The Edge Of Destiny

PROLOGUE The Simoom

PROLOGUE

The SimoomJune 17, 1859, California

Unna quickly brushed her long black hair behind her ear, not caring if it was streaked with blood.

She had no time. She glanced back over her shoulder, as she flung the weighty satchel onto her back.

Damn, I'll never make it, she thought to herself. Not if that's really him.

The dark figure appeared, a hundred yards out, on foot. Unna's mind raced, along with her horse's heart. She could feel the blood rush through the animal beneath her. She shifted the weighty satchel on her back and allowed a look back through her crooked elbow.

The Elder stood there and raised his hands. He had no weapons, but he didn't need any; he was the weapon. Una rode faster.

Pentoss, my love, where are you? She soothed her own mind with the thought of him. No time for that, she scolded herself, you are no damsel. Save yourself. Unna dug in her spurs, as hard as she dared without hurting her horse. Run like our lives depend on it because they do.

She could feel the horse lurch beneath her, but she could also feel the dark figure framed against the horizon. Her steed pounded away at the soft earth, giving distance between herself, her cargo, and the elder.

She stretched out her mind farther, ahead and all around for any place to escape, hide. California was a beautiful place; Rancheros as far as she could see, cattle everywhere. From the vantage, she saw the valley of farmers, ranchers, and their workers. She felt them all, but that's not what she was looking for. She needed a way out, away. Her steed galloped furiously toward the hills.

Unna didn't know how he'd found her, but the curious ways of Elders were nothing to ponder now. Her horse jumped a low rough wooden fence as the hill became steeper.

She stretched out her mind behind her, to feel if the elder had moved closer. He hadn't, but something reached for her. Heat. A wave of blistering heat. A simoom. The ancient word rang in her head, sent ahead by the elder. A warning, mocking her.

Her mind conceived it, but it didn't make any sense. Simooms happened naturally in the middle east, in the desert. Or, whenever Elder Yarro unleased his terrible power. She climbed the hill faster. She felt the sweat pour from the horse. Just a little farther.

The satchel weighed on her back. That was all that mattered, getting these out of the elder's hands, anywhere, just away. Ahead, she saw the group of cows, a few stragglers, too small to be called a herd. The cows objected loudly as she galloped past them, two scattering as she raced up the hill.

She noticed her own sweat, and knew it was more than the effort of the ride. A wave of nausea wrenched her stomach as the tendrils of heat reached for her. Unna had no idea how far from the elder she was now, but the heat still came. Faster. Hotter. Oppressive. She heard a noise, looking back left through her riding arm again, and watched in amazement as a low copse of trees exploded in flame.

The cows expressed their displeasure, then one of them caught fire too. An otherworldly shriek came from the others as they ran, nowhere to hide.

Her steed faltered. Unna swooned but stayed on her saddle, forcing it to gallop. It slowed, the heat pushing at her from behind and above. Her horse screamed as its tail caught fire, swishing it madly back and forth like it was battling a barrage of flies made of flame.

The earth below them seemed to shimmer, then the wall of heat pushed harder, the super-heated air igniting the scrub grass behind them. The ground leveled out. They had reached the top of the hill, a plateau.

Unna spotted strange wavy lines to her left, along a small rise of earth and turned toward it. Her steed collapsed, pitching her forward. Her dark hair caught fire. She managed a rough roll over her shoulder, but could not get up to run, could not even imagine how to stop the heat. The world was an oven. The heat was like nothing she'd ever felt, not even in the desert lands she'd explored. She was inches from the sun. She tried to draw breath, but she could no longer breathe. She had swallowed fire. None of her past lifetimes prepared her for this sweltering hell. Unna dragged the satchel under her body. The clothes on her back caught fire.

Then the earth gave way beneath her. She fell into darkness. She didn't register it as a crevasse. The earth just consumed her. She only knew it was cool, so dark and cool. She clung to the satchel, not knowing how her arms still worked. She felt only the cool rushing air over her blistered skin. Is my hair still on fire? Unna didn't know.

The heat had scorched her lungs, her hair, her skin. She couldn't speak. The darkness rushed into her. Unna's last thoughts were, Pentoss, Pentoss, my love.

Two hours later, the fires had burned themselves out, and Elder Yarro stood on the hill. He swept past the charred remains of the horse, ignoring the charred smell of dead flesh.

He scowled at the crevasse below him. It was no wider than three feet across but might be a hundred feet deep. More dirt had collapsed into the crevasse with the woman.

No tools he knew of would penetrate that split in the earth. But at least he knew they would not be going anywhere. He had time, and no matter how many lifetimes it took, he would return and claim what belonged to him.