The Land Beyond Summer is posted for entertainment purposes only and no part of it may be crossposted to any other datafile base, conference, news group, email list, or website without written permission of Pulpless.Comtm.
Copyright © 1996 by Brad Linaweaver. All rights reserved.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE MASTER'S PLAN
There was an instant conference with Jennifer, Mr. Wynot,
the Tabrik leader and even nervous Mr. Brine. They had dressed
for the occasion. Clive and Kitnip kept a watchful eye on
Malak's ambassador. Fay was pleased over the way everyone turned
to Jennifer for guidance. Whatever these various office holders
meant in the grand scheme of things, they deferred to the true
representatives of the Seasons. Fay wondered what the other
three must be like, and if they encouraged the same degree of
confidence as was natural with Jennifer.
"We must go," she said sweetly. "Mrs. Norse has a rule
about never being rude, however unreasonable that may be." Fay
shook her head to clear away the cobwebs and the possibility
she'd just heard Jennifer be sarcastic. "Besides, when Lord
Malak takes a chance like this he puts himself at risk if he
doesn't behave himself," Jennifer finished to a murmuring of
agreement.
Mr. Wynot took a moment from vigorously drying what remained
of his hair so as to ask a practical question: "How will we get
to Summer?"
"We could walk," said Jennifer.
"The picnic will be at Soon o'clock," said the messenger.
"Transportation will be provided upon request."
Jennifer made a command decision: "We appreciate the offer
from Lord Malak, but we decline any method of travel that
requires his aid. You understand how it is."
The football head remained impassive, but Kitnip felt the
fur rise on her neck as if at any moment the robotic man might do
something unpleasant. The leader of the Tabriks held up a hand
and made an offer: "I'll get us there."
"The invitation does not extend to any of your retinue,"
said the messenger in an especially snooty manner.
The Tabrik bowed. "Considering how your lord feels about my
people, it is wondrous that even I should be welcome."
Malak's man turned on his heel and marched back to the boat.
When he had rowed to the center of the lake, he and his craft
simply disappeared.
"Let's go," said Mr. Wynot in a merry tone of voice. "At
least we'll get a fine meal." He smacked his lips with great
gusto.
"You're going to eat his food?" asked Clive warily.
"Yes, my brother's right," added Fay. "Is this wise?"
"The rules, the rules," piped Mr. Wynot. "The enemy is many
things but he's never broken the laws of hospitality."
"We'd probably be safe traveling in one of his craft,"
admitted Jennifer, "but you never know for sure, and I didn't
want to give him the satisfaction."
The Tabrik leader gestured for them to follow him and added
the reminder, "This way we can take along some of the eggs, in
case we need them." He placed strong hands to his forehead and
concentrated.
Clive joined Fay as they went off toward the glass hive.
They were happy to be together again although she couldn't resist
teasing him about his appearance. His shoes were still soggy so
he took them off, removed his dripping socks, and put the shoes
back on. After wringing the socks out as best he could, he
dangled them from his belt as if they were the pelts of dead
animals. He was not a happy camper.
Fay wanted to know if he'd seen Wolf. He brought her up to
date. They both breathlessly described their adventures -- but
it soon transpired that Clive had a bit more to relate. Judging
herself a newly baptized expert on the subject of water monsters,
Fay wanted to compare the spider-fish of the lake to the
amorphous entity that Clive had faced at the seaside; plus
anything more he could recall about the ocean. Kitnip wanted
more details about the dragon.
As they neared the city of the Tabriks, Fay pointed at the
vehicle that must be meant for their party. Clive thought he was
back in Mrs. Norse's kitchen, observing the blue spheres ...
except these were much larger and forming a ring around an
elaborately rigged glass boat. The seemingly fragile craft came
closest in appearance to a gondola, except this was much larger
than any of the graceful craft used in the canals of Venice. A
ramp was already in place for them. There were advantages to
being in the compnay of the Tabrik leader -- advantages as clear
as he was.
The spheres pulsed and quivered as they walked up the ramp.
Although the seats appeared to be made of hard and unyielding
glass (or some sort of transparent plastic) they were, in fact,
quite soft. No sooner was everyone seated than the ship rose
into the air.
Fay noticed how Clive was gazing straight up with a worried
expression. "What's the matter?" she inquired.
"Blue sky overhead," he mused aloud, "but that yellow fog I
was drifting in must be up there somewhere. It's the same as
what you saw in your dream. And there's that crazy pollen coming
out of it with recorded voices."
"You'll drive yourself crazy trying to figure out how
anything works around here," she replied. But her words started
him pondering the possibilities. Was the yellow fog really above
his head, somewhere up high, or was it someplace else entirely?
