Joely Sue Burkhart

I’m working on the first draft of Road with a goal of hitting “The End” by the end of May.  Since this is the second in a trilogy, I’m not going to be able to share a lot without giving away huge spoilers.  So I will edit these for content to hide certain facts that I don’t want you to know until you read Rose.  I know, I’m wicked.

Dharman and Sal are two young men (Dharman’s the oldest at age 15) and they’re making a bit of a nuisance of themselves.  Shannari doesn’t quite know how to handle them, but right now, they’re the least of her worries.

Of course, it wouldn’t be a Blood and Shadows world snippet without some Gregar action…

Dharman and Sal had been joined by a third boy with golden hair that glinted in the sun. Grazing nearby, Wind nickered softly, pressing her soft muzzle into Shannari’s back. The gesture was typically comforting, but she couldn’t help but worry. What did they want?

They said nothing and made no move to intercept or speak to her, but they watched. Every day, they lingered, making an appearance right as she left Camp to drill with the Blood. She highly suspected they followed to spy on her.

“Do not worry, Khul’lanna,” Gregar said, his voice carefully light and unconcerned. He touched her back lightly, a small soothing caress, his hand instead of the mare’s nose. “I’m glad they remain near. If I slip while we drill, shout Dharman’s name. He’ll hear you and reach you before Khul may.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she retorted. “I’m certainly not going to call for the boy, and I’m not afraid of you, either.”

Gregar could have called her on the small lie, but he let it slip. Standing across from him with knives in their hands was the hardest thing she’d ever done, and he’d promised to do it every single day. After nearly two weeks, it was a little easier, but her heart still pounded frantically. Sweat trickled down her back, her palm so damp the hilt felt oily in her hand as she drew the rahke from the brilliantly colored belt.

Wind didn’t like their drilling sessions, either. The mare hovered, bumping into her, snorting at the Blood and striking out at him with her hooves. She never kicked him, but her warning was clear. “Wind, enough. Go graze.”

The mare threw her head up, shaking silver mane in denial.

“Go on,” Shannari insisted, giving the horse a friendly swat. “I can’t practice if you interrupt. Go!”

Gregar inclined his head to the horse and touched his right fist to his heart. With a final fierce snort, Wind trotted off into the distance. Not too far, Shannari guessed, the same as those boys. Bloody hell. She might as well have Rhaekhar standing around playing nursemaid too.

Carved roses dug into her palm. Staring at Gregar, she struggled not to flinch back into a defensive crouch.

The Shadowed Blood stood with the sun at his back, his face lost in the brightness. He simply stood there, without the rahke in his hand, and she knew the cold suffocating terror of nightmares. When he spoke, his voice had dropped an octave, low and rumbly bass. “Attack me.”

She took a deep breath, focusing her will, gathering her courage. Fighting him tested every last one of her skills, and she still wasn’t entirely comfortable with the much shorter blade. The mirrored lake glimmered in her mind, and she methodically pushed her fears and thoughts into the water, letting them flow from her. Rather, the waters welled within her, filling her, bubbling up like a pure, sweet spring.

A vision flashed in her mind: a strange tree, a trunk gleaming like bone, and drops of blood on shadows for leaves.

“The kae’sangral,” he whispered, his voice so low, so dark. “I am your Shadow, and I will bleed for you this day. Attack!”

She darted forward, swinging the rahke in a quick arc, and he leaped back, his eyes glittering, taunting.

“Faster, Khul’lanna. Do not hesitate. This day, I want you to feel the cut of rahke through flesh, to measure your strike for exactly the right amount of blood. Remember, shallow, thin cuts will honor me. No injury, no stitches, just blood. Can you honor me? Can you bleed me?”

Blessed Lady, he knew exactly the best way to challenge her. She settled the rahke better in her palm and went after him. Even though he held no weapon and couldn’t block her strikes even if he’d wanted, he was incredibly fast. He let her have nothing easily.

Dripping sweat, she finally felt the rahke catch him in the abdomen in a long flash of red. Her stomach pitched queasily and she faltered, her hand shaking.

“Good,” he said, his low voice thrumming her spine. “But you can do better. This is a bit deep. Try again. Honor me, Khul’lanna.”

The scent of his blood ripened on the air, dark syrupy caffe and baking bread, heated by the sun. It was easier to place the next cut on his arm, the next on his opposite shoulder.

When she would have called a break, he urged her onward. “Excellent. Feel how shallowly you cut? Control the blade. It is merely an extension of your hand. You can fight closer, whether with surprise or challenge, and my longer reach and greater strength is not as great a factor as when you wield the sword.”

“Your longer reach means nothing if you don’t even draw a weapon yourself,” she panted. Sweat burned her eyes, but she dared not pause until he told her. He was a fierce task master and could put her Rashan swordmaster to shame for barking orders. “No assassin will let me attack without fighting back.”

“I am not any assassin.” He laughed, and the sound slithered through her like dark chocolate. “Keep bleeding me, Khul’lanna.”

Fear clutched her stomach. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I bleed for you.”

This entry was posted on Thursday, April 24th, 2008 at 6:39 pm and is filed under Friday Snippets. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.