Lady Wyre wants to make sure she thanks everyone who helped make her sparkle before she went to visit my editor. If you were kind enough to read an early version of Lady Doctor Wyre, please comment here or e-mail me with how you’d like your name to show in the final book.
I have Sherri, Shannon, and Sharon listed already, but it was long enough ago I can’t remember if anyone else beta read and I do NOT want to forget anyone. You guys make it possible for me to submit with confidence!
I’ve got a lot of work to do in the next four months. I’ve loosely mapped out my schedule through the end of March, and it’s going to be a crazy fun time!
First up, my number one priority was to finish expanding the short story I mentioned back in Sept. into a short novella. I was aiming for 20K and hit it right on the nose! This is one of the projects I worked on for NaNoWriMo. I spent this week on revisions, and tonight I wrote a very short synopsis. (Hey, the whole story is only 20K so it doesn’t need more than a page or two of synopsis.) I really like this story, but we shall see. It’s risky.
Now on my list for Dec, I need to decide what to do about the other novella I’m working on. It’s not coming together like I want, so either I need to do more plotting or I don’t have a solid enough character. Something. I’ll read what I have for the next few days and make a decision about what to do.
This next week, I’ll also be working on editor revisions to Lady Doctor Wyre, and since I’ll be working in that world, I’ll make notes and plot out what I want to do for the freebie prequel I’ll be giving away in March. Can’t get started too early on that. I’ll also be making some notes about another possible Lady Wyre novella, which oddly enough, has some research material in common with the short novella I just finished.
I love happy coincidences.
I won’t share the rest of my to-do list right now. It’s pretty scary. 🙂 Just know that Vicki revisions are on the horizon too. I’m itching to get it out to a few readers to see what you think! Dec/Jan will include lots of revisions and submissions! Yay! (Which is exactly why I needed to finish those projects for NaNoWriMo instead of starting a brand new one.)
So what are you hoping to work on this month? Don’t wait until the New Year to make some goals!
I am sooooo thrilled to give you a sneak peek of Lady Doctor Wyre’s final cover! Love, love, love it! But you’re going to have to skip over to The Galaxy Express to see it, where Heather talks about her first impressions. Go over and weigh in!
I haven’t talked about The Shanhasson series in the past year or more. I kept thinking, “Oh, I’ve talked about it so much already–I don’t want to bore people.” But then I realized that I lost years of posts when I left yahell hosting, and so if you’re a newish blog reader in the past year or so, you might not have any idea how it all began.
The first dream.
I’ve always tinkered with writing. I was writing Walter Farley The Black Stallion and Gone with the Wind fanfiction way back in elementary and high school. I have enough credits for a minor in English, and one of my all-time favorite classes really was a Romantic Period class on Byron, Shelley, Blake and crew (alas, Conn was NOT my teacher). But in all those years of writing both for school and pleasure, it was a hobby.
I never took it seriously, until my beloved sister called me in the fall of 2003 because she’d finished her first book. Other than fanfic stuff I’d finished as a kid, I couldn’t say I’d ever finished anything. Certainly nothing that was entirely MY OWN. She even sweetened the pot by saying she’d only let me read HER story if I let her read MINE.
The story I had the most finished was then called My Beloved Barbarian. It was a kind of mishmash of all my favorite elements of both fantasy and romance. A little bit of Johanna Lindsey, Robert Jordan, George RR Martin, not to mention all the Scottish and Regency romances I’d read in my 20s and early 30s. I adored both fantasy and romance, but it’s hard to please me as a reader with “romantic fantasy” because it’s usually not romancy enough. Fantasy Romance is usually too lite on the fantasy for my tastes.
So I set out to write what I couldn’t find at the time. Steamy, highly romantic yet very epic fantasy.
With my sister’s encouragement, I finished the first draft of My Beloved Barbarian around October of 2003 and went on to write its sequel, then titled Khul’s Beloved by Christmas. YES — a huge amount to accomplish in just a matter of months. MBB clocked in well over 500 pages and the first draft of the second book was almost as long.
Remember, these were the first books I’d ever finished. e.g. I didn’t know ANYTHING. My POV was all sorts of messed up. My heroine had significant problems, speaking too modern–while my heroes spoke too stiffly and formally.
But it was a start. The beginning of the dream.
Yes, there were dark patches. Like the first time I entered an RWA contest. Yowsa, did I learn a LOT! I rewrote the books entirely from scratch and tried again in 2004 with contests. MBB even finaled in a few that time and I got some nice agent requests but no bites.
