The Flying Sorcerers

I was beginning to understand what old Thran had meant when he used to say, “A man is not fit to be Speaker until he has first led a flock of goats through a forest of crazyfern.”

In fact, I was beginning to suspect that the goatherding task might be easier.

For instance, it appeared that I had to organize the flying machine construction. I appointed Wilville and Orbur as officials aides and instructed them never to leave Purple and Shoogar alone together — not for any reason whatever.

The boys nodded soberly. They understood all too well, but they were willing to accept the task — they were as eager to build the flying machine as Purple and Shoogar were.

Now if only the other men of the village would be as willing to accept my leadership.

I smiled bitterly at the thought. If only the seas were Quaff, we could all get drunk — I might as well wish for a moon to fall out of the sky and carry away all my problems. The way things were going, if the seas were to turn to Quaff, I would find only a bladder with a hole in it.

Hinc and the others had wanted to stay, then they wanted to migrate, then they wanted to stay — then they found out that staying meant they would have to clear the upperslopes, bind new housetrees, build extra nests and make the area livable — and they wanted to move on again. They wanted to do everything but work.

To tell the truth though, the woods here were wild — they were a savage tangle of red crabvines and scraggly blackbushes. Broken branches hung everywhere, and stingbee nests were a common sight. Graygauzes hung from almost every branch, and once we found a hollow of nesting vampire kites.

Everywhere else the woods seemed delightfully tame and well cared for — but here, where we were supposed to settle, here it was as if all the wildness had been stored for the rest of the forest.

Or perhaps we had not noticed these things until we began to work.

We all nursed stings and bites. The women were never less than exhausted.

We men ate badly — sometimes worse than on the trail — and lived in chaos. That the work was tiring was no secret.

For once even the women were allowed to grumble. The children helped or hindered as suited their whims, and in general had a fine time.

Shoogar appeared each morning at the rising of the blue sun and blessed the day with a hasty chant: “blessed art Thou, Ouells, father and mother of all the gods, who hast commanded our women to work for us.” Then he disappeared back into his nest to sleep until noon.

Meanwhile the shepherds had located several excellent pastures on which to graze the sheep. And they were delighted — at first — with the workforce sent up from the lower village. One of the lads was identical twins — so that though he was counted only as one, he did the work of two. In effect we had four novice shepherds to pick the burrs out of the wool and comb the sheep.

That, of course, freed several of the more experienced novices to work alongside the rest of us in the sloping wood. They appreciated that not at all.

Life in the sloping wood gradually became more pleasant than wandering across the deserts — that is, once we had housetrees and nest enough for our own needs. Hinc began to talk of weaving again, and began testing various fiber-plants and trees. Jark was daily to be seen testing some new and exotic kind of root or herb as a flavoring for Quaff. Ang, faced by an absence of frogs, changed his vocation and set up fishing rods along the stream. And I —

Now that I had settled the affairs of two villages and their magicians, I was ready to return to bonemongering.