Dr. Musa Jiwé is the Chief Medical Officer for the Gaiians, his official title is Servant of the Stone. Along with the title comes a cave full of stones and the weight of all the healing gems grafted to his bones. This renders him unable to feel even the simplest touch. Kinda puts a crimp on his love life. Until the night he dreams the death of a stranger who is en route to visit his remote village on Mount Kilimanjaro. He intercepts her and turns her party around, but Kilimanjaro has other plans and sends them careening toward a new destiny.
Dr. Ranae Mills is given six months to live. Queue in the bucket list. First up, visit the slope of Kilimanjaro with one catch. Return the stones her grandmother pressed into her hand before she left on the trip. Returning the stones will cure her and lift the family curse that threatens her life. Simple. However, nothing is ever simple in her life, especially when she encounters a brooding man who can talk to a mountain and cure illnesses with a swipe of his hand. He is tall, frightening, and dangerously handsome. Will he

Water and mud sluiced between the treads of the jeep, the engine growled in complaint as they drove along the wet road. It hit a rut and bounced hard, the aged struts long ago ceded their ability to soften the blow from potholes. Made of packed red earth and stones, their path wound a water-logged ribbon between the trees. Rain poured from the clouds pelting the vehicle with a fury only the gods could throw. Ranae Mills grasped the window straps to prevent herself from sliding across the seat into the driver.
A light mist greeted them when they landed at the international airport in Tanzania. Now, a small typhoon raced them up the side of Mount Kilimanjaro. Their final destination, Uulurru, a village on the far side. The road, a rock-strewed horror show, jarred every bone she owned. Ranae was not sure they would make it.
Ahead, wooden huts appeared then disappeared in the mist, like lumps of wet clay…soggy, ephemeral, otherworldly. The jeep slid sideways then straightened. Their driver, Indigwé, handled the wheel like he was used to these weather conditions. He glanced over at her. Ranae stared back, hoping her look of horror would encourage him to keep his eyes straight ahead. She was scared out of her wits, as were her two travel companions who were in the back seat, Doctor Malcolm Smith and his wife Donna. They openly prayed for a safe arrival while grasping onto each other at every sharp bend.
Indigwé apparently could read body language because he reduced his speed and attempted to calm their nerves. “No worry, ev’rybody. De sky will cry her eyes out soon. Road gets better up ahead,” he assured them.
A gust of wind battered the jeep, pushing it from one side to the other. The clouds produced even more water, pelting their vehicle with large hailstones for extra measure.
“Whoa, I think the weather has other plans.” Malcolm’s baritone voice reverberated in the confines of the jeep. He reached out to catch Donna’s slim form as she slid into him.
Indigwé fought the wheel; the jeep straightened out and soldiered on. “S’okay now. You’ll see,” Ranae tightened her belt and held on to the seat strap for dear life trying to decide if the guy was a certified optimist or completely out to lunch. The needle leaned toward the latter. She stared straight ahead, peering through the torrent, and prayed for an elusive ray of sunshine. Rain and mist obscured the view in every direction.
With her right hand, Ranae released her death grip on the strap to hold down her bosoms. They bounced with each rut they hit and her shoulders and chest ached from restraining the triple D’s in her bra.
Her thoughts spiraled down a narrow rabbit hole of gloom. As hard as she tried to stay positive, they eventually wound back to the doctor’s pronouncement before she left on this trip. He gave her six months to live.
Six months. The words echoed as if drawn down a long tube.
It was leukemia. Or so the doctors thought. Her case was unusual in every aspect of the disease. But, they all agreed, her body would eventually succumb. She chose not to let it rule her life. She would be fearless and live life to its fullest. There were alterations to her daily routine, a change in diet, a regimen of medication, not to mention extra visits to the doctor. But other than that, she managed to continue with her regular activities.
Then there was her bucket list…
It loomed large and long waiting in the wings for her to retire and start from the top. With her diagnosis, she retired early intending to travel until she was too weak to do otherwise. Bali was the first stop on her list but her grandmother insisted she go to a special village on the slopes of Mount Kilimanjaro instead. Kilimanjaro was number ten on Ranae’s bucket list but she moved it up to first after her grandmother pulled money from her savings to pay for the trip. Besides, it was best she go now while she had the strength.
Right before Ranae left for the airport, her grandmother slipped a bracelet on her right wrist. It was the one her grandmother always wore. A charm bracelet with a half dozen glass rocks attached. As far back as she could remember, Grammy never took it off. Each rock was a different color: red, blue, yellow, green, purple, and white. They were dull and in need of a good cleaning. Ranae wore it proudly. A priceless gift from a woman she cherished.
Grammy pulled her close and whispered into Ranae’s ear. These words repeated themselves on a loop in her head.

“Nae baby, take my bracelet with you to Kilimanjaro. Throw it into the mountain. Lift our family’s curse before it’s too late.

It was a silly superstition, yet Ranae loved her grandmother and would not deny her wish.
The road took a sharp bend, and the jeep tilted precariously before righting itself and moving on. Ranae removed her hand from her chest and grabbed the safety strap at the door. The way ahead soon smoothed out allowing her to relax. She fingered the bracelet Grammy had pressed into her hands. It fueled her determination to see this trip through. If I have to go, I’d rather it be on vacation instead of in a hospital attached to a shitload of tubes.
She would face this challenge as she’d done with so many others…the dissolution of her marriage, her failing health, the news that her brother was sick from the same illness. She almost canceled her flight but her brother insisted she go. No, a little rainstorm would not prevent Ranae from living her dream of walking the slopes of Kilimanjaro. This trip was her version of Make-A-Wish and she had her grandmother to thank. How Grammy chose this particular village was a secret she refused to share, but Ranae was happy to make the journey.
Suddenly, the downpour stopped leaving a mist hovering over the fields like an ethereal blanket. Indigwé brought the jeep to a halt.
“Lookee, we are about halfway,” said Indigwé. A sodden banana plantation spread before them. Dark green fronds swayed in the settling breeze. Grass of an even deeper verdigris hue carpeted the ground between the trunks.
“Wow,” Ranae whispered. As if the one word could describe the sea of emerald surrounding them.
“See, it’s as I said. De sky, she stop crying. Ev’ryt’ing gonna be okay,” Indigwé beamed.
“Maybe he’s right,” Donna warbled, still clearly shaken. Malcolm nodded in relief.
“I don’t know,” Ranae said. She unbuckled her seat belt to lean forward for a better view of the road. “The way ahead is blocked.”
At the far end of the clearing, a jeep straddled the road. Standing next to the jeep was the scariest man she had ever seen. He was tall, built with hard angles from the cut of his shoulders to the square of his jaw. His leather jacket, burnished to a rich ocher hue, cast a ruddy glow against his ebony skin. Instead of raised keloid marks on his face, a tattoo traced an intricate pattern over his features. The dark tint of the lines almost blended with his skin. Almost. The artwork looked more like something created from the South Pacific Islands than from an African culture.
“Who is that?” Ranae hated the hesitation in her voice but he unnerved her. Anger radiated from the man and all of it was directed toward them.