Fire in the Ocean

by K. D. Keenan

  “I’m going anyway,” she had told Clancy. At his look of surprise, she added, “Remember? My job is paying for it. I have to go so I can report on the wildlife conservation work on Midway.” Sierra worked for Clear Days Foundation as a communications executive.

  “Oh. Well, sure. I just thought…”

  “I’d like to ask Chaco to go with me,” Sierra had said. “That okay with you?”

  There was a long silence. “Chaco? Isn’t he with Kaylee? Wouldn’t that be kind of awkward?”

  “I thought you knew. Kaylee is dating someone named Guy now. She moved on. Kaylee always moves on.”

  “Oh. Well, what about taking Kaylee with you? Or Rose? Or Mama Labadie?” Clancy listed off Sierra’s closest female friends.

  “All three of them are going to some animal spirit guide workshop in Sedona, so they’re not available. Look, please don’t worry about this. Chaco and I are just friends. We’ve never been anything else. And I’m going to be on a remote island in the middle of nowhere for a month with a bunch of people I don’t know. I’d like to have a friend with me.”

  “I’m not worried. Well, maybe I am, a little. Just tell me you’re sorry that it won’t be me.”

  “I’m really, really sorry that it won’t be you!”

  He would have to be content with that.

  • • •

  Discovering that Fred had decided to stow away on the airplane was unwelcome news to Sierra. But there could be no other explanation for the ruckus among the flight attendants and that telling shriek of “Green! Monster!”

  Fred was a mannegishi. When visible, Fred looked like a green melon with pipe-cleaner arms and legs, six flexible digits on each paw, and swiveling orange eyes that resembled traffic reflectors. He had the ability to disappear at will, which had been handy in Sierra’s earlier adventures, but he was a mischievous creature with little or no impulse control and an enormous appetite. Fred was not Sierra’s first choice of companion for a visit to a delicate ecosystem populated by endangered birds.

  Now she had to deal with an errant mannegishi as well as a mortal and extremely miserable Chaco. As they walked through the loading tunnel to the gate, Sierra whispered, “How are we going to find Fred?”

  Chaco shrugged. “My guess is that Fred will find us. Don’t worry about him—he’s been around the block a few times in the past few thousand years.” He was still drawn and tired-looking, with none of his usual sexy saunter. Sierra guessed that returning to the earth had not restored his supernatural powers or immortality.

  They made their way to baggage pickup. When Chaco hefted his suitcase, he nearly dropped it, then frowned.

  “I think Fred found us,” he reported.

  Sierra looked at him, puzzled.

  “My suitcase.” He hefted it again. “It’s a lot heavier than it was when I dropped it off in San Jose. It’s either Fred or someone stuffed a bowling ball in here.”

  Sierra was horrified. “Well, let him out! He must be smothered in there.”

  “Not likely,” scoffed Chaco. He gave the suitcase a good shake. “Serves him right.”

  “What if he’s lost his powers like you have?” she hissed, not wanting to be overheard.

  “I don’t think so. He disappeared on the plane fast enough when the flight attendant started screaming. Otherwise, there would have been a lot more commotion.”

  Acknowledging that Chaco was probably right, Sierra turned her attention to finding transportation to their hotel. It was located right on Waikiki Beach and wasn’t far from the airport.

  On the bus ride to the hotel, Sierra took in the tropical plants, caught glimpses of turquoise ocean, and, cracking the window a trifle, breathed in the scent of many flowers—and the usual smells of any big city. The people walking on the streets all looked like tourists to her. Many were wearing shorts, flip-flops, and Hawai‘ian print shirts. Surely not everyone in the city is a tourist, she thought. At one point, Chaco’s suitcase began to squirm, but he kicked it sharply, and the suitcase subsided.

  Their hotel was an enormous complex of tall buildings, and they had a room on the seventeenth floor, overlooking the ocean. Sliding glass doors on a balcony opened to let in breezes, and the afternoon air smelled soft and sweet with an underlying sharper tang of salt. They dumped their suitcases on the floor—in Chaco’s case, none too gently. Chaco unzipped the bag and Fred rolled out onto the carpet.

  “Ow ow ow ow,” he complained, rubbing his fat bottom and glaring at them reproachfully.

