The Lunar Classic (Back Half)

The story so far

At last the lake shore presented itself and the travellers disembarked. The great plains before them extended beyond human vision, but there were no hippogriffs or seagulls dancing in the sky, nor were elephants or rabbits gallivanting across fields of cotton. Instead a tornado raged over the plains like a lion no one dares to approach, prowling where he likes and causing lesser animals to scatter in all directions.
"By the shaking earth! It's some sort of moon hurricane!" Gerald was awestruck.
"There are tornadoes on Earth, you know. Ah, never mind," Varney said. "Anyway, it's a shame the giants let another one get out. You can't pass through until they recover it. Cut left here and you can make it to the Lunar Classic before they run out of balloons."
"Where are the giants?"
"They live on Cloud Peak, of course. You can see it over to the right. No human would dare go there. The steps to the top are too big, for one thing." Varney's words were striking Gerald's back. "Don't fishermen know anything? All right, fine." The pair proceeded to the single mountain rising out of the sprawling plain.

A long flight of steps was carved out of the very mountain. The steps were indeed deeper than any humans used. Gerald had to raise his knees almost to his waist to clear them. "This is a little tiring, but I was expecting worse," he said.
"Hrrrrrwwew," Varney said.
"You seem to be having a little trouble."
"Playwrights." Varney cleared another step. "Don't get much." One more. "Exercise as a rule."
They climbed for hours and then for hours more. At last they neared the summit and saw the workshop of the cloud giants. Rain and snow were being stuffed into cotton clumps and formed into shapes, lightning bugs were having their milk poured into long, branching molds, and winds spun from potter's wheels were stored in huge sacks.
"I'm a little hesitant," Gerald said. "They're so giant."
"You should have acclimated yourself to that fact on your way up those huge steps," Varney said. "I won't blame you if you turn back now, though."
"Hey! You!" a voice roared.
"Never mind," said Varney.
A giant strode toward the pair. "Sorry guys! Usually we have tours going on, but everybody's putting the old nose to the grinder so we can get everything done before the Lunar Classic ends! Hope you understand!"
"Oh, that's too bad," Gerald said. "I wanted to see how you deal with moon hurricanes."
"Huh! I've never heard of a moon hurricane, and I've been the foreman here for centuries!"
"He means a tornado. It looks like one got free while you were working so feverishly," Varney said.
"Whoops! That's too bad! No time to deal with it now, though!"
"You know, the tornado is on the way to the Serene Plains," Varney said.
"On second thought, I'd better take care of it right away!" the foreman said.
"You'll need some help for this job!" another giant said
"I hate to leave things here, but I'd better go too!" chimed in another. Soon enough, the entire peak was divested of giants.

Gerald and Varney descended, fully expecting the tornado to be gone by the time they reached the plain.
"It's still there, Mr. Varney."
"So it seems."
"They went to watch the championship, didn't they?"
"Yes."
"I guess we can just follow their footprints."
"That's the way. We'll be eating cotton candy in no time."

The giant tracks led over hill and crater past grazing gray giraffes and cotton tree branches waving in the wind. The ground between the plains was uneven, but a relief compared to the hardships of Cloud Peak. Finally Gerald and Varney reached the Serene Plains, which were festooned with tents and booths and tables and stalls, banners and pennants and big pointing fingers. Around the playing field itself were rows and rows of stands where even rabbits and foxes sat cheek by jowl, to say nothing of the other lunar denizens.
"It seems very festive," Gerald said.
"Naturally. The contest between the Silvers and Grays has been going on for three days now. The score is 0-0, the most thrilling score of all. Excitement is at its peak. The coaches are wracking their tiny brains to claim some advantage. In fact, there's the Silver coach right over there." Varney pointed out a beaver wearing a silver cap belonging to the Silvers. "How's it going, Spurius?"
"Criminy! A human!" The beaver's nose twitched. "How would you fellas like to be athletes?"
"Oh, I couldn't possibly," Varney said. "I'm a playwright. My friend here will be glad to win the championship for you if you get us two bicycles afterwards, though."
"I will?"
"You will. What do you have to say about that, Spurius?"
"You're a real shrewd negotiator. It's a deal." He held out his tiny hand for Varney to shake. Gerald was not invited.

