Man of Passion (17 page)

"It's beautiful!" she whispered excitedly to Inca, who stood at her shoulder. Looking around, Ari added, "What a wonderful place. It feels so peaceful here."

Inca grinned knowingly and studied the orchid halfway up the rocky incline beside the waterfall. "This is one of my favorite places to rest and sleep. It is safe here."

They had hiked five miles into the jungle to find the specimen. Now, as Ari shrugged out of her knapsack, she realized she faced an even greater obstacle. "I don't know how I can draw the orchid up there, Inca. I'm afraid of heights."

Giving her a glance, Inca shrugged. "So? Climb up there and sit on that black rock near the dead limb. It is a perfect place to draw the orchid from. The spray from the waterfall will not reach you there, yet you will be close enough to study the orchid fully."

A squiggle of fear threaded through Ari's stomach. All week long Inca had shepherded her along, and each day posing a new challenge to her in some way. The fearless woman warrior seemed to pick out situations where Ari had to confront her fears. And each day, Inca had been there to cajole her and support her as Ari stepped out of her routine way of life and walked through her fears. Ari couldn't complain, because Inca had been showing her orchids of incredible color that weren't in any of her orchid identification books—orchids that were undiscovered—until now. As she drew and took photos of them, Ari knew that when she sent documentation to the orchid society to register them, the world would gasp in awe at their beauty. Not only that, but if the orchids were truly undiscovered until now, she would be able to name one after her mother, something Ari wanted to do more than anything. And in honor of Inca, she would name one of them after her as well.

"If you want to draw that orchid," Inca told her, as she pointed up at it, "then you must conquer your fear of heights, Ari."

Standing there, Ari felt another frisson of anxiety. "It's my greatest fear," she muttered.

Inca threw back her head and laughed. Then, placing her rifle against a tree, she turned and held Ari's gaze. "Do not defer to your weakness, little sister. You are a woman. Women are naturally strong.
Stronger than any male of any species."
She walked over, picked up Ari's knapsack and opened it. Taking out the box of colored pencils and the sketchbook, she said, "You were raised to cower in front of men. To be a true woman, you must embrace your own powers, fears and all, and do what you must do. That orchid has been seen only by my eyes and those of the insects and animals. You said you wanted to name an orchid after your mother. What better way to honor her than with this one, eh?" Inca peered into Ari's face. "Well?"

Gulping, Ari felt the power of Inca. Her willow-green eyes were narrowed and thoughtful. All week Inca had taught her to make fear her friend, let it walk beside her—but not stop her.

"W-what if I fall?"

Inca straightened and smiled mirthlessly. "Then you will pick yourself back up, dust off your muddy pants and try again. Do you think life accepts quitters? No. Life only honors those who are strong.
Those who can endure and keep going.
So, what will you do with this day, little sister? Will you pine and whine down here, at the foot of the hill? Or will you take the challenge and meet it the best way you can? There is no dishonor in failing. There is dishonor in not trying at all." A bit of scorn laced her husky voice. "In my realm, a woman or man who does not try does not live." She touched the front of Ari's pale pink blouse. "What does your heart say to do?"

"Get up there and draw that orchid." Ari replied, studying her companion's playful expression. Inca's attitude right now belied the military garb she wore. Every day she was armed and alert. And although she never said they were in danger as they made their five-and ten-mile hikes through the jungle, Ari sometimes felt that they might be. Still, being in Inca's powerful presence, she rarely felt unprotected.

"And what is your head screaming at you to do?" Inca's mouth curved.

Ari sighed. "You know without asking me. I'm scared."

"What is it shrieking at you?"

"That I can't do it.
That heights
make me dizzy…."

"And where did this fear come from?"

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do."

Stymied, Ari frowned at Inca.
Rafe
would say nearly the same words to her. Was it an Indian thing?
A South American way of looking at life's obstacles?
Thinking back, she murmured, "My mother was afraid of heights."

"And did you see her being afraid of them?"

"Yes, many times."

"And so, as a child, you took on her fear. Before that, you were like the monkeys that climb effortlessly up the trunks of trees and swing limb to limb."

Ari stood there, looking at the sunlight that sometimes peeked through the canopy to touch the spray of water. When it did, she would see a brief bit of a rainbow arc halfway down the waterfall to the pond, below where they stood.

"Sometimes I think you read my mind," Ari accused her petulantly. "Yes, I remember when I was six my mother had to climb up on a ladder to rescue me from a tree I'd climbed. I remember her face. It was so white. She was so shaky and unsteady on that ladder."

"But
she
conquered her fear to come and rescue you, did she not?"

Ari saw Inca's carefully drawn point and grinned up at her companion. "You missed your calling, Inca. You should have been a teacher."

A pleased smile tugged at Inca's wide mouth. "We are all teachers to one another, little sister. So, go climb and paint your orchid for your mother."

It wasn't easy for Ari, despite Inca's support. Still, she took the items from Inca, placed them back into the knapsack then shrugged the bag across her shoulders and slowly moved to the right side of the pool. She marveled once more at what an incredibly beautiful place this was, with many huge, gray-trunked trees supported by root systems that looked like flying buttresses. There were shiny-leafed coffee bushes here and there, and ferns grew luxuriantly along both sides of the falls, nourished and humidified by the spray of water.