  “It’s your own fault,” Chaco said coldly. “I’m going to bed.” He commandeered one of the two queen-size beds and pulled the covers over his head.

  “What’s his problem?” the little mannegishi asked. “He didn’t spend hours balled up in a suitcase.”

  “He’s lost his powers,” Sierra explained. “He’s a mortal now, and it disagrees with him. Anyway, why’d you do it, Fred? I asked you not to come. Now I don’t know what to do.”

  She felt nearly as weary as Chaco. The trip had started with Clancy dropping out. Now Chaco had lost his powers and become mortal—and who knew what that would mean? She supposed it would be like a human losing the ability to see, or walk. And she had to deal with Fred, too. As fond as she was of him, Fred was a nuisance at the best of times.

  “Lost his powers? How does that happen?” asked Fred, looking worried. He disappeared briefly then reappeared. He looked relieved but puzzled. “I haven’t lost my abilities. Why did Chaco lose his?”

  “He thinks it’s because he’s no longer in contact with his birth land. He says he’s cut off from the numinous, whatever that is.”

  “I dunno about numinous, but I’m still okay.”

  “How nice for you!” came an irritated growl from under the humped covers on Chaco’s bed.

  “Look, Fred, I could really use a drink right now. Disappear yourself, and we can talk. There’s got to be a bar in this hotel somewhere.”

  As it turned out, the hotel had many bars. Sierra picked one with an outdoor seating area on the beach and ordered something unfamiliar with rum in it. The drink arrived, bedecked with chunks of fresh fruit, small umbrellas, and plastic hula girls and accompanied by a bowl of peanuts. She cleared away the ornamentation, ate the fruit, and began working slowly on the remaining fluid. It was cold, tart, and sweet. She still felt grubby from the trip, but at least she was near a beach—she could see surfers from where she was sitting—with a fruity tropical drink. And an invisible mannegishi. She could see the imprint of Fred’s bottom on the chair cushion next to hers, and the peanuts were disappearing at a rapid pace. She picked up her phone and pretended to tap in a number, then said, “Hi, Fred. We can talk now.” Anyone observing would see a trim woman with tanned skin and long, dark hair, sitting alone and talking on the phone.

  “So what happened to Chaco?” Fred asked.

  “As soon as the plane took off, he started to look kind of green around the gills. Then he slumped down and acted like he was sick. He says he’s mortal now. He can die.”

  “That’s not good,” Fred observed.

  “Tell me about it,” said Sierra. “I’ve been mortal my whole life.”

  “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to be insensitive.”

  “It’s all right. I’m used to it. Chaco isn’t. Do you know if he can ever regain his connection to the numinous? Whatever that is?”

  “Dunno.”

  “And why didn’t you lose your powers?” Sierra demanded. The mannegishi was quiet for a few minutes.

  “Chaco and I aren’t exactly the same sort of thing, you know.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Chaco is—was—an Avatar. Much more powerful than a mannegishi. I’m just a, ah, kind of an…well, I don’t know exactly. I have certain powers, but what I can do is born inside me. Like bees can make honey? I can do what I do. That’s all I know.” Sierra could tell by the sounds next to her that the mannegishi was sucking his digits—a nervous habit.

  “Sto
p that!” The sucking sounds ceased, and the peanuts began to disappear again. Sierra flagged a passing waiter and asked for more peanuts and another round of whatever she was drinking.

  “What about your powers?” Fred asked abruptly. Sierra sat for a moment, considering. She had discovered during her earlier struggles against the Aztec god Necocyaotl that she possessed certain disturbing powers of her own. Rose had helped her to strengthen her control over these powers, but Sierra still didn’t understand how they worked. Given a choice, she preferred not thinking about them. But Fred’s question was a good one, so she closed her eyes and searched for the glowing ribbons she visualized when her powers were at work. After a moment, she opened her eyes again.

  “I still have my powers, such as they are. No difference.” Why were she and Fred untouched, while Chaco had been drastically changed? The illogic of magic, as always, annoyed her, but she couldn’t do anything about the situation today. Right now, she was sitting in the Hawai‘ian sun on a Hawai‘ian beach, drinking a Hawai‘ian drink, and watching the Hawai‘ian waves. Almost against her will, she began to relax. The waiter brought her a fresh drink and another bowl of peanuts. She thanked him, took a long swallow, and closed her eyes. She began to think about Chaco and Fred and their attendant problems. Not relaxing. She opened her eyes again, only to find the rest of her drink gone, as well as all of the fruit.

