Page 1 of Ice Bound

ICE BOUND

Apair of shutters burst open, and Anna started at their bang, nearly scalding herself on the hot kettle. Cold swept through the room, beating back the warmth with a furious blast of snowflakes. Setting the kettle down, she hurried to the window, the screaming wind blowing the blanket from her shoulders and forcing her to squint against its biting chill.

Eyes watering, she paused just as her hands closed on the weathered wooden slats. Something caught her eye for an instant, a shadow out amidst the storm. For several moments, she stood there, trying to make out any movement apart from the swirling snow. The wind stung her cheeks, and icy flakes landed on her hair, melting quickly.

It had been five years since she'd seen a blizzard as intense as this one. Five years since the bitter cold of winter had—

Anna swallowed hard, pushing the memories back. She drew the shutters closed, fastening the latch.

Stopping to scoop up the fallen blanket, she draped it over her shoulders again and returned to the table. She poured the steaming water from the kettle through a strainer and lifted the cup in her hands, savoring the heat and the aroma of the herbs. That brief exposure had left her fingers nearly numb.

A mewing at her feet drew her gaze to the floor, the black cat arching its back and brushing against her leg. With a small smile, Anna shook her head. "Such a beggar you are. There isn't much left."

The cat eagerly lapped at the bowl of cream Anna set down, and she ran her hand along the soft fur of its back. She had just risen and taken a step towards the rocker waiting by the fire when the shutters slammed open again. Scalding tea sloshed from her cup. She hissed when it hit her hand, the skin immediately turning an angry red.

Placing the cup down on the table, she returned to the window. In all the years she’d called this place home, they’d never blown open in such a manner. Their latches were a little worn, but always fastened snugly, and the wind was blowing against them. How could it possibly move them outward?

This time, her hands stopped before they touched the shutters. There was no mistaking what was out there now. The sun had long since set, but there was an eerie night-glow all around her home caused by the snow filling the air and blanketing the ground. Howling through the trees, the wind sprayed flecks of white sideways across the landscape. Through the violent scenery trudged a lone figure, too obscured by the storm to make out any real details.

She saw the stranger's head lift. She couldn't see the eyes, but she could feel their gaze upon her. Her heart stopped, and her mouth went suddenly dry. The form began to move more quickly, directly towards her house.

She slammed the shutters and pressed the latch down as hard as she could, not noticing the pain it caused in her fingers. Her eyes were wide, her breathing short and quick.

Anna didn't get visitors. Perhaps the occasional trader, once or twice a year, but why would one of them be out in this storm? Why wouldanyonebe out in it?

She grabbed the hatchet off the mantle as she crossed the room to the door.

The knock that sounded, though not overly loud, made her jump. How had the stranger closed that distance so quickly?

Hefting her weapon in both hands, she waited, chewing her lower lip. The fire popped and crackled, and around her the wood of the house creaked and groaned in the wind. Perhaps, if she waited long enough, the stranger would leave.

Not likely, she told herself.Not in this storm. Ignoring the knock might mean the stranger would die tonight, exposed to the full fury of winter. But, she was a woman, living alone with no one else around for miles. Easy prey for bandits.

Whatever the risks, could she bear the thought of having a stranger's death on her conscience? After all that she had experienced, the guilt would eat her alive.

Moving slowly, she lifted the wooden bar and opened the door to a slit. She peered out, trying to stop her hand from trembling around the haft of her weapon.

Anna stilled.

The eyes that locked with hers were unlike any that she had ever seen. Clear blue run through with pale gray, they bore a strange, intense gleam that made her think of an ice crystal.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"Just a traveler seeking shelter," the man replied.

She tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry. The storm that had been raging only moments before seemed, on this side of the house, to have calmed. She guessed it was only a short respite.

Tightening her grip on the hatchet, she stepped back and opened the door wide. She watched him shrug the snow off of his cloak and enter her home. Her heart pattered.

She closed the door and replaced the bar, leaning against it, unable to pry her eyes from him.

The stranger glanced around the room and then turned to face her. Even so simple a movement was somehow graceful in his execution. Now his gaze roamed over her, and she felt like she was being devoured by it. The sensation was not unpleasant, but it left her feeling vulnerable. She raised the axe to her chest, her knuckles white.

He put his arms out, slowly, to either side, displaying his bare palms to her. "I mean no harm." There was no weapon visible on his belt, and the slight lop-sided tilt to his eyebrows made her wonder if she amused him.

He towered over her, his shoulders broad and powerful. His hands were large, with long, dexterous fingers.

"You needn't a weapon to inflict harm," she said.

---