Pears and Perils

by Drew Hayes

  He asked that the ruler of the waves watch over his shark friend and grant safe passage to all the sea travelers that came to Kenowai with goodness in their hearts. If they came to conquer, he could let them drown, though it probably wouldn’t make a whole lot of difference. Kenowai was no longer the land of the absentee god.

  The wagon groaned in protest as Mano trucked it down the cliff, pausing only to throw some Kenowai Pears into it along with the empty rum bottle and beer cans. He’d tried a few since getting home and their flavor had somehow become more exceptional against his tongue. They’d worked their way back into his diet in greater number since before he’d first grown sick of them as a child. Mostly it was because they now tasted so delicious.

  Good health was important too, though. Especially when one lived on an island like this one.

  * * *

  If April had been the kind of person who had friends, they would have seen the subtle change in her when she returned to school. Then again, if April had been the kind of person who had friends, she wouldn’t have needed the change as badly in the first place. To their credit, her colleagues did notice something about her as she walked the pristine halls of academia. It wasn’t the way her mouth now occasionally pulled into a smile, or that her eyes had a hint of laughter in them that had been absent before. It wasn’t even that she was looking around and seeing people’s faces rather than keeping her head crammed into a book. In fairness, those were subtle differences, and what drew their attention was a much larger one.

  “Dudette, that psychology department is like huzaaaaaaah bigguns.”

  “More space than they need for a soft science,” April replied, taking Thunder’s arm and guiding him away to the next stop on the campus tour.

  “Nah way! Psychology is the mark of our greatness as a species. To seek outward mysteries is natural; to seek understanding of what lies within ourselves is courageous.”

  April blinked. “Wait, what?”

  “Nothing, bro, don’t worry about it. Oh shit! Look at that librizzle!” He rushed off toward the library, enraptured at every new sight around him. She didn’t think she’d ever get accustomed to his bouts of intelligence, or his strange way of speaking, or his mysterious way of being positive about everything. At least, she hoped not.

  No one had more been surprised than she when Thunder asked if he could come see her college. No one had been more surprised than Thunder when she said yes. It was a terrible match by all measurable standards. She couldn’t really picture who would make a good fit for Thunder; then again, she couldn’t picture a good fit for herself either. She used to be able to: a solid man with a robust intellect who shared her need for absolute silence when studying. Now, no matter how she tried, she just couldn’t. Something was different, and that ideal man wasn’t so ideal anymore. Many months would pass before April would acknowledge that what had changed was her.

  There are moments in life, great moments that reach us down in our core, moments that change us in ways we can never come back from. They do not come with invitations or announcements. They can only be truly recognized and appreciated when looking back in retrospect. April had just finished living her great moment. Others are undoubtedly living theirs right now.

  “Yo, April, you need a Thunder-back ride?” He’d gotten a ways ahead, but had slowed down to wait as she caught up. This was a terrible idea and a match-up that went in the face of all discernible logic.

  Still… it wasn’t boring. And for some reason, that mattered now.

  “Like you can keep up!” April yelled, pumping her legs into a sprint and racing past him toward the library. Who got there first is irrelevant in the telling.

  Both of them were the winners.

  * * *

  Kaia looked into her suitcase uncertainly. Five pears, a sweater, a jacket, pants, shorts, a tank-top, a t-shirt, shoes, heels, boots, a toothbrush, underwear, and a swimsuit. This was the problem with being a world-trotting adventurer: never knowing what was appropriate to pack. Sure, she was only starting off by heading to America, but who knew what came after that? Kaia Hale was something that had quite possibly never existed before: an academic who Believed. The path before her was uncharted, to say the least. There were so many legends in the world, so many stories to investigate.

  She took out one of her t-shirts and added a long-sleeve turtleneck. She was more susceptible to cold than heat, after all. Kenowai had given her the gift of perspective and it was hard to find a place hotter than she would remember this place being. There were candidates, sure; maybe she’d feel the sting of the sun while in Egypt searching for Anubis, or in the deserts of Arizona trying to make contact with one of the Native American spirit gods. She added another swimsuit, this one a bit skimpier than her first. If memory served, Coyote was a god who liked his women to show more flesh than less.

  Besides, she at least knew her first stop on the tour, and she was pretty certain she could drag Clint to one of Pensacola’s many beaches. Just because he was likely to end up the thesis of her research didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy their time together. It might not be strictly within research protocol, but then again, neither was carrying pears as a substitute for a first aid kit.

  Research protocol could suck it. Kaia was creating her own standards now.

  * * *

  The shark greedily swam through Mano’s offering, allowing the liquor to course across its gills. Now this was what he was talking about! Dark beer and a stout chaser; that island boy could sure show some gratitude. The shark would make a special point of watching over his surfing activities for the next few months. No great white assclownfish was going to gobble down this hammerhead’s drink ticket.

