Burning Embers

by Hannah Fielding

  She glanced in the mirror for a final check, debating whether to wear makeup and deciding to simply dab on a little lip gloss. Her eyes sparkled with expectation, and the little dimple appeared at the corner of her mouth as a secret smile touched her lips. Rafe had strongly recommended sensible footwear, so the form-fitting beige jumpsuit she wore was tucked into a pair of sturdy tan safari boots.

  Aluna gave her a long, silent look. “You’re like a moth attracted to fire. Your wings will get burned. He is an afiriti, a devil. He has cast a dua over you, and you will need a kizee to free you. Believe me, my little one, there are stories about him, many stories going about among the people.”

  “Yes, there are stories, and I’m sure they’re only stories. I don’t need a magician to free me from anything, so please stop your mumbo jumbo, Aluna. I’m not in the mood,” Coral retorted, still surveying herself critically in the mirror. “Should I wear a belt? Umm, I think I will,” she said, grabbing a tan-colored belt with a large copper elephant head buckle, trying to ignore her yaha’s cryptic words.

  Aluna made her feel uneasy. Many native Africans seemed to have this uncanny sixth sense; it was all part of their culture. Coral had been born in Africa and spent the first ten years of her life there, and secretly a part of her could not dismiss their superstitions. Her yaha’s words had struck a chord. Deep down, she realized just how little she knew about Rafe. A small voice at the back of her mind told her there was something about him — something primitive and dangerous — warning her to retreat while there was still time.

  Still, today Coral did not want to think of that or of any other unpleasantness. She was elated and wished to enjoy that to the full. “I’m going now, Aluna.” She slung over her shoulder the canvas bag that contained her camera, films, and other bits and pieces necessary for her work, giving the older woman’s cheek a featherlight kiss in farewell. “Try not to spend the whole day brooding; you’ll make yourself ill.” Downstairs, Coral was surprised and a little disappointed to find that Rafe, along with Cybil, had already headed off before the rest of the party, and that Frank Giles would be driving Lady Langley, Dale, and herself to the location for the balloon launch.

  “How come Rafe didn’t wait for the rest of us?” she asked Frank as they walked to the car, keeping her voice low so she would not be overheard by Dale and Lady Langley. Frank piled all their bags into the back of his Jeep and put a kind hand on Coral’s shoulder.

  “As the pilot, Rafe has to be on site earlier than everybody else to check the equipment and the wind direction. He also needs to supervise the layout and, finally, brief the crew.” That didn’t explain why her stepmother had to be with him, Coral thought irritably as she climbed into the Jeep after Lady Langley.

  The sun had not yet risen. Along the horizon, there was a vibrant layer of color, a mixture of bright green and purple, the blue sky coming up immediately behind it. She saw them the instant the Jeep glided onto the field. They stood together examining a map, their forearms touching, the slant of their bodies making a most eloquent picture. As the vehicle approached, Rafe’s head shot up, and Cybil’s long fingers claimed his arm. Why was Rafe letting her stepmother grasp at him so obviously? Coral took a deep breath and tried to control her irritation as she got out of the Jeep.

  Untangling himself from the other woman’s grip, Rafe strode toward the newcomers, a lazy smile revealing his even, white teeth. He was dressed head to foot in black, and somehow it emphasized his predatory charms.

  “Good morning,” Rafe said as he went across to the other side of the four-wheel drive where Lady Langley was standing. “Sorry to bring you out at such an unearthly hour, but we must lift off before sunrise while the breeze on the plains is still cold. Hello, Dale, Frank.” Rafe turned his attention to Coral, his mouth widening into a rakish smile, golden eyes flicking over her appreciatively. “All ready?”

  Coral stiffened slightly as the masculine body moved closer to her, and she merely nodded, her eyes avoiding his gaze.

  “Splendid.” Rafe leaned over to take the canvas bag from her shoulder, and his hand brushed against her neck. Coral instinctively drew in a sharp breath and turned so that he could not see how the mere contact with his skin had disturbed her. He seemed to sense her reaction, and still looking away, Coral was aware of him scrutinizing her profile for a few moments before he walked away. With legs of lead, she followed him to where a large envelope of brightly colored textile was sprawled over the grass.

