Kimlin opera."
Elphaba's entire body went rigid. She grasped the edges of her desk so tightly, the knuckles on her hands turned white. "What!" she howled, drawing the attention of everyone else around them. "What did you just say!"
"Oh," said Crope, quickly leaning back. "I don't think she knew about that, old boy."
"That would explain the murderous look," said Tibbett, retreating as well.
The blood in Elphaba's veins was searing. She reached over and grabbed Boq by the front of his shirt collar, jerking him towards her with the strength of a wild panther. "You told them!" she seethed with uncontrollable fury. "Even Madame Morrible!"
"Of course I told them!" he snarled at her while attempting to shove her hand off. "What did you think I was going to do? Let you skulk off into the night with her and leave me fearing the worst? You said that Glinda was hurt, Elphaba, and we knew nothing about it. So I was forced to make my own inquiries, and come to my own conclusions."
"By telling the whole fucking school that something was wrong with her?" she growled.
Crope gently placed his hand on top of Elphaba's arm. "Please don't be too severe with him, Elphie; you haven't heard the full story. Boq questioned us all some weeks ago about Glinda after you'd confronted him at the reading. We knew nothing more than you did, of course, and neither did Milla, Pfannee, or Shenshen. And while I would never presume to speak on the ladies behalf, we never told another living soul about it. Nor did we intend to."
"Morrible summoned us into her office about a week ago," Tibbett carefully explained, "though none of us had any idea what the old fiend wanted. She asked us a little about you, actually, then spent the rest of the hour inquiring after Glinda. 'How has she been doing?...' 'Where does she spend most of her time?'..."
"It seemed a little ridiculous," Crope continued, "but then she started asking serious questions—questions about her health and mental condition. From what I gathered, a few of her professors have voiced their concerns about her to the Headmistress, fearing that Glinda had gone off the deep end. So… Boq felt like it was a good opportunity to share your discoveries about the bruises, hoping it might help to diagnose the problem."
"The problem?" she stammered with frightening malevolence, tightening her grip on Boq's collar.
"That Glinda's gone mad," said Boq decisively. "Or as close to madness as they come."
"Forgive us, Elphaba," said Tibbett sincerely. "We honestly thought Boq had told you."
But Elphaba was in no mood to hear apologies or feeble explanations. The shock she felt at Boq's betrayal was only surpassed by her mounting rage, and it took every last ounce of willpower to keep her from strangling the boy with both of her trembling hands.
"You sad, spiteful little fool," she hissed, shoving him back in his seat. "Do you realize what you've done?"
"Perfectly…" he replied while gasping for air and straightening the collar of his shirt. "I'm doing what you should have done in the beginning, Elphaba; I'm getting her some help. I don't know why you've waited this long to do something about it, or more importantly, why you've been hiding her, but it can't go on any longer. We've discussed this all amongst ourselves, and we're convinced that Glinda needs medical attention—especially if she's been hurting herself."
"Really," she laughed as she stared at her friends with open, unguarded disgust. "You all got together like a bunch of gossiping housewives and just decided that Glinda's insane?"
"Not all of us," said Fiyero quietly, finally cutting in.
"We had our own theories," said Crope in earnest, "though your Headmistress added an interesting element to the mix. Tibbett thinks that Morrible is trying to rape her. I, on the other hand, liked you for the culprit. The sensible conclusion was that Glinda was getting man-handled during your nightly love-making sessions."
"Wasn't that Fiyero's suggestion?" Tibbett asked.
"No, that was Avaric's," Fiyero curtly replied.
"I don't see what any of you are arguing about," said Avaric nonchalantly. "Gorgeous women are always insane; there's nothing mysterious about it. Think of it as nature's way of balancing the universe out. The lovelier they are, the barmier they get. It's all very reasonable."
"What a brilliant assessment," said Elphaba derisively. "Perhaps we've also unearthed the reason why you're such an insufferable jackass."
"Why Elphie," he grinned, leaning over his desk. "Does that mean you think I'm handsome?"
"You know that I'm right," said Boq, cutting in, and his gaze never left her. "Glinda is sick, and she needs professional help. It's high time we did something about it."
The group suddenly became silent. It was a moment of calm and frightening anticipation, as all parties were undoubtedly convinced that Elphaba was going to kill him. When her temper got the best of her, she was certainly menacing enough, but in these stretching moments of wordless fury, something of the razor-toothed demon still lurked within her.
Then, she was downright terrifying.
"Tell me, Boq," she whispered dangerously. "Is Glinda insane because she threw you to the ground, or is it because she let you kiss her?"
Avaric couldn't hold back his laughter. Crope and Tibbett had to cover their mouths to hide their obvious grins. Boq, however, continued to glare at her, and his skin had turned a deep shade of scarlet.
