Sing to Me
Page 4
Orion’s Kiss Excerpt
IN THE RUINS of the town, lost amongst the shadows, a bell tolled. Freyda sat at her open window and counted the chimes. Four in the morning, and all was well. Huddled in a blanket, she stared up at the night. When she’d first arrived here ten years ago it had been hard to see the stars so close to town; nowadays it was easy. Smiling, she tucked her blanket around her feet and marvelled that there were good things about the energy shortage after all.
The stars were beautiful tonight, fiercely bright and so very clear. As she angled herself to stare south over the sea, she felt all the tension in her body unwind. Orion was rising. There were the unmistakable three bright points of his belt, and the four corner stars. From there it was easy to see the sword at his side, the club in his upraised hand. The hare ran beneath his feet and his faithful hounds followed close behind, the bigger one glowing with the blue brilliance of Sirius.
Freyda loved the stars. There was something pure and clean about them that was too far away to be tainted by the ugliness of this world. They knew nothing of nightmares and bad memories. They listened to her troubles without ever passing judgement, and they carried her secret wishes inside their burning hearts.
They were perfect. Freyda didn’t know what she’d do if she couldn’t see the stars.
“Have you got a window open in there?” The strident voice of Warden Margie called through the door; it startled Freyda so much she almost fell out of the window. “Freyda? Freyda! I said have you got a window open?”
“Not now,” Freyda grumbled, sliding off the sill to pull the window shut. Frost glittered on the old-fashioned catch, biting into her fingers as she dropped it into place.
Too late – Warden Margie was already searching through her keys. Sighing, Freyda gathered up the blanket and flopped onto her bed. The lock turned with a clunk and torchlight swept the room. The beam landed on the young woman sitting defiantly in the centre of the sagging mattress, a patched blanket thrown over her shoulders, oversized socks sagging about her ankles.
Warden Margie pursed her lips. “How many times, Freyda?”
“I can’t sleep with my window closed.”
“It’s minus five out there!”
Freyda shrugged. She hadn’t noticed; she never noticed the cold unless she wanted to.
Warden Margie rolled her jaw, looking set to give Freyda a proper dressing down, but the hands of the luminous wind-up clock on the wall must have caught her eye. “It’s gone four in the morning, my girl. Long past time you were sleeping. You’ve a big day coming.”
As if Freyda could forget. As if anyone would let her.
“Leave that window shut.” The torch beam flicked to check that it was indeed closed. “Just because you don’t get cold, unnatural as you are, that doesn’t go for the rest of us. There’s an energy shortage on, miss, in case you’ve forgotten. It’s hard enough to heat this old cowshed as it is, without certain people opening windows that ought to stay closed.” The woman gave a prim nod, swung her torch away and shut the door.
Freyda said nothing; there was nothing to say. She just sat on her bed, hands in fists, listening to the rattle of the keys and the clunk of the lock. The sounds of her prison. What did it matter if she could lock the door herself from the inside, when they could just as easily unlock it again and enter at will? Where was the privacy in that?
As Warden Margie’s steps faded away down the hallway, Freyda lay back on her pillows and stared at the dark ceiling. It was cold, she realised with a shiver, and burrowed into the blankets. She had little wish to sleep now, but as Margie had said it was a big day. She would need her rest. So she closed her eyes and forced herself to sleep, willing the memories to stay in the past where they belonged.
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