Chapter 20
Finals came and went without much fanfare. Though, there was notice of Fiyero and Glinda sitting with a certain red-headed witch, and not their usual group, or whatever faction of it was up and about. Nessa and Shell were the first to leave. They were followed by Avaric, then Pfannee and ShenShen. Fiyero left they next day to meet his family in the city, which basically left Glinda and Elphaba on their own. Even Lox had left early, preperations for the holidays and all. Both had trains to catch that day, though they went in completely different directions.
Glinda finished packing her trunk home with a thud. Elphaba couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculously large cargo from her spot on the couch, huddled up with a book. Glinda had opined she would be home for a whole month, and so obviously she needed it.
“I wish I could do spells,” Glinda mused. “Then I could shrink this now and make it normal sized when I get home.”
“It is rather convenient.”
Elphaba herself had used the method many times over, turning her travel items into a key chain-sized item in her pocket. That being said, she never traveled as egregiously heavy as she Glinda did. There was a relief now that the semester was over. Hopefully a few weeks distance would give her room to breathe. Even the last few days had felt oddly lighter somehow, and she was determined not to drag herself down any more than she already had.
“Oh Elphie, I’m going to miss you so much!”
“You’re going to be in the city next week,” Elphaba reminded her. “For Ozma’s ball.”
“And when during that whole fiasco will I get to see you.”
Elphaba hadn’t told Glinda or Fiyero that she was very likely to be at Ozma’s party, given that she had practically been ordered to come. And by that, she meant that Lox was ordered to drag her by her hair if necessary. When Elphaba was in the Emerald city, they had weekly meetings, and even she could agree the two had been separated far too long.
“Oh, I’ll be around. Try checking behind the left most large green curtain. There’s a weird amount of space back there, but it’s a great place to hide from everyone.”
“I didn’t know Rain brought you to the Palace,” Glinda said, “You think I would have seen you at one of these events. Her and my Granny work rather closely.”
Elphaba shook her head. Rain would never bring any of the wayward witches she had picked up to such an environment. Most were poor, untrained, and lacking etiquette. It was a recipe for disaster. The only reason Elphaba had been in the castle was to visit Tip, who had much more free time when she was still underage, and not the ruling regent of Oz. The two of them got good at hiding from guards and learning all the nooks and crannies of the castle to hide in. They had always been good at that, as most street rats tended to be.
“I visited the castle for other reasons,” Elphaba assured Glinda that she hadn’t somehow fail to notice her after several years of events. “Rain made the wise decision to not have me surround by judgmental nobility while I was still getting a grasp on my abilities. One bad emotional reaction and I could’ve blown the place up.”
“What other reasons?
“One’s that don’t concern you.”
Glinda let out a humph but didn’t push any further. That’s what made Glinda easier than most. If it didn’t have to do with her, her curiosity did not have enough will behind it to pursue the issue. At least, not at the social cost that would ensue from pressuring someone to reveal their secrets. Sure, it made it easy for her to act apathetic at times, but it wasn’t necessarily a bad trait. If only Elphaba could get her to stop gossiping with ShenShen and Pfannee, Glinda could very well succeed at minding her own business.
“Do you think I should wear pink or blue to the winter ball?” Glinda changed the subject.
“Pink,” Elphaba said without hesitation. “Ozma’s always turns to the ballroom into a winter paradise. If you wear light blue, you’ll end up washed out. Unnoticeable.”
“Elphie, what just happened?”
Without even realizing it, Elphaba had somehow pulled years of knowledge from loose memories of Tip being sized for dresses and said designers always commenting on how Elphaba’s witch’s mark limited her options. Elphaba would not-so-kindly remind them that she was not being styled and so it didn’t matter. They, of course, dull as the flat end of a hammer, would continue on. They called it a ‘thought exercise.’ Not all of them would leave with all their hair, if Elphaba recalled correctly.
“Don’t make anything out of it,” Elphaba warned Glinda, who already looked like she was about to squeal. “I just didn’t need to hear you complain all night. I’m doing myself a favor, nothing more.”
Glinda didn’t say anything else. Every time Elphaba slyly looked over her book, she saw the perky blonde smiling like she knew some big secret.
