Pears and Perils (8 page)

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 pointless 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 had 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?”

Clint paused; he hadn’t stopped to think about that. The first time he’d heard Kodiwandae speak he’d understood the meaning but not the words. Since he woke up, the voice in his head had been speaking perfect English, even using phrases Clint was familiar with.

“
The boy here was out for a good few hours; I had ample time to familiarize myself with his modern language.
”

Clint gave the room a shrug as the voice spoke. He supposed if it could rifle through his memories, it made about as much sense for the god to be able to learn his native tongue.

“Clint, I know you had quite an experience, but you should really cease with this blasphemy,” Falcon cautioned. “Only one with the right lineage would be judged worthy. You don’t think you’re a god, do you?”

“Of course I’m not-”

“
Of course he’s not a god! Watch your mouth before accusing others of blasphemy, little miss. There was a god present, though, so the ceremony counted.
”

“Then why are you in Clint?”

“
I sort of… kind of… missed.
”

“Gods don’t miss.”

“
Look, I don’t know where you get your theology, but if my kind were infallible I wouldn’t bloody well be in this mess to begin with, now would I?
” Clint felt a strange balloon of stress welling in his head, a foreign experience to him that was profoundly uncomfortable. He began to suspect Kodiwandae was getting defensive.

“Calm down, Clint,” April cautioned.

“I’m totally calm.”

“
Well, I’m not; I’m cranky after spending the last few centuries in that tree and now the first thing I have to deal with once I’m out is doubters. I don’t have time for this. You there, old one.”
Clint felt a strange sensation, like a hand was rummaging around in the lower part of his brain.
“Falcon, right? Come here and put your hand on Clint’s.
”

“What are you doing?” Clint asked.

Saving us three hours of philosophical discussion.
These words were only spoken in Clint’s head.

“But you can’t read minds.”

Current events are never as useful as history. Trust me on that one.

Falcon raised an eyebrow, which Clint met with a confused expression of his own. She debated, but ultimately decided no matter how delusional the young man was acting, he still didn’t seem dangerous. Maybe if she played along with his fantasy she could help bring him out of it.

Falcon crossed the few feet between them and placed her hand into Clint’s outstretched fingers. There was a light shock, like he had rubbed stocking feet along the carpet before their skin made contact, then a strange sense in her head. It was impossible to accurately describe; the closest Falcon could come would be to say it was like the feeling you got that someone was watching you, only from the inside.