A more splendid demonstration of the patience of Malak’s creations could not have been devised. They waited and waited and waited. Finally, when it seemed that Aunt Miner lived on the dulcet tones of her verbiage alone, she bit into the cookie.
She never had a chance to try the coffee. The poor woman just sat there, frozen in the chair, her skin taking on the same grey color as the “cookie.” She was frozen into place so quickly that her grip on the cup didn’t loosen, and not a drop was spilled.
They judged her a problem to be dealt with later. Something to put off for a rainy day, the same way Aunt Miner had put off all the good deeds she had been promising her long suffering family she would take care of eventually.
But that’s another story. ***
Fay caught her breath as she saw the most beautiful scene of her young life. Kitnip had brought her to a small clearing. A miniature waterfall seemed to sing with gurgling water of different colors, flowing and bubbling its joyful tune. Cool air rose from the little pool of sparkling water, carrying a scent of fresh mint and ice.
A variety of birds darted about, and they were of as many hues as the water. The ones she found most attractive had double-sets of wings, one blue and one black, and when they were flying the wings would move so fast that they would blur, as if the wings of hummingbirds, but of much larger dimensions. Although the birds were the size of crows, they were as exquisite as robins or canaries.
The water and the birds were a delight to experience, but they paled by comparison to the human figure gliding through the water, wearing a crown of flowers in her light brown hair — head held above the small pool with a dignity suggesting complete ownership of her surroundings. As this remarkable female climbed out of the water, Fay couldn’t help but envy the attire thus revealed — a dress of such light material that it clung to the body as if part of the air. And as the woman ran her delicately shaped hands down the length of the fabric, drops of water cascaded (all yellow and red, as well as blue) and the spaces she touched dried quickly, leaving a pattern of stylized flowers on the cloth as if drawings had just appeared.
“Who is that?” asked Fay of her feline companion.
“Haven’t a clue,” answered Kitnip. “But Mrs. Norse told me to trust my instincts. I feel safe here.”
“Yes, I agree. No one who looks like that could be an enemy.”
“Don’t trust appearances alone,” answered the cat gravely. “After all, you thought the Tabrik was bad. On the other paw, just because this young female human looks all right doesn’t mean she isn’t all right!”
“How do we find out?”
Kitnip pleased Fay with the answer: “Since I’m the one with the instincts, I’ll go first. Mrs. Norse would want me to.”
No amount of surprises in this strange land could compare to the unpleasant discoveries Fay kept making about herself. She loved the cat, but she didn’t want anyone leaving little scars of jealousy on her soul. She was beginning to resent Mrs. Norse, even if this amazing personage represented her only hope, because Kitnip prized the good opinion of a stranger over Fay.
This frustration didn’t prevent Fay feeling admiration for Kitnip as the plucky little beast crept on little cat’s feet over to the strange young woman who at that moment had begun to sing. The voice thus revealed had the quality of tinkling bells. Fay caught herself feeling increased resentment, not for Mrs. Norse this time, but for the strange girl.
Fay had reached that difficult stage of life when nothing ever feels right. This strange young woman seemed perfect in every way, a perfect face with perfect white teeth, a perfect body with every line in all the right places. And she sang in tune.
The trouble was that Fay had become very selfconscious of late. And not wearing her top didn’t help. She had no reason to disparage her own appearance. Everyone, or close enough, thought she was cute. Fay had a good face with a button nose and high cheekbones. Her hair was a pretty shade of auburn and she wore it long. She thought she was ugly because she had freckles and wore glasses, but she was really pretty. And of course, she wasn’t wearing her glasses now. She hadn’t seen her reflection since receiving the gift of improved eyesight, but she rightly suspected the freckles would still be there.
A little voice in the back of her head told her she was comparing herself to her mother, who was quite a beauty. Somewhere along the way, Fay had made up her mind that she would never be as attractive as that and had given up. Finally, the voice reminded her of another of her books, one about how envy is a worse emotion than jealousy because the latter merely wants want someone else has, while the former is a destroyer that wants no one to possess or enjoy good things.
While Fay was caught up in thoughts of vanity, Kitnip, who never gave her appearance a moment’s thought, grew closer and closer to the objective. The closer the cat drew to this new human, the less danger was felt by the naturally cautious feline. When Kitnip prowled right up to sandaled feet, the cat could not resist the impulse to curl up there and start purring.
Which is exactly when the young woman looked down and said, “I’m Jennifer. Who are you?”
Now this was a surprise. Jennifer expected the cat to talk. “I’m Kitnip,” came the answer, mixed up with ongoing sounds of purring. “I’m traveling with a young human to the Hive.”
“Where is this young human?” asked Jennifer.
“She’s waiting for me to tell her it’s safe.”
“Then tell her.”
So Kitnip did. But it’s not like Fay hadn’t been eavesdropping on every word of the conference. As the girl from earth stepped into the open, Jennifer exclaimed, “Oh, you’re lovely.”
Normally a compliment didn’t mean much to Fay. But as those golden words left Jennifer’s lips, Fay felt a warm glow of satisfaction unlike anything she’d felt before. People were always making her feel like she had to justify herself. Here was someone who accepted her completely on first sight.
