Dread

Exhausted, Gala slumped against a brick wall, hiding in a wide alley created by two red-brick buildings. Light from the street lamps danced in erratic patterns just beyond the shadow she sat in. She shook with effort, heaving to catch her breath. A smile played across her lips, proud and strong. Eyes closed, she took in a deep breath. I did it. I saved us.

The hollow clinking of nail-studded boots on cobblestones sounded down the road. Gala’s eyes shot open. She inched deeper into the darkness, praying that it would hide her from whoever was coming her direction.

“—cannae believe it. ‘Ere o’ all places.” A tenor voice rang out, thick with an unfamiliar accent. He spoke softly, but the words echoed aimlessly down the empty roads.

“Aye. The rats usually keep it to their part of the city. Wonder what brought ‘em up this a’ways?” A second man responded. His high voice carried a much sharper tone, but a milder accent.

“Dunnae matter,” the first voice responded. “Dead now, eh?”

“At least one o’ ‘em is!”

Both men laughed as they came into view. One was tall. His thick shoulders bore a tunic made of a coarse animal pelt. A sword hung lazily from his hip. The other man was shorter, thinner. He held a cudgel tight in one hand, as if expecting to use it, but his body language was otherwise relaxed.

“Tha’ other one,” the taller man said in his thick accent. “Where ye think she scampered off to?”

“Who knows. She ain’t gettin’ out though.” The second grunted. They both laughed again, and then rounded a corner out of sight.

Gala let out a soft exhalation, and stood. Time to leave, she thought, unperturbed by the man’s insinuation that she was trapped. Guards always overestimated their abilities.

She stalked her way down the road, wary of any more soldiers. She did not encounter any from her hiding place to the wall, and found the tiny hole unguarded. She pushed the bag in front of her, careful not to let it rip lest she lose all of her hard earned bounty. She slid downward. It took several minutes to get out despite it being easier than her ascent, but she never felt the same gripping fear she had before. She crawled out of the tunnel, and gathered her belongings, trying to avoid thinking about how bad she smelled.

She stopped in front of their hideout, and stripped naked, careful not to tear her already raggedy clothing. Gooseflesh pricked her skin in the sudden cold, but she ignored it and set about washing her clothing. One did not stay nude at night for very long, not without fire. She poured water from her waterskin over the tunic and pants, and wrung them out several times. She shivered violently, and considered going down into the basement to warm up, but knew it to be a foolish idea. If she did, she would die.

After she was certain she had gotten as much filth off her clothing as she could, she entered the vacant building above their cellar. She found several pieces of loose, rotting wood, and carried them into the cellar. She lit a fire with one of Robyn’s matches, and laid her clothing out to dry, pressing close to the heat to warm herself. As her body warmed, tremors wracked her body, but she could not find it in herself to care. The thought she had been trying to avoid, pressed itself across her mind. Robyn was not back.

*****

Gala stood in the cramped cellar, her tender feet throbbing under her slight weight. Muscles sore, back aching, she slipped into her stiff clothing. The stench of rotting feces still clung to the fabric. It did not register, her mind fixated on the task at hand. She glanced at the dying embers of her fire, furiously considering her options. Robyn was in danger, she could sense it, but her stubborn mentor had failed to tell her precisely where the merchant she was targeting resided. That left Gala with little in the way of workable information.

One step at a time, she thought. The steps out of the cellar were wet, the snow having melted in the relative warmth radiating from the flames. The hatch was already open to let smoke out. She closed it after her, hoping that the cellar would trap some of the heat for when she returned with Robyn.

Despite lacking solid information, Gala was fairly confident she could track Robyn down. The woman had left headed north, the same direction as the market. That left only the area between the cellar and the Wall to search, a sizable tract of land, but not untenable. She could further narrow it down by making some assumptions. For one, Robyn would not steal from anyone outside of Corbin’s territory. To do so would invite retribution, something she was certain her mentor wished to avoid. The second qualifier was the status of her target. Robyn preferred to hit merchants of middling status. Aim too high, and the law would come down too hard. Aim too low, and the risk simply was not worth it. That left precious few options, and made Gala’s task significantly easier. If those same principles applied, anyway. Robyn was desperate, and Gala knew better than most the lengths to which desperation could drive a person.

Buildings passed Gala by at a steady clip. Throbbing feet could not stop her from setting a soul crushing pace, but she knew it would be impossible to maintain forever. Minutes passed, and she was breathing hard. The Wall loomed overhead, brilliant in its shadowy hegemony over the sky.

