Shoogar was caught by surprise. He had not expected the stranger to produce the required gift. Now he had fulfilled his obligation as a magician, and had the legal right to remain in the district. By the same convention, Shoogar was bound to respect the rights of the new magician as well as his spells. Guild rules are quite specific.
Shoogar, as resident magician, had the seniority. The stranger could do nothing to interfere with Shoogar’s practice or previous spells; but aside from that, he was free to do as he chose.
Shoogar examined his gift. It was small and light, easily held in one hand. One end had a glass lens mounted in it.
The stranger demonstrated how it worked. When one pressed forward on the thing’s sliding nerve, the glass lens made light.
It was a trivial thing. I could sense that Shoogar was disappointed, and insulted that the stranger had not given him something more spectacular. Shoogar had other ways to make cold light. But there was little he could say. It is extremely bad form to test a gift spell in the presence of the giver.
The only advantage to the gift was that its light was of a shape we had not seen before. By twisting a knob on one side the shape could be varied from a bright narrow beam — like the stranger’s red-fire device, but nowhere near as damaging — to a broad glare, wide enough to illuminate half a countryside.
Using the sliding nerve, the brightness of the device could be adjusted too. It could be muted down to a dim glow, no brighter than a lightmoss, or it could be pushed up until it was too bright to look at. Purple-Gray advised Shoogar not to use the spell too much in this latter form, or its something would drain away too fast. The speakerspell didn’t translate the word.
Shoogar turned it over and over in his hands. He had had his heart set on the flying spell or the red fire device. Yet manners compelled him to accept this gift graciously. I could see he wanted to ask for something else, but couldn’t figure out how to do so without the risk of offending the other magician.
Purple-Gray was saying, “I cannot understand why your world has life at all. Your evolution patterns don’t seem right: yet who would have settled here? We certainly wouldn’t. For one thing, the dust clouds hide you from space. For another, you don’t really get yellow, dwarf, sunlight.” Much of it was like that: coherent sentences trailing off into strings of unrelated words. “Though I suppose the red and blue suns do combine to give the same effect… the plants all look black because there’s so little green light, but the something in plants doesn’t use the green anyway, so that’s all right. It’s these double shadows that would drive anyone insane.”
Shoogar waited through this stream of gibberish with commendable patience. Purple-Gray’s words about different colors seemed to hint at something very important, and Shoogar wanted to know what it was. “You speak of this world. “ he said. “May one assume that you know of other worlds?” I wondered if Shoogar was baiting the stranger.
“Oh. yes. My world —” He looked up, considered, then pointed into the empty sky. “My world is in that general direction … I think. Beyond the dust clouds.”
“Dust clouds?” Shoogar peered up into the sky. I looked also. So did the crowd of onlookers. “Dust clouds?” The sky was an empty blue. What was he talking about?
Shoogar looked at the other magician, “Do you mock me? I see nothing. No dust clouds. No other worlds. There is nothing in the sky.”
“Oh, but there is,” said Purple-Gray. “It’s just too small for you to see.”
Shoogar raised an eyebrow — threw me a look — turned back to the other magician. I could sense some of the onlookers trying to restrain their mirth. Some of the lesser women were already giggling and had to be herded away. “Too small?” repeated Shoogar, “Too small …?” His patience was growing thin. Shoogar has no temperament for children, fools or madmen.
“Oh, no — you misunderstand,” said Purple-Gray quickly. “It’s too small to see because it’s so far away.”
“Oh …” said Shoogar slowly. Purple-Gray still had not explained the dust clouds — or the lack of them.
“Yes. In fact, it’s so far away that if you tried to get there on say, a bicycle, it would take you many generations. You would grow old and die before you had covered a significant fraction of the journey.”
“I see …” said Shoogar. “Then how did you get here By pedalling faster?”
Purple-Gray laughed, “Oh, no, no. Even that wouldn’t help. I …” The speakerspell hesitated, then said, “… went around …”
Shoogar shook his head in confusion. Several more of the women had to be led away. It was not good for them to see a grown man making a fool of himself, nor was it advisable that they witness Shoogar discomfited. Several of the men began muttering among themselves. Shoogar gestured for silence — he still had not given up. “Went around …?” he asked. “Went around what? The dust clouds?”
“Oh, no. I went through the dust clouds. I…. went around the distance.”
Shoogar repeated this sentence slowly, to see if there was something in it he had missed. There wasn’t. He looked at Purple and shook his head. “Uh uh,” he said. That was all, just, “Uh uh.”
Then he turned and walked away, up the slope, shaking his head and turning the small light-making device over and over in his hands.
Purple-gray spent the next several days collecting small plants, pieces of larger plants, handfuls of mud and water and dirt. There were plenty of sprats and adults to watch him, but he took little notice of them.
A floating three-legged clicking device followed him about with its legs folded, unnoticed and untended until he needed it. Each time he took a sample of something he would mount this device on its legs and point it at the site. It seemed a harmless enough testing device, but Shoogar would grit his teeth every time it came floating by.
