Balkis watched every gesture, wide-eyed, soaking up the words of the verse. When the pebbles flattened and grew shiny, turning into coins, she sucked in her breath and asked, “Dare I work that spell?”
“You? Yeah, you know the basics, and it’s pretty simple, no built-in booby traps.” Matt gathered a few more pebbles. “Go ahead and try.”
Balkis recited the verse word-perfect in her meowing voice. The pebbles glimmered and turned into coins.
Matt caught his breath. She had heard the words once, only once, and already knew them by heart. She might forget them as quickly as she’d learned them, but somehow he doubted that.
They went back into the village and bought some chappatis and curry with a single coin. The couple who sold it gave them a look that said plainly they must be insane to pay so much for so little. Warmed by the thought that they might have made life a little easier for the baby in the woman’s arms, Matt and Balkis ate their dinner in the village square.
“Shall we travel at night?” Balkis asked, dilating her slit pupils.
“Maybe early night,” Matt said doubtfully, “but I’d rather not find out the bard way what kinds of supernatural long-legged beasties inhabit the Indian countryside.”
“Do you fear them, then?” Balkis asked in surprise.
“Let’s just say that I’m rather cautious,” Matt told her. “After all, we’ve just worked some magic, no matter bow minor, and if Arjasp is on the lookout for us, even that little bit could be enough to tell him where we are.”
Balkis shivered, a ripple that began at her shoulders and went in a wave down to her tail-tip. “Would not the land be filled with such minor spells sung by village witches?”
“That’s our only hope,” Matt said, “and yes, I expect that’s true, which is why I took the chance of making money.”
Balkis cocked her head on one side, frowning at him. “You have not looked at me once while you have talked,” she pointed out. “You have only gazed at that mud-brick building on the western side of the square.”
“Yes,” Matt said. “Odd, don’t you think? So much bigger than the others, and with so many people coming in and going out.”
Balkis shrugged—cat-style; a toss of the head. “A temple to their local god, like as not.”
“Yes, but what god is that?” Matt asked, and stood up. “I see a few villagers going in. Let’s join them.”
“But we are not of their faith!” Balkis said, surprised.
“True,” Matt agreed, “but some faiths welcome visitors. Let’s see if this is one of those, shall we?”
“No matter how tolerant,” Balkis told him, “I doubt they will admit a cat—and I have no wish to assume my human shape and be stretched upon an altar again.”
“If they were Thuggee, we’d already be inside and tied up,” Matt told her, “being strangers. Still, your caution is prudent. Think you can find a way to sneak in?”
Balkis sniffed with indignation and reminded him, “I am a cat!” She stalked away, tail high and waving.
Matt waited for her to step out of sight around the curve of the temple, then joined the stream of visitors filing in, chatting with one another. As they passed the portal, though, they fell silent, and moved away from one another, each standing apart in silence. Matt glanced at rapt, intent faces and assumed they were praying.
Matt blinked, startled. At the far side of the dome where he’d expected to see an idol, there stood no brazen-bellied Baal or multiarmed deity, but a fire, tended by two white-robed priests with small white cylindrical hats and white veils over their noses and mouths. One’s beard and hair was white, the other’s was black.
A man nearby was muttering softly, apparently not able to pray in complete silence like the others. Feeling ashamed of himself, Matt strained to hear, and with enough concentration the words became clear. What he had thought were untranslatable syllables resolved themselves into a name he knew well. The man was praying to Ormuzd—to Ahura Mazda.
That meant the priests were magi.
CHAPTER 10
There was no service as such, no liturgy, no singing, only individual people facing the fire and praying. It looked as though they were worshiping the flames, but Matt’s Asian Literature courses had taught him that the flame, like the sun, was only a symbol to these people, a reminder of Ahura Mazda, and an aid to focusing their prayers. If he was up and about at dawn, he knew he’d find them out in the village common, gazing at the rising sun.
Seemed perfectly reasonable. As long as he was there, he decided to say a few prayers to his own god—or rather, his own conception of the One.
After half an hour people began to leave. In ten minutes or so the temple was almost empty, only half a dozen people still praying. Matt realized there was no set time for this worship—it was just that most of them wanted to pray when they came in from the fields. He had a notion he’d find many of them back, probably as families, after dinner.
He contrived to find a shadowed comer near the door, hoping the dark robe and tunic he’d taken from the thief would keep him from being noticed.
It almost worked.
The younger priest happened to turn his way and froze, staring at Matt, then turned back to the older priest. “The stranger is still here, Dastoor.”
So much for passing as one of the natives, Matt thought. He should have known better, in a village in which everybody no doubt knew everybody else.
“Bid him come nigh,” the older priest said. “He is the one who was foreseen.”
Matt stood very still. Foreseen? How? By whom-and what magic?
Then he remembered—the magi were excellent astrologers.
The younger priest approached him. “Come to my master,” he invited.
Matt gave him a little bow. “You are gracious.”
The younger priest returned the bow, then went back to his elder. Matt followed.
“Why have you come, stranger?” the priest asked. “Are you a follower of the teachings of Zoroaster?”
“I’m afraid not.” Matt tried another little bow. “I thank you for your hospitality in letting me pray in your temple.”
“All are welcome,” the old priest said with a smile, “but you have not answered my question.”
“Noticed that, did you?” Matt forced a smile of his own. “Well, uh … I wanted to ask some questions, but I don’t know if the temple is the right place.”
“Do they concern the Lord of Light?”
“No. His … adversary.”
Both priests stiffened, but the older one only nodded and said, “Come.”
Matt followed him out the side door, noticing that the younger priest stayed to watch the fire. He wondered if one of them was always on duty, night and day. If they were, where did they ever find time to study the stars?
They passed out a small door at the back of the temple, where the old priest turned and said, “Ask now your questions.”
“I have heard of the magi, the priests of Ahura Mazda,” Matt said slowly.
The old priest waved his hand in negation, shaking his head. “No longer. Zoroaster freed us from the reign of the magicians. You may call me ‘dastoor’ if you wish—that is my title.”
“Dastoor, then, for a priest of Ormuzd?”
“No, an ordinary priest like my young associate is a mobed. A dastoor is a high priest.”
“A bishop, in our terms, I guess.” Matt nodded slowly. “No offense, Dastoor, but I’ve never heard of a priest of Angra Mainyu.”