Pears and Perils

by Drew Hayes

  “Sounds simple enough,” April mumbled under her breath. Falcon was staring wide-eyed at the natural beauty surrounding them and Clint was holding the cat, so it fell to her to do the manual work.

  “We’re good here,” Justin called out.

  “Ditto. You can begin whenever you’re ready,” Dustin agreed.

  “Totes rocking over here,” Thunder added.

  Kaia watched from her place on the sidelines as the dark-skinned girl began setting up the offering just as instructed. She had an impressive eye for detail, this one; many of the worshippers Kaia had overseen were quick with it, wanting to be done and on to the next part. Not this girl; she was meticulous, pouring the water like it was going into her thirsty lover’s mouth and setting the stone in the exact center so as to make the balancing possible. She showed equal care in selection of the pear, touching many, thumping a few, and then finally plucking one nearly on the opposite side of the tree. She placed it down gently, and just as promised, it didn’t so much as wobble.

  “I guess we’re ready,” April said, motioning the others closer. Falcon, Clint, and Sprinkles all joined her in surrounding the altar.

  “May I?” Falcon asked respectfully.

  “Fine with me,” Clint said.

  “At least you believe in this stuff,” April agreed.

  “Many thanks to you both.” Falcon turned her attention to the pear and the tree then lifted her eyes to the heavens. “Oh Mighty Goddess from whom all earth springs. We mortals beg you hear our prayers and observe this offering to you. We have come humbly to beseech you to free the trapped god, Kodiwandae, so that he might return to his island and the worshippers who need him.”

  “Are you getting any feedback?” Justin whispered over the two-way headsets he and Dustin wore when shooting.

  “Yeah, a bit of a weird high-pitched tremble. I’m trying to compensate for it,” Dustin replied.

  Kaia heard something, too: a soft crackle that seemed to be coming from everywhere at once. Also, she couldn’t be a hundred percent certain, but she was pretty sure the sky had been clear a minute ago, not thick with grey puffy clouds as it was now.

  “Though we know we are but mere humans, we ask this of you, Great Goddess. To show you respect, we have done as you asked and brought offerings of stone, sea, and fruit. Please, Goddess, if any of those assembled be worthy, we humbly beg you to free Kodiwandae.”

  “Cut!” Dustin yelled standing from his camera. He had to yell because the wind, which had been gentle and tropical moments before, was howling around them and whipping through the tree’s branches. “We’ve got to try again; the feedback on these things is getting unworkable.”

  The crackle was audible now, not just a soft background noise but a piercing note that penetrated even the wind. As Kaia watched, she could swear she saw occasional golden bolts flashing between the limbs of the tree. Somewhere, somewhere deep down under all her essays and studies and term papers, somewhere that Kaia hadn’t trusted since she was little girl, a creeping sensation of what was occurring began to gnaw at her.

  Falcon paid Dustin no mind, continuing to yell up at the sky to be heard over the wind. “Great Goddess, we beseech you on bended knee, please deem one of us worthy. Please set this god free!”

  “Guys… I don’t think we’re going to be doing this again,” Thunder said, his usual flippant tones absent as he stared as the now-undeniable arcs of golden energy leaping from branch to branch. The thrum grew higher and a new sound filled the air, this one like a bubble of grease bursting over a hot griddle.

  “Shit!” Justin leapt aside as a shower of sparks spewed forth from his very, very expensive camera. Dustin’s followed suit less than ten seconds later, and both brothers sat helpless on the ground as the tools they built their career on fizzled and popped their way into the scrap heap.

  “You!” Dustin said, finding his anger and jabbing it, along with his finger, at Kaia. “What the hell is all this? Did you set up some special effects to try and make it more dramatic?”

  “It’s… impossible,” Kaia said, looking for anything from her formerly rock-solid world of facts to cling onto. After much grasping, she succeeded in closing around something. “It’s impossible! It must be some freak storm. It can’t be the god. Kodiwandae can only be released in the presence of someone with the blood of a god!”

