The feeling of leaving her body ended too soon, and Bianca came back to her senses painfully. The jolting of the wagon and the throbbing in her right arm made each hour nearly unbearable. With no way to measure the time or distance, Bianca spent much of her time writing, trying to reconstruct the contents of her lost notebook on a pad Smithy used to track her services and payments. For the first time ever, she was thankful to be left handed.
They arrived at the border towards the end of the third day, the electric lights on the gate marking the entry to Citadel. Carl drew the wagon up to the gate, and pushed a button mounted on a pole.
“State your business,” said a voice through the intercom.
“We have a woman who is no longer cursed,” Carl shot a glance over his shoulder at Bianca. She scooted forward, her attention on the speaker grill.
“And who are you?” the disembodied voice asked.
“Carl Marshall of the Devils.”
“And is that the woman next to you?”
Bianca almost fell over. It hadn’t occurred to her that they could see her.
“Yes,” Carl gave her a sharp look, “She’s injured as well.”
“Candidate, state your name,” the voice demanded.
Bianca looked at Carl. “Is he talking to me?” she whispered.
“Yes, I am talking to you,” the irritation in the voice was obvious.
“Uh, I’m Bianca Abatangelo of . . . nothing I guess,” Bianca looked at the pole, searching for the camera.
“A droid will come out to process you. Please exit the wagon and stand facing forwards with your hands on your head and your legs apart.”
“I, uh, I can’t move my right arm,” Bianca waited for a response, but the speaker was silent. She swung her legs over the side of the wagon and jumped off the edge, pushing her body away from it with her good arm. She faced the gate, assuming some semblance of the stance requested by the voice.
The gate slowly slid to the side, a silver quadropod droid walking out to meet her. It held out its “hand,” a tablet with a cuff and syringe fitted to its surface. “Place your hand. On the biometric. Screening device,” it intoned haltingly. Bianca placed her left hand on the screen and waited while the droid took a blood sample and fingerprints. The front of the droid lit up yellow, meaning it had confirmed her identity and status as cursed. A few minutes later, it lit up red.
A drone flew over the gate and hovered over them. The horses panicked at the noise, and started pulling at their stays and whinnying. Carl struggled to get control of them, then gave into their pulling and turned the wagon back down the Egregian road. Bianca looked up at the flying bot in fear. “So this is it,” she thought, “this is how I die.” As the drone swooped down towards her, she raised her good arm to protect herself, knowing it was futile. The drone’s carbon fiber talons wrapped around her torso, and suddenly, she was airborne.
“Well, that’s good,” she said to herself shakily, “It’s a transport drone, not a weaponized drone. They could have warned me.” She could barely hear herself over the wind rushing by them and the noise of the drone’s propellers. The drone ascended to about 12,000 feet, and entered Citadel’s air highway system. Emboldened by the fact that no one could hear her, Bianca continued her rant, “And why bother to pick me up in a closed cabin vehicle, when you can make this journey as cold and uncomfortable as possible. Maybe they’re hoping I’ll die along the way. Maybe they’re taking me to a prison like Tate mentioned.” She was quiet for a minute thinking about Tate. “Please don’t tell me you plan to drop me like the drone that took me to Egregia. For all I know, you are the drone that took me to Egregia,” Bianca’s arm began to hurt from clinging to one of the drone’s talon. There was no logical reason to hang on to it, but she was in terror, flying thousands of feet off the ground suspended from a bot with blades whirling above her head.
The drone exited the highway at the first exit, slowing as it entered a mixed-use area with small businesses and houses. It finally descended into a parking spot marked with a green circle. Bianca held onto the drone even tighter. If it dropped her on the pavement . . . well, she didn’t even want to think about that. It hovered in place, holding her several feet off the ground. Bianca squirmed, wanting out of its talons, but worried about landing on her broken arm.
“Can’t you release my feet, and I can put them down? But don’t completely drop me!” Bianca wiggled her legs, trying to communicate with the drone.
“It might be better if I just roll this underneath you,” said a voice.
Bianca craned her neck. A servant of the Order wheeled a stretcher underneath her, adjusting the height until she was flush against it. He ducked under the propellers of the drone, his robes whipping around him. “Ready?” he asked her.
“Yeah, I guess.”
The servant pushed a button on the side of the droid. It released her and buzzed back up into the sky. Bianca lay on the stretcher, weak with relief. The servant pushed the stretcher up the access ramp, “It’s been awhile since we got a new priest. I’m glad you came in on my shift. Nice to have something actually happen around here, you know? And a new priest is a pretty big deal.”
“Uh-huh,” Bianca watched the servant tap a button next to the door of the Holy Place. She wondered if she would catch a glimpse of the new priest while she was here. The door opened and the servant wheeled her inside. He zig-zagged her stretcher into an exam room.
