At this very moment in time, Glinda Arduenna was exactly thirty-six years, eight months, fifteen days, twelve hours and twenty-four minutes old. The Pie-Maker for which she had secretly coveted had recently abandoned her. His affections cruelly purloined, he flitted off into oblivion with some Lonely Tourist. For now this is her story...
Her mood was low and currently there was naught that could lift her spirits. Lord Chuffrey sat at her side, nodding and drooling, while his young wife stared into space.
At the neighboring table, the bus girl sang as she wiped it down. "No one mourns the wicked/No one cries they won't return..."
Glinda tilted her head slightly, to hear the words better, still looking half-dazed.
"No one lays a lily on their grave." The serving woman went back to the kitchen.
"And goodness knows the wicked's lives are lonely," Glinda trilled in her wake. She looked over at her husband who seemed unaware of pretty much everything around them. "Goodness knows the wicked die alone/It just shows when your wicked, you're left only on your own..."
A single tear ran the length of her cheek. "Goodness knows the wicked's lives are lonely/Goodness knows the wicked cry alone."
Another young lady came, this one setting fresh glasses on the table. She summed things up. "Nothing grows for the wicked, they reap only what they've sown..."
Glinda sighed deeply and leaned over to wipe the drool from Lord Chuffrey's ancient chin.
As if to elaborate on Glinda's words, Elphaba woke in the early morning light, her limbs all tangled with Fiyero's. He was still asleep. At her movement he rolled away a bit. She sat up, startled to find that she was still naked. For some reason the rest of the group were nowhere to be seen. This concerned her a little but not much. She leaned over him and kissed his slightly parted lips.
He opened his eyes and looked up at her. "Hi," he murmured sleepily, with a slow smile.
"Morning," she replied, smiling as well.
He yawned and turned his head. His eyes closed again but he sat up.
"There's no one here," she said. "We can still mess around for awhile." She leaned forward, rubbing his shoulders.
He smiled at the concept and the feel of her touch. "We could." But the smile faded. "Look, Elphie...I have to go away for awhile."
She stopped rubbing. "Why?"
"Something I have to do. And Yackle's right, it has been too long."
His vagueness irritated her to no end. "Too long? You and her keep going on about that nonsense and I don't understand what any of it means."
"You will in time."
"No, I will right now, because you will explain yourself."
"I love it when you get angry, Elphie," he said softly.
But she was hardly in the mood anymore. She turned her back to him. Her anger smoldered for a beat but then mellowed almost instantly. She glanced back over her shoulder but Fiyero had already gone. She turned around again, searching for him. But there was no sign, not even far away. Her mind reeled, she had only turned her back for a second.
She met the others sometime later. Candle was feeding an apple to the donkey. Yackle sat crosslegged, apparently conversing with the tree that had provided the apple. Liir still hadn't rejoined them.
"Fiyero's gone," she announced. "I turned my back and he was just gone. I don't know what happened...," she said feeling helpless.
Yackle nodded sagely. "Tis a good thing my dear. Best for him. You'll see."
Elphaba stared her, hating her for being indistinct. But she was too tired to press it just now.
Nor stood at the edge of the Cloud Swamp, a circle of salt spread around her. She smoothed her skirt under her knees as she knelt in the dirt, careful not to let any part of her leave the circle. She lit a single candle and set it before her. She began to recite the incantation that the tribal woman had given her.
"Abbas, audite meus placitum. Pro smoke quod caliga, EGO dico vobis. Abbas, EGO postulo vestri sapientia. Ostendo mihi semita ut EGO may reperio meus via." She bowed her head and waited.
The ozmists grew restless. They paraded around her, trying to frighten and distract. She felt like bolting but the woman had been adamant that she stay within the salt circle. And it did seem to be keeping her safe. She repeated the incantation.
The phalanx of shades dissipated, banished by the sudden arrival of another. She kept her head low, at once joyful and terrified that she might see what she wanted to see.
"Nor," Fiyero answered.
She lifted her head. He looked solid, real and as if the last fifteen years had never happened. In fact, he looked scarcely older than her. She remembered he had only been twenty-three. "Oh daddy," she sobbed.
A wild thought occured to her, that somehow he had survived and by an odd turn of events and a miracle would remain twenty-three forever.
Note: Nor's incantation is latin. I'll leave it to my readers to translate the text.