Shoogar went into seclusion then, determined to discover the secret of the stranger’s light-making device. When I visited him for the purpose of checking his progress, he glared angrily at me, and muttered, “Curse that single-shadowed demon!”
“Perhaps it would help if you tried to find out which god the spell draws its power from.”
Shoogar gave me another look, more scathing than the first. “Do I tell you how to carve bone? Why do you tell me magic? Don’t you think I know my own business? I have already tested this device for the presence of every god in the known pantheon and it responds to none.”
“Perhaps,” I suggested, “perhaps it is based on a different principle. Purple appears not to call on any gods at all. Could it be that…”
Then how does he work his devices?” Shoogar demanded. “By superstition?”
“I don’t know — but perhaps he draws his power from some different source. Or perhaps …”
“Lant, you are a fool! Why do you continue to prattle on about things you do not know? If you are going to try to talk to a magician about magic, you should at least try to talk intelligently.”
“But that’s why I’m asking —”
“Superstition, Lant, is harmless prattle that gets repeated so often that people start to believe it — and then it is no longer harmless. The belief of the people gives it power. Magic, on the other hand, involves a carefully constructed equation of symbols intended to control specialized forces or objects. Magic works whether one believes in it or not”
“I understand that,” I said. “And I do not think that Purple operates by superstition.”
“Nor do I,” said Shoogar. “His powers are too great.”
“But it does not appear that he operates by magic either.”
“Are you suggesting that the stranger’s devices are independent of the gods?” Shoogar’s look and tone made it clear that he felt he was talking to an imbecile.
I stiffened my tone. “Such a thing is not impossible. Wilville once confessed to me that he has often test-ridden new bicycles without bothering to bless them first. One grows careless and forgets. But nothing evil has ever happened to him.”
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“Wilville and Orbur are under my protection — remember? In payment for helping to construct a flying spell.”
“Yes, I remember. I had preferred they take something tangible.”
Shoogar ignored me. “I am protecting both your sons as a matter of course, so Wilville’s occasional ride on an unblessed bicycle proves nothing. Besides, if everything else has been properly prepared, the bicycle blessing is superfluous.”
“I still say that such a thing as a device independent of the gods might be possible.”
Shoogar gave me a look. You seem very sure of yourself.”
“As a boy, I once used an unblessed fishing rod. I made it myself.”
“So?”
“So I caught a fish.”
Shoogar snorted. “It still proves nothing, Lant. If you had blessed that rod and washed your hook as you should have, you might have caught ten times as many fish. All that you proved otherwise was that you had constructed a usable fishing rod. What you needed for that experiment was a valid control — an identical fishing pole that had been blessed and washed. Then you would have seen which one could catch the most fish.
“You talk as if you have done such an experiment.”
“Not with fish, no. But with traps.”
My surprise must have shown, for he said, “As an apprentice, every new magician must prove to his own satisfaction, at least once, that there is truly great power in magic. One cannot be a magician if there is a seed of doubt in his mind. By allowing the apprentice to satisfy his curiosity, we generate faith in him. It is a simple experiment — one that anyone can construct for himself — a test that can be repeated as often as you choose. Each time the results are the same and can be verified.”
“And what happens?”
“The traps with the blessed bait will catch twice as many rabbits.”
“So? Maybe it was only because the bait is more attractive to the rabbits.”
“Of course,” said Shoogar. “That’s exactly what it is supposed to do. The whole purpose of the spell is to make the bait more attractive. These traps are simple devices, Lant. A simple device may not always need magic, but when it is used the results are easily demonstrable. Now, how many parts were there to your fishing pole?”
“Three. Stick, line and hook.”
“Right. There is little that can go wrong with it, but still the string can break, or the bait can slip off, or the hook may not catch. And this is only a simple device — a thing that does not have to be very precise. Think, Lant! What of the construction that has many moving parts? It has to have all of them in absolute working order before any of them will work. What of, say, the bicycle?”
I started to answer, but he cut me off. “Don’t interrupt. The bicycle has many moving parts, the wheels, the pulleys, the steering bar, the pedals, the axles. All of these things must be precision carved and in delicate adjustment with each other, or the device simply will not work. Now, theoretically, a perfect machine is possible … but in practice — well, when you get a machine that has to be that precise simply to function, that is when the effect of the magic becomes most important. If only one part fails — one part — then the whole machine is useless. The simple device does not need magic, so its effect is enhanced by the simplest of spells; but a complex device needs a more complex spell just to keep it working at all. There is just too much that can go wrong. Tell me, Lant, how many parts are there to a bicycle?”
I shrugged. “I have never counted. A good many, I would guess.”
Shoogar nodded. “And how may parts does the stranger s flying nest have?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
“More than a bicycle?”
“Undoubtedly,” I said.
“Very perceptive of you, Lant. I feel sure that there must be at least a thousand different parts in that flying nest. From my own flying experiments I can tell you that a flying spell is a very complex device indeed. Purple-Gray’s nest must have many moving parts all of them working together in precision. The smallest error and — Poff! Nothing happens. It’s quite obvious to me that the more parts a machine has, the more opportunities it has to go wrong. Now, are you going to stand there and try to tell me that the stranger keeps all of those various parts working in absolute precision without the aid of any magic at all …?”