Perhaps it only came into existence when needed. This magic
business was more trouble than learning science had ever been.
Matters were difficult enough when you had the hope that rules
might remain consistent; with magic, the rules might stay the
same or they might not. The trouble was knowing whom to ask!
Clive joined his sister in enjoying the scenery unfolding
beneath the prow and was reminded of visiting a national park
back home with its fine selection of healthy forests, unpolluted
lakes, gently flowing river, neatly kept grounds and other signs
of well maintained vitality. And yet there was something subtly
wrong with the picture unfolding beneath them: this was one
remarkably underpopulated world.
Fay's heart jumped for joy when she caught sight of a lone
horse, a white mare galloping in an open field. There were no
other horses to be seen.
Clive gently nudged his sister and pointed to a less
pleasing spectacle. Several of the dimunitive pumpkin men were
scrambling for cover underneath a spreading Elm. It was
disturbing to think these little homunculi could enter Spring.
He'd hoped they might be restricted to Autumn, but just because
they originated there it didn't necessarily follow that they
would be restricted in movement.
There seemed to be more of Malak's dire creations than the
kind of life Fay and Clive wanted to see. Another frustration
was that they couldn't get a better sense of geography from this
new vantage point than had been the case atop the stone mountain.
Beyond a certain point, the picture ended in mist.
Up ahead they had a good view of the peculiar volcano,
shrouded in mist, silently belching out the bubbles of light that
spread from Summer to illuminate all the Seasons. Clive wanted
to climb the thing and see what the view was like. Having spent
time beyond the mist, he at least knew there was a there there.
Unbidden, memories flooded back from school where plans were
being laid to celebrate the 500th anniversary of Columbus's
voyage. Clive wondered if this world might be flat!
Certainly it was very much like a big island or small continent,
but if he hadn't seen the ocean for himself he would have
suspected that the Land of the Seasons was surrounded by ...
nothing.
A sudden lightness in his stomach and the balls of his feet
brought Clive back to "reality," such as it was. Glancing at his
sister, he was impressed yet again by her steadfastness. He
believed her to be better suited to this adventure of theirs.
A dramatic increase in temperature left no doubt as to the
location. It was Summer, all right. With a soft thud, they
touched down and were greeted by a welcoming committee.
Clive thought he was seeing double, or triple. Three other
Jennifers rushed over to embrace their sister who was first to
disembark. The Jennifers were not perfectly identical but
startlingly similar. The one in the lead had to be the Jennifer
of Summer. She wore a tight fitting black bikini. The finsihing
touch was the formality of a black top hat. The other two
Jennifers were dressed according to their Seasons as well. The
pretty dress and light jacket that went with Autumn seemed a bit
out of place in this heat ... but Clive was most surprised that
the one from Winter didn't seem to be burning up in her white
parka and hood. Truth to tell, none seem affected by weather.
After the introductions (a great fuss was made over Fay),
the Jennifers led them through a brief stretch of forest. Fay
wandered ahead of Clive. He didn't mind in the least. As she
pushed some hanging moss out of the way, she was presented with a
vision that struck her with such force that it might as well have
been a physical blow. He was there, playing host to a large
number of people. And he saw her.
Grandfather was dressed in the same black suit in which he'd
been buried. Even from this distance there was a musty odor
rising from him or from the suit -- she wasn't sure which.
Perhaps the most incongruous element was that she'd never seen
him so relaxed and friendly. Slowly he walked over, with such
painful deliberation that it was as if he were moving underwater.
She was fixed to the spot, caught in his watery gaze that seemed
to crawl up and down every inch of her body.
"My darling girl!" he said as he finally reached her. She
pulled back as he tried to embrace her. "Perfectly all right,"
he cooed. "No need to rush. And look, there's Clive! Hope you
have a good appetite, young fella!"
Jennifer of Spring came to the rescue: "Don't overdo it,
Lord Malak."
A dark scowl formed on Grandfather's mouth but it was gone
as quickly as it had flickered there. For some unaccountable
reason, he was exercising self control. "And where is Our Lady
of the Seasons?" he asked of this nearest Jennifer.
"Not enjoying your picnic," was the ungracious answer.
"Oh, I understand," he lied, catching sight of Kitnip. "Our
Lady would rather stay home with those ... animals."
"Meeeoooow," said Kitnip.
He was wise enough to change the subject: "My, my, you
Season girls are all so pretty. How am I to tell you apart if
you go swimming? I mean, without your identifying raiment
there's no way...."
"Since when would it make any difference to you?" asked
Jennifer of Summer in a voice so cold as to belie the heat.
