Wind Raker - Book IV of The Order of the Air (39 page)

“Thank you,” Lily said, looking more settled, and Alma unfastened the door.

She managed to take Lewis aside while Finch’s men were readying the boat, and he considered the question for a long moment, his eyes unfocusing as he searched his own senses. “I really don’t see anything,” he said at last. “I mean, I know Pelley’s here, but I don’t think he’s paying any attention to us. It’s like he’s looking somewhere else, and I have no idea where.”

“Good enough,” Alma said.

They got Jerry into the nose turret with some difficulty, Lewis taking most of his weight while Mitch steadied him, and then Lewis retreated to the navigator’s compartment with Jimmy while Alma and Mitch went through the preflight checklists and fired up the engines. Hickam Tower was talking in her headset, directing traffic on their own field and in the harbor, and she listened with half an ear, waiting for their own name to come through. They were well down the queue, behind a flight of Army fighters, and she didn’t need to be able to see the navigator’s compartment to know that Lewis was craving his head to catch a glimpse of their takeoff. They got permission to taxi out to the main lane, and then for takeoff, and she shoved the throttles forward, unable to suppress a grin.

She banked east out of the harbor, threading the channel between Oahu and Molokai where they’d seen the
Emden
, then set her course to keep the islands steady off her starboard wing. The plan was to skim the northern coast of Molokai, then cross Maui and the Maui Channel to follow the coast over Hilo before turning to crisscross the island. Jerry would get a decent look at the ground, and she and Mitch would get to see how the Cat reacted to being taken up and over the mountains. Volcanoes, she amended, with a quick grin. She’d never seen a volcano from the air before — never seen one at all, for that matter — and she couldn’t help wondering if she would be able to see smoke and lava.

She brought the Cat down to five thousand feet as they crossed the Maui Channel, and then to three thousand as they passed down the coast, Mauna Kea rising ten thousand feet above them in the island’s center. At the mountain’s base, the ground was vivid green, even more lush than on Oahu, and she could feel the wind rushing down the mountain’s slopes. Hilo passed beneath their wingtip, buildings crowded between the tropical slopes and the funnel-shaped harbor, and Mitch spoke on the pilots’ channel.

“So what exactly is the plan?”

“Time to test how she climbs,” Alma answered. “We’ll head out to sea just a bit, then come in over the center of the island. We’ll keep three thousand feet between us and the ground, and that’ll bring us right up to our ceiling.”

“Good thing it’s a nice clear day,” Mitch said.

“I suppose that’s the point of testing in Hawaii,” Alma answered. “If there are no problems, we’ll cross back, and then we can do a slow circuit of the island for Jerry.”

“Works for me,” Mitch answered, and Alma tipped the Cat into a gentle turn.

She repeated the plan on the intercom’s main channel, and checked her instruments as she lined up on the steep slopes. Everything looked good, all systems in order, and she pulled back on the wheel as they approached the beach. Here the land showed barren patches, the green broken by fans of open ground. Of bare rock, she amended, or very nearly. Those were the marks of the volcanoes, new land not yet softened by vegetation. All the islands must have looked like that once, even the farmlands of Oahu.

“I’m going to aim between the two peaks for this pass,” she said aloud, and Mitch answered smoothly.

“Between the two peaks. Where are you planning on topping out?”

“Thirteen thousand for starters. Plenty of room.” Both the peaks were taller, but only by a little, and there was plenty of room between.

She pulled back on the wheel again, feeling the air around them stiffen, wind coming down off the slopes — more wind than there should be, and at a sudden speed that jarred the control surfaces under her hands.

“What the hell?” Mitch said, grabbing his own controls more tightly, and Alma shook her head.

“Where did that come from —“ She broke off, swearing under her breath as the Cat hit a downdraft. She muscled it up again, and switched to the general channel. “Lewis, Jerry, can you tell if anything’s wrong?”

Mitch swore again, but she couldn’t spare the time to answer. The air coming off the slopes was like a river, a waterfall, battering the Cat and driving it down toward the steep slopes. It was taking all her strength to hold it — all both their strength, she could feel Mitch pulling, too, and Lewis said, “I don’t like the feel of this wind. It’s — there’s a hand behind it.”

“Bill.” Lily’s voice was small and terrified. “Oh, God, he’s found me.”

