The Feline Wizard (44 page)

“Six, before they let me join the game,” Anthony said, “but I really did very little crafting; I made the line by remembering pieces as my brothers had told them.”

“At six,” Matt echoed, “remembering half a dozen different versions and putting them together.”

“Aye. There was nothing original about it. A year later I improved it to become: ‘His sword swung high to slash the ropes.’ I revised it over the next few years until I made it thus: ‘Then with one blow he cleaved the knot.’ I like that best, but I've had to finish that verse many times since, and had to make the line anew each time. Still, that was the best I phrased it.”

“If you say so,” Matt said. “Do you remember every line you ever made up?”

“I'm sure I have forgotten a few,” Anthony said, “and I only remembered the three or four best versions my brothers crafted of each legend.”

“Oh, is that all.”

“Aye. I fear I have little prominence in memory,” Anthony sighed. “I will remember these verses you have taught me, though.”

“Just use them well,” Matt said. “Tell me, was there a reason why you always made up a variation of the same line?”

“Oh, aye. I am the youngest, so the last line in each verse always fell to me.”

“Seems to me your brothers might have wanted a bit of variety,” Matt said, “though there is something to be said for predictability. Listen, what if somebody shot an arrow at you and you had to make it break before it hit you?”

Anthony frowned in thought. “It would have to be a couplet, for an arrow's flight leaves little time—and iambic or trochaic trimeter, for the same reason.”

“Good thinking,” Matt said. “Give it a try.”

“Why… ‘Arrow, cease your…’ No, that would be to stop it, not to break it.' Snap in flight, arrow of…' No, the meter's wrong. 'Turn and crack, speeding…'No…”

Balkis came back as he was fumbling, growing more red-faced with each failure. Before he started stuttering, she said, “Speeding arrow, break in flight.'”

“Pieces, fall! Begone from sight!” Anthony cried. “You have made the line again, genius of music!”

“I would rather be your genius of love.” Balkis sat down beside him and smiled into his eyes. He gazed back, blissful and speechless, and his hand stole out to cover hers.

Matt coughed delicately. Both of them gave a start and turned to him, abashed.

“I see how it works,” Matt said. “If Anthony can memorize a verse, he can work a spell—but if he has to make one up, he just can't get started.”

“Like to me,” Balkis said, “save that I can begin a verse, but make weak endings, slowly and with difficulty.”

“So he can't make magic on his own,” Matt said, “but he can make yours ten times more effective.” He nodded. “Good basis for a partnership. Better teach him all the magic you know. If he's really going to Maracanda, Prester John will be delighted to meet him.”

“Meet the emperor himself!” Anthony cried, sitting bolt upright.

“Sure,” Matt said. “He needs all the wizards he can find.”

“As to that …” Balkis looked suddenly nervous. She turned to Anthony. “I have given you time alone with my mentor, Anthony. Will you grant me the same privilege?”

“Why … of course, my sweet.” Anthony hid his jealousy with an effort, smiled, then rose and went over toward Stego-man and Dimetrolas, moving warily and timidly.

Dimetrolas noticed and said something to Stegoman, who boomed out, “Welcome, son of the mountains! Have you never seen dragon folk before?”

“Never.” Anthony came forward, though shyly. “Might I speak with you awhile? I am bursting with a thousand questions!”

“I will answer only a hundred,” Stegoman said with a twinkle
in
his eye. “Ask, mountaineer.”

They settled down to conversation. Balkis glanced at them,
then leaned closer to Matt and asked in a low voice, “How is it you searched for me?”

“PresterJohn—”

“Shh! Do not say his name!” Balkis gave a frantic glance over her shoulder at Anthony. “Say rather, ‘my uncle,’ as you did before—and a thousand thanks for that tact.”

“Just good luck,” Matt said. “Okay, ‘my uncle’ sent word that his niece was missing…”

“Oh, be not so silly!”

“Okay,
your
uncle sent word—and asked me to come find out what had happened to you. We tracked down the sorcerer who had kidnapped you, but he wasn't much help—seems you foiled his transportation spell at the last minute, so he didn't know where you'd gone.”

Balkis smiled with grim satisfaction. “Not where he intended, at least.”

