Dedicated to the men of NASA;
We understand their problems

 

I WAS awakened by Pilg the Crier pounding excitedly on the wall of my nest and crying, 'Lant! Lant! It's happened! Come quickly!

I stuck my head out. 'What's happened?'

'The disaster! The disaster!' Pilg was jumping up and down in excitement. 'I told you it would happen.'

I pulled my head in and dressed. Pilg's joy was a frightening thing. I felt my fur rising, fluffing out in fear as I wondered...

Pilg the Crier had been predicting disaster for weeks - as was his habit. He predicted his disasters twice a year, at the times of the equinox. The fact that we were leaving the influence of one sun and entering that of the other would make the local spells completely unstable. As we approached conjunction - the time when the blue sun would cross the face of the red - Pilg had increased the intensity of his warnings. This was disaster weather: something dire would certainly happen.

Usually it did, of course. Afterward - and after we of the village had somehow picked up the pieces - Pilg would shake his heavy head and moan, 'Wait until next year. Wait. It'll be even worse.'

Sometimes we joked about it, predicting the end of the world if Pilg's 'next year' ever arrived...

I lowered the ladder and joined Pilg on the ground. 'What's the trouble?'

'Oh, I warned you, Lant. I warned you. Now maybe you'll believe me. I warned you though - you can't say I didn't warn you. The omens were there, written across the sky. What more proof did you need?'

He meant the moons. They were starting to pile up on one side of the sky. Shoogar the Magician had predicted that we were due for a time of total darkness soon.- perhaps even tonight - and Pilg had seized on this as just one more omen of disaster.

As we hurried through the village I tried to get Pilg to tell me what had happened. Had the river changed its course? Had someone's nest fallen from its tree? Had the flocks all died mysteriously? But Pilg was so excited at having finally been proven correct that he himself was not sure what exactly had happened.

One of the hill shepherds, it seemed, had come running into town, panic-stricken and shouting something about a new magician. By the time I got this information out of Pilg, we were already at the village clearing where the frightened shepherd was leaning against one of the great housetrees, gasping out his story to a nervous group of men. They pressed in close to him, badgering him with questions. Even the women had paused in their work, and hanging back at a respectful distance, listened fearfully to the shepherd's words.

'A new magician,' he gasped. 'A red one! I saw him!' Someone handed him a skin; he sucked the Quaff from it noisily, then panted, 'Near the cairn of the wind-god. He was throwing red fire across the mountains.'

'Red fire. Red fire.'

The villagemen murmured excitedly among themselves. 'If he throws red fire, he must be a red magician.' Almost immediately, I heard the word 'duel'. The women must have heard it too, for they gasped and shrank back from the milling group of men.

I pushed my way through to the center of the crowd. 'Ah, Lant,' said one of the men. 'Have you heard? There's going to be a duel.'

'Is there?' I demanded. 'Have you seen the runes of the duel inscribed across Shoogar's nest?'

'No, but-'

'Then how do you know there's going to be a duel?'

'A red magician-' gasped the shepherd. 'A red magician-'

'Nonsense. No red magician could have the powers you describe. Why don't you wait until you know something definite before you start spreading silly rumors that frighten women and children?'

'You know Shoogar as well as we! As soon as he discovers there is a new magician in the district, he'll-'

'You mean Shoogar doesn't know yet?'

The man looked blank.

I raised my voice. 'Has anyone thought to tell Shoogar ?'

Silence. No one had. My duty was clear. I must prevent Shoogar from doing something rash. I hurried through the trees toward the magician's nest.

Shoogar's nest was well suited for a wizard, a squat misshapen gourd hung from a forbidding black ogre of a tree well beyond the limits of the village. (The Guild of Advisors was afraid to let him move closer; he was always experimenting with new spells.)

I found Shoogar already packing his travel kit. His agitated manner told me he was worried. Then I caught a glimpse of what he was packing and I was worried. The last time he had used that ornate bone-carved tarinele was when he had hurled the curse of the itching red boils at Hamel the Failure.

I saw what he was packing in on top of the tarinele and I flinched. 'I believe that's against the Guild rules,' I said.

For a moment I thought he'd hurl a spell at me. I cringed and instinctively made a spell-cutting gesture, (forgetting for the moment that Shoogar himself had made the protective amulets I wore; he couldn't possibly break through his own protections; at least not for a few more days - they would expire with the coming of the blue dawns).

'You!' he snapped. 'What do you know of magic? You who call yourself my friend! You didn't even have the courtesy to inform me of this intruding sorcerer !'

'I didn't even know of him myself, until just a few moments ago. Perhaps he only arrived today.'

'Arrived today? And immediately began throwing red fire about? Without first informing himself of the local gods, tidal patterns, previous local spells and their side effects? Ridiculous! Lant, you are a fool. You are an idiot of the first circle where magic is concerned. Why do you bother me?'

'Because you are an idiot where diplomacy is concerned!' I snapped back, my fur bristling. (I am one of the few people in the village who can bristle at Shoogar and survive to tell about it.) 'If I let you go charging up the mountain every time you felt you had been wronged, you'd be fighting duels as often as the blue sun rises.'

Shoogar looked at me, and I could tell from his expression that my remarks had sunk home. 'Smooth your fur, Lant. I did not mean that you were a complete fool..I just meant that you are not a magician.'

'I'm glad you are aware of my skill as a diplomat..' I said, and allowed myself to relax. 'Our abilities must complement each other, Shoogar. If we are to succeed in our endeavors, we must maintain a healthy respect for each other's powers. Only thus can we protect our village.'

'You and your damned speeches, he scowled. 'Someday I'm going to make your tongue swell up to the size of a sour melon - just for the sake of some peace and quiet.'

I ignored that remark. Considering the circumstances, Shoogar had a right to be testy. He closed up his travel kit, tugging angrily at the straps.

'Are you ready?' I asked, 'I'll send a message up to Orbur, telling him to ready two bicycles.'

'Presumptuous of you,' Shoogar muttered, but I knew that he was secretly grateful for the thought. Wilville and Orbur, my eldest two sons, carved the best bicycles in the district.

-----

WE found the new magician near the cairn of Musk-Watz, the Wind-god. Across a steep canyon from the cairn, there is a wide grass-covered mesa with a gentle slope to the south. The new magician had appropriated this mesa and scattered it with his devices and oddments. As we pulled our bicycles to a shuddering halt, he vas in the process of casting a spell with an unfamiliar artifact. Shoogar and I paused at a respectful distance and watched.

The stranger was slightly taller than me, considerably taller than Shoogar. His skin was lighter than ours, and hairless but for a single patch of black fur, oddly positioned on the top half of his skull. He also wore a strange set of appurtenances balanced across his nose. It appeared that they were lenses of quartz mounted in a bone frame through which the stranger could see.

The set of his features was odd and disquieting, and his bones seemed strangely proportioned. Certainly no normal being would have a paunch that large. The sight of him made me feel queasy, and I surmised that some of his ancestors had not been human.

Magicians traditionally wear outlandish clothing to identify themselves as magicians. But even Shoogar was unprepared for the cut of this stranger's costume. It was a single garment which covered most of the stranger's body. The shape of the cloth had been woven to match his own precisely; and an oddly bulging shape it was. There was a hood, thrown back. There were high-flared cuffs on the pantaloons to allow for his calf-high boots, and over his heart was a golden badge. Around his middle he wore a wide belt, to which were attached three or four small spell devices.

He had also set up a number of larger devices. Most of them had the blue-white glimmer of polished metal. (There is little metal in our village - it rusts quickly - but I am a man of the world and have traveled much. I am familiar with the sight of metal, having seen it in the highlands; but nothing so finely worked as this.)

These devices stood each on three legs so that they were always level, even where the ground was not. As we watched, the stranger peered into one of them, peered across the canyon at the sacred cairn of Musk-Watz, the god of the winds, and then into his device again. Muttering constantly to himself, he moved across the clearing and adjusted something else. Evidently this was a long and complicated spell, though just what its purpose was neither Shoogar nor I could fathom.

Occasionally he would refer to a large egg-shaped nest, black and regular of shape, sitting on its wide end off to one side of the pasture. As there were no trees in the area large enough to hang it from, he had set it on the ground. (An unwise course, to be sure, but the shell of that nest looked like nothing I had ever seen - perhaps it was able to resist marauding predators.) I wondered how he had built it over-night. His power must be formidable.

The stranger did not notice us at all, and Shoogar was fidgeting with impatience. Just as Shoogar was about to interrupt him, the stranger straightened and touched his device. The device responded by hurling red fire across the canyon - directly at the cairn of Musk-Watz!

I thought Shoogar would suffer a death-rage right then and there. The Weather gods are hard enough to control at best, and Shoogar had spent three long lunar configurations trying to appease Musk-Watz in an effort to forestall another season of hurricanes. Now, the stranger had disrupted one of his most careful spells.

Redder than ruby, eye-searing, bright and narrow, straight as the horizon of the ocean (which I have also seen), that crimson fire speared out across the canyon, lashing Shoogar's carefully constructed outcrop. I feared it would never end: the fire seemed to go on and on.

And the sound of it was dreadful. There was a painful high-pitched humming which seemed to seize my very soul, a piercing unearthly whine. Under this we could hear the steady crackling and spattering of the cairn.

Acrid smoke billowed upward from it, and I shuddered, thinking how the dissipating dust would affect the atmosphere. Who knew what effects it would have on Shoogar's weather-making spells? I made a mental note to have the wives reinforce the flooring of our nest.

Suddenly, just as abruptly as it had begun, the red fire went out. Once more the silence and the calm descended over the mesa. Once more the blue twilight colored the land. But across my eyes was a brilliant blue-white afterimage. And the cairn of the wind-god still crackled angrily.

Amazingly enough, the cairn still stood. It smouldered and sputtered, and there was an ugly scar where the red fire had touched it, but it was intact. When Shoogar builds, he builds well.

The stranger was already readjusting his devices, muttering continuously to himself. (I wondered if that were part of the spell.) Like a mother vole checking her cubs, he moved from device to device, peering into one, resetting another, reciting strange sounds over a third.

I cast a glance at Shoogar; I could see a careful tightening at the corners of his mouth. Indeed, even his beard seemed clenched. I feared that a duel would start before the stranger could offer Shoogar a gift. Something had to be done to prevent Shoogar from a rash and possibly regrettable action.

I stepped forward boldly. 'Ahem,' I began. 'Ahem. I dislike to interrupt you while you are so obviously busy, but that bluff is sacred to Musk-Watz. It took many cycles to construct the pattern of spells which ...'

The magician looked up and seemed to notice us for the first time. He became strangely agitated. Taking a quick step toward us, he made a straight-armed gesture, palms open to us, and spoke quick tense words in a language I had never heard. Instantly, I threw myself flat on the ground, arms over my head.

Nothing happened.

When I looked up, Shoogar was still beside the other bicycle with his arms outstretched in a spell-breaking pattern. Either the stranger's spell had miscarried, or Shoogar had blocked it. The stranger threw no more spells. Instead, he backed toward his oddly shaped nest, never taking his eyes from us. He continued his strange words, but now they were slow and low pitched, like the tone one uses to calm an uneasy animal. He disappeared into his nest and all was quiet and blue.

Except for the crackle of cooling rock which still reached across the canyon to remind us that Musk-Watz had been defiled.

-----

I TURNED to Shoogar, 'This could be serious.'

'Lant, you are a fool. This is already serious.'

'Can you handle this new magician?'

Shoogar grunted noncommittally, and I was afraid. Shoo-gar was good; if he were not sure of his skill here, the whole village might be in danger.

I started to voice my fears, but the stranger abruptly re-appeared carrying another of his metal and bone carved devices. This one was smaller than the rest and had slender rods sticking out on all sides. I did not like its looks. It reminded me of some of the more unpleasant devices that I had seen during the dark years.

The magician watched us all the time he was setting it up on its three slender legs. As he turned it to face us I tensed.

It began to make a humming noise, like the sound of a water harp when a string bow is drawn across its glass tubes. The humming rose in pitch until it began to sound disturbingly like that of the device of the red fire. I began gauging the distance between myself and a nearby boulder.

The stranger spoke impatiently to us in his unknown tongue.

'You are discourteous,' rumbled Shoogar. This business can wait, surely?'

The spell device said, 'Surely?'

I landed behind the boulder. Shoogar stood his ground. 'Surely,' he repeated firmly. 'You violate custom. In this, my district, you must gift me with one new spell, one I have never seen. Were I in your district-'

The spell device spoke again. Its intonation was terrifying and inhuman. 'New spell gift - never known - surely.'

I realized that the stranger had spoken first. His device was attempting to speak for him, but in our words. Shoogar saw it too, and was reassured. The device was only a speakerspell, and a poor one at that, despite its powerful shape.

Shoogar and the speakerspell and the stranger stood on that wind-swept mesa and talked with each other. Or rather, they talked at each other. It was infant's talk, most of it. The thing had no words of its own. It could only use Shoogar's; sometimes correctly, more often not.

Shoogar's temper was not improving. He had come to demand gift or duel from an intruding warlock only to find himself teaching a simpleminded construct to talk. The stranger seemed to be enjoying himself, unfortunately at Shoogar's expense.

The red sun was long gone, the blue was near the horizon, and all the world was red-black shadow. The blue sun settled behind a clump of deep violet clouds. Suddenly it was gone, like a taper blown out by the wind. The moons emerged against the night, now in the configuration of the striped lizard.

During certain configurations Shoogar's power is higher than during others. I wondered if he were master or servant to the striped lizard. He was just drawing his robes imperiously about his squat and stubby form. Master, apparently, from his manner.

Abruptly, the stranger repeated his palms-out gesture, turned, and went back to his nest. He did not go inside. Instead. he briefly touched the rim of the doorway, and there was light! Garish' light it spurted from the flank of the nest, bright as double daylight.

