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EXCERPT - From Chapter 58 - Pilgrim’s Soul
An image of herself came to her mind, not the jeweled queen that she seemed now, but that of a simple, wandering girl, forsaken and lost in the desert, drifting listlessly on the
back of a donkey. Pictures of strange desert ruins and sun-bleached landscapes loomed in her mind, and then she saw smoke and fire rising from a distant village, and her heart beat with anxiety. A face emerged in
her visions, drawn and hard, the brown features like toughened leather, with deep, dark-set eyes that regarded her with genuine concern. It was the face of Drekk, and she trembled with his memory, eyes wet with
tears.
She remembered the long journey, and the simple nights together as the man sought to keep her safe, offering all his food and taking little for himself. She remembered how it felt
to lie close to him in the night and see the speckled vault of stars high above them. She remembered the sound of his voice when he spoke to her, and the rustle of his breathing in the dark. But most of all, she
remembered the awful sense of loneliness about the man, and the way he so quietly reached out to her, wanting closeness, and yet feeling himself somehow unworthy, uncertain and afraid. Her heart had reached out to
him, missing him at once when he would ride off to scout the way, and rejoicing at his return.
Then came images of the cruel, lashing sand on the winds of the desert. There were cries in the blinding haze, and a torrent of liquid earth seemed to wash over the wagons where
they struggled, blotting out the road ahead and toppling one wagon on its side until she was thrown out into the raging tumult of the storm. The sounds of braying animals and frantic calls of men came to her on the
wind. The sands clawed at her, blinding and tearing as the Buran raged about them. She struggled, flailing wildly ahead to find shelter, and then she remembered hands upon her, cold and strong. She felt her body
enfolded with a thick dark cloak, lifted up, and carried off on the violent storm, as though the wind itself now bore her away.
She remembered thinking vaguely how she must be taken by hungry spirits of the desert, jealous spirits who sought her soft, pliant flesh in the wild. Then she knew no more. The
inner sounds of the wailing wind in her mind resolved into the lilting dance of the flutes and horns about her. Her awareness returned to the moment, taking in the swirls of color and misty sweet incense. She saw
the smiling face of the Yogi Master before her, his arms raised up in offering and, as if in answer, she reached up with her slender brown arms, her head thrown back and her bare breasts thrust forward, framed with
circlets of gold and jewels.
He was alive, she knew at last. Alive, and more than that—He was here!
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