The Flying Sorcerers

by David Gerrold

  “But you have said that you do not wish a duel.”

  “Oh, yes — I did, didn’t I. To be quite honest, Lant, I would prefer to see him leave of his own free will — quietly, if possible — but by force, if necessary.”

  “I see,” I said. And I did. Purple was not aiding Gortik as a magician should. Gortik wanted him gone. Even no magician at all might be better than a bad one. I could understand it. “Let me suggest this to you, Gortik: if there is some way that we can remove Purple from your village, we will do that for you.”

  “And replace him with Shoogar?”

  “Uh —” I asked cautiously, “Is that what you want?” I did not want to lose Shoogar to another village.

  “Definitely not!” he said.

  “Fine. Then we will keep Shoogar.”

  “One thing, Lant,” said Gortik. “Yes, I would like to be rid of Purple, but not if it means devastating this land. I do not wish to be a migrant like you.”

  “H’m,” I said. “That makes the problem a little more difficult. We will have to take things one at a time. First, we will secure an oath of truce from both our magicians. This will give Shoogar time to acquaint himself with the local spells.”

  That will be a simple task,” said Gortik. “Most of the spell-charts were destroyed with Dorthi when he was killed. There are few local spells left, and Purple has not renewed any of them.”

  “Shoogar can do that,” I said expansively. “He knows all one hundred and eleven spells of village tending.”

  “Good. We can make good use of them. Perhaps you have noticed that we have many empty housetrees? Many of our most religious people have fled since Purple’s arrival — they fear to live in a village with an inept magician.”

  “I know exactly how they feel,” I said.

  “Of course, of course; a good Speaker always empathizes with the people.”

  “You must be one of the finest then,” I said.

  “And you as well, Lant. You are a veritable fountainhead of faith.”

  “Ah, Gortik, I am but a shadow compared to the brightness that is you.”

  “Ah, would you compare one sun to the other?”

  “No, of course not — there can be no comparison. One is bright, but small; the other is huge, but dim — and yet, both light up the world equally well.”

  “Both are necessary, and both are beautiful,” said Gortik.

  “Like ourselves,” I added.

  “Of course, of course. It is well that we agree on so many things, Lant. It will not be difficult at all to make an agreement which is fair to both of us and our villages.”

  “How could it be difficult when each of us is thinking more of the other than of himself?”

  “Ah, Lant, you have such a way with words, such a beautiful way. Now about those sheep — six is not enough —”

  “Ah, Gortik, it is more than enough if all you are planning to send is three boys —”

  And so it went.

  We stayed and chewed raba-root till well into the blue afternoon. There was much to discuss, and much root to be chewed.

  And when we finished what we had, we staggered off in search of more. We were thoroughly under its influence by now. It was good root. Jark could make a fine Quaff from it.

  “Purple!” said Gortik. “Purple has some raba-root. He chews it whenever he gets depressed — which is often these days.”

  “Ah, good. Let’s pay him a visit And while we are there, we can inform him of our agreement.”

  “Again you are thinking, Lant. I am continually amazed by your prowess.”

  We found Purple tending his small patch of herbs and plants. Raba-root was not the only fermentable spice he had. He had several others that I recognized, and many more that I did not. Jark would be overjoyed at the news.

  “Purple, ahoy,” we hailed him. He looked up, squinting in our direction in the blue light.

  “It sounds like my old friend, Lant,” he said.

  I shuddered — friend? I gritted my teeth and said, “Yes, it’s Lant. Gortik and I have come to speak with you.” I tried to sound as stern and formal as I could.

  “Uh —”Purple hesitated. He seemed to be uneasy at something. “How are you, Lant. How is your family, your wife?”

  What a strange question to ask. Why would anyone want to know about the condition of a wife? But then, Purple always had been a strange one. “My wives are fine,” I said. “My number one wife is expecting a child soon. Shoogar says it will be a daughter, but as she has already presented me with two sons, I cannot fault her.”

  Purple looked startled, “Expecting a child?” He counted hurriedly on his fingers, “It’s been almost nine.” He looked at me, “When is it due?”

  “In another three hands of hands of days.”

  He counted again, Three times five times five — seventy five. That would be blue days, of course; now let’s see, convert that into standard — that would be four and a half months from now.” He exhaled loudly and looked relieved. “Whew! For a moment there I thought it could have been —”

  “Could have been what?”

  “Uh, never mind. I’m just glad that there’s no such thing as a thirteen-and-a-half-month gestation period.”

  He was talking gibberish again — a pregnancy lasts no longer than two hundred and fifteen blue days. What a month was, I had no idea, although he used the term as I might discuss a hand of days. Purple had once mentioned that his days — “standard days” he had called them — were only half as long as ours.

  Our days, of course, are measured by the passage of the blue sun, regardless of where the red is. Gortik had told me how Purple had once been confused — he could not believe it was midnight because the red sun was still high in the sky. How odd — why should the periods of light and dark have to correspond with the concepts of night and day? Only during conjunctions did such a thing occur.

  In any case, I could not understand his concern with the child. I said, “Why should you care, Purple?”

  “Uh — uh —”

  “Is it because you did the family-making thing with my wife on the day of the last conjunction?”

