The Bringer of Shadows

Chapter 1

The Land.

No one knows why it was called that, or if it had ever had any other name. If it did, it would have been long before kings and queens, before Vampires and Skinwalkers.

Long before her...

An early morning storm blew snow across the village, coating it in a bright white blanket four inches thick, winds so strong that the white flakes swirled like small tornadoes in the air, whipping at the houses that rested in the clearing.

Deep, dark clouds shut out all forms of light, trying to cling on to the darkness of night.

Through the howling of the gale, the occasional creaking of the trees, the faint thud of snow falling from rooftops could be heard. Except no one was awake to appreciate them, the villagers slept soundly, unphased by what was happening outside the comfort of their walls.

Despite the storm, the village was peaceful.

That was, until a shrill scream pitched itself through the night, piercing the sound of the wind, putting the howling of the gales to shame.

A scream like someone running from Death itself.

The high-pitched shriek reached each of the houses that made up most of the village, waking up most of the villagers.

However, no one seemed to care. No one got out of their beds, nor did they rush outside to discover the source of the noise, pitchforks, and candles in hand.

They all simply fell back asleep.

Except for one young woman, sat in her bed and clutching her knees, tears streaming down her rain cloud-coloured eyes, her throat sore from the disturbance she had just created.

Her breaths were quick and shallow, her body shivering from the cool air in her room, chilling the sweat that coated her pale skin.

Every noise from the loud storm outside made her jump as she wrapped her arms around her legs, burying her head in her knees. She tried to count to ten, tried to calm her breathing, but to no prevail. The worry that her nightmares had followed her into reality was too strong.

She sat for an hour trying to calm herself, listening to the fading sounds of the storm outside. When she could no longer hear the wind, she looked up, her jet-black hair falling over her eyes, making her jump again.

"Get yourself together Bronwyn!" she muttered to herself in irritation as she tucked the hair back behind her ears and looked up through a small window in the roof of the house. Dark clouds stared back at her silently, their presence almost ominous.

Bronwyn tore her sight from the window, looking around her small attic room, trying to distract herself from her worries.

Her bed was positioned in the far corner, away from the locked hatch in the centre of her room, the only way in or out. A small wooden stand sat next to her pillow, a half empty tankard of water the only thing that rested on it.

She reached out and grabbed it, the metal cold in her hands, taking a big gulp, allowing the cool water to refresh her rough and dry throat.

On the other side of the room rested a large wardrobe, too large to fit through the hatch. She had tried to move it a few times, but to no avail. Bronwyn often wondered how anyone had managed to fit it inside the house, but she never got an answer.

Made of solid oak that was covered in knots and rings, the only evidence of the oak's long life. Bronwyn found herself often lost in the patterns that swirled together across the double doors that faced her bed.