“Hey, ok if I sit here?” Ava asked, flopping down on the altar steps next to Beatrice without waiting for an answer. Sisters sparred in front of them, while others were scattered across the steps reading or talking. The imposing gray hall was full, and Ava’d just watched Bea smile and nod at one of the other sisters. So why did Bea somehow still seem so distinct, so separate? “I’m hiding out from Lilith. She keeps saying it’s time for sparring practice, but I think she just wants an excuse to hit me. What is that, anyway?”
Beatrice looked up from the letter in her hands, holding back a sigh. It’s a reminder that “home” is an illusion. “Nothing.”
“What kind of nothing, though?” grinned Ava irrepressibly. “Do you still get credit-card solicitations once you enter the convent? Utility bills? Notes from your bygone looooovers?”
“No.” Having answered succinctly, Beatrice made to rise.
“Bea,” protested Ava, a whining edge to her voice. “Where are you going?”
“Someplace perhaps characterized by fewer invasive questions.” Cool, calm, collected. No, my teeth aren’t on edge. Whatever might make you think such a thing?
“No, I’ll stop, I promise,” Ava negotiated. “Really. You don’t want to talk about it. That’s fine. I’m just trying to get to know you a little bit better. But if I’m overstepping . . .”
“This is a battle between good and evil, not a summer camp,” Beatrice replied shortly, but she found herself sitting back down.
True to her word, Ava didn’t press. But she also clearly couldn’t think of anything else to say. Thank God. Silence suited Beatrice just fine.
Until it didn’t? She shifted the letter between her hands, wishing she could just keep shoving the hurt into that tiny corner between her stomach and her side, but these days, it felt like she had less and less room, more and more pressure. No, no, put it away, push it down, compact it, don’t let it take over. Discipline was the only salvation here. That, and the near-guarantee she wouldn’t make it much past 30. Only what, ten or so more years to go? She could tolerate it, could keep it under lock and key a little longer. Bring it to God, her offering of pain. Look, I’ve done all this for you, I’m doing all this for you. Is it enough? Please let it be enough.
But the pressure was building, all the same, and Ava had asked, which even Camila had long since stopped doing. “It’s from my parents,” Bea admitted. “Members of the OCS are permitted weekly mail correspondence with our families, in addition to calls home at Christmas and Easter.”
“You don’t seem happy,” Ava observed, her eyes resting on Bea’s. “To hear from them.”
“There’s more to life than being happy,” Bea returned, looking down and refolding the letter. “As I mentioned, it’s a . . . somewhat strained relationship.”
“Because they sent you away.”
Bea shook her head. “I wouldn’t be here if they hadn’t. It was disruptive at the time, certainly, but it’s brought me to where I needed to be. There’s nothing to complain about. But I’m . . .” The sigh from earlier pushed its way out against Bea’s will. “I’m not who I’m supposed to be. They remind me of who I’m supposed to be.”
“Are you shitting me?” was Ava’s response, skeptical and profane as always, and Bea instinctively crossed herself. Should she be surprised, though? She was sitting next to an unworthy Halo-Bearer whose first thought upon being healed and resurrected had been to go do drugs and kiss boys. But Ava plowed onward, not noticing Bea’s discomfort. “Bea, you’re a badass undercover ninja nun, and you’re not even a bitch about it. Who the fuck else would anybody want you to be?”
Great. Further prying, no recognition of the complexity of the situation, shallow “support” without any basis in understanding. What had Bea expected? This was all mistake after mistake, their compromised position after Shannon’s death spiraling further and further out of control.
The idea of removing the Halo, and likely the miraculous second life Ava had been granted, was ethically distasteful, not in line with anything Beatrice knew about morality or even the will of God. But it was getting harder and harder to make any case for this immature child continuing to carry such a large segment of human fate in her hands. Ok, well, her back.
“Anybody who sends you away to try to ‘fix’ you is just a colossal dick,” Ava countered. “Sorry. But they are.” Wait, why was Beatrice looking more and more pissed? Better lighten the mood with a joke. “I mean, and anybody who names a perfectly innocent baby Beatrice, of all things.”
Beatrice stiffened, then, wishing she’d just left when she’d had a chance. This girl and her scorn for things she didn’t comprehend even the edges of. The absolute self-obsession, not knowing what sacred ground she was stomping on.
Ava was the opposite of the grateful villagers and disoriented kind souls and relieved survivors Bea encountered on a weekly basis. Ava wasn’t watching the sun rise, thankful that she’d been given another day. She’d had the immense gall to crash back into life screaming that her pain mattered, that her life mattered, that her choices mattered, that she hurt and wanted and deserved, unable or maybe just unwilling to gain a broader perspective--
Sighing before beginning tactical breathing, Beatrice stopped her thoughts there. She couldn’t forget what Mother Superion had said. Suitable or not, Ava was the Halo-Bearer, at least for now, and the security of the Halo mattered more than anything else. Bea’s reactive judgment of a young woman only now entering the world, after 12 years of confinement, was perhaps too harsh, and did not contribute positively to the situation. So she only smiled, tightly. “They didn’t. It’s the name I was given upon entering the sisterhood.”
