Four clans have been at war for centuries: the Kodiak, the Raven, the Wolf and the Ram. Through brutal war tactics, the Ram have dominated the region, inflicting death and destruction on their neighbors.
Seventeen-year-old Zo is a Wolf and a Healer who volunteers to infiltrate the Ram as a spy on behalf of the allied clans. She offers herself as a Ram slave, joining the people who are called the “nameless.” Hers is a suicide mission – Zo’s despair after losing her parents in a Ram raid has left her seeking both revenge and an end to her own misery. But after her younger sister follows her into Rams Gate, Zo must find a way to survive her dangerous mission and keep her sister safe.
What she doesn’t expect to find is the friendship of a young Ram whose life she saves, the confusing feelings she develops for a Ram soldier, and an underground nameless insurrection. Zo learns that revenge, loyalty and love are more complicated than she ever imagined in the first installment of this two-book series.
EXCERPT
Chapter 2
~~~Zo~~~
The cold air traveling over Zo’s skin smelled strangely mineral.
She walked blindfolded with Tess in her arms, and
the tip of a spear at her back. She memorized the turns as they
prodded her forward, knowing it would do little to help if she
couldn’t pass whatever trial the Ram leader had in store.
The
path sloped down and the moist air grew colder. Her foot caught
on a rock and Zo fell to her knees, sending Tess flying into
the darkness. Hands grabbed Zo’s collar and hoisted her back
to her feet.
“Carry
the small one,” the leader ordered.
“Zo?”
Tess’ voice cracked, weak and distant.
“I’m
here,” said Zo, straining to see through the blindfold. She
didn’t want her sister to say more. Her accent might betray them
both.
The
ground leveled beneath them, and a guard yanked off the
blindfold, taking a chunk of Zo’s dark hair with it. She didn’t
cry out.
They
couldn’t hurt her.
She
looked at the limp form of her sister in the arms of a bare-chested
Ram guard and crumbled at the contradiction. It wasn’t
supposed to be this way. If only Tess hadn’t followed.
If
only …
Guards
lined the opposite wall. Shadows from the torchlight
made the scowls on their faces all the more sinister. Each
carried a round shield at his back, a spear in hand, and a short
sword at his hip.
A
redheaded boy lay on a narrow bed in the center of the room
silently weeping. His body was long, but judging from his
young face, he couldn’t have been much older than twelve or
thirteen. The deep wound just above his hip swam in dark red
blood. He whimpered while biting down on a stick.
Zo
didn’t ask questions. “I need blankets!” she yelled, as
she washed her hands in a basin of scalding water. With pulsing,
red hands, she took a stack of linens from a supply table
and pressed it to the wound. The boy kicked and jostled.
“Hold
him down or he’ll bleed out!” shouted Zo.
No
one moved.
Two
women in white robes came in through a different tunnel
entrance carrying woolen blankets. When they saw Zo, they
froze.
“Help
me!” Zo snatched the blankets from their hands and
rolled the boy onto his side. Lifting his legs, she wedged blanket
rolls under his good hip. The redheaded boy cried out in
pain but Zo needed to keep the wound above his heart. She wrapped
a bandage around his trunk, keeping as much pressure on
the open wound as possible.
The
boy’s skin turned alabaster from blood loss. Zo yanked more
blankets from the hands of the women, covered him up, and
rubbed warmth into his arms and legs while muttering the words
of one of her mother’s blessings. “Hold as still as you can,”
she whispered into his ear. “You’re going to be fine. I promise.”
Zo
approached the intimidating line of Ram soldiers.
Each
wore animal hide trimmed with fur. Thick leather straps crisscrossed
their chests housing a variety of evil-looking weapons.
“Where is my pack? It has the medicines I need.” The
men barely moved, barely blinked, with hands clasped behind
their backs like dangerous statues of unfeeling.
The
bald leader shook his head. A taunting, wicked, grin stretched
across his face. Tess whimpered from one of the dark
corners of the cave. Water dripped from the jagged, rock ceiling.
The quiet symphony of sounds and silence contrasted with
Zo’s rapidly beating heart.
She
swore and darted to the opposite wall where the healers
stood just as still and lifeless. “Do you have any pseudo ginseng
root?”
The
aging healer looked over to the Gate Master, shook his head,
and looked down at his hands. So
they would put this boy’s life in danger just to see if she would
fail?
I shouldn’t be surprised.
Zo
ran back to the steaming water and plunged four inches of her
long braid into the basin. Sweat dripped from her forehead. She
scrubbed the crusted mud from her hair and went to the closest
soldier, holding out the dark braid. “Cut it,” she said.
His
gaze swept over her body before fixing on her face.
His
lips curled into a crooked grin.
She
hated when men looked at her that way.
“Cut
it!” she yelled, eyeing the knife at his hip, wondering if
she had any chance of taking it from him without meeting a quick
death.
A
young soldier to his left stepped out of rank. His long dark hair
was tucked behind his ears, his brows knit together and a muscle
in his neck leapt as he frowned. The unexpected flash of
his dagger made Zo scream. A small segment of her braid dropped
to the ground and the young soldier took his place back in
line, ignoring the disapproving scorn of the Ram leader. Zo
gasped as she snatched up the braid. She stumbled over to
the sink again to rinse the hair one final time to prevent infection.