Ari's heart was beating hard in her chest. Fear ate at her. Looking around for the best path up through the curving ferns, she hesitated as she spied black rocks jutting out here and there, most of them covered in a springy, yellowish-green moss.

She heard Inca's low, growling tone right behind her, as if she were leaning over and whispering in her ear. "Life rewards those who take the risks. Do you want to see yourself as a quitter?
As someone who refuses to meet the challenge?"

Jerking around, she saw that Inca was a good twenty feet away. Rubbing her temple, Ari wondered at the closeness of Inca's voice. The woman warrior was sitting up against one of the buttress roots, field stripping her rifle on a clean white cloth, a small can of oil nearby.

Confused, Ari turned and looked up the side of the falls. It was only fifteen feet high, but to her, it looked a thousand. There was a serviceable path up the side of it where the
Cattleya
orchid lived on the outstretched branch. It looked safe enough. She put her booted foot on the first rock and pushed to test it. It held firmly. Already she felt perspiration dotting her lip and forehead. Her heart wouldn't stop hammering in her chest. Chewing on her lip, Ari asked herself why she was here in the first place. Okay, so her mother had had a fear of heights. Inca was suggesting Ari didn't. Flexing her hands nervously, Ari stretched up and gripped the next moss-covered rock above her. Testing it, she discovered the rock was solid.

"Good, little sister.
One step at a time.
That is how fear is overcome. Tell it that you know it is there. That you invite it to come along with you, but that you will not allow it to stop you from reaching out for your dream…."

Inca's voice sounded inside her head. Turning, Ari saw the woman warrior hadn't moved from her spot, her head bent over the rifle as she oiled the metal mechanisms.

"Come on, Ari! You can't be a coward down here in
South America
!" she told herself fiercely. Inca was right: she had to do this for her mother. She
wanted
that orchid for her growing collection of illustrations. In that instant, Ari felt a vague shift deep within her. It wasn't anything she could pinpoint exactly, only that it seemed to her like a car shifting gears. The fear in her, the edginess, lessened in intensity. Lifting her head, Ari resolutely stretched her other hand upward to grip the next rock. She began the climb.

Knees a little weak after she had found a perch to sit on directly in front of the luscious-looking
Cattleya
orchid, Ari cautiously looked around. She was fifteen feet above the ground. She gripped the knapsack hard after she carefully shrugged out of it. The roar of the water was musical to her. She sat well enough away from the spray to keep dry. The orchid was five feet away, suspended out over the water on the dead limb.

Forcing herself to look down, she saw Inca was still working on her rifle, paying absolutely no attention to her. If Inca had been worried, Ari was sure she'd be watching her. More of her fear dissolved. She'd made it. She was up here. A thread of joy surged through her. She heard Inca's husky laughter inside her head.

"You
see,
little sister? That fear is your companion, but once he knows you are going to step out and live your life, he slinks away like the coward he really is."

Ari wondered once again at Inca's guiding voice.
Rafe
had warned her that his friend was mysterious. He had hinted that she could read minds and could "talk" with mental telepathy. As Ari drew out her sketchbook and colored pencils, she smiled gamely. Inca was with her in spirit; Ari could sense it. She could feel the woman's presence around her like a soft, protective blanket. Or was it her vivid imagination once more? Shaking her head, Ari wasn't sure. Concentrating on the orchid instead, she began to draw quickly and confidently. No longer did it take her a week to finish one drawing. No, since Inca had come, they would trek into the heart of the jungle each morning. By midday, Inca would find an orchid for her, and Ari would spend the afternoon capturing it on paper. Toward early evening, they would walk back to camp, and by nightfall be enjoying a well-earned meal around the warmth and light of the campfire.

As Ari drew now, her strokes with the colored pencils were confident, even bold. She became lost in the vivid colors of the
Cattleya
orchid. The flower had five oblong petals, two to three inches in length. The outer lip of the orchid was a crimson color, the inner lip a deep gold. The leather, oval-shaped leaves thrust up around the single blossom, emphasizing the brilliant colors of the flower.

As she continued to draw, Ari's thoughts turned to
Rafe
. When would he get home? Every day she worried about his safety. Inca would laugh at her, pat her on the shoulder and tell her that he was fine. For whatever reason, Ari believed the woman. There was something about Inca's knowing that left no room for questioning. Besides, Ari had seen for herself how the people of
Aroka's
village idolized Inca. She had gone with Inca on one of her trips to the village and watched as the woman warrior
lay
her hands on the sick and ailing. Ari was amazed at how Inca's touch could make a baby or elderly person well. She knew she was seeing healing because it was impossible for a baby to fake sickness. And as for the older people of
Aroka's
village who limped painfully around using a gnarled wood cane for support, they would throw their canes away after Inca had smoothed her long, beautifully slender hands across the injured or swollen extremity.

The orchid bloomed across the page of Ari's sketchbook. Today the drawing was going exceptionally well and twice as fast. Ari looked up from her work and saw Inca down below reassembling her rifle. Every day the woman cleaned her equipment. In this humidity, rust was a real problem, Ari had been told. Ari knew little about guns or weapons of war, but Inca's knowledge of warfare had shown her that a woman could be anything.
One moment Inca was a healer nursing the sick, another, a warrior in full armament.
Inca's compassion was renowned, according to
Aroka's
wife. The villagers of
Amazonia
always looked forward to her visiting them. The old, infirm and sick would line up and wait patiently as she placed her hands on each of them.