Category: NaNoWriMo

Mykal’s scene is done.  I have an idea in mind for the next scene that is entirely new.  Magic, that’s all I can say.  I needed something big, and I think this will work well.  BIG.  Shannari faces a battle she can’t possibly win, so of course, she’s striking first, directly at the heart of Shadow.  She’s going to need Nine Blood appropriately bleeding, a Rose Crown, the Great Seal, and of course, Gregar’s ivory rahke, which those in the know will remember how Road ended.

It’s CRAZY.  When I wrote the ending for Road, I didn’t know why the rahke did what it did.  *trying to be deliberately vague to avoid spoilers*  Now I do.  *shivers*

I’ve known the “epilogue” or final scene for Shannari absolutely — but this whole Keldari thread is entirely new.  Even my rough outline from last year had several things cloaked in Shadow that I simply didn’t know.  I’d messed up Mykal entirely and I had no idea whatsoever who my antagonist was.

So now I have two plot threads galloping full speed toward one another.  A battle of sorts is coming.  And I have no idea what happens.  *gulp*  I have no idea how Mykal resolves his thread.  Honest.  He’s not the man I thought he was, and so while I know what used to happen, that whole flimsy thread burned away in a flash of dragon fire.  (And Mykal’s dragon doesn’t even breathe fire.)

So I’m feeling very reckless and crazy and obsessed.  I want to stay up all night and find out what happens because I don’t know!  Despite my vacation, That Man has to be up by 6:00 a.m. and I’ve got to get the monsters off to school, so I guess I should go to bed.  It’s nearly midnight after all. 

You can bet that I’ll be priming my mind to dream in sandalwood rose.

The killer song for the upcoming battle:  Savin’ Me by Nickelback.

Show me what it’s like
To be the last one standing
And teach me wrong from right
And I’ll show you what I can be
Say it for me
Say it to me
And I’ll leave this life behind me
Say it if it’s worth saving me

Heaven’s gates won’t open up for me
With these broken wings I’m fallin’
And all I see is you
These city walls ain’t got no love for me
I’m on the ledge of the eighteenth story
And oh I scream for you
Come please I’m callin’
And all I need from you
Hurry I’m fallin’, I’m fallin’

Mykal’s scene: 1,012

NaNo total: 57,691

Snippet:  I don’t think any explanation is required. 

 

His purpose hadn’t changed, not exactly.  He would still grasp the moon in the palm of his hand.  Whether he would take the left or right hand path thereafter, he didn’t yet know.  Death waited on all sides, cloaked in Shadow.

Again, he felt that sense of tumbling through the night sky, wings bent awkwardly, painfully twisted and broken.  He fell, too fast, the ground rushing up to meet him.  [this plays a huge part in the Keldari mythology and their original devalki.]

So much depended on her, whether she was named truly as Daughter of Our Blessed Lady of Love.

:Run, brightheart.  Run to your Shining Walls and cower behind your nine Red geldings.  This time, I’m coming to mark you as mine.:

I “finished” the dream sequence from hell, only to find Shannari standing outside the Tenth Camp, needing to see some people inside very badly indeed.  Whew, some rough stuff is going on, both emotionally and physically.  Shannari’s never been this shaken and scared before.  NEVER.

Today: 3,083 4368 and counting.  Yes, I’m still going.  I’ve caught the na’kindre and I’m riding it as long as possible.  Just brewed another pot of coffee (10:30 pm.)  All dream sequence is finished; Mykal section upcoming.

NaNo Total: 55,394 56,679

Snippet:  In the first part of the Dream, she’s conversing with the Black Dragon, who took the form of a desert savage.  After a small disagreement *snort* she has him pinned flat on his back while she threatens a very delicate part of his body.

“Why not turn to me, brightheart?  Why not let me give you the solace you deserve after so much suffering?”

“Shut your filthy mouth, blackheart” she ground out, shaking with fury.  “The Gods have a purpose that we can never possibly understand.”

He stared up at her, his eyes shining in the moonlight.  Shadows peeled back enough for her to almost see his face.  High forehead and cheekbones created valleys of shadows where his silver eyes gleamed.  “I, too, have a purpose, brightheart, and I assure you, I refuse to fail this time.”