“You picked Beatrice?” Bea watched as the tension left Ava’s face, replaced with surprise, and Ava leaned over to nudge Beatrice’s shoulder with her own. The warmth of her body, the teasing tone of her voice made something long-buried flare in the pit of Bea’s stomach. Light. Friendly. Maybe even flirty. “Beatrice.”
Ava was trying to play with Bea, because of course she was, being about as emotionally aware as a toddler. Physical contact, casual enough for deniability, significant enough to test Bea’s reaction. Daring her to respond. Would Bea respond? Absolutely not.
But Ava was somehow still talking, unaware of the internal chaos she’d been wreaking since the moment she’d settled in next to Beatrice like an ill-trained, attention-seeking puppy-- “Beatrice. Because Ermengarde was taken.”
“I didn’t choose it,” Bea answered, looking away, and Ava heard no defensiveness, but maybe a tinge of . . . hurt? “Mother Superion did.”
Ava wanted to poke at her more. Find whatever crack had just opened up in the smooth polish of Bea, and smash it wide open. See what was behind all that calm, all that glassily enforced distance. But something about the vulnerability of her voice stopped Ava. “Did she say why?” Ava asked, her tone deliberately casual, willing herself not to overemphasize the “why.”
Blinking, Beatrice betrayed only a faint hint of surprise. Had Ava just backed off? Begun to demonstrate half an iota of sensitivity? “I don’t know why she chose it for me. But the meaning is from a Latin root. Viatrix, traveller. Or, likely erroneously, beata, blessed. And St. Beatriz da Silva is the patron saint of prisoners.”
“I mean, isn’t that a little on the nose? You never get to leave unless somebody needs something, and you always have to go, and it’s all about the mission, never about you or what you want? Like, sure, you travel, but it’s not like you get to choose anything in your life, so you’re kind of--”
“I chose this,” Bea snapped, the pressure in her belly rising, shooting through her chest, compelling her reply before she had a chance to think it through or soften it. Ava’s eyes widened. “I still choose this. No one is stopping me from leaving. I want to be part of something that . . . that means something.”
“Whoa, ok, tiger,” Ava mumbled after a moment. “Poked a sore spot there, got it. Sorry. Won’t do it again.” She turned away, feigned a sudden interest in the candles lining the walls.
If only Ava knew. My ribs are the bars to my cage, quarantine for my overflow heart. Beatrice took in a deep breath, exhaled, regained her composure. She followed a warrior’s way. Flirting, of all things, should not be sufficient to move her off course. It was the flirting that had pushed her, right, not Ava seeing through her? Not Ava’s intuitive understanding of her binds? She shook herself mentally. Better move on. “I take my work seriously. We do free people. From a metaphorical type of imprisonment. Loss of free will. Being bent toward evil.”
Ava nodded, turning back toward Beatrice. “I mean, sure, it seems like this is really important to you,” she conceded, and Bea swallowed against the pendulum in her chest, the desire to tell Ava everything, now that Ava had stopped pushing. You give a little, I give a little.
But the fact remained, the personal didn’t matter here. Wasn’t that what she’d been trying to communicate to Ava all along? Sure, individuals have a role to play. But we aren’t the bigger picture here. Let’s not imagine we are. We matter only to the extent that we serve the larger purpose.
Still, Ava let the ensuing silence sit, and Bea again found herself aching more with each second. Becoming Sister Beatrice had been so rewarding and so painful, was still so rewarding and so painful. And here Ava was, stubbornly small-pictured, insisting that one person could be just as important as the whole world-saving mission of a thousand-year-old religious order. Dangerous. How much to risk? The wisest answer was nothing, but Beatrice wasn’t always wise.
Bea’s voice seemed to have rusted shut somehow, at least until she heard it creaking out, words she hadn’t quite planned to say. “It starts with the same letter as my old name. People called me B anyway.” She felt Ava’s eyes on her, immediately regretted giving in to the desire to be known. Why hadn’t she shut down this conversation before it even started?
But Ava grinned. This was going somewhere. Somewhere Ava could trust. Past the rigid Sister act (great movie, terrible approach to life), into something genuine. She waited a few beats longer, hoping Bea would say more, but she seemed to have frozen up again. It didn’t make sense for Ava to care, beyond idle curiosity, but she did. Whatever else came out of this whole mess, she was fascinated with the most-or-least-nunly nun she’d ever encountered. “Let me guess,” Ava deadpanned. “Brunhilda.”