Then I hit another bad patch in 2005. I was learning all this new stuff about plotting and characterization — basically figuring out all the things I’d messed up and feeling overwhelmed that I’d never get it right again. I doubted that I’d ever finish a book with the same kind of overwhelming love and excitement. I was too hung up on the rules and I’d lost the love.
I started to fear I’d never finish a book again. In fact, I didn’t finish a single book in 2005.
But Beautiful Death helped break that vicious cycle, and in 2006, I decided I was going to rip MBB apart and rewrite it yet again. I murdered my heroine and recreated her. But as I threw out those hundreds of pages to start over for the third time, I realized I’d done quite a few things right. It was my job in this third and final draft to highlight those things I’d done right and fix the things that were wrong.
It might sound depressing to think about throwing out yet another draft and starting from scratch (by now, I’d written over 1000 pages in this series only to throw them out), but it proved my love for these characters. Turning MBB into The Rose of Shanhasson was like coming home and finding it more wonderful than even I remembered. Surely I didn’t really love this story that much (wrong!). Surely it wouldn’t make me cry AGAIN. (I was mistaken.) Surely it wouldn’t keep me up until all hours of the night when I already knew exactly what happened (ditto, again).
After years of learning and writing other things, my voice in this world was firm. I’d learned to write with authority because I believed. The dream lived in me and I refused, absolutely REFUSED, to give up on it again. Rhaekhar and Shannari lived and breathed on the page, and Gregar…well. Let’s just say that Gregar whispered in my ear. “It’s about time you came home to us.”
The biggest plus to working so hard and rewriting so many times: years had gone by and I found the courage to do things that never occurred to me when I first started. I’d grown so much. I wasn’t afraid to make the difficult choices, to really put my characters through the Three Hells and bring them back again.
It was a long road, and so “Faith of the Heart,” the original theme song for Enterprise, became the major theme song of this series. Along with Kiss from a Rose by Seal and Everything I Do (I Do It For You) by Bryan Adams. Those songs instantly put me in the Shanhasson world. I can’t hear them on the radio without thinking of Gregar, and usually, I burst into tears.
I’m not kidding.
So the dream that began in 2003, continued with the publication of The Rose of Shanhasson in 2007 and The Road to Shanhasson in 2008, will be complete with the release of Return to Shanhasson. The story began in Dalden Bay and that’s where it ends. It began with a barbarian declaring his love was unshakeable, and ends with him proving that he was right. This is not “romance” in the true sense of the word (WARNING: major characters do die – but they are never gone) but if your heart isn’t singing and crying at the end, overwhelmed with the love of these characters, then I should become a sports mystery writer like my husband wanted. *wry laugh*
It’s been a long road fraught with tears and heartache and doubt, but through it all, the Lady’s Moon shines down with love from above. Love, the greatest gift of all, and the greatest sacrifice.
After finishing up the third project this month, surviving Thanksgiving, and coming down with a cold, I did nothing all weekend except read. My comfort reads, the books I can always turn to and fall in love all over again. This time, I was able to read all three books back to back to back, the whole saga, tears and joy, love and sacrifice together.
Yes, I read the Shanhasson series. My own series. Self-indulgent? Perhaps. But oh, how I love these characters and their story. My first dream. My first love as a writer. Na’lanna, my beloved.
I can’t explain what I feel when I read these books. My heart… sings. Then it feels sore and swollen, too full like the Grinch’s heart at the end. I can hear one of the theme songs (Everything I Do by Bryan Adams) and bawl, because it reminds me of a certain moment in Rose. Reading the last book (which will hopefully be available soon) and seeing how it all comes full circle—it’s magic.
Everything has a purpose, even if I had no idea what was I doing.
Oh, there are a few things I’d change now, years later, but very few. Even how things tie into the Keldari world gives me chills. In Return to Shanhasson, everything comes together. Worlds collide. Some loves die and new love is born, but in the end…the same dream shines in the full moon above.
From Rose: Run toward the Moon that shines in your eyes. Run to your beloved Evening Stars. Run!
to the last line of Return to Shanhasson: Now, my heart, I run to you.
*wipes tears away*
With the release of Return coming soon, I’m going to give away several copies of both The Rose of Shanhasson and The Road to Shanhasson to get as many of you hooked as possible. I hope you love this series as much as I do.
If you haven’t yet read Rose and would like a print copy, please drop me an e-mail at joelysueburkhart AT gmail DOT com with your snail mail addy. As long as I have copies and postage funds on hand, I’ll send out copies to anyone who wants one and is willing to talk about the books in some way, whether with friends or online, simple ratings at GoodReads or Amazon or a full-fledged review, good or bad.
