“Hey, up there!” Matt called. “What’s a nice bird like you doing out on a night like this?”
A huge croaking caw reverberated around them.
Matt frowned. “I couldn’t understand that. Could you try a falsetto?”
There was a moment’s pause; then the caw sounded again, but in a much higher pitch—the bottom few notes of the basso clef—slow and slurring, but understandable. “I have come to destroy the enemies of the wind!”
Balkis froze, eyes wide in the gloom. “It can talk!”
Matt nodded. “I thought it might.”
“How? Never have I heard a bird speak before—and believe me, there are some who would have begged for mercy!”
Matt shrugged. “No matter how wide the wingspan, a raptor that size couldn’t fly by itself—too much mass. That means all that’s keeping it in the sky is magic, and if it’s a magical creature, it might have other powers.”
“Such as speech!” The cat’s eyes were wide and fearful, remembering the score birdom had to settle with catdom.
“Speech indeed.” Matt nodded. “And if it can understand speech, it can be persuaded.” He called out to the bird, “We’re not enemies of the wind! We need it the same as you do! We were riding it, too!”
There was a minute’s pause, during which Matt held his breath. Then the deep, deep voice croaked, “The old man said you were enemies of all the elements!”
“Old man?” Matt asked. “Long blue robe? Soft tapering blue hat with a rounded top?”
“Aye.” Doubt shadowed the huge voice.
“We’re enemies of him, not of the elements.”
“He could not lie,” the roc said, sounding puzzled. “He said he was a priest.”
“And so he is,” Matt called back, “but the god he serves is Ahriman, the Prince of Deceivers. For Arjasp, lying is worship.”
The giant bird was silent for a while. Balkis glanced up anxiously at Matt. He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile, crossed his fingers, and reviewed a transportation spell.
Finally the roc spoke. “He said you worshiped the god who was the enemy of his.”
“I worship the One God who is Lord of All,” Matt called back. “But He is not the enemy of Ahriman. The enemy of Ahriman is Ahura Mazda.”
“Who is this Ahura Mazda?” The bird’s voice was a threatening rumble.
“He is the Lord of Light, and he battles Ahriman through all of time for control of the world and all its creatures. People can help Ahura Mazda by good thoughts, good words, and good deeds, but in the end Ahura Mazda is destined to win.”
“Why does not the God you worship destroy this Ahriman?”
“Because He loves not only Ahura Mazda, he loves Ahriman, too,” Matt called back.
“He could at least chain his enemy where Ahriman could do no harm. Why does He not?”
“Because He lets people choose,” Matt answered, “choose whether they want to be good or want to be evil. Otherwise we’d all be puppets, and there wouldn’t be much point to our lives.”
“Point? What point could there be?” the bird challenged. “Why should insignificant mites like you exist at all? Why does your God let you walk the earth to plague ones such as myself? What point is there in your presence?”
“Existence is what we make of it—Heaven, Nirvana, eternal peace and the overwhelming ecstasy of joy, the deep and everlasting friendship of kindred spirits—call it what you will, our souls can grow until they achieve it, as long as we have the choice.”
“But the blue priest said that Ahriman would triumph!”
“Only temporarily,” Matt assured the creature. “Even if he wins, Ahura Mazda will start taking everything back right away. That’s what Arjasp claims to be working for, at least.”
“That is not what he told me!”
“As I said, he lied.”
The bird was silent for minutes this time. Balkis began to relax, but her claws stayed out. Matt felt the same way—as though the Sword of Damocles was hanging over his head, suspended by a thread. Unfortunately, in this case, he was the one hanging, and could fall at any second. He suspected that the roc could drop him and hold onto the rug. He wondered if he could recite a verse before he hit the ground.
“What proof have you that the blue priest lied?” the roc finally demanded.
“That we were flying on the wind,” Matt answered instantly. “If we had been its enemies, would we have trusted it?”
“There is some truth in that,” the bird allowed. “But if you do not hate all the elements, tell me their names and their virtues!”
Matt was very glad the dastoor had coached him. “Earth, sky, wind, water, and fire! Earth endures, sky gives life, water cleanses, wind gives us breath, and fire purifies!”
“You know them well,” the roc admitted. “I believe you—the blue priest lied. You shall live.”
Matt sagged with relief, amazed that he had persuaded the creature so easily—any college freshman would have thought up more flaws in his argument than the roc had. He thoroughly believed everything he’d said, of course, and in this universe it was undeniably true, virtually natural law—but that didn’t mean he’d made it sound convincing. He was sure Arjasp could have come up with a hundred reasons to support his lies, and made them all sound much more credible—even in the few minutes Matt had seen him, he’d had an amazing amount of charisma; fanatics often did.
But Arjasp wasn’t here, and he was. Charismatic leaders had to be physically present to make their spellbinding effective. Distance always weakened them, giving common sense a chance to work. That was why dictators and religious demagogues needed mass meetings as well as mass media.
“I will aid your cause against this liar,” the bird said, with the weight of a considered decision. “Where shall I take you?”
“Bid him let us go, and we shall fly on your rug!” Balkis urged.
For the first time, Matt let himself look down. The mountaintops of the Hindu Kush had disappeared, and the tree-dotted plain below was zipping past at an amazing speed, making the lone river seem to undulate as they swooped along its bed. “This bird is much faster than the rug,” he told Balkis. “As long as it’s on our side, we might as well take advantage of it.”
He had never heard a cat moan before.
“Do you know where Samarkand is?” he called up to the roc.
“That collection of nests where the caravans stop?” The bird sounded disapproving. “I know it well—its roofs make the taking of camels quite difficult.”
Matt had a vision of the roc swooping out of the sky onto a luckless caravan and plucking a camel in each claw, then soaring off into the wilderness to eat them, loads and all. The silk probably didn’t taste too good, but the spices must have more than made up for it. “Yes, take us there,” he called. “Let’s see if the gur-khan has conquered it yet.”
“What is this gherkin?” the roc asked.
“Arjasp’s top general,” Matt told it. “He leads the hordes that conquer ordinary people for Arjasp to sacrifice to his god.”
“Arjasp told me the two-legs joined him because of the truth he spoke!”
“More likely because of the swords, spears, and arrows of his soldiers,” Matt said darkly. “That one we can prove beyond doubt. Fly over Samarkand, and if you see an army around its walls, or barbarians patrolling the city, you’ll know I’m right.”
“And if I see neither?”
“Then we land and warn them, and if you still doubt me, we can fly east to Baghdad and Damascus and Jerusalem, until you can finally see the horde darkening the plain. If you don’t believe me, go look for yourself.”
“I do believe you,” the bird rumbled, “or I would not take you to Samarkand.”