  “It’s a grand day,” he went on cheerfully, “perfect for ballooning. This is the balloon,” Rafe said, scanning Coral’s face as they drew closer. He looked a little smug, as if he had presented a child with a surprise present.

  Stretched out in a big heap on the ground, the uninflated balloon was bigger than Coral had imagined, and a little scary too, with half a dozen men scurrying around it. A large rectangular wicker basket with a metal surround holding a steel tube was placed a little farther away. Sandbags were hanging over its edge, and it contained a number of ropes, wires, and two cylinders. Rafe came and stood next to Coral, looking at her as if searching for a sign of approval. Coral had so looked forward to this, but her stepmother’s presence and obvious territorial attitude with respect to Rafe had taken some of the spark out of the day. Still, looking forward to the adventure ahead, she managed enough enthusiasm for a smile.

  The group watched the preparations for take-off. Cybil had moved closer to Rafe again so that he stood between the two women, at ease, arms folded over his chest, legs apart. Still, he was near, too near for Coral to be entirely comfortable as she recalled how passionately they had been entangled a few days earlier at the lake. Whiffs of his aftershave mingling with the familiar very personal scent of his masculine body were finding their way to her. An avalanche of chaotic sensations, sharp and intoxicating, ran through her veins. This was neither the time nor the place, she reprimanded herself, and stepped a little away from him. Rafe turned, a puzzled look sweeping his face. She could feel him willing her to face him. For a few seconds, tension sprang in the air between them, a silent battle of wills, while Coral determinately refused to submit to the fiery gaze. Duty called, and his attention shifted.

  Six men had picked up the hem of the balloon and were lifting it high above their heads, then flapping it down toward the grass. This exercise went on for a few seconds. “They’re trying to waft cold air into the balloon,” Rafe explained to his small audience. He had assumed the efficient and authoritative air that had struck Coral at their first encounter on board the ship, leaving no doubt in anybody’s mind that he was in control of the situation and there was nothing to fear on this expedition.

  When the balloon was completely inflated and had reached its full shape, Dale was the first to get on board, while Frank helped Lady Langley and Cybil. Before Coral knew it, Rafe had picked her up and was placing her safely into the basket, climbing in behind her. He glanced at his watch. One of the African men on the ground indicated to him that the balloon was ready to take off and shouted for the other helpers to stand aside. “Here we go. It’s just about the right time,” said Rafe as the craft glided smoothly into the air, almost at the same moment the red dawn came flashing up through the mist hanging over the surface of the savannah.

  It took more than a few minutes for Coral to recover from her discomposure after Rafe had literally swept her off her feet. Waves of heat flooded her from top to toe. She could still feel the powerful forearms sliding under her armpits, his strong hands pressing against the side of her breasts as he lifted her off the ground. Rafe had made a deliberate appeal to her senses, knowing the erotic effect his touch had on her, and he had not been mistaken. The devastating truth flashed through her mind as she acknowledged that her entire being would always instinctively respond to him. She gave him a sideways look; he was busy pumping fire into the balloon.

  A few minutes later, they flew over a crash of rhinos. “Look, those are the black rhinos,” Rafe called out. “In Kenya, ther
e are two types: the black and the white. The white rhino is slightly different and has a broad mouth adapted for grazing. The black rhinos you see below have a more pointed upper lip and a sharp sense of smell and hearing but poor eyesight. They are the more dangerous of the two. Believe me, you would never want to get close to one of those beasts.”

  Gradually the mist had lifted, and the sun burst forth, a ball of fire radiating the sky with unnaturally incandescent hues. Coral was reminded of the strident brushwork and wild colors of the Fauvist paintings that filled her mother’s gallery, which Coral had always loved. The scene was now set for the show to begin: the drama in which the broad, breath-taking landscapes of Africa were the stage and the animals the actors.

  The balloon was still rising, its direction fixed by the whim of the wind. The air was crisp, a whispering light breeze hitting them in the face as the aircraft ascended. The passengers watched silently as the thrilling spectacle of nature’s daily life unfolded. They caught sight of a herd of elephants rushing toward a lake in the distance: massive, magnificent animals led by the female, their large ears flapping in the morning air.

