The Feline Wizard (12 page)

Anthony hobbled with her, staring down, caught between superstition, awe, and some other emotion that made Balkis look away in discomfort as that strange warmth spread through her again. “Stop staring like a trout!” That made her wonder if she had hooked him, and she pushed the thought from her mind in irritation.

“So you were my friend Kit?” Anthony whispered.

“I was and am, and fool that I was to try to comfort you for the insults your brothers gave you! If I had not, they would not have beaten you!”

“Oh, they would have,” Anthony sighed. “If not today, then tomorrow or the next day—and if not about you, then because I soured the milk or broke the scansion of a line or spoke out of turn.” He smiled with pride. “At least you gave me cause to fight back for once.”

Balkis stared at him in amazement. Fighting back had brought him a worse beating, and he was proud of it? She burst out, “Why do you stay here?” then turned away, instantly ashamed. “No, forget I asked that. It is none of my business.”

“You were nearly torn to catkins for seeking to comfort me,” Anthony said grimly. “I think you have some right to know.”

“Later.” They had come to the barn, and Balkis pulled the latchstring, then hauled the door wide enough for the two of them to hobble through. “Hold yourself up,” she directed,
and turned back to pull the door shut. When the latch fell, she turned to give Anthony her shoulder again. “Can you climb to the haymow?”

“I think so,” Anthony said, and he managed it, albeit slowly and with much help from her. There, he collapsed into the hay, and she ran down the ladder to fetch a water bucket from a cow, then back up to wet her handkerchief and clean his cuts.

“Sleep if you can ” she urged, and began to sing a soothing tune that was really a spell, one that would send him into a healing sleep.

But Anthony stopped her before she had sung even one line. “Your answer.”

“Answer? What answer?”

“As to why I stay here.” He closed his eyes, lying back in the straw and looking suddenly older and very, very weary. “Because I have nowhere else to go—and because, rough or not, these men are my family. How should I live without them?”

“A far sight better than you do now,” Balkis said tartly. “Sleep, lad, and let your body heal.” She began to sing again, and Anthony's eyes closed. It occurred to her that she could very easily weave another spell into the lullaby, one that would make him fall in love with her when he woke…

No! The lullaby faltered as she realized what she'd been thinking, shocked at herself. Why would she want him to love her, after all? And if he did, what good would there be if she knew it to be only the work of a charm?
Wait
, she told herself sternly, wait for real love.

Something within her asked,
But what if this is it?
She ignored it, though, and managed to sing on while Anthony's breathing deepened and steadied as sleep claimed him. Then she cleaned the last of his cuts, laid her handkerchief out to dry, and crawled under her cloak, cuddling up to him—for warmth, she told herself. But she couldn't resist reaching out to press the huge bulge of muscle in his arm, the swelling and hardness of his chest, then pulled her hand back as something within her responded with a gush of heat that frightened her. She closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep—but her attention was still taken by the man who lay so closely beside her, and sleep was a long time in coming.

* * *

Balkis woke to see rough homespun an inch from her nose, and stared at it, wondering what it was and where it had come from. She followed it up to the swelling of a man's chest, and the evening before came back in a rush. She lifted her head slowly so as not to wake Anthony—but found him gazing down at her. She went tense with alarm, but his gaze held only tenderness and awe, admiration that bordered on desire but held to the line. Nonetheless, it stirred the warmth within her again, the still strange but delightful and alarming feeling.

Below them, the cows lowed.

Grateful for the interruption, Balkis said, “Should you not milk your kine?”

“They can wait a while yet,” Anthony said. “Only the left hand of dawn is in the sky, and the sun will not rise for an hour.”

“Why do you stare so?” she demanded, voice sharpened by her alarm at the stirring within her. “Have you never seen a woman?”

“Rarely,” he said frankly. “Only when we go to town to trade—after the harvest and again after the thaw. But never have I seen one so lovely as you.”

His blunt tone, devoid of even the awareness of flattery, made Balkis' heart flutter, but she managed a cynical smile. “If you had seen more lasses, you would not find me beautiful.”

“Oh, I would,” Anthony said softly. “Be sure that I would”

She stared into his eyes and saw such complete and total honesty there that she had to look away, reminding herself that Anthony could have served as a model of naivete. “Surely your brothers will come to see to the livestock soon.”

“Not until the sun is well risen,” Anthony said. “In the cold months, only I must stir early.”

Balkis turned to him in outrage, then forced a smile. “No wonder you dare not leave. How should they manage without you?”

Anthony turned toward the barn door, startled and almost alarmed. Balkis' heart sank—she had not thought he would take her seriously. She answered her own question. “On the
other hand, each of them had to learn to milk before you were old enough, did they not?”

“They did,” Anthony confirmed. “Still, it is so long since they have done it…”

“I am sure it is something one's hands never forget.”

Anthony turned to her with a sad smile. “Have you ever milked a cow, then?”

“I have.” Balkis remembered milking her foster parents' sweet Dapple. “I am certain I could do it again in a minute.” She sat up. “In fact, I shall do it for you—you must be feeling very poorly.”

“No!” Anthony protested. “You must not sully such pretty hands! Besides, I am quite well.” He levered himself up— then bounced to his feet. He flexed his arms, staring at them in amazement. “I do feel well! How can this be? That was the worst beating that ever they've given me, and I've never healed so quickly before!” Then he remembered Balkis' shape-changing and stared at her in awe.

“I do have some small magicks at my command,” Balkis admitted. “The song I sang you last night held a spell for quick healing.”

The awe was still there, but submerged under a mischievous grin. “Well then, surely you know that I am quite well enough to milk!”

“Oh, very well” Balkis started toward the ladder. “I shall only help you, then.”