  It’s funny the way wind works: had Kaia found her fact and voiced it any sooner, the wind would have blown it to the east, away from the ears of those at the altar and leaving us with a very different story. The breeze that grabbed Kaia’s words was a northward one, though, and it brought her whole statement to the ears of three nervous humans and one mildly-interested cat.

  Cats have not developed the ability to accurately convey a sense of panic, predominantly because such a sensation goes counter to their nature. As it is, their faces are really only suited for expressing displeasure and disdain. Sprinkles was not an ordinary cat, though, and had anyone been paying attention to him instead of the sky, they would have seen a very pronounced “Oh Shit” look on his furry face as he realized what was happening.

  “Hey, calm down,” Clint said as the cat began struggling to get free of his arms. The golden lightning was arcing closer to the center of the tree now, the trunk beginning to glow with a steadily brightening light. Cats are already experts in freeing themselves, and ones with a bit of divine blood move into the realm of supernatural. For an instant Clint felt like he was trying to keep his grip on a shadow dunked in mercury; then it was over and the cat was racing across the field away from him.

  Clint turned to yell after him, and that’s why he didn’t see the burst of light like everyone else. It ripped from the tree, coursed through the pear, and struck Clint in the dead center of his back, hurling him through the air until he landed several feet away.

  Clint’s head swirled, his brain trying to make sense of what had just happened. He’d almost puzzled it out when a voice rang through his skull, different from any of the ones he’d heard that day. It sounded young, yet authoritative. Clint couldn’t understand the words it spoke, not really, but the sentiment attached was as clear as if it had come from the recesses of Clint’s own mind.

  Fuck it feels good to be out of there!

  Clint, with little pomp or to-do, bid the waking world adieu and passed right the hell out.

  9.

  Though Clint’s attitude of avoiding desire was sprung largely from his observations of his family, there was a catalyst in the form of an event that brought it all together for him. It was an experience he endeavored to forget, though it lived on at the back of his mind and often resurfaced during precarious moments to shape his decisions.

  Clint was the youngest of three children, having two older sisters. The eldest was named Charlotte and Clint loved her dearly. She was warm and kind toward him, though somewhat less amiable with the rest of the world. Charlotte saw something decent in her little brother, something she wanted to nurture rather than see it torn away from him, the way the world often does to people with such decency. She would spend time with him, read to him, and even reassure him on particularly scary stormy nights. She did this in spite of her full burden at law school, working hard to make the time to show care for the odd duckling her family had produced. This was all before the time for the bar came.

  As her climatic test drew nearer, Charlotte had less and less time to spend with Clint. He missed his sister, and when she did emerge from her cavernous room, she was short and grumpy, angry at the fact that she had to leave her books for any reason, even biological imperatives. With her gone, Clint began to understand just how lonely the world around him was. He was an optimistic boy, though, and as his birthday drew close, he hoped to see even a flash more of the Charlotte he’d known before. Poor Clint didn’t realize that his party was the day before her exam.

  When the big day came, his friends gathered in the backyard, stuffing themselves with sugary cake and releasing the energy on pointles
s party games. His parents had even hired a clown to entertain the tykes while the other adults sipped chardonnay and enjoyed the break from their responsibilities. Of course, an entire gaggle of six year olds coupled with blaring party music and the frequent bouts of applause at various clown tricks does not generate an environment conducive to studying.

  No one really thought about how loud it was getting until a tall figure with messy hair came striding across the lawn. Charlotte looked less like a future lawyer than she did an academic Valkyrie, a warrior of words and books whose wrath had been foolishly invoked. She stared around the yard, her senses overloading after weeks spent only with scribbled lines and a bright computer screen. She needed to vent, but even in this state she knew better than to turn her ire on the children. The parents were out too, their silent sipping making them improper targets for outrage at the racket. Then a balloon burst to her left, causing the children to clap, and just like that Charlotte had found her target.