  “Where is your camera?” Lady Langley was the first to break the silence as she addressed Coral.

  Coral started, still a little disturbed by Rafe’s presence and her own exasperated senses. She had the impression that Rafe was gently toying with her, wanting her to join in, but she felt ill-equipped to take part in the sport.

  Before Coral could utter a word, Rafe answered for her. “It must be in here,” he said, handing her over the canvas bag, mischief pouring out of the devilish eyes. “I’m the culprit. I’ve been hogging your bag, keeping a vigilant eye on it. You should have asked for it.” He searched her face as she turned to him, still playing the earlier game of “I’m here, look at me.” She stared back at him reluctantly.

  “Thank you,” she said, controlling her voice but wondering if the look in her eyes had given her away. She felt so inexperienced and unworldly, and it made her feel a little vulnerable.

  Coral tried to shrug off her disquiet and began to rummage in her bag, gathering together the various parts of her single-lens reflex camera. She adjusted the aperture, put in place color filters to cut out the glare, and affixed a telephoto lens that would zoom in the picture, giving her a more favorable outlook to make her photographs do justice to the stunning scenery. She quickly settled to the task at hand, shuffling skillfully between a telephoto lens that allowed her to record in more detail a particular creature and a wide-angle lens that could capture the entire panorama. In an instant, Coral snapped into professional mode, completely absorbed in her work and only vaguely aware of the rest of her entourage. She was spellbound, fascinated by the incredible lushness of color, the brilliance and grandeur of the views, and the magnificent wildlife below. She was good at her work, flexing her body in various ways to take advantage of animals and sceneries that presented themselves at different angles.

  Coral noticed that Rafe watched her steadily, as if he was trying to read her mind, to anticipate her next move. Was it admiration she detected in his eyes? A quiet navigator, he moved the balloon farther up into the sky or down, sometimes almost brushing against the surface of a canopy of trees, or floating in and out of white puffs of clouds so she could get a better view of an elephant, an antelope, or some other exotic being that took her fancy, doing his utmost to facilitate her work.

  They flew over the smooth and silky expanse of Lake Baringo. The distant spread of water seemed to shine with an inward light, an awe-inspiring landscape at this time of day, scattered here and there with dark islands that looked like little black dots on the silver scales of a giant fish. The vegetation around the lake sheltered innumerable colonies of birds, and Coral got excellent shots of cormorants and the beautiful flamingos that were stalking for food or basking in the sunlight on the shores.

  Coming across a flock of ducks, Dale took the opportunity to tell everybody how he and his father had once shot one hundred wild duck and geese in a single day during the season there, and a better game meat he had never tasted. “The tribesmen couldn’t make out what we were playing at.” He gave a derisive laugh. “They kept saying to us ‘Too much, bwana, too much.’ They didn’t understand our sport,” he ended with an air of self-importance. Coral thought to herself how much more obnoxious Dale had become since they had broken up. Dale moved closer and winked at her, but she hastily turned away and carried on with her work.

  “Tribesmen in Africa seldom kill wild game for the sake of killing,” Rafe pointed out coldly. “They kill if they’re threatened by some mortal danger, or if a superstition or a tribal rite requires it, but mainly they kill for food. When they’ve got enough to eat, they don’t need to kill any more. That’s also the law of the jungle among the predatory animals themselves.” Dale merely ignored Rafe’s comment and suddenly became engrossed in the view.

  They saw impalas and antelopes, delighting in mighty leaps into the air, and witnessed large numbers of hippos playing in a big pool close to the surface of the water, while others dozed lazily on the rocks surrounding it, their great pink mouths yawning in the bright gold sun that was now high in the sky.

  All the while, Coral worked passionately and without a break. Moving swiftly, she dexterously changed film, setting the aperture and the focus with expert precision. From time to time she would stop to make notes, writing down her impressions, drawing a few sketches. It was all nicely coming together, just as she had planned, and it excited her.

