Self Incrimination

Darkness hung around Gala’s shoulders like a cloak. It pressed down with intangible weight, threatening to crush her lungs, to suffocate her where she sat. She was thankful for that darkness, for the weight it provided. It hid her transgression. She did not want to think about what she had done.

Gala pressed her back against the soft, packed dirt walls of the cellar. She heaved a strangled sob. The night seemed to consume it, only to spit it back at her when it echoed off the far wall. Anguish drove her to the floor. Despair pulled the air from her lungs. Contrition and hopelessness roiled in her chest, warring for supremacy over her thoughts. She lay there for what felt like hours, entrenched in a battle for her mind, struggling to come to grips with what she witnessed. The certainty of loss washed over her. She was ready to die, and wanted to die. If only she could bring herself to do it.

I left her behind. She thought, anguish finally dominating the turmoil inside her. Her head spun with the need for air, each sob jarred her brain. Spasms of fiery pain spiked through her skull. She stared blindly through the solid black curtain of darkness. Tears spilled down her cheeks, and disoriented as she was, she could not tell which direction was up. Finally, she retched from dizziness. Thick, acidic bile dripped from her lips, splattering on the hard-packed dirt floor. I am such a food. A coward. A failure.

Her lids grew heavy. Time lulled her self-hatred, and exhaustion soon filled the void, dragging her into fitful sleep.

*****

The soft creak of rusted hinges startled Gala from slumber. She lay half-dazed in a puddle of her own vomit. Her heart raced as she tried to comprehend the intrusive sound. The earth beneath her had softened into a cold, sloppy mud. She struggled to sit up, slipping in her attempts multiple times. Aches racked her body, from the physical exertion of the previous day, as well as her careless sleep on the hard floor.

The fetor of stale vomit and sweat threatened to make her sick again. Her head pounded in an agonizing rhythm with the cadence of her heartbeat. She finally gained her feet. Blackness swirled around her, broken only by a hazy beam of moonlight from the hatch far above. She staggered, then caught herself against the rough wall.

Her vision steadied, and she sucked in a sharp breath, then let it out slowly. Thick fog spilled down the rotting stairs at the far end of the cellar, then disappeared into the blackness at the bottom. Light pooled in at the top. A foot came down, then another. The wood groaned in protest under the weight. A dark figure slowly descended the steps, shambling like the walking dead. Gala’s breath caught. She slowly backed away, until she was against the wall and could go no further.

He’s come for me. Corbin. She thought, terrified.

“H-help me get seated.” Robyn said, her voice slurred horribly. Gala choked, then ran forward, tears flowing freely down her cheeks.

“Moons above,” Gala said breathlessly. “You’re alive!”

Robyn teetered, one hand on the wall to help balance herself. Her face was obscured by the hood of her brown cloak. She did not speak, just leaned against the wall, breathing raggedly. Gala wrapped an arm around her waist, and helped her sit down.

“What can I do?” Gala asked, relief and worry flooding her.

“Nothing.”

“But—”

“I said nothing, child.” Robyn said. Gala knew she was trying to be gentle, but the words stung nevertheless.

They sat in silence for a subjective eternity. Gala studied her mentor carefully. Blood stained the front of her tunic.The stony, angular face that Gala was used to was distorted unnaturally by a slackened jaw. Her expression was set into one of twisted agony, not quite human in form but still recognizable. Gala shuddered.

“I can help. Whatever you need, I can—”

“I already said no. I will be fine, Gala.” Pain blossomed once more across her face, but she managed a smile that looked depraved in the shadows of the cellar. Gala sniffled, then hiccuped, and finally let out a small giggle. “What?” Robyn asked, confused.

“Your face, it looks awful. But funny, somehow.”

“You should see the other guy. Guys, actually.” Robyn let out what Gala assumed was a chuckle. It sounded demonic.

“You’re really alright?”

“I will be, once I figure out what to do about my jaw.” Robyn poked gingerly at her face, and grimaced. Her face was elongated from top to bottom, but swollen around her mouth.

“I will fix this,” Gala said. “I will fix all of this, just give me the chance.”

Robyn closed her eyes. She let out a soft breath of resignation, then nodded slowly. “Be careful, please.”

“Sleep,” Gala urged. Robyn nodded again, clearly already on her way there.

*****

Time passed in slow rhythm. A beat was sometimes a minute, other times an hour. The tenebrous darkness of night permeated every facet of the cellar. It made everything seem larger, more distant, like looking at a vast city through a cloudy lens. It isolated Gala with her own thoughts, the only interruption an occasional ragged breath from Robyn.

Hours of thinking, of racking her brain for any solution. Nothing. She needed supplies: medicine, bandages, food and water. Despite her earlier confidence, she slowly realized that there was nothing she could do. Everytime she followed an idea to its logical conclusion, she came up empty handed. Her ineptitude would end with Robyn dead.

Gala absently ran her fingers through her gritty hair, pulling at knots. She stared heavenward. The ceiling seemed to stretch into eternity, like a vast, starless sky. Her soul, plagued by uncertainty and self loathing, longed to slip free of her physical vessel. Robyn was her only anchor, the one who saved her from a short and painful second life.

Robyn is in danger, and I have no idea what to do. She lamented. Darkness wrapped around her, and she embraced it. At least while she was cloaked in black, she could not see the twisted horror of her mentor’s face. No, I cannot sit here while she is dying. I cannot just let her go. The thought swirled around the eddies of her mind, pulled into sharp clarity, only to be lost in the storm inside her. But it was there.

