‘Try looking through the floor,’ Martin called to Javeed. Javeed glanced down, then squatted and peered through the latticework. Martin had his icon adopt the same posture, discordantly aware for a moment that his real back and knees remained unbent. He could see straight down into the treetops, and as they drifted along he spotted a small, unguarded bird’s nest with three speckled eggs, built on a forked, swaying branch. He felt a sting of resentment; however well-researched the details, there was something demeaning about seeing the natural world through so many layers of mediation – rubbing his face in his rapidly dwindling prospects of ever encountering such a thing in the wild for himself. Would he ever go hot-air ballooning with Javeed in the real world? It wasn’t beyond hope. Maybe after his transplant, if everything went well.
For now, though, this was what he had to make do with. Better to savour the details than resent them: for his own sake, for Javeed’s, for the Proxy’s.
Javeed called out to him excitedly, ‘Baba? Did you see the eggs?’
‘Yeah!’
The eagles carried them higher, and the wind – or some persistent difference in strength between the birds – drove them further across the land. The king’s estate gave way to ploughed fields, then pristine woodlands. Martin wasn’t sure exactly where in Iran they were supposed to be; Kavus was a figure out of myth, not history, and if the Shahnameh had ever named his seat of power it had slipped from Martin’s memory. It wasn’t important. Wherever they were, Javeed was ecstatic, gazing down at the landscape from the edge of their glorious, impossible contraption.
‘Baba! See the river!’
‘Yeah, it’s beautiful.’ Sunlight glistened across the silver thread. ‘Hey, see the dark spot near the bend in the river? Now it’s crossing the water-’
‘I can see it.’
‘That’s our shadow.’
Javeed looked up at him to see if he was teasing, then looked down again. ‘Ohhh!’
When they rose into a thick bank of clouds and the air turned to fog around them, everyone started laughing with delight, even Kavus and his motion-sick courtier. When they emerged, the land beneath them was hidden. They drifted through a surreal world where massive shapes that, in the distance, seemed as solid as carved white rock melted into swirling tendrils as soon as they drew near. Martin barely spoke now; he needed only to exchange a glance or a smile with Javeed to make the connection, to convey everything.
See that cloud that looks like a dog’s head?
Yes! And Baba, see the one behind it, like a nose with snot coming out one side?
They continued to ascend, and the world of giant sculptures flattened out into a blanket of torn grey fleece. Through every tear was a glimpse of the desert far below.
Then in the distance, rock punctured the blanket. The peak of a mountain broke through the clouds.
‘Mount Damavand,’ Shahin declared.
‘Mount Damavand,’ Kavus echoed, ‘where noble Feraydun imprisoned the Serpent King Zahhak, pinning him with iron stakes to the walls of the darkest cave. But as we rise above Damavand, so I rise above even Feraydun’s glory.’
‘Lord of the World, there have been none to equal you,’ the adviser declared, without much conviction.
The pavilion was starting to list. Shahin addressed the adviser discreetly. ‘The birds are tiring. It’s time to return.’
The adviser spoke with Kavus. Kavus shook his head angrily. ‘I am lord of every animal and bird; these eagles will do as I bid. I have come this far, and now the angels await me.’ He raised his face to the sky and spread his arms triumphantly. ‘See!’
Martin followed his gaze. There was high cloud above them, with the sun behind it; dazzling beads of light shone through the cloud where it thinned.
Shahin lowered his face in deference, then spoke to his apprentices. ‘We need to keep the birds striving, we need to urge them on. When you see one flagging, go to it, encourage it, assure it that it will receive its reward when the trip is done.’ Martin wondered how he could have missed the whole ‘useful phrases in the language of eagles’ seminar.
Suddenly the platform tilted, with Martin’s side dropping half a metre. Everyone but Kavus had been holding onto something; the king staggered but caught himself. One of Martin’s birds had simply given up. He approached it and began repeating the grunting and nodding that had worked before; it cocked its head sceptically and stayed exactly where it was.
The platform tipped again, this time on Javeed’s side. Martin watched Javeed moving towards his own protesting eagle. ‘Keep holding the rods!’ Martin urged him; they were close enough together that Javeed could always grab the rod ahead of him before releasing his grip on the one behind.
‘Okay,’ Javeed replied, a little irritably, as if he already had enough to think about.
‘I’m serious,’ Martin insisted. The game couldn’t test their actual grip strength – nor would it take it upon itself to prise their fingers loose, whatever the notional forces on their bodies might be – but Martin suspected that it would distinguish very sharply between ‘Look, Ma, no hands!’ and more prudent strategies.
Javeed squatted in front of the bird and tried to get it flying again, but he had no more luck than Martin. Martin called to Shahin, ‘Can we give them some meat from the pail? Maybe that will restore their energy, enough to continue.’
Shahin looked dubious, but then he said, ‘Try it.’ The pail was beside him; he bent down and gave it a shove that sent it sliding towards Martin. Martin managed to intercept it before it went over the edge; he took out a strip of pink flesh and offered it to the troublesome bird.
The bird grabbed the meat and gulped it down. In an instant, Martin’s side of the platform dropped again; the bird’s two neighbours had seen it being fed and had decided to follow the same strategy.
‘No, no, no!’ Martin wailed. He tried desperately to get the first bird flying, but it ignored him completely.
The platform began lurching ever more erratically, as one eagle after another joined the strike. Javeed was laughing; he knew the end of this story and he didn’t seem to care if his own father hastened the disaster. Martin looked over at Shahin, but even the master was having no luck.
Kavus cried out angrily, ‘I am Lord of the World, Lord of the Sky, lord of every living creature! Only God himself is above me. I command you to carry me to the sphere of the angels!’
The pavilion dropped through the clouds. About twenty of the birds were still in action, which was enough to slow their descent, but not to halt it. The desert was getting close, very fast. At least they wouldn’t drown, like Icarus, but it wasn’t going to be a soft landing.
Martin caught Javeed’s eye. ‘Hold on tight, pesaram.’
Javeed mimed straining against the two rods he was holding, to prove that his hands could not be dislodged. ‘Are you scared, Baba?’
‘No. Are you?’
Javeed looked down past the edge of the platform. ‘Zendegi won’t hurt us.’
An updraft caught the pavilion and set it tumbling. They were upside down, hundreds of metres above the desert, hanging by their wrists. Martin heard Javeed bellowing, but all he could see around him were wings and ropes; the birds had been panicked into flight, and as they tried to escape downwards they were only hastening the fall.
The roll continued, righting the platform. Martin’s skin was icy from shock; he looked around for Javeed.
Javeed had not let go. His hair and clothes were dishevelled, but he was wearing a wide-eyed roller-coaster grin. Martin emitted a brief, involuntary sob of pure relief.
None of the passengers had been dislodged, though they all looked several shades paler than before; even Kavus had had enough sense to grab hold of the royal tent, which now sported a magnificent tear along one side. The birds were bedraggled – some with feathers coming loose from their wings, some awkwardly tangled in their ropes – but about half of them were now straining upwards, offering some hope that their efforts would break the fall. Martin braced himself, tensing his muscles, sharing a smile of anticipation with Javeed.