Corina Douglas
Daughter of Winter
(Daughter of Winter - 1)
Welcome to a world of fairytales, folklore and Celtic mythology!
The Daughter of Winter series is my first series based on Celtic mythology, and there is so much more coming! If you’d like to be kept informed about exclusive stories, new series, and a behind the scenes look at works-in-progress, keep up to date by joining me on social media at:
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I truly hope you enjoy the first book in the Daughter of Winter series, and I look forward to reading your review.
See you on the Other side!
DEDICATION
This one is for me—it’s been a long time coming.
1
Talorgan
3rd Century BC, Ancient Scotland
The air reeked of iron.
Fresh blood, still warm from the corpse, had been lathed over his body so thick that his skin was no longer white but a rich, tacky red.
The freshly skinned hide of the bull was laid out on the earth beside him, its yellow pelt drawing in the warmth of the sun. The carcass that had once been encased now lay mutilated and steaming a few feet away.
Talorgan hadn’t reckoned on how difficult it would be to eat the organs. But he’d forced himself to eat the heart, kidneys, and liver, mulishly chewing and swallowing. He’d gagged as the flesh clogged in his throat, especially the tough muscles in the heart. The warm, fresh blood should have aided his progress, but the more he ate, the more cloying it became.
As Talorgan swallowed the last morsel of the bull’s heart, he paused for a moment, breathing in deeply. His body ached from butchering the bull, and he felt gorged, his belly tight and protruding. His stomach rebelled, churning furiously at the intrusion. But Talorgan strengthened his mind against the onslaught. Gritting his teeth, he fought the urge to vomit, and eventually, strength of will prevailed, and his stomach settled into an uneasy murmur.
Phase one had been completed.
Talorgan needed to remain focused on the task at hand, on achieving the end goal—for the power of the mind was volatile. It could sway his actions, deny him the privilege of what he sought. Every nuance had to be perfect for his journey into bull sleep to be successful. So, pushing his physical aches aside, Talorgan focused on the next phase.
Spreading his arms and legs, he tipped his head back in a pagan welcome to the afternoon sun, asking its warm rays to dry the blood on his skin. For a while, time was of no consequence. It didn’t take long for his skin to itch, and he smiled when he raised his arms to confirm the taut pull of dried blood. The second phase was complete—the bull and his body were now one.
It was now time for phase three.
Talorgan moved to the hide and carefully lowered his body on top of it. The bull’s wiry hair was coarse against his naked skin. Closing his eyes against the sun’s glare, Talorgan said a final prayer to the gods before silencing his mind. There must be no distractions for his final journey. This included the call of the lone hawk in the sky, the insects scurrying in the grass beyond his head, and even the sound of the wind sighing in the trees. With single-minded tenacity, Talorgan focused on the present moment until eventually, everything faded and silence reigned complete.
In response, Talorgan’s heart rate slowed down, and the breath eased out of his mouth on a soft sigh as he drifted just below consciousness.
Talorgan’s inner eye snapped open to find he was running furiously. His chest felt tight, his throat burning as he gasped for breath. It was dark, and all around him were shadows upon shadows. As he ran relentlessly forward, brambles scratched at his face and tore at his robe.
Questions probed. Why am I running?
That was when he felt it behind him. Something dark and powerful.
The realization was abrupt—he wasn’t chasing something; he was running from something. A chill raced down his spine for Talorgan understood that fleeing was the only valid path he had available.
Don’t turn around. Don’t look! Just keep running!
But of his own accord, Talorgan turned his head, seeking that which was behind him. He frantically searched the darkness, but there were only shadows. Not daring to pause any longer, he whipped his head back around and continued to careen blindly forward.
It was then that he felt the air collapse in on itself as if something were drawing all the oxygen away. It felt cold and toxic. He choked, gasping as his breath wheezed painfully in and out of his throat. Something painful hit his back, feeling like a shaft of cold, dark ice. It traveled unmercifully through his body, and his teeth began to chatter.
Talorgan knew it was coming from behind him. But what was it? Where was it?
He couldn’t help turning again; eyes narrowed at the darkness. And something within those dark layers shifted and evolved. It was a large shadow, breaking away from the mass. As he focused on it, he understood that this was more than a shadow. It felt dangerous, evil. He blinked, wondering at what this was, and in that moment, the dark mass twisted wildly into a vortex of speed. Talorgan’s heart froze as he realized it was moving forward. Toward him.
Without hesitating further, he whipped back around and urged his body to run, faster than before, away from this entity. He frantically looked for an escape, but there was nothing and no one in the forest, save for what was behind him.
As his legs desperately pumped up and down, he knew deep inside that this was his own doing. His own retribution. For he’d fallen too far and too fast. There would be no salvation for the deeds he’d done, no turning back from the path he’d begun. The darkness seemed to be screaming at him that this was his future; this was his path.
It was inevitable that Talorgan stumbled on a tree root, pitching forward in a panicked heap. He threw his hands out just in time, breaking his fall by grabbing hold of the trunk of a tree. He used it to push himself upright and stagger on. But as his fingers slipped off the rough bark, there came a stabbing pain in his right shoulder, this one colder, darker, and more agonizing than before. By his next wheezing breath, the pain had traveled from his shoulder and down into his chest; grabbing hold of his heart in a tight vice.
He cried out, his steps faltering as his hands reached up to clutch at his heart. The action pulled him off balance, and he stumbled again, reeling sideways. His forehead sharply connected with a fallen log, and he rolled with the momentum of his fall, ending up on his back. Talorgan blinked dazedly at the inky sky above, unaware of the warm blood that now oozed down the side of his face.
The stars peered down at him; silent, cold observers.
His body burned inside and out. As if whatever had pierced his shoulder had traveled throughout his body, a toxic poison intent on assimilation.
Talorgan’s head whirled in a dizzying rush, and darkness crowded at the edges of his mind. He embraced its escape, desperately hoping for the veil of unconsciousness to fall. But it didn’t happen. And he knew then that it wouldn’t.
For it was coming.
Talorgan closed his eyes, squeezing them tightly against the assault that would inevitably come.