"Just like when we were children, isn't it?" he said with a quiet, condemning voice. "The mean little green girl, lying bruised in the mud. Unwilling to take the hand I offered her, or allow me to help her up."
It was all he needed to say to her.
The demon finally emerged.
She slid her chair back and quickly stood up, towering over the rest of them like a fearsome bird of prey.
"To hell with you," she hissed violently. "To hell with all of you! You can rot in the ground and bury your resentment with you, Boq, because I'm done with you... Finished. How I ever believed you were more than just a petty, thick-headed Munchkin is beyond me, but as of this moment, I no longer care. Stay out of my way and out of my life, and I'll happily return you the favor. And if you even think about going anywhere near Glinda, or suggesting to anyone that she needs 'medical help,' I will spend every last moment of my natural life making yours a living hell. You have my word on that."
She grabbed her bag and stormed out of the room, nearly knocking over Dr. Nikidik as they passed one another. He fussed and snorted in disapproval, but had no interest in calling or inquiring after her.
Her friends sat silently watching her leave; wounded, confused, and completely in awe of the tempest that was Elphaba Thropp.
Crope rested his chin in his hand, gazing at the others with a hopeless, lop-sided grin.
"Love," he said casually. "Isn't it splendid?"
The indoor foyer to the arts building was bristling with activity. Students were still coming and going from their mid-afternoon lectures, and the colder weather had prompted most to do their loitering indoors.
Per Elphaba's request, Glinda had waited for Nanny and Nessarose in the main lobby, where both were prompt to greet her after Nessa's history class. Her time was pretty evenly divided between the two Thropp sisters, where one or the other could play escort and see to her relative safety. Glinda did suspect that Elphaba was probably just as concerned about having someone there to keep her company as she was about an attack, regardless of how paranoid her roommate was about the latter. No doubt Elphaba was conscious of the spiteful comments and contemptuous looks that followed Glinda wherever she went, or that the worst of these had come from the girls who once claimed a kinship with her.
Little did Elphaba realize that Glinda no longer cared.
With so much weighing in the balance of their lives, the irrelevant frills of fashion and favor had ceased to mean anything at all. If this experience had taught her nothing else, it was that the truly important things in life bore little resemblance to wealth or society's admiration. They were things of substance. Loyalty and compassion.
They also tended to be green.
Following their exchange of pleasantries, Glinda, Nanny, and Nessarose began walking towards the sitting area in the main vestibule, with Glinda carrying Nessa's books in her arms. Nessa was anxiously engaged in discussing the usual scandal attached to her art history lectures, and Glinda did her best to remain attentive.
"What a pity that the Merthic period saw the decline of religious paintings in favor of filth and debauchery," Nessa remarked with disdain. "They traded sanctity for sin; divinity for damnation. What is there worth capturing in the natural, corruptible man?"
Glinda studied the ground as they walked, taking her friend's words in stride. "I suppose the paintings could be religious in a sense, if you interpret them as the other half of a mortal, spiritual equation. Sin reinforces the necessity of repentance, or strengthens the need for virtue. I can't look at a crack in the foundation of a building without wanting someone to repair it. Perhaps the paintings were meant to do the same; to appeal to our spiritual selves by illustrating our frailties."
Nessa snorted with mild derision. She sounded identical to Elphaba.
"I admire the sentiment, Glinda dear, but that doesn't excuse the wanton perversities of base human nature. I suppose it's just as well that they stopped painting religious imagery when they did. The artists were meant to exalt and glorify, not paint a blasphemous shade to their subjects. My father would have strongly objected to a number of them, had he been here to see them himself."
"I wouldn't know," said Glinda thoughtfully, staring up ahead. "My father was never as interested in religion as my mother was, though he certainly had an opinion about everything. He abhorred all manner of vice and corruption where it pertained to his laborers; I doubt he would have cared much about paintings."
The girls found a small table near the main entrance and set their belongings down. Nanny helped Nessa to her seat by an indoor vine while Glinda took the chair opposite.
"Well, I hope your mother made up for his shortcomings," Nessa replied in her standard, self-righteous fashion. "A young girl's spiritual education is every bit as important as her secular one. Parents should always be encouraging of both."
"They should also have the good sense to keep their sordid habits to the barn or bedroom—not in front of the children," said Nanny, taking out her knitting.
Nessa blushed with embarrassment. "Thank you for the observation, Nanny. Now please don't speak again."
Glinda folded her hands in her lap, still pondering Nessa's words. "My Amas were mostly responsible for my upbringing; the role of my parents was more superficial. They loved and adored me as parents are wont to, but the bulk of my learning was left to my minders. They did a fair job, I suppose, in teaching me the secular and the spiritual. I tried to be good, and I learned how to pray. Church was often a little boring at times, but I enjoyed singing the hymns. It seemed sufficient for them, so it was sufficient for me. I never really questioned it."
