“I can’t,” I whispered back. “I have never been a Speaker. I do not even have a Speaking Token. We buried it with Thran.”
“We’ll make a new one. Shoogar will consecrate it. But we need a Speaker now.”
One or two others nodded assent.
“But there’s the chance they might kill me if they find me too audacious a Speaker,” I hissed.
The rest nodded eagerly.
Hinc said, “You’ll cope with it, Lant.”
Pilg added, “It would be an honor to die for our village. I envy you.”
And with that he pushed me out of the huddle and announced, “Lant here is our Speaker. He is too modest to admit it.”
I swallowed hard, but a man must recognize and accept his duties. “I speak for us,” I quavered. I had the feeling that at any moment, ancient Thran would step forward to question my impudence. Or that somehow Gortik would recognize me as an impostor and fail to grant me the respect due my uneasy office.
But he merely nodded his acceptance and said, “And why do you journey?”
“We are pilgrims,” I said. “Migrants seeking a new home.”
“You have not chosen wisely,” he said. “This is not the best of places to live.”
“You live here,” I countered.
“Ah, but we don’t enjoy it. I envy you — your ability to travel — I wish you luck in your journey —”
“It seems to me that you are eager to see us go, friend Gortik.”
“Not so, friend, Lant — it is just that I am not eager to have you stay! This is a poor land. You would not want to be caught here during Wading Season.”
“Wading Season?”
“During interpassage, the days are hot, Speaker Lant; the seas get high. Most of the year, this section of land connects to the mainland —”
“This section — of land — connects — to the mainland?”
“That’s right. You go by the Neck. It’s convenient because nobody lives on the Neck. They might be caught there the wrong time of year, so it’s free passage for everybody —”
“— except during Wading Season,” I finished for him.
“Right.” He smiled obliquely. “We’re an island during the season — so it is important that you hurry. You do not wish to be caught here.”
“How big an island?”
“Not big. Four villages and some land between them. And the Heights of Idiocy. That’s where you people are camped now.” He added, “Nobody lives in the Heights. Mostly because nothing grows. We stay there during Wading Season, but only because the ocean covers everything else. Other-wise, it’s free land.”
“An island —” I repeated. A thought was starting to take form. “Yes, you are right. We must hurry to move on.” I gestured to my council. “Come, we cannot waste any more time on talking. Gortik has given us fine advice and we must hasten to take advantage of it.” I gave him the finger gesture of fertility, wrapped my robe about me, and swept from the glade. My advisors followed behind.
We tramped back up through the woods, Hinc and the others hastening as fast as they could. “Hurry, Lant, hurry,” they called. I dawdled along behind them, occasionally pausing to admire the view or a particularly fine stand of trees.
“Lant!” insisted Pilg, “Hurry!”
“Hold on, Pilg,” I said. What’s your rush?”
His eyes were wide. “You heard them! This is an island during the season.” The others paused in their flight, began to gather round. “Yes, Lant, hurry.”
“Why?” I said.
“Because, if we don’t, we’ll be trapped here.”
“So?” I said. “What happens if we get trapped?”
“We’re stuck here — we can’t move on,” said Hinc.
“And then they can’t refuse us sanctuary, can they?”
The council considered it.
I said. “Of course, we must hurry to get away from here — Gortik said so. But if we do not hurry fast enough, then we have no choice in the matter. Then we have to stay.”
“Hm,” said Damd. He was beginning to get the point.
“Hmmmmmm,” said Jark. He had already gotten it.
“Look around you,” I said to the rest. The woods here are terrible, aren’t they? Remember how we noticed it on the way down?” They nodded thoughtfully. They remembered what they had noticed. This would be a miserable region to settle, wouldn’t it.”
They looked about them. “Yes, this would be a miserable place,” said Damd. “I would have to weave housetree nests twice as big as before — that’s much too much work for me to do. And what would a man do with a nest that big?”
“You’re right,” said Jark. “Look at the bambooze, so strong and sturdy. Think of the Quaff I could make from it — no, it is not right for a man to have such fine, sweet Quaff!”
Hinc was kneeling, examining a fiber-plant. “Hmm,” he said. “It would not be good for a man to wear such fine clothes, it would spoil him for the harshnesses of life.”
“And we should not get used to eating regularly, should we?” added Pilg. “We might get fat and lazy.”
We all sighed in unison.
“Yes, this would be a terrible place to settle.” I said, stretching out beneath a comfortable tree. “Come, we must hurry to consider how we will move on.”
Hinc settled himself beneath another tree, “Good thinking, Lant,” he said. “But we should not do anything rash — let us take some time to discuss the quickest way to travel.”
“Ahhh,” sighed Pilg. “But, we do wish to be gone from here, before we are sealed off by the sea.” He had found himself some soft meadow grasses.
“You are right,” said Jark, from his soft bed of fern. “We must not tarry too long.”
“No,” added Damd. “I think nightfall should be sufficient.”
“And of course,” I added, “no one would expect us to travel by night —”
“And besides,” said Pilg, “by then the women will have put up the tents.”
“It would be good to get a full night’s worth of sleep before traveling on,” added another.
