Chapter 10: Pins and String

When Bianca regained consciousness, she was in so much pain that for a moment she didn't even think about the others.  She was shackled  to a post by one ankle with a length of chain.  Her whole right arm throbbed and she was unable to move it.  Her wrists and ankles were rubbed raw, she had a splitting headache, and her whole body throbbed with pain.  To add insult to injury, the hearth was unlit and she shivered on the chilly earthen floor.  She struggled to her feet, surprised by how difficult it was to rise with only one good arm.  Once up, she shuffled to the door.  Her chain was just long enough to allow her to open the door and step out a few feet.  

Outside the sun was just rising.  She could see a few stalls of the market from where she stood, but they were empty.  Seeing no one else around, she undid her pants and crouched to relieve herself. Redoing her pants single handed was tricky, but she managed it well enough.  While she was still standing there, a man with horns on his head passed by her.  He did a double-take, then spoke, “So you’re finally awake, Ice Maker.”

“My name’s Bianca,” her heart was pounding, but she tried to appear calm.  “Where are my friends?”

“Nice to meet you, Bianca,” the man pumped her left hand.  “The witch and the hot head went home.  The wolf man wasn't so lucky.”

The memories seemed to come back in jagged pieces: Tate lunging at a man and tearing out his throat.  Blood spurting from the Devil’s neck like a crack in a garden hose.  Two gunshots.  Tate’s body on the ground.  Amber screaming.  

“Did I-?” Bianca stopped mid sentence.  She must have blacked out at that point, yet her mind kept showing her images that seemed to come from a dream:  Jumping on the back of the gunman.  Gouging at his eyes with her fingers.  Being thrown off and landing on her right arm with a crunch.

“Yeah, you went a little psycho on us.  I’m just glad you didn't bother me.  I’m Mike, the guy with the fiddle.”

“You know the song, What If?” tears blurred her vision, and she stood in front of her captor and wept.  She would never hear Tate play again.  “Can I see him?” she croaked.

“See who?” Mike’s forehead creased in confusion.  

Before he could answer, a golden haired woman with white wings appeared behind him.  “Mike,” the angel cooed, “I want to see my latest acquisition.”

“Yes, Ms. President,” Mike ushered Bianca inside the cabin.  He placed a pail of water in front of her, “Make this into ice.”

Bianca dipped her left hand into the water.  She was still sniffling and the cool water made her shiver.  After a few minutes, she looked in the pail, confused.  The water remained water.  Not only did it fail to freeze, it felt warmer.

“She should have some thing by now.  I was promised results in five minutes,” the angel approached her, placing a fair hand on her forehead, “I thought that Ice Maidens were cool to the touch, like a dead body.  You feel normal.”   She turned to Mike, her wings twitching with annoyance, “Get two other Devils and take her to the Order of the Ellipse at the border.  What a waste of effort.  My whole summer is ruined.”  She stalked out the door with a flounce.

Mike followed the angel out of the cabin, leaving Bianca with her thoughts.  Either she couldn't make ice because she was too injured, or she was no longer cursed.  She stared blankly into the pail.  Could a curse be removed?

After an indeterminate amount of time spent crying from both physical and emotional pain, Bianca heard the door open again.  She wiped her eyes and found herself looking at a female Devil carrying a hammer and a large pair of piers.  Bianca backed away from her, cowering in the farthest corner of the room.

“Don't look so afraid, Hon’,” the woman stopped next to the hearth, scooping coal into the hearth.  “I’m gonna undo your chain so they can move you,” she held one of the coals until it burst into flames.  Tossing the burning coal in the hearth, she picked up the slack part of Bianca’s chain.  “I keep saying that there’s got to be someone in Egregia who knows how to make a lock and key, but does anyone listen to me?  No, no,” she held the chain over the fire with the tongs, “Nobody listens to me.”

While the woman was working, Bianca examined the shackle around her ankle.  It was a single piece of metal wrapped around her just loose enough to slide up to her calf muscle.  “What about this?” Bianca tried to pull it over her heel unsuccessfully, “You can’t really put me in the fire.”

“I don’t know if you get to take that off,” the other woman glanced at her, “I was just told to prepare you to be transported.”

The door opened and Mike popped his head in, “Smithy, want to go to the border?”

“Who’s gonna watch Anabelle?”

“You can bring her along,” Mike pointed at Bianca, “We’re turning her over to the Order, so she’s not going to be a problem.”  He looked at Bianca, “Are you?”

