The Feline Wizard (23 page)

Wouldn't it?

She remembered seeing real cats in heat, though, and how they welcomed any and all males, and could not help the sneaking suspicion that there were human women who might wish to behave the same way, and only their willpower and love for their husbands prevented them from doing so.

But underneath all the effort of anger lurked the confusion arising from the conviction that the soldier women had seen Anthony more clearly than she had herself—had seen that he was in love with her, deeply in love with her, and she knew with a sneaking certainty that her own feelings were engaged with him far more than she liked. Anger was definitely the readiest answer to such confusion.

Balkis shook herself, putting the whole topic behind her, or trying to, as she looked up and saw a river before them. “Anthony, look! It is a boundary, surely! We can cross it and be out of this witches' country! We need not traverse the full length of the land!”

“Cross … ?” Anthony's eyes focused—a bit. “River?” He turned and looked at the broad gray-green stream before them. Finally the meaning of the words seemed to penetrate, and he shook himself. “Boundary…” Then he turned to look at Balkis, and she could see his eyes focus completely, could almost hear his brain click into gear, saw him shake off the trance. She tried to tell herself that it wasn't the sight of her that had done it, but the idea of leaving the Grand Feminie in a single day instead of forty-two.

“Yes! Leave the country! An excellent idea!” Anthony said, and strode toward the river.

Then, though, he roamed the riverbank in silence, gazing at the stream and frowning, deep in thought. Balkis felt the tension build, though Anthony seemed not to. Finally she burst out, “What are you thinking of?”

“The fate of that poor man we met on the road,” he told her without hesitation, “and how unfortunate for him that he did not have a dream to protect him, as I have.”

She almost asked what dream that might be, but bit back the words at the last moment, afraid that the answer might involve her, might be her. Instead she asked, “And that you might have shared his fate?”

“Oh, there was never any chance of that,” he said with absolute certainty.

That nettled Balkis, and she spoke with some sharpness. “Why? Are you so sure you would have kept count of the days?”

“No,” Anthony said, “I am sure that I would never have begun.” He paused, considering. “Of course, I did not know what the punishment for refusing might be—but as it turned out, it was a reward, so it was all for the best.”

Balkis stared at him, shocked by the ease with which he said it. Obviously he hadn't really considered at the time that there might be a punishment, or that the women's favors
might constitute a reward. What had made him so determined to refuse that he hadn't even thought of the consequences?

She skipped over the answer to that with determination and demanded, “What are you seeking?”

“A bridge or a ford,” Anthony answered. “There!”

She looked where he pointed and saw the bottom of the river undulating across its width. “It has shelved. How deep do you think it is?”

“Perhaps a foot or two, if we do not step too far to left or right” Anthony said. “See how the color of the water deepens so quickly to either side? But we can wade where it is shallow.” He turned to give her a smile that was so open and ingenuous that he could not have had any ulterior motives as he offered, “Shall I carry you across?”

But wariness sprang up in Balkis, out of the emotions that had been warring in her breast. “I thank you, good companion, but I can walk by myself,” she replied.

“As you will.” Anthony sat to pull offhis boots and pull up his bias-hosen to his knees, then stood and asked, “Will you go first? Then, if you should stumble, I shall be able to catch you.”

The day before, Balkis wouldn't have felt at all reluctant to have Anthony walking behind her when she was holding her robes up to mid-thigh, might even have enjoyed the notion that he was watching her legs with admiration—but now she shrank from it. “Thank you, but I think not. I would rather you go before, so that if there is a sudden hole or soft place, I shall have warning.”

“A good thought,” Anthony said, abashed. “I should have thought of the danger.” He turned and started wading.

Bemused, Balkis pulled off her slippers, gathered up her skirts and, holding them high, followed his steps as he crossed the river.

On the other side, Anthony sat down and leaned against a tree trunk, legs stretched out on the grass. “By your leave, I'll let my feet dry before I put my boots on again.”

“That seems wise,” Balkis said cautiously, and sat down beside him, but not too close—fortunately, the next tree was a good six feet from his. She did stretch out her bare legs, but
kept her hemline below the knee. Casting about desperately for something to say, she came up with, “I should think such rivers would be new to you, that you have only streams in your mountains.”

“There is one that is ten feet across,” Anthony explained, “and wider in the spring, when the melt-waters swell it. We cannot avoid it, either, since it lies between our homestead and the upper pasture. We have to drive the cows across it twice a day, so I have become used to finding fords and bracing myself against the current.”

“A stronger current than this, I would guess.”

“It is indeed,” Anthony said, “especially in spring.”

That easily, they were back into their old friendship, chatting and exchanging experiences—but there was an undercurrent that hadn't been there before, an awareness of the other and the other's feelings, and Balkis realized that they could never again be simply friends, companions, and nothing more.

When their feet were dry, they pulled their shoes on again and set off down the road. Meadow quickly gave way to forest, and as it grew darker, Balkis muttered a spell, ready to recite the last line at sight of a wolf or bandit, but neither appeared. After an hour's time, Balkis paused and frowned. “Is there another river near?”

“It sounds as though there is,” Anthony said. “I hear the sound of rushing waters … but is that shouting mingled with it?”

“People in peril of drowning!” Balkis hurried past him. “Quickly, we must see if we can aid!”

Anthony ran after her. As they went farther down the track, the water-sound became more distinct; they heard separate notes, and the shouting began to sound angry.

“Do the people fight the waters?” Balkis wondered.

