Chapter 7

He caught her arm before she lost her balance, pulling her upright. She clung to him, mindless of the fur, unable to make sense of her surroundings.

“Here,” he said, voice gruff. “You’ll freeze to death.”

He flipped out the lump into a poncho and pulled it over her head, wrapping a cord around her waist to secure it. “Gloves, here. And it’s not yak. It’s llama.”

She allowed him to dress her as if she were a child, head swiveling around to see everything. Rock walls formed a shallow cave, and the wind that curled into it smelled like metal and stone and faint wood smoke. “Where are we?”

“Peru. Come.” He bundled her up into a stiff mass of hide and fur that blocked the wind. “Hold my rope. I don’t want you to fall off the mountain.”

Mountain? Wind lifted powdery snow, propelled it in swirls around them. Behind them stood an iron door. The rock was jagged and black, the white of the snow blinding. She cautiously paced away from the door, closer to the edge of the level ground they stood upon; desperately glad she wasn’t wearing peep-toed pumps. Her breath was stolen, by wind and by view.

The darkening sky hinted at twilight, its shade swallowing the horizon.

Below lay a cliff that ended in cloud, above, more cliff. A narrow trail had been carved into the side of the mountain. It led down to the right a measure before curving out of view.

He pulled a thick cord loose from a coil on his belt and thrust into her hands before leading her down the trail. “Come on. I’m cold.”

“Why here?” She grasped the guide rope with both hands and allowed him to tug her along. A gust of wind kicked up powdery snow in a spray, stinging her eyes, momentarily blinding her. “You’re a desert kind of guy. Don’t genies hate snow?”

He turned and paused long enough to look directly into her eyes, a look full of heat. “Because of all the lands I visit, these people know how to truly appreciate fire.”

They trudged along a thin rocky path, snow packed by frequent travel by animal and man. The path wound like a ribbon, clinging to the side of the mountain, and passed down through cloud after thick cloud. Relentless wind whistled around them, the chill a constant bite upon her skin. She pressed the furry hood closer around her face, leaving only enough space open to see where she walked.

He turned often to look back for her. Maybe he was afraid she’d fall off the mountain.

They rounded a sharp turn, taking small careful steps to avoid spots where the path had crumbled away. As they cleared the ledge, Tam spied smoke curling from a cluster of rough-hewn buildings huddled together. A village.

The path broadened and levelled into a wide space, where the walking became much easier. He reined her in, wrapping the cord once more and tucking it onto his belt. Tucking his gloved hand under her arm, he guided her to the largest building. Snow drifted from the roof when he thumped on the door. Without waiting for an answer, he pushed it open and ushered her inside.

A group of sun-browned women knelt around a low table in the center of the room, sorting items into baskets. They turned their heads as one to stare at them.

She couldn’t imagine what they looked like, two snow-covered yaks barging into their hut.

He tugged off his cloak, his dark hair tousled. He wore a sleeveless tunic, now, and beige linen trousers with brown leather sandals. His biceps were wrapped in gold ribbon, the loose ends swirling around his elbows as he turned. The firelight clung to him, adding heat to the dusky glow of his flesh, and tiny shadows danced over every swell of muscle, every curve of sinew.

She blinked at his sudden transformation, unable to keep from staring. He looked like he’d just hopped off a camel caravan, not climbed down off a snowy mountain.

And he looked like he worked out. She blinked again, stealing another peek at his Hollister-ad abs. Definitely not a lazy genie. She’d give him that.

A young girl jumped up from the circle and ran to him, arms wide. “Fuego! Fuego!”

He laughed and knelt to hug her, enduring her rough squeeze around the neck with a grin. Grasping the child, he hoisted her high, loosening a stream of giggles from her. After a moment, he shifted the child onto his hip.

“Fuego, por favor,” she pleaded, taking his face between her chubby hands.

He waved his free hand, drawing a streak of embers that floated through the air, a fiery ribbon, before it disappeared. His laughter, deep and rich like melted chocolate, mingled with the bright chimes of the child’s voice.

An old woman admonished the child from the doorway. The little girl kissed him on the cheek before she squirmed loose.

“Madre Segunda,” Burns said, bowing low.

“Mi nino del fuego.” The woman returned the bow, her hand over her heart.

He wore an expression of tender regard, a gentle gaze that was mirrored by the softness around his eyes, and he rushed across the room to embrace her. His touch was careful when he gathered her into his arms, cradling her as if she were made of spun glass. They chatted, muted tones of Spanish, the woman’s voice bird-like.

Tam stood apart, not understanding a word they spoke, feeling like an interloper. She straightened her shoulders. An observer. That was better. She was nothing if not an observer.

