Wind Raker - Book IV of The Order of the Air (28 page)

"I reckon I'd try to save the world."

Gilchrist smiled.

"M
itch?" Alma's voice broke through his reverie. "I said, there's Molokai. We're off a little to the west. We need to correct our course."

"Oh, sorry Al." Mitch shook himself, making the minute adjustments necessary to get back on track. "Gathering wool."

Al folded the map. "What were you thinking about so hard?"

"Gil," Mitch said. He glanced at her sideways. "All the stuff he taught me. Everything I owe him."

Al nodded slowly. There was no pain in her face, just the ghost of a smile. "He was pretty wonderful, wasn't he?"

"Yeah." He shook his head. "I don't know why he took a chance on me. Telling me stuff. I must have seemed pretty whitebread. I mean, compared to you and Jerry…"

"You wanted it," Al said. "That's the only requirement: a willing heart and an open mind. It's not about talent or birth. It's about dedication. And you've got that in spades." There was a long silence, and then Al chuckled. "And if you're only whitebread compared to me and Jerry, I think that makes you stranger than almost anybody!"

"Maybe so, Al," he said. "But the company's real good."

D
ouglas stuck his head around the kitchen door hopefully. It was the middle of the afternoon. Mrs. Sorley had the record player set up in the kitchen playing some kind of bouncy song, and she was sitting at the kitchen table wearing black satin lounging pajamas with a cigarette in the long lacquered holder smoking in a bright red ashtray. She had a pair of Mr. Sorley's shoes and tracing around them onto a piece of newspaper. She put the shoes down and started cutting out the outlines, humming cheerfully.

Douglas ambled in. "Wha'cha doing?" There were about ten sets of shoe outlines piled on the edge of the table all cut out of newspaper.

"Making feet," she said. "Want to help?"

"Sure." Douglas sat down at the table and she handed him the pen and the shoes.

"Draw about six more pairs, darling."

"Ok." He put the shoes down on newspaper, concentrating with his tongue sticking out while he drew around them. And around them. And one more time around. Mr. Sorley sure did have big shoes. "What are you making feet for?"

"We're learning the Continental," she said. "It's a dance. We didn't have time to learn it before we came, so we're going to learn it now."

"With newspaper feet?" Douglas felt like he was missing something. Though it was fun to trace shoes. He'd never seen anyone do that before.

"I sent off for a mail order kit," Mrs. Sorley said. She took a long draw on the cigarette and dropped it back in the ashtray, then handed him a piece of paper. It looked like endless footprints and dotted lines chasing each other around. "See? These are the steps for the Continental. It's an update of the carioca, but it's so popular this year, and it's terribly showy without any lifts at all."

Douglas frowned at the paper. It looked like the picture in Winnie-the-Pooh where they think there's a Heffalump but there isn't and so Pooh and Piglet go round and round a bunch of bushes. "Huh?"

"What I'm going to do when we get done making feet is we'll move the table back and tape them to the kitchen floor. Then all Mr. Sorley and I have to do to learn to dance the Continental is just stand on the feet and follow them. Like playing hopscotch, darling. We just jump from one footprint to another!"

"And that's fun?"

Mrs. Sorley shrugged. "It is for us."

Douglas considered. It did sound a lot like hopscotch. Which was worth pursuing, since Jimmy was reading a book and Merilee and Dora were taking naps. "Would you teach me to dance?"

Her lipsticked mouth elongated in a wide smile. "Of course, darling! If you want to. Let's tape these feet to the floor and we can try out the Continental!"

"Ok."

They taped the feet down. Or rather, she told him where to put them, consulting the really complicated picture, and he did the taping. It kind of did look like a Heffalump was chasing them.

"Now I have the record," she said, going over to move the needle back to the start. "It came with the instructions as a package. So I'll put it on and you run and get in the first position. Stand on the first feet. That's right." She came and stood in front of him, beaming. "Now! Put your right arm on my waist like that. Perfect, darling. Now take my hand with your left hand. That's how we start."

It felt very grown up to stand like that. Like Fred Astaire. He bet he looked like Fred Astaire. Even though he was wearing short pants instead of a tuxedo. Douglas stood up very straight.

"Ok, now. On the beat. Hop to the next feet!"

