From this week’s writing:
I am currently in the middle of writing the first draft of The Seer of The Wastelands, which is the direct sequel to Spirit Binder, and will be hopefully released this December. Here are some bits from this week that struck me as tiny pieces of gold among the dull, serviceable rock of the first draft.
Jose stepped toward Ema. “You underestimated me, Seer,” he growled.
She shook her head sadly, “No, you underestimated the wolf.”
He glanced back at the wolf, it regained its feet with a shake of its head. A nasty cut sliced through the thick pelt of its broad shoulder.
“A second blow with finish the beast.”
“Not from your sword.”
He turned back to her, holding his bloody sword aloft. “And why not this sword?”
“Because its wielder is already dead.”
“What — ” He stumbled, and looked, rather belatedly, down at his leg. It was bleeding profusely. “But I heal,” he murmured, confused.
“Not this,” Reyes snarled, and stabbed Jose through the heart from the behind.
Reyes snickered. “Let the Seer do her tricks if our host requests it. I wouldn’t personally believe a word out of her mouth.”
“A man like you wouldn’t want to believe in anything beyond himself,” the Rancher replied, calm but forceful.
Reyes narrowed his eyes as he bared his teeth in a grimace of a smile. “We are your guests,” he growled, and then rose to leave the room.
As he came to his finish he whispered, “Ema,” into her neck, and she realized it was the first time he’d called her by her given name. Later, when she cried his name again and again as his fingers brought her over the edge of bliss and beyond, she understood the need to name the source of that utter pleasure, that moment of utter freedom … no matter how fleeting it was …
“Get out of bed, Seer,” Wyn snapped.
“They will wait,” she murmured.
“You knew they would come,” Jared said, something dangerous not well-hidden in his tone.
“Yes,” she whispered, and he moved away from her.
“You knew they were coming when you came to me last night?”
A door click indicated that Wyn had retreated into the hall.
“Yes,” she answered, pulling up the sheet to try to dampen the chill that surrounded her now.
“We are well met, Jared Null,” she whispered. “All will be well.”
“You are dismissed, Null. Run along after your friends,” the corporal sneered, and Ema suddenly hated him for his prejudice toward the mercenaries, even though his attitude was typical and expected.
“Ema,” Jared said, her name a quiet and desperate sound that seemed to explode from his chest painfully and without intention.
She closed her eyes and repeated, “We are well met.” Then she turned away.