He ducked his head when the woman reached up to pat his cheek, and she ruffled his hair. His face was radiant, his cheeks dimpling over a smile that showed all his teeth. A schoolboy glowing under the doting affections of a mother figure.

And yet…there was a darkness in his eyes. Not any sort of malfeasance or negative intent—it was almost a sadness, a melancholy. Did he worry for her? Did she remind him of someone else? The darkness was a cloud, lurking too close to the sunshine that was his feeling for this woman.

She quietly reassessed him, seeing yet a new facet of his ever-shifting personality. He loved this woman. She wondered if all love was as dual-natured as the one he wore upon his expression as he embraced the elder.

Sometimes, she didn’t envy those who experienced emotion. Love. Who could pull off such a complex feeling? It must be exhausting—

“Elder Mother is the wise woman of this tribe.” Burns released the woman and extended a hand to Tam, drawing her closer. He flourished his fingers, like a magician performing a coin trick, producing a gold ear cuff. Sliding his hand along her cheek, he clasped it onto her ear. “I thought she should meet you.”

“What’s this?” She fingered the gold earring, its weight foreign and uncomfortable. The cuff pinched her ear where he’d pressed it around the cartilage above her earlobe.

“Leave it on,” he said. “She speaks only Spanish. This will translate.”

If he only knew how much she needed it. Tam slid it higher, finding a more tolerable spot.

“You are well?” He reached out his hand to the woman, guiding her closer and steering her to a chair by the fire. The rest of the women had fallen silent at their arrival and, gathering up their baskets, they slipped from the room.

“As well as old bones can be,” she said. “The gods have been kind.”

The woman’s face was like a walnut, sun-browned and deeply ridged, her eyes as bright and quick as a sparrow. Much of the woman’s bulk must be in the many layers of shawls draped over her shoulders. Her body must be as bird-like as her voice. No wonder he took such care with her.

“You brought company.” The elder mother waved at Tam, urging her closer. She tipped her head, chin to chest. “You are welcome in my home, fire child.”

“Oh no,” Tam said. She tugged at the yak hood but it was too securely fast. She settled for pulling it back from her face enough to get her mouth out. “I’m not like him. I’m just a woman.”

“Just a woman.” Elder Mother’s voice lightened with amusement. “Come to the fire. I, too, am just a woman.”

Tam stepped forward but Burns caught her by the waist. “Wait.”

Freezing in mid-step, she slid her gaze toward him.

“Undress first,” he said. “The fire is warm enough.”

He tugged at the rope and pulled the coat off over her head. “No need to talk to Elder Mother looking like a shaggy beast.”

She smoothed her hair down, suspecting she still looked shaggy. And—she drew a handful of hair to her face and sniffed. Ugh. She still smelled like one.

“Come, sit,” Elder Mother said. She gestured to a stack of bowls in a basket near the hearth. “Eat. You’ve come a long way, and I am mother enough to know hunger when I see it in a child’s eyes.”

“I am missing my lunch,” she said, and cast a playful glare in Burns’ direction.

He obliged her by ladling a bowlful of the stew that simmered over the fire. She took it with grateful hands, feeling the warmth of the bowl and, oh, the aromas…Tam inhaled the steam wafting from the bowl, a mixture of spice and root vegetable and hearty meat.

She lifted a small spoonful to her mouth. Heat wafted up against her lips in a fragrant steam. A tiny taste—sweetness from thick chunks of carrot, the savory flavor of stewed meat, a slow burn on her lips from simmered chili peppers. Delighting in both the temperature and the taste, she spooned up another bite. “This is absolutely wonderful.”

Elder Mother laughed. “My great-grandmother’s recipe.”

He filled another bowl with stew and hunkered down on a low bench near the fire. “Elder Mother is by far, the best cook of the tribe.”

“Bah.” Elder Mother made a shooing motion with her hand. “I just do what I’ve been taught. That deserves no credit other than I follow directions well.”

Her eyes now adjusted to the firelight and the shadows, Tam looked around the room. Baskets and blankets covered the walls, tools and tapestries of all colors. Her surroundings were as detailed as a museum diorama—and as impossible. “How did you find her, Burns? This doesn’t look like your type of neighborhood.”

He waited to chew and swallow before answering. “I got directions.”

“It was a hard winter, the first time he came,” Elder Mother said. “Fuel was scarce. Our fires were going out. We prayed to the gods.” She nodded at Burns. “They sent an angel.”

He hung his head, busying himself with his meal. “I told you, Elder Mother. I’m not an angel.”

“I know what you are, fire child. You are a blessing.”

Tam grinned at him. Elder Mother’s praise had made him blush, a rosy glow heating his cheeks.

“Long story,” he grumbled.

