The Flying Sorcerers

Red sunset, still and quiet, a hot mugginess in the air — the memory of the blistering heat of day.

Trone and four other men were holding a line; Wilville and Orbur were up in the rigging rearranging the position of two of the balloons in the cluster. On their signal, Trone and his crew released the rope and the balloons snapped into position.

Purple had spent this day recharging the tired windbags.

Even now, he was just filling the last from a water pot balanced on the narrow deck slats.

Shoogar and I stood quietly to one side. I was carrying a narrow pack and wondering how I had gotten myself into this position. I kept replaying the conversations of the day over and over in my head, but somehow the why of it still eluded me.

I had been ready enough to change my mind when I left my nest. But, in their zeal to persuade me not to risk my life, my wives had been busily asking the advice of a great many other women. And those women had been telling their men.

… I soon found out that every man, woman and child on the Heights knew that Lant the Speaker would be aboard the Cathawk when it rose into the sky at red sunset.

Wilville and Orbur climbed down from the rigging then. Purple made a mark on his checklist. Orbur turned and burrowed under a cloth-covered pile of supplies. “The blankets are under here, Purple.”

“Good,” he replied, “I would not want to leave them. Have we plenty of drinking water this time ?”

“More than enough,” said Wilville; he looked at Shoogar as he said it.

Purple came over to us then. “I am glad you are coming, Lant. It will be a long journey, and I welcome your company.” To Shoogar, he said, “You have brought no fire-making devices, this time, have you?”

Shoogar shook his head dourly.

“You remember what I told you about them, don’t you?”

He nodded.

“Fine.”

He went back to the boys and told them. Wilville and Orbur looked over at us and exchanged a glance. They excused themselves from Purple and climbed out of the boat. “Oh, Shoogar,” they said, “could we speak with you a moment; we have a question about one of the finer points of the spell —”

Shoogar toddled off after them. They disappeared behind a clump of blackbushes.

There was a sharp cry and the sound of a struggle. Another cry and then silence. After a moment, there was a ; sputtering and the sound of water being poured out of a pot, Wilville and Orbur returned then, smiling. A few moments later a soaked Shoogar followed them. He was glaring angrily.

He came up to me, “If they weren’t your sons —”

“And if they also weren’t necessary to the success of the journey home,” I said calmly, “you would do what?”

“Never mind,” he grumbled. “I’m just glad that you decided to come along, after all. I am going to take a revenge on Purple such as no one has ever dreamed of!”

Despite the hour there was a considerable crowd gathered on the slope. Many of them were from the other villages, people who had heard of our wondrous machine, and had , come to witness our ascent. Still, there were quite a few people from our own village as well, proudly pointing out what part of the machine they had worked on. Again, there were mongers selling sweetdrops and spicy meats. I had eaten some the last time, and had been sick for hours afterward. This time I had resolved not to eat anything; if I was going to be sick, I didn’t want to be so in an airship.

“All right, Lant,” said Purple. “You can get in now.” He gestured. “Shoogar?”

We went. Purple directed us where to sit, far forward in the boat, one on each side of a cloth-lined bench. Purple took up his position at the rear. He peered about him anxiously, as if he had forgotten something.

I was petrified. My heart was pounding — I could not believe it — I was actually here — in a flying machine! And I was going to rise up into the sky in it!

A voice was calling, “Lant! Lant!” I looked over the side. There was Pilg the Crier.

“Pilg!” I cried. “Where have you been?”

“I have been coming back,” he called. “Lant, are you really going flying with Purple the Magician?”

“Yes,” I said. “I am.”

“You are a brave man,” he said. “I shall miss you.”

Farther up the slope I could see both my wives with Gortik. They were sobbing copiously. Little Gortik waved happily.

“All right,” Purple was saying, “ground crew take your positions.”

I looked around me, thousands of faces were looking back.

Wilville and Orbur waved at them. They had climbed onto their bicycles, and were just tying their safety ropes. Underneath, the boat rocked gently. “You know,” I said suddenly, “I think I ought to stay behind, after all. I —”

Shoogar pulled me down again. “Shut up, Lant — you want everyone to think you’re a coward ?”

“I’d just as soon they know it for sure — let go of me, I Shoogar!”

