One Dark Window (The Shepherd King, #1)

by Rachel Gillig

To the quiet girls with stories in their heads. To their dreams—and their nightmares.

The infection comes as a fever in the night. If you take ill, watch the veins— the tributary of blood traveling down the arms. If they remain as they ever did, you have nothing to fear. If the blood darkens to an inky black, the infection has taken hold. The infection comes as a fever in the night.

Still, it was the first time I stopped fearing the Nightmare— the voice in my head, the creature with strange yellow eyes and an eerie, smooth voice. Eleven years later, and I don’t fear him at all. Even if I should.

Nothing is free. Nothing is safe. Magic is love, but also, it’s hate. It comes at a cost. You’re found, and you’re lost. Magic is love, but also, it’s hate.

He said nothing at all until the day the Physicians came, when he saved my life.

Eleven years, we’ve been together. Eleven years, and I’ve never told a soul.

My magic moves, he said. My magic bites. My magic soothes. My magic frights. You are young and not so bold. I am unflinching—five hundred years old.

I was born with the fever, my blood dark as night, With magic unflinching, power and might. My sights, they were endless, my ambition too vast, So I asked for more blessings, for power, amassed. The Spirit did warn me that nothing comes free, That bargains and barters all come with a fee. Though payment was dear, I paid what it cost. With blood and with bones and parts of me lost. So mind how you use them, and keep up your guard. Twelve blessings—twelve curses. Twelve Providence Cards.

Nightmare’s teeth echoed through my mind as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. A heart of gold can still turn to rot. What he wrote, what he did, was all done for naught. His Cards are but weapons, his kingdom now cruel. Shepherd of folly, King of the fools.

The twelve call for each other when the shadows grow long— When the days are cut short and the Spirit is strong. They call for the Deck and the Deck calls them back. Unite us, they say, and we’ll cast out the black. At the King’s namesake tree, with the black blood of salt, All twelve shall, together, bring sickness to halt. They’ll lighten the mist from mountain to sea. New beginnings—new ends . . . But nothing comes free.

“There once was a girl,” he murmured, “clever and good, who tarried in shadow in the depths of the wood. There also was a King—a shepherd by his crook, who reigned over magic and wrote the old book. The two were together, so the two were the same: “The girl, the King... and the monster they became.”

Magic smells of salt. Like ocean tides, it carries great balance. It wraps itself around the Spirit of the Wood, good and evil, love and hate, life and death. Can you smell it in the mist—in the Cards—in your own house? Magic smells of salt.

The Shepherd King had made seventy-eight Providence Cards in descending order. There were twelve Black Horses, held exclusively by the King’s elite guard—the Destriers. Eleven Golden Eggs. Ten Prophets. Nine White Eagles. Eight Maidens. Seven Chalices. Six Wells. Five Iron Gates. Four Scythes. Three Mirrors. Two Nightmares. And one Twin Alders.

The Hawthorn tree carries few seeds. Its branches are weary, it’s lost all its leaves. Be wary the man who bargains and thieves. He’ll offer your soul to get what he needs.

from Providence Cards stowed in pockets and satchels— shining all around me. Yellow—the Golden Egg. Turquoise— the Chalice. Piercing white—the White Eagle. Gray—the Prophet. Red—the Scythe. Black—the Black Horse.

“Elllspeth Spindle. Quite a mouthful.”

THE MAIDEN Be wary the pink, Be wary the rose. Be wary of beauty divine, unopposed. Her thorns will grow sharp, She’ll eat her own heart. Be wary of beauty divine, unopposed.

The berry of rowans is red, always red. The earth at its trunk is dark with blood shed. No water, nor cloth, can lessen its spread. He’ll ask for a maiden... Then turn her heart dead.

The Maiden is not just a Card of vanity. Magic is not for vanity. It is if it’s merely used to impress a Prince, I said, venom in my voice. He snickered. A deeply misunderstood Card, the Maiden.

In the end, the Nightmare continued, it does not matter how and why the Cards are used. Nothing is free, nothing is safe. Magic always comes at a cost. Stop telling me that, I said, throwing broken pieces of twig on the ground. For once, just shut up and leave me al— “Miss Spindle?”

The highwayman meets the hangman. Behind the mask, the highwayman carries two eyes for seeing, two ears for hearing, and one tongue for lying. There is no second chance for the cutpurse. The highwayman meets the hangman.

“Enough!” Ravyn seethed, his nose bleeding and jaw red. “Another sound and we’re both dead.”

Be still, the Nightmare hissed, anticipating me. The King is not a friend.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he repeated. “You, on the other hand...” He wiped his bloody nostrils on his sleeve, wincing. “Fuck.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s twice you’ve handed me my ass and run off.”

What creature is he, he asked, with mask made of stone? Captain? Highwayman? Or beast yet unknown?

Beast yet unknown, then, the Nightmare murmured.

A charm is neither living nor dead. When an animal born of Blunder dies of age, bury it in deep soil. When the soil sprouts seed, unearth it. Take from the animal a piece no greater than the palm of your hand. Whether bone, hair, or feather, your charm is a safeguard in the mist, for the animals of Blunder remain free of the Spirit’s snare. A charm is neither living nor dead.