I sighed, “A full night of sleep? That sounds tiring; I think I shall begin to rest up for it now.”
Tomorrow we will have to get an early start though,” said Jark.
“Yes. I think noontime, or shortly thereafter, should be soon enough.”
“Oh, but there are so many other things to do first,” said Hinc. For instance, there is breakfast, and then lunch.”
“Ahh,” sighed Pilg. “Yes, the women will not have time to take the tents down before lunch.”
“And even then, they may not have time,” I said sleepily. “For they will have to gather food for the journey before we can leave.”
That might take all day.”
“Or even two … or three.”
Another round of sighing. And yawning. Someone mumbled sleepily, “I hope there won’t be any problem introducing Shoogar to the new magician …”
“I don’t think there will be. We should be able to work something out. Why don’t you ask Pilg what he thinks?”
“He’s asleep.”
Then ask Hinc.”
“He’s asleep too.”
“And Jark?”
“The same.”
“And Damd?”
“Also asleep.”
“Then what are you keeping me awake for!” I grumbled. “It’s hard work being a Speaker and making decisions all day!”
Sure enough, a terrible thing happened.
Try as we could to hurry, the seas rose up and sealed off the island. It took eleven days.
It would have taken us only a few hours to cross by way of the Neck, an ever-narrowing strip of land, but somehow, we just couldn’t get the women organized. The confusion in the camp was terrible. It took six days just to get the tents down, and then it was so late we had to put them back up again so we could get to sleep. After all, the red sun was high in the sky and it was night.
&nbs
p; Gortik and his advisors came up to see us on the second day. They stood about and fretted, urging us constantly to hurry faster.
“But we are already hurrying as fast as we can. As you see, our women are so stupid, they cannot keep two orders in their heads at the same time.”
“It is a wonder you made it this far.” murmured Gortik.
“Yes, isn’t it?” I chimed brightly, and scurried off.
Thereafter, Gortik came up every day to fret and moan and worry over the delay of our departure. Finally, though, we were on our way. Gortik and his advisors were only too happy to act as our guides.
It took us five days to cross the island.
We arrived at the Neck just in time to see the seas crash over its peak. Gortik sighed, a sound of despair. I sighed too.
He looked at me, “Lant, if I didn’t know better, I’d say your people wanted to stay here.” He shook his head. “But that’s impossible; no people could be as stupid and confused as yours.”
I had to agree with him.
He said, “Well, let us turn back. Apparently, you are going to be with us throughout the season.”
I nodded. Reluctantly, I gave the order. “Turn back, turn back! It is too late to cross the neck. We must go back to our old camp!”
We were settled in again on the Heights of Idiocy well before nightfall.
It was time to introduce our magicians.
I was extraordinarily pleased with myself.
Lant the Speaker! Speaker of one of the finest villages in the world! Speaker for Shoogar the magnificent! I beamed proudly.
Shoogar was an impressive figure in a purple and red robe, one that changed colors as the suns changed their positions in the sky. On a string around his neck he wore the quartz lenses of the mad magician, a trophy of the kill and a token of proof that he was who he claimed to be.
In a high singsong chant he told them of his skill, how he had defeated his most dangerous enemy, Purple, the mad magician who had claimed to come from the other side of the sky. There was a stir among the listeners at that Evidently, Shoogar’s fame had preceded us. He told of how he had flattened the mountain, Critic’s Tooth, how he had called down the thunder and laid waste to the land for miles around. As proof, he held high Purple’s quartz lenses. He embroidered the story hardly at all — the truth was impressive enough.
When he finished, I detailed how we had had to flee our former village because of the side effects of Shoogar’s spell; how we had been travelling south for nearly a quarter of a cycle. Our journey had begun at the blue conjunction, and stretched across hundreds of miles and the floor of the empty ocean. The suns had moved farther and farther apart in the sky as we traveled, Red Virn and Blue Ouells stretching the days longer and longer between them until the darks shrank away to nothing.
I told how, at great danger and loss of life, we had crossed the great desert mudflats. As the darkness time approached the seas had returned to this land, and the latter part of our journey had been a pell-mell flight from the ever-encroaching waters. Many were the times we awakened to find the ocean lapping at our tents.
I did not mention that that was how we had lost Thran, drowned in his tent one night. It would not do for them to know that I was so new to Speaking for my village.
Now Virn and Ouells were living at opposite ends of the sky, and the darkless time was upon us. As the oceans crept to their height, I related how we had arrived here at the base of the southern mountains, seeking refuge and a place to build a new village.
Gortik smiled, “Your stories are most impressive, especially that of your magician. If his magic is merely half as good as his story telling, then he is a challenge to the Gods themselves.”
“Is your magician as good?” I said calmly.
“Better,” said Gortik, “his spells don’t produce side effects that destroy villages.”
“Our magician’s spells,” I countered, “are so strong that even after the side effects are minimized they lay waste the countryside.”
“How fortunate for you that he minimizes his side effects.” Gortik’s smile mocked us. It was obvious he did not believe in Shoogar’s power. I hoped it would not be necessary to demonstrate it to him.
