The Cloud Roost (Jekua Book 5), page 10
They joined the others and Wasaaru led them inside. Before they entered the house, Alani told Balt he’d done a good job while Niona ribbed him for losing, as expected.
Inside, the place looked exactly the same as it had ten years ago. The whole house was filled with warm colors, with yellow walls and tan carpeting that probably had grains of sand embedded in it, dragged in from the nearby beach over the past several decades. Wasaaru’s maternal grandparents, the Jonwos, were also huge fans of beachside landscape paintings despite the beach literally being visible from their back windows, so all the walls were adorned with beachy paintings of varying quality housed in thick, tacky frames. They still owned the same old, orange couch that Balt remembered, though its cushions were sagging more nowadays. The week he’d stayed here as a child, that was where he had slept, with a quilt crafted by Wasaaru’s grandmother pulled all the way up to his tiny chin. Several corners of the living room were still home to fake potted plants, and Balt even spotted one of the red clay pots that he and Wasaaru had drawn on with permanent markers. He’d (poorly) illustrated a Toryoth, while Wasaaru had (even more poorly) drawn a Whifflit. Straight ahead, the living room bled into the kitchen, with a bar counter dividing the two rooms. To their right, the house curved down a hallway to all the other rooms.
Across from the orange couch was what appeared to be a relatively new flatscreen television mounted on the wall. He imagined they had kept their old, boxy unit for as long as possible, until Wasaaru complained too much about how shitty the picture was. Balt had fond memories of him and his cousin seated too close to the television screen, playing video games together. More accurately, one of them playing some story-based game while the other watched.
In the kitchen were both of the Jonwos. Mrs. Jonwo was visible through the open partition at the bar counter, washing her hands in the sink while some pots bubbled on the stovetop. Mr. Jonwo was seated at the kitchen table, which had always been one of Balt’s favorite spots in the house. It was a large square table in the corner of the room, and the seats were a plush booth set against the two corner walls. Right behind one part of the booth was a window overlooking the hilltop and the ocean beyond. It was incredibly cozy, especially on a quiet morning. Mr. Jonwo was engrossed in a newspaper, which Balt did not know people still read. He didn’t even know newspapers were still produced. Both of the Jonwos sported a few more wrinkles than they had a decade ago, and their hair was a little more thin and gray, but they largely looked just as they did in Balt’s memory.
Mrs. Jonwo glanced up from scrubbing her hands, and her face brightened upon seeing them all standing in the entryway. “Oh!” she cheered, turning off the faucet and wiping her hands dry. “Hop, dear, they’re here!” she said to her husband.
The old man’s hearing had been declining the last time Balt saw him, so he could only imagine what it was like now. Mr. Jonwo looked to her for a moment, then looked over at the doorway and grinned. He set the newspaper down and scooted out of the booth.
Both of Wasaaru’s grandparents hobbled toward them, their bodies small and hunched over. They still seemed fairly spry, though, despite their age, crossing the length of the room quickly. Mr. Jonwo was dressed in faded overalls and a white t-shirt with a small tear on the shoulder, while Mrs. Jonwo wore a light purple dress with a dizzying pattern on it. Both of them were as thin as stick-bugs.
Mrs. Jonwo bee-lined for Balt, wrapping him in a tight hug. He hugged her back, not matching her tightness in fear of hurting her. She seemed so thin and fragile, but maybe that was all in his head. As they hugged, he breathed in her scent, which permeated the house. He’d always noted that the Jonwo household had a distinct aroma; it wasn’t bad, just specific. She pulled away from him with a toothy smile and said, “It’s been so long! We’re so happy to have you back.”
“Thank you for having me back,” Balt said with a smile.
“Oh, of course! You’re welcome here any time, you know that.”
She stepped away and Mr. Jonwo came forward, offering his hand for Balt to shake. He’d always been kind of formal. Balt took it, and Mr. Jonwo swung his arm up and down heartily.
“Good to see you, kid,” the man said. He was someone who had been working outside with his hands for fifty years, and his leathery skin was a testament to that. His arms were wiry, but surprisingly muscular. “Where you been?” he then asked jokingly.
“Oh, you know, around,” Balt replied. One hell of an understatement.
