I've come to love dystopian novels. The Matched series, the Divergent Series , I could go on and on. Something about the stories that could happen in the future. It's intriguing. I'm looking forward to adding this to my TBR pile! :)
(The Frost Chronicles #1)
by: Kate Avery Ellison
Publication: March 28, 2012
ISBN: 1475005873
ASIN: B007Q4LLWE
Length: 195 pages
Genres: Dystopia, Young Adult
Blurb:
In the icy, monster-plagued world of the Fost, one wrong move and a person could end up dead -- Lia Weaver knows this better than anyone.
After monsters killed her parents, Lia must keep the family farm running despite the freezing cold and threat of monster attacks or risk losing her siblings to reassignment by the village Elders. With dangers on all sides and failure just one wrong step away, she can't afford to let her emotions lead her astray. So when her sister finds a fugitive bleeding to death in the forest -- a young stranger named Gabe -- Lia surprises herself and does the unthinkable.
She saves his life.
Giving shelter to the fugitive could get her in trouble. The Elders have always described the advanced society of people beyond the Frost, the "Farthers" as ruthless and cruel. But Lia is startled to find that Gabe is empathetic and intelligent ... and handsome. She might even be falling in love with im.
But time is running out. The monsters from the forest circle the farm at night. The village leader is starting to ask questions. Farther soldiers are searching for Gabe. Lia must locate a secret organization called the Thorns to help Gave escape to safety, but every move she makes puts her in more danger.
Is compassion -- and love-- worth the risk?
Buy it : Amazon | Barnes & Noble
A branch snapped in the woods to my left. I
flinched, turning my head in an effort to locate the source of the sound.
But silence wrapped the world once more. The shadows
lay still and gray across the snow. Empty.
“It’s still light,” I whispered
aloud, trying to reassure myself. In the light, I was safe. Even the smallest
child knew that much.
The monsters didn’t come out
until after dark.
I moved faster anyway, spooked by that branch snap even
though a blue-gray gloom still illuminated the path. A shiver ran down my
spine. Despite our often-repeated mantras about the safety of the light,
nothing was certain in the Frost. My parents had always been careful. They had
always been prepared. And yet, two months ago they went out into the Frost in
the daylight and never returned.
They’d been found days later,
dead.
They’d been killed by the
monsters that lurked deep in the Frost, monsters that barely anyone ever saw
except for tracks in the snow, or the glow of their red eyes in the darkness.
My people called them Watchers.
Color danced at the edges of my
vision as I passed the winter-defying snow blossoms, their long sky-blue petals
drooping with ice as they dangled from the bushes that lined the path. They
were everywhere here, spilling across the snow, drawing a line of demarcation
between me and the woods. Every winter, the snows came and the cold killed
everything, but these flowers lived. We planted them everywhere—on the paths
and around our houses—because the Watchers rarely crossed a fallen snow
blossom. For some reason, the flowers turned them away.
Usually.
I touched the bunch that dangled
from my throat with one finger. My parents’ snow blossom necklaces had been
missing from their bodies when they were found. Had the monsters torn the
flowers off before killing them, or had they even been wearing them at all?
Another branch snapped behind me,
the crack loud as a shout in the stillness.
I hurried faster.
Sometimes we found tracks across
the paths despite the blossoms. Sometimes nothing kept the Watchers out.
My foot caught a root, and I
stumbled.
The bushes rustled behind me.
Panic clawed at my throat. I
dropped my sack, fumbling at my belt for the knife I carried even though I knew
it would do no good against the monsters because no weapons stopped them. I
turned, ready to defend myself.
The branches parted, and a figure
stepped onto the path.
It was only Cole, one of the
village boys.
“Cole,” I snapped, sheathing the
knife. “Are you trying to kill me with fright?”
He flashed me a sheepish smile.
“Did you think I was a Watcher, Lia?”
I threw a glance at the sky as I
snatched up my sack and flung it over my shoulder once more. Clouds were
rolling in, blocking out the sun. The light around us was growing dimmer,
filling the path with a premature twilight. A storm was coming.
His smile faded a little at my
expression. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have called out to warn you.”
“We’re supposed to stay on the
paths,” I growled, brushing snow from my skirt. I didn’t want to discuss my
irrational panic. I’d been walking the paths through the Frost my entire life.
I shouldn’t be jumping at every stray sound like some five-year-old child.
Cole pointed at two squirrel
pelts dangling from his belt. “Quota,” he said simply, adjusting the bow hanging
on his back. He moved past me and onto the path. “Speaking of which, we’re
going to be late for the counting.”
“You’re a Carver,” I said,
falling into step beside him. “Not a Hunter.”
“And you’re a Weaver, not a
Farmer, but you still keep horses and chickens,” he said.
I shrugged, still annoyed with
him for startling me. “My parents took that farm because no one else wanted it.
It’s too far from the village, too isolated. We keep animals because we have
room. I don’t bring them into the village on quota day.”
“The quota master gives my family
a little extra flour if I slip him a pelt,” Cole said. He glanced down at me,
his smile mysterious. “Besides, the forest isn’t dangerous this close to the
village, not in daylight.”
“The Frost is always dangerous,”
I said firmly.
Cole tipped his head to one side
and smiled. He refrained from disagreeing outright out of politeness, I
supposed. Having dead parents usually evoked that response from people. “I can
take care of myself,” he said.
I looked him over. He was tall,
and he carried the bow like he knew how to use it. He might be called handsome
by some, but he was too lean and foxlike for my taste. He had a daring streak a
mile wide, and his eyes always seemed to hold some secret. His mouth slid into
a smirk between every word he spoke.
Our gazes held a moment, and his
eyes narrowed with sudden decision. For some reason, his expression unnerved
me.
“Lia—”
“We’re going to be late,” I said,
dodging, and hurried ahead.
I could hear him jogging to catch
up as I rounded the curve. Here the path crawled beneath a leaning pair of
massive boulders and alongside a stream of dark, turbulent water. I scrambled
around the first rock, but then what I saw on the other side of the river made
me freeze.
Shadowy figures in gray uniforms
slipped through the trees, rifles in their hands. There were two of them,
sharp-eyed and dark-haired. Bandoleers glittered across their chests.
Cole caught up with me. I put up
a hand to quiet him, and together we watched.
“Farthers,” I whispered.
“What are they doing this close
to the Frost?” Cole muttered.
I just shook my head as a shiver
descended my spine. Farthers—the people from farther than the Frost—rarely
ventured beyond the place where the snow and ice began. They had their own
country, a grim and gray place called Aeralis, and we knew only rumors of it,
but those rumors were enough to inspire fear in us all. I’d been as far as the
roads that ringed their land once. I’d seen the horse-drawn wagons filled with
prisoners, and the sharp metal fences that marred the fields like stitches
across a pale white cheek.
The men crept down to the bank and stared at the dark water. They hadn't seen us.
I live in Georgia with my wonderful husband and two spoiled cats. When I'm not writing, I'm usually catching up on my extensive Netflix queue, reading a book, giggling at something funny online, or trying to convince my husband to give me just ONE bit of whatever he's eating.
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