“Yes, and I'm very glad of that.” Matt beamed at her. “Very proud of my pupil. But your uncle did a bit of divination, found out which direction you'd gone, and I started searching. Stegoman insisted on coming along for the ride—or so that I could ride, rather—and we headed south, stopping to ask about you whenever we could.” He spread his hands. “When we found chaos happening, we thought it was worth a look.”

“Praise Heaven that you did! But Pres—my uncle is still seeking me?”

“Not officially,” Matt hedged. “If I can't find you, he'll send his son with a small army to search.”

“Oh, such noise and furor will certainly not affright a kidnapper!”

“Careful, my dear—with your coloring, sarcasm doesn't become you, and I sure hope the converse isn't true. I also hope you're reassured to know your uncle's willing to shake heaven and earth to find you, though.”

“It is a warming thought.” Balkis smiled. “The problem, though, Lord Wizard, is that I would prefer not to be found for a while.”

“Need to cement a new relationship before you jeopardize it by revealing you're a princess?” Matt eyed Anthony, who
was in earnest conversation with the two dragons. “You could tell him you're a woodcutter's daughter, you know.”

“I could,” Balkis said, “but would he believe that I could be that and a princess, too?”

“Should be enough old legends around to give him a basis for accepting it,” Matt said, “and as I understand it, he's steeped in them so thoroughly that they've dyed his soul— but why take chances, right?”

“Exactly,” Balkis said. “I wish to journey with him through Prester John's tributaries and his own domain, all the way to Maracanda itself. We should be so firmly bound by then that he will not be affrighted—not if he truly loves me.”

“Assuming he doesn't feel you deceived him, of course.”

“Ridiculous!” Balkis said. “I am myself! Why should it matter whether I am a princess or a beggar?”

“Good point,” Matt said, “but it does matter. Still, it's your play, and I won't try to rewrite it for you.”

“Please do not.” Balkis' face was taut with anxiety. “I am not ready to be a princess again! We have survived dangers and privations on this journey, it is true, but we have also seen wonders, and come to know amazing people. I wish to see the country all the way into the capital itself as ordinary people do, so that I may come to know them better.”

Matt looked into her eyes and drew his own conclusions about which ordinary person she wanted to know better. He smiled, remembering his first few days of rapture, and reached out to pat her hand. “Don't worry, I'll keep quiet about it. Just don't wear out the honeymoon before the wedding, okay?”

Matt took dictation, refereed the disagreements on wording, and kept them from breaking up the newborn alliance, then carved it all into a cliff at the side of the village—magically, of course. The villagers were suitably impressed by the stunt and swore to uphold the treaty, possibly more out of fear of the power that had engraved it than of the threat of civil war that could have resulted from breaking it.

Matt, the two huge dragons, and the young couple stayed on through the celebrations that evening, then slept the sleep of the sober amid a thousand drunks—with one always awake
as sentry, of course. The next morning, Anthony got the exhilarating and terrifying experience of a dragon ride, because Matt insisted on seeing his young charges well beyond reach of the dragoneers before he let them go north on their own.

Thirty miles north, Stegoman and Dimetrolas came in for a landing, and Balkis and Anthony slid down, Balkis running to hold Anthony upright while he got his land legs again. He gave her a foolish grin and a sloppy kiss and said, “I wish another such ride someday.”

“I shall give you one,” Stegoman promised, “though you shall have to come to Maracanda to have it.”

“One more reason for traveling north! Many thanks, noble beast! I shall see you in Maracanda!”

“In Maracanda, then,” Stegoman acknowledged, and took off with Matt on his back and Dimetrolas flying convoy.

“You have most amazing friends,” Aiithony informed Balkis.

“I know.” She pressed herself against him and wrapped her arms around his chest. “Though I had hoped you were more than a friend.”

“Far more.” Anthony grinned and kissed her.

They traveled northward for three more days, though they did not exactly hurry. Balkis chafed at Anthony's gallantry in asking nothing of her but kisses, especially since those inflamed her so that her entire body burned to give and demand more—but she remembered what the Lord Wizard had said about not wearing out the honeymoon before the wedding and fancied there might be some truth in it, so she wandered northward arm in arm with her swain and waited for them to happen upon a priest.

Her hopes soared when they came to a crossroads and saw a little chapel glittering in the light of later afternoon. “We can at least give thanks for a safe journey, Anthony.”