And such a strange light. The ground and the plants seemed to take the wrong colors and there was something not right with their shadows, an odd blackness of shade.

The new magician's motive was obvious, even to me - and even more so to Shoogar. He leapt back out of the light with his arms raised for defense. But it was no use. The light followed him, swept over him and dazzled him, effectively cancelling out the strength of the lunar light. The stranger had effectively negated the power of the striped lizard. Shoogar stood trembling, a tiny figure pinned in that dazzling odd-colored glow.

Then, for no apparent reason, the stranger caused the light to vanish.

'I think that the light disturbs you,' said the speakerspell, talking for the magician. 'But, no matter. We can talk as well in the dark.'

I breathed more easily, but did not completely relax. This stranger had shown how easily he could cancel the effect of any lunar configuration. Any powers Shoogar might have hoped to draw from the sky would have to be forgone.

I watched the striped lizard slink dejectedly into the west. The moons rode their line across the sky, milk-white crescents with thick red fringes. On successive nights the red borderlines would narrow as the suns set closer and closer together. Then there would be no colored borders.Later, blue borders would show after second sunset... and Shoogar could make no use of any of this...

Shoogar and the new magician were still talking. by now the speakerspell had learned enough words so that the two could intelligently discuss the matters of magicians.

The ethics of the situation are obvious,' Shoogar was saying. 'You are practicing magic in my district. For this you must pay. More precisely, you owe me a secret.'

'A secret.. .?' echoed the speakerspell device.

Still cold and cramped, I was suddenly no longer sleepy. I cocked an ear to hear better.

'Some bit of magic that I do not already know,' Shoogar amplified. 'What, for instance, is the secret of your light like double daylight?'

'... potential difference ... hot metal within an inert ... doubt you would understand ... heat is caused by a flow of ... tiny packets of lightning ...'

'Your words do not make sense. I take no meaning from them. You must tell me a secret that I can understand and use. I see that your magic is powerful. Perhaps you know of a way to predict the tides?'

'No, of course I can't tell you how to predict the tides. You've got eleven moons and two primary suns tugging your oceans in all directions. Tugging at each other too. It would take years to compute a tidal pattern ...'

'Surely you must know' things that I do not,' said Shoogar. 'Just as I know secrets that you are unaware of.'

'Of course. But I'm trying to think what would help you the most. It's a wonder you've gotten as far as you have. Bicycles even ...'

'Those are good bicycles!' I protested. 'I ought to know. Two of my sons built them.'

'But bicycles!' He moved closer eagerly. I tensed, but he only wanted to examine them. 'Hardwood frames, leather- thonged pulleys instead of chains, sewn fur pelts for tires! They're marvelous! Absolutely marvelous. Primitive and handmade, with big flat wheels and no spokes, but it doesn't matter: they're still bicycles. And when all the odds were against your developing any form of ... at all!'

'What are you talking about?' Shoogar demanded. I was silent, seething at the insult to Wilville and Orbur's bicycles. Primitive indeed!

'... starts with the perception of order,' said the magician. 'But your world has no order to it at all. You're in an opaque dust cloud, so you cannot see any of the fixed light-in-the-sky. Your sky is a random set of moons picked up from the worldlet belt ... three-body configuration makes capture easy ... tides that go every which way under the influence of all those moons ... moons that cross and recross at random, changing their ... because of mutual ...' The speakerspell was missing half of the stranger's words, making the rest gibberish. 'And then the high level of ... from the blue sun would give you a new species every week or so. No order in your observable ... probably use strict cut-and-try methods of building. No put-it-together line techniques because you wouldn't normally expect a put-it-together belt to produce the same item twice in a row ... but it's a human instinct to try to control nature. You must tell me-'

'Shoogar interrupted the babbling stranger. First, you must tell me. Tell me some new thing that you may satisfy the Guild law. What is the secret of your red flame?'

'Oh, I couldn't give you a secret like that!'

Shoogar began to fume again, but he only said, 'And why couldn't you?'

'... For one thing, you couldn't understand it. You wouldn't be able to work it.' Shoogar drew himself up to his full height and stared up at the stranger. 'Are you telling me that I am not even a magician of the second circle? Any magician worth his bones is able to make fire and throw it!' And with that Shoogar produced a ball of fire from his sleeve and casually hurled it across the clearing.

I could see that the stranger was startled. He had not expected that. The ball of fire lay sputtering on the ground, then died away leaving only the burnt core. The stranger took two steps toward it, as if to examine it, then turned back to Shoogar, 'Very impressive,' he said, 'but still...'

Shoogar' said, 'You see, I can throw fire also. And I can control the color of the flame. What I want to know is how to throw it in a straight line, like you do.'

'It is a wholly different principle .. . coherent light ... tight beam ... small clumps of energy ... vibration of ...' As if to demonstrate, he touched his spell device again, and once more the red fire lashed out. Eye-searing flame played across Musk-Watz's cairn. Another smoking hole.

I Winced.

The stranger said, 'It boils the rock and tells me what it is made of by telling me what color the smoke is.'

I tried to conceal my reaction. Any idiot could have told him the smoke was bluish-gray, let alone what rocks are made of. I could tell him myself.

He was still talking, 'Absorption of light... but I couldn't teach you how to use it; you might use it as a weapon.'

'Might use it as a weapon?' Shoogar exclaimed. 'What other use is there for a spell to throw red fire?'

'I just explained that,' the stranger said impatiently. 'I could explain again, but for what purpose? It's much too complex for you to understand.'

(That was a needless insult. Shoogar may be only a magician of the second circle, but that does not mean that he is inferior. In actuality, there are few secrets he is not privy to. Besides, gaining the first circle is a matter of politics as well as skill, and Shoogar has never been known as a diplomat.)

It was high time that the oil of diplomacy be applied to the rough edges of these two magicians. I knew it was my duty to prevent friction between them, especially now that the barrier of language had been removed. 'Shoogar,' I said, 'let me speak. I am the diplomat.' Without waiting for his assent, I approached the speakerspell, albeit somewhat nervously.

'Allow- me to introduce myself. My name is Lant-la-lee-lay-lie-ah-no. Perhaps it may strike you as a bit presumptuous that I claim seven syllables, but I am a person of no mean importance in our village.' I felt it necessary to establish my rank from the very beginning, and my right to speak for the village.

The stranger looked at me and said, 'I am pleased to meet you. My name is ...' The speakerspell hesitated, but I counted the syllables of the name. Three. I smiled to myself. Obviously, we were dealing with a very low status individual ... and I realized something disquieting as well. Where did this magician come from, that individuals of such low stations controlled such mighty magic? I preferred not to think about that. Perhaps he hadn't given his full name. After all, I hadn't given him the secret side of mine.

The speakerspell abruptly translated the stranger's three syllable name, 'As a color, shade of purple gray'

'Very odd,' said Shoogar, speaking low'. 'I have never known a magician to be named for a color.'

'Perhaps that's not his name, but an indication of which god he serves.

'Nonsense,' Shoogar whispered back. 'Then he would be either Something-the-red or Something-the-blue. But he isn't either.'

'Perhaps he's both - that's why he's purple.'

'Don't talk foolishness, Lant. It's impossible to serve two masters. Besides, he isn't all purple. He's Purple the Gray. And I've never heard of a gray magician.'

I turned back to the stranger, 'Is that your full name? How many syllables are in the secret side of it?' He couldn't be offended; I was not asking for the name itself.

He said, 'I have given you my full name. As-A-Shade-Of-Purple-Gray.'

'You have no other? No secret name?'

'I am not sure I understand. That is my full name.'

Shoogar and I exchanged a glance. The stranger was either incredibly foolish, or exceeding cunning. Either he had betrayed his full name to us, thus delivering himself into Shoogar's power; or he was playing the fool in order to keep Shoogar from discovering his real name. Perhaps the name he had given was some kind of spell trap. It certainly wasn't a clue to his identity.

As-A-Shade-Of-Purple-Gray was speaking again. 'Where did you come from?'

'From the village,' I started to point down the mountain, but covered the gesture quickly. No sense in telling this stranger where the village was located.

'But, I saw no village from the air .. .'

'From the air ...?' Shoogar asked.

'Yes, when I flew over the area.'

At this Shoogar's ears perked up. 'Flew? You have a flying spell? How do you do it? I have not yet been able to get anything larger than a melon to fly - and I have been trapping the bubbles of noxious odor as they rise from the swamps.' Indeed, Shoogar had been trying to perfect a flying spell for as long as he had been a magician. He had even contrived to get two of my sons to aid him, Wilville and Orbur. Often they would neglect their bicycle carving to work on some strange new device for him. So great was their enthusiasm for Shoogar's project that - much to my annoyance - they had been accepting no payment at all for their labors.

The new magician smiled at Shoogar's description of his flying spell. 'Primitive,' he said, 'but it could work. My own vehicle uses somewhat more complex and efficient principles.' He pointed at his huge black nest. No. he must have meant one of the devices in it, or near it. Who could conceive of a flying nest? A nest is a home, a fixed place, a locality of refuge, a place of returning. Philosophically a nest cannot so much as move, let alone fly. What is philosophically impossible is impossible to magic. This law constrains even the gods.

'Well, show me how it works. Teach me your flying spell!' Shoogar begged excitedly.

The stranger shook his head. 'I could not show that one to you either. It is beyond your understanding. ....'

This was too much for Shoogar. All evening long, this new magician had continued to insult him. Now, he refused even to gift him with a secret. Shoogar began jumping up and down in exasperation. He pulled his tarinele from his travel kit. and had actually begun to pack the blow chambers with cursing powder before I could calm him.

'Patience, Shoogar! Please!' I begged him. 'Let us return to the village. Call for a meeting of the Guild of Advisors first! Don't challenge him to a duel until we have a chance to talk this thing out.'

Shoogar muttered something under his breath. He muttered a whole bunch of somethings. 'I ought to use this tarincle on you. You know how I hate to waste a good curse.' But he emptied the blow chambers, wrapped it up again in its protective skins and returned it to his pack.

He stood and fared the new magician. 'We return to our village to confer. We will visit you again before the time of the blue dawns.'

But the stranger did not seem to hear this. 'I will accompany you,' he said. 'I would like to see your village.'

Shoogar can be clever when he puts his mind to it. 'Certainly you may accompany us,' he said. 'It would be inhospitable for us not to welcome you. But you cannot leave yourself so far from your nest. Tonight the moons are down and the red curses roam the land.' (I wished Shoogar hadn't brought that up. I remembered how far we were from home.)

Shoogar spread his hands helplessly. 'If we had empty nests in the village, you would be welcome to use one - but as it is, with the time of total darkness approaching, I would not recommend straying too far from one's own nest.'

'That's all right,' said the stranger, 'I'll just bring it with me.'

'Huh?' said Shoogar. 'How? We certainly are not going to help you. That is, neither of us has the strength to-'

As-A-Shade-Of-Purple-Gray seemed to laugh. I was becoming most tired of his laugh. 'Don't worry about that,' he said. 'You just lead the way and I'll follow.'

Shoogar and I exchange a glance. Obviously this dumpy-legged stranger would be unable to keep up with our bicycles - especially if he was going to try to bring his nest. We waited respectfully, however, while the magician collapsed his artifacts and devices. I was amazed to see how easily they folded up and how compactly they stored, and made a mental note to get closer to one of them if I could. I was curious to see how the bone was carved and how the metal was worked. Perhaps I could learn something from the construction of such devices. They were carved too precisely, too delicately for me to see much in the dim light.

I glanced involuntarily at the sky. We were fast approaching the time of total darkness. Only six of the moons were left in the sky. No wonder the light was fading. I certainly did not intend to tarry for this stranger.

Within a remarkably short time, the stranger had packed up all of his devices and stowed them within his nest. There was something about his manner that made me feel vaguely uneasy; 'All right,' he said. 'I'm ready,' and he disappeared into his nest, shutting the door behind him. That was when my feeling of unease gave way to one of pure terror. Purple Gray's whole nest began to hum, like the speakerspell and the red-fire devices within it, but louder. Suddenly it rose into the air and hung there at twice the height of a man. It began to glow with a color we had never seen before. The plants and the trees shone like garish hallucinations. Green is a. dark color - not a dreadful bright fluorescence.

I thought Shoogar would fall off his bicycle from astonishment. I was having trouble with my own hands and feet. Even when you are not trembling all over, a bicycle is hard enough to control.

The ride back to the village was a nightmare. Shoogar was so unnerved, he forgot to chant any of his protective canteles and we both kept looking back over our shoulders at that huge looming egg which came floating silently, dreadfully after us, throwing off light in all directions, like some terrifying manifestation of EIcin, the thunder god.

It didn't help matters that every time I looked up, another moon had set, plunging us ever closer to the time of total darkness. One of us was moaning, but I wasn't sure whether it was Shoogar or me.

The bicycles clattered roughly down the mountain path, and I was so concerned about getting safely back to my nest that I did not even think to urge Shoogar to be careful with my other machine. The way he kept looking back over his shoulder I was sure he would hit something and split a wheel. Fortunately, he did not; I did not know if I would even have stopped to help him. Not with that bright black egg chasing us, always keeping perfectly and terrifyingly up-right.

Somehow we made it down to the grasslands. Several of the women saw us coming - they were out in the fields gathering the night fungi - but when they saw that huge glowing nest looming along behind us, they turned and ran for the safety of the village. Shoogar and I did not even think to park our bicycles on the hill, but rode them right down into the settlement. (Well, the women would have to clean the mud from the wheels later.)

We reached the village none too soon. The last of the moons was just settling in the west. We paused, out of breath, in the center clearing. The great black nest floated ominously above us, lighting up the whole village with its odd-colored aura. The great trees and the gourd-shaped nests hanging from their mighty branches took on strange and terrifying colors.