The Jonwos turned their attention to the other guests infiltrating their home. Balt caught Mr. Jonwo eyeing Brine, not quite sure what to make of the golem. Wasaaru proceeded to introduce each of them one by one, going down the line with hugs from Mrs. Jonwo and handshakes from her husband. Even Brine got a handshake, and he nearly toppled Mr. Jonwo over by accident.
“It smells amazing in here,” Alani said once introductions were out of the way.
Mrs. Jonwo beamed at the compliment. “I’m glad you think so! It’s all almost ready. Wasaaru, you can help me get everything set up at the table outside. I’m not quite sure we have enough room for everybody in the kitchen.”
Everyone offered to help set up, and they further insisted when Mrs. Jonwo initially declined. It was the least they could do, they told her. There was no telling how long they would be intruding on the Jonwos’ lives.
It was still going to be a few minutes before the food was done cooking, so they all milled about the kitchen until then. Mr. Jonwo returned to his seat at the table, where he requested Aeiko join him so that they could tell him about Brine. Not being a churchgoer, he was not overly familiar with coral golems. Alani sat by Aeiko, listening attentively to everything they said, while Brine stood next to the table. Balt, Niona, and Wasaaru huddled around Mrs. Jonwo, all of them deeply interested in finding out what was on the menu. Mrs. Jonwo took to Niona immediately, which was no surprise given how personable the both of them were. Connecting with people seemed to come easy to Niona, no matter what, whereas it was usually a struggle for Balt unless he shared a common interest with the other person. Niona could blabber on about anything at any time, though.
Eventually, it was time to prepare the table. After standing around the kitchen smelling amazing smells for ten minutes, Balt was starving.
Since it was meant to be a big, welcoming, celebratory feast, Mrs. Jonwo wanted the weathered picnic table outside to look nice and tasked Niona with putting a tablecloth on it. She shoved a folded tablecloth into her arms, one with a plaid yellow pattern, keeping in theme with the rest of the house’s colors.
Balt followed her outside, carrying a collection of colorful plates. He set them down on one of the benches and assisted Niona in pulling the tablecloth over the table.
“I like Wasaaru’s grandparents,” Niona said as they worked.
“Yeah, they’re super nice,” Balt said. “I don’t know them super well, but I visited with him a couple times when we were kids. Usually just for a day or two, but one time I stayed for a week.”
“Wow, visiting someone else’s grandparents. Kind of intense.”
Balt chuckled. “Yeah, well, it didn’t seem weird to us at the time. We were basically inseparable.”
“What kinda shit y’all get up to around here?” Niona asked. “Doesn’t seem like a town with a ton to do.”
“Well, growing up in Tanepke, we were used to that,” he said. Then he gestured toward the back of the house and said, “Back there’s a hill that goes all the way down to the beach. It’s not very steep or anything, so we would always throw ourselves and roll down it to see who could hit the sand first.”
Niona laughed at the image. “Sounds like a good way to bust yourselves up.”
“It was.”
“Sounds about right, knowing you two. Ever break any bones?”
“Thankfully, no. Just got ourselves a nice collection of bruises and scrapes. There are some rocks hidden in the grass, I can tell you that much.”
With the cloth in place, Balt set the seven plates down. At first, Mrs. Jonwo had given him a plate for Brine, before Aeiko explained that he did not eat food.
Even without Brine at the table, it was going to be a tight fit. Balt wasn’t really sure how it was going to work until Wasaaru came trundling out of the house with a folding chair under each arm. He set them up on either end of the table, and Balt shifted the plates accordingly.
Aeiko was in charge of all the silverware, and they were placing a set next to each plate while the rest of them filed inside to help carry the food out. Alani was standing behind Mrs. Jonwo in the kitchen, her hands behind her back while she shifted in place uncomfortably. Balt gave her a pat on the shoulder as he sidled up, and it seemed to put her at ease. She never knew what to do in family situations like these.
It was almost impossible not to dig into the food before it even hit the table. Delectable aromas wafted up into Balt’s nostrils, and he wasn’t sure if he was actually walking anymore or floating through the air following the scent like a cartoon character. The group carried out full pots and plates piled high with grub that filled every inch of unused real estate on the table. Balt didn’t think there was any way in hell everything would fit, but somehow it did. Mrs. Jonwo was a pro. She knew her table’s limitations.
