She looked upon the visage of a raptor, stars shining in eyes that reflected the heavens, and there was no mistaking Westrion, the god of death.
The Birdman has come for me. I must be dead.
All grew still and black, and became nothing.
All was still and black. When Karigan opened her eyes, she could tell no difference.
Do you have eyes in the afterlife? she wondered. Artists depicted the souls of the dead with eyes, but how did they know?
Other sensations came to her: she lay on smooth, cool stone. The space felt close, the air thin and poor. Her body hurt, in some places worse than others.
Not dead, she thought with rising hope. Just a bad dream. She had only imagined Westrion’s wings, of being borne in the death god’s arms.
She patted herself to make sure and felt flesh and warmth and more pain. She sliced her palm on a shard of glass jutting from her thigh. She yanked it out with a cry. Definitely not dead.
She tried to sit up but bumped her head on stone. She explored around herself with her hands. Smooth, cold stone all around her. She was enclosed in a rectangular box.
Seized by panic she screamed, kicking and hitting the sides of her prison despite her broken wrist. Warm blood trickled down her forearms from shredded knuckles. No one responded to her cries for help. She tried to force herself to calm down, her breathing ragged.
She would suffocate, expire in some unknown tomb. No one would ever know what happened to her, or where to look. Was she still in Blackveil? Elsewhere? What had the shattering of the looking mask done with her?
Taking another shuddering breath, she realized she probably would never find out.
Kristen Britain is the author of the bestselling Green Rider series. She contemplates life and fantasy from her tiny log cabin in the woods of Maine, which she shares with her canine companion, Gryphon. She can be found online at www.kristenbritain.com.
ALSO BY KRISTEN BRITAIN:
Green Rider
First Rider’s Call
The High King’s Tomb
Blackveil
Blackveil Page 66