“You bring the tals to kill me.”

“Not at all.  They come to capture the White Dragon and sacrifice her into the flaming pit of Agni, He Who Burns.  If you die beforehand, none of us will be named azi’Keldar.”

“And you?”  She retorted, squeezing his balls again.  Her talons bit too deeply.  The scent of blood wafted up from his body, mingled with sandalwood and desert.  Lady help her, her mouth watered at the thought of licking that blood away.  Her teeth ached to sink into him.  “Why do you come?”

He laughed.  “You know why.  Or will you come first, brightheart?  Your roses are nigh on fire.”

Strategy.  Politics.  She could ignore the temptation of his body and blood if she kept her mind on the game.  “If any of your savages harm my people, my soldiers will ride you down like dogs.”

“You don’t have enough soldiers to stop us from burning a path of destruction across those Green and Beautiful Lands all the way to your Shining Walls.”

He was absolutely right.  She’d seen the massive Keldari encampment.  She shuddered at the images of burning villages, helpless screaming people mowed down by whooping savages swinging long sickle blades on all sides.  “The Shining Walls won’t burn, they won’t fall, they’ll never allow you into Shanhasson.”

Suddenly, he pushed himself harder onto her talons.  His breath hissed out with pain, but his eyes burned, his scent dark and inviting.  “Then I’ll fly over the Shining Walls to reach you.”

On straight word count alone, it wasn’t a very productive day.  However, I did take all the sections I’ve completed so far and roughly placed them in order into a “first draft” file.  (I write in individual files, either short 4-6 page sections or full chapter, depending on what I feel like.)  I didn’t edit or read through everything, but I feel a little better now that I have the sections in a semblance of order and can see the pages stacking up quite nicely.

I also jotted about 5 pages of handwritten notes about the next Dream sequence with the Black Dragon.  On paper, I got some good ideas.  However, the words were like pulling teeth tonight.  I think once I get a bit further into this section, I’ll find the right flow and be able to come back and smooth this.  I want lots of dialogue and inuendo, playing hatred and attraction off each other like a tennis match.  I’ll take it for now, though, and be thankful for the notes!

Today: 1,439

NaNo: 51,721

Snippet:  Shannari is dreaming as the White Dragon again and decides to spy on him like Dharman spied on her.  What she finds is an impressive Keldari army on her border.

“What are you doing here?  How did you find me?”

She crouched, tail lashing.  She’d been thinking too hard about rending enemies limb from limb to hear him approach.  Cocking her head, she studied this new form in which he appeared.

He’d come as a man instead of the Black Dragon, a desert savage swathed all in heavy black cloth.  Shadows hung about him, obscuring his face, but she knew him.  His eyes were the same molten silver and his scent, oh, yes, this was the exotic spice she recognized.

Now that she knew his blood smelled as good, it was all she could do not to leap on him and bury her muzzle in his abdomen.

Before she succumbed to temptation, she shed the dragon form.  Calm and regal, she smoothed her face and drew herself up proudly.  “How else does a dragon hunt its victim?  I can smell you from Shanhasson.”

His cloaking shadows wavered enough to betray a slight paling about his mouth and tightness about his eyes.  “Indeed.  And what, exactly, do I smell like?”

“Sand.”  His eyes flickered with surprise, which made her smile.  “Dragon.  Fire.”

He spread out his black cloak on the sands and sat with his legs crossed, gesturing for her to sit across from him.  “Now I know you’re telling me untruths, brightheart.  This dragon never breathed Fire.”

Intently, he watched her, the shadows drawing tighter about him like wings tucked tight to his body for protection.  Protection from what?  He wasn’t even meeting her gaze.  She glanced down and the miserable sun of this place exploded in her face. 

She was nude.

Growling, she crossed her arms, closed her eyes, and wished very hard for clothes.  A full suit of armor slammed into place, cold and hard around her body.

His low, smug laughter only infuriated her even more.  Changing into the long, prim cotton nightgown she’d worn for so long to discourage her Blood, she lifted her chin and sat across from him.

“What?”  He chuckled, shaking his head.  “It’s your dream, brightheart.  You chose to come to me in your skin.”

