The Flying Sorcerers

by David Gerrold

  “Oh,” I said. I went back to my sons and watched them work.

  They worked for most of the day, stopping only to chew on a piece of roast cavernmouth egg or to swill down some water. By the time night had fallen and the red sun was seeping into the west, the bicycle pulley was working again as well as it would ever be.

  The day was rapidly nearing its end. Purple’s egg had still not arrived, and Shoogar was still on the hill chanting.

  My sons stretched out tiredly on their blankets and chewed gratefully on the rubbery eggmeat. Had they had their tools, they might have finished the job in less than an hour, but encumbered as they were, it took nearly all day. They were exhausted from the frustrations involved.

  I lay on my back and stared into the sky. Already one of the moons had emerged in the darkening east, and others would join it shortly. I watched with a helpless feeling. I had been unable to dissuade Shoogar in his spellmaking. Warning Purple would do no good; I knew what he thought of Shoogar’s magic.

  I tried to guess what pattern the moons had assumed. Two of the three big ones made a diagonal across a line of four small ones, so tiny they barely showed their colors.

  The sign of the Bent Cross?

  No matter. Whatever sign it was, Shoogar would think of a way to use it —

  He came running over the hill then. He pulled me roughly to my feet, “Come on, Lant. It’s time to retreat.”

  “Huh?” I said sleepily. “What —?”

  “I’ve finished my spell. All we have to do now is wait.” He pulled at my arm.

  I followed him down to the boat. He was grabbing things at random and throwing them into the craft where they splashed into the water. “Come on, Lant, come on — we haven’t got any time.”

  I woke my sons. They were just as confused and upset as I — and twice as grumpy. “If Shoogar’s spell really does work,” I insisted, “this is no place we want to be.” They allowed themselves to be pushed down the slope. Wilville pulled the plug to drain the water from the boat — it was no longer needed — the airbags were so limp they could no longer hold up even the rigging.

  Orbur gathered the last of the aircloth shreds we had been using as blankets, and the remaining cavernmouth eggs. We pounded the plug back into the hole, and shoved the boat roughly into the water.

  “Hurry, hurry,” snapped Shoogar. The moon will be falling soon!”

  “Does Purple know?” asked Orbur.

  “Of course not. Why should I tell Purple?”

  “Oh, no reason,” Orbur said as he pulled himself out of the water and onto his outrigger. “Except that he might have died of fright, and then you wouldn’t have needed to go through with the spell.”

  Shoogar snorted and climbed into the boat. I followed. Our robes were wet from our thighs down. We had had to push the boat out past the breakers before we could climb in. Wilville was the last to mount. He swung the boat around so that its stern was toward the sea — it would have taken too long to try to turn it the other way.

  He swung himself up on the bike frame, and the two boys unslung their airpushers and began backpedaling furiously. Within moments we were moving away from the shore. Purple, up there in the dark with his many-eyed calling device, did not notice at first. But by and by he came strolling across the sand to call, “What are you doing?”

  “Testing the boat!” Shoogar called across the black water.

  “Good idea,” Purple called back. He went back up the hill. There was sufficient light from the moons and the still westering sun to see him as a puffy form on the crest of the slope.

  Wilville kept backpedaling then, while Orbur began pedaling forward. The boat swung around to head away from the Teeth of Despair. Bow forward, we moved across the water.

  We made little progress though. The wind was headed shoreward and hampered our efforts.

  “Pedal faster,” Shoogar urged them, “lest the falling moon destroy us!”

  “This is nonsense,” Orbur complained. “Shoogar can’t bring down a moon!”

  “Don’t you believe in magic?” I demanded.

  “Well —”

  “You’ve flown, you fool! How can you not believe in magic?”

  “Of course, I believe in magic!” Orbur whispered to me. “It’s Shoogar I don’t believe in!”

  “I notice,” I said, “that despite your skepticism you still thought enough to whisper.”

  “I don’t care. He’s not the magician Purple is. Even Purple never claimed the power to bring down a moon.”