"That's a false sense of security, Glinda; you'd do well to reconsider your own moral standing. Our commitment to the Unnamed God is more than just a casual pastime; it's an active and eager dedication of the soul. How can we hope to combat evil if we're carelessly indifferent about our salvation? The world is a portrait of wickedness, dear girl, and every kind of temptation surrounds you. Greed… vanity…"
"Elphaba?" said Glinda suddenly.
She was startled to see what was undoubtedly her roommate swiftly entering the building—a flash of green and crimson with her customary cloak billowing behind her. The expression on Elphaba's face was uncommonly sour, though there was also a fixed determination there that complemented the anger.
Nessa clearly hadn't caught on to the situation, as she leveled Glinda with an unusual stare. "I beg your pardon?"
"But of course," said Elphaba, approaching their table. "Shall I pardon you from the sin and tyranny of all others, or did the cabbage at lunch not agree with your constitution?"
Nessa turned to her sister with a look of severe agitation, while Nanny nervously clicked her tongue. "You've the devil in you this afternoon, poppet. I'd know that fiendish look anywhere. What poor little fellow have you bitten this time?"
"No one worth sinking my teeth into," she replied caustically, dropping her books on the table. "Send me the floods and I'll happily smolder, so long as they take every last idiot at Briscoe Hall with them. Sometimes I think the greatest thing that father ever did for us was abandoning Munchkinland completely. To say that the inhabitants of that whole cursed country are stupid, cock-addled fools is being charitable, and I'm in no mood for charity."
"Well!" said Nanny in mild shock. "So much for ever convincing you to take me to Wend Fallows on holiday."
Glinda quietly observed her friend with anxious and fearful concern. "You've been quarrelling with Boq again, haven't you?" she asked. It was a pitiful statement of the obvious.
Elphaba's gaze soon met her own, and something in her expression softened. "It's not important," she said with a sigh, placing her hand on Glinda's shoulder. "There are better things for me to worry about. Things like you, for example."
"You say that so convincingly, I'm almost inclined to believe you," she responded, pressing her hand against Elphaba's.
The two were interrupted when Nessa cleared her throat, subtly demanding her sister's attention. There was something odd in the glare Nessa gave her that transcended her customary look of irritation. "What happened to your biology lecture?" she steadily, suspiciously inquired.
"Oh, I imagine it's still going on. I guess I just wasn't in the mood to subject myself to another afternoon of Animal cruelty. Besides, I've too much of a headache coming on."
"You know I don't approve of you running around outside of your lectures," said Nanny, setting her yarn aside. "A minder doesn't mean that I'm to be minding my own business whenever you feel like wandering off."
"Well then, would you mind getting out of your chair and doing something useful for a change? Or is Nessa meant to sit here looking parched and unlovely while you lazily knit more mismatched socks? There's a small shoppe near the exhibition hall that's selling lemon drinks, if that isn't too far for your rheumatism."
"Humph," said Nanny, as she rose to her feet. "A small lemonade, then. But don't you be thinking that Nanny will put up with any of that sass of yours, Miss Elphie-ba. You're not too old to be taken over my knee and have your backside smarted with a hickory stick."
"Away with you, woman," said Elphaba dismissively. "You can swat me to death when you're done."
They all watched as Nanny stormed off in the direction of the exhibition hall, and Elphaba immediately sat down. Glinda was a little astonished by her roommate's offensive manner, and Nessa looked every bit as shocked.
"That was incredibly rude of you," said Nessa thinly. "She didn't deserve to be treated like that."
"No she didn't," Elphaba relented, "but I'm hard pressed for time, and there wasn't a delicate way of removing her from the table. She'll just have to forgive me later, or swat my hide like she previously threatened."
"Has something happened?" asked Glinda nervously, suddenly touching her throat.
Elphaba looked unsure of how to answer her, so she chose to be vague as usual. "It's much the same as it's always been, for better or for worse. The good news is that Crope has leant me the keys to the Three Queens Library. I'll have full access to all of their gloriously restricted materials and any other oddities I may need. Unfortunately, the keys have to be returned early tomorrow, so time is woefully short. The best I can hope for is to hurry there now and trust that their security will be light this evening."
Glinda looked skeptical. "You're going there now? Darling, it's still early."
"It's also Friday, beloved heart. The library closes at five. If I can steal my way in before they lock the place down, I can hide in one of the cupboards that house the periodicals. With the keys at my disposal, I'll be able to leave later tonight without triggering alarms or the usual mess that accompanies breaking-and-entering."
"Is this wise, Elphaba?" said Nessa disapprovingly. "It seems a little reckless to put yourself in such a position, and all for a bunch of silly books. Suppose they should discover you—what would you do then?"