When he finally sat down at his spot, Balt could hardly believe his eyes. They’d had some good food on the S.S. Anu, but this was a true feast. A spectacular return to the World of Food after the turmoil of Yuluhu. Mrs. Jonwo’s specialty was seafood, and there was plenty of it. There were bright red crab legs ready to be cracked, fried fish and shrimp with both tartar and cocktail sauces for dipping (and grilled fish and shrimp too, although Balt was in the mood for the fried stuff today), and some clams steamed with butter and garlic. For side items, she had prepared light, fluffy rolls, fried okra, creamed corn with diced jalapenos, jellyfish salad, and grilled squash.
Balt stared at the spread with wide-eyed wonder, then turned to Mr. Jonwo with a grin. “How much of this did you catch?” he asked him.
Mr. Jonwo laughed. He was a clammer by trade, but Balt knew he loved to fish in his spare time. As far as the old man was concerned, the best place to be was out at sea. “The clams are mine, of course, but nothing else. Sorry to disappoint. Just went to the market for the fish and shrimp, but the crabs were caught by my buddy Hilo Banow, over on Dandelion Lane.” He always spoke of his friends with their first and last names, as well as where they lived, as if that information meant anything to anyone else.
To start, Balt scooped some fried delights onto his plate along with okra, jellyfish salad, corn, and a roll. At the last second, he also grabbed two of the clams. He wasn’t a huge clam guy, but he didn’t mind them, and he didn’t want Mr. Jonwo to feel unappreciated.
The fried shrimp had a beautiful, crunchy exterior filled with delicious spices. The shrimp itself had a nice meatiness to it, with some good sweetness to counteract the saltiness of the batter. He tore through the corn in a matter of seconds, knowing immediately that he would have to get more. Hell, the others might be out of luck if they wanted any of it. The biggest surprise on the plate was the jellyfish salad, which wasn’t something he’d ever eaten before and was curious to try. The flavor was fantastic, with the long, shimmery strands of jellyfish tossed in chili oil, soy sauce, peppercorns, and garlic.
It was the texture that was challenging.
Balt had no idea how to describe it. It was chewy, but also soft, but also…joint-y? Ligament-y? He didn’t know what was inside a jellyfish (or anybody or anything, really). He could distinctly feel something in the strands of jellyfish, but he didn’t know what it was and was afraid to ask. It wasn’t an entirely unpleasant mouthfeel, but it was certainly like nothing he’d ever experienced before. Honestly, it was kind of fun to eat. He scooped a little more onto his plate after he refilled his creamed corn.
He quickly realized he was getting too drawn into his food and started paying attention to the conversation. Mrs. Jonwo was asking about Alani’s manastream tattoos, which was surely a sore subject, but the old woman didn’t know that. To her credit, Alani was answering all her questions with a kind smile.
Once there was a natural pause for him to jump in, Balt changed the topic by asking, “How’s the weather been around here lately? Pretty soon, we’re gonna be doing a lot of hiking.”
“Ahh, yes, Wasaaru told us a little about that, but it’s so hard to get him to explain anything to us,” said Mrs. Jonwo. “You’re going to the mountains?”
“Yep.”
“I see.”
“The weather’s been great,” Mr. Jonwo answered. “Nothing but sunny skies. Perfect for working up a sweat on those mountains.”
“Oh, yeah, perfect,” Niona groaned, voicing Balt’s exact thoughts.
“Just doing the different trails, then?” Mrs. Jonwo asked.
Balt cast a glance over at Wasaaru, who nodded subtly as he cracked open a crab leg.
“Yeah, pretty much,” Balt said, hoping the others would catch on. “None of us have ever seen the Vetteteo Mountains, so we thought it’d make for a cool group trip.” No reason to get her worried about them squaring off with a Jenu or to explain the complicated nature of Alani’s abandoned pilgrimage. In fairness, he didn’t know how they would explain the fact that they were hanging around training Jekuas for weeks on end before taking what was meant to be a normal hike, but he figured Wasaaru would handle that in due time. It wasn’t Balt’s place to have that talk with them.
