Chapter 3
Glinda feels fuzzy when she wakes up the next morning. Her body feels heavy and it takes a few seconds to blink the sleep from her eyes. She doesn’t remember waking up or even dreaming, but the sheets are twisted around her and crumpled at the foot of the bed, so she knows she’s been tossing and turning all night.
She wanders to the bathroom and fights the urge to take a shower—she took one last night, but the endless buttons that release bubbly soaps and scented oils are so tempting the blonde wants to do it again. Instead she settles for washing her face and pulling her hair up into a ponytail. Her bangs stay down, framing her face and hanging just above her jaw. For a moment Glinda stares at herself, alternating between her best smile and her coldest glare. She likes the effect.
Breakfast is served in the main room of their floor. There’s no sign of Jeron and his mentor, but Madame Morrible is sitting in a booth in the corner, sipping at a tall glass of deep red juice.
Glinda fills a plate with toast and fruit and sits down across from her. “So…what’s my plan?” she asks. “For training?”
“What is your worst weapon?” Morrible sounds bored.
The blonde immediately scowls. “I don’t have a worst weapon,”
“I don’t care how good you think you are, Miss Glinda,” Morrible says, narrowing her eyes. “There will be something in that training room that you have no idea how to use.”
The blonde crosses her arms over her chest. “So? I’m a fast learner.”
“Then learn fast,” says Morrible. “That will be your first day of training. Try things you’ve never done or you’re not the best at—but stick to weapons.”
“What about survival skills?” Glinda asks, somewhat reluctantly. “Aren’t you going to tell me to practice the boring stuff, too?”
“That boring stuff is what will keep you alive after the bloodbath at the Cornucopia, so yes. That will be your second day.”
“And my third day?”
Morrible raises an eyebrow. “Whatever you see fit. I trust your judgment. I have one rule, though. What’s your best weapon?”
“A dagger,” Glinda says automatically. “Sometimes two. The longer kind.”
“Good.” Morrible nods. “That’s good. Small, quick, yet just as deadly as any other blade. Do not touch one until your private assessment. Understand?”
“Won’t it seem suspicious if I practice with everything but a dagger?”
Morrible narrows her eyes again. “Fine. But don’t show the others how good you are.”
She picks up her glass and stalks off. The blonde wishes she could read Morrible—one minute the mentor seems to be approving of her, and the next she seems to hate her. But she shrugs it off. Once she’s in the arena, it doesn’t matter. Morrible will help her get sponsors no matter how much she likes her. It’s her job. Besides, if Glinda wins then that’s just another success for Morrible.
Around mid-morning, Nikidik escorts Glinda and Jeron below ground to the training rooms. Half of the tributes are already there, and it’s only a few minutes before the rest trickle in behind them. Elphaba and Boq are the last to arrive. A few other tributes snicker when the green girl walks in, but if she hears, she doesn’t show it.
A stern-looking woman gathers them around and tells them the procedure for the next three days. There are dozens of different stations, all teaching a different skill. Each of them has one or two teachers, and there are assistants to spar with if needed. The Gamemakers will be in and out, assessing them throughout the next three days. But most importantly, there is no fighting with other tributes. The woman scowls around at them after saying the last part.
Not that it matters, Glinda thinks. In three days they’ll all be delivered to the arena no matter what state they’re in. But she doesn’t want to fight anyone here. In fact, as the tributes split off and head to different stations, Glinda does her best to avoid close contact with all of them.
She keeps an eye on everyone, though. The other Gillikin tributes go straight for the deadliest weapons. Avaric grabs an ax that looks taller than half the Munchkins and starts decapitating every dummy within reach. A few yards away, Shenshen is wielding two small swords and taking on three assistants at a time with ease. Fiyero and Sarima move through the stations together, though they don’t talk much. They’re both decent with bows and short, curved swords, and at one point Glinda catches them laughing as they pass by a station that teaches how to set up snares.
The blonde looks around the room, wondering where to go first. There are stations with every skill imaginable: setting traps, hunting, tying knots, making fire and shelter, fighting with swords or spears or axes or a bow and arrow or any other weapon ever heard of. There’s even a corner of the room devoted to magic skills, though Glinda forces herself to stay away from it.
