Young Writers Society

Asha did not awake quickly. She drifted in and out of consciousness as blurry shapes and colors danced before her eyes.

When Asha woke up, she was hungry, somehow tired, and unable to move. Groaning, she opened one eye. Light pierced it like an arrow and she hurriedly closed it.

She lay there for a couple of minutes, trying to bring back the will to open her eyes again. How was she this tired? She felt like she had been asleep for a year. Her stomach growled, and she finally peeked one eye open. The bright light dazzled her vision, but she adjusted quickly.

After her eyes adjusted, her senses began to come back to her. The blanket she was laying on was very soft against her skin, fur probably. Craning her neck, she could see that the blanket that was covering her was actually her cloak.

Above her was rock, and the walls seemed to be stone as well. There was a wide opening, leading outside. Tall green grasses and cloudless blue skies stretched for what seemed to be miles.

Her stomach growled again; Asha was starving. So hungry she felt almost sick. Her limbs felt like deflated balloons, and they were about as strong too. With a grunt, she laboriously managed to pull herself into a sitting position.

She exhaled noisily and smacked her lips, tongue like a lead weight in her mouth. Everything felt like it was coated in a layer of bad tasting mucus. This had to have been the worst case of morning breath in Asha’s entire life. Leaning forward, she massaged her temples with the tips of her fingers.

Where was she?

The question hit her like a brick wall. Her mind supplied the answer like a geyser, spraying the information from deep inside. She teleported. With Yuni. But where was Yuni?

Her mind raced a mile a minute. Had she left her behind? Asha pinched her palm, bringing her worried thoughts to a halt. She was in a makeshift bed, in a cave. Clearly Yuni had taken care of her after she had blacked out. Reaching a hand upward, she gingerly patted her head. It was bandaged, and she felt no dried blood. Yuni was safe. There was no reason for her not to be.

But where was she?

“Yuni?” she rasped, coming out as a whisper. Her voice was husky from disuse. Clearing her throat, she called again, “Yuni?”

A familiar figure rushed through the opening of the cave. “Asha?”

“I’m here,” Asha said, her voice cracking.

Yuni bounded to Asha’s side, kneeling beside her. “You had me so worried.”

“How long was I asleep?” Asha asked. Swaying, she grasped Yuni’s arm to keep her balance.

“Two days.” Yuni glanced away from Asha, almost guiltily.

“Two days!” Asha exclaimed incredulously. She coughed, phlegm shooting up into her mouth. Grimacing, she swallowed. “I need a drink.”

Yuni looked back at her, eyes filled with concern. “Of course,” she said, rushing to a corner in the cave. She rifled through a pile of things, fabric rustling and metal chinking. Clasping a waterskin in her hands as she walked back, she passed it to Asha. With trembling hands, Asha lifted the container to her mouth, gulping thirstily. She pulled away from the spout, gasping and spluttering as water ran from the corners of her mouth.

“Are you okay?” Yuni asked, taking the water from Asha.

“Just thirsty,” Asha mumbled. Rubbing at an eye, she groaned. “I was asleep for two days. How am I still so tired?”

Yuni laughed lightly, but concern was etched on her face. “That spell drained you of a lot of your energy Asha. Your heart was hardly beating by the time I brought you here. Your breathing was so faint that I thought you had died.” Slowly, Yuni’s face softened into something like sorrow: watery around the edges.

Asha leaned forward, burying her face into Yuni’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Yuni,” she mumbled into the fabric of her shirt. It smelled strongly of sweat and dirt, but Asha didn’t care. Comfort was comfort.

“It is not your fault,” Yuni said, voice like a soft blanket, enveloping Asha in warmth and weighing comfortably around her shoulders. She rested her chin on Asha’s shoulder. “You did what you had to do to save us. You were repaying me.” Fabric rustled as she shook her head. “No; you have already repaid me. Many times over.”

Asha could feel her eyelids closing; she knew that she was going to fall asleep. “Whatever you say,” she muttered as her thoughts shut off and she drifted into darkness.

It was dark when Asha woke up. Yuni was gone, but the place beside Asha was still warm. Heat seemed to radiate from the spot, making Asha acutely aware of the imprint Yuni’s body left at her side.

Breathing out, she sat up, pushing the blankets off. She rubbed the residue of sleep from her eyes. Standing up, she stretched and winced as her back cracked. Bare feet slapped the smooth, stone floor. Her first step outside took her breath away. She hadn’t seen the night sky like this since she was a little girl.

Stars speckled the velvet sky like tiny, shimmering diamonds. Miniscule white pinpricks swirling like seafoam, crashing in waves against the craggy shore. Shivers rolled through her body in waves at the sight.

A small voice managed to tear her attention away from the sky. “Asha?” She glanced around, eyes landing on a rock formation. “I am up here.”

Hiking up her skirts, Asha began the short climb, scrambling rather ungracefully to the top. Things were quiet for a moment, their ears only filled with the steady chirping of crickets. “It’s pretty up here,” Asha murmured.

“Like you,” Yuni said. Her voice seemed almost bold. “I mean,” her voice grew quieter, almost a whisper. “You are like the sky. All you need are the stars.”

Asha almost snorted. “The stars are what make the sky pretty. Are you saying that I’m just an expanse of darkness?”

Yuni’s eyes widened so much that the whites seemed to almost glow in the darkness. “No! No, that is not what I mean at all! The stars cannot even be seen without the dark sky. They are only pretty with the darkness. I just mean that you are what matters.”

A breeze rustled the grass and the crickets chirped on. Asha blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You are smart, and brave, and quick thinking, and talented. You can do anything.” Yuni let the words linger in the air before another breeze blew them away. “Sometimes,” she began timidly, “I think that you are the most important woman in the world; the most important person in the world.”

“What do you-”

“So many people are depending on you, Asha. And you rose up to that challenge, and every day, I see you getting closer and closer to saving them.”

“Yuni, I-” Asha began. “I’m not important. Or brave. Or talented. Or any of those things. I’m just scared.” She shivered as the wind whistled through the grass.

“It is okay to be scared. My mother always said that fear is what motivates people. Fear makes us strong enough to do the things that we would not be able to do otherwise.”

“But I’m not just scared for my family- my village- my people. I’m scared that I’ll fail. And I’m just scared that I’ll fail and they’ll die because of it, but I’m scared to fail because I’ve never failed before. I’ve always been good at things, and to fail now, when it really counts. It’s selfish., but I want to do this for me as much as I want to do this to save people.” Wetting her lips, Asha pulled her knees to her chest. “I’m scared because I don’t know what to do anymore,” Asha whispered thickly.

She wished that those words could be swallowed up by the black abyss of sky above them, never to be heard again. She looked up, and the stars winked coldly back, beautiful and icy.

“I may know a place where we could go,” Yuni mumbled. “My family. They might be willing to help. They have armies.” Asha heard the last reason, unspoken: I just want to go home.

“We’ll go,” Asha found herself saying. “We’ll travel to Yamuko.”