In a few weeks, I’ll do the same for Road (although I only have electronic copies).
Love, the greatest gift of all, and the greatest sacrifice.
I may not hit 50K for NaNoWriMo this year, but I can’t call it a failure. Not when I’ve now finished THREE PROJECTS.
At long last, I finished expanding the short Gregar prequel I started a long time ago. It’s about 8.5K and I plan to get it up on Amazon to help promote the release of Return to Shanhasson. Unfortunately, Return is still delayed. At this point I don’t know when it’ll be released but I’ll update my page as soon as I know something.
Thanksgiving yesterday was a success with just a few disasters. Someone ripped the toilet paper holder off the wall (sheetrock and al) in the master bath, but That Man was able to fix it. The turkey sprung a leak (it was too big for my heavy duty foil to completely enclose). Broth bubbled over when I tried to lift it out and smoked in the oven. (Of course I still had all the other sides to bake.) I sprinkled it with baking soda twice and that helped a lot. The turkey was still very juicy. I had a hard time getting the rolls done, but thankfully my Dad and That Man enjoy gummy rolls! We still had plenty of edge rolls that were done. My fault — trying to get them in and out of the oven quickly to heat up all the other dishes.
We made waaaaaay too many mashed potatoes (again). I used the last of the white meat last night for traditional (on my side of the family) carcass soup with the leftover homemade noodles. Unfortunately, we oinked out on it (we still had 6 guests for “dinner”) and now nearly all the noodles are gone. We have dark meat and ham left, a little dressing, and a buttload of mashed potatoes. I even saved 5 qts of broth off the carcass, so with a little chicken breast, I can make more noodles tonight.
Few leftovers means everything was good!!
Unfortunately, I’ve had a major relapse today from the cold or bug I had last week. I’ve totally lost my voice and have terrible chest congestion. I’m sure staying up half the night watching horror movies and then cooking and writing all day this week didn’t help! So today’s a lazy “baby Mom day” with lots of hot tea and honey.
And more noodles!
NaNoWriMo count: 34,709
Snippet: (This is actually the beginning of the “old” freebie short story — revised to fit in with the new stuff I’ve written)
I stood on a smoldering black ledge above a lake of fire in the heart of the Mountain and wept. “Great Wind Stallion, hear my prayer. Lift Your Shadow of Death from me. I can’t bear it. I can’t bear to hurt her…to kill her.”
Shivering despite the roaring furnace of the earth, I fell to my knees. The hem of my memsha began to smoke, my flesh blistering, but I did not rise.
Dream after dream haunted me. I couldn’t close my eyes without seeing her brilliant blue eyes flaring with pain, the last breath escaping her lips as I ended her life. We fought. We bleed. We loved. But in the end, she always died, even if she tried to kill me first.
“Not her!” I threw back my head and shook my fists toward the heavens. “I have killed in Your name countless times! I have heeded Your Call and sacrificed blood as You demanded, but I shall not sacrifice hers! Deliver me from this Shadow, Vulkar, or let me die. ”
Hands trembling, I unsheathed the ivory rahke on my hip and laid it on the ledge. I untied the braids at my temples, pulled each kae’al from my hair, and tossed the beads one by one into the burning lake. I ripped off my memsha, my heart squeezing painfully at the memory of her eyes, and tossed it into the fires as well.
In vain, I searched for a vision, some sign of forgiveness.
Smoke and steam wheeled above the heartfires of the earth, but no magnificent Stallion reared up out of the molten lake as before. No bone-crushing voice thundered in my skull.
My throat burned from the fumes of charred minerals and melted rock. “I’ve killed her a dozen times in my dreams, and I don’t even know her name.”
Shoulders slumped, I glared at the ivory rahke, my gift from Vulkar when I became a Death Rider. The blade glinted as pure as snow, untouched by the smoldering rock and the numerous marks I’d terminated.
How many have I killed? Dozens? Hundreds?
Why wasn’t the ivory darkened by the Shadow I carried in my heart? Why wasn’t the pristine blade stained with blood?
At the thought of her blood dripping from the rahke, my mouth watered.
My prayers had not been heard.
Picking up the knife, I stood and faced the lake of fire. “So be it.”
I gripped the ivory rahke in my teeth and leaped into the flames.