From out of the air the magician's voice boomed louder than any natural voice, '... no wonder I didn't see it from the air ... houses are structured spheres, suspended from the limbs of tremendous trees ... must be at least. ... Wait until ... hears about this! Where should I park?' he asked suddenly.

'Anywhere ...' I gasped weakly, 'Put it anywhere,' and made an appropriate arm-sweeping gesture. I looked around myself to see if we had any trees strong enough to hang such a nest from. There were none big enough that were not already occupied; but if this magician could make his nest fly, then he could surely hang it even from a sapling.

But even this the stranger did not do. He landed it on the ground.

And not just on any ground. He swept through the village toward the river, and brought it to land on the crest of the slope overlooking the frog-grading ponds. The ponds were dry now, drained for their ritual purification and reseeding spells, but I was appalled at such callous disregard for the property of the village. I winced as the magician's nest sank into the ooze with a loud squishy phloosh.

-----

I DID not sleep well at all. By the time the smoky rim of the red sun began to appear over the horizon, I was already up and about. I felt better after my cleansing and purification, but still haggard and drawn. The events of the night before had taken their toll.

A glance out the door of the nest was enough to confirm that the stranger was still in our midst. Pilg the Crier was already moving through the trees moaning of this new development. Disaster was all the more certain now that the strange magician had moved his nest into the village. Even from here I could see a curious crowd gathering around it - though keeping a respectful distance.

Ang, the frogmonger, was wringing his hands and moaning over his frog-grading ponds. He would have to repurify them again after the stranger left, and if that were not soon, he might miss the spawning season altogether.

Shoogar and I went out to watch him, that first day. As soon as he saw us he straightened from his examination of a local herb and disappeared into his nest. He returned almost immediately with an object in his outstretched hand. 'A gift.' he said. 'A gift for Shoogar, the magician.'

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.', ,

'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 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' 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.

-----

SHOOGAR was peering into the sky, a frown on his face.

Both suns were still high; broad red disc and blue-white point. The blue sun was poised on the edge of the red, ready to begin the long crawl across its face.

'Elcin's wrath!' he muttered. 'I cannot use the suns - all is unstable. That leaves me only the moons - and the moons are well into the mudskunk.' He hurled a fireball across the clearing. 'An eight-mooned mudskunk at that!' He put his hands on his hips and shouted into the sky, 'Why me, Ouells! Why me? What have I done to offend you that you curse me with such unusable configurations? Have I not sworn my life to your service?'

But there was no answer. I don't think Shoogar expected one. He turned back to his spell devices. 'All right, then. If it is a mudskunk you have given me, then it is a mudskunk I shall use. Here, Lant, hold this,' and he thrust a large pack at me,

He continued to rummage through his equipment, all the while muttering under his breath. A fearful collection of cursing devices began to grow around him.

'What is all this for?' I indicated the pile.

He appeared not to hear me, continued checking off items in his head, then began loading them into the pack.

'What is all this for?' I repeated.

Shoogar looked at me, 'Lant, you are a fool. This,' he said and hefted his kit meaningfully, 'is to show the stranger that one does not trifle with the gods of the full belly.'

'I'm afraid to ask. What is it?' I asked.

'It's the spell of.... No, you'll just have to wait and see it in action, with the others.' He strode purposefully toward the frog-grading ponds. I hurried after him; it was amazing how fast Shoogar's squat little legs could carry him.

There was already an uneasy crowd of villagers standing on the rise above the flying nest. None dared approach it. When Shoogar appeared, an excited murmur ran through the crowd - the word of Purple's insult had spread quickly; the villagers were tense with expectation.

Shoogar ignored them. He pushed through the milling throng and strode angrily to Purple's nest, ignoring the mud that splashed up and over his ankles and stained the hem of his robe.

He strode around that nest three times without pause, looking at it from all sides. I was unsure whether he had already started spelling, or whether he was just sizing up the situation. For a long moment he stood looking at the land-ward side of that nest, like an artist contemplating a blank skin.

Then, abruptly, he made up his mind. He stepped quickly forward and with a piece of chalk he inscribed the sign of the horned box on the side of Purple's nest.

An interested murmur of speculation rose from the crowd, 'The horned box ... the horned box ...' This spell would be under the domain of Rotn'bair, the sheep god. Members of the crowd discussed it busily amongst themselves. Rotn'bair is neither very powerful nor very irritable. Most of the Rotn'bairic spells deal with fertility and food gathering. Few things will anger the sheep god; but if Rotn'bair could be angered, Shoogar would know how. The crowd buzzed with an excited curiosity, each speculating on just what form the final spell would take.

Shoogar finished the sketch. Absent-mindedly wiping the chalk from his hands, he strode down to the mudbanks of the river. He paced back and forth along its edge, casting about for something. Abruptly he spotted what he was looking for, something Just below the surface of the water. He grabbed quickly for it, his hands dipping into the river with no splash at all. When he straightened, the sleeves of his robe were dripping, but there was a brownish-looking slug in his grasp, and after a moment I caught the repellent odor of mudskunk.

The scent reached the rest of the crowd at the same time, and a murmur of approval went up from them. The antipathy between Rotn'bair, the sheep god, and Nils'n, the god of the mud creatures, was known even to laymen. Evidently Shoogar was constructing a spell that would play on the mutual antipathy of the two gods.

My guess was right - I pride myself on a fairly good understanding of the basic principles of magic - Shoogar slit the belly of the mudskunk and deftly extracted its anger gland. He placed this into a bone bowl. I recognized the bowl, having carved and cleansed it for him myself. It was made from the skull of a new born lamb and had been sanctified to Rotn'bair. Now he was defiling it with the most odious portion of the mud creature. No doubt, he now had Rotn'bair's attention.

He laid this to one side and returned to the mudskunk which lay writhing in a swampy pool. He picked it up and deftly sliced off its head without even offering up a prayer for its soul. Thus he defiled its death. Now, he had Nils'n's attention.

Using the bladder of the slug as a mixing bag, he began to construct a potion of powdered ramsbone, extract of hunger, odeur of sheepsblood, and several other elements that I could not identify; but I suspected that all of them were designed to arouse the wrath of Nils'n, although in what manner was not yet clear.

Shoogar surveyed the nest of the mad magician on its riverward side. Then he began to paint his soupy potion in broad lines across its black flank in a pattern of eleven stripes by eleven. Having finished, he sketched in the sign of the deformed changeling, the favored son of the sheep god. This half of the spell would anger Nils'n. Shoogar had defiled a mud creature in order to celebrate the greatness of Rotn'bair. To complete the other half of the spell, Shoogar would now desecrate his earlier celebration of Rotn'bair, the horned box sketched on the other side of the nest.

He returned to the bone bowl, the one containing the anger gland of the mudskunk, and using the leg bone of a ram, he crushed the gland into a sick-smelling paste. This he mixed with ramsblood, defiled water and a greenish powder from his travel kit. I recognized that powder - it was an extract of fear, usually used where potent action is desired. It is derived from animals of the cloven hoof. Six sheep must have been sacrificed just to provide the small amount Shoogar was now mixing into his spell.

Stepping to the landward side of the nest, and chanting a song of praise for Nils'n, Shoogar began painting a familiar symbol across the chalk sketch of the horned box. It was the sign of Nils'n, a diagonal slash with an empty circle on either side.

The crowd gasped appreciatively. Such originality in spell-casting was a delight to behold. No wonder he was called Shoogar the Tall. Rotn'bair would not allow such a desecration of his sheep to exist for long. And Nils'n, the god of mud creatures, would not long be complacent while mud-skunks were being sacrificed to Rotn'bair.

The antipathy of the two gods is demonstrated every time the sheep are led to the river. Sheep are careless and clumsy. As they mill about on the banks, they trample scores of frogs, snakes, salamanders, lizards, chameleons, and other amphibians that live in the mud. At the same time many of the more dangerous mud creatures, the poisonous ones, the fanged ones, the ones with venom lash back at the sheep, cutting their legs, ruining their wool, infecting them with parasites, giving them festering sores, leaving them bleeding from angry cuts and slashes. The two gods hate each other, and in their various incarnations, as sheep and mud creatures, they work to destroy each other at every opportunity.

Now Shoogar had inscribed insults to both upon the same nest. He had defiled creatures of each in order to celebrate the greatness of the other. If Purple did not make immediate amends, he would have to suffer the wrath of both simultaneously.

Purple had said he did not believe in the gods. He denied their existence. He denied their powers. And he had stated that he was above Shoogar's magic.

I hoped he would return in time to see the spell take effect.

I followed Shoogar down to the river, and helped him with his ritual purification. He had to cleanse himself of the odeurs of offense against the gods, lest he be caught up in his own curse. Sometimes the gods are nearsighted. We bathed him with six different oils before we even let him step into the river. (No sense in offending Filfo-mar, the river god.)

Even before we finished with the cleansing we could hear the curse beginning. We could hear the cheers of the crowd; and beneath that was a dull sort of booming. Shoogar wrapped his robe around himself and hurried back up the hill, me trailing excitedly in his wake.

-----

WE reached the crest of the hill in time to see an angry ram butting his head insistently against the side of Purple's nest. More rams were arriving, and they too began to attack the looming black globe. The focus of their anger was the desecrated homage to Rotn'bair, and it seemed as if the very substance of the Nils'n symbol was enough to anger them. The smell of the mud skunk was potent enough to raise anyone's hackles.

Red-eyed and breathing heavily, the rams jostled and shoved and butted even at each other in their frenzy to attack that odious desecration on the side of Purple's nest. Each time they struck it, that same dreadful booming echoed up and down the hill, and each time a great cheer went up from the crowd. I expected at any moment to see one of the rams go crashing through the walls of that fearful nest, but no - those walls were stronger than I had thought. Perhaps even as strong as metal.

The only effect I could see was that each time a ram struck it, it seemed to lift slightly out of the mud for a moment before sinking wetly back. Bleating in frenzy, the rams raged at that offensive spot - they were the living in-carnation of Rotn'bair's anger. Again and again, they hurled themselves at that dull black surface.

Old Khart, the lead ram, had shattered both of his horns (sacred items in themselves - I mourned the loss), and several of the other rams were also injured. Their eyes were red with fury, their nostrils flared wide; their breath came in hot puffs of steam and the sounds of bleating and snorting filled the air with a madness born of wrath. The steam rose from their sides; their hoofs slashed wetly through the ground, churning the grass and mud into a meaningless soup.

Some of the rams were having trouble with their footing already, and indeed, as we watched, one of the older ones slipped and slid through the mud. He crashed against two others and brought them both down with him; all three were caught under the frenzied slashing hooves of the others.

Their angry snorts were punctuated by grunts of pain, and by the dull thud and hollow boom that rolled up and down the slope each time they struck the side of Purple's nest. But the creatures had strength beyond all natural en-durance, and continued to clamber over one another, butting at that offending spell.

And each time they did so, each time they struck it, the nest rose up out of the ground and threatened to slide down the bank and into the river; but each time it would pause and then sag wetly back into its hollowed out cradle of mud. Several times it trapped slow-footed beasts under the curve of its wall. I felt a great surge of emotion within myself - any moment now Purple's great egg-shaped nest would be toppled onto its side.

Then, abruptly, three of the rams hit the nest at the same time, and it seemed to leap into the air. One more struck it at just the right instant, and as it rose out of its hollow it just seemed to keep on moving. Suddenly it was sliding downslope with a great wet slosh. Angry rams scrambled after it, butting at it all the way down, churning the mud with their hoofs and leaving a long angry scar through Ang's carefully terraced frog-grading pools. I shouted in triumph with the rest.

The great black globe struck the river with a resounding smack and splash; a loud cheer of delight went up from the villagers. Only I was silent, for the terrible nest had not deviated even a thumbnail's width from its perfectly upright position. Had Shoogar noticed too? His puzzled frown was a match for mine.

But the nest was in the river! The rams slid and skidded down the slope, destroying what was left of the frog pools in the process. Almost joyfully they leapt into the water, still butting at Purple's nest.

Others milled around the banks, churning the mud. Mud-skunks and salamanders ran panic-stricken under their hoofs and a new shade of red added itself to the stains on the heaving flanks of the crazed rams. Crushed mud-skunk mingled with the blood of the sheep, and the terrible smell reached us on the crest of the hill along with the hysterical splashing and bleating.

Now the black nest was within Nils'n's reach. So far only Rotn'bair had had a chance to avenge the insult. Now the banks boiled with life as salamanders, lizards, crabs, venom-bearing snakes and other river creatures came swarming up out of the mud and darkness. They scrambled across the churning surface and attacked anything that moved, even each other, but more often the rams.

The rams continued to charge the nest, oblivious to the mud creatures caught in their wool, hanging from their sides biting and slashing at their legs. Their once proud flanks, now torn and slashed, were stained with angry strokes of red and great washes of muddy brown river water. It was an awe-inspiring sight, sheep and mud creatures together attacking that ominous unmoving sphere.

The villagers stood on the flanks. of the hill and cheered the frenzied activity below. One or two of the braver shepherds tried to work their way down the slope, but the snapping claws of the mud crabs drove them quickly back up to the crest.

The rams were slowing down now, but still they continued to mill about Purple's nest - still they continued to push at it, occasionally clambering over the body of a fallen comrade. The water was pink. Angry mud-skunks swarmed along both banks of the river. It was a heartening sight. The crowd continued to cheer wildly, and began to chant a chorus of praise to Shoogar. Pilg the Crier was leading them.

Down below, their anger spent, some of the rams were already climbing back up the hill, slipping and skidding in their own blood and falling back down the mud-slicked surface. Two or three slipped beneath the water and failed to surface.

The mud creatures too were beginning to calm - and the shepherds once more dared to work their way carefully down the slopes to tend their wounded flock.

'A beautiful spell, Shoogar!' 1 congratulated him, 'Beautiful! And so powerful!'