  “Fred!!!”

  Chapter 2

  Sierra knew from experience that Fred with alcohol onboard was infinitely more trouble than Fred without alcohol, so she wasted no time getting the mannegishi back to the hotel room. Chaco was still under the covers, silent and unresponsive.

  Fred wanted to sing, but he had forgotten the words to “Let It Go” and was blearily attempting another favorite, “100 Bottles of Beer on the Wall.” Sierra persuaded him to curl up in a drawer with a pillow and take a nap.

  Listening to small, drunken snores from the bureau and the heavy silence from the lump under the covers on Chaco’s bed, she decided to take a walk.

  Her hotel was right on the beach, so within a few minutes Sierra was walking barefoot on the white coral sands of Waikiki. The beach was smaller than she had imagined. It was a long stretch of sand, but not very wide. Diamond Head, the towering corpse of a long-dead volcano, made a dramatic statement at the end of the sweep of beach. Hotels lined the shore as far as she could see.

  It was May and a warm day. Sierra waded into the lukewarm water up to her knees. What to do now? She had a drunken mannegishi on her hands and an Avatar who was now just an ordinary depressed guy. She thought about going home. Maybe if she took Chaco back, he would regain his powers. That would certainly cheer him up, she thought—if it worked. If it didn’t work—Sierra shuddered. It had to work. And taking Fred home was the only way to solve the Fred problem.

  All right, then. She’d get tickets for home tomorrow. So much for her first trip to Hawai‘i. So much for her eco-adventure to Midway. But that’s the way it had to be, she decided glumly. She walked for a long time, watching the happy tourists sunning on the beach and splashing in the clear, bright water. She wasn’t much for sunbathing, but now she wasn’t going to get the chance to do it in Hawai‘i. Nor would she have the chance to count albatross chicks on Midway, which apparently wasn’t everyone’s idea of a vacation, but she had been looking forward to it for months all the same.

  When she returned to the hotel, she could practically see the little black raincloud hanging over her head. She ate an early dinner alone in one of the hotel’s restaurants and turned in early.

  Chaco surprised her the next morning. When she woke, he was sitting, fully dressed, on the side of his bed.

  “I’m hungry,” he announced. He wasn’t smiling, but he wasn’t hiding under the covers, either.

  “Me too!” piped Fred, apparently none the worse for his escapade.

  “Good morning to you too,” returned Sierra tartly. She climbed out of bed, slightly self-conscious about appearing in front of Chaco in her nightgown. The room had been intended for her and Clancy, of course.

  She ordered up a large breakfast for three. Chaco and Fred always had hearty appetites. Fred disappeared when room service arrived, but as soon as the waiter left, he reappeared and flung himself on his breakfast like a starving hyena. Sierra tucked in at a more measured pace, and Chaco—even though she knew he hadn’t eaten, Chaco was picking moodily at his food.

  “I think we ought to go home today,” Sierra said, sipping a second cup of excellent coffee.

  “Oh noooooooo!” wailed Fred, pausing in the middle of his macadamia nut French toast. “We just got here. I don’t want to go home yet.” He gazed at her imploringly, maple syrup dripping down his—well, what passed for a chin.

  To her astonishment, Chaco shook his head. “No. Let’s do what we came here for. I don’t want to be the second one to completely wreck your trip.”

  “But maybe if we get you home, you’ll regain your powers.”

  “And maybe not. In any case, I guess I can put up with this for a month. And it’s probably good practice,” he said glumly, stirring his scrambled eggs with his fork.

  “Practice for what?” asked Sierra.

  “Being mortal. I may need to get accustomed to it. I think it takes practice, because you mortals walk around acting like nothing is wrong.”

  “That’s because we avoid thinking about it. Most people do, anyway—how else could we enjoy life? Anyway, nothing is wrong. For us, it’s just the way things are.”

  Chaco shuddered delicately and drank some coffee. “So, let’s just go ahead and do what you would have done in the first place.”

