by Trisha Leigh
Winter Omens
By Trisha Leigh
Kindle Edition
Copyright 2012 by Trisha Leigh
Cover art and design by Nathalia Suellen
Developmental Editing: Danielle Poiesz
Copy Editing: Lauren Hougen
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locations are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used factiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.
Trisha Leigh
For Grandpa Martin, who made me feel as though being me was a pretty special thing.
CHAPTER 1.
I guess when we travel on our own we don’t magically wake up tucked into our beds in clean pajamas. Instead, my filthy shoes grind Danbury dirt into the carpet of my Des Moines bedroom. The same wet, dirty clothes I’ve worn all day—or yesterday, whenever—cling to my clammy skin. The pride and novelty I felt at finally having control over hopping seasons fills me for a moment, and then vanish quickly as I remember the new note in my locket:
Althea—
Lucas is safe. We will help in any way we can. You need to run.
—Cadi
Desperation over losing Lucas rushes over me as the memory of his dimpled smile, careless blond curls, and protective arms threatens to undo me. I shove it all into my center; giving up is the one way to ensure I’ll never see him again.
Cadi says to run, but if I can’t stay here with the Clarks, where can I go?
It doesn’t matter. She and Ko have never led me astray.
The bag I packed to run away with Lucas is nowhere to be seen, so I fill a new one with the warmest clothes in the closet. Winter is settling in and this is Iowa; it must be freezing outside. Once that’s done, I sneak across the beige carpet and crack open the bedroom door, greeted by a silent blackness. The door to the linen closet in the hallway creaks slightly, causing me to wince and freeze. Nothing stirs; not a sound comes from the Clarks’ room downstairs. My winter family is asleep, like normal humans after midnight.
I grab three blankets, resisting the urge to take the whole stack, and reposition the rest so a glance won’t show that some are missing. The longer no one realizes anything is amiss the better. It won’t take them long. The Others are smart and there are only so many places to look.
Back in my room, I assess my options. I take a deep breath as my mother’s disembodied voice bursts into my mind, pushing aside my own thoughts.
Run, Althea.
It urges haste, and after the events of the past months I’m not inclined to argue with her.
The blankets barely fit in the bag with the clothes, and after I add some toothpaste, a toothbrush, shampoo, and deodorant to the pile I have to sit on it to tug the zipper shut. Down in the kitchen, I prowl through the pantry and grab as much nonperishable food as I can find in the dark. My fingers race along the shelves, filching cans of vegetables, soup, and a couple bags of pasta. I dump the lot into a second bag and add six bottles of water to the top.
I slip through the empty living room, past photographs of me huddled with the Clarks on Outings to the local skating pond. I’m trussed up like a marshmallow in most of them, head and hands covered with thick woolen garments. They never provide enough warmth. Nothing does. Even though fire simmers inside me, and last autumn I even began to control it a little, I’m always cold. It’s as though my center attracts the heat, sucking it inward and leaving my extremities constantly on ice.
My heavy winter coat hangs in the front closet as if I’d left it there after Cell, even though I haven’t been back to Iowa for months. I slip it on, finding my hat and mittens in the pockets. My mother’s voice grows impatient with my stalling, pressing harder and harder against my mind. The idea of stepping out of the warm house and into the bitter wind, not knowing when I’ll find shelter again, fills me with dread.
I have to go, though. I know it deep in my bones. If I can find a place to hide outside the boundary before morning I might even have a chance. Not to escape forever—that’s impossible—but to live another day. Maybe even get back to Lucas.
A blast of cold air nearly knocks me over as I crack open the door and my lungs constrict, trying to reject the frigid oxygen. Icy fingers squeeze my chest as I force myself to breathe deep through my nose. Pools of light from the streetlamps don’t quite reach the rows of houses, leaving the porch bathed in darkness. The sidewalks are barren as I hustle down the quickest path to the park. Thoughts of Lucas bombard me, pushing tears down my cheeks where they freeze around my mouth and chin. The park reminds me of him, of what happened last night when we almost escaped together. The note says he’s safe, but even if he were safe when it was written it doesn’t mean he still is. He’s going to be running, like me. Hunted. Alone.