Indeed, as the churning foam of the river continued to subside, revealing the full extent of the devastation, several of the villagers even began to mutter that perhaps the spell had been a bit too powerful. One of the members of the Guild of Advisors remarked, 'Look at all this destruction! This spell should be banned.'

'Banned?' 1 confronted the man, 'And leave us defenseless before our enemies?'

'Well,' he amended, 'perhaps we should only keep Shoogar from using it on friends. He could still use it on strangers.'

I nodded. 1 would accept that.

At least eleven of our sheep lay dead in the churned mud of the slope, mud creatures feeding indiscriminately on their stilled or still heaving flanks. Four of the rams were trampled into the landscape; others lay with their heads at oddly twisted angles, their necks broken from butting against Purple's nest. Three more bodies lay below the water with their mouths open.

What remained of the flock would show countless mud-skunk bites upon their legs and flanks. Many of those bites would undoubtedly become festering sores and probably more of the rams would die later.

The vermin of the mud would be vicious for days to come. It would not be safe to bathe for a while, and probably the sheep would not dare to return to the river for a long time; they would have to be led to the mountain streams to drink.

The frog-grading ponds had been completely obliterated and would have to be completely resculptured elsewhere. Ang stood moaning and wringing his hands as he surveyed his mud-churned slope.

And finally, the wreck of the mad magician's nest now blocked the river. Dammed water spilled over the south bank in a torrent. Already it was carving a new course for itself.

And none of it mattered. These were all small prices to pay for the damage done to the stranger. Considering the magnitude of the task, it was one of Shoogar's less expensive efforts and we were proud of him.

Then why was the scene so utterly silent?

I looked to my left and saw Purple standing on the crest of the hill.

-----

HE stood there with his devices floating behind. Every eye was on him. His hands were on his hips as he looked thoughtfully down at his nest. How long had he been standing there?

'Fascinating,' he said. And he started briskly down the slope. His devices followed.

The nest sat like a great egg in the middle of the river. Water backed up behind it, flowed in great torrents past its bulging flank, splashed angrily up and over the trampled shore. Angry mud creatures clambered over its dull black surface, scratching determinedly at the spell designs. Gobbets of mud and bloody fur streaked its sides, but still the spells of Shoogar were visible, almost etched into its surface. It stood perfectly, almost arrogantly upright.

That made me uneasy. My eyes searched for the dents in the stranger's ruined nest, the dents surely put there by the horns of the rams. I couldn't find them.

Purple strode straight down the slope and into the water. Not a droplet of mud stuck to those peculiar boots of his - in contrast to Shoogar's legs and mine, which were mud to the hip. A pair of mud-skunks attacked the magician as he entered the water. Purple ignored them; and they couldn't seem to get a grip on his boots.

He stood under the bulge of the nest, and we waited for his scream of fury.

Carefully, with a small edged tool, he began scraping off bits of Shoogar's curse signs and putting them into small transparent containers. His mindless speakerspell continued to translate his ramblings. 'Fascinating ... the power of these fluids-secreted-for-the-control-of-bodily-functions is like nothing I've ever seen before ... I wonder if these effects could be produced artificially?'

Twice he sniffed at what he had scraped off, and twice muttered a word the speakerspell did not translate. When he finished, he dipped his hands in the river to wash them, incidentally offending Filfo-mar, the usually gentle river god.

Purple turned to the egg-shaped door of his nest; it was flush with the curved wall, but outlined in orange to make it visible. He punched at a square pattern of bumps on the nest. The door slid open and Purple disappeared inside.

We waited. Would he continue to occupy his nest, living in the middle of our defiled river?

The flying nest hummed and rose twenty feet into the air.

I screamed with the rest, a wordless scream of rage. The nest turned in an instant from black to silver; and it must have become terribly slippery, for every particle of mud and blood and potion from Shoogar's spell slid down the sides, formed a glob at the bottom of the nest and dropped in a lump into the river.

The nest turned black. It moved horizontally across the land and dropped gently to the ground - just a few yards west of where it had stood an hour ago. Only now it rested at the edge of a region of churned mud where the rams and mud creatures had fought to destroy it.

I could see Shoogar sag where he stood. And I feared for my village, and for Shoogar's sanity and my own. If Shoogar could not defend us from the mad magician, then we were all doomed.

There was an angry rumble from the villagers as Purple emerged from his nest. Purple frowned and said, 'I wish I knew what's gotten you people so angry.'

Somebody threw a spear at him.

I couldn't blame the lad. No sound, no pattern of mere words could properly have answered the magician. But the young man, enraged beyond sanity, had hurled his bone spear at the stranger's back - without a blessing!

It struck Purple hard in the back and bounced off to the side without penetrating. Purple toppled, not like a man, but like a statue. I had the irrational conviction that for a single instant Purple had become as hard as stone.

But the instant was over. Immediately he was climbing to his feet. The spear, of course, had done no harm at all. One cannot attack a magician with an unblessed spear. The boy would have to be brought before the Guild of Advisors.

If the village survived that long.

-----

THE suns rose together, the blue sun silhouetted off-center within the other's great fuzzy-edged and crimson disk.

I woke at noon. The evacuation was already well under way. My wives and spratlings had already done a good deal of the packing, though the fear of disturbing my sleep had slowed them somewhat. With my supervision, however, and the necessary discipline, the packing progressed quickly. Even so, we were very nearly the last family to leave the village. The lower rim of the red sun was already near the mountains when I dropped behind the procession of my wives to tarry at Shoogar's nest.

Shoogar looked tired, but curiously determined. His eyes were alive and dancing, and his fingers moved with a life of their own, weaving spell knots into a leather strap. I knew better than to speak to him while he was in the midst of a duel.

For though no formal declaration had yet been made by Purple, this was a duel. Perhaps Purple thought that so long as no duel was declared, Shoogar would sit peacefully by and allow him to continue with his duel-mongering actions.

But I knew Shoogar better than that. The fierce glow burning in his eyes confirmed what I - and all of the rest of the villagers - already knew: that Shoogar would not rest until there was one less magician in the village.

I hurried on after my wives. Burdened as we were, we would be traveling well into the night. I had even removed the hobbles from my women so that they could travel faster; it would not do to underestimate the seriousness of the situation..

By the time the moons were overhead, we had reached our destination. Most of the families of the village were settled on the steppes to the north, a series of long sloping rises that overlooked the river and the cluster of housetrees that marked our village.

The encampment was a sprawling place of lean-tos and tents, smoky campfires and shrill women, milling groups of men and boys. Already scavengers were rooting busily underfoot; even before we had selected a campsite, many of my own spratlings had melted away into the bustle.

Although it was well into the night, few slept. The eerie glow of the moons gave us a twilight neither red nor blue, but ghostly gray - a strange half-real quality for the waiting time before the next step of the duel. An almost festive air pervaded the settlement.

From somewhere in the bachelor's section came the brawling chant of a game of rolling bones, and an occasional cry of triumph as one of the players scored a particularly difficult pass. It does not take much to please the lower classes.

-----

AN unpleasant surprise awaited us in the morning.

Hinc and I were standing at the edge of the encampment, looking down the slope toward the village, discussing the forthcoming duel, when we heard a dull distant slam, like a Single cough from Elcin's throat.

We looked down to see a tremendous plume of black smoke wafting through the village treetops.

'Look,' said Hinc. 'Shoogar has started already.'

'No,' I shook my head. 'I think he is only warming up. That looked like a preparation spell more than anything else. Something to get the attention of the gods.'

'Pretty fierce attention-getter,' noted Hinc.

I nodded, 'It's going to be a pretty fierce duel. I wonder if we should move again ? Farther back.'

'If we are not out of range already, Lant, we haven't time to get out of range,' said Hinc. 'Even at a dead run. And even if you are right, you could never persuade the others. They are too tired.'

He was right, of course, but before I could speak, we were interrupted by a crowd of frightened women running hysterically through the encampment as fast as their hobbled legs would carry them. They were screaming Purple's name.

I caught up with and cuffed my number three wife to attention. 'What is the matter with you?' I demanded.

'It's the mad magician!' she cried. 'He's trying to talk to the women!'

'The mad magician - here?'

She nodded fearfully, 'He brought his nest to the spring where we wash - and he's trying to talk to us! He wants to know why we moved!'

Had the man no self-respect at all? Talking to women? Even from the mad magician I found this hard to believe. I strode purposefully through the crowd, now milling nervously about, women comforting other hysterical women, men interrogating their wives, sprats crying for attention.

As I moved toward the spring, some of the men caught up with, and followed along behind me. They were muttering nervously. Pilg was moaning loudly, 'We cannot escape. The duel follows us. Alas! Alas!'

It was as the women had said. Purple had brought his nest to a spot just above the encampment, near the spring the women had chosen for washing. The great black egg-shape was closed, and the magician was nowhere to be seen.

The others waited only long enough to see that the women had spoken the truth. Then they turned and fled quickly back to the settlement.

Hinc and I exchanged a wordless glance. Why had Purple followed us? Was he fleeing from his duel? I had never heard of such a thing before. What did he want of the villagers?

I circled the nest warily. It looked much as it had on the fearful night that I first saw it. I crept closer. There, lightly pressed into the dust, were the imprints of Purple's strangely shaped boots. But where was Purple now?

Suddenly, that booming hollow voice. 'Lant! Just the person I was hoping to see.'

This was too much for Hinc. He turned and disappeared down the slope after the others. I ached to join him, but I had to find out what the magician was up to.

The door to the nest slid open and Purple stepped out, his strange paunchy shape oddly disquieting - he had a fearful grin on his bare face and advanced toward me as if I were an old friend; his speakerspell drifted along behind.

'Lant,' he said, moving closer, 'perhaps you can tell me - why have you people moved your village? The other spot was so much nicer.'

I looked at him curiously. Could it be that he did not know of the duel? Was it possible for anyone to be that naive? Well, so much the better - his liability was Shoogar's asset. I certainly would not tell him. Why should a layman be concerned with the affairs of magicians? I didn't want to get involved. Instead, I just nodded, 'Yes, the other spot was nicer.'

'Then why do you not stay there?'

'We hope to return soon,' I said. 'After the time of the conjunction.' I pointed to the sky where the suns were setting together, Ouells's blue-white point near the bottom of Virn's crimson disk.

'Oh, yes,' Purple nodded, 'very impressive.' Turning, he gazed admiringly at the ground behind him, 'And it makes the shadows very pretty too.'

'Very pretty-!' I stopped in mid-sentence. Dark and blue they were, each with a bloody edge - constant reminder that the time of terror was upon us. Was the man fearless - or foolish? I shut up.

'Very pretty,' Purple repeated. 'Quite striking. Well, I will remain here with you and your people. If I can be of any assistance ...?'

Something within me shriveled and died. 'You - you're going to stay here?'

'Yes, I think so. I'll go back to the village when you people do; this will give me a chance to test the mountain area for a day or so.'

'Oh,' I said.

He seemed to lose interest in me then, turned and went back to his nest. I waited to see how he caused the door to slide open. I had been puzzling about it since I had first seen him do the trick. There was a pattern of bumps in the surface of the nestwall. He tapped at these in a quick precise pattern.

I presumed that the pattern must have been the spell to open the door, but it was too quick for pie to memorize. He stepped inside; the door slid shut and he was gone.

Dejectedly, I trudged back to the encampment - or what was left of the encampment.

Already the villagers were fleeing from their makeshift homes. Men were hastily packing travel kits, women were calling for spratlings. Children and dogs ran excitedly through the crowd, kicking up dust, chickens and scavengers.

Panic-stricken families were already moving across the steppes, upslope, downslope, sideways, anywhere, just as long as it was away from Purple; the magician who brought disaster with him.

My own wives were standing about nervously, waiting for me. Numbers one and two were trying to comfort number three, who was most upset. 'He kept trying to talk to me! He kept trying to talk to me!'

'It wasn't your fault,' I told her. 'You will not be beaten for his trespass. You did right to run.' My words had an immediate calming effect on the distraught woman, more so than all the stroking and soothing of the other two wives, once more proving that only a man can know how to handle the unusual situation.

'Pick up your packs,' I told them. 'We must be on our way.'

'On our way?' questioned one. 'But we just got here.

'We must move again,' I said, 'before this area is blasted. The mad magician's animal manners have blinded you to the true danger. Shoogar will follow Purple up here. Now, pick up your packs or I will beat all three of you.'

They did as I bade them - but with no small amount of grumbling. Even though I thought to remove their hobbles so as to speed the journey, they grumbled - and for once they had cause. For a day and a half we had fled the site of the coming duel. Purple had easily, thoughtlessly nullified that effort with only a few moments of flight.

Within an hour the encampment was deserted. As we moved down the hill, I thought I saw Purple moving like a lost soul through the empty lean-to shelters.

-----

WE were the only family to return to the village. Where the others had fled I did not know. Probably south, away from the whole region. They had likely lost all interest in watching the duel, even from a distance. Now they wanted only to save their skins.

In the fading daylight, we approached the village warily. The blue sun winked out behind the edge of the world, leaving only the semicircular bulge of the red. The mists rising off the distant swamps took fire from the glow. It was as if the whole western edge of the world were aflame. I could almost smell the burning of it, a smell of disaster on the evening wind.

I left my wives at the nest, the nest to which I had thought we would never return, and headed toward Shoogar's. I carried a pack with me - a meal for him - perhaps his last. As I made my way through the village I could see the many effects of his spellcasting. Here and there, some of our proudest housetrees lay on their sides, as if they had been blasted out of the ground with great force. Others seemed to have withered and died where they stood.

Here and there a nest lay on the ground, shattered walls laying it open to the elements. Everywhere were great patches of dying vegetation. The scavenger animals were gone. There were no sounds of nightbirds. Except for my wives, myself, and of course, Shoogar, the village was empty. And dead.