"Well, you girls certainly know how to put an old man in his
place. That must include you, mustn't it, Fay?" She bit her lip
to keep from making a comment. She was glad at least that Wolf
was safe with Mrs. Norse. Malak's sarcasm brought out the best
in her.
"Don't pick on her," said Jennifer of Autumn.
Grandfather laughed with the sound of a nest of hornets
dying somewhere in the caverns of his sunken chest. "But it's a
picnic, dears," he said, his horribly good mood in no way
altered. "Very well, I'll behave ... at first. You're all
scheming a mile a minute, but let's put all that aside until
we've had our hotdogs."
There were several long wooden tables at which disturbingly
familiar people were talking and eating. Jennifer recognized the
voices before Clive did. She ran over for a closer look.
Another family reunion was not what the doctor had ordered, but
here it was, in all its grotesque and byzantine splendor. There
was a swarm of uncles, aunts, cousins, second cousins, nephews,
nieces ... more extended family extending down the length of the
tables than she had ever seen all in one place.
She felt a lump in her throat as she recognized the long
missing set of her favorite grandparents. And there was her
other grandmother, the poor woman who had been ill for so long
and had stuck with Grandfather even longer, far longer than
sanity would require. Small and trembling, the woman was sitting
next to Aunt Miner.
Fay couldn't stand Aunt Miner.
Grandfather came up from behind and took her by the elbow.
There was no getting away from him this time. The wild notion
that none of this was real -- and that they all might be Slaks --
was shattered by every scrap of conversation she overheard as he
guided her to the head of the table. This was the sort of
inanity that could never be faked, such as Aunt Miner declaiming,
"But dear, you're not remembering it at all the way it really
hapened. Donald brought us here in quite a different order. You
must have overheard me talking to Cousin Orson and been confused
when we...."
Grandfather's grip tightening on her arm, he whispered in
her ear, "Isn't it charming, granddaughter, the little things
that occupy their minds? Ah, suffer the adults to come unto me."
She pulled away from him and this elicited more Malakian
laughter. She never thought there would have come the day when
she missed Grandfather's solemn refusal to laugh at anything, but
the cruelty of Malak's "humor" had done its work. "There,
there," he said, patting her on the bottom, "just have a seat on
the bench there, and I'll attend to the rest." He'd placed a
lawn chair at the head of the table and would hold court with Fay
at his right hand.
Clive was luckier. He was directed to sit at the next
table, every bit as full of distant relatives and Dad's college
friends. There were fewer of Mom's friends. She wondered if Mom
and Dad might be here, but they were nowhere to be seen.
A sudden flurry of noise drew Fay's attention to a nearby
lake, smaller than the one in which she'd been swimming. Maybe
this was a monster free zone. She hoped so, for the sake of the
children playing in the water.
A volleyball game was starting up at the lake's edge. At
first glance the participants seemed to be human, but closer
scutiny revealed them to be Malak's creatures, only better
constructed than the ones who had given Clive such a hard time.
But the children seemed real enough.
Grandfather returned with her hotdog and a glass of red
punch. "I was going to get you a beer," he said, "but I don't
want to get into trouble!"
He draped himself over a lawn chair in a manner so regal
that his posture changed what he was sitting on into a throne.
The first action he performed was to clap his hands and wait for
secret orders to be carried out. The ground rumbled and Fay
involuntarily grabbed at the wooden table, receiving a splinter
in her thumb for her trouble. Food and drink were spilled every
which way.
"You dare not break the laws of hospitality," chimed all
four Jennifers as one. They were clustered together at the end
of one table.
"This is merely entertainment!" Grandfather assured them,
while pointing to the cause of the disturbance down by the lake.
A giant statue was rising from the water. The first part of it
to appear, like the periscope of a submarine breaking the
surface, was the blade of a sword.
I don't believe it, Fay thought angrily, he's doing it
again. He must hate swimmers.
Children were running screaming from the water. Weirdly,
the volleyball game continued, although some of the players had
fallen over. That was as clear a way as any for separating the
Malak-made from the natural born.
As a giant marble arm came into view, wielding the white
sword, Fay remembered where she had seen that limb of stone
before: Grandfather's statue guarding his domain in Winter that
she had seen from the Stone Mountain. The appearance of the
colossus here was not a good sign.
The cruel head broke the surface as Malak stood, his black
suit covered by purple robes he'd yanked out of Heaven knows
what, and began to address the assembled company. "Fiends,
Humans, Countrythings, lend me your abject support. I am known
by many titles: Lord Malak, the Dour One, the Monster, even
Grandfather to some, and Uncle, and 'that no good son of a...'
well, I am honored by many titles. The time has come to
proclaim: Out with the old regime, on with the new and improved.
One title will do from now on."
