Field of Fire

“It was over here. And over here. To the left. Yes there. The weird thing is there’s no tracks, and we have good trackers among us, but it’s like they left without a trace. The smoke, and the wind blowing the ash must have covered it up.” I look around taking note of that odd detail.

“Are there any suspects? Do you think it’s someone from the Beast Forest. Someone from Quadling?” On rare occasion though not usually the South was referred to as Quadling Country. It’s worse than I thought it was, but not as bad as it could be. The area is only about a half a mile in total. I knew how destructive fire could be. It could’ve been much worse. Mr. Wise Bear points to places of interest. I fallow him. I make notes on a scroll he gave me. A raven flies over head. Cawing about arson.

“Do you think they saw anything.”

“You can ask.”

“Excuse me. I’m investigating the fire. Do you know anything?”

“Green.” I blink. The raven is intelligent enough to have a conversation just unhelpful. The other two I ask repeat the phase. Like an inside joke. Cawing or laughing as they fly away. Helpful. I take a breath trying to cool my temper. Smoke leaves my mouth in a puff.

“I’ll go ask the farmer some questions.” They talk about a black panther, a wolf, and a tiger coming and stealing, one cow, two goats, three sheep, four pigs, and five chickens. It’s like they were trying to be funny. Potentially they planned. Though I don’t see the point. And they didn’t hunt together. Most likely isolated incidents. Stealing all farm animals. Then I see birds circling above a corn field. We’re a bit of a ways away from Emerald City. We have a lot in the way of corn fields. Especially near Munchkin Country. In the South there’s also quite a few farm, and fields. Wheat, corn, pumpkins, oranges, apples, grapes, bizzies, and many others. There’s also a few large apple orchards that go from the South boarder over to the West. Here there’s also on endless sea of corn from we’re I’m standing. Though I’m sure there any fruit, or vegetable I can think of is in the South. I walk over to the birds. Ravens? No crows.

“Excuse me.” I cry up to them. One lands on a wooden fence post in front of me. “I am Princess Elphaba. I’m investigating the forest fires. Do you know anything about that. Or even anything about the robberies. Who did them? We’re can I find them?” in truth I’m fine with letting Mr. Wise Bear handle, thievery. It’s the fires I want to investigate personally.

“I get something in return?” He says in a crackly voice. I’m relieved they can talk. Crows are probably the animal that thrives the most in Oz. With all this corn to steal. They should really hire some scarecrows.

“What do you want?” I ask.

“Shiny.” The point with their wing to my crown. I take it off. I hand it to them. They can barely lift off the ground with it. They leave it on the post for now, and hops onto my shoulder. Leaning in close, and whispering in my ear.

“Wicked witch.” Then they caw taking to the sky. Three of their friends carry the crown for them. I try to ask another crow, but this one just caws a me. Wicked witch. I had heard it so clearly. Almost always described as the preferred wicked. Not evil or even bad. Wicked. Evil implies you’re incapable of good. For a second, I thought they were addressing me. Telling me they were in on my secret. I don’t think they meant me, and I don’t know how to feel about that. As the sun sets, it casts the golden corn in its red and orange colors, it looks like endless fields of fire.

~

The fire in my fireplace is yellow with stress. I’m pacing. There’s a light knock at my door.

“Elphaba? Can I come in?” Glinda of course. When I was little I was closer to Nessarose, but for some reason I grew closer with Glinda as I got older. I don’t know why. I love them both though.

“Enter.” I say. My voice reflecting my dark mood.

“What’s wrong?” She asks. She sits down on the end of my bed. I tell her everything.

“Did you-“ The fire crescendos in the fireplace.

“No.” I say my voice staining with the effort to hold back all the wickedness, and power. I drop to my knees. My chest red not with pain. I cry out. Glinda comes to me, but this is no pain she can heal. She rubs my back.

“I’m ok.” I say breathless. I shakily get to my feet. “I’m ok.”

“You know what happens when a witch doesn’t accept what she is.” Glinda warns. Witches have two weaknesses. One: water burns, and melts us. Two: resist your nature long enough, and you’ll go poof. After a moment she asks. “And how do you feel about all this?” The idea of there being another wicked witch out there. It complicates things. It causes trouble. It’s caused harm. I’ve caused harm. I look at the small burn peaking out from beneath Glinda’s collar. It’s not a water burn. I look away guiltily.

“Honestly I’m relived more than anything else. That were not the last two.” There is loneliness. There is pain. With being a witch. Especially being a wicked one. I blink a couple times. Making sure I’m not going to cry. I smile. A genuinely content one.

“We need to tell our parents.” She blurts. Secrets. Not her strong suit.

“Or we can keep this between us.” I say. She looks at me.

“I’m not very good at that.” She says softly.

“Try?” I ask. The three of us know if something is to difficult not to hold it against one another. Glinda spills secrets. Nessarose takes things with out asking. And I have a tendency to shout. Also to light things on fire. I’ve gotten better though. Controlling my power, and myself. But I can’t change my nature. I am wicked. Did not ask to be. I simply am. I can’t help it. Power and wickedness entertwine inside me. I lust for more power almost as much as Nessarose does. Such is the way of the wicked witches. And now there was three.

