Joely Sue Burkhart

I’m still making slow but steady progress on The Fire Within.  I revised a section last night to turn a boring conversation two warriors would probably never have like two civilized adults, and changed it into a sparring session with the important dialogue tossed like weapons.  Works much better.   

Since I’m running behind today, I’ll just give you a little snippet of what I think is one of the tenderest, angst-riddled moments in this story yet.  Malum is Zahak’s friend who’s been sparring with him, the friend who’s been prodding him all along to challenge his brother for the tribes.  First draft, likely to change, yadda yadda.  I still love this snippet.

“She belongs to Amin,” Zahak muttered, running his hands through his hair. “She’s not mine.”

“Sands swallow him, and sands swallow you too. Do you honestly believe Amin would make such a sacrifice for you? If you refuse such a gift, you deserve every moment of hell you suffer.”

“What do you mean?”

Whirling back toward camp, Malum jerked to a halt. Following his gaze, Zahak saw Eleni on the ridge of dune, barefoot and wrapped in a taamid with her hair blowing loose about her shoulders. Her pale, wan face tugged on his heart, even while his dragon surged for freedom, clawing and screaming in fury at the cage of flesh imprisoning it.

“I felt your injury.”

She had come to make sure he was all right. Alone, unarmed, weak from exhaustion and exposure, she came to his aid. Stunned, Zahak touched the wound on his cheek reflexively. “It was nothing.”

She flinched and dropped her gaze. He wanted to rush to her, fall on his knees in the sand, and bury his head against her. It wasn’t pride that rooted him to the spot. It was fear.

Fear that he would love her more than honor or duty or blood.

Raising her chin, she opened her arms, revealing the discarded taamid he’d left in the tent. Holding his gaze, she stretched out her hands and let the cloth flutter to the ground. Without another word, she turned back to camp.

In turmoil, Zahak climbed the dune, slowly, so as not to run after her. He picked up the taamid she’d brought and noticed a damp spot. Curious, he raised the cloth to his face and inhaled her sweet jasmine scent. She must have held it quite a while to give so much scent to it.

Suddenly, it dawned on him. The cloth was damp with her tears.

Moisture, so rare in this blasted cursed land, and she wept. For him.

Muttering fiercely, Malum stomped back toward camp. “Open your eyes, saif, before it’s too late for all of us.”

Hurrying after him, Zahak grabbed his arm, turning his friend around. “If I take her, you know what I’ll have to do.”

“Iyeh,” Malum replied steadily, his eyes glinting with challenge. “You’ll kill your brother to keep her.”

 

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