The park is full of ominous shadows cast by the bare branches as they sway in the bitter wind. The frozen ground muffles my footsteps as I make my way to the boundary. I’ve got to get out of the city, but don’t know how to accomplish the feat. There’s not time to explore every inch of the fence the way Lucas and I did, hoping to find a gap in the electricity. We were able to climb over a dead section of the woven metal, but I found that spot by accident.
I study the electrified ten-foot boundary, at a loss.
Run, Althea. Now! My mother’s voice shouts in my mind.
Shut up. I’m thinking. Better yet, go away.
Before last autumn, when I learned that my mother is Fire—an Element, one of the four most powerful Others—the encouraging voice in my mind soothed me. But the idea that she has access to my brain clangs warning bells through me despite the pull toward wanting to know her. Right now, getting out of Des Moines takes precedence over the confliction I feel about my dubious parentage. She’s distracting me, and my frozen forehead crinkles as I try to focus on the problem at hand. The fences that border our cities are made of metal, so in theory it could melt, I guess. The high-temperature heat that flows through my body would be more than enough to set a pile of leaves on fire, or even one of my precious blankets. If it burned hot enough under the boundary it could soften a hole big enough to crawl through.
It would leave such an obvious trail, though, that I discard the idea. Damaging the fence isn’t an option if I want my fraction of a head start to remain intact.
A memory pummels me, unbidden, accompanied by Lucas’s heart-stopping smile:
“…I saw you wandering by yourself near the boundary every day last week.”
“You saw me? How?”
“From the trees. You never look up, you know.”
That’s it.
Saying silent thanks and wishing he could hear me, I turn my eyes upward and peruse the tree line. Maybe a hundred yards away an ancient oak stands near the electric fence, its thick, leafless branches hovering over freedom, however temporary. I grimace at its height. I’ve never climbed a tree. In my sixteen-plus years on Earth I’ve never even wanted to climb a tree. But there’s no time like the present to figure it out.
I stand underneath it and make an effort to calm the butterflies flapping in my belly. They’re nowhere near as uncomfortable as the flock that attacks with Lucas’s kisses, but they’re annoying all the same. A deep breath helps. The guts to do this are in there. I injured an Other last night. I hid from the Wardens and saved Lucas from the Prime’s son, the one they call Chief. I can climb a stupid tree.
A strong toss sends my bags sailing up and over the fence; they land with a dull thud on the opposite side. I turn back and face my new nemesis, stowing my mittens back in my pockets. Oak tree, meet Althea, daughter of Fire. I shall conquer you.
>
I swipe my red hair out of my face and pull myself up on some low-hanging branches. There are plenty of strong ones within reach, but even though the climb isn’t difficult, my limbs shake violently, making it harder than it has to be. Still, the only major problem arises after I crawl out on a long branch to make my escape…when I look down.
The ground spins as my fingers clutch the tree, pointed pieces of bark jabbing the tender skin under my nails. I close my eyes and count to ten. When I open them, the world has stopped moving. My knees move inch by inch and, after what feels like hours, I reach the end. The boundary passed under me five feet back. I gauge the distance to the ground. At least twenty feet.
Maybe I didn’t quite think this through.
Voices filter through the still night and freeze me in place. Men. Several, by the sound of it. I can’t see their perfect faces or feel the stabbing pain that accompanies the sight of them, but their tones are melodious and sweet, oozing across my eardrums like globs of maple syrup.
Others.
Probably Wardens. A quick peek over my shoulder reveals weak flashlight beams penetrating the inkiness.
Their appearance makes up my mind, and I jump.
CHAPTER 2.