I shook my head. Shoogar made a very convincing case. Certainly, he had already given the whole matter much more thought than I had imagined. But, of course, that was his job as magician. It was reassuring to know that he was doing it so well.
I beamed proudly at him. “The same thing must apply to all of his other devices, right?”
Shoogar nodded, “You are beginning to see the obvious, Lant.”
“They must need so much magic that they must be reeking of spells, right?”
Shoogar nodded again.
“Then, you have already figured out the secret of the light device, Shoogar!” I exclaimed. “It is so complex that it is obvious, right?”
“Wrong. It is so simple that it is a mystery.”
“Huh —”
“The most I’ve been able to do is to take the device apart — but look at what that leaves me!” He waved his hand at a workbench. On it were only four pieces, the elements of the stranger’s light. These consisted of a hollow shell, a crystal lens, a flat plate and an interior canister, roughly the same “shape as the outer shell. Shoogar turned this flat bulging, object over and over in his hands, but he could not find an opening. It was hard and solid and we both puzzled over what it might contain. It resisted all of our attempts to open it, and Shoogar would not use force for fear of destroying the devices within.
“And you have been able to make no changes at all in its condition?” I prompted.
“Not exactly. I have made one change….”
“And what is that?”
“The light. It has failed completely and will no longer glow.”
“Oh.”
Shoogar glumly fitted the pieces together again as I watched. He activated the sliding nerve. Nothing happened. He twisted the turning knob back and forth. Still nothing. “I thought not,” he muttered. “I had hoped the spell might restore itself if given a chance to rest — but apparently I was mistaken.”
“Why don’t you take it back to Purple?” I suggested.
Shoogar whirled on me, “What?!! Do you think I am not capable enough on my own to solve this problem?”
“No, Shoogar!” I protested. “I am sure you are capable. I just thought that — uh, well, perhaps Purple has done something to cancel the original spell that you can’t know about. Perhaps he has insulted some god.”
Shoogar considered this. “You could be right … you’re sure you’re not doubting my ability as a magician?” He peered at me.
Hastily, I reassured him, “Shoogar, I have no doubts about the level of your knowledge.”
This seemed to placate him, “Good. Then we can pay a visit to Purple and find out why the device doesn’t work.”
We found Purple out in the west pasture, doing something with a set of his devices. I looked for, but did not see the red-fire throwing device. Apparently, he had not brought it with him. The devices he was using here in the meadow all seemed to be rather harmless.
Purple was puttering contentedly, murmuring and humming busily to himself when Shoogar interrupted and handed him the device. Purple took it, fiddled with it several times, then opened it and examined the cylinder within. He noted that its surface had gone red. “Well, of course it won’t work. The battery is dead.”
Shoogar went pale. “The battery? Why did you not tell me there was a living creature within this device? I did not even know what to feed it.”
“No, no,” said Purple with a laugh. “You don’t under-stand.”
“I understand all too well,” said Shoogar. “You entrusted a living creature into my care without even telling me. Small wonder that it died — imprisoned in that tiny box without food or wat
er! You have caused the death of a living being to be on my head, and now I must offer up prayers for its soul!”
Purple managed to check his laughter, “Listen to me, Shoogar. Listen. A battery is not a living creature. It is a device, a thing that stores power.”
“Oh,” said Shoogar. “A latent spell.” He smoothed his fur and said in a calmer tone, “Well, which god must I placate in order to restore its power to it?”
Again Purple laughed, “You still do not understand. Here, give it to me, and I will do it for you.” He reached for the device, but Shoogar did not give it to him.
“Why will you not tell me how to restore it?” demanded Shoogar. “What good will the device be to me, if I must continually come to you when its power is exhausted — what kind of a magician would that make me look like? And furthermore, what happens after you leave — how will I restore it then? If I at least knew which gods —”
“No gods,” said Purple. “No gods at all. Your gods are not able to restore this device’s power. Here, give it to me, Shoo-gar. I will do it.”
Shoogar jerked his hand back as if stung. “The gods not able to restore the device’s power? Only you?”
“Relax, Shoogar,” Purple said. “The device works without the gods; it doesn’t need them.”
Shoogar said slowly, carefully, “Do you mock me? No device works without the gods.”
“This one does. So do the rest of my devices.”
Shoogar gently stiffened his tone. “Purple, you are not making sense. It sounds as if you are denying the power of the gods. Such talk will cause Elcin to rain lightning down upon your head. I urge you to —”
“That would be true,” Purple interrupted, “if there were an Elcin. Or any other god. You have over a thousand gods here — and I still have not numbered them all. Oh, these primitive superstitions, borne out of the ignorant need to explain the inexplicable! I’m sorry, Shoogar; I can’t explain it to you — you’re as much its victim as its master.” Abruptly, he was silent.
The Flying Sorcerers Page 3