I’m up alone in the quiet house. The massive turkey is in the oven. All the cooking is prepped and ready to go in the fridges (it took two – I’m very grateful for the spare fridge in the garage!). In a matter of minutes last night, my company helped me peel and mash about 15 pounds of potatoes. The only thing I have left to do (until the turkey comes out of the oven) is make the roll dough today. I was supposed to do it last night and let it rise in the fridge overnight, but I was too tired. I’d been on my feet constantly since about 2:00 pm yesterday.
But I did have time to continue Gregar’s story. I’m moving into the part that I wrote a year or two ago, deleting sections and adding new parts, but the end of this short is in sight.
Happy Thanksgiving!
NaNoWriMo count: 32,676
Snippet:
I jerked awake screaming. Shaido reared and neighed beside me, a hand’s breadth from my skull, and I wanted to throw myself beneath his hooves and let him break my body into a thousand pieces.
Kae’Shaman placed a hand on my shoulder, drawing my gaze to him. He sat beside me, his ageless dark eyes gleaming in the moonlight. Sympathy and regret shone in his eyes, but not recrimination. Not like I deserved.
“You were right,” I whispered, my voice ragged and rough as though I’d been screaming in torment for days. “I killed her.”
“It was only a Dream, Gregar.”
“A Dream.” I laughed, a wild, pained sound of an animal. “I killed in a Dream at your beckoning just nights ago. She’s dead.” My voice broke and tears poured down my face. “She was na’lanna. My heart knew her. Yet I still killed her.”
“She is not dead.” His voice echoed with surety, his gnarled hand fierce on my shoulder. He shook me, making me look back into his face. “I know it, Gregar. The last light of this world still lives.”
Bewildered, I searched his gaze, afraid to hope. If I had not killed her…then I would ride to Vulkar’s Mountain this very day and throw myself into the Three Hells. I refused to live another night if I could end my life and save hers.
“She is very strong in the Dream. It will take more than your rahke to kill her there.”
“But…” My head throbbed in agony and desperate hope. “My rahke killed my mark. The danger he presented was great enough that you sent me through the Dream to eliminate him. As soon as I awoke, I felt that Vulkar’s Call had been completed.”
“Aye. You killed that Death Rider according to Vulkar’s will. But you did not kill her. It was not Vulkar’s will for her to die, let alone by your hand, because He knows your heart. She knows your heart, too, Gregar, and her power in the Dream will protect her. Your love will help shield her for a time, though not forever. Other Death Riders will not have their love to keep her safe.”
“I can’t bear it. I can’t dream about killing her every single time I close my eyes, even if you say she’s unharmed. That dream…changed me.”
With my eyes closed, I could feel her, faint and far to the north, but I knew I could find her. I felt her Call, that irresistible urge to ride straight to her and drag her into my shadowy embrace. And then what? Would I kill her as I’d done in the dream?
In the darkest, most shameful secret place in my heart, I acknowledged the truth. Aye.
Shuddering, I pulled away from Kae’Shaman and leaped on Shaido’s back without halter or saddle. “I’m Shadowed.” Corrupted. Tainted. Murderer. Not just a killer for Vulkar any longer, I would kill an innocent woman–whom I loved!–as well.
“Aye,” Kae’Shaman replied, sadness lining his face. “But not Shadowed enough to abandon Vulkar’s will.”
“Not yet.” Grimly, I signaled Shaido with the tightening of my knees. He galloped through Camp without need of reins. He knew exactly where to take me.
Straight to the Three Hells, may my soul burn in eternity.
I’ve been writing in the Sha’Kae al’Dan world since I decided to write and committed myself to finishing, so since 2003. (The first book I ever completed went on to become The Rose of Shanhasson after several iterations.) In all these years, I’ve written some very hard scenes in the Blood & Shadows world. I’ve killed characters. I’ve made myself bawl like a baby. But one scene I never actually WROTE in all its gory, painful detail is Gregar’s darkest, secret shame.
It’s the scene that defines who he is, why he does what he does. It is wholly HIM. Yet I never wrote it, because it was too horrible, too painful.
Since I dared call on him for help this week, he decided to get even and make me write out that dark secret. In painful, gory detail.
NaNoWriMo count: 31,466 words
Snippet (with a bit from last time – corrected. That scene ended wrong.) First draft only.
I could not return to the Dream. Not if I wanted her to live.
I sat outside my tent watching the sky lighten until dawn broke the horizon. I dared not sleep again this night. I wasn’t sure that I’d dare sleep again. As the stars went out one by one, I finally realized what had been bothering me about that dream.
She’d been wearing Sha’Kae al’Dan clothing, perfect down to the last detail. Not outlander clothes.
