Pears and Perils Page 9

  The brothers Goodwin already knew what the others had wasted precious time in learning: the pear of Kodiwandae was no longer at his tree. Rather than burn time trying to backtrack to the starting point, Dustin and Justin had inquired after Kaia in the hotel bar, learning she had been tying off a powerful drunk for some hours before eventually being cut off and stumbling out into the night. It had taken some time on the phone and a few quick lies to the island’s only cab company, but they eventually learned she had been taken to the nearest port. They also learned she had talked the cabbie’s ear off about theology and puked her meager lunch onto the back seat. The office clerk was still yelling about getting someone to pay for the cleaning when they hung up the phone and headed for the docks.

  Now they sat on a small fishing boat with a captain who kept glancing back at them and muttering something about “just keep it hidden” before checking his instruments and making necessary corrections.

  “If she’s got some master plan then why is she apparently so drunk?” Dustin wondered aloud.

  “Obviously she’s faking to keep anyone from getting suspicious. If you were trying to sneak away with something like that, what’s a better cover than acting like a blundering alcoholic grappling with an existential crisis? It’s quite brilliant; if we hadn’t watched her take the pear we would have never suspected her.”

  “Cunning bitch.”

  “Quite. Still, no need to worry. The locals said the kiddies are looking back at the altar and there is no way the girl knows we’re on to her. If we move quickly, we can recover the pear before anyone even knows we’re in the game.”

  The boat captain was beginning to lean his suspicions toward drug deal, though why they kept using such a ridiculous code word as “pear” was beyond him. Then again, he was getting on in years and couldn’t keep track with all the phrases today’s youth used. Just last year he’d tried to score some of this “Twitter” everyone kept mentioning. The dealer, his nephew, had stared at him for some time before reaching into his bag and pulling out a small bag of green, leafy product. It hadn’t been bad, but the captain hadn’t seen what all the fuss was about.

  “How much longer to Alendola?” One of them, the chattier one, was antsy.

  “Two hours with a good wind.”

  “And what about if we get a rough wind?”

  The captain smiled at him, his normally easygoing nature stretched especially thin by the night’s bullshit. “This is a small boat on big seas. We get too rough a wind and your arrival time depends on how well you can swim.”

  “Sit down,” the other brother commanded the fidgety one. “We’re in no hurry. She’ll have let her guard down by the time her vessel lands. We can afford to be calm and precise.”

  The captain shook his head as he adjusted his bearings. One day he was going to get out of this business and take up a career with fewer skullduggeries and under-the-table dealings. Maybe he’d try politics.

  * * *

  How should I know?

  “What do you mean, ‘how should you know’? You’re a god; isn’t this the kind of stuff you folks are generally keyed in on?”

  Clint wasn’t bothering with the forehead touching as the rusty truck bounced along the unpaved roads. Thunder had momentarily dozed off, lulled by the unsecured truck bed’s gentle rocking, and there was no way the others could hear him in the cab over the guttural screech of the engine doing its damnedest to hold together.

  Well, some stuff, sure, but how would I know where you all came from?

  “Didn’t gods create us?”

  Probably not. Not my kind of gods anyway.

  “There are different types?”

  Yes and no. My kind is comprised of gods who are formed and shaped by the Beliefs that you people have. Humans might be weak, surly little creatures, but that capacity of yours to put stock in something unseen and unproven is a magic like nothing else I’ve ever seen.

  “So, wait, you exist because people think you exist?”

  That is an incredibly simplified way of putting it, but yes. Mortal’s Belief is what manifests us initially. Their Wants direct and power us, showing us the greatest desires they have. Spending our time and power to grant some of them leads them to have even stronger Belief. It’s a mutually beneficial relationship.

  “Okay, so what about the other type?”

  Those are the ones who might be shaped by Belief, but they’ll exist whether humans are here or not. Nature, Time, Life, Death, even Fate. Those are things that keep the entire world in running order. Probably more worlds than just ours, though that’s merely conjecture. Hang on; let me find a good analogy. Clint felt that strange digging sensation in the back of his head again. He was beginning to get used to it, and that worried him more than the feeling itself. Here we go. Think of it as humans are office grunts and my kind is middle management. We’ve got more freedom than you do, and you’re generally subject to our whims, but if you all quit we’d be up shit creek.

  “I see. So the others are upper management?”

  No, the others are the building.

  “How does that work?”

  Look, if all the grunts quit, middle management would be fucked; this would in turn leave upper management screwed and so on and so on because they all exist in a relationship that depends on one another. The building doesn’t need any of them, though. The building will be there whether it’s full or empty: it is constant.

  “If it’s empty long enough, someone could tear it down.”

  Follow that train of thought, let me know how those sleepless nights work out for you.

  “Okay, fine; so whoever made the world would have predated you, since you didn’t exist until humans thought you up.”

  Bingo.

  “What about these bigger beings? The constant ones. Didn’t you ever get curious and ask one of them?”

  The last time I met one of those beings she ripped me from my power and stuck me in a tree.