It was stupidly adorable. As were the pink ribbons she tied on her luggage chest home, and the way she said goodbye to the plants on the window that were there when they arrived and would still be there long after they left. It was little, tiny things that made her so, Glinda. Elphaba couldn’t think of any other way to describe it. Traits she would find annoying in anyone else, she found deeply endearing from Glinda.
“We should be heading to the train soon.”
“That’s a good idea,” Elphaba agreed. “We wouldn’t want to get stuck here all alone who knows how long.”
“Well, that doesn’t sound all bad,” Glinda said, a coyness to her voice.
Elphaba looked at the woman, trying to gauge how serious she was. The two hadn’t talked much about what they were, or what they might be in the future. Glinda had carried on her trysts with Fiyero on their regular schedules. Well, the last one of the semesters anyways. While she didn’t know what time Glinda came in that night, she did know her roommate ended up sleeping in till past noon. Fiyero and her were together, and Elphaba and Fiyero were together, but Elphaba and Glinda hadn’t been defined, nor had the permitters of what they might be.
Glinda didn’t want a girlfriend or boyfriend. She didn’t like the structure or roles or expectations of what it meant to have a person so ingrained into one’s lifestyle. Nor did she want the complications that came with such relationships. There was enough complexity in platonic relationships as it was. What she wanted was someone or someones who would fall into the space in between friend and lover. Fiyero had done so for her flawlessly. Glinda hoped Elphaba could as well.
“No, it doesn’t sound too horrendible at all.”
--
Elphaba didn’t mind the train ride. Sure, if Tip had been there, they would’ve had their own private car, but that was always more space than she needed. All the times she spent hitchhiking, holding onto the back of rickety wagons on unpaved roads. If she had let go it surely wouldn’t have ended well, her body scratched and tore against the hard ground. Then there were the times she stuffed herself between piles of hay or traded goods. Once she joined Mombey’s, she traveled in a tiny caravan, with six or seven people shoved in the back at any given time. Having enough room to spread out her legs was more than enough for her.
When the train finally came to a stop, she quickly made her way out, beating the rush of people. She could have hailed a carriage, but she had spent so long sitting, and the cold wasn’t biting her too harshly. Instead, she chose to walk. She passed by Wizomania, which had an open door for a midweek matinée. She had seen the show once, when they performed for Ozma. It was dull, a fake history to feed to the masses.
The Vinkun district wasn’t too far off. They had Lurline lights spread about the buildings. It was no surprise. While the rest of Oz fell into Unionism, or the rapidly evolving tiktokism, the west had stayed its course of relative isolation. It kept to the old ways, the paganistic faith of Lurlinism that held Oz for most of its existence. Of course, the west wasn’t completely devoid of other beliefs. Oz knew the Quadlings had spread the pleasure faith to the Yunamata, and all the core teachings of the Kumbric Witch. Melena had been raised in the Pleasure Faith, but unlike others who practiced, she didn’t know the difference between indulgence and self-destruction.
“Eli, Eli!”
Elphaba’s attention turned to the call of Ensi. His friends and he were in an alley way, a net hanging from either side of the wall. With the snap of a button, it opened, and the boy came running out, tackling the witchling in a hug.
“We’ve all missed you so much!” he said. “I wanted to write, but I lost the address Rain gave me. I should’ve asked again, but I didn’t want to admit it got soaked when Fizji and I were playing near the river, and I fell in.”
“It’s a good thing you know how to swim,” Elphaba spoke sternly. “And that the river has a gentle current. A boy your size could have been swept away otherwise.”
“I know,” Enzi sheepishly replied. “Papa grounded me for a week.”
Elphaba didn’t say that a week seemed far too short. She could remember the day she fell into the river so vividly. The cold water, the harsh tide, pushing her ever forward as her lungs burned for air. The idea that a child could chance their way into such a thing through foolishness was something that shouldn’t be lightly responded to.
“Oh, and I saw that man again. The one you helped heal. He was looking for a Stainer.”
Elphaba’s eyebrow hitched upwards at the revelation. She knew Fiyero was in the city. It made sense that he would want tattoo stains, given Lurline was coming up, and that he was going to Ozma’s ball. What didn’t make sense was why he was looking for one in the Vinkun District. After all, wouldn’t the family have brought a royal tattoo stainer for the occasion?