  “What about Fred? He’s already gotten into trouble.” She told him about Fred drinking half of her rather strong rum drink.

  “Idiot.” Chaco glowered at Fred. He really is in a bad mood, thought Sierra.

  “Hey! I didn’t break any rules. Except for the one about not coming. You always told me I couldn’t have wine or beer. You never said anything about fruity drinks.” Sierra kept wine and beer at home and had instituted the no-wine-or-beer-for-mannegishis rule after Fred drank a glass of Zinfandel and broke several dishes in a tipsy attempt to wash up.

  “Okay. Fair enough, Fred. From now on: no wine, no beer, and no drinks with alcohol in them, fruit or no fruit,” Sierra said.

  “Okay.” Fred started on scrambled eggs and bacon, having polished off the French toast.

  “So Sierra, what did you plan to do while we’re in Honolulu?” Chaco didn’t sound enormously interested.

  “If you’re sure you don’t want to go home today…?” Chaco nodded without enthusiasm. “Then I thought we could go whale watching. The waters here are a national marine sanctuary for humpback whales. It’s not too late in the season to see them.”

  Chaco nodded, but Fred bounced up and down. “Whales? I’d love to see whales!”

  Sierra and Chaco looked at each other. Chaco shrugged. “Why not? I’ll take him in my duffle bag. I can unzip it so he can see. But!” Here he glared at Fred. “Stay disappeared! No surprise appearances like on the plane. Got that?”

  Fred stopped bouncing and attempted to look serious, but his eyes gave him away. They were rolling wildly in different directions. “Yes. I promise!”

  “Hmph,” was all that Chaco said.

  The whale-watching boat was moored at a dock in front of the hotel, and Sierra was able to get two reservations for the afternoon excursion. They walked across the coarse coral sand, Chaco with his duffle bag sagging under Fred’s weight. He looked hot and sweaty, thought Sierra, realizing she’d never seen Chaco break a sweat before.

  “Chaco, how about some sunscreen? The sun’s going to reflect off the water, and you might get a burn.”

  “A burn? From the sun? Can that really happen?”

  “Trust me, mortals get sunburned here.” She handed him a tube of sunscreen when they boarded the little boat. Chaco looked puzzled at first, but she explained that all exposed s
kin had to be covered with the cream in the tube.

  “And this really works?”

  Sierra assured him that it did. “I brought along a super-large tube of the stuff, so we can share,” she said. “But we might need more when we get to Midway, so I’ll stock up before we leave Honolulu.” The prop plane that would fly them to Midway left in three days. Plenty of time to do a little shopping.

  The little whale-watching boat chugged away from its dock. The water swirled around it in the most amazing variety of colors. Turquoise shone where there was a sandy bottom, then a succession of deeper blues and blue-greens—even purples—appeared as they passed over the corals. As they reached deeper water, it became hard to see past the surface, where the light danced off the waves. The water was fairly calm until they were a fair distance from land, and then the swells and chop made standing a challenge. They saw the island of O‘ahu in the distance, the softly blue-gray land rising to the central mountains.

  “Whale! Ten o’clock,” came the captain’s voice over the PA system. Having been briefed on using the clock face as a directional reference, everyone on the boat rushed to the forward port side to look. First they saw the spout, like a seagoing geyser. Then a huge, black body rose up out of the water, mountainous head first. They were close enough to see details—barnacles crusting the whale’s body and the grooved folds of skin along the animal’s throat. Sierra snapped photos as fast as she could. She had decided to take her little digital camera, leaving her cell phone in the hotel room, because the camera had a zoom function. She wanted to get the best pictures possible.

  Chaco unzipped his duffle, whispering fiercely to the occupant to stay disappeared—or else. Sierra was so awestruck by the whale’s appearance close to the boat that she didn’t even check to see if Fred was invisible, unwilling to take her eyes or her camera lens off the mammoth creature.

  Again, the whale rose majestically out of the sea. It seemed impossible that a creature so huge could propel itself so far out of the water. Then it disappeared again below the waves with a gasping sigh, leaving only spume behind. Soon, there were more and more sightings, and the passengers went from port to starboard, from fore to aft to catch a glimpse of the massive animals.