  Something pulled against the shark’s rough skin for a minute, a brine shrimp tumbling about in the current. If the shrimp seemed somehow familiar to the shark, as though perhaps it had once been a predator as well, such similarities went unnoticed. As did the soft, almost inaudible, scream that somehow emanated from the shrimp’s mouth. It was gone in seconds anyway, pulled away into the greater ocean at large, where creatures would find it appetizing rather than annoying. Even if the shark had heard, it wouldn’t have made a difference. The hammerhead didn’t speak English.

  It merely spoke the universal language of friendship over a shared drink.

  * * *

  There are many legends of the Return of Kodiwandae. Some include the story of the mortals who assisted him, though as time wore on, more and more versions turned his helpers to natives rather than foreigners. All versions, curiously enough, include the King of Kenowai, who helped deliver the god back to his people. The tales disagree on whether Kodiwandae returned first to his island to look upon his people or whether he went straight to Alendola to see Alahai and confess his love at last.

  No version debates that the reception Kodiwandae received from the goddess was any less than earth-shaking, due in no small part to the minor earthquake which came two days after he gained his freedom. The two found deep love within one another, so firm and powerful that over time even Felbren’s jealousy was eventually softened and his friendship with Kodiwandae renewed. What followed in their relationship is also the stuff of legends, though those must wait for another day. This is only the tale of how Kodiwandae gained his freedom.

  That said, there is one small detail that none of the legends include. It is not the storytellers’ fault, for how could they tell what even the gods were unaware of?

  It is a small matter, but when the gods vanished from Denilale, they went to different places. Felbren was sent to his island with the mortal in his grip. Kodiwandae meant to go to Alendola; however, he wound up in Kenowai by mistake (this is where the confusion in the tales comes from). Nature, on the other hand, went exactly where she meant to go. She went to a small field on Alendola, miles from the city and with a beautiful view of the ocean. Wildflowers grew throughout the grass, and many shrines to Alahai had been erected over the millennia she had been worshipped. Nature’s fo
rm grew soft and malleable, reshaping into that of a younger woman who seemed of the same race as Kodiwandae and Felbren. She wore nothing more than a white toga, her long hair swept up in the breeze that had suddenly found itself compelled to blow.

  The woman who had been Nature and was now Alahai looked at the beautiful colors of the sunset reflecting off the waves. Kodiwandae would be here soon; she’d only sent him to his island so she had time to change. It was a woman’s prerogative to look her best when meeting her lover, after all. Perhaps one day she would explain to him that Alahai was the form this Constant took when it wished to unwind, and that she had neither meant to seduce him nor to fall in love herself, but that day would not be today. The pain of his incarceration was likely still too fresh. Today was about happiness.

  It would be a good day, too. Kodiwandae was a wonderful being: his only flaw was his fear of action. Alahai had great confidence that would no longer be an issue, not after the adventure she’d given him. Of course, she underestimated the size of the adventure she was embarking on herself.

  But that was a lover’s prerogative as well.

  * * *

  Clint absentmindedly played with a laser-pointer as he stared at the clock. The King of Kenowai darted about the room, intent on catching the red dot that eluded him. Clint had expected some resistance from the staff when the island cat had followed him home; however, no one had remarked as it sauntered royally down the halls, always a few steps behind him. He’d probably need to go get a litter box and some actual cat toys: something about the laser-pointer felt mean-spirited. It was all he had for the moment, though, and the King of Kenowai didn’t seem to mind, so he continued zipping it about while the hands on the clock counted closer to the start of the day.

  Not much longer now: the scent of Mr. Timmons’ nitro coffee filled the retirement community, waking all who dared try to sleep past the moment when it was brewed. Rose would be wheeling out the people who were having a bit of trouble getting around. They’d be in the TV lounge bright and early. Today was the day the man from the evaluation committee came to make sure they still qualified for Golden Acres. Rose would get Mrs. Adams first, situate her in the middle of the room so by the time the others were in place and the man got to her, he’d be just balanced between eager to start and ready to be done. The pinnacle of boredom was the spot where some cases could slip through. Even that wouldn’t be enough for Mrs. Adams, not the way she was now.

  Clint pulled the apple pie from the freezer - the fridge wouldn’t have kept it fresh for the length of time he was away - and popped it into the microwave. He set down the laser pointer as he watched the small calorie-laden treat spin in radiation circles, forgetting to turn it off and leaving the red dot resting three feet off the ground on the far wall. A few seconds later there was a small crunching noise that was overshadowed by the microwave’s ding of completion. Clint slid the steaming pastry onto a paper plate, then went to the refrigerator and pulled out two pears from the dozen he’d purchased after getting in last night. Balancing the three items as he opened the door wasn’t the easiest task, but he managed it without any serious issues.

  Glancing back, he noticed the cat chewing on something. It was hard to make out among the rapid movements of its teeth, but he could swear he caught a flash of red light every now and then. It wouldn’t be until later that he discovered the laser pointer was unable to create a dot any longer, regardless of how many times he changed the batteries.

