by Drew Hayes
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.
“There we are. Your real name is Valerie Quinn, you’ve been married twice and both husbands are deceased. You love steak with a fiery passion, which has made being vegan a special brand of hell. You lost your virginity on March fourth-”
Falcon leapt away as though Clint had kicked her in the shin. She stared at him, his dull brown eyes looking apologetic while his mouth twisted up into a wry smirk.
“Godly enough for you?”
Falcon nodded; her tongue had momentarily gone dumb. With enough time and research Clint could have procured most, but not all, of that information. He hadn’t had that time, though; he’d been asleep since the strike, and even if he’d been faking, there was no Internet in any of the rooms.
“Okay, that was kind of weird, I’ll give you,” April said cautiously. “But that doesn’t mean I’m ready to jump on the ‘Clint is carting around Kodiwandae’ bandwagon.”
“Might as well give it a swirly. God-carting is the best we’ve got,” Thunder pointed out.
“No, it’s a random myth that happens to fit a variety of circumstances. It doesn’t mesh with reality, though, so it’s a bunk idea off the bat.”
“Isn’t the basis of sound science looking at all the data and allowing it to direct one to a functional conclusion? What you’re doing is trying to force this new information to fit into an unproven hypothesis you’ve already formulated,” Thunder pointed out.
If Clint’s memory reading trick had stunned the room, Thunder’s outburst left it absolutely flabbergasted. After considerable time, April broke the shocked silence.
“Where did you hear that?”
“My bros at the frat house and I used to power hour to documentaries over stuff in our classes so we could get our drink on while still logging study hours. I remember that from a really long one about the origins of the scientific method. I pulled a puker on the couch by the credits.”
“O-kay. Well, you’ve got a point, I think. I don’t know what’s going on, and I guess it would be closed-minded of me to assume anything at this point.”
“Great, glad we’re all on the same page. Now then, if someone can grab the pear, we should all really be on our way.”
“The pear?” April asked.
“Yes, the pear. The one you used in the ceremony. The one that contained the last vestiges of my power so I can call Nature in her temple. You did grab the pear, didn’t you?”
There was a series of awkward glances and some uncomfortable shuffling.
“The rain was balls out crazytown after you got shocked,” Thunder said softly.
“It seemed imperative to get back to the bus,” April added.
“Perfect. Just perfect. What else can go wrong?”
10.
Lawrence did not dream, neither in his sleep nor in his waking hours. Schemed, plotted, planned: all of those were frequent occurrences, but dreaming was the stuff of fantasy, and Lawrence had no need for that unless he was crafting one for someone else. So it was with some surprise he found himself in a lush jungle near the beach when he distinctly remembered settling in for a light nap some time earlier.
“Curious,” Lawrence said. He checked his shoes and his attire, confirming it was his usual suit and wingtips. Since he was not already dripping in sweat from the tropical heat despite being swathed in wool, it seemed an obvious conclusion that this event was not occurring in reality.
“Kneel mortal, for you are in the presence of the mighty god Felbren.” The voice seemed to echo out from the trees all around; pinning down an actual initialization point was clearly impossible. Lawrence gave a half-hearted glance around, but it was mostly for show. Anyone who went to that much trouble to conceal their audible location wasn’t going to be standing in plain sight.
“Thank you, but I think that would muddy my slacks. I’d prefer to stand.”
“You… impudent mortal! Do you not understand what has befallen you?”
“Quite well, actually. Either I’m dreaming, in which case there is no real concern, or you are truly the god Felbren, in which case I have nothing to fear.”
“Nothing to fear? You are a fool, little mortal. The great god Felbren has visited his will upon your kind since before your bloodline had even begun.”
“No question. But the fact remains that I’m on Kenowai and Felbren is bound to Faldilonda; therefore I am beyond his reach.”
“What, um, what makes you say that?”
Lawrence smiled, making no particular effort to have the expression appear more jovial than it was. He’d only been taking a guess, but he’d hit his mark. “I listened to the story and paid attention.”
“It was only a story.”
“All tales of the mythical beings we call gods are only stories. If I’m extending you the cordiality of believing you exist, then I must make similar assumptions about the legends regarding you.”
The trees in front of Lawrence parted and a glowing man with a round face and an ornate white and green outfit stepped forward. He eyed Lawrence warily then waved his hand. Where once there had only been dirt and vegetation now stood two cushy chairs with a table between them. On the table was a bottle of red wine and a pair of goblets, ornate and ancient by the look of them
.