  Purple went pale. “I — I — forgive me, Lant. I—”

  “Forgive you? How can I forgive you?”

  He took a startled step backward and held up a hand as if to ward me off.

  I said, “Shoogar had scattered a dust of yearning around your nest. You could not help yourself.”

  “You mean, you think I did it because of a spell?”

  “Of course, it was a spell. It was part of the duel.”

  He looked relieved again. The color flowed back into his face. “Then I have been worrying needlessly — and I do not need to worry about the child either.”

  “Why should you? Shoogar knows when the child was conceived and when she will be born.”

  Purple nodded, “Yes, Shoogar is probably quite good at those things.”

  “He is,” I confirmed. “The child is your daughter, all right.”

  He went pale again. This time I thought he would faint altogether. The blood had been flowing into and out of his head at such a rate that he was having trouble standing.

  I continued, “When we first realized that the child was yours, I almost killed my wife —”

  “Oh, no, Lant — not just because I —”

  I looked at him oddly. “I told you, Purple, you could not help yourself. And she is only a woman. A woman doesn’t know how to refuse a kindness. No, we would have killed her because she was carrying a demon child, but Shoogar forbade it. The child must be carried to term and born as any other. At that time we will determine if the child is a good demon or a bad demon. Shoogar thinks she will be a bearer of much magic — and if so, he thinks he can control her.”

  “Humph,” snorted Gortik, “it sounds like Shoogar wants to emulate the legend of the poor fisher and the demon tailor. The demon demanded three wishes —”

  I shrugged. “It is of little concern t
o me. If the child is a demon, then Shoogar will have to pay me for the right to destroy or control her. If she is not, then at least I gain another bride price. Why else would one allow a woman to breed indiscriminately? Another son is always a pride and a strength. A daughter is at least a price of a drink. One offers one’s wife to guests as a matter of course. Now that our two villages are going to live peacefully together, the child’s birth will be of no importance at all. It will be as if I had offered you the guest privilege to insure good relations between our two groups. That she is a magician’s daughter will add somewhat to her value when I sell her on her seventh yearday, but a daughter is only a daughter and not worth the air wasted discussing her.”

  “Uh, yes,” said Purple. He was obviously disturbed about something. “Just one question. Are all your women’s pregnancies so long?”

  “What do you mean ‘so long’? Two hundred and fifteen days is the proper length of a pregnancy.”

  “Two hundred and fifteen —” Purple began counting again.

  Thirteen and a half months,” he said. “Oh.” He began mumbling to himself. “Well, I guess such a thing is not impractical — probably the extra four and a half months are needed because conditions here are so unstable. It gives the developing infant an extra length of time to grow and be more ready for a hostile world. Yes, yes, I can see why such a thing —”

  Gortik and I exchanged a glance. I said, “I see he still talks gibberish to himself.”

  “Not as much as he used to,” Gortik replied. “He hardly uses the demon tongue any more.”

  “Ah, that’s good. How can a man be civilized if he does not speak a civilized language?”

  To Purple, I said, “Actually, we have come here to talk about something much more important.”

  “Yes,” put in Gortik. “Have you any ripe raba-root?” I could see that this other Speaker was one who did not waste words — he got right down to the subject at hand.

  Purple scratched his hairless chin, which was gray with many tiny black dots. How odd. He said, “I think I might be . able to spare some.” He rummaged through his herb patch, then decided against it and disappeared up into his nest in-stead.

  He returned almost immediately with a basket of tubers.

  “Here, these have already been cured. Take what you need.”

  Gortik slung the whole basket under one arm. “Thank you, Purple. This will do nicely.”

  Purple looked a bit askance, but said nothing. I found myself wondering what kind of a magician this was who was treated little better than a common cropmonger. Did Gortik have some strange kind of power over Purple? No such a thing was not possible — or was it instead that Gortik knew that Purple would not use his vast powers against him. But why?

  The thought crossed my mind — perhaps the only reason Purple was allowed to endure here was because he was unkillable. Otherwise they would be rid of him in a minute if they could. No wonder Gortik was so eager to accept my offer to remove their magician for them. Purple was worse than inept — he was a dangerous fool.

  And they were stuck with him just as we had been a quarter of a cycle ago.

  No wonder Gortik treated him so shabbily — he was hoping to drive Purple away with his rudeness.

  H’m, he would not try that with Shoogar, I thought. Shoogar would curse him hairless without even blinking.

  Gortik handed me a raba-root and I chewed it slowly, savoring its rich bitterness. Ah, that was nice. Its pungent smell filled the glade and saturated the air. I and my clothes would reek of it for days.

  We started to wander back toward the village when abruptly I remembered something. I caught Gortik’s arm and turned back. “Oh, Purple,” I called.

  He looked up, “Yes? What is it, Lant?”

  “I almost forgot to tell you. I and my tribe will be settling in this area — but we cannot do it if you and Shoogar intend to duel.”

  Purple looked puzzled, “I have no intention of dueling with Shoogar.”

  You don’t?”

  “Of course not. Dueling never accomplished anything.”

  I looked at Gortik, “You see why we thought him mad?”

