The Flying Sorcerers

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 water! 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.

“Is that all?” Shoogar asked.

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” the other replied.

Shoogar looked thoughtfully at the device he still held in his hands. “Purple,” he began slowly and evenly; his voice showed great control. “Were it not for your devices, I would think you either a fool or a blaspheming red magician. But the abilities of your devices are such that you can be neither foolish nor false. Therefore, you must be something else.” He paused, then said, “I want to know what that something is. In your conversations you continually refer to things that do not make sense, but they hint at meaning. I am sure that you know things that I do not. Your devices prove that. I wish to learn these secrets.” He paused again; it was very hard for him to say what he said next, “Will you teach me?”

Shoogar’s words startled me. I had never heard him so humble. His passion for the secrets of the stranger must have been all-consuming for him to debase himself like that.

Purple looked at Shoogar for a long moment, “Yes …” he said, almost to himself. “Yes … It is the only way — teach the local shamans, let them introduce the knowledge. … All right; look, Shoogar, you must first understand that the gods are not gods at all, but manifestations of your belief.”

Shoogar nodded, “That theory is not unfamiliar to me.”

“Good,” said Purple. “Perhaps you are not as primitive as I thought”

“This theory,” continued Shoogar, “is one of the key theories upon which all of magic is based — that the gods will take the forms necessary to their functions, and those functions are determined by —”

“No, no.” Purple cut him off. “Listen. Your people do not understand how the moons make the tides, so you create N’veen, the god of tides and patron of mapmakers. You do not understand how the winds are created by great masses of hot air, so you create Musk-Watz, the god of winds. You do not understand the relationship between cause and effect, so you create Leeb, the god of magic.”

Shoogar frowned, but he nodded. He was trying very hard to follow this.

“I can understand how it happened, Shoogar, said Purple condescendingly. “It’s no wonder you have so many gods — single god worship starts with a single sun. Here you have two suns and eleven moons. Your system is hidden away in a dust cloud …” He saw that Shoogar was frowning and said quickly, “No, forget that last. It would only confuse you.”

Shoogar nodded.

“Now, listen to this carefully. There is something more than these gods of yours, Shoogar, but you and your people have forgotten that you have created the gods yourselves, and you have come to believe that it is the other way around — that the gods have created you.”

Shoogar flinched at this, but he said nothing.

“Now, I will try to teach you what I can. I will be glad to. The sooner you and your people are ready to lay aside your primitive superstitions and accept the one true …” And here, the speakerspell hesitated again, “… magic, then the sooner will you inherit… the lights in the sky!”

“Huh?” said Shoogar. “What lights in the sky! Do you mean those faint nonsubstantial things that appear at random and rarely in the same place twice?”

Purple nodded, “You are not able to see them as I am — but someday, Shoogar, someday, your people will build their own flying spells and —”

“Yes, that’s it!” said Shoogar eagerly. “Show me the flying spell. What gods —”

“No gods, Shoogar. That’s what I have been trying to ex-plain to you. The flying spell is not derived from the gods, but from men; men like myself.”

Shoogar started to open his mouth to protest, but he swallowed mightily and croaked out instead, “Derived from men …?”

Purple nodded.

“Then it must be a simpler spell than I imagined — you will teach it to me?”

“I can’t,” Purple protested.

“Can’t? You just said you would.”

“No, no — I meant that I would teach you my …” the speakerspell seemed to be having some trouble with the word,’… magic; but I can’t teach you my flying spell.”

Shoogar shook his head, as if to clear it, “Your flying spell is not magic then?”

“No, it isn’t. It’s …” Again, the device hesitated, “… it’s magic.”

I could see that Shoogar’s temper was shortening. “Are you or are you not going to teach me how to fly?”

“Yes — but it is your people who will fly —”

“Then what good is it to me?”

“I mean, your children and your grandchildren.”

“I have no children,” Shoogar fumed.

“I did not mean it that way,” Purple said, “I meant… your children and your grandchildren. That is, the spell is so complex that it will take many years to learn and build.”

“Then let us begin,” prompted Shoogar impatiently.

“But we can’t —” Purple protested. “Not until you learn the basics of… magic.”

“I already know the basics of magic! Shoogar screamed. Teach me the flying spell!”

“I can’t!” Purple screamed back. “It’s too difficult for you!”

“Then why did you say you would if you wouldn’t?” A red-faced Shoogar cried.

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t!” bellowed Purple. “I said I couldn’t! ”

And that’s when Shoogar got mad. “May you have many ugly daughters, he began. “May the parasites from ten thousand mud creatures infest your cod-piece!” His voice rose to fearful pitch. “May dry rot take your nesting tree! May you never receive a gift that pleases you! May the God of Thunder strike you in the kneecap!”

They were only epithets, nothing more, but coming from Shoogar they were enough to pale even me, an innocent bystander. I wondered if my hair would fall out from witnessing such a display of anger.

Purple was unmoved — and I must credit him for his courage in the face of such fury. “I have already told you, Shoogar, that I am not concerned with your magic. I am above such things.”

Shoogar took another breath. “If you do not cease and desist I will be forced to use this!” And Shoogar produced from the folds of his robe a doll. I know from its odd proportions and colors that the doll had been carved to represent Purple.

Purple did not even quail, as any normal man would have one. I knew then that he must be mad. “Use it,” he said. “Go ahead and use it. But don’t interrupt me in my work. Your world-life-system-balance has developed in a fascinating direction. The animals have developed some of the most unusual fluids-secreted-for-the-control-of-bodily functions that I have ever seen.” Purple bent back to his devices, did something to one of them, a stabbing gesture with a single forefinger, and a whole section of the west pasture erupted.

Shoogar covered his eyes in despair. Purple had just violated one of the finest pastures of the village — one of the favorite pastures of Rotn’bair, the god of sheep. Who knew What the mutton would taste like this winter?

Then, to add injury to insult, Purple began gathering up fragments of the meadow and putting them into little containers. He was taking the droppings!

Was it possible for one man to violate so many of the basic laws of magic and still survive? The laws of magic are strict. Any fool can see them in operation every day — even I am familiar with them — they operate the entire world, and their workings are simple and obvious.

But Purple, this man of the flying nest was blind even to the simplest of spells!

I was not surprised when Shoogar, grimly intent, set the doll down on the grass and set it afire. Neither was I surprised when the doll had burnt itself into a pinch of white ash without Purple even bothering to notice.

Purple ignored it — and us; he showed not the slightest effect. Flaming sting thing! What powers this magician must have! Shoogar stared at him aghast. How dare he not be affected! Purple’s very casualness was the ultimate insult. When we left him he had one of his clicking boxes open and was fumbling inside. He never even noticed us leaving.