“I didn’t think about what I was wearing–or the lack thereof–in the waking world,” she said stiffly.

“Ah,” he leaned back to one side, supporting his weight on his elbow.  “I see that your young Red took my advice.”

Lady above, she hated the wicked gleam in his eye, that smug little curl to his lips.  Of course that was why she couldn’t stop thinking about drawing that full lip between her teeth. 

I learned a lot about Mykal tonight.  Nickelback is my new favorite group.  He particularly likes S.E.X. and Burn It To the Ground.  I have no idea why.   

Mykal’s scene:  1,127

NaNo Total:  50,282  Makes me wonder how far I’ll get by the end of the month…Will I actually get a complete FIRST DRAFT?  At this point, I’m guessing no, I’ll be drafting into Dec.  We’ll see.

Snippet:  Oh, it’s so hard to limit this to just a few hundred words.  Mykal is so…well.  You’ll see.

If Mykal’s eyes didn’t betray him, the scroll bore the Great Seal of rampant lions wreathed in roses.

Roses.  He sucked in a deep breath.  Even from a dozen paces away, he swore he could smell her on that parchment.

Gana jerked his chin in a command, and a warrior stood and moved to intercept the trader.  Hissing, Mykal flung back his taamid, silently flowed behind the unsuspecting warrior, and swung his arm in an arc. 

He was as stunned as everyone else when the rav’s head rolled across the sand.  Staring down at the vicious claws, he slowly rotated his hand, watching the moonlight flicker across the silver razors.  Shaken, he tried to remember what he’d done to make the claws come out.  How had only part of the dragon manifested?  How did he control it?

Raising his hand high above his head, he turned in a circle, letting the warriors see the evidence of his transformation.  He might as well use the opportunity to bring them further under his control, as long as he could successfully mask his own unease.  By the awe on his own rav’s face, no one suspected his stomach boiled with fluid as noxious as the Venom Lake.

“Tal,” Asad’s voice shook as badly as his hand offering the scroll.

As though dragon claws on his human hand were perfectly normal, he used his index blade to crack the wax seal.  Carefully he unfurled the parchment, his heart pounding.  The dragon crouched, wings cocked, ready to burst free and fly hard, fast, toward Shanhasson.

He held the precious scroll to his face and breathed deeply.

Iyeh, her hands had touched here and here, and…there, a hint of salt.  The ink had blurred, smearing her name slightly.  A tear, how appropriate, how fitting.  The dragon within shuddered, curled up its wings, and slept to dream of a sweet, clear lake the likes of which this blasted land had never known, sprinkled with drops of blood.

He knew she was the Rose of Shanhasson, Last Daughter, High Queen of the Green Lands, but more importantly, she was the White Dragon to break Agni’s fiery punishment.

Or loose Yama’s Shadow on all the world.

Dark & Early this morning and back to the Evil Day Job.  This kind of scene is hard enough to write, let alone at the butt crack of dawn, but I finally finished up Sal’s scene.  I’m exhausted, and they’re just getting started. 

 

Today: 1,210 words

NaNo Total: 49,155 words

Snippet:  Shannari is discussing marks with Dharman and Sal, whether she’ll let them mark her and vice versa.  Short, because…well…there’s not much of this entire scene I can post without getting Bethanie fired.  HA. 

“I’m certainly going to mark you both again if you’ll let me.”

Sal’s eyes glowed.  He crawled closer and plopped on his stomach, staring up at her through his hair.  “Anywhere I want?”

She rolled her eyes but she knew he felt the unfurling desire spreading through her body at the thought.  “Anywhere that won’t…er…maim you.”

He pouted, which startled her enough she let out a choked laugh.

Dharman sat up, scooting her over to the side of the bed.  He stood with her in his arms and headed for the bath.  “Walk in front of us, Sal.  I think she’ll figure out where she wants to mark you.”

Sal sauntered past, shaking his head slightly so his hair swished down his back.  He paused, looking back over his shoulder with a decidedly lecherous grin.  “Alea always did say I could give Gregar a hard gallop for his rahke.”