Purple was standing at the rear of the boat, one hand on the rigging to balance himself. He was gesturing at the ground crew. I pulled myself away from Shoogar and looked. Trone and his men were stationing themselves around the cradle. “Each had a heavy knife and was waiting by a mooring rope.

“All right, now,” Purple shouted. “All the ropes have to be cut at once, so wait for my signal. We will do it just as I said. I will count backwards — ready, now? Ten, nine, eight —”

“Shoogar, let go of me!” I said. “I’m not going —”

“Yes, you are!”

“— to do anything foolish!”

“You are too!”

“Seven, six, five —”

“Shoogar!”

“Four, three —”

There were fifty jarring thunks! as the knives came down on the ropes. We shot upwards! The crowd cheered. I yelped. Shoogar screamed and clutched at me. The boat rocked wildly and I grabbed at something to keep from falling — there was a tearing sound — it was Shoogar’s spell belt.

We were in a tumbled heap at the bottom of the boat. I pulled myself into a sitting position, and back up onto the bench. Purple was cursing furiously, “You addle-brained idiots! You can’t even count right!! I didn’t even get to Finish —”

“Finish what?” I said. Three is the spell number, Purple. All spells start with three.”

He looked at me stupidly, then he turned away muttering; “Of course, Purple; three is the spell number, Purple; how can you be so stupid, Purple — Oh, what I wouldn’t give for a —” His words were whipped away by the wind.

I looked around. Shoogar was peering curiously over the side.

“What is the matter?” I asked.

“My spell belt, you fool! You ripped it.”

I joined him at the rail. The boat tipped precariously, but Purple shifted his weight in the rear, and we balanced again. “It must be the lack of a keel,” called Orbur from his outrigger.

And now, for the first time since the ascent, I had a chance to look down. Far below us was the Crag, red sunlight slanting severely across it. Blue shadows stretched outward to infinity. Tiny people, getting tinier every moment, moved below. I could see the landing cradle, the housetrees, the foamy edge of the sea, and the rippled surface of it stretching out to the end of the world.

On the other side were the peaks of the mountains. We were even above them.

Shoogar was still looking down “What are you so upset about?” I asked. “Most of your spells are here at the bottom of the boat.”

“I know,” he said. “I saw them — but the one you ripped — it spilled out. It’s going to hang in the air over the village for days.”

“Oh,” I said. “What is it?”

“A powder. You remember the dust of yearning?”

“The spell we used on Purple the day we destroyed his black egg?”

“That’s the one.”

I shuddered. I remembered it well. After just a few sniffs of it, Purple had gone into the village and done the family-making thing with my wife. Repeatedly.

“I wonder,” said Shoogar. “I wonder…”

“Well, we must go back,” I said. “You must show them the proper herbs to chew — there isn’t another magician in the region. There will be chaos —”

“Go back?” said Shoogar. “You are jesting. You will not bring this craft down to the ground again until the airgas gets tired of working and sneaks out of the balloons. Besides, we are moving strongly north —”

He was right, of course. I left him at the railing and moved to another part of the boat. It swayed sickeningly under my every step. Wilville called across to Orbur, “I think we should put the keel back on!”

“Me too!” he answered.

“No,” said Purple, “all you need do is rearrange the rigging. Spread it our farther at the bottom. It will give the hoist a wider stance.”

“The who a what?” they called.

He sighed. “Never mind.”

The wind was strong this high in the sky. Idiot’s Crag had shrunk to a spear of black on the horizon. Below us the sea was many colors. Spots were brown and opaque with mud. In some places reefs showed through. There were groves of submerged trees as well, spines of mountain rock, and even a tall cairn to Musk-Watz. You could see them all sticking out of the water. There were churning whirlpools and vast rippling tides, and the surface of the water was gray and foamy.

Purple was sighting against the sun and marking something on a skin which had been stretched across a framework. Strange lines speared out from the center of the skin to its edges. “It’s a direction-telling spell,” explained Purple.

We re headed almost directly east.”

“I could have told you that,” I said.

“Huh?”

I pointed below. “See that spine of land there? That’s the way we followed on our migration. It leads directly to the old village.”

“It does?” Purple leaned far over the edge and tried to follow it with his eyes. I feared for his balance, but even more I feared for Shoogar who watched us with eyes gleaming.

He straightened then. “Wilville, Orbur! We want to change course. Unsling your airpushers!”