Then they burst out of the woods into a field filled with grape arbors, posts linked by ropes upon which vines had climbed, bearing bunches of dark red fruit. But they scarcely had time to notice, for a horde of birds wheeled and hovered above the field, calling and warbling and making a sound like a waterfall as they dove, seeking to steal the fruit. They had little
luck, though, for every aisle was filled with people scarcely higher than the posts, perhaps four feet tall, fighting with bows and arrows, spears and shields, to defend their crop.

“No doubt those people have watered and tended those vines,” Balkis cried, “and now that the harvest is near, the birds have come to steal the fruits of their labors!”

“We cannot permit that to happen.” Anthony drew his dagger and started forward.

“No, wait!” Balkis caught his arm, suddenly afraid she might lose him. “You can fight them far better by helping me craft a verse to send the birds away!”

Anthony frowned, turning back. “But it is you who are the wizard, you who knows the spells.”

“For a hundred flocks of birds come a-stealing? I have never learned a spell for that, nor do I believe there is one! I shall have to make it up as I go, and you know what happens when I come to the end!”

She said it with a wrench of embarrassment, for she hated to admit her failing to Anthony—but with his great inborn tact, he only nodded and said, “You are right. I can do more good here with you.”

She breathed a sigh of relief, then said, “Hold my hand! Perhaps we shall craft a verse better so!”

Anthony clasped her palm and turned to her expectantly.

“By vine and root and purple grape,” Balkis began, and hesitated.

Anthony took that as his signal, and added, “By rain and earth that grew their state …”

“Close now those beaks that catch and gape!” Balkis commanded.

Somehow the birds sensed what they were doing; a squadron broke off and wheeled toward them.

Anthony said quickly, “Find flies and worms of interest great! Far from these fields go seek your bait!”

Balkis marveled at his facility, then clasped his hand more tightly in alarm. “Anthony! They are still coming for us!”

Anthony stared in alarm and awe. Sure enough, the whole avian army seemed to be banking to follow the squadron that was already bound toward the wizards, their beaks snapping
shut as commanded—but all the sharper and stronger for that.

“These are not lovely songsters, but living arrows!” Balkis cried.

“Quick! Into cat-form!”

Balkis instantly felt panic at the thought of leaving Anthony to face the angry flock alone, but some perverse urge made her say instead, “When not a one of them but holds a grudge against cats? How shall I fare alone against them?”

“How shall we fare now?” Anthony returned. “What would you say to them if you
were
a cat?”

Without a thought, an angry yowl tore from Balkis' throat. She turned it into words:

She stammered to a halt, confounded by the need to rhyme. Anthony, thinking it his signal, called out,

“That is where you wished me to improvise, is it not?” he asked anxiously.

“None better.” Balkis clung to his arm with a sigh of relief.

Sure enough, two extravagantly plumed, flame-colored birds soared into sight, all trailing pinions, flowing crests, and undulating tails. They came flying from above the forest, calling out in musical tones that penetrated the sounds of battle.

The birds gave voice in a sound like a cataract and swirled in a huge half-circle to join the royal couple, surrounding them on all sides, some even flying on ahead, trilling a warning to all who encountered them.

The little people stared, letting their nets and weapons fall, eyes wide, drinking in a sight they had never seen, no doubt memorizing every detail to relate to their grandchildren.

The birds filled the sky now, and Balkis realized that others
were streaking in from all points of the compass. Toward the east they flew, away from the sunset, darkening the earth below, but the sinking sun backlighted them in a golden glow. Then the sky began to clear as the huge flock soared away over the horizon. In its center, the king and queen of birds flew on, glorious song spilling from their throats, calling more and ever more of their kind to them.

Anthony stood transfixed, and Balkis was no better; the royal birds were so glorious that she had no thought for anything else in the world, all her mind devoted to drinking in the sight and engraving it upon her memory.

Then they were gone, the spell broken, and they were left two strangers in a foreign vineyard, surrounded by natives two-thirds their size but armed with spears and bows, slowly turning toward the two bigger people who had invaded their land.

But the little folk dropped their weapons as they approached. They were all sweating and some were wounded, scored with the red trails left by birds' beaks, but grinning and bowing their thanks. They saluted the companions, and like the women warriors and the ant workers, they spoke the language of Maracanda with a heavy accent.

“Welcome, strangers!” said a gray-headed man. “I am Bunao, hetman of this village. Our great thanks for banishing the birds as you did!”

Anthony protested, “Surely we had little to do with—”

Balkis elbowed him in the ribs, and the hetman, grinning, said, “Be not so modest. Never before have the birds left us with so brief an attack—or so many grapes. We saw you pointing at them and chanting—but how did your call summon the yllerion?”

Anthony stared, and Balkis explained, “We only called for the king and queen of birds.” She, at least, knew enough to accept her due credit in a strange land.

“You called well,” Bunao said, “for the yllerion do indeed rule over all other fowl in the world. They are fiery of hue, their wings are as sharp as razors, and not even eagles can stand against them.”

“How is it we have never seen them?” Anthony asked. “Is it because I am from the mountains, and they do not wish to roost there?”

“No, it is because there are but two of them in the entire world,” Bunao explained. “They live for sixty years, after which span they fly off to plunge into the sea.”

“It would seem we were fortunate to be summoning them at the end of that cycle!” Balkis said.

“So it would,” Bunao agreed, “but it was definitely your magic that brought them here, for we have never seen them before, neither the oldest among us nor our ancestors, and doubly grateful are we for having seen the sight.”