  I didn’t answer. The boys continued to pedal, but without conviction. Ssss — the bicycles droned, and the water churned.

  The boat was a fragile frame with limp bags hanging above it. The sea was restless, like an endless vat of ink; the water was a greasy black oil, flecked with foam. The shore was dark, and Purple was a motionless silhouette on a blackened hill.

  I looked at the moons — two were disks, pink on one side, blue-white on the other. Four were too small to show as disks — and there was something wrong up there, something dreadfully wrong.

  he boys felt it too. The ssssss of the bicycles rose frantically. The boat bounced across the water.

  I continued to stare, frozen.

  One of the little moons, the tail of the crooked cross, was drifting out of alignment.

  I looked toward the shore. Did Purple suspect?

  He was a doll-sized silhouette capering wildly on a darkened mound. Yes, he must be trying to force it back into the sky. Even now as we watched, he was jumping and crying — but this was Shoogar’s home ground.

  I glanced over at him as he leaned out the back of the boat. His teeth gleamed as he watched. My sons pedaled furiously, frantically. Our wake was a churning froth.

  The moon grew larger.

  At first it was a bright dot against the black sky like the other moons — but moving, always moving — faster than any moon had a right to move! Then it was a clear disk like the major moons, red on one side and blue on the other. It was the largest moon in the sky now.

  And still it grew!

  It should have been sinking toward Purple — should have been. Instead, it seemed to hover overhead growing steadily.

  The blue-white side suddenly darkened, now dimmed to almost black. The moon grew faster, and the red side commenced to dim also.

  In the middle of the nearly black globe a yellow eye stared down at us.

  And the moon grew huge, huge, and huger still!

  “Pedal! Curse you! Faster! Faster!” Shoogar and I were both screaming.

  He had miscalculated, the blithering toad — a moon is too big a thing for one man’s revenge! Its weight would destroy a world for one man’s pride!

  And then it was drifting down, down like a monstrous soap bubble — Shoogar hadn’t miscalculated — down to where Purple capered on the black-scarred hill.

  It stopped over Purple’s head — and directly over Shoogar’s design.

  “Well, don’t stop now!” Shoogar shrieked. He practically leapt out of the boat. “Crush him! Crush him! Another two manheights, is that too much to manage? Arrrgh!” For the moon would fall no further. Instead, Purple was rising, rising toward the yellow eye. He disappeared into it.

  “It ate him!” Shoogar was flabbergasted. “Why did it do that? It wasn’t in any of the runes.”

  “Maybe it was in Purple’s runes,” said Wilville.

  “Yes! He’s right,” I said. “I see it now! Your moon and Purple’s mother egg are one and the same.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s going home in it,” I said. “Home. I’m glad.”

  “Purple? In my moon? He can’t I won’t let him! Boys, turn around!”

  “Do it,” I told them. As the boat swung slowly around, Shoogar stamped toward the bow. I followed to reason with him.

  “He’s probably going to wait for us,” I said quietly. “He told me he’d make sure we could get home before he left. What are you going to tell him?”
>
  “Tell him? I’ll tell him to get his hairless rump out of my moon! What else would I tell him?”

  “And what do you think he will answer?”

  “What do you mean ?”

  There’s only one thing Purple can say if he wants to keep the moon. He’ll have to say that this is his vehicle; that he brought it down; that you had nothing at all to do with it.”

  “But that’s a black lie!”

  “Of course it is, Shoogar. But he needs the moon to get home. He’ll have to say it. And as your only witness,” I explained softly, “I’ll have to tell the villagers that Purple denied your claim that you brought down a moon.”

  “But it’s a lie, a black outrageous lie!” Shoogar was flabbergasted at the mad magician’s perfidy. “I did too bring it down! And they’ll know it, too! Who will the villagers believe, me or that insane bald magician?!!”

  “They will believe their Speaker,” I said.

  For a moment Shoogar glared at me. Then he stamped back to the stern to sulk. We were twenty minutes pedaling back to shore.

  The great black moon waited for us, shedding yellow light on the sand.