  “I thought that was a local goddess?”

  No, they have a local name for her, but it was Nature. Every earth goddess is Nature; they just use different terms for her.

  “Sort of like how every culture has its own version of the Grim Reaper?”

  You catch on quick. Yeah, those are all Death.

  “Seems like it would get confusing.”

  Only because names matter to you. They don’t give a damn what you call them anymore than they care if you believe in them.

  “Because they are Constant.” Clint was finally wrapping his head around this unexpected divine hierarchy.

  The lucky fucks. Clint didn’t hear the bitterness in Kodiwandae’s voice as much as he felt it, rippling through him as though it had come from his own frustrations. The emotions Kodiwandae felt were unsettling to Clint, much more tumultuous and quick-changing than his usual monochrome pallet. Clint had endeavored all his life to avoid these spurts of anger and annoyance, yet here they were, raising his blood pressure all the same.

  “What about the bigger gods? The ones whose religions have billions of followers?”

  Most of them are nice enough, though a bit full of themselves. In all fairness, when you’ve got that many people kissing your ass it’s sort of hard not to develop an ego.

  “I meant-”

  I know what you meant. Gods, even big gods, come and go. There have been others before and there will likely be different ones in the future.

  “Okay, different subject; what about the afterlife?”

  Can’t tell you.

  “You don’t know about that either?”

  No, that one I know all about. I can tell you what the rules of my religion state, but I can’t give you any inside information on it.

  “Why not?”

  Just one of the rules for gods. Part of living is the uncertainty of not knowing what comes next. The Constant in charge laid down that law long before I came around.

  “I thought gods were above the rules.”

  Then you haven�
��t been listening. Nature did this to me for picking a flower she said not to. What do you think Death would do if I broke his cardinal commandment by spilling the beans?

  “Oh.”

  ‘Oh’ is right.

  “Geez, is there anything you can tell me I don’t already know?”

  There are five individual species of squirrel living on Kenowai.

  “Not exactly what I meant.”

  Then maybe you should start being more specific.

  Clint turned his head and looked at the shoreline they were steadily drawing closer to. He’d been all jazzed up at the idea of getting to peek behind the metaphysical curtain, and now he was finding out the universe worked on as much bureaucracy as the companies he got fired from. The most depressing part of that revelation was when Clint realized the he wasn’t even all that surprised.

  The truck began to slow as the sounds of waves crashing against the shore reached Clint’s ears. Mano killed the struggling engine and suddenly it was like a bucket of peace had been poured on the world. Gone was the sputtering and shaking; all that remained in its place was the music of the sea and the wind.

  The cat leapt from the cab and padded across the sandy grass, coming to the peak of a dune and pointing his tail across the waters. It was a comical, enjoyable moment, or it would have been if the message weren’t clear: the pear was no longer on the island.

  The others disembarked from the truck, even Thunder rousing at the voluminous silence. They gathered together by the cat and stared at the dark, choppy waters rocking the small white boats tethered in the harbor. It was Falcon who said what they were all thinking as they watched the moon’s reflection in the waves.

  “So, now what?”

  12.

  Lawrence was enjoying a breakfast of poached eggs, crisp ham, and fresh fruit. He was even branching out from his usual practice of drinking only water and washing it all down with a cold glass of orange juice. It was a good day: things were rolling along nicely, and he had enough spare time to properly nourish himself before the many tasks ahead. One of the waiters at the resort restaurant slid up to the side of Lawrence’s table and refilled his juice. That accomplished, the dark-haired service professional laid a plain white envelope down by the salt and pepper.

  “Your passage has been booked for this afternoon at one, sir. Are you sure you don’t want to catch the earlier boat at nine? I inquired with the charter captain and there was still plenty of room.”

  Lawrence courteously finished chewing before tendering his response. “Thank you, but I’m sure. There are some things I’d like to see on Kenowai before I begin exploring other locales.”

  “Of course, sir. Can I get you anything else?”

  “More cantaloupe, when you have the time.”

  “Right away.”

  Lawrence enjoyed the meat and eggs more than the fruit, but his cardiologist had been quite specific on tempering his appetite with more wholesome fare so as not to put his heart in danger. Lawrence enjoyed life, both the current quality and expected quantity, and saw no reason to ignore the warning and decrease either. Of course, if things with Felbren came together as planned, there would be no need for such concerns; however, years of experience had taught Lawrence the benefits of pessimism. Work to succeed, plan for setbacks. Never failures; only setbacks.

  Lawrence speared another piece of salty pig flesh and crunched on it cheerfully. Yes indeed, this had the potential to be a good day.

  * * *

  “I’m the king of world!”

  “Shhh, be quiet, Thunder; Clint finally fell asleep,” April chastised.

  “My bad.”

  “Whatever.”