  They glided over a herd of black buffalo, their mighty hooves dredging up clouds of gray dust as they thundered away at full speed. Coral wondered what could have sent the most dangerous beast of the bush into such a panic. They saw zebras, their skin of black and silver stripes glistening in the sun. There were also bucks, rhinos, and undulating towers of giraffes in clusters of six or more — a paradise for a photographer. Still, the monarch of the wild remained elusive.

  Rafe looked at his watch. “It’s time to descend,” he announced. “Ten minutes to landing. Everybody, please tidy away binoculars, cameras, and whatever bits and pieces you’ve been using. Don’t forget that the only place you are allowed to hold on to is the edge of the basket. Please be alert and don’t take any risks,” he cautioned. “If you hold on to any lines, they could become slack, and as they tighten again, someone could get snatched out of the basket.” His voice was calm with only a light inflection that spelled danger.

  Dale unexpectedly objected. “We haven’t yet seen any lions or leopards. Let’s continue for a little longer.”

  “It is too early for the lions.” Rafe’s words cracked like a whip. “They don’t appear until later on in the day.” It was obvious to Coral that Dale irritated him, and she was amused to see that he was definitely not about to take orders from her ex-fiancé. “After breakfast, we will be riding back to the house, and we’ll go through the park,” Rafe continued. “We’re sure to come across some lions and other wild beasts.” His explanation seemed more for the benefit of Coral, and they exchanged a brief look.

  Rafe smiled at her; his eyes held no arrogance or teasing. There was something different in Rafe, Coral noted, an unassuming expression that made him seem vulnerable and went straight to her heart. She could read his disappointment that he had not been able to show her any big cats for her camera to take advantage of. Coral gave him a slow, reassuring smile.

  Piloting the balloon lower, Rafe was now starting to level it off. Coral watched him gazing down with his head tipped to the side as if debating the risks and precautions for several possible courses, his features set in keen concentration. A few minutes elapsed, and he switched off the burner. As the basket touched the grass, Rafe maneuvered a bit, and the balloon sank gently to the ground, safely upright.

  A magnificent spread awaited them, laid out on a long trestle table under a white marquee. As they scrambled out of the basket, Cybil managed to get herself entangled in one of the wires, and Rafe stayed ba
ck to help her. Coral went with the others to the breakfast table, where she watched her stepmother and Rafe, who appeared to be having an argument. Maybe her stepmother was objecting to his lack of attention during the journey. Anyhow, it couldn’t have been too bad, she thought, because soon Rafe was jovial and Cybil, her head thrown back, was laughing and swaying provocatively toward him. Cybil swayed again and stumbled, holding on to him to stabilize herself. Then huddling a little too close to Rafe for Coral’s liking, she walked with him toward the others. Why did he always allow her stepmother to flirt so outrageously with him? Coral wondered whether if she had more experience in love, she might have been more philosophical about the games that people play in relationships, but instead the familiar pangs of jealousy began to rear up, and she found herself lost in confusion once more.

  “Are you going to join us for a spot of breakfast, Coral? It does look rather tempting, I must say.” Frank Giles had appeared quietly at her side and, glancing only briefly toward the advancing figures of Rafe and Cybil, gave Coral a kind, reassuring look.

  “Yes, of course,” said Coral, smiling with gratitude at the distraction, and they both went to join the rest of the group around the table.

  Plates were piled high with guavas, pineapple, passion fruit, pawpaw, grapes, and star fruit as Lady Langley’s servants bustled around the party, carrying steaming bowls of ugali porridge that other staff were busy heating on portable gas stoves. Glasses were filled with chilled mineral water and fruit juice, Kongoni coffee and chai, and stacks of warm chapatis and mandazis, the local African pastries, were served up with cheerful efficiency. Breakfast was lively, everybody giving their impressions about the morning’s excursion. Dale was, as usual, effusive about his own exploits, telling whoever would listen about his participation in hunting parties after great herds of elephants. “We set off from Baringo, over the hills of Kamasia into Turkana and Samburu country. But the best place for hunting elephants is, of course, the Tsavo Park. Unfortunately, the hunters from the Wakamba and the Waliangulu tribes seem to have the monopoly there. It’s such a shame, really. They use some sort of poison that they find in the bush. Rather primitive but quite clever, I suppose.”