Young Writers Society

Chapter 33: Somebody Get This Girl a Coat Please

It was so cold. Clandestine could feel the snow against her skin. She wasn't dressed for this weather, and the snow was seeping through her shirt, and her pants, chilling her to the bone. None of her muscles wanted to move. She was molded to the earth, and it held her gently, like a grave, quietly beckoning her to return to where she belonged. A creature of times long gone by. Someone who should've been dead a long time ago.

The fire inside her was like a flickering flame on dying embers of a once-roaring fire. Ashes, ashes, and nothing left to burn. Finally, the cold would overtake her, and it would be over.

A light fell on her face, at first, dim, and then growing stronger.

The sun was rising.

Clandestine opened her eyes partially, feeling the bed of snow against her frozen cheek. She parted her chapped lips, feeling them split and crack as she let out a shuddered breath.

Was she dreaming again?

She could see the faint cloud come out of her nose, and she turned from her side, onto her back.

The sky was a painting of orange, yellow, and pink, that were just beginning to fade into a morning blue. It was cloudless, and the sun felt like it was the size of the ocean, coming up to swallow her.

As the faint warmth of the sun's rays prodded at her face and nose, feeling was starting to return.

Something had happened.

There was fire, blazing. An all-consuming flame all around her. She could remember the heat, and how it flowed through her veins, and she'd felt alive in a way she never had before. But as quickly as it came, it was gone, and she couldn't remember what followed.

Clandestine stared up at the sky, and she started to shiver.

Then it hit her.

She wasn't in the cell anymore. She was free.

A rush of relief washed over her, and she shot up, sitting in the snow amidst the tall pines. Her head started spinning, and her stomach groaned loudly, reminding her it was empty, and her tongue felt thick and dry, like a sticky paste. Her lungs ached, and she looked down at the snow, thinking.

With trembling hands, she cupped a handful of snow and tried to remember. Breathe in, breathe out. Fan the flame. Let the heat grow, slowly. It was okay if it took time. She just needed enough heat to --

The snow started to melt in her hands. Before it even finished, she started slurping, not caring that the water was still cold going down. The water was like life, coating her mouth and throat, shocking her senses back into alignment. She drank until it was gone.

As she let out a heavy sigh, she looked around, realizing something about the trees felt familiar.

She had been here before. Not in person, but in a dream. Or something like a dream.

She pushed herself to her feet and hobbled towards a tree, looking up at the steep incline behind her. The base of the mountain. That was where she'd been before the unicorn found her.

Clandestine started to look around expectantly, searching the snowy landscape for a horse, but nothing showed. It was just her, in a thin shirt and thin pants. No jacket, and leaky boots, exhausted, in the snow.

She still wasn't sure if this was real life or not.

Clandestine pinched her arm as hard as she could. She hadn't realized how numb her skin was until she did, because the feeling was dull, and it hurt, but not as much as it should've. She slapped her arm, trying to increase blood-flow, but every movement was starting to hurt, and pins and needles started biting at her hands and feet again, but worse than when she was in the cell, now that she was standing.

She groaned and started moving. The only way it was going to get better was if she started moving.

She started trudging along the edge of the mountain, just focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. Her head was feeling light again, and she felt weightless, and yet like she weighed a million pounds, all at the same time. The more she walked, the more her feet started to weigh her down, and her eyes felt heavy.

She'd only just woken up, but she felt the pull of sleep dragging her back down. Lulling her to lie down again.

She finally stopped, leaning against a rock jutting out from the earth, breathing hard.

What she would give for a blanket. For a fire.

She held her hand out in front of her, trying to focus enough to draw a flame, but nothing came. She was spent.

She slid down the side of the rock and closed her eyes. Just for a moment. She would close her eyes just for a moment.

And then she was looking into Svida's eyes. Large, green, burning, and boring into the depths of her soul. Seeing right through her. A booming voice roared in her mind.

"Wake up."

Clandestine's eyes shot open, and she shuddered, grabbing the rock beside her for support.

Carter would probably find her again. She was on her own. She had to keep going. She didn't know where she was going, or how long it would take to get there, but Svida's warning echoed, pushing and pulling her forward.

"I don't know where I'm going," Clandestine whispered, taking another shaky step. "I don't think I can make it."

Tears should've sprung to her eyes, but she was too dehydrated. It just stung.

"I don't think I can make it," she said again. She didn't know who she was even trying to do this for. James was gone. Everyone was gone. She had nobody left. She was back at square one, again, and she still didn't know what was going on.

Clandestine didn't know who she was or what she was fighting for. All she ever wanted was to be a monster hunter, and she couldn't even seem to do that without making life hard for other people. And they'd all leave or were taken away.

Clandestine wished she could cry.

She sniffed and fell to her knees.

She couldn't fight it anymore. She wanted to sleep. Everything hurt.

As her head hit the snow and she closed her eyes, she thought of James, and she thought of cowboy, and she thought of Lynette. She thought of Sylva and she thought of Svida.

Why was a dragon talking to her anyway? Why did she need to find her?

The image came to her mind again, and she was back in the cave, under the mountain. Svida met her eyes with a weary earnest. This time, Clandestine was lying on the floor, looking up at Svida's chin, and her giant nostrils.

"Please. I need your help. I don't have much time," Svida pleaded.

A dragon needed her help.

What could Clandestine do?

"I'm dying," Svida said, her voice weak. "Please, hurry. I'm so sorry."

Clandestine was sorry too.

"I don't have the strength," Clandestine whispered.

Svida looked at Clandestine with more compassion than she though a dragon was capable, and then, in an instant, the image shifted.

Where once, a giant, fiercely red dragon stood, now stood a woman.

She had light brown skin, just like Clandestine, and vibrant green eyes. She was tall, lean, and wiry, and her hair was long and grey, almost touching the floor. She wore a simple brown coat over a long white tunic, and a necklace with a blazing red pendant shaped like a circle. On bare feet, she walked up to Clandestine and extended a hand to help her up.

Even though Svida looked old, with both smile and frown lines creasing her face, there was this terrifying, hidden strength about her.

When Clandestine grabbed her hand, she could feel it.

Svida pulled her up into a hug. Clandestine leaned into it.

"You're so close," Svida whispered in her ear. "Just a little further. I promise."

Clandestine felt the dry sting of tears that wouldn't come again, and she nodded into Svida's shoulder.

"Promise?" Clandestine mumbled.

"Promise."

Clandestine opened her eyes, finding herself standing, back out in the snow, with a small measure of renewed strength.

She took in a deep breath and kept going.