The Flying Sorcerers

We were a raging torrent of men bent on murder. I was still trying to reach the leading edge, trying to turn it aside, somehow deflect it.

And then we spilled out onto the riverbank and there was Purple.

He was kneeling beside one of Bellis’s funneled pots, hugging a kind of bag against his chest, an inflated bag as big as a small woman. As the mob rolled toward him he turned in astonishment, letting go of what he was holding.

And it fell up.

It was as if the villagers had run into a stone wall. They stopped joltingly short, and then they moaned as if in agony.

Purple’s thing tumbled slowly upward into the red-black sky. It was a flimsy-looking bag of wind, made of aircloth, shiny and bright and flickering back the glow of the torches. It danced as it rose …

“Lant!” Purple cried. “What’s — what’s happening? Why are they here?”

I tore my eyes off the bag of wind. “Purple — why did you name the women?”

“Why not?” He seemed doubly confused. “I couldn’t just keep calling every one of them ‘Hey, you,’ could I?” There was a moan from somewhere behind me. I ignored it.

Purple continued, “I had trouble remembering the order, Lant. There were too many of them. I mean, it was easy to remember to call a woman ‘Trone’s wife,’ but she got insulted if I forgot to call her ‘Trone’s second wife.’ ”

“Third,” I remembered.

“Third. You see? It was slowing things up. So I made up some names — Kate, Judy, Anne, Ursula, Karen, Andre, Marian, Leigh, Miriam, Sonya, Zenna, Joanna, Quinn — it made things so much easier.”

“Easier?” I looked about me. Perhaps a score of villagers remained. They seemed to huddle together, holding their torches high against the night. The others had not fled, but seeped away into the darkness while Purple and I were talking.

I glanced nervously at the sky — but his thing had vanished.

“Easier?” I repeated. “They’re here to burn you, Purple. Or they were.”

“Um,” he said. He looked vaguely about him. “Where’s my balloon? It was right here a minute ago — I was holding it —”

“You mean that thing — that thing that went up into the sky?”

His face lit up, “It did? You mean it worked?”

I swallowed hard and nodded.

“It actually worked!” He peered excitedly upward, squinted at the darkness. Abruptly he looked at me, “Eh, did you say burn me?”

I nodded again.

It didn’t seem to bother him much — he still kept glancing at the sky. He was preoccupied with the balloon. “For what?” he asked. “For naming women?”

“Purple, you’re a magician — you should have known better! I suppose you named them right out in public, in the hearing of others, so that every woman who spins now knows the names of every other woman! Well, did you?”

“Certainly. Why not?”

I groaned. “Because they’ll use magic on each other! And magic is too powerful to be placed in the hands of fools and women! They’ll get above themselves, Purple! First you lave given them a profession, now you give them names. They’ll think they’re as good as men!”

“It bothers you, doesn’t it?” he said perceptively. “Very well, Lant, what would you like me to do? Shall I take their lames away?”

“Could you?”

“Certainly. I’ll do it for you — I’ll memorize their numbers and their husbands’ names instead — anything to make peace.”

I couldn’t believe he would give up so easily, so casually. Is casually as he had given them … Timidly I repeated, You’ll take their names away?”

“Of course,” said Purple, “what do you think I am? Some kind of fiend?” He laughed boomingly, showing his teeth. Twenty villagers moaned softly and pushed closer together.

Purple bent back to his water pot again, began fiddling with his battery wires. I watched as he fastened a large piece of cloth to the funnel of the pot. “Another airbag?”

“Huh? Oh, yes — another balloon.” He spread the cloth between his hands. “We made the first ones today.” Slowly, he bag began puffing up. He held it so it would fill evenly. Watch!” he said, “Watch — it’s filling with hydrogen!”

I took a step forward, curious in spite of myself. Behind me, the small knot of men who remained also edged forward.

The bag was puffy now, almost its full size. It grew rounder as we watched. I fancied I could hear the bubbles flowing up through the water, through the spout and into the bag. Purple watched it narrowly. At last he lifted the windbag from the pot spout and tied its neck. He let it go. It wasn’t quite as large as the other, nor was it as full — but ; lifted into the air and flew!

It floated toward the little knot of twenty.

“It works! It works!” Purple was exultant. He did a little dance of delight.

We backed away as the thing drifted nearer. Pilg held his torch before him to ward it off. The bag ignored the warning, floated closer and —

Suddenly was a ball of flame!

A bright orange flash of heat and light!

I don’t know what happened after that. Most of us reached home, one way or another; but Ford the Digger ran straight off a cliff, and nobody could find Pilg at all.