Waiting on Wednesday: The Silver Rift by Teal Haviland

Waiting on Wednesday is a weekly book meme hosted by Jill at Breaking the Spine,
spotlighting upcoming releases that we're eagerly anticipating.

Raina's pick this week:

The Silver Rift
by Teal Haviland
Expected publication: January 2014 by Embolden Press
Genre: Fantasy

More than a young woman. More than a warrior. And more like those she wants revenge on than she cares to face.

Why I'm waiting: First, I love the cover. Second, a warrior female who may be a little more villainous? Yes, please! The tiny blurb makes me even more curious, and because of this unedited sneak peek found on Goodreads ...

I feel my fingers quiver as I hold the arrow that’s pulled back in my bow. The string of the bow is pulling back, insistently, wanting me to set free the arrow onto my target. It isn’t the tension that I am struggling with, though. I have grown strong in the years since Tassus took over my world, so I am not too weak to hold its place.

It’s his eyes.

The eyes of the man who thinks I am about to take his life. They are young eyes—grey, unimpressive. They aren’t pleading with me to spare his life, as I think they should.

He wants to die.

The anger and disgust over the realization about his desire to die is why I am shaking. I want to kill him just as much as I have wanted to kill all the others, but I won’t take this man’s life. Not today. Not unless he gives me a real reason.

Other than my fingers and the line they are holding, shaking from my dueling desires to end this man or let him live on, the red and yellow leaves being taken from trees by wind and our chests from laboring lungs are the only things moving.

I can’t be sure something else isn’t lurking — hunting — in the thick of the woods, though.

The thought makes me shift my eyes to my surroundings, trying to see through the cover caused by pine branches reaching and crossing with their neighbor’s. It’s as though the trees enjoy the game the Rift play and want to enable them. I know I won’t be able to see the Rift until they are ready to be seen though, so I give the thief my attention once again.

I chased him up this hill and half way back down the other side before I was close enough to lunge, taking him down without much fight. I thought it had been too easy, and I am now sure the reason why is because he wanted me to close the distance between us.

I relax my arms and bow the same moment I release a frustrated sigh. His eyes suddenly turn questioning, but I give him no words. Instead, I stare at him for a moment and consider that, although his eyes are not noteworthy, he is a strong man—at least in body.

Shame . . .

It doesn’t matter how strong his body is, especially if his mind can’t bear the weight of the mental and emotional burden this world puts on any who live in it. I lean down and pick up the pouch of dried meat he’d taken from my camp while I was gathering water for the next part of my journey—the part I am most concerned about, and looking forward to. I need the meat if I am going to survive, and unlike him, I want to. Not because I love what my life has become since Tassus unleashed misery on my lands, but because I want to see his blood spill from his heart after I pull my knife from his chest—turning his silver robe crimson.

As I turn to leave I hear a huff escape him. The sound is almost pleasing, reminding me for a moment that I am still human, too. I haven’t encountered another human in weeks; as I am purposely staying off the paths most take. Most don’t care if they are seen by other people, and would rather face one of their own kind than any of the Rift.

Most aren’t me. I’ll take my chances with Tassus’s army.

“Wait!” he calls to me.

I’m moving away swiftly. I have my mother’s long legs that I inherited to thank for the ground I can cover with each stride.

And . . . that’s not all I inherited, I think with a worried brow.

I hear him moving his body to stand as his cloth pants disturb the dirt and rock of the parched ground, and then quick footfalls approaching. The sound of my knife leaving the sheath strapped to my thigh, as forged steel scrapes leather, then a quick inhale of breath as its cold edge touches the place on his skin where head meets neck, are next. His eyes are more scared this time, making me wonder how much he really does want his life to end—and why—but then they harden, again.

“Do it!” he says in a sharp, desperate whisper of words.

Several moments pass before I move away from him again.

“Why won’t you do it?” he asks.

I take several more long strides before I begin to answering, remaining focused on the path in front of me as I do.

“Because you want me to. No matter what your reasons are,” I respond as I stop and turn toward him, “I’m not going to make it that easy for you.”

As I return to the path back to my camp, I hear him begin to laugh humorlessly and mumble. I can make out none of it, except for the word, “Great,” which is spoken in an exasperated huff.

I laugh humorlessly, myself, before responding. Knowing that what I suspected before about this man is truth, now—he’s too weak minded to live, or kill himself.

“You want to die,” I yell over my shoulder, disgust for him seeps into my tone, “do it yourself.”

© 2013 Teal Haviland

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