Cold wind whistles past my cheeks as the ground rushes up to meet me. I force my limbs to go limp before smashing into the ground. Pain shoots up my right leg. A flash of light bursts behind my eyes and a whimper escapes no matter how hard I bite my lip in an attempt for silence. Tears course down my numb cheeks.
The flashlight beams probe the night; the men’s voices get clearer. “I don’t think they’ll be in the park. It’s too cold.”
The Others don’t know Lucas and I are separated. Which means they’re not sure where we are, or in which of our four home bases we’ve landed.
It’s a small comfort at the moment, but I’ll take it.
“How do you know, Gagej? Can you read crazy, half-breed minds now?”
“No. I’m just saying. We would have seen them already. And it’s freezing out here.”
I don’t wait to hear the rest of the conversation, sensing the need to get out of flashlight range and hide myself among the dense trees. Snowflakes start to drift down, not sticking to the ground yet but darkening my mood. I rise from the matted brown grass, putting weight on my sore leg little by little. I taste blood before I realize I’m still biting my lip to hold back the screams. Lightning bolts of pain grind into my leg muscles like shards of glass. Not good.
Have to move. No choice.
At least my footprints can’t be seen in the hard earth. They won’t be so easy to hide, though, if the snow keeps coming. The wind howls, racing around me and through the forest ahead, tugging me forward and making it impossible to hear any more of the Wardens’ chatter. I don’t look back, just focus on my destination. The tree line sits a mere thirty feet away, but with the pain in my leg it seems much farther. The bags, heavier than they felt twenty minutes ago, embed a throbbing ache in my shoulder and back. Black spots dance in front of my eyes and nausea bubbles up from my stomach, but I make it to cover, grabbing on to the nearest tree trunk and using it to hide my body.
I resist the urge to collapse, worried that getting upright again will prove an insurmountable task. The tree braces my weight as I peer around it, resting my cheek on its rough bark. The Wardens’ flashlights shine toward the woods, light from the beams thinning out ten feet short of the trees. I hold my breath, wishing with all my might for them to stay on their side of the fence.
“You think we should check the forest?”
A deeper voice answers the first. “No. They said to check the boundary for signs of a breach, that’s all.”
“They won’t survive long in this weather. Chief’s got Apa whipping up a blizzard, I hear.”
Apa is the name of the Other I’ve always known as Water. He’s Lucas’s father, and together with my mother, along with Pamant and Vant—Earth and Air—they are the four Elements that the humans believe rule this planet. Last season, though, Lucas and I learned the Elements are imprisoned, trapped and controlled as much as every human on Earth, by the Prime Other. The true leader.
The weak beams swing away from me and the Wardens’ voices disappear into nothingness. Relief at their departure is replaced by an immediate fear.
I’ve left the city boundary. Now what?
As the adrenaline from my close call fades, the pain settling in my ankle and foot resurfaces with throbbing intensity. I ignore it as best as I can and struggle deeper into the Wilds. I don’t have a specific idea what I’m looking for, all I know is I haven’t found it yet. Some kind of shelter.
Stupid Water. Lucas’s father is going to cause me a mess of trouble with a blizzard. It was probably all Deshi’s idea.
No, he’s not Deshi. The boy who tried to capture us is the Prime’s son, that’s all I know. He never told us his real name once he dropped the disguise. The Others call him Chief. It turns my stomach to think of him right now, dredging up the memory of last night, when he tortured Lucas, then tried to kill us both to prevent our escape.
The absence of Lucas, the only real friend I’ve ever had, brings fresh tears and a new awareness of the black, writhing loneliness settled in my gut. I want more than ever to give in, to sit and cry, but I can’t. I drop the bags from my shoulder when the ache in my muscles becomes unbearable, tugging them along the forest floor behind me. They leave a slight trail in the dusting of snow crusting the frozen blades of grass.