  “I never thought he could do it,” Orbur kept repeating as he pulled the boat onto the shore. “Imagine Shoogar bringing down a moon! And he couldn’t even cure baldness.”

  “Perhaps he had help,” I said, jumping out of the boat, splashing into ankle-deep water. “Orbur,” I complained. “Couldn’t you have beached it a little higher? Look at my robe.”

  “Sorry, Father,” said Orbur. He. gave another tug at his outrigger. “You think Purple brought the moon down?”

  “Not by himself. Obviously he had to wait for Shoogar’s spells. But they both wanted the same thing: a falling moon and Purple’s departure. Two such powerful magicians working in concert, is it surprising that they succeeded?”

  Wilville came up on the other side of me. There was a splash from behind as Shoogar stamped grumpily from the boat. We turned to look at him.

  He returned our stare, pulled himself up to his full height of half a manlength, and stamped forward. He brushed imperiously past us.

  “Shoogar!” I called.

  He stopped, folded his arms and surveyed the giant glowing sphere at the top of the hill. As I came up beside him, he said, “Let him keep my moon, then, if it will take him home! My oath binds me to drive him from my territory, and that I have certainly done!”

  “Well said,” I bellowed, “you’re a generous magician, Shoogar!”

  With not another word the four of us trudged up the hill to where Purple waited. His mood was one of frantic impatience — but the lines of worry seemed to have vanished from his face and he beamed with a smile as wide as the world.

  We approached cautiously. That great dark mass hung over us like the Doom of the Gods, and we could see nothing holding it up. It was no windbag, that was for certain — it neither behaved nor looked like one.

  “Don’t be afraid,” said Purple. “It’s safe.”

  We advanced into the cone of the peculiar yellow light that poured from Purple’s moon. It was that same colour that turned green into something eye-hurtingly bright, and I wondered how anyone could stand it for long. The moon towered brightly above us, seeming as high as Idiot’s Crag, perhaps higher.

  Shoogar leaned back, back as far as he could, to peer up at its height. Absent-mindedly, he brought out a cavernmouth egg and began scratching a rune into it.

  Purple reached behind him then — I noticed a huge stack of items lying there — and handed Orbur a new battery. It was identical with the one Purple had used to charge our windbags, but this one, Purple said, was fully powered. There was no danger at all of our running it down. It would fill more windbags than we could make before it would even begin to weaken. “It has enough power to make a dozen Journeys like this, Lant. This dial, Orbur, shows you how much power you have left in it. This knob controls the rate at which you use it.”

  He handed the device to Wilville to examine, and reached behind him for another. This was a large box with a hinged opening on its top. “This is a chest of emergency rations. I have given you five of them. There is enough food here for a one-month journey.” He shoved the box forward and reached again. We crowded forward, interestedly. These are blankets, of course,” said Purple. “You will need new ones for the upper atmosphere and — let’s see, what else?”

  He rummaged happily through his pile, presenting things to Wilville and Orbur. One by one he would hand them to the boys, who would pass them on to me. After examining each one, I put them in a stack behind me. His pile shrank while ours grew.

  Shoogar was not at all interested. He kept wandering around and around the base of the giant egg, scratching runes on the cavernmouth rind.

  “Here are the flashlights, and this is a simple medkit. I have labeled the sprays in here that you will want to use for hairlessness and things. You should be careful with this, even though there’s nothing here that can kill you.” Purple picked up one or two last items, meaningless things. One was a flat folder of odd pictures — Purple called it a book — we would have to examine it later. But Shoogar gasped when he saw it, “Spell images!”

  Purple tried to convince him that they were not, but Shoogar wouldn’t listen. No matter. Few of the images made sense anyway. After a while, Shoogar tossed the book in with the other stuff and went back to his egg marking.

  At last there was only one item left, a shapeless mass of glimmering white. Purple didn’t even try to pick it up, it seemed too big for that. He merely pointed at it. “I think you will find this the most useful of all.”

