The Flying Sorcerers

A gentle breeze tugged at the leaves the bushes and the cuffs of our robes. The shadows had lengthened until they stretched eastward into darkness.

The blue sun twinkled and vanished, leaving only the bloated disk of the red. Below us the hills lay like the folds of a crumpled red cloth. All was deathly silent.

Slowly Shoogar and I crept out of our hiding place. The black nest sat quietly in its depression. The door, closed now, was only an orange oval outlined on its smooth featureless surface.

We edged forward, curiously, cautiously.

“Has it begun yet?” I whispered.

“Shut up, you fool! Every god in the pantheon must be listening!”

We moved closer. The black egg waited there, motionless. Shoogar put his ear to its surface and listened.

Abruptly, the egg rose noiselessly into the air, throwing Shoogar back. I threw myself flat on the ground, began praying for forgiveness. “Oh, gods of the world, I cast myself upon your mercy. I plead to you. Please, do not let me —”

“Shut up, Lant! Do you want to foul the spell?!!”

I lifted my head cautiously. Shoogar was standing there, hands on hips and staring up into the red twilight. The black nest hung unmoving and patient a few feet above his head.

I climbed wearily to my feet. As a curse this spell was turning out to be a dull bore. “What is it doing?” I asked. Shoogar didn’t answer.

Abruptly the nest turned from black to silver and began sinking back toward the ground as gently as it had risen. The red dusk glinted across its surface, the color of blood.

We stepped back as it touched the ground; it continued sinking downward without so much as slowing. Now, at last, there was sound, a churning crunching grumble of rock being forced aside. The nest moved downward, inexorably. The rocks screeched with the sound of its passage.

In moments it was gone.

The crackle of rock sank to a distant mutter, then died away entirely. Dazed, I walked to the rubbled edge of the hole. Darkness swallowed the bottom of it although an occasional distant rumble of movement could be felt.

Shoogar came up beside me.

“Brilliant,” I said, and I never meant anything more. “It’s gone, Shoogar. Completely, totally gone. The world has swallowed it up as though it never existed. And —” I gasped breathlessly, “and there were no side effects at all.”

Shoogar harrumphed modestly. He bent to pick up the glass appurtenances which had fallen from Purple’s nose. He pocketed them absent-mindedly. “It was nothing,” he said.

“But, Shoogar! No side effects! I wouldn’t have believed you could do it! I wouldn’t have believed anyone could do it. Why didn’t you tell us you were planning this? We wouldn’t have had to leave the village.”

“Best to be safe,” Shoogar mumbled. He must have been dazed by his triumph. “You see, I wasn’t sure … What with the tidal equations acting to pull the nest down instead of… and with Eccar the Man tending to — well, it was highly unusual; experimental, you might say. I —”

The whole mountain shook under us.

I landed jarringly on my belly looking downslope. Two hundred feet below, the black nest erupted out of the hillside, shrieking in agony.

It plunged up and southward, screaming with an unholy sound — we had hurt it terribly. The egg wailed its pain — a rising and falling note — piercingly loud even as it moved away from the mountain.

Some weird side effect had pulverized the very substance of the hill beneath us, turning it to sliding dirt and pebbles. The entire slope was sliding, shifting, carrying us majestically downward. We were powerless to move; we rode the rumbling avalanche, a massive churning movement of dust and sand. The black nest was a speck of shrieking red brightness fast disappearing into the southern horizon.

The sliding mountain came gradually to a stop. Whether from caprice or Shoogar’s magic, it had not buried us. We had been fortunate enough to be standing at the top of the affected area, and had ridden it down unhurt. Now I found myself on my belly, deep in soft sloping dirt. Shoogar was several yards below me.

I climbed to my knees. The black nest was no more than a dot above the horizon: rising and dwindling, rising and dwindling. It was going almost straight up when my eyes lost it.

I scrambled down the slope to Shoogar, each step creating tiny echoes of the bigger slide. “Is it over?” I asked, helping him to his feet.

Shoogar brushed ineffectually at his robe, “I think not.” He peered into the south, “There are too many gods who have not yet spoken.”

We were ankle-deep in the newly pulverized dirt, and would have to walk softly lest the slope be jarred loose again. We began to work our way down cautiously. “How long must we wait for the curse to complete its workings?” I asked.

Shoogar shrugged, “I cannot guess. We called heavily on too many gods. Lant, I suggest you return to the village now. Your wives and children will be waiting.”

“I would stay here with you until the curse is complete.”

Shoogar frowned thoughtfully, “Lant, the black nest will probably return to attack the one who injured it. I dare not return to the village until that danger is past, and I would not want you here with me when that happens.” He put his hand on my shoulder, “Thank you, Lant. I appreciate all you have done. Now go.”

I nodded. I did not want to leave him. But I knew that this had to be. Shoogar was not just saying good night; he was saying good-bye. Until he knew for sure that the black nest had been destroyed, he could not return.

Dejectedly, I turned and trudged down the slope. I did not want him to see the tears welling up in my eyes.