“The plane is warded,” Alma snapped. “You’re safe in it.”

“Until he brings it down.” Lily wavered for a moment on the edge of hysteria, then steadied. “The engines are starting to overheat. I’m opening all the vents.”

That was from fighting against the headwind. They needed to abort, Alma thought, turn around and get back out to sea, but she wasn’t sure the Cat could take the strain. She touched the rudder, and felt the Cat buck and slide, so that she had to struggle for control. At least they were still climbing, though slowly — too slowly, she realized, fear stabbing through her. They were shallowing out and the mountains were rising ever more steeply ahead of them, lines that would converge in a fiery crash —

“Lewis, Jerry —“ She hesitated, added the third name. “Lily. I need some room — breathing space, I can’t turn her in this wind. You have to get me clear.”

“I can help,” Mitch said, and she shook her head.

“I can’t hold her alone. It’s up to them.”

“We’ll do what we can,” Jerry said, and Alma bent her attention to the controls.

Chapter Seventeen

J
erry braced himself against the uncomfortable metal framing, trying not to see the mountainside flashing below him, all too visible through the bombardier’s window. The slopes showed vivid green, tangled vegetation, slashed here and there by strips of open ground where the jungle had not yet reclaimed the new lava. And it was all coming closer in spite of Alma’s best efforts. He could feel the plane shuddering, fighting — Alma had said wind, a headwind, and they would have to stop it.

He released one hand to cross himself, struggling to find his center in the howl of air and engines. He could feel the power now, enormous, impossible strength bent against them, turned the wind that normally came off the slopes into a gale powerful enough to drive the Catalina into the ground. They couldn’t stop that, not the three of them, him and Lewis and Lily; they weren’t strong enough to oppose that massive blow directly. Air and water…

“Lily. When were you born?”

“What?”

“Lily!” Lewis said sharply. There was a snap from the intercom, a spark of static. “Answer him!”

“February. Aquarius.” Her voice was high and sharp in Jerry’s ears. “Aries moon.”

Air and water, Jerry thought. It was all air and water between them, with a touch of fire from Lily’s Aries moon. Air to air was a contest of strength, and they couldn’t win; water wasn’t much help. Jimmy? He dismissed the thought almost as it formed. Young as he was, without training or any kind of experience, there was nothing he could do. Air and water make clouds, clouds make rain — not helpful, that, but —

“Jerry,” Mitch began, and Alma interrupted.

“Stay on the controls, damn it. It’s going to take both of us to hold her.”

Jerry closed his eyes, shutting out the voices and the ground blurred beneath him. Air and water and cloud. There was something there, something Gil had told him once, sitting on the porch looking at the birds soaring against the Rockies… “Thermals,” he said aloud. “Lift —“

“There aren’t any,” Mitch said tightly, and Jerry ignored him.

“Lewis, Lily, we need lift.”

For a moment, there was nothing, and then he felt Lewis reach out to him, energy flowing along the channels they had built over four years of Lodge work. Jerry seized it gratefully, wedding it to his own will, the words forming in his mind.

“Aeolus, Wind-Keeper, send us a south wind, a rising wind.” He could feel the power building, Lewis’s greater strength buttressing his own. “From out of the southeast, send Apeliotes to lift us.”

It was there, but not enough, the power shredding as it met the onrushing north wind.

“A south wind, a rising wind, Aeolus.”

“Lily,” Lewis said, his voice crackling in the headphones. “Lily, help us!”

There was a choked sound, like a sob, and suddenly she was there as well, her touch clumsy but effective, and Jerry seized the energy she offered. She was strong, stronger than he’d expected, and it took an instant to get a handle on it.

“Wind-Keeper! A wind from the southeast, Apeliotes, a wind from the sea —“

He could feel it now, weaving into his words, air and sea and the spark of flame that called to the fire that lay very close beneath the ground. Lewis’s familiar strength flowed into him, steady and firm and everything he had. Lily’s touch was less familiar, but powerful, fear transmuted to anger that rose like the flames beneath the ground. A warm wind, rising from that fire, from the jungle, building behind them, beneath them. In the bombardier’s window, the ground was closer still, rock and green flashing past almost close enough to make out individual plants.