“Where’d you send him?”
“To Tajia,” Ensi answered. “She’s does the best work, and he said price wasn’t an issue.”
Tajia was one of the better Tattoo stainers in the district. She cost a higher price than most, usually ones that were only paid for weddings or births. Big events and less so the smaller holidays. The one exception was children, who she often only asked for the parents to pay what they could, and not to worry if they couldn’t pay at all. Her store was also frequent for self-stainers, as she tended to import the best quality, and would sell it at a mark-up to those who wished for it.
The one caveat is that she wasn’t exactly know for Arijkian tattoos. The tribe was notorious for keeping their techniques, from line work to the herbs and plants used to create the brilliant shade of blue associated with them. While she could do simple patterns, the material was hard to get, meaning they had to be small. Her clients were mostly Scrow or Yunamata. Draffe and Ugubezi also came by from time to time, often sporting red florals or gray peaks, representing the mountains they hailed from. The Ugubezi of course didn’t natural stain as the other tribes did, but it had become common amongst those in the city, as traditions between tribes began to mix through celebrations and community events.
“I’m sure he’ll appreciate her work,” Elphaba smiled. “I should go now, Enzi, but I will see you at the festivities on Lurlinemas. I promise.”
“I’ll hold you to it, Eli!”
She had no doubt about that. It meant she would have to show her face in the city on Lurelinemas but that wasn’t the end of the world. An hour or two to show her face and then back in her room, hiding away at the Witch’s Den, as she always did. That was exactly what she planned to do right now.
Steeping into the Witch’s Den felt like, well, what Elphaba imagined the closest thing to home was. The cedar wood floors creaked and the aged scent in the air caught in her nose. The bar was fully stocked, and a few patrons had started their nighttime habits early. Gin and rum seemed to be the toxins of choice, and while in another life she may have hated such a smell, it was more than welcome when her environment weighed far more good than bad.
It didn’t escape her notice that a new resident seemed to be hiding at the top of the stairs, peaking down at Elphaba from above. Elphaba pretended not to see her, instead, she discretely pointed her eyes at the circular looking glass that had decorated the wall across from the stairs. It had a large crack in it, though Elphaba could only blame herself for that.
She was a small thing, probably no older than eight or nine. Her hair was a fiery red, and her skin a dusky rose. Quadling then, and barely any mixing too, if one based their assumptions on appearances alone. The pink mark, which twisted up the side of her forearm, though stopped before her elbow. She looked scared, unsure. Elphaba wondered if the girl felt this way in totality, as she once had, or if it was the witch herself that made the girl uneasy.
“Won’t say a word, that one,” Lvara, who appeared from the back of the tavern, carrying a rather large jug of beer, said. “They found her hiding on a train. An officer tried to pull her off and snap went his hands. Probably deserved it, grabbing a poor little girl like that.”
“You think all men deserve any ill will that befalls them.”
Lvara let out a long, boisterous laugh at the comment. The woman had been here far longer than Elphaba. When they first met, Elphaba only spoke as much as she needed. In truth, she had been far more used to speaking with the native Quadling language, to the point where common Ozian, her first language, had become uncomfortable. She had known Quadling for about as long as Ozian. Her mother’s friend from the Ovvels, a beautiful, gentle man who only ever came by in the summers when Nipp left to attend events in the Emerald City.
The rose-colored man had practically taught Elphaba from birth to speak the southern language. On the few days Nipp and Turtle Heart’s stays at the Colwen Grounds overlapped, Nipp would look at him like some two-headed monstrosity for the way he interacted with Elphaba. Instead of treating her like some stain on the earth, Turtle Heart treated her like any other child, carrying her and playing games (which he would always let her win). He made glass trinkets for her, and when they broke, he made more without so much as an annoyed glance.
They sang and danced when Melena was too drunk to pay attention to the girl, and when Nessa came along, he would hold her up so that she could dance, until she got a wheelchair, that was. Then Turtle heart would whirl her around, treating the mobility aid as nothing more than a new type of feet for which he merely had to learn how to dance with. It was the first time Elphaba saw someone treat Nessa as a person, and not just something to coddle and pity. He was the first person to treat Elphaba as a person as well if she really thought about it. For three months a year, there was a spark of joy in her life, and it died with the leaves and flowers in the autumn.
