Deathless (Editing)

Chapter 11: The Swallowing Darkness

Giselle had been right.  My duties at the infirmary consisted mostly of keeping the shelves and bins well-stocked. For two days, I woke up, dressed myself in the stark white dress and apron that made up the uniform of the medic workers, and worked endlessly to ensure the supplies were fresh, sterile, plentiful, and in their proper places.

What Giselle had neglected to tell me was just how nearly impossible that task was. The men on the Killing Fields found no end in ways to harm themselves: knives, swords, arrows, slings, horseback riding incidents. Even the men who were not actively engaged in battle found injury and insult wherever they went.

On the third day, after a particularly long shift, I sought refuge at the small hot spring that bordered the main infirmary tent. It was late in the night hours, which meant I was afforded the luxury of privacy. Usually, the springs were quite social, lively with activity, and activity was something I avoided. Especially now, since my life had been reduced to a web of lies.

After scrubbing down in the showers with water that vacillated between scalding hot and freezing cold, I followed the winding trail to one of the two springs. The springs were large, or larger than the springs we had in the Silts.

Whatever choice I had made, I chose correctly because there was no one there. A rare event. And, one I greatly appreciated since, unlike the Silts, the springs at camp accommodated both genders. Which, I suppose, made a strange sort of sense, since the men greatly outnumbered the women. In the Silts, such protocols would not have been tolerated, not even among the Sullied.

I did not particularly like bathing in front of men, to be honest, but, after a few days, my reservations slowly died. However, I learned that bathing after the graveyard shift had certain benefits, like being all alone with only dark, glimmering water and starlight for company.

A tense breath escaped the instant I dipped into the water, feeling its weight pull over me like a soothing blanket. I could have died a happy girl right then and there, as the stress from my muscles slowly began to melt away.

After an hour soaking in the spring, I pulled myself away from my warm comfort and plodded along the trail back to the barracks, where I collapsed in a heap on the bed.

Would this be my life forever? What possible good was I doing here that I could not be doing in the Silts? I had a family there. I had a purpose there. I knew who everyone was, what role I played, and my place in the scheme of everything. Here, I was living a lie. I wasn't a Sullied. I was a sweet maiden. I wasn't a sister. I was Tolly's intended. I wasn't a monster. I was a stock girl.

My identity—an already fragile construct given the incompleteness of my memory—had been completely ripped away from me. I had been replaced with a girl I hardly knew, and, had I known her, I doubt I would have liked her very much.

"Don't despair, Riverly," Giselle murmured upon hearing a stray whimper of defeat.

I looked over to her bed to find that she was already dressing for her shift nursing the injured fresh from the warfront. Her uniform had been crisply pressed, which almost made up for the pink stains that streaked across her otherwise white apron.

Taking pity on me, she came to my side and threw an arm over my shoulders. I didn't cry. I was too exhausted and shell-shocked to produce a single tear. But, I was thankful for her charity and guidance. Giselle was the only soul at the infirmary to regard me as more than a warm body to move supplies.

After a few long moments, she leaned down and murmured, "Tell me what it was like before all of this." Her voice was quiet and gentle, as if she had been here with someone like me before.