Bianca shook her head.

“Well, I really want to go, so okay,” Smithy smiled, her eyes glowing red with excitement.  

“I’ll pack your stuff,” Mike ducked out of the room.

“Can I ask you something, Smithy?” Bianca bit her lower lip.

“Sure Hon’, what’s up?”

“The wolf man?  Do you know what they did with his body?” Bianca bit down harder until she tasted blood.

“They gave it to the witch.  We’re not monsters you know,” Smithy used the claw of the hammer to pry a link of the chain open.  It was glowing orange from the heat as it changed from a solid into a liquid.

Bianca felt the rusty taste of blood turn salty in her mouth.  She swallowed hard and forced herself to think about the future.  If her curse was gone, then she would be allowed back in Citadel.  She could return home, pick up life where she left off.  For a senseless moment she wondered if her office had already filled her position.  

The door opened again, interrupting Bianca’s thoughts.  A little Devil girl, about seven years old shyly peeked into the cabin.  “Come in Anabelle, just mind the fire,” Smithy smiled at the girl.  Anabelle skittered across the room, grabbing her mother around the waist.  One red eye peeked out from behind Smithy’s legs, staring at Bianca warily.  “You don’t need to be afraid,” Smithy remarked.

“Daddy said it’s time to go,” the little girl mumbled.

“Come on then, Ice Maker,” Smithy shuffled to the door, the little girl still clinging to her waist.  Bianca followed behind them, her broken chain trailing like a jingling tail.

Mike and another Devil waited outside with a cart.  The wagon was covered with a domed canvas top and four horses were hitched to the front.  “Where did you get horses?” Bianca stared at the animals.  They were sedate looking, with barrel-chests and short legs.  

“The Devils have connections in Citadel.”  Mike pointed at the wagon, “Think you can climb in there, or do I need to help you?”

“Uh,” Bianca looked at the side of the wagon.  It stood about four feet off the ground.  There was no way she could navigate it with only one good arm.  “Don’t you have a ladder or something?”

“Or something,” Mike smirked at her, “Meaning I’ll have to help you get in.”

The other Devils had already scampered up the side of the wagon.  Mike grabbed her around the waist and hefted her up the side of the wagon.  Smithy grabbed her arms, eliciting a scream from Bianca.  

“Sorry,” Smithy grabbed her by the shirt instead, “I forgot you had a broken arm.”

“That hurts too,” groaned Bianca.  She grasped the side of the wagon with her left hand, pulling herself up as best as she could.  Once she scrambled onto the platform, she lay in place moaning.  Everything hurt, but her arm was on fire, pain burning its way down to the bone.  

Mike hopped into the wagon deftly.  “That guy,” he pointed at the man taking the reins, “is Carl.  He’s good with the horses.  You already met my wife, Smithy, and my daughter, Anabelle.”

Bianca moaned in response.

“Oh, that’s right, you like the fiddle, don’t you?” Mike dug around in the supplies packed into the rear of the wagon.  Carl flicked his reins and made a clicking sound with his tongue.  The wagon started to sway as the horses trotted forward.  The movement made Bianca even more uncomfortable, and she frantically tried to brace herself as she jostled against the sides of the wagon.  Mike pulled out his fiddle and started to play.  Fingers of music wound around Bianca’s consciousness, pulling her down through the bottom of the wagon, immersing her in a warm sea of earth.  

Chapter 9: Death is a Lady

He was not unpleasantly surprised to find Lamar on his doorstep the next morning.  “What brings you to these parts?” Tate opened the door and gestured for Lamar to enter.

“Can I talk to you alone?”  Lamar entered the room, glancing at Bianca writing in her notebook.

Bianca looked up from her writing, “I might as well draw some water from the creek.”  She put her notebook down and left the cabin.

Lamar sat down in Bianca’s chair, running his hands over the smooth wood, “You remember that loan Amber took out?”

“No,” Tate could feel his stomach turn cold.  So many “loans” were just entrapment; charge enough interest and the loan could never be paid in full.  With a nameless anxiety blooming in his stomach, Tate sat down in his chair.

“It was when she first got here and she wasn't doing so well with the flowers,” Lamar rocked the chair slowly.   “Anyway, the lender came to collect last night.  Instead of accepting a payment, they wanted it all.”

Tate’s worry increased and he stood up.