“We can indeed,” he said, and together they went to the chapel.

As they came closer, Balkis gasped in wonder. “How marvelous!”

The chapel stood surrounded by trees; its roof reflected the green of their leaves, but with spots of blinding light here and
there where the sun's rays came through. It was ornamented with a delicate tracery of leading, and the sides were every color of the rainbow, depicting scenes from he Bible.

“There is Noah,” Balkis breathed, “and there Abraham and Moses!”

“There David fights Goliath,” Anthony said, “and there Esther stands before the king!”

“There Mary and Joseph kneel at the creche,” Balkis said. “The whole church is made of glass!”

“How can it ever stand against a storm?” Anthony wondered.

“There is either magic in it or a genius of an architect,” Balkis answered. “Shall we see more of the Savior's life on the other side, do you think?”

“Let us enter and discover,” Anthony urged.

They went in, and the room was quite full, the congregation standing, but they were so spellbound by the beauty around them, they barely noticed. The glass of the roof was indeed green, dimming the sun so that it did not hurt their eyes—but that same sunshine poured through the western wall, throwing jeweled light upon all the people within. Even on the eastern wall, the windows glowed with the light from outside—and sure enough, it showed scenes from the Savior's life. Wherever they looked, they were surrounded by pictures that almost seemed to breathe with the light that infused them.

But Balkis' gaze went to the man who stood in the pulpit. She was disappointed to see that he wore no chasuble, nor any stole around his neck, only a simple white robe, though it glowed with half a dozen colors from the light that struck through the leaded walls.

“We shall not hear a true Mass,” Anthony said, disappointed, “for if he wears no stole, he is no priest, but only a deacon at best.”

Balkis felt a surge of chagrin and fought to keep it from showing—there was no chance of a wedding here. She tried to be philosophical, telling herself that Anthony had not asked her to marry him in any event.

There were no pews, which was why the people stood to hear the service. Anthony and Balkis edged their way in and stood with their backs against a wall.

It certainly was like no Mass that Balkis had ever attended, but Anthony nodded, smiling, obviously familiar with the words, even speaking them himself when the congregation gave the deacon their ritual response.

Then Balkis stiffened and clutched Anthony's forearm. He turned to her in concern, and she stretched to whisper in his ear, “The wall no longer presses against my back!”

“Surely we have stepped forward.” Anthony turned to look at the people in front of him, then stared. “No, we have not.”

Balkis turned to look, almost afraid of what she might see, and noticed that the wall was a good three feet behind her. She turned back quickly, as though to keep the chapel from hiding its dimensions from her. “Anthony—the roof is a little higher, and all the walls a few feet farther apart than they were when we entered!”

“This cannot be,” Anthony said nervously. He would have explained, but just then some people came in through the doorway behind them. They wore pilgrims' gowns, dusty with travel, and looked wearied, but the beauty of the little chapel seemed to refresh them instantly. The new arrivals filed along the wall behind Anthony and Balkis, then along the wall to the other side of the door—and kept coming. Thirty or forty of them filed in, standing on line behind another—three rows, where there had been only three feet! Moreover, the wall was a foot or two behind the backs of the rearmost line!

Balkis and Anthony looked at one another in amazement. then looked back at the walls, feeling a strange prickling along their backs. Anthony leaned close and whispered, “The deacon will explain it when we are done.”

They listened to the rest of the service in silence, but Balkis had a deal of trouble in keeping her mind on it. Her gaze kept drifting to the walls.

Finally the deacon bade the congregation go, and they filed out of the chapel—or church, for it had grown amazingly in the short time they had been there.

Anthony touched Balkis' arm. “Let us stay behind, so we may talk to the deacon at leisure.”

“Well thought,” Balkis agreed. They drew aside.

A woman in pilgrim's garb stepped up near them. “Is not this a wondrous church?”

“Wondrous indeed,” Balkis agreed and smiled, drawn to the woman even though they were total strangers. She was middle-aged, with a full, kind, smiling face. Her skin was the dark tan of the Afghans, wrinkled with laughter and smiling. Iron-gray curls peeped from under her hood, and although she wore the same dusty cream-colored robe as everyone else, the embroidered cross on her breast was a work of art in five colors. “Have you come far?” Balkis asked.