The Flying Sorcerers

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.

Our supplies lay scattered on the sand to protect them from the water in the boat. The four of us sat there and stared glumly at it.

“I knew we had forgotten something,” repeated Wilville. It was the eleventh time he had said it.

“North,” said Orbur, “we forgot about north.”

“We forgot that the wind blows north,” I said.

“No matter,” shrugged Orbur. He tossed a pebble toward the sea. we’re still not going anywhere. Wilville and I just can’t pump hard enough to fight our way south.” He tossed another pebble. “Curse it, anyway.”

“Don’t swear,” mumbled Shoogar. “Greatest magician in the world, and I can’t even change the wind. Curse it all.”

“You’re swearing,” said Orbur petulantly.

“That’s my job. I’m a magician.”

We had tried to lift the boat four times already. Each time the best we had done was to maintain our position over the shore — and each time, as the boys had slackened, the wind had threatened to push us inland. Each time, we had brought the airboat down again.

“I don’t care how much power that battery has got in it,” Wilville said. “If we’re not getting anywhere, we might as well not have it at all. We’re only wasting its power this way.”

“It doesn’t show on the dial yet,” I said.

That doesn’t mean we haven’t wasted the power we’ve used,” said Wilville. “And if we keep this up, we’ll keep going until there’s no more left.”

We were miles east of where we had first touched shore. It was a spot that had once been below our old village. It was as desolate as the other. I chewed thoughtfully on one of Purple’s food sticks — it was soft and brown and had an odd taste. There must be a way,” I said. There must be.”

“Not through the air,” grumbled Wilville.

Orbur tossed a rock, “Then let’s go through the water.”

“Why not? The boat will float, won’t it?”

“Yes, but — the whirlpools, the reefs —” I said.

“We lift above them!” Wilville was shouting now. “Yes, I’ve got it. We put just enough gas in the windbags to hold the boat out of water — but not the outriggers! The airpushers will move water too, and we can pedal our way home. Whenever the wind dies, we can lift into the air.”

“But,” I said, “if the wind works on balloons like it does on sails — it pushes — won’t it push against us in the water too?”

“Yes, but the water will be pushing back. That is, the water will give us the leverage we need to move forward. Besides, we won’t pump the balloons as full as they are now — they won’t present as much area to the wind and we won’t be fighting it as much.”

“Wilville and Orbur were right, of course. They usually were in matters concerning the flying machine. It was almost as if they knew as much about it as Purple — certainly more so than Shoogar. Shoogar had protested their whole discussion equating the action of the wind on the balloons with the action of wind on sails. But, said Orbur, wind is wind. And Wilville and Orbur were right.

The water splashed slowly under us, the airmakers churned it into froth behind us. The boys had to pedal nearly twice as hard as they would have in the air.

The sea was sinking again, and rapids and whirlpools were frequent. Often, we had to take to the air. When we did this, we would usually slip backwards, but then the boys would begin driving either east or west, and in this manner we managed to avoid most of the dangers of our first journey.

Whenever the boys tired of pedaling, we either took on ballast or released some gas. In the water, our backward slippage was slight.

We trailed fishing lines behind us. They had been a gift from Purple and not understood at first, but once they had been explained we were eager to put them to use. Once we caught something big and it pulled us eastward for half a day before we could cut through the line. We had to use a special tool to do that.

It was not that the food Purple had given us was inadequate. It was just that it tasted bad. We ate it only when there was nothing else available.

On the fifth day we were lucky enough to slip into a section of water that was receding rapidly southward. We stayed with it as long as we could until it became too savage. Then we lifted into the air. The boys were delighted to find that the wind was behind us now.

The darknesses were longer now — nearly two hours — and the seasons were changing. The oceans were