Silas's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Silas killed a garden just by standing in it. He was a ghost, pale and slow, and frost spread from his boots into the grass. The flowers curled black. He knew the pattern by now. He drifted from town to town, searching for one soul whose touch could warm him back to feeling. But he could never get close. Every living thing froze before it could reach him. Today he tried something new. He wore a thick snow suit, sealed at the wrists and neck, padded like armor. If the suit trapped his chill inside, maybe someone could stand near him. Maybe someone could take his gloved hand and not shiver. He pedaled his red bicycle down a dirt path. The banana seat creaked under him. Riding kept him moving, and moving kept the frost from settling. He liked the wind on the parts of his face the hood left bare. He steered toward an old library, half-swallowed by moss and vines, its stone walls cracked with age. Someone had to live near a place like that. A unicorn stood at the library steps. He was tall and muscular, coat the color of rust, his horn bright against the green. He watched Silas coast to a stop and did not step back. That alone was strange. Everything stepped back from Silas. "Nice outfit," the unicorn said. His voice was dry. "You planning to rob a snowman?" Silas climbed off the bicycle. His words came slow, the way they always did. "You're not cold." "Should I be?" The unicorn tilted his head. "You look half frozen yourself." Silas took a careful step closer. The grass under his boots stayed green. He looked down, then up. The suit was working. He raised one padded glove. "Can you touch my hand? Please. I need to know if the suit holds it in." The unicorn snorted but stepped forward. He pressed his nose against the glove. Cold shot through the padding anyway. Frost crawled up the unicorn's muzzle in a white sheet. He jerked back with a sharp cry. Ice coated his lips and lashes. He stumbled, hooves skidding on the steps. "That," he gasped, breath steaming, "is not a suit problem." Silas backed away fast. The frost on the unicorn began to melt, and the unicorn shook it off, glaring. The suit had failed. His chill was not in his skin. It was in whatever he was now. No cloth could seal it. "It went straight through," Silas said. His slow voice cracked. "The cold isn't on me. It's under everything." The unicorn wiped his muzzle and studied Silas with new, sharper eyes. "Under everything," he repeated. "Then you don't need a tailor." He nodded at the mossy doors behind him. "You need a book. And I know where they keep the strange ones."