The dream had been mine.
#
For days, I hunted, sparred with other warriors, rode endlessly across the rolling hills of my homeland, refusing to pause for fear I would sleep. I would Dream, and I dared not see her again. Her scent had driven me beyond honor. My will was nothing. The honor I was so proud of would be my damnation. And her death.
Why had Kae’Shaman shown me how to open that doorway into the sleeping realm? I knew, but I resented that knowledge at the same time. If I had not gone into the Dream that night, she might very well have died. My mark might have been successful.
But now dread weighted upon my chest that I might have replaced my mark in the Endless Night’s foul schemes.
Night stretched about me, the Camp silent. Shaido stood beside me, head down, ears drooping in sleep. I’d ridden him hard these days, seeking to outrun my fears.
Fool. You can’t outrun what’s inside your own heart.
Shame choked me. I closed my eyes, just for a moment, and I was there. Immediately. The same perfect summer day, the wind playfully galloping across the hills and leaving waves of golden grass dancing it its wake. Not a single cloud marred the glorious blue sky and the sun beat down hot on my head. It wasn’t the baked scent of earth and grass that filled my nose, but the sultry, spicy flower.
She was here.
Night fell. There was no slow fade to the gloaming of dusk, but a heavy curtain of darkness enveloping the world as my gift of Shadow cloaked me from all eyes except hers. So dark. No moon brightened the sky and the stars were mere pinpricks, too insignificant against the night to share any light.
Yet light came toward me. She glowed with silver luminescence, a pearly beacon to draw my gaze, as though her alluring scent wouldn’t be enough to bring me to her. She Called me, as surely as Vulkar’s thundering hooves would Call me to my next mark.
Crouched in the grass with Shadow chilling my skin, I waited. I am Shadow. I am Death. I…
Don’t want to kill her. Not her. Vulkar help me.
She came, even though she had to know I was here. Head high, shoulders easy and relaxed, she walked through the grass as though she knew this place, though no outlander had come to the Plains in my lifetime. Smiling with delight, she trailed her hands through the waist-high grass and breathed deeply, drawing my gaze to those sweet curves. At least she’d come in outlander clothes this time, although the metal wouldn’t protect her. Not from me.
I wanted to roar, Arm yourself! Never approach me without naked steel in your hand!
Maybe she didn’t know I waited like a viper in the grass. My bite would be as fatal. If she dared tread so close… She surely didn’t know. Not even she would be so arrogant.
Then she looked straight at me with a sultry little smile curving her lips. Oh, she knew. And she was that arrogant. Pride burned in her midnight eyes, blatant challenge, a glint of laughter that I could never deny.
I exploded up out of the grass with rahke in hand and she whipped the sword up to meet my strike.
She laughed and I’d never heard sweeter music. No scream, no tears, she met me with sword in hand and fought as a warrior. Did she truly have this skill, or did she have powers in the Dream that I couldn’t even imagine? I thought to test her stroke by stroke, but she didn’t give me that chance. As fast as I could be at my best, she struck blow and after blow, driving me to use my full skill. No holding back, no hesitation, we fought, sword to rahke, a symphony in the night that made my blood sing in my veins.
Until I drew first blood.
Blood welled on her chest. Until I saw the ruby and heard the gasp of her indrawn breath, I hadn’t realized her armor had disappeared piece by piece. Perhaps I had cut it off her in our glorious fight, or her powers in this dream had failed to maintain the illusion of protection. Most likely, my dream had changed hers, putting her into my clothing. The sight of my blue in her memshai—the same color as her eyes—made me growl deep in my throat.
Mine. She’s mine and no other’s.
Her scent ripened, a luscious fruit at the peak of sweetness, promising heaven and hell at once. Ignoring her blade entirely, I seized her left arm, dragging her into my deadly embrace. She struggled, grappling now with fear. Blade to blade, we were nigh equals, but in sheer strength and bulk, I easily overpowered her. I had broken the rules of honorable combat, but with the wealth of her blood only a breath away, I did not care.
Then I tasted her, and nothing else in the world mattered.
Her blood filled my mouth and Vulkar’s Moutain detonated in my head. I was lost, lost forever in her blood, her scent, her arms. She fought me, shifting her grip on the sword to slice the blade into my back, but she couldn’t stop me.
My blood smeared her hands and she moaned. She fisted her free hand in my hair and jerked my head up so she could slam her mouth into mine. Now she was lost too. She held me as I held her, raking her nails down my arms, my back, spreading the fire of my blood upon her skin.