  Clint watched in mute horror as his sweet, kind, loving older sister walked right up to the clown and delivered a vicious right hook to his temple. The clown staggered back; unfortunately for everyone, Charlotte was not the first irate party guest who had ever taken a swing at him. He got his bearings and let fly with a floppy-shoed kick to her abdomen. Just like that it was a brawl, Charlotte grabbing random party favors as makeshift weapons and the clown handling himself like a movie martial artist. By the time they were broken up, there was so much grease paint and blood on Charlotte’s knuckles it looked as though she were wearing gloves made out of horror.

  The shrinks would call it a “Stress-Induced Psychotic Episode.” Her parents would tell her it happened to everyone with greatness in them. All the excuses and window-dressing wouldn’t matter to Clint, though. He was stuck with an unshakable image, that of the only warm person in his life viciously attacking a human whose job was to create laughter. That was what ambition, what desire, did to people; that was what it turned them into. And just like that, Clint was on the path he would walk all the way into adulthood.

  * * *

  Clint stirred, slowly opening his eyes to see the slow wobble of a ceiling fan making its lazy rotation. He was in his bed at the resort, rays of sunset streaming through his window as the last of the storm clouds dispersed from the sky. For the barest of instants, Clint allowed himself to hope it had been a dream. Those hopes were dashed almost before they had fully formed.

  Took you long enough. I swear, as little time as you mortals get, you wouldn’t think you’d squander so much of it sleeping.

  “Who…” Clint stopped himself. There was no need for senseless questions. He’d participated in a ceremony to free a god. The new tenant in his brain was identifiable through a pretty simple process of elimination. “Kodiwandae?”

  In the… well, I suppose flesh isn’t really the right word, is it? But yes, it is I, the great and powerful Kodiwandae.

  “Okay.” Clint took a deep breath and found his calm center. In this case it was fortunate that the calm center was the majority of what composed Clint Tucker. “Why are you in my head? Aren’t you supposed to be free?”

  Freedom is a relative thing. I’m not stuck in a tree anymore, so in a sense, yes, I am free to wander about. However, I haven’t regained my power yet, and we gods are shaped by our power, so until the ceremony is finished, I’m afraid I’m still amorphous.

  “Complete the ceremony?”

  Well, yes; you haven’t forgotten already, have you? I know it was in the story you heard. Freeing me is only the first part. You also have to journey to the temple on Denilale and restore my rightful power to me.

  “Right… we have to call down the goddess who imprisoned you.”

  Correct! On that note, we really should get a move on.

  “Wait, how did you know I heard about that part of the story?”

  Well, you were asleep for a long time. I didn’t have anything else to entertain me, so I rifled through your memories a bit, just to get myself up to speed.

  “You can read my mind? Makes me feel silly for talking.”

  No, that part is still important. Reading an active human mind is like trying to read letters swirling in a tornado. Everything is too fluid and too fast-moving to get more than a sense of it. I can only read your memories; those are neatly stored and organized.

  “Too bad, that would have been a real time saver.” Clint had no idea what he was saying at this point, only that the inane conversation was easier than accepting this voice in his head was really a god, because accepting it meant that he had to take action if he wanted it gone. That seemed too big right now, too momentous a prospect of something to wrap his wee over-occupied brain around.

  On the subject of time saving, it’s very important we mobilize soon. Your sudden nap has burned up the rest of the day and there’s a pretty important matter to attend to.

  “Sorry about that. Not sure what happened.” Another person might have said this sarcastically. Clint did not.

  Oh, it’s to be expected. You’re fully mortal, after all: not really built for hosting divine energies. That’s part of why there had to be someone from a godly bloodline at the offering; they’re better suited vessels.

  “Should I be concerned?”

  Clint couldn’t be sure, but he was relatively certain there was a sense of hesitation before the answer came. Probably not. This is one of those circumstances where haste might be a boon, though.

  “Uh huh.” A new thought entered Clint’s head, one he probably would have had earlier if not for the series of sudden surprises he kept encountering. “Hey, wait; if you needed a god to do the ceremony and be your transportation, then why are you in me? And who was there that had divine heritage?”