“Our magician,” Gortik continued, “came to us quite suddenly. He killed the old one with a single blow that wakened the whole countryside, but damaged nothing — except, of course, the old magician.”
The shrubbery rustled behind Gortik as if someone were hurriedly being moved into place. Gortik stepped aside then, saying, “Behold! Our magician is Purple, the Unkillable!”
I thought my heart would stop.
Shoogar stood trembling and speechless, unable to move. The man who had stepped forward was indeed Purple, the living breathing man whom Shoogar had killed — had thought he had killed — in fiery combat at the last conjunction.
Around Shoogar the others of our village shrank away as if to escape Purple’s inevitable lightning strike.
I wanted to shrink within myself. I wanted to run. I wanted to die. Well, at least the latter wish would be granted — and soon.
Purple looked us over carefully. He wore his suit of sky blue — all of one piece, it fitted his bulk like a second skin. Several objects hung from the wide belt around his formidable waist. The hood was thrown back. His glance was squinty and unsure; his eyes were watery and wavered back and forth from one to the other of us. At last his searching gaze came to rest on — oh, Elcin, no! — on me.
He strode forward eagerly, grasping my shoulders and peering close into my face, “Lant! Is that you?” His words were oddly pronounced, but they came from his own mouth. With his speakerspell destroyed he had had to learn to talk like a man.
He released me before I could faint and looked around, “And Shoogar? Is Shoogar here?”
He caught sight of the shorter magician then; Shoogar was stiff and trembling. This was it — I braced myself. Let it at least be painless.
“Shoogar,” he said, stepping past me, hands outstretched. “Shoogar, there is something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”
Shoogar uttered a single, inhuman shriek and leapt at his throat.
The two of them tumbled to the ground, the big magician and the small. Shoogar was making unholy grunting noises, Purple was choking for air.
It took nine of us to pry them apart. The youngest and strongest members of our council bore Shoogar kicking and screaming out of the clearing. His cries carried back to us through the woods until they were cut off by the sound of a splash. The river.
In a moment, a chastened, dripping Shoogar returned to us, flanked on one side by Jark the Shepherd and on the other by Wilville, my eldest son. He stood there glowering.
Meanwhile, Purple was brushing himself off. He was surrounded by solicitous and concerned advisors. They patted at his bulk like anxious women. Gortik was nonplussed. He looked at me and said, “It appears that our two magicians already know each other.”
I looked from him to Purple. My head reeled. I felt I was drowning. My mouth opened and closed like a fish tossed upon the bank to die. How could this disaster have found us out?
“You were dead,” I said to the magician, how did — how could — which God —” but there I got stuck for the question itself was insane. Purple believed in no Gods, he had said so many times. I could not look at him, at his paunchy frame, his alien flesh, his pale hairless skin and his patches of unnaturally straight black fur. He was ugly in my eyes, and menacing to my soul and sanity.
Gortik was smiling, pleased at our discomfiture. I gestured at Purple and managed to croak, “How?”
“He was a gift from the gods,” Gortik said. “For many years we lived with a magician who was not as well appreciated as he might have been.” He frowned darkly. “Dorthi was a fine magician and strong, but there were those who were unhappy with his spellcasting.”
“Dorthi? We trained together,” Shoogar murmured.
I nodded. Gortik’s was a familiar story. Sometimes
magicians endure long after their powers and their respect have vanished. Villages suffer because of it.
“It happened at the last conjunction,” Gortik continued. “A miracle. There was a great storm that night, a great wind and a fireball of Elcin that swept across the sky and turned and made another pass. Then suddenly there came a crash from the edge of the village. When we came forth from our houses we discovered that a strange magician had fallen on old Dorthi’s house and smashed him flat. A strange magician indeed.”
“He fell from the sky?”
Gortik nodded. The other Advisors interrupted each other in their eagerness to explain, “From the sky he came!” “Yet he suffered no hurt!” “Like a great falling star!” “None suffered hurt, not even Dorthi!” “He must have been killed instantly.” “There was much singing and dancing then!”
“Quiet!” Gortik roared.
There was quiet; Gortik said, “We gave Purple Dorthi’s scarlet sandals and his robe and made him magician immediately. What else could we do? But he was little help to us, for he could not even talk. We had to burn Dorthi without incantations.”
“We trained together,” Shoogar repeated. “Poor Dorthi.”
“But how could a man fall from the sky and not be killed?”
“Purple is no ordinary man,” Gortik said, as if that were explanation enough.
“He’s a demon,” said Shoogar, and that was explanation enough.
“It was my impact suit,” Purple said. He took a step forward and thumped himself hard in the belly with his fist. His belly was big and soft, so the blow should have made him wince. It did not. I thought for a moment that Purple had become as rigid as stone.
“My impact suit,” he repeated. “Normally it flows like cloth, but under a sharp blow it becomes a single rigid unit. Lant, you remember that a boy threw a spear at me in your village.”
“I remember. You were not hurt.”
“The suit is skin tight. With the hood up it covers all of me but my eyes and mouth, and of course it holds my shape. It saved my life.
The Flying Sorcerers Page 10