“A rising wind, Aeolus, a south wind —“

The Cat lifted suddenly, the ground dropping away as the onrushing air eased, and Mitch shouted, “Now, Al!”

Jerry felt the left wing dip, the side of the plane dropping away beneath him, and the big plane rotated on its wingtip. “Wind-Keeper —“

His power was fading, the bone-cold wind from the north rushing in, but the Cat had her tail to it now. She bounced and shuddered, but rode the blast like a gull. Jerry closed his eyes, bracing himself against the sides of the compartment.
Aeolus, I thank you, Apeliotes, I am grateful….
The rest was up to Alma.

A
lma checked her instruments again, the Cat bucking under her hands. They were holding altitude at last, and the ground was dropping away below them: they weren’t going to crash into the mountain, at least, but warning lights were flashing on the engine panels, both big engines running hot.

“Throttle back?” Mitch asked, the tendons standing out in his hands as he held the wheel steady.

“I need the power,” Alma answered. “Lily!”

For a long moment, there was no answer, but then Lily’s voice sounded in the headphones, cracked and worn but steady. “I have the vents wide open, but the temperature’s not dropping. You’ll have to cut the throttle or we’ll have to put down.”

Alma eased the throttle back as much as she dared, the Cat rocking under her, but the red light kept blinking. They could reach the ocean, she thought, but it wasn’t exactly protected water — no nice bays along this coast — and if they couldn’t anchor, they’d be driven on the rocky shore.

“Temperature’s dropped about fifteen degrees,” Lily reported, “but we’re still running in the red.”

The stern wind was easing, Alma thought, the pressure on the control surfaces less intense. It was a natural wind again, Pelley’s malice spent. And when she got hold of him — She killed that thought. If she could turn back east, there was a town west of Cape Kumukahi — but it wasn’t on the coast. Still, someone might see them, be able to launch a boat. “How long can we keep running without blowing them up entirely?”

“Fifteen, twenty minutes? It’s pushing them hard,” Lily answered.

They’d be over the ocean in ten minutes, Alma thought, maybe less. If she set them down, let the engines cool, there was a good chance they’d be able to fly back to Honolulu without any problems. The swell had been low, well within what the Cat was supposed to be able to handle — this was an excellent test, only she would have preferred slightly more preparation.

“Lewis, radio the tower at Hilo, let them know we’re having a mechanical problem and are settling down south of —“ She looked at Mitch, who shrugged.

“There’s not much here, Al, sorry. Looks like all lava flows.”

“It’s marked on my map as the 1823 lava flow,” Lewis said calmly. “They ought to recognize that.”

“Right.” Alma took a deep breath, throttled back a little further. They were over lava now, a weird dark purple rock pocked with what looked like thousands of holes, like the bubbles in a pancake. Surf foamed at its edge, vivid white against the rocks. The port engine skipped, and came back, its beat ragged, but she kept the Cat steady on her heading. The tail wind was still steady, but there was none of the malice she had felt before, and she spared a quick glance at the bombardier’s compartment. “Jerry? You ok?”

“I’m fine.”

She could hear the exhaustion in his voice, but that was only to be expected. “Jimmy?” There was no answer, and she frowned. “Lewis? Is Jimmy all right?”

“Sorry, Al,” Lewis said. “Looks like his headset was unplugged.”

“I’m all right, Mrs. Segura,” Jimmy said, in almost the same moment, and Alma allowed herself a sigh of relief. If Lewis had managed to unplug the boy’s headset, maybe there wouldn’t be quite so many awkward explanations for later.

“Good,” she said aloud. “Everybody, make sure you’re strapped in. I’m going to put us down as soon as we get over open water.”

There was a disjointed murmur of agreement, and Lily said, “We’re on the red line again. As soon as you can.”

“Roger that,” Alma said. She brought the Cat around in a sweeping turn, heading back into the wind, and flipped the signal switch. “Lower the floats.”

“Floats are lowered,” Lily answered, and the confirming light flashed on the control board. “Floats are locked.”

Alma let the Cat drop lower, shedding speed as well, heading back into the wind that came down the mountainside. Three hundred feet, a hundred, the waves flashing past with only a curl of foam licking at the top of the swell. Fifty feet, and then they were down, the heavy hull cutting into the water. She heard Lily adjust the engines, throttling back to minimum power, and Lewis spoke in her ear.