“Let’s eat!” said Jennifer without further preamble.
“Thank you,” said Fay who was indeed hungry by now.
“The food is good,” boasted Jennifer, “and best of all, eating it won’t make you a slave.” Fay and Kitnip exchanged curious glances at that last remark, but it was good to know that their next meal would come with such a high recommendation.
Then Jennifer passed her new companions some flowers! As the hostess was already putting one past the rosy portal of her own lips, Fay screwed up her courage and ate one, too. It tasted awfully good despite appearances and smelling of perfume. She’d swear she was eating cheese. Kitnip, more hesitant, sniffed at the petals of her offering quite a long time before taking atentative lick at it, then happily gulped down what tasted very much like liver.
Next wooden cups were produced by Jennifer; these she filled with water from the pool and passed one to Fay while placing the other before the cat. That’s when Jennifer noticed the bundle tied up in Fay’s blouse. The earth girl wearing nothing on top had not drawn the young woman’s attention at all.
“That’s a pretty bag,” she said.
“It’s actually my blouse, a shirt I should be wearing,” said Fay, a little embarrassed.
Jennifer blinked her large eyes and smiled prettily at Fay. “Then why are you using it as a container?”
“Because I had nothing else.”
“Oh. Please let me give you a sack and you can have your clothing back.”
Kitnip rubbed up against Jennifer’s leg. She didn’t usually take to strangers this quickly, but Fay felt the same way. Jennifer started rummaging around several boulders over by the spring and, hesto-presto, came up with an emerald green sack that was so pretty that it took the breath away.
“I can’t thank you enough!” said Fay.
“I’ll allow you to try,” said Jennifer sweetly. “By the way, what are you carrying exactly?”
Exchanging glances with Kitnip, Fay decided to keep no secrets from this person. “Only a few pine cones,” she admitted.
“Sometimes I’m glad I don’t have the responsibility of hands,” said Kitnip.
“I haven’t used them yet,” said Fay. “I doubt they’ll amount to much.”
“Take care,” warned Jennifer, reaching out to touch one of the cones as Fay untied her shirt. “They only work against the proper foes, but then they are lethal. That’s why Malak works so hard to ban their use from the Seasons.”
“What foes?” asked Fay, afraid that she already knew.
Fay shrugged and told her: “Monsters, of course.”
Go to Next Chapter.
Return to Table of Contents.
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 NINE
AND THROUGH THE WOODS
When Grandfather, that is to say Malak, that is to say the Dour One, had removed his head from his body and thrown it at Clive (who used to be his nephew), well, the unfortunate lad nearly fainted. At least the head missed him. All that was left was a puff of smoke where the enemy had been standing; that, and some broken pieces of clay that had been a head only a moment before. His minions were nowhere to be seen but they hadn’t left puffs of smoke behind to mark their passing.
“How corny can you get?” growled Wolf. “I hate people like that.”
“Like what?” asked Clive, who was shaking so badly he had somehow missed the “corniness” of the attack.
“He’s the worst kind of show-off,” continued Wolf, “just because he has a few tricks — not that many, but enough to intimidate other people! Maybe we’re not facing real danger; maybe Mrs. Norse has exaggerated the threat. She could have left Kitnip and me out of it.”
At that precise moment there was a sound of thunder back beyond the trees. Only how was thunder produced by that very unnatural sky? Clive did not want to contemplate the emptiness above. His sense of direction had always been lousy. Despite this handicap, he was sure the sound had issued from the vicinity of Mrs. Norse’s house.
Wolf became as serious as if he’d just been informed that he was going on a vegetarian diet. His ears flattened and his tail went between his legs in the fashion of a dog that had just been reprimanded by a stern master. Which, perhaps, he had been.
Clive thought this a good opportunity for expressing his fears. “I don’t understand any of this, but I’m glad you’re here with me, boy.” Wolf wasn’t really listening but Clive kept at it with dogged persistence. “I mean, I was scared of Grandad when he was alive, but now he’s so much worse. He’s not exactly a ghost, is he? Somehow I don’t think anything here is a ghost.” He shuddered at memory of the dreadful homunculi.
Wolf had recovered sufficiently to pay attention again. ““Boy,” the dog began, but the sarcasm was lost on Clive, “I wouldn’t know a ghost if it came up and bit me. What’s sure is that everything here seems real enough to sink my fangs into. But if this is the worst the bad guys can throw at us….” He caught himself before this line of argument led him back into the treacherous waters of criticizing Mrs. Norse.
“Well, Clive,” he changed the subject, “I’m sure it will turn out all right. We’ll defeat this unpleasant personage you and I used to know as someone else.”
Clive wanted to believe that as wicked as Grandfather had been, the man had also been human … and this was now an entirely different individual threatening the Gurney family. But Clive knew better. He couldn’t forget Pine Lake. Here they faced the essence of the man, completely fulfilled.
Questions itched at the back of Clive’s head as if a squadron of fleas had taken up residence there. What sort of world had this been before Grandfather came? How long had Mrs. Norse been here? Questions without answers are like cats without mice — they’ll keep chasing the little critters until they catch one. Clive had always been more impatient than his sister.