He took a deep drink of the red punch while everyone
remained silent and terrified (the next best thing to being
respectful). The statue was up to its waist by now. Grandfather
Malak reached under his robes into his jacket pocket and removed
a small, brown rock which he then laid upon the picnic table.
"Now this," he intoned, "used to be the Lord High Mayor of
Winter."
"I told you he did that!" squeaked Mr. Wynot to the world at
large. Jennifer of Winter, eyes watering, cried a thin stream of
ice-blue crystals.
"Before this busy fellow went into retirement," Malak
continued, "he was critical of my setting up a base of operations
in his Season." The speaker glared down the table; and no one
dared speak. "I don't recall anyone objecting when you-know-who
built her little house in Autumn. Double standards are always
irritating. Anyhow, the mayor of Winter accused me of wanting to
be master of more than I ought. Sheer modesty forced me to cut
him off before he could elaborate. In his honor, good and gentle
beings here assembled, you may henceforth refer to me as Master."
"Even you have never dared break the rules," said Jennifer
of Spring.
"Shoo, you little pest. No rules have been broken because
no one is in danger here, at least not among the invited guests.
That's what hospitality is all about. The only conflict is due
to...."
"Mrs. Norse," said Fay helpfully.
"Oh, child," his hand snaked out so as to gently caress her
neck, "you should watch your language. Bad words have a place
but they should be used sparingly."
The statue had finished rising from the lake. Some of the
young children, having regained their courage, were gathering
again at the water's edge. They were far more interested in the
monument to Malak's pride than anything he might actually be
saying or doing.
"To continue," he continued, "I should do a little something
to consecrate my Masterdom. So it is that I take a moment in
this timeless place to let you in on my plan. Both sides of the
family are well represented at our little picnic. Without them,
I wouldn't be who I was or what I became. My loyal Slaks back on
Earth gave me the idea when they reported the unexpected visit of
Aunt Miner. So sparing no expense, I invited everyone."
Holding up a hand to staunch non-existent aplause, he summed
up: "The guests of honor are missing, I grant you, but that will
be remedied." He stared at Fay. Then he stared at Clive. "The
guests of honor will be with us soon."
After finishing the last of the punch, he threw the cup over
his shoulder, confirming more unsavory thoughts Fay held for him.
Litterbug, she thought. Clive wondered how much dynamite it
would take to blow up the statue. He hadn't had the pleasure of
using the exploding pine cones, and would have been very unhappy
to realize that Fay had left them behind in Spring.
"I've been the victim of a propaganda campaign, put out
by...." Grandfather hesitated, choosing his next words with
care, "the enemy. She would have you believe that I'm against
the Seasons. Lies, all lies! What I intend to do is take the
cliches out of the Seasons and reinvigorate them with a fresh
approach. What's so bad about that? I have nothing against
Winter, but snow and ice and cold have become a bore! As for
Summer, it has its charm ... but why must it always be so damned
hot? Spring has its place, but must it always be warm; and what
is more boringly predictable than its freshness, I ask you?
Finally, we have the worst cliches of all in Autumn. No wonder
the enemy chose to live there. The changing leaves is a real
yawner!"
Fay concluded that, magical powers notwithstanding,
Grandfather was still completely nuts. Enjoying the sound of his
own voice, Lord Malak kept right on: "Now I know what some of
you are thinking: did he fire six shots, or only five? No wait,
sorry about that. Cliches are like a plague. They creep up on
you. They're worse than cockroaches. 'Course we're fortunate
not to have cockroaches in this pristine world, but do I get any
credit for that? I'm the one who emptied the Seasons of its
more annoying pests! Bet you didn't know that.
"And I'm working every day to make things better and better.
Does the enemy care? Or the dragon, do I get any credit from the
dragon? No, and I'll tell you why. Mrs. Norse and the dragon
are two peas in a pod; they like things the old way, all messy
and ragged around the edges. They claim this world is shrinking
when it's obviously the universes that are growing bigger. They
blame anything that goes wrong on me. Always it's me! Can you
beat that? As for this little world of theirs, it's always been
this size. There's a myth that it was bigger once but that's the
biggest cliche of them all!"
He had to stop and catch his breath. Row upon row of
staring eyes and open mouths brought him back to what passed for
his reality. Speaking more softly, he said, "I haven't come to
destroy the Seasons. Far from it, I'm offering progress, change,
variety. The Seasons have become as boring and predictable as a
bad marriage."
He shuddered, then leaned over to Fay and said, "I'm sorry
about that, but as you know, sometimes bad language is required
for the right effect."
Straightening up again, he clapped his hands. The chest of
the giant statue creaked open, revealing two human beings locked
in a cage where the idol's heart would be. They were Mom and
Dad.