“No, no,” Lamar gestured for him to sit, “Hear me out.  Running to the Devils’ door in a panic isn’t going to do anyone a lick of good.”  He waited for Tate to sit down before continuing,  “They knocked on my door, told me to send a message to you.  They have Amber and they want to make a trade.  They are very interested in your ice maker.”

“No,” he groaned more out of denial than refusal.  

“Who is she to you, anyway?” Lamar’s hands tightened around the the chair arms, “You’ve known Amber ten years and this other woman-”

“I grew up with,” Tate interrupted, “I grew up with Bianca.”  He took a deep breath.  They would have to go see the Devils.  There had to be a way out of this situation, but it was one he couldn’t fathom.  “She’s going to fight,” he picked up an empty sack that once held flour.  His hands shaking, he cut it into long strips with his knife, “We’ll have to tie her up, put her in the cart.”

Lamar nodded, his expression hovering between relief and shame.

“We wait for her to get back.  You block the door,” his stomach convulsed.  For a moment Tate thought he was going to throw up.  He lowered his head so that it rested on his knees.  Yes, that was better.

The door opened with a gust of spring wind, and Bianca came in struggling with the bucket.  He watched her head towards the hearth, nodding at Lamar that he should block the exit. Before he could change his mind, Tate lunged at her.  He could feel the bucket tip in the scuffle, water splashing both of them and pooling on the floor. Bianca rolled with the fall, scrambling out from underneath him and making for the door.  She skidded to a stop in front of Lamar, a look of incredulity dawning on her face, “What is going on?”

“It will be easier if you don’t fight,” said Lamar.

Bianca’s response was to throw her weight against both Lamar and the door.  The door creaked under the weight and Tate grabbed her from behind, pulling her backwards.  She kicked like a donkey, managing to catch him between the legs.  Seeing Tate roll on the floor in pain, Lamar stepped forward and grabbed Bianca by the hair.  She shrieked and flailed at him, but he kept his legs crossed and ignored her blows.  

Recovering enough to stand, Tate grabbed a strip of cloth and used it to bind her wrists behind her back.  He did the same with her legs, his pulse sounding in his ears.  Lamar helped him drag her out the door and load her into the cart.  She was screaming, straining against her bonds, and writhing about the cart.  Unable to watch, Tate vomited in the bushes.  Once he was finished, he shakily walked over to his cart and lifted the handles.

By the time they reached the market, Bianca had rolled out of the cart twice. Lamar helped him lift her back in the first time, but refused to help again after she bit him.  People stared as they rolled past, but no one spoke to them.  News traveled fast in the Egregian market, and Tate figured they already knew.  He stopped his cart in front of a cabin that served as the Devils’ headquarters.   

A man with reddish skin and horns on his head was waiting outside.  Perhaps to pass the time, he held a fiddle tucked under his chin.  Tate stood transfixed, listening to the man play.  Even Bianca stilled as the stains of What If? filled the air.  Lamar broke the trance, approaching the man directly, “We’re here for Amber Kant.”

He lowered his instrument and gazed in the wagon, “I suppose you are.”  He ducked inside, returning with two other men.  

“Give us the woman who makes ice,” commanded another horned man.

“Not until you give us Amber,” Tate was surprised to hear himself say.  

The men glanced at each other, then one went inside the cabin.  Tate watched them, his anxiety increasing with his confusion.  He had no idea who was the leader and he could barely tell them apart.  

The man returned with Amber thrown over his shoulder, hogtied.  A sense of helplessness rolled over Tate, followed closely by revulsion.  

“We’ll exchange the witch for the ice maker on three,” said one of the men.  

Tate nodded, his stomach clenching.  He walked to the back of his cart, feeling like he was walking into a steel trap.  Bianca lay still, terror in her eyes.  Realizing he had no choice, he slid the knife from his pocket and cut part way through each of her bonds, leaving just enough cloth so they wouldn't fall off.  He grunted as he lifted her out of the cart, half dragging her towards the Devils.  

“One,” counted the man, “Two.”

Hoping she remembered childhood as vividly as he did, Tate dropped her in the dirt in front of the men, yelling, “Ollie ollie oxen home free!”

The man dumped Amber at Tate’s feet at the same time he released Bianca.  Bianca rose off the ground as if she were a rubber ball, her arms and legs pulled free.  She snarled at the man, grabbing him between the legs and twisting.  Tate lept over Amber, praying Lamar had the sense to pull her to safety.  He threw himself at the other man, sinking his teeth into his neck.  