Even if Shoogar won the duel, none would ever be able to return to this village. Nor would they want to. Its stability had been permanently destroyed.

All was silent and brooding.

The dead grass crunched under my feet as I approached Shoogar's nest. I knocked cautiously on the wall.

When he appeared I gasped in horror. Shoogar had gone gray and haggard; new circles had appeared under his eyes and his skin was discolored in angry red patches as if he had been caught too close to one of his own spells.

But what had startled me most was that Shoogar had shaved off all his fur! He was totally naked and hairless - a frightened caricature of the mad magician!

He greeted me with a wan smile, grateful for my company. I began to lay out the ritual supper for him. It is traditional that on the night before a duel the men of the village serve a meal of faith to their patron warlock. But the others had fled, so that duty had fallen on me alone.

I stood silently by and waited, serving him at each gesture or grunt. It was not much of a meal, but it was the best I could prepare under such circumstances. Shoogar seemed not to mind. He ate slowly, savoring every bite. He looked tired and his hands trembled as he moved. But he ate heartily.

By the time he laid aside his bone foot-stabber, the red sun had long disappeared from the west. The moons had not yet appeared. He moved slowly, but whether from satiation or exhaustion, it was impossible to tell.

'Where are the others?' he asked.

They've fled.' I explained what happened. Shoogar listened carefully, occasionally picking at some previously overlooked morsel in the bowls before him.

'I did not expect the stranger to move,' he muttered. 'It is a bad thing - but clever. Now I must alter my spell to account for this new factor. You say he tried to talk to the women?' He bit into a fruit.

I nodded, 'My number three wife.'

'Ptah!' Shoogar spat out the seeds in disgust, 'The man must have no taste. Hmp. If one is going to lower oneself to talk to women, one could at least choose the women of a worthy rival.'

'You have no women,' I pointed out.

'It's still an insult to me,' brooded Shoogar.

'Perhaps he doesn't know any better. Remember, he said that the ways of his homeland are very different from ours.'

'Ignorance could be the excuse for his bad manners,' Shoogar grumbled, 'but only madness could explain the man's trespasses against common sense.'

'It is said that a madman possesses the strength of ten ...'

Shoogar gave me a look, 'I know what it said. Most of the time I said it first'

We sat there in silence. After a while I asked, 'What do you think will happen on the morrow?'

'There will be a duel. One will win, one will lose.'

'But who ...?'! prompted.

'If it were possible to tell which magician would win a duel, there would be no need for duels.'

Again we sat in silence. This was the first time Shoogar had referred to the duel with any indication of doubt. Always before he had expressed confidence in his own abilities and skepticism for the powers of Purple. Clearly the duel had taken its toll even before the first spell had been cast.

'Lant,' he said abruptly, 'I will need your help.'

I looked up startled. 'Me? But I know nothing of magic. You have told me that I am a fool countless times. Is it wise to risk such an important undertaking in the hands of a ...?'

'Shut up, Lant,' he said softly. I shut. 'All you have to do is help me transport my spellcasting equipment up the mountain to Purple's nest. We will need two bicycles or some pack animals. I cannot carry it all myself.'

I breathed easier at that. 'Oh, well, in that case-'

We were on our way within the hour.

-----

IT was close to dawn when we reached the site of the encampment. The deserted lean-tos and shelters stood bleak and empty in the night, like some fearful city of the dead. I found myself trembling.

We rode through it wordlessly, finally parking our bicycles on the slope just below the spring. We could hear it babbling carelessly in the dark.

Taking care to keep as quiet as possible, we edged forward, up the hill. I held my breath till we topped the rise, then let it out in a whoosh. Yes, the nest was still there.

I believe I would have cried bitter tears had it been gone. I am sure it would have killed Shoogar. The frustration of having an enemy flee from him in such a manner would have been too much.

We crept back to the deserted encampment, there to wait the coming of dawn. I ached for a chance to sleep, but Shoogar gave me a potion to keep me awake. To keep him company, he said. He began laying out his equipment, organizing and sorting. 'If I can only take him by surprise,' he muttered. He paused to oil a metal knife. 'And if only there were some way to draw him away from his nest...'

That's not needed,' I blurted. 'He will probably leave it by himself. He is testing again. He said this when I spoke to him. He wants to test the mountain.'

'H'm; said Shoogar. 'This is a bit of good fortune. I hope that he tests the mountain the same way that he tested the village; for when he tested the village he was gone from his nest almost the entire day.'

'What if he doesn't? What if he returns before the curse is finished?'

'Let us hope he does not.'

'Can't you do something?'

Shoogar paused, thought for a moment, then rummaged in his kit. He produced a small leather pouch of dust and another of herbs. 'Here, go and spread this dust around the outside of his nest. It is very fine dust; it will float in the air for hours. If he breathes any of it, it will produce a very strong yearning in him. He will not return until that yearning is satisfied.'

'But, what about me?'

'That's what the herbs are for. When you finish with the dust, you will take half of those herbs and chew them well. When they turn bitter in your mouth, swallow them, but not until they turn bitter. Bring the rest of the herbs back to me, so I may chew them. They will make us both immune to the power of the dust.'

I nodded, then crept up the hill and did as I was instructed. When I brought the two leather pouches back to Shoogar he was just laying out the last of his equipment. One swollen pouch he handled most carefully. 'Powdered magician's hair,' he explained. I did not blame him for handling it carefully. He had sacrificed much to produce it; his squat and shaven body trembled with the cold.

Abruptly, a troubled look crossed his face, 'I am sure that Purple's power is in some way connected with his nest. I must get into it somehow. That is the only part of my curse that I am in doubt about. I must get into that nest...'

My heart leapt. 'But, I can help you there- I fairly shouted, then remembered to lower my voice. 'Today - I mean, yesterday (for dawn was fast approaching) - I was able to get close enough to Purple to observe how he worked his doorspell.'

Shoogar nearly leapt at me, 'Lant, you are a fool!' Then he thought to lower his voice. 'Why did you not tell me this earlier?' he hissed.

'You did not ask me.'

'Well, I am asking you now - how does it work?'

I explained what I had seen, the pattern of bumps on the nestwall, how Purple had tapped at them in a certain way and how the door had slid open immediately after. Shoogar listened carefully. 'Obviously, the order in which he touched the bumps is the way the spell in controlled. Think, Lant! Which bumps did he touch?'

'That I did not see...' I admitted.

Shoogar cursed, 'Then why bother to tell me how to open the door if you do not know? Lant, you are a fool.'

'I am sorry - but it happened so quickly. If I could only remember - If I could only see it again-'

'Perhaps ...' said Shoogar. 'Perhaps ... Lant, have you ever been placed under the spell of the open mind?'

I shook my head.

'It is a spell of great power. It can be used to make you remember things that you think you have forgotten.'

'Uh, is it dangerous?'

'No more so than any other spell.'

'Well,' I said, picking up my bicycle, 'good luck with your duel, Shoogar. I will see you when it is-'

'Lant,' he said evenly, 'if you take one more step downslope, I will work your name into the curse along with Purple's.'

I laid the bicycle down again. It had been worth a try.

My feelings must have shown, for Shoogar said, 'Don't be so fearful. I will do my best to protect you. Suddenly you have become a very important part of this duel. The knowledge locked up in your mind may make the difference between success and failure.'

'But, Shoogar, I am a fool. You have told me that too many times for it to be otherwise. I admit it. I am a fool. You could not be wrong in your judgment of my character. What good could I be to you?'

'Lant,' said Shoogar, 'you are not a fool. Believe me. Sometimes in my quickness of temper I have made rash statements. But I have only the greatest respect for your judgment, Lant. You are not a fool.'

'Oh, but I am,' I insisted.

'YOU are not!' Shoogar said. 'Besides, it does not take any great mental prowess to remember something as simple as you have described. Even an idiot such as you could do it!'

'Oh, but I will be only in your way, Shoogar. Please let me return to my family-'

'And have the other men of the village think you a coward?'

'It would be a small burden to bear-'

'Never!' snapped Shoogar. 'No friend of mine shall wear the brand of coward. You will stay here with me, Lant. And you should be grateful that I care so much for you as a friend.'

He turned again to the equipment laid out upon the ground. I sighed in resignation and sat down to wait. Dawn was already seeping into the east.

Shoogar turned back to me, 'Your part in this will be easy, Lant. There is no reason to fear.'

'But, the danger-'

He dismissed it with a gesture, 'There will be no danger if you follow my instructions exactly as I give them to you.'

'I will follow your instructions.'

'Good. There can be no room for error. Even the tiniest mistake could cost us both our lives.'

'But you just said there would be no danger-'

'Of course not. Not if you follow instructions. Most of the hard work has already been done. Don't forget, I had to construct the equations: I had to prepare the ingredients, and I had to stabilize the symbology necessary to make the various incantations and potions work. All you have to do is help me place them in the proper place at the proper time.'

'I thought all I had to do was help you open the nest-'

'Of course. But if you are going to be there anyway, you might as well help me with the rest.'

'Oh,' I said.

'And whatever you do, you must not try to speak to me. This is very important. When the suns rise, we shall begin -and once we begin, I must not be distracted at all. Except as is necessary to the curse I will not speak. Do you under-stand?'

I nodded.

'Good. Now, listen. There is one more thing. A very important thing. It has nothing to do with the curse, Lant, but for your own protection you must be exceedingly careful not to lesnerize.'

'Lesnerize?' I asked. 'What is lesnerize ...?

But he pointed instead to the east. Day had seeped red/flashed-blue over the hills. Shoogar fell to his knees and began chanting to the suns.

The curse had begun.

-----

THE first step was a ritual cleansing, a purification so that we would not contaminate the curse with some long-for- gotten residual spell.

Then came the sanctification, the prayer for forgiveness to the suns, Ouells and Virn, and to the moons, all eleven of them - now in the configuration of Eccar the Man, he who had served the gods so well that he had been elevated to god hood himself. . ,

Other prayers were offered to the river god, the wind god, the gods of violence and magic, of engineering, of birds and duels of wars, of past and present and future, of skies and seas and tides. And, of course, to Elcin, the thunder god. We offered sacrifice to all of them, and sought their blessings in the endeavors to come. We prayed that they would blame the stranger and not us for the affronts about to be done to them.

Then we cleansed ourselves again.

We gathered up the spellcasting equipment and crept the slope to where the mad magician's nest waited. Behind and below us the mist which had covered all the lowlands at dawn thinned as the two suns rose higher. The ponderous red sun had turned the mists pink while the pinpoint blue burned them away. We could see for miles.

We topped the rise slowly. Slightly below us, on the other side, was the black egg of Purple's nest, waiting grim and brooding in the silent morning. It was closed, but was it deserted?

I wanted to ask Shoogar what the next step was, but his last instruction made me fear even to breathe without being told. Shoogar must have sensed my indecision, for he said, 'Now we wait...'

The suns rose higher in the sky. The last of the mists disappeared from the land. And the egg sat silent on the steppes. The only sound was the gurgling of the spring.

Abruptly, the door of the nest slid open and Purple emerged. He stretched slowly and took a deep breath, then let it out with a sigh. I wondered if the yearning dust was still floating in the air. If it were, then Purple had just filled his lungs with it. He showed no reaction though as he closed the door of his nest behind him. If the dust was working, then it was very subtle.

We held our breaths as he began climbing up the slope of the hills. Shortly he disappeared over the top of one, and we were alone with the nest. Shoogar scrambled eagerly for it, I followed in his wake, not quite so eager.

Shoogar surveyed the nest carefully. He strode around it three times, finally coming to a stop in front of the orange and oval outline that was the door.

This first important step was the crucial one. Shoogar had to gain entrance into Purple's nest. If he could not, then all of the rest of his careful preparations would be for naught. He would be unable to complete the rest of the spell.

So much depended on the spell of the open mind-

He positioned me in the exact spot I had been standing when I observed how Purple had opened his nest. Then he brought out a device of glass and held it before my eyes, commanding me to look into it.

I wondered if the strain of the past three days had been too much for my friend. I saw no answers within the device of glass. But I did as he said, and looked into it. He began chanting at me softly, slowly, in that high croaking voice of his. I tried to concentrate on his words, but the crystal thing kept flickering light into my eyes.

Nor could I focus my sight upon the thing. It seemed to fade in and out of existence even as Shoogar held it. I tried to follow where it went when it disappeared, but it was revolving too fast. The sound of his chanting wove in and out with the flashes of light, and all of it together seemed to be whirling and twirling, churning and turning and - the world was-

Abruptly, I was wide awake.

Nothing had happened.

The spell of the open mind had failed. I remembered nothing. I opened my mouth to speak, but Shoogar stopped me. 'You did fine, Lant. Just fine.'

I wondered what he was talking about, but he was once more fussing with his equipment. His manner was confident, almost cheerful. He found what he was looking for, a piece of chalk, and proceeded to draw a rune about the square pattern of bumps beside the door. Only once did he speak to me, 'You told me almost all of what I need to know, Lant. Almost all. The rest I can fathom for myself.'

I shrugged and sat down to watch. Obviously he knew what he was doing.

He sat cross-legged before the door and began chanting, working himself into a trance. He sat motionless on that patch of ground before the door, the only sounds his thin reedy voice and the gushing of the spring.

The suns crept up the sky, Ouells glowing like a blue-white diamond at Virn's fading edge. So much to do, so little time! How long would Purple be gone? Could we complete the spell in time?

Shoogar sat silent and unmoving. His eyes were glazed. Occasionally he would give a little grunt; but he said nothing. I began to perspire.

Could Purple throw red fire at a man?

At last, when I had begun to fear that Shoogar would never speak again, he rose, stepped to that pattern of bumps, and touched four of them in a particular pattern.

Nothing happened.

Shoogar repeated the touch.

Still nothing happened.