“Humans like you take all the fun out of this.” Felbren motioned for Lawrence to sit, and this time he complied.
“My apologies. I’ve never been visited by a higher being before.”
“No wonder. You’re as empty a vessel as a bone cup in the desert. I’ve seen rocks with more Belief than you.”
“It would be difficult for me to disagree with you. That does beg the question, though; why am I being graced with such an honor as your visit?”
Felbren grabbed the wine bottle and removed the cork with two fingers. It was the kind of thing physics would never allow in the rational world, but physics hadn’t been invited to this party. “Cut the flattery bullshit. I’ve got worshippers for that.” Felbren filled his own goblet to the brim then poured a glass for Lawrence.
“Fine. What do you want?”
“Ah, now that’s why I’m visiting you, right to the quick of things. You might not have any Belief, but you can assimilate new information and utilize it to your advantage like none other.”
“How do you know that?”
“My kind always keeps tabs on people like you - fixers, as you call yourselves. There is a place in our ranks for the devout, the earnest, the loving, even the moronic. People with your kind of ruthlessness and intellect, though, well, it’s proven beneficial to know what you were up to even if you don’t fit into our hierarchy.”
Lawrence tried the wine. There weren’t enough ideas in all the languages of the world to describe it, let alone enough words. If Lawrence were the kind of man who could be moved, he would have wept in overwhelming joy. Instead he set the glass down and met the god’s eyes.
“So we come back to it: what do you need?” Lawrence had gathered that whatever had gotten Felbren to play ball this long was far more than a mere want.
“Your people freed Kodiwandae. This is inconvenient for me since I haven’t completed everything I wanted to get done in his absence.”
“You mean convincing the woman he loves to love you instead.”
“Anyway, I’m here because while he is free, he isn’t yet restored. This creates a narrow window of opportunity to slow his full recovery, buying me the time I need.”
“How do you stop a god from rising?”
“Take away its yeast. Sorry, old joke among the pantheon. Somewhat apt analogy, though. Kodiwandae cannot rise again until he calls Nature to restore his realm. For that he needs the last of the energy he had when he was sealed.”
“And how do I get that?”
“Oh no, cunning one, not so easy. I won’t be telling you that little tidbit until we have a bargain.”
Lawrence smiled again and took another sip of his wine. Felbren had seen looks like that many a time, almost always attached to one of Iohalo’s deep beasties, the kind that lived far down in the dark waters and all but the most unfortunate humans had yet to uncover.
“Then let us deal.”
* * *
Finding a ride to the pear was proving tougher than expected. It seemed that the locals weren’t particularly keen on making the drive to Kodiwandae’s tree, especially not with foreigners, and extra especially not at night. The front desk clerk told them in kind but unyielding tones that the resort would not risk the lives and vehicles of their shuttle service by sending them up that road in the dark. It probably didn’t help that Clint kept mumbling to himself, trying to convince Kodiwandae that yelling at his servants to do as they were told would cause more problems than it would solve. Of course, all everyone else saw was a white kid with his head down and a constant stream of words mumbling forth. It was off-putting, to say the least.
They might have spent all night cajoling and pleading with locals if not for a bit of mercy from the King of Kenowai.
“Ow!” Clint yelped. He whirled around to see the cat that had been with them on the bus casually walking out the door as though he hadn’t just sunk his teeth into Clint’s ankle.
Follow the cat.
“Why?”
“Why what?” April asked.
Because I say so. He wanted your attention, now follow him.
“That’s crazy.”
“Oh, he’s talking to Kodiwandae.” April paused and realized that she had just taken a person having a conversation with someone in their head as an explanation rather than a curiosity. Maybe Clint was right without meaning to be; maybe this was crazy.
If you have any better ideas I’m open to hearing them.
“I do, actually; we go back upstairs and go to sleep and I forget this whole thing ever happened.”
“Dude, your decibels are starting to creep vertically,” Thunder cautioned him.
Rousing idea. Then some passer-by takes the pear and I’m stuck inside you until your fleshy form falls apart.
Clint took a deep breath. “We’re going after the cat.”
Wish I’d thought of that.
“Shut up.”