"Tsk, dear Nessarose… how you're always underestimating me. Being reckless and flouting rules is hardly all that new to me; you might even say it's becoming a habit." Elphaba unlocked her bag and began emptying its contents on the table. "I'll leave these books with you, Glinda, in case I find something at the library worth borrowing."
Glinda was hesitant to voice her concerns, lest Elphaba take offense. "Nessa's point is valid, Elphie. It's a lot to risk if they find you."
"Have you lost faith in me too, sweet Glinda?" said Elphaba, clutching her chest. "I'm torn beyond description!"
Glinda bit her lip in what she knew was her most irritably charming manner, and tried her best to look serious. "Would you at least let me go with you? I don't like the idea of you being there alone. You wouldn't need to hide me—I could come after hours when the grounds are deserted."
Elphaba took her hand. "Much as I would relish the pleasure of your company, I'd better go alone. I have an inkling that Morrible will be keeping a close watch on you, and we simply can't risk discovery. You'll be better off staying with Nanny and Nessarose. They're far less moody than I am."
She rose from the chair with her now empty satchel, and turned again to her sister. "Keep an eye on her, Nessa, and don't let Nanny know of our plans. Tell her I've gone home with a migraine or whatever strikes your fancy. I'm going to be late; there's no helping that, so try and stay out of trouble."
Glinda twisted her fingers into her skirts, trying to hide her nervousness. "Just how late is late?" she asked.
"Well, hopefully not so late that you'll abandon me for another storage room," said Elphaba, kneeling beside her chair. "Unless you want me to follow you there for your own mischievous purposes."
"You're incorrigible," said Glinda wryly, pressing her forehead against Elphaba's.
Their small moment was immediately cut short when Nessa interjected again. "I think you'd better be going," she said in a voice that seemed wholly unnatural. "The daylight's close to fading, Elphaba, and you're wasting precious time."
"That I am," said Elphaba quickly as she stood up from the ground. "Send my apologies to Nanny when she returns, and avoid Morrible where you can. If Boq comes by, tell him to piss off, or threaten him with a spell."
"Be careful," said Glinda, taking her hand. "Please don't be too late."
"A porcelain promise is all I can give, but I'll do my best not to break it." She pressed a kiss to Glinda's forehead, and whispered, "Try to wait up for me."
Glinda nodded, and soon, Elphaba left the party without a second glance. She flew out of the building and into the mists, vanishing like some curious green specter. Glinda watched with a mixture of emotions, most notably adoration and fear. It left her heartsick for a remarkable moment, and she'd nearly forgotten that Nessarose was still there...
…Quietly, carefully watching her.
"Elphaba Thropp," said Glinda wistfully, placing her chin in her hand. "Who would suspect that a creature so severe could capture a heart so easily?"
"Yes," replied Nessa, as calm as the grave. "Who would suspect indeed?"
In the high Glikkus Mountains along the eastern side of the canals, there was a ferocious season during the early fall that the miners often referred to as the Ubestva. Characterized by its freezing rains and red starless nights, it tended to herald the violent winters that blanketed the highlands in ice. The Glikkans likened it to an overture of sorts; the sinister prelude to one of nature's cruelest killing seasons.
In a way, that night saw the beginning of another violent prelude; one that would fall as rapidly as the deadly Ubestva storms.
Somewhere within the empty rooms of the Three Queens Library, the poor light of a lantern burned, and the quiet sounds of rustling papers filtered through the surrounding silence. There, enclosed by stacks of antiquated tomes, Elphaba sat hunched over a small writing desk, lost in the pages of a book. A flask of mint tea was set beside her, as well as a pile of old sorcery manuscripts. They had been scavenged, surveyed, and completely discarded— all within the space of the evening.
The clock in the outside hall chimed ten o'clock. Elphaba looked up with a heavy sigh, and wearily closed the book.
Another miserable failure.
The pattern held firm for the past five hours, where every new volume she opened and read through would be closed with nothing gained. It was a dismal kind of practice that gave her some semblance of progression, even if none had been made. But now time was pressing down on her, and she felt the enormity of its weight with every passing minute.
She tried to ignore the hunger that gnawed at her in due punishment for skipping the evening meal. She tried to ignore that her eyes were killing her, largely in thanks to the dozens of books she'd been poring over all night. She especially tried to ignore the thought of Glinda, sitting patiently next to the fire and waiting for her to return. And yet, with all of these thoughts consuming her, Elphaba refused to move.
Was it stubbornness? A willful conviction that the answers she sought simply had to be here, and finding them was only a matter of time? Or did she secretly know, in her hardest of hearts, that this was her last hope? The final, fleeting gasp of the desperate, dying man?