Instead, she grabs a belt of throwing knives and wanders over to a series of targets. She can feel the other Careers eyeing her, sizing her up. It feels like her first year of academy all over again. She remembers all too clearly the sneers of her classmates. Even back then, she was smaller than everyone else her age. But she was fast and clever and above all, determined. By the time they were halfway through their second year, everyone knew not to underestimate her.
The other tributes will learn that, too, but for now she’s content to be seen as the little girl from Pertha Hills. She throws a couple knives and they stick, but not anywhere near the target’s center. When she looks up again Jeron is watching her. He avoids the ranged weapons, though, probably saving them for his private session. Glinda picks up another knife and winks at him.
At lunch Glinda sits by herself. The other Gillikin tributes—Jeron included—have taken over a table near the end of the dining hall. Their laughter echoes around the otherwise silent room, and though Glinda can’t hear what they’re saying, she’s certain it’s all just a contest to see who can sound the most impressive.
The other tributes sit alone or in pairs, but even the pairs are quiet. Fiyero and Sarima move naturally around each other but only speak once or twice that she sees. A few tables away, Boq seems to be failing to have a conversation with Elphaba. Glinda watches as the Munchkin continues to slide food across the table, but the green girl isn’t eating.
The blonde realizes that she should be paying attention to all the tributes, not just the threatening ones. So when training resumes, she moves over to a raised sparring rink where she can practice hand-to-hand combat and, more importantly, see the entire training room.
She watches a Quadling boy fumbling with a pile of twigs and some flint, while another one sets several small snares with ease. A gangly Vinkan girl weaves a small net out of dried grass. Across the room, another tribute trips over himself and falls on his butt in a sparring ring, his sword clattering to the ground beside him.
Most of the Munchkinlanders stick to smaller weapons and swing shakily at their dummies. A couple of them enter the target range with slings and a bag of rocks, and one girl turns out to be pretty good with a crossbow. Even some of the Careers seem interested as she sinks her bolts into the targets.
Without realizing it, Glinda finds herself looking around for the green girl. She sees Boq first, but he’s alone with a dagger and a dummy. The poor boy is trembling from head to toe, and he swings wildly, nearly dropping his weapon every time it makes contact. Glinda rolls her eyes and keeps searching.
She thinks to look over at the sorcery station, and sure enough the green girl is there. An instructor is standing next to her, talking and slowly thrusting his arm out. Elphaba repeats the motion, and a burst of fire shoots out of her palm. It hits the target in front of her, but before the instructor can even speak the flames blaze brighter, catching and burning everything along that wall.
Two assistants rush forward and quickly put out the fire, but Elphaba seems to shrink in on herself, backing away. She retreats to a knot-tying station, her skin paling until it’s more grey than green. Nearby, Shenshen and Avaric watch her, fighting back laughter.
Glinda turns back to her own station, where the instructor is pointing out the most common pressure points on the body. This is old information for her, though, so she slips away and decides to swing an ax at a dummy for a while.
***
Glinda spends her second day of training practicing survival skills, like Morrible told her. She learns more than she thought she would, and by the end of the day she’s mastered a dozen or so knots, a few simple snares, and how to build a fire. She also learns the basics of making and camouflaging a shelter, and she’s able to recognize almost all of the edible plants on the scavenging test.
She continues to study the other tributes. She was right about Avaric being good at melee weapons, but he’s also good at wrestling and throwing a spear. Glinda notices, though, that he never picks up anything smaller than a mace. He doesn’t touch any swords, either, and the blonde makes a guess that that’s his primary weapon. Meanwhile, Shenshen seems unstoppable with anything fast and sharp, but she gets frustrated every time she picks up a ranged weapon.
An alliance has formed, and Avaric and Shenshen are at the head of it. Glinda steers clear of them all, but Jeron is quickly welcomed in, along with the other two Gillikin tributes. They try to approach Fiyero and Sarima, but both Vinkans brush them off—rather boldly, Glinda thinks.