Gala rose precariously. Her muscles burned with fatigue, her joints ached with inaction. She stretched languorously. Every part of her being cried out in protest, but she ignored it. There was nothing left but to try. Robyn would die, she was certain. Gala also knew that if she did nothing, she would die alongside her.

The darkness barely impeded her slow crawl across the still-damp floor. She felt around in the emptiness, searching for Robyn. Thin, callused hands found the tattered edge of Robyn’s cloak, and she inched her way closer. She coaxed the woman onto her back, and felt her forehead for a fever. Gala relaxed slightly when her hand came away cool. Robyn instinctively curled up again, trapping heat against the cold air of the cellar.

Gala wept. She wept at her incompetence, her cowardice, her hopelessness. Mostly though, she just wept the tears of a lost child.

The next steps were the hardest of her young life. She turned away from the only family she had in this world, the person who was more of a mother to her than the woman who birthed her. She made her way up creaking steps. Halfway, she turned back, tears streaming down her face, and whispered an apology.

*****

Eddies of snow swirled lightly on the gentle breeze. Cold bit at Gala’s bare skin. She wrapped her tattered cloak around her as tightly as she could, but the thin fabric did little to repel the chill.

Eos smiled down on the world from among the stars as it rose higher into the night sky Crystalline icicles hung like rows of teeth from the tops of buildings. Moonlight reflected and refracted through the clear ice, splitting into brilliant hues, cast against the decaying walls.

Gala struggled to organize her thoughts amidst the show winter put on. Medicine was first on the list of necessities, but her mind fractured after that, and she wrestled to put everything in order. Medicine, she thought. Medicine first. One thing at a time, I can do this.

Streams of possibilities flooded her mind. She began to seize up again, the clarity of a moment ago fleeing before a torrent of thought. The weight of crushing responsibility settled around her shoulders like a mantle. Her eyes tracked upward, to Eos. She tried to banish the jumbled thoughts. Sudden, forceful clarity brought a word to mind. Medica.

Gala silently thanked the Little Sister for her grace. There were few Medica that operated in the Lower City. Moreover, they were too expensive for her, which explained why she subconsciously disregarded the option. I’ll make it work, somehow. She thought.

She began jogging at a slow pace, determined to be as fast as possible. A dull ache formed between her shoulder blades. Her legs slowly became numb from the exertion. She willed herself to continue onward despite the pain, but she quietly cursed her body for tiring so easily.

Hot steam escaped her mouth, and floated away like thin tendrils of white smoke, curling and finally mixing with the heavy fog that blanketed the city. Snow that covered the ground, thickest along the side of the road. It crunched under burning, bare feet. She began to shiver from the cold. Her mind slowly became less hazy, like fog burning away in the sun. The pure exertion of running forced all other thoughts to flee, and she found that organizing them as they returned was easier than trying to do so while they all clogged her mind. Emotions returned more quickly than logical thought, but ignoring them was becoming easier.

Gala gradually gained speed. Her entire body screamed at her to stop. She could feel her muscles beginning to cramp, but she pressed forward. As she made her way closer to the Upper District, the road before her began to widen. The buildings slowly became more packed in, less disheveled. In the distance, she could hear the ever-present bustle of merchants, tinkers, and craftsmen selling their wares.

The Wall loomed overhead, pitching the road into deeper blackness. From where she stood in the Lower City, the imposing facade seemed to partition the sky, to cut the world in half. Sallow blue moonlight twinkled along its glassy, black surface.

Gala was torn from her reverie by a shout. “Moooove outta way girl!” She started, and scrambled to the side of the road. A cart lumbered along, spraying snow up from where she stood only seconds before. “Are ya blind, girl?” The man steering the cart asked, his accent thick with rural tones. He pulled on the reins, slowing the cart. His donkey shook its head, then snorted, clearly upset by the delay.

“No, no sorry. I was just lost in thought.”

“Weeeeell, dun be doin’ that in the road now,” He said, and smiled at her. “Me name is Cole. Whoer you be?”

“Gala.” She said, feeling stupid.

“Where you be headin’ Gala?”

“Market. Medica, actually.”

“Which one be it?”

“Medica.” She said, and blushed. It had been so long since she spoke with anyone other than Robyn. It felt nice, but surreal at the same time.

“Weeeeeell, git on then,” He said, and patted the spot next to him. Gala frozen, unsure what to do. The man seemed kind, if strange. She took a deep breath, and climbed up.

“Thank you, it is a long way to the edge of the wall.”

“That it be, girl, that it be. Tell me, whardoin’ out in this cold?” He wheezed, fighting down a nasty cough.

“My—mother—is sick. She needs medicine badly.”

“Ahh. Brave’un ain’t ya?”

Gala just shook her head. Words could never touch the level of shame she felt for abandoning Robyn to die. Cole caught her mood, and silence settled comfortably between them. The bumping cart trundled along at a markedly faster clip than her run.

“Listen girly, I do know life here can be a fight. If’n ya need a place to stay for a time, I could always use a helpin’ hand around the ole farm.”

A sob caught in Gala’s throat, and she turned away, hiding her tears.

“Ah girl, I’m sorry. If’n ya need it, you can find me round the market most days.”

The cart slowed amidst the bustle of people. Gala choked out a thanks, then climbed off the cart. Tears clouded her vision, but she did not care. Anger boiled inside her, that the man could think she would abandon Robyn. But there was something else, too. Relief. Relief that she would have somewhere to go if the worst happened. It sickened her.