Shoogar shrugged and returned to his place. Again he went into his trance. This time, after an even greater wait, he approached that door even more cautiously. Once more he tapped out a pattern on the nestwall bumps; the same four, but a different order.

Nothing happened again.

Shoogar sighed and returned to his squatting position. I began to fear that we might spend the whole day just gaining entry to Purple's nest and have no time left for the cursing. Indeed, I had almost given up all hope of ever completing the task before us when Shoogar rose again. He approached the nest slowly, looked at the bumps for a long time, then touched four of them in a carefully precise manner.

And the door to the nest slid open.

Shoogar allowed himself a smile, but only a small one. It was a smile of anticipation: there was still much to do.

Quickly, we gathered up the equipment and moved into Purple's nest.

The walls themselves glowed with Purple s odd-colored light - bright and yellow, it made my eyes see colors that were not there. Slowly, as my vision sorted itself out, I began to see that this nest was furnished like no other nest I had ever seen. All around were tiny glowing eyes, raised knobs and more bumps like those in the pattern outside the door.

In the center was a zigzagged piece of padded furniture, a fit couch for a demon. Set into the nestwall just ahead of this were a series of flat plates like windows, but infinitely more transparent - like hardened air! Indeed, the whole nest showed workmanship finer than I had ever seen.

Shoogar peered carefully at the flat plates like windows. Some showed images of the areas around the nest Others held odd patterns in colored light, carefully drawn lines and curves - obviously the demon's runes. Shoogar indicated one of these. 'Do you still think he does not use magic? he asked me; then, remembering his own injunction against unnecessary chatter, silenced himself.

Apparently it was not a very strong injunction, for Shoogar had been muttering back and forth all morning. Perhaps he had only warned me against speaking because he feared I would distract him. Well, he need not have worried; I had too much respect for Shoogar's abilities to question him in the middle of a spell. I opened my mouth to tell him so, but he cut me off.

Next to the padded thing was a plant, a vegetable well suited for the interior of this nest. It too was of a type I had never seen before. It was the shape of a white rose, but its color - could such a color be green? The leaves glowed like an hallucination. Green is a dull color, almost black; but here it seemed to glow as bright as any shade of red or blue. I touched the plant, expecting it to be as delicate as any I was familiar with; but here too, I received a shock: the leaves were as stiff and hard as an uncured hide. What a strange world Purple must come from! I thought - then realized that I was giving the mad magician too much credence. This must be a plant that would ordinarily be familiar to me. Purple had only cursed it.

I turned my attention away, began looking for a door leading to the area above. But there was none. Apparently the nest included only this one compartment. The rest of its huge interior must be all spell devices. Shoogar had been right all along.

But how small the nest was, if this was all there was to it! Barely room for two to stand!

Shoogar had spread his travel kit and his equipment on the floor and was methodically organizing the materials he would use first. It was as if he cursed flying nests every day. He paused, put a finger into the stubble on his chin and scratched. He began to examine a piece of parchment which he took from his robe, a checklist, 'Yes...' he decided after a brief pause. He pulled out the metal knife that I had seen before. 'We will begin with the defiling of the metal.'

He spat on the knife, then began to carve runes into the surface of the floor. Or tried to. The knife would not penetrate. Frowning, Shoogar pressed harder. The tip of the knife broke. Then the blade snapped in half.

Shoogar returned the pieces of the knife to his travel kit without comment and looked at his checklist again. This time he pulled out a pouch of reddish powder, the dust of rust. He emptied a bit of it into his hands and blew. A smoky red cloud filled the room. I coughed and he threw me an angry glance. .

A whirring sound started somewhere. Then a wind blew through the nest, plucking at my hair and clothing. I looked around in fear - could Purple have trapped the wind god? Even as I looked for traces of such a thing, the reddish dust in the air thinned. Shortly the wind stopped, and the dust was gone with it. There was not even a fine red layer on any of the polished surfaced. Odd.

Still Shoogar was undismayed. He consulted his list again.

Abruptly, he produced a ball of fire from under his robe. Then another and another, throwing them as fast as they came, at the walls, the ceiling, the floor. Where they struck they stuck, sending up acrid sparks and oily smoke.

There was a hissing sound - and jets of water spat from apertures in the ceiling. They aimed themselves straight at the fireballs, drenched them to ash in seconds. And then, as Shoogar produced a last fireball from under his robe, they all turned on Shoogar.

When the water went off, Shoogar turned his hand over, and allowed the drenched fireball to drop stickily to the floor. Dripping, he held up his sodden checklist and consulted it again. Water dripped from it onto the floor, then drained away into places we knew not.

I felt my hopes draining away with the water. Shoogar had begun three separate attempts - and all of them had failed. The stranger's magic was much too strong. We were doomed even before we had begun.

'Ah, yes-' said Shoogar. 'It goes well.'

I doubted my ears. I dared a question, 'it goes what-?'

'Obviously, Lant, you have not been paying attention. This nest is equipped with very efficient protective spells. I had to find out what they were, so that I could nullify them. Now, let us curse.'

Shoogar began by inscribing runes on all the surfaces of the nest, floors, walls, ceiling, the back of the oddly shaped couch, the panels of knobs, everything. He called upon Fine-line, the god of engineers and architects, to blast this nest with a spell of deformity to make it crack and shatter.

Onto each of the sacred signs, inscribed with chalk instead of knife, he dripped evil-smelling potions. As they combined, they began to smoke and sputter. 'Waters of fire, burn and boil,' Shoogar urged them. We watched as the fluid ate holes into the runes and the surface below.

Beautiful. Blasphemy is the heart of a good curse.

Next he began to fill the ship with dust. Apparently he wanted to overload the spell of the protective wind, for he blew great clouds of the red dust of rust. The whirring started up immediately, but Shoogar kept blowing.

'Well, don't just stand there, you goat - help me!'

I grabbed handfuls of the red powder and blew - somehow we were able to keep great swirling clouds of rust swirling and churning throughout the compartment. The dust of rust is a symbol of time, sacred to several gods at once: Brad of the past, Kronk of the future, and Po who causes the decay of all things.

When we had run out of the dust of rust, Shoogar continued with a fine white powder. It looked like the grindings of bone. 'Aim for those wind pockets,' said Shoogar, pointing at a square, screened-over opening.

Eyes streaming, coughing vigorously, I did so. Once Shoogar hurled a fireball at the screen. Some of the grindings gathered around the water droplets.

Presently the whirring became uneven, threatened to stop.

'Cover your nose and mouth, Lant. I do not want you to breathe any of this.' He pulled out a fat leather pouch. I put a cloth across the lower half of my face and watched as he produced a thick double handful of powdered magician's hair.

With a care borne of great sacrifice he aimed cautiously and blew a great sneeze of it toward the wind pockets. Within a moment, it was gone.

The whirring sound labored, the wind seemed to be dying. And suddenly, both stopped.

'Good, Lant! Now get the pots.' Shoogar was beaming with triumph. I pulled my kit from its place by the wall and produced a collection of six pottery containers, each with a close-fitting lid.

'Good,' said Shoogar again. He began placing them carefully around the interior of Purple's nest. Into each he put a sputtering ball of fire, then closed the lid on it.

There were tiny holes in the lid of each pot, to allow the fire-god to breathe, but too tiny to allow entrance of the water. The liquid jets arced out, but unable to reach the flames directly, they continued playing over the pots and over everything else.

Shoogar watched to see where the water was draining, began pouring defiled water and other viscous syrups into the drain holes. Once he paused to add a generous handful of the white dust bone-grindings. As it swirled down into the drain, the mixture began to thicken ominously.

Shortly, it seemed as if the drains were not working as efficiently. Pools were gathering on the floor. The odious smell of defiled water was strong in the hot, steamy smoky air. I thought I would retch. But no matter, the defiled water would certainly anger Filfo-mar, the river god.

By now, Filfo-mar and N'veen, the god of the tides, would be engaged in their ancient tug of war. Only this time they would be tugging not at the waters of the world, but at opposite sides of the black nest. The more water that poured into the cabin, the stronger grew their powers - and the more vicious their battle.

By the time the water jets stopped hissing, we were several inches deep in water and Shoogar and I were both dripping wet. But not chilly. The nest was steaming hot and growing hotter. Shoogar shucked off his robe and I followed suit.

My eyes were watering, and I was still coughing up the dust from my lungs. When I pointed this out to Shoogar he only said, 'Stop complaining. Nobody ever said a curse was easy. There's more to come yet.'

Indeed, we had only begun.

Now Shoogar turned his attention to the various panels and plates that lined the interior. There were a great many knobs and bumps. Many of these came in sets of eight, each labeled with a different symbol. One we recognized: a triangle, the symbol of Eccar the Man.

Could it be that some of Purple's spells were based on the symbol of Eccar? If that were so, could Shoogar use that fact as a wedge, his lever with which to unbalance the rest of the spells of Purple's nest?

Shoogar pursed his lips thoughtfully, scratched at his stubbly chin. 'Push the bumps, Lant. Wherever you see the symbol of the triangle, push the bumps - we will activate all of Purple's Eccar spells and dissipate their power.'

We moved through that compartment, looking high and low for the knobs and bumps. The knobs could all be twisted so that the triangle would appear at the top, and the bumps could all be depressed. There were blank knobs also; with a little experimentation Shoogar found that these could be turned in such a way that tiny slivers of metal behind layers of glass would move and point to triangles etched there.

Strange things happened, but Shoogar cautioned me to ignore them. Once, one of the flat mirror-like plates glowed with an unearthly light and images appeared on it - images of the village, images of people we knew, Hinc and Ang and Pilg. I stared in fascinated horror - and then abruptly, Shoo- gar nullified the spell by painting over it with a thick gray potion that obscured the plate entirely.

'I told you not to look,' he reproved me.

We continued. Eventually we had turned every device in that nest to the symbol of the triangle, the symbol of three.

We began the next phase of the curse.

The fire pots had begun to cool, so Shoogar replenished them. Already the metal where they sat was too hot to touch, and portions of other devices had begun to crack.

Now Shoogar began painting his thick gray paint over everything. First he nullified the image windows. Then he painted all the dials over, and all of the bumps too. Only the gods would know what symbols had been activated. In almost no time the interior of that nest was entirely gray. Klarther, the god of the skies and seas, would be furious. Fol, the god of distortion, would be chortling. Thus had Shoogar brought them to battle with each other, with the black nest between.

Shoogar began to sketch new runes into the painted surfaces, oblivious of their relation to the runes beneath. Where the upper and under surfaces conflicted, the gods would engage in random battle. Always when he could, Shoogar worked the name of Elcin, the thunder god, into the runes.

Into a crevice between two of the surfaces of knobs and bumps Shoogar pushed the narrow point of a sword-wand and called on Pull'nissin, the god of duels. Calling on Hitch, the god of birds, he broke eggs into three apertures. They sizzled angrily where they slid down; for Shoogar was using the egg-shaped image of the nest against itself. He continued chanting, calling on Musk-Watz and Blok, the god of violence; and at one point he even cast a rune defiling Tis'turzhin, the god of love, for love turned to hate can be the mightiest force of all.

Shoogar consulted his checklist again, and produced a container of dormant sting things, and another of fungusoids. and leeches. He brought forth things with barbs and things with claws, and began scattering them about. Torpid though they were, some tried to attack us; but we were careful to place them where they were not immediately dangerous. And we had had the forethought to wear our thickest boots and gloves; the fanged creatures could not cut through.

As he called on Sp'nee, ruler of slime, Shoogar spread great viscous gobs of goo into cracks and crannies between the boards of knobs and bumps. The air was already unbreathable with heat and wet, but the boards were far hotter. In some places Shoogar's gray ointment had blackened and cracked, and the surface beneath glowed red with such heat and strench that one could not bear to approach too near. Eggs sizzled and smoked in places we could not see.

And always Shoogar continued to call upon Elcin. The God of Thunder. The God of Fear.

'Elcin, oh, Elcin! Come down, Oh Great and Tiny God of Lightning and Loud Noises! Come down from your mountain, oh Elcin! Come down from your mountain and strike down this infidel who dares to profane the sacred name of your magic!'

Shoogar stood atop the demon couch and stretched his arms toward the sky. Triumph was spread across his face as he chanted the final canteles of the spell. The next was hung with webs of pain and painted with runes of despair.

The swimming heated compartment crawled with fuzz balls and stingers, crabs and krakens and leeches. Somewhere something was burning, and oily smoke seeped up the walls. I choked on the rotting air and blinked the tears from my eyes.

It was a masterpiece.

-----

I FOLLOWED Shoogar out of the nest. The dry grass crunched underfoot as I dropped to the ground. We had spent a lifetime in that Shoogar-generated hell.

I was amazed to find that it was still day. The double sunlight washed the world with a reassuring familiarity. Trees and plants and grass looked black to me; and I wondered if my eyes had seen too long by the light of Purple's nest.

My head swam in the cool clean air. Waves of dizziness swept over me. Even so, it was I who had to help Shoogar to walk. I had only observed the curse. Shoogar had executed it, and it had taken its toll of his strength. We moved unevenly down the slope. Our shadows wavered before us, tinged with red and blue edges. As the curse had ended, so had the conjunction. Once more the suns were separate.

It seemed a miracle that Purple had not interrupted us, but it was still only mid-afternoon. We had finished with time to spare.

We collapsed behind a clump of bushes. The unfouled air was like strong Quaff, and I was drunk on it. We lay there under the familiar black leaves, taking deep heaving breaths.

After a while I rolled over on my side, looked at Shoogar, and asked, 'When does it begin?'

He didn't answer, and for a moment I thought he had fallen asleep. It would not have surprised me. The exertions of the past days had left him pale and haggard. His eyes were red when he opened them, and rimmed with deep circles. He sighed slowly, 'I don't know, Lant, I don't know ... Perhaps I forgot something.'