  “Your majesty,” Clint said, calling to his companion. Sprinkles rose from his devouring, gave a final gulp, and trotted into the hallway. It had not been an easy decision, leaving his island to follow this young man back to his home. It had weighed greatly on the conscience of Sprinkles before his choice was made. Ultimately, the return of Kodiwandae had been the tipping point in deciding whether to immediately return or not. The god needed time to settle in, re-acclimate. He and Sprinkles could come to terms on whose authority superseded whose once there had been adequate time for rejoicing and rest. Until then, Sprinkles was going to stick near the thing he found curious. Though a godling and a king, Sprinkles was, after all, also a cat.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Adams.” Clint set the apple pie, now cooled off from liquid lava to merely scalding, on the breakfast tray in front of her. He also deposited one of his pears. The other he slipped into his jacket pocket. Mrs. Adams looked up at him with vacant eyes; not even the faint glimmer he’d imagined a week ago remained.

  He hunkered down into a squatting position. There were plenty of available seats; however, he didn’t intend to stay for long.

  “I know you’re having trouble remembering who I am, and that’s okay for right now. You’ve had a long, very bad dream for the last six months. I’ve got good news for you, though. It’s morning. Mr. Timmons is making coffee, Rose is bringing you eggs, and I’ve saved an apple pie from Camelot Burger for you. Morning is here, Mrs. Adams. It is time to wake up.”

  The old woman’s eyes widened at his last two words, rousing from their half-closed state to one that seemed to resemble alertness. Clint smiled at her and pulled himself to his feet. “You have a great day, Mrs. Adams. We’ll talk when I get back tonight.” He headed off toward the exit, the cat walking a few paces behind him.

  Such a nice young man. Mrs. Adams realized she hadn’t thanked him for the apple pie. Her wrinkled finger ran along its surface, judging the internal heat. Too hot to eat without getting burned, but close to perfect. To kill time, she took a bite of the pear Clint had also left with her. She didn’t recall being a fan of them before, but this one was downright scrumptious. Her head cleared with each bite, and by the end, she realized some jackass had left the Spanish soap opera channel on. Why in the hell hadn’t she changed that? Grabbing the remote, she turned on a replaying of last night’s monster truck rally. Much more like it. Now where was Rose with breakfast? For that matter, why was she sitting here instead of slipping tobacco into the doctor’s coffee? So much to do and so little time. Why on earth had she just been sitting around? Mrs. Adams couldn’t quite recall, but in the end it didn’t matter. She wasn’t one to dwell on what had been; her passion lay in plunging forward.

  Clint made it outside just as it was beginning to drizzle. There was an umbrella stand by the front of the foyer where a communal collection had formed as people brought in new ones and owners of old ones left Golden Acres. He selected a long grey one with a flat cane handle. Sprinkles pulled closer to him as they stepped outside. The cat disliked any moisture greater than a single tongue could administer. Being nearer to Clint filled Sprinkles’ nose with the scents and the sense of the young man; a mortal who was not a god, yet had been seared too greatly by divine energies to be called a human. No half-breed, relying on ambient faith like those of Sprinkles’ ilk. Clint was something unseen before in this world. A mortal whose divine power came solely from his own Wants. Such a thing was dangerous, and strange, and curious. Sprinkles and Mrs. Adams had much in common, the first on the list being that they were both greatly looking forward to what lay ahead of them.

  “Stay close, I don’t think you want to fall into a puddle,” Clint cautioned. His hand reflexively dug into his pocket and brushed against the pear inside. It had a good weight, one that reminded him of all the memories he now carried with him, as well as the responsibilities. The hand emerged with a cough drop, which Clint promptly popped in his mouth. Using The Voice still left him with a sore throat, though it was a small price to pay.

  “Let’s get going. There’s a lot of work to do.”

  About the Author

  Drew Hayes is an aspiring author from Texas who has now found time and gumption to publish a few books (so far). He graduated from Texas Tech with a B.A. in English, because evidently he's not familiar with what the term "employable" means. Drew has been called one of the most profound, prolific, and talented authors of his generation, but a table full of drunks will say almost anything when offered a round of free shots. Drew feels kind of l
ike a D-bag writing about himself in the third person like this. He does appreciate that you're still reading, though.

  Drew would like to sit down and have a beer with you. Or a cocktail. He's not here to judge your preferences. Drew is terrible at being serious, and has no real idea what a snippet biography is meant to convey anyway. Drew thinks you are awesome just the way you are. That part, he meant. You can reach Drew with questions or movie offers at NovelistDrew@gmail.com Drew is off to go high-five random people, because who doesn't love a good high-five? No one, that's who.

  Table of Contents

  1.

  2.

  3.

  4.

  5.

  6.

  7.

  8.

  9.

  10.

  11.

  12.

  13.

  14.

  15.

  16.

  17.

  18.

  19.

  20.

  21.

  About the Author