They pick up a willowy Vinkan girl and, by lunchtime on the second day, the group seems to have solidified. Most of the others stay away from the alliance, but there’s one Munchkin girl—the one who was good with the crossbow—that keeps eyeing them.
Glinda watches her, wondering what she’s thinking. She tries to remember the girl’s reaping but can’t think of much other than that her dress was pretty. The Munchkin might be good with a crossbow, but does she really think she has a chance?
Apparently she does, because she stares at the alliance with a mix of longing and determination before standing up. She heads over to the carts of food as if to get another plate. Glinda looks over and sees Elphaba walking away from the carts with a full tray, and suddenly she realizes what’s going to happen.
The crossbow girl passes Elphaba and, at the last moment, sticks her foot out. She catches Elphaba’s ankle, sending her crashing to the ground.
There’s a beat of silence, and then the room explodes with laughter. Most of it comes from Avaric and Shenshen’s table, but there are a few jeers from the other tributes. The two Gale Force members assigned to watch them rush forward, but Elphaba gets up without their help and shoves past them. Her face turns a darker shade of green and the air ripples around her as she sits down.
That afternoon, the Careers approach the crossbow girl while she’s swinging a knife at a dummy. By the end of the day she’s following them around like a puppy, a wicked smirk never quite leaving her face.
***
The third and final day of training comes, and Glinda isn’t quite sure what to do with herself. She spends the morning wandering around, trying out a few weapons just to have something to do. They’ll begin their private sessions at lunch, and she’s itching to get her hands on the rack of daggers that she’s been eyeing for the past two days.
The other tributes move restlessly through the room, trying to cram in a few more skills. Avaric, Shenshen, and she rest of their group hang around a sparring ring, looking bored. Boq the Munchkin tries his luck with a slingshot and actually manages to hit the target once or twice. It’s the most skill he’s shown all week, and he looks close to tears by the time he gives up and sets the weapon aside.
The green girl is stoic that day. She spends most of her time back at the sorcery station, where the instructor seems glad to have her, though he is a bit wary. Elphaba seems to be doing better today, but there’s still a hint of energy around her. When lunch comes around, Boq tries and fails once again to get her to eat, but she refuses.
She isn’t the only one. Everyone looks at least a little nervous—even the Careers, though they try to hide it behind arrogance. When Avaric’s name is called, the first out of all the tributes, he stands up with a smirk, but Glinda watches his hands tremble as he walks into the training room.
Glinda is the last Career to be called. She stands when she hears her name, taking a deep breath and smoothing her shirt. The others are watching her, and she lets them see a small, nervous girl walk slowly out of the room.
As soon as she’s in sight of the Gamemakers, though, she stands up tall and moves forward with confidence. She feels their eyes on her as she marches straight toward the rack of daggers. She runs her fingers along a few before choosing one and pulling it from the rack. It’s gorgeous, with a glinting silver blade and jewels set into the hilt. But she doesn’t take the time to admire it. Instead she tosses it from hand to hand, adjusting to the weight of it. After a moment she puts it back and grabs the one next to it.
This one feels better, more natural in her palm. The blade is about as long as her forearm, just like the ones she uses back home. Glinda shifts her grip on the weapon before taking a few practice swings. Once it feels right she looks at the Gamemakers up in their balcony, watching her.
“May I have a sparring partner?” she asks with a tiny smile. They nod and someone presses a button and speaks into a microphone. A nearby door opens and out comes a boy in a soldier’s uniform.
Glinda scowls. The boy is a little taller than her, but he’s scrawny and his smirk irritates her. His sword swings loosely in his hand. She gives the Gamemakers a look, and a couple of them chuckle.
She turns back to the boy and lets out a noise of disgust. “Honestly,” she mutters. “What kind of weasel hole did they pick you up from?”
The boy’s smirk shifts into a glare. He lifts his weapon and beckons her forward. Glinda narrows her eyes and steps within reach, but before the boy can even swing she grabs his wrist and tugs him forward. She twists her grip on his hand and, with a sharp, sickening crack, he drops his sword. She shoves him back with the handle of her blade.
“May I have a sparring partner that’s actually worth my time?” she asks, smiling sweetly up at the Gamemakers again. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the boy cradling his wrist and stumbling away.