Elphaba ran a hand over her eyes, and opened another book.
No. She had to stop thinking like that. Of course there were answers. There was an answer to everything. All she needed was more time and a hell of a lot more patience. Perhaps if she stared at the pages long enough, the words would suddenly reform and tell her everything she wanted to know.
"Miss Elphaba?"
Elphaba gave a start. For a brief moment, she wondered if the book had actually spoken to her, and then mocked herself for the thought. When she finally looked up, she saw Fiyero, of all people, standing out in the hallway. His being there seemed every bit as surreal as the thought of a talking book, and although she wasn't alarmed by his presence, she wasn't totally sure what to make of it.
"Master Fiyero," she said indifferently, looking back down at her book. "Either you are incredibly lost, or a squealing little Munchkin has decided to rat me out. You don't seem like the type to mistake a library for the Railway tavern, so I'm assuming it's the latter."
"Not really," Fiyero meekly replied as he stepped into the room. His features looked even darker in the half-light of the lantern, though it added an interesting glimmer to the blue tattoos on his skin. "They've all gone to the music hall; nobody else knows that I've come. I was hoping to find you here."
"Well, now you've found me. The mystery is solved. Give yourself a standing ovation, and try not to make any noise on your way out."
He remained standing in front of her desk. Elphaba exhaled in perfect irritation, and was forced to look up again when it became clear he had no intention of leaving.
"Forgive me," she said. "That must have sounded like a request."
"You don't have to put up that façade with me. I know what's going on."
"Undoubtedly, dear prince—you're trying to annoy me. And I really haven't the time for it."
Without invitation, he moved beside her and sat down in the chair next to hers. The look of unmistakable annoyance on her face had obviously done nothing to deter him.
"I have to admit," he calmly continued, "you've fooled them all very well. This brutish behavior has worked to your advantage, but I'm not so easily misled. I see much more than you think I do, Miss Elphaba, even for a Winkie half-wit."
"Do you indeed?" she replied with skepticism while leaning back in her chair. "Then tell me what you think you see, my foreign, half-witted friend."
He stared at her with dark conviction, and placed his hands on the table. "You're in danger," he said, "both you and your friend."
"I have no friends. Only a foolish cast of players who insist on turning my life into a colossal comedy of errors."
Fiyero, unfortunately, was not to be thwarted by her sarcasm, and he scooted his chair even closer. "You fear something, that much is clear; it's got you by the throat. Whatever it is, it has you terrified. I can see it in your every look and gesture."
She glared at him with guarded suspicion, and was a little unsettled by his proximity. "You know nothing, Fiyero. Of me, my fears, or my feelings. Curiosity has gotten the better of you. Either that or boredom."
"I know enough," he replied coolly. "I know Miss Glinda is in trouble."
Elphaba closed the book in front of her, and grabbed another one off the pile. "Is there a reason for all of this stupid self-posturing, or do you honestly have nothing better to do?"
He gave her an incredulous look, as if the answer was obvious. "I'm here because I want to help."
"How novel," she drawled, turning back to her book. "You can start by helping yourself out the door."
Fiyero placed his hand on hers. The gesture caught Elphaba completely off guard.
"You're every bit as stubborn as your friends insist you are," he said softly. "Believe me, it can be rather endearing. But you'll find that I am every bit as stubborn as you are, Miss Elphaba, and my patience is infinitely greater. You fear for Miss Glinda, though you refuse to admit it, and while I may not know her as well as the rest of you, I still care about you both."
Elphaba cackled with malicious humor, though her eyes were devoid of any mirth. "Of course you do," she replied with contempt, sliding her hand out of his. "I'd be hard-pressed to find a single lumbering male at this school who didn't profess an interest in Miss Glinda. Even Crope gets far too giddy whenever he's near her, which is as amusing as it is inexplicable. Your noble libido is very touching, but I'm not here to flatter your gallantry. Relieve your frustrations behind the bookcase and quit pestering me with your concerns."
She promptly made to resume her reading, but the book was quickly slammed shut in front of her.
"I haven't warranted that," he said coldly, keeping his hand on the cover. "When have you ever known me to be anything but sincere? Do you really think so little of me, or are you simply afraid of everyone?"
The intensity of his gaze actually startled her, so black were his eyes in the half-light of the lantern. Gone was the timid young noble who had charmed her upon their first, awkward meeting. In his place, the primal Vinkus warrior had emerged, and there was genuine anger in his strikingly handsome countenance. He left her off-balance in a hopeless sort of way, undone as she was by his closeness. Fiyero was every bit the mystery she'd always believed him to be, and she felt properly chastised for her callousness.
Elphaba took off her glasses and rested her head in her hands. She couldn't do this anymore. Not now. Not with him. It was time to resort to brutal honesty.