I sat up and looked uneasily at the black nest. It waited there in a hollow between two hills, its door invitingly open, Its door-!!

'Shoogar!' I cried. The door! We left it open!'

He sat up suddenly, stared horrified across the hill.

'Can we close it?' I asked.

'It must need another spell for that,' said Shoogar. 'And we don't have it.'

'Couldn't you-'

'Couldn't I what?' he demanded. 'Make up a door-closing spell? Not for that nest, I couldn't. I'd have to know what activates the door-opening spell first.'

'But, I saw you open the door-'

'Lant,' he said wearily, 'you are a fool. I know how to use the spell - but I do not know why it works as it does. You saw what trouble I had with the light device. No, Lant - unless you know something else about the way that door works - and I know you don't, for I peered into your mind - it's going to stay open.'

'But the curse-'

He cut me off with a gesture, 'I don't know - it must be waiting. It needs something to activate it, probably the closing of the door. Without that...' He shrugged, let the sentence trail off into silence.

The suns crept westward, the blue now visibly ahead of the red. I peered uneasily across the hill. How long would that curse wait before it went bad? Only the gods could help us if this, the greatest of Shoogar's spells, were to go foul - and if it did go foul, there would be no gods left who could help us. They would all be against us.

Slowly the shadows lengthened; the chill of the dying day crept across the world while Shoogar and I stood helplessly by. The black nest waited, grim and forbidding, yellow light poured from its door.

The world waited. We waited. The nest waited.

The curse waited...

And then, abruptly, a sound. Footsteps crunching up the side of the hill. We dropped down behind the bush.

Seconds later, Purple came into view, striding up over the rise - I wondered if he had satisfied his yearning - then down the slope toward his waiting nest. He could not see the open door from the direction he approached.

He rounded the curve of the nestwall and stopped. Then he stepped hurriedly forward and peered within. For the first time we saw Purple react to Shoogar's magic. He screamed like a hunting banshee-bat.

No doubt a translation would have been most instructive, but the speakerspell was silent. Purple clambered into the door; the jamb caught him across the forehead, knocking the glass appurtenances from his nose. (How had Shoogar managed that?)

We heard his voice from inside the nest; great anguished cries, hardly recognizable. Occasionally, words would come from the speakerspell, booming across the hollow, 'My god in ...! How the ... did they get in? Stung me! Get off my foot, you ... son of ... Why isn't the pest killer working?!!'

'The sting things are giving him trouble,' I whispered.

'God-damned sting things ...!' Purple's booming voice corrected me.

'But the sting things are not the spell, Lant,' Shoogar hissed. 'They would sting whether they were part of the curse or not.

Shoogar was right. The curse had not yet been activated. Anguished, I tore at my fur. What were the gods waiting for? Would they wait so long that Purple would have time to nullify the elements of the spell and turn it back on Shoogar?

More words came hurtling across the slope. 'Eggs! ... Eggs?'

'At least you have ruined his composure,' I whispered to Shoogar. That's a beginning.'

'Not enough. ... The gods should be tripping over each other in their eagerness to destroy him. ... It must be the door! It must be! Lant, I fear....'

He trailed off ominously. I felt ice melting along my spine..

'Savages!' boomed Purple's voice. 'Primitive savages! This damned gray paint - Where the hell is the ...? Incest, love-making, illegitimate, compound incest, excrement, excrement, excrement, oral-genital contact, rectum, castration, diseases passed by lovemaking, primitive anal lovechildren! I'll kill the lovemaking offspring of dogs! I'll burn this lovemaking world down to the bedrock!'

Purple may have been incoherent, but he certainly sounded sincere. I readied myself to run. I could see him moving about within the nest; he was stabbing furiously at the various bumps and depressions that we had painted over. Savagely Purple twisted the knobs, one after another, trying to nullify Shoogar's spells.

'And as for that fur-covered animal, Shoogar-'

The heavy curved door slid shut and cut off Purple s last raging howl.

-----

A GENTLE breeze tugged at the leaves the bushes and the cuffs of our robes. The shadows had lengthened until they stretched eastward into darkness.

The blue sun twinkled and vanished, leaving only the bloated disk of the red. Below us the hills lay like the folds of a crumpled red cloth. All was deathly silent.

Slowly Shoogar and I crept out of our hiding place. The black nest sat quietly in its depression. The door, closed now, was only an orange oval outlined on its smooth featureless surface.

We edged forward, curiously, cautiously.

'Has it begun yet?' I whispered.

'Shut up, you fool! Every god in the pantheon must be listening!'

We moved closer. The black egg waited there, motionless. Shoogar put his ear to its surface and listened.

Abruptly, the egg rose noiselessly into the air, throwing Shoogar back. I threw myself flat on the ground, began praying for forgiveness. 'Oh, gods of the world, I cast myself upon your mercy. I plead to you. Please, do not let me-'

'Shut up, Lant! Do you want to foul the spell?!!'

I lifted my head cautiously. Shoogar was standing there, hands on hips and staring up into the red twilight. The black nest hung unmoving and patient a few feet above his head.

I climbed wearily to my feet. As a curse this spell was turning out to be a dull bore. 'What is it doing?' I asked. Shoogar didn't answer.

Abruptly the nest turned from black to silver and began sinking back toward the ground as gently as it had risen. The red dusk glinted across its surface, the color of blood.

We stepped back as it touched the ground; it continued sinking downward without so much as slowing. Now, at last, there was sound, a churning crunching grumble of rock being forced aside. The nest moved downward, inexorably. The rocks screeched with the sound of its passage.

In moments it was gone.

The crackle of rock sank to a distant mutter, then died away entirely. Dazed, I walked to the rubbled edge of the hole. Darkness swallowed the bottom of it although an occasional distant rumble of movement could be felt.

Shoogar came up beside me.

'Brilliant,' I said, and I never meant anything more. 'It's gone, Shoogar. Completely, totally gone. The world has swallowed it up as though it never existed. And-' I gasped breathlessly, 'and there were no side effects at all.'

Shoogar harrumphed modestly. He bent to pick up the glass appurtenances which had fallen from Purple's nose. He pocketed them absent-mindedly. 'It was nothing,' he said.

'But, Shoogar! No side effects! I wouldn't have believed you could do it! I wouldn't have believed anyone could do it. Why didn't you tell us you were planning this? We wouldn't have had to leave the village.'

'Best to be safe,' Shoogar mumbled. He must have been dazed by his triumph. 'You see, I wasn't sure ... What with the tidal equations acting to pull the nest down instead of... and with Eccar the Man tending to - well, it was highly unusual; experimental, you might say. I-'

The whole mountain shook under us.

I landed jarringly on my belly looking downslope. Two hundred feet below, the black nest erupted out of the hillside, shrieking in agony.

It plunged up and southward, screaming with an unholy sound - we had hurt it terribly. The egg wailed its pain - a rising and falling note - piercingly loud even as it moved away from the mountain.

Some weird side effect had pulverized the very substance of the hill beneath us, turning it to sliding dirt and pebbles. The entire slope was sliding, shifting, carrying us majestically downward. We were powerless to move; we rode the rumbling avalanche, a massive churning movement of dust and sand. The black nest was a speck of shrieking red brightness fast disappearing into the southern horizon.

The sliding mountain came gradually to a stop. Whether from caprice or Shoogar's magic, it had not buried us. We had been fortunate enough to be standing at the top of the affected area, and had ridden it down unhurt. Now I found myself on my belly, deep in soft sloping dirt. Shoogar was several yards below me.

I climbed to my knees. The black nest was no more than a dot above the horizon: rising and dwindling, rising and dwindling. It was going almost straight up when my eyes lost it.

I scrambled down the slope to Shoogar, each step creating tiny echoes of the bigger slide. 'Is it over?' I asked, helping him to his feet.

Shoogar brushed ineffectually at his robe, 'I think not' He peered into the south, 'There are too many gods who have not yet spoken.'

We were ankle-deep in the newly pulverized dirt, and would have to walk softly lest the slope be jarred loose again. We began to work our way down cautiously. 'How long must we wait for the curse to complete its workings?' I asked.

Shoogar shrugged, 'I cannot guess. We called heavily on too many gods. Lant, I suggest you return to the village now. Your wives and children will be waiting.'

'I would stay here with you until the curse is complete.'

Shoogar frowned thoughtfully, 'Lant, the black nest will probably return to attack the one who injured it. I dare not return to the village until that danger is past, and I would not want you here with me when that happens.' He put his hand on my shoulder, 'Thank you, Lant. I appreciate all you have done. Now go.'

I nodded. I did not want to leave him. But I knew that this had to be. Shoogar was not just saying good night; he was saying good-bye. Until he knew for sure that the black nest had been destroyed, he could not return.

Dejectedly, I turned and trudged down the slope. I did not want him to see the tears welling up in my eyes.

-----

THE village was as I had left it. Silent, deserted, and bearing the scars of Shoogar's preparations.

I had been fortunate to find one of my bicycles half-way down the hill. Now I parked it beneath my own nest. Miraculously, both bicycle and housetree had remained undamaged.

My number one wife was curled up on the floor sleeping when I hoisted myself into the nest. She awoke at the swaying of the structure and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

'Where are the others?' I asked.

She shook her head, 'They fled when Purple came to the village this morning.'

'Purple came to the village?' I was aghast.

She nodded.

I seized her by the shoulders, 'You must tell me what he did! Did he curse Shoogar's nest? Did he-'

'No, it was nothing like that. He just walked around for a while.'

'The fire device? Did he use the fire device?'

'No. He wanted something else.'

'What was it, woman?'

'I cannot say if I understood right, my husband. He did not have his speakerspell with him. We had to use gestures.'

'Well, what did he want?'

'He wanted to do the family-making thing, I think.'

'And you let him...?'

She lowered her eyes, 'I thought it would help Shoogar's part of the duel if the mad magician were distracted for a while ...'

'But, how could you? He is not a guest of ours! I should beat you!'

'I am sorry, my husband. I thought it would help.' She cringed before my upraised hand, 'And you did not beat your third wife when Purple talked to her.'

She was right. I lowered my hand. It would not be fair to beat one and not the other.

'He is built most strangely, my husband. He is almost completely without hair, except for-'

'I do not want to hear about it,' I said. 'Is that all that you did?'

She nodded.

'And then he left the village?'

Again she nodded.

'He did not touch anything? Take anything?'

She shook her head.

I breathed a sigh of relief, 'Thank the gods for small favors. The situation could have been very bad. Fortunately you say nothing was damaged.' Gratefully, I lowered myself to the floor. I had not realized how weary I was. 'You may serve me a meal,' I said.

She did so, wordlessly. If she had to exercise her jaw, there were always my dinner leavings. I had taken two bites, when abruptly from overhead came a weird kind of shrieking whistle.

It was a sound of disaster, of emergency and panic. I dropped out of the nest and ran for the clearing. Through the treetops I could see-

The flying nest! It had returned to the village. It was no longer silver. Now it was yellow with heat. It hurtled across the sky, then circled and returned for another shrieking pass.

Shoogar's words flashed across my mind, '... the black nest will probably return to attack the one who injured it...' Could the nest have confused me with Shoogar? I stood there in the central clearing, too panicked to move.

It stopped jarringly a few yards above the treetops, as if it had hit a soft wall. Its door was missing, ripped away. The opening showed black against the orange glow of what could only be heated metal.

The nest turned, questing. I imagined eyes in the blackness behind the doorway. I waited for them to find me.

The nest turned, faster.

Suddenly, it was spinning, terribly fast. All details blurred and vanished; the surface seemed a liquid red-orange. I heard the drone of it rising and I covered my ears. A wind swept through the trees.

As it spun, the nest was carrying the air with it. Great gusts spun through the village with a rising shriek, different from the agony-cry of the nest, but terrifying all the same. It was a great whirlpool of wind with the nest at the center. I clung to the trunk of one of the nearby housetrees.

Was Musk-Watz attacking the stranger's egg? Or was the latter attacking the village? The wind roared through the trees, through the leaves and branches and nests; it tried to pluck me from where I clung tightly to one of the root limbs. I wrapped my arms and legs about the branch and buried my face in the trunk. Leaves, bark, bits of wood sprayed me. It went on and on and on....

After a while, I became aware that the sound was lessening. I raised my head. The wind was dying....

Not a tree in the village carried a leaf. Every nest had been knocked to the ground. Many had been shattered against the trunks of their host trees. Others lay yards from where they should have fallen.

Purple's great black egg, still spinning, had moved southward toward the river. It was above the new course of the rushing waters when it began to drop. Filfo-mar, angry and implacable, was pulling the black nest down to destruction.

I had to see. I followed the nest, unmindful of the possible danger. I had to know if Purple's nest was truly being destroyed.

The nest was spinning ferociously, as if it were trying to escape the power of the river god. When it touched the water a great cloud of steam burst into the air. At the same time, the river and its muddy banks all rose up in one huge wave of earth and water. It blackened the sky, covered the moons - I tried to run - it splashed across the world in one vast wave. A scream forced itself out of my throat as the rushing water swept me back through the village. Filth and mud flooded my mouth, my nostrils..

Abruptly I was struck a jarring blow from behind, found myself caught between two limbs of a tree. Water rained down in fat drops and mud in stinging gobs.

The water began to recede then, flowing back toward the river in a great mud streaking wave. Churning debris left in its wake.

Shoogar had miscalculated. The nest had not returned to attack him. Even now I could see that there was nothing left of the village: just a few blackened trees, naked against the night.

I lowered myself from the branch. My back twinged warningly and I wondered if I had cracked a rib. Painfully I limped toward the river. If I were destined to die, I would first know the fate of my enemy.

Black mud squelched beneath my feet as I plodded. The bare trees dripped muddy goo. It was as if the whole world were uninhabitable, drowned in a rain of earth and water. It was tricky going; often the viscous mess beneath my feet hid shards of debris.

