Saturday, September 20, 2014

Prologue of the Rain of Blood

Hi!
Okay, so this is the Prologue of the next book in the series, the Rain of Blood. I hope you like it! Just so you know, the hardcover edition of the Cave of Mystic Dreams has been released.
Thanks for reading, and please comment!
-S.P. Kumar
Prologue
Jywven stormed down the hall. His long white hair blew across his back, his face was forbidding and cruel, his long, finely sculpted features casting cruel shadows across the planes of his pale face. His black robes billowed, and his matching eyes sparkled with a mad glint. The corridors were deserted, the only sound the cold clicks of his boots harmonizing eerily with the great booms as his staff hit the ground, across the black marble tiles. His shadow yawned black and cold at his feet, warped grotesquely as it stretched up the wall, like the flickering silhouette of a great beast. When the booms of that staff were heard, the Zaira of Darkness had learned to stay away.
He stopped at a great pair of double doors, great slabs of black oak, designs lain in with red gems, twin golden handles gleaming.
Jywven immediately corrected his thoughts. Twin was a dangerous thought when you served the lady. Deimada was convinced that twins were the source of her problems. If her sister had not been born … she was the only thing stopping Deimada from having everything. If a family gave birth to twins, the entire family was killed.
He shook the thoughts off, unwanted, and raised his staff. He pounded the carved lion’s mouth at the head against the doors three times, each time echoing across the halls.
“Enter!” called a voice, a high, cold, cruel voice. A voice that bespoke Darkness itself. A voice that in it’s cruelty, struck fear far beyond Jywven’s imposing demeanor.
A voice fit to command the shadows. The Darkness.
From the carved lion’s jaws, a stream of icy cold air funneled towards the door, hitting them like a punch. They blew open, slamming against the walls with a loud bang. Jywven strode into the room, and bowed, bending his head low.
“Rise,” commanded the cold, flinty voice.
Queen Deimada of the Darkness sat, long, shimmering black wings folded. Her black dress was like the night sky, and her crown was made up of black metal, swirled into a delicate tiara shape with a red ruby that gleamed like fresh blood. Her eyes bore into Jywven.
“What do our spies report?” she asked impatiently, her tone swift and utterly sure.
“Highness, our best placed spy has retrieved some … rather confidential information,” Jywven said.
“Oh?” said Deimada, her blood red lips curving into a smirk. “And what is this information?”
“My Queen, she has retrieved the information that the Chandler girl is ill.”
“Children are always ill,” snapped the Queen. “How deep is this sickness? Speak, before I slay you myself!”
“Majesty, our source says she has been poisoned. She is extremely sick. The Light who know have been sworn to secrecy. Even now they search for the cure.”
The Queen rose and began to pace, feet hovering off the ground as her wings beat.
“They will likely find a cure – even my sister will find a way. But defenses will be down – and now, we still need to find Jantzen and Merrigan. Even Leianara will not know where they are,” she said.
“Your Excellency,” broke in Jywven. “There is one more bit of information she has recovered, supported by other spies within the palace. The Nightweaver girl is back.”
“Kathrine?” asked the Queen. “Impossible. She is dead.”
“The Nightweaver child lives,” said Jywven. “She lived within the box, and the Chandler girl released her.”
“The Nightweaver girl may be the only one to date who knows – or rather has the means to learn –  the location of Jantzen and Merrigan,” said Deimada.
“Queen Deimada, it would be nigh on impossible to capture the Nightweaver girl and even if we did, the two people she cares most about are dead. She would never tell us willingly,” said Jywven.
“Silence!” commanded the Queen. “The Nightweaver girl will lead my fool of a sister to Jantzen and Merrigan, along with her idiot advisor, the Gray boy, the Duran boy, and the Chandler girl. Our spy will follow.”
“She will be missed, my Lady,” said Jywven.
“Silence!” screamed Deimada. “We will mount an attack. Leianara will be anxious to get the children out of the castle. They will go, and our little spy will follow, not missed in the commotion. And she will tell us where it is, to get the Zarqaui – our Zarqaui – into it.”
Jywven bowed. “I will make preparations, my Queen.”