Douglas hopped. He landed with one foot on top of her foot as the peppy music swelled.

"Don't worry about it," she said quickly. "Just jump to the next one. Now!"

They jumped. This time he didn't land on her foot.

"Again!"

They jumped. Or rather he jumped and she stepped. But it actually worked. This kind of turned them around. On the record, a girl started singing along with the music, "It's daring, the Continental." He could be daring. He could be ultra-new. Yeah.

"Jump!" Another set of feet, turning around again. She was laughing. His tongue was sticking out in concentration and she didn't tell him to put his tongue back in his mouth the way his teacher always did. "Now on the next one let go of my waist so I can swing out."

"Ok." Douglas wasn't sure what a swing out was, but he let go.

"Jump!"

"What are you doing?" Jimmy's voice cut through the music and Douglas froze.

"Dancing," he said. He let go and turned around, swallowing hard. That sound in Jimmy's voice made his stomach hurt.

Mrs. Sorley had stopped, standing in the middle of the room on the newspaper feet in her black pajamas looking like Merilee when she was in trouble.

Douglas had to say something. "I was just helping her cut out feet and I asked Momma if she'd teach me too…."

Jimmy's eyes were blazing. "Mrs. Sorley is not our mother," he said quietly. "She's nothing like our mother." He turned and walked out the door.

Douglas hurried after him, grabbing him in the hall. "Well, no, but she's nice and…."

Jimmy's face was very white. "Do you even remember our mother? Do you?" He put both hands on Douglas's shoulders, his fingers digging in. "Her name was Alice and she was quiet and good and she never raised her voice and she liked to read. Do you remember? She read to us. She read us books and she told us stories and when she was sick we'd climb on the bed with her, one on each side, and she'd read to us. Don't you remember that?" He looked like he was about to cry. Or maybe to hit something. "She read to us all the time. She wanted us to love books. And when she got so sick she couldn't read anymore they came and took her to St. Francis and she died there and never came home. That was our real mother!" He looked furiously toward the kitchen. "
She
doesn't even know how to be a proper mother, hanging around the house in pajamas all day and smoking all the time and drinking gin. Our mother never drank gin! She got dressed and she cooked proper meals and she told us not to eat too many sweets and to be polite and think of others and she wasn't a…" He balled up his fists like he was going to say something awful. "She wasn't a hoochie-koochie woman!"

"A what?" Douglas said.

"We have a mother," Jimmy said, and he let go, walking toward the front door. "Our mother is in heaven. Merilee doesn’t remember her and I don't think you do either. But I do. She was a real mother. She was good!" He went out the front door and slammed it behind him.

"Oh," Douglas said to the silent living room. "Oh."

T
he Catalina settled neatly onto the waves off the coast of Molokai, rocking gently as she came to rest, and Alma killed the engines with a sigh that was almost regret. She was really coming to love this plane. The Terrier was Mitch's darling and Lewis preferred something lighter and faster, but the Cat was rapidly becoming her favorite.

Mitch took his headset off. "Ok," he said quietly. "What's the drill? I take it you and Jerry figured out how to ward the plane? Without painting anything on it?"

Alma nodded. "Without doing anything that the guys back at the machine shop will notice."

"I reckon if you needed a gallon of my aftershave you'd have said so," Mitch said with a grin. "So what are we using?"

"Milk and eggs," Alma said. "It's a blessing from the Ploiaphesia."

"From the what?" Lewis stuck his head over the back of Alma's seat.

"Isn't that for ships?" Mitch asked.

"Ships, sea planes, same difference." Alma grinned back. "If the ancient Egyptians had sea planes, they probably would have blessed them."

"Ok," Mitch said.

"I'm still not there," Lewis said patiently, and Al turned around in her seat. "Remember that ritual at Henry's, the first one I took you to when Jerry was looking at the curse tablet? That was a Ploiaphesia. It's a blessing of ships."

"The one with the canoe in the swimming pool?" Lewis looked bemused.

"Well, yes, but more to the point, it's a warding of things that help you travel over water." Alma patted the Cat's side lovingly. "Which the Cat certainly is. So we're going to bless it like a ship with the closest approximation of Hellenistic ceremony Jerry can write for us to do on the fly."

