Hunter's Pride. Lindsay McKennaЧитать онлайн книгу.
not prepared for the changes in temperature and weather, which happen almost hourly at that elevation.”
Dev was less than twelve inches away from Kulani. He heard the breathlessness in her voice. He saw the corner of her mouth dig inward, as if she were hurting. And as he perused her more closely, he saw tiny dots of perspiration standing out on her brow. She was having a reaction to something. Him? He hoped not. His ego wouldn’t be able to handle the possibility that he bothered her. The feeling around her was one of tightness. Even her lips were compressed, no longer soft and accessible as before.
“Is it possible,” he asked, “to climb from that path down into the Kalalau Valley? It looks like the trail stops at the top of the ridge.”
Stunned by Carson’s question, Kulani felt an incredible surge of pain in her heart. She brought the helicopter to a hover well above the trail so that her passengers could get their first look at the Na Pali coastline. “Uh, yes…yes, I guess you could.” Swallowing hard, she rasped, “The trail is a point where a climber could choose to scale that wall and descend into the valley below. It’s a highly dangerous climb. The valley is twenty-two hundred feet deep, with steep, vertical, black lava walls on three sides. Your handholds are minuscule—little holes and cracks here and there. As the lava cooled, the rock became bumpy and concave, and you might get a handhold if you’re lucky. You must rely on lines and pitons to scale it. It’s very risky. People have died trying to descend from that trail into the canyon.”
Dev heard the rattling in her low voice and saw her face go ashen. He frowned as he glanced out at the red clay trail that zigged and zagged along the top of the ridge forming the northern lip of Waimea Canyon. On the other side of the ridge was one of the most photographed spectacles in the world.
The Na Pali Coast looked as if, millions of years ago, a giant had dug his sharp fingernails into the lava cliffs, leaving five gouged-out valleys in their wake. All were clothed in an incredible verdant splendor, with stubborn brush, grasses and orchids clinging to the sheer walls. Down below, he noted, was the Kalalau Valley—his target. His heart beat a little harder in anticipation as he perused the area with the eye of a mountain climber. Kulani was right: the vertical walls were covered in greenery—mostly ferns from what he could make out at this altitude. Gazing out the window toward the cobalt-blue Pacific, he saw a small trail winding across the landscape.
“What’s that other trail to the right?” he asked, pointing toward it.
Kulani gulped and tried to get a handle on her galloping pulse, her grief. She wanted to get away from the coast as soon as she could. She used Carson’s question to do just that. The deep, wide valley of Kalalau opened up beneath them in gaping splendor. On the valley floor was a river that splashed over smooth gray and black boulders, tumbling toward the ocean. “That’s known as the Kalalau Trail.”
“How do you get to it?”
“You can drive to it by going around the east end of the island. It’s a two-mile hike into Kalalau Beach—one of the toughest trails anyone will ever try. I advise good hiking boots, rain gear, a hat, water and food.”
“Not to mention a first aid kit?” Dev joked as they drew closer. They swept out over the blue-green ocean, which looked both emerald and aquamarine, depending upon the depth. White, foamy waves crashed against newly minted gold beaches uninhabited by human beings. The Na Pali Coast was forbidding from a mountain climbing perspective. But negotiable. Dev hadn’t climbed El Capitan in Yosemite for nothing. The walls of lava were just different, that was all. He felt confident he could climb down into the box canyon where the anthrax lab was reputed to be.
Kulani tried to smile, but didn’t succeed. “Yes, a first aid kit is very advisable. We get hikers all the time who trip over exposed tree roots or fall on the rocks and break an ankle.” She wanted to cry every time she saw the Kalalau Valley. It held too many bad memories and she was still tied to it emotionally, whether she wanted to be or not. Aiming her aircraft in a southeasterly direction, she brought it inland and headed toward the center of the island.
“Next, we’re going to fly very close to Manawaiopuna Falls. For those who saw the movie Jurassic Park, you’ll remember the opening sequence. This is the waterfall they shot for the picture.” Kulani concentrated on doing her job. She banked the aircraft. Below them and to her right was the spectacular waterfall.
Normally, the waterfall, which fell a thousand feet, thundering over gray and brown lava, always lifted her heart. Today, for some reason, it did not. And then she felt the gentle touch of a man’s hand on her right arm. It wasn’t a hard squeeze, but one that instantly soothed her grief.
“Ms. Dawson, any chance of hovering for a sec while I get a photo of this beauty?”
Jack Carson—again—only this time, she craved his touch. For as big a man as he was, with obvious strength and power exuding from him like a ten-million-watt sun, his touch was surprisingly gentle. He was a surprise, Kulani realized. As his fingertips left her arm, she stammered, “Well, s-sure…” and she halted the helicopter and turned it so that he could get a full view of the waterfall. There was a rainbow down below, in the mist near the oval pool at the waterfall’s base, and she knew the shot would be breathtaking.
“Thank you, Ms. Dawson.” Dev grinned broadly. He saw her nod, although her eyes never left the control panel in front of her. He felt the aircraft move gently to the left. What had possessed him to touch her? And he had liked doing it. In fact, his hand had been itching like fire itself to reach out and touch her. He was surprised at the firmness and muscle beneath that silky blouse she wore. The moment he’d touched her, she’d responded, and he had felt her strength, realizing there was nothing weak about this woman.
“I want to take you to the heart of my island,” Kulani said in a softened, husky tone. “The heart of the Hawaiian people is bound by everything around them—the air, the birds that fly in it, the life-giving ocean, the fish and the land creatures.” She banked the helicopter toward a large crater clothed in olive, avocado and emerald colors. “I’m going to take you inside the middle of Mount Waialeale, our largest dormant volcano. Only this isn’t just any volcano. This is the soul of Kauai, and of our people,” she continued in a hushed tone.
Dev was instantly snared by her low, honeyed voice as she told the story of her people, at the same time taking the helicopter downward. He saw a circular shaped, cavernous hole coming up. It looked like a dark, gaping wound in the landscape.
“Waialeale is the heart of our island, of our spiritual link with nature. Just enjoy as I slowly move the aircraft down into the central cone, where once, millions of tons of red-hot lava spewed out….”
Dev tensed. That crater was a good thousand feet deep. The walls were slick, gleaming with moisture provided by the clouds that hung above the volcano. The lava inside the walls was either black or a reddish, rusty color.
Kulani’s control of the aircraft was impeccable, for they moved smoothly over the lip and then sank down, down, downward. The shadows deepened, and as he looked up, he saw bright blue sky and sunlight far above him, but now they were in the embrace of the volcano. The shadow swallowed them up. The sky began to recede more and more as they descended deeply into the sacred crater.
“I’m sure all of you can feel it,” Kulani said with reverence. “We call this manna. It is the energy of spirit—of this volcano, of the old gods and goddesses of Hawaii, who still live here. We are privileged to experience it, to feel it….” She watched her instrument panel closely. The volcano crater was wide, but she only had about a fifty foot clearance on any side, so any abrupt move on her part would send them crashing into the mighty lava walls and tumbling to their deaths.
“In the olden times, when a king died, his body was dropped into this volcano. It was a sign of his greatness, and the living on of his mighty spirit.” Kulani gently touched the controls, turning the helicopter in a complete circle. She heard the gasps of pleasure, the cries of “Look!” and she smiled. Some of the pain she’d felt earlier was loosening its grip on her. Just being able to descend into this volcano was a healing for Kulani. And she found herself thinking that Jack Carson was healing,