  Gortik returned the look, “You think you are pointing out something we have not already noticed?”

  To Purple, I said, “I am overjoyed to hear that. Shoogar will also be glad.”

  Purple nodded thoughtfully. He said, “Lant, it seemed to me that I saw my seeing pieces hanging from a string around Shoogar’s neck when he came to the conference.”

  “A trophy of the duel,” I explained. “Although under the circumstances —”

  “I will exchange an oath of peace for those devices, Lant. I need them to see.”

  “Um,” I said. “I don’t know. Shoogar regards that trophy quite highly. He would not be eager to give it up —”

  “No seeing pieces, Lant, no oath of peace.”

  “— but since you put it that way, I’m sure he will be delighted.”

  “Not half so much as I.” said Purple.

  Well! It had been easier than I had thought. I was overjoyed. Expansively, I offered Purple a piece of raba-root to seal the deal. “It is a more than reasonable request.”

  His mouth full, Purple nodded his agreement.

  “I don’t think so,” said Gortik. “You really should ask for more.”

  I frowned at him.

  “There is really nothing more that I need,” said Purple. “except perhaps —”

  “Perhaps what?”

  “No, it is nothing. There is no way you could help me.”

  “But if we at least knew, perhaps we could offer some suggestions —”

  He looked at us as if we were children. “Don’t speak foolishness,” he said. “There is no way either of you could help me get home.”

  “Huh-!!” Gortik and I exchanged a glance. Why, he was asking for the very thing that both of us wanted. We practically tripped over each other in our eagerness to answer. “But we will do anything to help you, Purple, anything! We only wish the same as you — that you can return to your home as soon as possible.”

  He sighed, That is very generous of you, but I am afraid there is no way. My flying egg is destroyed. I have no way to lift into the sky.” He sighed again and fingered a device on his belt. “I have the means to call down the mother-egg, but the call signal will not work this far south.”

  “The mother-egg?” I found myself choking on a piece of root.

  “The egg that Shoogar — sank, that was only a small vehicle for exploring the contours of a world. I left the larger vehicle in the sky.”

  Nervously, I looked upward.

  Purple laughed, “No, you need not fear, Lant It will not fall — not unless I call it down. But I am too far south to do that. If there were some way I could return to the north —”

  “You mean you would leave us?” Gortik was astounded.

  Purple misinterpreted it. “Oh, my friend Gortik, I know how it must hurt you, but please try to realize — I yearn to return to my home in the sky, to converse, confer and otherwise hobnob with my brother wizards.”

  Gortik danced a little jig of grief.

  Purple continued, “But, alas, there is no way. I cannot travel north overland because the sea already covers everything. And I dare not attempt it by boat. I am told that it will be all whirlpools and dangerous uncharted reefs. There is no path by land, and there is no path by sea. I am marooned, marooned.” Purple sighed and sat down.

  I sighed with him. “If only there were a path through the air — but nothing goes through the air but birds and eggs.” He sighed again and nodded. “If you had been willing to teach Shoogar your flying spell,” I pointed out, “perhaps today you might not be in this predicament.”

  “Flying spell?” he said. A strange look came over his face.

  Gortik looked at him curiously, looked at me, looked at Purple again. “What are the two of you talking about?” The magician was muttering curiously to himself.

 
“No, no — the whole idea is preposterous. It would never work. Yes, it would —” He trailed off into the demon’s tongue. He shook his head impatiently as if trying to thrust that thought away. But it wouldn’t go — that peculiar look kept returning to his eyes, and he argued frantically with himself in words not know to men.

  Suddenly he leapt to his feet. Yes, it must be tried,” he shouted. “It must be! It must be! It is the only way!”

  He leapt at me. I jumped back, but he grabbed my robe. “Tell me, Lant — does Shoogar still want to fly?”

  “Is the sky red and blue?” I asked in reply. “Of course, Shoogar still wants to fly.”

  He was delighted. “Oh, yes, yes — what a — wonderful idea.”

  He began capering around his housetree. “Go — go tell him, tell him — go, go! I’m going home — I’m going to fly!”

  “Tell him?” I echoed. “Tell him what?”

  “Tell him I’m going to build a flying machine — no, we’re going to build a flying machine — and I’m going to fly north for the winter!” And he laughed hysterically.

  Gortik and I exchanged another look. We shook our heads sadly. I did not know who to feel sorrier for — Purple for being deranged, or Gortik for being his Speaker.

  When we left, Purple was still dancing about his housetree and singing at the top of his lungs.

  When he heard the news, Shoogar was neither pleased nor angered, merely curious. “So, now he wants to build a flying machine. Before, he would not tell me how to do such a thing — that was why I fought him — now he wants to.” He shook his head. “I don’t like it, Lant. I don’t like it:

  “But Shoogar, don’t you see what it means? You win after all — you fought him because he wouldn’t show you how to fly — you didn’t kill him, but you put him into a position where he has to show you how, or he can’t go home.”

  Shoogar remained unexcited. “So what? Why should I help him build a flying machine? He will leave in it and I will still have no flying spell.”

  “But he won’t be taking it with him,” I said. “Only to the north country.”