“There will be a doctor in to see you in a little bit,” the servant dug a cloth gown out of a drawer, “Here. Change into this.”
The servant left and Bianca winced as she removed her shirt, staring at the dirt stains made obvious by the tube lighting overhead. Her skin didn't appear much cleaner, grime and dead skin flaking off her when she rubbed her arm. She kicked off her shoes, then undid her pants, struggling to pull them over her ankle chain. She fussed with her manacle, rotating it and trying to slip it off from different angles. Her concentration was so deep that she jumped when there was a knock at the door.
“One moment!” she hurriedly threw on the gown, sitting on the exam table to hide the open back. “You can come in now.”
The door opened and the doctor entered the room with tablet. “Bianca?” the doctor looked over the top of her glasses to confirm.
Bianca nodded at her.
“I’m Dr. Nguyen,” she held out her right hand.
Bianca shook with her left, a maneuver that felt more like holding hands, “My right arm is broken or something.”
“Looks like I have my work cut out for me,” Dr. Nguyen stuck a thermometer in Bianca's mouth.
Several hours later Bianca sported a neon pink cast and the red robes of a servant. She was freshly showered, her wet hair pulled into a ponytail, her chains removed carefully with a saw. They had fed her a meal typical for the order; roasted eggplant over a bed of black rice risotto with an acai blackberry smoothie. That meant tomorrow was red day, and everyone would be eating beef and . . . tomatoes? She had no idea.
Bianca started to drift in her seat. The doctor had given her pain killers, and she was comfortable for the first time in days. She had almost completed dropped off when a voice called her name. She glanced up, catching the eye of a servant standing over her.
“Please come into the Sacred Chamber,” the servant requested.
Bianca stood and followed the servant to a set of double doors. They opened to a dimly lit, vast chamber. In the rear of the room was a priest dressed in white robes, seated on a raised golden chair. Bianca entered the room, approaching the throne with her eyes on the ground. Once she reached it, she knelt.
“Bianca Abatangelo has died and is twice buried. You will be known by a new name,” the priest had a breathy voice that made her sound uncertain. “Who removed your curse? Who is your patron?”
“I don't know, your Holiness.”
“You may call me Mina,” there was a creak as Mina shifted in her throne, “and you don't need to avert your eyes.”
Bianca looked up at Mina. She was a small woman with brown hair hanging in her eyes. She was dressed in the customary white robes, a rainbow sash knotted around her waist.
Mina nodded at her, then continued, “There are three criteria for removing a curse, well, four really. One: The candidate must be virginal. Two: The patron must die a death of self-sacrifice.” Mina blew her bangs out of her eyes, “Three: The patron must speak an invocation to the curse of the candidate. And four: The patron must take the candidate’s curse across to the other world.”
Bianca shook her head. Yes, she was a virgin, not that it was Mina’s business. She supposed Tate's death could be seen as self-sacrificial, but his sacrifice was more for the sake of Amber than Bianca. And the third criteria just seemed like nonsense. “An invocation?” she sat back on her haunches skeptically.
“Likely the last thing your patron said to you.”
Bianca shook her head again, “There must be some sort of mistake. He betrayed me.”
“Did his betrayal lead to his death?”
Bianca nodded, heat rising into her face, “He tied me up and threw me in a cart. Took me to the Devils as trade for his girlfriend.”
“What was the last thing he said to you?” Mina’s face was inscrutable.
“He said, ‘Ollie ollie oxen home free,’” she burst into laughter, her hysteria verging on tears.
Mina scratched her head, “Like hide-and-seek. That's what you say when the game is over and suddenly you're on the same side again.” Mina wound a strand of hair around her finger thoughtfully, “Your patron didn't betray you. He died for you and he called out for your curse to be with him.” She leaned forward in her chair, “Tell me his name.”
Bianca bit her bottom lip and shook her head vigorously. She didn't want to say his name. Even if Mina was convinced, Bianca still didn’t believe that Tate would take her curse away, at least not on purpose. “Couldn’t it just be an accident?” Bianca looked at Mina beseechingly.
“You remind me of a candidate I had two years ago. It took him a week to name his patron,” Mina eyed her sternly, “Don’t be like him. I know some candidates have suffered at the hands of their patrons. You don’t have to forgive your patron to accept the gift he’s given you.” Mina got out of her throne and put a hand on Bianca’s shoulder, “Stalling won’t change anything. Denying your patron won’t change anything. As far as I can tell, it will just make you suffer more. Just say his name. Right now you’re holding it inside you. Do you want to hold onto your patron? Or do you want to get him the hell out of your life?”
“Tate Harper,” Bianca felt a shiver pass through her that seemed to start at the back of her tongue and ripple down her arms.
“Good girl,” Mina patted her shoulder, “Your new name will be Priest Tatiana Ellipse.”
“Wha . . .” Tatiana gaped at Mina.
