One Dark Window (The Shepherd King, #1)

by Rachel Gillig

There is no escape from the salt. Children followed me, their eyes wide with fear. We ran, chased through brambles, our clothes tangling on the low branches of untrimmed yew trees. The sky was black, the crescent moon masked by smoke. When we came to the stone chamber at the edge of the woods, I lifted the children through the window one by one. Someone was already waiting for me in the chamber, lit by the red light of his Scythe. Pain seared my every bone, and when I coughed, blood spattered across my long, pale fingers. I fell—enveloped by earth. The sharp scent of salt stung my eyes and nose until the world around me had utterly disappeared into cold, isolating darkness. I screamed, my fingers and toes growing blue with cold. I woke from the dream, shivering on the floor of the crumbling chamber. Morning light peeked through yew branches down through the rotted-out ceiling. I coughed a cry, the sensation of being trapped in darkness still swimming in my mind. I’d walked in my sleep again. What is this? I demanded, my face damp with old tears. Why are you doing this to me? The Nightmare echoed through my head, a specter on the wind—wordless, omniscient.