At first Tate wasn't sure what had hit him.  It didn't hurt any more that a slung rock.  It wasn't until he saw the gun itself that it occurred to him that he had been shot.  Then there was blackness.

Tate struggled against the darkness.  He had to stay alert.  He opened his eyes as wide as he could.  There was a spot of light in the distance, so faint that it appeared like a purple ring against the black.  He moved towards it, floated really, straining his eyes to focus on it.  It didn't get nearer but it brightened, the world popping back into focus inside of the ring then spreading to fill out the rest of his range of vision.

He must have been unconscious for awhile, for he was no longer near the market.  Actually, he wasn't really sure where he was.  He was standing on a hillside overlooking what he guessed was a river.  The other bank was visible from his vantage point, trees and mountains stretching across a grey sky.  At the edge of the water was a figure glistening oddly in the sun.  As he drew nearer, he realized it was Bianca, her body made entirely of ice.  She held onto the prow of a small boat, keeping it and its occupant from drifting in the current.  

“Bee,” Tate looked at her puzzledly, “What’s going on?”

Bianca gazed at him silently, holding the boat steady.  

“You want me to get in,” he climbed into the boat sitting on the bottom and grabbing onto the long grasses next to the shore.  “You take the seat,” he said to Bianca, “Climb in.”  She stepped into the center, the boat rocking wildly under her weight until she settled on the bench in the prow.  

Curious about the other passenger, he turned towards the aft.  The figure’s face was in the hood’s shadow and he stared, trying to make out more than the bridge of a fair-skinned nose.  “Too fair-skinned,” he thought, “Pale as Death.”  Tate swallowed convulsively as the figure pushed the oars in the oarlocks, moving the boat away from the riverbank.

“You have guessed who I am?” the figure allowed the boat to drift while pulling the hood off.

Tate could feel his pulse race in his neck.  Pale skin.  White hair.  She could only be one being.  “Death,” he said hoarsely.

__________________________________________________________

Please note that this is not the end of the story . . . there will be another chapter next week.

Chapter 8: Omission

He startled awake and lunged, biting blindly into his attacker.  

“You can't say I don't learn from experience,” Bianca let go of the log she had poked him with.

Tate released the wood from his grasp, adrenaline still singing through his veins.

“It’s getting late, and I thought you would want to get up,” Bianca retrieved the log, setting it next to the fire.  “Didn't you sleep well?  Your tail’s not hurting, is it?”

“Yeah, a little bit,” he lied.  If he said he had a nightmare, she might ask what it was about.  He couldn't imagine telling her the dream, let alone explaining the peculiarities of wolf man sex.  Just thinking about it made his ears burn with shame.

“You should see a doctor,” Bianca's forehead scrunched with concern, “There are doctors, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll be okay though,” he had forgotten that lies always carried their own set of consequences. There was a saying about that, something about rats and traps.

Bianca was still scrunching her forehead at him.  She stood over him as if she was going to speak, then shook her head and limped out the door.  He stretched and stood up.  Limping or not, she would help him clear a homesite.  If he were to have any hope of winning Amber back, Bianca had to go.  

He waited for Bianca to return.  After a few minutes, he went outside and relieved himself.  Sniffing the air, he followed her scent to the last place she had used as a toilet.  He sniffed again, unable to locate a stronger smell.  Puzzled, he headed over to the creek.  She was not there.  Thinking he must have somehow missed her, he circled back to the cabin.  It stood empty, the fire popping companionably.  Feeling a pang of hunger, he wolfed down last night’s overboiled eggs.  From the position of the sun, he would guess it was nearing midday.  He put on a pot of beans, hoping she would come back while he was preparing them.  When she failed to appear, he picked up a machete and headed up the road until he found a spot that looked suitable for a house.  He began to work at clearing the underbrush, cutting and hauling it out onto the road.  When the pile was so large that the road was impassable, he returned to his cabin to fetch his wagon.  

He grumbled to himself as he filled the cart with brush.  Bianca should be here helping him.  It was already past lunch time and - the beans!  He had completely forgotten the beans!  He ran back to the cabin, removing the pan from the fire with a torn wad of denim he used as a hot pad.  Depositing the smoking pot outside, he ducked back into the cabin, choking on the smoke.  He carried a bowl outside and spooned burnt beans into it.  Frowning, he went back up the road to retrieve his cart.  There was a field down the road a ways, and he had used it before for burning brush.  Seeing how the day had gone so far, he decided to wait on burning the debris, merely placing it in the field for storage.