  Before an answer could come, the door to Clint’s room opened and Thunder walked in, carrying a bottle of water and a handful of what appeared to be aspirin.

  “Hey dude, heard you chattering solo in here and figged you were awake. Let’s get you medded and bedded before you do any permanent damage. Talking to yourself after eating voltage is a big neg sign.”

  Clint opened his mouth to explain that he was merely getting his thoughts in order and he appreciated the concern, but when his tongue began to waggle it wasn’t his own even voice that burst forth from his throat.

  “Oh, I assure you, he isn’t crazy. We were merely discussing the logistics of finishing the ceremony and returning me to power.”

  Thunder dropped the bottle and the aspirin, the pills rolling along the floor in a mad break for freedom. Their triumph would last days, until the rooms were free and the maid-staff swept them into their dustpans and set them off on a new adventure.

  “Whoa, bro. Whoa.”

  “Yeah,” Clint said, seizing control of his mouth. “Maybe you’d better get the others. I have a feeling this day isn’t over yet.”

  “Totes.”

  * * *

  Dr. Kaia Hale sat at the hotel bar, downing another glass of whiskey. Kenowains cut their teeth on softer, sweeter alcohols as they grew up, but Kaia had developed an appreciation for the darker drinks as she assimilated to academia. She was a bright girl, and she’d learned very quickly that women who could discuss the nuances of scotch with their male peers advanced more rapidly than those who abstained. Not that this was a whiskey anyone would find worth discussing. It was the house dreck, and Kaia was pouring it down her throat like it was the secret to immortality.

  Kaia chuckled to herself. How many of those supposed secrets had she read in her studies? Who knew… well, probably Sober Kaia knew. She wasn’t here at the moment, though. Sober Kaia couldn’t handle this particular moment in her life, so Drunk Kaia had tagged in to drop a flying elbow on it and send it sprawling to the mat. It wasn’t that this moment was really all that bad, either. Sure, a freak electrical storm had cropped up at an inopportune time and shocked that Clint guy, and yes, she’d been so scared she’d hallucinated seeing the electricity come from the tree, but the doc ha
d come and gone and said Clint would be fine. Except for some broken cameras, which the Goodwins would not shut the fuck up about, it was all going to be okay. Hell, even the shoot wasn’t lost, thanks to Thunder’s lower-quality camera. Score one for analog in the digital world, baby! Kaia would still get paid. Everyone would go home safe and happy. Except…

  Kaia drained her glass and motioned for another. Except Kaia wasn’t some fucking nervous nelly who got all hysterical at the first sign of lightning. Except Kaia hadn’t imagined the way that storm blew up when the ceremony began, no matter what the other islanders told her. Except Kaia knew what she saw, and that golden leaping lightning had come from the tree. The tree where the god was sealed. Where he had been sealed.

  Kaia groaned and placed her head on the bar. That was the real crux of the problem, the driving force that had sent Sober Kaia silently screaming down to the bottom of a bottle of truly shitty alcohol. Dr. Kaia Hale had sensed she was committing the cardinal sin of anyone who studied myths and legends. Kaia was stepping onto forbidden ground, going the way of pariahs and madmen, shattering the unspoken taboo. She was wrapping a thread around her finger that would unravel her entire world with a single tug.

  Kaia Hale, in deepest chambers of her heart, was beginning to Believe.

  * * *

  “Look, it’s not me, I’m telling you,” Clint reiterated, stony stares meeting his pleas. The women had proven harder to convince than Thunder, April objecting due to her lack of faith in such nonsense and Falcon holding that since Clint wasn’t of divine heritage, he couldn’t really be playing cabbie for a god.

  “Look, we get that the storm might have messed you up; honestly, we were all amazed when the doctor said the lighting strike hadn’t even done any burn damage. But this is bordering on delusional,” April said.

  “I swear, I’ve converted mountains that were more pliable than you two.”

  “See, right there is the first hole in your story: if that voice is supposed to be an ancient god trapped for centuries, then why does he speak English?”