Plague Saint

Chapter Twenty-Three: Six of Plagues

The river swallowed Winter, tore her blade and bag from her, and turned her blood to ice. She slammed against the bottom and rocks scraped at her exposed skin.

She resisted the urge to break the surface as long as she could. Then, she realized she might not make it to the surface. She'd expected currents to whisk her down the river. She hadn't expected them to turn her upside down so quickly.

So this was hell. Dark and frozen. No sense of direction.

It was hard to think about anything other than the cold. Winter instinctively pulled in her arms and legs, trying to wrap herself up as much as she could. But that left her drifting with no control.

She kicked her legs out. They struck something solid. As soon as she'd found the ground, it was gone. At least she knew which way to go now. She forced her arms out and fought against the water.

She broke the surface long enough to suck in a breath of air. Then the water was dragging her back under.

She flung her arms around in desperation, trying to aim up while also moving toward the shore. She found the surface again.

The shoreline was barely visible in the dark, but Winter could tell it was far on both sides. She pushed herself in the direction of the city, slipping in and out of the water. It was getting harder to move. At least the numbness of the freezing water distracted her from the knife wound in her stomach.

A shadow loomed over the water up ahead. A fallen tree, stretched out over the water. Winter watched it grow closer every time she managed to break the surface.

She slammed into the trunk hard, and what little air she had left her lungs. The current threatened to pull her under the tree. She reached out blindly and grabbed the nearest branches, unfazed by the smaller ones that jabbed into her as the water knocked her against them.

It took all of her strength to hold on. She sucked in air again and again and still couldn't quite seem to catch her breath.

It took five minutes and nearly twenty failed attempts to pull herself on top of the tree. She collapsed face down onto the wet bark. Cold water sprayed her face and she felt nothing.

She propped herself up and leaned back against a branch. Her eyes drifted shut, and she forced them open. Again. And again. She couldn't bring herself to move any more, but she'd be damned if she let the darkness take her.

The sky turned from black to gray. The sun was coming, she told herself. She swore she'd feel the light again. She wasn't done yet.

The first rays of morning spilled over the mountains and into Devil's Pass. Night faded, revealing the sword caught in the branches beneath Winter, and the bag bobbing up and down a few feet away.

Pain returned to her stomach. Winter unbuttoned her coat and lifted her shirt enough to assess the wound. As if the gash weren't enough, she'd been underwater and god knew what kind of filth in the river could have gotten in. She needed disinfectant and a bandage.

She used to carry more medical supplies in the bag, but most had been replaced by the journals and vials. But there was a place nearby that had plenty of supplies Winter could use.

If she could make it that far.

She moved slowly, wincing at every movement. Her body didn't stop reminding her that she was freezing and soaking and aching. It was a challenge to navigate the branches and make her way to the bag. She almost fell back into the water trying to grab the sword, but she managed to keep a tight grip on the branch over her head while she grabbed the handle.

With the rest of the staff gone, she'd have to find something else to put the blade in. She secured the bag over her shoulder and climbed back onto the top of the tree. Keeping her body low, she awkwardly and painstakingly made her way to shore, taking her time to move around branches and throwing frequent glances at the water racing by below.