Fire Dancer

Chapter 1 My heart dances with the leaping flames of the campfire. Mom never cared much for poetry, said she had no use for it in what she faced every day, but the cadence of words speaks to me. Kind of stupid when you consider who I am and what I do. There is more to a soul than what others see. The flames mesmerize me. I hold my hands over the flickering light and take a deep breath I close my eyes. We used to roast hot dogs over a fire in our backyard, just me and Mom, in fall when the stars were clear and close and the air was a blade in my throat. The Navajo witch settles beside me. I'm not afraid, even though my breath sounds in my ears. Shrouded by wolf skins, he seems to grow bigger. People have told me there's no such thing as a skinwalker. They are wrong. The hair on the back of my neck rises, almost as if it's saluting the magic of the imposing figure. The heat he radiates is as bewitching as the flames. The witch begins to chant and drops something into the fire. It flares into the black Arizona sky. Color rises deep in the smoke, and I peer closer, longing to grasp the power that thrums around me like an unseen drum. The Navajo witch focuses his dark eyes on me, and I straighten. I am worthy. Suffering produces character, and my suffering is exquisite, like the hottest flame. "You are not ready," the witch says. "I see no pain in your face." His low, guttural voice vibrates with power, a power I will have, no matter what it takes. Can he not see the suffering that screams inside me? Curling my hands into fists, I force my anger back to its cave and peer into the man's unblinking stare. "I'm ready," I say in a steady voice. He shakes his head. "Not yet. Becoming a skinwalker takes much discipline. Many years. It is not a weapon you can grasp in your hand like a bow or a gun." "I know." Power fills me, a sense of destiny no one can steal from me. "I will do whatever it takes." He finally nods. "I will set you a series of tasks to do, but it will take time. One day, your soul will change at your calling." "Tell me what to do." My voice is hoarse as I lean forward. Instead of answering, the witch bends and picks up a firebrand. The red-hot end is in his hand, but he doesn't seem to feel the heat. My respect rises like the smoke ascending above our heads. Someday I will own his power. He holds out the brand. "If you take it, you'll know what to do." He who hesitates is lost, and I'm about to be found. I grasp the flame in my hand. A cry rises in my chest as the pain sears my hand, and I know I am right. Fire is my calling. "You're not pigged in." Tess Masterson raised her voice above the roar of the DC-3's engines. Cooper Johnston, known as Coop to the rest of the smokejumpers, looked back at her and nodded. He attached the pigtail of his restraining line to the clip, then took a firm grip on the cargo-door handles. As the team's spotter, he took responsibility for making sure they hit the target. "Guard your reserves," Coop said as he opened the door. The jumpers all put a protective hand on their spare chute. The sudden influx of air had been known to inflate a reserve parachute and sweep the hapless jumper out of the plane and to his death when the lines tangled. The rush of mountain air blew through the plane filled with smokejumpers and their gear. Tess peered past Coop. Below her was the jump target, a heavy pine forest atop Horse Mountain on the northern cusp of Hellsgate Wilderness. A wisp of smoke wafted up through the pine treetops. The trees parted around a clearing, and she could see a line of fire crackling toward a cabin. A man on a small tractor was plowing up the meadow in an effort to stop the blaze, an effort that showed he knew something about fighting wildfire. He needed help though, and fast. Tess watchedCoble, Colleen is the author of 'Fire Dancer ' with ISBN 9781595541390 and ISBN 159554139X.