I took her down to the grass, or perhaps she took me. She was as frantic as me, her mouth devouring mine, her hands pulling me closer instead of shoving me away.
Dropping my forehead to hers, I fought to regain my will. “I cannot do this. Not to you.”
“I wanted you from the first moment I saw your shadow.”
My shadow. I shuddered and pulled back. “I’m a Death Rider. The Endless Night wants me to kill you.”
“I know,” she whispered, tightening her grip in my hair so I could not leave. “He always wants me dead.”
Determined to save her from myself, I disentangled her fingers from my hair and pressed my rahke into her hand. “Kill me now, lovely one. Don’t let the Endless Night win.”
“I can’t kill you.” She shoved the rahke into my heart, as she’d done with her sword in the last dream. I felt the pain of it, aye, and the immediate surge in my lust. Pain and blood always fed my desire, and with her lying beneath me…
Her blood whispering to me…
How could I resist? Yet how could I not fight with every beat of my heart to keep her safe from harm?
She was my greatest dream come true, all fire and courage and pride, a heart cold enough to kill me or anyone stupid enough to threaten her.
Yet she was my greatest nightmare, because she was right. She couldn’t kill me. Here, in this Dream, my Shadowed heart did not need to beat and it refused to die as long as she lived and breathed somewhere in this world.
She kissed me. She took me into her body. She held me, whispering in my ear. Not sweet endearments, the sort of blanket talk a man and woman might share in pleasure. She whispered of blackest temptation.
“Save me,” she whispered, slipping the bloody rahke back into my hand. “Take me away from all this darkness. I’m tired of being alone in the Shadows, lost and scared and cold. Take me into your Shadow, hold me forever, and I’ll never be alone and scared in the darkness again.”
Her voice broke. She cried out in pleasure, tightening her grip on my hair. “Please! Please save me!”
My heart knew her, even though I did not know her name. I would know her anywhere, anytime, in any unknown place in this world. I pressed the tip of the rahke to the vein thumping so frantically in the side of her throat. “Na’lanna.” My beloved.
And I plunged the rahke into her throat.
Now I know why NaNoWriMo recommends you start a brand new project for NaNoWriMo, instead of trying to finish an existing work. It’s damn hard keeping momentum up after you hit “the end!” Worse: I’ve hit the end not once but twice.
I’m going to see if I can hit the third.
After several days of struggling with the new projects, I was getting desperate. I decided to Call for help.
If you’ve been reading my blog for long, you know allllll about Gregar, my wicked Shadowed Blood. Of course I went to him for help. I should have finished his prequel a long time ago anyway.
NaNoWriMo count: only 29,561 but it’s more than I had before.
First draft snippet (picking back up from the last Shadowed snippet):
“ALREADY, SHE DREAMS OF YOU.”
Her eyes flew open, startling blue even in the night, and she gazed not at the other Death Rider, but at me. Her eyes flared.
As though she recognizes me.
Her dream morphed and she stood clad in metal, a short sword held cocked over her shoulder. “Come and get me, you son of a bitch.”
With a low grunt of acceptance, my mark saluted with his rahke and stepped into her dream, wrapping himself in Shadow. She wouldn’t be able to see him. Despite her bravado, she would die. She must die, against a Death Rider.
My stomach felt heavy and sick, but I, too, stepped into her dream. Behind me, I heard a low chuckle and the hair crawled on my scalp. Somehow, I felt as though I had done exactly what the Blackest Heart of Darkness wanted most of all.
#
My gift of Shadow had never felt so dangerous. My skin felt like ice, my palm damp on my rahke as though I faced my first elimination in Vulkar’s name once more. Outlander hallways of stone had been replaced by more familiar rolling hills, and night had become a clear and perfect summer day. How could this woman know of our Plains, which we aggressively protected from her kind?
My nostrils flared at the first hint of her scent. A spicy, rich flower that I had never smelled before, thick and sweet in the heat of a summer night. I couldn’t not follow that scent. It pulled me onward, whispering as seductively as a warm, willing woman’s musk of desire.
This woman wasn’t willing and she wasn’t mine. My mark—the man I’d come to kill—would be hunting her. I had to kill him first.
The clash of steel sent me running down the hill and up the next with all my speed. No one would last long against a Death Rider, let alone a woman. A sword wouldn’t help her, even if she were a blademaster.
Which she might be, I admitted. She fought well. For an outlander.
My mark had abandoned his gift and fought fully visible, his short rahke effortlessly slipping in and out of her defenses. But she managed to whirl away each time. Neither were unscathed, but the Death Rider hadn’t been able to land a killing blow.