“Leave me,” commanded the Queen. A mocking smile curved her red lips. “They will never survive the Rain of Blood.”

Tuesday, July 8, 2014

Facebook Page

Hi everyone!
Okay, so for a change, this blog is not a poem or story. This is just a post to tell you about my newly created Facebook page. It would be really great if you could like it, tell your friends about it, etc. The link is www.facebook.com/spkumarbooks. Thank you so much if you’re reading this, it really means a lot to me.
Thank you, and please comment! Even if it’s just an I like this story, or I don’t like this, or you can improve on this, it would really help.
Thanks again!

- S. P. Kumar

Wednesday, June 25, 2014

The Colors of the Caribbean Sea

Hi! This is a poem I wrote in Jamaica about the colors of the Caribbean sea. Yes, I know I do a lot of poems! Anyway, I hope you like it! Thank you for reading, and please comment!


The colors of waves capped with foam
And the sails of the sailboats as they roam
Shall forever frustrate
Yet I cannot extricate
A way to describe
The beauty; I tried
Azure, peacock, cerulean, teal
Light fades to dark, so remote, sealed
I swept my brush across the sky, but my picture was a paltry farce of the mighty sea
Compared to the majesty in the colors spread before me
I tried to capture the colors, with brush, pen, and word
All my efforts came to naught, all my prayers to describe it; unheard
All heaven gave me, was the pounding of powerful waves against the shore
The sound only teased me, how could I describe such beauty, without more?
So I feasted my eyes upon this sight
Many pictures I snapped, though I could not do it justice, with all our modern might
As I turned, the sun began to set
I looked back once, I shall never forget
A tear of joy and sadness too
Rolled down my cheek, to look upon the shades of beautiful blue
Nature played its tricks on me
Never shall I doubt the might and majesty
Of the colors of the Caribbean Sea

- S. P. Kumar


Sunday, June 22, 2014

Golf Course

Hi everyone!
My dad is a really big golf lover, and Father’s Day passed recently. As a father’s day present, I wrote him a poem about a golf course. I hope you like it! Thanks so much for reading, and please comment!!

Soft cool breezes
Ruffle the short green grass
Manicured to perfection
Set by a triangular flag
Crisp sound of metal striking the ball
Flash of white through the warm, still afternoon air
Perfect drop into the round hole
Everything is silent for a single, perfect moment
Air tight with the concentration and involvement in a single game
Then he walks away

-S. P. Kumar

Saturday, June 21, 2014

The Elementalists

Hi everyone! This is my last Creative Writing story. I know that maybe the description is a bit much, so feel free to skip over it. Thank you so much for reading this and my book! I hope you enjoy, and please comment! Thanks!

