David Gerrold - 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?”