He couldn’t even grumble convincingly.

“Oh, good.” Tam waved her spoon. “I love stories.”

“So,” Elder Mother said. “A fire child brings his woman here.”

Tam’s grin disappeared. She chased a chunk of carrot around the bowl. “Oh, I’m not his.”

Elder Mother smiled, the deep wrinkles growing deeper around her mouth and eyes. “This is curious.”

His own bowl empty, Burns tossed his yak cloak onto the floor near the fire and knelt to sprawl over it, one arm curled behind his head. The light danced over his bare chest, and from time to time tiny sprouts of flame would creep across his skin. His eyes held twists of fire, dancing in time to the crackling of the hearth.

“I was bored,” he said. “I thought I’d terrify the poor mortal.”

“Poor mortal, indeed.” Elder Mother held out her hands toward Tam. “Come.”

She walked over to the woman, grasping her hands. Their strength, their pleasant warmth. So much like her grandmother’s hands had been.

“Ah,” Elder Mother said. She lifted Tam’s hands toward her face, nodding slowly. “I sense you. You see things others cannot.”

“Yes,” she replied. The sensation of being an interloper had completely disappeared. She felt comfortable here, somehow, in this tiny village on the side of a Peruvian mountain. She had no reservations about being open with this woman. “I do. I always have.”

“You see things in other people, as well.” Elder Mother tugged Tam down to sit beside her. “But you do not see yourself. You cannot see yourself. You require a special mirror.”

He rolled to a crouch, his eyes glinting with a keen interest. “I didn’t dare ask, Elder Mother.”

“Nonsense.” She released Tam’s hands and scolded him with a wag of her finger. “That’s why you brought her here. You cannot lie to me, fire child.”

“What mirror?” Tam looked to Burns. “What does she mean?”

The elder mother released her hands and groaned to her feet, leaning heavily on her walking cane. She shuffled over to a trunk near the wall and lifted the lid. Rooting around inside, she tugged out a cloth-wrapped bundle.

Her steps slow, her walking stick making dull thuds on the floor, she returned to her seat.

“This mirror, like that stew recipe, has been passed down through my mother’s line for many generations. We share a gift. A tradition. He called me a wise woman but wisdom is only part of the gift. There is something else, something borrowed. Something from the stars. When I make my journey to the gods, my daughter will carry on. And hers after her. Already the youngest has shown the promise. We are blessed.”

She unwrapped the cloths, folding each one and setting it aside. “And so are you. There are traditions in your blood, as well.”

“I guess,” Tam said. “I have my grandma’s heirlooms.”

“She guesses because she cannot see herself. Well, we will look. This mirror, too, is an—heirloom.” Pulling the final cloth free, she held up the mirror. About a foot in diameter, octagonal frame, symbols outlines in green glass beads and bits of hammered brass.

The shiny pieces caught the firelight and sparkled. Burns’ eyes, too. He never took his gaze from the mirror.

He sat up straighter and watched with mouth gaping, looking every bit like a dog at the edge of its restraint.

Elder Mother held out the mirror toward Tam. Puzzled, she took it, guessing that was what the woman wanted her to do.

It wasn’t as heavy as it looked and it buzzed in her hands, humming with a strange energy.

Burns flicked his gaze to her face, silent, motionless, watching.

Tam shook her head, a tiny tremor. What was she supposed to do?

“It’s—beautiful,” she said. She brushed her fingertips against the beads, feeling the cool metal sharply contrast with the warm wood, the pleasing texture of the glass. Laying it on her lap, she rubbed the glass beads with her fingertips. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It feels—”

“Alive.” He slid closer, sitting nearly at Tam’s feet.

“Yes,” Elder Mother said. “It has a power. This mirror will show you the secret of your soul. Destiny. Purpose. It makes things clear. Hold it this way—”

Elder Mother lifted Tam’s hands, raising the mirror, and rotated it to a specific direction, turning it like a steering wheel. “Now, look. It will not hurt you.”

Tam looked at the mirror. The surface was marred by tiny imperfections, dimples and dips in the glass. Old glass was never perfect. Her reflection looked wavy.

“What do you see?” Elder Mother’s voice was patient.

Tam scowled. “My hair is a wreck from wearing that cloak.”

“Exactly.” Elder Mother sounded pleased. “That is your outside Now, look to your inside.”

She placed one of her hands on top of Tam’s, grasped the mirror, and rotated it a quarter turn. The hum increased, like a jet engine igniting.

“See.” The woman’s voice dropped, sounding ominous. The old woman’s eyes filling up with inky dark, her pupils expanding to fill her eyes. “See.”

Tam tore her gaze away from the woman’s face and looked into the mirror.

And almost dropped it.