Maybe that is why she decided to hitch rides until she made it to Quadling country, instead of trying to stow away on a train to the Gillikin or the Emerald City. Elphaba did sometimes wonder what happened to the man, how he might have reacted to her supposed death. If anyone had cared about her, passing it was surely Turtle Heart, and if he hadn’t truly cared for her, he had done a good job at hiding it.
“Maybe you could talk to her,” Lvara said. “You seem to do better with the little ones than the rest of us.”
“I doubt I’d be much comfort,” Elphaba answered back. “I’m not known for my soft demeanor.”
“You are softer than you know.”
It was Rain who spoke as she made her way down the stairs. Her hands held tight to the railings as she took each step with care. Elphaba figured she might very well watch the woman slip and crack her head open. What an end that would be for a cardinal witch. Certainly, it would be the least dramatic, given that melting was the standard bearer in that regard.
“You are going senile in your old age,” Lvara retorted.
“If only,” Rain wistfully mumbled.
Each step she took had the old floorboards creaking, like some untuned instrument that had lost favor sometime ago. It was a familiar sound, one that was almost soothing to Elphaba, in an odd sort of way. The green witch made her way to her protégé, standing less than a foot from Elphaba before wagging her finger in the girl’s face.
“You’ve been summoned.”
“Summoned?” Elphaba asked. “By whom?”
“Who do you think?”
Elphaba rolled her eyes. Tip, Ozma, whatever they would be going by when she arrived at the Palace, could wait. Elphaba was tired, lagging from the journey back. If she was wanted at the palace, they would have to wait till tomorrow.
“I’ll go in the morning,” Elphaba said, lackadaisically.
Rain gave her a look that fell somewhere between tired and annoyed. Elphaba gave her no mind, walking passed the old witch and making her way to the stairs. The little girl still stood at the top, though she had backed up slightly. A poor attempt to hide her snooping, but an attempt, nonetheless.
“A lively bunch, aren’t we?”
Elphaba spoke in Qua'ati, which she assumed was the girl’s native tongue. Though most Quadlings also spoke common Ozian, it was more out of necessity than any true cultural shift towards a unifying language. It was rare for Quadlings to speak Ozian if they could help it, and the poorer of the already impoverished area never learned the foreign language at all.
“You’re Quadling?” the girl responded hesitantly. “I mean, you kind of look it, your hair and all. You’re skin’s a but light though.”
“I’m mixed,” Elphaba said in explanation. “Most Quadlings passed the border are.”
“Is it better?” she asked. “Or do they still treat you like the rest of us?”
There was a sadness in the girl’s tone. Even in Quadling country, the Emerald City forces never acted well when they came knocking. The munchkins and gillikin weren’t much better with their ignorance baked into nursey rhymes so even children were taught such bigoted things. Elphaba would get glares from time to time when someone picked up on her Quadling features, but more often than not she could pass for a darker-skinned munchkin or Gillikin.
“Depends on if they realize what I am,” Elpohaba answered, before quickly changing the subject. “Lvara said you aren’t talkative, I don’t think that’s the truth, is it?”
The girl looked down for a moment, almost as if she was ashamed.
“I can understand Ozian, but whenever I try to speak it, it doesn’t come out right. I find it easier when people think I can’t speak. They don’t try to force the words out.”
Elphaba nodded, pursing her lips as she sighed.
“What’s your name?”
“Candle,” the girl said. “Candle Osqa'ami.”
“Elphaba,” she offered in response. “Though most of the kids that run about call me Eli, and some call me Phabala.”
“Like the saint?” Candle asked. “The one those traveling ministers talk about.”
Elphaba turned away at the comment, biting back the uncomfortable surge of emotion. Her name, the only part of her she kept from her horrendible life before. Whenever she was reminded why her father had given it to her, she felt a swell of pain in her chest. One she was far too desperate to avoid.
“Yes.”
Then she made her way down the hall, rushing to her room before the thoughts of her early life consumed her and left her a mess for all to see.