Faith in God and the determination of youth sustain nineteen-year-old Marty after her husband is killed on their journey westward and she is forced to face the uncertainties of the frontier alone.
“Did you see it, Master?” the short, bald, wrinkled man asked as he approached the figure sitting on a throne in the darkened hall. The only light that existed was the candle the small man held in his leathery hands. The flame illuminated the eyes of the large meenabird perched on a golden stand by the throne. The master's hand repeatedly caressed the bird's feathered back.
“Of course I saw it, you imbecile,” he replied with a calm voice.
The man should have known better than to ask such a foolish question. Of course his master saw it. He saw everything, and until the young woman's escape, he'd never missed anything. Though the man had nothing to do with that particular event himself, he had still been one of the many recipients of the master's wrath. His shoulder still carried the bruise of a wooden club, the result of being unfortunate enough to cross the master's path at the wrong time.
He knew better than to speak again unless the master spoke to him, so he stood between the two large stone pillars on either side of the red carpet that stretched to the throne and waited in silence, glancing briefly at the fearsome shadowed figure before lowering his eyes. If he were to lose his eyesight tomorrow, he would never forget that haggard, hideous face. It was imprinted in his mind every waking moment. It haunted his dreams at night. Every deep line. Every huge pockmark. Every oozing open sore on his forehead. Even the ones that oozed beneath the scraggly strands of hair on his dome-shaped head. No, each and ever feature of the master was branded in his mind. The creature that in no way resembled a human anymore had seen to it.
“Are you not going to ask me what I intend to do?” the master asked, pressing his gnarled hands together, his index fingers straightening to make a steeple beneath his chin. “Are you not curious about what action I intend to take?”
Knowing he needed to choose his words carefully, the man hesitated only for a moment. Daring to raise his eyes, he answered, “I need not ask, Master Thenoch, for I know you are wise and have no need to satisfy the curiosity of one so lowly as myself.”
A gravelly rumble resonated from Thenoch's chest. “How true. However, I will answer the question that you are too spineless to ask.” He paused and smiled.
The little man knew that smile. He had seen it hundreds of times, and it definitely wasn't the kind of smile that warmed the cockles of one's heart. No, it was quite the opposite. It wrought fear in those who were unfortunate enough to be recipients of it.
“What will you do?” he finally asked, figuring he had nothing to lose at this point.
Thenoch laughed. “Located a little backbone, have you? Well, if you really must know, I intend to do . . . absolutely nothing.” He smiled at the startled expression on his pitiful excuse for a servant's face. “There is no need for me to do anything right now. The time will come soon enough for me to show everyone that Inchants are not as immortal as we have been led to believe.” His eyes narrowed. “No one takes what is mine. And before the blood-red sun has risen seven more times, I will not only have my property back, but Nilan's heart on a platter as well.”
Kill an Inchant? Impossible! The man silently reasoned.
“You think it impossible?” Thenoch asked, apparently reading his thoughts. “Well, Lucius, my unbelieving servant, I tell you it is not. And soon I will prove it.” He stood and stared down at the frightened man who immediately bowed his head. “The life of that winged man will soon be prematurely terminated.”