Under the shadowless light of seven of the moons, I began to cross the old course of the river. The mud and the smooth wet rocks all worked to slow me. Probably they saved my life. I had forgotten that one god had not yet spoken.

I cursed as I balanced on the slippery surfaces. The nest lay ahead. In its spinning it had churned a great dish-shaped cavity for itself. As I topped the lip of that cavity I saw the nest, black again and lying in shallow silvery water. Its spin had stopped, and - finally, finally - it was no longer upright.

It rested on its side with water pouring into the hollow around it, flooding into the doorway. Garish light reflected in that opening and across the surface of the water.

No doubt, that final awry tilt of the egg was the work of Fine-line, the god of engineers. Perhaps in his last moments, Purple had finally believed in the power of Shoogar's magic. I worked my way closer, eyes open for one glimpse of the mad magician's body. Nothing could be left alive within that nest.

I was not one quarter of the way down when the interior of the nest began to sparkle and flash. This was not the steady yellow which had lit the compartment earlier. This was a sick sputtering sparkle, the color of lightning. I paused, unsure. I could hear crackling sounds and the hiss of water turning to steam. I began to inch my way back up the mud slope. The nest was still dangerously alive.

The blue flashing grew brighter behind me - and then a thick puff of black smoke erupted from the gaping door. I reached the mud lip of the churned-out hollow none too soon and dropped behind it. Cautiously, I raised my head.

The nest seemed to pause, as if wondering what to do next.

It decided.

It leapt upward, up and out of the pond. It rose in a steep arc, glowing white, paused at the apex, and fell back. It landed right in the middle of the village. Instantly it bounced, leaving a clutch of burning trees behind it. A hot wind fanned my face. It bounced again.

The nest had forgotten how to fly. Now it moved by bouncing, and it glowed with a terrible heat. Each time it struck it would give off one enormous spark, and the land would burn. But only momentarily: the village was too much a swamp to support a fire.

And still the nest was bouncing. As it left the village, other patches of flame were spreading. They led in a straight line, west toward the mountains where Shoogar waited.

The nest bounced uphill, like a ball in reverse. I could see it, a glowing white speck moving erratically up the mountainside. It ultimately disappeared behind a ridge.

The wind followed it, crackling with the presence of the one god who had not yet spoken; then it too faded into the west. A semblance of calm crept over the landscape, leaving only the sound of water dripping from the trees and branches.

I stood up and looked off across the black mud to where a pillar of greasy smoke still rose from the center of the village. Brushing at the mud which permeated my clothing, I wondered if my first wife had survived. I would regret it very much if she had not. She was a good woman, obedient and almost as strong as a pack animal.

It occurred to me then which god had not yet spoken.

I sat down.

There was a slow and deathly silence now. Only the crackle of the mud, the hiss of water trickling into pits of melted rock disturbed the night. The wind died to nothing. The last of the moons was dropping toward the west. Darkness would soon be creeping across the land. It would not be safe to be about.

Could Shoogar have been mistaken in this one aspect? After all, He was an unpredictable god, known to have fits of pique -- and also known to have failed when most expected to perform. Perhaps the experimental nature of Shoogar's spell had not been enough to arouse him ...

Behind me the east began to hint at deep blue instead of black. I stood, cursing the stiff cold weight of my clothes ... Then an eye-searing flash of white filled the world ...

My eyes clenched in pain. But in the after-image, burned into my skull, I saw a great ball of fire, like one of Shoogar's but magnified to the size of a mountain. Then my eyes could open, and I saw a great rising mass of flaming cloud, a toadstool of red-lit fury - fiery smoke standing up behind the mountains, reaching, ever-reaching into the sky-

I was slammed backward, slapped rolling across the mud as if struck by a giant hammer made of air. And the sound - oh, the sound - my ears seemed to cry with the pain of a sound so loud.

If I had thought the sound of Musk-Watz earlier sweeping through the village had been loud, he was only a whisper compared to this. It was as if Ouells himself had come down, and clapped his mighty hands together in a sudden howling wind. But the sound continued - mutated into a continuous rumbling thunder that rolled up and down the hills. It grumbled and rumbled, rumbled and grumbled across the world. It echoed and re-echoed in a never-ending wave. I was sure I could hear it long after it actually had died away. That great bass roar went on and on and on. Small rocks began to fall from the sky.

Elcin had spoken.

-----

I FOUND my wife huddled in the crotch of two branches, beneath an uprooted tree.

'Are you all right?' I asked, helping her to her feet.

She nodded.

'Good. Then find some bandage and tape up my ribs. I am in pain.'

'Yes, my husband.' She began dutifully to tug at her skirt.

I recognized that; it was one of her favorites. I put out my hand, 'No, do not tear that. Find something else. That is all that you have left in the world. Keep it intact.'

She looked up at me, grateful tears flooding her eyes, 'Yes, my husband ...' She paused, and I knew she wanted to say something else, but feared.

'Go on ...' I urged.

She fell to her knees, unmindful of the mud, and clasped fiercely at my hands, 'Oh, my husband, I feared so for your safety. My heart is filled with such gladness at the sight of you, I cannot bear it. I could not bear the thought of life without you.' She kissed my hands, buried her face against my waist. I stroked the fur on the top of her head, mud-smeared though it was. It did not matter; we were both soaked through.

'It's all right...' I murmured gently.

'Oh, tell me it is, tell me. Tell me that the danger is over, that all is right with the world again.'

'Stand up, woman,' I said. She did. 'I have lost everything. My nest is gone and my tree has been uprooted. I know not where any of my children are, nor where my other wives have fled to. I have nothing. Only the clothes I am wearing. But I am still not a poor man .. .'

'Not ...?' She looked at me, brown eyes wide with wonder.

'No, I am not. I still have one woman, a good woman.' I looked into her eyes, wide and glowing with love. 'A woman with a strong back and a willingness to work. And it is enough. I can rebuild. Now go and find that bandage. My ribs ache with the pain of standing.'

'Oh yes, my husband. Yes.' She began moving cautiously across the mud-covered landscape. I lowered myself care-fully to the ground. To rest, to sleep ...

-----

BEFORE leaving the village we searched through the mud to see if anything of value remained intact. We found little. I had hoped to find my bicycle, but that had been smashed under a falling tree. I ached to see that finely carved machine crushed to sodden pulp. Truly, I had been right when I had said that we had nothing but the clothes on our backs.

We stood in the ruins of the village and surveyed the disaster.

'What will we do, my husband?'

'We will move on,' I said to her. 'There is nothing left for us here.' I turned and looked at the distant blue prairie. There,' I pointed, 'we will go south. Probably most of the others have had the same thought.'

She nodded in acquiescence and shouldered her miniscule pack. Painfully we started the long trek.

The suns were high in the sky when we saw a single tiny figure on a bicycle hurrying to catch up to us from the west.

There was something familiar about that - no, it couldn't be.

But it was! 'Shoogar!' I cried, 'You are alive!'

He shot me a look and climbed off the bicycle, 'Of course, I'm alive, Lant. What did you think?' He paused, looked at the dried mud caked on our clothes, 'What happened to you?'

'We were in the village. We saw the end of Purple's nest. But it headed toward the mountains to die. We thought that-'

'Nonsense, Lant. I won the duel. Only the loser gets killed. I saw the black nest return. It attacked the village instead of coming up into the mountains after me. If it was going to destroy the village anyway, there was no longer any reason for me to stay up in the hills. So I dug out the other bicycle.'

'The nest must have just missed you.'

Shoogar nodded, 'I saw it coming. When it finished with the village, only then did it go for the mountains. Only I was no longer there.'

'Shoogar, that's brilliant!'

He shrugged modestly, brushed a speck of dirt from the sleeve of his robe. 'It was nothing. I had it planned that way.'

There was nothing more to say. We watched as he mounted the bicycle again, his dignity and reputation were tall and triumphant. Once more he began pedaling into the south. It made me proud to know him.

-----

BLUE twilight had faded and flashed into red dawn before we found a place to stop. We were on a rocky outcrop over-looking a series of rolling hills, a black wooded slope, and beyond that we could make out the vague distant shapes of a village of brooding housetrees.

Behind us, what had been a desert was fast becoming a sea.

It was not necessary to give the order to halt. Instinctively we knew we had done enough traveling for one day. Exhausted, the women sank to the ground, discarding their heavy packs and burdens where they fell. Children sank immediately into fitful slumber, and men stooped to massage their tired legs.

We were a sorry, shabby crew. The healthiest of us was in none too good a shape. Many had lost most of their body fur, and the rest had lost their grooming. (The knots and tangles in my own fur would be there until they grew out; they were too far gone for repair.) Open and running sores were not uncommon, and too many of our ailments did not respond to Shoogar's ministrations.

My number two wife, one of the balding women, began to lay a meager meal before me. Under any other circumstances I might have cursed the poor quality of the food and beaten her for there being so little of it - but under our present conditions I knew that this was a hardwon feast. She had probably spent many hours searching for these pitiful greens and nuts. Still, it wasn't what I was used to and I forced myself to eat it only with the greatest distaste.

As I sat there, silently chewing the tough vegetable fibers, a figure approached. I recognized the now nearly hairless Pilg; once our village crier, now a homeless vagabond, as we all were. He was thin and wan and his ribs made an ugly pattern under his skin.

'Ah, Lant,' he cried effusively, 'I hope I am not interrupting anything.'

He was and he knew it. I pretended not to hear him at first, and I concentrated on a particularly tough root instead.

He threw himself down in front of me. I closed my eyes. 'Lant,' he said, 'it appears that we are nearing our journey's end. Doesn't that gladden your soul?'

I opened one eye. Pilg was eagerly eyeing my dinner bowl. 'No,' I said, 'it doesn't.'

Pilg was uncrushed. 'Lant, you should look on the joyous side of life.'

'Is there one?' I choked down the root and bit off another, smaller chunk.

'Of course. You should count your blessings. You still have four of your children and two wives and all your hair -and your first wife is with child. That is far more than I can claim.'

That was true. Pilg had lost his only wife and all but one of his children - and that one a girl - no credit there. Yet what I had lost was greater than what I had saved. I could not help feeling bitter.

'We have lost our whole village,' I said. I spat out a bitter shred at Pilg's feet. He eyed it uncertainly, but pride won out over hunger. He would not eat it unless it was offered to him.

I would not do so. I had fed him three times in the past three hands of days and I had no intention of taking Pilg any closer into my family than that.

'But in no time at all, we will have won a whole new village,' Pilg exulted. 'Surely, Shoogar's reputation as a magician must have preceded us here. Surely, they will honor him and us alike.'

'And surely they will just as soon wish us elsewhere, Pilg. Look behind us. Look at where we have come from. Boggy marsh! And beyond that, water! The oceans are rising almost as fast as we can travel. The darkless season is upon us, Pilg. Hard times for any village. Surely they will have harvested their crops by now, and stored up only enough food to last them through the wading season. They will have none to spare for us. No - they won't be very happy to have us join them.'

My mention of food had caused Pilg to salivate; the spittle ran down his chin - but social protocol held him back. He glanced again at the discarded bit of root near his foot. 'But, Lant - look at the lay of the land here. This village that we are approaching is on a slope overlooking a great plain. They will have at least another twenty or thirty days before the water menaces them.'

'Granted,' I swallowed the mass I had been chewing.

'Perhaps we will be able to exchange some of our skills for some of their food.'

'And what skill will you trade them for?' I grunted. 'Rumormongering?'

Pilg looked hurt. Immediately I felt sorry, it had been a cruel and unkind thing to say. Pilg had indeed suffered more than I, and it was unfair for me to add my mockery to his already heavy burden. 'That was cruel, Lant,' he said, 'if you want me to go, I will.'

'No,' I said, and immediately wondered why, for I did want him to go. 'Don't go until you have at least had something to eat.'

 

Curse it!

He'd done it to me again! I had sworn I was not going to invite him to partake - but he had annoyed me until I had insulted him, and then to assuage the insult, I had to prove to him that he had not annoyed me. I wondered if I was going to have to start eating my meals in secret just to avoid Pilg.

But he was right about that one point. Perhaps we would be able to trade some of our skills for some of their food. Probably my own trade of bonemongering was not as skill-fully practiced this far south as it was in the land we had journeyed from.

But so much of it depended upon the magician of this village. Would Shoogar be willing to swear an oath of truce for the duration of the wading season? Would the new magician even want Shoogar around, considering the strength of his reputation? Would you feel safe if a magician of such power wanted to move into your neighbourhood? If this new magician could not match Shoogar's knowledge and skills, would Shoogar deign to treat him as an equal? Was there a magician anywhere who could match the powers Shoogar had already so dramatically demonstrated?

Shoogar might, just might, consider dueling this village's magician for the right to rule the magic of this area. If he lost (an unlikely chance), we would have to keep moving - only this time without our magician. More likely, if he won, we would incur much ill will in this area, for is it not said that a new magician must take nine generations to be accepted by a tribe?

I feared for the inevitable meeting with these villagers and their Guild of Advisors. Hopefully, we would have time to rest before that meeting, but probably not. As soon as they became aware of our presence here on the slopes of their mountain, they would send an emissary.

There wasn't much left of our Guild - we would be a sorry group of representatives: myself, of course; Hinc the Weaver, Pilg the Crier, Damd the Tree Binder, the one or two others. Ran'll the Quaff-Maker had drowned in one of his vats, Tavit the Shepherd had been lost with much of his flock, and none of the remaining shepherds was yet old enough to replace him in the Guild. Some of the others had not survived our long trek south.

But the two Guilds would meet and hopefully we would work out some kind of agreement whereby we could camp on this land until the waters should withdraw. Then we would either seek a new area to plant our village, or petition for the right to remain.

But again, so much depended on the magicians.

-----

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!'

-----

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.

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 con- junction.

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.'