Page 78 of Dark Shaman: The Lost Treasure
"Speaking of your shaman," Sarah said, "I've been doing research."
Tamira's attention sharpened. "Oh?"
"I was curious about shamanic practices." Sarah adjusted her glasses in the way she did when preparing to share scholarly insights. "Where did he say he was from?"
"He said he was Armenian," Tamira said.
"Yes, that's what I thought. The Armenian highland has ancient shamanic traditions dating back thousands of years. They still have them to this day, so his calling himself a shaman is not as unusual as I thought."
Tamira thought of her conversations with Elias over the past week while picking at her breakfast. The way he'd discussed historical events with the immediacy of personal experience,then caught himself and added qualifiers like "I've read that" or "historians say." His knowledge of trade routes that hadn't been used in generations, describing them with the detail of someone who'd walked them.
"You're very quiet," Beulah said with her kind voice. "Is something troubling you?"
"No," Tamira said quickly. "I was just thinking about what Sarah said. Maybe I should read up on shamanism. Get some insight."
After breakfast, Tamira made her way to the library. It had become her refuge over the centuries. It was extensive and relatively current if one knew how to navigate the restrictions. Was Navuh even aware of the multitudes of books being delivered regularly to the harem? He must be. Nothing on this island happened without his approval, including the kinds of books that found their way to the library.
There was nothing about politics or current events, and she and the others pieced together information from recent fiction books that mentioned what was going on in the world and reflected how different societies functioned these days. It was fascinating and frustrating at the same time.
She could use her imagination to picture herself living in New York, working in a fashion house or a modeling agency. She was too short to model clothing, but she could be a world-famous actress or a cosmetics model. The obvious problem was that no one knew about immortals in the human world, so if there were any immortals living among the masses, they were hiding their identities and were not allowing themselves to become famous.
Tamira found her usual corner, where her Sanskrit texts waited. But today she bypassed them, moving instead to the section onmythology and folklore. If Elias wouldn't tell her his secrets, perhaps she could puzzle them out herself.
She pulled down volumes on ancient civilizations, hoping to find something about shamanism within them.
"Anything interesting?” Elias said from behind her.
Startled, Tamira nearly dropped the book. "Research," she said, closing the volume perhaps too quickly. "For my translations."
His eyes flicked to the spine, reading the title in Russian without hesitation. "Traditions of the Caucasus helps you with Sanskrit translation?"
Heat rose in her cheeks. "I was taking a break. Comparative mythology interests me."
"I see." He moved around her chair, settling into the one beside it. "And what have you learned?"
There was something in his tone—not quite warning, but close. She met his gaze steadily. "That mythologies and traditions are far more complex than most people realize, and that there is very little mention of shamanism. The only thing I found was a comment about the depth of knowledge and the many years of training required to master it."
"It's a calling, not a skill one learns."
She let it drop, though questions burned on her tongue. "How was your day?"
"One of the servants is pregnant and having difficulties. I prepared some remedies to ease her discomfort."
Always so helpful, always needed. It was part of what drew her to him—that instinct to heal, to ease suffering wherever he found it.
"Are you going to join me for lunch?" she asked. "Or will the pregnant servant require more of your attention?"
He took her hand, threading their fingers together, and for a moment, they sat in silence, surrounded by the ever-present unspoken truths.
"What are we doing, Elias?" she asked softly.
"I don't know," he admitted. "I didn't plan for this to go where it did."
"But here we are."
"Here we are." He brought her hand to his lips, kissing each knuckle with reverence. "I can't seem to stay away from you, no matter how much wisdom might dictate otherwise. I still have so much work today, but I had to take a break and come see you like an addict needing his fix."
"Then sit with me a little bit. Tell me about your travels. Not the big things, not the secrets you guard so carefully. Just the small moments. What was your favorite market? Where did you see the most beautiful sunset? What food made you understand why people call taste a gateway to memory?"