"I don't even know the rules," Gerald said, picking at his hurriedly resized Silver jersey.
"Here's how you play: Take the ball, run with the ball to the other side, and don't drop the ball," Varney explained.
"That seems too simple."
"This is a sport for rodents. What do you expect? Now get out there and win one for your village. I don't know your village's name, so I'll make one up. Placidshore."
"That's nicer than its real name."
"If you succeed, maybe they'll let you change it. So get out there and hustle."
"Yeah!"

The 478th Lunar Classic was one to remember. Two evenly matched teams struggled for days until a last-minute roster change broke the game wide open. Silver's new star athlete proved all but impossible to tackle despite the best efforts of Gray's league-leading defense. His speed was unmatchable since he could hold the ball in limbs dedicated to the purpose, leaving his legs free to run at full tilt. Worst of all, he was unfazed by the hitherto unbeatable technique that had brought both teams to the championship and kept the score to 0-0: Tossing around nuts and shiny objects to distract the players. In the end, the Silvers took the trophy 35-0.

"That was a great job you did out there, great hustle," Spurius said. "What would it take to sign you for next season?"
"Uh, well, I won't be on the moon that long, I hope," Gerald said.
"That's a real shame. I've got your bicycles right here, and look me up if you ever change your mind. Don't talk to the Grays, they're no good."
"I'll remember that. Goodbye, coach."
"Yes, goodbye, Spurius," Varney said.
"Oh, Mr. Varney. Where have you been?" Gerald asked.
"Collecting my winnings, of course. The palace is that way."
Off they rode toward the conclusion of Gerald's mission.

The Serene Plains went on for a good distance but at last gave way to low hills and shallow craters. Gerald and Varney rode among them until Varney indicated a crater of interest.
Indeed, at the bottom of the crater was a palace that matched the stories Gerald heard, with scenes of gods, nymphs, and dolphins carved into its walls and gardens of coral surrounding it.
"I can't believe I made it," Gerald said. "But shouldn't there be servants and courtiers around? It seems deserted."
"Be reasonable. The palace isn't underwater. Are you trying to kill the staff just so you have someone to announce you?"
"Oh no, not at all. I'm very sorry. I'll just let myself in." As Gerald was opening the door, however, he stopped. "Wait, then how is there coral here?"
"It's artificial coral made for decorative purposes. Now go in," Varney pushed Gerald inside. The rooms were decorated with statues and paintings that depicted not only objects of maritime interest but also cities, forests, fields, and even strange landscapes such as Gerald had never seen before. He had little time to marvel, however, because Varney kept prodding him through the palace until they reached a room strewn with gold, silver, gems, vases, plates, coins, and knicknacks.
Varney tossed a clinking bag on the floor. "All right, now let's see what I can do for you," he said as he reached into a pile. He pulled out a small fish carved from gold and held it out to Gerald. "This will attract fish. Simply drop it in the sea where your village fishes."
"I can't just take the god's treasure while he's not around. There are so many stories about that kind of thing. And how do you know what it does anyway, Mr. Varney?"
"Stop trying to embarrass fishermen everywhere, Gerald. I am the god of the sea, and I am granting your request because you won me so much money at the Lunar Classic. My gratitude is tempered by the trouble I had getting you there in the first place, but that's water under the bridge."
"Really? Thank you, uh, Your Holiness. Hey, why didn't you just win the game by yourself?"
"That would be cheating. There's no cheating on the moon."
"That makes sense," Gerald said. "It's a shame, though. I was going to try to see one of Mr. Varney's plays when I got back."
"When did I say I wasn't Varney, the universally acclaimed playwright? You should definitely watch all my plays. After all that culture and sophistication, you'll feel like a whole new man. In any case, it's time for you to go home." Varney grabbed Gerald's shirt and lifted him up in the air with one hand. He carried the fisherman outside and pointed out a blue and green orb in the sky. "Take a good look," he said before rearing back and flinging Gerald into the star-studded sky. "And have a nice trip!" he shouted at the rapidly retreating fisherman.

"So we just have to drop this fish in the water," Gerald explained. "Also he said Placidshore would be a good name for the village."
"That all sounds fine," the chief said. "We were going to name it Geraldtown, but none of us really wanted to. We must thank the god for this blessing as well."
"Darn," Gerald said.

The End