The Flying Sorcerers

Far to the east the horizon’s edge was limned by a faint blue glow. Blue Ouells was sneaking up behind it, soon to shout and leap and flash brightly over the edge.

Below, the sea was a dark platter, greasy and wrinkled. A cold wind whipped around us. I pulled my blanket tighter against it. The boat rocked gently. The swollen balloons seemed motionless above; the sea motionless and flat so far below.

My sons pedaled steadily. I fancied I could see the churned air stretching out in a line behind us, but that way was as dark as the way ahead. Their pumping was a steady sound, sensed rather than heard — constant vibration filled the boat.

And then it was morning, sharp and blue — bright Ouells was a pinpoint at the edge of the world, sleeting light sideways across our eyes.

Wilville and Orbur rested then, while Purple sighted for the spine of land under the water. It was a barren range of hills, barely higher than the land around it. Beneath the risen ocean it would appear with a lighter color.

At first he thought we had lost it, then sighted it off to our right. Apparently, during the dark, the wind had slackened somewhat. The boys, having no way of knowing this, had kept pedaling, and so had carried us farther west than Purple had wanted us to go.

Fortunately the wind was still blowing northeast, so Purple told Wilville and Orbur that they could rest until such time as we were again over our guide. The boys climbed into the boat, but did not remove their waist ropes until they were safely inside.

They sucked eagerly at a skin of Quaff, passing it back and forth between them, then each stretched out on a cloth-lined framework, the Cathawk’s equivalent of a cot. Within moments they were asleep.

I picked my way forward, past bundles of supplies. Shoogar was just stretching and yawning. He greeted me with a surly grunt.

“Haven’t you slept,” I asked.

“Of course not, Lant. We only had an hour of darkness. I was watching for the moons. The moons,” he yawned grumpily, “I need the moons.”

“Shoogar,” I said, “you do not need the moons —”

“Yes, I do — do you want me to lose my duel?”

I could see that he was unapproachable. “Go aft,” I said. “Go aft and get some sleep.”

He was fumbling in his sleeve, but all he found was a damp husk-ball. “Curse it,” he said, “they ruined it, your sons ruined it. I had hoped it would dry out, but —” he shrugged and tossed the sodden mass over the side. “I’m going to sleep, Lant,” he mumbled and tottered off.

I moved to the front of the boat and peered out. Here was a view, unobstructed by either balloons or rigging. I was suspended above a silvery-blue sea, miles above it. I seemed to be floating in silence. The stillness was overpowering. Deafening.

The air was crisp and, at the same time, hot. Blue Ouells was already heating up the day.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

I looked around. Purple had come up beside me. He placed his hands on the rail and looked out at the ocean blueness on all sides. “I love the way it changes,” he said. “The changing light of the suns keeps changing the look of the water.”

I nodded. I did not particularly feel like talking yet. My bones still ached from the cold of the night, and the sun had not yet begun to bake that out.

“Lant,” he said, “tell me about your journey again. I am trying to figure out how far you traveled, and how long it will take us to cover that distance in the flying machine.”

I sighed. We had been over this many times already. It was on the basis of our migration that Purple had calculated the number of balloons and amount of supplies he would need. “We journeyed for a hundred and fifty days, Purple. We followed that range of hills because the seas were rising so fast. We needed every advantage we could get.”

He nodded, “Good, good,” then fell silent and became lost in thought, as if he were making figures in his head. After a while he brought out his measuring skin again and began sighting the sun. “We will be drifting over our course line again,” he said. “I had better go and wake up the boys.”

Afterward, when we were again vibrating to the tune of the whining bicycles, I tottered aft and joined Purple for a bite of breakfast, my first meal since coming aboard the aircraft. Shoogar was snoring loudly on a cot.

Purple bit into a sour melon. He said, “For some time I have wondered, Lant. Why do you call me Purple?”

“Huh? That is your name.”

He cocked his head at me, “What do you mean? I knew you had a word for me in your language, but it wasn’t until my speakerspell was destroyed that I found out it was your word for purple.”

“But you told us that was your name, long ago.”

“I couldn’t have. It isn’t.”

“It isn’t? But —” I thought hard. “But your speakerspell said it was —”

“Oh,” he said, “the speakerspell.” As if that explained it. “Yes, Lant, sometimes we do have troubles with speakerspells.”

“I thought so,” I said, “I sometimes wondered if it was working correctly. It said some very silly things.”

“Just what did it say?”

“It spoke wildly of dust clouds and other suns —”

“I mean, about my name.”

“Oh. It said that your name was As A Color, Shade of Purple-Gray. We thought it distinctly odd.”

Purple looked distinctly confused. He wiped a bit of melon dribble off his chin. “As a color, shade of purple-gray? I don’t see how —” And then his eyes lit up behind his black bone frames. A delighted expression came across his face, “Ah, it’s a pun! A pun!” He began chortling hysterically. “Of course, of course — how right that I should have a translator that makes two-language puns! As a color, shade of purple-gray! As a mauve! Oh, how delightful.”

I looked at him oddly.

He explained. “It must have tried to translate the syllables individually, Lant, from my language to yours.”

“Then Purple isn’t your real name?”

“Oh, no, of course not — that’s just a poor translation. My real name is —” and he spoke in the demon-tongue.

At that I felt a cold chill — no wonder Shoogar’s first curse hadn’t worked — he had used the wrong name!

Behind us Shoogar’s snoring had stopped — he was lying on his back. His eyes were narrow slits — had he heard too?