“No!” Anthony cried in alarm. “What if my brothers should find you?”

His alarm touched her deeply, which made her sound cynical again. “Only a minute ago you assured me they would not.”

“Well… yes … but that is while we are here in the loft,” Anthony said, “and you have time to become a cat again.” The thought alarmed him. “They might come hunting you to torment you!”

“Are you saying I should be gone?” Balkis asked, her voice level.

Anthony looked away. “I do not wish it—but you should. For your safety.”

“Then so should you,” she said quietly.

“I?” Anthony turned to Balkis in alarm—but not, she saw, in surprise. “They are my family!”

“Family!” Balkis scoffed. “What manner of family love is this, to scorn you and mock you and beat you and rejoice at your humiliation?”

“There is a better side to them,” Anthony said, but he did not meet her eyes.

“If there is,” she told him, “I have not seen it. You are no youth in his teens, but a man grown and able to make your own way in the world—and they have cast you out into the snow! Truly, Anthony, there is no reason why one so good-hearted as yourself should stay to be degraded and beaten by your own family.”

“But… where else should I go?” His gaze wandered. “I know nothing but farming, after all—surely not enough to make my way in a strange world.”

“I do,” Balkis told him. “I began my life with a caravan and took up my travels again only two years ago, when my foster parents died.”

“Truly?” Anthony asked, wide-eyed. “But how could such journeying have been safe for so young a maiden?”

“It was not,” Balkis admitted, “but it was safe enough for a cat.”

This time Anthony's grin came slowly. “Of course! You need only appear as a woman when you wish it!”

“Which is not often, when I travel,” Balkis said, “only with someone I trust.” Her gaze met his, and the feeling of contact, of mind meeting mind, shook her so that she looked away quickly.

“You honor me,” Anthony said softly.

“You have been a kind friend,” Balkis said, still studying the hay.

“Yes. I never pulled your tail.”

“And you had better not!” Balkis fixed him with a glare, but his grin was infectious, and she felt her lip quirk into a smile, then laughed. He joined her, and they leaned together, laughing. Then Balkis looked up at him, her expression serious. “I must journey again ” she said. “I must go home. I would feel much safer with a companion.”

Anthony met her gaze again, and his grin faded into the slightest of smiles. “Still you honor me, beautiful maiden.”

Balkis looked away uncomfortably. “I trust you, as I said— you have a good heart. You have defended me—now I will defend you, and helping one another, we might well come unscathed to the land of Prester John.”

“Prester John!” Anthony breathed. “Is his kingdom your homeland?”

She saw the wonder and longing in his face, and said, “It is the land of my birth, yes.” Later she might explain that she had grown up far to the west, in Allustria, but that could wait. “I know not the way, though—I was sent here by magic.”

“Magic! You have sorcerous enemies, then?”

“It would seem so,” Balkis admitted, “though I had not thought I had offended anyone.”
No one but thegur-khan and
his chief priest
, said a small voice within her mind, but she ignored it—surely the men of the horde would have slain her, not exiled her. “Travel with me,” she urged, “and I shall find a way for you to cope with whatever trials we meet. When our journey is done, you shall see the land of Prester John.”

“The enchanted kingdom!” Anthony said, staring off into space at his own dreams. Then he came back to earth and frowned. “I could not leave my father and brothers to worry, though.”

“Then leave them a note,” Balkis suggested.

“A note?” Anthony said in surprise. “But I am only a peasant! I cannot write!”

“I can.” Balkis felt a surge of annoyance. Really, did the boy know nothing?

Only what mattered: how to be kind and gentle—and how to defend a friend.

“If you could write a note for me,” Anthony said slowly, “Father could take it to the priest to read…”

“Then let us do so.” Balkis looked about her. “Charcoal will do for the writing, and a clean board will serve for parchment.”

“I shall fetch them.” Once decided, Anthony had no hesitation. He descended the ladder, found charcoal at the forge and scrubbed a board clean, then dictated the letter. He choked over the words, and Balkis feared he would change his mind and stay, but when the message was written, Anthony fetched a coil of rope and two waterskins, then led her out to the smokehouse and gathered a dozen sausages. Balkis changed into a cat and leaped up to his shoulder, and equipped only with food, water, and rope, they set off down the hillside.

Anthony hesitated only as the sun rose before them. “The cows…”

“Your brothers will milk them when they come looking for you,” Balkis meowed at him.
Or for me
, she thought.

Anthony looked up at her in surprise. “You can talk in that form, then?”

“Try to stop me,” Balkis retorted. “Have you heard anyone say where the land of Prester John lies?”

“North,” Anthony answered.

“North let us go, then”

Anthony nodded, turning so that the sun was on his right, and set off diagonally across the hillside. Balkis looked back, wary that his brothers might try to track him and make him come back. She murmured a verse in Allustrian and a small whirlwind blew up, following them and obliterating their tracks with blown snow.

Satisfied, Balkis turned and looked forward again. For a moment her conscience hurt—it was good for her to have a road companion, but was this leave-taking good for Anthony?

Then she remembered the beating, and it firmed her resolve—this couldn't be worse, surely. If Anthony had been a boy in his teens, not yet ready to face the world on his own, it might have been different—but he was a man who would have already married and left home if there had been more
women in his country. He was ready to go out into the world on his own, past ready—and if he didn't like Prester John's country, he could always come home. In fact, she could make sure he had a horse and a mounted escort—and money enough to set his father and brothers in
his
power for a change. She relished the thought as Anthony finished traversing the hill and struck a set of icy ruts that served as a road leading northward. “We have begun our journey, Kit!” he said, exulting. “I mean, Balkis.”