A girl, eighteen years of age, sat cross-legged in the middle of a perfectly white room, her posture completely straight. The floor was composed of pale wood, the walls cream. The girl herself wore a baggy, long-sleeved white t-shirt, over white pants. Her feet were bare. Her hair was black, and streamed down her back in loose curls, with a few strands that were bright gold, her eyes were golden like honey, and her skin was a light brown. Her name was Kiana. She was the Watcher, the Waiter, the Warrior. She was the Sorceress. The Elementalist. And first and foremost, she was the Illusionist.
Disturbing the silence of the room, the door opened softly. Five girls came in. Their ages ranged from fifteen to eleven. They waited in silence for Kiana to acknowledge their prescence. Kiana smiled to herself. Good. They had learned. Perhaps now, they were truly ready. To take on their roles, and protect the world.
Hours passed, but the girls did not move. They knew that Kiana would rise when she was ready. Finally, Kiana rose to her feet in a single, fluid moment. She turned, a graceful, elegant movement, and looked upon the five girls.
She walked on bare feet, soundless, to the first girl.
“Aedre,” she murmured. The girl of age fifteen. She had very, very dark hair, a true black, that fell perfectly straight around her shoulders, and bright, deep blue eyes, a blue so true it seemed to defy the meaning of the word itself. She wore all blue - dark blue jeans and a dark blue blouse. She curtsied. Aedre was the only one with a bag, a brown leather satchel rather like a messenger bag.
“Lady Kiana.”
“Are you ready to accept this burden?”
“I have been since the day I was born, Lady.” Kiana nodded at her answer. She took the girls hands for a moment, and squeezed them tightly, then moved to the next girl.
“Gaia,” she said softly, a mere wisp of the word. The fourteen year old girl with long, straight hair the color of caramel that swept to her waist and eyes green as grass looked up to meet her eyes. She had a smattering of freckles splashed across the bridge of her nose, and wore white jeans and a dark brown blouse. She too curtsied.
“Mistress.”
“Are you ready to take on this?”
“Always, Mistress,” she said. Kiana leaned forward, and kissed her once, quickly on each cheek.
“Aira,” she said, her voice the merest trace of sound in the air. The girl, aged thirteen years, looked up. Her hair was a very pale blonde, and fell straight three and a half inches exactly below her shoulders before curving inwards. Her eyes were icy blue, and her skin was very pale. She wore a white top and faded, sky blue jeans. She followed what her predecessors had done, and curtsied.
“My Lady,” she said.
“You are prepared?”
“Of course.” Aira possessed an easy confidence, that annoyed Gaia, who needed to make sure every plan was laid out in minute detail. Kiana smiled to herself. They would work well together. She took Aira’s shoulders, and squeezed them slightly, a gentle, comforting pressure.
“Aithne,” she said, her voice a whisper. Aithne’s twelve year old eyes locked on her own. She had long hair so rich a red that it looked dyed, and bright green eyes, too bright. A splash of freckles lay across her nose, slightly lopsided so there were more on the left side of her face than the right. She wore black jeans, and a sequined, one strap red top. Aithne always stood out, clashing with Aedre, who preferred to wear simple clothing and pass under the eyes of all who beheld her. She curtsied.
“Teacher.”
“You know the risks?”
“I am ready.” Kiana squeezed the girl’s hands, and kissed her on the brow. Finally, she moved on the the last girl.
“Maia,” she said softly, just the merest suggestion of the word. Maia had glossy black hair that tumbled around her small shoulders, and large, dark, brown eyes like melted chocolate, looking up from her eleven year old face. She wore white jeans an oversized white t-shirt with a shimmering gold locket around her neck. The white emphasized her light brown skin and finely chiseled features. She looked like Kiana. Just like her.
Just as Aedre looked like Clara, and Gaia looked just like Illadri, and Aira looked like Sky, and Aithne looked like Jessa. Clara, Illadri, Sky, and Jessa. Along with Kiana, they were the previous generation of the elementalists. Now, the next elementalists were here. They were also the last.
Aedre. Water.
Gaia. Earth.
Aira. Air.
Aithne. Fire.
And Maia. Illusion.
Just like Kiana.
Every five hundred years, the old Elementalists died away, until only one was left to train the new generation. But Aedre, Gaia, Aira, Aithne, and Maia would be the last. They would have to be the saviors of the human race, or they were doomed. Their very names were the proof. Aedre meant stream, Gaia meant earth, Aira meant air, Aithne meant fire, and Maia meant illusion.
Maia curtsied.
"Illusionist."
"You know what you must do?"
"I am ready." Kiana cupped the girl's face in her hands for the briefest second.
"Then we shall begin," Kiana murmured. She turned to Aedre.