***
That evening finds the entire Pertha Hills crew in the main room of their floor, gathered around the television screen. Any minute now their training scores will be announced.
Jeron and his mentor are off to the side discussing the past three days. Morrible is nearby, but she’s more focused on the screen than Glinda. The blonde sits in front of Dina, who is pulling her hair into different styles, testing things out for the upcoming interview.
Glinda stares up at the television. Two young men—the official commentators for the Games—have been bouncing around the screen for the last twenty minutes, interviewing Gamemakers and old tributes and some of the Emerald City’s more well-known citizens. Normally their flirtatious banter and wit is charming, but Glinda is impatient for the end of the program.
Finally the boys settle down in front of the camera. The taller one, Crope, put his arm around the other.
“Well, Tibbett, it appears our time is up,” he says. Tibbett pouts.
“How disappointing. But I’m sure everyone out there is eager to see the scores of this year’s lovely tributes. So let’s cut back to the station for those, and we’ll see you all in a couple days for the interviews!”
“Good night Oz!”
Music starts playing and the screen goes dark. Glinda leans forward and she feels Dina’s hands go to her shoulders, squeezing reassuringly.
One by one, the names of the tributes are announced and their pictures are shown, followed by their score. The numbers range from one to twelve, although Glinda has never seen anyone get either of those.
Avaric’s name is announced first, and he pulls a ten. So does Shenshen. When Jeron’s name is called, they show an eight. Glinda holds her breath, waiting.
Nine.
She clenches her fists but forces a smile. How did she only get a nine? She broke a boy’s wrist, for Oz’s sake! And after that she fought soldier after soldier, none of them so much as touching her.
But the scores are still showing, and there’s nothing to be done about it. At least this can help keep up her innocent act. Besides, once she’s in the arena the audience will see what she can do, and then her score will hardly matter.
The rest of the tributes are announced. Sarima gets a seven, and Fiyero pulls an eight. The Vinkan girl who has joined the Careers also gets an eight. Most of the Quadlings pull fours and fives. So do the Munchkins, although the crossbow girl—Pfannee, they say as her picture is shown—gets a seven.
Then comes the boy from Nest Hardings district, Boq. He looks short even in his picture, but it’s still a surprise when his number flashes across the screen.
Two.
Jeron laughs, along with his stylist and mentor. Nikidik hushes them, saying something about how Boq could be trying to look bad on purpose. But Glinda knows better. She saw him in training. It’s not an act. The Munchkin boy is truly hopeless.
She supposes she should feel happy. One less opponent to worry about. But if it’s not a fair fight, what’s the point? Glinda’s starting to feel something oddly like pity when the green girl’s picture flashes across the screen, followed quickly by the number nine.
“Nine?” Glinda hisses. “How did the vegetable score a nine?”
“Magic,” Jeron says, though he’s scowling at the screen, too. “She probably blew half the training room up or something.”
The blonde glares at him before climbing to her feet and storming off. Dina and Madame Morrible call her name, but she slams the door to her room, cutting them off. She marches straight for the bed, pausing only to kick the nightstand when she passes it.
It’s not fair. She’s been training all her life. She was flawless in front of the Gamemakers. How could some freak from a farming district get the same score as her? Morrible had said that the green girl would destroy herself, but apparently her time spent in the sorcery station has paid off.
Or maybe it hasn’t. Maybe Elphaba was useless in front of the Gamemakers, but they gave her a high score to make her a target. It makes sense, especially if what Morrible said about the Thropp family is true. Or if the Gamemakers also think Elphaba will self-destruct within the first week. What a show that would be. Glinda can picture it now—Avaric and his goons cornering the green girl, only to have her panic and lose control, killing herself and at least a couple other tributes.
Glinda flops back onto the mattress and glares up at the ceiling. A nine, she thinks, curling her hands into fists around the bed sheets. Avaric and the others might go after the green girl now, but Glinda is faster, and she knows better than to get herself blown up. She’ll get there first.
Because whether she realizes it or not, Elphaba Thropp has just made things personal. And as soon as they get in the arena, Glinda vows, she’s going to hunt the green freak down and kill her.