“Okay, so maybe I tricked you a little bit. Every priest is named after their patron. You can’t really have expected your case to be any different.”
“Who-what . . . priest!?” Tatiana gawped openly as if Mina had just pronounced her a new type of fruit.
“Didn't anyone tell you?” Mina untied her hair. It fell down her back in a cascade, the tips licking at the floor, “Devils these days, I swear. They know how this system works. They get paid for every new priest they bring in.”
Tatiana watched Mina pull her hair back up, winding it into a tight ball. “I’m sorry, but you have really long hair and I have no idea what you just said.”
Mina sighed, “Nothing important. Let’s talk about your assignment, then I'll let you get some rest.” Mina walked back to her throne, pushing a button on the arm, “So here’s Citadel.” A map appeared on the opposite wall. “All the red areas need another priest.” The red was mostly clustered around the border of Citadel, with additional patches scattered across the map.
“What about Egregia?” Tatiana pointed below the border line.
“Oh, no you don't,” Mina shook a finger disapprovingly, “Next you’ll start in about how the wall is really there to keep us in, not keep the cursed out.”
“Wait, what? Say that again.”
“I should just send you to Alister. It would serve him right,” Mina pushed another button on her throne.
“The wall is there to keep us in,” Tatiana pulled Smithy’s notepad out of her robe and jotted the sentence down.
“Alister is here,” Mina tapped a white area in the center of the map, “He was put there to keep him out of trouble, but he's been surprisingly content. Some rebel he turned out to be.” Mina looked up as the door opened.
A servant entered, eyes on the floor, “Your Holiness?”
“Please take the new priest to a room to rest,” Mina turned to Tatiana, “Do you need anything?”
“Could I . . . call my parents?” Tatiana sucked in her lower lip.
“Make sure she has access to a phone,” commanded Mina.
“As you say, your Holiness,” the servant walked backwards out of the door.
Tatiana headed for the door, stepping on the hem of her robe as she shuffled backwards.
Mina giggled, “You can walk normally. We're peers now.”
Tatiana turned around, her robe twisting around her legs. Hopelessly entangled, she tried shaking one of her feet loose. Mina’s giggles turned into outright laughter as Tatiana sank to the ground in dismay. Once she was seated, the robes swirled back into their proper position, leaving not even a wrinkle. Tatiana sighed as she stood up. Being a priest was going to take a bit of getting used to.
The servant was waiting for her outside the door, his face a mask of deference. He showed her to room with vaulted ceilings and a private bath, pointing out the location of the phone. Tatiana wasted no time in picking it up, perching in the ladder-back chair next to it.
“Hello?” It was her father’s voice.
“Daddy! It's me, it's Bianca!”
“Bee? How did you-where are you? It’s so good to hear your voice!”
“I’m not cursed anymore, Daddy,” Tatiana wrapped the phone cord around her index finger, “I’m a priest.”
“That's incredible news.”
“Oh, can you or Mom tell Ms. Harper that I saw Tate? Tell her he didn't run away. He was cursed too.”
“Tate's alive?” there was a rustling on the other end of the line.
Tatiana stared at base of the phone.
“Bee? Bianca?” her dad’s voice suddenly sounded far away, “Are you there?”
Tatiana set the phone back into its cradle, silent tears streaking her face. “Pins and string, I take it back,” she whispered, “It’s okay. I’ll be cold forever. Just bring him back.” She rested her head and hands on the desk, feeling the coolness of the wood against her hot face. “I take it all back,” her sobs became ugly, her whole body jerking with the force of them. Next to her, the phone rang. She ignored it, unable to calm herself enough to speak coherently. A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door. Wiping her face with her hand, she cracked the door open.
“Your robes, Holiness,” a servant handed her a neatly folded white robe. A red sash sat on top of it. She accepted the robes, nodding at the servant. Closing the door, she sat in front of it, holding the robes to her chest. For a moment she tried to imagine Tate in her situation. He wouldn't be crying, for one thing. He’d be plotting his next move: Go back to Egregia. Get his fiddle. Find Amber.
“Listen up, Tate, wherever you are,” she thought with the sort of intention she usually reserved for prayers. “I will do these last few things for you, then I’m done, okay? I’m not going to think of you anymore and I'm going to do whatever I can to tear down that wall between Citadel and Egregia. Maybe this Alister guy will help me.” New priests weren't allowed to do much more than a servant. She would be beholden to whoever she was assigned to until she earned her rainbow belt. She counted the colors on her fingers, “Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple. Six colors to go through.”
Thinking ahead calmed her, and she reached for the phone. Whether she wanted to or not, she needed to tell her parents what happened to Tate. She dialed their number, holding her breath as it rang.
“Bianca?” it was her mom.
“Hi Mom. There's something I need to tell you. Something that happened a long time ago.”