"Aedre. Water, rivers, streams, ponds, lakes, puddles, and even the mighty oceans. All are under your control. Show me you have the power." Aedre moved her hands apart, slim fingers dancing on the air. Aedre's aura blazed around her, a shimmering iridescent blue. It shifted through shades of blue, a not blinking, steady, a tracery of veins lacing their way through it in the shades of blue. A bubble of pure water formed, and stretched with her hands. She pushed her hands together, and straight out, cleaving the water, and two seperated bubbles formed. She snapped her fingers. One bubble formed itself into ice, the other was superheated into gas. She moved one index finger, and the bubbles reformed. The water formed itself into letters in the oldest language, a language humans no longer remembered, spelling out a single word. Water.
"You are ready," Kiana whispered. "Arraida liaethana." Aedre shivered at hearing the words of true power. A streak of her hair, black as polished river stones, turned a beautiful blue. And, fast as a blink of an eye, she ... changed. She wore a shining silver mail coat that gleamed blue somehow and reached to her knees, links flexible as a rubber band, but stronger than steel. At her waist, hung a sword set with a gorgeous blue jewel, and a quiver and arrows were slung across her back. The angles and planes of her face had ... changed, somehow, becoming longer, more angled, her distinctive eyes becoming larger and slanted in her face.
Kiana moved to Gaia.
"Gaia. The entire earth belongs to you. It is your domain. You are the queen of it. Prove to me you are worthy of this."
Gaia raised her hands. The pale wood cracked under her feet, and a shoot pushed it's way up through the floor. She held out her hand flat and pulled it upwards, and the shoot began to grow, into a young tree, with a slender trunk, covered in perfect brown wood, leaves glossy green, hung with peaches, full, juicy, and heavy. She had created years of growth in mere minutes.
"You are ready," Kiana whispered. "Lienaya kairthalya." Gaia trembled at these words of power, the words of creation. And then, in the merest fraction of a second, she changed. Her clothing changed, her shirt becoming shimmering bronze links of chain mail. Her caramel colored hair was braided over her shoulder, but now there were a few thin streaks of blonde and darker brown. It was tied with a golden ribbon. Her face had changed, like Aedre's, and her green eyes now had speckles of gold and brown within them. At her hip was a golden sword set with an emerald green jewel, and she carried a double bladed axe slung across her back.
Kiana took a step, and stood before Aira.
"Aira ... the air is yours. You have the power to control it, shape it, create it. Show me that this is who you are.
Aira pointed her foot, and tapped a toe on the ground. Where she had tapped, a swirling miniature hurricane formed, and swirled around their feet, destroying the mats where it went. She curled her fingers, moving her hands as if she were running them around the outside of a sphere. Then, she plucked a strand of hair from her head, and allowed it to fall within the imaginary ball. She had bunched the molecules in her see-through ball so tightly that the air remained their. She curled a hand, and wind emmitted from her feet, pushing her up so that she was precariously balancing on jets of air.
"You are ready," Kiana murmured. "Aduaeni sirnaiecai." Aira shook as well, at hearing the words of true power, and began to change. She now wore a knee-length coat of ice white chain mail. Her icy blue eyes had the merest speckles of silver. A streak of icy blue traveled along her pale hair, a dye that could never be washed out or faded. Her face had changed, planes and angles shifting. At her waist, hung a sword made of a metal so pale a silver it was nearly white, set with a perfectly clear jewel. Across her back, a staff of white was slung, the head of it carved into the likeness of a lion.
Kiana stepped again to the side.
"Aithne. Fire is yours to command to make the flames dance, to control it, to make them destroy, and make them hope. Show me you are deserving of this power."
Aithne flicked her pinkie finger, and the nail glowed a dull orange for a second before popping alight with a thin, wavering strand of flame. She flicked her hand, and the fire spread. She stamped her foot, and the fire traveled up her arm and down her body leaving only her head and neck unburning. She tossed back her dark red hair, and the flames completely encased her, yet none spread onto the wooden floors of the room. Then, with a single flick of her pinkie, the fire was back there, then only her nail glowed, a pale yellow now, then the fire was out completely.
"You are ready," Kiana said softly. "Hixeandra Coliarneida." Aithne shivered, to hear these words of pure existence, then she too changed abruptly. She wore now chain mail that was blood red and fell to her knees. Her long hair was braided starting over her left ear, falling across the back of her head, and down her shoulder. Her green eyes had glimmering speckles of red now. At her waist hung a leaf-bladed sword set with a ruby red jewel. Across her back, a war hammer was slung. Her face too had changed, it was more angular, less childlike.