Holding her breath, Shannari let the waterfall of his hair draw her eyes down his sculpted shoulders and back to his bare backside.  He didn’t have dimples on each cheek like the Shadowed Blood–his were higher near the base of his spine, two dished indentions begging for her tongue–nor the same heavily muscled thighs, but Sal definitely possessed a tempting ass of rounded, firm muscle, framed by all that glorious heavy hair.

She dragged her gaze up back to his and hoped her mouth wasn’t hanging open.  She suspected that she needed to wipe her chin.

He winked.  “You haven’t gotten a good look at my front, either, although Dharman takes that rahke.”

For some reason, I always seem to get the BIG SCENE wrong the first time around.  You know, that scene for which a character has been yearning for pages and pages, and it should be a candybar.  It should be golden, warm and syrup sweet to write, and yet…

Yet it’s not.

I think I put too much expectation on myself.  This scene should be so big, so climatic, so fulfulling and wonderful…Naturally, it’s impossible to get it right the first time.  However, I wish I didn’t usually get that first draft so absolutely wrong.

Sigh.  I went back to work on the scene where Dharman and Sal finally achieve their heart’s desire.  I actually cut over 1200 words before starting.  I am not including those words in my NaNo count, even though they’re technically “new” words.  They’re not the right words, and I’m going to hit 50K.  It’s more important that this story be right.  Dharman and Sal deserved better (or worse, if you want to look at it from a Story standpoint) than what I’d given them.

So straight new words (not counting revision):  1,456.  (Day’s total:  4396!!  *boggles*)

NaNo Total:  47,945 

And you know it, this obsessive compulsive writing maniac is tempted to stay up and force it through to 50K tonight. I could do it — Sal’s scene isn’t done yet, and then there’s all the aftermath to sort out.  However, I wouldn’t do it full justice.  Tomorrow is soon enough.

Snippet:  This takes place after the scene I posted a few days ago when Shannari was Dreaming as the White Dragon and she nearly killed Dharman, then he met a stranger whose insight into her shocked him to his knees.  An argument ensued, made worse by her guilt and worry that she’d almost killed him.  Series spoilers removed.

Bitterly, she said, “So you think you’re all interchangeable?  That what I feel for you and Sal could just as easily transfer to Jorah?  Or Lew?  How about some stranger as long as he swears a blood oath to me?”

“How do you feel for me?”  His voice tightened, his hands closed fists at his sides.  “If you care so very much, why deny us?  Why refuse us?”

“You know how I feel.”

“Do I?”  His face darkened.  “Then I should stand guard and leave you to your sleep.”

“Come here,” she retorted.  He hesitated.  He actually hesitated.  The blizzard snows began to blow within her.  “Your blood is mine and I want you here, in my bed, this very minute.”

If a warrior could slam himself into a fluffy soft mattress, Dharman did.  He lay on his back and glared up at the ceiling, his bond as hard as steel in her mind.

He’d closed himself off, she realized with a start.  She could feel his bond, but his thoughts and emotions weren’t leaking through.  He’d managed to seal the link between them, locking her out.

As I’ve done so many times since he became my Blood.

Tears burned but she refused to soften.  She touched his bond, seeking the red thread in her mind.  Breathing hard, he stiffened beside her but the bond hardened, forged with his determination.  He was First Blood, but he wanted to be more, so much more.

He expected her to rage and tear at his bond until he broke down and let her in.  That’s what he wanted, in fact.  He hoped to prove how much she would miss him if his bond was gone, and he thought he could force her hand.  In some ways, he didn’t know her at all.

Irritated more than she cared to admit, she simply arched a brow at him.  “If you’re tired of serving as Blood, I’ll let you go.”

Her brief satisfaction at the well-aimed barb dissolved beneath the raging panic that filled his eyes.  “Nay,” he breathed, his voice broken.  “You wouldn’t.”

“Aye, I would,” she retorted, wielding her voice like a rahke.  “You already think I would cut you out of my life because of a simple disagreement, so why would I stop short of breaking your bond entirely?  If you want to be free…”

“Never,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut.  His control came crashing down faster than she’d breached the Shining Walls with his blood and his pleasure years ago, his bond roaring wide open in her mind.  “Never free me, na’lanna Qwen, I beg you.  Never release my bond.  I’d rather you cut open my chest and hack out my heart this very minute than ever force me to leave you.”