Convinced the hair was clean, she darted back to the
boy and removed the crimson-soaked dressing from the wound.
The blood had slowed, but not enough. He’d die if this didn’t
work.
She
shoved the hair into the wound and piled the excess on
top.
The
boy screamed then passed out.
Zo
placed her hands over the mound of hair and uttered words
of healing. The flame of her energy flickered as she willed
the blessing to take effect. Her head swayed without permission
as she reapplied a bandage.
When
Zo finished, she slumped to the floor before they carried
her and Tess away.
~~~Gryphon~~~
Joshua’s
dried blood tugged on Gryphon’s arm. A deathly plaster,
equal parts unforgiving and taunting. He scratched away
at the memory of the ambush, the way young Joshua’s eyes
doubled in size when the arrow entered his side. It was Gryphon’s
fault. He’d let the kid come with his mess unit against
his better judgment.
It
was his fault.
Gryphon
took the mountain trail home from the caves. He attacked
the climb like he would any enemy. After the first mile his
legs warmed. After the second they burned. He welcomed the dull
pain creeping through his fatigued muscles. Pain equaled progress.
With enough pain he might outpace his grief.
Joshua.
Gryphon
sprinted the last hundred yards of the climb. The wind
picked up as he reached the summit overlooking the ocean
below. High waves crashed into the cliff wall. An arctic spray
carried on the breeze, stinging Gryphon’s eyes.
He
turned and showed the ocean his back, casting his gaze over
the valley of the Ram. Wind whipped his dark brown hair and
made the metal of his weapons clink
together. From this view
he could see far beyond the training grounds and housing complexes,
past the fields where hundreds of Nameless bent over
acres of dying soil. Even beyond the fabled wall of Ram’s Gate
that corralled the vast lands of his people.
He
felt powerful. In control.
Not
like this morning when he couldn’t slow Joshua’s bleeding.
The
twenty members of Gryphon’s mess unit were encouraged to
sleep in the barracks, even though many of them were married
men. Unity meant everything to a Ram mess unit.
Gryphon
abided this and every other command issued by his
leaders with exactness. But tonight, the thought of facing his
brothers of war with all their questions and condolences seemed
too much.
No.
Tonight he would hide behind the walls of his inheritance
like a child hides behind his mother’s skirt. The
brick-and-plaster house sat back on a five-acre plot. It
was one of the furthest family plots from the main gate and the
center of town. A red sun dipped behind the towering wall of
Ram’s Gate, casting an ominous glow around the house as Gryphon
climbed the dirt path. The solid oak door whined with
complaint as he nudged it open.
“Who’s
there?” Gryphon’s mother reached the entry with her
arms and hands covered in white flour and her graying bun
sitting at an angle on her head. She studied Gryphon and the
corners of her mouth sank into the frown he’d come to associate
with his childhood.
“Wash
the blood off your hands.” She retreated back to the kitchen
without another word.
Gryphon
leaned his long spear and shield against the wall and
sloughed off his pack. He turned and noticed the rusted metal
shield mounted above the hearth. His cheeks colored in shame.
He looked away, but it didn’t stop the boiling wave of anger
that always came when he looked at his father’s shield.
The
symbol of his family’s disgrace.
Despite
Gryphon’s countless protests, his mother refused to
take it down. “It’s good to remember,” she would say. Then
she’d go out into the forest where she thought no one could
hear her and cry, rocking back and forth with her hands wrapped
firmly about her stomach. As if she’d fall apart if she
didn’t
hold herself together.
No
matter how hard he worked in the training field, that shield
would always hang over his head. Always. In
the kitchen, Gryphon plunged his hands into a basin of water.
As he scrubbed, the water turned the color of salmon flesh.
His
mother kneaded her palm into a batch of dough with more
force than necessary. She used her forearm to push aside a
clump of silver hair that fell into her face. “How many?” she asked
with her back to him.
Gryphon
couldn’t scrub his hands hard enough. “One. We were
ambushed.” His excursions used to be so boring. They used to
go weeks without running into another clan, but lately …
“Who?”
His mother stood up straight, prepared to take the news
like a strong Ram woman was meant to.
“Joshua.”
Gryphon felt his control slip. He chewed on his tongue
until he could steel his emotions. “Spear,” was all he trusted
himself to say.
Joshua
wasn’t a member of a mess unit yet. The System didn’t
allow thirteen-year-olds to join. He had still been in training,
but he’d begged to go, and Gryphon—his mentor— didn’t
have the heart to turn him down.
“Will
he live?” she asked, kneading the dough again.
“I
… ” Gryphon cleared his constricting throat, thinking of the
dirty Nameless girl they’d let work on Joshua in the cave.
“I don’t
think he will.”
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About the author:
With her degree in History and Secondary Education, Jennifer had every intention of teaching teens to love George Washington and appreciate the finer points of ancient battle stratagem. (Seriously, she’s obsessed with ancient warfare.) However, life had different plans in store when the writing began. As a proud member of Writers Cubed, and a co-founder of the Teen Author Boot Camp, she feels blessed to be able to fulfill both her ambition to work with teens as well as write Young Adult fiction.
Jennifer has three children who are experts at naming her characters, one loving, supportive husband, a dog with little-man syndrome, and three chickens (of whom she is secretly afraid).
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