The night starts to lighten, tones of gray smudging out the black while more snowflakes join the two or so inches now gathered at my feet. My eyes have been fixed on the ground for so long I almost miss the clapboard structure when it rises out of the early morning. It’s small and brown, the wooden exterior sagging in all the wrong places. The building looks like I feel—defeated and frozen. Still, the roof is intact. No door at the front, but a ginger step over the threshold offers immediate relief from the wind. It reminds me of the nook in the tree in Connecticut, the one that hid me the night I saved Lucas from— I push the memory away with renewed ferocity. Not yet.
The place is as small as it looks from the outside, just one boxed-shaped room I could cross in either direction in less than ten steps. It looks forgotten, making me feel better about staying here. If the Others ever knew it existed, it’s no longer on their radar. And why would it be? No one leaves town. Humans don’t cross the boundary.
No furniture clutters the room; it’s bare except for empty shelves and a barren rack of some sort lining the walls. Two dirt-caked windows, one cracked and the other missing about half the glass, sit in the same wall as the door. A strange black metal box rests under the half-empty window, a thick, round pipe running from the top of it through the roof. Some of the floorboards are rotted through and the wet, packed dirt underneath pushes into the room.
I dump the bags on the ground and glance at my leg. My jeans are stretched abnormally tight from my knee down to my ankle but I’m not ready to face the sight of my injury just yet. Shivers clatter my teeth as I unzip my duffel bag and yank out a couple of blankets. I throw one on the floor and wrap the other tight around my shoulders.
Good sense hits before I sit to inspect my leg. I should build a fire. These blankets aren’t going to be enough warmth, not with a blizzard blowing up to the nonexistent door of my newfound shelter. I’ve never started a fire with the express purpose of warming myself, but I’ve also never been trapped alone in a drafty building in the middle of an Iowa snowstorm.
I glance over at the rotted place in the floor and chew on my finger. If I line it with rocks and clear a big enough hole, maybe I won’t burn the whole place down.
I really don’t want to burn the whole place down.
The floor is weak in the corner by the hole, and it doesn’t take more than a few minutes to pry up several boards until the hole grows to about three feet long and wide. Satisfied, I wander outside, wincing with every step. On the back side of the bu
ilding is a small clearing leading to a stream. I’d take time to appreciate the crisp smell in the air, or enjoy the babble of flowing water over rocks, but the snow falls harder every minute. The earth huddles under an endless white blanket. Soon, the water will freeze.
The obscured sun climbs higher as I haul enough good-sized stones from the bank of the creek to line my fire pit. My eyes cloud over from the pain and fatigue at least once a trip and I have to stop to keep from toppling to the ground. I venture deeper into the trees to gather sticks, making three more trips in and out as the sun rises above the horizon. I don’t know how long the snow is going to keep up, so I should be prepared to hunker down for a few days. Unless the Wardens show up first.
A stoic pair of eyes—one blue, one brown—meets mine as I straighten up from gathering one final load, nearly killing me with shock.
A wolf blocks my path, its thick black-and-white coat hardly visible in the snowdrift. This is the first time I’ve seen one in person, of course, but it looks exactly like the textbook photographs.
Breathe.
I stand frozen in place, not wanting to alarm it. The memory of the deer in the forest outside Danbury, how our presence frightened it, does little to comfort me. After all, deer are herbivores and wolves are cold-blooded killers. Even though animals are not allowed within city boundaries, we learn enough about them to know that. Although I suspect now that we’re taught the worst possible aspects of wildlife in order to reinforce our contentment under the Others’ control.
As I watch, the wolf loses interest in me and wanders into the trees.
Even if I could run, there’s nowhere to go. No time to find another place to shelter during the storm. Instead I limp a few feet at a time, holding one of the longer sticks out in front of me. I know it’s no protection against the wolf’s fangs, but I feel better brandishing a weapon. Every time I stop I hold my breath and look around, blinking away the snowflakes alighting on my eyelashes. The wolf doesn’t reappear, and I make it into the house without being eaten alive. The open door frame worries me, but there’s nothing I can do except keep an eye out. I knew coming out here that animals lurk in the woods. That I am an intruder in their world.