Lightly, she touched his mark over his heart.  His entire body jolted as though she’d plunged a rahke between his ribs.  In many ways, she had. 

“You were right,” she whispered, casting her breath across his bare chest.  “I shouldn’t taste his blood.  Even if he’s not the Black Dragon of my Dreams, he’s certainly Shadowed.  I don’t want another blood bond.”  Gently, she brushed her mouth over her mark in his chest, looking up at his face.  “I only want you.”

His eyes flew open.  He held his breath, staring into her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered against his chest, pausing to swipe her tongue fully over the old white scar.  “I was afraid and ashamed that I’d hurt you, which always makes me angry.  I wasn’t truly angry at you, certainly never enough to send you away.”

“The thought of losing you turns me inside out,” he whispered, trembling beneath her faint caress.  “If you want this man who smells of sandalwood and dragon, I’ll find him.  We Nine will pin him flat on his back at rahke-point so you may have your way with him.”

“Tonight, the only warrior I’m going to have my way with,” she slid her leg over his hips so she straddled his abdomen, “is you.”

Oh, yes, the plot thickens.  *rubs hands together wickedly*  Misdirection and suspicion abound.  The Keldari and Shanhasson intersection approaches, kicked off by this scene.

Words: 2,042

NaNo total: 46,489

Snippet:

“Your father says you were recently in Keldar.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Percy replied, holding up his hand.  One finger had been hacked off, the stump blackened as though rotted…or blasted by dragon fire.  “I barely escaped with my life.”

She kept her expression politely interested and made the appropriate noises of sympathy, but she knew him to be a liar.  No desert savage or dragon would have stopped at removing a finger if they’d truly wanted him dead. 

Percy leaned forward, still a safe distance away, but her muscles tensed.  His pale blue eyes flashed like drawn steel, and she suddenly remembered the silvered gray of Stephan’s eyes.  They shared a very similar ghastly glow that had nothing to do with light and everything to do with Shadow.  He’d leaned across the table very much the same way, that same dreadful look of hunger in his eyes.  He’d worn a small ring on his hand so evil it had throbbed and crouched like a venomous spider.  That ring had been on exactly the same hand.  That missing pinky.

Heart pounding frantically, she let her hand settle on the hilt of her rahke.

:If he does so much as twitch toward you, his head will fall into your lap,: Dharman swore.

She let shaky laughter travel through their bond.  :On the floor is fine.  It’s easier to clean than my leathers.:

Stephan was dead.  She’d seen his body hanging in the gate at High Bridge.  Even if this man was trying to masquerade as the dead Duke of Pella, his face was entirely too young and fresh.  However, the suspicion lingered.  This man could easily pass as a younger brother or cousin of Stephan.

“Your Majesty, is something wrong?” the young man asked, swallowing nervously.

“I must admit, you seem rather familiar to me.  Have we met before?”

“Not to my knowledge, Your Majesty.  Although perhaps you met my brother, Alastair?  I know he spent some time in Shanhasson before he…he…”

Color drained from the young man’s face and he suddenly looked gaunt and worn.  Now that face she could definitely see on Stephan.  Slowly, she loosened the rahke, drawing it slightly.

“Forgive my son, Your Majesty.”  Benton sniffed and wiped his eyes with a handkerchief.  “Your predecessor took Alastair from our family home as a sort of…hostage.  He didn’t survive Theo’s reign.”

 “I’m sorry for your loss.  Unfortunately, many people lost their lives during Theo’s reign.”  Relaxing, she let the rahke slip back fully into its sheath.  Theo’s enemies made for likely allies.  “What news can you tell me of Keldar?”

“There was a gathering of tribes,” he lowered his voice, flickering his gaze at his father and at the Blood at her back.  “To the south and west of [Far Illione main city].  They say the ground split open so deeply that you can see the heartfires of the earth, and a river as red as blood pours across the sands.  They say there’s a dragon in the crack, Agni, the Red Dragon, He Who Burns.  When He comes out of the ground again, He’ll burn everything in His path.  So the savages…”

He gulped and looked to his father again.  Benton nodded encouragingly.  “It’s alright, son.  She needs to know.”

