Read Online Icebound (Legends of the Shifters Book 2) by J.B. North - Free Book Online
Authors: J.B. North
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people streamed by the window, dozens of
gaunt faces molding into a shadowy blur. I could hear the echo of the rattling
carriage and the clopping horse hooves against the hard rock. My heart raced as
the echoes gave way to shouting voices up ahead. The carriage slowed. Alyss
clutched my hand with her small, cold one, worry creasing her forehead.
I
glanced back out the window, straining to see what was ahead, but all I saw
were the men, women, and children. Most of them were watching the commotion up
ahead with dead, unfeeling expressions. But one little girl, her hair framing
her face in greasy brown spirals, stared right at me with pleading blue eyes, a
small wooden bowl clutched in hand.
I
was pitched into a childhood memory, one where I was a little girl, holding an
empty wooden bowl. Unlike the memory of holding my mother's hand in a meadow,
this one was something I'd remembered since the day it happened. When the
caretaker of the orphan girls had been Madam Lorraine, a ruthless woman with a
permanent gash of a frown, straight, bone-white hair, and irises such a light
blue, they nearly blended in with the milky whites of her eyes.
The
orphanage was new to me. New and cold and frightening. The creak of the
floorboards, the screaming winter wind outside the window, and the hunger that
gnawed at my empty belly kept me awake at night. I always imagined that the
shadows were more than shadows. That they were watching me, waiting for my eyes
to close before they would grab me and drag me to the dark depths from where
they came.
Every
morning, after those sleepless nights, the other young girls and I were sent
out on the streets to beg for money. Sometimes people felt sorry for us and
took us into their homes to warm up, but most days, we stayed outside until we
reached our quota of three coins. On one of those days, many of the girls had
already received their quota and gone back to the orphanage. The only one left
besides me was another young girl about my age. Helen.
We
clutched each other for warmth, our bowls placed down in the snow, slowly
sinking deeper as fresh flakes fell from the sky. At one point, they were
buried so deep I had to bend over and dig them out. I had handed Helen her
bowl, while I held mine in my icy fingers, the melting snow already seeping its
way through my mittens. People sought refuge in homes and taverns, and I knew
we would have to return to the orphanage without the rest of our money.
“We
should go,” I said to Helen through chattering teeth and blue lips.
“L-let
this man pass, and th- then we'll leave,” she said, her
voice even shakier than mine.
I
looked toward the end of the street in hope. If he was generous, he would spare
us both a whipping. He approached us with hands in his pockets. He had graying
hair, crinkled eyes, and a carefree look about him. For a moment, I thought
that he was going to pass us by, but then he paused. And turned back.
“Why
are you out here, in the weather? You should be inside, by a warm fire.” His
voice was smooth, silky.
“W-we
can't go back to the o-orphanage until we reach q-quota,” chattered Helen.
His
face showed concern. “Why don't you both come with me? My wife and daughter are
preparing venison stew. The house will be toasty warm.” His voice rose and fell
playfully.
A
shiver tickled its way down my spine, but this time, it wasn't the cold.
Helen
let herself smile, gratitude clouding her blue eyes. “W-we would very much
enjoy that, wouldn't we, Ivy?” She looked at me, her brown tangles draped
messily over her shoulder.
I
gave a small shake of my head. “We should go back. If we aren't there by
lunchtime, we'll get a whipping,” I said.
The
man waited for Helen to make a decision. To go with her friend or to take him
up on his offer.
She
shook her head at me and slipped her hand into the man's. “How old is your
daughter?” she asked, looking up at him.
He
passed me a fleeting glance, but started to walk away with
gaunt faces molding into a shadowy blur. I could hear the echo of the rattling
carriage and the clopping horse hooves against the hard rock. My heart raced as
the echoes gave way to shouting voices up ahead. The carriage slowed. Alyss
clutched my hand with her small, cold one, worry creasing her forehead.
I
glanced back out the window, straining to see what was ahead, but all I saw
were the men, women, and children. Most of them were watching the commotion up
ahead with dead, unfeeling expressions. But one little girl, her hair framing
her face in greasy brown spirals, stared right at me with pleading blue eyes, a
small wooden bowl clutched in hand.
I
was pitched into a childhood memory, one where I was a little girl, holding an
empty wooden bowl. Unlike the memory of holding my mother's hand in a meadow,
this one was something I'd remembered since the day it happened. When the
caretaker of the orphan girls had been Madam Lorraine, a ruthless woman with a
permanent gash of a frown, straight, bone-white hair, and irises such a light
blue, they nearly blended in with the milky whites of her eyes.
The
orphanage was new to me. New and cold and frightening. The creak of the
floorboards, the screaming winter wind outside the window, and the hunger that
gnawed at my empty belly kept me awake at night. I always imagined that the
shadows were more than shadows. That they were watching me, waiting for my eyes
to close before they would grab me and drag me to the dark depths from where
they came.
Every
morning, after those sleepless nights, the other young girls and I were sent
out on the streets to beg for money. Sometimes people felt sorry for us and
took us into their homes to warm up, but most days, we stayed outside until we
reached our quota of three coins. On one of those days, many of the girls had
already received their quota and gone back to the orphanage. The only one left
besides me was another young girl about my age. Helen.
We
clutched each other for warmth, our bowls placed down in the snow, slowly
sinking deeper as fresh flakes fell from the sky. At one point, they were
buried so deep I had to bend over and dig them out. I had handed Helen her
bowl, while I held mine in my icy fingers, the melting snow already seeping its
way through my mittens. People sought refuge in homes and taverns, and I knew
we would have to return to the orphanage without the rest of our money.
“We
should go,” I said to Helen through chattering teeth and blue lips.
“L-let
this man pass, and th- then we'll leave,” she said, her
voice even shakier than mine.
I
looked toward the end of the street in hope. If he was generous, he would spare
us both a whipping. He approached us with hands in his pockets. He had graying
hair, crinkled eyes, and a carefree look about him. For a moment, I thought
that he was going to pass us by, but then he paused. And turned back.
“Why
are you out here, in the weather? You should be inside, by a warm fire.” His
voice was smooth, silky.
“W-we
can't go back to the o-orphanage until we reach q-quota,” chattered Helen.
His
face showed concern. “Why don't you both come with me? My wife and daughter are
preparing venison stew. The house will be toasty warm.” His voice rose and fell
playfully.
A
shiver tickled its way down my spine, but this time, it wasn't the cold.
Helen
let herself smile, gratitude clouding her blue eyes. “W-we would very much
enjoy that, wouldn't we, Ivy?” She looked at me, her brown tangles draped
messily over her shoulder.
I
gave a small shake of my head. “We should go back. If we aren't there by
lunchtime, we'll get a whipping,” I said.
The
man waited for Helen to make a decision. To go with her friend or to take him
up on his offer.
She
shook her head at me and slipped her hand into the man's. “How old is your
daughter?” she asked, looking up at him.
He
passed me a fleeting glance, but started to walk away with
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