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “A new windbag,” he said. He smiled. “I am afraid that the ones we made weren’t as good as I thought. They hardly lasted the journey. One is already ripped, and I fear the rest will rip too. My friends — and I know you are my friends —”

  Behind me Shoogar snorted.

  “I want your journey home to be as pleasant as mine. This windbag is used for weather testing on strange worlds. It will be big enough to hold your weights. Use it with your other windbags, and you should be able to make it home.”

  Orbur was already examining it eagerly. The material was light and transparent and thinner than anything we had ever seen. There’s no weave!” he exclaimed. “Wilville, come look at this!”

  But Wilville had disappeared. A moment later he came panting up the hill. “This is a terrible place to park a moon,” he gasped. “Why couldn’t you have guided it lower.”

  “Where were you?”

  He indicated his laden arms. “I have brought Purple a gift too.” He held out his hands. “An aircloth blanket, Purple, and — and a sack of ballast. Just in case. You might need it.”

  Purple was visibly moved. He took the bulging sack and held it tenderly, like a child. His eyes were moist, but there vas a smile on his face. He allowed Wilville to drape the blanket over his arm. Thank you,” he said, “these are fine gifts.” His voice choked as he said it.

  He turned to me. “Lant, thank you for everything. Thank you for your help, for being such a fine Speaker. I — wait, I have something for you.” He disappeared up into his moon.

  Almost immediately, he reappeared; he had stowed our gifts and carried something else. A sphere, with strange knobs and protrusions on it. “Lant, this is for you —”

  “What is it?” I took it curiously. It was heavy — as heavy as a small child.

  “It is your Speaker’s token. I know Shoogar never had time to make one for you. I hope he will not mind if I present you with this. See there — that is my name in the markings of my own language. You are the Speaker of the Purple magician.”

  I was confused, shocked, delighted, horrified — a tumble of emotions poured across my mind. “I — I —”

  “Don’t say anything, Lant. Just take it. It is a special token. It will be recognized and honoured by any of my people who should ever again come to this world. And should I
ever return it makes you my official Speaker. Keep it, Lant.”

  I nodded dumbly and staggered back with it.

  Finally, Purple turned to Shoogar who had stood patiently throughout this all.

  “Shoogar,” he said, extending his empty hands. “I have nothing to give you. You are too great a magician for me to insult you. I cannot offer you anything at all that you do not already have, and for me to presume that I can would be an affront to your skill and greatness.”

  Shoogar’s jaw dropped. He almost dropped his egg — then his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “No gift?” he asked. I didn’t know whether to feel hurt or pleased for him.

  “Only this,” said Purple, “and it is one that you cannot carry with you, it is already there. I leave you the two villages. You are now the official magician there.”

  Shoogar stared at him wide-eyed. Purple stood there, tall and impressive. In that peculiar-colored light, he looked almost a God himself. No longer the pudgy, almost comical figure who had terrorized us for so many months. Suddenly he seemed a kind of nobility itself: generous, loving, all-knowing.

  Shoogar managed to say, “You admit it — you admit that I am a greater magician?”

  “Shoogar, I admit it. You know more about the magic and the Gods of this world than anyone — including me. You are the greatest — and you have your flying machine now.” He looked at all of us then, a great friendly figure. “I will miss you,” he whispered. “All of you. Even you, Shoogar. And your duels.”

  And with that he rose up into his moon and vanished.

  The yellow light glowed brighter for a second, then winked out.

  The moon vanished as silently as it had come, rising, rising, ever upward, dwindling, shrinking; snapping brilliant for a second, and then vanishing altogether.

  Shoogar was so startled he almost forgot his cavernmouth egg spell. Hurriedly, he bit into it with a noisy chomp.

  He started choking then, and we had to pound him hard on the back before he would stop.

  The sea tumbled and broke on the blackened shore.

  Except for that, all was silent. Above hung the pinpoint brightness of Ouells, blue and glaring. The Cathawk lay beached on the shore, her balloons full but flaccid. A larger white one blossomed above them; only one tenth full, it was a narrow cylinder with a gentle bulge at its top. A full load of water kept the boat from rising.