Lightening my steps to make no sound, I raced past their battle as silently as a cloud in a summer sky. My rahke dipped, severing his spine at the base of his skull. He dropped like a stone and I crouched in the tall grass, silent and invisible.
At first glance, I’d thought her beautiful. Up close, she was magnificent. Panting, sweaty, bloody, she stood with her head high and sword comfortable in her hand. “I know you’re still here.”
It took all my years of experience to keep from twitching with surprise. No one saw through a Death Rider’s gift. No one.
Except her.
I drew my gift tighter, silently urging her to look away. Don’t see me. Don’t see the flicker of darkness upon the grass, the waver of nothing where light should be. I am Shadow. I am Death.
“I didn’t need your help, you know.” She smiled wryly, keeping her tone conversational, but I noted that she kept the sword firm and ready in her grip, which earned an approving grin from me. “I would have eventually finished him off. As I’ll finish you.”
I bit my tongue, fighting back all the lewd jokes that immediately burned in my mind. Aye, I had a foolish, raw sense of humor. Either she was extremely stupid—which arguably, all outlanders were—or she was baiting me.
Me. The most skilled Death Rider with more kills than any other living assassin to roam the Plains.
It was enough to make me laugh. Out loud.
Eyes narrowed, she pinned my hiding spot and shifted slightly to face my attack.
“Put your sword away, woman. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Somehow I don’t believe you.” Her voice frosted, hard, cutting ice, telling me that many had come to kill her. For whatever reason, the Endless Night wanted her dead. He must have been sending his filthy murderers after her a very long time indeed. “Reveal yourself, shadow man. Or will you cower in darkness against a woman?”
I stood and peeled back my cloak of darkness just enough for her to see that I was a formidable warrior, leaving shadows to wreath my face. Shadow man indeed. Meeting her gaze, I gave her my most cocky smirk—though whether she caught it through my disguise I could not say—and sheathed my rahke. “I came to kill him. Not you. If I had come to kill you, you would already be dead.”
Despite the lack of any threat from me, she narrowed her gaze as though she sought to pierce the shadows hiding my face and took a step closer. Steel hovered mere inches from my bare stomach. “I think not.”
“Try me.” I winked at her suggestively. “I would love for you to finish me.”
Silent and swift, she struck, jabbing forward to impale me on her weapon. I simply blurred sideways. Her sword struck nothing but air and she stumbled off balance. Her shoulder brushed mine. A heavy braid hung down her back, inviting me to jerk her head backwards and curve her throat for my rahke. That perfect skin would split easily beneath my blade. Her blood would be hot, sweet, unlike anything I’d ever tasted before.
My mouth watered.
Shuddering, I pulled my disguise tighter, backing away. My head swam with her sultry scent, made even more enticing by the blood she’d spilled in her first fight. I felt dizzy, my head stuffed with cotton, my throat dry and tight even while my mouth flooded with saliva at the thought of tasting her. My stomach pitched uneasily. My ears roared, my heartbeat thundering in my head like a thousand stampeding horses.
Great Vulkar, what is wrong with me?
Steel cut sharply into my side and I loved her for it. Here was a woman more than capable of killing to protect herself. She hadn’t waited for me to recover from whatever malady attacked me. She’d seen an opening and she’d taken the opportunity to sink her sword into me.
Her only mistake: she hadn’t gone for a killing blow.
As a Death Rider, I was already mostly dead, but I was even stranger than most assassins riding the Plains. Blood and pain were mere endearments and kisses for one like me. The more she hurt me, the more I would like it. The more I bled, the more I would want her.
And the more I wanted her to bleed in turn.
A dangerous proposition to be sure.
“You won’t find me an easy kill, shadow man, even if I can’t see you.”
I jerked back with a grunt as steel slid out of me. “You have very good aim for one who supposedly cannot see her target.”
“I don’t have to see you when I can smell you.”
“Ah.” I laughed wickedly, dodging another strike. To test her senses, I circled her, soundlessly, yet she kept her body turned to face me. “And how do I smell, lovely one?”
“Vile.” She made her voice a weapon, flat, hard and cold. It made me smile again, and evidently, I loosened my concealing shadows, because her mouth went tight and flat with determination. “None of the others have smelled like you.”
She meant it as an insult, but I heard the ring of truth in her voice, and my spine sheeted with ice. “You have a great many Death Riders walking your dreams?”
“Every single night someone tries to assassinate me.”