Kiana stepped to the last girl.
“Maia. You have the power of illusion, to make people see what you want them to see, to make them feel what you wish them to feel. Show me you have the power."
Maia stamped her foot. Immediately, hissing serpents boiled and bubbled up from the floors and slithered over the tiles. One bit Kiana, and searing pain enveloped her ankle. She raised her hnds high over her head, and the snakes vanished, strong sunlight beaming through the room, seemingly from no where, filling Kiana with warmth and hope and happiness. She pushed her hands apart, and the entire room was walled and painted in black.
"You are ready," whispered Kiana, happy, but also dreading what was to come. "Illaikyara aeinivaisa." Maia shivered at hearing the words of pure existence. She changed, too quickly to see. She now wore a gleaming coat of black chain mail that reached her knees. Her black hair was touched with gleaming gold threads, fanning out gently around her though there was no breeze. She had a sword set with a gleaming black jewel rimmed with gold, and a slender spear was slung across her back. Her irises had turned a bright gold, like honey. The planes and angles of her face had changed.
Kiana collapsed to her knees.
Her dark, lustrous hair, once with a few thin gold strands, was turning to a pure black, the gold fading. The beautiful gold of her eyes had changed to the rich, coffee brown of her youth, like melted chocolate. The girls were shouting. Kiana beckoned them to kneel by her.
"You are now ... the Elementalists," she gasped raggedly. She drew five vials of liquid from her belt. One glowed rich red, the next a transluscent blue, the third an icy white, the fourth rich brown, the fifth, black swirled with gold.
"This is the last thing you need to harness your powers fully. Wear them around your necks," she gasped.
"Mistress, what is happening to you!" Gaia cried.
"I have not told you that once I trained you, and made you this, I die," she choked out.
"You did not tell us this, Lady Kiana!" said Aedre fearfully.
"You would not have done it if I had," she gasped. "Listen to me, all of you." Her brown eyes burned with the same fire as always.
"You are the last, do you understand? The last of the elementalists. This is your world. You must cleanse it ... or we are all doomed. Do you -" Kiana inhaled painfully, trembles wracking her body. "Do you understand?"
"Yes Lady," murmured Aira, tears sliding down her cheeks. Kiana clenched Maia's hand.
"Promise me," she said quietly. "Promise me you - you will save this world. This is your world. You are the queens. You will end this. Promise me," she insisted.
"Yes, Mistress," said Gaia quietly.
"Yes, Teacher," said Aithne.
"We promise," said Aedre.
"We promise, Queen of Illusion," they said quietly together. "We promise ... Mother."
Kiana took a deep breath. She had been alive five centuries. Now, the unnatural youth that kept her alive, the strange blood that flowed through her veins, were turning against her, becoming a poison to her shuddering body.
"Go," she whispered. "I know you can do it. Take the vials. Save our world."
"Don't leave us," pleaded Maia. "We need you!"
"No," said Kiana. A ghost of a smile played across her features. "You are ready."
A strange look came into her eyes. "I will see my sisters again. The other elementalists."
She looked at them. "Don't be sad. Don't grieve. It was meant to be."
Then, with a last, shuddering breath, Kiana took her last breath. Her body slumped. It was the same features - but the spirit, the fire that had been Kiana, was gone. Her body shimmered and rippled. For a blink of a moment, she was wearing what Maia wore, the garb of the Illusionists. And then, she was gone.
Gaia took a rattling breath, her long caramel colored hair playing against her back.
"She's gone."
Aedre, oldest of them all, put a hand against her back, and curled another hand around Maia's small one.
"It'll be all right," she murmured. A single tear trickled down her cheek. They sat their together, huddled there for much time until the tears stopped. Slowly, the got to their feet. They linked hands, Aedre, then Gaia, then Aira, then Aithne, and last, Maia. Together, they walked out into the breaking dawn.
The soft, once gray sky was stained with pinks, pale blues, yellows, and purples. The five of them faced the rising sun, and lifted their linked hands up into the air.
It would be a long, hard, terrible journey, perhaps. But they would always have each other. They would stay strong, for Kiana.
It was meant to be.
Standing there, each girl swore a silent oath. To not let her down. To save the human race.
We'll make you proud.
And together, hands linked, the girls walked out of the shelter the small room had provided them, and stepped into the light.