"Fiyero," she said quietly, massaging both of her temples, "you must know that I'm fond of you; that should go without saying. But this business is darker than you can imagine, and there's a reason I'm keeping you all at a distance. So please, I'm asking you—for my sake— let this go. Please. Think whatever sordid thoughts you want, but I beg you not to ask me any more questions."
"Is it Morrible?" he said, leaning in closer. "Her name touched a nerve with you when Tibbett brought her up today. What ill-will does she bear Miss Glinda?"
Elphaba sighed. "The woman is evil, there's no doubt about that. But if you're asking me for particulars—"
"There was something unnatural about her," he said, cutting her off. "In her manner of speech, you might say. We all perceived it when she called us in to discuss both you and your roommate. I'm not normally a suspicious fellow by nature, but there was something of the illusory about her; something dangerous. And I think it's safe for me to assume that you know something more particular of her villainy."
He offered her a wry sort of grin, and it was difficult for Elphaba not to return it. He was an artful creature, this Winkie prince, and he knew precisely the right words to trap her in his confidence. She dearly wanted to be firm with him, but the fight just wasn't in her.
It had really been a long day.
"I know everything, Fiyero," she said despondently, "and yet, I know nothing at all. I've wandered a forest that's bleak and terrifying, searching for answers that don't seem to exist. Somewhere at the heart of it, my friend is trapped and suffering, and just the thought of it," she muttered while clenching her fists, "just the thought of it fills me with rage. Yet no matter how hard I try, or however far I've come, I'm no closer to saving her than I was in the beginning. I am her greatest failure."
She leaned her head back and looked up at the ceiling. The taste of defeat truly sickened her. How had it been, to hold on to hope, and then wake to the realization that she was painfully, pathetically human? Elphaba suddenly wished she was alone, and that the rest of the world would melt into a dark, meaningless oblivion...
"Can you at least tell me," Fiyero replied, "what hell Miss Glinda dwells in? From what curse or cruelty has she been set upon? Where does this violence begin?"
"It begins in her dreams," she frankly replied with a weary kind of resignation. "Dreams that harm her in the darkness of the night. Nightmares that tear and bruise her." She turned her head to look at him, and a wicked smile spread across her face. "Are you amused now, my Vinkus prince? Does that satisfy your question? My friend is the victim of curses and shadows—a tragedy too sublime for fiction."
She reached for her flask and unscrewed the cap, silently regretting that the contents weren't wine. The silence that followed wasn't unexpected, though Fiyero's reaction was overly strange. He wasn't shocked by the nature of her confession so much as he was curious.
"Nightmares?" he asked without a trace of humor.
"Or whatever the hell you'd call them," she replied. "I don't really know what sorcery is behind it, which is precisely the reason I'm here. I assumed I'd find answers in these miserable books, and what do you know? Nothing's come of it. Morrible has outwitted me at every bloody turn. Villainy has managed to triumph."
She raised her flask as if offering a toast, then took a swig of its contents. The tea was bitter as it slid down her throat, and she appreciated the irony.
"What does she dream about?" he calmly inquired, suddenly looking away from her.
She slowly exhaled, bored with the conversation, and brought the flask to her lips again. "What terrifies you the most, fair prince? What could hurt you more viciously than anything? Pick something horrible, and let your imagination run wild. You might just come close to the truth."
"A memory?" he asked. "Of loved ones departed?"
Elphaba nearly choked on her tea. She coughed and sputtered into her sleeve, then turned to him with a wild-eyed look. "What?"
Fiyero hesitated, caught off-guard by her reaction. "I'm sorry," he said, suddenly leaning back. "It's just… well… you made me think of something, is all."
Elphaba raised an eyebrow in silent question, but his remark had evidently embarrassed him. "It's not important... Really, Elphaba. I don't even know why I mentioned it."
"Well," she said, "it's time to humor me. Goodness knows I'm in need of it. Why waste the night with my own nonsense? Let's have some of yours as well."
Fiyero looked uncomfortable. "It's not..."
"I don't care what it's not, Fiyero. Just tell me what it is."
He sighed deeply. "It reminded me of a story... one they still tell around Arjiki campfires and forests of the Scrow. The tale of the Bé Kal'Dyvnia, or the legend of the Familiars."
"Oh hell, Fiyero," she said with disgust. "Are you going to start spinning nonsense to me about 'dragon women' as well? I could take a page out of the Oziad if I wanted to give credence to archaic poetry or the ramblings of a damned fairytale. Even Glinda thinks that nonsense is true, and as much as I adore the girl—"
"No… not Animals," he said firmly. "Familiar Spirits: the demons of the earth. Traitors of hell… the scorners of light… the false faces of the dead. Those who dwell in the black in-between, and prey upon mortal flesh."