I snatched her right wrist and jerked her closer, ignoring her blade entirely. “Do they come in your dreams?”
“Like this?” She whispered, dropping her gaze to my mouth.
A waterfall of fire poured over me, stealing my breath. She had no right to do this to me. No one had claim on my heart. Fury made me tighten my fingers on her wrist, digging into her skin. I’d rather cut my own hand off than harm a woman, but in that moment, I was too furious to care. I kill for Vulkar and my heart is mine alone.
“If I take your heart, I’ll cut it out of your ribcage.”
I didn’t realize I’d spoken aloud. I shoved her backward away from me. “Return to your dream and leave me in peace.”
Laughing softly, she turned, that long dark braid swinging down her back to her hips. I’d never noticed what she wore until now. A short emerald green cloth wrapped about her hips, a memshai in the manner of the Sha’Kae al’Dan. Jealousy twisted vicious talons in my gut, for that color meant she belonged to someone else. If she were mine, she’d wear my blue and nothing else.
Insane. This dream had made me lose my mind.
“You’re the one who invaded my dream, remember? Leave me to my usual nightmares and never return, or I’ll kill you now and save myself the trouble tomorrow night.”
“You think—”
She whirled, that braid whipping in an arc, stinging my face. She slammed the blade through my heart, shoving hard, again, until we stood face to face.
“So?” I finished on a groan. Blood pulsed from the wound with every beat of my heart, and I saw the heat flare in her eyes. She felt it. She felt the fire of Vulkar in my blood, the very heartfires of the earth.
“I know so,” she whispered against my lips. I reached for her, intent on pulling her closer, but my hands grasped only air.
I jerked awake in my tent. A cold sweat chilled my skin. Lying there in the darkness, I calmed my breathing, but I couldn’t still my mind. A dream. Only a dream.
But I had killed my mark in that dream. She’d killed me—so why wasn’t I dead as well? Vulkar forbid, what if I had indulged in her challenge? If we’d fought, and bled, and…
I could do nothing less than love her.
Kae’Shaman’s words thundered in my head. You will hold that precious heart beneath the weight of your rahke. May Vulkar guide you in your darkest hour, when the Endless Night will lure you to ravage and destroy the last light of the world.
A woman stalked in her dreams by Death Riders. My woman. Vulkar help me.
My hand trembled on the hilt of my rahke. When had I unsheathed it? Horror bubbled up my throat. I had to roll on my side and vomit else choke on my shame. That dream had been shadowed from the very first moment. I’d know it, yet onward I’d gone, too determined in my pride as the most honored Death Rider to turn back.
I could not return to the Dream. Not if I wanted her to live.
Surely hours later, I finally calmed enough to close my eyes. As I drifted off to sleep, I finally realized what had been bothering me about that dream.
She’d been wearing Sha’Kae al’Dan clothing, perfect down to the last detail. Not outlander clothes.
The dream had been mine.
This is a true story of how my first day off this week from the Evil Day Job has gone.
1. I’m behind on NaNoWriMo. Waaaaay behind. But I haven’t even opened Word or Scrivener yet today. I have too much organizational, cleaning, prepping, etc. to do. For example…..
2. I wanted to move my granite-top kitchen island to be more convenient for prepping, but it’s tight quarters in the eat-in kitchen (and my kitchen is too small to use it as an “island”). I huffed and puffed it into the spot I wanted, moving the table and chairs as I needed. Unfortunately, I knocked over Middle’s bean plant she started at school that was precariously situated on the window sill. DIRT ALL OVER THE TILE FLOOR and down in the grout.
3. Grumbling, I went to get my broom. It wasn’t in the pantry. I also couldn’t find my dustpan. Fifteen minutes later, I found them in the garage. ?? No idea who took them to the garage.
4. I began sweeping up the dirt. WHEN I KICKED OVER THE DOGS’ WATER BOWL. Now I had mud in the grout.
5. After sweeping up the mess, I took my soggy broom out to the deck to get as much dirt off as possible. I whacked it on the railing and BROKE MY BROOM HANDLE. (Honestly, I wasn’t that mad. Not really. I guess I don’t know my own strength.)
I am now making my first batch of homemade yogurt in my new yogurt maker. (Why I have a yogurt maker instead of all the dozens of other ways I’ve TRIED to make yogurt without an other useless appliance deserves it’s own blog post.) I’m also making two loaves of homemade bread today and roasting chickens this afternoon (so I can make my own broth for the dressing and noodles).
PRAY THAT I DON’T BURN DOWN THE HOUSE.