Despite her best intentions, Beatrice found herself returning the smile. Should she— “Bethany,” her dilapidated voice betrayed her, before she could even finish the preceding thought.
“Bethany,” Ava repeated thoughtfully.
My name sounds good in your mouth, Bea found herself thinking, and that right there was such a Bethany thought that she’d probably have to add a few hundred more chin-ups to her routine tomorrow. How’s it taste? and there went extra sit-ups too. Ava was good for her core, apparently.
“Nobody’s called me that in years,” she replied, quietly. Which part of her was the lie? The rash, reckless, feelings-driven kid she’d been? Or the calm, capable, centered clergy member she’d become? “Most of the people here don’t even know what my old name was.”
“Do you miss it?” asked Ava, her eyes steady, and again, Bea was caught off-guard. Were they past the sullen selfishness? Ava kept doing that, the more they talked, shifting perspective, acting not-at-all like the self-absorbed teen Bea had seen in their earlier interactions. Not at all like the selfless savior a Warrior Nun had to be, either, but could there possibly be some room for growth there? . . . Oh, right, she’d asked a question.
“No.” Leave it there, Bea, she won’t understand, and if she does, it’s only a distraction.
“Because you’re secretly 70, and god forbid you have an appropriate name for a 20-something-year-old?” Ava’s voice was warm, amused, and Bea started to relax into it for half a second before her mind interrupted her intuition. This had to stop. It’s only a distraction, Bea repeated to herself. Distractions put everyone at risk. Certainly, knowing and trusting one’s teammates led to increased ease in accomplishing the mission, but the mission itself had to remain the focus.
Bea started to feel her blood pressure rising as she slipped away from instinct, back into intellect. Why did Ava have to goad her so? Always poking, prodding, nudging, teasing. Always pulling back the metaphorical covers.
Could Ava ever take just the barest moment to still herself rather than smashing forward blindly, clumsily yanking the whole Order into disarray? Would she ever learn to leave well enough alone, to remember that her place in history had nothing to do with the crushes she’d had or the middle fingers she’d thrown or the days she’d already wasted running from the OCS, and everything to do with the Halo embedded in her? It wasn’t important who Ava had been before, either, any more than it mattered who Bea had been. The only relevant fact was that Ava had been given a gift, however unasked-for, a gift that was also a responsibility, a gift that could be withdrawn at the possible cost of her life--
Cutting herself off with a stiff inhale, Bea recognized that this wasn’t all Ava’s fault. She’d opened this door herself. Telling the girl about her family so soon after they’d met. Continuing the conversation today. She’d kept the details vague, sure, but even that had been out of line. Her compassion (ok, and her own selfishness, her own need) had gotten ahead of her strategic mind, had perhaps offered Ava the mistaken impression that the past wasn’t as locked away as it was, as it should be. And now here she was divulging her old name, of all the ridiculous things. She needed to correct her error.
“It isn’t important. As we’ve discussed, my personal background holds little relevance to our work. We’re caught in a battle between good and evil, acting in submission to God to prevent the destruction of the world. Who cares about something as trivial as a name? My name?” She averted her eyes from Ava. That was better. Even though her throat was starting to feel like it was swelling closed, a familiar heat building behind her eyes. She waited, knowing it would pass. It always did.
Ava watched Bea’s face close down in real time. Shutters, bars, locks, metal awning rolling across her expression, leaving it smooth and still. Her eyes wouldn’t meet Ava’s anymore.
Something in the middle of Ava’s chest ached. What Beatrice called “discipline,” Ava suspected others might name “repression.” Still, Bea didn’t owe Ava anything. As much as Ava wanted to know, it felt wrong to keep pushing when Bea was clearly so uncomfortable.
A sigh pressed its way out of Ava, but she didn’t quite manage to back off. “I do. I care.” She shrugged. “I don’t think wraith demons or magic metal or creepy angels or whatever are the only things that matter. I mean, I definitely cared the first time Sister Frances told me I was an ungrateful child who should have died with my mother. Who wouldn’t have? ”
Against her will, Beatrice felt herself soften slightly. Ava had been a child, and had suffered. At the hands of people who were probably indistinguishable from OCS members, as far as Ava was concerned. What looked to Bea like self-centeredness must look to Ava like self-preservation.
It was counter-productive to the aims of the sisterhood, of course, and as a result, the best interest of the entire world. (Wait, was there an . . . arrogance in that assertion? Bea frowned, mentally. Didn’t bear thinking about, not right now.) But it made sense for Ava to reject the notion that she owed somebody something, had to earn her right to exist with perfect gratitude, perfect humility, perfect self-effacement.