If Elphaba was confused by his rhetoric before, she was now most definitely lost. "I've never heard of such a thing. It sounds like Unionist twaddle."
"It's older than Unionism, I'll tell you that. It's older than Oz itself." He stared off as if in deep contemplation, and rubbed his arm with his hand. "There are legends back in my country; stories that existed long before men would ever commit them to book or stone. Many have been changed, or slowly corrupted, but there are a few whose truths we still remember. The Familiar legends were always ghastly, which is probably why they're the most vivid. I was a very impressionable young boy, you know, and I took things to heart very easily."
"Undiscovered folklore," said Elphaba, impressed. "Well, now you definitely have my attention."
Fiyero remained distant as he stared off into space, almost as if he hadn't heard her. The light flickered across his features, lending him an intensity more dark and regal than before. "There are strange mysteries that linger within the Seven Year Grasslands, and evil that still walks the plains. The elders won't speak of it, for fear of awakening them, but the stories continue under the gaze of our blue Kelvinian stars."
"So," she said, folding her arms, "how does your story begin?"
He sat there quietly for a moment, and then, "It begins with a powerful conjurer; a mortal they called the Soothsayer. There have been many throughout the centuries, or so the legend goes, and each has borne their own kind of evil over the lands of our world. It was said that the first, most powerful Soothsayer brought this horror upon mankind when he sought the murder of his only brother for a crime of mistaken offense. But the miserable wretch couldn't allow the blood to be spilled by his own cowardly hand, so he called to the demons that dwelled in the earth, and pleaded with them for his death. The demons answered and consented to help, but they required a token and willing sacrifice for their vile works. In exchange for the cowardly Soothsayer's hand, they pledged to drive his brother to madness.
"They were incapable of actually killing him, you see, so the curse was performed with sinister craft. By assuming the form of a familiar being- most typically a loved one that had passed- they came to this man in the sphere of his dreams and tormented him nightly with guilt. Memories of a bride he'd lost to the plague came screaming and scratching in the dark. They'd tear, they'd bruise, they'd pierce him with remorse, and every day, the demons grew stronger. Strong enough even to haunt him in daylight with words and claws most terrible. In anguish and despair, the brother killed himself, and no one suspected a falsity to his madness.
"But like all good stories of death and horror, it's not without its ironies. The Soothsayer followed him shortly to his death after the rotted stump of his left hand poisoned the blood in his withering veins. Unfortunately for man, the curse lived on, and many would rise to claim its powers. Legend says that those who performed it were forced to pay with their price of flesh, just as it was in the beginning. They called on the Familiars, they sealed their pact, and sacrificed their hand as an offering. All to consign another to hell, or enslave them to another sinister purpose."
"More sinister than death?" she said skeptically, pensively.
Fiyero shrugged. "Some men don't always crave death, Elphaba. Sometimes there are far more interesting things to be gained when you possess the power to drive another to madness. You might convince a reluctant lover to willingly grace your bed, or you might steal the fortunes and favors of poor, beleaguered men. These victims would consent to you where normally they wouldn't, if only to stop the raging voices from destroying their minds and souls. They called the curse Bé Kal'Dyvnia, or 'The Summoning of the Dead.' It's a rite too ghastly and horrible to be remembered, though they say it's still performed in the shadow lands of the north."
Elphaba felt herself actually shudder, though her face remained perfectly stoic. "An interesting tale," she said, lost in thought, "though it seems more fictional than fact. Your elders paint a gruesome picture of the metaphysical macabre, but sorcery requires nothing of evil, whatever my sister might think. It's all very contained within itself, and serves no greater purpose. Why should sacrifice or the living-dead be required to effect that kind of power?"
"Well, because it isn't sorcery in the strictest sense of the word. At least not the kind they're going to teach you in a classroom. The powers they draw from are entirely different. It's witchcraft strictly related to the occult, or whatever the Pleasure Faithers call it."
"So what, then?" she said with mild annoyance. "Are you suggesting that our Headmistress has been conjuring up spirits to torment my roommate to death?"
"I think that's a little unlikely," he replied, "and I'll remind you that you were the one who asked me about this in the first place. Even if the stories were true, and this curse was real, who would know how to perform it? Who would be capable of conjuring something so violently powerful? Morrible certainly couldn't—though she may give herself airs. And even if she did possess the strength to do that… well… she's not exactly missing a hand."
Elphaba silently shook her head, and massaged the back of her neck. "Words of wisdom, Master Fiyero; you're a credit to your tribe. I should also say that cutting off your own hand seems like an awful lot to sacrifice just for the sake of driving someone mad. I'd sooner commit every murder myself, and leave all my limbs intact."
"What can I say?" he sighed in resignation. "Dedication requires pain. It's hard to imagine anyone butchering themselves for the sake of power, but well, there you have it. Evil demands sacrifice."
