The Flying Sorcerers

Later, as red sunset/blue dawn approached, our tired group of Advisors trudged across the slope to the lower village and the obligatory meeting with them. We had spent most of the red day bathing in the cold stream that ran through the pasture, and allowing the women to massage us and rub precious oils and fats into our skins. The oils and fats had been saved specifically for such an occasion as this. Had we not had this eventual confrontation continually in mind, we would have eaten them long ago.

We had exchanged our traveling skins for other garments. We would not be presenting ourselves as poorly as we really were, for we had stripped nearly every member of the tribe naked in order to assemble enough fine clothing for our Advisors to wear to this all-important council.

Shoogar stayed behind, to meditate; the time was not yet right for the other village to cast its eyes on his magnificence.

As we walked, Damd the Tree Binder remarked on the fine quality of woods in this area. There were thin strong shoots of bambooze, the fibrous tubular plant that could be used for building, or that could be eaten as food or fermented for Quaff. There were tall slender birts, stippled in gray and brown; there were sparkling aspen, white spirit pine and sturdy red vampire oaks. There was rich, dark shrubbery, and wild houseplants, stunted and twisted for lack of a magician’s blessing and a proper Binding. There were streams aplenty, and as we walked we trudged through a thick carpet of crackling discarded leaves.

Yes, this was a rich wood. One which had been finely cared for, but had not yet realized its full potential. Before we were half-way through this thick arm of forest, it was obvious that this was as fine an area in which to live as anyone could hope for. Froo, the eldest shepherd, exclaimed over the grazing grounds; Jark, who had some moderate skill at quaffmaking, expressed delight over the quality of the bambooze. Hinc the Weaver munched throughtfully on a fiber plant as he walked. If they allowed us to stay, we would be lucky indeed.

I speculated that there must be more work here than any one village could hope to do. If they had had a good harvest this year, they might be in an expansive mood. It was our hope that we could trade our labors for some of their food, or for the right to use some of this land.

Their village was on the crest of a hill, lowest of the range below the wooded slopes. It was larger than our own had been, but not impressively so. Most important, many of their housetrees appeared unused, and those that were had considerable distance between them. Where our village had had a solidpacked floor of dirt from the extensive comings and goings of commerce, this village had a gentle carpet of black-grass, cut through only here and there by dirt paths.

Clearly they did not trade on the scale we were used to.

As we approached, we could see their Advisors gathering in a clearing near the edge of the village. We raised our hands and gave them the finger gesture of fertility. They returned it.

A tall man covered with sparse curly fur, brownish red, stepped forward. “I am Gortik, Speaker of this village. These are my Advisors.” And he introduced them. There were more than thirty — traders, weavers, fishmongers, Quaffmakers and craftsmen were amply represented. To my ill-concealed delight, they did not introduce a bonemonger. Could it be that this village lacked one of my skill? If so, I was sure to find much work. Or — a dampening thought — could it be that they did not consider a bonemonger important enough to belong to the Guild of Advisors?

I thrust that thought away. A bonemonger was as good as anybody.

Gortik finished pointing out the last of his Advisors, then turned to us. “Who Speaks for you?”

That was a poser. We had not yet designated any of our number as Speaker. We had buried Thran, our old Speaker, only two hands of days previously. His memory was still too warm for us. There was much shuffling and whispering amongst ourselves. Finally Pilg pushed me forward, saying, “You, Lant. You Speak for us. You have been an Advisor as long as anyone.”

“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!”