The Narrative Strain, Chapter 8b

[vampire_cookies]

TITLE: Biological Suggestion
RATING: T
GENRE: Horror/Tragedy
DESCRIPTION: What was truth, and what was fiction?
WARNING: May contain Winkie.  =D


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 second.

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. 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 softly replied as he stepped into the room. His features looked even darker in the half-light, though it added an interesting glimmer to the blue tattoos on his skin. “They’ve all gone to the music hall in town; 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 breathed in a little irritably, and was forced to look up again when it became clear he had no intention of leaving.

“Forgive me,” she said evenly. “That must have sounded like a request.”

“You don’t have to put up that façade with me,” he said in a small voice. “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 irritation 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, Elphaba, even for a Winkie half-wit.”

“Do you indeed?” she replied with skepticism, leaning back in her chair. “Then tell me what you think you see, my foreign, half-witted friend.”

He looked straight at her with a dark sort of 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.”

But Fiyero was not to be thwarted by sarcasm, and 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,” she said simply. “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 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?”

Fiyero simply stared at her, 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.”

He 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’m 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 just scared 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 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- to 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, taking her hand in his again. “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.

“Nightmares?” he asked, more curious than mocking.

“Or whatever the hell you’d call them,” she replied. “I don’t really know what sorcery is behind it, so that’s 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. Evil 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, now looking away from her.

She slowly exhaled, and brought the drink 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.”

“A memory?” he asked. “Of loved ones departed?”

Elphaba nearly choked on her tea. “What?”

Fiyero caught the look on her face, and suddenly seemed to hesitate. “I’m sorry,” he said, now leaning back. “It’s just… well… you made me think of something, is all.”

She raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue, and he looked more awkward than he did before. “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.”

Fiyero sighed. “It reminded me of a story. One they still tell around Arjiki campfires and forests of the Scrow.” He noticed the impatient look on her face, then said, “The story of the Bé Kal’Dyvni, or the legend of the Familiars.”

“Oh hell, Fiyero,” she said with disgust, and set her flask down on the table. “Are you going to start spinning nonsense about ‘dragon women’ as well? I could take a page out of the Oziad if I wanted to give credence to a damned fairytale. Even Glinda thinks that nonsense is true, and as much as I adore the girl-”

“No… not Animals. Familiar Spirits: the demons of the earth.” He sat as if waiting for her to reply, and when she didn’t, he stumbled on. “Traitors of hell… the scorners of light… the false faces of the dead. Those who dwell in the space in-between, and prey upon mortal flesh.”

Elphaba looked both amused and annoyed. “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 stone. Most 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.”

“Undiscovered folklore,” said Elphaba, impressed. “Now you definitely have my attention.”

Fiyero remained distant, staring off into space, and the dim light flickered across his features, giving them an intense shape. “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 the blue Kelvinian stars. The tale will vary, depending on the teller, but certain aspects of every narrative will always remain unchanged.”

“So,” she said, folding her arms, “how does your story begin?”

“It begins with a powerful conjurer; a mortal they called the Soothsayer. There have been many throughout the centuries, and each has borne their own kind of evil. It was said that the first, most powerful Soothsayer sought the murder of his only brother. Alas, he 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 brother’s death. The demons answered, and consented to help, but they required a token sacrifice. 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 subtle craft. By assuming the form of a familiar being that passed beyond the veil, 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 man had to kill himself, and no one suspected a falsity to his madness. Ironically, the Soothsayer died shortly after; the rot that had formed over the stump of his arm had poisoned the blood in his veins. But the power lived on, as did the evil, and many would rise to claim it. Legend says that those who followed to become Soothsayers themselves 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 signed it with the blood of their missing hand. All to consign another to hell, or enslave them to some other sinister purpose.”

“More sinister than death?” she asked skeptically, pensively.

Fiyero shrugged. “Some men don’t always crave death, Elphaba. There are far more interesting things to be gained when someone is driven to madness under your control. You might convince a lady, perhaps, to grace your bed where she normally wouldn’t, if only to stop the raving voices from destroying her mind and soul. 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 been performed for centuries.”

Elphaba shuddered, in spite of herself, but tried her best to look stoic. “An interesting tale,” she said, lost in thought, “though it seems more fictional than fact. 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 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.”

“So what, then,” she said with mild annoyance. “Are you suggesting that our Headmistress has been conjuring 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. Besides, even if the stories were true, and this curse was indeed 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 will say, though, that it seems like an awful lot to sacrifice just for the sake of driving someone insane. I’d sooner commit every murder myself, and leave all my limbs intact.”

“What can I say?” he said in resignation. “True dedication requires pain. It’s hard to imagine anyone butchering themselves for the sake of power, but well, there you go. 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 expression, and something softened in his gaze. “Are life and love a few of the things Miss Elphaba Thropp would 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 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 ambitions and ideals, and they were much bigger than things as pitiful as self-seeking matters of the heart.

So why, under the gaze of her friend, 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. The aching scars she felt every day whenever she reached for a pen. The restless nights spent curled on a shared mattress, cramped 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 purpose. “Perhaps I once thought that I was above it, but this experience has taught me that I’m not. If I have a part in this miserable play, then life and love are my conquerors.”

“I guess that’s why we don’t take them lightly,” he said, becoming 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, as neither knew what to say. Then, with a playful grin, he cheerfully 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 never will again.”

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.”

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… 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 shelves. Then, without further hesitation, she side-stepped the stacks 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 only beginning.