“They throw sacrifices into the smoking crack,” Percy whispered breathily.  “The women they steal.  They toss them to the dragon and hope it keeps Him from burning them all.”

Wading through the blowing sands of Keldar, I continued work on Mykal’s thread.  Oh, he’s bad, very bad, and not at all a trustworthy sort of character.  (Which is likely why I’m so intrigued with him.)  He has a very devious plan indeed, but oh, where did this plan originate, hmmm? 

Goal today:  I’d love to break 47K.

FYI:  Mykal is reeeeally loving the Nickelback album, Dark Horse.  I’ll leave it up to you to figure out which song(s) he might like best.  *winks*

Today:  898 dark & early;

NaNo total:  44,447 words

Snippet:  four tals, the chieftains of the most powerful tribes of Keldar, meet in the darkest hour before dawn.  Gah, just realized there’s a reason I liked “Rashan” so much – I already used it!  Doh!  So the tal’Cobra needs a new name.

He didn’t have to relearn, exactly; the knowledge was there.  He simply had to filter it through layers of silt.  Occasionally, very disturbing memories filtered up through the murky water of his past, little pockets of miasma that chilled the marrow in his bones. 

Nightmares, he whispered to himself.  Only nightmares. 

I am Mykal tal’Mamba and I have a purpose. 

Not even hidden pockets of quicksand could prevent him from achieving it.    

Rashan tal’Cobra gripped the hilt of a wicked scimitar in one hand and a short sword in the other.  “If we’re to Dance the Blades at dawn, why meet now without our ravs?”

“So he can set us one upon the other,” Gana tal’Tellan retorted.  His face was so heavily tanned and lined by the punishing sun that Mykal couldn’t make out his markings.  It didn’t matter.  Tellan claimed to be the holiest and purest of all tribes in the desert, the last hope, the remnant that would be saved. 

Yet they had proven to be the most corruptible.  So much precious White blood given to them in the beginning, only to be squandered in their thirst to claim the title of azi, supreme tal’Keldar.  As sands blew constantly in the face of the storm, so had Tellan lost all they held dear.  [tie this to Given in Fire.  See, I do leave notes to myself!!  And yes, I’ll be finishing Given in Fire before I turn Return over to my editor so that this all makes perfect sense.]

“You don’t even bring a White to sacrifice,” Nijar tal’Gaboon sneered.  “How can you hope to challenge us for azi?”

The Gaboon had been well named; the man had very long fangs but less potent venom.  Mykal smiled, holding his hands out empty of all weapons.  “You bring a White?  A true White?”

“Absolutely,” Nijar retorted, drawing himself up proudly.  “I have the granddaughter of the first azi.”

Rashan hissed, muscles coiling for battle.  “You filthy jackal.  You would sacrifice one of my blood after swearing to treasure her?”

Shaking his head, Gana merely laughed.  “This child couldn’t possibly be the granddaughter of the great Zahak, for his munakura was barren.  You should be a slaver, Rashan.  How much water did Gaboon pay for your precious kin?”

“I can guarantee us a true, precious White.”  Mykal spoke softly, but his low voice carried, even to the bickering tals.  Silenced, all three stared at him.

Gana finally voiced the question they all burned to hear.  “How?”

“There’s only one White Daughter left in all the world,” Mykal whispered.  “Only one who still smells of roses.”

Rashan spat on the sands, a grave insult, but Mykal saw the whiteness of the man’s knuckles on his weapons and the grooves of strain about his mouth.  “You lie.”

A faint shudder shook Mykal’s shoulders at the memory.  “Smoldering roses that grow thicker with her desire.  Is that not how a White should smell?”

Releasing a rumbling snort of challenge dragon to dragon, Rashan took a step closer and raised the scimitar over his head.  Roaring, he asked, “How could you possibly know this?”

The creature inside Mykal stirred.  Scales slithered against his spine, claws clattering beneath his ribs.  He stiffened, fighting to keep his face smooth despite the rolling, prowling beast crawling inside him.  Dragon spawn indeed.  “I have my ways.”