- S. P. Kumar

Thursday, June 5, 2014

The Specter of Middlecombe Woods

Hi everyone!
So, this is another Creative Writing story [I know I post a lot of them]. Our prompt was your worst nightmare, except it’s real. I wrote about a girl named April’s worst nightmare. I know the ending is kind of abrupt, but it would have been too long without that ending.
Thank you so much for reading my book and these stories, and I hope you like this new one! Please comment!
-S. P. Kumar
  
   Feet pounding against the hard, tight-packed ground, her breaths came in short, sharp pants. Her long, waist-length caramel colored hair whipping around her face, her almond shaped, dark brown eyes wide with fear. Her ripped white nightgown whipping around her knees. That was her world now. April didn’t care about the sharp stones tearing into the soles of her bare feet. She didn’t care about the sticks that jabbed their points, stripped of bark, into her shins. All she cared about was getting away.
Part of her still thought this was a nightmare. That soon she’d wake up.
Running was too rhythmic, the steady pounding of her feet creating a crazy cacophony, a mad harmony that rushed in time with the pounding of her pulse. She didn’t glance back. She couldn’t stand to look at it.
Images from the past few crazy hours flickered past her vision, tinged at the edges with red mist. She had just been settling into bed, when her house had … exploded. The force of the blast had thrown her to the ground. Summer, her older sister, her mother, and father had been right there, when the wall of fire was roaring up. Her father had pushed her and her sister.
“Run!” he roared. “RUN!”
“Mom!” she had screamed.
“Daddy!” her sister cried.
“Go! I love you!” yelled her Mom. “We’re coming. So they had ran, and she had seen her mother and father run, only to get claimed by the flames. And from this wall of destruction – the specter had risen.
She was a dark, fearsome being, composed of white smoke. She looked about April’s age, sixteen. Her long, perfectly straight hair had fanned out around her, the white tendrils snaking out around her, past her waist. Her long, fluttery dress, torn around the edges, fanned out, the long tendrils touching everything. As the long swathes of fabric touched things, they burst into flames. April screamed, because the worst thing was … if she had been drained of color, a white specter, the ghost could easily be … her.
“Run!” Summer yelled. “I’m right behind you, April, go!” April, hating herself, had run for her life. At the edge of Middlecombe woods, she had turned back, just in time to see the specter’s white, ghostly hands touch Summer, running for her life.
Summer had just … disappeared into thin air as the specter laughed, Summer’s straight waist-length blonde hair and bright blue eyes fading into nothing, her last scream carrying on the wind. April had screamed again, a long, drawn out scream.
Now there was only running. The specter’s voice echoed behind her, a mocking voice.
“Come, now, April, do you really wish to play games of hide and seek?” The specter’s voice echoed mockingly out of the trees. “You can run, April, but you can’t hide. I will always be here.”
“Who are you?” whispered April.
The specter laughed, cold, high and cruel. “I am the Specter of Middlecombe Woods, April. But when I lived, my name was Winter.”
“No,” gasped April, a stich in her side from running.
Winter was her mother’s older sister. When Winter had been sixteen and her Mom fourteen, there had been a terrible fire. The first fireman had ran out with Mom. Autumn. But the second fireman hadn’t been able to reach Winter. She had died in the fire.
“Autumn was always the perfect child,” said the specter, her voice thick with disgust. “I swore when I died I would haunt her, and kill her. It was her fault I died. She was always so perfect. So, of course, perfect Autumn gets saved and pretends to cry for her lost sister. She should have died that day! Not me! I was always better, always more beautiful, always smarter, always the best! But no one acknowledged that! Oh, no, they all loved Autumn. Ugly, stupid Autumn!”
“Please!” screamed April. “Please, that isn’t my fault! Please just leave me alone!”
“Oh, but I can’t!” cackled the specter. “Once you are dead, April, Autumn’s youngest daughter, my revenge will finally be complete!”
“Please,” begged April. Every breath made her lungs feel like they were on fire, her thighs ached. Then, the specter was right behind her, the long, perfectly straight strands of ghostly hair swirling around her as her scary white eyes bored into April’s face.

“Goodbye, April!” she snarled. And then her white fingertips touched April’s face. It was icy cold, as if her entire body was made of ice or snow, and she was falling, falling, falling through the earth, blackness enveloping her, and April was in her mother’s arms again.