The rattling of wheels on cobblestones brought Gala up short. She spun, looking for the source of the noise. Lathered horses pulled a merchant wagon toward her from the south, kicking snow to either side as it came. Gala froze, unsure what to do, before stepping to the side of the road, and disappearing into the shadows. The wagons passed her by without slowing, and she got a glimpse of the passengers. Two men, well dressed. Nobles, not merchants.

What the hell? She wondered, as the wagon disappeared around a corner, likely headed for the Southern Gate. It was strange enough to see well-to-do merchants travelling through the Lower City, but in her short life, she had never seen nobility doing so. It reeked of desperation, and unnerved Gala. It set the back of her neck to tingling, as if she should be running from something. What was that all about?

Seconds passed, and nothing else came toward her. Cautiously, she stepped from the shadows, and resumed her trek toward the market square, travelling slower than before, more alert. It was possible that the nobles were foreigners, unfamiliar with the City. If that were the case, she could understand how they ended up lost, but for some reason that explanation did not sit well with her. She shook it off. I have more important things to worry about.

She wandered the streets. Her legs cramped, her chest tightened, but she ignored her pains, and pressed forward. No one else was going to help Robyn. The market square stood barren ahead. There was no movement, and Gala began to worry that she had gone the wrong direction. She searched around each of the storefronts, and found no evidence of her mentor. Cursing quietly, she sat down with a hard thump. Her body hurt, her mind reeled, her emotions roiled. What am I supposed to do? She asked herself. The thought echoed in her mind, no reply forthcoming.

Hope fled. She sagged with the weight of fear. What am I supposed to do? She asked herself again. Tears sprang forth, threatening to fall down her cheeks. Frost slowly formed on her eyelashes. Despite that, she could not muster the will to wipe them free. She slumped against a nearby wall. A cellar door sat, bolted closed, next to her, almost as if the gods were taunting her. She silently cursed it, and rolled into a tight ball, shutting the world around her out.

Why couldn’t she just come back home? She lamented. Slowly, she felt herself letting go, giving in to the fact that her mentor was dead. Then, a thought. Maybe she went to another safe house. 

Hope flickered, puttering defiantly. She took a shallow breath, and struggled to push herself up from the icy ground. The tears in her eyes rolled down her cheeks, but she paid them no mind. Maybe. Maybe…. Maybe. Gala shakily stood. Her legs trembled under her weight. She had done too much, gone too far, and her body was ready to give in. Her soul was too, but she had one last thing to check off her list before she would allow herself the mercy of sleep. The safehouse.

Robyn kept a safehouse somewhere near the Wall. Gala knew that, because Robyn insisted on teaching her all of the tricks and knowledge she had accumulated over the years. “When home is under siege, retreat to your safe place,” she had always said.

Gala wiped her eyes, and began to walk. As she gathered her thoughts, ordered them, and analyzed her options, she changed course. She hugged the Wall, following it north and east, out of Corbin’s territory. There were myriad reasons the woman might have fled, but the most likely was an injury. The thought spurred Gala on, but her body was already strained to the limit.

She knew the safehouse by description, but in the dark it was difficult to distinguish buildings. Her legs shook uncontrollably, and her vision began to close in around her, narrowing her field of view. Then, she saw it. A proud building, two stories, standing vigil over an empty street corner. Gala shook herself, trying to clear her vision. She stumbled to the back wall, and knocked on the door. No answer. She circled the building. No lights flickered inside, no sound gave away the presence of another.

She tried to open the front door, but it was locked tight. She circled to one side, and tried the window. Also locked. Frustrated, she circled to the other side, and saw a cellar door, much like the one on their home, only sturdier. She tried to open it. It swung up and opened on well greased hinges. Relief flooded her as she descended the steps. Then fled like animals before fire.

The second she stepped down into the cellar, she knew something was wrong. There was no soft breathing, no scraping of cloth against rough dirt. There was no presence other than her own. A dark thought crept at the edges of her mind.

A form lay in the middle of the dirt floor. A red flower, tucked behind one ear, highlighted curly brown hair. Soft yellow light flickered throughout the room, cast by a hand lantern on the ground nearby. It played across broad shoulders, casting deep shadows across the cellar floor. A dull gleam reflected off the large pool of blood that spread from the form. Gala collapsed to her knees, vision blackening completely.