“Miss Spindle. You have nothing to fear from me.” Strange, coming from the man who might have pierced your heart on the forest road.

ears. In the cold and the dark, the stone does not age. The light cannot reach where the shadows doth rage. At the end of the stairs, by rope or by blade, they take the sick children, to burn in a cage.

The berry of rowans is red, always red. The earth at its trunk is dark with blood shed. Trust never the man who wields the Card red. His voice seeped out of him, a poisonous fog filling my mind. No peace will be known till the final Rowan is dead.

For the Black Horse Card, for power and speed, The Spirit wanted blood from my warhorse, my steed. For the Golden Egg Card, abundance and wealth, I bartered two years of my life’s precious health. The Prophet came next, the Card of foresight. She wanted my fear, so I gave her my fright. When I asked her for courage, the White Eagle Card, I bartered my skin, which left my hands scarred. So I begged for the Maiden, for beauty I prayed. She asked for my hair, shorn off with a blade.

The Black Horse made its beholder a master of combat. The Golden Egg granted great wealth. The Prophet offered glimpses of the future. The White Eagle bestowed courage.

The Maiden bequeathed great beauty. The Chalice turned liquid into truth serum. The Well gave clear sight to recognize one’s enemies. The Iron Gate offered blissful serenity, no matter the struggle. The Scythe gave its beholder the power to control others. The Mirror granted invisibility. The Nightmare allowed its user to speak into the minds of others. The Twin Alders had the power to commune with Blunder’s ancient entity, the Spirit of the Wood.

the Black Horse could make its holder weak. The Golden Egg led to all-consuming greed. The White Eagle’s courage was replaced by fear. The Prophet’s foresight made its user helpless to change the future. The Chalice’s truth serum turned into poison. The Maiden’s beauty chilled its user’s heart. The Well’s holder would be betrayed by a friend. The Iron Gate stole years from one’s life. The Scythe caused great physical pain. The Mirror lifted the veil between worlds, exposing a world of ghosts. The Nightmare revealed one’s deepest fears. And the Twin Alders ... No one knew what happened if you used the Twin Alders too long. There was no record of anyone having done so.

There must be touch, there must be intention. Tap a Providence Card thrice to command its magic. Tap it thrice more, and its magic will cease. Guard it in your cloak—your house. But be wary. Magic knows no loyalty. Should someone else touch the Card, its magic shall be theirs to command. There must be touch, there must be intention.

The Captain of the Destriers is dark and severe. Watching from yew trees, his gray eyes are clear. His wingspan is broad and his beak is quite sharp. Hide quick or he’ll find you... and rip out your heart.

The Rowans are not to be trusted. They cling too desperately to their Scythes, hungry for power—for control, the Nightmare called in the din. Be wary.

he said. “He gave his consent.” He paused. “So long as you’re agreeable, that is.” I know no one’s going to ask me what I want, the Nightmare said, snide to his bones, but just in case you were wondering, the answer is no. No, I am decidedly NOT agreeable.

“It’s the nice ones you should look out for,” Ravyn said. I glanced up at him. “What about you, Captain? Are you too nice for your own good?”

“No, Miss Spindle,” he said. “I’m not nice at all.”

Wary I’d grown, so I needed the Well. She asked for a chamber—a place she might dwell. To reclaim my good self, I forged the Iron Gate. The cost was my armor, my golden breastplate. For the Scythe I wanted power, and her price was quite steep. I gave her my rest—she claimed all my sleep. The Mirror was next, to be invisible—unseen. She wanted old bones, so I gave her my Queen’s. But it felt incomplete, my collection yet whole. And so, for the Nightmare... I bartered my soul.

never lied. You merely assumed the King knew I had a Nightmare Card.” The Nightmare tapped his claws, laughter rolling off his back like snakeskin. How wonderful, he said. Absolutely marvelous. Shut up and let me think. Isn’t it obvious? The Captain of the Destriers is a sneaking, contemptible traitor.

Be wary, the Nightmare said, stringing his words like spider silk in my ears. The yew tree is cunning, its shadow unknown. It bends without breaking, its secrets its own. Look past twisting branches, dig deep to its bones. Is it Providence Cards he seeks—or is it the throne?

Be quiet. Be shrewd. He can’t hear your thoughts lest he focus on you. What makes you so certain? I demanded. His laugh rumbled in the dark. I know a few things about Providence Cards, my dear.

Plausible reasons are but a shadow at the gallows. The highwayman meets the hangman, one way or another.

The Nightmare’s voice echoed through my mind. Nothing is free, he murmured. Nothing is safe. Magic is love, but also, it’s hate. It comes at a cost. You’re found and you’re lost. Magic is love, but also—

“It doesn’t matter what my mother was—what I am. There will always be someone who cares for people like us, Nerium.”

table, five of them: Jespyr Yew, Elm Rowan, Filick Willow, and two others I had not met but knew by the Yew insignia upon their clothes—Fenir and Morette Yew. Ravyn’s parents.

Ravyn gestured to it, offering me a seat. The Nightmare slithered to the forefront of my mind, acute—aware. Let the inquest begin.

THE SCYTHE Be wary the red, Be wary the blade. Be wary the pain, for a price will be paid. Command what you can, Death waits for no man. Be wary the pain, for a price will be paid.