Mr. Jonwo huffed. “Been a long time since we hiked Vetteteo,” he said, looking at his wife as he held a speared piece of fried okra aloft. “Remember how badly our second trip out there went?” He popped the little fried ball into his mouth.
Mrs. Jonwo guffawed, making Alani jump in her seat. Her skittishness made Aeiko chuckle.
“Of course I do,” the woman smiled. To Wasaaru, she said, “Did we ever tell you about this?”
He looked at his grandparents with a quirked eyebrow. “I don’t think so.”
“Well, you oughta hear it before you go out there,” said Mr. Jonwo. “Make sure you’ve got a proper warning, and all.”
Wasaaru furrowed his brow. “What in the world happened?” he asked, concerned.
“Oh, nothing major in the end, but it was a big pain in my ass at the time,” his grandfather replied. “We were doing the, uh…which trail was it? They’ve got so many.”
“The Viper Trail,” Mrs. Jonwo provided.
“I don’t like the sound of that,” said Niona.
“I don’t either, now,” Mr. Jonwo agreed. “Anyway, we were hiking the Viper Trail, and of course with my luck, one of those damn little Jekuas jumped out at us out of nowhere. I don’t know what it’s called, the one that’s like a cat but with beetle shit all over it.”
The two cousins helped him out. “A Bobbol,” they said in unison.
Mr. Jonwo grinned. “Ahh, yeah, I forgot you’re all into that sort of stuff just like Wasaaru. Yeah, I guess it was a Bobbol. Anyway, jumped out from behind a rock or something, all hissing at us and whatnot. I think it was asleep and us walking by woke it up and scared it, or something. But it came at me with its horn, and—”
“It stabbed you?” said Wasaaru, stifling a laugh. A Bobbol’s trihorn was sharp, sure, but it was hard to imagine one actually landing an attack on a person. It would have to get super close for the horn to make contact, and they were such small creatures, they could easily be batted away.
“No, of course not,” Mr. Jonwo said, waving away the suggestion. “Let me finish. It came at me with its horn, and I had to kick it away. I felt bad, but the little shit’s covered in that green shell, so it was probably fine. Anyhow, that made it freak out more, of course.”
“Of course,” Niona nodded.
“So what did it do? It did its little—what do you call it?—its little magic thing, where it screws up your hearing.”
“It used Sonic magic,” said Wasaaru.
“Sure, that. It used Sonic magic and made me go deaf.”
Wasaaru laughed. “It didn’t use it on you?” he asked his grandmother.
She shook her head and swallowed a mouthful of bread before speaking. “No, it was not very interested in me. I’m not the one who kicked it.”
“It was coming after me!” Mr. Jonwo cried.
“It was practically the size of your shoe,” his wife said.
“Do not lie to these kids. It was much bigger than that,” he assured them. The table laughed, then he continued. “After it magic’d me, it jumped away and disappeared up the mountain. I knew the deafness was only temporary, but let me tell you, it was the most unsettled I’ve ever been in my life. I kept digging my fingers in my ears, like I could shovel something out of the way, something that was blocking me from hearing. But anyway, five minutes later we reached a stopping point in the trail, some plateau where you could take photos, eat lunch, stuff like that.”
“And he still couldn’t hear,” said Mrs. Jonwo. “It made arranging our picnic very annoying.”
“Even ten minutes later?” said Wasaaru with surprise. “That thing must’ve been really strong. Usually the effects don’t last that long.”
“Maybe your grandpa was just weak,” Mrs. Jonwo suggested.
“No, it was strong. And bigger than my shoe,” said Mr. Jonwo. “Anyway, stop interrupting! I haven’t even gotten to the point yet. So we were sitting there, enjoying the view and the sandwiches your grandmother packed, when tragedy struck.”
“Yes, it struck you right in the head,” his wife said.
Mr. Jonwo grunted. “There were some teenagers playing a bit of cometball on the plateau. They were getting rowdy, and one of them lost control of the ball, and it flew right at us. They were yelling to warn me, but because of the damned Bobbol, I couldn’t hear them. Hit me right in the side of the head, sent me sprawling on the ground like an idiot. Cracked the other side on a rock.”