"Hopefully not actually on the fly," Mitch said.

Lily had come up behind Lewis. "What's going on? Is something wrong?" She looked drawn, as though braced to be told she'd screwed up.

"We're talking about warding the plane," Alma said calmly.

Lily flinched. "I don't…."

"I'm their Magister," Alma said, making her voice as even as if she were explaining that she owned Gilchrist Aviation. "Mitch and Lewis are in my Lodge. Since you're concerned that there may be a curse, we've decided to ward the plane just in case. That should take care of any negative energy focused on you or these trials."

Lily blinked. "But you can't. I mean, it's too strong."

"I doubt that," Alma said firmly, getting to her feet. "Mitch and I have been practicing together for more than fifteen years, and we've all dealt with things of this nature before. We'll simply neutralize any unpleasant influence."

Lily looked spooked. "But you can't," she said quickly. "You have no idea. Mrs. Segura, you have no idea how strong he is! You have no idea how much power he has at his disposal!"

"So do we," Alma said. She met Lily's eyes directly, trying to project calm confidence. "We're more than capable of handling this."

"I haven't been in circle since…" Her eyes dropped. "I don't think I can…"

"There's nothing you need to do," Alma said. "This doesn't take the form of a conventional circle." Which was something she and Jerry had discussed — it had to work if there were only three people in it, and four was the usual minimum for their Lodge tradition. But there were other ways, older ways that didn't rely on a collegial unit, languages of symbols far older than the ones they usually employed. They were more energy intensive, relied more on the strength of a single individual, but as Alma had talked it through with Jerry she'd been certain she could handle it. She turned to Lewis. "Hey, Lewis. Will you get out the picnic basket?"

Lily looked confused as Lewis opened it, as well she might: packets of sandwiches wrapped in wax paper, sliced pineapple in a jar, hardboiled eggs, bottled cokes, and a bottle of milk. "That looks like your lunch."

"Doesn't it?" Alma said with a smile, extracting the bottle of milk and the top egg and examining it. "This one's raw."

Mitch looked fascinated. "Ok, this is pretty nifty."

Alma pushed back the canopy above her seat and climbed out, balancing neatly on the Cat's broad back in front of the wings. "Come on, everybody. Mitch on my right, Lewis on my left. Lily, you stand wherever there's room."

They had to squeeze, Lily stepping back between the props with Lewis standing more at her back than at her side, a reassuring presence behind her. She gave him a quick smile, and he nodded. "Don't let me fall off."

"I won't," Lewis said. It would be easy to slip and fall down the Catalina's side into the sea.

She handed Mitch the bottle of milk. "You get to be the hierophant."

"Suits me," he said.

Alma closed her eyes, the egg in her right hand, both hands at her sides. Everyone stilled. With her eyes closed, every other sense seemed magnified. She could smell the salt air touched with the warm, oily scent of the plane, the faint whisper of Mitch's aftershave, the fainter scent of Lewis' skin, beloved and familiar. The waves lapped at the plane's floats, at her curved belly like a ship, splashing a little as the Cat rocked gently on the calm sea. Far above a sea bird cried. The sun was warm on her face, cool on her back where the shadow of the wing fell across her, and Alma tilted her face up to the light. Ocean. Salt. Wind. Sun.

Not my power but yours
, Alma thought.
Not my element, but yours. Gracious Lady, forgive us if we offend.

The sea was quiet, the sun warm. The breeze touched her face like a blessing. Alma stood at the center of the world.

Her voice was strong but not loud as she began the invocation Jerry had written. "Isis Pelagia, Lady of the Seas. Isis Euploia, Lady of Good Sailing. Isis Pharia, Lady of the Journey's Safe Return. By threefold names I invoke Thee. We journey the oceans of the world under stars that are Yours. We follow the paths of the mariners, the high paths of the air. We invoke You. We beseech You — grant us safety in our journeys. Bless this vessel in which we travel. Bless these wings that carry us and the floats that hold us safe on the sea. Bless these engines that power us. Bless these instruments that guide us beneath the vault of heaven."

She paused. There was power, yes, but it was not the raw power of earth she was used to, the bright indomitable power like a blade. This was quiet, peaceful. It was like falling asleep in Lewis' arms.