A HERO COME TO LIFE—REALLY by Barbara Clark

And a Giveaway.

Each time I sit down to write, I form a mental picture of the hero and heroine. They only live in my imagination and in the words and scenes of the story world.

That all changed the day the paramedics wheeled me into curtained cubicle in the ER of the local hospital.

A calm, dignified, good-looking gentleman walked in and introduced himself. The moment I heard the whisper of Middle Eastern accent and his name, I thought, Oh, my God, it’s Kadar.

Who’s Kadar? He’s the hero in Deserts of the Heart: Book IV Sons of Earth and Wind.

Yes, Doctor S. is still my cardiologist. And he still reminds me of Kadar. LOL

Description:

A relentless Arabian Prince and an independent psychic plunge into a world of danger and intrigue as they cross burning sands to locate an ancient sword, and discover that love fills the empty desert in their hearts.

Set Up:

Faith and Kadar have been traveling across one end of the Sahara Desert in their search for The Sword of Light, an ancient sword stolen from Kadar’s people years earlier by Faith’s mother. Part of that trip was in the company of a band of Desert Bedouins. Now they’ve camped at an oasis.

EXCERPT:

By the time the celebration meal was finished and the food cleared away, a three-quarters moon had risen, gilding the rocks and trees.

Faith's gaze swept the open ring of people seated on rugs in front of their tents. Moonlight and the blazing fire illuminated their familiar, happy faces. Even old Mustapha, a tribal Elder who usually looked so solemn, had relaxed and was sharing cinnamon and raisin khubuz with his toddler grandson.

A cool wind whispered through the palms and rippled the water of the pool. She tucked her skirt closer to her legs, and pulled the shawl around her throat. At least the wool rug she shared with Kadar insulated her from the cold ground.

"You getting chilly?" Kadar murmured and wrapped one arm around her shoulder.

She leaned against his side, enjoying the closeness. "This has been wonderful. Sheik Zafir's people have been so good to us."

Kadar pulled her hair to one side and nuzzled her neck. "You've fit in with his people like you were born into their family."

Her breath caught in her throat at the touch of his warmth on her sensitive skin. It took two tries before she finally collected her thoughts enough to answer. "It feels more like a true home every day. I do confess that I miss the modern conveniences like a working bathroom complete with tub."

"You'll have that when we arrive at my father's palace in Bahir."

"If he doesn't throw me into a dungeon for being born in Tafala."

"I'll protect you." The teasing note in Kadar's warm baritone should have set her mind at ease, but she'd learned that events can change without warning.

The bonfire was built higher, and Faith put aside her worries about the future to enjoy the present.

The tribe's master storyteller came forward to the place of honor, a low, wooden stool with a seat of camel hide.

Children gathered at his feet, sitting cross-legged. Babies slept peacefully in their mother's arms. Only one child was crying. His mother jostled him, but he wouldn't settle down. Finally, she carried him to her tent and sat just inside the opening where she nursed the child while she listened.

As he recounted the folk tales, Faith realized her grasp of the language had grown. She could now understand most of what he said.

Leaning back against Kadar, with his arms around her, she stared into the leaping flames of the bonfire. The storyteller's voice had a soothing quality. The desert wind had changed into a light breeze, and she was warm and safe in the circle of Kadar's embrace.

The storyteller gave three sharp claps to indicate he was done for the night. With that the mood around the fire changed.

The tribal musicians took their places to one side of the clearing. One began a rhythmic beat with his fingers on a long, narrow drum held under one arm. A second musician added the long, slumberous sound of a Berber oboe.

Giggling, the young, unmarried women went to the stack of lanterns collected before the feast and placed them around the edge of the clearing, lighting them as they went. With shy looks at the unmarried young men, they sashayed back to their places and settled gracefully on the rugs with their families.

There was a moment of silence. No one moved. Even the children were quiet.

Then, with a shout, the sheik's oldest son leaped into the center of the cleared space and called a challenge to all the warriors.

Around the circle, the men, young and old, jumped to their feet, roaring, "Yallah."

From behind her, Kadar surged to his feet, adding his shout. With one vault, he joined the sheik's son in the center.

The two faced off as if in battle, and suddenly each man's long, curved ceremonial dagger glittered in the firelight. They moved slowly around the other, their graceful masculine forms a contrast of light and dark. The sheik's son in white loose shirt and trousers, Kadar in black(a dark warrior.

The son slashed out with a quick, glittering move, but Kadar leaped away at the last fraction of a second, then pressed in for attack. Dust rose under their soft desert boots. Men called encouragement from the sidelines.

Music rose above the shouts and the high wailing, excited cries of the women.

Once more the son and Kadar each drove in then spun away, sharp knives barely missing their opponent.

Faith's heart was in her mouth. She knew it was a ritual combat, but at the moment it was too real.

The music changed in tempo as the two warriors faced each other.

Kadar began a long, slow glide, his dagger weaving intricate patterns that seemed to mesmerize the son. At the last moment, the young man swung his dagger up and their blades clashed high in the air, where ribbons of firelight rolled down the blades.

Both men strained against the other, neither moving. Kadar's profile, lit by the ring of lanterns, spoke of power and ageless strength. The younger man looked grim and determined, but there was a hint of desperate courage in the set of his mouth.

With shocking suddenness, Kadar stepped back, bowed to the younger man, and extended his dagger, hilt first, in surrender.

The son said something in a low voice. Kadar shook his head, continuing to offer the dagger.

Faith held her breath. She glanced across the circle at the sheik, his arms crossed and his face expressionless.

Her attention quickly returned to the two men in the center.

Finally, the young man accepted Kadar's dagger and held it high in victory.

The men cheered and the women waved their hands high in praise and approval.

Gesturing for quiet, the young man looked at each person around the circle. He salaamed to his father, then faced Kadar once more and announced in a strong voice. "Prince Nicholas Kadar Ben Hamad has won honor in our midst. I pledge my friendship and support to him from this moment on."

He returned the dagger to Kadar and knelt in front of him.

A stunned silence grew throughout the camp.

Kadar raised the young man, embraced him, and slapped him on the back in a show of male comradeship.

Keeping one hand on the young warrior's shoulder, Kadar said, "You stood with me in battle and tonight we met in ritual combat. You, Faruq El Zafir, are brave and worthy to be called wise, for you bring honor to your tribe."

The sheik stepped forward smiling, and offered his hand.

As Kadar clasped it, the sheik said, "Tonight, I renew my pledge of friendship and support to you and to your father."

At that, the remaining men crowded around.

Faith caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. It was Yusuf quietly slipping away from the celebration. When he reached the edge of the tent circle, he looked back toward Kadar with such venom in his expression, that Faith shivered.

Yusuf gave her a long stare that made the hair stand up on the back of her neck. Then he disappeared into the dark.

To enter the giveaway for an autographed copy of Deserts of the Heart, go to my website, www.barbaraclarkbooks.com click the Contact button, and send an email with

Subject—Deserts Giveaway.

In the body of the email, please give me your name and email where I can contact you for your mailing address if you win the book.

Good Luck,

Barbara