Clint walked quickly, both to close the gap that had occurred in the time spent debating and to get clear of the hotel before any of the other guests started getting too concerned about his seemingly solo conversations. He might not have cared what people thought of him, but he wasn’t so dense that he didn’t know enough people thinking you were crazy meant a one-way ticket to a padded room all of your own.
The other three tagged along gamely. At this point it would be hard to say if the sum of their loyalty came from fear, curiosity, or guilt, but they came all the same and Clint was glad for it. He’d never been particularly big on needing people; however, it turned out that in big enough situations, even he enjoyed the comfort of people having his back.
To the left.
The voice snapped Clint from his reverie and back to the task at hand. The cat was weaving through grass, invisible in the night sky with the exception of its golden tail tip. It padded out past the swimming pool, through the grass around the tennis courts, and out to the edge of the hotel’s property. Here there were smaller buildings, squat apartment complexes with some stone benches and a few fire pits for grilling. It was clearly where the help lived, though most were still on shift, leaving the place looking abandoned. The cat didn’t head toward the housing section of the buildings; instead it kept walking toward a wooden garage with a corrugated metal roof.
“Is anyone else wondering how that cat made it back here already?” April wondered as they skulked along.
“He ran away several hours ago,” Falcon pointed out.
“Yeah, but that clearing is a good twenty miles from here. Who ever heard of a cat covering that sort of distance in half a day?”
“We’re trailing said cat at the insistence of the god currently trapped in our friend’s head so that we might find the enchanted pear that will set him free. Perhaps it is time to accept that there are many mysteries and bits of magic this island holds.”
“Touché.”
“Shh,” Clint whispered. The cat had gone inside the garage, and now that they were closer they could see a faint light shining through the poorly-aligned slats of wood making up the walls. They heard a voice shortly after the golden tail tip was lost from sight.
“My King, two nights in a row you visit. You do me too much honor.”
“Oh coolness, it’s Mano,” Thunder said, walking forward eagerly and going into the garage. The others hurriedly went after him, both because it was clearly where they were meant to go and because no one quite trusted Thunder to represent them to the locals.
As soon as Clint stepped into the garage he saw it: a rusted, beat up, barely recognizable old pickup truck. It looked like Father Time had caught this vehicle messing around with his daughter and come after it with appropriate vengeance. Clint was almost eighty percent sure that even standing in the same room as this thing should require a tetanus shot.
Mano was sitting on a work bench next to it. The cat stared up at the newcomers with an innocent tilt of the head, as though it hadn’t just herded them here like cattle.
“Oh, hello, folks
,” Mano said, standing up quickly. “Did you get turned around? You’re of course welcome to be here, but I’m afraid there isn’t much to do, especially compared to the main grounds.”
Clint opened his mouth to thank Mano for the hospitality and apologize for the intrusion while assuring him that they would be on their way now. Predictably, this is not what happened.
“Hey kid, does that thing run?”
* * *
“This had better be about compensation for our equipment,” Dustin warned from the doorway. His brother, who was lounging on the couch, straightened up as Lawrence stepped in. Lawrence was dressed in his usual attire with two exceptions: he’d left the tie off the ensemble and he carried a battered old video camera under his arm. Not that Lawrence was one to dismiss curious event as mere anomalous dream, but he was not the type of man to undertake things without some sense of confirmation. Luckily, Thunder, for all his faults, could point a camera where the action was happening and hold it there when hell broke loose. Viewing the only remaining footage had confirmed that something strange had definitely taken place, and it meshed enough with Felbren’s description for Lawrence to lend credence to the god’s claims.
“As a matter of fact, it is.” Lawrence walked over to a free chair and took a seat. Some businessmen he’d dealt with liked to stay standing when dealing with peons, to remind them who the more powerful person in the room was. Lawrence was of the opinion that if you needed tricks to convince others you were more powerful then you probably weren’t. “It seems you boys, while excellent photographers, are shit at negotiations.”
“Beg pardon?” Justin sat forward on the couch.
“Oh, you managed to get your pay rate to an impressive level, I’ll give you that; but the cost was several smaller benefits. For example: any assumption of risk to your equipment on behalf of the company.”
“You’re lying,” Dustin accused.
“Go read the contract; or better yet, have a lawyer read it to you. He’ll tell you that not only are we not liable for a dime on replacing your cameras, we also don’t have to pay you for the shoot since you failed to deliver any product.”