“Wolf,” he said, “who are these strange people? Where are we, really?”
The dog’s impatience was fully the equal of his one-time owner: “I’ve already told you everything I can.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“Mrs. Norse will….”
“I don’t want to hear that name all the time!!” Clive was so upset that he was shouting. In contrast to how Wolf had reacted to the thunder, the dog was unfazed by Clive’s outburst. Becoming more expert in gauging his ineffectiveness with others, Clive altered the approach and asked, “How much longer before we reach her house?”
“That depends on the obstacles we face,” was the calm reply.
“Exactly!” Clive raised a finger to emphasize his point, which looked somewhat ridiculous when talking to a dog. “We may never get there.”
“We sure won’t if we stand around here arguing about it.”
A sage once observed that you should never try to outstubborn a cat. This was a sentiment with which Clive had to agree. But dogs are more reasonable (according to television commercials at least). At any rate, Wolf was more reasonable, and he was thinking: never try to outstubborn a teenager.
“There’s something you’re not telling me,” Clive insisted.
“True,” Wolf admitted, softly padding over to where the reamins of Malak’s “head” lay scattered about the ground like so many dry crusts of bread. “I’ve told you what I understand. If you’re wise, you’ll wait for Mrs. Norse to answer questions.”
Clive’s expression was so pained that Wolf decided to compromise. “OK, I know a few things. That wasn’t really your grandfather who was here. It was one of his creatures, formed of the same substance as those little humans….”
“Monsters,” Clive corrected his canine friend, “goblins!”
“OK, goblins. This is the same stuff he used to replace your mother and father. Hey, there may even be a replacement of myself by now.”
“There may be one of Kitnip, too,” added Clive in a low whisper.
“As if anyone would notice,” muttered the dog, giving in to the sort of prejudice that humans are above (except when they are not). “That stuff your holding. Take a sniff of it, Clive.”
Clive did and instantly wrinkled up his nose. “Ugh,” was his honest evaluation.
“What does that smell like to you?”
The Gurneys had kept kept a compost heap in the back yard from a failed effort to start a garden and grow their own vegetables. The tomatoes had worked out, and some flowers, but another dream of self-sufficiency had gone seriously awry — although not before Clive had been introduced to a most remarkable aroma. This gray stuff in his hand had something of the same quality, but only when it was held up close; and the accent seemed to be on rotten eggs mixed with cabbage.
Wolf continued his explanation: “When that fungus type material is eaten on earth, it’s like consuming a kind of poison, and the result immobilizes the victim. Here it has other powers. Malak and Mrs. Norse can use it to make living creatures! They’re not the only ones who can do this, but they’re the best.”
“Poison,” said Clive, dropping the piece he’d been holding.
“Maybe that’s the wrong word since it doesn’t actually kill, not even back home. Mrs. Norse said it doesn’t do any harm to eat in this world, not that such pleasant news makes it smell or taste any better. I guess once it’s in your intestinal track you’re safe from Malak or Norse doing anything tricky with it. Say, I just had a strange thought.”
“Just one?” laughed Clive. “You mean everything else you’ve been saying isn’t?”
“No, kid, what I mean is: have you had to go to the bathroom since you’ve been here?”
Clive had to think for a moment. “No,
but I haven’t eaten recently and I’ve been too excited to notice….”
“Yeah, well don’t sweat it. I was just gnawing the bone with idle speculation.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind, I said. The important thing is Mrs. Norse told me if a human eats that stuff, he’ll be shown things.”
Clive wondered if he shouldn’t leave well enough alone instead of pestering Wolf for more information. “Eat poison?” he asked incredulously.
“You’re not listening,” Wolf admonished him. “The stuff’s not poison here. It might even answer some of your million questions for all I know.”
“Are you saying I should eat it?”
“If you wait, I’m sure that Mrs. Norse will answer your questions, Clive! If you don’t want to wait, that’s fine with me, so eat it already! But stop asking me questions I can’t answer.”
Clive pondered the many grey fragments at his feet. The truth was that he didn’t like making decisions. Reaching down, he picked up another pice of the ugly stuff — a smaller piece this time — and held it gingerly at eye level, turning it around as if he were examining a rare jewel. No, it didn’t look very appetizing.
He felt Wolf’s eyes on him. The dog had been forthright about his motives. Wolf didn’t want to be pestered one moment longer. So Clive should, in good conscience, stop asking the poor pooch questions about THE NATURE OF THINGS … or open his mouth and chew. A little voice was saying: Just say no to magic … but in a world that seemed to operate on magic principles, such advice was inane.
“Look,” said Wolf, “if you want to try it, don’t worry. Mrs. Norse says it’s safe. I’ll stand guard if you do.”
“Why would you stand guard?” asked Clive, confused.
“Hey, the food won’t kill you but don’t forget where we are. This isn’t exactly our backyard.” They looked at each other, Wolf impatiently and Clive bemused. “Well,” said the dog, “what’s your decision?”
“OK, OK, I’ll eat it….”
Land Beyond Summer Page 8