  April was beginning to feel the stress of the last day and her nerves were fraying as a result. The five humans and one cat were bobbing along in a medium-sized boat - Thunder had traded a Rolex with a local fisherman who’d shown up a few hours before daylight to begin his day’s haul to procure the thing. It was strange; Thunder was such a bizarre being that it slipped their minds he had access to quite a sizable sum of money. The fisherman had been so ready to jump at the deal he’d even thrown in a few rods and the case of beer he’d brought along for the day. Thunder and Mano were making a sizable dent in the latter, Thunder purely by drinking and Mano by sipping and then pouring some over the side. Questioning had only gotten him to yield that it was an “island tradition” (he did it when he was on the island, so to Mano that counted) and nothing more.

  Clint had bickered with his stowaway god for most of the night, the two seeming to discuss some pretty heavy issues. By the responses Clint made and the looks crossing his face, April suspected she was happier not being privy to Kodiwandae’s side of the conversation. Most of them had slept in small spans of hours through the night, but as the morning rays broke across the ocean, only Clint was still slumbering. April didn’t begrudge him that; if this was simply weird for the rest of them, it must be cusping on utter madness for Clint.

  “Pretty surreal, huh?” Falcon crossed the ship and took a seat next to the younger woman.

  “That’s putting it mildly. You know I study biology, right? It’s essentially the study of how everything works organically, mapping the complex system of life and how that functions without things like magic or gods. Yet here I am, on a boat, during what was supposed to be my vacation, because a guy I’ve known for a couple of days is likely suffering a psychotic break.” April expected the older hippie to tell her that she was rightly expanding her horizons, that she was opening up to all the things that existed beyond the scope of science and that doing so was a good thing.

  “I hear that. If you’d have told me ten years ago I’d get an all-expenses paid vacation and wind up using it to try and restore an local deity, I’d have called you seventeen shades of stupid.”

  April knitted her eyebrows. “Really? I mean, this all sort of seems like, well… you’ve gone along with it fairly happily.”

  “We’ve all gone along with it, but if you remember, I’m the only one who needed a hands-on demonstration before I was even willing to leave the hotel room.”

  “I remember. I guess I assumed it was because you thought Clint was mocking the local culture, not because you didn’t believe it was possible. No offense meant, but this whole thing does sort of seem in your comfort zone.”

  “None taken,” Falcon said with a reassuring smile. “The ten-years-ago me and the me of today are very different people, obviously. I’m still not sure that I believe all of this: Kodiwandae being in Clint, the cat being king of the island, the pear being the only key to solve this whole mess. I mean, it’s a lot to swallow.”

  “Yet here we are.”

  “Here we are. It’s not because we’re crazy, though, even if it turns out Clint just ate some bad pear and is having a very strange hallucination.”

  “That would excuse his delusion, but not ours.”

  Falcon patted April on her shoulder, the cotton t-shirt wrinkling under the weight of the older woman’s hand. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to believe. Even if it leads down some unexpected roads, the desire itself is perfectly natural.”

  “Not to me.”

  “Oh? Well, perhaps you have gone daft then.”

  April shot Falcon a speculative glance, which the blue eyes that wrinkled at the corners returned with a strange confidence.

  “Or maybe this is just scientific curiosity. Investigation of an anomaly in the accepted structure of the world.”

  “Also an excellent possibility,” Falcon agreed.

  “Land ho, bros!” Thunder’s voice belted forth from the ship’s front, where, sure enough, another island was visible on the horizon. Of course, it had been visible for several hours; it was just drawing close enough that departure was growing likely.

  “I wonder how that one has been able to ride along on all this without showing so much as one instance of worry or doubt,” April speculated.

  “You could ask him, though I doubt either of us woul
d understand the answer. They say children and idiots are the favorites of the gods, so maybe he just knows on some inner level that he is being looked after.”

  “Must be nice.”

  “Probably, but I find intellect a far better weapon than favor.” Falcon’s tone remained cheerful, but there was a flint of something that sparked inside her with those words. April might not be as good at reading people as she was at reading books, but even she could tell that beneath this peace and love mentality there was a basement of something more complex: a place that was shut away from the world, where armor and axes were carefully stowed and just beginning to rust.

  “Chicas, you want some land brewskis?” Thunder called.

  “Sure,” Falcon said before April could object to the early hour. Thunder pitched the beers over with a technique that had been practiced and refined by manning the cooler at countless parties. Falcon snatched both from the air and handed one to April.

  “To searching.” Falcon opened her beer and raised it in a toast. April hesitated then popped the top on the can in her hands.

  “To intellect,” April countered, raising her own drink.

  “To intellect,” Falcon agreed. The women clinked cans and sipped quietly as the boat drew closer to the island towering before them.

  * * *

  The Sahara, the Gobi, the very fires of hell had nothing on this parched patch of the world. The mere idea of water, the thought of moisture, was so foreign that the word itself would be choked away by dryness before it could ever be uttered. This cracked, craggy, desolate place was the sort of dry that could chug down a torrential flood and then five minutes later act as though there had never been a drop in the sky. Lucifer himself would have taken a stroll around, puffed out his chest, then made a very fast excuse about having left the iron on and departed. A torrent of cold water washed across the landscape, soothing and soaking, then vanished.