 

After eating some burnt beans, he headed back towards the homesite.  In spite of all his work, it looked a great deal like the surrounding area, and he almost walked past it.  As he continued chopping away at ferns and blackberry vines, worries filled his head.  He couldn’t possibly imagine where Bianca would have gone.  She was exhausted just from their short trip to the market.  Had someone or something kidnapped her?  Had she fallen unconscious somewhere he had failed to look?

The sun was low in the sky when he caught her scent.  At first he thought he imagined it, but it grew stronger, along with the smell of fresh bread.  He made his way to the road just as she passed in front of him.  She jumped, dropping the cloth sack from her arms.  A pair of apples rolled down the hill.  She sat down heavily in the dirt, “Tate, I thought you were a monster.  You look feral with all those leaves and branches stuck in your fur.”

“Unlike you, I was working on your homesite,” he crossed his arms, his relief fading into resentment.

“I thought you were hurt,” Bianca pulled aloe leaves out of the sack, “These are for your tail.  It’s supposed to take away the pain.”

“You went to the market for that?” guilt scratched at the back of his mind, “How much did you pay for that?”

“Twenty blessings.”

“Twenty!”

“She needed it in a way, and I needed the aloe,” Bianca rose to her feet.

“That wasn’t right of Amber, no matter who you were,” he retrieved the apples, handing them to her.  

“I got some bread for dinner,” she limped towards the cabin, “and look, cheese!”  She pulled out a shallow glass jar filled with farm-style cheese.

Reaching the yard, he scraped the remaining beans out of the pot, then hauled it over to the creek.  After rinsing and scrubbing the inside, he filled it and carried it back to the house.  Bianca was coaxing the fire back to life, a bowl with sliced apples, bread, and cheese waiting for him in his chair.  He tore into it, delighting in the way the tang of the apple complemented the creaminess of the cheese.  Bianca ate lying down, her weariness apparent in her drooping eyes.  

When he finished his meal, he lay next to her, trying to pull some of the leaves out of his fur.  They didn't poke at him the way the burrs had, so his grooming was perfunctory.  Bianca pulled off her sock and examined the blisters on her foot.  “When there is no trap, the cheese is poisoned,” he finally recalled the proverb.

“Your mother used to say that when she thought you were lying about stealing her cigarettes,” Bianca absently picked at her skin.

“Bee,” he ventured, “my mom?  Is she well?”  

“She's alive.”  Bianca hesitated.

“I think about her a lot,” now that he had broached the subject, he was unable to stop.  “Does she know that you cursed me?  Does she know why?  You know, my dad ran off and left her when I was two.  If she thought I just left . . . I know we didn't get along when I was a teenager, but that's normal.  That doesn't mean I didn't love her.  I mean, if I had a kid I’d probably be the same.”

“Tate.”

“Does she still live next door to you?  Did she stop smoking?  She was a nurse, she knew better.  I used to call her a hypocrite.  She got after me about smoking too.  It was crazy, one moment she'd be all, ‘Yeah, I’m gonna smoke a cigarette and relax,’ and then the next be yelling at me for doing the exact same thing.”

“Tate.”

“We had a fight before I left, but we were always fighting.  She was picking on me, saying I was moping about the house.  Ow, quit it,” he batted Bianca's hand away.  She had grabbed his ear and given him a pinch, right on the outer fold.  

“Then let me say something.  I’m not even sure I can keep track of the questions you've asked so far,” Bianca rubbed her eyes.  “Let’s see.  No, I didn't tell your mother, or mine, that I cursed you.  I didn't tell them anything.  There's some things you just don't want your mom to know.  So, she probably did think you ran off,” she sucked in her bottom lip, then continued, “She still lives next to my parents, still smokes, but she lost her job.  She was looking for you for a long time.”

Tate could feel the lump form in the back of his throat again.  He had been so afraid of her hating him for what he had done, that he thought it best to disappear.  But the pain of not knowing was one he was familiar with, one that was equally hurtful.  

He rolled onto his stomach and buried his face in the blankets.  Even if no tears would come out of his eyes, he knew he was grimacing, his face contorting as the pain roiled through his body.  

“Are you okay?” Bianca said the words barely above a whisper, almost as if she were talking to herself.  

He didn't answer.  If she knew he was hurting; if she touched him, he thought his soul would shatter.