“But what about the Theory of Balance?” That was only a theory proposed by witches long ago. That for every drop of good magic, there would be a drop of evil. And good had ruled Oz for a long time. Our grandmother the Good Queen was the only remaining witch for a long time. She added good magic to the world of Oz. Or perhaps it was my eldest sisters death that caused me to be fated to be born wicked. I did not know, but most people in Oz assumed there was two wicked sister, and two good ones. No matter how you sliced it that would not be true balance. Maybe that balance wouldn’t come today or tomorrow, but if a miracle was performed today, a great evil would come to Oz six generations later. Our balance happened sooner, and Glinda was one of the most powerful witches there was. So it made sense that ether me, or my elder sister will grow to be very powerful witches indeed. Still a third wicked witch with a good to me it felt like imbalance.

“I don’t know.” I admit.

“Well there’s a ball tomorrow so make sure you don’t work too hard.” She says. I roll my eyes. Ozians love there festivals don’t they.

~

Glinda danced with at least six men so far. Nessarose stands on the corner near the food, and drink. I stand somewhere in between. In the crowd chatting politely with guests, but not really mingling the way Glinda does so easily. A sharp wave of jealousy comes over me turning the torch fires in the room green. I quickly regain control. I turn my head from Glinda dancing with a handsome gentlemen to Nessarose. Who shakes her head. Though whether it is in encouragement, or warning I don’t know. I turn away. Glinda is the bell of the ball. She wears a soft light blue dress with ice blue trim. It matches her bright blue eyes. Her gown looks to be made out of fallen diamond snowflakes. Maybe they are. My other sister wears a dress of fall leaves, with black trim. She wears black eyeshadow, and black lipstick. Her messy black hair is tied back in a half-pony-tail. Over top she wears a black cape. A spiked gold headband instead of a crown. I wear something more typical, and basic for an Emerald City ball. My hair is dyed green with magic. My dress could be made from a million tiny emeralds. I wear long black silk gloves, and sparkly green heels. My crown is made out of green naturally made crystal towers. Almost everyone is in green. Many have dyed their hair green as well. All except my father who wishes to stand out. In a purple, and gold suit. My mother who insists on wearing red (as she claims she looks best in it) dressed in a red dress. Old fashioned with frills, and ribbon. Her long loose curly brown hair going almost down to her waist. She wears red lipstick; and red mascara to bring out her eyes. She was once the lost beautiful women in Oz, before the four of us were born. But none has seen one more beautiful than Glinda. Not due to how she looks because of every way she acts. Good, sweet, kind, approachable, graceful. Holding her self in confidence, and welcoming-ness. People simply melt when it comes to Glinda. I often wondered if mother felt as I a twinge of jealousy at all of our looks. She is good, of course. But I often have to remind myself that other people don’t fit into one category or the other. She is one of the few from an Emeraldin family. There aren’t many of those anymore. So she is with out green skin, straw, or tin. Though like all Emeraldins, like my father she has a slight magical gift. Some bring dolls to life, others can change the color of their hair, and some can turn anything they touch to emerald. Normally something small, and only one. Typically in witch family’s most ended up being Emeraldins, and there are few of those too now a days. Most are in the Emerald City. A few moved to other places in Oz. You are ether a witch or a Emeraldin though never both. And Emeraldins magic cannot even come close to a witches. My father can only sway emotions the slightest bit, and you can normally tell when he’s doing it. The only thing we ever learned of our grandfather was he was an Emeraladin that could bend light. My mother can change her clothes, and make-up with out moving a finger, and she’s seen as have a more powerful ability. I can do all that, and so much more. I look at Glinda. If mother is jealous, even a little bit. She is jealous of her looks, the attention, and the compliments. I’m not really sure what I’m jealous, but I know it’s something else. Something more.

“Princess Elphaba?” I turn to who’s addressing me. It’s Mr. Tiger. “This is Mr. Ozpin Oz.” He says. I shake the hand of none other that Mr., I’m going to crash a balloon into your yard, Oz.

“Mr. Oz is fine, and we’ve met before.” He kisses my hand then. A more proper gesture. “Shall I take up a moment of your time?” We talk about a great deal of things then he surprises me by saying, “You know between stories of daring hunts I got a bit of information on a forest fire.” Then he got more out of him than Glinda.

“Yes. There was one.” I tell him a bit about the fire. Leaving out the stolen poultry for its irrelevance, and the witch part.

“I also learned of witches.”

“Oh.”

“Wicked witches. Your sisters one of them.”

“She is.” I say not certain we’re this is going, and no longer enjoying the talk.

“Your highness would you do me the honor of considering me your friend.” I laugh. The tension gone.

“Of course. Mr. Oz.” it must’ve been fate I realize. As the Ozians believe it was fate that made us witches. Fate that made us once four. Fate that gave us power, and one day the direction of our parents choosing. Fate that will make us great leaders one day. Or perhaps at least important ones. Unlike in many ways my parents. Evil or not people will remember Nessarose. I don’t think there will be much in the way of note on the way my parents ran things. Even my parents agreed that their ruling will be nothing, but a footnote in the span of our history. We are destined for great things. Just perhaps not good ones. Besides Glinda. Though the people have a warm-neutral opinion of me. Most of the time. I wonder who Oz will be in all this. Having been a citizen for only a day he will not be able to accomplish much in the way of power, but he seems rather popular, and there are many other important jobs besides ruler open to him.

“Would it be terribly inappropriate for me to now ask you to dance?” He asks. It’s turns out he’s not an awful dancer. Though he’s not the best. Afterward we talk again. Afterword I look at Glinda’s flowers. Snapping-fly traps that will nip you if you let them, roses, a flower that glows in the dark, poppies, and a ruby roses. Like the name there roses made out of red rubies, with gold and silver stems. I move on to the emerald eschscholzia. Flowers with emeralds growing from gold petals. I watch the plant begin to wilt, and die under my gaze. It’s not enough.