“And I care about anything that makes your face do . . . whatever this is.” She circled a hand around in Beatrice’s general direction, gratified by the faintest hint of a smile appearing around the corners of Bea’s lips. “Because I think that if it’s important to you, it’s important. I think human lives matter. Period. Whether or not they’re part of some weird interdimensional god-war chess-game. Sorry. That’s probably not a sensitive way to say that. This is all a lot, Bea, and I definitely don’t get it yet, but I’m trying. Really, I am. I just . . . I just barely came back to life, you know?”
“I can’t imagine what you’ve been through,” Bea said gently, her eyes finally meeting Ava’s again. “I’m sorry for your pain.”
“I’m sorry for yours, too,” Ava confessed, “whatever it is,” Bea’s softness apparently rubbing off on her. Ok. She could try this. “But maybe all you’re saying is that the way out of this is to think about something bigger than us?”
Finally, Beatrice thought, doing her best to settle her eyes. Rolling them at Ava would be . . . unproductive. “Yes. We are contained in a universe too vast for us to understand. I believe that no matter how we arrived in this place, at this moment, our meaning resides in our ability to rise above self-interest, into the service of the greater good.”
“Because when you’re part of the greater good, you’re more than just a mindless little chunk of person meat on some cosmic hamster wheel, going after what you want and avoiding what you don’t,” guessed Ava. “You’re . . . bigger somehow. You mean more. But you also don’t have to care as much about meaning something.”
The lump in Bea’s throat melted into something warm, spilling into and stretching her already-too-big heart. She glanced away, composing herself before turning back. Ava was . . . listening? Trying to understand? Maybe there was more reason to hope, with this girl, than Bea sometimes feared, although it did nothing but complicate the path forward. “Yes. I believe so.”
Ava only nodded, her eyes seeking Beatrice’s. When Bea finally lifted her gaze to Ava’s, Ava almost forgot how to breathe. “I want to do the right thing,” Ava said quietly. “A right thing. There’s probably more than one. I just don’t know that I trust the same people who hurt me to show me how.”
Swallowing, Bea returned the nod. “I hope, for everyone’s sake, that you can learn. The OCS as a whole has always been trustworthy, in my experience.”
“Ha! So that’s why,” Ava cackled, seemingly unaware of the non sequitur.
“Why what?” Confusion knit Bea’s brows. This was exactly why she didn’t watch television. It was brain-melting drivel inherently detrimental to focus.
“Why you don’t miss your old name,” Ava shrugged, as if it were obvious. “Because there’s no reason to keep an identity given to you by the parents who think you should be someone else. Not if you can have one from the people who you trust. Who don’t hesitate to claim you. Who make you part of some big-ass save-the-world mission. Sure, Mother Superion might get you killed. But she knows you, and she loves you anyway, and she gives you a purpose.”
Beatrice couldn’t help the tears prickling her eyes, couldn’t help the catch in her breath, couldn’t help so much of what happened around this patently-inappropriate Halo-Bearer. Was this why the Halo hadn’t rejected Ava yet? Her sincerity? Her odd flashes of insight? Her misguided care? She clearly wasn’t a leader, at least not yet; she wasn’t a warrior; she wasn’t remotely responsible, or the faintest bit self-sacrificing, or even much acquainted with the world outside of television and her own head. But then, every so often, that short-sightedness would give way, and on the other side, this receptivity, recognition, compassion—
“I feel less alone with you, Bea,” Ava murmured, serious now. “I know you don’t think your story is important. Maybe it’s not. I know you don’t think my feelings are important, and again, maybe they’re not. But the more I know you, the less I feel like taking off into the hills and never coming back.”
Shattering. That was the word for what was happening inside Bea’s chest. Her heart was being shattered. And rebuilt, all sharp edges and messy glue and inevitable cracks. This wasn’t the first time. In fact, some romantic part of her had always thought that one day it’d finally have been broken so many times that it’d just be stuck open, all the time, shining and irreparable, so destroyed it couldn’t stop leaking love wherever she went. She was terrified, and she couldn’t wait, and the sledgehammer that was Ava Silva certainly seemed to be accelerating the process. But Shannon was still dead and demons were still real, so to speak of herself was to turn aside from a gravely significant moral duty . . .
“I see,” was all Bea said, calmly, maintaining her external composure. “I must return to the library. But I may see you at dinner. If you don’t take off into the hills.” She rose to her feet, hiding a half-smile, forcing herself steady, and walked away from Ava, exerting every ounce of training in her body to refrain from looking back.
Ava closed her eyes, a memory of Bea imprinting itself on her eyelids and aching in the pit of her stomach. She listened to Bea’s voice in her mind until Lilith summoned her to sparring practice by smashing a nightstick into the back of her head. Right. Back to work. For the greater good. Or whatever.