"Sacrifice is required of everything," she said in a weary voice. "Life demands it, love demands it, and everything else in-between."
Fiyero looked at her with a warm, unguarded expression, favoring her with a handsome smile. "Are life and love a few of the things that Miss Elphaba Thropp must sacrifice for? Are they worthy of your pain?"
It was evident that he was trying to lighten her mood, but the weight of his comment actually managed to give her pause for thought. Life and love: when had these ever mattered to her? Why would she have mentioned them so easily—so carelessly? Like they were an essential part of who she was? Elphaba had her own set of self-sacrificing ambitions, and they were much bigger than things as pitiful as self-seeking matters of the heart.
So why, under the gaze of Fiyero, did she find herself stumbling for answers? Was it the honesty in his face; his frankness of character that made it so easy for her to confide in him? Here, in the quiet solitude of a library, he had revealed more about Elphaba than even she was aware of. He had forced her to look in-ward, almost in spite of herself, and what she discovered there almost astonished her.
The long hours spent poring over books with impossible determination. The aching scars she felt every day whenever she reached for a pen. The restless nights spent curled on a mattress, cramped and confined in the most wonderful way possible.
Life and love. What else was she fighting for? What else could possibly matter?
"We're each of us victims of some kind of spell," she said with quiet conviction. "Perhaps I once thought that I was above it all, but this experience has taught me that I'm not. If I have a part to play in this miserable farce, then life and love are my conquerors."
"Maybe that's why we don't take them lightly," he said, turning thoughtful. "Or at least that's why we shouldn't."
"Fiyero the Philosopher," she said with a smile, "no wonder we're all so fond of you. There are startling depths beneath that diamond skin of yours."
"Only a few worth knowing," he said. "But I'm glad you've sought to learn them."
They stared at each other for a long moment, with neither really knowing what to say. Then, with a playful grin, he added, "The mysteries of Elphaba Thropp are far more interesting, anyway. You caused quite a stir when you left today, you know."
Elphaba held back a snort. "I'm always causing a stir, dear boy. Clearly you haven't been paying attention."
"Now that's where you're wrong," he said, then found himself blushing. "I mean, it's not like the boys don't speak of you as often as humanly possible. One would think they were madly in love with you. Especially Avaric, though he's still quite the ass."
"They're fools," she said with love and contempt. "It's a wonder I've suffered their miserable acquaintance for as long as I have. I started out with the worst expectations, but really…" And she trailed off.
Fiyero took her hand in his and gave her fingers a squeeze. "Try not to think too meanly of Boq. His heart's in the right place, even if his head isn't."
"Don't," she sighed. "I don't wish to speak of him. The wound is still too raw. I could have forgiven the fool almost anything, but betraying Glinda… betraying me like that, I don't have the words for how sick I feel about it."
"Try to see things from his perspective," he replied. "Look at yourself through his eyes. You're everything that he wants to be, Elphaba; you possess the qualities that he's worked his entire life trying to find. He can't help but love and resent you for it. None of us really can. You're a force of nature the likes of which Oz has never seen before, and probably will never see again. Who wouldn't want to stand in your shadow and be a part of that?"
Elphaba breathed very heavily and quickly made note of the time. "Oz can wait. I have more pressing matters at hand. Keeping my roommate alive is one of them, and now I have to worry about you as well."
Fiyero laughed with charming humor, and stretched his arms over his head. "Well, as long as Nikidik doesn't try to sic more antlers on me, I might actually survive till Lurlinemas. I can laugh about it now, because I'll be terrified the minute he tries something like that again."
Elphaba quietly chuckled at the thought, and then… her smile faded. The memory of Fiyero's remarkable attack in Dr. Nikidik's classroom suddenly flashed through her mind, and with it, a startling realization.
A smoky bottle… a jerk of the wrist… a small puff of dust. The antlers skittered and clambered to kill him, almost acting of their own free will.
'How does it fall under the heading of life-science,' Glinda had calmly asked, ' when it behaves like a master spell?'
Life and death… sorcery and science…
The Extract of Biological Intention.
Elphaba gripped Fiyero's arm with a nervous kind of excitement and looked directly into his eyes. "Tell me if you can," she said in a rush, "if you know of a difference between science and sorcery."
Fiyero looked startled, and more than a little confused. "I… well. I honestly don't know."
"Neither do I," she said somewhat breathlessly. "Neither do I, dear Fiyero. Who would ever know?"
Elphaba gathered her small stack of books, and moved to return them to their respective shelves. Then, without further hesitation, she side-stepped the area marked 'Sorcery and Curses' and turned into the 'Life Sciences' section instead.
The hour was late, the night had grown deeper, but her work was just beginning.