They nodded and began to do so. First one of the bladed wheels swung down to hang a manheight below the precarious outrigger, then the other on the other side. I shuddered as I watched. I would not trade places with either of my sons. You would not get me out there, with nothing between me and the sea but empty air.

“We have to come about,” called Purple. Turn toward the west — left about ninety degrees.” I didn’t understand that last, but the boys apparently did. Wilville began back-pedaling while Orbur pedaled forward. Slowly the Cathawk turned in the sky. The red sunlight seeped through the rigging, and the shadows shifted across our face.

Purple watched carefully on his measuring skin. A small rod stuck up from the center, and he watched the position of its shadow. He called, “All right, stop!” He waited until both airpushers were still, then checked the shadow again. “Not enough,” he called, “another ten degrees.”

When we were finally pointed in the right direction he gave another order. “Quarter speed,” he called. The two boys began chanting and pedaling. They had removed the extra twist in the pulleys, so that the airpushers blew their wind sternward again and the boys faced in the direction they were going.

The chant was at a set rhythm, and they pedaled in time to it. Purple watched them for a while, then he peered over the side again. After a bit he said, “Ah.” He straightened. “We are on the right course. We are traveling parallel to that spine of land you pointed out, Lant. If the wind lets up at all, we will try to get directly over it”

He went to the back of the boat then and stretched out on a cot of aircloth over a wide frame. “You know, Lant,” he called, “if I didn’t have my responsibilities elsewhere, I might almost be willing to settle down here. This is a very relaxing way of life.”

“Oh, no, Purple,” I reassured him. “You would not be happy living with us. You had best return —”

“Fear not, Lant. That’s what I intend to do. But I tell you, I have truly enjoyed myself here.” He pounded himself on his stomach. “Look, I think I may have even lost a few pounds.”

“Have you looked behind you?” muttered Shoogar.

“Sh,” I hissed. “We are all going to be together for a very long time. At least try to get along.”

“With him?!!”

“You didn’t have to come, Shoogar!”

“I did too! How else can I ever —”

“Never mind! If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all. At least so long as we’re in the air!”

Shoogar snarled at me and went forward to the front of the boat. I sank down tiredly on a pile of supplies and blankets.

For a while I watched my sons as they pedaled. It was a funny sight, a bicycle so high in the air — with no wheels at all, yet they were pedaling so steadily, I had to laugh. They glared at me, but kept chanting and pumping.

Above us the clustered windbags were like a distant roof. Large enough to be covering, but high enough so that they were not oppressive. It was a feeling like being sheltered, but also one of being strangely free.

Occasionally the boys rested — and then all was silent. That was the most peculiar thing about the airship. Once in the sky, it neither creaked nor shuddered. There were no sounds at all, except perhaps that of our own heartbeats.

We had stopped rising now. And a good thing too. The air was cold — almost biting. Purple pulled out some blankets and passed them around. Wilville and Orbur were wearing extra layers of clothing. It had been tied to their outriggers so they could pull it on as they wished. They also had water bottles and packs of hardbread. There was no need for them to come into the boat itself at all, if they did not wish to.

The last of the red sun finally seeped below the horizon.

“Are they going to pedal through the dark?” I asked Purple.

“Uh huh. As long as the wind keeps up, someone has to keep pedaling. You see, Lant, the wind is blowing us north-east. If we pedal west, then we cancel out the east and go only north. But the wind doesn’t stop at night, so neither can we. The only other choice is to land — and that means letting air out of the bags.”

“And you don’t want to do that, do you?”

“Right. We know the boat will float in water, but I’d rather not have to depend on it. Besides, even if we did come down on the sea, the wind might still push us. So we might as well stay in the air and keep pedaling all night. The boys know how to pace themselves. As long as we stay near that spine of land under the water, I won’t worry.”

In the dark the steady chanting and pumping was an eerie thing — coming, as it did, from outside the boat. Fortunately, the time till blue dawn was little more than an hour away — we would have naught but a brief flash of darkness at this time of year. Followed by seventeen hours of pure blue sunlight, an hour of double sunlight, and another seventeen hours of red sunlight. Then darkness again. Later in the year the darknesses would stretch, as would the times of double sunlight. The single-sun hours would shrink as the suns moved closer and closer in the sky — toward the inevitable red conjunction.

We pedaled on through the darkened sky.